Hi, congratulations 🎊 on your 1 year anniversary. Could I request, please. Poe Dameron and the AU firefighter. I used to clean in a fire station and have a thing for firefighters, plus I could could easily see Poe as a fireman, lol. Take care ❤️
Some Like it Hot
For @minigirl87
AN: Another fic-aversary request! I know you sent this to me via messenger AGES ago and you probably don't even remember doing it but I need you to know that Firefighter!Poe has had me in a chokehold ever since lol. THAT SAID, I have no idea if this is what you were looking for but my muse is a whore (esp for Poe) so here we are. Absolutely shameless smut, very, very little plot. Hope y'all enjoy 😌❤️
(Un-beta’d)
Rated: M+ (this is smut so, i mean, you’ve been warned?)
Words: 1,297
Pairing: Firefighter!Poe Dameron x Photographer!F!Reader
Warnings: PWP, p in v, strangers to lovers, praise kink, please let me know if i missed anything.
AO3
——————
Somehow, you’d known that it would end this way.
Well, maybe not this exact way—with you fucking a smoking-hot firefighter in the dark room of your studio—but the second he’d walked into the room, you’d known something was bound to happen. Granted, you’d been thinking more along the lines of a coffee date or, if you were really lucky, dinner.
The Universe had other plans, it seems (and who were you to argue?).
His strong fingers grip you tightly as he fucks into you from behind, every powerful thrust of his hips all but knocking the breath from your lungs. A choked moan escapes you as he hits one of your sweet spots, cunt clenching around his (considerable) length and pulling a groan from between his lips. You feel so good, so full, the pleasure zinging through your body as he drags himself in and out of your slick heat.
You don’t normally do this—this being fucking someone within hours of meeting them, without even knowing their full name—but there’s just something about this guy—Poe—that makes you wanna give him everything.
It had started innocently enough, just lingering glances and a bit of flirting, but the tension had grown between you the longer the shoot went on. More than once, your gaze had lingered, unable to stop yourself from admiring him—with his leanly muscled body, chiseled jaw, deep eyes, and that stubborn curl that kept falling across his forehead. He could tell you were into him; you’d known by the way he’d looked at you.
Normally, you were more professional while you worked, more respectful of the vulnerability of your subjects as you shot them. You’ve never felt this before though, this pull, this need, and it surprised you how quickly you’d thrown out all your principles for what you assumed was just a one-time thing.
“Taking me so well, sweetheart,” Poe slurs, the pace of his thrusts faltering slightly as you flutter around him. “Fuck, feels so good.”
You can’t help the whine that escapes you at his praise, your fingers gripping the edges of the counter he has you pressed against. You kind of wish you could see his face (you bet he looks stunning when he comes), but he’s hitting you so deep like this it’s a little hard to complain.
He grunts when you flutter around him again, your fingers aching as your grip on the counter tightens. You’re so close, can feel the tension coiling inside you as he spears into you again and again. You push back to meet him and he moans, his cock somehow reaching even deeper inside you, electricity zinging up your spine.
“Please,” you breathe, unsure exactly what you’re asking for.
He seems to know though, adjusting his thrusts so he can lean forward and slip his hand between your thighs, calloused fingers immediately finding and circling your clit. You whimper in pleasure as a myriad of sensations race through you, your arms shaking as your body is pushed closer and closer to the brink.
“You’re right there aren’t you, sweetheart?” he murmurs, his voice thick with his own pleasure. “You’re so close, squeezing me so tight—”
All you can do is moan in pleasure, in agreement, the combination of his cock and his fingers making you feel almost drunk.
“Need you to come for me,” he pants, more of a plea than a demand. “Need to feel you.”
Without warning, Poe pulls you up from the counter so your back is flush against his chest. Your mouth falls open in surprise, a noise somewhere between a squeal and moan escaping as he grinds up into you, his thrusts slower now but no less devastating.
“Oh fuck,” you gasp, head lolling back against his shoulder as he groans in agreement.
He’s just as far gone as you, it seems, his thrusts a little sloppier now as he nears his peak.
“Pussy feels like heaven, sweetheart,” he slurs, his mouth and tongue molten against your heated skin.
You feel like you're drowning, like he’s suffocating you with pleasure. You need something, something to hold onto, something to keep you grounded. You reach back, plunging your fingers into his soft curls, gripping them for dear life. You’re so close, right there at the edge, the tension inside you wound so tight you feel as if you might burst.
Another brush of his fingers against your clit is enough to send you soaring over the edge, your body shaking in his arms as your release slams into you. Poe’s groan is choked as you convulse around him, but he fucks you through it, mumbling words of praise and encouragement in your ear as waves of pleasure surge through you (“That’s it, baby, soak my cock. Oh fuck, yeah, just like that, oh good girl—”)
He stills a moment later, spilling his thick, hot cum deep inside you, his strangled moans muffled as he buries his face in your neck. You relax a little as you come back down, the solidity of his body against yours comforting. You stay like that for a moment trying to catch your breath, the two of you panting and half naked in the middle of the room. After what simultaneously feels like two seconds and an hour, he pulls back a bit from your neck, leaving a gentle kiss at the top of your spine that makes something in your chest ache.
“Okay?” he asks, his voice soft and a little raspy.
You hum, nodding as you allow yourself to melt into him a little, your body going limp in his hold. He chuckles softly, tightening his arms around you and pressing another kiss against your neck. For a moment, you let yourself pretend, pretend that the two of you aren’t strangers, that this isn’t a one-time thing, that he’s yours (and you’re his).
He slips out of you with a hiss, the loss of him dragging you back to reality. Your legs feel like jelly, but you manage to stand on your own, shakily pulling your clothes back on before turning to face him. Considering the position you were just in, it’s silly how awkward you suddenly feel. You lean against the counter behind you, chancing a glance up at him; the soft smile on his lips makes your heart skip a little.
Ugh, he looks just as gorgeous in the red light of the dark room as he did when he’d waltzed into your studio hours ago. A part of you kind of hates him for it.
Before you can say anything, he leans in, capturing your lips in a soft kiss. You sigh, eyes fluttering shut as you kiss him back, your arms winding around his neck. His hands settle on your waist, pulling your body against his as he licks into your mouth. You moan softly, completely lost in him, in the way he’s making you feel. When you part for air, he presses his forehead against yours, your pants mingling in the small space between you.
“Go out with me,” he breathes, his nose bumping against yours.
You huff a laugh at the request (demand?), fingers tangling in the curls at the base of his skull. He smiles again, his lips brushing over yours.
“Probably should’ve asked that before, huh?”
You laugh again, still breathless. “Better late than never.”
His laugh is husky and the sound of it makes something warm settle in your gut. “I appreciate you being so understanding.”
You bite your lip, smothering your smile. “I know you’ll find a way to make it up to me.”
He hums in agreement, a playful gleam in his eyes as he leans in to kiss you again. “I’ve got a few ideas.”
If you enjoyed this, please let me know! I appreciate every single reblog and/or comment. Thank you. 💖
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Summary: Anakin and his SO think they're doing a great job of keeping their relationship a secret. They are not.
Word Count: 1,197
Category: Fluff, Humor
Dedicated to @ghostofskywalker for her help coming up with an idea for this prompt! Thanks Tori!!
Putting work into an AI program without permission is illegal. You do not have my permission. Do not do it.
"You know, I don't think I've ever been in Skyguy's quarters before. Have you?"
That one little question from Ahsoka, Anakin's padawan, made my heart stop in my chest. I'd been in Anakin's quarters many, many times, the most recent being just last night when we fell asleep curled up on his couch together. But because of the Jedi, I couldn't admit that I was dating Anakin. It was our most carefully kept secret. So, I shook my head.
"I probably have at some point, I've known him so long," I said, being very careful to sound casual. "But I don't remember the last time, or for what."
"I bet he's a mess," Ahsoka chimed, skipping along next to me without a care in the world. I smiled a little, despite how tired I was.
Anakin, Ahsoka, Obi-Wan, and I were shipping out from Coruscant after a brief stint back here. Anakin had left early this morning, along with Captain Rex and a few other key members of the 501st, to start getting things back in order. As a result, I'd had to wake up even brighter and earlier to get back to my own quarters before Rex showed up to leave with Anakin. Now, because Anakin had forgotten his datapad, I had to go all the way back to his quarters a few hours later to get it for him.
"He's definitely a mess," I grumbled. To be fair, I'd probably qualify too. But still.
We pushed open the door to his room, and Ahsoka stepped through without a moment's hesitation. Anakin had said he'd left his datapad on the bedside table, so that's where I headed while Ahsoka looked around the living room.
I sighed heavily when I got into the bedroom and found it exactly where he'd said it'd be. Exactly where he'd left it last night, after we'd moved from the couch to the bed in a sleep-haze and watched a few short holos on it before passing out again. I tucked it into my bag, then headed back into the living room.
"Y/N! Look at this!"
I found Ahsoka standing just behind the couch in the living room, waving a t-shirt around in the air. A second later I had a heart attack as I realized it was mine, my favorite casual shirt, that I'd ditched last night in favor of stealing some of Anakin's clothes that also qualified as favorites.
I gave a noncommittal hm, trying to figure out how best to respond and not look incredibly, immediately suspicious, but Ahsoka quickly latched on to my initial response.
"Do you even know what this means?"
I tried not to let the irritation or panic show on my face. "Uh... Anakin's a mess?"
"No! There's no way this is his, he hates this band."
I swore, loudly, in my head. I was going to kill my boyfriend for forgetting his stupid datapad the next time I saw him.
"It means that Skyguy had somebody in here with him! Y/N, what if he's dating somebody?"
"Wow, Ahsoka, that's... wow."
"I wonder who it could be?" she said, talking to herself more than me. She turned away and started pacing the room, my t-shirt held tight in her hand. I tried to think of something, anything, to get out of this situation, but my mind kept drawing a blank. "I mean, who could he have brought into the temple without someone noticing? It's not like other Jedi make a habit of losing clothes in each other's rooms..."
I stood frozen in the doorway to the bedroom, using every ounce of strength and training I'd ever received to keep my expression neutral. There had to be a way out of this, some way to get Ahsoka to drop it and move on-
"Master Kenobi!"
My head snapped up, my heartbeat jumping to lightning speed at Ahsoka's words. Sure enough, Obi-Wan stood in the door with his hands on his hips, watching the two of us.
"What are the two of you doing in here?" he asked. "We're supposed to be leaving in a few minutes."
"Anakin... forgot his datapad..." I said weakly, holding up the object in question. He looked from that, to me and the obvious unease I must've been radiating through the force, to Ahsoka, still holding my shirt in the air. A smile tugged at the corner of his lips.
"I see that. And what do you have, young Padawan?"
"I found this shirt in here," she said, holding it out to him. "I think Master Skywalker might have been... with someone."
Obi-Wan walked over to Ahsoka and pretended to inspect the shirt, stroking his beard and giving a thoughtful 'hm'. The whole time, I focused all my energy on projecting the loudest "NO!" possible at him through the force. He must've heard it, but he was clearly ignoring it.
"Well, that's an easy answer. It belongs to Y/N."
The words were out of his mouth faster than I could stop him. I used the force to grab a pillow off of Anakin's bed and hurled it at Obi-Wan, which he annoyingly ducked. Ahsoka looked between the two of us, mouth open in shock.
"WHAT?"
"They've been dating for quite some time now."
Ahsoka whirled on me. "You and Skyguy told Obi-Wan and not me?"
"They didn't tell me," Obi-Wan continued, jumping in before my brain could unfreeze enough for an answer. I just stared between him and Ahsoka, mouth gaping like a fish. "They're just terrible at hiding it. I caught the two of them kissing behind a column in the Temple when we got back here a few weeks ago."
Ahsoka stared at Obi-Wan in shock, and he looked back, his arms crossed. I finally managed to shake myself out of it, the horror wearing off a little faster than when Obi-Wan had caught me and Anakin. I sighed, walking past both of my friends on my way to the door.
