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Elusive Quarry

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“One last thing,” Karga comments, a sly smile playing across his face, “I have a challenge for you, if you’re interested.”

The Mandalorian pauses a few feet away, the child’s carrier stopping directly behind him. He tilts his helmet as if to say, fine I’m listening. With such an imposing figure, the slight movement speaks volumes over the loud din of the cantina. Karga chuckles to himself and slides a tracking fob across the table.

“She’s been on the run for about three years now, and no one from the guild has successfully brought her in,” he explains. If the Mandalorian could bother to turn around, he’d see the mischievous glint in Karga’s eyes, a tell that his voice refuses to betray.

“I don’t need to prove anything,” the bounty hunter dismisses, ready to leave. There hasn’t been a single quarry he couldn’t find; this wouldn’t be a challenge, it would be an extra errand. A waste of fuel.

As if reading his mind, Karga continues, “The challenge isn’t finding her. Nearly all who have taken this assignment are able to track her down.” This piques the Mandalorian’s interest; the hint of a sigh can be heard through his voice modulator.


“The bounty on her head is high,” he explains.

“What’s the crime?”

“Murder of a New Republic soldier. Very low ranking.” Karga takes a swig of his drink, his eyes alight with amusement. “Not Empire or anything. No, the reason her bounty is so high is because the guild has a pool going on over who can catch her and bring her in. Every person who has failed seems to add a bit to the pot.”

“And what makes her so elusive?” his tone bored, pushing Karga to get to the point.

“I guess you’ll just have to find out for yourself, won’t you?”

The bounty hunter clenches his fists to his side, his green companion innocently looking back and forth between him and the man in the booth. Without a word he turns and swipes the fob off of the table before stalking out of the cantina.

“Good luck, Mando!” Karga calls before taking another sip. “If the stories are true, you may have met your match,” he mutters to himself.


You wait quietly beneath the greenery, body completely still. You’ve been hiding out on this dense jungle of a planet for a few days now. You’ve been taking your time, trying to hold out as long as you can before visiting the neighboring town. Once you re-enter civilization, it’s only a matter of time before the bounty hunters show up. And honestly, you’re tired. Tired of running, tired of your “evasive” measures, tired of being someone you’re not.

So here you wait beneath this itchy as hell bush, woken up prematurely from your nap by the sound of a rust bucket hurtling through the atmosphere and landing a mere hundred yards from your hiding spot. You eye the ship, considering your options once the occupant inevitably leaves. You can’t fly the damn thing; piloting is not a skill you’ve been able to pick up. But maybe it has food or supplies?

The ramp lowers, and your heart nearly stops when a broad figure in beskar appears on the other side.  Or weapons, you think to yourself, eyeing the Mandalorian. If the stories you’ve heard are rooted in any type of truth, then it’s a safe bet that there’s gun or two on board. Though your stomach growls, it’s silenced by your desire for protection. A nice blaster might be helpful, considering you lost your signature staff about three planets ago.

You focus your attention back on the Mandalorian, his- you assume it’s a he?- posture stiff and imposing, and you silently thank the maker that he’s not here looking for you. It’s an impossibility in your mind that there could be a new bounty hunter looking for you so soon after the last one. Still, you pity the poor sap whose chain code dares to appear on that tracker. You finally release the breath you were holding as he walks in the direction of town and disappears from your vision.

You scurry towards the door, producing a tool from the worn leather belt you wear across your waist. You’ve picked up a thing or two from the various outlaws you’ve encountered, and you only need to fiddle with the control panel for a moment before the ramp groans open for you. After taking a pause to make sure that hunk of beskar isn’t coming back, you slip into the ship in search of anything you can carry.

It’s relatively tidy, but dark and sparse. Clearly used for function instead of comfortable living. You spy a bed, a generous term, hidden in a closet like space by the left wall, and to your right a small fresher. An odd floating orb hovers by the ladder to what you assume is the cockpit, but you don’t give it a second thought because your eyes find what you are looking for. Juxtaposed between the ramp and the fresher is a concealed shelf. You finger at the lock pad for a moment, effectively opening up the contraption to reveal rows and rows of weaponry.

“Come to mama,” you whisper, grabbing a small blaster. It’s not that you want to steal. It’s not even that you want to use wield such a weapon. But you’ve learned the importance of protecting yourself, and you’ve spent too much of your life feeling helpless. You sigh, promising that one day you won’t be on the run, before slipping the blaster into a back loop of your belt. You tentatively finger a large dagger on display before yelping at the feeling of a foreign grip on your calf.

“Kriffing hell!” you blurt, tripping over whatever grabbed you and landing hard on the metal floor of the ship. You blink a few times from your reclined position, attempting to make sense of the odd creature that walks, correction- waddles towards you. His big black eyes shine in the dim light, large pointed ears twitching with every small sound you make. You tentatively reach out to it, like you would to allow a bantha to sniff your hand.

“What are you?” you whisper, suppressing a giggle as his three fingers grip one of yours. He gives you a small coo, his head tilted up to study you. “Well, it’s nice to meet you too,” you offer, before chewing the inside of your cheek. This is unexpected. As if understanding your words, the child begins to babble incessantly, and you just stare dumbfounded at the most adorable, confusing little beast you’ve ever seen.

You slowly sit up into a cross legged position, and he seems to take that as an invitation to climb into your lap, his greedy little hands going for your utility belt. You want to swat him away, stand up now that you have your gun and make a break for it. But he’s so…precious, you can’t quite leave yet. You sigh, rubbing your temples in frustration. You didn’t expect the overgrown droid man to have a..a kid? Pet? You feel a little bad now for breaking in.

“Hey, little man,” you say tenderly, taking a moment to stroke one of his long ears. “I’m sorry I’m stealing from your dad.”

               He just kind of gurgles at you before returning his gaze to your belt, attempting to swipe something from one of the pouches. You hang your head in defeat; in a matter of minutes, this green little toddler has you whipped. You reach into a compartment and produce two cookies wrapped in a tattered cloth.

               “I was going to save these for tonight, but I guess we’ll call it even,” you concede, handing him the tasty sweets. He gives you a wide, toothy smile before nibbling on your gift. There’s a knot in the pit of your stomach; you really need to get going. But you allow yourself a few moments longer as you watch him finish eating, entranced by his innocence and care-free demeanor. “Little angel, I bet you couldn’t even hurt a frog.”

               You finally force yourself off the ground, but not without picking up the baby for a swift cuddle under your chin. You look around and realize the floating orb is his crib, and you dutifully return him to his pram, tucking him in. You hold up a finger to your lips, as if asking him to keep your secret, before turning to sprint out of the ship. You take a moment to close the ramp back up, suddenly fearful that an animal could come by and gobble the little baby up.

               Blaster at your back and a small smile on your face, you head to town. You briefly wonder if you’ll spy the Mandalorian on your way in, dragging some unfortunate quarry behind him.

Chapter Text

You’re a kriffing idiot.

Or your ego has gotten way too big for your helmet.

You have successfully put yourself right into the path of The Mandalorian. And in your idiocy, or arrogance, you didn’t once stop to consider that maybe he was on this god forsaken planet in search of you. Oh stars, this is bad.

And here you are, sitting in a booth at the local bar, staring down the barrel of the Mandalorian’s massive blaster.

You should have made your move when he walked in. The whole bar had paused once his shiny ass stepped through the door, giving you ample warning to hide, run, attack, something! But you sat there; drinking your drink and eyeing him like he was tonight’s entertainment. You realized you had been wrong before when you watched him leave his ship. He wasn’t stiff. At closer range, you could see that his limbs moved fluidly beneath the pounds and pounds of beskar, confident and dangerous like a jungle cat. Even as he stalked towards you, you remained…well, captivated was truly the only word for it.

There was the briefest moment of him pausing right in front of your booth in the back corner, mostly concealed from the other patrons. He held the rapidly beeping tracking fob out in your direction and just stared. You swear, it’s almost as if he didn’t believe that you were the quarry he was tracking. Which was ridiculous, considering your chain code and biometric description is uploaded to his comm. You can’t kriffing get a read on him due to the visor, but still, it’s almost like he didn’t expect you to be…you.

You had taken your chance on the perceived hesitation and reached for the stolen blaster behind you. Before you could even get both hands off the table, you were looking down the barrel.

You bite your lip, needing to come up with a plan quickly. You’ve been in similar situations with a dozen other bounty hunters, and you’re always able to talk your way out of it. This tin man shouldn’t be any different.

“Can you repeat that?” you ask casually, taking a sip of your drink. You stare up into his shining visor, noticing in the reflection that he can see right down your shirt. Perfect.

“I can take you in warm, or I can take you in cold,” he challenges, the modulation in his voice low and crisp. It’s almost…delicious. Okay, I can work with this.

“I’d rather you take me in hot,” you say softly. You feel your lips twitch into a smirk. You already know he’s not taking you in cold. The last hunter revealed to you that you’re worth way more alive due to that silly little pool the guild had on your capture.

The Mandalorian is silent, his body not giving anything away. You pride yourself on being able to read people. That’s your true talent in this world; the unique gift of knowing what another person wants, and locating the weakness. For all the bounty hunters before, you were able to decipher just what you needed to get away.

But with this hunter, still silent and still holding a blaster to your mouth, you are at a disadvantage. You can’t read his face. You can’t even see the minute tells of his body under all that thick cloth and armor. The sheer fact that this is the same man that travels with a jolly green infant is sending your head into a spiral. What makes this bastard tick?

 There’s no way you’d beat him in a fight, and you’re so tired of running. Judging by his gruff demeanor, you doubt a sob story is going to work. He definitely seems like a solo gig, so offering to help with another quarry won’t work.

            In a situation like this, you can count on the sexy act getting you out of trouble.

“I can take you in warm, or I can take you in cold,” he repeats evenly, a tint of annoyance at having to repeat himself for a third time.

“How do you want to take me?” you ask, fluttering your eyes up at him.

“You’re really trying this?” he asks. There is a slight tilt to his helmet. You lean forward, aware that your breasts are now setting on the table, popping up from your low cut blouse. You refuse to break eye contact- at least you’re praying you’re actually looking into his eyes- and you slowly lick the underside of his blaster. You fight back a gag, the metallic taste hard to swallow. There’s an almost inaudible crack in the modulator, and you hear his grip on the gun tighten, almost as if it could be crushed by his hand.

“Is it working?” you ask.

A hesitation. “No.” His weight shifts slightly to the side.

“That’s a shame,” you admit with a theatrical sight. “I took you for someone who would appreciate a girl that knows her way around a man’s blaster.”  The lines are cheesy and obvious, and your behavior in this public space is downright vulgar, but the routine hasn’t failed you yet.

“Shut up,” he growls, his collected demeanor cracking.

“Has it been a while?” you continue, “since someone cleaned your rifle, Mando?”  You have no idea what to call him, but the personalization seems to work. He removes his finger from the trigger. “I bet you’re tired of doing the dirty work yourself…it’s always more rewarding to let someone else rub your weapon down.”

“Stop,” he commands, voice tight and laced with a dangerous edge.

“Then take that gun out of my face,” you counter. You gaze up at him and attempt to read the cold metal as you would a face. He’s silent, another hesitation? Is he considering your proposition, or plotting to shoot you in the face?

He eventually concedes, slowly drawing the gun back. There’s a barely audible huff as he shifts his weight, blaster still trained on you from his hip. He’s towering over you, much closer than you are comfortable with, but it beats licking a death trap.

“So,” you begin, becoming more frank, “I’m finally big enough news to warrant a visit from a Mandalorian.” He doesn’t speak, the helmet stoic and trained in your direction. You decide to continue. “So let’s cut to the chase. I’m a useful girl and you’re a busy man. What can I do for you that will convince you to turnaround and find some other bounty to traumatize?”

“Nothing. What you can do is get up from this booth without causing a scene, and maybe I’ll leave you conscious for our trip back to the ship.” Oof, a tough guy.

“C’mon Mando, everyone wants something. Whether that’s more money, more sex, or more power…I can get that for you. Just name it.”

“I want you to shut up.” This guy doesn’t like to be challenged or teased. Maybe if you get him riled up, you can make your move.

“Make me,” you bite back.

You predicted correctly, and he lunges for you so quickly that it actually startles a yelp from your throat. A massive gloved hand is slapped over your mouth with punishing force, and your head knocks against the wall.

“Little girl,” he warns, his voice nearly a growl in the modulator. “I flew days to get here; my job is hunting down quarry and bring them in, so I’m not leaving empty handed.” He’s so close now, the chill of the beskar mere inches from your body. Right where I want you, metal brain.

You slowly lift your hands, palms spread wide to reveal that you have nothing up your sleeves. To your surprise, he doesn’t stop you, almost as if he’s curious what your next move is. You slowly wrap your fingers around his wrist, and pull him just far enough off your mouth that you can capture his gloved index finger between your lips.

His breath hitches in his helmet, and he allows you to scrape your teeth along the knuckle. You’re able to swirl your tongue once around the digit before he pulls away completely, remembering where he is. You chew your lip at this; most hunters were putty in your hands by now. It intrigues you, a rare excitement brewing in your gut.

With rough hands he grabs you out of the booth, gripping your arm tightly as he confiscates your blaster from your belt loop. Fortunately he doesn’t look at it long enough to recognize it as one of his own. You should want to run, fight back, but you can tell that’s not a tousle you are going to win. And honestly, he’s piqued your curiosity. So instead, you stand still like a “good little girl” for now and allow the Mandalorian to cuff you. He leads you out of the cantina, and you finally taste the  little bit of blood trickling from your mouth. The bastard had clapped his hand over your mouth so forcefully that he split your lip.


The walk back is hot and sticky, the dense forestation trapping humidity between its leaves. You behave for the first half of it, walking ahead of him with a blaster pointed at your back. He’s completely silent. In a strange way, it’s almost deafening. You need to break the stifling air between the two of you.

“So, don’t you want to know how I evaded the guild for so long?” you ask, still looking forward along the path.

He answers you with more silence. But you decide to continue.

“The first few,” you explain, “they were easy. They weren’t even a part of guild yet. I’m pretty good with a staff, so beating them in a fight was easy. Pretty hard to find someone when she steals your fob and supplies while you were knocked unconscious.”

“You didn’t try that method,” he responds bluntly.

You emit a curt laugh, and roll your eyes. “There’s no way I’d win in hand to hand. I couldn’t even get to my blaster before you had yours practically down my throat.”

More silence. You kick a small rock or two out of your path.

“I’m pretty gifted at reading people. Faces have always been an open book to me. So when the guild started sending better fighters…I couldn’t rely on my basic battle skills anymore.” You pause in your path, slowly turning to face your quiet travel companion. He sighs in annoyance, but ultimately pauses with you. “The soft ones, oh maker, I’d just tell them my sob story and they’d pretend like they never heard of me.”

A dubious tip of the helmet; you can tell he doesn’t believe you.

“The proud ones. The greedy ones,” you continue, taking a small step forward. “They want more than the bounty on a little nobody like me. I had picked up valuable intel in my travels, and sometimes that was enough. Other times, I’d help them take down a far more impressive quarry in exchange for letting me go.”

“And the method you tried on me?” he asks. Though his voice remains controlled and even, the question surprises you.

“Space is lonely” you state simply, taking another step towards him. His blaster is still held up, but off to the side instead of directly pointed at you. “It’s dark, and cold, and boring.” Another step towards him, the helmet now tipping down to look at you. “I can help alleviate some of that,” you reveal, as if speaking directly to his needs instead of your past actions. You manage to get your body pressed against him. He’s cold and rigid, holding your gaze for a moment before grabbing you by the shoulder to spin you back around. He taps the small of your back with his weapon, and you’re forced to continue your hike.

He’s a hard one to crack. You nearly give up for now, figuring you’ll have better luck once on the ship. A few minutes pass in silence; that is, until the modulated baritone greets your ears, earning the minutest of jumps from you.

“And that routine usually works?” he asks, voice betraying genuine curiosity. You can tell he’s talking about your little display in the cantina.

“I know it’s corny, but that’s kind of the point. They want something a little bold, a little odd. A break in the monotony. And usually, it’s not really sex or intimacy that they crave… it’s control.” You pause for a moment, fighting the odd pit in your stomach at the rush of memories that flood in. “Bounty hunting can be unpredictable, grueling even. There’s just something intoxicating about holding someone’s freedom in the palm of your hand. About being guaranteed that they will do what you want, when you want it, and exactly how you like it.” You can’t see him, but the air has changed between the two of you. He’s listening; intently. A captive audience for at least a moment.

You stop in your tracks, pretending that you need to stretch out your limbs. You twist slightly to the side and puff out your chest, presenting your breasts before bending down with your ass in the air. “After months and months of isolation and inconsistency, a warm body,” you stop your stretch and look coyly over your shoulder and the bounty hunter, “can be worth far more than a few credits.”

The air between the two of you now is thick, and you’re hoping you’ve hit a nerve with him. Surely this lone traveler, concealed from the world by this metal shield, would be craving exactly what you can give.

“You don’t have to be lonely tonight, Mando.”

Chapter Text

You swear you feel a spark in the atmosphere. You bet there are flames behind his eyes, if you could only see them. He jams the blaster into your back, the blunt end striking a nerve and definitely leaving a bruise. You release a whimper, but are ultimately cut off by his next command.

“Move.” His tone is icy, and for the first time today, you’re actually a little scared. What if this doesn’t work?

His pace is much quicker now, almost punishing as he pushes you through the final leg of the trip. In frustration, impatience maybe, he walks up to your side and grips you by the back of the neck. You can’t help but squeak, the sensation of leather rubbing against the tender skin catches you off guard. He forces you to follow his lead now, walking in tandem with you, hand on your neck to guide your direction.

You see his beat-up ship ahead, and your chest begins to tighten as you wonder what he’ll do to you. He’s absolutely pissed, and you’re at a complete loss for how this anger will manifest. He approaches the side of the ship, but instead of opening the ramp, he slams you hard up against the side. The wind is expelled from your lungs, and you bite down on your lip, effectively reopening the wound he caused at the cantina. It’s throbbing now as blood trickles down your chin.

He presses his body against you, pinning you to the starboard side, and you find that you can’t move a muscle. Stars, it seems to finally dawn on you just how much bigger he is than you. And light speeds stronger. For the first time in nearly three years, you’re not in control…and deep in the darkest parts of your body, it excites you.

You feel a distinct hardness against your ass, heavy breathing from his modulator ringing in his ear.

“So you like it rough,” you gasp out, stupidly egging him on. Your brain is screaming that if there was a time stop talking, it would be now.

“What do I need to do to get that pretty mouth to shut up?” His voice is gravely, a layer of danger that lights a fire in your abdomen. Holy shit, are you really getting turned on right now? That wasn’t part of the plan!

“I can think of a few positions,” you reveal, rolling your hips slowly. “C’mon Mando, let’s make a deal.” His cock is like beskar against your ass, and you let a moan slip out.

“I don’t-“ he stutters, his hips involuntarily thrusting against you twice before he stills himself. “I don’t negotiate with quarry.” One of his hands grips your hips tightly; either to keep you in place, or to keep himself from exploring more of your body.

“It’s a long trip back to Nevarro.” Your seductive tone has all but been dropped, and to your own ears you sound desperate. You grind against him again, feeling him rub deliciously against your now damp crotch. Maker, I didn’t think I could get this wet.

“Fuck,” he swears, his fist slamming into the ship just above your head.

 “I’ll wear you down,” you add on, your voice barely audible over his rough growl as you move against him.

“Oh pretty girl,” his voice is almost snide, struggling for some resolve. “I can’t give you that chance.” He reaches for the lock pad and triggers the ramp. You try to decipher what he means, and momentarily allow him to push your body onto the ship. He steers you to the left, and then you see it.

Your heart kriffing stops.

The sight is enough to pull you out of your filthy daze. In an instant, you are reduced to a quivering mess.

“A carbon-freezing unit?” The question gets caught in your throat. No. No, no, no. Not a chance in hell. Not again. Never again. You whip around, eyes wide and filled with tears as you gaze helplessly into his visor. “I’ll do anything. I’m serious you name it, please.”

The Mandalorian is a statue besides a small tilt of his helmet, as if he wasn’t expecting this kind of genuine emotion from you.

“Please!” You are becoming hysterical, crippling fear seizing your chest and choking you into a sobbing mess. “Please don’t put me in there, I can’t!” You rest your head against his beskar armor, unable to grab him. He goes rigid beneath you, pausing for a little longer before twitching out his arm. He reaches for the button to start up the machine, and in your panic you forget all logic.

You lift up your leg and push out with every bit of strength you have in you, kicking the taller man square in the stomach. It surprises him enough that he stumbles back with a grunt, and you take off past him. You aren’t thinking; you can’t even hear over the ringing in your ears. Sprinting for your life, you make it to the closed ramp before a bone breaking force launches against you, knocking your body to the metal floor of the ship.

You gasp and cough, willing the air back into your lungs; an impossibility with the Mandalorian’s immense weight on top of you. Faster than should be humanly possible in that kind of armor, he rises to his feet and grabs you by the ankles.

You attempt to squirm and kick, but he’s ready this time. His grip is more powerful as he drags you back towards the machine, and you babble helplessly.

“I’ll be good- good girl. So silent, I promise. Turn me in, I’ll go quietly,” you plead. He’s refusing to look at you now, and you wonder if he’s blocking out the sound of your cries through the helmet. “Just don’t put me in there,” you whisper, breaking down into a flood of tears. The fear is overwhelming, memories forcing their way into your thoughts…and you’re paralyzed. He flips the switch and starts to lean down. That is, until it miraculously switches off.

The Mandalorian releases a huff and flicks the switch back on in frustration. You watch as it moves again, preventing your carbonite casket from turning on.

“What in the-“ he groans before being interrupted by a gentle coo a few feet behind your head. This odd sound makes your tears subside, and the two of your look at each other in confusion. The Mandalorian flicks the switch for a third time, but is now looking behind you, and sighs as he hears the switch turn back off.

You furrow your brow in confusion, craning your neck to see the little green creature waddling towards you in his burlap robe. The Mandalorian is stock still, taken aback by the child’s presence.

“Hey little man,” you greet weakly, unsure of what else to say. Dank farrik, what the hell is going on? The child walks closer and reaches for your belt.

“Hey, stop that,” the Mandalorian grunts, scooting the child back a few feet with his foot. The kid scurries back over to you, reaching again for belt. In spite of it all, you can’t help but chuckle as he attempts to climb over your stomach to get a better view of the pouches. “I said stop!” the Mandalorian snaps in frustration. He lifts the child up into his arms before returning his gaze to you.

You let your head fall against the floor with a thud, surrendering for a moment and closing your eyes. “The cookies,” you sigh. The child gives a purr of glee at your words.

“What?” is all the bounty hunter can manage, the child softening the rage he possessed earlier.

“I was here earlier,” you confess. “Me and the little man have met before, and I gave him some cookies from my belt.”

“You what?” Oops, there’s the rage again.

“Calm down, I only stole a blaster. Didn’t even know the kid was on board until he grabbed my leg.”

Silence. Tense, suffocating silence.

The child finally begins to whimper, and you hear him struggle against his- fathers? – grip. You shift your body onto your side, hiking your hip into the air.

“The pouch to the left of my canteen,” you explain. He keeps his grip on the child as he fumbles with your belt, jostling you a bit until he produces a cookie wrapped in cloth. The child squeals in delight, and you open your eyes in order to see his wide smile as he snatches the cookie out of Mando’s fingers.

While the child is distracted with his treat, Mando reaches for the switch a final time. You both jolt at the creature’s sudden shriek of protest, his tiny arm jutting out and magically flipping it back to the off position. He looks up at his father, black eyes wide and glassy.

“No,” Mando warns, as if answering a question. The child continues to stare, twitching his ears. “No,” he repeats, with far less conviction. As if to seal the deal, the child reaches out three little claws to you and smiles before looking back at his father. Your mouth is hanging open, still stuck on the fact that this little womprat is fucking magical?

The mis-matched father and son are locked in some unspoken war for what feels like minutes, until finally, “Dank farrik. Fine!” The child releases a delighted squeal as Mando places him back down and grabs you by the shoulders. Lifting you with little exertion, he forces you to stand and walks you back over to the main belly of the ship.

“What’s happening?” you ask, still a bit confused by what you just witnessed.

A defeated and modulated shut up is the only answer you receive as he fixes your handcuffs to the bottom rung of the ladder leading to the cock pit. You lean against the uncomfortable metal rods, sitting cross legged with your wrists bound behind you. The child has snuck up from behind and is crawling into your lap.  The Mandalorian groans, and takes the child back into his arms, earning a pout from the little creature. He begins to climb the ladder with his ward, giving a final statement for the night.

“It’s a seven days journey to Nevarro. Don’t make me freeze you while the kid is asleep.” The Mandalorian disappears from your sight and you hear the door to the cockpit rush shut. You’re left alone in the darkness of the hull, alone with your thoughts as you try to process all the events leading up to your current situation.

Oh stars, I think I’m in trouble.

Chapter Text

Day 1—

            You have no idea how you fell asleep like this. The iron rods of the ladder rub coarsely against your skin, digging into your tender muscles. Your lip is still throbbing, and you feel as though you’ve been hit by a speeder. Which you assume would be the same feeling as being hit full force by a madman in full beskar armor. You’re so groggy that you can only register you were even sleeping due to the jolt in your chest as you woke up to the sound of boots hitting the floor.

            You turn your head to see Mando standing at the foot of the ladder you are cuffed to. As you slowly pull out of your haze, you feel the slight rumble of the ship beneath you. You must have passed out immediately, as you don’t even remember the feeling of lift-off or leaping into hyper drive. Mando doesn’t look at you, opting to busy himself over by the miniscule bed chamber. You quietly watch him, noting the agitation that seems to radiate off of every sharp movement.

            “Are we flying?” you ask weakly, cracking the silence.

            You don’t receive an answer, not that you were really expecting one. It’s so dark in the hull of the ship, it’s nearly disorienting.

            “Good chat,” you mutter to yourself, doubting he can even hear it. He fiddles with the device on his wrist for a moment, tinny beeps filling the void. The child’s pod hovers across the ship and disappears up the ladder somewhere above you. Must be bed time for the little man,  you reason.

            Mando turns back towards you, a beaten down pillow in his hand. You stare him down, cheeks flushing with nervous energy as he grips a rung of the ladder. He drops the pillow next to you without a word and begins to ascend.

            “Thanks,” you say softly, hoping it will make the floor slightly more bearable. “Mando?” you ask. He stops halfway up the ladder, apparently choosing not to ignore you this time. You feel embarrassed, wondering why you’re even bothering asking. But if you have to spend seven days like this, you can at least try to be comfortable.

            “Can- can you get this stupid belt off me?” you ask, hanging your head away from his general direction. You anticipate his signature, shut up, but it doesn’t come. Your question hangs in the air for a few more moments before, to your surprise, the Mandalorian climbs back down the ladder.

            He gets on his knees in front of you, beskar helmet revealing nothing. You don’t know where to look as he brackets your body, reaching around you to undo the straps and buckles of your trusty belt. You end up staring awkwardly into his visor, hoping he’s looking somewhere else and not making direct eye contact. The belt releases from your waist, and he carefully sets it to the side against the wall.

            “And the shoes?” you ask. You feel as though you may be pushing your luck, but you know you won’t be able to accomplish it without his help. Maker, why are your ears burning? You can feel the blush spread, and you’re thankful for the darkness that engulfs the two of you. He focuses on your face, refusing to move. “I’m sorry,” you continue, “the laces go past my ankles. I can’t get them off without untying them.” As if to solidify your point, you pull at the cuffs, scraping them against the rod of the ladder to prove you can’t move.

            He says nothing, but his hands move to your shoes, his fingers deftly undoing the laces. You wonder how he can operate so well in leather gloves. He grips the back of your calf, the sensation making you shiver. Holding your leg still, he slips off the boot with his other hand and places it next to your belt. The same process continues with your other boot, only this time you bite down on your lip to control your reaction to his hand gripping you. As he places the boot to the side you hiss, wincing as you accidently irritate the wound on your bottom lip.

            Mando looks at you, a raw heat emanating from him as the two of you remain locked in a type of gaze you can’t name. Blood rushes through your ears as his hand slowly, so slowly, reaches towards your jaw. As his leather palm cups your left cheek, you don’t know whether to flinch away or lean into it. His thumb lightly traces over your puffy lip, stinging the wound with each careful brush of leather.

            You can’t read him. Not well anyway. You wonder if he’s inspecting his handiwork, maybe proud that he put a mark on you. Or maybe it’s guilt, his soft touches feel almost reverent. Somewhere in the back of your mind, you conclude that it could be both. You can tell he’s looking into your eyes beneath the visor, and you wonder just what he sees. Is it clear, like looking through glass, or is your visage marred by heat signatures, night vision, or some other type of mod that a bounty hunter might need? You part your lips, unsure if you’re going to speak or take his thumb into your mouth.

            Before you can decide, he jerks his hand away and stands up in a fluid motion. He feels miles away now as he towers over you. He turns gruffly and ascends the ladder quickly, leaving you alone in the dim light. Though the hull is still, your heart is racing, and you swear it echoes with every violent slam against your ribcage.


An hour has passed, and you don’t hear a peep from him or the child. You assume they are asleep, but you can’t seem to keep your eyes closed now. Your body is wired, excited. There’s a heat rushing in your veins that you didn’t think you’d feel again. What is this hunk of metal doing to you?

You’ve been with a number of bounty hunters at this point. Though it was all in the name of your freedom, you can’t say they were bad experiences…just unfulfilling. To put it frankly, a lubricant was required for most of the encounters, and you could count the number of times you found mutual completion on less than one hand. But something about the Mandalorian has you feeling hot and tingly, and you shift a few times on the floor attempting to quell the odd pressure between your thighs.

It scares you a bit. This consuming, devouring lust that is creeping under you skin. And for what? A large, faceless metal man that has done nothing but push you around? But then you think back to his hard cock pressed against you outside of the ship. The way he held the child, protective and stern. His willingness to make you at least a little more comfortable…and don’t forget the fact that you could be frozen in carbonite right now. The thought makes you want to vomit, and you quickly banish it to the darkest corners of the ship.

With every move, you can feel how slick you are against your underwear. Your nipples are erect from your undeniable arousal and strain a painfully against your shirt. You lick your lips, listening carefully for any sound of movement above you.

The silence persists, and you commit to your decision. Unable to do much with your hands behind your back, you readjust your knees, grateful that your wrists can slide up with you. You capture the pillow on the floor between your legs and push your knees together, folding it in half just under your crotch.

“Stars, this is a terrible idea,” you whisper to yourself. But your desperation overrules logic. In seven days, you’ll be turned over to the authorities, probably spending the rest of your life in some desolate and floating prison. It’s almost a freeing thought to not run anymore, so why not go down in flames?

You roll your hips, copying the cadence you used with the Mandalorian earlier against his ship. The friction is dull at first, and you wonder if the pillow is going to be stiff enough for this to work. You’re so wet though, so you readjust, pushing your heels up into the pillow, giving yourself something harder to ride. You whimper slightly, able to feel the pressure against your clit. There we go.

You sink into it, thrusting against the material, aware your wetness is spreading all across your underwear now. You don’t care, reveling in the warmth, the feeling of experiencing pleasure on your own terms. You toss your head back, thinking about the bounty hunter sleeping just above you, and the thought makes you gasp lightly.

His words ring in your ear, turning your insides into kriffing lava. What do I need to do to get that pretty mouth to shut up? You circle your hips, your pussy swollen with your arousal now. It’s almost painful. You think about his fingers in your mouth, the taste of leather pressing down on your tongue to muffle your voice. Or maybe his grip on the sides of your head as he takes your mouth.

Fuck, he had muttered by your ear, the swear lighting something filthy deep inside. As if you were so desirable it frustrated him. Oh pretty girl, he had called you. You emit a soft whine, trying desperately not to wake the ship. Pretty girl. You liked being thought of that way. Before you were constantly on the run, constantly dirty, dressing functionally, you used to love dressing up. Fixing your hair, draped in pretty dresses that would make the boys of your village turn their heads and eye you. It was so long ago, but with just a few words, the Mandalorian made you feel seen.

“Oh maker,” you whisper, dropping your head down to your chest. You grunt softly as you focus more pointedly on your pleasure, desperate to drive yourself to completion. You feel that familiar tightening, and your nipples are now sore against the material of your shirt and you rock yourself back and forth. You’re building, the delicious pressure on your clit sending the nearly forgotten pulsations beneath your skin. It feels silly, but you want to taste his name in your mouth.

“Mmm, Mando make me cum,” you breathe to yourself, lost in the fantasy of him. You know that can’t be his real name, but it feels good to whisper, snuggling with a hum between your lips, and forcing your lips open with the “o” at the end. The image of his imposing figure towering over you, the serious beskar helmet fixated on you…it sends you, and you finally find your release. You ride out your orgasm, allowing it to ripple through your body as you focus on keeping quiet. Loose muscles make you feel heavy, and your mind begins to cloud until…

Your entire body freezes as you swear you hear a creak above you. With a gasp you flip your head up the ladder, searching for the source of the sound. The space above the ladder that leads to the cockpit is pitch black, revealing nothing. Your mouth hangs open, breathing heavily from your previous exertions and you stare wide eyed into the abyss. You don’t hear another sound, and you doubt you’d be able to detect any movement anyway. With shaky legs, you push the pillow away and collapse onto the floor.

You close your eyes, listening to the sounds of the ship for a little longer before finally slipping into sleep.

Chapter Text

Day 2—


You’re woken up to three tiny green fingers poking at your face. Your eyes flutter open, your head pounding a bit from the restless night. The noises of the ship are unfamiliar and the floor was extremely uncomfortable. Not to mention you felt too ashamed to use the pillow, so you were mostly flat on the floor or propped up on your own shoulder.

“Hey little man,” you greet with slow blinks. Your voice is raspy but he smiles at you all the same. You lift yourself up into a seated position, and the child lifts his arms up in the air as if asking to be held. “Sorry kid,” you yank your cuffs against the ladder, “arms are a little occupied.”

He shoots you a pout that looks so pitiful it flips your stomach. He raises his arms again, insistent. You take pity on him, equal parts due to his cuteness and the fact that you haven’t forgotten he’s kriffing magical. You extend your legs out in front of you and beckon him over with a tilt of your head. He gurgles and eagerly crawls on top of your thighs. Once you know he won’t teeter off, you bring your knees up close to you chest, allowing him to lean back against your legs.

“Well don’t you look cozy?” you coo at him. He tilts his head, large black eyes evaluating you. You bounce him lightly, trying to ignore the way his feet are pushing on your very full bladder. “Think you can convince your dad to uncuff me so I can use the refresher?”

He just reaches his hands towards you, brushing your busted lip. You wince slightly, but try not to pull away from the cute little creature. “It’s ugly huh? Thank the metal guy for that one,” you mutter. The child gives you a small frown before closing his eyes, pushing his fingers a little more firmly against your wound.

It’s odd, but you almost feel like you understand him. You know instinctively not to move, just to let him do…whatever the hell he’s trying to do. It starts as a tingle, almost as if your lower lip has been shocked. It doesn’t hurt, but it makes you shudder as the little guy murmurs in concentration. A strange energy floods through your mouth and around you jaw, before it dissipates just above your head.

He lowers his hand and snuggles against your thighs, looking adorably sleepy. Your eyes are wide as you run your tongue over your lip, feeling completely smooth skin and not an ounce of pain. “Stars,” you breathe, refusing to pull your eyes away from the little miracle in front of you. He’s blinking slowly now, his eyes heavy.

You look around quickly, making sure Mando is nowhere in sight. You resume bouncing your legs, a little more gently this time as you sing under your breath.

A foreign star behind me
A galaxy more to go
In depths of space and starry nights
Above the cold winds blow
So many years have put my battered hull up to the test
A long forgotten promise
Coming home at last to rest
For even in this darkness
Something calls for me to find
And cities may all turn to ash
And stone walls fall to time”

You stop abruptly as you hear a footstep above you. You focus on the baby, now fast asleep, as you try to quell the blush in your cheeks. The Mandalorian begins his descent down the ladder and you desperately avert your eyes from him and the pillow still laying on the ground.

He eyes the child for a moment before speaking, his voice surprising you.

“Impressive. He never falls asleep when I sing to him.” You whip your head to look up into his visor, your mouth agape.

“You- you sing to him?”

“No,” he answers gruffly, and you suddenly feel stupid for falling into his sarcasm.

“Oh, right,” you mutter, chewing on the side of your cheek. You glance up at him, finding that his gaze is still fixated on you. You furrow your brows, and he responds to your silent question by leaning over to hold your jaw. Your breath hitches, cutting through the silence at an embarrassing decibel. The cut’s gone, you realize. He’s wondering how you healed so fast. “Blame it on your magic baby,” you retort.

All you receive is a grunt and he drops his hand down to the child, removing him from the nest he’s made on your legs. You frown at the loss of warmth, but the alleviated pressure on your bladder is more than welcome. He takes the child over to the hammock hanging above the bed.

“You’re good with him,” he states, sliding the door to the alcove closed. You blanch, not expecting the compliment. He turns his head, the visor frustratingly expressionless.

“I –uh, thanks. My mother worked in the school, so she made me help out with the babies while she taught the older kids.” You swallow, three years on the run doing nothing to keep you from being emotional about the memories of your past life. “Of course, I hated it at the time,” you add. “All I cared about was learning how to beat people up with my staff and flirting with the boys.”

“That doesn’t seem to have changed,” he offers. It doesn’t feel like an insult; he almost sounds amused.

“Yeah, well…clearly seduction didn’t work, but maybe I can convince you to keep an onboard babysitter?” you offer, attempting a dazzling smile.

Mando loses whatever bit of amusement he had, his body turning stiff again.

“I know better than to harbor a wanted fugitive. Especially one whose charged with murder.” You purse your lips, a flame of annoyance coursing through your body.

“Don’t give me that bantha osik,” you bite back, using a word from his native tongue. The only one you know, but you hope it catches him off guard. “Clearly that’s not what’s stopping you. That kid is worth five times my bounty and draws far more hunters to your door.”

He clenches his fists at his side, shifting his weight to the other leg. He regards you with caution, wondering how you could possibly know there was a bounty on the adorable child.

“One thing bounty hunters love to do more than fuck is to talk,” you state, your voice low, “present company excluded.” You swear you can hear a huff from under the helmet. “There were a few that couldn’t shut up about some magic child that was causing a lot of fuss. I put two and two together.” He doesn’t answer you, his agitation palpable. You shouldn’t have brought the kid into this, but you are trying to make a point. Your chest clenches in frustration and you get up on your knees, his energy fueling yours. He hit a nerve that you didn’t realize you had. “You can shove me, bust up my lip, chain me to this kriffing ladder, but don’t act like you know who I am based on some false charge.”

“So you didn’t kill anyone?” he asks, his voice skeptical. He’s challenging you, his arms crossed over his broad chest plate. “Last I checked, beating an officer to death with a staff is murder.” So, he’s clearly read the official file on you

“It’s not murder if it’s in self-defense,” you growl, unaware that your voice could reach that level of intensity.

He snorts. The big metal asshole kriffing snorts at you. You pull against your restraints, feeling cagey.

“I’ve heard it all before,” he dismisses. “You’ll say whatever you need if it means you won’t get taken in. So just save it.” He walks towards the ladder and begins to climb, not offering another word or glance your way.

You’re left alone on the floor, your ears ringing with anger and your thighs trembling as you realize you still need to pee.


About an hour passes and your entire body is rocking back and forth. Your anger has subsided a bit, but that’s probably due to all your brain power being focused on not relieving yourself all over the Mandalorian’s floor.

You see where he’s coming from. He deals with the scum of society on a daily basis; who knows how many lies he’s heard over the years. But still, the fact that he views you on that same level… it bothers you. It makes your insides twist. Does he really think you’re just some dumb criminal? That you could be dangerous?

Well clearly he doesn’t think your dangerous. He trusts you with the kid.

Honestly, that only seems to confuse you more. And why on Earth do you care what he thinks about you anyway? You met him yesterday, and besides a few rather deliciously heated moments…it’s not like you can claim the two of you connected or anything. He’s turning you in for maker’s sake!

“Oh stars,” you breathe, your toes curling. Is this what it feels like to die? Your entire body feels like it’s going to burst. You sigh, hurling your pride against the durasteel.

“Mando?” you call out, embarrassed to be asking him for a favor after your last interaction. You hear nothing and try again. “Mando!” There’s a light stir in the cockpit above you, but he doesn’t seem to be walking towards the ladder. “Bucket brains, I’m serious! I really need you down here right now or it will not be pleasant for anyone involved.”

“You’re going to wake the kid,” an unamused voice sounds above you. You look up to see the Mandalorian taking his sweet time to descend the ladder, as if he can’t see you rocking back and forth like a shell-shocked jawa.

“I need to use the refresher,” you gasp. He’s silent, like he’s deciding if it’s worth the hassle and risk to uncuff you. “I’ll be good,” you promise. “I’ll go right back into the damn cuffs, but I am fucking begging you.” Your histrionics seem to convince him and he leans down, uncuffing you with some kind of sensor on his wrist. Before he can help pull you to your feet, you raise up on wobbly legs and nearly trip on your way. You slam into the wall, unable to keep your balance, but ultimately make it, shutting the door harshly behind you.

You moan loudly as you relieve yourself, holding your head in your hands, not bothering to be embarrassed at the sound of heavy steps just outside the door. You take a moment to just sit there, reveling in the fact that you get to be alone. That you are unobservable. You sigh contentedly closing your eyes for a brief moment before finishing up.

Just as you pull up your pants there is the sound of a fist against the door, and it makes you jump.

“Don’t spend all day in there,” the Mandalorian warns, and you take pleasure in rolling your eyes and sticking out your tongue. You hope that helmet doesn’t give him the ability to see through walls.

“Just washing my hands,” you reply softly, savoring the feeling of standing. You allow the water to run down your wrists and through your fingers, silky and refreshing, as you straighten out your back. You dry them off and put a hand against the door, stopping yourself from exiting. For the first time, you are on a level playing field, and you feel braver now that neither of you can see each other. “Mando?”

“What?” he doesn’t sound mad, just impatient.

“I promise I’m not stalling,” you begin. “I just…look I know you probably don’t believe me.” Why are your hands shaking? “But I meant what I said. It was self defense.” Your voice has softened a bit, and you hope he can still hear you. You hear him shift his stance but say nothing.

“I remember when the Empire fell. I remember thinking it would feel different. Like a weight would be lifted from the world. But really, very little changed. The stormtroopers moved out and the New Republic came in.” You bite your lip, contemplating your words carefully. You’re just telling him the truth; why are you so nervous?

“They were there to round up Empire loyalists and remove problematic officials and leaders. My town didn’t care either way to be honest. We knew most of the galaxy thought they were the good guys, so we tried to cooperate. And that’s when I learned that the ‘good guys’ aren’t always good people. They’re just the side that wins.”

You hear a soft sigh, so soft that you don’t think it was picked up on the modulator. Your heart skips a beat as the door slowly pulls open. He’s looking down at you, he’s a little too close, and you feel exposed. But the slightest nod from his helmet tells you that he wants you to continue. You focus on his chest plate, knowing that you won’t be able to get through the next part of your story with that shiny visor reflecting your face back at you.

“My parents had died before the Empire fell, so it was just me in the house,” you explain. “They- they were sweeping the town looking for empire officers that might be hiding out. And there was this soldier,” you catch your breath. Your tongue feels like it’s swelling. You’ve told this story before, but it had been about year ago, and it was to a woman who was a lot less intimidating than the Mandalorian towering over you.

“I answered the door when he knocked, and he pushed his way through into my house. He asked if I was alone. I thought he meant, you know, if I was hiding anybody. So I said yes. They were the good guys; I didn’t have any reason to lie or to think that—“ your lip is trembling.

“I’m listening,” says a deep modulated voice. It’s a bit rough, but sincere. This gives you the push you need.

“Well, he pushed me down onto the couch. And I screamed…I remember screaming so loud and wondering why no one could hear me. And he tried to- well I’m sure you can guess.” You take a pause, and for some reason lift your eyes up to him, looking where you believe his eyes to be. Your voice is shaky, but you push on, determined to finish. “He didn’t know my staff was under the couch. As he ripped at my clothes and grabbed me, I reached for it. And before he could…could do what he wanted, I raised my staff and hit him as hard as I could.” Your voice is more rushed now, but you’re still locked in your gaze with the bounty hunter. “He rolled off of me onto the floor and I hit him again. And again. And I just kept hitting him. I was so worried he was going to recover. Find a way to get back up and finish what he started…and that’s when two other officers found me.” You drop your head back down, your body feeling heavy, your eyes wet with emotion.

“As you can imagine, they didn’t believe me. On that day, I became an enemy to the New Republic.” The tears are definitely falling down your cheeks now, and they sting against your skin. You can’t remember the last time you cried, and you hate that you’re doing it in front of him. You shudder as a gloved hand gently cups your chin, slowly raising your head up. A few more tears escape and you purse your lips, unsure of what to do. The beskar helmet just studies you. It’s a little too intense, almost intimate, but you can’t break your eye contact.

His thumb is stroking your skin, as if you were so delicate you could break at any moment. You don’t think he realizes he’s doing it, and you can’t stop yourself from leaning into his touch. Electricity seems to radiate in the ever shortening space between your face and his. His voice is gentle, even through the helmet. The earnestness making your chest warm. In three words, he’s able to shift the entire atmosphere between the two of you.

“I believe you.”

Chapter Text

Day 3--

            Whatever moment the two of you shared seems to have disappeared entirely. Or at least is being actively avoided by Mando. The Child had cried from his secluded spot, and the Mandalorian hastily dragged you over to the ladder and cuffed you back to the rod, focusing on anywhere but your face. Since then, he has been averting his gaze, refusing to look at you.

            With a man that gives so little away, you somehow know exactly what the problem is. It’s in every twitch where he turns to look at you, but then finds something to focus on just beyond you. As you play peek-a-boo with the kid, you hear the beginnings of a chuckle before it’s quickly doused by the bounty hunter. The way his fingers flex as he passes you, as if he’s debating using those handcuffs in some other situation. You can sense the need for connection, the desire to know you, and he’s desperately trying to squelch it.

            He feels guilty. You can just sense it, as if the air is tainted with its smell. He feels guilty for letting quarry get under his skin. He feels guilty for handcuffing you just after an incredibly tender shared moment. To him, you’re a game of chance, and no matter the outcome, he can’t completely win. It puzzles you, this code that he adheres himself to. This is the way.

            Though Mando refuses to look at you, this offers you the opportunity to study him. His stern posture, even though there’s no one around to intimidate. Well except you of course, but you suspect it’s not for show. You never expected the helmet to come off, but you are surprised that he wears the armor at all times as well. It seems like he even sleeps in it. When he eats, it seems to be somewhere secluded, away from the child’s eyes. He always returns a few minutes later with an empty bowl, clearly feeling his time is better spent on other matters.

            His relationship with the child is the most confusing, and frankly endearing, thing about the gruff man. You can’t help but smile when you see the kid waddle over to Mando, arms up in the air begging to be lifted. The Mandalorian always pauses, as if pretending like he won’t bend to the child’s will…but ultimately he scoops the kid up, holding him protectively against the sturdy beskar. And the kid loves it. He snuggles against it like it’s not the most uncomfortable thing to have digging in to your skin, and you should know.

            He talks to the kid too. Not full conversations, and it’s not constant. But he seems to take amusement in commenting on the little creature’s behavior. Even when he’s stern, it doesn’t hold any weight. He truly sounds like a father talking to a magical green toddler. The bond between them is definitely strong. Stars, the fact that he was willing to renege on his deal to his client and his guild just to steal the child back says a lot. You frown a little to yourself, guessing that decision was a onetime occurrence. You’re not so lucky, and the kid is way cuter than you.

            The day has flown by; Mando busying himself by cleaning his weapons as you entertain the kid. You’ve held him, play peek-a-boo, sung to him (only when the Mandalorian had vacated the room), and just listened to him babble on as if telling you some great epic poem. You’ve even taught him how to blow spit bubbles; a new skill that’s sure to piss off Mando. The thought makes you smirk.

            “You know, I should really be charging you for babysitting,” you state, as if it’s a fact you both could agree on.

            “Is that so?” he asks, not looking up from the blaster that he has deconstructed. There’s a hint of smile to his voice, and it encourages you to keep talking.

            “Well,” you turn to the kid, who’s now climbing all over your legs. You speak to him in a baby voice, “I’d be lying if I said I wouldn’t do it for free.”

            “Your negotiating skills are truly remarkable,” he quips. You grin at the sarcasm, happy to hear that low voice coming through the modulator.

            “First of all, I’m an excellent negotiator. Was doing just fine until your shiny ass came along.” You lean over to give the kid a kiss on his bald little head. “And second,” you begin, making sure to stare the Mandalorian down, “I still have four days to change your mind.”

            This finally pulls him from his work, and he turns to look at you. You notice the slight shift of his feet, his fingers drumming lightly on the table. You give him a genuine, mostly innocent smile, before turning your attention back to the child. In your peripherals you see him studying you, and you wait patiently for him to break the silence this time.

            “And how are you planning to do that?” he enquires. There’s an excitement beneath his dubious tone. Your stomach tightens a little.

            “Well, you don’t seem to need my help with a bounty. I tried running from you; clearly didn’t get very far. I certainly can’t fight you with my hands cuffed behind my back. And I’m already babysitting your kid for free.” You skip over the part where you told him about your past, worried it would stick him right back in his distant mood.

            “You didn’t answer the question.”

            “Well I can’t with a child present,” you gasp before giving him a wink. You’re teasing mostly. While you certainly wouldn’t complain if he were to let you earn your freedom that way, his moral resolve seems to be even stronger than the beskar. You expect him to brush you off, go back to assembling the blaster.

            “He can’t understand you,” the Mandalorian prompts nonchalantly. You can’t hide your giggle, the sound bubbling up from your stomach. Mando just tilts his head, waiting for an answer.

            “Well maybe I’m embarrassed to tell you,” you say sweetly, your cheeks definitely turning pink.

            “Says the woman who licked my blaster in a crowded restaurant.”

            “Oh, it’s woman now? I distinctly remember you calling me little girl at one point.” He clears his throat and readjusts the way he is sitting. You shoot him a wry smile. “I also remember you calling me pretty girl,” you practically purr the words at him, “or is that only when you’re humping me against the side of your ship?” Your entire body feels warm now, and you notice Mando shift again, but ultimately staying silent. The child has stopped cooing and is looking back and forth between the two of you. His big black eyes nearly sparkle against the various lights in the hole, and you begin to hope Mando is right about the little guy not understanding.

            “Why so quiet? Just moments ago you seemed so curious, Mando.”

            The two of you are locked in a gaze, as if daring the other to look away first. The beskar helmet is cold and unmoving, and you are dying to know just what kind of a face is beneath it. Is he blushing? Eyeing you hungrily while he licks his lips? Three little fingers grab at your cheek and force you to look down, giving the Mandalorian the win. The child gives you a small smile, clearly happy to be the center of your attention again. You sneak a glance at Mando who has quickly returned to his weapons, speedily reassembling the blaster before working on a vibroblade. You give him one last poke before dropping the subject.

            “My original offer still stands.” Your voice is more genuine then you intend. “You don’t have to be lonely tonight, Mando.”


“Wait, I need to say good night,” you insist just as Mando is about to close the orb.

“He doesn’t need to be babied,” the Mandalorian huffs, sending the carrier down to your level. The child gives you a sleepy smile, and you lean in close letting him play with your hair until his father ultimately loses his patience.

“Okay, that’s enough.”

He closes the pram, and it floats up the ladder and into the cockpit.

“I think you’re jealous,” you tease, eyeing the metal man above you. You swear you can hear him roll his eyes behind the helmet, and he turns to put all of his weapons back in their proper places. “You can pull on my hair too. You just have to ask,” you add, leaning your head back and closing your eyes.

Honestly at this point, you’re not sure if your advances are in pursuit of your freedom, because Mando turns you on, or because you’re so kriffing bored. The kid is fun, but it’s not like you can go follow him or really play. And Mando; well watching him all day does put a little heat in your stomach. You’ve never seen anyone so…sturdy. You’re dying to feel him pressed against you again. Hopefully taking it a little farther.

You find yourself wondering a lot about him, actually. You’ve seen him be sweet to the kid, but you can’t picture that extending into other situations. You can’t help but imagine what he’s packing, and if it’s bigger than what you’ve had before. And of course his stoic voice, wondering if it twists in pleasure. Or is he just a mute, completely focused like when he’s on a hunt?

You’re so consumed in your thoughts, nearly nodding off to your daydreams until his voice rouses you.

“Hmm?” You don’t open your eyes.

“We’ll be stopping tomorrow in Canto Bight,” he repeats. Your eyes pop open.

“What? I thought this hunk of junk was a one way ticket to Navarro?”

“Still is for you,” he mutters, his voice lacking any conviction. “Last quarry is on Cantonica.”

“And if you were on the run, you’d go to the busiest city in the galaxy,” you reason with a nod. Hell, it’s what you did when you first ran. But you hadn’t been back in years. “So let me guess, I’m babysitting?” You grumble a bit.

It’s not that you mind. The kid is really growing on you, but you’re also kriffing annoyed to be going to a dazzling city, handcuffed to a ladder and forced against your will to watch a magical green baby wrapped in a potato sack.

“Yes,” he answers, ignoring your tone completely. “So rest up.” He walks over to the ladder, apparently ready to retire for the night as well, but he pauses as his eyes catch your pillow.

You had kicked it away from you earlier, determined not to let the kid play on it after the other nefarious acts performed against the lump fabric. Your cheeks go red. And the ship feels way too warm, it’s stifling. He continues staring at it, and your stomach flips. There’s no possible way he knows, right?

“Do you need to use that tonight?” he asked, his voice low. You almost don’t hear it.

“Nope,” you answer far too quickly.

“If you don’t want to use it tonight, maybe I will.” His voice is definitely teasing now, his helmet now fixed on you. Your entire face, all the way down to your chest is flaming. No matter what special vision he has in that helmet, he has to see the blush.


He fucking knows!


“I knew it,” you murmur. “I knew I heard something last night.”

He says nothing, just remains fixated on you. He’s making no move to climb the ladder, as if he has no desire to leave your side.

“You could have let me know I had an audience.”

No answer. But his weight shifts in his feet.

“Or maybe, you like seeing me like that,” you begin, your voice quivering with excitement. Oh maker you want this. “On my knees with my legs spread,” you begin to demonstrate your words, “handcuffed with my chest out, looking up at you.”

He releases a sharp breath, almost a shudder. He takes a step forward, just barely out of your reach.

“Is that what you want, Mando? Want to hear me beg for you?”

He reaches out, pulling down your bottom lip with his gloved thumb. You let him before capturing it between your teeth, gently skating along the material as you look up into the visor.

“Fuck,” he breathes, and you can see the exhale through his whole body.

“If that’s what you want,” you whisper.

“Stop.” It’s almost a prayer.

“No,” your voice is a little stronger. Your chest is heaving up and down; you’re vaguely aware that you’re pulling at your cuffs, and the digging of metal into your flesh would be excruciating if it weren’t for the adrenaline coursing through your body.

“Shut up.” His voice is harsh, defensive.

“C’mon,” you encourage with a playful smile. “Give me something to think about in prison.”

“That’s not funny.” But his hand is traveling down your neck now, fingers skating over your throat. The shivers that course through your body are tantalizing, and you feel your nipples get hard beneath your shirt. You know he sees, because he chokes back what sounds like a moan.

Your brain can only focus on one thing now, the feel of him. The taste of him. You abandon the promise of a deal for now, and instead give into the chase of him.

“Please?” Your voice is breathy, almost a whimper. You’d normally be embarrassed by the sound, but the very obvious erection just inches from your face proves its effect on the man.

“C-can’t, pretty girl,” he almost sounds like he’s in pain. His hand drifts down farther, caressing the tops of your breasts. You let out a soft moan, reveling in the way he touches you…almost reverent.

“It’s okay,” you assure him, the apex of your thighs swelling with arousal. You feel yourself getting wetter with each movement of his hand against your skin. “I want it.” He’s gotten closer now, and you mouth at his clothed erection. Oh stars, he’s hard as hell.

He murmurs your name, unable to keep his hips from rocking towards your face. You moan loudly, caught off guard by the way your name sounds coming through the modulator. His baritone voice sending sparks of lust through your veins.

“Mando, I want you.” You look straight up at him, your voice clear and determined.

He growls, his hands flying to his black pants to free himself. You lick your lips, wanting whatever he will give you, wanting to be his good girl. When you finally get to see his cock, it makes your heart stutter. He’s absolutely massive, and your throat feels sore just from looking at it. But the way he’s staring down at you, his broad chest heaving in anticipation, you don’t care. You lean forward and give a long lick to the underside of his shaft, moaning at his warmth and the fact that this is the first bit of skin you’ve seen from the Mandalorian.

Dank Farrik,” he curses, his voice rough. You could listen to that all night. “You have no idea how g-good you look like this. Just like this.” His words fuel you, and your twist your tongue along the head of his cock, spreading his precum around the tip and all around the sides.

His hand skates along the side of your face and up into your hair as you lazily lick every inch of him. You nose against the coarse hair above his member, breathing in his scent as you feel his smooth skin against you.

“Touch me,” you murmur, sucking gently at the exposed skin just below his hip bone. “Take off your gloves, I want to feel you.” He pulls away slightly, ripping off the leather and tossing them somewhere behind him. In an instant, rough hands are cupping your face before skating down your throat.

“You’re so fucking soft.” He sounds absolutely mesmerized, and he slips his hand down your shirt, kneading at your breast hungrily. “You feel so-so good. How can you feel this good?” You moan loudly, and without warning, take him into your mouth. His hand shoots out to grab a hold of the ladder to stabilize himself, but his focus never leaves you. He’s taking you in; every lick, every hollowing of your cheeks, every moment your eyes flick up to his for approval. He wants to see all of it. “You t-take me so well,” he moans, his pelvis rocking in time with your movements as you bob your head.