"We might not be as good at hiding it as we want to be, but the two of you are still the only two who know besides Padmé and the 501st, so... do us a favor and keep it to yourselves. And sorry we didn't tell you earlier, Soki."
I didn't miss the look Ahsoka and Obi-Wan exchanged as I passed them, instead choosing to ignore it. We were supposed to be leaving in ten minutes, after all, and now that I had Anakin's datapad there was no reason for me to wait around any longer.
"Do you want me to bring your shirt?"
I froze on the threshold at Ahsoka's question, grimacing. I didn't need to turn around to see Kenboi's smirk. I cleared my throat.
"Yes please, Ahsoka. Thank you."
"Sure thing."
Her tone was teasing, and I knew Anakin and I were going to be hearing about this almost nonstop from his young Padawan. I guess we'd deserve it, since we were apparently much worse at keeping secrets than we thought we were, but still. I wanted to get on board the ship with Anakin as soon as possible so I wouldn't have to take the brunt of the teasing alone.
pairing: din djarin x plus size / reverse age gap / fem!O/C
word count: 6.5K
chapter summary: Din and Marathel talk some more, Din answers some embarrassing questions, and Marathel comes to a new realization.
warnings: angst, sexual situations, mention of sex workers and prostitution, English and Mando'a cursing
***Please feel free to comment, kvetch, or otherwise speak your mind about my work. ***
Read this chapter on Ao3
You Were Marked: Masterlist
You Were Marked: <- Previous Chapter
Din sat up in the cockpit in the dark, the only lights the glowing diodes on the console. He’d had another snoot of Jet Juice since he’d come up here. He wasn’t drunk, strictly speaking, but he had a buzz on that could either turn good or bad, depending on how much he decided to brood over what Marathel had just said to him.
I need to be away from you was the implication, and if he let himself think too much on that, then he’d be rather sore indeed. Of course, she needed time and space to work out who she was and where she fit in and what in Frith she was going to do with herself for the next thirty or so years. The truth was, he wasn’t doing well with any of those things in his own life, either.
I have lived my whole life expecting a certain outcome, under a very specific set of rules that I never questioned, because I knew no different. But there was a comfort in knowing what was coming next, regardless of how miserable I was.
Din sighed. Oh, mesh’la, you took the words right out of my mouth. Haar’chak, Cobb was correct, that sonofabitch. They were very much alike. She resided in the Hold, while he resided in his covert. Both were bound by a strict set of rules, unquestioningly and blindly adhering to them even as they plummeted into an abyss of doubt. At least his Creed, though sometimes stifling, served a purpose! Her Hold, on the other hand, only seemed to exist for torture and misogyny!
And she was below, feeling a mix of pain, confusion, fear, and trepidation. He was experiencing similar emotions. He opened the small drawer beneath the console, where he had relocated the tiny woven raft she had crafted, and the silver flower Cobb had made from her hair. He stroked the silver strands with his fingertip, suddenly missing her as if she were already gone instead of just feet away.
Well, then, kid, why are you sitting up here alone, wasting the last bit of time you have with her?
Taking one last belt of Jet Juice for courage, Din climbed down the ladder, then adjusted his visor for the darkness. He was surprised to see Marathel lying out in the corridor, and even more surprised that she’d laid out a pallet for him. He carefully sat down next to her. She was lying on her back, her trembling hands resting on her ribs just under her breasts. He wondered if her hands would ever heal, if she could ever not wear the splints. He wondered how much pain she was in. He wondered if she would ever consider a romantic relationship with him … or with anyone. He wondered what his daily life would look like without her. He wondered how much he would miss her. He wondered how much Grogu would miss her. He wondered if she would wake up if he kissed her. He wondered if that was a good or bad idea.
Din continued to gaze at the sleeping Marathel, examining her facial wound, the one carved into her by her father. The mark that he no longer saw as a flaw, but as another sign of her bravery and strength. Would she be judged for her very existence, or for the things her blood relatives had done to her, because of that mark? She never spoke in detail about what she had suffered with strangers, but it was as if everyone already knew. Dursi and Meejil both alluded to it. He himself had unfortunately made an off-hand comment to Karga about brutally raped women, so now he knew. Would he spread that information? Din didn’t think Karga would intentionally do that, certainly not in a malicious way.
I should be taking her to Tatooine. Nevarro is a mistake. I should change all the plans and take her to Fennec, Boba, Silnima… and Cobb, even. So what if it’s a place I don’t go on the regular? Then I should make it a priority to go there on the regular! Or I should stay there, too! And Cobb … if she considers Cobb a friend, then I should honor her choice.
Din wondered what buir would advise him to do. Make the right decision, or make the decision right, kid, floated through his thoughts, not that the old axiom was helpful.
Thanks, buir, thanks a kriffing lot!
Again, kid, she’s right there. You’re frittering away the time you have left. She’s already told you what she needs from you. Now, you can honor her request, or you can be a selfish ass. Is that more helpful for you, you little shit?
Damn, Old Man, when I thought an in-my-head voice of my own might be a good idea, I didn’t expect this kind of abuse.
You’d rather hear what those Dahls and that Bishop fuck say to her, kid?
Okay, can I just be drunk instead, buir?
Only if you use it as an excuse to get your arms around that sweet woman, kid.
Din quietly chuckled. He knew the Old Man would like Marathel. And yes, he was drunk enough to use it as an excuse to put his arms around her. One last time. He removed his pauldrons and positioned himself next to her, touching her only with his helmet and his knees as he curled up by her side. Marathel did not wake or move at his touch, so he slowly slid his arm across her waist. She slept on. He smiled, not caring that he was passing out a bit more than dozing off.
He was dreaming of her. She was standing in a small room, facing him, but her face was in darkness. He was reminded of the day he met her, walking up to her hut, only able to see her bottom half while her top half was in shadow.
It’s time, Din. It’s time for you to go.
He didn’t want to abandon her here, in this dimly lit place where he couldn’t see her. He yearned to assure her that he wouldn’t leave; he could never leave. In response, Dream-Marathel removed her shoes, slid them to the side, and uttered, clearly and without any hint of sadness:
This is my home now. It’s time for you to leave me here.
He didn’t want to leave; he had already left her too many times! They had said goodbye to each other far too often, trying to drive each other away due to hurt, misunderstanding, anger, and fear. However, in this dream, his subconscious dragged him away until he could no longer see her.
Din awoke to a view of a mass of wavy hair that brushed against his visor. Silver strands had worked their way into his helmet and were catching on his beard stubble, tickling his lips. He was big-spooning her again, huddled against her back, feeling his arm rise and fall with her breath as it draped over her waist. His other arm supported her neck, and his bare hand held hers – he'd not put his gloves back on. He wanted to never wear gloves again, but would, if it meant he could hold her hand.
Marathel was not quite awake yet not asleep, either. Her bent knees squeezed his, and her lower half pressed back against him. She felt the weight of his arm as it rested on her waist. She felt the slight flex of his bicep under her neck. She felt the pressure of his bare fingers on her hand – he must have not put his gloves back on. She wondered if she would someday have the privilege of holding his hand again.
Not knowing if she was awake, but deciding to chance it anyway, Din whispered, “Marathel?”
Marathel whispered back, “Din?”
They lay in the dark, unsure now of what to say or do, now that they knew the other was awake. Finally, Din whispered, “I hope it’s all right I’m here.”
“I did make a place for you if you decided to join me. You never gave me a chance to answer before you stomped off like a gwr’dwp bai,” said Marathel.
Din said, “You know … Earlier, we managed to talk, really talk to each other, and ... I don’t know when we’ll get to talk again, Marathel. Could we please talk some more?”
“I don’t see why not. Here, let me turn over.” Din immediately lifted his arm to accommodate her and watched her turn over with a series of grunts. He smiled, thinking about how she sounded like an old lady, and how he felt like an old man, and maybe how a couple of old people could get older together. He lowered his arm to rest on her waist again. He was gazing at her face when Marathel said, “Please turn up the lights, Din. I want to be able to see you, since I know you’re able to see me in the dark. Fair’s fair.”
“But … all you’ll see is my helmet.”
Marathel sighed. “Well … that’s how it is.” This is the way, thought Din, then he turned up the lights. Marathel gazed into his visor — his face, his eyes, as far as I will ever be concerned, for I will never know any other face of Din Djarin — before saying, “I hope you’re all right about what I was saying earlier. About I believe should happen between us.”
He was not all right with it, not at all. What he felt for her was visceral, feral, not unlike the protective emotions he had for the kid. Where she would rip out her heart and break it for Grogu, he would do the same — just with someone else’s heart. Bad men kill for love, and I am a bad man. He’d killed many people to protect Grogu. He’d decapitated someone for burning a pair of socks she’d made. Still, he had to honor her request, not only because she deserved honor — and she’d been given so little honor in her life — but it was what a true Mandalorian would do. And it was his Creed. And finally, he did not wish to be a selfish ass. “What you said was perfectly logical. You have suffered so much, and you are … so damaged. You need time to heal physically, emotionally. You must take time to … get better.”
“Well, then, that’s …”
Din blurted, “But are you feeling all right?” Marathel blinked. “I mean … Do you hurt? Your hand? Your … anything? Please don’t just say, ‘I'm okay, I’m all right.’”
My anything? Marathel quirked her eyebrow. “My hand feels much better. Grogu insisted on healing it before we started dancing. I don’t think I could have done all that arm-waving otherwise.”
“I’m glad he was willing to help you out,” said Din with a sigh.
“What are you saying?”
“Oh … Grogu was angry at me because of how I treated you on Corsin. He sassed me a good one, too. Then he showed me some of your blood on the floor ... Ni ceta, Marathel; I am sorry for what I did, what I said … whatever it was.”
“Wha— … You don’t even remember what you said?”
“No,” said Din, grimacing. “I was angry, frightened, worried …”
“You said, ‘get in the fucking cockpit, you stupid woman.’”
Din groaned inwardly. “Dank ferrik.” The one thing, the one thing she’s that most hurt by. I am the worst. “Marathel, I am so sorry. My actions were inexcusable, and my words were the cruelest thing I could have ever said. I will never say such things to you again.”
Marathel briefly hummed her sound of disapproval but decided to let it go now. After all, he had apologized about half-dozen times! So, she affected a little smirk and said tartly, “You better not, ni asth’mabh. That means, ‘you son of a bitch’, by the way.”
Din chuckled. “I will add that to the list of things you’ve deservedly called me.”
“I have a feeling you’ve been called that often, Bounty Hunter.”
“You’re not wrong.” Even my own mother, for kriff’s sake. “Do I need to rhaff codieh as well?”
“Yes, give that a try.” She scoffed and said, “This chat isn’t going well for us, isn’t it?”
Din shrugged. “I wouldn’t say that; it seems like you’re winning.” She pulled a face and punched him in the bicep. “Ow! Damn, woman, did you have to hit me right where you stabbed me with that knitting needle?”
“You deserved it then, and you deserve it now.” Din groaned; then they both laughed for a moment. “Din, may I see that … adornment you wear on your wrist?”
“I beg your pardon?”
“You have something, made of yarn, tied around your wrist. You didn’t have it on Unmanarall. I don’t recall ever seeing it until we were headed back.” Din didn’t answer, but he rubbed his wrist where the yarn bracelet was. “There, under your wrist-fire-shooter thing. Why do you have that?”
“It’s nothing …”
“No! Not nothing! Why won’t you tell me what that is?”
Din pulled off his vambrace and rolled up his sleeve. “It is nothing, Marathel. It’s just a bracelet made of yarn.”
“When did you get it?”
“Why does that matter, Marathel?”
“Why won’t you just answer me?”
“I bought it on Nevarro, from children in the marketplace.”
“Why?”
“To give to you. I wanted to give you a token … a gift. Cobb tied it on, while we were drinking, when you went off to the Reconstructionists. He said he’d take the knot out when you came back.” Din sighed deeply, and they both thought about how everything changed for them at that time. “It’s just a friendship bracelet. Children wear bracelets like these. You tie it on your friend’s wrist. Supposedly, if you remove it — or if it breaks and falls off — the person is no longer your friend.”
“You would remove … I am no longer your friend?”
“No, you are my friend. I originally meant it as a romantic gesture, but now … things are different. I’d like to keep it because … it reminds me of you.” Din concealed the bracelet, but his discomposure was evident. “Besides, you have your pendant. Why did you make that?”
“Oh …” said Marathel with a shrug. “Grogu gave me the clam shell, of course. I made the yarn part during the night, right before we took the eggs to the Hold. I made it because … I wanted there to be some proof that there was a family that lived there. A clan of three, as you might say. That it was real. That it was true.” Marathel’s eyes misted over and she sniffled.
Din leaned forward and held his forehead to hers, thinking that it had been real to him, as much as it apparently had for her. “It was true enough, cyar’e.”
Marathel’s hand reached out, and her thumb gripped his jaw under his helmet, caressing his sparse beard, and she sobbed. “I left it hanging on my loom, when you took me to the Hold. I never expected to see it again. But when I came back, and I found the dead women at my hut … I put it on. I was so full of rage, but I needed you and Grogu for strength. It was the only way I had enough courage to go back into that Hold to kill those men. And I figured that if I were going to die, I was going to take the memory of you and Grogu with me.”
Din couldn’t think of anything to say to that, so he reached for another cloth to give her, but came up empty. “I’m sorry, ma’mwsh ha’laa, you cleaned me out.” He gently wiped away her tears with the pads of his thumbs. Awkward moments passed as they gazed at each other, each wondering what they should do or say next … and then one of the carbonite shells started beeping.
Din reluctantly rolled to his feet to check the life support systems of his bounties. Marathel got up to grab a couple of cleaning papers from the nearby vac tube. “Are they all right in there?” she asked, blowing her nose.
“Relatively. They’ll both have bad headaches, temporary blindness …”
“Blindness?”
“They won’t be able to see for a while. It’s part of hibernation sickness. They’ll be fine. Not that I give a shit, especially Marklar. I’m sorry about what he said and did to you.”
Marathel shrugged it off. “I didn’t understand half of what he said anyway. Stuff about … prostitutes and whorehouses. How he used to know you. Something about a … what was it? ‘A skinny lady-boy Twi’lek.’”
Din turned to Marathel. “He said what now?”
“Um …” Marathel puffed out her cheeks and affected a deep voice. “‘Last piece of ass I saw him with more than once was a skinny boy-girl-looking Twi’lek. Always figured him for a ladyboy fucker.’ Whatever all that meant.”
Din grunted quietly under his helmet, then adjusted Marklar’s life-support settings. Okay, you sack of shit, see how you like twenty-five percent less oxygen in there. Suck on that, you fat fuck. To Marathel, he said, “He was referring to this woman I was running around with at the time.”
Marathel asked carefully, “Was she a skinny boy-girl-looking Twi’lek?”
“She was — is thin, yes, and she is a Twi’lek. Her name is Xi’an.”
He prefers thin women? These Twi’lek women? “She was your lover?” asked Marathel, wondering how many lovers there had been.
Din shrugged, remembering that their relationship — such as it was — began with them looking at each other as they crossed paths on the small ship the crew traveled in. The next thing he knew, Xi’an had grabbed his belt and snarled, fuck me hard and make it hurt, Mando. He recalled that he fucked her roughly, per her request, and then bitch-slapped her for grabbing at his helmet. And so, it began. Din wondered briefly if it was better or worse than starting a relationship with Marathel under the thrall of psyche-bonded humping critters that made him more boner than brain. He hoped Marathel would never ask him about how he remembered that night. “You could say that.”
Marathel quietly said, “I shouldn’t have asked. I have no right to ask anything like that.”
“No, no. You can ask. I’ll answer as best I can.”
“Was she one of the people with you when you were injured by the big boom?”
“When I stepped on the land mine? Yes, she was.”
“I’m glad. I’m glad you had someone like her to care for you,” said Marathel as she sat back down on the bedroll. “She was pretty?”
Din shrugged again, joining Marathel on the floor. “I found her… attractive, yes. I saw her recently, as well as most of the rest of crew I used to run with. She looked well. Still had the same smart mouth I remembered.”
Marathel smiled at that. “Why would this Marklar refer to her as a ‘lady-boy’, whatever that is, then?”
“Well … that actually would be new for you, wouldn’t it,” wondered Din. “On Unmanarall, there were males and females … and nothing in between?”
“What in Frith would be in between?”
Haar’chak. Walked right into that one, didn’t I? “Without going too far into it, Marathel … well, let me put it this way. You only knew of humans, people like you and me, until you saw Grogu for the first time, right?”
“Well, yes, of course. And he frightened me quite a bit, if I recall.”
Din chuckled. “Well, most species have not only male and female, but other genders … gender being a social construct to differentiate between male, female, and whatever else there may be for those people … or species …”
“Oh, Din … I can’t make any sense of that.” Marathel sighed. “Perhaps the doctors can explain it better. Or a holo.”
Din was relieved. “I suspect Siewan and Ya-Bito would also be a good source for that kind of information,” he said. “I think they will be good friends to you.”
“I liked them. They were good to me. They both kept their pinky swears.”
“I’m familiar with pinky swears. They are as binding a contract in this galaxy as friendship bracelets,” Din said, so sagely that Marathel laughed.
“Pinky swears, friendship bracelets … I thought I needed to grow up, but adults seem to act like children everywhere!”
“I’m a man, so I’m already perpetually childish, as well as deficient in knowledge about women …” — this made Marathel laugh again, which made Din’s heart sing — “… but I believe you need women friends. I would think that women, in general, will be more empathetic to the torture you’ve suffered.” Din reached for her hand, gently holding it while stroking one of the metal spirals. “Between the Hold and the Dahls, your body was never your own, the one thing in this life you should be able to hold possession of. And I’m sorry for my part in it all.”
Marathel scoffed ruefully. “You are the first man to ever treat me with any honor at all, and you believe you’ve treated me poorly, a Mandalorian. Treating me, me, poorly, when you’ve been the best of men to me. Your worst would have been better than the treatment I’ve received in all my fifty miserable years of existence! And now I know that, that my entire life was … wrong, it makes everything somehow worse.”
“I’m not a good man, Marathel …”
“I know bad men — a bad man never would have treated me with the care and kindness you have the entire time I’ve known you. Even that first night of mating, when I was so frightened.”
Din swallowed, then he quietly asked, “I … I’ve been wanting to ask … what do you remember? About that first night of mating.”
Marathel turned pink. “What number day was that?”
“Day three.” Marathel didn’t respond. He offered, “You’ve told me that you were there, that you were aware of what was happening, but it wasn’t quite you.”
Marathel shrugged. “I remember you were gentle with me.”
Helmet tilt. “I don’t remember it being that gentle.”
“Perhaps, but consider what I was accustomed to,” scoffed Marathel. “I remember you putting my feet back on the floor. I remember you asking me if I were all right. I recall thinking the next day that I didn’t know that kind of care and gentleness and fulfillment could exist. I felt … safe for the first time.” She looked up into his visor and smiled shyly. “I’m still glad it was you with me that night.”
Din felt his face grow hot. “Yet you still threw eggs at my head the next day.”
And yet you agreed to stay with me the next night. You told me you wanted to. “I don’t doubt that many women have thrown things at you, you tymffod. I suspect even your Xi’an hurled things at your head.”
Din shrugged. “Not so much. She threw like a girl.”
After a few moments, Marathel got up the courage to ask, “Would you … would you have considered her to enter a riduur—?”
“No, of course not. Not with her.” He noticed the briefest flicker of dismay cross her brow, and then he was afraid that she would ask if there had been someone. And then, who.
Marathel, however, was only concerned that it wasn’t her, either. And why would it be her? He had told her that his affection for her was less than his devotion to his Creed. And he allegedly now loved her, and he almost showed her his face, but still … only accidentally. Not consciously, not deliberately. Because, after all, she was no Mandalorian! He was never going to ask her to be his riduur. Never equal, because he was a man and she was a female and that was how it was. She decided to leave that alone and instead ask Din more questions while she had the chance. “If I may ask … please tell me more of whorehouses? I’d like to know more about the women who work there.”
Din cleared his throat again, knowing that he hadn’t answered her well enough, but relieved she moved on from Xi’an and riduuroks. “Men too, Marathel. Not just women. Anyone, any gender, any species can be sex workers.”
Really? “‘Sex workers?’ That’s the right term?”
“I prefer it.”
“And these sex workers do so of their own free will?”
“Legitimate brothels — that’s the better term for whorehouses — are legal in many places, and the workers are well-paid as well as protected, health and safety-wise. Sometimes they are highly regarded in their society. It’s different from planet to planet. Unfortunately, yes, some are forced into work against their wills, in slavery. It’s still a very dangerous and sometimes ugly profession.”
“Children? Red Rooms?” asked Marathel, her voice barely above a whisper. Din nodded. “Fennec had mentioned such places. I had hoped they weren’t true. Did you … work for this Marklar?
“My work for him was for legitimate brothels, as far as I knew. He transported women among several properties owned by the same person. My job was to protect the sex workers and oversee their safety.”
Din shifted, and it suddenly occurred to Marathel how uncomfortable Din was. “I’m sorry. This is another difficult thing for you to speak of.”
“No, no, I … it’s fine.”
“I was not going to ask you of your personal experience in such places. Not that it matters, of course …” —this prompted a definitive helmet tilt from Din — “… I just don’t know much, and I know you will answer me as best you can. I never intended to offend or be improper.”
Din wondered just how deep he wanted this conversation to go. “You … just said ‘not that it matters.’ What did you mean by that?”
“Oh. Just that … men will do as men will do. That is their right, yes? To do as they wish. And men must fulfill their physical needs. Even a Mandalorian must, I’m sure. I would only hope that you were kind to these sex workers.”
Din carefully considered his next words. “Let me ask you this … from what I understand about how the Whyns and the Elders did things … the Whyns performed a duty, essentially.” Marathel nodded. “Consent on your part, on a woman’s part, was never part of the equation?”
“Eeek-way-zhun?”
“You never gave consent, or permission. You were expected to perform as commanded.”
“Of course. Not that we knew any different. Our place was to fulfill the demands of the men. And anyway, if we didn’t obey, they’d hurt us.”
“So, there were never any romantic expressions between the men and the women? A Brwddyr who had affection for a certain Whyn?”
“Well, I suppose that did happen from time to time. After all, that was usually how a child of mixed houses happened. Even I …”. Marathel colored and looked down at her hands.
“You …?”
“I’ve said how I thought Hunters were nice to look at, yes? Brown eyes and brown hair.” Marathel twisted a lock of hair around her fingers. “There was a Hunter boy. He was younger than me. I know that because I remember his birth. He was nice to me.”
“Was he?”
“He didn’t kick me, hit me, or do anything like that,” Din felt dismay, realizing that the absence of pain meant kindness to her. “He kissed me once,” Marathel admitted with a small smile. “That was my only other kiss, besides yours. But then, he hurt me just like all the others,” she said, sadly.
“I’m sorry, Marathel.”
“I suppose all of us women desperately craved kindness, even if it was false. Then, they would suddenly turn cruel once they had us where they wanted us. But we never stopped hoping that the men would simply refrain from hurting us for once. And at the same time, we were too afraid to comfort each other, because …” The memory resurfaced, the one that was too painful to discuss with the doctors. However, she now felt an overwhelming urge to unburden herself, and she reached for Din’s hands as she began to cry. “Once were two women, Madel and Lyrne … who …”— Marathel kept having to compose herself — “… found comfort in each other. Affection … and I suppose pleasure with each other.”