You push farther, unsure if it’s physically possible to fit all of him in your mouth. But the way he’s talking to you. Worshiping your movements. You take a deep breath and force his cock to the back of your throat, and a rewarding low moan escapes him as you gag on his length. It hurts, maker it hurts, but you feel so fucking full of him. He’s the only thing you can taste, the only thing you can inhale. His hands find your hair, and he twists his fingers through it. It sends chills down your spine and you pop off of him loudly, spit still connecting your mouth to the head.

“Pull my hair,” you beg, your own words surprising you. You hated it when other men had tried, but now? You want to give him the reins. “I want to feel you while I suck your fat cock.” Maker that is filthy, but it sends his head back violently and he looks like he may combust. Thick fingers grip your hair and you whine needily.

“The sounds you make,” he comes closer, and you take him into your mouth again, “Am-am I causing you to make those?”  You give an agreeable hum around him, the vibrations earning you a higher moan than expected. It’s breathy, like he’s floating despite the pounds of metal grounding him to the floor of the ship.

“Shit, don’t stop talking,” you beg. You are floored; he’s spoken more words now than in the past three days. He’s almost bordering on rambling. But his voice, even through a modulator, is so sexy, your lower half is pulsing with every inflection and vibration. You burrow your face, pushing his pants down a bit farther, so you can lick at his balls. He inhales sharply as you take them both into your mouth, enjoying the softness as you delicately swirl your tongue around the bottom of them.

“F-fuck. How the h-hell are you so good at this?” The real answer is practice. With the others, you wanted to make them cum quickly, and go even quicker. But with Mando?

“Wanna make you feel good,” you moan out, licking him again. Maker you want to touch him. The bite of the cuffs rudely remind you that you don’t have that option. “I like hearing your voice, saying these words no one else hears,” you admit, your mouth running away from your brain. “Saying things no one has ever said to me.”

He pushes his cock into your mouth, taking control. His tight grip in your locks keeps your head still as he thrusts lazily into you. The breathing beneath the helmet is ragged as he takes your mouth, and your happy to swallow him down, hollowing out your cheeks.

“W-wanted this since you- dank farrik- you licked that fucking blaster. W-wanted to bend you over the table right there.” His pace is picking up, and he refuses to tear his gaze away from you. Your jaw is beginning to ache, but it feels so good. After being empty for so long, the Mandalorian seems to be filling whatever is missing inside you. He pushes you deep onto his cock, moaning your name loudly as you struggle to breath past his impressive size. “Saw you last night. Fuckin-“ he’s hunched over a bit now, one of his hands back to gripping the ladder. You moan, the idea of him watching you get yourself off excites you. You spread your legs a little wider; your panties are kriffing soaked. “H-hearing you make those sounds. Shit- Iwantedtobethereasonyoumadethoseprettyfuckingsounds!”

His hips are stuttering, and you can feel his body begin to tighten beneath your tongue. He’s slamming into your mouth, hitting your throat with each thrust. Tears prick in your eyes, but you don’t fight his movements.

“And then you said my name.” He’s growling now, wholly animalistic. “Shit- I’m gonna,” he pulls your hair back, sliding out of your mouth. You feel absolutely wrecked, saliva all over your face, but you’re not done.

“Let me taste you,” you rush out, puling against his grip on your hair and taking him into your mouth a final time. It catches him off guard and he’s cumming before you’re ready to swallow, the first spurt trickling down your chin. You drink the rest of him down; the enjoyment of his muttered and wrecked curses far outweighing the bitter taste.

He slumps forward a bit, and you notice a small waver in his knees as he fights to keep standing. You keep him in your mouth, circling your tongue until the sensation becomes too much and he’s nearly tripping away from you.

You collapse into a seated position, the pain of durasteel on your knees and handcuffs cutting into your skin catching up with you. The two of you breathe heavily at each other, and you feel as though you are on fire. It’s never felt that way before.

You stretch your tongue as far as it can go in order to lick the cum off your chin and lip, and you swear his breath hitches at just that movement. You really do have an effect on him, though he seemed very keen on denying it over the past few days. He eventually turns away, readjusting himself back into his pants and returning his hands to the leather gloves. When he faces you again, it’s as if nothing happened. His breathing is controlled, posture straight as ever. But you, you’re a mess. A bit of cum still running down your skin, eyes wide and damp, and face flushed from the experience.

There’s a single though that hangs awkwardly in the air between the two of you. A question that you’re pretty sure he doesn’t know the answer to.


What happens now?

Chapter Text

He’s just watching you. Cold metal positioned down at your trembling, sweaty form as you gaze back, unsure of where else to look. The entire hull is quiet save for your breaths, and you have no idea what happens next. Do you ask to be uncuffed? Unlikely. Thanks to your libido, you gave him a blow job, no strings attached. Do you ask him to finish you off? Well that sounds like a mortifying conversation. Or do you just shut your mouth and resign to your previous dynamic? An impossibility. Something has definitely shifted.

            Consumed with your introspections, you finally realize that the Mandalorian is still staring at you, and it becomes clear that he’s not going to leave…but he’s also not going to talk first. You sigh and lean yourself up against the ladder before speaking.

            “So, I know you’re probably tired, and I know you’ve got some mission on Canto Bight in a few hours,” you pause and allow him a chance to speak, to move, to do something. The beskar statue endures. “But,” you decide to continue, “I could really use the fresher. It’s been a while.” It had, in fact, been so long you can’t quite remember. And now with sweat down your back, sore muscles, and cum drying against your skin, it seems more than necessary.

            Mando shifts his feet, but says nothing to you. You would love to see the expression under his helmet. He’s probably thinking you’re using this as a ploy to escape, or maybe a setup to seduce him for your freedom. But honestly, you just can’t stand the idea of sleeping another night in your filth.

            “I’ll be quick, I promise.”

            “Fine,” he concedes. He crouches down quickly in front of you, and your heart begins to pound again at the sheer proximity. He frames your body as he reaches around you to detach you from the ladder. You hiss in pain as the cuffs come off and bring your wrists to the front with wide eyes. They are smeared in blood; you must have pulled harder against your restraints than you previously thought, the metal slicing into flesh with each thrash. It’s not that bad, the cuts very superficial, but you feel Mando go rigid next to you. He grabs one of your forearms and brings your wrist closer to his face as he studies. “Dank farrik,” he mutters, but you just pull your arm gently away.

            “It’s fine. Looks worse than it feels.” You slowly stand up, using the ladder for support, since you can’t trust your shaky unused legs. “I’m sure most of it will wash off,” you offer, unsure of why you’re trying to make him feel better. You’re the victim here, aren’t you?

            “I’ll bandage it after,” he states softly, allowing you to walk past him towards the fresher. You lift your arms up and lean awkwardly with every step attempting to stretch out your sore muscles and crack whatever joints you can. As you step through the doorway and attempt to close the divider, a gloved hand reaches through and holds it open.

            “You seriously don’t trust me?” you ask with an eye roll. He pushes the divider aside, his frame taking up the entire doorway now. “How the hell am I going to escape in the fresher?” you challenge, crossing your arms over your chest.

            “Door stays open,” he decides. You try to stare him down, to compel him to give you this, but he leans his shoulder against the frame as if settling in. You’ve never seen him look so normal. He’s always so rigid and upright, but now leaning to the side with his hand on his hip…it’s almost humanizing.

            You say nothing and instead turn your back to him to fiddle with the controls. A blush rises to your cheeks as you feel his eyes on you, and a warmth begins to pool in your stomach to remind you that you haven’t cum yet. You bite down on your bottom lip to try and focus on the task at hand, successfully finding a good setting for the water. Warm and a decent amount of pressure to soothe your muscles. You keep your back to him and lift your shirt over your head, carefully avoiding smearing the blood from your wrists on it. Your hands twitch nervously at your sides, and you contemplate how you want to do this. There’s not a curtain or a door on the fresher, just a slanted floor to keep the water from flowing out of the small room.

            You pull down your pants and underwear and kick them to the side to join your discarded shirt. You hear the bounty hunter shift a bit behind you, and you feel as though you’re blushing all the way down to your stomach. You try to ignore his gaze, which your certain is focused on your bare ass, and step under the water.

            You release a soft hum, the cascading stream flowing down your curves, etching against your muscles and washing away the grime and stress that have built up. You stand under the water for a few minutes, allowing yourself to get completely drenched as you hug yourself tightly. You turn your head to peek behind your shoulder, and he’s definitely still staring at you in that same position. But his chest is moving up and down now, though you can’t hear the heavy breathing over the water.

            “C- can you turn around for a second?” you ask lamely, already knowing the answer.

            The smallest tilt of his helmet conveys the sarcasm he would have if he chose to answer. You release a sigh and rest your forehead against the wall. Just reach back for the soap, scrub yourself fast, and get out.

            Being naked in front of him, especially after your previous activity, shouldn’t feel this exposing. But you feel more vulnerable now than you have in years. With the other bounty hunters, it was much like what you and Mando did earlier. Quick and dirty blowjobs, or fucking against the wall with clothing moved to the side. The few that you did it in a bed with, well the lights were dim or off completely. You were laying down with the protection of a sheet or their own bodies covering you. But this, standing straight up, dripping wet, under a bright light…it’s intimidating to be this naked.

            “You don’t need to feel shy,” he says, the modulated words startling you.

“Says the man who stays in full armor 24/7,” you quip back. “And why do you care?” The words come out bitterly. Why should he get to see you like this? He acts like he doesn’t trust you, and you’re still his prisoner. If you want to cower in the corner, that’s your prerogative.

He releases a soft huff of air, just shy of a chuckle. The sound would be soothing if you weren’t so uncomfortable. The throbbing in your lower half however, reminds you that some dark part of you likes him watching. But it’s buried deep.

“I don’t know,” he answers honestly. “But I wouldn’t mind seeing you…I think you’re beau- you’ve got nothing to be embarrassed about.” His words send chills up your back despite the hot water. You let out a small whimper, squeezing your legs together to give yourself any friction you can. “I want to see all of you, pretty girl.” Pretty girl.

“Maybe you should join me,” you suggest with a breathy voice. You turn around slowly, placing your arms and hands over your body to cover yourself. Mando shifts, standing up a little straighter, and you suspect his eyes have become more focused under the helmet.

“I- I don’t trust myself,” he admits hoarsely. He looks you up and down. “Maker help me,” he mutters. The praise gives you a push of confidence, excitement coursing through your veins.

“Am I not tempting enough?” you ask with a sweet smile. You take a shaky breath, but you can nearly feel his desire in the air, and it begins to fuel you. You lower your arms and lean your upper back against the wall, allowing the water to run down your now fully exposed body. Your chest is tight, and you chew your lip as you wait for his response.

Fuck me,” he growls. His hands clench at his sides. He makes a move towards you before stopping himself.

“I don’t know how many times I have to offer,” you tease, empowered by your effect on him.

“Me either,” he whispers. It’s so quiet, you’re not actually sure that you hear it.

You reach for the soap and bring it first to your neck, scrubbing away the last remains of his pleasure. You rub it between your hands, keeping your focus on where you believe his eyes are. With your hands full of suds, you put the soap back and continue further down, rubbing across the tops of your breasts. You thumb at your erect nipples, rotating your hips a bit to give him a show. The Mandalorian is breathing harder now, ragged inhales echo through his helmet. You grip at your breasts, lifting them up and moving them around erotically.

“Why do you torture yourself, Mando?” You earn a small groan as your only response, and you continue down to your stomach and abdomen. With a small wink in his direction, you skip over your pussy and circle the lather down your thighs, lifting up your legs to wash off your calves and ankles. You pause for a moment, studying the developing bruises on your knees. They are hardly noticeable now, but you can tell they will be dark tomorrow; a reminder of what you let him do.

“Had enough?” you ask innocently, reaching over to the controls as if you’re going to shut off the water.

“You missed a spot,” he answers, the words rushed and intense. You give him a wry smile and skate your hand down to your sex.

“I guess you’re right. Want to help me get those hard to reach places?” You lean your head back and close your eyes, allowing your lips to part as you revel in his gaze.

“Dank farrik, I need-“ You can hear the side of his fist hitting the doorframe in frustration.

“Need me to do what?”

“Touch yourself.” Your skin tingles at his words. You spread your legs farther apart, allowing him to see more of you.

“Only if you do too,” you breathe, your voice losing its control. Shit you want this. You want him to join you, to hold you under the stream of water as he fucks you senseless against the wall. You want to see him laid fully bare just like you, to see the lines and scars of his body, the carving of muscles that you felt against you a few days ago. But you’ll settle for this. “Pull out that thick cock and tell me how hard you are for me,” you whine, the confident act from before completely gone as you surrender to wanton need. Embarrassingly desperate.

His response is the fumbling of clothes as he pulls down his pants to free his erection, and you hear a single leather glove hit the floor. You grin, still keeping your eyes closed as you relax under the water. Your fingers slide along the outside of your sex, and you hum a small approval.

“Promise you’re watching?”

“F-fuck yes.”

“You didn’t tell me how hard you are for me.”

“I can show you.”

“I want to hear you say it.”

Shit, so-so hard. Just from looking at you, pretty girl.” You lick your lips at his words and run your fingers between your dripping slit.

“Stars, I’m so wet,” you whine, arching your back as your index finger finds your clit. His curse is cut off by a low moan. It feels fucking good to use your hands, to imagine they’re his as you explore yourself. “Just from sucking that cock and knowing you’re watching me. My panties are fucking soaked; I won’t be able to put them back on,” you admit, your words turning into a ramble.

“Good, I’d leave you naked and tied up in the cockpit with me if I could.” You’re not sure he really means to say it, but the moan that escapes you is filthy. You circle your finger faster, delicious pulses traveling up through your body as you climb. With your other hand, you slip into your entrance pushing against your walls lazily. Your fingers aren’t thick enough to make yourself cum, but you still enjoy the sensations of being slightly filled.

“What-what would you do to me? If you had me all to yourself…naked and begging for you?” The question seems a bit ridiculous, as whatever his answer is, he could easily implement now. But he seems to likes the way dirty lines sound coming out of your mouth, and you’re willing to play along.

“T-taste you. Fuck, wanna know how you taste, pretty girl.” You pop open your eyes and moan at the sight of the Mandalorian, just two feet away from you. His forearm propped on the door way as he leans towards you, his cock hard in his hand. In the bright light, you’re able to truly see its impressive length, the tan color of his smooth skin, how there’s a thick vein on the underside of the shaft.

“You mean like this?” You pull your fingers up from your pussy and lick them, tasting yourself as he watches your every move, his pace quickening with each flick of your tongue.

“Not-not gonna last long if you p-put on a show.” You shoot him a wicked grin and adjust yourself slightly so that you’re able to hike up your leg on a lip of the wall. You spread wider, giving him a full view of your needy hole, your folds, and your finger working your slick around your clit. You grab at your breast with your other hand and rotate your hips in time with your circles.

You’d never get yourself off this dramatically. Usually it’s a quick thing, one-handed and under the covers just to get the job done. But having him watch you, hungrily consume your every sound and movement, it’s got you building deliciously hot and fast.

“Fuck Mando, I’m close.” You feel like you’re on fire, every move of your finger pushes something deep inside you to the surface. Your nipples are painfully hard and your vision is starting to blur as you can’t keep the water out of your eyes. He grunts, his hand moving furiously up and down his impressive length. You think about his rough hands, how dry and possibly irritating that might feel. But he doesn’t stop, his hips now bucking into his own fist.

“That’s right pretty girl, cum for me. I want to see it.” He moans out your name in that vibrating baritone, and it completely shatters you. You fall apart, spiraling into your own pleasure. He moans, watching your sex pulse as you find your finish, your wetness leaking from you obscenely. You breathe heavily, attempting to recover from your orgasm while still watching him. His hips are stuttering, and you can tell he’s not going to last much longer.

“You can cum on me,” you blurt out, the words falling from your lips. Before you can take them back he steps forward and finds his release, your name in his mouth as he cums over your abdomen. The water quickly washes away any evidence of the deed, but you can tell he’s still riding the high of marking you so erotically.

Your arm feels heavy as you reach for the controls, fumbling around until you finally get the water to turn off. You notice little droplets against the shine of his beskar, your naked breasts reflecting in the visor of his helmet.

“Can I get a towel?” you manage, trying not to sink to floor in exhaustion.


            You wake up to the kid poking you in the face, his soft coos willing you to wake up and play with him. You grumble a bit, but give him a genuine smile as you sit up and take him in your arms for a snuggle. He fights for a second, wanting you to entertain him, but eventually stills and allows himself to be held for just a little bit.

            Last night had been…interesting. After both of you finished, he didn’t say a single word to you. With every action, he offered you no explanation. He remained silent as he wrapped you in a towel, holding you against his body for a few seconds before backing off to allow you some space. He shoved a black shirt and under shorts in your hands…both too big for you, and they smelled like him. He took you over to the small little table and sat you in a chair as he bandaged up your wrists, his thumb tenderly circling the bruises. And then he offered you a different pillow as well as a blanket before producing an odd chain from his cabinet of weapons.

            The chain was bulky and heavy, with the cuff rubbing a bit against your ankle. But it allowed you to sit, lay down, stand, and even walk a few steps away from the ladder. Best of all, your hands were now free. He retreated up the ladders without another glance towards you, and by the utter stillness of the ship, landed and exited into the city of Canto Bight all before you could wake up.

            “Your dad is one confusing metal bastard,” you murmur, stroking the child’s ears. He just giggles up at you. You sit him down on the ground and stand up to stretch, earning a delighted coo from the child that you are far more mobile now.

            “Yes, yes, I can actually play with you now. Spoiled little thing.” You’re able to fake chase him around the ladder, a game he seems to whole heartedly enjoy for far longer than you anticipated. By the end of it, you’re actually a little winded considering you’ve spent the past few days doing nothing. “Maker, how can you have that much energy in such a tiny package?”

            The child turns to you, curious why you stopped. His eyes settle on your now exposed knees, which as you predicted, are absolutely black and blue. He shuffles forward and reaches out his hand, but you swoop him up into your arms instead.

            “Thanks little man, but I think your dad might want to see those,” you say mostly to yourself, a flame in your stomach igniting. You honestly don’t know what the hell you’re doing with the Mandalorian. The both of you continue to push the boundaries as quarry and hunter, but never quite cross over. You’re still technically a prisoner, and he’s still fighting against giving in. But it feels like the two of you are on the edge of something, you just need a little push. A loud clang against the durasteel of the ship makes you jump. There’s another clang, and you can vaguely make out someone cursing to themselves on the other side.

            Your heart leaps up into your throat; the voice definitely doesn’t belong to Mando. You race as far forward as you can and then put the child on the ground. “Hide,” you whisper to him, pointing towards the concealed alcove just a few feet away where his hammock rests. You pray that he can understand you as he teeters away. Hide, get in the bed and close the door, and you will the thoughts towards the little green creature. To your surprise, he tilts his head for a moment before ultimately following directions. Just as he climbs up and closes the door, the ramp of the ship falls open gracelessly. There’s nowhere for you to hide as the intruder climbs up into the ship, so you cross your shoulders over your chest, trying your best to look intimidating in the Mandalorian’s underwear and large shirt that’s currently falling off your shoulders.

            “Fucking stars,” the intruder greets, taking off the speeder helmet to reveal an all too familiar face. The man has a scar across his eye, marring an otherwise handsome face. His blue eyes are nearly white, blond hair hanging past his ears. He gives a low whistle and says your name.

            “Keyman?” Keyman Whicor is one of the many bounty hunters your were able to make a deal with. One steamy night and some criminal underworld intel in exchange for your freedom.

            “Hello again. What have you gotten yourself into, kid?”

Chapter Text

Day 4

            Your feet are frozen to the ground, and you don’t know whether to run and give him a hug or punch in square in the jaw. You’ve forged a few complicated friendships over the past three years, and Keyman is definitely no exception. What the hell is he doing here? You blink dumbly at him a few times before remembering yourself.

            “Not a kid, you’re only like five years older than me,” you huff, a small smirk on your lips. Do you trust Keyman? No, he’s a career bounty hunter. But is he charming? Definitely a little.

            “Fine, not a kid,” he concedes, holding his hands up in apology. “But definitely in some trouble, huh?”

            “What gave it away?” you ask sarcastically, rattling your ankle chain against the ladder.

            “The bruises on your knees for starters,” he teases. This makes you blush, and you feel your stomach flip at the insinuation. “Hey, I don’t judge. As I recall, we left a few marks on each other last time, didn’t we?” He nearly purrs at you, taking a few steps forward.

            “Sorry about that,” you state blandly. You refer to the scar on his eye. You had gotten one good hit in, but ultimately when you bring a knife to a blaster fight, you have to think of alternative methods to leave with your life.

            “Eh, don’t be. Ladies seem to like it actually, they think it makes me look rugged.”

            “The curse of being a pretty boy,” you quip back. He shoots you a smoldering look in response, and you can’t help but laugh. “But uh- I could make it up to you…in exchange for a small favor of course.”

            “Glad to see you haven’t changed,” he grins. “Though I’m surprised you let yourself get captured.”

“I’m working on it. This one’s not as desperate to get laid as you were,” you snark back. He just cocks an eyebrow at you, taking another look at your bruised knees.

“Let me guess, this small favor has something to do with that chain around your ankle?”

            “You know I can make it worth your while,” you tease, falling back into your tried and true façade. You’d be absolutely stupid not to take this opportunity. Mando’s away and won’t get hurt, the kid is safely hidden, and you won’t go to prison. You ignore whatever strange guilt is creeping up in the pit of your stomach and focus on the logical choice.

            “Oh baby, don’t I know it,” he hums. “Give me a few minutes to find what I’m looking for, and I’ll let you rock my world.”

            “And just what are you looking for?” you ask, attempting to sound nonchalant. You pray that the child stays hidden; you’re well aware of the bounty on him.

            “You wouldn’t believe me if I told you,” he mutters, going deeper into the ship towards the carbon freezer.

            “I’m not the same girl you knew two years ago; let’s just say I have a pretty open mind nowadays.” Your voice feels too thin, and you have to keep your eyes from darting to the child’s hiding spot when Keyman reappears to from the belly of the ship.

            “Fine, I’ll give you three words. Magic. Green. Baby.” You try your best to look dubious, ignoring the gasp that is clawing at your throat. Dank Farrik.

            “Keyman, I’ve been on this ship for four damn days. I think I would have seen something like that. On another note, it’s a bit early to be drinking isn’t it?” You hope your voice sounds light and teasing, but your mouth feels so dry. He shoots you an agitated look, and before you can think, he’s pushing you up against the wall. There’s the temper you remember. The way he can ignite in an instant like a match strike. He puts his mouth on your throat and though you gasp loudly, you ultimately let him. Whether out of habit or to keep him distracted, you’re not sure.

            “You’ve always had a smart mouth,” he growls against your skin, teeth skating across your smooth skin. He sucks harshly and ruts against you a few times before you realize he’s marking you. Out of the corner of your eye, you notice the door to the alcove open just a crack, the child undoubtedly responding to your gasp. “And don’t get me wrong, it’s hot as hell…but you’ve never been a good liar,” he adds.

            He replaces his mouth with a hand on your throat, his handsome face now twisted in a sneer. The child’s face is now peeking through, and if you weren’t gasping for breath, you’d laugh. His little face is turned into an adorable scowl.

            “Do you think I’m stupid? I’m a fucking bounty hunter for maker’s sake!” his grip on your throat tightens and you push down on his wrist to try to alleviate the pressure. “I know you’re lying, the kid’s probably hiding somewhere in this room isn’t he?” You reach for his face, attempting to scratch and claw what you can, but he swiftly slams your head against the durasteel, and you choke out a cry. “What I don’t know is why you’re lying…maybe you’re his little cock slut,” he hisses in your ear. He swiftly punches you in the stomach and allows you to crumple to the floor as your insides twist and pulse.

            “There’s no kid here,” you manage. “I’m just a bounty.”

            “Stars, he must really have some hold on you, huh?” He grips your hair roughly, his boot pressing dangerously firm against your femur. “Wearing his clothes, bruises on your knees… I bet you like taking that beskar staff however he’ll give it to you…you really haven’t changed.”

            “Fuck you,” you spit, earning yourself a slap across the face.

            “Maybe I’ll let you. Or maybe I’ll just take what I want. Word across the stars is that your bounty has gotten considerably higher since I last enjoyed your company. Between you and the kid, I could fucking retire.” You look over to see the child down on the ground now, approaching Keyman with a hand raised in the air. You don’t know what he’s planning, but if he can heal, it’s possible he can also harm.

            “Do yourself a favor, and walk out of here, now,” your voice is low, as dangerous as you can possibly make it.

            “You want to know something?” He unstraps his blaster from his belt, and points it directly at you. “You’re worth the same alive as you are dead. So tell me where- the-“ his words begin to stutter, and you see panic flash across his pale blue eyes. The child has his eyes closed, fully concentrated on choking the intruder. Keyman’s hand flies to his throat, desperately clawing at the invisible force.

            Taking the opportunity, you swipe the blaster from his hand and thrust the blunt end of it against his groin. As he fumbles back, you aim a beam at the chain and destroy a link, freeing yourself from the ladder. You rush up, attempting to ignore your light headedness, hopefully not a concussion, and kick him square in the chest. He falls back completely, his broad form thunking against the floor of the ship. You rush to the child, grabbing him into your arms, and effectively breaking his stranglehold on Keyman.

            As Keyman gasps raggedly, as if coming back to life, the child slumps against you, his eyes closing immediately. You keep your distance as the bounty hunter he leans back on his elbows, unable to sit up all the way.

            “You’re willing to give up your life for this womp rat?” he asks, scowling at you. You ignore his question.

            “You could have walked out of here,” you state, a hint of pity in your voice. “So now you get to choose. I either kill you, or I put you in carbon and let the Mandalorian decide what to do with you when he gets back.”

            “Fuck you, whore.” You sigh and put child down gently, before blasting Keyman in the knee, ensuring he won’t get up. He wails in pain, but it’s quickly cut off by the crack of the blaster hitting his skull, knocking him out. You toss the blaster to the side and begin to drag the man to the carbon freezer.

            You flinch as you flip the switch, attempting to ignore the panic coursing through your veins. You take a few deep breaths, closing your eyes as you will your body to calm down. It’s okay, it’s not for you. You groan loudly, your body sore from his beating, but you’re determined. With all your strength, and a ton of cursing, you’re able to get him into the machine and effectively freeze the asshole. As you walk back to the middle of the ship, you are faced with a decision.

            You inspect the ramp to see how badly Keyman had damaged it. It should still close, but the lock is definitely broken. Anybody passing by could just pull it down. You bite your lip, this is your chance. If you had any hope of escaping, this would be it. People disappear into the city of Canto Bight for months at a time. And with a broken lock and a fresh bounty, you doubt the Mandalorian would waste his time looking for you when he has the kid to protect.

            But you look back at the baby, and your heart sinks into your feet. His mouth is moving as he sleeps, little twitches and smiles. What if Keyman wasn’t alone? What if some other hunter has a fob on the kid, and is now able to just waltz into the ship while he’s asleep and unable to defend himself? You’ve done things you’re not proud of, damnable things, and the kid is innocent. Your freedom can’t possibly be worth putting him in harm’s way, can it?

            And then there’s that illogical, stupid, yearning feeling deep down inside you that’s wondering about Mando. You wonder if he would miss you. You’re wondering if you’ll ever find someone that seems to have this hold over you, this wild attraction that he makes you feel.

            “I must be out of my fucking mind” you groan to yourself, covering your face in your hands. You bang your fist against the ramp button, closing yourself off from Canto Bight. Shuffling over to the discarded blaster, you snatch it angrily off the ground. With your free hand you take the child and hold him close to your chest as you settle into one of the chairs, blaster pointed at the ramp.

            The shackle is still around your ankle, though you’re no longer tethered to the ladder. You settle into this position, holding the child just a bit tighter as you wait for the Mandalorian to come back with his bounty, blaster ready to shoot any intruders on sight.

Chapter Text

A = Aftercare (What they’re like after sex)

Reverent. That is the word to describe it. He wants to hold your face in his hands; look you deep in your eyes and make sure you’re okay. He loves to mark you, and he loves to be rough, so tending to any bruises or small injuries is a priority for him. Though it may take him a while to be comfortable enough to do so, he wants to snuggle after (he totally loves being the little spoon). It makes him feel safe, which may seem silly because he’s a bounty hunter. But it’s a testament to his trust…for nearly his whole life, he’s been taught not to turn his back to anyone.

B = Body part (Their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

His first answer would probably be his arms. They are strong, muscular, he uses them to make a living. All the better to hold the kid with. And all the better to capture your body with. But if he really took a moment to think about it, and felt comfortable enough sharing with you, he’d say his eyes. Before he was a foundling, everyone would comment that he had his father’s eyes.

On your body, he’s not too picky. He’s eager to touch any part of it. But he really likes your tits. They are soft and malleable, so unlike the beskar breastplate he wears 24/7. He likes that he’s tall enough to take a peek down your shirt, something you’ve definitely noticed, so you’ve definitely added more low cut shirts to your wardrobe. Honestly, he likes the femininity of it.

C = Cum (Anything to do with cum basically)

While it can be erotic to mark you with his cum, Din much prefers cumming inside you. This applies to both your mouth and your pussy. It’s easy to mark someone on the outside, but the idea that he can fill you, can mark you in a place where no one else can reach? That drives him fucking wild. When it comes to your cum…he wants to taste, taste, taste. For him, its hard evidence that he has the same affect on you that you have on him.

D = Dirty Secret (Pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

He wanted to fuck the lights out of you from the moment he saw you. It has taken a lot of self control for him not to bend you over the nearest table.

Also, his favorite thing to fantasize about is you giving him a lap dance. Preferably with his hands tied behind his back, forced to let you do whatever you wanted and how you wanted. He’d hate it…but this frustration kind of turns him on.

E = Experience (How experienced are they? Do they know what they’re doing?)

Though not a virgin, he certainly won’t be the most experienced partner you’ve had. He’s eager to experiment with you and try different things, but he hasn’t had a lot of practice in that department. He does have a natural talent and passion though; strong, flexible, and a crazy need to hear your pleasured sounds, so that seems to make up for it.

F = Favorite Position (This goes without saying. Will probably include a visual)

There’s a few positions Mando really likes. The first being missionary; he likes to see the faces you make as he thrusts into you. Even with the helmet on, he likes how exposed it makes him feel to you.

The second is pressed up against your back, pinning you to the wall. Think about him rutting against you on the outside of the ship.

The third, and less obvious, would be your back against the wall with your legs wrapped around your waist. He loves that he can lift you, and how it forces you down on him, allowing him to push even deeper. He get’s to see your face, but also feel your arms wrapped around his neck. When you lean your head against his helmet as you take him in…he melts.

G = Goofy (Are they more serious in the moment, or are they humorous, etc)

Din is certainly not goofy, but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t have some sense of humor. He won’t hate if you act a little goofy, as he actually finds it kind of endearing. He also won’t hesitate to tease you right before the forplay begins, either making you blush, or slipping in a signature sarcastic comment.

H = Hair (How well groomed are they, does the carpet match the drapes, etc.)

He keeps it clean. If his hair or beard get’s too long, it starts to bother him under the helmet. But he also has no reason to maintain a clean shaven face. With his other hair, he used to do absolutely nothing with it.  That is, until he met you. He would never tell you this, but he trimmed himself the night he met you. He knew it was stupid, there was no way anything would ever happen between the two of you, but he did it anyway.

I = Intimacy (How are they during the moment, romantic aspect…)

Din is far more intimate in the aftercare. But in the middle of rough sex, or eating you out, he does like to take a moment to cup the side of your face and look into your eyes. He loves to think about you being able to do the same to him.

When you’re blindfolded or it’s dark, he won’t hesitate to pause and whisper something sweet in your ear, or capture your mouth in an almost chaste kiss before thrusting deep inside you.

J = Jack Off (Masturbation headcanon)

So Mando is no stranger to getting himself off. When you’re feared by nearly everyone you come in contact with, your options can become quite limited. So yes, he jacks off to get rid of bothersome erections. BUT, once he met you, it became more enjoyable. He had someone to fantasize about, could think through scenarios that could actually happen (or have already happened). Same with mutual masturbation; he never understood the appeal until he watched you shower. Until he saw how turned on it made you for him to touch himself.

K = Kink (One or more of their kinks)

Marking. 100%  Din wants to see his hickeys all over you, wants to see the bruises on your wrists from where he held your hands against the wall. He wants to see your swollen lip after he bit and sucked it. And he doesn’t mind if you do the same to him. Especially scratches down his back. It goes back to his love of hard evidence that he drives you wild.

L = Location (Favorite places to do the do)

He’s not picky. He’s happy to take you anywhere you’ll let him. But his top two places? Definitely the cockpit, and definitely shower (fresher?) sex.

M = Motivation (What turns them on, gets them going)

You do. Literally anything that has to do with you. He loves watching how sweet and careful you are with the kid. He gets very hot when you’re showing off your skills or being a badass. But he also get’s very turned on when you look delicate and pretty.

Secretly, the obvious and filthy things you do (like licking his blaster in a crowded restaurant) definitely do the trick. It’s not so much the actual act, but the fact that you’re willing to do it in public, all for the sake of getting him into bed. He may be confident at his job and as a protector, but he does like to feel desirable (to you at least).

Chapter Text

N = NO (Something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

Sharing. Mando is jealous, and he knows it’s not a good trait. But the idea of having a threesome and letting someone else touch you in that way, or the thought of you calling out someone else’s name…that’s a hard pass for him.


O = Oral (Preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc)

Both. Both is good. He likes fucking you, but there’s something intimate about putting your mouths on each other. He likes to look down at you, seeing you take all of him. But he also likes to spread you open and taste you, to feel the softness of your thighs against his face. But of course, he loves for both of you to taste each other. Him on his back, tasting you as you’re pressed on top of him, taking him all in.


P = Pace (Are they fast and rough? Slow and sensual? etc.)

He likes it rough. That’s no secret. But he also doesn’t feel the need to rush a good thing. He likes the foreplay and taking his time to explore your body and unravel you.  But once he’s inside you, in gets rough and fast as he becomes undone.


Q = Quickie (Their opinions on quickies rather than proper sex, how often, etc.)

Mando is not opposed to a quickie. He likes to take his time and fuck you properly, but if you’re looking irresistible, he has no problem bending you over the nearest table or in an abandoned alleyway.


R = Risk (Are they game to experiment, do they take risks, etc.)

Since he’s not extremely experienced, he’s open to some experimenting. He has his lines he won’t cross, and other ideas may take some convincing, but if it’s something you’re really into…well he has a hard time telling you no.


S = Stamina (How many rounds can they go for, how long do they last…)

Din can go for about 3 rounds at the most. Depending on his mood he can take his time, or it may be quick and dirty. The standard though would be lasting long enough to get you off and then rushing to his release. He’s not THAT patient.


T = Toy (Do they own toys? Do they use them? On a partner or themselves?)

He would never use a toy on himself. The desire is simply not there. On you…it’s complicated. He doesn’t enjoy using anything on you but his own body. However, he is happy to watch you get yourself off while he whispers filthy words and phrases in your ears.


U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

He’s not much of a teaser. He likes to take his time, but not at too much of your expense. Now, does he like to tease you with a sarcastic comment right before foreplay? Most definitely.

He’s not much into being teased himself, but he secretly loves when you quip back, and he doesn’t mind you getting him a little riled up. But once you guys start, he’s pretty serious and giving.


V = Volume (How loud they are, what sounds they make)

Mando certainly can be loud, and this is often your gauge of how well you are doing. His moans and whines will become nearly uncontrollable as you take him fully down your throat, or right before he reaches orgasm while buried deep inside you.  He seems to be a lot more talkative as well.


W = Wild Card (Get a random headcanon for the character of your choice)

He seems tentative at first, like he’s fighting his feelings…and he is. He can’t deny his attraction to you, but there are other things to consider. Does having you around put the kid in danger? Does being around him put you in danger? Is he going against his own code by sleeping with quarry? And if he does these things with you, is he breaking some kind of oath by keeping you prisoner?

Mando worries about being intimate with you because of the power he has. He knows he’s intimidating, and he’d hate it if you slept with him only because you felt you had to. He wants to be with you, but he worries you’re only doing it because you want your freedom. Taking advantage of you is the LAST thing he wants, so he may take some convincing to prove that you desire him as much as he does you.


X = X-Ray (Let’s see what’s going on in those pants, picture or words)

Oh he’s packing. Thick cock about 7 inches, circumcised, perfectly straight, with a small vein.


Y = Yearning (How high is their sex drive?)

Very high! Even if he’s not in the mood initially, Mando can be easily swayed with a few well placed touches or a dirty phrase whispered near him. He wants to fuck you OFTEN, and he doesn’t like to wait if he can help it.


Z = ZZZ (… how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

Din has a hard time sleeping, that is until he met you. He was always too restless, too worried about the kid, too uncomfortable. But after fucking you silly, he finds that his eyes droop heavily, and he sleeps (at least for an hour or so) within 10 minutes.

Chapter Text

Day 5

            Your head begins to droop, the soft heartbeat of the child against your body threatening to lull you to sleep. You don’t know how to explain it, but there’s some kind of connection between you and the child. Sometimes you swear that you know what he’s thinking. You can always sense him waking up a few seconds before you hear him coo out for Mando. And now, his exhausted state after using whatever magic mojo that was, is effectively wearing you out. That and the possible concussion and internal bleeding you sustained from Keyman.

            Your body twitches again as you struggle to stay awake, a loud grunt from behind the ramp sobering you up. You take a deep breath and readjust, pulling the kid closer and aiming the blaster with precision. If it’s not tall and shiny, you’re fucking shooting on sight. Your heart begins to pound in your ears as the ramp swings down, and your grip on the blaster makes your knuckles begin to throb. Thank the Maker, Mando emerges from the now very dark and shimmery night of Canto Bight, a muscular twi’lek slung over his shoulder.

            He grunts as he enters the hull of the ship, and the moment he locks eyes with you, the air turns electric. His body goes rigid, and the unconscious bounty falls to the floor. The two of you regard each other for what feels like minutes before you can no longer stand the nervous energy in the pit of your stomach.

            “I’m not going to shoot you, but I did put a man in your freezer,” you blurt out, your head swimming with the millions of directions this could go. For some reason, it now dawns on you that Mando may not take kindly to a wanted murderer aiming a blaster at him while she’s unchained and holding his child. You sense that the Mandolorian is about to spring forward, his reflexes taking over, so you drop the blaster and kick it over to him. Fucking stupid, just give him your only weapon.

            “The kid is fine,” you continue, noticing Mando didn’t even look at the blaster that has now bumped against his boots. “He’s sleeping off whatever powers he used to help me take that asshole down.” You’re waiting for the Mandalorian to react. To snatch his child away from you, or to drag you back over to the ladder to bind you up. You would even accept a “Dank farrik, what the fuck?” But he’s deathly still.

            You hold up your hand that isn’t gripping the child as a show of surrender, and tediously rise from your seat before walking over to Mando. He finally moves as you stand toe-to-toe and offer him the sleeping green bundle. You hear a sigh from the modulator and he holds the child in his arms like he’s never seen something so precious. The silence continues, and you wonder if you should speak again? Maybe you could just walk straight off the ramp and disappear into the city. You clear your throat and are cut off by a single question.

            “You stayed.” It sounds like a statement, but you can tell there’s another thought under it. Why didn’t you escape?

            “Couldn’t leave the kid alone with the door unlocked,” you admit. “Check the carbon-freezer, he might even be a friend of yours.” Your tone is harsher than anticipated, but the idea that they are most likely in the same guild makes your stomach flip. And you’re growing impatient, as the Mandalorian has fallen silent yet again. You hear a groan from below and notice the twi’lek is beginning to wake up; you give him a swift kick to the face and knock him back out. This earns a huff from Mando that you’re not quite sure how to decipher.

            “I’ll handle that,” he finally says, his voice low and guarded. “Stay…here. Please.” He pushes the child back into your arms and turns to close the ramp before dragging the twi’lek off to the carbon-freezer.

            Like an idiot, you obey for no reason, passing on another chance to escape. The Mandalorian is tired, you can tell. You could easily outrun him; especially now that he knows the door won’t lock, there’s no way he’d just leave the kid in search of you. But frustratingly, your feet stay planted as you softly stroke the sleeping alien’s ears. In the stillness, you begin to feel the pain of your injuries. Your throbbing head from crashing into the durasteel. Your sore throat and neck from Keyman choking you. Not to mention the gut-wrenching pain in your stomach from him punching you.

            Mando appears from the end of the ship and grabs the child. You wait as the pod is summoned down from the cockpit, and Mando closes up the floating orb before sending it across the room in a corner. The stern visor looks down at you, and in spite of the situation, your cheeks blush at the realization that you’re still only wearing his shirt and underwear. You notice his chest is heaving a bit obviously, though you’re unsure if it’s from lifting the twi’lek or if it has something to do with you.

            He walks past you and takes a seat at the small table, ushering you with his hand to take the only other seat across from him. You oblige because, what else are you going to do? He’s back in control now…you effectively gave him all the power yet again. He leans his back against the wall, a gloved hand resting on the table, and you hold yourself tight, the shackle on your ankle now feeling like a thousand pounds.

            “Explain,” he states simply. You bite on your lip, trying to figure out where to begin or how much to reveal. But you figure Mando is decent at reading people, and opt to go with the dirty truth of it.

            “Keyman Whicor broke into your ship. I didn’t know he was looking for the child initially,” you begin, trying to force eye contact into the dark visor before you. “He and I…we have a history. An arrangement that allowed me to continue on my way.” You notice his fist clench at this, the leather rubbing in a subtle sound. “We recognized each other…he saw the predicament I was in, and he was game for another deal.”

            “What was he going to make you do?” Mando asks, his voice seeming strained beneath the helmet. You tilt your head, surprised that this was when he chose to ask a question.

            “Who knows? Last time he just wanted to bend me over on every surf-“

            “Okay,” he cuts you off, his voice alarmingly tense. “Continue.”

            “Well, turns out he was looking for the kid. And he didn’t believe it when I told him I had no idea what the hell he was talking about. I’ve never been a good liar, and he got pissed, so he pushed me against the wall and he-“ you pause, eyeing the bounty hunter in front of you. You decide to skip over the details, guessing your injuries were proof enough. “Anyway, the little man didn’t seem too thrilled to see me up against a wall with some nerfherder.” You can’t help the small chuckle that comes through, remembering his angry little face.

            “Smart kid,” he mutters before tilting the helmet back at you. “So how did you get him in the freezer?”

            “Kid choked him, I grabbed the blaster, freed myself, kicked him down, shot him in the knee, and knocked him out.” You take a breath and search the Mandalorian’s helmet, armor, anything that will give you a clue into what he is thinking. The beskar bastard gives nothing away. “Took all my energy to lift him into the freezer. Then I grabbed the kid and waited.”

            Mando releases a sigh as he stands up. You watch him stalk over to the weapon cabinet, and there’s something nearly visible radiating off of his hard frame. He doesn’t seem angry; there’s an intensity in the air that you’re not sure how to interpret. He pulls a small device from amongst the guns and knives and brings it over to you. You eye him curiously as he bends down, gripping your calf and raising it up to meet his waist. Without a word, he demagnetizes your ankle cuff, the metal falling off you and gracelessly clattering to the floor. His thumb gently strokes your shin, and you’re not sure if he’s even aware of the long pause he’s created before he returns your foot to the floor.

            “Mando?” You ask, unsure of the real question. What does this mean? What is he going to do with Keyman? How long will you stay in Canto Bight?

            “We need to leave the city. I don’t want to wait for more hunters to come…there will be other big cities on the way to Nevarro.” And with that he turns and climbs up the ladder, leaving you free to roam around in the bottom of the ship.

            Other big cities? As far as you knew, this was the last stop on the way to your eventual arrest in Nevarro. Within moments you hear the Crest hum to life, and your stomach jolts at a sudden lift off. He must be rushing out of the city, because his pilot skills are typically much smoother.

            You fiddle with your thumbs, waiting to see if he will come back down, or if you have been left to your own devices. Fifteen minutes after you swear you feel a leap into hyperdrive, he still hasn’t reappeared. The child is still asleep in his pod, and with the energy he exerted previously, you don’t anticipate he will be waking any time soon. With a slight groan you lift yourself up off the chair, and your legs wobble beneath. Stars, you’re exhausted.

            You consider slipping into the Mandalorian’s bunk where you often see the child hiding. It doesn’t look all that comfortable, but you’re not sure your back and hips can take another night on the floor without a bed roll. Not to mention, you have no clue if you have a concussion, so sleeping may not be your smartest choice until you’re sure you’re in the clear.  Though you have all the freedom to move around, you find that you are glued to your spot, just standing stiffly and waiting for something to happen.

            You chew the inside of your cheek. Waiting for the stoic Mandalorian could take longer than rain flooding Tatooine. Your fingers twitch at your side…no more waiting. You have questions, and whether or not he decides to answer, Mando will hear them.

            You take a shaky breath and climb the ladder; the same one you’ve spent the past four days tethered to.


            Off to the side as you reach the top of the ladder, the door to the cockpit is open. You peak in first, all the controls and hardware looking about as beat up as the rest of the Razor Crest. Your breath stills for a moment as you take in the Mandalorian’s large frame in the pilot’s chair, painted across the bright lights of hyperdrive. The visual is nothing short of striking, and you have to remind yourself to close your mouth.

            You take a few tentative steps inside the cockpit, your bare feet still giving off small thuds against the durasteel floor. You know he has to hear you, but he makes no acknowledgement of your presence. It feels as if he is expecting you. You stand motionless for a minute or two before eventually deciding to take the copilot’s chair to the right. The entire situation has you on edge, and your thoughts are so fluid, there’s not even a pattern to follow.

            Here is a man who has seen you naked, but has barely touched you. A man who’s cock has been in your mouth, but has revealed nothing else but his hands to you. A bounty hunter who views you as quarry, but a father who not only trusts you with his kid, but now owes that child’s safety to you. Everything about him and you is conflicting. His gruff demeanor versus the gentle way he dresses your wounds, removes your shoes, strokes your face as you cry about your past. A man who refuses to fuck you, but takes pleasure in watching you touch yourself, and even strokes his cock to the sight of your quivering desire. And then there’s you. With multiple chances to escape, still you remain on this junker ship, protecting a child you’d only met days ago. A woman who has had countless partners in the name of freedom, but has now willingly engaged with this bounty hunter twice, seemingly for the pleasure of it.

            You need a clear answer. A clear direction. And a final decision. This man holds your future in his hands, and you can’t wait any longer for him to reveal it.

            “You took my bindings off,” you state simply, your voice seemingly shattering the endless void of space in five words.

            “Yes, I did,” he answers quickly, as if he was waiting for you to speak first so that he could talk.


            “Because you’re not my prisoner anymore.” He says it as if it should be obvious…nothing about this man has been that simple. You splutter a bit, turning your chair to face him more directly. Your ears are fucking ringing.

            “And when were you going to share this update with me?” And then this metal bastard shrugs. Shrugs!

            “Thought it was pretty obvious. You saved the kid. You were my enemy, and then you saved a member of my clan…you’re not my prisoner. I can drop you off at any city along the way.”

            “Just like that?” you ask dubiously. He finally turns his head, helmet focusing on you for a moment before turning back to the stars.

            “This is the way.” Huh, well okay then. Your mind feels as though it is short circuiting, but you have to compartmentalize here. You had a list of questions, and damn it, you’re going to get through them while the shiny hunter is still willing to talk. You push the tightening in your chest down, your body trembling with the excitement that you are once again free.

            “Thank you,” you breathe, not expecting a further comment. You take a moment to compose yourself and ask your next question. “So Keyman Whicor, what are you going to do with him?” This causes the Mandalorian to finally turn his chair to face you. Thanks to the autopilot, it’s not like he really needed to be looking out the window in the first place.

            “I’ll give him to Karga,” he says sternly. “No one in our guild is supposed to be seeking out the child.” You give a small nod, your eyebrows furrowed. You expected a little more emotion in his response. He is able to read you, and continues. “Now, if I were to unfreeze him and give him injuries to match yours before delivering him…that’s up to you.”

            The comment catches you off guard, and you open and shut your mouth a few times in search of a response. You expected Mando to harbor hatred for the hunter because of his pursuit of the child, not because of anything he did to you. It’s almost…sweet? Perhaps the sweetest gesture Mando is capable of.

            “Keep him in the carbonite. Trust me, it’s more of a torture that anything you or I could do to him.” The words come out bitter, a sick pleasure building in your stomach at the knowledge of what Keyman is experiencing right now. You’d almost feel bad, but your pulsing bruises help keep any guilt at bay.

            Mando gives a single nod, accepting your decision. The two of you fall into an almost comfortable silence, regarding each other for a minute or two. How can such a stoic human be so full of surprises? Perhaps it’s the fact that it’s so easy to forget that under all that beskar and clothing, there’s a warm-blooded man. A man with emotions, with needs, he bleeds and he breathes. You give him a small smile, and you swear you see a tenseness in his shoulders soften.

            “Are you okay?” he asks suddenly, the concern in his voice evident even through the modulator.

            “I- yes?” you answer dumbly, taken aback by the question. “I mean, getting attacked was no day on Naboo, but I think I’m okay.” He gives a small hum of approval, but you see his fists tighten, something you’re realizing is his tell. “Actually, do you have a bedroll or anything? I was going to go to sleep after asking you to check for a concuss-“

            “Sleep in my bed,” he interrupts, the words a bit rushed. Oh. Your cheeks turn pink, and you feel your insides twist in that wicked and delectable way. As if realizing how that sounds he corrects, “The cot in the alcove. I’ll sleep in the cockpit.”

            “Uh, okay. I- sure. You don’t mind?”

            “I’ve spent more nights in the chair anyway.” You nod a few times, the blush in your face refusing to diminish. There’s a kindness from the bounty hunter all through this exchange, and you wonder if it had always been there. And deep down you know the truth. He wanted to, but until you “earned” your freedom by his Creed, he couldn’t allow himself.

            “Thank you.” You stand to go, but pause right in front of him. “And the concussion?”

            “Your speech isn’t slurred, and you don’t seem too confused. As long as you aren’t having memory problems or vomiting, I think you’ll be okay.”

            “And my…other injuries?” You don’t know why you mention them. They aren’t life threatening, and there are no open wounds. Nothing a bacta spray can help, and nothing that can really be bandaged up.

            “You’re asking me to play doctor?” his voice is slightly lighter, and you recognize it as a tease. Beneath that helmet, you know this man is smirking at you. You put your hands on your hips, deciding that if he wants to be sarcastic, then you can be defiant.

            “Excuse me for assuming a professional bounty hunter could make a quick assessment of my wounds…injuries sustained protecting a certain green baby I might add.” You can feel his eyes rolling, but nevertheless he stands up, effectively dwarfing you.

            “So we have a head injury, no blood and no concussion. What else?”

            “Internal bleeding?” you ask, pulling up your shirt to reveal your stomach. He takes a step back to regard the bruise, and you hear a small huff escape.

            “Not much to be done about that, except maybe a cold pack. But you’re going to be feeling that for at least a week.” His tone has changed, it’s deadly serious now. He sounds almost ashamed of the fact that you sustained these injuries under his roof.

            “And my…throat,” you say a bit more softly. Truth be told, you were scared to look, but you’re sure it’s not pretty. Keyman was close to crushing something, a windpipe or maybe even a collar bone, with his grip. You tilt your head up, exposing the sensitive area to the Mandalorian, and you hear a sharp intake of breath.

            Gloved fingers are suddenly ghosting over your skin. His right hand captures the back of your neck, thumb stroking delicately over your cheek to hold your face steady. His other hand is tenderly tracing over what you assume are bruises from Keyman’s fingers.

            “Dank farrik” he whispers. You don’t realize that he’s looking at perfect imprints of someone else’s fingers on your body. Dark and nearly purple, marring your soft skin. “Brave, pretty girl,” he says to himself. “Jatnese be te jatnese.” You part your lips, wanting to ask what that means.


            “Did he put his mouth on you?” His voice is low and dangerous, nearly a growl. You rack your brain trying to figure out how he could possibly know that, and then you realize. There’s probably a giant hickey lingering on your throat, discernible from the other bruises. He probably couldn’t see it before beneath your jaw and under the harsh shadows of the dim ship.

            “Yes” you admit, your voice breathless and soft. Having Mando that close to you is setting your skin on fire, and the jealously in his voice…it’s causing your lower half to bubble like lava. “I- I didn’t fight it because I thought I still had a shot at my freedom…and I thought if I could keep him occupied, the kid would stay safe.”

            “Cabur. You never have to do something like that again. Not for the child, not for your freedom. Vor entye.” You have no idea what his words mean, but he says them with such earnestness, and his helmet is now leaning against the top of your forehead. You swear you hear a shudder from within the helmet, too soft to be caught on the modulator. He steps back, as if suddenly becoming aware of his proximity to you, and the intimacy that it implies.

            You grab his hand and pull it close, and incredibly he allows it. You gently remove his glove, finger by finger, taking your time. Giving him a chance to back out; giving yourself a chance to fucking think. You slowly loosen the glove from his hand, one finger at a time, until you can fully remove it. His fingers are so thick, his hand rough and calloused from his work. You hold his hand over your chest, and you know he can feel your racing heart by the way his breath hitches.

            Your skin is prickling with anticipation, and you feel a deep burn inside you. You guide his hand down between your breasts, and he whispers your name. Lower and lower until-

            “You don’t have to do this,” he says gruffly, as if strangled between his desire and a sense of honor. “You’re not my prisoner, you don’t- fuck- you don’t owe me anything.”

            “I know,” you say sincerely. “I want to…I want you, Mando.” You pull his hand down farther and slip it into your (his) underwear. You revel in the way his calloused skin feels over your softness, the delicate skin that has never been touched as reverently as it is now. Your sex is throbbing, and you are absolutely soaking. His fingers brush between your folds, and you know by the choked moan he releases that he can feel your arousal. “Feel that?” you ask, you voice husky as you tilt your head back. “That’s all for you.”

            “Are you sure?” he asks, but he’s already stepping towards you again, crowding you against the copilot’s chair. His erection brushes against your hip, and you attempt to hold back a needy whine. You lift your hands up, his fingers remaining perfectly still against you, waiting to confirm that you truly want this.

            You place your hands on either side of his neck, the closest you can get to cupping his face. You rub yourself against his fingers, releasing a soft moan that practically has him panting. You look up into the visor, you own eyes hooded with lust.

            “I’ve never been more sure of anything. Please, Mando…I don’t want to be lonely tonight.”

Chapter Text

Chapter 12

            You were not anticipating that this would be the course of events. You thought that you would be sneaking away with Keyman, letting him bend you over his speeder while he fucked you to his completion. Stealing away your freedom like always. But this? This was unexpected. Mando’s hand is still poised right against your pussy, and you reiterate your point to him, wondering if his helmet has short circuited.

            “Please,” you whisper. He releases a low moan, something that echoes in his chest. “M-make me cum. You said you liked my noises, right?”

            “F-fuck pretty girl,” he murmurs, sliding his middle finger between your folds, rubbing agonizingly slow against your wetness. “Maker, you’re soaking wet.”

            “That’s what you do to me. I swear I’ve felt kriffing wet since you slammed me up against the side of this ship.” At this reveal, he pushes up into your entrance. You release a small whine, taking in his thick finge, practically purring at the way he curls it inside you, eager to rub every part of you. You hear him growl and remove his hand from inside your underwear. You nearly pout, but his fingers grab the hem of your shirt and pull it swiftly over your head; this movement made easy by the fact of how much his clothes dwarf you.

            “As good as you look in my clothes,” he begins, tossing the shirt behind him, “I prefer you like this.” He leans back slightly, taking you in, appreciating the curves of your breasts and your painfully erect nipples. You bite down on your lip and shimmy out of his underwear, stepping out of them as they pool at your ankles and kicking the fabric to the side. You stand in front of him completely bare, save for the markings on your body. You see his fists tighten as he eyes lower and lower, taking in the bruises on your knees…a mark he can claim.

            “I know- uh- I know the helmet is a given,” you begin, feeling embarrassed to be having this conversation. “But what about the armor and your clothes?” You can feel the air around the Mandalorian shift, his body tightening. Shit, abort, abort! You reach for his wrists and drag his hands across your smooth skin until he’s holding you against him.

            You breathe in his scent, a mix of leather and something sweeter, maybe from his soap. Sandalwood maybe? It’s intoxicating, masculine and inviting, and you can’t help but rub yourself against his prominent erection. He shudders, allowing his hips to rock against you.

            “It’s okay,” you murmur against his chest plate. “I think I’m naked enough for the both of us.” He presses you tighter against him, his hands grabbing at your ass and kneading greedily. “What was that you said before…something about leaving me tied up and naked in your cockpit?”

            “Don’t tempt me,” he growls dangerously, his tone holding no malice, but dripping with lust.

            “Then don’t promise me with a good time,” you breathe. This earns you a swift smack to your ass, and you can’t help the surprised yelp that escapes your lips. “Stars!”

            “Now be a good girl, and do what I say.” Your entire body tingles at the command. His voice is kriffing sultry, grinding through the modulator to lick at every deep dark part of you. He moves forward, crowding you until the back of your knees hit the copilot’s chair, and you fall against the leather. He’s so fast, so eager, that by the time you blink he’s on his knees in front of you, calloused hands gripping your thighs and spreading them apart wide enough for his broad frame to fit between your legs.

            You are completely exposed to him like this. His helmet is so close that he can see every inch of your pussy; the slick wetness, every fold, your quivering entrance…it feels like too much. You close your eyes, feeling a blush rise in your cheeks, embarrassed in spite of all you have already done together. Your heart begins to race as the nerves get to you. You want this, hell, you kriffing need this. But it’s so vulnerable, so intimate. You would never do something like this with Keyman or the countless other bounty hunters. And even with Mando when you were in the shower, he was distanced from you. Your body was slick with water, hiding every line, every scar, all the imperfections. You nearly let your insecurity get the better of you when you hear his modulated voice.

            “Incredible,” is all he says. His hands reach up and grab your breasts, moving them around, enjoying their softness and bounce. “Fuck- fucking gorgeous tits.” You tilt your head back and moan at his words, hissing in pleasure as he takes your nipple between his fingers. He pulls and teases deliciously, enjoying the reaction of your arching back and gentle shivers.

            “M-mando, touch me please,” you whisper. “Stars, I need it. Need you now.” This lights a fire in him, and he brings down one of his hands, slowly stroking through your slick folds. The sensation is so good, you want more, more pressure. His wide frame keeps you from pushing your thighs together.