Din gently squeezed her hands. “And they were punished for it.”
“Well, of course. How dare they, right? How dare they steal their cunts from men, how dare they not have a cock inside them, how dare they behave like a man would.” Marathel dropped her head and whimpered. “The first thing they did was cut their hair. If they were going to fuck like men, then they should look like men, right? But … but …” Marathel took a deep breath, then another. “The Captain was the most cruel and despicable of the Elders. It wasn’t enough for him to simply cut their hair, whip them, beat them, or rape them. Not even the cunt mark, like the one the Bishop gave me, or even the Dilimgau, would have been sufficient for him at that moment. Because the women were both Captains, too, and by their actions… they denied him what was rightfully his.” She looked up into Din’s visor, tears spilling over. “He took … he took a … knife … and he … he …” She gripped Din’s hands tightly, her shoulders shaking, before she pulled one of her hands loose, and drew her finger across her brow.
“He sliced their foreheads?” asked Din.
“Not just …” Marathel’s voice failed again. She closed her eyes tightly as she cried for a few moments. Then, she lifted her hand to her forehead and made a pulling motion from her brow over the top of her head.
Oh, mesh’la. “He … he scalped them?” asked Din. She nodded. Din swiftly pulled her into his arms as she wept. Din wept with her briefly, unfortunately also familiar with that horrible popping sound that was probably seared into her memory — except for the fact he’d been on the giving end of that torture, and now he felt even more defective. “I’m sorry … I am so sorry. What a kriffing monster … I wish he were still alive so I could kill him for you.”
In a tiny voice against his shoulder, Marathel said, “Really?”
“Really. Any way you wanted him to suffer.” He stroked Marathel’s hair, still gently rocking her back and forth. “What was the name of the boy who kissed you?”
“Talric.”
“Talric ap Hunter?” He felt her nod. “He hurt you?” She nodded again. “Did you kill him?” After a moment, she shook her head. “No?”
“He did it himself,” she sobbed. Then she whispered, “I wish I had. He helped … with the Dilimgau.”
Din wanted to howl into the void. He wanted to destroy the galaxy. He wanted to turn back time. He squeezed her tight and growled, “I wish he were still alive so I could watch you kill him. I wish you could kill him twice.” I wish you could use that Dilimgau on him.
Marathel felt weight lift from her soul at Din’s vehement reply. She took a deep breath and said, “I hadn’t thought about that day for the longest time. I went still while talking to the doctors … well, no, not still so much as wobbly. My boxes fell apart,” she said with a sad laugh. Then she dropped her face into her hands and began to cry once more.
Din rocked her for a little while, then he sighed. “And here I am, wishing I’d taken this opportunity to turn off the lights, remove my helmet, and kiss you.”
She gave him a hard shove before scuttling backwards against the door to Din’s quarters. “No, Din. I told you …”
“I …” began Din.
“I told you, no more …”
“Yes, I know! I know.” He sighed deeply. “I know. I meant to only … comfort you. I’m sorry. This is all … difficult for me.”
“This is … all difficult for me, too, Din. But I can’t hold all these boxes at the same time. I can’t balance my broken mind box while holding my how do I feel about Din box, and you’re being so confusing as well, and my mind is all a jumble.”
“How you feel about … wait, I’m being confusing?”
“Yes! You … pushed me away when you kissed me in the hotel, you tell me your affection for me is lacking, yet you tell me you love me and you … you …” Marathel felt her face go hot as she thought about him grunting her name as he pleasured himself in the cockpit. “I don’t know how to feel about you. I don’t know to feel about anything, Din. I’m … afraid to have feelings, especially for another person.”
Din sighed. “I’m just worried that you’ll figure out that I’m not your type,” he said.
“Oh, Din. You have brown hair and brown eyes, like a Hunter. I told you that I thought the Hunters were attractive.”
“And they reminded you of trees.”
“You remembered.”
I’ll remember everything about you, cyar’e. Din said, “I’m sorry for being confusing. I know I’m confusing because I’m confused myself. I don’t know how to be around you, because … you’re the first woman that’s meant this much to me.” You hold my heart, ner’ karta.
“I believe you; I do. But… I can’t. I can’t think about any of that; it’s all too much.” Before Din could reply or comment on that, she said, “Please, Din, tell me, what day is it now?”
Din turned up the lights as he checked his chronometer. “It’s officially day thirty-six.”
“How long until we get there? Will it be day or night?”
“It, uh … will be another six hours, and it will be mid-afternoon when we get there. Well before sundown, though.”
Marathel, suddenly anxious, said, “That gives me some time to get ready … change my clothes …”
“You look just fine …”
“I want to make a good impression on my new home! May I use the fresher?”
“Of course. I’ll take Grogu into the cockpit with me,” said Din, pushing himself to stand. He quietly went into his quarters and collected the still-sleeping Grogu, swaddling him in his favorite blankie along with old Fawg.
Din carried him over to Marathel. She gazed down at the little boy, and whispered, “I could look at that face forever.”
“You can.” Her head snapped up. Din continued, “Get your holopad; I’ll teach you how to take a holo.” Marathel found her pad, and Din walked her through finding the proper application and taking the still holo.
This little action brought Marathel immense joy. I get to keep this little fragment of him! She looked up into Din’s visor, saying, “Oh, I wish I’d known about this sooner! I would have made so many more!”
Din chuckled. “Dank ferrik. I suppose we will have to do some family portraits later.”
“We can? Can we? All three of us? Please say we can!” exclaimed Marathel, practically bouncing on her heels.
“Yes, ma’mwsh ha’laa. I’d like that too.”
Marathel squeezed his arm, very near tears. “Thank you, Din.”
“We’ll leave you alone down here. Just knock when you’re done.” He handed off Grogu so he could climb up the ladder. She lifted the boy up for Din to take, their fingers touching once more, time stopping yet again. “Oh. Um … I won’t be … I won’t.” Din pointed towards his helmet. Marathel looked back at him, confused.“I won’t listen. All monitors, all audio off, I promise.”
“I believe you.” Marathel turned away and headed to find her things. Din closed the door. Suddenly, the voice of Old Girl whispered slyly in her ear:
Besides, you and the Bounty Hunter are even on the eavesdropping game. That was your name he was calling out last night, wasn’t it?
Marathel’s face went pink. Old Girl!
May I give you a bit of advice, Marathel Moon?
Marathel rolled her eyes. That’s why I keep you around, Old Girl.
Tell him.
… there’s no point, Old Girl.
Tell him, Marathel Moon.
Marathel buried her head in her hands. What should I tell him? Should I confess my love for him? Should I express my inability to see my life without him by my side, as he has been these past thirty-six days?
Or should I confide in him that, because I’m physically unable to be the woman he deserves, that I fear my only worth lies in providing him sex, and that I’m terrified I would be discarded once someone else comes along, no matter what his words of love are?
Or should I tell him that I’m just now realizing that being only his sexual partner isn’t sufficient for me? That I deserve all of him, not just what is permitted by his Creed? Should I acknowledge that even though I am not a Mandalorian, I should be able to see his face, possess his whole self, body and soul, and have him belong fully to me and only me? And that I deserve nothing less? That if I can’t be his riduur, I’d rather be nothing at all to him?
Marathel gasped at her own audacity, not believing the depth of the truth that she was finally acknowledging, but then Old Girl’s sweet whisper tickled her ear:
Gif credit by @ahsokastars Divider credit by @saradika
Pairing: Din Djarin x reader (no use of y/n)
Words: 3,062
Rating: Teen+
Warnings: tw: hospitals, minor descriptions of injury, descriptions of anxiety, resolved angst, worried Mando is worried, but extemely gentle. crying, feels w/a happy ending, gn reader
A/N: Back from an accidental haitus! Fortunately, I have a few fics to crank out at a hopefully quick pace, so enjoy a bit of Mando comfort! Had a piercing headache while writing most of this, so tis fitting~
Summary:
It's clear by the sounds and smells; you're in a med ward, likely still on Londor somewhere. It's drafty and deathly quiet, so you doubt even the heat is running in these rooms.
As your memories seep back in from the moments leading up to the accident, there's much you don't recall at first. Last you remembered was suggesting to switch roles: bounty hunter and getaway driver swapped between your Mandalorian's expertise and yours for this job. It'd be worth it, surely, since you were in a rare position to come through with a good contact and 'you could handle it, just this once'.
Until you've wound up here: you with a round of rushed stitches and your Mandalorian resting next to you in full armor-- and he’s holding onto your hand in sleep.
The lights of the room finally come to life after you wake from your black-and-white dreams... once you will your eyes to open up to your Beskar Getaway Driver.
For my Star Wars | Mandalorian Masterlist, check it out here!
Read on Ao3
There's few weirder feelings in the galaxy than coming out of a forced subsonic sleep.
Rather than remaining blissfully suspended in a bacta chamber, worlds that couldn't afford those tanks used this: pacs of portable, bubbly liquid that quick-started healing through an IV bag, the old fashioned way. It's effective, for the most part. Only it’s thick and cold, like you could feel it enter and sift through you with every ebb of your pulse...
When you opened your eyes -only a moment, mind you- you only barely caught the blurred color— purple. But this exhaustion, it was bone deep. Your eyes fell shut as quickly as they'd opened. The very lashes of your eyes felt like they were sticking together uncomfortably by some Force: tempting you with 'five more minutes' while your will screams to 'wake up already'.
It's clear by the sounds and smells; you're in a med ward somewhere. It's drafty and deathly quiet, so you doubt even the heat is on in these rooms. A grace that there is a blanket atop you, this you can tell only by the feel of it weighing down your arms.
By each of your senses, you gather this is not a standard hospital. Mando swore off those quick-service med stations, because they-- no, surely--
All at once, your gut sank. A heavy thickness rose in your throat, the nausea flared within you. It's right at your mouth now, as you remembered:
You and your stupid ass ideas.
You remembered through the fog of these drugs, the ones that matched the stuffy feeling in your ears; the bits of the last few hours that echoed in your chest in synchronized, double beats.
Thought you had a great idea, did you? Your mission pitch? Switching roles: leave your Mandalorian to sort out the getaway ride and meet you at the extraction rendezvous.
This has been an exercise of trust already, suggesting this job. He deferred to you as the lead on this one, for the connections inside the complex were yours to begin with– which prompted the idea of trading responsibilities, too. In every way, this was as good a time as ever for you to try your hand at bounty hunting and make off with the pay grade since it was your intel. You held the cards– a winning hand with this plan.
You hazily recalled that it went well, at least up until the very, very end where you needed the fast exit and didn’t have the luxury of his muscle as backup. No, he was practically spinning his wheels at the pickup point, waiting for you to hurry it up, for once.
You remembered holding onto your Mandalorian partner-in-crime for dear life and having to intervene as a backseat driver. You remember thanking the Maker and every celestial god out there that there was too much electromagnetic activity surging above you in this energy depot for anyone to be foolish enough to follow and shoot at you.
But this, the last part of the plan, you remember all too well.
The nagging itch of your nerve’s warnings and hypotheticals you'd covered over the rec table in the hull of the ship? It came to the forefront with a guilty vengeance. You remembered Mando’s initial doubts and how you turned the tables by making this about trust and reciprocity, and nearly challenging him. You can vividly see him bristling back, and your smug-as-hell words that ‘riding a cinder-fuel bike was like muscle memory that you could never forget’, and that he’d be just fine. You remember the elation of getting your way, and earning the chance to call the shots.
You remembered…
One lane change from the projected route, Mando took a reasonable detour without asking first. You might have warned him against it had you not been watching the rear mirrorcams. But where that turn took you both was just one ill-timed jump, slamming the brakes -ah, yes- just a moment too soon before you could warn him about the auto-stall function of the speeder bike that would send you both flying off the tarmac entirely…
Mando’s quick thinking is typically invaluable in the zero gravity of space. But here, making those hard rights will make you crash: and that’s why you’re usually the driver on the ground. Always.