            He pushes into your hole, the resistance a little uncomfortable, but oh so full. His calloused finger tips rub at your walls, giving you the friction you’ve been seeking. You can’t help but roll your hips with his movements, your body naturally following his lead. His thumb rubs circles around your clit, sending electric pulses up your nerves. You want to hold onto something, his hair or his face, but you settle for the arm rests on the chair. You white knuckle as you build higher and higher. He curls both of his fingers, hitting you just there.

            “Fuck, right there!” You clap a hand over your mouth, your gasp catching you by surprise.

            “Pretty girl, it’s just you and me. Let me hear you. Fuck- those noises you make, making them for me.”

            You moan loudly, enjoying the sheer sound of his low baritone, rubbing heatedly through the modulator. Paired with his now pulsing fingers hitting something deep in you, and his thumb teasing your most sensitive parts….fuck you aren’t going to last long.

            “C-close,” you moan, unable to say much else. It’s happening fast, you’re building far too quickly. It’s been so long, and your body is fighting for its release. You want to take your time, enjoy the view of his helmet pointed towards you, his fingers disappearing inside.

            “That’s right pretty girl, give me your moans. Cum for me. You look- look so fucking good like this. Fuck.”

            Your entire body is buzzing, and you can’t keep yourself from toppling over into your orgasm, riding it out in front of his focused gaze. He keeps his thumb pressed against your clit the whole time, coaxing you through until you’re a quivering mess. Watching the way your sex pulses around his fingers. Your bundle of nerves is far too sensitive now, and you jolt away from his touch.

            “Shit, shit sorry” you breathe, feeling a little light headed. He was literally only touching you for a few minutes, and you feel embarrassed to have finished so quickly. “I uh- it’s been a while since I- well since someone else-“

            “They’re idiots,” he states harshly. He removes his fingers from your hole and you wince slightly. You see your arousal spread across his fingers, and it sends a new flame of want through you. “To have a woman like you, willing to do those things, and note even-“ he pauses, his chest heaving and his voice getting riled up. He sounds angry, though you can’t comprehend why.  Why does he care about what other men have done to you? About whether they made you cum or not. He almost sounds jealous, but you can’t figure out why that would be. He’s only known you a few days.

And why are you getting turned on by it? By his frustration, his pure heat.

            You grab his wrist, and bring his soaked fingers up to your mouth. You attempt to make eye contact through the visor as you take his digits fully. You can taste yourself on him, and it’s disgusting, and erotic, and so fucking hot, because he’s falling to pieces watching you. You’re excited. You want to make him come apart, to impress him and thrill him. It’s a new feeling, and it makes your entire body break out in goose flesh.

            “That fucking mouth,” he moans, his voice low enough to scrape the ground. “The noises it makes, the- shit, things it does. Fucking smart mouth, can’t ever get it to shut up.” You push his fingers down your throat before dropping his hand completely to retaliate.

            “I think you like it,” you challenge. “You like my dirty words.”

You slip down the copilot’s chair and join the Mandalorian on the floor, wincing a bit at the familiar pain of durasteel pressing against your knees.

“I think you like when I tease you.”

You slip your hand past the waist band of his pants.

“Because deep down you want to punish me.”

You grasp his cock and oh maker beskar couldn’t be fucking harder.

“But that’s okay, because,” you pause, and lean in close.

You swipe your thumb over the head, and he hisses in pleasure.

“I like being your bad little girl,” you whisper against the side of his helmet. Mando rocks his hips into your grip, his body leaning back a bit, caught up in the pleasure of it. He catches his breath once or twice before finally being able to form a sentence.

“Prove it,” he growls, his hand sliding around to grip your ass again. “How do I know you don’t say this to everyone?”

“Fuck them,” you snap. You give a small bite to the side of his neck, working through his flight suit, but earning a moan nonetheless. “I’ve let boys take what they want…but I need you to give me this fat cock in my tight pussy…and fucking ruin me.”

“FUCK!” It’s the loudest you’ve ever heard him, and it startles you, arouses you, and forces your hand off of him for a brief moment. He stands fluidly, bringing you with him as if you weigh absolutely nothing. He grabs you by the hips and guides you to the wall, the metal chilling your skin and taking your breath away. Your fingers fly to his pants, and ungracefully drag them down to the top of his thigh plates, his cock springing free to attention.

He grips your leg and hikes up your hip, slotting himself at the apex of your thighs. You moan loudly, gripping at his vembrances as he rubs himself against you. Maker you need this. Need to feel him deep inside you, feel him in places that you had forgotten.

“Can I?” he asks, his voice husky.  “Can I put it in?” The question surprises you a bit; you think you were fairly obvious about what you wanted him to do to you. But his entire frame has stilled, waiting for your answer. It suddenly dawns on you… your story about the officer you killed. What he had tried to do. Mando is making sure this is all pleasure for the both of you. He’s as desperate as a man on Tatooine searching for an oasis, but he won’t drink until you do too. He can’t.

You smile in the dim light. A genuine expression that, completely unknown to you, causes Mando’s heart to stutter. You lift your arms around his neck and lean your upper back solidly against the wall. As if reading your mind, he grips your other leg, holding you off the ground.

“I want you to fuck me up against this wall until I forget my own name,” you tell him, but it certainly sounds like begging in your own ears. He growls something you can’t quite understand, because an instant later, he’s sinking into you. Your thoughts escape you completely. He’s too big, stars he’s too big. You’re breathing heavily, willing your walls to relax even more, though you’re already kriffing soaked and more aroused than you’ve been in your entire life. You lock your ankles around his waist, effectively pushing him deeper until he is fully sheathed inside you.

Shit!” He’s got one arm supporting your lower back, the other he uses to bang a fist against the wall. “Pretty girl, you’re going to squeeze the life out of me. So- so fucking tight.” He gives a few small thrusts, rolling his hips sensually to feel you, to rub against every crevice inside of you. You whisper his name, the only thing you can think to do. You feel him everywhere, every part of your body crying out, screaming for him. “So good. So good,” he mutters; a mantra.

He rolls his hips up into you a few more times, stretching you open for him, taking over your entire pussy. You let your head lean back and hit the wall, surrendering to him, focusing on taking whatever he gives you. You can feel yourself leaking all over him as he sets a rhythm. Your tits bounce with each thrust as you cling to his neck, riding him as best you can. With a grunt he slams into you, nailing a spot that turns your core into lava, seeping into every limb. A delicious, painful burn that jolts you into releasing an embarrassing scream of pleasure.

“Fuck yes, I want to hear you. Want to remember these noises before I go to sleep at night.” His rhythm is nearly punishing, each thrust of his hips harsh and precise as he nails the most sensitive parts of your body. You lean forward to rest your head against his helmet, slightly altering the position so that his cock grinds against the back of your walls, and you gasp. “Want- fuck, wantyoutofeelthislongafteryou’veleft.”

The thought causes you to moan. You don’t know where you’re going next, where he will be able to drop you off. But you know one thing…you’ll be feeling the aftershocks of him for days. Meeting new people, enjoying your freedom, with the ache of him between your thighs.

“T-talk more,” you beg. Tears are pricking in your eyes at the fullness, the raw feeling of him deep inside you, the discomfort of him impaling you ever so perfectly. “Mando I’m so fucking close. Just want to- fucking sexy voice.” You whine, high and wanton, unable to finish your thought. Apparently you both ramble in the throes of passion, saying things you’d never tell another living soul. Things you’d never say under the protection of clothing, of crowds, of self preservation.

“Beautiful tracinya,” he grunts out, his pace becoming a bit sloppy. You think he’s near his release. You don’t understand the language he’s been speaking, but you’re happy to listen to it all the same. “My tracinya” he says so much softer. Over the sounds of your panting, you can’t quite hear it.

His helmet is cool against your sticky brow, and you force your eyes open. You search into the visor, knowing you won’t be able to see. But you hope he’ll lock his gaze, see your desire as you cum for a second time by his actions. Your core is tightening, and the air feels thin. Electricity pulses just under your skin, and you know you can’t last much longer. You wish you could kiss him, could see him laid totally bare in front of you. To swallow each and every one of his moans, stealing them away to rest deliciously in your stomach.

“Dank farrik,” he huffs, his hips completely losing rhythm and stuttering. “Wait, I’m going to- shit-“

“In me. It’s fine I swear, fucking fill me up,” you cry out, your voice not even sounding like yours, those words never coming out of your mouth for anyone. The words seem to be his undoing, and he moans out your name as his delicious heat spreads inside you. It sends you over as well, and you grip him desperately. He holds you so tight, so close, that you’re completely off the wall now. Shaking all around his body as he releases inside you.

The dual pants float around the cockpit in a thick harmony, the air feeling like steam. The aftermath is not graceful, with Mando falling to his knees, and you struggling to unhook your locked limbs around him. But eventually you both detach from each other, slumping into a pile on the floor. The two of you roll on your backs, unable to do much of anything but recover and look at the ceiling.

Well that was…intense? Devastatingly sexy? Filthy? …the best you’ve ever had.

Chapter Text

Day 6


         You are absolutely blissed out. Every inch of you throbs in the aftershocks of taking in the Mandalorian. No thoughts enter your brain, but the same cannot be said for your late night companion. While you pant wildly and nearly slip into a post-coital unconsciousness, his mind is whirring faster than the engines of the Razor Crest.

         Not a single moment of this hunt went to his plan. You weren’t supposed to be…you. He was expecting some nefarious criminal. Some angry and vicious woman who would turn on him at any moment. He came prepared for a fight, fully expecting the stories of your “talents and strategies” to be over exaggerated. And then he found you sitting at a booth by yourself, contemplative and simply stunning. Your clothes had been dirty, your hair a mess, but such a brightness in your eyes. And it lit a flame, something that’s usually suffocated and doused by pounds of beskar. Maybe it was the kid’s fault; his presence over time opening up even the smallest crack in his armor, allowing you enough space to fan that flame. Or maybe it was the sadness behind your smiles, the melancholy that dripped off of each flirtation.

         And of course, he couldn’t deny the sheer physical attraction to you. It had been so long, and you had been so tempting. But he was a professional, you were his prey, and he had a job to do. He fully expected to put you in the carbon-freezer, out of sight and out of mind. But then he heard your screams, your cries, the proof that your underlying fear was not just a part of his imagination or another ruse to escape. He’s used to quarry begging to be spared, of saying whatever they need to. He is so used to it, nothing fazes him anymore. Nothing but your genuineness. Through the bantha shit of your very contrived, but effective, seduction techniques came a very honest moment. One he was not prepared to experience.

         All he had to do was get you into the kriffing carbonite; freeze you and the pleading would stop. But of course, the kid was there to save you. Mando had been furious upon learning you had been there before. That the kid had been in danger without him knowing. If you had been the woman he was expecting to capture, the kid could have been stolen away. Harmed. Worse. You knew full well the money he was worth. Could have effectively used him as a bargaining chip…and instead you gave him cookies and walked back towards the town. So, Mando was left holding a little green creature who was hell bent on keeping him from doing his job, and insisting on turning off the freezer.

         “Why- why did you react that way to the carbon freezer?” His question breaks the silence of the cockpit, and it startles you. Honestly, you were seconds from sleep.

         “Is this your idea of pillow talk?”

         “I’m serious.”

         “I am too. Give me something, Mando.” There’s an agitated silence, and you roll your eyes. “Fine, I’ll go first…that was indescribable.”

         Mando shifts a bit near you, and though you can’t see his face, you think he might be blushing. He’s still silent, so you push a little harder.

         “Now you’re turn, and then I promise I’ll answer your question.”

         “You were worth the wait,” he says quietly, his voice nearly getting missed by the modulator. You’re not sure if he’s referring to the past five or so days, or if he means since the last time he had been with someone, but it makes your whole body warm regardless.

         “You ever been in one? A carbon freezer?”

         “No.” Of course not, his job description is to literally be in control. You sigh and roll to your side, facing Mando. He’s still on his back, limbs splayed out in a very uncharacteristic stance. His helmet is still focused on the ceiling.

         “After the other officers found me, I wasn’t able to escape,” you explain. The Mandalorian is silent, but you can tell he’s listening. “They grabbed me and took me on board the ship and put me in carbonite. I thought it would be like sleeping. Or maybe like when they put you under for an operation… it’s not.” Your voice hitches, and Mando turns his helmet to face you. “You’re still conscious. Everything is black. You can’t feel, you can’t move, you have no control. Your body is screaming because- because it’s a cold so intense it burns you from the inside out. And I wondered- and I’m terrified that-…is that what death is like?” You don’t want to cry, not again, not in front of him. But you feel the tears threaten from behind your tired eyes. “My body wasn’t mine. I was at the mercy of whoever froze me, whoever would unfreeze me, of anyone who could walk by. After what happened in my village, well that’s not really a feeling I enjoyed.” Hot tears are streaming down your cheeks now, and you can’t tell if you’re sad, scared, or angry.

         Your vision has gone blurry again, so you don’t expect the touch of Mando’s calloused thumb against your cheek. It’s so tender, and you lean into it; your body naturally following his. His touch is gone too quickly as he sits up, gazing at your naked form for a moment. You follow suit and sit up as well, leaning against the cold wall, hugging your knees to your chest. You drop your head down on your forearms and close your eyes, hiding from his gaze. You feel too exposed. Naked, crying, speaking about something that still gives you nightmares. You fall silent besides a few pitiful sniffles, unsure of what else to say.

         You hear movement, and are greeted with a course material being laid over your back. Your body shudders, but then relaxes against it. You pull it around you tightly, feeling safer now that you’re concealed. You blink your eyes open and are surprised to see the material is Mando’s cape, unclipped from his armor and wrapped around your naked form.

         “Thank you,” you manage in a shaky voice. The Mandalorion nods at you, his arm propped up on his knee. “Anyway, I’m very grateful to that magic frog child downstairs,” you joke weakly, resting your head against the wall.

         “He likes you,” Mando states. It’s not necessarily a compliment, but a hard fact.

         “He seems to,” you agree. “My mother always talked about the day I would have one of my own…glad she didn’t live to see me fail at that as well.”

         “You can still- you know-“ his words are awkward as he tries to articulate his thoughts. You can practically hear the embarrassment through the modulator, and you can guess that he’s bright red beneath the helmet. You decide to spare him and interrupt his ramble.

         “No, actually I can’t. A rare but documented side effect of carbon freezing apparently.” Mando tilts his head at you, before releasing a heavy sigh, realizing this is the reason you let him cum inside you. “Had a doctor tell me it was scientifically impossible at this point. Would take a kriffing miracle.” The thought still makes you sad, but you’ve ultimately come to terms with it. You’re a fugitive anyway, it’s not like you’d have time to take care of a kid. You have trouble just protecting yourself.

         You feel tired. And you don’t really have any desire to talk about this more, so you slowly stand up. You take a moment to appreciate being taller than Mando, who’s now looking up at you from the ground, visor revealing nothing as usual. You feel beautiful that way, and you imagine this is what he would look like if he was gazing up at the sky or the stars. You wrap the cape around you tightly, deciding to take it with you to bed in his cot.

         “I think it’s time I head to sleep. Good night, Mando.” You turn to leave, nearly out the door when you hear his distinct voice.

         “I’m sorry…I’m sorry that one person took so much from you.” His voice is so sincere, and you take a minute to watch as he stands up, towering over you again. You give him a small shrug.

         “He did take a lot from me. But I try to remind myself…if one person can take that much, imagine how much a single person could give.” Mando is silent at this, as if struck by the thought. He reaches out his hand to brush your hair from your face, lingering a little longer than necessary. You give him a small smile, and he quickly returns to the pilot’s chair, facing the stars once more.

         “Where do you want to go?”

         “Bespin.” You answer almost immediately. It was your next destination before Mando found you. You’ve never been before, but you hear the Cloud City is impressive, and honestly, you’re sick of roughing it. Maybe you could even find work, stop running for a month or two. Neither of you say another word, his focus fixed on his new course while you exit out of the room and down the ladder to bed.

         Both of you wish that Mando was joining you in the cot.


         You wake up sore and disoriented, green fingers poking at your face as your muscles protest the bed. No wonder Mando doesn’t sleep in it often, it’s about as comfortable as an operating table. You groan and stretch, the child watching you with big black eyes, cooing for your attention.

         “Good morning little man,” your voice is hoarse with sleep, but it earns a pleased smile. His ears twitch at the sound of the ship powering down. You realize that the ship isn’t in flight, the familiar stillness of being on solid ground (or in this case a landing pad) clueing you in. “You ever seen Bespin?” you ask him, to which he simply cocks his green head to the side. “Me either. Figured it would be a nice change of pace from jungles or deserts.”

         You lift yourself up, making sure Mando’s cape is securely wrapped around you. The child climbs into your lap, asking to be carried, which you oblige. Your bare feet pad through the dim hull of the ship. It’s quiet and lonely, and you can’t imagine how it feels for days on end with just the child and the Mandalorian on the ship. Probably not a lot of conversation. Mando is most likely in the cockpit, adjusting controls or setting his new course for after you’re dropped off. You lift the child up the ladder and encourage him to go find his dad, ensuring that you’ll be up in a moment.

         You watch him putter towards the cockpit, cooing once he spots Mando seated in the chair. You steal a moment, smiling at the way he mutters Hey kid to the little creature. You go in search of clothes to wear, and thankfully, you find them still on the floor of the fresher. You scrunch up your nose at all of the dirt and grime, but pull them on anyway. You’ll get new clothes in Cloud City. You could have sworn you had underwear as well, but can’t seem to find them. But, it wouldn’t be the first time you’ve gone commando, so you shrug the thought away for now.

         Fully dressed and awake, you grab his cape and head up the ladder to join the group in the cockpit. He says nothing when you enter, but you don’t really notice as you are struck with the view outside the ship’s window. You’ve never been to a planet where everywhere you look is sky. The ship seems to be on a loading dock that overlooks a bustling part of the city; tall buildings and thousands of people milling around. Clouds wisp out in the distance and slowly travel down the streets like a white mist. The sky is bluer than you’ve ever seen, and though you can’t locate the sun (suns? Who knows?) from your spot, rich bright light bathes the cockpit, allowing you the clearest view of the Mandalorian you’ve seen since he dragged you through the jungle. His armor shines, and he looks quite impressive. Lean and dangerous, practically regal.

         “This is incredible,” you breathe, utterly fascinated by the floating civilization. “I’ve never seen anything like it.” Mando gives a curt nod, but says nothing.

         The child pulls at the hem of your pants, waiting to be picked up so he can see the view as well. You scoop him into your arms and hold his back against your chest. He gurgles and claps his hands, earning a chuckle from Mando. The kid is warm against you, and you press a soft kiss to the top of his head, saying goodbye.

         “I think he’s going to miss you,” Mando offers, his gaze still fixed out the window.

         “Just feed him a few cookies for me and he’ll be fine,” you joke.

“Don’t sell yourself so short.”

 “Hey, maybe work will take you back here before I leave. I could see this little womprat again.” You don’t anticipate being able to stay longer than a few months. Someone always finds you.

         “Never had a job on Bespin before.”

         “That’s good news actually, that means it’s not a popular hiding spot for people like me. I think I’ve had my fill of bounty hunters for at least a little while.” You say the comment offhandedly, referring more to the threat of carbon freezing and imprisonment, not so much about the Mandalorian seated next to you. But Mando can’t read your mind.

         “I left a blaster by the ramp,” Mando says gruffly. “Take it, you’ve earned it.”

         “Really? Thanks.” Certainly you’re surprised, but the protection of a blaster will be nice in a new city. You hand him the folded cape in return. He takes it slowly, gloved fingers brushing against your thumb before pulling it from your grip.

         A charged silence settles between the two of you, as if the conversation isn’t really over. There’s an underlying question and answer that could disrupt both of your plans. But the silence persists when neither breaks the tension.

You would stay if he asked you. You’re sure of it. As stupid and illogical as that decision would be, something in your stomach holds you in place a little longer, willing him to speak. Or even willing yourself to offer.

         Instead, you plop the baby into the seat and turn to go without another word. You pause in the doorway, your eyes falling on the pile of discarded clothes from last night. You quietly pluck the black tunic off the ground, not wanting to alert him to your thievery. As you climb down the ladder you hear him speak. Some other language, and said in a controlled voice.

         Ret’urcye mhi.” You don’t answer.

         With your belt secured on you again, his tunic folded and stuffed into a now bulging pocket, a few credits jingling around, and the blaster you originally stole six days ago tucked in the loop, you’re ready for a new adventure. You lower the ramp, and your breath is taken away again by the view, this time feeling the atmosphere across your skin, reveling in the warmth of the sun but the chill of the constant breeze. You walk down the ramp, and it nearly closes immediately behind you. He’s clearly not one for long goodbyes.

         You walk off the loading dock and into the station, which is buzzing with travelers and workers alike. You don’t look back as you hear the crest begin to take off, knowing that your heart may sink to your feet if you do. Instead you focus forward, unsure of your next move, but willing to take the steps towards it all the same. Maybe this is what you need. An airy, floating place to help you lift the heaviness from inside you. But a little voice in the back of your mind reminds you that the city isn’t the only thing that can get close to the stars. Ships do that too.

         Mando pulls the Razor Crest away quickly, attempting to look in any direction but you walking away. He wants to tell himself that these six days were just a blip, an odd footnote in his life that will be quickly forgotten. But as he exits the atmosphere and allows autopilot to take over the flight to Nevarro, he’s left alone in the silence with his thoughts. With the memories.

         After cuffing you to the ladder, he tried to ignore you that entire time. Tried to keep you at arm’s length, which proved difficult. You were so pretty, so tender with the kid. Every micro interaction with you excited him. Every aspect of you utterly inviting.

         He felt guilty for taking pleasure in the mark he gave to your bottom lip; wishing he had given it to you under different circumstances.

         He felt guilty for watching you that night; how his hand drifted down to his cock and palmed lazily until he snapped back to reality and retreated back to the cock pit.

         He felt guilty when he heard you singing to the kid; keeping you tied up like a common criminal when clearly you were sweet, and caring. He wanted to hear the rest of the song.

         He felt even guiltier when you told him the story of why there’s a bounty on your head. What had he done to earn your trust? To deserve your honesty? That night, he learned the thing he had feared most; that you didn’t deserve the prison sentence you’d most certainly receive. He allowed himself a tender moment with you, and then like a coward, he shackled you back to the stairs.

         He felt guilty for giving in. For letting you suck him off, grabbing your hair. Shuddering as you moaned out his moniker. How could you possibly actually want him? “It’s okay. I want it. Mando I want you,” you had said.  He believed your words because he needed to. But in his mind, there was no way you could willingly do this after the way he treated you. And after you swallowed him down, he still had every intention of turning you in. All because of his creed, The Way, because he had some duty to the agreement he made to bring you in.

         He felt guilty for watching you in the shower. For cumming on you. For the sweet touches he so easily gave you. For trying to have it both ways. For the first time in his life, it was easier to fall into someone’s charms instead of treating them like quarry.

         And then he felt guiltiest when he came back to the ship. For thinking how sexy you looked holding his baby and his blaster; upon learning all you had done to protect the kid. Guilty for the odd jealously that consumed him at the thought of someone else getting to be with you. And of course, for waiting until only then to give you the freedom that he should have granted days ago. Because now, it conveniently fit into his creed and his “morals.” And then he fucked you. And you took it so well, so deliciously. Saying words and making noises that will echo through his brain for fucking months. No one had ever felt the way you did last night.

         Mando is simply not used to this. He’s human; of course he has emotions. But to have them so strongly. So complexly? He’s exhausted and confused and ultimately unable to resist the draw of you. Your precious, half-joking offer to watch the kid in return for your freedom…it’s been echoing in his head. He could have asked you to stay. He wanted to ask you to stay. But he couldn’t. It would be tainted. If you had stayed, he would spend every moment worrying that you stayed out of some obligation, out of some debt. Or that you did it for self-preservation. The doubt and the guilt would be immeasurable.

         So instead, he asked for the name of the planet, dropped you off, and retreated as fast as he could before he could change his mind. Maybe he hurt your feelings. And maybe that was for the best. You’d be safer away from him. And his life would hopefully go back to normal; he tells himself that he’ll forget about you in a matter of weeks. It’s not true, but he needs to believe it anyway.

         The kid begins to cry, pulling Mando from his thoughts. The bounty hunter groans and exits the cockpit. He looks over the side of the ladder to see the child sobbing at the bottom, clinging to the remainder of your chain which is still fixed to the iron rung.

Chapter Text

3 months later aka Cloud City, present day, 2:45 am

         You yell “Last Call” over the din of the bar, and you’re sure only about half of the patrons even heard you. The other half are sure to ignore you until the last possible moment. The bar is busy tonight, but busy means more tips so you can’t complain. You fix a young devaronian a rather intricate beverage, and your mind begins to wander as you muddle the herbs and measure out the spirits. Life is odd, and you can’t help but think about your journey to this buzzing cantina.

         Your first two weeks in Cloud City were a bit rough. Finding work without the proper papers was proving to be difficult, especially when considering the only pair of clothes you had were grossly out of style for the planet and absolutely filthy. Most people looked down on you like a vagrant. They would scoff as you grabbed “Help Wanted” adds off of job boards, and even wrinkle their noses when you got too close. There was a night or two where you had to steal away off the main streets to sleep in an alley.

It didn’t help that when you slept, you had the strangest dreams. In the dreams, there was only darkness, punctuated by the sound of crying. Sobbing, actually. A child crying out, like they were looking for something…or maybe asking for someone to come find them. There was something almost familiar about the voice, but by the time you fully woke up, the dream would become hazy. The restless nights were taking their toll, and you were spending half your days groggy and slow. This went on for a full week before the crying finally stopped.

         You only had a few credits, and you were trying to form a plan: spend them on clothes, food, or lodging? After about three days of roughing it, you checked into the cheapest hotel you could find. Unfortunately, the city is a rather affluent metropolis, and you could only afford about two nights there. Clearly out of place, the staff and visitors alike eyed you like something a bantha threw up. The bags under your eyes from lack of sleep certainly didn’t help the situation. You can easily recall the embarrassment you felt in your stomach as the concierge begrudgingly slid over your room key to you. You had picked it up quickly, excusing yourself from the pristine lobby.

         You arrived to your room and released a sigh, finally alone and safe. It took all your self-control to go take a shower instead of flopping on the first real bed you’ve seen in months. Unfortunately, there was no self-control left to keep from thinking about Mando while you were in the shower. And in the darkness, clean and dried off, wearing his stolen shirt, you thought about the way he felt inside you. The way you could still feel him between your thighs. How badly you ached walking around during your first day in the city. A sadness settled into your chest as you drifted off to sleep that night, and then woke up mere hours later to the haunting crying that plagued your dreams.

         You’re not necessarily proud of how the next two days proceeded, but you were out of options and honestly had done far worse in the past.  Being on the run has turned you into a rather sneaky thief, a decent lock pick, and a smooth talker. All three of those traits helped you get to exactly where you are standing right now. That morning in the hotel, you stole food from the kitchen in order to keep yourself from starving. Shoveling the food into any available pouch on your belt. You picked the lock of the penthouse suite and stole clothing;  just one outfit! The wardrobe was filled to the brim with clothes, the owner probably never realized they were missing.

         Dressed in a stylish blouse and tight (nearly too tight) pants, with your stomach no longer growling, you set off to explore the city. You took note of every “Help Wanted” sign you passed. You had to be smart about it of course; nowhere too fancy, otherwise they’d ask you for papers and run a check on you. But you couldn’t go too slummy either; the last thing you needed was for a bounty hunter to find you amongst other criminals while on an unrelated hunt. You finally settled on a rather unique establishment. The cantina was one of the few joints in town that featured dancers, not quite nude, but risqué nonetheless. With a decently affluent clientele, there appeared to be a heavy focus on nondisclosure and anonymity, making it the perfect location for you to work.

         The owner, a gruff old Rodian named Holrau, was hesitant at first. Protective of his clients and workers, he’s rather particular about who he allows on the staff. He spoke to you for a while, asking about your life and past. You answered as honestly as you could, electing to omit certain details rather than outright lie. He challenged you to make a few drinks, which were apparently “adequate” and nothing a little practice couldn’t fix. He asked you what languages you speak; Hutese, common, and understanding R2 units. After one of the longest interviews you’ve ever had, he offered you the job. Apparently his final decision was based on the fact that you had honest eyes, and the clear stipulation that you try and expand your language base. He insisted that you spend your free time studying up; Cloud City is a tourist destination after all.

 After your first few shifts, Holrau offered you the opportunity as a dancer, stating that his clients had eclectic taste since Cloud City was full of visitors from faraway lands. You had to agree with him there; his dancers came in every size, gender, species, and race. But you still vehemently declined. A little too high profile for you, and you noticed that the “no touching policy” wasn’t always strictly enforced by the bouncer, a rather large humanoid named Dreshgare.

         So here you are, bartending night after night, working into the early morning and sleeping in your tiny apartment (more like a bedroom with a hotplate) during the sunshine hours. When you have a day off, you spend it at the library, checking out language books and learning conversational phrases. Mostly just words that could apply to your job…but there is one language book, hidden beneath your bed, that you haven’t yet returned to the library. Maybe because its lexicon is a little harder to master, or maybe because you spend night after night scanning through the pages, looking for certain phrases you’ve heard before.

         Being busy is good, and working is better. Who knows when you’ll have to run again? So you save all your tips, honest money that could go to nicer lodging, and instead hide them away in preparation for your inevitable escape from Cloud City. But three months in one place is turning into a record for you, and you begin to wonder if you’ve exhausted through the bounty hunters of the guild.

         Not that you think about bounty hunters. Never. At least not while you’re working, or when you wake up, or when you’re getting dressed, or hanging out with the few friends you’ve made here. You’re able to push away any thoughts of the Mandalorian about 99% of the time. But at night, when your head rests on your pillow, in that weightless moment between consciousness and dreams…you swear you can hear his voice. Smell the leather and sandalwood. See the glint of armor in the moonlight streaming through your window. How can 1% of your life drench every other moment in longing?

         “You weren’t even watching!” comes a voice from beside you, effectively pulling you from your musings. You roll your eyes.

         “Trytz, your routine hasn’t changed since I met you.”

         “It’s not about the routine. It’s about the moral support,” Trytz huffs. The green twi’lek is probably the best friend you’ve made since your time in Cloud City; honestly, they may be the best friend you’ve made in three years.

         “Hmm, sure. Nothing to do with your constant need for compliments and attention?” Trytz holds a hand to their chest, feigning utter shock.

         “You wound me. But I suppose I’ll get over it.” Trytz grabs a cup and pours some spotchka, downing it faster than you think should be possible. “Besides, I noticed that devaronian eyeing you all night. Is that what you were busy with instead of watching my amazing moves?”

         “First of all, he’s not eyeing me. Second of all, not my type.” Trytz clucks their tongue and walks around the bar to sit at a stool across from you, their lean muscles fully on display as they prop up their arms.

         “And what pray tell is your type, my mysterious friend? Because since you’ve swooped into Cloud City, the only thing I’ve really learned is that you’re kriffing sassy and a little moody.”

         “Eh, isn’t that enough?” You shrug, giving your friend a playful wink.

         “Well, I do know on other thing,” they practically purr, batting their eyelashes. “I saw you leave with that podracer pilot a few weeks ago.” At the deep blush in your cheeks, they chuckle and continue, “Yup, I see everything. I remember him because he wore his helmet the whole time he was in here.” You open and close your mouth, deciding to just go with it instead of revealing the truth.

         “Yup, can’t resist pilots.” Not quite a lie, right? Yes, you had been a bit drunk, and yes the mysterious pilot convinced you to let him come home with you. Yes, he even made it up to your apartment, and yes you may have even palmed at his erection outside your door. He even gripped you by the hips with one hand and lifted off his helmet with the other. And then, stupidly and drunkenly, you whispered leave it on. Which apparently is an odd request that damages egos, because he left rather suddenly after that.

         “And what did you do with said pilot?” Trytz’s eyebrows waggle.

         “Took him back to my apartment.” Still not quite a lie.

         “Dirty girl,” Trytz teases, reaching over the bar and pinching you in the side. “Did he keep the helmet on?” You stick out your tongue and return your attention to cleaning the glasses. This conversation is effectively over. By some miracle, Trytz seems to read this and walks off to flirt with their regulars.

         As the night closes, the patrons drunkenly file out one-by-one into the cool night air. Trytz offers to walk you home, but you decline, knowing they need to rest up for another long shift tomorrow. Fortunately for you, it’s your first day off in about two weeks. Dreshgare, the bouncer, gives you a small wave as he heads out, locking the front door behind him. Holrau trusts you enough to close up by yourself, as long as Dreshgare locks the door to keep you safe inside until you are finished and can exit out the back. You hum to yourself, sweeping the glitter and shimmer off of the stage. Most of the lights are out, and you feel at peace in the silence. You’re nearly finished when an something suddenly seizes the pit of your stomach. You know this feeling.

         You’re being watched.

         Your eyes dart up to survey the dim bar, scanning wildly until your heart leaps into your throat.  A man, you think a zabrak, is standing just on the other side of the door, staring at you dead on. Your heart is pounding as you try to decide what to do. He’s already seen you, and now you can’t pretend like you don’t see him. You can’t bolt out the back; who knows if he’s got a partner waiting to catch you at the door. You don’t have many options, but are forced to make a decision as he grips the door, trying the lock. He jiggles the handle a few times, violently shaking, and you realize he will break in if he has to.

Dank farrik!”

         You walk quickly off the stage towards the back of the building. You disappear down the hallway, acting as if you will exit out the back door, but instead take a sharp right turn into the employee refresher. You release a deep breath, attempting to stay calm. You’ve been in worse situations before, and you knew this day was coming. You’re cursing at yourself for leaving the kriffing blaster in your room. You’ll try running first. He didn’t seem heavily armed, so if he catches you, you’ll fight. And then if that doesn’t work, you have the old tried and true method. The thought makes you frown a bit as the Mandalorian’s words echo unhelpfully through your mind, you never have to do something like that again. You huff and shake the memory away. We can’t all be massive metal intimidators.

 You eye the window and it looks just big enough for you to squeeze through ( hopefully ) and escape into the night. With trembling fingers you lift up the glass and pop your head through, greeted by an icy chill and a thick fog.


Nevarro, three months earlier

         “Mando! So good to see you again friend,” Karga greets, lifting the child out of his pod. He makes a few playful faces at the adorable creature, earning a grin and a few ear twitches.

         The Mandalorian leans back in the booth, tilting his head at the odd display of affection. Less than a year ago, Karga was going to double cross him and sell the kid, and now he acts like a jovial grandfather. Still, Mando can’t complain; the more people in the kid’s corner the better. Karga lays him back down in his pod and clears his throat. He turns to Mando, and odd glint in his eyes.

         “I’ve been told by the people unloading your ship that a guild member is amongst your frozen bodies.” He’s not angry, but is definitely intrigued. Mando simply shrugs.

         “Long story,” he dismisses.

         “I’ve got time,” Karga counters, holding up his hand for the bartender to bring a round. The young man places two on the table, though everyone knows the Mandalorian’s will remain untouched.

         “He came after the kid. Unfreeze him if you want, just know he’s a traitor to your guild,” Mando grits out, effectively leaving out the many details that would actually make this a long story.

         “Hm, I see. Well don’t worry, he will be dealt with accordingly.” Karga reaches for his glass and takes a sip, sighing contentedly and deciding to take a bigger gulp. “They also tell me that there is a body missing.” The gleam is back in his eyes, and the small smile that threatens makes Mando feel downright hostile.

         He says nothing, unsure of what he could even say. The kid spent all night crying, both of them are exhausted, and he hasn’t been able to keep his mind off of you. Discussing you with Karga is about the last thing in the galaxy he wants to participate in. And Karga can sense it.

         “I feel there is a far more interesting story there,” Karga grins, downing the rest of his drink. “The question is, how did she elude the great Mandalorian?” Mando snorts dismissively and pushes your fob across the table.

         “Doesn’t matter.” Karga grabs the fob and pockets it, eyeing the bounty hunter in front of him.

         “I’d ask more questions, but I have a feeling you wouldn’t answer them. Nevertheless, don’t break tradition. Add a donation to the pot for the next hunter who decides to chase her down.” Mando visibly stiffens at this, his fist clenched on the table. There is a steely silence that seems to go one for minutes. The child is eyeing him curiously, looking back and forth between Mando and Karga.

         “How much?” Mando asks.

         “I don’t think I under-“

         “How much to pay it off?” Karga’s mouth drops open, if only for a moment.

         “Mando, you’re asking me to remove her from the guild postings? To lie to the New Republic?” Karga feigns shock, but bemused is far closer to how he’s feeling.

         “Yes. She risked her life to save the child.” His voice is low but even, knowing he can’t reveal too much emotion if he wants Karga to possibly agree. “I will pay you all my earned bounties for today, just remove her listing. The New Republic doesn’t need to be updated about anything.”

         “You know this won’t protect her from third-parties and rogues,” Karga says seriously, his decision already made. That child saved his life, and in a way, made Nevarro a far more respectable place than ever before.

         “It will by her some time.” Mando stands up, pushing his untouched drink towards Karga. He presses the device on his arm, willing the child’s pod to follow him as he exits the cantina without payment. With the bounty hunter out of earshot, Karga can’t help but chuckle to himself.

         “Oh little quarry, what did you do to our Mando?”


Present day, 1 parsec from Bespin, 2 am


         Mando startles awake, having fallen stiffly asleep in the pilot’s chair. The Crest feels too quiet, the months of lingering silence not feeling like their usual solace. Although, it beats the kid crying. The little womprat cried for an entire week after you left; the same ritual every night of Mando putting him to bed, and then having to listen as he cried himself to sleep. He certainly wasn’t anticipating that when he dropped you off in Cloud City.

         But the crying eventually stopped, and Mando took more jobs, and he really thought he might forget about you some day. He would go hours without thinking of you, days even if he was on a hunt…but as soon as he closed his eyes, you would appear in his mind. Your bright eyes, your mischievous grin, the sounds that you made.

         He tried his hardest to stay away from Bespin; deliberately taking far away jobs, hunting quarry in the opposite direction. That is, until one day he decided to take a bounty just a parsec over from the atmospheric planet. The pay was too good, and he thought after almost three months, he’d have enough self control to pass by the city.

         Mando leans against the back of his chair, the joints in his back grinding and popping loudly as the weight of beskar takes its toll on his body. He really shouldn’t’ sleep in it, and he really should try sleeping in an actual bed. But Mando is a bounty hunter forged out of practicality, habit, and convenience. So he sleeps in the armor, sitting in his chair in the cockpit, ready for anything.

         In just a few minutes he will be passing by Bespin. He has no reason to stop; they are stocked up on supplies and fuel, and the destination is only a half hour away. Maker, for all he knows you skipped town within a week of being there. Cloud City is a major tourist and trading port; you could have hopped on another ship, going to any of the far corners of the galaxy. So, Mando settles in, refusing to touch the controls, deciding to just let the ship fly past without another thought to the matter.

         The communicator on the console suddenly lights up, and a grainy hologram of Greef Karga illuminates the dim cockpit. The static is awful, and it takes him a minute to adjust the settings so he can even semi-understand the man.

         “M-Mando” the pre-recorded message begins, choppy with interference. “She’s…danger..guild.” He really needs to get the damn thing fixed. The skipping is grating, and Mando nearly turns the kriffing thing off until he hears Karga utter your name. This brings the bounty hunter to an agitated stillness, suddenly tuning out everything but the distorted message in front of him. He doesn’t even realize the child is sneaking into the cockpit, eyeing his favorite metal ball on the console.

         “Increased…empire..” Mando huffs and smacks the console with a leather fist, more in frustration than actually attempting to fix anything. But it seems to work for at least a few seconds, the latter part of Karga’s message coming in decently clear.

         “She’s been identified as an ally to you and the child. Her bounty has tripled, and her posting can be found in nearly every third party’s system. Don’t…happened…you two…should know.”

         “Dank farrik!” His exclamation startles the child, who teeters over, landing squarely on his ass. He looks up at the Mandalorian with curious eyes, sucking on the metal ball he was able to swipe while his dad was occupied.

         He should take a moment and think about this. He’s not an impulsive man. Disregarding his decision to steal back the child from the client, of course. He’s not one to give into emotions either, but that has also been proven false by the child’s presence in his life. His eyes shift to the kid as if to say, look what you’ve done to me. Mando curses again, this time far quieter. He knew your fob would eventually end up in someone’s pocket…but he didn’t expect this. Because of him, because of the simple proximity to his life, your bounty has now tripled, and you’ve been identified as a conspirator in the “abduction” of the child. Saving the kid has put you in danger, and he’s sent you off all on your own without someone to watch your back.

Mando turns to look at the child, who is gazing at him expectantly, as if he already knows what the next move is. Mando scoops him up and plops him down in the copilot’s seat, earning a giggle from the creature. He fiddles with the ball, a happy smile on his face. Mando reaches for the controls and makes a sharp turn, entering the atmosphere of Bespin right before they pass the planet.

         “Let’s go get her, kid.”


Cloud City, present day, 3:29 am

         You begin to squeeze out of the window, gasping at the sound of blaster fire from the end of the alley. You’re halfway out of the window when you see a large and imposing figure emerge from around the corner. You can’t quite make it out through the fog, noting that it’s a different person than the zabrak who was watching you through the front door. Your body freezes for a moment, your heart pounding against your sternum as blood floods through your ears, all sound distorted and warped by your fear. And then the figure starts running.

         You yelp, pushing and shimmying, hoping you can release yourself, hit the street, and take off running before the figure catches up to you. But it’s kriffing fast. You’re nearly out of the window when a pair of gloved hands grab your wrists and haul you forward, releasing you from the tight squeeze as you fall gracelessly to the ground. Your snap your head up to confront the supposed attacker, but instead you peer into the dark T-visor of a familiar beskar helmet. Your breath hitches, unsure if this is even real. But the utterance of one word, punching through the modulator, sobers you back to reality.


Chapter Text

Honestly, you should be ashamed of how quickly you follow the orders of a bounty hunter. Especially one who had previously held you captive for days, only to fuck you senseless the night before disappearing from your life. Three months of separation should definitely have severed whatever odd magnetism you had felt towards him. But here you are, letting him drag you through the alley towards maker knows where.

         You are breathing hard, your ears ringing in fear as you follow him. You approach the entrance of the alley, only to see the zabrak round the corner, wielding a large vibrosword. The blaster fire you heard earlier must have been Mando taking out the suspected accomplice. Mando uses his grip on your hand to swing you behind him, his other hand unhooking his blaster and shooting the offender in a fluid movement. You gasp as the zabrak is hit between the eyes, gracelessly slumping against the side of the building as his weapon clatters loudly to the ground.

         Before you can catch your breath, you’re being pulled once again, this time down the open street. The full moon is enough to illuminate the path, shining reflectively off the large amount of beskar in front of you. The only sound of the tired city is your rapid footsteps, and you finally take a deep enough breath to speak.

         “Where are we kriffing going?” The wind is gone from your lungs again, your chest hurting. You don’t run. Honestly, running away has only worked for you once, and that particular hunter should have been in retirement.

         “Just move,” Mando growls, not even turning his helmet. He sounds agitated, but you get the feeling it’s not at you. His body is so strong, you can’t even seem to slow him down, your legs forced to match his brutal pace. Your mind fills with questions, most likely to distract you from the pain of exercising when you weren’t prepared. Who were those people? How did Mando even know where to find you? Why did he even show up?

         “Stop!” you yell at him, forcing all your weight down until you’re sitting on the sidewalk. His head snaps to you, and you can hear a slight breathlessness through his modulator. Even at his impressive physical fitness, running around with all that armor can’t be easy.

         “What – what are you doing?” he demands. He pulls on you again, but you force yourself to ignore the jerk in your arm socket and nearly lay down this time. “Listen to me, we need to keep moving.”

         “Am I your quarry?”

         “What?” He lets go of your hand to place two fists on his hips. The condescension coming from his visor would be funny if you weren’t so confused.

         “Am I your quarry? Are you hunting me, bringing me in?” Your tone is demanding, and your cross your arms over your chest.

         “No. Of course not.” He almost sounds offended, as if that wasn’t a perfectly rational question, given your history together.

         “Then stop telling me what to do,” you snap, challenging him from the ground. The Mandalorian groans, tilting his helmet back towards the sky.

         “We don’t have time for this,” he mutters, gripping you by the shoulders. He easily lifts you from the ground like you weigh no more than the kid. The kid!

         “Where’s the little man?” you ask, slightly worried. What if that’s why Mando is here? What if something happened to the baby and he needs intel?

         “He’s on the ship,” Mando huffs, grabbing you by the wrist again and pulling. You go with him, but manage to deaden the brutal pace to a quick walk.

         “Where’s the ship?”

         “Where I’m trying to take you!” You’ve never seen him so exasperated. “We need to get out of here.” You snatch your hand away from his grip.

         “I’m not going anywhere,” you insist. “Not until you tell me exactly what is going on.” His body is still and rigid, and you release a sigh. “Look, my room is just a right turn and a block away. Can we just- seriously Mando, can we just take a moment?”

         His shoulders twitch, as if he wants to throw up his hands in frustration. But he settles for a curt flick of his head, indicating for you to lead. You start walking faster than normal due to his previous urgency. He follows so close behind that he is nearly stepping on your heels. He’s silent the entire trek, and you decide conversation may not be appropriate, so your bite your bottom lip and stay quiet. You make the turn and walk a block, eventually arriving to a multistory building with crumbling decoration and chipping paint.

         Mando focuses his helmet on you as you fiddle with your key, eventually getting the rusted lock open and stepping inside. He hesitates, just for a second, and then follows you into the building. The lobby is immensely tiny, and you feel that his large frame looks even more impressive in the small space. It’s not a nice place by any means, but the neighbors don’t cause trouble and you’re close to work.

         You start up the stairs, beckoning Mando to follow you. His footsteps are heavy against the cheap material, each movement causing groaning and creaking beneath him. You lead him down the narrow hallway and stop at your door, and you’re thankful for the dark corridor because you can feel yourself blushing. The faint memory of the podracer pilot and his hasty escape when is intrusively broadcasting through your mind. The Mandalorian watches you jiggle the handle before thrusting your shoulder against the sticking door. You can sense his judging eyes on you as you finally get it to open.

         “Look, it was either a nice place or nice clothes,” you mutter, stepping into the single room. He hangs back for a moment, as if deciding on whether or not he should enter. “Waiting for a written invitation?” you ask, turning on a lamp to illuminate the room.

         “I- we shouldn’t be here,” he reasons, his voice stilted and awkward. “The kid-“

         “Yes, who I’m sure you have locked up in a secret place and is entirely safe.” Your own words sound forced; you’re worried about the kid too. But you can’t just follow this metal bastard onto his ship and across the galaxy on a whim. You need a moment to think, an explanation, your belongings.  “I won’t keep you long, okay? Stars, just tell me what’s going on.”

         “It’s not safe here,” he responds, ignoring your words. You pinch the bridge of your nose and sit on the bed. From your perch, you notice his stolen shirt draped over a chair. Your stomach clenches, and you really hope he doesn’t notice it. But so far, his gaze hasn’t left you.

         “Mando…I haven’t seen you in months. And then you just show up and kill two people” I assume it was two “and demand that I follow you onto your ship without an explanation?” Thankfully, your argument sounds logical. Whether you’re trying to reason with him or some deep part of yourself is another story. You would have stayed if he asked you three months ago, and honestly, a part of you was ready to follow him into the unknown just fifteen minutes ago. That’s what scares you. The fact that you’re so willing to stand by this relative stranger when most of your history consists of either sex or a massive power imbalance. The small part of you still focused on self-preservation realizes the unhealthiness of that. That’s not freedom.

         Thankfully, he seems to agree with you. At least for now. The helmet nods a single time, and he leans up against the nearest wall, relaxing as much as you think he is able. You release a breath, sinking against the wall in exhaustion. There’s a tight silence, so you try to dissipate it.

         “How’s the kid?” You change the subject for a moment, giving both of you a slight reprieve.

         “He’s- he’s fine. Blows a lot of spit bubbles now.” It’s definitely an accusation.

         “It’s important for children to learn the finer skills in life,” you defend. This earns you a huff, probably the closest thing to a laugh Mando has had in months. The room has settled at least a little, and you decide to prompt him again.

         “So what is going on?”

         “You’ve…you’ve been identified as a threat to whatever remains of the empire. Your bounty has tripled, and your posting is now available to nearly every active bounty hunter.” Mando tries to keep his voice level, neutral even. But the way his fists clench betrays his feelings.

         “I don’t- I don’t understand. Why would the empire- why would anyone but the New Republic care that I killed an officer?” This doesn’t make any sense. Your bounty hadn’t ever increased before, not technically. Not officially. And you had been careful…no one had come after you in three months.

         “I’m sorry,” he mutters, looking away from you for the first time since your reunion.

         “Mando,” you roll of the bed and go to stand in front of him. You reach out your hand and touch the cool beskar of his helmet, turning his head to face you again. “How did this happen?”

         “I’m- I’m wanted, for stealing the kid. The kid is considered an asset.” You nod, biting down on your bottom lip. You already knew all of this. Kriff, at this point you think any criminal and bounty hunter in the galaxy has heard the story. “And- and you have now been identified as an ally- an accomplice, to me. Your bounty is high, and a much bigger target is on your back.”

         “Because I saved the kid,” you realize with a whisper, your eyes widening. But how would anyone know that? The only person to witness that was Keyman… oh. That fucking nerf-herder. You close your eyes in frustration. If all this is true, you certainly can’t stay in Bespin. Especially once they find the dead bounty hunters from tonight…it will be like a beacon to your location across the galaxy. “Stars, what a mess,” you mumble. You rub your temples, thinking about your next move.

         “You need to come with me. You’ll be safe with me and the kid.” It’s as if he read your mind and is trying to convince you that this is the only course of action. Your heart sinks, because you know he’s right. But it feels wrong. First you were his prisoner, and now what? His ward? Still under his control, constantly under his eye…owing him something.

         “Meet me at the bar at sunset,” you state, attempting to keep any emotion from your voice. You need time; time to think, to pack, to properly decide. He puts his hands on his hips and tilts his body down at you. He groans your name, chastising you like he does when the kid touches things he shouldn’t.

         “Did you not hear me? You are in danger; and your capture could put the kid in danger.”

         “I’m not stupid, Mando. I know what’s at stake. But you just dropped a bomb on me, and I need a little time to adjust. And in case you forgot, I’m not your prisoner anymore, so stop kriffing telling me what to do!”

His body is rigid, and the agitation radiating off of him is both intimidating and… heated? Okay, pushing those feelings down for the moment. You soften your voice.

 “Go check on the kid. Get everything ready. But I have some things I need to handle first. I’ve been safe for three months, ten hours longer in this city is not a death sentence.”

         The silence that follows is strained. You feel that any change in the atmosphere could effectively snap it, releasing something powerful and fearsome. You don’t realize that you’re holding your breath, waiting for his reaction. Finally he releases a huff and brushes past you towards the door.

         “Fine,” he mutters. “We’ll meet at the damn bar first.” He’s frustrated, yes. But he also sounds a bit relieved that you’re coming around to the idea. He opens the door, his broad frame nearly through the exit when you ask him a final question.

         “How did you find me so quickly?” You’d stayed hidden for so long, and yet he found you immediately. He just tilts his helmet at you, as if you had asked the dumbest question he’s ever heard.


         You pause outside the bar, clutching the diagonal strap of your bag across your chest. The sun is just setting, but not quite low enough for the streets to be artificially lit. You’ve decided to go with the Mandalorian, but you have certain stipulations before you willingly follow that hunk of metal onto his ship. You open the door and step in, seeing a few regulars at their preferred tables or bar stools; performances don’t start for about another hour, so most of the noise is just the clinking of glasses and low conversation.

         You grab a table close to the door and put the bag by your feet. It’s filled to the brim with clothes, your belt, the blaster, and a certain library book that you’ve decided not to return. Normally, all you have is your belt and maybe a small satchel, but if you’re going to be living on the Razor Crest, you suppose you can pack a little more. You grab one of your coworkers who passes by and request a glass of spirits. He’s only worked here for a few weeks, but gives you a confused nod as he goes to fetch your drink. You’re never at the bar on your days off.

         Just as he returns to place the alcohol in front of you, Mando steps through the door. You smile a bit; he looks so out of place and is definitely drawing a few eyes from the regulars. He’s rigid and uncomfortable, but his shoulders eventually relax when he turns to see you with a packed bag. He cocks his head to the side, wanting you to follow. You hold his gaze though and motion to the chair across from you. He crosses his arms silently, the two of you arguing across the bar without a single word. You give him an expectant expression; you’re not going anywhere until he sits down.

         You can practically hear his grumble through the modulator as he stalks towards you and aggressively pulls the chair from the table. You take a sip of your drink, hiding your smirk behind the rim of the glass. You suddenly grimace, realizing the new kid gave you the cheap stuff. Mando is looking around; you assume he’s evaluating the clientele, searching for possible hunters. But when his eyes fall on the stage, and then his helmet whips back to you, it’s nearly comical.

         “You work here,” he states. It’s not a question, but you can definitely tell it’s leading up to one.

         “Yeah, was in the middle of closing up last night before all the commotion.”

         “Do you- uh,” he tilts his head towards the stage. You snort a bit, and it seems to pull him out of his awkwardness. “What exactly do you do here?”

         “I’m a bartender.”

“And is that all you do?” His tone is far more pointed now, but you can hear something just beneath it. A tingling of curiosity, excitement, anger.

“Oh, they offered for me to be a performer.” You take another sip, reveling in the hard gaze he gives you. Is this jealousy he’s harboring? “But I said no.”

“Good,” he states with a nod, your answer seeming to have satisfied him. Your curiosity gets the better of you, though. And you kind of like stringing him out a bit.

“What would you have said if I was a dancer?” He says nothing and just leans back in his chair; he takes up so much space. It’s distracting. “Do you think I’d be bad at it or something?” you tease, attempting to rile him up.

“Trust me,” he begins, stretching his arm out across the table. His legs are now parted a bit, almost looking casual. “That’s not how I’m picturing it at all.” The insinuation goes straight to your lower stomach and a blush begins to creep up your cheeks. His casual posture makes sense now; he knows that comment gave him the upper hand over you, putting him back in control of the situation by catching you off guard. He stays fixated on you, and you wonder what kind of expression lies behind the visor. You bet it’s smug.

“Anyway,” you continue, dampening down whatever heat started to rise in your core. “I’ve decided to go with you, but on one condition.”

“Are you serious?” The exasperation in his voice is barely contained.

“Yes, I am.”

“Fine. What is it?”

“Do you want me to come with you?” He sits up in his seat now, practically leaning over to the table to look at you.

“Maker, what do you think?” he asks, as if that should be fairly obvious. “I’m the one who flew down here to get you!” His voice is tight and annoyed, the limited amount of patience he is capable of is wearing thin.

“But do you want me on your ship?” He doesn’t say anything, as if trying to understand what you’re talking about. “You’ve asked me to accompany you because I’m in danger. Because I saved your kid. You have your morals and your creed and your way.” You take a sip, your chest clenching a bit as you approach the point. “But if all this hadn’t happened…if you didn’t feel like you owed me anything- that you weren’t obligated to protect me. Would you still want me on your ship?”

It’s a loaded question, you’re aware. He’s really only spent a few days with you, and that’s not enough time to evaluate someone and decide that you want them traipsing around the galaxy with you for the foreseeable future. But you need the answer. You don’t want to be in anyone’s life because of some sense of duty. And you can’t deny the arousal your body feels towards his…it’s only a matter of time before something physical happens again. When that does happen, you want it to be your decision. Not tainted with the fact that he’s protecting you, or the fact that he feels bad for having kept you prisoner, or maker forbid that either of you thinks you owe it to the other. That’s not freedom.

You hear a resolute hmph behind the modulator, and you think he’s about to speak. But before he can deliver an answer, a familiar voice calls out to you. Both you and Mando whip your head to the source of the noise, and you see Trytz waltzing towards you with a grin.

“Never thought I’d see you here on your day off,” they comment, giving you a quick onceover with furrowed brows. A heat rises up your throat, and you silently beg them not to say anything else. Your hair looks nicer then they have ever seen you wear to work, and your top has a plunging neckline; far lower than you’ve ever worn in the name of garnering tips. Between that and the bag at your feet, you can tell they are both suspicious and intrigued.

“There’s a first time for everything,” you retort, picking up the glass of spirits.

“And who’s this?” they purr, directing the question towards Mando. As suspected, he says nothing, but you can tell he’s curious about your interactions with Trytz.

“Old friend. A pilot.” You take a sip of your drink, locking eyes with Trytz. Just stop talking and walk away.

“A pilot who doesn’t take his helmet off; you really do have a type.” Mando snaps his gaze back to you and your sputter into your  drink, everything turning crimson from your cheeks to the top of your breasts. The twi’lek giggles, the laughter only turning more melodic and genuine as you glare at them.

“Trytz,” you warn through gritted teeth.

“Hey, message received kiddo…I’ll see you around.” They lean down to give you a quick hug that crushes the wind out of you. Their eyes are a bit sad, and there’s an unspoken truth between the two of you. There’s always been something off about you, some secret that you were harboring. Trytz is good at reading people, and they aren’t stupid. I’ll see you around really meant goodbye. They give a playful wink to Mando before leaving the table, tousling your hair a bit as they walk past.

The two of you are left alone again, your previous question still hanging in the air. You honestly have no idea what his answer is going to be. A small part of you wants to go with him anyway, no matter what he says. You tell that small part to kriffing shut up. The silence is nearly stifling, and you feel that you may have to ask the question again.

“Yes,” he says softly, surprising you.  He doesn’t elaborate, offering no other clarifiers or expectations, but you decide it’s enough.

“So that means we’re equals, right? I help with the kid, I help you fix the ship, I help you find quarry. We’re partners.” You hold out your hand across the table, and he looks down at it.

“I don’t need help hunting” his voice is steely.

“You may not need it, but you’re going to get it.” You push your hand out farther, holding yourself firm and steady. Don’t give in. Stay strong. “Cin vhetin,” you add. You can tell he’s shocked and a little confused. It’s not in his body language, but like you can read the emotions behind the helmet. You just know. After a few moments, he begrudgingly thrusts his hand into yours, his grip nearly painful as he gives it a single shake. You can’t help but smile.