Accidents. Too-close calls. The kind that's gonna get you killed– or near to it.
You will never be doing that again.
‘Stick to your lanes’, he said, likely unaware of the apt wordplay; ‘--Now’s not the time to start switching things up just because you’re bored.’
Only now you could only manage one thought–
Not 'how bad is it' or 'where the kriff am I' or 'please tell me I have all my limbs attached'. Not 'can’t they play some music in this place' or 'am I dead right now'.
Where is he. Where is he, where is he, where is he.
You need him. Your Mandalorian. Good god– if you crashed, he would have too. He would have hit the ground right after you, and his feet were set in the metal guards prior to spinning out, meaning he would have been sealed to the deathtrap, if he didn’t release in time.
Fear brought your eyes to squint open, and you found the ashy purple fluid pac in its fullness hanging in suspension above your cot. You didn’t process the shiny quality of the bag earlier, but rather, how it looked in its reflection: the sight of it on Mando’s helmet as it laid on the bed, by your side. That vibrant color shone against the curve of his chromed helm in a vague copy of the original.
Your Mandalorian rests next to you in full beskar, and he’s holding onto your hand in sleep.
While the visor is turned to face the monitor high over your shoulder, you know he can’t be awake. His breaths are deep and long– you can watch it over the bump of those broad shoulders. Should you take a look across the expanse of him, all across where that brilliant armor shines, you take in all the colors of the room.
Emergency lights casting their gold glow, the odd dotting of red from the distorted curve of a heat lamp, the purple of your medicines, the electric teal of LEDs bringing inspection light to the space, and of course the harsh, medicinal glow of white– the bare minimum to see your steps along the floors. Why bother looking at your surroundings and moving your hurting neck, when looking at him can tell you everything you need to know?
It’s your not-so-secret way to take in the flurry of hyperspace, too. All these months, you’ve watched the streaks paint his helm and chest plates. The wonders of your galaxy -big and small- all reflect in him.
If he’s here, you wonder with renewed worry, then he must not be hurt. But– what happened to him then? And where’s the kid?!
Your thoughts clearly rang loudly through whatever aether those stories of the Jedi referenced, because the surprised chirrup of the little green Child you’d made space in your heart for cried out in the dead silence– and subsequently popped Mando’s head up in an instant. His visor shot over his shoulder, in which you saw the Child stand up in his pod and wave at you with a big smile on his face. Without turning much, you made to wave your free hand up so he could see your response.
The mere attempt to smile shot a searing sting back to your face on one side, and brought a moan from your still-thick throat. Unseen by your wince, Mando centered back to you in that moment of shutting your eyes against the flare of pain.
He calls for you in a whisper, but it’s shaky. Wet.
The Child bounces in the pram making happy, enthused noises as he expresses his relief that you’re awake. His performance aims to try and get his Carer to come pick him up and to get a closer look. Mando says something to abate him for the meantime and instead straightens himself, rolls closer to you from the stool he’s seated on.
“Hey-” Mando welcomes you back to the land of the living, “Hey, you.”
You don’t answer. The pain starts pounding and is not letting up.
“Easy now, relax-” Mando’s instruction reaches you, “Don’t tense– we don’t want those to open.”
Those?
With a new sink in your chest, your very core muscles fluttered from creeping anxiety. They tensed and shook already, so there was no prayer in willing yourself to make a move to sit up yet. Taking a deep enough breath would cause them to sieze, certainly. The numbness, next, became apparent to all your limbs. ‘Til now, these drugs kept you asleep and impervious to the pain in your–where is it, your face? Neck? Your helmet had stayed on, but now it was off. Your worry mounted, since the data chip you’d recovered was supposedly safe in its hiding spot you’d kept along the back charging compartment. With it off, you panicked that it was gone now and all this had been for nothing.
Maybe something broke inside and tore past the padding, and that’s why it cut up your face. Dammit, you liked that helmet. Mando made all those custom adjustments for you…
A terse exhale out, and you can feel how tight your lips are.
You squeezed your eyes tight for a beat, then your brows. You wrenched your mouth to the side until you felt tightness. Sting. There it is, on your cheek: curving up along your hairline, to your temple where you know you've felt Mando kiss you in the dead and dark of night.
There are stitches laid there now where his affections once made their home. After the pull of pain, there was a faint tickle, meaning the artificial seams were quickly done and left finished in a rush.
Trying to speak on your confusion, a little, pitiful noise left you.
“Wayy– m’helmt…”
Mando pieces together your words, seamlessly on track with your concerns.
“I have it,” he readily assures you, “The faceshield shattered when you fell, and bashed in one side– only the outer plating of the chip cracked. The rest is fine.”
It’s a quick summary, but gives you that small peace of mind. Buckets can be replaced. Though your cheek– that’ll take a bit longer to repair, nature’s way.
“It’s okay, kid,” Mando answers the nervous gargle of the Child, “Just try to–; no, wait there.”
His hand left yours and while the meds still left you feeling drugish, you felt the loss of that heat source and your nerves faltered. Just that subconscious warmth soothed you like nothing else in this room would, save maybe for the feel of the little munchkin curling up on your chest like he does in the cockpit.
You wish you knew his name. Something beyond ‘sweet boy’ and ‘lil bub’.
You wish you knew his, too. Whatever language it’s in, however short or long it falls off the tongue. Just anything. Something more tender than ‘ace’ or ‘boss’ or ‘honey’.
The way he moved, quick and at the ready, the Mandalorian must not be injured at all. Perhaps there was something to being encased in armor at all times…
“--n’okay. w‘ll do bubblewrap.”
“--what?” Mando turned down to you with absent confusion.
With a funny, tired smirk, you reiterated, “N’think I need a suit of bubblewrap. Yknow– like y’do for vases and shit? Make a living off tha’idea, if no one’s done it yet..”
Despite the circumstances, a huff of air left him- something close to a chuckle.
“How about we work on getting what’s under the bubblewrap better for now? We’ll workshop your side hustles later.”
You savored his laugh and agreed, “Fair ‘nuff.”
The Child’s coos were louder now. Mando must have brought the pod over with that little remote he kept in one of his million secret pockets. Just that tune made you feel infinitely better in this strange setting; like you were simply dozing off in the cockpit with their exchanges -back and forth- as your ambient noise. Of course you wished this attention were under better circumstances, but judging by the constant beeps overhead, you’ll clearly live.
Though not without its scare, it seems. Mando ran his fingers up and down your forearm,
“Outta run a test on you for brain function, too.”
He had to be mad. No matter how softly he spoke, his disappointment was palpable.
“M’sorry,” you offered sadly, just staring off at the beskar design on his chest.
But Mando surprised you once again. After a solemn quiet, even though he had every ground to say a firm ‘I told you so’, he offered a balm to your hurt pride.
“I’ve had my share of bad ideas.”
While not a full acceptance of forgiveness, it wasn’t cruel. You’d take it. After all, your stunt ended up with you in a medward– likely at his expense, which couldn’t have been cheap to come by in these parts. A swallow and a slight shiver reminded you just how uncomfortable that stim made you.
“At least yours was thought out..” Mando continued more gravely,”– mine is what got you almost killed.”
You perked up at that. What, the jump? “No you didn’t…”
“I should have waited. You know the roads, I should have asked you about the turnoff.”
“There was an overhang. Vis woulda been low for anyone, ev’n me-”
“You’re my partner,” Mando landed firmly, “The responsibility is mine when I’m in the seat. If something happens to you, I am at fault.”
These were testier comebacks than you typically heard from him. Emotions were clearly coming out in droves, and that, too, took you by surprise. Not the fact that he was acting caring -you knew he was, by nature- but that he would blame himself to this extent? That seemed unfair. You could go back and forth on which step of this plan’s failures could have been anticipated. In the end, none of that would help you in the present.
You tried to ease that guilt, as succinctly as your drug haze would let you.
“Goes both ways,” you countered gently, fatigue dragging your words down, “We both know that. Accidents happen; s’pecially in this line a’work.”
You flipped your palm over; he laid his inside. You just wanted him.
“Please don’t beat yourself up for this. Heck, I’m beat up enough for both of us.”
You tried at a joke, but it did little to fall on receptive ears.
Even though you gave an empathetic look as best as you could manage, it seemed to only make him more alert. He sat up and squared up, evenly set to keep your attention. Careful of his reach -shaken by nerves- your Mando ever so gently cupped the uninjured side of your face.
“You and this kid are holding what little heart I have left.” the Mandalorian begged of you softly, “I really can’t lose you now.”
The monitor’s beep increased– though by the look on your face melting into fondness, your protector wasn’t worried about the noise.
Sentimental metalhead, you preened at such talk. Knowing he let loose this deeper side of him free while he was with you warmed you through.
A sensor still lays tethered on your finger for monitoring, but you brought it up anyway to hold his wrist still… to welcome his touch. All you could really manage was a small, borderline kiss to his thumb that was close enough to the corner of your mouth to try reaching with minimal movement.
As you recentered to his visor, the staticky noise from his vocoder returned, and with it, the jostle of his shoulders.
Your eyes stung,too. “Are you–? You ok?”
The Mandalorian forced back a brave sniff. Steeled his voice and his nervous throat.
“This was a close one,” he warned. “I don’t like close.”
Despite clear feelings staining his throat, you didn’t have the luxury of knowing if his face matched the shakiness of his speaker… but you had a good idea. When your eyes fail, music speaks. Your music was the language of his voice– when it’s clipped and raw with emotion, happy and drawled out with laughter, slow and easy when at the edge of exhaustion. Its melody is one you’ll take over sight, even now.
“This was a close one,” you glanced to the rack of more screens and illuminated bone scans beside you: proof of your current state. For the sake of his composure (and yours), you decided to remain optimistic. “Not to be repeated.”
And to deflect the edge of crying in your voice, you deflected-
“We’ll fail differently next time.”
A little shake of that gorgeous chrome showed Mando’s good nature, “Yeah.”
Another stroke of that kind, inner heart brought him down to give your forehead a kiss- as much as he could with a barrier between. He simply mimicked the motion as one would with a gentle touch and even though the beskar’s edge stung with could, it might as well have been a hot brand that seared straight to your heartstrings.
Detangling the hand that had subconsciously entwined with his, you offered up a sole finger to him.
“Pinky promise I’ll stick to my lane? You stick to yours?”
A cut to you hand then back up to you in a huff,
“Why do the weirdest things leave your sweet mouth…” Mando snarked with a shaky laugh.
“Its’a custom on other planets!”
“Yeah right.” your assurance falls on deaf ears once again. “We’re calling the doc in here.”
He evidently meant that, as he pressed a little com button that lit up the panel on the door, requesting assistance. The Child, seemingly chuffed to sense the somber air of your waking has lifted upon hearing his carer happy again, has begun to make more noise. His little arms are all but stretching in your direction, and fussing at Mando for backup to his wants.
You pointed with the waiting hand, “He gets it~”
“Yeah, he does,” your Mandalorian acquiesces, and links pinkies while looking back at the little green buddy in his pram. “Takes after you.”
Title Prompt: I'll drop a few below and let you choose which one inspires the most. You can decide if it's SFW or NSFW, whatever suits your fancy.
- A Name Most Beloved
- Whispered Promises, Poisoned Kisses
- Sweet as Summer Rain
No rules, no expectations, and no rush!
Thank you for the prompt @523rdrebel! I had to wait for inspiration for this one, and then I got hit with a summer thunderstorm while I was out for a walk last night, and voilà! A ficlet was born.
Sweet as Summer Rain
Pairing: Rebels!Wolffe x Reader
Rating: eh, IDK. T, I guess. Maybe M. Minors DNI as always.
Wordcount: 363
Warnings and tags: suggestive language and situations, implied predator/prey dynamics, Wolffe is a menace to society and the reader's peace of mind
Join my tag list here
“If you keep eating all the sunberries, we are never going to pick enough for a pie!” you exclaim.
Wolffe grins at you as he pops another berry into his mouth. “I’m not eating all of them. One for me, one for the basket.”
“Except I’m the only one putting them in the basket,” you laugh in mild exasperation.
It’s a lovely, late summer afternoon, and the wind ripples through the tall, shimmering grass of Lothal’s plains. The sky is a stunning blue, dotted with high, fluffy clouds that drift on a lazy breeze.
“Maybe you wouldn’t be so cranky if you ate a few,” Wolffe teases.
“I am not cranky!” you huff indignantly.
“Really?” he asks, moving close behind you. “Then have a taste.”
He holds a berry temptingly up to your lips, and when you don’t immediately take it, he slides his hand around your waist and pulls you back against his broad chest. You let out a shriek of indignant laughter, and he takes shameless advantage to slip the sunberry into your mouth. Tangy, juicy sweetness bursts across your tongue, and you giggle despite yourself. His thumb brushes against your lips, and you flick your tongue over it flirtatiously.
“Oh, is that how we’re playing?” he asks, a gleam in his cybernetic eye.
“You started it,” you reply with a provocative little smirk.
“I’ll finish it,” he replies as he grasps your jaw and pulls you into an all-consuming kiss.
Goosebumps sweep across your skin, and you nearly drop your basket of berries as you arch backward into him. His tongue dips into your mouth, sweet and tart and hot and wet. He steals your breath and turns your legs to jelly, and when he finally breaks away, your head spins and your eyes glaze with desire.
Just then, something cold splashes on your cheek, and you look up to see that the clouds have turned dark and ominous as one of Lothal’s abrupt summer thunderstorms burgeons in the sky.
“So much for sunberry pie,” you say. “Race you back to the house?”
Wolffe’s expression turns ever so slightly predatory, and you lick your lips reflexively.
“Start running, little girl.”
---
A 🩸 sacrifice for the Tumblr gods. May they forever smile upon this taglist: @secondaryrealm @blueink-bluesoul @spicy-clones @wings-and-beskar @523rdrebel @merkitty49 @anxiouspineapple99 @sinfulsalutations @arcsimper5 @starrylothcat @clio3kantarella @cloneloverrrrr @goblininawig @ladytano420 @arctrooper69 @wolffegirlsunite @sunshinesdaydream @mandos-mind-trick @littlemissmanga @stunkbiggu @starqueensthings @clonemedickix @marierg @idontgetanysleep @moonlightwarriorqueen @dudewhynotthis @sleepycreativewriter @tcwmatchmakingau @littlemissbshine @starwarsficnetwork
Could I request some romantic relationship headcanons with the Bad Batch and the reader? <3
Yes! The whole batch letsgoooo <3 I’m just gonna get straight into this one, hope you like it!!
Romance with the Batch
Hunter
Hunter is a bit of a hopeless romantic, and this rings true in his words and his actions. He’s never short of a kind word or compliment about you, and he will always offer a hand or arm to hold onto when you’re getting in or out of ships or walking anywhere the ground isn’t steady
There’s a lot of passion when it comes to a relationship with Hunter. He’s not worried about hiding his feelings from anyone, and the openness affords him many opportunities to steal kisses from you and shamelessly flirt whenever and wherever he feels like it. Hunter loves it when you flirt back with just as much vigour, and he only holds back a bit if there are little eyes and ears around *cough*Omega*cough*
Though they try at the beginning of your relationship with Hunter, the rest of the batch aren’t very successful in teasing him about you. He wears his heart on his sleeve, so he very easily absorbs any teasing without getting riled up
“Yes Crosshair, I am getting ‘all prettied up’ to go on a date with my ‘little wifey’. She deserves the best”
Hunter is also a bit of an idealist. You start to call him ‘my Dreamer’ as he loves to fantasise about a peaceful future with you, where you can settle down, give Omega a safe and happy childhood, and maybe even have some children of your own. He sees you as a safe haven - reliable, kind, intelligent - and he can’t imagine a better person to find such a beautiful, idealistic life with
Echo
Echo is a man who follows his convictions, and he only enters a relationship when he is convinced that it will be a good experience and a worthwhile endeavour. Luckily, you are absolutely perfect in his eyes and he is holding on to every moment he shares with you - the long ones, the small ones, the steamy ones
The expression ‘chivalry isn’t dead’ is entirely correct when it comes to Echo. He’s the one opening doors, pulling out your chair, bashfully giving you flowers before a date or on special occasions. Essentially, a textbook gentleman. Despite all of these romantic gestures however, he isn’t really one for more physical, public displays of affection. He waits until he has you alone and in perfect privacy before initiating anything more spicy than a chaste kiss on the cheek
The batch do find it easy to tease Echo about his relationship. Wrecker thinks it’s super funny that Echo blushes so much whenever your name is mentioned, so he (very clumsily) tries to shoehorn your name into every conversation he can.
Omega, although she isn’t aiming to embarrass anyone, one day very candidly says that she likes Echo’s relationship with you because it’s like having two mums. The batch all laugh so hard at the unprompted statement that they are reduced to tears and Echo can only try to hide his face with his hand (and pulls Omega into a one-armed hug with his scomp)
Echo is so surprised and appreciative that he has found someone so beautiful, patient and charismatic as you. He likes to call you his ‘treasure’ in a low voice, and he means it so genuinely and in the full sense of the word. Your romantic relationship with Echo is truly golden and you both take each day as it comes <3
Wrecker
Wrecker is the most playful, happy, giant ball of sunshine that you will ever meet - and this translates to your relationship with him very well. It’s fair to expect a lot of laughter and fun when it comes to Wrecker, and he loves that you can keep up with his energy.
Outings with Wrecker are very much activity-based or food-based (or even better, both!). He loves to go to local festivals on whichever planet you find yourselves on to sample all the exciting foods with you, or to find somewhere that he can let loose and dance with you all night. Wrecker loves to express himself physically, and dancing is a perfect medium for this - he is exceptionally co-ordinated for his stature and he really feels the music in his soul. He also gets very excited if he sees something he thinks you would like, and will immediately get it for you (“Mesh’la look!!! This necklace would be so pretty with that dress of yours”)
The Batch have learnt that teasing Wrecker about your relationship when you are not there with them will always result in Wrecker daydreaming with a goofy smile on his face. If you are there, Wrecker will scoop you up into a big hug and retort with “She’s all mine :D”. He doesn’t get embarrassed easily, and always derives joy from when his brothers tease him because it only serves to remind him of you - his favourite person in the galaxy
Wrecker much prefers big hugs to other forms of physical affection, which has resulted in you using ‘Cuddles’ as a pet name for him. He loves to snuggle up with you while watching a holo-series, he gives you a big squeeze if he hasn’t seen you for a while (a while for Wrecker is any more than one day) and will very casually pull you onto his lap in the middle of a conversation so he can be closer to you. He really is a gentle giant who loves to have you as close as possible whenever he can and has maybe slipped up and called you Lula once or twice
Tech
Communication, communication, communication. Tech is incredibly verbose and will always tell you about what he is thinking, what he is doing, and what he would like to do. He loves that you understand how to best let him know how you feel about him with very clear and direct statements, and he appreciates your clear interest in hearing about things he is passionate about too.
Although he doesn’t process or express emotions in the same way that his brothers do, he can be incredibly romantic when it comes to you. Tech shows how much he cares by making improvements to your commlink, checking your speeder over anytime you use it to get to him, and scanning the environment when you two go out together. He wants to keep you safe, and instead of saying it, he prioritises effective actions that will decrease the risk of you getting hurt. He’s a real sweetheart and letting Tech know that you appreciate his efforts and admire the technical skills he uses to do so is the best way to compliment him
Tech is not easily flustered and always keeps a cool head - his brothers have a hard time trying to tease him as their remarks will always be coolly shot down with some factual statement or ‘yes, of course’. As supportive as his brothers are of him, sometimes they wonder how you can put up with him, but they don’t understand that Tech is actually the Rizz Master.
Did someone say Consent King? Tech operates romantically in a very check-to-make-sure way. There’s no shortage of “may I kiss you?” or “I am enjoying this, please continue in this manner” which always gets you to crack a smile. There are no secrets with Tech, and he is agreeable to many things if given sufficient warning
Crosshair
Crosshair isn’t one to outwardly show vulnerability, and this doesn’t change when you are in a relationship with him. Don’t expect any grand professions of love from this man, he has a reputation to uphold with a dash of toxic masculinity. He’s not gonna hold your hand around anyone else or stop his snarky comments, but there will be some small changes that betray his true feelings for you to any attentive onlookers…
Cross always has a firm hand on your shoulder when guiding through crowds, and will act more possessive and protective if he thinks that anyone is eyeing you up - by silently pulling you in closer by the waist while absolutely death staring the offending party. He also immediately gives you a once-over after any missions to make sure you are alright, even before tending to himself if necessary or cleaning his rifle. You’re that big of a deal to him.
Hunter, as the most perceptive, is aware of something going on between you and Crosshair well before any of the others. He made the mistake once of asking Crosshair how his date with you went the night before, which resulted in a snapped toothpick and a sharp imperative to “get your nose out of it Hunter”. Once the others work out that you two are in fact dating, the jokes absolutely fly about not expecting Crosshair to love anything or anyone more than his rifle (thanks Wrecker). Cross walks off mumbling something about at least I have two options unlike you guys (OOF).
As much as Crosshair keeps your relationship very private, his walls come down significantly when it is just you and him. The minute you two get some time alone he is pressed up against you, taking anything you will give him. Cross isn’t one for taking things slow - he thinks it will make him look too weak and emotional - so he gets straight into making out with no warning. You love the thrill of it, Crosshair just coming at you out of nowhere, much like how his sniper shots always take their targets by surprise too.
Step 1: Tech fucking lives. Step 2: His brothers get some hella emotions about it.
It’s been a few days but the next chapter in my taking-canon-out-for-a-joyride-Tech-Lives fic is finally up 😈
Implications of Being Alive
Chapter 5: A Good Day At The Beach (And The Comm That Kinda Complicated It)
Hunter had almost managed to doze off on Pabu’s south beach. All this time later, letting his guard down still didn’t come easy, but with his feet in the sand, the sun on his face, and his brothers close by, he usually made the effort to relax. Some days he was successful, other times he wasn’t, but today was shaping up to be a good day.
Crosshair had fallen asleep an hour ago. Hunter had been able to tell the exact moment it happened because the little glass he had been sipping slipped from his fingers and landed in the sand with a soft pff, and shortly after, his little brother began to snore. He thought for a moment of taking a holovid of it. Crosshair always denied snoring. But that would have required moving, and Hunter was just so comfortable in the sun.
Wrecker’s booming laugh and Batcher’s excitable barks drifted down the beach from not too far away. Age might have slowed them all down a bit, but it had done nothing to taper Wrecker’s spirit. He and Batcher together were still the most formidable volleyball team on the island, now that Omega had gone off to join the rebellion and Phee all but retired from the game. Hunter wasn’t entirely sure how he managed to train the hound to play in the first place, but she seemed to have a great time jumping and hitting the ball towards Wrecker with her snout any time it flew near her.
Sometimes, Hunter was unable to settle. His thoughts would spiral, his body grew agitated, and he struggled to know what to do with himself out here at all. It would get especially bad when he couldn’t get his mind off of someone in particular.