“Can we fucking go now?” he hisses, standing up from the table. You roll your eyes but follow suit, picking up your bag from the ground. You give the bar a final look, and a sadness settles in your throat. This place really almost felt like home. Almost.

With a resolute sigh you turn towards the door and follow the Mandalorian into the evening. The air is cool and clear, the breeze nipping at your cheeks. You’ll miss Bespin, but there will be other planets, other cities. Mando takes your wrist and guides you quickly through the streets, down alleys and corridors, taking twists and turns until you’re on the outskirts. You’re confused when you don’t immediately see a hangar or a loading dock. It’s just a large dilapidated building, completely removed from the rest of the city. It looks like no one has been here for years.

“Where’s the ship?” Mando continues walking towards the building, not answering you at first. As you get closer, you’re able to see a massive hole in the side of it, as if something had blown it to bits.

“Empire attack. This warehouse was used to create weapons, but they were selling to the resistance. This part of town has been empty since.” He steps over the rubble and debris, and you hope that the walls and ceilings won’t come crumbling around you.

You see the ship and your stomach tightens in excitement. He must have flown through the hole in the building to hide it. Both of you release a sigh, everything looking relatively undisturbed. He fiddles with the repaired lock pad and the ramp shudders open. So different than the last time I was brought to this ship. There’s an intensity between the two of you as you  enter the ship, a strange uncertainty about what comes next.

He closes the ramp behind you, and your heart leaps at the sight of the child peering out of the pod. He looks like he has just woken up, but the minute he spots you, he gurgles and squeals. You run to him and lift him out of the pod, holding him close to your chest.

“Hey little man!” You stroke his ear and he looks up at your face with those glassy black eyes. His three fingers find your cheek, and the breath is taken from you, a vision of him sobbing pushes into your brain. You can’t tell if he’s sharing the memory with you, or if you can feel it coming off of him. Either way, it breaks your heart. “So it was you keeping me up for a week. How did you do that?” You don’t understand the strange bond you have with the child, it’s definitely a new experience for you. If Mando hears your words, he pretends not to. Instead he clears his throat behind you. You turn to see him shift the weight in his feet.

“He- he missed you,” he offers stoically.

“Oh, he did?” There’s a slight tease in your voice.

“Yes… ship was too quiet for him I think.”

“Hmm, that makes sense…I missed him too.” Mando regards you for a few seconds, taking in the sight of you holding the child so affectionately. It’s as if you never left. “Quite a few lonely nights,” you add, completely addressing the bounty hunter.

“I’ll go punch in the coordinates and start the flight. Bed is yours.” He climbs up the ladder and disappears, leaving you alone with the child. You feel a little overwhelmed, but years on the run have taught you to handle change. You put your bag onto the ground and take the kid to the chair, leaning yourself against the wall as you bounce him up and down on your thighs. You hum a little, and when it seems to make him happy, you sing to him.

“He stole me from another, afraid I’d leave someday

I felt the Force pull on my bones, we knew I couldn’t stay.

I made a bet that I’d return and someday soon I will,

And though I’m many months too late, I hope he’s waited still.


For even in this darkness something calls for me to find,

And planets may all turn to ash, and stone walls fall to time,

My love still lies there buried under silent ice in sleep,

A grave left unattended by the word I couldn’t keep.”

Chapter Text

Being partners with the Mandalorian is not going exactly how you anticipated. For how heated and combative the two of you were three months ago, it’s been replaced with hesitancy and awkwardness. You feel that there is a thickness between you two, something that you can nearly taste, but neither of you acknowledge. It’s like you’re dancing around the other, testing and pushing and poking, but never willing to go forward. The four weeks you’ve spent with him and the kid have felt more like circles. He’ll lightly touch your lower back as he brushes past you in the cramped ship, and you’ll stroke his wrist as you hand off the kid to him. Kriff , both of you have made rather suggestive comments, causing the other to stutter and heat up, but that’s usually where it ends.

         You work well together though, and you guess that’s the important part. You are able to work seamlessly as you clean weapon parts and then pass them to him to reassemble in a fluid motion. Or how you have figured out, based on the child’s cries, which one of you should go check on him. He’s even allowed you to assist with his hunts; gathering intel, surveillance…nothing too involved though.  You’ve offered to help more of course; with distracting them, lulling them into a false sense of security, even waiting by an exit to take them down as he chases. He doesn’t seem too keen on that however.

 You aren’t unhappy; you’re alive, and you’re doing something you’re good at. But something is definitely missing. So what if the long periods of silence are uncomfortable and drenched in… something you can’t seem to identify . You shouldn’t complain.  You both agreed to be partners, to start with a clean slate. It’s not like sex was really on the table. Or on your cot, or in the fresher; both places where you’ve had to relieve your frustrations in stifled silence. Imagining his massive body hovered over you, helmet impassively observing your pleasure, thick fingers curling and…

That’s the exact dream you’re having when you’re roused from your sleep. You wake up as your body is slammed into the wall. You yelp in pain as you roll back the other way across the uncomfortable metal and into the other wall. The ship is creaking and groaning loudly, and suddenly the confined space of the hidden bed feels like a coffin. On wobbling legs you bolt from the cot and sprint across the belly of the ship. It lurches just as you grab the ladder, nearly sweeping you off your feet. You climb quickly against the bumps, the flight only settling once you’ve made it to the top. You burst through the cockpit to find Mando tucking the child into his pod and angrily closing it up, effectively confining him.

“What’s going on?” You are breathless as you stand in the doorway, your heart racing.

“Kid fucked with the controls.” He sounds weird, not quite like himself.

“And you just let him?”

“I was- I was asleep” he admits, returning to the pilot’s chair. So that explains his voice; it’s heavy with exhaustion. The kid must have snuck out of his pod to play with the console. “But it’s fine now go back to-“ Mando turns to actually look at you for the first time and cuts himself off.

“What?” you ask, furrowing your brows. His gaze stays on you and you look down at yourself. The red hot blush that follows can be felt through your whole body. It’s your standard pajamas, but he’s never seen them. You always sleep with the door to the tiny alcove closed.

You’re not wearing any pants, just a pair of black lacy underwear that you had purchased in Cloud City. And the shirt you’re wearing…well it’s not yours. It’s the shirt that you stole from him nearly four months ago. The shirt you wear to sleep every night. The one that hangs loosely off your shoulder and comes down to the top of your thighs.

“Is that my-“

“Yeah, sorry. I think it got mixed in with my things when I left. Didn’t even think to give it back to you, had been wearing it to sleep so long,” you lamely explain, fumbling over your words. His helmet is glued to you as you bite your lip. This is embarrassing. He’s already seen you completely naked. And it’s just a shirt. So why do you feel like you’ve been exposed?

His continued silence is only making you tense, your stomach coiling with an undeniable heat. You stumble over to the copilot’s chair and sit down cross legged. The shirt is large enough that you can pull the hem over your knees this way and keep him from getting even more of a peep show than he may have already gotten. He continues to look at you in silence, but you can’t stand it anymore.

“I can give it back,” you offer.

“Keep it. It looks good on you,” is his soft response. His chest is rising and falling harshly, and you see his fist clench in his lap. He clears his throat, attempting to sound a little more casual. “You’ve been wearing it all this time?”

“Yeah it’s- it’s comfortable I guess,” you lie. You started wearing it originally because it smelled like him. A scent that has long escaped from the knit of the fabric. He just nods and turns away.

“You- you can go back to sleep,” he offers. It’s tentative and noncommittal.

“I’m awake now. The little man kind of scared all the sleep out of me.” You look down at your nails, picking any dirt or grime away from them. “But, I can leave if you want.” You certainly don’t want to stay if it will bother him.

“I don’t want you to leave. It’s just about two hours longer anyway.”

“And how do you suggest we pass the time? Conversation or brooding silence?” It’s a joke of course, you know he’d prefer silence over small talk. He snorts in response, keeping his focus on the front window. You don’t want to sit in silence though. You had gotten so used to the bar; the din of conversation and clinking glass, the blaring music for the performers. Even the library had hushed whispers and turning pages to fill the silence. You wonder if he’s silent because he’s afraid of saying something revealing. In his line of work, the less weaknesses others are aware of, the better. Perhaps he does it as a way to protect himself. You’re the same in an odd way.

You talk far more than he does, but the conversation is meaningless. It’s light, or flirtatious. It’s meant to disarm and distract, not divulge. Same motivation, different execution. But with him…you want to talk with him. To know things about him and to let him know things about you. It makes sense; you are partners . So you decide to go first; sharing something you’d normally never say in an attempt to open up a line of communication.

“I stole the shirt when I was leaving for Cloud City.” The sentence feels so kriffing loud in the vacuum of the cockpit. He doesn’t look at you, but his body has perked up ever so slightly. “I wanted- I don’t know. It felt nice to have something that might remind me of my time here. What I mean is- it’s not like it was… all bad .” Oh maker why does this feel so hard?

“No?” His voice is laced with concern, almost sounding guilty.

“No…I’ve been treated worse. And- and it smelled like you. That first night, in a strange place, it was nice to have something at least a little familiar.” You feel very warm and your stomach churns at being so honest. Your throat feels like it might close up, and your leg is bouncing with nervous energy. “Doesn’t smell like that anymore, of course…but it’s still comfortable.” There’s more silence after, and you wonder if you’ve said too much. If this was an admission better left concealed.

“We can trade. I’ll give you this one in exchange.” He’s not looking at you still, which is for the best because you can’t hide the smile that breaks out. You give a small hum of approval and hug yourself tightly.

“Okay, now your turn.” To this, he finally looks at you.


“I said something about myself, now it’s your turn.”

         “I didn’t-  that’s- I didn’t ask you to say anything.” He sounds grumpy, and it nearly makes you chuckle.

         “But I did, and now you have to as well.” He turns away, not wanting to participate. “This is the way,” you add, doing an awful impersonation of his modulated baritone.

         “That’s not how that works.”

         “Hmm, I don’t know. It doesn’t seem that hard to share one little detail about yourself.”

         “Okay, fine. I speak multiple languages. Mando’a, Galactic Basic, Huttese, Tusken Raider sign and spoken, a little Jawa.” He speeds through the list anxiously, and you wonder when the last time he shared anything about himself was.

         “Impressive,” you murmur. “What does tracinya mean?” You’ve looked through the Mando’a book countless times, attempting to decipher the things he said to you that night. My tracinya. You haven’t been able to translate that one yet.

         “It’s your turn,” he counters, completely ignoring your question. The response is so quick and forceful that you yield.

         “Okay, what do you want to know? Ask me anything.” Though you’re being genuine, the idea makes your chest clench. What if he asks you more about the officer? Or the carbon freezer? You release a slow breath to calm your nerves. If you don’t want to answer, you can just go back to bed.

         “Anything?” He’s looking at you again, the lights of hyperspace reflecting brilliantly off the visor. You give a shaky nod, looking out the window instead of meeting his gaze. He seems surprisingly into this. When he’s the one in control at least. “Your friend, the twi’lek, said you had a…type?” You groan and put your head into your hands; Maker your ears are kriffing hot.

         “They- Trytz says things,” you’re fumbling. “There’s a story behind it.”

         “There’s a story about pilots who don’t take off their helmets?”  You tilt your head back against the seat and close your eyes.

         “There was one night at the bar… I don’t know, I guess I was lonely.” You pause for a moment refusing to open your eyes as you feel the intensity of his gaze harden. You suspect he’s a jealous person, so you’re unsure of how he will react. But he’s the one who asked the question, and you’re honestly a bit curious of what his response will be. “That’s a lie, I was just really drunk. He was a podracer pilot. Arrogant. Thought he was Maker’s gift to women. Spent the whole night with his helmet on.”

         “What happened?” The question is a barely concealed growl.

         “I took him home. Outside my door we got a little closer and he took his helmet off.” Your stomach is bubbling, and you can sense Mando is hanging onto every single word; each detail agitating him further. “And that’s when I told him to keep it on.”


         “I told him to keep the helmet on. And I think it hurt his feelings, because he practically ran away.”

         You’re not sure what the response will be. Maybe teasing. Maybe jealous rage. You mostly expect he will want to change the subject. But you’re not prepared for a bark of laughter shooting through the modulator, the echo of it bouncing off the cockpit, taunting you. It’s not a snort or a chuckle, it is a full laugh lasting for at least five seconds. The only real laugh you have ever heard from the bounty hunter.

         Your eyes snap open to glare at him just as his laughter is dying down. You have a sneaking suspicion that he wouldn’t have found it humorous had the pilot actually done anything with you.

         “I’m sure no one has ever told you this before, but shut up,” you snap, crossing your arms over your chest.

         “Oh pretty girl,” the endearment slips as he comes down from his amusement. “I guess you do have a type.”

         “Don’t let this go to your ego. I was drunk and nothing happened.”

         “Good.” He’s back to his normal modulated tone, an edge to his voice. It’s possessive, and it makes the apex of your thighs ache. It fills you with a bit of confidence.

         “Would you have been jealous? Is that why you were glad I wasn’t a dancer?”

         “Doesn’t matter. Nothing happened with the pilot, and you’re not a dancer,” he dismisses. His tone almost sounds like a warning.

         “You’re right, I’m not a dancer…though Trytz did help me come up with a routine once.” His helmet tilts just a bit, turning enough so he can glance at you out of his peripherals. You let that fact hang for a moment, enjoying the effect it has on him. You then continue on to your question. “But anyway, it’s your turn to answer.”


         “How do you see out of the helmet?” It’s actually been something you’ve been wondering about since meeting him. Is everything a mode or a setting? Is he able to just look out of the visor clearly like someone with glasses would?

         “What do you mean?”

         “Like, can you see the world the way I do? Or does it look different?”

         “That’s- uh, that’s actually a good question,” he admits. You can tell no one has bothered to ask him this before. You wonder if anyone has cared. “I can see in night vision, heat signatures, there’s a few other programs loaded in. Even 360.” This makes you wonder how often he’s actually been looking at you when he’s turned away. “But, nothing organic. Nothing quite like what humans see unaided.”

         “So…everyone you’ve met. You don’t really know what they look like, then? You’ve never seen the real thing.” He considers this for a moment and shrugs. He’s probably never cared. “I guess that makes us kind of even,” you add with a smile.

         “Sure,” he responds, but there’s a low chuckle that follows. It makes a warm fondness pool in your chest that you’re not quite sure what to do with. You make yourself as comfortable as you can in the copilot’s seat and stifle a yawn, the tiredness beginning to return after the previous commotion.

         “So who’s the next target?” You close your eyes and listen, the hum of the ship lulling you into a calm.

         “Isn’t it my turn to ask a question?”

         “You can still ask your question. But I’m also curious.”

         “Faltar. Cartian Faltar.” You gasp and pop your eyes open. As he turns to look at you, he can see the wide grin stretch across your face. “What?”

         “Mando, I know him. Stars, I can help you on this hunt!” You can practically see Mando gearing up to shoot you down, but you continue. “He’s a bounty hunter- well I guess not anymore. But he’s deadly with a blaster; had quite a few connections in the weapons black market…let me guess, he became a smuggler didn’t he?”

         “Yes,” he admits, his voice guarded. You can tell he doesn’t want to include you on this hunt, but you persist.

         “I can help you, he knows me. I could easily help with surveillance and get him to let his guard down. I used to be quarry to him and he let me go, kriff he’d never see it coming!” You actually feel excited, the grin on your face beginning to hurt your cheeks. You’ve given intel before and helped hunters get information from others, but actually participating in a hunt? That’s brand new to you, and the promise of a new adventure has you a little light headed.

         “And why exactly did he let you go?” Mando asks with a growl.

         “Does it matter?” you respond quickly, your face betraying nothing. “C’mon Mando, just give me a chance, okay? I know Cartian, and I can handle myself. Let me be useful.”

         “You are useful.” He sounds deadly serious, but you don’t relent.

         “The deal was that we’d be partners, right? Let me show you I can do more than cleaning weapons and keeping the kid from crying.”

         “I know you can do more than that,” he snaps in exasperation. “You’re one of the most capable people I know, but the answer is-“

         “One chance.” You stand up from the chair and walk over, wedging yourself between him and the console. You hold out your hand as your knee presses against the outside of his thigh in the confined space. “If it fails, I’ll never ask again, I swear.” He looks down at your outstretched hand for what feels like minutes, and you chew on the inside of your cheek in anticipation. Eventually he releases a sigh and shakes your hand, the familiar leather sending odd sparks through your nerves.


         “Haat, ljaa, haa’it” you retort, giving him a wink. He squeezes your hand a little tighter at that, neither of you really wanting to let go. The coo of the child within his pod breaks the moment, and you scurry away to check on him, leaving the Mandalorian a bit stunned.


         You walk into the cantina with your heart pounding in your ears, the adrenaline making you feel so raw. You’ve never gotten to be on this end; to act as predator, seeking out helpless prey. Teasing them before you ultimately pounce. You feel powerful as you stalk towards the bar area, spotting Cartian immediately.

         The plan is simple. Locate the quarry, lull him into a false sense of security, and then signal for Mando to come and take him out. The Mandalorian had followed you around the village, careful to stay in the shadows and remain relatively hidden so not as to draw suspicion.

         You feel smug as you take a seat next to him; you knew exactly which bar he’d be in and where he would be sitting. Mando had even been impressed. Though, he’s still making you wear the comm on your wrist in an attempt to ‘monitor the situation.’ You had rolled your eyes, but ultimately agreed if it meant you could help.      

         “Ever buy a girl a drink, Faltar?” you ask, your voice lower than usual, dripping with honey like sweetness. He turns to you gruffly before easing into a cocky stance. His eyes are wide, probably shocked to see you again, but he doesn’t look concerned.

         “Hello there gorgeous, thought I left your sweet ass on Mos Eisly.”

“I get around,” you retort. It earns you a wicked grin, his eyes glinting. He flicks two fingers at the bartender before motioning to you. He waves his other hand, and the rest of the patrons at the counter get up to leave, giving you two some privacy. Within seconds, there’s a full cup of spotchka set in front of you.

         “Hmm, someone definitely has some pull in this town,” you purr, actually a little impressed. Last year, he was a nobody with a few connections. Now, he seems to have accumulated a bit of power. You hope Mando caught that, because he’s probably got a few allies hidden throughout the cantina. Maybe calling in the Mandalorian isn’t the best idea. But if you could get Cartian alone. It would keep civilians safe and reduce the risk of any business partners of his intervening.

         “I’m not the same man you met a year ago…and you’re certainly not the same girl.” He gives you a low whistle as he looks up and down your body, blatantly appreciating every curve and every inch of bare skin. You’re wearing a dress that you purchased back in Cloud City; a flowing ensemble with a plunging neckline and a slit up to your hip. It’s slightly nicer than what most are wearing in this city, but it seems to be doing the job. You smile at the memory of Mando, who fumbled with his words when he saw you in it.

         “I’m just flattered you hadn’t forgotten about me.” You look up at him from under your eyelashes.

         “Pretty hard to forget,” he murmurs, reaching out his hand to fiddle with your earring. He’s definitely far more confident than the weasely little bounty hunter you had seduced before. But power tends to change people.

         “Well,” you begin, putting your hand on his thigh. “We could always pick up where we left off. I don’t leave until the morning.” The comm on your wrist crackles with what sounds like a growl, and you quickly pull your hand away and hit the side of it. Cartian looks at you oddly, but you shoot him a smile. “Damn thing is always on the fritz,” you explain.

         “I see,” he dismisses, taking a sip of his drink. You put your hand back on his thigh, and raise it higher, slowly drifting your fingers toward the center. “You know,” he continues, shuddering at your advances, “I wouldn’t mind revisiting some of our previous activities.”

         “You got a room around here?” You gulp down a good portion of your drink, needing a burst of courage. All you have to do is get him outside the cantina, and hopefully Mando will be waiting.

         “Upstairs,” he whispers in your ear, ghosting his lips across the edge. Kriff. Your eyes dart to a flight of stairs that most likely lead up to the rooms. You didn’t even realize that the place was an inn too. That complicates things. Your mind begins to race with what to do next. You could try to subdue him yourself, but you’re not sure how you’d fair in hand-to-hand with him. His fighting style is totally unfamiliar to you. But the alternative is for Mando to enter the cantina, mill through the people, and make his way up the stairs without any of Cartian’s pals noticing. Option three…you could always just sleep with him. Wait for him to fall asleep and then make your move. The thought puts an odd pit in your stomach, your spit becoming hard to swallow.

         You’re dragged from your thoughts by Cartian pulling on your wrist. And it takes you a few steps to realize he’s leading your towards the stairs to go up to his bedroom. Stars, you need to think of something!

         “We’re going up now?” you ask breathlessly.

         “I like to have something sweet after I finish my drink,” he says in a low voice, running a finger across your clavicle. You open your mouth to say something but are interrupted by the sounds of shouting and blaster fire. You whip your head around to see Mando stalking across the bar towards you and Cartian, firing at anyone who reaches for a weapon. Before you can stop him…an all out brawl breaks in the dingy cantina.


         You are absolutely stewing as you stand in the middle of the ship. And Mando…you don’t think you’ve ever seen someone as furious as he is right now. He’s fucking seething. You tap your foot impatiently, pursing your lips as you wait for him to throw Cartian into the carbon freezer. The metal head went berserk in the cantina, him and Cartian punching, shooting, and slicing at each other with whatever they could find. His crew had hopped in as well, forcing you to join in the fray. You can hold your own, and you were able to knock out a few. But getting kicked in the stomach and having blood splattered across your now torn dress was not how you thought this little mission was going to go. You hope the kid’s pod is sound proof up in the cockpit, because the anger is boiling from deep within, and you can tell it’s about to explode.

         The Mandalorian returns, his boots stomping angrily towards you across the durasteel. His hands are on his hips, and you assume an equally combative stance with your arms over your chest and your hip popped out. Your lip is quivering and you feel like you’re seeing red.

         “What the fuck was that?” you demand.

         “I could ask you the same thing,” he snaps back.

         “Uh- I was following the plan bucket head. The same one where you’re not supposed to come in until I signal you!”

         “That plan involved you getting him to let his guard down, not letting him take you to bed and fuck you,” he snarls, taking another step towards you. You return the movement, closing the gap a little more.

         “First of all, I didn’t let him take me to bed. I thought I could get him alone outside the cantina, because it felt like he had allies in there. Which, by the way, I was right!” Your whole face feels red as you square off with the bounty hunter, not used to being this assertive. “And second, what do you care if some kriffing asshole fucks? It’s not like it means anything.” Mando has had plenty of opportunities to make any feelings known, to claim you for himself.

         “Really? It doesn’t mean anything?” He’s so close to you he has to look completely down to make eye contact with you. He sounds so offended and sarcastic that it makes your stomach flip. As if you are capable of wounding him.

         “Not with him,” you say sternly, trying to take a little bit of the heat out of your voice.

         “I told you, you don’t have to do that anymore.”

         “That’s not your decision to make.” You press the heels of your hands against your eyes, rubbing in frustration. “It’s not like that’s what I wanted,” you add quietly. The moment you considered just sleeping with Cartian, you felt sick. Nearly nauseous at the idea of being with someone other than…Mando.

         “Then what do you want?”

         “I don’t fucking know, Mando. Stars, what do you want?” Your voice is rising again, and the two of you are toe-to-toe.

         “You!” he yells back, gripping your shoulders with bruising force. There it is. Your mind goes absolutely blank, his admission floating through the hull, waiting for you to grab it. Your lower half coils while your ears ring; you stare at him dumbly for a few more seconds.

         “Well okay then,” you breathe, letting your hands rest on his chest. The slight pressure causes him to groan uncomfortably. You quickly withdraw your hands, walking backward out of his embrace. “You’re hurt.”

         “I’m fine,” he grumbles, reaching out to touch you again. You lightly swat it away, putting your hands on your hips.

         “No, you’re not fine. Go sit on the bed,” you demand. He snorts at you, putting his own fists on his hips.

         “I said I’m fine.” You hold his gaze, refusing to break first. If he’s injured, you’re not going to let him do anything without treatment.

         “On the bed. I’ll get the bacta.” You turn on your heels to collect it, finally hearing him curse under his breath after a few seconds. When you return, he’s sitting on the cot, his upper body armor removed and laying on the floor. You think you see a tracing of blood across the inside of the chest plate.

         He removes his shirt with a hiss of pain, and you would wince at his discomfort except…Maker. You’re frozen in place a few feet away from him, drinking in every inch of exposed skin that you can. He’s tan; his skin looks like it would be smooth if it weren’t for the old and new scars that mar his torso. His chest and shoulders are so broad, tapering down to a muscled stomach. There’s a dusting of hair across his pecs, and a sensual happy trail from his belly button to below the waistband of his black pants. He looks so incredible, you nearly forget to look for injuries. He’s got dark bruising all over his front, and bloody gashes across his ribs and up by his shoulders.

         “You look nice, by the way,” he says softly. You realize he must have been staring at you the entire time you focused on his bareness. His helmet is now pointed down at the ground, and you wonder if he’s anxious about how exposed he is.

         “Really? You liked the dress?” you ask, slowly walking towards him with the bacta.

         “It’s lovely.” You give him a small smile and place yourself between his thighs. He winces and grumbles as you push him back, forcing him to recline and hold himself up by his elbows.

         “You know, I don’t need any help.”

         “Yes you do. You think you’re getting to old for this?” you tease him, unaware of his actual age.

         “It’s not the years, tracinya. It’s the mileage,” he retorts tiredly. His fingers fiddle with the fabric of your dress as you start to rub bacta to the wounds. He flinches.

“I don’t need a nurse, I just want to sleep.”

    “Oh come on just let me,” you persist. You’re able to apply a little before he grabs your wrist.

         “It hurts.”

         “Oh, it hurts,” you scoff. Of course it kriffing hurts, he was shot at, kicked, and stabbed.

         “Yes. It hurts,” he snaps, moving his body away from you as best he can.

         “Well damn it Mando, where doesn’t it hurt?” You look at him in exasperation. You’re just trying to heal the bastard.

         “Here,” he growls, sitting up and pointing to his elbow in annoyance. You roll your eyes and press a soft kiss to his skin, the unfamiliar contact sending tingles all through your body. Mando’s entire body goes rigid before melting under your mouth. “Here,” he says tentatively, holding out the palm of his hand. You take it and bring it to your lips for a chaste kiss before holding his palm against your cheek, allowing him to caress you. He takes a shuddered breath, leaning back now, just propped up on one elbow. “Here.” It’s barely a whisper as he points to his hip. You try to conceal a wicked grin as you spread his thighs to allow yourself more room to bend down. You skate your teeth delicately along the skin before giving a slightly wetter kiss. He doesn’t speak this time, only pointing at his neck.

         You lean him back completely and climb over him, bracketing his torso with your knees. You push forward and bite at the exposed skin, earning a small moan- honestly it’s more of a whimper- from the enticing man beneath you. You give a few kisses before biting a little harder and then sucking, running your tongue across the skin to soothe any discomfort. You hear him sigh deeply, and his body turns to jelly under you. You continue to suck, slow and gentle until you’re able to leave a mark. As you pull away to look at your handiwork, you see his helmet is tilting back at and odd angle. It’s as if he’s--

         “Mando?” You whisper, before trying again in a normal talking voice. “Mando?” Your calls are met with a soft snore, confirming that he has completely passed out to the feel of your mouth against his skin. It’d be kind of sweet if your thighs weren’t trembling and your pussy wasn’t absolutely throbbing for him. “We never seem to get it right, do we?”

         You sigh, looking down at his gorgeous body again. You ignore your desire, and with nimble fingers and soft touches, you quickly apply the bacta and clean him up before he stirs. He looks so human like this, like he could actually have weaknesses. The thought sends an odd shiver up your spine as you gaze down at him. He’s the most beautiful thing you think you’ve ever seen, and the sudden endearment is frightening.

         You consider going up into the cockpit and sleeping there; but you don’t want to miss this either. He said you looked lovely. He wants you…and you really want him too. You swiftly exit the cot and remove your dress and shoes until your standing in your thin slit and underwear. You quietly pad to the light and plunge the hull into darkness before creeping back. You climb in with him, the space barely made for one adult, let alone two. But as you lay down, his arms instinctively reach for you and pull you close, his warm chest against your back. You melt into him, his body heat contrasting with the cool beskar armor still on his thighs.

         You can’t keep your eyes open; reveling in his protective embrace, lulled into a calm by his heavy and steady breathing. His heart beat is so prominent, you think you can feel it against your body. This feels a bit scary…too intimate. But it feels safe. And good.  And right. And before you can think much else about it, you’re asleep, your bodies perfectly fitted together, refusing to let the other truly sink into the darkness.

Chapter Text

You sleep soundly, deeper than you have in years. Enclosed in the darkness of the hidden cot, it’s like your own world, a safe haven as you drift through space. You probably would have slept for a few more hours, but your eyes flutter open because you’re nearly sweating. The ship is always cold, especially because the bed is practically a slab of metal. But now you have Mando wrapped around your frame, and his natural temperature is stifling. His skin is so warm against you, it’s like sleeping with a heater. You wriggle for a second, unsticking his skin from yours. There’s a very soft groan from behind the helmet, not quite strong enough to be picked up by the modulator.

         You freeze, not wanting to wake him, not wanting erase the perfect picture you have made. What if this reality breaks? Shatters away as soon as he wakes up, only to reveal this was just another dream of yours; simply curled up on your side in an attempt to block out the loneliness. Mando shifts behind you, and oh- if you weren’t awake before, you certainly are now. An undeniable hardness is pressed firmly against your ass, and you have to bite down on your lip to suppress the embarrassing little hum of delight that’s pushing up from your chest. This is definitely real.

         You remain perfectly still as strong arms cradle you tighter, and his thigh begins to move. You nearly squeak as he presses forward, parting your legs so that his knee can raise, up and up until- you release a shudder as cool beskar pushes flush against your cunt. You can feel it through your thin panties, all while his hardness twitches in excitement against your ass.

         “Good morning,” comes the modulated baritone behind you. Your body is so pliant to the sound, you sink further into him and surrender to his voice. He shifts his leg ever so slightly, and the pressure of his armor rubs between the apex of your thighs again. You silently thank the Maker that there’s fabric and metal between you, because you are already soaking through your underwear.

         “Good morning to you, sleepy head,” you retort, grabbing his hand that’s resting on your rib cage. You hold it out in front of you, barely able to see in the dim light of the hidden space. You trace a finger along his palm, captivated by how much bigger he is than you.  “You passed out pretty quick last night.”

         “I was bleeding,” he reminds you, tilting the front of his helmet down to rest on the top of your head. “Forgive me for being just a little spent.”

         “I guess I could forgive you,” you tease, placing a kiss to the palm of his hand like you did a few hours earlier. “But, we were kind of approaching a rather critical moment, Mando.” You take his index finger between your lips and suck softly, only going down to the second knuckle. A ragged breath escapes, and his hips give a small shudder.

         “I’m awake now.” His voice falls somewhere between a purr and a growl, his pitch low and gravely. A whine escapes your lips, an embarrassingly needy sound that seems to ignite something deep inside him. “Fuck- fuck I’ve dreamed about hearing those sounds again.”

         “Mmm, naughty. Thinking about me in bed?” You gasp as his hands come up to cup your breasts, greedily molding them.

         “Tried- tried not to. Wouldn’t let myself touch,” he whispers, one of his hands hiking up the material of your dress to your waist. “But- but couldn’t stop myself when I was asleep…fucking came in my pants like a damn teenager,” he admits, his breathing harsh and raw. He sounds like a caged animal, circling and panting, waiting to pounce the second his enclosure is opened.

         “Kriff—I would,” you moan into the darkness as he caresses your inner thigh. “Would wake up some mornings- soaking wet, mmmm, throbbing.”

         “What would you be dreaming about?”

         “Stars! You- you holding me down. Choking- taking what’s yours.” The words slip right out of your mouth, and even through the flush of arousal and heat, your skin is still able to blush. You hear his breath hitch behind you, and his hand strokes up your body to hold your throat.

         “Tracinya…say that again.” His fingers curl easily around your throat, pressing at the sides in way that lets you breathe, but also makes you tingle and pant.

         “Take what’s yours, Mando,” you whimper, the words feeling so good to speak out loud. Some dark and needy part of you wants him in control, wants the bounty hunter to own every part of you. His possessive tendencies only fueling this deliciously twisted feeling.

         “We’ll get you new underwear,” he says through gritted teeth. Before you can question it, his unoccupied hand rips away the dainty fabric in one move. You yelp in surprise as the panties are pulled from between your legs, now in tatters. He runs a long index finger between your folds, coating himself with your slick. “Shit- your cunt is fucking soaked, pretty girl. And it’s mine.”

         “Yours,” you breathe, unable to manage much else as he languidly rubs across your pussy, spreading your arousal. He drags his fingertip across your clit, rubbing you with achingly slow circles. You buck your hips at his movements, unable to jolt too much due to his hand still wrapped around your neck. “No one else—since you fuck- ruined me.”

         Damn it—missed you. Missed you so much,” he pants, grinding his throbbing cock against your bare ass.

         “Prove it,” you challenge leaning your head back against his chest as you submit to his fingers.  He withdraws his hand from your pussy for just a moment, and you can feel the shuffle of clothing behind you until- “Maker.”

         He presses his now free cock against your ass, the feel of his erection against your skin making you lightheaded. His hand returns to your pussy, and he inserts two thick fingers, and you could almost cry at the needed friction. Mando ruts against you slowly, the friction against your ass driving you mad with lust. He’s so fucking hard, so taken with you that it makes every muscle clench in pleasure.

         “Feel my- my cock? How h-hard you make me pretty girl?”

         “W-wanted this since I came back,” you whimper, grinding down onto his fingers. He begins to scissor inside you, rubbing against your walls and stretching you as you leak arousal all over his hand.

         “Mmm, so you didn’t think about that fucking podracer?” he growls, tightening his grip on your throat.


         “Good girl,” he chuckles darkly. He pulses his fingers rapidly inside you, the vibrations sending shockwaves through your body. Maker, he’s pushing you higher, and you feel yourself bloom for him, eager to take whatever he can give you.

         “M-missed you too,” you whine, letting him drive you towards an orgasm. He breathes in sharply, and withdraws both his hands from you. You whine in protest, but he cuts you off by lifting his leg back up. The cool beskar of his armored thigh is pushed up against your dripping cunt, the sensation making your lower half quiver.

         “Show me how much you missed me,” he breathes. “M-make yourself cum. Want to hear you.” You rock yourself tentatively on his thigh, reveling in how the smoothness of his armor slides and presses against your clit. Shit- it’s not his cock, but it will do the trick. But if he wants to see how much you missed him-

         “I need to see you,” you breathe. He tenses and there’s an odd exhale coming through the modulator. “N-not like that. Helmet on. Just want to-to face you,” you correct. Without warning, two large hands grip your waist and dig into your hips with bruising force. Mando flips you around, the two of you getting properly jostled as you try to navigate the small space. Somewhere in the process, he’s pulled down the straps of your dress, and you shimmy awkwardly out of it. In a tangle of limbs and fabric and low curses, the two of you are finally able to readjust, and you breathlessly drink him in.

         It’s the most skin you’ve ever seen of him; his completely bare chest already starting to heal thanks to the bacta, each scar a decoration on otherwise smooth skin. His stomach is long and lean, but chiseled around his pecs and his hips. And kriff- he’s so hard, it stands at attention, thick and prominent. You idly wonder how the hell it fit inside you the first time.

         “Tracinya,” he whispers, mask tilted down towards your chest. You tilt your head back as he flicks his thumb across your erect nipple, teasing in a way that has you practically panting. “Your tits are so—fuck!” He grabs at them, kneading and feeling with worn and calloused hands against soft and supple skin. His touch is reverent, worshiping at the altar that is your nakedness. Having fasted for months, he’s ravenous for the sacrament of your body.

         You can’t focus, consumed with the enticing scene in front of you. His nudity juxtaposed with the helmet; the fact that he can be so open and exposed without really revealing anything. But you know, some force inside you just knows, that he’s beautiful under there. You’re so curious to know…but you also like the helmet. Because it’s him. So distinctive and unique, you’re one of the few people that sees it this close. Sees it under this context. Seeing it while you’re naked in bed with him is so fucking sexy because this is the same helmet that intimidates others. The last thing some poor nerfherder see before going into carbonite. And you get to see it while you pleasure yourself. Everything about him attracts you, pulls you into his orbit until you’re his moon, unwilling to pull away. You reach down and grip his cock, tugging slowly as he bucks his hips into your hold. He moans low and soft, his helmet tilting back to reveal his Adam’s apple, bobbing as he swallows down any louder noises. He looks so…captivating.

         “You’re gorgeous,” you blurt out. You swipe your thumb over his leaking head, teasing the top mercilessly. “Could- kriff, could look at you all damn day.” There’s a moment where you think you hear a whimper; a genuinely vulnerable sound. But it’s quickly masked by a growl as his hand comes up you your throat; his voice eager and dangerous.


         You comply immediately, your body bending to his will without your mind’s permission. Your roll your hips, shivering as the chilled metal practically sizzles against the heat of your arousal. You slide along it, rotating in time with your pumps on his cock. You lean your head against the front of his helmet, pressing harder against his grip on your throat. It should feel embarrassing, degrading, to hump his leg like a virgin teenager, but all you can feel is sparks. Every moan from him, every snap of his hips, every whisper of your name has you engulfed in flames.

         You bare down harder on him, abusing your clit as you rock faster. Your nipples are so hard they begin to ache, and you squeeze your thighs around his to control your movements.  This is so much better than that fucking pillow.

         “So-so soft and sweet…how? Filthy naughty girl, and still so good.”

         “I only like being a bad girl for you,” you whine, your voice so high and needy it’s nearly a squeal. You’re so close, and you can tell by the stutter of his hips that so is Mando. Your breathing is hot and ragged, and it fogs up the visor of his helmet. The air inside the concealed room is hot and sticky, suffocating the two of you with the smell of sex. You glance down to see you are absolutely coating his thigh armor in your slick, the normally polished metal now covered with your need. “M-mando…close. I’m so-“ you can’t even think to finish your sentence. Your stomach clenches in anticipation as your toes curl, and you teeter on the precipice.

         “Tracinya, cum. If you’re mine, you’ll cum.” His words are a desperate plea, and you can’t hold on any longer as you tip into your pleasure. Your orgasm ripples out from inside you, and you cry out his name. He can’t hold back and cums over your hand, a bit splattering the tops of your things and your abdomen.

         Your thighs begin to shake and tremble, the exertion of your muscles finally catching up to you. Before Mando can fully recover, you bring your hand up to your mouth and lap up his bitter pleasure. The action makes his cock twitch, and you briefly wonder just how many rounds he could go.

         He pulls back his leg and gathers you in his arms. You welcome his embrace, nuzzling into the crook of his neck, listening to his pounding heartbeat get slower and slower as the two of you come back down from the high. You release a contented sigh, and you can feel his smile behind the helmet.

         “I’m sorry about your armor,” you mumble against his skin, peppering soft kisses along his clavicle and throat.

         “Don’t be…I may leave it like that. Let the whole galaxy see what we did.” Kriff, you like it when he talks like this. A few more moments of silence before, “I’m sorry.” Your eyes open wide and you lean back to look up into his helmet.

         “For what?” There was no aspect of what just happened that you didn’t enjoy.

         “All of it…when you were first here. I- I shouldn’t have let you go to Bespin. I wanted you to stay with me and I- I should have said something. I should have uncuffed you the moment I saw how much the kid like you. And I took advan-“

         “Hey,” you interrupt. You put one hand to the side of his helmet as if cupping his cheek, the other planted firmly on his heart. “Clean slate, remember? I’m here now. And I want you. This is a fresh start…and I’m happy.”

         “Briikase,” he whispers, pulling you closer.

         “Briikase,” you repeat, the word feeling warm on your lips. He chuckles, clearly pleased by hearing you say it in his native tongue. You give a small bite to his shoulder. “If you want to be sorry for something, apologize to my underwear you just ripped,” you tease.

         “A necessary casualty,” he says flippantly, before adding, “I am sorry for the underwear I stole.”

         “I knew it,” you say with a grin, remembering how you couldn’t find them before you left for Cloud City.

“Just…wanted something of yours.” Before you can close your eyes, you hear the distinct sound of the child waking up. You try to lift your body in an effort to check on him, but Mando’s strong arms keep you pinned. Just a little longer.

Chapter Text

You squirm in your seat, nervously stroking the child’s ears as you scan the cantina. Your heart is pounding; the bar is too loud, and the baby is pushing onto your bladder. It seems to be his new favorite spot: sitting in your lap and pressing his hands against your stomach while he babbles endless nonsense. Often times, he seems so focused that he tires himself out and falls asleep right there. You’re pulled from your thoughts as two glasses of spotchka are placed with distinct clinks in front of you and Mando.

         The Mandalorian is sitting stoically next to you, an intensity radiating off of the beskar. Honestly, when you landed on Navarro, you were absolutely shocked that he insisted you come with him and the kid. In a town where the guild was incredibly active, you figured the safest place would be on the ship. You tried to say as much, but Mando was insistent that he could protect you better when you were in sight…though you suspect he didn’t trust leaving you alone with the men who would be unloading the carbon-frozen crooks.

         An older and dignified looking man sits across from the two of you, a mischievous grin plastered across his face as he talks to Mando. You’ve picked up that his name is Karga, he’s far more sociable than Mando, and he seems to be in charge; not only of the guild, but the town. You’d almost consider him charming if it wasn’t so unnerving how he is evaluating the two of you. Mando assured you that Karga convinced the guild to leave you alone, but you are still suspicious of the man across from the two of you.

         “Please, lovely girl, have a drink with me,” he says suddenly, snapping his gaze to you. Mando stiffens, but says nothing. You open your mouth to talk, but can’t find anything to say, so you reach over and grab the drink. You peek down to see the kid is now passed out against you. You take a polite sip, and he shoots you a pleased smile. “Your companion over there never does me the pleasure,” he adds, taking another sip.

         You put the glass down and carefully place the child into his pod, trying not to jostle him too much before you close up the shield. You notice Karga is still watching you, far more interested in your actions than his previous conversation with Mando. He’s probably intrigued by the fact that you were able to avoid the Mandalorian’s carbon freezer; you bet he’s eager for a story that you’re just not in the mood to divulge. You bite the inside of your cheek and take your seat next to Mando again. You grab the drink and swallow down the spotchka a bit faster this time, hoping if you finish this drink with him, the attention will be off you. It’s not that Karga actually makes you uncomfortable, but you aren’t in the business of trusting many people. You don’t notice that your leg is bouncing with nervous energy until a gloved hand slides firmly over your thigh.

         You try to control the sputter into your drink, coughing once or twice. He simply squeezes, and you feel your cheeks go pink. “Wrong pipe,” you explain to Karga’s questioning gaze. He gives you a small nod, and you place the glass back on the table.

         “Can I get you another?” he offers. Mando shifts his gaze back to the man.

         “I’ll have to pass,” you decline as politely as you can. His thumb strokes across the material of your pants. “I’m not much of a drinker.” A complete lie, but you want this interaction to be over as soon as possible. Before Karga can respond, Mando interjects.

         “Just give me the next jobs and we’ll be on our way.” His large frame leans closer to Karga, but his hand remains on your leg, inching higher and higher. You stiffen, utterly shocked at the display of…affection? No, he’s purposely keeping his hand low where no one can see. It’s possessive and heated, as if reminding you of who you belong to. Your heart leaps up into your throat as his fingers brush against the apex of your thighs, and you instinctively squeeze you legs together. Instead of stopping his journey, it simply traps his hand against your crotch, the friction sending tantalizing pulses through the lower half of your body. You bite down harder on your cheek, attempting to keep your face neutral. The color rushing up your throat and into your cheeks, however, is untamable.

         Karga stops his spiel on the offered bounties and gives you a suspicious look. “Are you alright, young lady?  You look-“

         “Alcohol,” you blurt out, cringing at the waver in your voice. “Must be going to my head a bit. Like I said, not much of a drinker.” Mando pushes his hand up higher, easily overpowering your thighs. You can feel the shit-eating grin behind the visor of his helmet, and it fills you with equal parts anger and lust. You feel yourself growing wet, and you silently pray to the Maker that you don’t soak through your clothes at the literal flood you feel building. This should not be turning you on as much as it is. In fact, you should get a grip of yourself and remove his hand from its current position. But you don’t want to. 

         It feels so dirty, letting him rub you in this way. Letting him touch you under the table in front of man who has offered your bounty to multiple hunters over the years. And now, here he is, practically presenting you in front of that man, having his way with you just out of view. It’s a subtle, I still won to the guild, and to you, probably. He may not have been able to bring you in as quarry, but he can still dominate you in other ways. And the thought produces a small whine in your throat that you quickly stifle. You can tell Mando is just as turned on as you are by the twitch of his fingers against you and the sheer heat radiating from his form. In an odd way, you feel almost safer. Sure, you’re in a hub for guild members, but the Mandalorian is on your side. You know deep down that if anyone tried to start something, he’d take every single one of them down without hesitation. You’re his partner, and the movement of his fingers now pressing through the fabric and rubbing slow circles against your clit says, you’re mine.

         Stars, you need to get out of this cantina. You need to get back to the ship so Mando can rail you instead of just teasing you mercilessly under this kriffing table. The last time he was inside you was before you left for Bespin, and you are past eager. But the shiny bastard seems to be taking his time, looking at the various fobs and asking more questions than you think is necessary. You furrow your brows…two can play at this game. Acting like you’re interested in the conversation, you lean forward to look at the fobs as well. This gives you the perfect angle to reach your hand over and cup Mando’s very prominent erection. You hear the sharp intake of air behind the helmet, just soft enough to not get picked up by the modulator. Besides the initial reaction, he maintains his regular stoicism as you rub up and down his length, straining painfully against his black pants.  He allows Karga to continue his explanation of the quarries, all the while giving a squeeze to your crotch as if to warn you to behave. Instead, you push your hand lower between his legs and caress his balls softly, causing the smallest jerk of his hips.

         “These will do,” he says gruffly, cutting Karga off. His voice is rough, nearly a growl, and it makes you pull your hand back as if you’ve been burned. In a temporary truce, he also removes his hand and scoops up the fobs. He quickly ushers you out of the booth, pressing a few buttons on his comm. to will the pod to follow his movements.

         “So long Mando, and nice you meet you lovely girl,” Karga calls out, a low chuckle in his chest. Mando pushes you through the door, his hand on the small of your back as the two of you enter the street. It’s still daylight out, though the sun is definitely setting, but there aren’t many people milling around. You figure most have either gone home at this point, or are choosing to stay a little later at their businesses. The two of you walk in silence towards the ship, the kid’s carrier following a foot or so behind. There’s an intensity emanating from him that has your lower half clenching in anticipation. The ship is only about five minutes away, and you cannot wait to see what he does to you in the darkness of the hull. Just as you pass an alleyway, Mando’s hand pulls on your hip, shuffling down the narrow corridor instead of straight towards the Crest.

         “The ship is that way,” you protest as he drags you deeper into the alley.

         “Don’t want to wait that long,” he replies gruffly, pressing you up against the wall. You gasp at the contact, your mind finally connecting what he is doing. He shifts his boot and pushes against the side of your foot, spreading your legs wide as he wraps a gloved fist into your hair. “And only good girls get to be fucked on the ship,” he whispers dangerously. You fight back the moan in your throat, not wanting to give him the satisfaction.

         “Are you calling me a bad girl, Mando?” You push your ass against his erection, grinding roughly against it. You think you’re calling his bluff. You think he’s going to make you apologize for your stunt in the cantina, maybe promise to be a good girl, and then he’ll have his way with you in the privacy of hyperspace. Playing with you under a table is one thing. Fucking you in public is an entirely different situation; one you don’t think the rigid and protective Mando is actually capable of. Your thoughts on this abruptly change however when he drags down your pants to your knees, leaving your lower half completely exposed. “Stars, you’re serious?” you demand in a panic.

         “You were being a bad girl. Grabbing my cock in that cantina, letting me stroke your pussy through your clothes under that table,” his voice is strained, like he’s fighting between a growl and a moan. With one hand still in your hair, he uses the other to fiddle with his pants, pulling them down just enough to free his throbbing erection. This cannot be happening; is he actually going to do this when it’s still daylight out? Though you are pretty deep into the alley, anyone who really looked would catch a glimpse of the two of you.

         “You like it when I’m a bad girl,” you quip, clinging to the wall. This is such a bad idea, but your body has been ignited, and the only one who can douse it now is the man standing behind you.

         “Fuck yes I do.” He presses his thick cock against your ass and you hate how your legs automatically spread a little wider at his presence.

         “What if someone sees?” you gasp out, a shudder going up your spine as his hand grips your hip with a punishing force.

         “Let them. Then they’ll all know who you belong to,” he growls. There’s a serious tone beneath the sensual words, and it makes you wonder how much it bothered Mando when Karga called you ‘lovely girl.’ You also consider that this town may have a few guild members from your past; a fact Mando is definitely aware of and that is probably contributing to the situation.

         “You’ve got me, Mando,” you whine, rutting your hips so that his cock is brushing against the folds of your sex. “No one can take this pussy as good as you do,” you reveal, the words falling lazily out of your mouth.

         Shit—Maker, just bite,” he commands, holding out a finger in front of your face. You sigh with want, instantly realizing what he’s asking you to do. You hold the leather between your teeth as he slides his hand out from the glove. You debate on spitting it out, but decide that keeping it in your mouth may help to muffle any noises. This proves to be the right decision as he slides a finger between your folds, rubbing your slick up to your clit and circling slowly.

         “Fuck, tracinya, always so wet for me,” he says in amazement, as if the idea that he could have this affect on you still shocks him. You simply moan in reply, the sound dampened by the glove in your mouth. “Smart, pretty girl,” he compliments. He inserts his middle finger into your hole, pulsing it inside you at a maddening pace, the dexterity of his movements reminding you of how he would pull the trigger on a blaster. Your hips buck slightly, attempting to move along with him.

         You moan out his name, the word unrecognizable through the leather of the glove in your mouth. But its effect is felt as he curses under his breath and pushes roughly against you. His grip in your hair tightens, pulling your head back to lean against his chest plate. He slides his cock between your folds, and you feel yourself soaking his erection, the friction against your clit causing electric sparks through every nerve.

         “Can I put it in, pretty girl? Want me to pound you against this wall where anyone could see?” he whispers, tilting his helmet down, assumedly looking down your shirt.

         “Mmph!” you answer ecstatically, unable to articulate much through the glove.

         “Oh tracinya, I need to hear a ‘yes’.” He releases your hip and takes the glove out of your mouth. You’re a bit embarrassed by the amount of spit that collects and dribbles from your lips, but his low moan proves he couldn’t care less. You part your lips and pant desperately.

         “Tell me what tracinya means, and you can fuck me over Karga’s desk for all I care!” The growl that escapes Mando is terrifying and so arousing; predatory and rumbling, you can feel it through the layers of clothing and beskar. He shoves the glove back into your mouth and lines himself up against your eager hole, teasing the entrance for just a few seconds before he loses all patience and slides into you. You’re so wet that he’s able to make it a fluid motion, but he splits you wide open in the process, your walls screaming and aching at the erotic stretch. He moans low and rough, his grip tightening with every inch until he bottoms out inside you. Tears prick in your eyes, overwhelmed by the sensation of being so full, so exposed, and so desperately wanton.

         “Flame,” he states, his helmet grazing the side of your face as if his lips were trying to tickle your ear. He slowly pulls out, almost completely, before pressing back in at a languid speed. Making sure you feel every inch, every movement, every drag of his cock against your walls. His pace is slow and sensual as he talks to you, a shudder in his voice. “I don’t-don’t understand. But you ignite something- fuckyoufeelgood- something in me. Every time I even, shit, even look at your gorgeous body…those pretty eyes or those, fucking lips. Stars, I feel like I’m- kriff- I’m on fire.”

         You moan loudly, incredibly thankful for the leather blocking most of your incriminating noises. His flame. The reveal makes your heart flutter in a way that is absolutely foreign…in a way that kind of scares you. You make him feel like that. You, just as you are. No gimmicks, no lies—it’s intoxicating.

He feels so good, but you’re aching for more. Already sore from his thick cock, you want to be destroyed. To be used and taken so well that you’re feeling him for days, the phantom essence of him radiating through you in the darkness of hyperspace. You pop your hips back quickly, a surprised grunt sounding behind you as you force him deeper.

         “You want it faster, tracinya?” You nod your head wildly and rotate your hips. The sensations have your nipples so hard they strain painfully against the fabric of your shirt. “Hold on,” is the only warning you get before he slams into you, nailing your g-spot instantly. Your knees nearly give out. The only thing keeping you from completely collapsing is your hands against the rough stucco of the wall and Mando’s arm reaching around your torso to knead greedily at your breast. He pulls down your blouse and chest band, exposing you. “Fucking tits--so damn sexy,” he says through gritted teeth as he harshly thrusts in and out. His pace is fast, damaging, your whole body shakes with every move as you take him. “Forgot how tight—fuck! I barely fit.”

         You know you’re not going to last much longer, your body not used to this kind of stimulation after months of being away from him. He’s panting harder now and you feel his hips begin to stutter as his release creeps up. You rock your hips against him, your quivering pussy finally stretched enough to accommodate him easily. You’re building higher and higher, your moans have turned into pitiful whines. Mando pushes you flush against the wall now, his body completely encapsulating yours—the two of you are so close. The slightest push will send you cascading into your orgasm. Mando removes the glove again from your mouth, this time chucking it to the ground.

         “Voice- want to hear your real voice,” he mumbles, losing his control.

         “Fuck! I missed feeling you inside me,” you moan, the truth being the only thing that comes to mind. And it pushes him over the edge. He tries to stifle his moan as he bucks three more times, cumming hot inside you. He claps his bare hand over your mouth as you follow, the sensation of being filled giving you your release. You emit a high whine, your walls contracting and squeezing him, pulsations of your orgasm rippling through you. The effect is devastating and you collapse against the wall and begin to slide down it before Mando eventually wraps his shaking arms around you to keep you steady. You want to remain right there in his embrace, feeling the evidence of his orgasm in his trembling muscles. But he quickly backs away, stuffing himself back into his pants, grabbing his discarded glove, and fixing your clothing before you can even register that you’re still half naked.

         “Can you walk?” His voice sounds hoarse. You give a few experimental steps, your thighs wobbly, and you gasp at the feel of his seed leaking out of you, dampening your panties.

         “No thanks to you,” you quip with a grin. You grab his arm while still in the alley, using him as support until you can walk normally again out into the street. “Where to next?” you ask, putting a little bit of distance between the two of you now. Though he just had his way with you, you know he would shy away from any true public affection.

         “Coruscant.” You look up at him with hesitant eyes. You’ve heard of the city before. A massive metropolis covering an entire planet. You had honestly avoided it. First the Imperial center, and then overrun with the New Republic…definitely a place you didn’t want to be in. As if sensing your intimidation at the idea, Mando tilts his helmet down to you. “You’ll like it. I promise.” His voice is almost tender, and the sides of your mouth involuntarily twitch up into a smile.

         “Okay, I trust you.” The Mandalorian stops walking for just a moment, as if struck by your words. But he gives you a quick nod and continues the trek back towards the ship, floating pod in tow.

Chapter Text

“How long do you think you’ll be gone?” You finish reassembling the Mandalorian’s blaster and hand it back to him. He slips it onto his hip.

         “Shouldn’t be more than two days. The target doesn’t keep a low profile,” Mando explains.

         “You sure you don’t want some backup?” Since your run in with Cartian, Mando hadn’t seemed as open about your help capturing quarry. He values your intel and experience, but that’s where he draws the line at your assistance.

         “It’s safer here. I need you to keep the kid safe.” You roll your eyes. Though it sounds like an excuse, he has a point. The quarry is located in the most dangerous part of the city planet. The Crest, and in turn you and the child, will stay in the safest (more affluent) part. You know you’re not going to win this one, but you can’t help but push a little, just to rile him up.

         “What if I said ‘please’?” you ask with an innocent voice, pushing your breasts together and looking up at him from beneath your lashes. It’s a rather obvious move, but never ceases to be effective on the bounty hunter.

         “Stop that,” he huffs, his helmet still trained on you.

         “Stop what?” You stand up from your seat and lean over with your hands on the table. The position offers him a full view down your top, and makes him painfully aware that you aren’t wearing bra.

         “Tracinya…I have a job to do,” his voice wavers for a moment and it makes you smirk.

         “Then go do it, Mando.” You hold his gaze, offering up the challenge. You know he has to work, but you also know that you want that thick cock back inside you as soon as possible. Since Nevarro, you can’t understand how you went three whole months without the bounty hunter.

         “You’re bossy when you’re horny,” he retorts, causing your cheeks to go pink.

“Well you’re bossy all the time,” you answer back awkwardly. You weren’t really expecting him to call you out, but he’s now walking slowly towards you. You realize you’re breathing harder as he approaches, and before you can blink, he’s got you pinned to the wall with his fist in your hair.

“Where’s the kid?”

         “Asleep in his pod.” Stars, you sound so breathy.

         “You think he’ll stay that way?” His voice is a low growl. Your heart is thumping so harshly you wonder how Mando can’t hear it. Honestly, the kid should be waking up at any moment. It was just a short nap because he was getting fussy.

         “If we’re quick about it.” As soon as the words are out of your mouth, Mando rips his hand out of his glove and slips it up under your shirt. Your breath hitches, and you close your eyes as you enjoy his calloused fingers massaging and kneading. He thumbs at your nipple, teasing it until it’s erect and straining against your shirt. You shift your hand so it can rub up and down the very prominent erection in his pants. His hips are already bucking at your touch.

         “Take this fucking thing off,” he orders, lifting your shirt by the hem. You are ready to oblige when you hear a distinct patu off to the side. You take a sharp inhale and grip Mando’s wrists, preventing him from exposing you further. The kid gurgles a bit louder and walks towards his father, who is practically steaming.

         “Guess we weren’t quick enough,” you offer weakly, every inch of your body feeling like it’s blushing. Mando just stares at you as the kid tugs on his pant leg, demanding his attention. Finally, he sighs and leans down to pick up the child. He gives a small squeeze and hands him off to you.

         “I’ll be back soon,” is all he says, his words holding a distinct promise. He stalks off quickly out into the city, leaving you with a squirming green toddler.


         You spend the first day staying on the ship, entertaining the kid and doing some maintenance on the electronics and appliances onboard. The child simply babbles on as you fiddle with wires and sort through the available tools. The time passed slowly, and by the next morning, you are beyond ready to leave the ship and explore. Mando had said you’d like the city, and you feel cooped up enough to believe him.

         As you walk through the bustling streets, child wrapped tightly in your arms, you imagine the wide-eyed pair the two of you make. He giggles at his reflection in the shop windows, pointing to various items and vendors. You follow his three little fingers and inhale deeply at the various smells from restaurants and stands. The streets on this part of the planet are clean and wide, the large amounts of people unable to detract from the excitement and enjoyment you are feeling. Mando had been right, you really do like the city.

         You pass a small stand that has something you’ve never seen before. It’s not quite a holovid, as the image is stationary. It is projected through a small device, but looks almost flat. The colors are vibrant and realistic, displaying pictures of smiling people and gorgeous landscapes. You know that long ago, when paper was easily accessible, there was something called a photograph. This stand offers the closest instance you’ve seen of that archaic concept. You are so enthralled in looking at the various holographic pictures that you don’t notice the woman trying to get your attention until her face is practically three inches from your own.

         “See any you like? You can also take your own.” The vendor is a middle-aged humanoid woman, her round face warm and inviting. She’s wearing very stylish clothes, a staple of this part of the planet it seems.

         “I could have one of my own?” you ask surprised. You had never had your picture taken before, and the foreign concept was delightful.

         “Yes, of course! People often like to have their image captured with their pets.”

         “Oh! He’s not my—I mean he’s not a--- he’s my kid…” you fumble around for an explanation, settling on the one that probably makes the least amount of sense to this poor woman. “Adopted,” you clarify.

         “I’m so sorry. I just assumed, please forgive me,” she apologizes, clearly very embarrassed for mistaking your apparent child for a pet.

         “No apology necessary. But, I am very interested in getting one of these.” She nods to you in relief and pulls out and odd device; a uniquely shaped piece of machinery with an intricate looking lens. She ushers you and the child over to the other side of her cart where she has a solid backdrop hanging. After positioning the two of you just so, she takes a few steps back to line up her shot. You tickle the kid’s sides to get a laugh out of him, and thankfully she captures the moment between the two of you before you could blink or he could start to fuss.

         “Perfect. Come back in about twenty minutes while I adjust the image, and your hologram should be ready.” You thank her graciously and set off with the child who is now hanging much heavier in your arms. His eyes are drooping, no doubt overwhelmed with all of the activity, and by the time you’ve walked another block, he’s fast asleep.

         You’re thankful for his nap because the next stall of goods is certainly not what you were expecting. It takes you a few moments to register precisely what you are looking at; odd pieces of leather, sticks with feathers on them, lacey looking—oh. Your cheeks turn a deep scarlet, the entire top half of your body going uncomfortably warm. Back on your planet, shops like this were often hidden, mostly rumors really. You never expected to see one out in the middle of the street, in broad daylight, with people walking around it like they weren’t affected by the presence of such naughty items on full display.

         A purple twi’lek peaks out from behind the cart with a wry smile. She’s absolutely gorgeous; large eyes with long lashes, full lips, her face painted expertly. You feel embarrassed, and you check down at the child to ensure he is indeed a sleep…maybe you’re not as great a babysitter as you thought.

         “See anything you like?” she offers sweetly.

         “I uh- no. No, I’m so sorry. I’ll just go-“ you cut yourself off as you retreat backwards, brushing against a few locals who huff annoyed at you.

         “There’s no need to be embarrassed,” she offers quickly, a manicured hand grabbing the arm not holding the child, pulling you out of the flow of traffic. “It’s okay to be curious. All items in my shop are safe and healthy, and I encourage people to do a little exploring of themselves.” You just nod awkwardly, fighting between sprinting out into the street and listening to every word coming out of her mouth. She gives you a sympathetic smile, and takes a deep breath. You realize she’s encouraging you to calm down when you emulate her action, gradually slowing your heart beat down.

         “I just- never seen anything like this,” you explain. In all your travels, you’ve never actually seen things like this. You were too focused on hiding, on survival. Considering your experience with men in the past, it’s odd that this simple little stand has you feeling so exposed and vulnerable. “Never…used anything like this.”

         “That’s okay, I’m happy to answer any questions you have. Do you have a partner? Or are you more interested in something for yourself?” The question has you reeling; a partner? You’re used to calling Mando your partner in a professional setting…but you hadn’t put much thought into a personal label.

         “I guess, I guess you could say that.” You’re not sure what to qualify the relationship as. But there is a fondness, a possessiveness, between the two of you that seems to exceed casual sex. “But I’m open to something- you know, for me.” If Mando is going to continue to go on hunts without you, that could mean a lot of alone time for yourself. You’re open to buying something that would make that more appealing.

         “I think I have just the thing,” she offers, her smile genuine. You follow her over to the other side of the stand, enchanted by her every movement. How does someone carry such power over others? Such confidence in their body and experiences? “Since this is new to you, let’s start simple and small. A little something that can be used on your own or with a partner. Not to mention it’ll perk up your pelvic floor, leading to more stimulating encounters in the future.”

         Your lower half is churning at her words; she seems so sure, so professional about what she’s selling while you feel like a trembling puddle. What is with you?  You’ve seduced more people than you can count; should a frank discussion like this really make you this uncomfortable?

         “That sounds good,” you answer, your voice hoarse. She nods at you and produces a wooden case. You watch expectantly as she opens it and reveals two little balls, shining against the black velvet lining of the container. You stare at them blankly, the wires not connecting. “What- what are they?”

         “They are weighted balls. You can use them to strengthen your muscles, or to increase your arousal during masturbation.” You quickly look around you, mortified that someone could be hearing the conversation. “Don’t worry about them. This city is so busy, most can’t take enough time out of their day to focus on anything but themselves.”

         “So I put them…up in me?” You stare at them, noting you have no idea how to get them out.

         “Exactly. And don’t worry, they are small enough that they will fall out once you relax your muscles.” You briefly wonder if she can read your mind. “So you’ll experience heightened arousal during your time with yourself. And they can be quite pleasurable with a partner, but make sure they use gentle, shallow thrusts.” You can’t help the snort that escapes, and it earns you an amused look from the twi’lek.

         “Um- in that case, I think I would definitely use these alone.” While Mando hasn’t fucked you on too many occasions, the idea of him going gentle and shallow with you seems highly unlikely.

         “Perfect. And is there a certain material you would like? I have an assortment.” You just stare back at her dumbly, waiting for her to recommend something. “Silver, carbon, durasteel. It’s a little pricier, but I even have one set with a beskar finish.”

         “Is that so?” you ask, your mouth twitching up into a smile.


         Back on the ship, you are settled into a chair, your feet propped up on the table. The child is in his favorite spot, sitting on your lap with his hands pushed against your stomach as he stares in awe at the hologram you purchased. It was a little pricier than anticipated, but the smile it puts on the kid’s face is worth it. He waves a three-fingered hand through the hologram, attempting to touch the capture of himself giggling with you. You can’t take your eyes off it either, the picture so clear and colorful; a perfect impression of the child. It makes you wonder if the image captures your true visage as well. You’ve seen recordings of yourself in holovids, blue and filled with static; but this….you’ve never seen anything quite like it. It’s like a moment in time had been snatched away, just for you. You study the curves of your face, the lines and colors that make you up. Is this how the world actually sees you? Is this what Mando would see if he were to ever look at you without his helmet?

         You turn off the device and tuck it into one of the pouches on your belt, earning a protest from the kid. “C’mon little man, you’ve had a big day. If you go to sleep now, your dad will probably be back when you wake up.” You’re unsure if that’s actually true, or if the kid can even understand what you are saying, but it seems to work. He quiets down and snuggles up against you. You sing softly to him, getting up from your seat to tuck him away in Mando’s concealed bed.

I’ve seen Kamino’s stormy coasts and grieved for Alderaan,

And conquered smuggler’s in the night with just a staff within my hands.

And now I rest far in the north, a broken heart to lie,

Forever in my tattered ship and ‘neath the blackened sky.

         Before you can even finish the verse, the child is fast asleep, bundled up in the blanket. You give a small kiss to the top of his head and close the divider quietly. You decide to spend the rest of the time in the cockpit to wait out the final hours. As you climb up the ladder, the beskar balls you purchased weigh surprisingly heavy in your pocket, reminding you of their existence. You feel odd warmth growing in your chest and it trickles down to the apex of your thighs. You close the door to the cockpit, blocking out any noise between you and the child, and sit in the pilot’s chair.

         You swivel back and forth for a few minutes, unable to focus on anything but the little secrets in your pocket and the longing you’ve been feeling since you and the Mandalorian were interrupted. How dirty would it be, pleasuring yourself in his chair? Moaning out his name loudly, letting it breathe in the cockpit. Knowing what you did, what you fantasized about every time the two of you are in there together. You shift in your seat, tightening your legs together at the idea. He won’t be back for hours most likely, and if you do this now, you’ll still be plenty ready for whatever he wants to give you when he arrives. You fish the small container out of your pocket and open it up with shaky fingers.

         “Here goes nothing.”

         You shimmy out of your pants and underwear, discarding them to the floor as you spread your legs, propping your feet up on the console so you can recline in the chair. Wide open and already wet with arousal, you slowly insert the small balls, shivering at the cold contact of beskar inside your warmth. They are heavier than they look, but once you have them in comfortably you pause, waiting for the promised sensation. There’s definitely a weight, a slight presence, but nothing shocking. You are honestly a little disappointed, that is, until you  shift your hips in an attempt to get out of the chair.

         “Stars!” you exclaim, the sudden sound seeming to echo against the durasteel of the room. The balls rub together, massaging your walls just right. You slowly return to your position, your skin now covered in goose flesh. You rotate your hips experimentally, and the sensation sends a subtle tingle up your spine and has you panting. Oh. You feel yourself getting wetter with anticipation, the balls almost feeling like a gentle penetration.

         You close your eyes and tilt your head back, taking a few more moments to buck your hips, letting the balls shift and rub deliciously inside you. You briefly wonder if you did this long enough if you could orgasm just by rocking your hips back and forth. But the idea of waiting that long for a release when you are this stimulated? Your fingers quickly descend down to your sex and start rubbing in circles, your pussy clenching around the beskar.

         You’ve never put this much thought or preparation into masturbating before; it’s usually viewed as a task. A simple procedure to get you the relief you need. But the balls have you horny and hot, and you decide to really enjoy it. You whisper things into the emptiness, things you’d be too embarrassed to say usually, especially with no one listening but yourself.

         “Mmmm, fuck yes,” you start off in a whisper, rubbing the slick of your arousal over your clit. You take a sharp inhale, your sex feeling far more sensitive than you are used to. You take your time, building and receding, rolling through the pleasure of being full and open. You let your thoughts and fantasies come out in words, breathing life to what usually lies concealed in the corners of your mind.

         “M-mando. Fuck you always feel so good,” you moan out, the words making you tingle, and you feel your nipples strain against the fabric of your clothing. “I think about this all the time. About your thick cock inside me. Think about it when I’m fixing the ship, when we are out in town, in the middle of the night I dream about it and wake up soaked.” It feels odd to be sharing these thoughts to no one, but it’s driving you wild in your core, so you keep going. With every sentence you rock you hips, taking all the stimulation from the metal inside you. “Fucking miss you when you’re gone. Can’t keep my mind off you- kriff- think about dirty things…I’d give anything to kiss you.” The last part surprises you. You had resigned yourself to the fact that Mando’s helmet stays on; you don’t usually allow yourself the fantasy of kisses, licks, bites. “Fuck, Mando. Mando, Mando, man-“

         “Dank farrik, only you could make that name sound sexy.” The sudden modulated voice causes you to scream, your heart leaping up into your throat and threatening to escape all together. You scramble into a more dignified position, grabbing your pants off the floor to cover your lap before you turn in the chair. Your blood pulses through your veins, rushing by your ears in deafening waves. How mortifying

         “You aren’t supposed to be back for hours!” Your voice is shrill, but you can’t seem to calm it. You’ve been caught red handed, and you don’t know what to do. “How long have you been there? When did you get on the ship? Why didn’t you say anything?” All your questions run together, firing at the bounty hunter who is leaning casually in the now open doorway, his arms crossed.

         “Long enough, at sunset, and I didn’t want to interrupt the show…that is, until I couldn’t stay quiet anymore.”

         You nearly feel like crying, unable to completely internalize his words. “You should have told me you were here,” you stammer out, aware of your arousal leaking between your thighs, the balls still very much present.

         “I liked hearing what you had to say,” he answers quietly. “I missed you too.” This finally calms you down enough so that you aren’t hyperventilating, his words reassuring you. You take a few deep breaths, the Mandalorian waiting for you patiently, even with the distinct tent in his pants from an erection you hadn’t initially noticed.

         “I-I uh,” you try to come up with some sort of explanation. Some segue out of the awkward situation. But instead you settle for, “Do-do you want to join me?” Mando says nothing, but simply rids himself of his weapons, his belt, his cape. He rushes passed you and fiddles with the control panel; the shields come up over the window, eclipsing the setting sun. With a flick of a few more switches, the door closes and all the lights in the cockpit extinguish, plunging the two of you into an impenetrable darkness.

         “Mando, I don’t have a night vision helmet. I can’t kriffing see.” He doesn’t answer right away, instead he lifts your shirt up over your head and rids you of your chest band. You hear him kneel on the floor, beskar knees against durasteel. There’s an odd click and a rush of air. Something heavy hits the floor. Ungloved hands throw your clothes to the floor and grip your thighs.

         “That’s the point, tracinya.” The phrase penetrates the darkness in a beautiful clear baritone, unfiltered and raw. You gasp.


         “I can’t wait any longer. I need to taste you.” Without further explanation, you feel a warm tongue, slow and lingering, lick up from your entrance to your clit. You moan loudly, a needy noise that you have no hope of controlling.  “Fucking hell,” he mutters against you, his natural voice making his growls that much more arousing. “Tracinya- taste so fucking good.”

         He kisses the inside of your thigh, and you shiver, realizing that he has facial hair, a feature you weren’t expecting. It rubs against your smooth skin, the friction sending tingles through you. His lips are warm, if a bit chapped, and he inhales deeply. “Fuck, and you smell so good. So fucking ready for me- good girl. My good, pretty girl,” he rambles, cutting off his own words with kisses up and down your legs.

         “Mando, oh kriff, more,” you beg, tossing you head back against the seat. He gives a sharp bite to your hip, and it goes straight to your pussy, making you clench around the balls still inside you.

         “So eager. Fuck, can’t believe you want me like this,” he whispers, the comment sounding more to himself. You whine as he shifts your body, throwing your legs over his strong shoulders as his hand pins down your abdomen. Before you can say anything else, he’s burying his nose against your sex, licking greedily through your folds, tasting your arousal. He moans deeply against you, the rumble making you gasp. Your fingers travel down to his shoulders, and slowly work their way up to his neck, asking for permission. “It’s okay tracinya, you can hold on.” To punctuate his point, he grabs your wrist and plants your hand in his hair. You hum in delight, tangling your fingers into the thick mop. It’s softer than expected, longer too, with some curl. You bury further in, holding on as he takes you with his mouth.

         When he pulls on your clit with his teeth, you yank slightly on his hair, earning a garbled moan that you’ve never heard from him before. He sounds absolutely enraptured, consumed with your taste, with swallowing you down. His tongue circles agonizingly slow around your clit, teasing your bundle of nerves, reveling in every sound, every gasp that escapes you. You massage his scalp with your fingernails, and he practically preens for you at the unfamiliar attention. You rock your hips to meet his tongue, building higher and higher.

         “Close- close,” you whisper, unable to be more coherent. The sounds of him tasting you are intoxicating, the feel of his beard scratching your thighs is driving you wild. You are wide open for him, and he is taking as much as he can, drinking in your taste, desperate for you to quench something he has been missing his whole life. A thought enters your head, and you blurt it out before he can finish you off. “Kiss me! Fuck, Mando. I want to feel your mouth.”

         The Mandalorian pauses, as if he’s trying to determine exactly what you said to him. You think about repeating yourself until you feel a fiery kiss to your hip. Another on your stomach. A small bite to your breast. A harsh suck to your other nipple. You begin to pant as he works his way up, the man moaning unabashedly as he takes his time, savoring every bit of you. He skates his teeth across your clavicle and then nips up your throat. He stops for a moment to bite and suck at your neck, earning a high whine from you.

         “I can’t wait to see that tomorrow,” he whispers lasciviously. “Let everyone know who fucks you so good.” You shiver as he kisses along your jaw, his hands now coming up to cup your face. His lips finally, finally, make contact with yours, and you can’t keep your breath from hitching. His mouth is soft and full, and gentle. You expected a ravishing engulfment, his tongue claiming you…but this is delicate, almost experimental. It sends a flutter through your rib cage, and you melt into him. You wrap your legs around his clothed waist and thrust both hands in his hair, pushing his mouth firmer against yours. He moans into the kiss- no, he whimpers. A clear and needy sound that escapes his mouth, and you swallow it down greedily. You’ve never heard someone relish in you like this, and it makes you feel sexier than you think you’ve ever felt.

         You bite his bottom lip and pull, sucking out a growl from the bounty hunter. He licks, asking for entrance, and you part your lips for him. He licks inside your mouth, exploring you, conquering you. The taste of yourself on him makes you feel dizzy, and you willingly surrender to his prodding. His hand creeps up your thigh and slides in between your folds, reminding you of how close you were to cumming. You arch your back at his touch, your fingernails clawing down the back of his shirt.

         “Fuck, Mando, make me cum.” He chuckles low and inserts a thick finger inside you. His entire body stills at the discovery of one of the balls inside you, and you can’t help but release a bubble of laughter.

         “What the hell is that?” he asks, no malice in his voice. Just pure intrigue.

         “They- they help with stimulation,” you breath against his mouth. “The vendor said you can still be inside me but- but you have to be gentle.”

         “Are they working?” he asks, his finger still stationery inside you.

         “Fuck yes- so sensitive. Everything you do just makes me- mmmph,” you can’t finish your sentence as he curls his finger, making the balls move and rub against you. He licks inside your mouth again, but this time you capture his tongue and suck, ripping a ragged breath from the man. “You wanna know what- kriff- what sealed the deal?”

         “Tell me.” He inserts a second finger, using the balls to go deeper inside you and hit all angles. You gasp loudly.

         “They’re made of beskar.”

         Dank farrik!” he hisses, and drops back to his knees. He spreads your legs wide open with bruising force and takes you with his mouth again. You moan sharply as he enters you with his tongue, pushing it as deep into you as he can. You’re practically shaking as he’s able to push one of the balls up further into you with his tongue. His hand shoots up to massage your breast, the other rubbing your clit.

         “Fuck, oh fuck, Mando I’m-“ your body cuts you off as it clenches, pushing you up into your orgasm. It practically escapes from you as you spiral, holding on to Mando’s thick hair to keep you grounded. Your entire core is pulsating, the orgasm rippling for nearly a minute; Mando dutifully laps up your arousal the entire time. When you finally come down, you’re so sensitive you squeeze your thighs together, trapping his face. You try to apologize, but the moan he gives you lets you know there is no need. You’re swimming in the aftermath of your release, vaguely aware that he is pulling himself out of his pants. You hear him breathe harshly, and it seems it only takes him a few strokes to find his own pleasure, keeping his face between your thighs the entire time. If you weren’t so spent, it may have put you in the mood for a round two.

         You manage to sink down to the floor to join him, and he wraps his strong arms around you, pulling the two of you to lay down against the durasteel. The cabin is still pitch black, no source of light is present to allow your eyes to adjust. Your hands fumble blindly until you’re finally able to place them on either side of his neck. He follows the guidance of your body, and rolls onto his side to face you.

         “Can you do me a favor?” you ask softly, your voice sounding bashful to your own ears.

         “You can have anything you want,” he breathes, still coming down from the high.

         “Can- can I feel your face? I- I want to see you.” Mando is quiet for a long time, and you consider dropping the whole idea all together. Finally, he clears his throat.

         “What if you don’t like what you see?” The question is more of a statement. Devoid of emotion, and that almost breaks your heart more than if he had sounded worried.

         “How about I describe to you what I see? Then you’ll know right away what I think?” Another long pause of silence.

         “Okay, tracinya.” You grin to yourself. Your hands creep up to his jaw, and you slowly feel his face, taking your time with every feature.

         “First, I see a hard jaw line. The kind that could cut glass.” You brush your thumb over his lips, and he kisses it absentmindedly. “A pouty bottom lip.” You move across his cheeks and the front of his face. “A prominent nose.” You sigh, enjoying the feel of his skin beneath your hands, finally getting to touch and feel uncharted territory. Knowing that this is only happening because to some degree, Mando trusts you. You know he wouldn’t let you do this if he didn’t want you to.

         “What- what else do you see?” He’s curious, probably never having his features described to him. Never having anyone comment on his appearance, no one to decide on what this collection of features presents. Your heart blooms for him in that moment.

         “Thin facial hair with some patches, I assume from your helmet constantly rubbing.” You honestly hadn’t notice the tracing of a mustache previously. You continue to explore, murmuring your thoughts. “High cheek bones, but subtle. Thick eyebrows. Thick soft hair that curls when it gets long.” All through this process, you hear Mando hum softly, leaning into your touch, desperate for it. “Smile for me?”


         “Please, Mando?” You think he might be rolling his eyes, but eventually you feel the pull at the corners of his mouth. You grin as you feel how wide his mouth can get.

         “A dimple when you smile, but only on the right side.” You lean into the darkness and kiss it; his breath hitches. “I love that,” you whisper more to yourself, wishing you could see the boyish grin that you suspect he has.

         “Do- do you like what you see?” he asks, tentativeness to his question this time.

         “Yes, very very much,” you whisper back. In a moment of complete honestly, you add, “I think you may be the most handsome man I’ve ever met…and I’m the only one who knows. It feels selfish, but I kind of like that I get to keep it all to myself… mandokarla.” There’s a relieved chuckle, and his lips find yours, eager and warm. The moment is tender, almost chaste.

         “My tracinya, mandokarla” he compliments back.

         “Should we go get the little man? I know he’ll be excited to see you.”

         “Just a little longer.” He pulls you closer and rolls onto his back. You nuzzle under his chin and you’re able to feel his strong heart beat through his pulse point. There is blissful silence, save for the low hum of the ship’s electronics. An indeterminable amount of time passes, and you nearly drift off to sleep. Mando’s voice stirs you back to reality. “Can I tell you something?” It’s subtle, but you notice more emotion in his voice without the modulator.

         “Of course,” you answer sleepily, giving a small kiss to his jaw.

         “You-that uh- this was my first…kiss,” he fumbles, his body going rigid as he waits for your response. Your stomach feels warm, in a content sort of way. You could have reasonably guessed he’d never kissed anyone before. He’s been rather strict about the helmet thing for months. But you also feel giddy that he told you.

         “Was I worth the wait?” you ask. He tilts your chin up and presses his lips to yours, his mouth crafting perfectly as if you were made for each other. He feels so warm, so safe.

         He feels like home.

Chapter Text

You watch the Mandalorian and the child greet each other. The usual tension in his shoulders dissipates the moment he encounters that green little smile. The child looks so small in Mando’s arms, but he fits perfectly, as if the beskar and muscle had been crafted specifically for the bounty hunter to cradle him. When you think of Mando, you think of gruff silence, sarcastic comments, or mind-blowingly good sex. It’s easy to forget that there’s a gentleness, a fondness that he reserves for this little creature, and every once in a while, you. The holographic photo is still in the pouch of your belt, and you consider giving it to him as a gift. He deserves a chance to see his- well, it really is his son isn’t it? A chance to see what his son looks like. No filters, no special views. And you’re curious…curious what he thinks of you. Of course, you don’t want to assume that’s the reason he would treasure the gift, but the idea does leave you a bit giddy.

         You set a course for the next planet; low population and expansive forests. Very similar to where the two of you first met. When you come back down the ladder, Mando is sitting with the child in his lap, feeding him some sort of dried meat that the kid happily chews, looking at his own reflection in his father’s visor. It’s funny how the child makes Mando look approachable. As if he’s not a living, breathing weapon that could easily take down most opponents in under a minute. You feel lucky to be one of the few he allows to get that close without causing physical harm.

         “I think he missed you,” you comment, leaning up against the ladder.

         “I think he’s just hungry,” Mando retorts, but you can hear the smile in his voice.

         “Are you insinuating that I didn’t feed your kid while you were gone?”

         “I’m insinuating that he likes me to feed him more,” Mando chuckles, turning his helmet to you before turning back to the child. You roll your eyes because it’s true. The kid definitely likes Mando to feed him, but he prefers you at bed time.

         “I’ll give you the win,” you concede. “But I’ll be the favorite parent soon, you just watch.” The words are out of your mouth before you can stop them. Telling a random vendor that he’s your kid is one thing…offering yourself up as a mother to his adoptive father is an entirely different matter all together. There’s a tight silence in the air as the Mandalorian turns towards you, the helmet wholly unreadable. The child just giggles, as if feeding off the mortified chaos that is churning inside you. You are sure there’s a more adult way to handle this. There’s got to be.

         Instead, you settle on a hasty retreat up the ladder with a weak, “I gotta fix something in the cockpit.”

         When the Mandalorian finally enters the cockpit hours later to land the ship, he thankfully says nothing.


         “I- I got you something,” Mando says, pulling your gaze from the child who is toddling around on the forest floor, picking various wildflowers. Mando anticipated this would be a quick hunt, so he suggested you all take a day to rest on the remote planet before he bags the quarry. Happy to enjoy nature for a bit, you had agreed and took the child out to explore near the ship. The forest is quiet. Not that it’s devoid of sound, in fact, there’s plenty of animal noises, babbling streams, and wind through the leaves. But no sounds of the city, of people talking, of ships passing by overhead. It’s a nice change of pace.

         “You got me something?” When did he have the time for that? Did he stop by a shop on Coruscant before finding you preoccupied on the ship? “What is it?”

         Instead of saying anything, Mando enters the ship for about a minute before returning with what you assume is your gift. It takes you only a moment to register what it is, and you can’t help the grin that breaks out over your face. It’s a staff, like the one you used to train with all those years ago before you went on the run. Well- sort of like it. This one is much nicer.

         “Oh, Mando- this is…” it’s far too fitting. You realize he must have taken his time to select it. It looks like it may have originally been a storm trooper electroprod. But the prod has now been replaced with a retractable blade, the white armored material now covered with a finish made to look like a dark wood. There are numerous hand placements, clearly sized for a woman of your height. You walk over to inspect it closer, taking it from his hands and rotating it in your own. There’s an emblem at the end of the staff, something that looks newly engraved with a golden finish. A flame. “I can’t accept this,” you whisper more to yourself. This could not have been cheap.

         “No returns,” is all Mando says. You look up at him with doubtful eyes. You’ve never received anything like this before. It looks like it was crafted especially for you. As if to convince you further, he adds, “It’s a selfish gift. You said you’re good with a staff. Use it to protect yourself and the kid while I’m away. It will keep me from worrying.” You roll your eyes at him. You highly doubt Mando is capable of simply not worrying. But you really do want the staff. It’s absolutely perfect, and the fact that he got it for you makes your entire body warm.

         “Well, if it helps keep you focused on your hunts…I suppose I can accept,” you say slowly, deciding to play along. “It’s- it’s perfect Mando. Thank you.” He nods at you, and you can’t quite tell if his eyes are focused on you or the staff that is now held aloft in your hands. The kid coos by your feet, making grabbing arms for your new weapon. You retract the blade and use the safety mechanism to safely lock it away before lowering it down to his level so he can ‘hold it.’ “The galaxy’s mightiest warrior,” you laugh. Mando just snorts behind the helmet.

         “So, how about a demonstration?” he asks, his voice laced with something other than curiosity. “I want to see your skills first hand.”

         “Is that so? Because it almost sounds like you’re challenging me to a fight, Mando.”

         “Maybe I am. You’ve certainly built yourself up enough. You said you used to train with one every day.”

         “Yeah, three years ago,” you quip. “I think I’ll be a bit rusty.”

         “Sounds like an excuse,” he counters.

         “Oh, it’s not,” you snap back, and inner fire in you igniting. “Trust me, if I was carrying this staff when we met, you would never have gotten me in those kriffing handcuffs.”

         “They weren’t that bad.”

         “Say that to the bruises,” you snark back. The verbal sparring has your body feeling a bit tingly…and you have to admit that having the handcuffs on wasn’t all bad.

         “In the right context, I think you would like them.” Oh, he’s clearly going towards the same idea as you.

         “If you’re so eager to use them, maybe you should wear them,” you purr back, half expecting him to drop the subject right then and there. He pauses for a few moments, considering your words. And to your surprise, he takes a step forward.

         “How about a bet then?” You blink stupidly back at him. What did this just turn into? “Since you’re rusty,” he begins, his voice dripping with a sarcasm that makes your nose scrunch, “I’ll make it easy on you.”

         “You don’t have to patronize me,” you fire back.

         “Oh, I’m not pretty girl. Even going easy on you, I think I’ll win.”

         “Cocky is not a good look on you,” you lie. It’s actually extremely sexy and is making the apex of your thighs wet. He ignores your comment and takes another step towards you, and you can feel the heat radiating off his body as he towers over your frame.

         “Land one blow on me, you win. I get the staff out of your hands, I win.” You eye him suspiciously; it sounds easy enough. Does he really think you’re that rusty?

         “Fine. And what exactly does the winner get?” you ask, wondering why your voice is sounding so breathy.

         “I win, I put you in handcuffs tonight. You win…and I’ll wear them.” Your mouth falls open and suddenly feels very dry. You lick your lips and struggle to appear impassive at the thought of Mando under your control. It’s certainly tempting. You feel as though you’ve almost achieved an ‘equal’ status between the two of you. Getting to dominate him for a night might just cement that. You shake your head, the multiple scenarios running through your head clouding your judgment. Honestly though, it’s a win-win. If the penalty of defeat means he puts you back in bondage to have his way with you- well there are worse ways to spend an evening.

         “You’re on, Mando.”


         The child is settled in the grass, his eyes wide as he watches you and Mando take your positions. The tense air between the two of you is an unusual concoction of lust, ego, and sheer competitiveness. Mando stands tall and rigid, looking like he’s already won. You curl your fingers around the new staff, allowing your lip to curl up into a snarl. Your stomach flips as you take your starting stance, just now realizing how badly you want to see the bounty hunter in submission. You ignore the quiver in your lower body; you need to focus.

         “Ready when you are,” comes the modulated voice, his words almost sound like he’s teasing you. You smirk and lunge, sweeping the staff low towards his knees. He jumps and rolls out of the way easily, but you do hear a surprised huff. Everyone always expects the first strike to come high, and Mando seems to be no different. He recovers quickly and reaches out for the middle of your staff, but you hold it up and back, just narrowly missing his reach. With one hand you swing it back around, but he easily ducks before charging you. You can’t get the staff up fast enough, so instead you allow yourself to fall backwards and roll to the side out of the way.

         “Thought you said you were rusty, tracinya,” he grunts. It almost sounds like he’s having fun, a word that does not typically remind you of the hunter.

         “Thought you said you were going easy on me,” you counter. He grabs the middle of the staff and pulls, but you jump up and kick his torso with your two feet, effectively prying it away from him. You land on your back, the breath knocked out of you as he stumbles forward. Thanks to adrenaline, you muster up enough strength to hoist his impossibly heavy body up and over you. He land on his back with a forceful thud, allowing you enough time to get back on your feet. The child gurgles in the background, once again seeming perfectly at home among chaos.

         You swing the staff down, taking advantage of his reclined position. He huffs in surprise and rolls away, grabbing you by the ankle and pulling you down.  You try to scramble out of reach, but he’s far stronger than you, and he begins to climb on top of you before straddling your hips. He grabs the staff, and you hang on with all you have.

         “Should have known my bad girl would fight dirty,” he growls, the modulated words turning your legs to jelly. Your grip on the staff is weakening, but you have one last idea. You thrust up your hips and make contact with his crotch. You hope that he is just as turned on as you are, and your suspicions are correct. You grind against his erection just enough that he falters, if only for a millisecond. In that time, you let his pull on the staff do most of the work and instead push up with him. The staff makes a satisfying smack against the front of his helmet and the two of you freeze in the realization that you won. You landed the blow.

         “Dank farrik” he pants, his helmet trained on you.


         The little man is rather fussy tonight, and it takes you longer than usual to calm him down. The air in the ship is electric, and Mando can’t seem to keep still as he watches you cradle and hum to the child. But when he is finally asleep in his pod with the shield up, Mando has become uncomfortably still, and the two of you evaluate each other from across the hull of the ship. You feel like you should say something, or move, or do anything. Your feet feel as though they have grown roots to the floor. You eventually notice that Mando’s chest is heaving in that way, his fists clenched (one of his few tells). What you mistook for nervousness actually seems to be anticipation. It encourages you to finally speak.

         “Where are the handcuffs?” Mando jerks his head to the side, directing you towards the weapons cabinet. You say nothing else and approach the arsenal on shaky legs. “Take off your clothes and go to the bed,” you command, the words far more authoritative than your voice is actually capable of. You half expect him to defy you. The deal was that he would wear handcuffs, not that he’d let you boss him around. To your surprise, and dark pleasure, you hear his armor being placed against the floor of the ship. You slide the binders off of their peg and inspect them, noting that they are magnetic.

         When you turn around, Mando has rid himself of his armor, gloves, and footwear surprisingly quickly. He pulls up his shirt, and with a bit of maneuvering is able to pull it up and over without having to remove his helmet. You’re struck for a moment by his body, strong and muscular, his skin smooth and tan where it’s not marred by old and new scars. You watch his biceps roll deliciously as fiddles with his pants. You follow suit and remove your own clothes, disposing of them on the floor until you are standing in just your underwear and chest band. Mando, reduced to nothing but a pair of black underwear that is fitting a little too tight on his semi-hard cock.

         “Get in the bed,” you remind, your hands feeling sweaty around the binders. Wordlessly he climbs into the concealed cot and you follow quickly behind him, your heart pounding painfully against your sternum. He reclines on his elbows, his gorgeous body stretched out, on full display for you. The v of his hips cut off by his low hanging underwear, a dark dusting of hair peaking up from beneath the band. You close the divider, encasing the two of you in the small space; there’s just enough room for him to lay down completely, and for you not to hit your head if you’re on your knees. You crawl up his body and straddle his waist, allowing the hand not holding the cuffs to rest on his firm stomach.

         “You’re so beautiful,” he murmurs, reaching up to caress your cheek. You lean into his palm and place a soft kiss. Before he can pull back, you grab his wrist and attach a cuff with a smile. A low chuckle rumbles through his chest, and you can feel his cock twitch against your ass. He’s excited for this. You wonder if he’s ever felt comfortable enough to give up control, to let someone else lead a situation. It almost makes you sad to think about how exhausted he must be, always having to be ‘on.’ Never having a moment to just let himself go. You push his chest down, feeling his accelerated heartbeat beneath your fingertips. Once he’s fully reclined, you grab his other wrist and cuff him before turning on the magnets and effectively fastening his hands to the wall above his head. He rolls his hips under you and you release a soft hum, enjoying the close contact.

         “If-if there’s anything I do that makes you uncomfortable-“

         “I trust you, tracinya.” Your heart skips not one, but nearly four beats you think. As you look down at him, this cold and stoic man allowing himself to be open and warm with you, you’re brain nearly fizzles with a revelation. I could fall in love with this man. You take a shuddered breath, needing to push that thought deep down for your own sanity. Instead, you lean down and give a bite to the spot between his neck and shoulder, earning a hiss that quickly turns into a moan when your hand snakes down his body and palms at his clothed erection. “Sweet, pretty girl. I can’t wait to see what you do to me,” he murmurs, the comment sounding more like he’s talking to himself.

         “I can tell you exactly what I’m going to do,” you whisper against his helmet. “I’m going to strip you down,” you begin, gripping his cock through his underwear. “Fuck myself on this thick cock,” you give a firm stroke, his hips thrusting up into your hand involuntarily. “And I won’t stop until you cum deep inside me, not even if I orgasm first,” you finish, releasing his cock to pull down his underwear. His erection springs free, standing at full attention for you.

         “FUCK,” Mando nearly shouts, pulling at his restraints already. His hips buck, desperate for any friction you can give him.

         “Not yet, handsome,” you purr, taking a moment to cup his balls. A tremor runs up his chiseled body. He watches you intently as you remove your chest band, and he curses under his breath. You maneuver yourself so that you can take off your panties, and they join the pile with Mando’s remaining clothing and your chest band. You could look at him all day, his body completely laid bare for you; thick leaking cock, muscular thighs, a body carved by the maker themself. You’d feel self conscious next to someone so breathtaking except for the fact that Mando is panting at your naked form. “If I turn the lights off, can I remove your helmet?”

         “Like I said, I trust you.” His voice is tight and apprehensive, but you can tell the words are truthful. You can feel it. You reach up to douse the single light that illuminates you both, and the concealed room is plunged into absolute darkness. When you confirm that you can’t see your own hands in front of your face, you slide them up his body and under the helmet. You find the latch to unlock it, and with a small hiss of air, you lift it up off his head to place it as far to the side as possible. He doesn’t have a moment to breathe before your lips are on his, desperate for the taste since he first kissed you.

         You moan hungrily into his mouth, your hands in his hair and tugging desperately. His breath hitches, consumed by your need for him, melting against you in a blissful surrender. You bite on his lower lip and suck mercilessly, pulling a groan from his throat as he struggles against his restraints again. You wish you could see them later, swollen and red from your attention. He growls against your mouth.

         “Fuck, want to touch you.” You would tell him to be quiet, to force him to obey, but you love his words. Love the honesty that slips out when he’s coming undone. You revel in the dirtiness of his sentences, how they shoot straight to your sex until you’re a trembling mess. It’s something the two of you have in common, only able to reveal your true thoughts in the darkness, in the heat of the moment.

         “Since I’m feeling generous,” you begin, your confidence growing with the power trip you’re currently riding, “I’ll let you taste me.” You carefully adjust yourself, turning around in the cramped space until you’re now facing towards his feet. You grip his hips for support and hover. “Stick out your tongue, Mando.”

         “Yes ma’am,” comes a voice that already sounds wrecked, and it fuels the fire in your lower half. You lower yourself and gasp as his tongue prods your entrance. He licks eagerly, lapping up your arousal as if it’s the sweetest thing he’s ever tasted. You hear him pull at his restraints again before groaning in frustration.

         “I hear you getting riled up. Take it out on my dripping pussy,” you command, continuing to surprise yourself with the naughty things coming out of your mouth. You can practically hear his smirk, and suddenly he licks roughly through your folds before capturing your clit. You gasp loudly, moaning out into the darkness as he sucks the sensitive bundle of nerves. You dig into his hips, holding on as he pleasures you.  He circles his tongue, attacking with fervor since he can’t use his hands. You feel yourself begin to build; you need him to slow down. He has to take his time or you won’t last long at all. You lean down and find his member, licking a long strip up the top of his shaft before taking him into your mouth in a fluid motion.

         “Shit! Dank farrik” he breathes, bucking his hips in surprise. It forces his cock further down your throat and you gag for just a moment before regaining control. You can taste the precum leaking from the head, hot and bitter. But you love it; evidence of his body needing you. Lusting and longing for you. He swirls his tongue slower now, his mind split between giving you pleasure and reveling in your attention to his cock. You begin to bob your head, swallowing down his member until you are deep-throating him. You moan, the vibrations traveling up through his body as you savor the feeling of being full. Of tasting him while he pleasures you. Mando is being noisier than you’ve ever heard him, growling and moaning desperately, hungrily taking you as he submits to the pleasure of your lips.

         You feel high, buzzing with energy as you take what you want. After years of doing what other men told you, of offering them only their pleasure, doing whatever it takes to convince them not to turn you in; you feel untouchable. You’re doing what you want to this bounty hunter, and he is loving it. You feel radiant. You come off his member with a lewd pop and gasp for air.

         “Fuck, I need you now!” You lift off of his face, and he actually whines at the loss of your taste. He pulls the restraints, as if he could break them. You adjust yourself to face him again, your hands on his chest. You rub your sex over his erection, both of you shuddering at the much needed friction. You fight the urge to slam yourself onto him once you realize you have the perfect opportunity to force him to wait. To explore his body. “I love your body, Mando,” you whisper. “Right here.” You kiss his hip bone. You trace your tongue up and find his nipple. “And here.” You take it into your mouth and suck, circling your tongue around it. His reaction is subtle, but you can still register the sharp intake of breath as you tease the sensitive area. “And here,” you add, skating your teeth across his clavicle, earning a tremble through his torso.

         “Such a little fucking tease,” he bites out, no real anger in his voice. You bring a hand to his throat and squeeze lightly on the sides.

“Be nice,” you say through gritted teeth, attempting to sound strict and direct. He moans, low and unhinged, thrusting against your ass. Oh. “Mando…do you like being choked?” You capture his mouth, stealing away his breath as you squeeze his throat carefully. The raw moan that ripples through him nearly pushes you over the edge. Holy fucking shit .

“Fuck yes,” he growls, tilting his head back in ecstasy. You can feel the baritone of his voice against your grip on his throat. “Fuck, you’re so sexy like this.” Once again, his words intoxicate you, and you give him another squeeze.

         “Mando,” you moan, licking against his bottom lip.

         “Din,” he whispers, so quiet you’re not sure you even hear it. In a moment of clear headedness you pause.

         “What was that?”

         “My real name…I, I want to hear it in your voice. Hear- fuck- hear you moan it when you cum.” His voice is desperate, nearly begging. And your entire body goes ice cold, sobered by the fact that you now know his real name. That this man trusts you enough to divulge something as secret and hidden as his face. Your eyes begin to water a bit, but you blink them away. Now is not the time. Instead, you lean down and get right up against his ear, letting your lips brush the cartilage.

         “Din.” He releases a small moan, a sweet sound. If it wasn’t for the familiar baritone, you would swear it didn’t come from him. “Don’t stop talking. Your voice drives me fucking crazy, Din.” You grasp his cock and tease your entrance with the head, prepping yourself. Finally granting yourself what you’ve been wanting, you sink on to his cock, the two of you moaning together in a lascivious harmony. “So big,” you whine, unable to think of anything more coherent.

         “Fuck, pretty girl. Tight- squeezing the life out of me” he moans, adjusting himself inside you. You gasp at the stretch, your thighs trembling as you hold yourself just so, urging your body to open up to his thickness. You spend a few moments together in a quiet stillness as he waits for you to get comfortable. You’ve never taken him at this angle, and he feels impossibly bigger this way. You release a slow breath, sighing heavily at the overwhelming fullness until you’re ready. You lift yourself up, not fully coming off him, and sink back down, tossing your head back at the delicious friction of him stretching your walls.

         “Din, oh maker, Din!” you gasp out. You lean backwards and let your hands fall on his thighs, your nails digging in as you lift yourself up and down slowly. Thankfully, he lets you take control, with great restraint on his part. You can feel every part of his body tense as he forces himself not to drive up and impale you. His thighs are rock solid under your fingertips.

         “Kriff, you say my name so-so pretty. Could listen to those noises forever.” Emboldened by his words, you let yourself moan louder. You rock your hips and rotate them, feeling his cock rub against every corner inside of you.

         “Fuck, don’t stop Din. Keep talking!” You set a rhythm as easily as you fall into using his name. It just feels right. You take control of your pleasure, using his cock the way you need it. Rise and fall, up and down, you fuck yourself the way you want to be fucked. Take from him what he is so happy to give. He rambles beneath you, happy to be your toy. To be the source of your noises, your pleasure. To give you what no other man has been able to give you. Whether he’s in control or you is not the point. His goal has always been to ruin you for other men. To be what you need, what you want, what you crave. And it’s so intimate it scares you, and you suspect it scares him too. But in the darkness, in the enveloping thickness of sex and longing, you can let that unfamiliar feeling breathe.

         “Maker, what you do to me tracinya. I- I’ve never-never let anyone take me like this,” he reveals. “Fuck! No-no one could ever- could compare to you pretty girl.” Every word grows your ego, makes you feel more and more desirable. You’re his goddess, and he worships at your alter. Praying to your pleasure. Savoring your grace.

         “Din! Feel so good. Like you were made for me.” The two of you have abandoned all hope of quietness. Instead, you let yourselves moan, and whine, and scream. You just hope the kid is fast asleep, the desperate sounds blocked out by the divider of the cot and the shield of his pod.

         You feel yourself climbing again, and his hips are stuttering with small uncontrollable thrusts. The head of his cock nails your g-spot, and it has you choking on a moan. Tears prick behind your eyes at how good it is. How full and content you are.

         “So-so lucky. I don’t d-deserve it. How did I get lucky enough to-to find you? Perfect. Perfect for us, made for us.” Through the haze, you realize he isn’t just talking about himself. But about the kid too. About your place in their lives…you’re presence in the tiny family they’ve made for themselves. “You’re so-so patient with him. Sweet, resilient, clever, and beautiful, and kind.” His words are picking up pace, derailing into something that sounds very honest and personal. You wonder if you should shut him up with a kiss, saving yourselves from what’s about to sound like a very emotional moment. But you can’t change positions. You’re so fucking close, you’re on the edge, and any deviation would feel completely devastating. And in the back of your mind, the dark and greedy part of yourself, you need to know what he has to say. So stoic and quiet, you know that these are the only moments you can hear what he’s really thinking.

         “What- what you said this, fuck, this morning. Fuckinghellyoufeelsokriffinggoodshit!” The Mandalorian sounds nearly delirious, his voice barely carrying over the loud clang of him fighting against the restraints. You twist with warmth at the idea of the bruises he will conceal under his gloves. He’s completely undone, surrendering to his basest instincts. Giving up all control because he can, because he never gets to. Because in this moment he doesn’t care about the consequences of not guarding himself.

         “Din,” you breathe, unsure of what you’re really saying his name for. What he says next  should ruin the mood completely. Should have both of you going red with embarrassment, fumbling away from each other and the complete unsexiness of what he has to say. The fact that you don’t stop immediately after it slips out from his lips is something you will probably refuse to think about for the foreseeable future. In his passion, in his complete release of all control, he mutters this to you.

         “I’d be so happy if- he- the kid- kid would be lucky to have you as his mother.” Both your hips stutter at the words, but that’s the only reprieve before you continue.

         “Damn it, Din,” you hiss, lunging forward and taking his mouth in yours. It’s a fight for dominance, sloppy and fiery, your sweating bodies sliding together as you become a tangle of tongues, and lips, and teeth. You thrust your hips two more times and you’re cumming, clenching him in a vice grip as your orgasm ripples violently through you. He follows moments later, you suspect forcing himself to hold off until he’s sure you came. He fills you up, hot and fast, the sensation turning your core into a furnace- no, an incinerator.

         The two of you gasp for air, unable to breathe. With the last bit of strength you have, you release his wrists from the cuffs and then collapse, dropping your full weight on top of him. His arms fall down to clutch you to his chest, the rise and fall of his panting moving your entire body. He’s still inside you, but neither of you can be bothered to change positions as you come down from your releases.  You feel lightheaded, out of your body as you lazily kiss his throat. Finally, after minutes and minutes of labored breaths, the two of you can settle into a gentleness, a comfortable lull. You nuzzle up under his chin, and his thumb strokes along your spine. Neither of you says a word.

Chapter Text

When you wake up, the Mandalorian is gone. You blink away the sleep, a dim light coming in through a crack in the divider. You can hear the child fussing in his pod, but otherwise, the ship is quiet.

         “Din?” you call out, your voice cracking slightly. There’s no answer, just the continued whines of the child. You untangle the blankets, searching for your underclothes. You quickly pull on your underwear and chest band before stepping out into the hull of the ship. You shudder, a chill going up your spine from your bare feet against the durasteel. You pad over to your bag and pull on the massive shirt you stole from Din months ago. He’s worn it since, and it once again smells like him.

         “Good morning, little man,” you greet, opening up the shield of the pod. The child quiets down immediately, grinning up at you. He reaches his hands up, asking to be held, which you gladly oblige. You bounce the child on your hip and walk around the ship to confirm what you already know. The missing blade and blaster from the arsenal seal the truth in your mind. He left without saying goodbye.

         To distract yourself from how that revelation makes you feel, you clean about every surface of the ship. When he’s still not back from his “quick hunt” you decide to rewire the paneling in the hull. Honestly, what really needs some maintenance is the carbon freezer, but you refuse to go anywhere near it. He will just have to deal with that himself. After you rewire nearly half of the belly of the ship, you wipe the back of your hand against your sweaty brow. You’re aware that there is probably grease and oil all over your face, but the kid doesn’t seem to mind.

         You should really put him down for a nap and go take a shower. But you’re tired from all your work, eight hours in total at this point, and the idea of stripping down sounds like an impossible task. Instead, you grab a bag of dried meat and take the kid into the cockpit to feed him; the hull feels far too empty to spend any more time there. You sit in the copilot’s chair, uncomfortable with sitting in the pilot’s chair after the position Din found you in when he came back from the last hunt. Not that anything is going to happen when he gets back from this one. Despite your efforts to keep your mind off the bantha in the room, you’ve been stewing all day at the fact that he didn’t say goodbye. He just left without a word, as if he hadn’t let you bind him and fuck him into deliriousness last night.

         And after the things he said to you, the things he reveals in those intimate moments…he should have told you he was leaving. While you realize that your relationship has never really been definite, no rules or boundaries drawn in the sand, this odd partnership is so far from casual at this point. You’re helping him raise his fucking kid! He told you that you’d be a great mom to his son…and then the metal bastard left in the middle of the night.

A nastier part of you, the part that has learned to trust no one, that no one is truly kind with out motive, begins to rear her head after lying dormant for months. What if you’ve been misreading this? Assuming the things he says are truthful; his deepest thoughts come to light. You’re no stranger to lying during sex. Especially if it gets you what you want. Hell, you’ve gotten really good at it. You know just what to tell someone in the moment, you know exactly what they want to hear, what they need to hear. What if Din is simply doing the same? The thought makes you feel sick; it’s dirty and ugly. An echo of who you were in the past; of what your experiences have shaped you to think. You shake your head, attempting to sober yourself from the negativity.

He told you his name…he wouldn’t do that if there wasn’t at least some sort of connection between the two of you. Din . Din doesn’t lie. He’s not deceitful or malicious. Though your time together has been short, and you really don’t know that much about each other, you know he would never manipulate you like that… right ? As if sensing your mood, the kid presses his hands into your stomach, pulling your attention back to him. His eyes are large and serious, and they melt your insecurities just a little bit.

         You smile at him and hold out a piece of meat which he takes greedily into his stubby green fingers. With his other hand he pokes at your pouch, grunting out something you have no hope of understanding. You tilt your head and furrow your brows for a moment. He has food in his hand and he’s in his favorite spot, what else could he be asking for?

         “What’s up little man?” you ask. He just grunts some more and fiddles with the pouch that contains the holopicture. You chuckle and fish out the device. “Is this what you were looking for?” He grins up at you and makes grabby hands. You turn the device on and put it off to the side out of his reach. The last thing you need is for him to drop bits of food on it or get it sticky. He seems content with this, shifting slightly so that he can look at the image, the reflection of the picture shining in his black eyes.

         “Who’s that?” you ask, pointing to him in the picture. He gurgles out something unintelligible and you just giggle back at him. “Yes indeed.” You point to yourself now, “and who’s that?” He claps his hands together excitedly and babbles for a few seconds, clearly having quite a bit to say. “Is that so? How very kind of you.”

         You give him another piece of meat, and the cockpit falls silent, save for his little munches. You take another look at the picture, how happy the kid looks in your arms, and you can practically hear his laughter. You scan your expression, noticing a few emotions. You look happy, and you wonder the last time you had a genuine smile like that. In the picture, you look content, a sort of peacefulness on your face as you hold the child. Your arms are protective, guarding him from the world without obstructing his view.

         “Can you say my name?” you ask him suddenly. He looks up at you, his long ears twitch. You say your name out loud, and he just listens. You repeat it over and over, earning a coo or a giggle, but nothing that actually sounds like words. You’ve heard him verbalize before, patu or pa, but nothing as advanced as a name. You bite down on your bottom lip and give a heavy sigh.

         “Can you say…mama?” you ask quietly. He’s quiet at first, and you wonder if he’s done with this game. You close your eyes and tilt you head back, it was a stupid idea anyway. The soft little voice answers you.

         “Mmm-  ma” he attempts. You whip your head down to look at him. His small face is scrunched up in concentration as he leans into you. He tilts his head up to you and tries again. “Mmmo-  mmmm- mah.” Your mouth hangs open, not knowing whether to try and help him sound it out, or to avoid interrupting at all costs. You settle on nodding your head and giving him an encouraging smile. The air feels electric, some ancient energy is moving through it. You can feel his concentration, feel his focus, as if he’s manipulating the atmosphere between the two of you. He pushes his hands against you, as if trying to force out the unfamiliar phrase when amazingly, “Mama.”

         You gasp and pull him into a hug, and he nestles his head under your chin. “You did it little man! That’s right, mama.”  You fight back the tears that threaten behind your eyes; you don’t know why you’re getting so emotional about it. It’s not like he knows what it means. It’s one of the easiest words to say; a juxtaposition of consonants and vowels that mean absolutely nothing to this little green creature. But still…there’s an odd pride that swells in your chest. His first word.

         You set him back down on your lap, and he plays at the hem of your shirt. You can hear him mumbling softly to himself, mamamama, over and over as he plays with the sound. You want to point to yourself, have him say it as he looks at you. Or have him point to your picture and say his new word. But instead, you remain silent and listen to his babble, some part of you afraid to claim the title. To encourage him to identify you- it all seems so permanent. Permanence is not something you’ve grown accustomed to in the past few years, and it makes your stomach flip. You aren’t great at staying in one place, at staying with the same people. And though a part of you wants to make a home here, to be part of a family…what if they don’t want you? Staying on the run always felt easier than rejection, than fighting. No one can abandon you if you’re the first to run.


         You twitch awake, the light of morning shining in through the windows of the cockpit. You stretch awkwardly, your joints cracking in protest of the odd position you slept in. You look around, figuring you must have fallen asleep in the copilot’s chair. The child is fast asleep in your lap, the holopicture having turned itself off in the middle of the night.

         You listen intently, but you can’t hear the heavy steps of the bounty hunter. You stamp down the nervousness that is bubbling up from your stomach. This was supposed to be a quick hunt, and he’s been gone for over twenty-four hours now. You cradle the child carefully, not wanting to wake him earlier than you need to. A quick check of his communication system shows no incoming messages or any attempts of contact. Not that he’s ever tried to contact you while on a hunt before. You don’t know whether to be angry or scared for him; but the emotions you are feeling are certainly strong.

         The child begins to stir, looking up at you with his wide innocent eyes. You see him give that look to Din sometimes, that look that makes you feel like you’re the only person in the world. The pure trust he has in you, the adoration that can only come from something so small…you don’t deserve it. A tear slips down your cheek; you hadn’t realized how overwhelmed you’re feeling. Three little fingers reach up to your face touching the tear as if it’s some oddity. Some new treasure to collect and hold onto, like the necklace he wears or his toy ball.

         “What do you see when you look at me?” you murmur, sniffling a bit. You’re embarrassed to be tearing up, but a flood of doubt and exhaustion overcomes you. Can this new life you’ve carved for yourself really erase your past? You feel like a hypocrite, being angry at Din for running when that’s all you’ve ever known for three years. You’ve lied, and stolen, and killed. You convinced yourself at some point that you were doing it for a good reason. You don’t regret killing that officer, but you do regret how much it has defined you. How on that day, you lost a part of yourself. But if you’re being honest, how can you be so sure that you were even a good person before all of this?

         You were blind to the toils of the world. Assuming there wasn’t more beyond your village, beyond your planet. You were selfish in your untroubled youth, unconcerned with much else beyond your own struggles, your own happiness. When you first began running, you were shocked by the things you saw. The injustices of the galaxy that you had pretended not to know of. So you kept running, convinced that one day you would find something good. Something that was worth staying for…and you finally found it. And you’re terrified.

         This child looks at you like you’re not your past. Perhaps that’s the gift of being young, of being good. To him, your life began when he met you. All that you are, all you represent to him, began when you gave him those two cookies from your belt. If only it were that simple. And then Din. Din with his moral code, his sense of justice, his Way that he can so blindly follow. What’s it like to have something to guide you? To be so convinced that you’re doing the right thing? What does he even see when he looks at you? What has anyone ever seen except something they can use. Are you mad at him because you’re worried it’s all lies? That he’s only telling you what he thinks you want to hear because, just like everyone else, he’s using you? The idea of trusting him, of finally opening up and then being disposed of…you’re only human. You’re not sure you could take that.

         Or is this anger because deep down, you feel that you don’t deserve him? You don’t deserve the kid? Your stomach churns and you take a shaky breath. What if you accept your place in this mismatched family only to find that you don’t fit? What if you really can’t stop running, but this time, you break hearts in your wake? You’re so tired. You don’t want to run any longer, but what if that’s all you’re good at?

         The child coos at you, forcing you out of the turmoil of emotion and dragging you back to the present. He whines indignantly, ready for breakfast. He doesn’t let you brood. You pull yourself from your thoughts and continue with your morning because he needs you.


         You pace back and forth across the hull; the child is asleep in his pod for the night. The day had dragged on, every passing hour grueling. The two of you had explored the forest, and you were secretly hoping that Din would be there upon your return. But he wasn’t. You fed the child dinner and did some routine checks on the ship, but now you’re left alone with your thoughts yet again. And the Mandalorian has been gone for nearly forty hours at this point. You huff to yourself, grab your staff, and exit the ship. The two moons are full, luminous and bright as they bathe you in a blue glow. The forest is so still tonight, offering you little reprieve from diving into your own mind.