After all, Omega hadn’t even been gone very long. If she were here, she would be at the net with Wrecker, daring him to play her one on one and stomping his shebs like she damn well should. Echo still visited from time to time, usually while recovering from yet another battle wound when the Rebels insisted he take some time off. If were here, even against his will, he would definitely be taking that holo of Crosshair. But he would also be scooping up his drink out of the sand, making sure they had a fresh one in the cooler for when he woke, and reminding Omega to re-apply her sunscreen, even though she didn’t really need it - he would do anything for his brothers and sisters, even the little things. And… Tech had been gone for a long time, but Hunter had no doubt in his mind what his brother would be up to. Tech would hardly be able to sit still and relax in a place teeming with so many interesting things to observe. He would be walking the shoreline, or maybe out for a swim with a rebreather and his goggles, looking for fascinating creatures or plant life in tidepools and on the ocean floor and everywhere he could find them, in a bid to satisfy his endless curiousity.
Hunter missed them all.
If this were a bad day, he would do one of those activities for them. He would challenge Wrecker at volleyball even if his back would ache for it later, and he would pretend not to notice that Wrecker took it easy on him. He would dote on his brothers, making sure they had towels and snacks and drank enough water and didn’t spend too much time in the sun, even if they grumbled at him for it. He would take a walk and try to appreciate all the unique things this island had to offer, trying to spot something new, even if he’d walked these beaches a thousand times by now. If it wasn’t a good day for him, he would have a good day for one of them.
But today was a good day already, and Hunter knew he could enjoy it his way. He breathed deep, closing his eyes and resting his senses. It was peaceful out here. His brothers were safe and content. The sounds of gently lapping waves against the rocky shore and the feeling of warm light on his skin slowly started to lull him to sleep…
Until the sharp ping of his wrist comm jerked him from it.
“Mmmmmmmhh,” Crosshair groaned at the sound. “What is it now?”
Hunter blinked several times to re-adjust his eyes to the bright glare of the sun overhead and shook his head to orientate himself. “Not sure,” He grumbled, squinting to read the ID. “‘m not expecting any…”
But he knew that ID, and his heart skipped a beat. Suddenly Hunter was wide awake. “Omega!” He cried. “Wrecker get over here! Cross! Wake up!”
“Omega’s calling?” Wrecker shouted back, sprinting towards them in an instant.
“Why?” Crosshair gasped, rubbing frantically at his eyes. “She wasn’t due to check in for another-“
But Hunter wasn’t about to wait or question it. He accepted the comm right away and a little holo of Omega flickered to life on his arm, just as Wrecker skidded to an ungraceful halt behind him and Batcher bowled them both over. Hunter went sprawling in the sand.
“Hunter!” Omega gasped. “Wrecker! Are you okay?”
Hunter spat out a few grains of sand that got stuck to his lips as Wrecker laughed and Batcher bounded all around them with glee.
“Oh he’s fine,” Crosshair sneered overhead. “Just got a little sand in that hair, I’m sure it won’t take more than a tenday to wash out.”
Batcher nearly pounced right on Hunter’s wrist at the image of Omega before Wrecker got ahold of her and he scrambled upright. Omega let out a relieved little giggle at the antics.
“Sorry bout that, kid,” Hunter muttered a little sheepishly, shaking some of the sand from his hair. “How have you been?”
“Still kicking ass, I bet!” Wrecker said enthusiastically.
“Is something wrong?” Crosshair asked worriedly. “Do you need our help?”
“I’m okay,” Omega said. “I just got back from a mission and…”
She swallowed hard, and Hunter frowned. A quick glance at his brothers told him they noticed it, too. Omega had just taken a step and winced, her face was blotchy, and if the injuries weren’t enough, her voice had just hitched.
“What’s going on, ‘Mega?” Wrecker asked, huddling in closer to Hunter and Crosshair in the sand in concern. “Are ya hurt? Do ya need to come home for a little bit?”
“I - No, I mean - yes I got hurt, but I’m okay, I broke a couple bones but Echo already made me get to the bone knitter so it’s just sore now, but…”
“As he should. How’d that happen? I thought you were running relief last we heard,” Hunter said, trying and failing to keep the alarm out of his voice.
“…Relief doesn’t mean risk-free,” Omega countered. “You know that.”
“Well it’s a good thing you know how to handle yourself in a fight,” Wrecker said solemnly.
“But you’re calling us about it,” Crosshair observed. “Something else happened.”
“It’s alright, Omega. You can tell us,” Hunter almost pleaded. The longer this went on the more obvious something really was wrong, and Hunters stomach was clenched in a million knots at the prospect of what that might be.
“I… I know this is going to sound impossible,” Omega said with a nervous sigh. “After all this time. But… The Empire sent an assassin after us. We didn’t lose anyone… yet… one of our pilots is in pretty critical condition.”
All three of them stayed silent at that, nodding or pursing their lips or letting out long concerned sighs, but waiting for her to continue. That wasn’t the news, and they all knew it.
“But the assassin was… I… I recognized him. I thought he was that CX trooper who hunted us and-“
“That trooper is long gone,” Hunter cut in soothingly to reassure her, like he did back when she still had nightmares about her ordeal, silently cursing the trooper who traumatized her that way, conditioning or not. “I made sure of it before we took care of Hemlock and got you off Tantiss. He can’t hurt you, Omega, I promise you that.”
“No,” Omega shot back. “No, Hunter, I - It was him. It was definitely him, he survived, and it’s not what you think.”
Hunter felt like he’d been kicked in the gut. He felt Crosshair go rigid beside him and practically stop breathing, and Wrecker’s hands clenched into fists. If that CX was back, if he had the audacity to come after Omega again-
“I’ll come out of retirement for this one,” Wrecker growled. “Unless you killed him already.”
“I didn’t, he - he wasn’t in his right mind, he didn’t know what he was doing. It wasn’t his fault and-“
“It’s been ten years, Omega,” Hunter said in a tight voice. “That should be enough time to figure out that the Empire is wrong, and if he hurt you-“
“That CX trooper was Tech.”
The world around Hunter went suddenly deathly cold. Even with the sun shining overhead, a dreadful, icy set of realizations curled in his veins.
“Tech?” Wrecker eeked out at his side in disbelief.
“Y-yes… It… It’s him,” Omega confirmed with a shaky nod.
Hunters head was spinning. He couldn’t believe this. The CX trooper, who blew up Rex’s base and killed so many of his men.
Who tried to drown Crosshair.
Who invaded and burned Pabu, tore Omega away from them, and dragged her back to Tantiss to be used for a fucking experiment.
Who Hunter had impaled through the gut at the end of an electrospear-
Hunter was only vaguely aware of a heavy hand settling on his shoulder and the way Crosshair suddenly smelled strongly of fear through the frozen static of the world caving in around him. Tech, his brother, had been right there! He had been within their reach and Hunter killed him, or damn well tried. They’d never been able to check for a body when he fell from the rail car, no one should have survived a fall like that, but if this was true then Tech had, and they left him, and they left him again and again and again until Hunter KILLED HIM and then they LEFT HIM YET AGAIN-
The sudden image of a pair of feet dangling limp just above the floor flooded his mind and he gasped, clasping a hand over his mouth to keep from vomiting.
“Hunter?” Omega’s voice nudged the edge of his mind, but Hunter couldn’t form words, not right now. There was only one thing echoing in his head. Even if Tech had somehow lived, Hunter spent the last ten years thinking he killed that CX trooper, hell, being proud of it! If that had been Tech this whole time - if he had killed his baby brother -
“You couldn’t have known,” Omega was saying. “None of us could.”
But that shouldn’t matter. She had somehow figured it out after ten years. Ten years that they left Tech with the empire, ten years after he sacrificed himself to save them all-
“B-but he… Is he…” Wrecker choked out, his one handed grip increasing on Hunters shoulder, but Hunter didn’t even flinch.
Omega took a shaking, sniffling breath and smiled up at them all. “Yeah. Tech is alive… And he even remembers me,” She said in a voice full of relief, and even smiled up at them. “At least a little.”
“Be careful,” Crosshair rasped, and Hunter realize she was shaking. “You don’t know what he might be like after… What they did.”
“I know,” Omega answered solemnly. “Echo is with him now. We’re taking a lot of precautions. He was hurt in our fight too, and had some issues from before but… We’ll help him, won’t we? He’s our brother.”
That, finally, managed to help Hunter find his words again. “Of course we will,” he said, even though it came out sounding fragile and strained. “Whatever he needs. Anything.”
He felt dizzy saying it, and clamped a had onto Crosshair’s shoulder to steady himself, both their shaking be damned.
Omega nodded, and Hunter saw silvery tears start to stream down her face in the holo. “Good,” She said fervently. “He’s going to need all of us, I think. We can’t change what already happened but… But we can do better now.”
“C-Course we can,” Wrecker stammered. “But just thinking, he’s alive… He’s really alive… An’ we get to see ‘im?”
“Yeah,” Omega assured them. “He was in bad shape but… He’s doing better now. As soon as he’s cleared, I’m bringing him home.”
Hunter nodded, too choked up to speak again as his own eyes and guts burned. But Omega was right. She had grown up and grown wise. Most days he wondered who learned more from who, if he was honest, but he took her assurances and tucked them carefully away in his heart.
He believed Omega, even if his heart was having trouble catching up with her words. Tech was alive… And after all this time, his brother was desperately going to need them.
❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️
Full Story Link: Implications Of Being Alive
*Update* Ima try to post these on Wednesdays now providing I have the drive to write - this thing is no buffer no beta we die like Tech didn’t, feed me comments and I’ll probably churn out more content cause external validation makes me go -squee!-
Word count: 2.9 k
Pairing: Din Djarin (the Mandalorian) x Force Sensitive!fem!reader
Summary: Din Djarin encounters a force sensitive witch while fleeing danger. While her moral compass convinces her to save and help him, she fears it will lead to her end, the end of a livelihood she has longed for. Will you abandon the life that you have created for yourself, or help Din and the greater good of the kingdom?
Warnings: Din & Paz doing some war crimes
Fic song rec: Rattlesnake by Glass Beams
Masterlist | AO3 | Previous Chapter 13: Blotting out the stars*
“Can you believe that fucker bit me?” you muttered to Cinder as you stared with half-lidded eyes at the gashes on your arm from the trandoshan. Cinder meowed and almost started to lick your wounds.
“Ah ah, Cinder. Can’t let you do that. Venomous, ‘member?” You try your best not to slur your words as you begin to sloppily grind some herbs together. Cinder brought some pine straw to you in her mouth and placed it at your crossed legs.
“Thanks, sweetie.” You had to snap your fingers together a few times struggling to get the flame to light. The pine straw quickly erupted into flames, traveling down the long skinny stalks. Cinder piled on twigs and small branches as you breathed into the fire, willing it to grow.
You could sense the venom traveling quickly through your veins racing straight to your heart. It was like you could almost feel it shutter with every beat, trying its best to not make it your last. The world was spinning as you tried to steady your hands while you ground some dried sage in your mortar and pestle.
Din and Paz had finally wrestled the trandoshan, cuffing and tying him to a nearby tree. You could vaguely feel their energy. Din, quiet rage, trying his best to mask it so the trandoshan wouldn’t realize he had the advantage right now. Paz, frantic panic, right at the cusp of despair. Did you really look that bad to Paz?
You could hear Paz’s voice far off asking how you were. He was muffled as if he was behind a door or trying to talk to your under water. But, he was right next to you, shaking you, trying to get your attention. Finally, his words worked their way through the venom’s effect. “Din has him tied up. What do you need me to do?”
Think, you have to think. What is a common antidote to venom? This should not be such a struggle. You should know this off the top of your head, but the venom, it’s starting to take root. Panic starts to roll through you, the adrenaline jump-starting your brain.
“Sage…baby’s breath, ginger, and…” Your breathing was labored, trying your best to hang on. “Solomon's seal, yes. I labeled all the tins…” Your hand slipped as you slouched over, feeling too tired to hold yourself up.
Paz caught you and laid you on the ground before moving to gather the ingredients. “Fuck. Keep your eyes on me. Keep your fucking eyes on me. How much of each?” Paz frantically darted his gaze between you and all the tins he had finally found. He sounded so scared. It can’t be that bad, can it? The venom was working like a depressant, slowing you down, making you woozy as your breaths became less frequent, almost as if you were going to fall asleep.