         You practice through a few drills; strike, block, dodge. Strike, block, dodge. Tumble, slice, block. Tumble, slice, block. You do this for nearly an hour; grunting and vocalizing your attacks in an attempt to break the silence of the evening. You practice until your arms are sore, your clothes are covered in stains, your hair is a mess. You practice until you are sweating. All the insecurities bleeding out of your pores to dissipate in the atmosphere. You think you’re actually feeling better when an odd gleam catches your attention. You squint your eyes to see the Mandalorian appearing from the dense cluster of trees, and you hate the beat your heart skips. You’re still mad at him, and you curse your body for its obvious joy at his presence.

         He looks tired, as if the armor is weighing more than usual. You notice the lack of quarry and are instantly filled with questions. You fight the urge to run towards him, and instead stand your ground and wait for him to stop in front of you. His chest is heaving, and you can see blood smeared across the normally polished beskar. He looks like hell.

         “I’ll put the coordinates in and start the ship,” he says stiffly, his modulated tone revealing nothing. He walks by you and begins the ascent up the ramp.

         “You’re kidding me right?” you speak out, crossing your arms over your chest. You keep your back to him, instead choosing to focus on the forest.

         “What?” his tone is icy.

         “That’s it? No ‘hello,’ no explanation?”

         “And what am I supposed to be explaining?” He sounds on edge, impatient already with this conversation. You don’t back down.

         “Oh, I don’t know. Maybe why you’re covered in blood? Why there’s no quarry?”

         “It’s not mine.” This makes you spin around, and you feel the flames behind your eyes. “I have proof of death. So let’s go.”

         “No.” He nearly snarls at this, putting his hands on his hips.

         “Get on the fucking ship,” he orders, and you think he’s gritting his teeth. This escalated quickly, and you wonder if he had an awful two days as well.

         “Don’t tell me what to do, Mando.” Your voice is level and soft, like the fizzle of the wick before it sets of dynamite. His body language shifts, less sure than before. You can’t tell if he’s reacting to your tone of voice, or the fact that you didn’t use his real name. “You said it would be a short hunt.”

         “Well, it wasn’t. But it’s over now.” You groan and rub the heels of your hands against your eyes.

         “And you didn’t think to let me know? Or, kriff, to even tell me you were leaving?”

“You knew I had a hunt.”

“Dank farrik, that’s not the point!”

“Then what is the kriffing point?” You haven’t heard him sound this aggravated since the two of you first met. He stalks back down the ramp and stands toe to toe with you.

“The point is, you just left me and the kid without a word. You didn’t think about us. About me! And then you don’t care to check in? You show up covered in blood after being gone for hours, and all you can say to me is some bantha shit about coordinates?” Your calm demeanor has completely vanished, leaving you fiery and shrill. The words are tumbling out of you, and you couldn’t keep them at bay even if you tried. But you’re not trying.

“This has been a long hunt. I’m exhausted. All I want is to get back to the ship, leave this planet, hell, maybe even fuck, but I’m not explaining myself to you in the middle of this fucking forest.” You groan loudly and take a few steps away from the ship.

         “Stars! First of all, you are not getting me into your bed tonight. And if you don’t want to talk about it, then I’m not getting on the ship,” you mutter over your shoulder. Before you can take another step, you feel a gloved hand grab the back of your neck. He spins you around and picks you up over his shoulder in a fluid motion. You kick and squirm indignantly once you take a few moments to register that he is literally carrying you back up the ramp. His grip tightens on you, and you’re pinned in place. Before you can think to use your staff, he’s plopping you onto the floor of the ship and closing the door.

         “What the fuck is your problem, Mando?”

         “My problem? How do you think it feels to get cussed out after a long hunt? After being fucking shot at for hours?”

         “How do you think it feels to wake up naked and alone?”

         “I—“ he cuts himself off, unsure of what to say.

“Do you-“ your voice breaks. “Do you have any idea how that made me feel?” You stare down at the floor, you bottom lip trembling. “When we—that night you said things . You do that, you know?”

“What?” he asks, his voice a bit softer, but still guarded.

“S-say things that no one’s ever said to me. Say things that make me think that maybe- I don’t know, maybe this time will be different...and then it’s not. I still wake up alone. Just like I have been for the past three years.”

“Tracin-“ you interrupt him. Worried that if you don’t keep going, you’ll never get the words out.

“And I know- I know I’m guilty too. The things I’ve said before…saying things I don’t mean. Lying through my teeth to- to get someone off…and it doesn’t matter. They always leave. Even if I didn’t want them to stay, it still hurt you know? Because I said all the right things…and still no one ever stayed until the morning.”

“I- that’s not” he’s struggling to find the words. To articulate himself in this scenario. You can’t help but think he sounds hurt.

“Why didn’t you say goodbye?” you whisper, the tears now falling freely. You can hear the gentle splat against the durasteel. You’re enveloped by a large frame with edges of hard beskar, but it’s oddly comforting still. You lean into it despite your anger at him. The two of you are magnets, once properly aligned, impossible to pull apart.

“I mean every word,” he whispers simply. It’s not emotional, but it’s honest. Like it’s just so simple. “I didn’t—I’ve never felt these things before. What I feel when we- even when we’re not having—“ he sighs, low and heavy. You patiently wait for him, clinging on to every word as you melt into him. How can you be this pissed at someone but miss them so much? “This is new to me. And it’s—“


“Terrifying,” he admits. “I feel like a coward.” This shocks you and you pull away from him, your hands on his chest plate.

         “You’re not,” you try to convince him.

         “Only a coward would leave a woman like you alone.” He pulls you back in, and you’re unsure if it’s for the comfort of your body against his, or if he’s unable to say all this while looking at you. “I’m always so scared of the next day. Because- what if it’s the day you wake up and- and realize that I’m not worth it? If I leave before you wake up, I won’t have to know.”

         “Mando,” you whisper, his words breaking your heart.

         “Please don’t call me that…not you, tracinya. You know me. They don’t get to know my name. But hearing it in your voice-“

         “Din…You’re worth it,” you whisper. It’s resolute and sure, surprising even yourself. “The danger, the silence, all of it.” His grip on you tightens, and you hear him take a shuddering breath. “I’m scared shitless. But you, the kid…you’re worth it. Maybe we don’t know how to care about someone else…maybe no one ever gave us the chance.” You pull away once more and look up into his face. You put your hands on either side of his helmet like you would cup his face. There’s some energy, a tether between you an him. A flow of force that ebbs and grows naturally, but can’t truly be severed.

         “What if I can’t learn how to be who you need?”

         “I think you already have,” you whisper.


         You rest your head against the wall, letting the water of the ‘fresher flow down; it carries away the dirt and the grime in its stream. Din is up in the cockpit setting the coordinates and flying the ship out of the atmosphere so he can make the jump to hyperspace. The two of you agreed to take a few hours apart to decompress. You let your body shudder as the tension dissipates; the last few tears falling, taking all of the pent up emotions with it. You feel raw and exhausted, but content.

         Din closes his eyes, breathing in and out slowly to calm himself down. The feeling in his chest is unfamiliar and distracting, and he hasn’t been able to get rid of it for weeks now. He worries it might be permanent. Once the ship is in hyperspace, he allows himself to take off the helmet. He needs to breathe, and he knows you won’t come up to the cockpit. He blinks awkwardly, letting his eyes adjust to their normal view. He always forgets how beautiful hyperspace can be. It’s dark and warped, but it still offers enough brightness to illuminate the cabin. He rubs his eyes, creating spots in his vision that take minutes to go away.

         Once he’s fully adjusted to the light, he spies an odd device over by the copilot’s seat. With a tired grunt, he exits the chair and grabs the device. He fiddles with it for just a moment before producing the holopicture; clear and colorful. Din’s breath hitches as he studies the odd image; the way the child is smiling. Your distant words echo through his mind as he savors every line, every hue of the picture. So everyone you’ve met. You don’t really know what they look like, then? You’ve never seen the real thing. He never noticed just how shiny the child’s eyes are, how there’s just the slightest hint of brown circling the black. Or how white his toothy little grin looks. Without the helmet, he can see the creases of emotions, the nuances that his tactical views seem to hide.

         He turns his attention to you; smiling, happy. There always seems to be a sadness behind your eyes, even when you’re in a good mood. But in this picture, all he can see is your affection towards his kid. He feels the breath leave his lungs as he studies your face, able to see the curves of your features better, the true tone of your skin. The texture of your hair seems so clear…and your eyes. How can someone be that beautiful? Din shuts off the device and quickly pulls on his helmet, skipping rungs in the ladder as he lowers himself down to the hull. He can hear you humming to yourself, that song you always sing to the kid. He calls your name through the shut door.

         “Can I come in?”

         “Uhh, sure? You know you don’t have to spy on me in the shower anymore to see me naked,” you quip, washing away the suds from your eyes. You hear him open the door and then quickly shut it behind him. A flame ignites in your lower belly, but you attempt to quell it by focusing on getting clean. The two of you agreed on some time to decompress, and that’s what you intend to do. You can feel his eyes on you as you rinse out your hair, but before you can remark, his voice startles you.

         “Close your eyes.” You turn towards him, doing the exact opposite. You blink at his armored frame in confusion.

         “What? Din, I’m just trying to get clean. It’s been a long day-“

         “Please…please just for a minute.” You sigh heavily and lean against the wall. For kriff’s sake, is this some weird sex thing? But his voice sounds so earnest, so vulnerable, you decide to humor him. You tilt your head back and close your eyes. You can’t really tell what’s going on, the rush of the fresher in your ears. You don’t hear him take off his helmet. You don’t even hear him stomp heavily towards you. But suddenly his voice is very close, very raw, and…stars.

         “Oh my tracinya, pretty girl…wow.” You shiver at the caress of his baritone voice by your face. He sounds so close, you think he may be getting sprayed with water. “Is this what I’ve been missing all these months?” He sounds absolutely mesmerized, distraught, overjoyed. You didn’t think he was capable of exhibiting so many emotions, especially not all at once. “Your picture it- oh it doesn’t do you justice.” So he found the holo.

         “I love that picture,” you quip back weakly, your knees feel like they might give out. Din is actually out of his helmet, looking at your face with his own eyes…and he trusts you to keep your eyes closed the whole time. You want to peak, to see if the face you’ve felt with your hands, the one you’ve imagined and fantasized about, is truly what he looks like. But you won’t. You could never.

         “I love it too. Everything about it,” he hums, “but to see you like this-“

         “Naked and wet?”

         “With my own eyes, you little brat,” he snarks back, but the insult holds a fondness that makes you chuckle through your nerves. This is a big step. Him seeing you how you are. Allowing you to simply close your eyes and be in his presence. No one has ever put that kind of trust in you before. You honestly wonder if you deserve it, but you furiously squelch that thought. Why can’t you deserve it?

         “You haven’t seen me be a brat,” you challenge with a smile. You thrust out your hand and make contact with what you think is his shoulder armor. You search around blindly until you are cupping his face. He leans into your touch and allows himself a low moan. “Not yet at least,” you add, stroking your thumb over his bottom lip.

         “Careful, tracinya…you’re the one who said you weren’t getting into my bed tonight.” He skates his teeth over your knuckle, and you giggle, the warmth in your body growing.

         “We’re not in a bed,” you counter. You turn away from him and begin to wash yourself seductively under the stream, sliding beneath your breasts and against your ass. Din releases a pained moan and hits his fist against the wall.

         “We’ve both had a very long and frustrating day, pretty girl. Maybe we shouldn’t-“

         “Then take it out on me, Din,” you say simply. Fuck it, abstaining from sex with Din probably wasn’t going to last very long anyway. Right now, you just want the tension fucked out of you. There have been a lot of emotions and you feel too heavy…you just want to get railed. You both need it. The reassurance of each other’s bodies paired with something rough, something distracting.

         “Don’t tempt me,” he growls, his resolve cracking just about as quickly as yours did.

         “I don’t have to try very hard.” You turn back around, careful not to slip against the tiles in your blindness. You’ve missed this, the teasing, the chase. You easily find the back of his neck and push him towards you, locking your lips in a heated kiss. You part too soon, and you take his bottom lip between your teeth and suck, eliciting a groan as you give a harsh nip.

         “Behave,” he warns. This makes you smile; smirk actually. Because he walked right into it. He wants to see a brat? You’ll give him a brat.

         “Make me,” you challenge, enunciating more than you have too. He grunts and shifts away from you. You wait patiently, knowing that he’s taking off all of his armor and clothing. The light behind your eyes goes dark and you immediately voice your protest. “Keep it on. I want you to see everything.”

         “Fuck,” he breathes, flipping the light switch back on. You scrunch your eyes closed, making sure to assure him they are tightly sealed. But that’s as nice as you plan on playing tonight. Without another word, you gasp as you are forced up against the wall, the water now pouring directly over you. His naked body becomes slick, and he slides up against you, his erection pinned at your stomach.

         He leans in to kiss you, but you move just so, keeping your lips out of reach. He grunts and tries again, but you lick sensually inside his mouth, not allowing him to kiss you properly. He wraps an arm around you and squeezes tightly, attempting to constrict your movement. He leans in once more, but you bite his bottom lip instead. You giggle, wishing you could see his frustration. But his desperate growls make up for your lack of sight.

         “I thought I told you to behave?” His voice is dangerous and low, but you can hear a smile in it. You image the corners of his mouth pulled up. His cock twitches with interest against you; he’s enjoying this.

         “I thought I told you to make me?” Before the words are fully out of your mouth, a large calloused hand is around your neck. You gasp as he pins you to the wall and takes full control of your lips. You moan into his mouth as he takes what he wants, tasting and conquering every inch of you. When your lips part, you’re left absolutely breathless, your chest heaving.

         “Turn around,” he commands, his lips ghosting against your ear. If it weren’t for the steaming water pouring over the two of you, there would be gooseflesh all over your skin. You disobey for the hell of it, and grip his thick cock in your hand. His breath hitches in surprise, his body betraying him as he bucks towards you.

         “No,” you whisper. “I’d rather do this.” You swipe your thumb over the head, teasing him as you circle his precum over the sensitive skin.

         “That smart mouth…still haven’t figured out- fuck- figured out how to shut that pretty mouth up.” You stroke him a few times, twisting your wrist as you travel up and down his shaft.

         “I’m sure you’ll think of something,” you whisper, egging him on. With your other hand you cup his balls, gently massaging them against your finger tips. He takes a shuddering breath; torn between surrendering to the pleasure and his desire to dominate you.

         “Pretty girl, I’m going to count to three,” he warns. He rolls his hips to meet your strokes, and you call his bluff. “One,” you lick up his neck. “Two,” you suck his throat. “Three.” Like a predator, he strikes fast and by surprise. He grips your wrists tightly, and you immediately let go of his cock. Before you can react, he spins you around and pins your wrists to the wall above you with one large hand. The other smacks your ass sharply, the sound reverberating in the small tiled room.

         “Maker,” you gasp, the sting of his hand travels to your pussy. “Kriff, Din!” The blood of your lower half is fiery and pulsing, and you give him a wanton moan.

         “Bad girls get spankings,” he whispers in your ear, his voice sultry. He presses his cock between your cheeks and you whine.

         “I thought you liked bad girls?” He grabs your hair and pulls your head back. He gives you a swift kiss before releasing his grip and spanking you again. His palm hits the swell of your ass, the placement rewarding him with a satisfyingly loud sound.

         “Oh I do…but you’re being a little brat right now.”

         “So what, you’re gonna punish me, handsome?” You swivel your hips against his erection and grind mercilessly. He releases your wrists and instead grabs for your breasts. With his heavy body, he traps you against the wall. It’s tight, so close you can barely breathe as he gropes your tits, his erection pressed against you. You shiver, unable to push away from the cold tile.

         “Need to tame you somehow,” he answers. He dips his head and bites the space between your neck and shoulder. You yelp in pain, but it morphs into a moan as he soothes the sting with the massage of his tongue.

         “Good luck,” you bite out, struggling against his body weight. He bites the back of your neck and slaps the bottom of your ass. You whimper, the stimulation unfamiliar to you. “Stars,” you moan out. You attempt to move again, and there is no give at all. He pops you again, growling at the jiggle of your ass and the way your skin reddens under his touch.

         “You know what this reminds me of,” you gasp out, your breath labored from the pressure of him.

         “When- when we met? Tossed you up against my ship- fuck- was so hard. Couldn’t- couldn’t get you to shut up then either.” He flicks his thumb over your nipple, teasing until it’s erect. “Spent that whole day trying not to look down your shirt.”

         “I knew it,” you chuckle.

         “So, so mouthy,” he whispers in your ear, snaking his hand down to rub against your pussy. Even through the water from the fresher, he can feel your slick between your legs. And you can’t hide it; you’re fucking soaked for him. “Fuck, eager little thing.” He inserts a thick finger and circles inside you, the friction delicious and naughty, but oh it’s not enough.

         “Yes, dank farrik. So fuck me!” you whine, trying to lower yourself onto his finger, needing more. Needing it deeper.

         “How about a deal?”

         “Mmm, I thought you don’t make deals with quarry?” You surprise yourself. You’re not against roleplay, but you never thought you’d want to recreate this particular scenario. But it’s got Din panting for you; and it makes you feel deviously sensual.

         “I’ll make an exception.” He plays along immediately, cupping your pussy.

         “Fine. Proposition me…Mando,” you add, the name irritating and arousing him simultaneously.

         “You suck me like a good little girl,” he starts, circling your clit with his finger. You whine, high and embarrassingly needy, when he brings his finger up to his lips and you hear him suck your arousal off the digit. He makes a low growl, savoring your taste. “And I’ll fuck you like a prisoner.” Oh…

         The thought has you trembling, and your thighs are aching for him. Your pussy is desperate for him to take you rough, to prove what he can do to you once more. There’s a time for sweetness, for slow and careful. In fact, you love it when he licks you soft, when he says those sweet whispers in the darkness. But neither of you can handle sweet tonight. You’re too raw, too emotionally exerted.

         “Deal, but just know Mando,” you smirk to yourself, knowing this will get him riled up. “If you cum from my mouth on you, I won’t let you fuck me.” You’re almost certain he has the libido to go multiple rounds, but the idea of forcing him to hold it in…it makes you feel powerful.

         “You little brat, I’m in charge here. I’ll put you back in cuffs if you don’t behave.”

         “Is that a promise?” He growls in frustration, biting your shoulder blade. You moan at the sting of his teeth and the rub of his beard. It’s all too stimulating. “Or should I just turn myself in before you get to have your way with me?”

         “Fuck, deal.” He grips you by the hips, his fingers digging into the flesh in a way that will definitely leave bruises. He spins you and pushes you down to your knees. With your eyes still closed, you have to grip onto his thighs to keep your balance. He threads his fingers into your hair. “Open that pretty mouth, quarry.” You purse your lips defiantly, earning yourself a harsh yank on your hair. You want to say something sassy to him, but before you can think of a comeback, his cock hits your cheek. And then it hits your mouth.

         “Did you just-“ you begin before he drags his cock against your chin.

         “Suck me, or I’ll put it in another hole.” Holy shit. This is surprising. Absolutely filthy. And you are so horny, you consider letting him explore that ‘other hole.’ You shake the thought away; not tonight. Enough has happened today already. “Did you hear me?” he asks, dragging the head of his leaking cock across your bottom lip.

         “Yes sir,” you whisper. You open your mouth for him and eagerly take his impressive length. You give a hum of approval, enjoying the feeling of being full, of tasting him. You skate your hands up the back of his thighs and grip his ass, which is far shapelier that expected. You push him further, swallowing him down.

         “I think I found- kriff- found a use for that pretty mouth of yours.” You can’t help but smile around his thick cock, preening at the unique praise. You hollow out your cheeks and begin to bob you head as you lubricate every part of him. Not that you really need to; your pussy is dripping between your thighs right now. You skate your tongue along the head, the warm water aiding in his pleasure. You imagine his head tossed back, hips arched as he surrenders to your mouth. “You look- look so good like this. Taking all of me like a good little girl. A pretty little cock slut.” You moan at the debauchery he’s insinuating.

         His hips stutter a bit, so you cradle his balls again. You gently pull them as you suck, driving him closer and closer to his orgasm. He curses under his breath, and you wonder how much longer he can last. He pulls on your hair, attempting to get you to stop. You disobey and instead push him as far back as you can go, his cock slipping down as you deep throat him. He emits a mangled moan as you gag around him. His hips buck and you think he may cum, but he’s more controlled than you think.

         He grips you by the shoulders and you pop off of him lewdly. He lifts you up to a standing position and gives your ass a harsh smack, to which you cry out pitifully. He kisses you firmly, his tongue slipping past your lips to tangle with yours. You melt into him for a moment before he is shoving you under the stream and slamming your back up against the wall.

         “You don’t play nice do you?” You don’t answer him, instead giving a playful bite to his nose. By some miracle, you find it despite your eyes being closed. “Well that’s okay, because I’m not nice either.” He lifts up one of your thighs and hitches it up around his waist. His cock presses against your entrance as he grips your throat with the other hand. “Tell me you want this, quarry.” Your whole body shudders in anticipation, and you feel like your brain has short circuited. You simply nod ‘yes,’ unable to formulate anything more complex.

         He slams into you.

         He nails your g-spot.

         You scream in a surprised ecstasy.

         He remains stationary for a few long moments, sinking into you until he’s completely buried. You body screams at the stretch, but all you can do is release a lascivious moan as you take every single inch of him.

         “It’s a good thing it’s a long flight to Nevarro, because you won’t be able to walk tomorrow,” he huffs through gritted teeth. His voice sounds absolutely wrecked.

         “Promises, promises, Mando.”

“I’ll give you something to think about in prison.” He pulls out and slams back into you with a force that nearly pushes you up the slippery wall. You scream, not bothering to conceal your noises. You know they drive him crazy, and you’re not sure you could stop them even if you tried. His hand on your throat holds you in place, and he has a vice grip on your leg that’s hooked around him. You reach around his neck, desperate for something to ground you as he sets a brutal rhythm. The slap of skin against skin echoes through the room and water splashes as he nails your g-spot over and over. Tears form in your eyes at the deepness of it, how you can feel him everywhere .

         “Fuck, fuck, FUCK!” is all you can manage. You have no choice but to take what he gives, to ride this out as he dominates every corner of you. Your whole body begins to tighten, a deep delicious spot inside of you pulsing, craving release. You hang your head down as you prepare to come, more muscles clenching in anticipation.

         “Look at me, tracinya. I need to see.” Despite the scenario, despite how sexy you feel to be his quarry again, the familiar pet name is what sends you over the edge. All thoughts exit your mind. All notions of reality dissipate as you free fall from the precipice and become submerged in a violent ecstasy. It absolutely rips through you, tearing you apart from inside out. And in that moment the name on your lips is- Din.

         “Din, Din fuck!” you sound like you’re begging. Begging for him to stop, to keep going, to hold you through the tremors. He moans at his name uttered in your voice and cums hot inside you. He fills you up completely, and you can feel every bit of him inside you. He quickly pulls out of you, and you wince at the sudden movement. He backs away just enough to see his seed leak out of you, dripping hot between your legs.

         “Dank farrik,” he curses, his voice ragged. Your legs are quivering from your orgasm. Thankfully he catches you in his arms when you stumble. The two of you lower yourselves under the stream of water, kneeling on the ‘fresher floor as you attempt to recover. Your arms are still wrapped around his neck and you are buried under his chin. He holds you so close, so tightly, as if he’s worried he’ll blink and you’ll be gone. You stay like this for a half hour, soaking up the warmth of each others bodies as the water begins to feel numb, pruning your skin. Din finally reaches up and turns the water off, and you shiver, nestling closer against him. You need to dry off, and then the two of you can finally go to bed. But you’re so exhausted you’re not sure if you can. Any movement earns a sharp protest from your muscles.

         As if sensing your struggle, Din clutches you against him and lifts you up in his arms as he rises from the floor. You cheeks feel pink at the show of strength, intrigued by how little you seem to weigh to him. He wraps you up in a towel and grabs one for him as well. You feel as though you could fall asleep standing up. With your eyes still closed, Din leads you through the hull of the ship and the two of you stumble into bed, in nothing but your damp towels. He closes the divider and shuts out the light, the two of you content to cling to each other in the darkness.

         “Mhi solus tome,” he admits, the baritone slicing through the silence. “I missed you, tracinya…I should have said that sooner.”

         “I missed you too, Din.”

Chapter Text

“The kid’s awake,” Din grumbles, rolling over to capture your body. He’s right, the sound of the child babbling to himself had stirred you from your dreams. It’s pitch black in the hidden cot, adding to your disorientation. You yawn loudly stretching and shifting in his embrace, gluing your body to his. Your eyes pop open at the presence of his morning wood against your bare ass.

         “He’s not the only one, huh,” you tease lazily.

         “Shut up, that happens a lot of mornings,” he quips groggily. His hands are sliding over your body, moving up to cup your breasts. He gives a low growl, kneading hungrily.

         “Oh, so it has absolutely nothing to do with me?” You roll over to face him, unable to see him but knowing exactly where he is in the darkness.

         “Mmm, maybe thirty percent.”

         “Bantha shit,” you whisper in his ear, tugging on his lobe between your teeth. You hike your leg up over his hip, allowing his member to slide through the apex of your thighs. Din hisses at the close proximity. “I guess one of us should go get the little man,” you sigh heavily, rocking your hips against his.

         “He’ll be fine,” he whispers, slipping a hand down to feel between your legs. “Fuck, you’re already wet.” You grip his wrist and remove his fingers, bringing them up to your lips.

         “It only has thirty percent to do with you,” you tease, echoing his words back at him. Before he can comment, you put his two fingers in your mouth and suck lasciviously. You don’t understand his fixation on how good you taste, but you’re happy to play along.

         “Shit, keep doing that and we’re not leaving this fucking bed today.” He leans in and kisses at your throat, marking you in the most obvious of places. The Razor Crest should be landing in Tatooine before the planet’s night fall, so any people you meet while in town will definitely notice.

         “Mmm, the kid- ah – won’t let that happen, and you know it.” Din ruts against you, the head of his cock sliding past your slit and between your folds.

         “Fine, but we can still be quick.”

         “Din, kriff-“

         “Love hearing you say my name,” he growls in your ear, lining himself up with your entrance. You kiss him warmly, a moan escaping your lips. “Please, tracinya, we’ll be fast.” He circles your hole but waits for your permission, unwilling to push forward without your consent.

         “Fuck, Din what if he-“

         “He won’t. Just- pretty girl-“

         “Dank farrik, fuck me quick, handsome.” He gives a moan and presses into you, stretching your already sore pussy. It burns, rubbing deliciously against the rawness from last night. You kiss him, wet and heated as you grip onto him, preparing yourself for his pace. He gives you harsh shallow thrusts, growling into your open mouth as he takes you.

         Your moans are interrupted by the staccato of his hips, and all you can do is ride with him, tossing your head back as he tries to rush the two of you to a release. Your nails claw down his back, sure to leave marks, but it encourages him to the point of desperate growls. The small alcove is filled with the sound of skin slapping together and gasps for air. The friction of your bodies together is just enough to stimulate your clit, and you feel the electric pulses beneath your skin. The two of you are scarce on words, instead lending your voices to the sounds of ecstasy and focusing on finding a release as quickly as you can.

         Din is biting that sensitive spot between your neck and shoulder, latching onto you, nearly pinning you in place to fuck you as rapidly as he can manage. Your hips buck in time with his as you two work for your orgasm. Building up a sweat, the heat of the two of you permeates the small space. You feel your body begin to clench and tighten, forcing and pushing itself higher.

         Then you sense it. You’re not sure how, but it’s almost like you can see it happening. The child dropping down from the pod onto the floor. Him waddling across the hull towards the cot. You can feel him looking for the two of you, practically hear his thoughts as he searches for his father and you. That odd connection you share forces you out of the pleasurable haze.

         “Din- we gotta stop. Shit, the kid’s- ah- the kid’s coming,” you huff out, still taking his harsh thrusts, each snap of his hips rocking your core and sending your tits bouncing against his chiseled chest.

         “What? So close, pretty girl. He’s not-“

         “Din, stop. Fuck, we need to-“ you grip your nails into his arms as you pull off of him, the movement awkward and a bit painful. He huffs for just a moment until the divider starts to move on its own, you’re assuming with the little man’s magic. “Shit,” you curse, scrambling to cover up as well as avert your eyes away from Din. He buries himself further down, covering his head and body beneath the blanket, and you can’t help but laugh. The kid opens the divider far enough to let in a bit of light and to allow himself to climb up onto the cot. He toddles towards you and you snort in amusement as Din mutters obscenities beneath his covers.

         “Little green monster.”

         “Mando, be nice to your son,” you chastise, unable to hold back belly shaking laughter as the kid settles into your lap. You revert back to his moniker, unsure if you’re supposed to use it around other people. He doesn’t react, so you assume he’s not upset by it. You adjust the blanket around you to ensure it won’t fall off when you’re sitting up.

         “That was yesterday. Today he’s a cockblocker.” You give an exaggerated gasp and look at the kids big dark eyes.

         “Did you hear what he said about you?” The child begins to babble, light sounds pouring from him. Whatever he’s saying, he has quite an opinion on it. “Is that so?” you nod along, looking very serious. “No, no, you’re totally right. He is grumpy in the morning.” Din just grumbles under the blanket impatiently.

         “Can you just keep him distracted? My helmet’s in the kriffing ‘fresher.” You roll your eyes but concede, knowing Din must be feeling a bit anxious to be this close to exposure.

         “Fine, fine. Don’t get your beskar in a bunch.” You grip the child against you and shift yourself carefully to face the head of the cot. The child squirms a bit in protest, unhappy to be staring at the wall, but you hear Din escape swiftly. Within a minute he’s back, dressed in his pants and shirt with his helmet securely obscuring his face. You turn to face him and the child escapes your clutches and practically runs toward his dad who begrudgingly lifts him into his arms.

         “I’ll feed him in the cockpit so you can…get situated.” His modulated voice is tight and sharp, and you can tell he’s feeling some type of way about the interruption. Good, let him take it out on you later.


         You spend the day attempting to fix some wiring on the ship. The carbon freezer still needs a lot of work, and with some convincing from Din, you agree to give it a shot. He thankfully stored away the quarries into the wall of the ship and brightened up the area to make it less intimidating. Honestly, if it weren’t for your past experiences, you probably wouldn’t be able to recognize the machinery. While you’re happy for his attention, the proximity is making your task a bit difficult.

         Since being interrupted by the child, the Mandalorian has been in your personal space practically all day. He followed just a bit too closely up the ladder. Hovered in the doorway as you brushed your teeth. And now he’s towering over you, close enough that you can feel the heat from his body. You attempt to fiddle with the wires, constantly knocking your elbow against his hard chest. You’re thankful he’s not wearing his beskar armor. Add that to the fact the child is swiveling in between your legs and tugging on your pants to try and get your attention. He’s getting fussy and starting to scream rather loudly. It’s making it difficult to operate the complex system.

         “Mando,” you sigh heavily, resting your head against the wall for a moment. “Can you and the kid take like two steps back? I can’t move my feet because I’ll step on him and bumping into you is like smacking against a wall.” You can hear the shortness in your tone, but you can’t help getting a bit frustrated with the situation. You feel uncomfortably warm after the interruption this morning, and you’re panties are damp with an arousal that has refused to go away.

         “I’ll put him down for a nap, and I promise not to get in the way of your elbows anymore,” he concedes, far more congenial than you were expecting. He hoists the kid up into his arms, earning a few whines of protest as they exit the hull and make their way up to cockpit where the pod is stowed. You soak in the silence of your brief respite, letting out a slow breath in an attempt to dissipate the tension in your neck and shoulders. You take another look at the wiring, and you think you may have identified the problem as some frayed wires that had become disconnected from each other. You may have to fiddle with it, but definitely fixable.

         “Kid’s asleep,” comes a modulated voice. “Closed his eyes the minute he lay down.”

         “Good. Maker I love him, but he’s a handful and a half,” you say without thinking. The Mandalorian pauses behind you in a stunned silence. It takes you a moment to register that you had said the L-word. And while it wasn’t necessarily to Din, it was about his foundling. Your cheeks blush a deep red, and you refuse to remove your face from the paneling you’re working on.

         “Is that true?” he asks, his tone conveying nothing. “You love the kid?”

         “I don’t- I mean, yeah I guess. What’s not to love?” You could actually name several things not to love about that kid, but it doesn’t seem to matter. You care about him deeply, and you’ve already risked your life and your freedom for him. Still, you hope your nonchalance will convince Din to move onto a different topic of conversation. Instead, he remains silent. Close enough. You’re focused on stripping the end of a wire when you feel his thick fingers curl around the curve of your hips. The simple action sends a jolt of excitement through you.       

         “Hey, you promised you would stay out of my elbow’s way,” you quip, still focused on the task at hand.

         “And I’m keeping that promise,” is his response, echoing from lower than you were anticipating. You turn back your head to see him on his knees, effectively out of your way. “Don’t mind me, keep doing what you’re doing pretty girl.” You take a shaky inhale and turn back to your work, your body already buzzing in anticipation of what he’s planning. As you deftly weave your fingers through the wiring, you hear the distinct sound of his helmet releasing and setting on the floor. “Don’t look,” he reminds, knowing you won’t.

         “Okay Din, ah!” A gasp escapes your mouth as he grips your thigh, spreading your legs so he can plant an open kiss to your clothed crotch.

         “Keep working, tracinya…fuck, you’re so wet I can feel it through your clothes.” You can’t respond, and instead attempt to twist the ends of two wires together. His thumbs dig into your inner thighs, massaging sensuously as he goes higher and higher until-

         “Kriff,” you curse under your breath. He rubs your clothed pussy, and you nearly jump as you receive a small shock from the electrical work. The two sensations at the same time have your whole body throbbing.

         “You okay, pretty girl?” he asks, and you can hear the grin in the bastard’s voice.

         “Yeah just- just got a little shock from the panel,” you breathe out. His hands grab your ass and knead, spreading you wide and kissing between your clothed cheeks. You shiver.

         “You should be more careful. Can’t have my girl electrocuting herself,” he comments, his voice dripping like honey. You know he’s teasing you, but the tone makes a warmth pool in your lower stomach.

         “It’s kind of hard to concentrate,” you say through gritted teeth, making absolutely no move to stop him.

         “Is that so?” He slips his fingers into your waistband and peels down your pants and underwear from your body. You never bothered to put on shoes, so he grips one ankle at a time to lift your legs out of the clothing. You hear him toss it behind him, and a small whine escapes your throat as you stand with your naked lower half right in his face. You can feel his eyes scanning you, taking in your slick sex, desperate for a release after this morning. He gives a gentle bite to the swell of your ass, growling in ecstasy as if it’s the most delicious fruit he’s ever eaten. “I’ll make you a deal pretty girl. You finish this wiring before I make you cum, and I’ll take you on my next hunt.”

         The proposition makes you tingle, and you have to fight the urge to turn back and ask him if he’s serious. He hasn’t wanted you on a hunt in a while, and the idea fills you with an odd pride. Equals

         “What’s in it for you?” you ask, slightly suspicious.

         “Trust me tracinya, I win either way.” You don’t say anything, and instead launch yourself at the panel, attempting to get a head start before he can unravel you. He spreads you immediately, as if expecting you to cheat, and you’re moaning uninhibitedly as he savors your taste. He hums against you, the vibrations low and dizzying as buries his face against you, lapping up your wetness like it’s a delicacy.

         “Fuck” you bite out, attempting to keep your composure enough to finish your task. All you need to do is finish stripping the coolant wire and attach it to the electric copper piece. But your fingers fumble as tremors rumble through your boy. Your hips rock softly in time with his tongue as he circles your clit, desperate to finish what was started this morning. He flicks his tongue deviously and you gasp, accidentally shocking your own fingertips as you miss the rubber. You’re aware of the sounds of fabric shifting, and you can tell he’s shimmying his pants off his hips just enough to touch himself. “I’ve never- stars- met a man who got this turned on by tasting me,” you gasp out in short phrases. You’re panting now, your brows furrowed. You only have a little more of the wire to strip.

         “Kriffing boys, didn’t know what to do with a woman like you,” he mumbles against the softness of your inner thigh. His beard rubs your skin, sending a shiver down to your toes. He wraps an arm around your waist, keeping you still as he kisses your sex. His other hand is preoccupied with his own pleasure. Your entire body is hot as you attempt to focus, your vision going a little cross eyed. You finally strip the wire but drop it in surprise when his tongue enters you, pushing in as deep as he can go. You don’t notice how wide you’ve spread your legs for him, or that you’re leaning over in a presenting way that is not conducive to your task at all

         You feel yourself building, and your body clenches in anticipation. Begging for release. Forcing itself to seek any friction, any pleasure it can. Your thighs are shaking, and at this point you’re practically using his face as a seat, something he doesn’t seem to mind at all. His strokes are firm and fast, and you can feel the movement of his hand as he jacks off. You wonder if he will be able to last much longer.

         You race against your own escalation to fasten the wire. You moan with pleasure and frustration, your fingers not doing what you need them to do. You’re so close it almost hurts, every muscle edged in anticipation of release. You are gasping, each stroke of his tongue stealing away your breath. Just need to fasten it, so close…

         “I did it!” you practically scream as you teeter on the precipice, the now smooth hum of the machinery proving your victory. Din is up off his knees and pushing your body against the wall, his cock pressed to your entrance.

         Good girl, do you want to cum on my cock?” he growls in your ear.

         “Kriff, yes Din!”

         He presses into you, the sheer ecstasy of being filled pushes you over the edge. You know he is close, cumming instantly as your pussy clenches around him, squeezing the orgasm from him. He shouts your name, unable to hold back as the tension that has been building all day inside him is finally released. He leans his whole body against you, the wall acting as the sole reason the two of you are still vertical.

         “Looks like I’ve got a partner this hunt,” he whispers in your ear before kissing the back of your neck. He’s still buried inside you, but neither of you are keen to change positions. You hum in approval, soaking up his warmth, his scent.

         “Deal, but I get to say your line,” you mumble, closing your eyes. “I can bring you in warm or I can bring you in cold,” you mimic in the deepest voice you can manage.

         “Is that really what I sound like?” he teases, kissing your shoulder blade.

         “It’s sexier when you say it.”

         The two of you remain there for a few more minutes before the ship alerts you that it’s approaching Tatooine. You’re unsure of exactly who you’ll be hunting or what city you’ll be landing in, but you cannot quell the excitement bubbling up. It’s time to show him just what you can do.

Chapter Text

You hold the child to your chest and squint against the double sunlight of Tatooine. Sweat is already collecting at your brow, and the heat of the child is making the rest of you uncomfortably warm. You clear your throat as a slight breeze kicks up dust, launching hot sand at you. Din just looks at you unimpressed and walks towards the town. You forgot how much you hate this stupid planet.

         You’re about a mile off from the city of Mos Eisly, and it looks like that’s the direction the Mandalorian insists on going. You’ve been to the city before; not much to see, gruff people, little fun. But still, you had carved out a good three weeks reprieve for yourself there before the next bounty hunter came along and ruined it. You pick up the pace and trot next to Din, clearing your throat before speaking.

         “I thought you said the bounty was in Mos Pelgo?”

         “It is,” he states simply, offering no other information. You roll your eyes.

         “So why are we walking towards Mos Eisly?” you pry. You frown as your mouth already feels dry from the arid atmosphere.

         “Need to drop the kid off. Then we can go on speeders.” You tilt your head but say nothing. Drop the kid off? You can’t imagine Din trusting anybody with the kid, besides you of course. Mos Eisly is not a town of good Samaritans. You found a decent human the last time you were here; she let you rent out the spare room for a few weeks in exchange for work. But even she didn’t seem the type to care for a child. Too gruff and coarse. You wonder who he could possibly be going towards.

As you walk into town, you can feel the eyes of the locals dissecting your party. Traveling through the streets, an imposing Mandalorian, a smaller (probably rough looking) human, and a green little creature. How is Din able to sneak up in quarry when he is so conspicuous everywhere he goes? But he walks surely, as if completely unaffected by the glances and passing whispers. 

You however grow more nervous as the tension in your stomach rises. The path you’re taking is all too familiar, each turn and street walked by you before. It’s been years, but you still remember this part of town. 

“Mando?” No answer, but he turns his head slightly enough to indicate he’s listening. “Eh-what’s the name of the person who will be taking care of the little man?” There’s no way it could be. The galaxy is not that cruel to you. 

“Peli. Don’t worry, the kid will be fine.” Dank farrik! Before you’re ready, the three of you have arrived to her workshop, and Din enters immediately. You hang back with the child, not at all ready for sarlacc pit of embarrassment awaiting you. 

         “Didn’t think I’d see your shiny hide so soon, Mando. You know you’re not allowed to visit unless you got the kid.”

         “He’s here,” Din retorts, cocking his head over to you. You’re still hiding behind the wall with the child, and you can hear him grunt in annoyance as you refuse to move. Maybe you can just put the kid down and retreat?

         “Well? Where’s the adorable womprat?” her shrill voice demands, and you can hear her footsteps approaching. In a panic you place the kid on the ground and immediately start backing up. But before you can commit to your escape she rounds the corner near Din and spots you, her eyes widening. You stare at each other for a few moments, the hot air of the desert now painfully still, cooking you.

         “Hey Peli” you greet awkwardly.

         “Oh you’ve got to be kriffing kidding me,” she mutters, massaging her temples. “Is she with you?” she accuses, snapping her gaze to Din. The child is teetering towards her, his arms up in a grabbing motion. Din is silent, clearly confused about the exchange between the two of you. Her hard demeanor cracks as she looks down at the baby, and she quickly scoops him up, earning delighted coos and giggles. Din still says nothing and she rolls her eyes so hard, you think they might get stuck that way. She looks back to you. “Are you with him?”

         “Yes,” you mutter, having a sneaking suspicion where this is going.

         “Stars, you sure have a type don’t you?” she quips, turning on her heels and walking back into her workshop.

         “What’s that supposed to mean?” Din asks, his brain seeming to catch up with the situation. You follow Peli, refusing to look at the Mandalorian.

         “Did you know,” Peli begins, taking a seat by her card table. “That this little star hopper is the reason I only work with droids now?” The kid is grabbing at tufts of her frizzy hair, and she gives him a small smile. Thank the maker that he’s here to keep her from being truly angry.

         “Oh please, you had droids when I was working for you,” you retort, crossing your arms over your chest. Din comes closer to the two of you, and you can feel his presence just inches from your back.

         “And now I only have droids.”

         “Peli, I said I was sorry. I cleaned up the mess I made.” You’re eyes are pleading with her to drop the subject. You don’t want to air all this out with Din hearing distance away. You can feel the metal bastard hanging on to every word…nosy.

         “Mmhhmm, and you’re still hanging out with bounty hunters.”

         “We’re partners,” you say through gritted teeth with your hands on your hips. Ever the lover of chaos, the child just giggles at the tension.

         “Look kid, you were a good worker. I don’t hate you or anything, but I saw more of you that day than I care to see in a lifetime.”

         “I’ve changed,” you quip back. Peli gives a dubious frown and gestures to your neck. Your eyes widen, remembering that you are covered in bites and marks from the Mandalorian. The sight is certainly not helping your case.

         “Kriff, Mando. There’s other things to eat on your ship besides this girl’s neck.” At that, the Mandalorian takes about two steps back from you. He almost seems embarrassed, an emotion you weren’t sure he was capable of feeling.

         “We better go,” he says gruffly. “Thanks for watching the kid.”

         “Sure, sure. Get outta here,” she calls after the two of you. You can hear her baby-talking the kid as you and Din practically race out of her workshop towards the two speeders waiting by the side of her house. You straddle the speeder and rev it on, attempting not to look at Din. His helmet is trained on you, but after a few moments of awkward silence, he gives up on hoping you’ll provide him an explanation. Instead he gives a low huff and mounts his own speeder, pulling out into the city streets.


         The suns are brutal against your skin as the two of you ride across the arid desert. You imagine it has to be sweltering beneath the Mandalorian’s armor, but at least he won’t be sunburned. Your legs and back begin to ache, the muscles protesting sitting for so long. Mos Pelgo is much farther than you anticipated; it’s already midday and you’ve been traveling for two hours without a town in sight. Mando stays a consistent distance ahead of you, every once in a while turning back to make sure you’re still there.

         Desperate for a break, you begin to slow your speeder down. Din notices immediately and has already turned around and parked next to your speeder by the time you come to a complete stop. You hoist your leg over the seat and stand stiffly, your muscles and joints pulsing as you groan and stretch under the intense heat.

         “Everything okay?” he asks, watching you for signs of real distress.

         “Yes, just…just need a break,” you breathe, closing your eyes against the light, resting them for a few moments. Hours of nothing but sand is more straining on the eyes than it sounds.

         “It’s only a half hour longer.”

         “Good. I haven’t been on a speeder since- uh” since Keyman bent me over his “well, it’s been a while. Forgot how uncomfortable they are.” Din doesn’t respond; he just watches you as you stretch, studying the marks he gave you earlier. You hadn’t even thought about them when getting dressed, a fact you are definitely regretting now. “Sorry by the way,” you begin, your voice soft as you continue to avoid his gaze. “I would have hung back if I realized we were going to Peli’s.”

         “It’s fine,” he dismisses quickly. You wishfully think that’s the end of it, but moments later, he follows up with, “how exactly do you know her?” You sigh and rub at your temples. Maybe it would be easier to get everything out in the open. It’s not like you really want to keep secrets from Din anyway.

         “I was on the run. She gave me a place to stay in exchange for help in her shop. I knew a little about mechanics and electronics before, but most of what I can do now I learned from her. It was only about three weeks, but she was a strict teacher.” You pause, smiling a bit to yourself. You had been almost happy in that time; it was the first opportunity you had to stay still for more than a few days. Despite her very petite frame, her fierceness always made you feel safe. “Anyway, nothing lasts forever, and I was on my way soon enough.”

         “And the,” he clears his throat, “the comment about you having a type?”

         “Bounty hunters,” you mutter, your cheeks flushing an unmistakable crimson. “She uh- one day she went into town for supplies. A bounty hunter tracked me down to her workshop and we fought. We absolutely wrecked the place; throwing shit at each other, crashing into everything. But I was out of practice and I lost. Was staring down the barrel of his blaster.”

         There’s a tense silence between the two of you, neither wanting to look at the other. Din clears his throat, caught between asking what happened next and already knowing. You give a small sigh and mount the speeder again, looking out across the desert.

         “Anyway, Peli got back before we were- um- finished with our deal. Needless to say, after I cleaned up her place she wanted me gone…can’t blame her much.” Din is silent, standing stock still for about a minute. Finally he mounts his own speeder and revs it. You follow suit, eager to finish the final leg of the journey. Before the two of you can take off, he asks one question.

         “You know anyone in Mos Pelgo?” The question sounds more loaded than it should.




         Mos Pelgo is definitely not a city. To call it one would be a massive overstatement. Town even seems too generous. But there is a school and a cantina, so you suppose it qualifies, if only barely. What it lacks in size though, it makes up for in activity. The townspeople are up and about, milling through the streets, in and out of shops, coming up from their farms a mile or so out. You’re struck by the smiles they give each other, how the atmosphere seems lighter, freer than Mos Eisly.

         “Happy town,” you murmur, more to yourself. You’re following close behind Din, taking in the bustle as he walks straight towards the cantina.

         “Wasn’t always like that,” he answers. You roll your eyes, noticing how he falls into his signature harsh and brooding demeanor when surrounded by other people. As the two of you enter the cantina, Din is actually greeted by a few patrons, earning smiles and small claps. Your mouth drops open; that is not the typical reception given to the Mandalorian.

         “I feel like there’s something you’re not telling me,” you whisper to him.

         “Later,” he responds. He pulls out a bar stool and beckons you over. “Wait here, be on the lookout for anyone who doesn’t fit in. I’ll be back.”

         “Back? Where are you going?” you demand.

         “Need to find a friend. He’ll be able to help us out.” Oh great, another friend. The surprises with Din never cease. You watch as he leaves the main cantina room towards the back, where you suspect there are a few side rooms, maybe an office. You sigh and turn around towards the bartender.

         “What’ll you have?” a weequay asks gruffly.

         “Spotchka’s fine,” you murmur, resting your elbows on the bar top. Look for anyone who doesn’t fit in. How the kriff would you know who that is?

         “Somethin’ on your mind darlin’?” The voice is a light tenor, slowed down by an intriguing drawl. You turn your head to see a man leaning against the bar, just a foot away from you.

         “I uh- not really,” you answer awkwardly, taken aback by his appearance. He’s not what you would expect from this small dusty town. A blinding white smile surrounded by a thick gray beard. Mischievous brown eyes, almost hazel. A lean and tall frame complete with styled salt and pepper hair. You can count on one hand the amount of men you’ve encountered who are this ruggedly handsome.

         “Forgive my boldness, but I’d say you’re the prettiest little thing this town has seen in a while.” And charming too. There’s a dusting of pink at your cheeks, and you allow yourself to smile at the comment.

         “Nice line. You use that with all the tourists?” you quip. The bartender sets down your drink and you take it in your hand. The stranger’s eyes never leave yours as you take a sip, peering coyly over the rim.  You’d be lying if you said you hadn’t missed this; being pursued. Mando’s sweet words in the heat of the moment, his naughty phrases as he takes you…well they’re incomparable. But it’s kind of nice to be flirted with so openly.

         “Don’t get many tourists out here. Town’s not much to look at…though I’m not complaining about my view.” He gives you a wink as the bartender sets down a drink in front of him without word.

         “What a flatterer,” you retort, “does this usually work for you?”

         “Doesn’t matter,” he says with a grin. He leans closer, resting his hand on your knee. Your eyes widen ever so slightly, but otherwise you give nothing away. “All that matters is if it’s working right now.” He waggles his eyebrows, and you can’t help but giggle. You have to admire the confidence.

         “That’s not really what I’m here for,” you say gently.

         “Business trip then?” he asks, his mood completely undeterred.

         “Something like that,” you answer, taking another sip. “My partner and I are looking for someone, maybe you can help me.”

         “Honey, I’d be happy to give you whatever you need,” he says with a grin. “And I’d be more than happy to help you with the pleasure that comes after the business.”

         “Not very subtle, are you?”

         “No ma’am, never saw much use in it,” he laughs, squeezing your knee. “So I gotta ask…how serious is that?” You furrow your brows in confusion. He gives a small smirk and gestures to the hickeys marring your throat.

         “Oh! Um, I don’t- I mean” you fumble with your words. This thing between you and Din is…passionate? Intense? He’s far too jealous for it not to be exclusive, though neither of you have thought to define it. “I guess it’s serious?”

         “I’m not so sure I believe you,” he teases.

         “Believe her. It’s serious,” comes a modulated baritone from behind you. The voice makes you jump, but also sends a heat straight to your core. You’re cheeks go from a light pink to a deep red. The stranger removes his hand from your knee, holding both up in mock surrender. You expect him to be intimidated, but his smile just seems to grow.

         “My apologies Mando; can’t blame a guy for trying.” He reaches out his hand, and to your surprise, Din accepts it with a firm shake. The last man who flirted with you like that got shot and stuffed in the carbon freezer.

         “Good to see you again, Vanth.”

         “Wait, is he the friend you have here?” Well that’s awkward.

         “Aww Mando, I’m touched. Didn’t know you considered me a friend. Though going belly deep in a krayt dragon for me certainly qualifies you as mine.” You shoot a quizzical brow to Din who just shrugs. “Sorry, I should have had more manners. My name’s Cobb Vanth, and I’m the marshal around this town. Mando here came by a while back and we struck up a deal. My armor for his help killing off a krayt dragon. Ended up mending our relationship with the tusken raiders too, I might add.”

         You just stare dumbly at Din, mouth hanging wide open. You knew he was a good fighter, but a krayt dragon? Saving an entire town? The only word you can think of is heroic. But looking at his impassive stance and his shrugging shoulders, you wonder if that’s a word the Mandalorian ever thought to apply to himself.

         “I’m glad the town is still doing well,” Din states simply.

         “I know that tone, getting to business already, huh?” Vanth smirks. He gives you a wink and adds, “does this guy have any fun?” You open your mouth to say something, but you have no comment. You’ve heard him laugh before, a chuckle here or there. You know he enjoys spending time with the kid, but fun isn’t really a word you associate with the Mandalorian. Vanth takes your silence as an answer. “Dually noted. So what can I do you for, Mando?”

         “Looking for a quarry. Pretty sure they’re in your town too.” Vanth’s eyebrows raise a bit, but he lets Din continue. “Female, about fifty-seven, would have showed up a month ago.”

         “Well that is a shame,” Vanth sighs. “Sounds like Selibri. Gonna miss her cooking…what’s the charge?”

         “Smuggling,” Din responds.


         “People,” he finishes, effectively quieting Vanth. You look back and forth between the two of them, unsure of how to break the silence. You can’t imagine hearing that would be pleasant for the marshal. He seems to take pride in the safety of his town, and hearing that a slaver has permeated into his community can’t possibly put him at ease. You also sense another emotion, shame or embarrassment, at having an outsider, even a well respected one, have to tell him who is living in his cherished Mos Pelgo.

         “Marshal Vanth,” you begin, trying to sounds as sincere as you can. “We would really appreciate your help with this. We don’t want to cause a scene, your people don’t have to know.” You lean into him a little closer, and you can feel Din’s eyes deciphering every movement. “Please Marshal? We’ll owe you one.” You add a small flutter of your eye lashes and a smile.

         “I gotta say darlin’, you’re far more charming than your friend over here,” he says with a laugh, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. You aren’t expecting it, and back away from the contact quickly. You can practically feel the heat radiating off of the bounty hunter.

         “Just tell us where she is and we’ll get out of your hair, Vanth,” Din says in a low growl. The sound makes your stomach flip, despite the fact that he’ll probably be in a bad mood after this interaction.

         “Whatever you say, Mando,” he grins, pleased that he can elicit a reaction from the rather stoic man. “She lives about two miles north out of town. Doesn’t come into town much except for supplies. I’d wait till its dark though, small town, people talk. That and she seems to be out of her house until both suns are well below the horizon.”

         “Thanks,” Din huffs, grabbing you by the wrist. “Let’s go.” He gives a small pull, but you stay firmly planted in your seat.

         “Mando, it’s at least another two hours until sundown. Shouldn’t we wait until it’s dark so she can’t see us coming?”

         “No. She’s fifty-seven, she’ll be out numbered, and I’ve got armor. I think we’re fine.”

         “She’s got a point Mando. Just about everyone in this town has a nasty weapon or two. And besides, the dancing and drinking will be starting up soon.”

         “Dancing?” you ask, a smile creeping across your face. You had missed dancing, especially when you were in Cloud City. All the best music and not a dance floor in sight unless you were a performer.

         “No dancing, and I’ll handle it.” He gives your wrist another pull, but you refuse to move.

         “Sure, but what about your pretty little friend here-“ Vanth begins.

         “Partner” he grinds through the modulator, his tone almost threatening. The word partner seems to hold a little more weight that it should.

         “Fine, partner. I don’t see any beskar on her. You willing to take that risk?” Vanth is able to keep his face expressionless, but you know he’s smug beneath those bright brown eyes. There’s a long silence, and you anticipate Din will release an annoyed huff and resign himself to waiting a few hours. What he actually does makes your heart sink.

         “Stay here. I’ll go alone,” he snaps. In an instant he’s halfway out the doors of the cantina, leaving you stewing on your bar stool.

         “If you’ll excuse me, Vanth,” you hiss, leaping from your seat and stalking outside after the Mandalorian. You can hear him release a small chuckle as you exit through the doors. You have to jog a bit to catch up to his large strides, earning a few odd glances from the civilians. “Where the hell do you think you’re going?”

         “I told you,” Din responds, walking a little slower now, but still refusing to stop.

         “You said I could help.”

         “You’ve done enough,” he snaps. Your gaze turns fiery and you step in front of him, forcing the Mandalorian to stop. The two of you are at the edge of the town now, removed from anyone who may try to eavesdrop.

         “And what the fuck is that supposed to mean?”

         “It doesn’t mean anything.”

         “Dank farrik, Mando! Clearly it does.” You cross your arms over your chest and frown.

         “You got the location. You helped. So just go back to the cantina, I’m sure that’ll make Vanth happy,” his tone is caustic; it nearly makes you flinch.

         “Is that what this is about? The marshal?” You can tell Din is rolling his eyes as he steps to the side to try and pass you. You block him with your body though, refusing to let him out of the conversation. “Answer me.”

         “Move,” he orders, taking a step to the other side, and promptly huffing as you block his path again.

         “You don’t want to talk about this, fine. But you aren’t kriffing going without me. You said it yourself, we’re partners.”

         “I- yes I said that, but-“

         “No,” you say firmly. “You owe me.” Din goes deathly quiet, his body rigid as if he’s just been slapped. You know the two of you had a agreed to a fresh start, and you know you’re playing a little dirty. But deep down, you’re telling him the truth. “You owe me this, okay? I need this.”

         “What?” He sounds genuinely confused.

         “Just let me prove it to you.”

         “Prove what?” Concern is melting through the modulator now, his whole demeanor has shifted.

         “That I’m fucking useful, Mando. That I’m worth having around…that I’m not some whore who can only get through life by making deals and fucking strangers!” There are tears threatening behind your eyes, and you bite down on your lip to try and keep them at bay. You hadn’t realized this had bothered you so much. You had been elated when Din had offered for you to come with. This was your opportunity to prove to him who you were…that you have other talents. That he could truly consider the two of you as equals.

         “I would never- never call you that.”

         “I know,” you whisper. Mando had never called you that, not even in the heat of the moment. Not even when you were his quarry. But many others had. Keyman had. You shouldn’t take stock into that asshole’s words. Shouldn’t let him have that power over you; still, the words ring through your head when you least expect them, flipping your stomach as they choke you.

 Fuck you whore… maybe you’re his little cock slut…I bet you like taking that beskar staff however he’ll give it to you, you really haven’t changed.

         “We’ll find a place to hide until nightfall,” is all he says. He grabs you by the hand and leads you towards the speeders.


         The suns are beginning to set, and the last hour and a half had been painfully silent. The two of you had taken shelter behind a rock formation, effectively hidden from the bounty’s view from her home. There is still another half hour to go before the desert is dark and the quarry returns. You pick at the sand, shifting it beneath the pads of your fingers in an attempt to distract yourself from the tense situation. The sky shifts to a deep purple, streaked by clouds of pink and a smattering of stars. You’ve never liked deserts during the day, but in this light they can be truly breathtaking. The long span of sand cloaked in dim mystery, interrupted by towering rocks and canyons. You figure that’s the only reason someone could stand to live here for an extended amount of time. You look over and your chest feels tight when you realize the Mandalorian is staring at you. Your eyes glance down to his fist clenching and unclenching, a tell of nerves for him.

         “I’m- I’m sorry I’m not fun,” he states, the intonation awkward as if the words had gotten caught in his throat. You blink at him and then laugh; surely this is a joke? Why would Din care if he’s fun? But your laughter dies down quickly when he stays completely still, tense under your gaze…he’s serious.

         “Sorry. I didn’t- what brought this on?” you ask, allowing yourself to scoot a little closer. Surely this can’t have been brought on by Cobb’s little comment about Din not having any fun…or was it the fact that you didn’t disagree. You realize that your relationship, whatever it truly is, has developed mostly in a bubble. Sure there were visits to cities, and new people, but the two of you had grown into each other under the roof of the Razor Crest, drifting through space as your own island of him, the child, and you. Now, you’re subjected to the elements of outsiders, of real life.

         “You enjoyed it. The attention from Vanth.” Any hostility is clearly aimed at the man, not at you. It’s not an accusation, just an observation. “You wanted to stay at the cantina, to dance, and drink, and-“

         “Yes,” you admit quietly. You lean back against the stone and look up at the dimming sky. “You’re right. Sometimes I miss—I don’t know. Feeling light? It’s not like I wanted the attention specifically from Vanth…it’s just nice sometimes. To feel admired…to be so blatantly pursued? I don’t know, it’s stupid.”

         “It’s not,” Din sighs. He leans his back against the stone as well, your shoulders barely a foot apart from each other. “Maybe I was jealous…was already thinking about you with that bounty hunter at Peli’s, and then Vanth,” he takes a moment to control his breath.

         “You know I’d never do anything…right?” You think about you’re hesitation to call what you have with Din serious. But what else could it possibly be? You’re his, there’s no denying that. And you know that he’s yours.

         “I know.” There’s about a minute of silence before he speaks again. “I’m- I only want you. I want to be your-- I like this…I’m sorry if I didn’t make that clear.”

“Me too.”

 “I hated how easy it was for him. How he could just…say the right things without even trying. You’re both so good at that- at reading people, and keeping things casual. Navigating conversations and desires. He’s able to charm you, can have a drink with you, dance with you…he could be fun for you.” His voice is soft, and there’s a shake to it like he’s scared to say any of this out loud. “I just- just saw all the things he could give you- that any man could give you that I can’t.”

         “Din,” you say earnestly, and his helmet turns towards you. You keep your eyes trained on the sky, unable to get through what you need to say if you’re looking at him. “Yeah, maybe I miss dancing, and being flirted with. Maybe deep down I miss flirting back…maybe that’s why I’m so scared that I really am a-“ a whore. You pull your knees up to your chest and close your eyes. “Maybe I don’t have as much fun as I used to. And maybe that’s the kind of man I would have ended up with three years ago.” You feel Din shift at this, the thought making him uncomfortable; you have to admit, it puts a pit in your stomach as well. “But that’s not who I am- not who I want to be anymore. For the first time, I don’t know, maybe ever…I’m happy. Girls don’t fall in love with fun, Din. At least not this one.”

         “What-“ his voice is hesitant, choked. You finally turn your head towards him and lock eyes with the front of his visor. This seems to encourage him. “What would you fall in love with?” Your entire body flushes at that, your heart beating so fast that it feels like a hum. There’s an electricity between the two of you that feels larger than the expanse of the desert. A feeling that usually only happens right before he takes you.

         You go to open your mouth, unsure of what words will actually come out. But you’re interrupted by the sound of a bantha and the slamming of a door. The two of you scramble to the edge of the stone and peek around to see that the quarry has returned home.

         “To be continued,” Din mutters, more to himself. He grabs the blaster at his hip and you retrieve your staff from its hooks on the speeder. The two of you creep through the darkness now, the only reprieve of light from a waning moon and the glow of her porch. Din moves fluidly, deathly quiet despite the bulk of his armor. You manage to not fall on your face. When you approach the house, he motions for you to wait in your position, a few yards from her steps. He’ll walk in and try to subdue her, but if she overpowers him and makes a break for it, you’ll catch her near the bottom of the steps. Your heart is pounding in your ears, but you can’t control the small smile pulling at the corners of your mouth.

         Din opens the door easily, and you suspect living alone in the middle of nowhere she has little need to keep it locked. He disappears into the home, and you listen for any sign of a struggle. But it’s quiet; no blaster fire, no running footsteps, not even a conversation. That is, until you hear the faint hum of a weapon gearing up behind you.

         “I knew it was only a matter of time before your lot showed up,” a weathered voice snaps behind you. The blunt end of a blaster is pressed against the back of your skull. Fuck. She must have snuck out the back of the house and walked around the perimeter to ambush you. Maybe she heard you, or maybe she simply got lucky and looked out her window as the two of you arrived. Either way, you need to think of something fast.

         You immediately roll forward, the movement earning a gasp from Selibri. She fires off the blaster, but fortunately you’re ducked down enough, not coming out of the somersault until the shot is well past you. You grip your staff and bring it up roughly, knocking the gun out of her hand. She pulls a saber from its sheath on her hip and brings it down, and you narrowly block it just a few inches above your head. You can hear Din cursing as he emerges from the house, the sound of blaster fire drawing him back out.

         You spin and dodge, evading her easily due to her age, though she is faster than you anticipated. You catch a glimpse of Din frozen on the porch his blaster ready…but he won’t take the shot. He’s too scared of hitting you. You give him a small nod and whip your staff up around your head before pressing the blunt end against her chest. You push with all your might, and while the saber slices across your forearm, you’re able to create enough distance between the two of you that Din fires his weapon.

         The shot is quick and brutal, right to her temple. She falls gracelessly to the sand, still and quiet. I guess we’re taking her in cold. By the time you look up from her body, Din has his hands on your shoulders, examining you with care. His body is nearly vibrating with energy, his chest heaving in that way.

         “Are you okay? Are you hurt?”

         “Din, I’m okay. Just a cut, nothing a little bacta won’t heal.” You hold up your injured arm and he takes it, bringing it closer to his visor as he examines it. It hurts like hell, but certainly not the worst injury you’ve sustained.

         “You sure?” he asks, still tense.

         “I promise,” you respond with a tight smile.  “How did I do?” you ask in a brighter tone, attempting to change the subject.

         “Fucking incredible,” he admits. “It’s taking all my will power not to fuck you right here, tracinya.”

         His words make your whole body shiver, and you could cry at hearing him use that name. You have half a mind to let him do whatever he wants beneath the Tatooine moon, but the presence of a dead body and your bloody arm help keep you grounded. You lay a hand over his chest plate, soaking in his attention for a moment longer before pushing him gently away. There’s an unspoken promise you make to each other: later. He nods and retrieves the dead body as you reach into your belt pouch for bandages.

         You’ve stopped the bleeding and cleaned yourself up in the time it takes him to strap the bounty to your speeder. He drives up next to you, your speeder tethered behind him. You wordlessly mount his bike and wrap your arms around his torso, squeezing tighter than is necessary. He gives a small chuckle and sets on back towards the town.

         You must have dozed off, because you feel yourself waking up as Din parks the speeder. You blink against the lights of the town, music and conversation pouring out from the cantina. Din hides the bike (and the bounty) on the outskirts so as not to alarm any townsfolk, and the two of you walk towards the center of town to find the marshal.

         He’s easy to spot as soon as you enter the cantina; leaned up against a column, his boots perched on the table in front of him. He notices the two of you immediately and gives a devilish wink. You follow Din towards the table, the two of you avoiding dancers and drunken walkers.

         “I trust your business was successful?” Vanth asks, unwilling to say much else in case someone were to be eavesdropping.

         “Always,” Din retorts.

         “Good to hear it. I don’t much like those types of creatures,” Vanth hisses, his voice lilting a bit with alcohol. But there’s a definite malice beneath it. You’ve heard a few people call the city Freetown, and you wonder if that has something to do with his disdain towards the bounty. “Won’t ya’ll stay for a drink? Maybe a dance?” He directs the second request to you, giving a crooked grin.  You can hear Mando take a sharp breath, attempting not to get annoyed by the marshal’s harmless advances.

         “Actually, we really should get going. It was a pleasure to meet you marshal.”

         “You sure? We treat ever end of the week like a party here.” Vanth asks, a bit surprised.

         “Yes. Mando promised me a celebration of our own later so,” you cut yourself off by grabbing Din’s hand and turning towards the door. The Mandalorian follows you eagerly, and you nearly gasp as he let’s go of your hand and creeps his own down to your ass, cupping it as you exit the bar. You can hear the marshal laughing to himself at Din’s display of dominance, clearly amused to see that side of the bounty hunter.

         “What do you say,” Din begins, releasing his hold on your body and walking normally now, “to spending the night on the ship, and getting the kid in the morning?”


         You change out of your clothes and into something a little more comfortable as Din disposes of the body in the carbon freezer. Your skin is prickling with anticipation, and you feel as though you can’t quite catch your breath. The entire ride back to the Razor Crest, there was an unspoken tension building between the two of you. You could feel desire radiating from him, you hand drifting up his thigh as he rode through the night. You would graze the material of his crotch, never quite touching where he needed you to.

         You pull a lacy slip over your body, the thin material as sheer as it can be without being see-through. You don’t think Din has seen it before, and honestly you had forgotten you had packed it away at the very bottom of your bag when leaving Bespin.

         “You’re going to kill me one day, pretty girl.” You turn to see Din standing by the lift of the ship, checking that it’s secure and locked. You take a shuddering breath, fixated on his strong form. His armor is removed already, as are his shoes, leaving just his black pants and shirt along with his signature helmet.

         “I could say the same to you, handsome,” you reply, licking your lips. You make a show of covering your eyes with your hands, urging him to turn out the lights and remove his helmet. You feel calloused fingers wrap around your wrists and draw them down.

         “Not quite yet, tracinya.” You blink your eyes open, searching his visor as a strong arm snakes possessively around your waist. With his free hand, he intertwines with your fingers, bringing them at your chin level. Before you can question him, he’s swaying with you, supporting your weight. His hand rests just above your ass, and he presses you firmly against his body, his erection present at your abdomen. You can’t help but giggle as he dances with you, both of you stiff and silent in the absence of music, but it makes your heart swell.

         “Isn’t it customary to ask a lady to dance?” you tease, making no attempt to stop his advance.

         “Maybe I just couldn’t help myself. It’s not fair for someone as pretty as you to be sitting in this cantina all alone.” Oh- oh. You grin up at him, and though you know it’s pretend, you feel the butterflies in your stomach as if you’ve never met him before.

         “And you think you’re the one to save me from my loneliness?” You feed into the scenario, playing along like you would if he were some stranger flirting with you.

         “I know I am,” he purrs.

         “And how could you possibly know that?” you ask, sliding your hips across his body, teasing his erection.

         “Because a woman like you needs a man, not a boy,” he whispers, leaning in close against your ear.

         “And tell me, what makes you that man?”

         “Talk is cheap baby, how about you let me prove it to you?” He leads the dance a little more strongly now, moving your across the durasteel floor. You gasp in delight as he dips you, though you’re sure he only does it to get a good look at your breasts popping out of your slip. He brings you back up and clutches you close, your body practically glued to his. He dances you backwards until your back is up against the wall, he reaches over and fiddles with the light switch as you grind up against his front. The belly of the ship plunges into darkness, the only illumination coming from buttons and open electrical panels. You doubt that it’s enough to see anything, but you reassure him anyway.

         “Take it off, I’ll keep my eyes closed,” you whisper. He gives a soft laugh and you hear the release of the helmet, which clatters to the ground with a loud thud. An instant later, his mouth is at your ear, biting the lobe gently. His hands frame your body and he towers over you.

         “What’s your name, pretty girl?” You whisper it breathlessly, and the way he repeats it back to you has your thighs shaking. “My name’s Din, and I hope I’ll get to hear you scream it later.”

         “Bold assumption. What makes you think I’ll let you get that far?”

         “Because I’m the only one in this cantina you’ve been willing to dance with. Because you’re letting me grind against you in this back corner where anyone could walk by and see.” He rotates his hips seductively, dragging his crotch against the front of your body. A small whine escapes your lips, and his hips buck in reaction. “So what do you say, gorgeous? Your place or mine?” He trails a hand down your throat, his finger playing along your clavicle before stroking down your cleavage. Each inch traveled leaves a scorching trail of desire in its wake.

         “You haven’t even kissed me yet, Din. There’s an order to these things.” He chuckles and moves your hair out of your face, tucking it reverently behind your ear. You lean into the contact, happy for any attention he gives you. He cups your face and presses his lips to yours; it’s careful and sensual, heated and slow as if he really was kissing you for the first time. Kissing a mysterious and beautiful stranger. You moan softly and his tongue slips between your parted lips, eager to taste. His hands travel down your sides, around the swell of your ass, before he grips the back of your thigh to hike up your leg over his hip. You hold onto him tightly and lift your other leg up, hooking your ankles around his waist. “That’s it baby,” he growls in your ear.

         “Mmm, boys don’t kiss like that,” you moan, carding your fingers through his thick hair. You get lost in the idea of him kissing you in public. In the idea that you could see his face, his hunter’s eyes evaluating you from across the bar. See his lithe body stalk towards you without the weight of beskar weighing down his frame. You think about him being so bold, so confident in a public setting. Your body shudders though, protesting the foreplay and eager for the main event. You swear he can read your mind.

         “Your place or mine?” His voice is raspy, coated in lust. He’s ready for you too.

         “Yours” you answer breathlessly, taking his mouth. You pull on his bottom lip, sucking at it desperately as he carries you towards the bed. He moans loudly, and this fuels you to continue down his throat and suck a hickey into the crook of his neck.

         “Now pretty girl, what will the neighbors think when they see me in the morning?”

         “Fuck ‘em, I want everyone to see what you were doing tonight.” Din growls and lays you down on the bed, slamming the divider closed behind him. When you’re certain that he’s blocked out all light, you allow your eyes to open, unable to see even an inch in front of you.

         “You’re a naughty little thing aren’t you?” he whispers into your hair line, taking in your scent. His hand has traveled down your body and is up under your skirt. You didn’t bother to put on underwear, so he easily slides a finger through your slit, and you hear him gasp. “So wet for me,” you can hear him lick your arousal off of his index. “Do I really make you that wet?”

         “I’ve been wet since we started dancing tonight, Din. Now show me what you’re going to do with it.”

         “How do you want it, pretty girl?” You think about this for a moment.  Your sex is throbbing, aching, for a release. Normally you’d want to feel his tongue, have him tease and please you by lapping at your wetness, licking your clit. You like having his cock deep down your throat, choking on him, getting high off the feeling of being so full. Kissing and grabbing and rubbing. But after today, after the insecurities that have bubbled up and the fight you two had…you just want him.

         “Just fuck me,” you breathe.  

         “Take off your clothes,” he commands, and you can hear him already disposing of his clothing. You obey quickly, pulling the thin fabric up and over your head, pushing it to the side of the alcove. He’s on top of you instantly, your naked bodies pressed together, the weight of him equal parts stifling and comforting. You can feel yourself leaking with arousal, absolutely desperate for whatever he is willing to give you. He lines up with your hole and sinks in, pressing and stretching you around his massive cock until he bottoms out inside you.

         “Fuck you’re so big,” you breathe, tilting your head back.

         “And you’re so fucking tight- fucking perfect.” His elbows are pressed into the mattress on either side of you, his lips ghosting yours. It feels intimate, to have his body pressed against you, his face that close. You feel dizzy with it.

         “Hey, are you the one I keep hearing about?” you ask, bringing up your legs to hold him in place inside you. He stays relatively still, allowing you to adjust to his size. “The killer of the krayt dragon, the savior of the child?” You rotate your hips, urging him to start. He obliges, rocking his hips slowly.

         “Not sure I’d phrase it like that, but yes.”

         “So you’re a hero?”

         “I don’t- no I don’t think so,” he mutters, his hips stuttering. You run your fingers down his back and he gives a loud moan, unworried about waking the kid. You then reach up to cup his face, breaking the illusion the two of you have crafted.

         “Din, you are a hero. You’re so good, such a good man,” you whine, rolling your hips in time with his thrusts. He lets out a choked noise. “You saved the town, saved the kid, kriff you saved me.”

         “You don’t- don’t have to say that,” he whispers against you, his thrusts becoming quick and shallow.

         “I know. You know I don’t do anything I don’t want to do…so listen to me.” You put your hand to the back of his head and push him down so you can whisper in his ear. “Din, you’re my hero.” He whimpers at this and takes your mouth. He kisses you violently, tasting every inch as he plunges deep inside of you. You gasp into his kiss as he nails your g-spot.

         “Tracinya,” he breathes, as if it was a prayer to the maker. He pounds into you, a punishing rhythm that is both painful and absolutely mind-blowing. The friction of his cock against your walls, the way he touches deep inside you, reaching where no one could before…neither of you are going to last must longer. His shaft rubs your clit, sending electricity up through you. He dips his head down to take a nipple in his mouth and you hiss at the sensation. The tension of the day is rising along with your building orgasms, feeding off of each other as you close in on your pleasure. Higher and higher, your core clenches hot and tight, and you feel lightheaded. You grip him as if he could disappear from your arms at any moment, hanging on for dear life as he fucks you to your completion.

         “Din I’m—“

         “Me too, pretty girl. It’s okay.” He thrusts a few more times, kissing you wetly. “Cum for me, tracinya.” His voice sounds so raw, so honest and pleading; it completely unravels you. You cum quickly, your body pulsing with the sheer power of the orgasm that rips through you. Your pussy clenches around him, squeezing him until he cums hot inside you, unable to control the twitching of his hips as he releases. He collapses heavy on top of you, and you hold him close, refusing to let go. You need this…he needs this. The closeness, the reverence of melting into each other’s bodies, of cherishing this rare moment between pleasure and sleep where the two of you can exist exactly how you are. In your own bubble, your own space that you have carved out specifically for each other.

         “Wow,” you say, not to anyone in particular.

         “Stars,” Din agrees, still catching his breath. He shifts off of you, but keeps his arms holding your frame. You slide up against him, leaning your head into the crook of his neck. You hear him lick his lips and take a shaky breath. “You never told me.”

         “Never told you what?” There’s an awkward pause, as if he’s debating whether he really wants to say anything.

         “What would you fall in love with?” his voice is soft and tentative, almost as if hoping you won’t hear. Hoping you can’t understand him so you won’t answer. The question is equal parts curiosity and nerves. You give a small smile in the dark and roll your eyes at the thought that he doesn’t already know the answer. As if there could be any other answer.

         “I would fall in love with…a hero…a warrior.” His breath hitches and he pulls you closer, and you let him. You nuzzle beneath his jaw and hear the alarmingly quick pulse at his throat. His heart pounds so hard, you can feel it reverberate through his bones. You smile to yourself and fall asleep, leaving the Mandalorian to his own thoughts.

Chapter Text

You grip the steel bowl with white knuckles, tears falling freely as the rest of yesterday’s food forces violently up your throat. Your whole body trembles, uncomfortable and raw as it waits to see if anything else needs to be expelled. Din had paced nervously back and forth outside the ‘fresher door until you finally convinced him to go get the child. “If you’re really worried about me, bring back that magic baby so he can heal me.”

         You’re rather used to this, contracting illnesses as a traveler is very common. When you were first on the run, you got sick in nearly every new city you visited, let alone a whole new planet. Some of them were stomach bugs, some of them odd coughs and sneezes….but some of them were downright bizarre. You remember, about three months in to your life as professional quarry, you had turned purple due to some rare disease on a moon you can’t even remember the name of. The bounty hunter following you was so disturbed by it that they left you alone, too scared to contract whatever was ailing you.

         Din on the other hand, he doesn’t get sick. And it makes sense; between the filtered helmet, gloves, and his avoidance of most people, it’d be nearly impossible for him to fall ill. For you, especially considering you’d never been to Mos Pelgo, this was just par for the course. You take a shaky breath and slowly stand up on weak knees, not wanting to make yourself dizzy. You feel better now, whatever you contracted or ate hopefully making its course through you one way or another.

         You exit the ‘fresher, happy to be greeted with clean air. You grab your staff and head out into the Tatooine sun, wanting to run some maintenance on the ship before the three of you inevitably fly away to some far off world. The thought makes you smile, and you’re eager to see the kid again. You missed his little giggles and his warm body when you hold him to your chest. Though you must admit, it was nice to spend some quality time with Din without the threat of a green toddler interrupting.

         The suns are hot like always, but a rare few clouds are passing by, adding a sliver of reprieve from the inevitable burn across your brow. You slide your hand along the ship inspecting each panel for damage, looking for any loose wires or patch-ups that need to be handled. The Razor Crest really is a hunk of scrap metal, but you’d never say that to Din. It’d be like insulting his kid. She’s rough and barely flyable, but no worse than usual. You shrug to yourself and round the back side of the ship to make your way up to the door. You stop dead in your tracks when you see a short and slender figure crouching their way up the lift.

         You really should have more tact. Honestly, stealth would have been a better option; ambush the intruder. But either due to the sun or your bout of vomit this morning, you just don’t have the patience for that. Instead you shout at the interloper, tightening your grip on your staff. “What in the kriff do you think you’re doing?”

         The stranger, fully covered in fabric and thick goggles, doesn’t hesitate at all. They leap off of the lift with a snarl, brandishing a vibroblade. You charge forward, attempting to swipe at them as they stutter from their harsh landing in the sand, but they’re quick. The stranger rolls away before spinning up to a standing position to your side. They lunge towards you, the blade nearly catching your rib, but you’re able to knock the stranger’s hand away with the middle of your staff. They swing their foot around, hitting you in the back of the leg and knocking you to your knees. You go with the movement though and fall all the way, rolling onto your back. The stranger pounces but you catch their body with your legs and flip them up and over you. You hear them land with a thud, the wind gone from their lungs on impact. You roll back to your stomach and rise to your knees, freeing the blade of your staff and bringing it down just inches from the stranger’s throat.  

         “Yield, yield,” they beg, dropping their blade. Thick goggles look up at you, albeit upside down, and you feel an odd pull in your chest. There’s something in the air, something behind all the layers. Recognition. “Stars, is that you?” The stranger holds up their hands in surrender, and slowly removes the goggles and head wrap to reveal a familiar face.

         “Shit, is that you Dani?” You toss your staff to the side and sit on your heels, allowing her to roll over and mimic your position. She’s breathing heavily, but the smile on her face is bright and contagious. You evaluate each other for a moment before reaching across the foot of space to embrace, locking each other in a strong hug despite the sweltering atmosphere.

         “Can’t believe you remember me! Also, can’t believe you decided to visit Tatooine of all places.” She crosses her arms over her chest. Standing at only about five feet, her presence is nevertheless intimidating and expansive. A small yellow explosive with a loud bang. Annadani Tinsseel is a Mirialan and one of the many bounty hunters you had convinced to let you go. Not that it took much convincing on your part once you shared the truth of your past; it turned out you had a few things in common.

         “First of all, of course I remember you Dani. Second, my uh- my partner and I had business here.”

         “Hmm, and has it all been business?” she asks, poking at some of the marks on your neck. You roll your eyes, but can’t deny the blush that seems to be rising up your chest.

         “Never mind that. Why are you trying to board our ship?” The phrase slips out a little too easily…did you just call it our ship?

         “Don’t get mad okay?” she warns, holding her hands out as a sign of peace. “Everyone’s talking about how the Mandalorian who stole the asset has a new ally. Thought I’d have better luck grabbing her than fighting a Mando…didn’t realize it was you.”

         “The name and description didn’t give you a hint?” you scoff, crossing your arms over your chest. A more cautious person would be nervous that a bounty hunter had been looking for them. Maybe a smarter person would have locked Dani up in the freezer for good measure. But you know deep down she abandoned this mission the minute she saw you. The two of you share a bond that isn’t easily broken by the promise of credits.

         “Kriff, you’ve had so many aliases, how in the Maker’s name was I to know it was actually you? Besides, helping out a bounty hunter at the risk of your own safety sounded a bit unlike you.”

         “Hey, I did it for you.”

         “That you did,” she says with a knowing nod. She slowly gets up out of the sand, dusting off the fabric of her clothes in distaste. “I hate this fucking planet.” You chuckle in agreement, picking up your staff off the ground. You can spot a figure in the distance, shining and gleaming beneath the sun’s rays.

         “Don’t take this the wrong way, but you should make yourself scarce,” you offer. “I don’t think Mando is gonna like you sniffing around.” Dani sighs and puts her hands on her hips.

         “I think it’s clear that I am no threat to that massive chunk of beskar,” she retorts, able to see his imposing figure from here. “But since I am about to suffer a blow to my finances for letting you go-“

         “Piss off, I won that fight.”

         “-letting you go without injury,” she adds in mock annoyance, “maybe you could do me a favor? I heard you know a bit about Cloud City.”


         “No,” Din states simply, his hands on his hips in that defiant stance.  The child coos from your lap, sitting in his typical position with his hands pushing on your stomach, his glossy eyes staring up at you. You think he’s healed you a bit because all discomfort from this morning has evaporated.

         You had managed to keep Din from shooting Annadani on site, and you had even convinced him to allow her to come on the ship and visit for an hour as she explained her proposal. Just a quick trip to Cloud City, showing her around and providing information on the goings on and where certain people may be hiding. Women had started to go missing from the seedier parts of the city, presumably taken by smugglers who had some skin in the slaving business. Dani had simply wanted an insider’s perspective on the city; someone to guide her to where she was most likely to get a break. She was looking for one smuggler in particular; in her words, a fair trade for letting you go.

         “Oh come on, Mando! We should help her,” you retort, stroking the young child’s ears.

         “I need to make a living, pretty girl. I’m already late in returning bounties to Karga after we- we-“ he pauses, aware of Annadani watching him with curious eyes. You know what he wants to say; after we decided to fuck last night instead of leaving immediately with the kid. He refocuses, “I don’t get the full credits if I’m late.”

         “You don’t have to come,” Annadani says slyly, her tone just a touch challenging to the Mandalorian. “I just need your pretty girl here.” Your eyes widen, wondering how Din will respond.

         “I’m supposed to be okay with you traveling alone with a bounty hunter?” His tone is incredulous, and you can’t help but sigh. You can see his point.

         “Pot meet kettle,” she sarcastically mutters. Din gives a small growl which you quickly interrupt.

         “Mando, she’s a friend. I promise you, we have each other’s backs.” The kid looks from you to his father, ears twitching in anticipation.

         “I don’t trust her. You helping her track down a bounty two years ago means osik.” He turns to Dani with a grunt. “That’s not a risk I’m willing to take.”

         “It’s not your risk, is it?” you counter. Mando throws his hand up in the air and stalks away to the edge of the hull, putting some distance between himself and you. “I want to do this for her,” you say in a gentler tone. “I need to. And like it or not…I don’t need your permission.”

         “You’re too sweet for your own good. I know this means a lot to you; slavers are the scum of the galaxy, but-“

         “You have my word, nothing will happen to her,” Dani interjects, standing up from her seat. Though she doesn’t gain any more height, her determination is palpable.

         “And why should I trust you?” He’s bordering on yelling. “Why would you put your life on the line for her?”

         “Because she saved mine!” she shouts back. Din straightens up at this, his helmet searching your face for any sign that she might be lying. He finds nothing. Annadani sighs, massaging her temples that are now adorned with tattoos that weren’t present the last time you crossed paths. “She helped me track down the man who- the man who—a rapist….mine.” She pauses as the child coos, moved by the spike in her emotions. He grabs for her, and it makes your jaw drop; you can tell Din’s has too beneath his helmet. She takes him from you and holds him close, soothed by his warm body against her as he allows her to cuddle him as she speaks. “Turns out he was part of a slaver ring. Would have put me in it if I hadn’t escaped…through some investigating, we learned that he was friends with the officer that your pretty girl killed.”

         Din walks forward a few steps at this, his helmet trained on your face. You can tell he’s searching for any sign that you want her to stop talking, that you are overwhelmed with where this story is going. But you keep your eyes trained on his visor, willing him to hear the rest of her tale. After a few moments of silence, you hear the smallest sigh behind the modulator, and Din cocks his head over to Dani for her to continue.

         “I got a little emotional, wasn’t thinking straight…I rushed in to their hideout blaster firing. Your partner here, well she rushed right in after me, covered my ass more than I deserved. Even took out a guy who had a knife to my throat- he was ready to kill me. He would have if she hadn’t been there.” She looks down at the child who is now poking at her cheek, giving her a toothy grin. “Anyway, I found the nerfherder and collected my bounty.”

         “The only one you ever took in cold,” you murmur, giving her arm an encouraging squeeze. This makes her huff, but the smile is barely concealed. She hands the child back to you and straightens up in her seat.

         “Anyway, thanks to her, I’m alive. My rapist is dead. And I’ve made a living out of hunting down scum like him and unraveling the ring…you don’t have to trust me. But you should trust her. She knows what she’s doing, and she’s brought a lot of good into the world; mine in particular.” She doesn’t take her eyes of Din, refusing to blink. The child gurgles through the uncomfortable silence, but you can’t look down at him, your gaze locked on the two bounty hunters.

         “Do you trust her?” Din’s question is obviously to you, though he refuses to take his gaze off of Annadani.

         “With my life,” you admit, trying to keep your voice even.

         Fine. I’ll pick you up in Bespin after I make the drop in Nevarro.” You release a breath you’ve been holding, and you can see Dani grin in triumph.

         “Thank you, Mando,” you say softly, giving him the most endearing smile you are capable of.

         “Any sign of trouble, you call me.”

         “Of course.”

         “You get 48 hours on this mission, tops.” You roll your eyes.

         “Kriff, Mando. I’m not kidnapping her,” Dani snaps, standing up from her seat. She turns her gaze to you. “I’ll get my ship and we’ll head out. Should be back before the half hour. Pack light.” She brushes past Din and hits the button for the lift, exiting before the ramp has fully descended. This leaves you alone with the Mandalorian who’s staring at you and the child in your arms. You open your mouth to say something, but he immediately turns on his heel and approaches the weapons cabinet. You stand slowly, setting the child down in the chair to play with his metal ball. As you approach the Mandalorian, he turns and shoves something into your hand. It’s a wrist comm.

         “You check in every six hours or so. More if you need to.”

         “Din, this seems unnecessary.”

         “Please.” He looks down at the floor and sighs before fixing the visor on you again. “I know we’re…we’re partners. And you can do whatever you want but- tracinya, please.”

         “Okay..okay, Din.” You take the comm. and strap it to your wrist. He releases a small breath, a fraction of the tension in his shoulders dissipating. He turns back to the cabinet and hands you a blaster; incidentally, the one you had stolen nearly half a year ago. “You know I have my staff-“

         “Do not fight me on this,” he interrupts, his voice low and pressing. You concede with a nod and take the gun in your hands. He runs a thumb across your lip, as if stealing away a final glimpse of you before walking over to the kid. “Let me put him down for a nap. I want to say good bye to you properly.”

         “And what does that mean?” you ask with genuine curiosity. The Mandalorian doesn’t answer you, and simply lifts the child off of his seat to carry him up the ladder towards his pram in the cockpit. You shrug to yourself and begin to pack a few essentials into a small bag. Most things you can fit in your belt pouches, but you stuff an extra outfit and underwear into the bag. You creep into the bed and swipe the shirt Din had been wearing last night and stuff it away in your knapsack to sleep in. You place the bag, your staff, and the blaster by the door, turning back around to see Din’s boots coming descending from the top of the ladder.

         “Don’t let the kid miss me too much,” you say lightly, putting your hands on your hips. You hadn’t said goodbye, thinking that would probably just make him cry. It’ll be less than two days, Din had been gone on hunts for far longer.

         “He’s not the one you should be worried about,” he remarks in a sobering tone. You hurry over to him, pressing your body to his. He bends down enough to allow you to rest your forehead against his helmet.

         “Mhi solus dar’tome,” you whisper, thankful for the phrases you had picked up during your time in Cloud City. You have recited all the phrases you know in your head each night before falling asleep, terrified that you’d forget them, that you wouldn’t be able to use them at times like this where Din needed to hear them.

         “Mhi me’dinui an,” Din adds softly, wrapping his arms around you. His gloved hands stroke your back as he soaks up your warmth, your presence, clinging on to you as if you might sift through his fingers like the sands on Tatooine. You feel something swell in your chest, a weight you didn’t realize you had been carrying for weeks now. It tingles your tongue, twirls restlessly in your mouth, begging to be released. The words have waited patiently, but you can feel their protest, demanding to finally be spoken. Just say it. I love you.

         “Din, I-“ you look up into the visor, and you can see your own eyes wide with nerves. Your lip is trembling in the reflection, and you feel very exposed. You want to say it. And deep down, you know it’s all he’s ever wanted to hear. But your stomach churns, and your heart hammers painfully against your sternum. This is a lot…you’ve never said this to anyone. It feels too cheap to say it as you leave, to drop something like this at his feet and then escape for two days. When you get back. When the two of you can lay with it, can wrap yourselves in it and truly feel what it means. “I have something I want to tell you when I get back.” He simply nods as he lets his hands drift down your sides and down to the curve of your ass.

         “Close your eyes.” You instinctively shut them without another thought, and the sound of his helmet hitting the floor follows merely a second later. His mouth is on yours, heated and soft as he relishes in the contact. A whine escapes your throat as his kiss turns fierce and desperate, breathing you in as if you were the air in his lungs. “Promise you’ll come back to me,” he growls, grabbing a handful of your ass.

         “I promise,” you moan in response, wrapping your arms around his neck as you invade his mouth.  Your tongues spar, giving and taking control; either way it gets you both shaking. His hand slips up your shirt and he thumbs teasingly at your erect nipple through your chest band. You rock your hips against him, smiling against his mouth as you feel how hard he is for you. You grind lightly, just enough to make his pelvis stutter in response.  

         “Fuck, c’mere,” he whispers. He grips you by the waist and turns you around. With a large hand he pushes your back down, and you have to spread your hands against the wall to catch yourself.

         “Din, stars, I don’t think we have enough time.”

         “Shhh,” is all he says, pulling down your pants and underwear to pool at your ankles. You prepare yourself for his hot tongue, lapping at you. Or for the slow press of his cock as he tries to fuck you fast and hard. You gasp at the feeling of cold metal at your entrance, smooth and familiar.

         “Are those-“

         “I want you thinking of me the whole time, pretty girl,” he explains, and you can hear the smirk in his voice. The beskar balls you had purchased in Coruscant are pushed up into you easily, your sex aroused and embarrassingly wet. “Dank farrik, I can’t believe how turned on you can get. And all for me…perfect, perfect girl.”

The balls feel heavier than you remember, but you realize you’d never been standing with them in. You want more and you preen for him, rotating your hips enticingly. But in an instant, he has your pants pulled back up and lifts your torso to stand straight again. You whimper, the balls rubbing just so—not enough to be too distracting, but definitely there .

Din presses his lips to the side of your throat, and you willingly tilt your head as you lean back against his body. You hum in pleasure as his teeth scrape your skin, teasing the flesh until you are panting for him. You palm at his erection behind you, delighting in how hard he is. To your dismay, you hear a small starfighter approaching. Din leaves your body, not without a groan of irritation, to scoop his helmet off the ground and place it back on his head.

“Don’t forget to check in” he breathes, his words dripping in lust. You grab your stuff off the ground and head for the door. You turn to look at him, his strong chest heaving as he watches you.

“This thing got video?” you ask, trying to control your own breathing. You hold up the comm. on your wrist. Din just nods.

“Then I guess you’ll be seeing more of me tonight,” you say with a wink. You exit the Razor Crest and make your way out to the Liberator.

Chapter Text

“Okay, I’ve been quiet for long enough. Spill it.” You give a small chuckle and look out the window of the starfighter, watching the stars and planets pass by. The two of you had been quiet for about an hour, and it appears Annadani will have no more of it.

         “Whatever do you mean?” you ask, taking an opportunity to tease her.

         “Don’t play coy with me, you’re not that good and actress. What are you doing with that Mandalorian?”

         “We’re partners,” you shrug. She shoots you a skeptical look and you add, “for business and pleasure.” The small beskar toys rubbing deliciously inside of you are more than evidence of that.

         “Yeah, I could see that,” she snips with an eye roll. “I mean, how did it happen? You’re traveling with a bounty hunter! There has to be a story there.” You press your forehead against the cool glass and shut your eyes. You feel absolutely nauseous, you assume because you’re so used to Din’s larger ship and the steadiness of hyperspace.

         “Hmmm, there sure is. And maybe I’ll tell it to you if you fly a little smoother.”

         “Stars, you know I’m a fantastic pilot. Better than your precious bucket head. How do you think I got these?” She points a finger to her fresher tattoos adorning the frame of her face.     

         “I thought those looked new,” you muse with a small smile. As a Mirialan, her tattoos grow as her accomplishments increase. “You got those for being a pilot?”

         “Fought in a small war on Xiatro. Helped the locals keep their home.”

         “Definitely sounds like a more interesting story than mine.”

         “Sure, but I know yours is spicier, so spill.” You chuckle to yourself; you’ve missed her. You miss having friends to share things with, to decipher and dissect situations with. Though Dani and Trytz are probably the only friends you’ve had since choosing a life on the run. You start from the beginning, explaining how you and the Mandalorian had crossed paths, delving into more detail as she asks. Dani smiles and asks questions, intrigued by your new life with this infamous bounty hunter.


         “Look what the winds blew in!” calls a familiar voice. You lead Annadani into the very familiar bar, and give a wide grin at Trytz. They come over to your with a faux look of contempt. “Don’t you smile at me, do you have any idea how much explaining you have to do?”

         You force them into a hug, which they quickly return. Trytz eyes your new companion and shoots you a quizzical brow. You simply roll your eyes and sit down at the closest available table.

         “I promise to tell you everything if you have a drink with us.”

         “You know I’m on the clock.”

         “And that’s stopped you before?” Trytz shrugs at this and motions over to the bartender, some kid who can’t be more that eighteen, to come bring a round to your table.

         “So you can start by telling me who this…rather appealing friend of yours is,” Trytz purrs. “Much cuter than the last one you had, all covered up and grumpy.”  

         “Annadani,” your friend interjects before you can snap at Trytz. “And the feeling is mutual,” she adds with a wink.

         “And charming too,” Trytz coos. You roll your eyes and cross your arms over your chest.

         “Annadani’s an old friend. The handsome gentleman you met months ago is my partner.” The young bartender arrives at the table and lays out three glasses of some unfamiliar liquor. You assume it must be top shelf though if Trytz is willing to drink it.

         “So he does take the helmet off,” Trytz smirks over their cup. Your fingers wander up to your throat where the hickeys have faded, but are still very visible to someone as perceptive as the Twi’lek. Dani snorts into her drink at Trytz’s words, eager to see the blush creeping up into your cheeks.

         “That- it- Trytz, it doesn’t matter,” you manage to stammer out, feeling yourself grow warm. You shift in your seat and nearly yelp, the balls still inside you hitting at precisely the right angle. You had almost forgotten they were there.

         “Okay pillow princess, then what does matter? What brings you back here with your friend?”

         “Slavers,” Dani interjects, polishing off the last of her drink. Her demeanor has grown far more serious now. Trytz looks uncomfortable, but they nod as if they have an idea of what Dani is about to say. She lowers her voice. “Word is, women have been going missing in Cloud City. I brought our mutual friend here along because she spent some time here; thought she could point me in the right direction.”

         “Well, she brought you to me. And I know everything; I’m quite-“

         “Nosy?” you interject with a smirk.

         “-observant. She brought you to the right place…it’s been,” Trytz pauses, taking a deep breath before turning to you, “different since you left.”

         “Has everyone here stayed safe?” you ask, scanning around to see how many faces are still familiar to you. Most are thankfully recognizable.

         “You know how it is. We sometimes attract people that don’t want to be tracked…but one did go missing. Started right after you left. She wasn’t the kind to up and leave, she made a good living here; so many clients liked her. It was just- kriff do you think someone took her?” Trytz has tears threatening in their eyes. You reach over and stroke their hand with your thumb, knowing that under all that bravado, they have always been sensitive and vulnerable.

         “When did she go missing? Species, name, description.” Dani doesn’t have a logging device or writing pad, she’s sharp enough that her brain will remember the useful details.

         “A twi’lek, purple, her name was Xedia. Honestly, she wasn’t much of a looker, not in comparison to some of the other performers we got here. But stars, talk about charisma. There was just something about her that drew people in…the bouncer, Dreshgare, had his work cut out for him on nights when it was her shift. She attracted some very intense patrons, a few creeps if I’m being honest.”

         “When did she disappear?” you ask, picking up your drink but deciding to put it back down on the table. You’re not in the mood, and you stomach has just finally stopped churning. Trytz sees this and takes your glass, quickly downing the alcohol you didn’t want.

         “About two weeks ago. Like I said, people leave all the time, but this just didn’t feel right. Do you think it’s related to those slavers you’re looking for?”

         “I’m sorry, but it could be. I don’t want to rule it out,” Dani admits, crossing her arms over her chest. “Have you seen anyone lurking around the bar recently? Anyone who’s not a regular that seems to stand out?”

         “No. I mean, kriff, we get knew and different people every week. It’s a tourist town. It’d be hard to narrow down a particular weirdo.”

         “Stars,” Annadani mutters. You eye Trytz, willing them to share any shred of information.

         “I guess…well there was this one guy. He always had some associate with him; came in every day for about a month. But…”

         “What?” Dani presses, leaning in, her brows furrowed.

         “He- the night she ‘went missing’- he was here. He was here a day or two after as well.”

         “Strange,” you add. “You’d think a smuggler would leave with his acquisitions.” The three of you remain quiet, the tense silence cut by the music of the next dancer. You watch for about a minute, frowning a bit as you think of Din and when the two of you were last here. How tense both of you had seemed. His pointed question about if you were a dancer. You miss him.

         “I feel like absolute crater dust. I was too focused on that weirdo to see who actually took her… It’s just—never mind.” Dani strokes the back of Trytz’s hand, encouraging them to continue. “He always seemed to be looking for someone. Hell, most of the time he was searching the bar and the waitresses, not even looking at the dancers. Just odd, put me on edge.”

         “We don’t know he wasn’t involved. He could be a scouter; could have had one of those associates pick up your friend on his orders. What did he look like?” Dani asked, her eyes trained and unblinking. Trytz takes a deep inhale and breathes out slowly, as if trying to remember the exact features. They close their eyes.

         “Handsome. Very intense, but undeniably attractive. Even with that big gash across his face. Blonde hair, blue eyes like ice. He limped too, knee injury it seemed like.”

         “Dank farrik!” You hiss, startling your two companions and a nearby table of patrons. “That kriffing nerfherder,” you mutter more to yourself.

         “Friend of yours?” Dani asks in disbelief, equal parts amused and concerned by your outburst.

         “Keyman Whicor. I bet he was in here looking for me…he’s not a smuggler or slaver, though. But that would explain the odd behavior and the constant surveillance.”

         “So you don’t think he’s connected to Xedia’s disappearance?” Trytz clarified, seemingly disappointed.

         “I’m not sure. Like I said, he’s a bounty hunter. A pretty decent one too. I don’t know what would have happened to make him switch careers like that.”

         “Well,” Annadani begins, standing up from the table. “It’s more of a lead than I had before.” You and Trytz follow, and you stop to give them a massive hug. They return it with bone crunching force.

         “You stay safe okay?” you whisper in their ear.

         “It’ll take more than a slaver to bring me down, baby.” Trytz gives a dazzling smile; it’s so captivating, you almost miss the fear and concern behind their eyes.


         The inn you’re staying at isn’t fancy, nor is it in a great part of town. But it has a bed and ‘fresher, so you’re not complaining. And the fact that the bed isn’t a metal cot behind a wall is certainly an added bonus. You flop down onto the creaking mattress, breathing in the scent of washed linens. You close your eyes; thousands of thoughts course through your mind as you attempt to sort them out.

         Keyman had definitely been looking for you. Honestly, you didn’t know what happened to him after Din returned him in carbonite, and now you’re regretting having never asked. But Keyman aside, you are at least happy to have helped Dani and to see Trytz again. You were able to show Dani around the town after the meeting at the cantina. You pointed out the various hideouts you had learned about during your time in Cloud City. You provided her with names in the criminal underworld, which in Bespin is not very extensive, and she seemed pleased with the outcome. Still, you’re left wishing that you could have done more; wishing that you could help take down these slaver scum. If Keyman really is involved, it makes you feel guilty that his search for you would have led him to the cantina where Xedia was taken.

         To be honest though, you miss the kid. You miss Din. It’s barely been twenty-four hours, and you feel as though you’ve thought of them every minute during it. You roll over on your back and hold your wrist up, fiddling with the comm. he gave you.

You send out the signal, holding your breath as you wait to see his image render through. You wait for a few minutes, and you bite the inside of your cheek in concern. He was the one who had wanted you to check in constantly. After another minute, you lay your head back against the mattress in disappointment. You know he had a meeting with Karga, maybe he got hung up with business matters. But you can’t keep yourself from worrying, your stomach flipping and lodging in your throat. The realization that Keyman is still after you definitely has you on edge.

                “Hi pretty girl,” comes a crackling voice. The greeting startles you, but the smile spreading across your face is nearly instantaneous.

                “Din,” you sigh, bringing up the comm. to your face. The image is blue tinted and a bit blurry, but the familiar vision of the helmet makes everything inside you feel warm and safe. “You didn’t answer.”

                “Sorry tracinya, was putting the kid to bed.”

                “And how did that go?”

                “Not well. I’m beginning to think he knows when I want to be alone with you.” The comment sends a heat to your core, and a subtle throbbing begins between your legs.

                “Alone with me? What do you plan on saying that can’t be said with the kid in the room?” you tease, rolling over onto your stomach.

                “Maybe it’s not what I’m planning to say, but what I’m planning to do.” His modulated voice causes the speaker to crack again, but it still sounds like him. His baritone is intoxicating. You adjust yourself, raising up on your elbows so the cam is aimed at the low neck line of your shirt. You hear Din mutter something under his helmet.

                “We went to my old job tonight,” you hum. “The one with the exotic dancing,” you add. If you didn’t know him so well, you would have missed the subtle straightening of his back and the very soft clearing of his throat.

                “I think you once mentioned you had a routine of your own?” he presses, failing at sounding any bit of casual.

                “Mhhm, Trytz came up with it for me.”

                “Has anyone ever seen it?” he asks, the smallest hint of jealously peppers genuine intrigue.

                “Not yet,” you answer simply, giving him a playful smile. “But that could change…for the right client.”  You can’t see him move, but you hear him shift in the pilot’s seat. You imagine him sitting in the chair, looking at a large projected vision of you. You unstrap the comm. and place it on the bed, pointing out to the middle of the room. Before Din can protest, you roll off the mattress and stand in front of the comm. barely able to conceal your smirk.

                “Fuck,” he mutters. “And who would the right client be, pretty girl?” You smile and slowly strip off your jacket, tossing it to the side.

                “Oh you know, someone devastatingly handsome. Tall, brooding, shiny.”

                “That seems very specific,” he chuckles, but you can hear the heaviness in his voice as he watches your every move.

                “He also has to make me soak through my panties just by talking.”

                “Yeah? Do- ah- do I qualify pretty girl?” You see his shoulder’s moving, and you have to bite back a moan when you realize he’s reaching inside his pants.

                “Hmm, should I check?” you ask, eyeing the screen. You run your hand down your breasts and fiddle with the waistband.

                “ Mmm fuck, please?” You wink at the hologram, pleased with the effect you have on him. You slip your hand down your pants and underwear, giving a few circles to your clit before sliding against your folds. You toss your head back and give a small hum, feeling the extent of your arousal. “Talk- talk to me,” he breathes. “Tell me what you feel.”

                “Stars, I’m so wet for you. Every kriffing time.”

         “Shit- pretty girl can you-can you show me?” Your entire body shivers as you pull your hand away, and you bring your fingers closer to the cam. Even with his old holoprojector, you know he’s able to see the glisten on your finger tips. “Dank farrik, I’d give anything to taste you right now…but I will soon.” Your body clenches at this, and you are reminded of the weighted balls inside of you. Your abdomen has begun to get sore with the weight of them, and you anticipate you will need to take them out soon to prevent any straining.

         “Is that a promise?”

         “I’m already on my way back from Nevarro.”

“Fly faster.” This earns you a modulated chuckle, and you can’t help but smile. It’s become so much easier to interact with him than you had ever anticipated it could be. How can this be the same person you had fought with so many times?

“So, tracinya, do I pass the test? Do I get to see this special dance I’ve heard so much about?” You grin at him and back away from the cam, making sure your whole body is in the picture. You imagine on his end you must look like the start of a dirty holovid, though you’re not complaining. You’ve seen one or two during your travels, and if you can get him as hot as they made you…well you wouldn’t be complaining.

“I don’t have any music,” you tease, prepping your starting stance.

         “That’s never stopped us before.” You bite your bottom lip, remembering when he danced with you in the hull of the ship on Tatooine.

         “Take off your helmet,” you say in your most soothing voice. “I want you to see me…you can turn your camera off if you want.” You try to hide this disappointment in your voice at not getting to see him, but this is for his enjoyment.  You hear him moan deeply and the image shakes as if it will shut off; instead, he adjusts the cam lower and lower until-

         Fuck, you’re so big, Din.” The image is of the top of his thighs and his thick member semi-hard, resting against his exposed stomach. To your delight, this hem of his shirt is pulled up, allowing you to see more skin than usual. You hear the latch of his helmet followed by a pleasured sigh, his true baritone crackling through the comm. now.

         “I can’t get enough of you tracinya…show me how much you like this cock.”

         You hum a little to yourself, a sensual melody you’ve heard a thousand times while working at the cantina. You rock your hips back and forth slowly, releasing a deep breath to dissipate the nerves. You know Din can’t take his eyes off you; his breathing is already heavy with anticipation. So you fight down the insecurities that threaten, and instead you run your hands through your hair, making it messy and wild. You turn your back to him and rotate your hips in sensual circles, shimmying your shirt up and over your head. You whirl it like a lasso three times before tossing it to the side. The air of the hotel room is crisp, causing your nipples to strain against the lacy white chest band you are wearing.

         You keep your back to him as you play with the waistband of your pants, dragging them down over your ass, giving him a peek at your matching underwear. You send a silent ‘thank you’ to the maker that your underclothes are actually sexy. You hear him curse under his breath as you stick your ass in the air, wiggling your pants down to your ankles and gingerly stepping out of them. You spin back around, and you can’t help the whimper that escapes your lips. His cock is fully hard now, standing erect. You can see it twitch as you give an exaggerated moan and push your tits together.

         Dank farrik,” you hear him growl, and his ungloved hand grips his thick cock. You roam your hands down your body, continuing to hum just loud enough that he might be able to hear you, not that the music really matters to him. Your fingers dance between your thighs before stroking down the tops of your legs. His thumb swipes the head of his cock, spreading the pre-cum. You drop your ass down and thrust your hips, letting your tits bounce in a vulgar display that has Din absolutely panting for you. The beskar balls inside of you shift and rub deliciously, and you lose your breath at the sensation. You straighten back up, extending your body and pressing your chest up. You lean your head back and moan out his name. He begins to pump himself; you can’t help but picture his eyes eclipsed with lust and dangerous, a pouty mouth hanging open and slack jawed. You turn your back again and remove your chest band, sling-shotting it across the room. You grab your breasts and hold them, moving your feet in time with the music inside your head. When you turn back towards the cam, you bite your bottom lip and drop your hands, baring your naked tits to him. His hips stutter and thrust in response.

         You turn the cam on the bed slightly to point towards a bed post. You grab it and give a test pull to ensure that it’s sturdy enough to support you. When the post proves strong, you arch your back deeply, simulating slow thrusts as you grind at the air. The balls remind you of their presence again, and a curse slips out between your lips. You hear the distinct sound of Din releasing a tortured whine, enraptured with your display, but pained at the fact he can’t touch.

         “Damn it! So fuck- sexy, fucking sexy woman,” he rambles, pulling himself in his coarse hands. You hook your leg around the post and spin on the ball of your foot, twisting your body until you are lying with your back on the bed. Your head hangs just off the edge, and you let your hands roam your body, wishing you could feel his large calloused fingers against your smooth skin. “Look so good- your tits look- shit- kriffing amazing like that.”

         “Din,” you moan wantonly, slipping your hand back into your panties. “How close are you?” Before he can answer, you put your finger in your mouth, licking off your own arousal; you know how that drives him wild.

         “Keep that- ah- keep that up and I won’t be able to finish my sentence.” You grin to yourself and grab the comm. holding the cam above you, making sure to show off your face and your naked torso.

         “Good, then listen to me. When you see me next, I’m going to let you fuck me however way you want. On the cot, over the dashboard of the ship, against the nearest tree, in the fucking rain; I don’t care. I just want you to ruin me Din, take me any way that you want and show me what I’ve been missing during this trip.” His pace has quickened to a desperate speed, his thighs clenching in response to his building pleasure. “I’m not going to cum tonight, because I want to be so horny for you that you can take me at any time. Fuck Din, show me who I belong to, handsome.”

         “Tracinya,” he barely manages before his orgasm rips through his body, the evidence spurting all over his hand and his chiseled stomach. His breathing is ragged, and you have to fight the shiver that courses through your spine as your pussy pulses violently between your legs. You want to wait for him, you want his hands on you, not your own. So you lie still and listen to him slowly come down from his orgasm. “Shit, I actually feel dizzy,” he laughs, the sound so unfamiliar to you that you can’t help but smile in response. He sounds so light, so unworried; a rare snapshot into who he might have been if his life had turned out differently.

         “Did you like the show?” you ask, already knowing the answer.

         “Pretty girl, if I was a weaker man, I think it may have killed me.” This makes you giggle with pride. You crawl up on your hands and knees and reach for the light, dousing all illumination except for the soft glow of the comm. You snatch it up and snuggle beneath the covers, setting it on the bedside table. Din wipes his hand on his cape, and there’s a small jostle before the view returns to his face, helmet securely covering his features. He looks at you for a few moments, gazing at how content and sleepy you look with your head on the pillow.

         “I miss you,” you say first, feeling the words were just seconds away from being spoken by the bounty hunter as well. Any response of his is interrupted by the distinct cry of the child in the hull of the ship. A sharp pang rips through your chest, a guilt that you’re not there to lull him back to sleep after what probably was a nightmare. “Duty calls; go check on our little man.” Your stomach flips at the words, but you don’t take them back. Our little man. He is yours. And he’s Din’s. And the two of you together make a pretty good team.

         “I’ll be there before you wake up,” he promises.

         “You don’t know where I’m staying,” you retort, surrendering to a deep yawn.

         “I think I can track you down,” he dead pans. “Get some sleep,” he adds in a gentler tone. The transmission ends, plunging you into the darkness of the unfamiliar room. You slip involuntarily into sleep, unaware of just how tired you really are.

Chapter Text

You wake up a few times in the night, your eyes scanning the dark void of your hotel room for any sign of him. Keyman. You know in your heart that he’s been looking for you, probably as equally desperate for your considerable bounty as he is for revenge. You feel on edge, your body bristling at every noise, every slight shift in the atmosphere. You can’t explain how, but you can sense him. You can feel his presence on this planet; the same way you could hear the child’s cries in your dreams from across the galaxy. You’ve always had these odd sensations in your body, these strange feelings…connection to what happens around you. Like you can almost read other people’s minds; feeding off their emotions. You think the child can sense this in you as well; like the two of you are the same. You’ve heard whispers of these sort of powers in your village, but they were simply old myths; some ancient craft that had been wiped out. You didn’t dare to presume you’d be special enough to have any type of power; especially with how often you had felt powerless over the years. But Din ?

         Just thinking of him helps you settle back against the pillow, soothing your mind. Din makes you feel powerful. Makes you feel smart, makes you a better fighter. But you also powerful when you can bring him to his edge of pleasure, holding him in the palm of your hand as he lets you kiss him, taste him, see him in ways others could only dream of.  It’s possible these powers of yours have felt like they’ve grown because you’re actually living now, not just surviving. Din gives you the safety to be yourself; all parts of yourself. Even those scraps and fractals that you can neither understand or control.

         You dream of his smell. Leather and sandalwood; it’s so vivid it takes you to the brink of consciousness. His scent leads way to touch, his calloused ungloved hands skimming the delicate skin of your throat. Through the haze of sleep, the sensation makes you shiver. Your mind presses outwards, as if attempting to escape the confines of dreams. His scent, his touch, the low growl…all seems so real.

         You bolt awake, but your body remains glued to the bed, a heavy hand clapped over your mouth. The hotel room is dark, devoid of any light to illuminate the intruder. Your body arches in protest, your brain short circuiting as it attempts to collect itself. Then you hear him.

         “I told you I would track you down, tracinya.” A gasp of surprise is engulfed by Din’s eager mouth on yours. Your body melts immediately at the familiarity of his pouting lips, the brush of stubble against your face. You grip his hair, fueled by the adrenaline of the potential intruder, encouraged by the relief that it’s not, and burning with the desire for the man that you’ve missed so kriffing much.

         “You scared the shit out of me,” you moan, pulling the weight of his body on top of you. You hook your legs around his waist, feeling the chill of beskar against your bare body.

         “I think you recovered quick enough,” he counters, biting your bottom lip till it’s swollen and bruised. “Fuck- missed you, pretty girl.” He slips his hand down the front of your body, moving your panties to the side so he can stroke his middle finger between your folds. You yelp in pleasure, still very much aroused and needy from not having cum earlier. He shushes you gently, “the kid’s asleep in his pod, so you need to be quiet,” he teases, rubbing his thumb against your clit.

         You moan softly, biting on to your fist to squelch anything too loud. You can feel Din’s erection pressed up against you, but he makes no move to rid himself of his clothing. Instead, he continues to circle and tease your clit, curling a single finger inside you with an agonizingly slow rhythm. You buck your hips, desperate for more, pleading for him to give you all he has. But he maintains his steady course, playing you carefully as if you’re an instrument he’s studied his whole life. He kisses down your chest, sucking your nipple, pulling it until it’s erect. He gives a low growl as he continues lower, kissing your rib cage, just below your navel, your hip…

         “Thought- thought I told you to fuck me any way you wanted?” you whisper, your entire core aching for a release.