“A pinch. S’all you need.” You felt Cinder between your legs, trying to comfort you in her own way. “Put it over the fire and add a little bit of water. We want paste, not soup.” You limply held your finger up, pointing to the small fire that you and Cinder had managed to start, but it was fading fast, just like you.
Paz lifted his helmet a bit to breathe on the fire, its flames jumping to attention from his ministrations. He found your wooden spoon and used it to mix the contents as he poured in water from his canteen. You laid on the forest floor, ear to the ground. It grounded you, reminding you that you still had a fight to win. That you could win.
“Paz, help me…please?” He quickly held you upright so that you could out stretch your hand and say a soft cantation over the medication. He stirred as you spoke. You focused on the wind slipping by the leaves, the birds’ wings flapping, and the clouds that slowly moved across the sky.
You laid back, hoping that the spell took. Paz scooped the paste and you motioned for him to rub it into your arm. Sharp pain came from your arm as Paz hastily rubbed it over the wound. You should have winced, but your body didn’t let you react. Despite all this effort, you slipped into unconsciousness, though at the last second you slid into Cinder’s mind.
----------◈----------
Weeks had passed as you, Din, and Paz continued to walk around the kingdom. A few adventures had ensued: a chance encounter with a warlock powered by some prince of hell, riddles and puzzles all to pass safely through old Mandalorian ruins, and that pesky shapeshifter who turned out to be a trandoshan spy.
You watched him through Cinder’s perceptive gaze, being held still by Paz while Din waited for an answer to a question that you had missed, letting his rage fester. To your shock, the creature laughed in his face, taunting Din. With efficient movement and no hesitation, Din slashed off the creature’s hand using the dark saber. He screamed out, thrashing trying to break free of Paz’s hold. Once Paz had re-secured him, Din pressed the flat side of the dark saber against the open wound, effectively cauterizing it. The smell of scorched flesh flooded your senses making you want to back away. The trandoshan continued to scream, but he laughed with the pain, flashing his sharp teeth in a wicked grin.
You knew you should feel sympathy, but nothing floated to the surface of your emotions. It had been too close. The trandoshan had come too close to murdering you. Its teeth had grated into your arm, venom entering into your body. It had disguised itself as an unassuming nymph near the creek that you had taken a break at to regain some energy. Dipping your feet in, you tried to strike up a conversation with it. You had a few encounters with a couple near your homestead. It had turned on you quickly, taking advantage of your exhausted state.
Cinder purred, completely unphased by the torture or the crazy reptile. She was just happy to have you with her while you were passed out. Paz had moved back to you when Din had signaled to give the prisoner some time to breath. Cinder trailed him, wanting to not miss any of the action. It was weird, looking back at yourself as you laid unconscious with Paz hold you close to him, trying to comfort you. His large frame cradled you, rocking you gently while he whispered something to you. You could tell he was shaken, but eventually he calmed down enough to check your pulse again.
“Paz, is she still with us?” Din’s voice, while commanding, had an edge of apprehension to it, as if he did not want the truth.
“Yes, her pulse is faint, but it is there.”
You felt their relief wash over you. “Good, now we can turn to this other matter.” Din turned to look back at the trandoshan that was still panting from the last session of questioning.
You scampered out of the tent, trying your best to adjust to Cinder’s vision. As night fell, you could perfectly see Din and Paz stalking toward the spy, ready to get some answers. You perched yourself up on a low branch that had an ideal vantage point.
You watched, with a hint of excitement, as Din and Paz manhandled the beast so that Paz had forced one of its arms to fully extend. Din pulled out his vibroblade and slid it along the inner side of its bicep. The bicep was a weak tender part of the arm, easy to pry and play with. Far enough away from the heart and major arteries to avoid bleeding the creature, but soft enough to cause pain. The buzz of the blade as it lightly tapped on its scales almost overwhelmed you. How was all of Cinder’s senses this strong?
“Who sent you?”
The trandoshan gnashed its teeth at Din in response. In silent communication, Paz tightened his grip and Din slowly worked his blade underneath one of its scales on its bicep. It tried to squirm and look away, but Paz forced its head to the side with a large hand around its chin, making it watch as Din popped a scale off. The scream that emitted from it made you involuntarily jump. It put you and Cinder on edge.
“Let’s try this again. Who sent you?”
Din dug his knife in where he had removed the scale, but before he could get too deep, the creature finally talked. A raspy serpentine voice came forth.
“You know who sent me. He’s killed plenty of us before.” the reptile darted his eyes to Paz.
“Why?”
The trandoshan laughed, causing Din’s anger to spike. He sunk his blade deeper. The creature howled in pain, but it was still somehow able to maintain a grin.
“Completely mad,” you thought and Cinder gave a short meow in agreement.
“To murder the girl! There is no hope for you without her.”
“And what was the plan after that?”
It giggled some more while Paz pressed its face further into the dirt.
“I die a hero and we take your kingdom.”
“How?”
“Two mandalorians tear me limb by limb as I laugh at their frustration!” Its hideous shrill laugh cut through the otherwise silent forest.
Din shoved the rest of the blade to the hilt into its bicep and Paz’s gauntlet flamethrower was at the ready, right in the line of sight of the trandoshan.
“We assault the front gates in a week’s time. Your kingdom will fall without her.”
You could feel Din’s shock and you felt it yourself. You had always thought that he would just need you for the protective boundary, a means to an end. How were you supposed to fight a whole army of trandoshans?
“Ah, you really think that lowly of yourself, my child?”
The booming voice caused you to reeled back in shock and confusion. Cinder’s hair rose in alarm, claws drawn, eye diluted, and attention fully turned to the source of the commanding voice.
A hulking mass towered above Cinder and the trees, casting her into darkness. You peered up at a face within the darkness. One that you somehow recognized.
“Bendu?” You whispered in Cinder’s mind, wondering how you knew it was him, the force-sensitive entity that your parents and your people had followed and learned from for eons. You glanced back, expected for Din and Paz to be looking on with you, but they were still crouched over the trandoshan.
“Cats are such perceptive beings, aren’t they? I can rarely hide from them for long. Glad you can perceive me in this form with her help.”
“Does that mean cats are force-sensitive?” You could hear your voice clearly even though that made little sense to you as you were clearly in Cinder’s consciousness.
“Mmm perhaps though I have not put much thought into it.” Bendu noticed your glances behind you, back to the mandalorians. “Ah ah, do not worry about them. They cannot see us and are not going anywhere anytime soon.”
“Why are you revealing yourself to me now? After all this time?”
“Quite simple. One, you never meditate, even though I and your elders have taught you otherwise. And, two, you need me.”
You glance over at yourself. You look pale and worn thin. This journey had taken its toll on you. And the venom, well that would surely come close to killing you.
“You will barely survive the poison without my help. But, the battle at the gates will surely wipe you out.”
“Such little faith in me,” you whisper with a twinge of sadness.
“Quite the contrary, I just know your limits, so do you, and you are right up against them.”
Pausing, you wondered why he cared. Why does it matter if you died?
“Because you bring balance to the force, my dear.”
“Get out of my head!” Frustration takes hold. Why now? Why couldn’t he have been there when you were alone? Why didn’t he help your parents? Your people? A flurry of emotions wash over you, frustration, sadness, loneliness, fear, and dread for the future. Always dread. You had been truly alone. You had made friends with anything you could to make up for the absence of your family, but at the same time shielded yourself from anything too new. And lastly, desperation for a semblance of stability. You craved stability, a constant to lean on.
“I am always here. I am always within you and you within me.”
“I never felt your presence. I was alone because of you.”
“When did you try to find me, hm? You buried me with your parents, little one. You abandoned me when you lost hope and turned to desperation for survival.”
“And what would you have done? What would you have done differently, oh pious one?! Be one with the Force and the Force will be with you? Not so easy when everything in your life was taken from you!”
Your voice was shrill, screaming out at him. You threw years of suppressed rage at him.
“You have done nothing wrong. Everything is worth doing to learn from the experience and to become your true self.”
You had forgotten how annoyingly simple and cryptic Bendu’s lessons were. Full of fables that could be many things, depending on one’s interpretation and mood that particular day. You huffed in annoyance, accepting his non-response. You allowed your emotions to flow out of you and let go of them, for now. Frustration simmered, just at the surface, but you tried to focus on the present instead of your past. There was still hope. Bendu smiled knowingly. You ignored his reaction, wanting to get to the point of this meeting.
“Why choose me? I thought you didn’t choose sides, a true pacifist.”
His booming voice rattled your skull, “If the sith were to bring balance, I’d choose them. If the Jedi were to bring balance, then they would be my choice. And if a beggar were to bring balance, then I’d happily choose them.”
“I am just a means to an end for you too then?” The frustration ebbed and in flowed the sadness. What was the point of all of this? What was the point of life?
“Life, my child, can always be simplified to just that, but it can be so much more, it is just up to you to forge it to your liking.”
“But you must bring back balance through me first?”
“I must maintain balance through you.”
“And how might we do that?”
“I help you and you keep a promise.”
“How would you help me?”
“Enhance your fighting abilities and give you more stamina so that you can finish the protective boundary just in time to meet the enemy at the gates.”
“But, the promise is the catch, right?”
“Yes, indeed my child, the promise is the catch.”
----------◈----------
Paz’s flamethrower ignited, scorching the skin underneath the layer of scales. The screams would have normally tortured Din, but tonight he was out for blood. He watched as the trandoshan burned alive as Paz doused it in flames. The smell assaulted him, but he was able to filter out most of it through his helmet, though he did feel the heat. His beskar armor warmed as the creature burned. Everything else around it was burned, a neat circle of black. As the body smoldered, Din knelt down by its head, which Paz had expertly avoided for him. Din looked into the lifeless eyes of the trandoshan as he cut its head with his blade. A trophy to send back to their leader. Din’s attention quickly turned to you as he heard a groan.
With the head in tow, he made his way over to you. He took in your small form, trying to sit up. Paz rushed over and helped you.
“How do you feel?” They both said in unison as you bleakly pried your eyes open.
“We have to make it to the gates within a week’s time,” you croaked out as Paz helped you up.
“How do you know that?”
“Bendu, he visited me. Helped me power up. Did you get the same information from the spy?”
Din and Paz nodded. You thought you would’ve felt better after Bendu’s visit, but your energy was still way down…and the dread of the promise weighed heavy on your heart.
“I need to soak for a bit and then we can start moving.” You regarded the head of the spy that Din held.
“Can you call a bird to be a messenger for me?” You could still feel the sharpness of Din’s fury. You decided to not poke the bear and called a vulture.
“A vulture, a bringer of new beginnings.” You watched as the vulture pecked at the head for a bit, eating the eye of the spy. “And the scavenger of the dead.” You willed it to find the trandoshan encampment and deliver the head back to its people.
As it rose into the sky, you gingerly climbed into the creek to soak. You watched as Din and Paz refreshed their water supply, finally tilted your head back to the heavens to regard the bird. It was time to prepare for battle.
“The vulture, a malicious spirit that brings death with them.”
Author's note: It has been a hot fucking minute since I have updated this fic 😅 If you haven’t already figured it out, I don’t think I will be able to be on a regular writing schedule since I am currently getting my shit pushed in by my PhD research, but I will try my best to keep this fic going. I stare at a computer screen for 8+ hours a day, so I am trying to spend my free time not doing this...which is unfortunately causing me to not write. I am still trying to figure out a balance, but right now it seems a bit impossible 🥲 regardless, life has been busy, but good. I got engaged to the love of my life, which has been incredible so far 😁 You'll be happy to know that he has told me multiple times that I should try to make more time to write for fun. I think he's a keeper 😜 Don't worry, I promise I will finish this fic. I am just not sure if I can finish before I get my PhD 😅
As always, please leave some comments, reblogs, and likes for me. You know I love that shit!
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