         “I plan to. Soon. But for now, I want to feel your hands in my hair while I taste you.” He licks a slow stripe up your pussy, his hands gripping your thighs to hold them wide open, completely spreading you. “Shouldn’t- fuck- should be impossible to have a cunt this sweet.” His words unravel you, open you up to him.  You spread yourself even wider, arch your back and beg for his mouth on you. In a moment of impatience, he tears your soaked underwear away from your body, tossing them behind him, absolutely ruined.

         “Fuck, Din. How many pairs do you think I have?”

         “I’ll buy you new ones,” he moans against you, grabbing your clit between his teeth and giving an almost too harsh suck. “Or you could just stop wearing them,” he adds on, the barest semblance of a gravely chuckle escaping from his throat. He presses forward, his nose between your folds as his tongue enters your needy hole. He twists and twirls inside of you, going as deep as he possibly can. His tongue flicks, just grazing one of the beskar balls still resting inside of you. You thread your fingers in his hair, holding on tightly as he pleasures you, slow and deliberate, taking his time to savor you. To craft your release as an armorer would craft his beskar. You rock your hips, the friction sending delicious pulses through your pussy, scorching your nerve endings as you submit to his care.

         He’s enraptured with you, with everything about you. Not just your smell, or your taste, your body, your looks…but deeper than that. The things you’d never noticed about yourself, the things you try to hide. He brings out the best parts, and gives the bad a new perspective. Even in dominating you, there is a gentleness, a carefulness. As if one wrong move would make you disappear from his sight. You can tell in the way he’s holding you; fingers gripping the flesh of your thighs; it almost hurts. But you feel the small stroke of his thumb, soothing your skin. The way he sucks at your clit, almost a bite, but never crossing the line. He’s rough and brutal, but you like it. You like it because it’s intoxicating, exhilarating, and…safe. Din cherishes you, reveres you; he would never hurt you. Not like the countless other bounty hunters. Not like that soldier. Not like Keyman. When Din touches you, you simply feel…loved.

         Your body begins to clench, and you gasp as your pussy bares down on the metal balls, rubbing and massaging deviously. Din is moaning, knowing that he is driving you higher and higher, getting off on the fact that he can do this to you. That he’s ruined you for all others. Your nipples are hard, and your mouth is dry from hanging open; your entire body is becoming undone as you are pushed towards your orgasm. He circles your clit, the sensations traveling deep inside you, and your chest constricts in anticipation. You’re so close, so so close.

         It slips out. You don’t mean to say it with his head between your thighs, tongue lapping up the pools of arousal. You don’t mean to say it in a raspy whisper, completely vulnerable and wrecked. You don’t mean to say it as you pull on his hair and toss your head back against the pillow. And you certainly don’t mean to say it with tears welling in your eyes, a sob caught in your chest.

         “I love you.” Your entire body goes rigid at the declaration. You had wanted to say it soon, but certainly not like this. Not in the middle of a rather erotic activity. You had wanted it to sound serious, deliberate; like him. But instead you blurted it out right at the precipice of orgasm, desperate and wild. What if he doesn’t believe you? Or what if it scares him; it’s pretty obvious neither of you have a long list of healthy relationships to pull any type of experience from. He might not ever be comfortable with something like that.

         If he says anything, you can’t hear it. Your own ears are ringing much too loudly, the blood rushing in your mind as a final flick of his tongue sends you spiraling. There is an intense heat across your whole body as the tremors course through you. You can’t bite back the scream of his name, and you hope to the Maker the kid somehow sleeps through it. Your mind is cloudy and you pant laboriously as you attempt to recover from not only your orgasm, but from the embarrassment of what you’ve just revealed.

         Din is motionless, his head still between your thighs, fingers still gripping your flesh. Maybe he didn’t hear you? Maybe he’s just taking a few moments to catch his breath after essentially fucking you to completion with only his mouth. Your lip begins to tremble, and you feel nauseous, a wave of anxiety washing over you and churning your stomach. You debate running to the ‘fresher to be sick, but your legs are useless.

         The grip on your thighs finally loosens when the child’s cry shatters the silence. The two of you remain motionless for another moment before springing up into action. Din grabs his helmet and practically slams it over his head before opening the child’s pod. You brush past and collect your clothes off the floor, dressing in a hurry as you stumble through the darkness of the room. Your heart is fluttering and you feel as though you can’t breathe. You flick the light on and bathe the room in light, the shine of beskar glinting against your eyes. The child spots you and coos excitedly, making grabbing arms towards you.

         “Let’s head back,” you mutter quickly, taking the child and holding him close against your chest. You turn on your heels and escape out the door, Din close behind in typical stoic silence. You bite your bottom lip and worry about how heavy this will hang in the stillness of hyperspace.


         Din remains silent the entire walk back to the ship. You hope it’s because he’s scanning for danger and not stewing about your earlier slip up. It’s not like you had wanted to keep it to yourself. You had every intention of telling him after your trip with Dani.

         But you had planned for slightly more nuance. To actually do it in the light so he could see your face, so you could gauge his reaction. Kriff, so you could ease the poor man into it. Maybe if you had done this right…he might have said it back. Not that it’s important he says it back. It doesn’t change the truth of your feelings. You won’t hold your breath for it though; the Mandalorian has refused to speak since you entered the ship. There’s an intensity in the air; very present, but not quite enough to stop him from preparing for lift off, or to stop you from settling into the belly of the ship with the kid to feed him breakfast (once you visited the bathroom to remove a certain toy from yourself). It’s almost normal. Anyone looking in would assume the two of you were just continuing on like normal partners.

“Be happy you can’t talk,” you mutter to the child. He looks at you with inquisitive eyes, gurgling some jibberish. You sigh and lean your head back against the wall, closing your eyes for a few seconds. However, the child demands your attention, and you’re brought back to entertaining him. You tickle him a little while you hum his favorite song; happy for the distraction. That is, until the ship starts shaking and an obnoxious beeping sound travels through the hull. You hear a very distinct “Dank farrik” from up in the cockpit, and the ship begins to rattle. The child laughs at the sudden turbulence, and you groan as you begin to feel a little nauseous.

You consider going up into the cockpit, but Din hasn’t shouted for help yet, so you opt to stay safe with the kid in case the landing is rocky. You can feel the ship break through the atmosphere of somewhere. It’s suddenly very loud, the durasteel gives off dull patters as it’s pelted by…rain you think. You brace yourself as the ship makes an unsteady landing, and you swear before it’s even stopped moving, Din is climbing down the ladder.

“Put the kid in the bed, need your help” he mutters as he walks by you. You scramble up out of your chair and nab the kid from his spot. Din is opening the door as you settle the kid in the little alcove where the cot rests; he’s chattering nonstop but doesn’t seem too fussy yet. You look over as the ramp is lowering, and the roar of rain floods the hull. You can’t even see the terrain of the planet due to the white wall of storm falling just outside the door. Din grunts and strips off his vembrances, chest plate, and other armor (save for his helmet). You turn to the child and give your best serious face.

“Stay,” you warn. “Rain that hard will wash you away little man.” Remarkably, he seems to agree and settles into the blankets, barely making a peep as you close the divider. You don’t have any rain gear, so you go out in just your white shirt and lounge pants; the rain is tepid, so you aren’t worried about getting chilled. You rush out into the deluge, eager to fix whatever’s wrong with the ship and get back inside. You are surprised at the texture of the ground, a rocky sort of shore next to a tumultuous ocean. Despite the clear daylight attempting to break through the clouds, it’s still dark beneath the curtain of rain.

A panel on the side of the ship is hanging by a thin remnant of steel, and Din tears the rest of it away. You’ll have to solder the panel back in place, and you can hear him cursing to himself as he fiddles with something. Kriff, this ship really is falling apart. You scurry over and see his thick fingers struggling with the thin scraps of wire and metal that must have come undone when the panel fell off; open to the elements. You put a soothing hand on his wrist, and you’re surprised to find that it’s practically trembling. You give him a soft smile, trying your best to blink away the precipitation. He seems to understand and lets you slide in between him and the problem.

You work in silence, not that you’d be able to hear much over the roar of the rain. Din does his best to protect you and the ship, flipping his cape up and over the two of you so you can work in at least relative dryness. This requires him to be very close, his warm hard body sealed to your back as your fingers weave through the intricate wiring. You grunt slightly as you tie off a leaking hose that will need to get fixed at the next stop, and you jerk your body back as you attempt to pull out another part of the fixture to inspect it. Din shifts at your movement, and you notice an involuntary buck of his hips. Clearly, he’s not too scared off. You try to work as quickly as you can in the close proximity to Din, but his presence is a bit distracting and you can feel his prominent heartbeat against you.

There’s a heat rising between the two of you, and your hands begin to tremble as you add the finishing touches to the wiring. You pick up the soldering gun that Din had brought out with him and proceed to lay the paneling back over the ship the best you can. Once you finish you stand still, your breathing heavy as his weight leans against you. Neither of you move, allowing the intensity to grow against the side of the ship. You lick your lips and attempt to speak.

“I think I fixed-“

“-Say it again.” His voice is earnest but strained, as if scared to say anything more. Your stomach clenches and you turn to face him, your heart pounding louder than the storm. You see your own wide, dilated eyes in the reflection of his helmet, your hot breath fogging it slightly beneath his cloak.

“What do you mean?”

“I heard you say it, back at the hotel…did you mean it?” He has you backed up against the ship, his hands on your waist. You imagine his eyes are piercing as he evaluates your every move.

“Of course I did…Din, I love you.” It feels like the air escapes your lungs as you say it, and suddenly his body is pressed solidly against yours. His cape falls back, exposing the two of you to the rain. His hand claps over your eyes and you hear the distinct thud of his helmet hitting the ground. You give a brief nod, assuring him you’ll keep your eyes closed. Not that you could open them anyway, the rain is falling far too hard to see anything. As his hand leaves your eyes, his mouth finds yours, slick and warm in the steam of the water.

“Din-“ you murmur against his lips, falling under his spell.

“Need you now pretty girl- fuck , just let me have you.” You moan loudly as his hand comes up to cup your breast, the white material of your shirt concealing absolutely nothing. The ship seems to have landed somewhere devoid of civilization, not that the two of you could be stopped at this point. You kiss him fiercely and tear down his pants to the tops of his thighs, freeing his erection. You quickly step out of your own soaked bottoms, not caring to be embarrassed, and hook your leg up over his hip. His thick cock rubs against your entrance and you gasp loudly, attempting not to swallow any of the falling rain.

“Din,” you moan.

“Say it again.”

“I love you.” He enters you swiftly, and you are already wet and stretched from before. You toss your head back and can’t help the whine that escapes your lips as he completely fills you. He lifts you up, wrapping your other leg around him and begins to pound you mercilessly against the side of the ship. You surrender to his thrusts, over stimulated by emotions and the slap of rain against your cheeks. You grip onto his tangle of wet hair as he takes you. He buries his face in the crook of your neck, this sound of his heavy breathing and dirty whispers against your ear sending tingles down through your body.

“Damn it baby girl… shit , wanted to- to fuck you against this ship the moment I met you.”

“I knew it,” you try to tease, but it comes out breathy and desperate instead of taunting. He’s never called you baby girl before, and the term is sending your mind spiraling with a few possibilities.  But you attempt to file those thoughts away for now; you’re building dangerously quickly.

“Again,” he commands, his hips thrusting sharper.

“I love you!” You scream out. He bites into your neck, sucking a deep hickey.

“Again, baby girl,” he growls in your ear.

“Fuck, Din I’m in love with you,” you cry, tears streaming from your face. Partially from the release of emotion and partially from the deep and delicious spot he keeps slamming into. You are so close, your toes are curling and you feel lightheaded.

“Fucking— kriff , please. Please,” he’s begging, as if each utterance were a breath of life to a dying man. He needs it; he is getting drunk off the simple notion that you love him. That he is loved by someone like you, and it makes your heart swell.

“I love you,” you manage between thrusts, each snap of his hips knocking the breath out of you. He cums quickly inside you, a strangled moan pushing from his throat. He collapses against you with a whimper, and you almost think it’s a cry. His hand snaked down between the two of you, and he thumbs your clit.

“Tracinya, ni kar'tayl gar darasuum.” With just his words and a few soft circles to your clit, you are coming undone around him. You gasp deeply, your entire body trembling with the force of your pleasure. You would know those words anywhere. After “tracinya,” they were the first ones you looked up in the stolen library book. Your chest bursts with happiness, with fear, with relief. He holds you tightly as the two of you come back down from the precipice, breathing heavily, your muscles soothed by the warm beating of the rain.

“Say it again, Din,” you murmur softly.

“I love you,” he says with a shuddering voice. He moves your hair out of your face, and you let him look at you with his own eyes, blinking through the heavy rain. “Maker help me, I love you.”

Chapter Text

“That’s robbery,” you huff. The mechanic you are arguing with, a wicked looking dug, shakes his wrench at you.

         “That’s my price, or you can take your chances flying this hunk of scrap to the next planet.”

         “Kriff, you can’t be serious? I might as well buy a new ship for that price.”

         “Listen harpy woman, I’d be a moof-milker to charge you any less. I’m the only mechanic in this parsec that would even waste his time working on this bucket.”

         You groan and pinch the bridge of your nose, willing away your agitation. Your head is pounding to the point you think you may vomit. Din had tried to make it to the location of the next quarry, but it became clear a real mechanic would be required to complete your patch job. Needless to say, this backwater town was the last place either of you wanted to be. It had been a little over twelve hours since exchanging those words, and it was clear he was still very much drunk off of it. As soon as Din had put in the coordinates, you were bent over the captain’s chair, answering his desperate mutterings of say it again, tracinya. You could tell he was readying himself for a round three when the ship protested and forced a change of course to this planet. Din had ventured into the town to find food for the kid while you were tasked with acquiring mechanical services.

         “How about this? Just fix the hose and get her operational, I’ll handle the rest?”

         “You?” the dug barks, laughing cruelly. “I’ll do it, girl. Should be ready by tomorrow morning. But don’t come blaming me when you can’t figure out the red wire from the green.” You clench your fist at your side, but let the comment go.

         “Kark it, whatever.” You slap the credits into his hand and turn on your heel out of his shop. The town is small, very similar to the ones on Tatooine. Finding the Mandalorian and the child shouldn’t be very difficult. The town is odd, bustling with activity and decently modern amenities juxtaposed with a large surrounding forest and unpaved streets. It wasn’t uncommon; a new power comes in, gives people new businesses and technologies, but no funding for other infrastructure like trade roads or multi-storied buildings. Your own village had been very similar.

         Your heart leaps when you catch sight of the pod and then Din, his commanding stature still sends goose bumps across your skin at times. He’s leaving a shop, tucking something into his pocket. Your brows pique with curiosity and you watch him for a moment as he checks on the kid who seems to be eating something colorful. You slowly creep over to them, attempting to surprise the bounty hunter. You get about two feet away before he turns, strong arms capturing you and bringing you flush to his body.

         “Were you trying to sneak up on me?” He asks, unable to hide the amusement in his voice. You give a light tap to his chest plate and furrow your brow.

         “What do you mean trying? I’d say I got pretty close. If I was hunting you, you’d be a goner.” Din just snorts in response, releasing you from his grip. You take a quick peek into the shop, noticing it’s full of small metal and glass trinkets; an odd place for the Mandalorian. Before you can question him, he clears his throat and ushers you and the pod down the street of the town.

         “How long will the ship be?”

         “We can get it first thing tomorrow morning,” you grumble. “The nerfherder tried to bankrupt me in the process.”

         “Do we have enough for a room?” he asks, his tone unbothered. It strikes you that somewhere down the line, the credits became shared between the two of you. Not in a “split down the middle” sort of way, but in a singular pot kind of scenario. You don’t know how or when this evolved, but there’s an odd pride that Din trusts you enough to let it continue.

         “We could, but I’d rather save it in case of another emergency. We’ll easily make all of it up with your next trade in on Navarro.”

         “So what are you suggesting?” You give him a small smile.

         “The weather on this planet is mild…and I haven’t been camping in a while.”


         You sit against a tree holding the child in your lap. He is laughing at some glowing insects that emerged in the dimming light; they flicker on and off in a glittering dance that has the child mesmerized. You watch him giggling with a fondness that you’ve never felt before. You would protect him with every ounce of strength in your body. You’d give up food, give up sleep, give up your peace in order to keep him safe. 

         You regret having to be on the run, having to lie and steal. But in moments like this, you also realize you are thankful. Not thankful for that soldier, but that you fought back. That you never stopped fighting. That you continued to run because it put you into the path of Din and the child. A soft sound pulls you from your thoughts, and you blink away the haze.

         “Mama,” the child repeats, making grabbing hands at you. The air escapes your lungs in a soft gasp.

         “Wh-what was that?” You’ve heard him say it before, but this seemed-

         “Mama,” he repeats insistently, his shining black eyes holding your gaze as he reaches for you. Your lip trembles, and you bring the child in, hugging him close. You attempt to blink away the tears that are welling behind your eyes.

         “Little man…yeah, yeah I am, aren’t I? I never thought I’d ever get to—“ The child happily coos in your ear, his fingers gripping your hair softly. You sniffle and pull away, looking into his eyes. “Thank you for letting me be your mom.” He claps his hands together at this, and gives a toothy grin. You wipe away your tears quickly when you hear footsteps. It’s been an emotional few days, and you aren’t ready to reveal this so quickly to Din, especially so soon after professing your feelings.

         Din walks up, wood piled in his arms for a fire. The three of you are only about a mile outside of the town, but there is not a trace of anyone in the forest. It’s a quiet evening, still and glowing thanks to the brightness of the half moon. Din sets to creating a fire, working swiftly as the kid leaves your lap to go inspect his work with curious eyes. You watch as well, but you’re more focused on the flex of his muscles, the curve of his back as he leans over. How dexterous his fingers appear, sparking ignition with a hard piece of rock. The child squeals with delight as the logs and twigs catch fire in a warm blaze.

         “We’ll have to watch that one,” you tease. “Who knows what kind of fires he could start with that magic.”

         “Are you trying to make me age faster?” Din quips, his voice teasing as much as yours.

         “For all I know, you’re already there.” Din just answers with a snort, giving a few adjustments to the fire before leaning back against a tree, his helmet fixated on you. The two of you look at each other from across the flames.  You look down at your fingers. “How old are you? I don’t- I don’t think I ever asked you.” You bite your bottom lip, hoping the question doesn’t offend him.

         “I- I don’t really know. It’s somewhere, somewhere between thirty-six and thirty-nine.” He fists his hands at his sides and tilts his helmet slightly away. “Does that…bother you?”

         “Why would it? It doesn’t change how I feel about you.” The bounty hunter visibly relaxes at that and clears his throat. “Can I ask…why don’t you know your exact age?” The child is climbing up into Din’s lap now, looking at his own reflection in the beskar armor.

         “When I was rescued, I think I may have been eight. But it was so long ago, I can’t be sure. And Mandalorians don’t really keep carful track of birthdays…I just have to guess.”

         “I’m sorry,” you state softly. “It must have been so hard to have everything you knew change.” Din absently strokes the child’s ears, something you’ve only ever seen him do in the privacy of the ship.

         “I have no regrets in my life. That’s not The Way…and I can’t say I’m disappointed with where I landed.” His head turns to you again, and you feel as though his eyes are piercing into you. The look makes your entire body heat up in a way that is completely unrelated to the roaring fire between the two of you. You open your mouth to say something, but Din just grunts and gets up, holding the kid up in his arms. “I think it’s time to put him to bed.”

         Your heart begins to beat a little faster, and you shift positions, very aware of the arousal that’s starting to grow. How is he able to do this? It’s like he has a switch to your desires that he’s able to flick on at will. The kid fusses for a few moments, but finally settles down and allows Din to close the shield of the pod. Din retreats back to his seat across the fire and settles in.

         “Go ahead and go to sleep, tracinya. I’ll keep watch for a little while.”

         “You’re- you’re not tired?” you ask, a little disappointed that he won’t be laying down with you. Whether or not that would have turned into something a little more active, you simply enjoy his presence, his warmth.

         “Don’t worry about me,” he says simply. He leans back against the tree with his legs out, arms crossed over his chest. You furrow your brows and release a slow breath as you shift into a more comfortable position. You can tell his eyes are trained on you; you can just feel the intensity of his gaze. You lay down in the grass, staring up at the stars peeking through the thick canopy of the trees. Eventually closing your eyes, you really do attempt to let your thoughts go. To will yourself into a state of sleep…but you can’t. After about five minutes of silence, your body continues to buzz with want for the Mandalorian sitting about five feet away from you. You turn your head and peek over to see his helmet is still focused on you. You prop up onto your elbows and give him a pointed look.

         “What are you looking at?”

         “Has anyone ever told you how beautiful you are in firelight?” His response catches you off guard. Not only has no one said this before, but his compliment is surprisingly confident; resolute. Like it’s a simple fact that anyone in the surrounding parsecs would be able to repeat.

         “Thank you.” Your voice is soft, contemplative. “Is that why you’re staying up? To stare at my beauty?”

         “And what if it was?”

         “I’d tell you that sounds like bantha shit,” you snort. You sit up on your hands and knees and slowly crawl towards him. “Especially when I could just give you a front row seat.” The Mandalorian is stoic, silent, as you stalk towards him. But you register the hitch in his breath as you straddle his lap and put your hands around his neck. You stare back at your own reflection against the warm glow of his helmet, wishing you could see his face. “Better?” you whisper.

         “Mmhhmm,” he hums, letting his hands drift to your waist.

         “So why are you really staying up? The town seems safe enough…are you worried about something?”

         “No,” he answers. You think it’s a lie. “Sometimes I’m just stressed…feeling wired.” That sounds more truthful.

         “I’d be more than happy,” you begin, rolling your hips in his lap, “to take your mind off that thing that you’re definitely not worried about.” He inhales deeply, his fingers under your shirt, feeling the smooth skin of your back.

         “Tracinya, you should sleep,” he offers, the slight buck in his hips betraying his words.

         “You could let me tire myself out.” You pull your shirt up over your head, your underclothes sheer and soft.

         “You’ll get cold,” he quips, attempting to be aloof. But the bruising grip of his fingers urges you on.

         “Then keep me warm, handsome.” You close your eyes and let your head fall back as you rock against his crotch. You feel his erection, painfully hard in his pants.

         Fuck, pretty girl…” he warns, his breathing heavy and ragged. You adjust yourself, pulling your pants off awkwardly, Din holding you steady as you strip. With your pants joining the pile of clothes in the grass, you settle back down.

         “Do you know how fucking hot you make me?” you ask, forehead pressed against his helmet. You reach into his pants, fiddling with the waistband until you free his member. He gives a low moan as you grasp his throbbing cock in your hand. “How hard I have to try to keep my hands off you?”

         Dank farrik, I think you’re trying to kill me.”

         “Tell me you want me.” You swipe your thumb over the leaking head. “Tell me you want me to fuck myself on your cock.” Din releases a gasp that quickly swells into a deep moan.

         Use me. Stars, use me baby girl.” You shift your panties to the side and sink onto him, welcoming the burning stretch as he splits you open.

         “Fuck! Din,” you gasp, your thighs trembling at the sensation. You slowly move on top of him, his hands following your hips. You use his strong shoulders to guide yourself up and down, reveling in the friction of his cock rubbing, teasing your walls. Din moans softly at your movements, attempting to be patient with your sensual speed. You lean closer to him, rocking your hips deliberately, pushing him deep inside you. The beskar helmet chills your flaming cheeks.

Din grips your hips and pushes you down as he bucks up harshly into you, desperate for the pounding rhythm you both are so used to. You push harshly against his chest plate and still your hips, refusing to move. “I’m in charge here,” you remind in a sultry voice. Din leans back firmer against the tree, surrendering to your will easily. It’s unexpected, but your core bubbles with desire at the thought. He instead grips your hair, tugging softly, wanting to see the faint bruises on your throat in the firelight. You oblige, reveling in his gaze, getting off on the worship of your form.

         “Tell me you love me,” you whine, your voice thin as you rub yourself more firmly. Din grabs you by the back of the neck, pointing your head towards the visor of his helmet.

         “Open your eyes,” he says firmly. You blink your eyes open, staring deep into the face of the helmet you’ve grown so accustomed to. This is new…you can’t see it, but you know he’s making eye contact. Staring straight into you as you pleasure each other. “I love you, tracinya.” Your body trembles, your hips continuing their thrusts. You’ve heard him say it before, but not in the heat of the moment while he stares through you.

         “F-fuck. Din,” you try to close your eyes and tilt your head back. His hand forces you to look back at him again. He says your name; moans it out into the evening.

         “I love you,” he says softer, earnestly. You can’t suppress your whine, his voice making your lower half clench.

         “I know, Din I know,” you stammer out. This is a lot; it’s a level of intimacy that has you spiraling. You feel yourself building. Your entire core is electric. Your pace picks up slightly, driving yourself towards orgasm, desperate for a release. His grip on you remains firm, refusing to let you look anywhere else. You can’t imagine how exposed you would feel if there were no helmet…you may not be able to handle it.

         “I love you…shit, I love you so fucking much it scares me.” You moan loudly, and his gloved hand comes up to muffle the noise, both of you suddenly aware that the kid is still sleeping only a few feet away. “I got you. Be as loud as you want, I got you.” You can’t help but moan again, your hips thrusting harshly now, abandoning the sensuous pace.

         “Din?” you breathe, your tongue brushing against the leather. “Din?” You’re building, your entire body clenched and buzzing, teetering on the precipice. You feel short of breath and dizzy, your eyes still trained on his visor.

         “Shh, it’s okay pretty girl. Let me watch you cum. I love seeing you cum.” A cry leaves your chest, muffled by his hand. Your entire pussy begins to pulse, squeezing him as you find release. “Damn it,” he hisses, your tightness pulling his own orgasm from him, and you shudder as he fills you up. Your breathing is heavy and quick, your eyes still trained on him. Your hips take a few moments to stop moving, and you think a tear may be falling.

         “Din?” you say weakly, your body is shaking. He lets go of you, and you fall forward, burying your face into the crook of his neck.

         “Shh, I’m here. I’m here, tracinya.” He rubs a hand up and down your back to soothe you, and all your tension releases into his familiar touch. You can feel the small tremors of his body beneath yours, and you realize how intense this may have been for him as well. The two of you take your time to come down, holding each other tightly, listening to the crackle of the fire and the whispers through the branches of the trees.

         “Are you sure there’s nothing worrying you?” A few beats of silence, and a slow exhale.

         “I’m sure, tracinya. Let’s get you dressed so you can get a few hours of sleep.”


         When you wake up, the child is cooing softly in his pod. You sneak a peek over at Din who seems to have fallen asleep against the tree at some point. A frown crosses your face; something doesn’t feel right. Something between your legs. You get up slowly, careful not to wake the Mandalorian. You’re used to being soaking wet after a night with him, but this is different. You pull down your pants and gasp softly…blood.

         That’s impossible. You haven’t had your cycle in three years; not since the carbon freezer destroyed that part of you. You take your jacket and wrap it around your waist, worried about any evidence on your pants. It’s fine. It’s probably just sex related; maybe you had been rougher than you thought. As intense as it felt last night, maybe you just hadn’t noticed?

         You stand to go check on the child, your stomach flipping; you feel kriffing nauseous. It’s no big deal. Nothing to worry Din about. You’ll be on the next planet in a few hours time; you’ll go find a doctor while Din is on his hunt. Just to be safe.

         “You okay?” comes a modulated voice. You try your best not to jump. Din is watching you carefully. You pick the child out of the pod, bringing him close as he giggles with delight.

         “Yeah- no, yeah I’m good. Let’s go get the ship, huh?”

Chapter Text

Your stomach is in knots, and you use all of your concentration to focus on not vomiting.  Din has been lingering for nearly an hour after landing on Corellia. He seems nearly as nervous as you are; you can sense it radiating off of him. As you wait in the hull, attempting to feed the kid some breakfast, your comm. beeps multiple times, indicating an incoming transmission. Though Din is the only one who should know the signal, you wouldn’t put it past Dani to figure it out either. You resolve to get in contact with her after Din is out of earshot, knowing he isn’t the biggest fan of the bounty hunter.

         You finally get the kid to take a spoonful of the new food that Din had picked up and it dribbles down his chin. The Mandalorian comes around the corner and lets out a chuckle. He stands behind you, wrapping his arms around your body, squeezing gently, as if soaking you in before his trip. You frown to yourself, a new discomfort settling in the pit of your stomach. Guilt…that’s new. You haven’t’ been close enough to anyone to feel guilt. You don’t like keeping secrets, not from Din at least. He’s grown a lot in the past few months, and you feel that you’re taking advantage of that trust.

         “Everything okay?” he asks, his voice serious.

         “Mmhmm, of course,” you mumble, squeezing his arms. You resolve to tell him everything when he gets back. After you’ve talked with Dani and seen the doctor. There’s no reason to worry him right before a hunt, right?

         “You seem light years away.”

         “Just thinking about you leaving…and how I need you to hurry back to me.” Din presses a little firmer against you, a deep hum coming from his chest. He pulls you from the chair, leading you just around the corner out of the kid’s line of sight. He begins to lift his helmet, and your eyes close instantly in anticipation.

         “Tracinya, it would take an entire Imperial fleet to keep me from you.” He steals a kiss from you, his warm lips eager and soft. Your breath exits your lungs, and you whimper as he pulls away all too soon. “I’m sorry, I don’t think I’ll actually be able to leave if I let myself—you know.” The words are modulated and you blink your eyes, gazing into his visor.

         He pulls something small from his pocket and presses it into your hand. He curls your fingers around the stone trinket. Before you can look at the gift, he’s rushing up the ladder for some last minute maintenance and tracking. You lean against the wall with a small sigh, watching until he disappears from your view. Looking down into your palm, you examine a leather bracelet. In the middle, a small green stone, reminiscent of the child’s own coloring. Engraved is a mudhorn like you’ve seen on Din’s pauldron, the back depicting a small flame.

         “Kriff, thoughtful metal bastard,” you mutter, slipping the bracelet on immediately as your comm. goes off again. You answer it.

         “You are a hard woman to get in touch with,” Dani comments.

         “Forgive me for being busy.”

         “Having sex with helmet head is not an excuse for ignoring my communications,” she huffs.

         “Dani, I’ve got the kid sitting right in the other room,” you snap. “I’m not sold he can’t understand basic.”

         “Fine, fine. I called because…well, there’s been a development.” Your heart leaps up into your throat. This isn’t good; she wouldn’t be calling to give you an update if it was unrelated to you. “Listen, it seems that this Keyman Whicor is a major player in this slaving ring.

         Kriff. He was a bounty hunter, I don’t understand why…”

         “Look, I don’t mean to pry but, I did some digging. And I found out a lot about him, but a lot about you too.” You hold your breath, looking back up to the cockpit, nervous about Din hearing. What could Dani have possibly uncovered?

         “Don’t sugarcoat it. Give it to me straight,” you say hurriedly.

         “After Keyman’s run in with you, he got blacklisted from every respectable guild in the knowable galaxy. Seems that Karga has a lot more pull than he lets on. He couldn’t get work, started hopping around parsecs and fell in with some of his seedier acquaintances. There’s a lot more money in slaving than bounty hunting.”

         “Dank farrik,” you hiss. “I’ll wring his pretty little neck.”

         “It gets worse…seems this new business brought him in contact with one Moff Gideon.”

         “Am I supposed to know who that is?” You hear a creak from above and make a gesture for Dani to continue quietly.

         “Kriff, do you and the bucket even talk? What do you do in hyperspace? Actually don’t answer that.” You roll your eyes.  “Moff Gideon is empire scum and the reason your little green child has a bounty in the first place. He’s the reason Mando is wanted. And thanks to Keyman’s intel, the reason you are wanted.” You instinctively walk over to the kid and grab him, clutching him close to your chest. He squirms a bit, feeding into your negative feelings. You can hear the question in your mind, what’s going on, mama?

         “What does he want with him?”

         “Not just him. With anyone like him. Your pet frog is magical, right?” You bristle at this, but nod nonetheless. “Seems he’s not the only one. When Keyman was working in the slave ring, seems he picked up a girl with similar abilities. Moff Gideon apparently paid handsomely for her. With Keyman’s history of tracking people down, no surprise they struck some kind of arrangement. He’s paying this bounty hunter to acquire people like the kid.” She takes a small pause and you hear a tentative breath. “People like you.”

         “I don’t- I’m not sure what you mean,” you lie. It’s not like it’s a secret, but it’s not something you actively advertise. Especially not after the bomb Dani has just dropped on you.

         “Don’t lie to me, you’re not very good at it. Like I said, I had to do some digging, and that included some stuff about you. I won’t apologize for being thorough.”

         “Jakku?” you mutter, pinching the bridge of your nose. A little over a year ago, a bounty hunter was able to get the drop on you. Open market, lots of crowds. It was a darker time for you; you were tired, and angry, always full of fear. He had grabbed you by the neck and it startled you. The next thing you knew, you were on the ground blinking awake, and your attacker had sailed fifty yards into a fruit cart. Some of the locals thought you were some kind of demon, and you had done everything to pretend the incident didn’t happen. Ever since, you’ve been unable to move things, or exhibit that sort of strength. You thought it was a fluke.

         “Yeah…so be careful, okay? I got word that his next destination is Corellia. Should be there in a few days time.” You try to stifle the gasp, and you grip the child slightly closer to your chest. He’s following me. If Keyman knows that both you and the child have abilities…you shudder. “Stay outta trouble, love ya.” And with that, the communication ends and you’re left in the creaking hull clutching onto the kid. Din is descending the ladder, and you reach out to grab him as he walks past. This is too important to wait for tonight.

“I think Keyman has been following us,” you say slowly, stroking the child’s ears as you look up into the vacant T-visor. Din says nothing, his body rigid and still as he takes you in. The silence is suffocating so you continue. “He- he should arrive in a few days time…Dani told me.” You see the Mandalorian’s chest heave and he turns on his heel.

         “Good thing we won’t be here when he does,” Din huffs, collecting his weapons and gear. You worry your bottom lip, focusing on his every movement…something feels wrong.

         “You don’t seem surprised,” you add carefully. Din just grunts and shoulders his gear, stealing a look at you. You see his hand fist at his side, and your stomach sinks into the floor. “You know…Din, how long have you known he’s been after us?”

         “How did you—doesn’t matter. He won’t catch up with us. Don’t worry.” You stand and put the kid down on the ground before walking over to Din with trembling knees.

         “That’s not really the point,” you explain, trying to control your emotions. Din sighs, and the tilt of his helmet makes you think he’s rolling his eyes. You see his hand reach for the button of the door.

         “Then what is the point? Can’t we talk about this later? I’ve got a bounty to catch.” You cross your arms and slip between him and the closed door, pressing your back against the durasteel.

         “We can discuss it now, partner.” Din curses under his breath and drops his supplies to the floor. He towers over you, but you are no longer intimidated by him. Not like before.

         “Fine,” he hisses, and you think the vocorder actually makes the sound less harsh than his true tone.

         “How long have you known that Keyman was after us? Why did I have to hear it from Dani?”

         “You spoke to the bounty hunter?” Din challenges. The ship is small, and he knows the only reason he didn’t hear her voice is because you didn’t want him to.

         “Not the point,” you deflect. “You didn’t think that was information worth sharing?” Your tone is becoming more clipped, and you can’t stop the corners of your mouth from frowning. Non-emotional confrontations have never been your strong suit. And you know with Din’s stoicism, histrionics will only hurt your case.

         “No, I didn’t. I didn’t want to worry you, not over something only suspected.”

         “Bantha osik,” you mutter, leaning your head against the door.

         “I’m serious. You’ve been through a lot, the kid’s been through a lot. There was no point in telling you yet.”

         “So you didn’t think I could handle it?” you snap. The Mandalorian says your name low, like a warning, and your entire body trembles with a mix of emotions at that. “And Moff Gideon? When were we going to talk about him?”

         “What does he have to do with this?” Din’s tone is much angrier now, and it gives you pause. You attempt to dial back your volume and take a breath.

         “Keyman’s working with him. He’s part of the slaving ring Dani is investigating, but he’s also looking for the kid, and others like him.” Din growls deep in his throat at this and takes a few steps through the hull, attempting to let off some anger. “Like me,” you add with a whisper, more to yourself.

         “He’s not going to touch the kid. He’s not going to touch you. I can keep you safe,” Din promises, his fists clenching and unclenching.

         “Not on your own,” you challenge. “This is why you need to tell me things, Din!”

         “I had it under control.”

         “Ori’buyce kih’kovid,” you spit, and you feel yourself snarl in defiance. “How many times do I need to kriffing say this? We’re fucking partners.” Your voice is sharp, but to your credit you keep it from sounding like a shriek.

         “I was doing what I needed to do. He’s my son. And you’re more than my partner. It’s my duty to protect you both and I intend to.” His voice is all raspy growls, and you can hear the strain to remain semi controlled.

         “I’m his mother, too! And loving each other doesn’t mean we aren’t partners. Clean slate, that’s what you agreed to. We’re supposed to be equals, Din. But you clearly think you’re still in charge, here.”

         “Of course I am!” he shouts back, crowding you up against the wall. The air in the hull dissipates, a vacuum of sound causing your ears to ring as your vision nearly goes red. You push past him, hurting your own shoulder against his armor more than anything. But the movement affects him. You pick up the kid and put him in the pod. In spite of the charged atmosphere, his little head is drooping. If he is truly susceptible to energies, you imagine this argument may have knocked him out. Once you close the shield you walk towards the end of the hull. Din’s voice is quieter now, but still edged like jagged glass. “Where are you going?”

         “Can’t a quarry have her own secrets?” you mutter, climbing the ladder. There are tears welling up in your eyes, hot and aching, ready to release. He rushes to the ladder, gripping your wrist. It’s not harsh; there’s a fear you can feel through his finger tips. You sigh and squeeze your eyes shut for a moment. “I’m charting a course for the main transportation hub of Corellia. When you get back from this hunt, we are going straight there to wait for Keyman, and I’m going to fucking shoot him.”

         “It’s too risky. We need to keep our distance. If what you said is true about Gideon, he won’t be alone. He’ll be watched, he’ll have allies.”

         “Then I’ll go alone to keep the kid safe. Just me, no ship, it’ll be quiet.”

         “Dank farrik, you aren’t going anywhere by yourself!”

         “And what are you going to do to stop me, Din? Chain me to the fucking ladder?” you snap, your eyes filled with fire, the scorching tears finally falling and burning trails down flushed cheeks. He retracts his hand from you as if he’s been burned; that one hurt him. You can feel it. Good. You continue up the ladder, your feet at the top rung when you hear him.

         “I’m begging you, please tracinya.” His voice sounds so raw and hurt. And you realize he’s taken his helmet off; you wonder if he’s also crying. “You can be mad at me. You can hate me…but please promise me you won’t go alone. I don’t—pretty girl I don’t think I could survive it if something—“ his voice cuts off, unable to finish the sentence. New tears begin to fall again, plopping against the durasteel floor. You echo his thoughts exactly. You don’t know what you would do if something happened to him, if you had to watch that happen.

         “I won’t do anything until you’re back,” you promise. “This is not over, though.” You continue up the ladder and shut yourself off in the cockpit. You sink into the copilot’s chair and hide your face in your hands, letting out a few shaky sobs.


         You adjust yourself on the doctor’s table, giving a weak smile to the child looking up at you. His hands are on your stomach, his typical position. You feel bloated and sick; probably from stress of the morning. You had meant what you said to him, you won’t go to the transport hub while Din is away. But that doesn’t erase the fact that you still need medical attention. Honestly, the unexpected bleeding seems miniscule compared to the bomb that was dropped in the Razor Crest earlier.

         Your worst fears were confirmed…you’re not equals. At least not in the way you need him to view you. You know Din doesn’t think of you as less than; hell the man fucking worships you. And you know that deep down. He sees you as the mother of his child, the very flame in his soul. But that doesn’t make the comment hurt any less. The fact that Din thinks he needs to be in charge in every situation; that he doesn’t trust your abilities. You huff, shaking the thought from your head. Stop that, you don’t know that. Don’t put words in the man’s mouth when he can’t explain himself.

         You fiddle with the bracelet, your mouth set down into a frown. You’re tired, you’re confused, you’re kriffing angry. And yet all you can think about is how much you miss Din, and how desperately you want him to come back.

         The kid shakes against you, and you hold him close in agreement. The doctor’s office is freezing. It’s bright, harsh fluorescents bathing the space in a sterile and sharp glow. So different than the home you have built for yourself on the Crest. You shake your leg impatiently, eager to get back to the ship. Din wouldn’t be long on this hunt, and you want to be there when he returns. Your absence would most likely just cause another fight, and you’ve already wasted an hour trying to find this place; a medical institution in the middle of the expansive shipyards a journey in itself. Thankfully, they agreed to take you without an appointment and without official papers. You imagine with the wanderlust of the Corellian people, they were open to things being ‘off the books.’ There’s a knock at the door and you tell them to enter.

         “Well we’ve run a few tests and you have nothing to worry about,” says the middle-aged bothan. His flat nose is pointed down into the charts on his clip board. You let out a sigh of relief; at least something good happened today.

         “Thank you doctor,” you murmur.  “So there’s nothing wrong with me?”

         “Not at all. Spotting during pregnancy is very common; in fact, we see it through out multiple species.” You blink dumbly at the furry doctor, your mouth opening and closing multiple times.

         “Pregnancy?” you say slowly, as if it’s a word from a language that doesn’t exist. Your tongue feels too big for your mouth.

         “Yes. At seven weeks spotting is not anything you need to be concerned about. It may look scary, but your scans are good, and the baby seems healthy.” Your eyes widen, and thank god the child is clinging to you, because you nearly drop him in your shock. The doctor furrows his brows and looks back at the chart. “Ma’am, were you unaware of your pregnancy?”

         “Pregnancy?” you repeat again, your voice sounding detached from your body.

         “Yes, you should be a few weeks late on your cycle. I apologize, I shouldn’t have assumed you knew.”

         “I don’t,” you begin, your voice sounding a bit hysterical. “I don’t have a cycle. I don’t understand, I don’t have a- no the healers all said that I was- it’s supposed to be impossible.”

         “Did you previously struggle with infertility?”

         “You don’t understand doc…I haven’t had a cycle in three years. I was put in kriffing carbonite and it damaged those organs beyond repair. I had multiple healers, doctors even, tell me that it was impossible. It would take a the kriff could I get pregnant when I can’t even—“ you begin to stutter, your heart rate increasing. Your chest begins to heave and you feel as though you can’t capture your breath.

         “I understand your confusion, and I’m sorry for the shock. But we ran your tests, and my lab tech is a very capable young woman. There is nothing wrong, in fact, I would dare to say everything inside you is pristine. Nothing like I’ve ever seen.” You shake your head over and over, biting your lip. This cannot be real, there’s no kriffing way. The child pushes on your stomach, and the movement draws your eyes down to him.

         “Holy shit,” you gasp, the child looking up at you with the most knowing eyes you’ve ever seen. You healed me? You push the thought out into the world.

         “Mama,” he responds with the slightest nod of his head. The past few months come rushing back to you in a tidal wave of images. You feel as though you’re drowning beneath the flood of realization.

         You think of the kid’s favorite spot on your lap. He had started sitting like that, hands pressed against your abdomen, soon after you and Din started your relationship. You remember him, sitting focused and still during your meeting with Karga, as if concentrating. How he would sometimes fall asleep that way…you had assumed he just found it comfortable. But now…he was healing you. He sensed the damage, the injury within you, and had been healing you over a period of time. He would fall asleep like that, because that’s what he always did when he used his powers. And you had been so out of tune with yours that you didn’t even notice.

         You groan softly to yourself, pinching the bridge of your nose. You and Din never used protection. Why would you? Your stomach flips and you can’t help but laugh. It was fucking morning sickness. Not some strange flu you picked up in Mos Pelgo. All the times over the past few weeks where you’ve felt nauseous; they weren’t from stress or bad flying, it was because the kid hadn’t been around to ease your symptoms.

         “This cannot be happening,” you whisper, tossing your head back and closing your eyes for a moment. Maybe this is a dream. An odd fever dream from something you ate, or a delirious experience from Din fucking you too hard. But when you open your eyes, your head is unfortunately clear, and the doctor is regarding you with warm eyes.

         “It’s going to be okay. I’ll have the nurse send you home with a variety of supplements to suppress the morning sickness and to keep your baby healthy.” You stare at him blankly, his words sounding foreign, devoid of all meaning. “Ma’am, do you have someone? No matter what you decide to do, I’d hate for you to do it alone.”

         “Partner,” you mumble, unable to take your eyes off the kid.


         As you walk back to the ship, you clutch the kid in one arm, the other holding the supplements and diagnostics from your visit. Your body feels like a cavern, the sounds of your thoughts bouncing and echoing off of dripping walls. You look down at the child and sigh.

         “What am I going to tell your father?” The child gives you a toothy grin and you don’t know whether to laugh or cry. This is perhaps the worst time for this to happen. You and Din had only just admitted to being in love. Not to mention the explosive fight this morning, and the fact that a bounty hunter and the remains of the empire are after the child and you. The thought makes you stop in your tracks. What if it has the same abilities you do? Shit.

         You enter the Razor Crest and plop the kid on the ground. Thankfully, he totters away to entertain himself. You flop onto the bunk and stare up at the ceiling, your mind feeling separate from your body. How could you have missed this? Shouldn’t you have been able to sense something happening in your own body? The child knows, you’d bet your life on it. Even if he doesn’t fully understand, he can sense a change in you. You wonder if he can feel the life that’s growing inside of you now…

         “Here goes nothing,” you mutter, closing your eyes. You’ve tried meditation once or twice, but never figured you had the patience for it…or maybe up until this point, you didn’t have the proper motivation. You begin by slowing your breathing; in for four seconds, out for four seconds. The repeated action gradually slows your heart beat, and you feel as though you can better hear the sounds of the ship. You attempt to remove intruding thoughts, visualizing that you can simply sweep them away from your mind, holding them at bay until the exercise is completed. Once you find a stillness, a base level of your psyche, you begin to reach inward. You fight the tremble of your body as you focus on your heart beat, the way your skin feels against your clothes. You push further, focusing on how air fills each hole of your lungs, on the sound of your own bloodstream in your ears. You don’t know how long you are doing this for, getting lost in it, surrendering yourself to it. It progresses until you can feel your blood inside your veins, the neurons firing across your brain, and finally…finally. You can feel it. The pulse of life inside you. It’s soft and flittering, a second heartbeat harmonizing with your own. Your body is harboring something that’s connected with the universe, something that you can feel, that the child could feel.  Your body is its armor…her armor.

         You gasp loudly, the experience too intense to continue. Your body bolts upright in the cot as the world begins to seep back into your consciousness. The child is looking up at you, worry in his eyes. You are consumed with an odd fire, a blaze of determination as he coos at you. You would protect him with your life…both of them. And you intend to. You’re going to end this.


         When Din arrives, the ship is silent. It feels as though the air has been stolen out of the room. He finds the child hidden in the alcove, asleep in his pod. The only sign of you rests with a piece of paper on the table.


         I have my comm. I am not in danger. I will explain everything when we meet again.

         I do not hate you, I never could. I love you, every single piece of you which is why I need to do this. I need to protect us, so I must do this alone. If you and the kid are safe, that’s all I need.

         Give our son a snuggle from me, and I’ll see you soon.

                                              -Your tracinya

       Mhi ba’juri verde

Chapter Text

A = Attractive: what do they find attractive about the other?

Literally everything. He was struck the moment he saw you in that cantina. But if he had to choose? The romantic answer would be your eyes, bright and clear, eager to see beauty in everything. The more realistic answer? Your tits. He’s a simple man.


B = Baby: do they want a family? why/why not?

Din secretly would love tons of kids. He wouldn’t mind having his own offspring, though the thought that someone could grow up to be just like him is a bit intimidating to him. As a Mandalorian, he has no reservations about adopting a foundling in the future. But if it turns out to be just him, you, and Grogu? That’s more than enough for him.


C = Cuddle: how do they cuddle?

He usually is the big spoon, starting the night as warm and protective. As you continue to sleep he clutches you closer, as if he’s scared you’ll disappear. Secretly, he loves being the little spoon. He can feel you, and for a brief moment, he can feel protected.


D = Dates: what are dates with them like?

Most dates with Din are not what you would typically call a date. He may not take you out to a fancy dinner, but if you wanted to go for a speed bike ride, he wouldn’t complain. If you wanted to spar and train till the two of you were gasping for breath, well that’s foreplay to him. He might even take you on a hunt, if it’s low risk/safe enough.


E = Everything: you are my ____ (e.g my life, my world…)

Flame. Tracinya. You light a fire in Din that scared him at first. A raging fire can destroy, can burn. But a single flame, something dancing and beautiful, can be a source of light, a source of warmth.


F = Feelings:  did they know they were falling in love?

No, not really. He thought his feelings were attraction, lust, fondness, appreciation. He knew he liked you, A LOT. When he finally realized he loved you, it was like a slap in the face, something overwhelming and scary. The feelings had been there a while, but letting them in and putting a name to them? He’s still trying to figure out how to act on it.


G = Gentle: are they gentle? If so, how?

He’s very gentle after sex. But that’s not the only time; his soothing strokes are so soft after you’ve been crying. Despite the beskar, the kid’s favorite place to be is in Din’s arms.


H = Hand: Hold how do they like to hold? how do they like to hold hands?

Din’s not really one to hold hands. He’s generally weary about public displays of affection, and would much rather have his hands free in case he needs to grab a blaster and protect you or the kid. In private, he likes to hold you. Likes to feel your weight against him, on top of him. He likes to hold you up against the wall, keep you close, or press firmly against you while you sleep.


I = Impression: first impression/s

He was surprised when he first met you. He expected someone cruel, a snake, someone harsh. Maybe seductive, but not in the way he liked. When he saw you, he felt as though he could fall into you. Your bright eyes, your calmness in the face of danger, how pretty you were. It caught him off guard, and he was pretty suspicious for a while.


J = Joker: are they into pulling pranks?

Pranks are definitely not his thing. He is a decently serious man and does not try to change that. But sarcasm? Now he loves sparring with you in that way.


K = Kisses: how do they kiss?

Intensely. You are Din’s first kiss, and with the helmet on, he can’t kiss you as often as he’d like. So when he finally can, the tension that has built up spills out of him. There’s a lot of desire that gets trapped in that helmet.


L = Little things: what little things do they love/notice?

He loves that your tongue sticks out when you are fixing wiring or focusing really hard. He hasn’t mentioned it because he’s afraid you might stop doing it. He also loves it when you snark back at him (at least for a little bit)


M = Memory: their favorite moment together

His favorite moment that the two of you shared was a few weeks after you came back into his life. He was injured, had just revealed that he wanted you, and you began to kiss all along his body. The excitement at that, the heat that filled his ship, the anticipation of what the two of you could become…he could never forget it.


N = Nickel: do they spoil? do they buy the person they love everything?

He won’t spoil you with flowers or chocolates or shiny things. But he loves gifting you with things he finds useful, like your custom crafted spear. Or small things that had a lot of thought put into them, like your bracelet. He wants to make you happy, but materialism isn’t really his thing.


O = Orange: what color reminds them of their other half

Red; flames, passion, and honestly blood. You two have sustained quite a few injuries working together.


P = Petnames: what petnames do they use?

You like to call him “handsome.” You’ve flirted with the idea of moaning out a “harder, daddy,” in the bedroom, but aren’t sure how he’d react. Honestly, you’re not sure how you’d really feel about it either.

The obvious petname is ‘tracinya,’ but he also calls you ‘pretty girl’ and on occasion ‘baby girl.’


Q = Questions: what are the questions they’re always asking?

Din isn’t always the best with emotions, so you may find that he’s constantly asking how you’re feeling. It’s not that he’s oblivious, but he also likes to be sure.  In the bedroom, he always asks permission, even if it’s the hundredth time.


R = Remember: their favorite memory of each other

His favorite memory is when you gifted him the picture of you with the child. Getting to see you with his own eyes, so colorful and happy, he melted.


S = Sad: how do they cheer themselves/each other up

He is not confident in his ability to handle strong emotions. He’s usually silent, offering to hold you tight or stroke your hair. Sometimes he’ll bring the kid to you, knowing he will always be successful in putting a smile on your face.


T = Talking: what do they love to talk about?

No surprise, Din is not much of a talker. He’d much rather sit in silence, or listen to you talk about what’s on your mind from the copilot’s seat. He’s much more of a talker in the bedroom; in the darkness. That being said, he does like talking about you; teasing with you, flirting with you.


U = Universe: use a metaphor, what are they to each other? (e.g he was the universe, ever-changing and mysterious)

He’s definitely your rock, something stable and strong, unchanging. You are the light of hyperspace, beautiful and glowing, painting over the dark parts of his life.


V = Very: ___ they’re thoughts about each other (e.g she’s very smart, he’s very stubborn, they’re very annoying etc.)

He thinks you’re very sexy. Very stubborn. And so very impressive, it borders on intimidating. And it makes him so very whipped sometimes.


W = Why: reasons why they love each other

He loves your brain, your heart, the way you are with the kid. He loves the way you can read him; it makes him feel like his helmet is not a hindrance in the relationship. And it’s helpful when he’s not so good with words.


X = Xylophone: What’s their song?

Star of Darkness (essentially Sea of Darkness, but making the words fit with space)

A foreign star behind me, a galaxy more to go

In depths of space and starry nights, above the cold wind’s blow

So many years have put my battered hull up to the test

A long forgotten promise, coming home at last to rest

For even in this darkness

Something calls for me to find

And cities may all turn to ash

And stone walls fall to time

My love still lies there buried, under silent ice in sleep

A grave left unattended by the word I couldn’t keep

He stole me from another, afraid I’d leave someday

I felt the Force pull on my bones, we knew I couldn’t stay.

I made a bet that I’d return and someday soon I will,

And though I’m many months too late, I hope he’s waited still.

For even in this darkness something calls for me to find,

And planets may all turn to ash, and stone walls fall to time,

My love still lies there buried under silent ice in sleep,

A grave left unattended by the word I couldn’t keep.”

I’ve seen Kamino’s stormy coasts and grieved for Alderaan,

And conquered smuggler’s in the night, just a staff within my hands.

And now I rest far in the north, a broken heart to lie,

Forever in my tattered ship and ‘neath the blackened sky.


Y = You: the ___ to my ___ (e.g the cookies to my milk, the macaroni to my cheese)

You are the light to his hyperspace.


Z = Zebra: if they wanted a pet, what pet would they get?

Between the kid and bounty hunting, you two don’t really have time for pets. But you’ve noticed that Din has a soft spot for animals, especially massifs.

Chapter Text

Your body is trembling. It has been for the last two hours. Honestly, you don’t know if you’re more nervous about confronting Keyman, or the fact that as soon as Din finds your letter, he’ll be hunting you down faster than he’s ever found quarry before. Some depraved and delirious part of your psyche thrills at that thought; but you quickly push it down. You’re here for a reason, and you need to focus.

         You had been watching the ships come in, your eyes darting back and forth amongst the pilots and passengers. But there was no sign of a scarred man with a limp anywhere. He wasn’t easy to miss, this shouldn’t be that hard. You’re hidden on top of a building overlooking the landing pads. Close enough that you could possibly kill him with a blaster if you trusted your aim. Most likely though, you’d spot him and follow him for a few blocks and then ambush him in an alley. That was the plan, anyway.

         Your comm. beeps, the sudden intrusion sending your heart into your throat. You release a deep breath, collecting your nerves as you examine your device. You don’t recognize the signal, but answer it anyway. If they know your frequency, there must be a reason.

         You answer with your name, keeping your voice as level as possible.

         “Hey baby, did you miss me?” comes an all too familiar voice.

         Kriff,” you hiss. Something’s wrong. Something is very wrong.

         “Dirty, dirty mouth,” he chastises, his cockiness sounds like it’s dripping through your speaker. “How’s the stakeout going?” How did he know?

         “Keyman, what the fuck do you want?”

         “To make a deal with you, beautiful. Our last interaction left a bad taste in my mouth, and I think it’s time we try this again.”

         “Keyman, the next time you see me, you’ll see the end of my blaster pointed at your brain,” you say through gritted teeth.

         “Oh come on, you don’t even know my terms yet. Annadani was a much better listener than you’re being.” Your heart stills in your chest, the air in your lungs vanishing in a painful vacuum.

         “No,” you whisper.

         “I’ll give her this, she was tough. But you can only endure so many cuts from a vibroblade, you know what I’m saying?”

         “You karking motherfucker!”

         “There’s that mouth again. She had one too, before I shut her up for good.”

         “Where are you?” you ask, trying to keep as calm as possible. But you can already feel your nerves slipping. Just being alive has gotten someone killed. She didn’t deserve to go out like that.

         “Hovering in the atmosphere…trying to decide where I should land,” he says cryptically. “You know that with some tampering, Annadani’s comm. let me know the coordinates of her last call. And if I was a betting man, which you know I am, I’d say it’s the Mando’s Razor Crest, right?” You remain silent, unsure of what to see. You know any answer you give will be revealing to the ex-bounty hunter. “So that’s where the deal comes in. I can either head over to those coordinates and blow up whatever I find there…or I can head to the loading dock that I’m sure your lurking at, and you can come join me on this ship.”

         “That’s bantha shit. The kid is worth more alive than I could ever be worth.”

         “Now normally, I’d agree with you. But I found your friend’s research, and baby girl how you’ve been holding out on me!”

         “I have no idea what you’re talking about,” you say weakly, your voice sounding more like a wheeze.

         “Oh no? Between what happened on Jakku and the very interesting medical documents we hacked…” Shit. He tracked your previous location to the hospital. He must have more resources and tech than you previously thought.

         “Keyman,” your voice sounds desperate, but you don’t know what you’re pleading for.

         “So the way I see it, two for the price of one.” His words make you want to vomit, but you bite harshly on your bottom lip to keep the bile down. This has to be a trap. There’s no way he would give up on the kid so easily…but if Moff Gideon is truly wanting to study these abilities, to access that power, maybe your were more valuable as a human subject. They’d keep you alive long enough for you to have the baby; it’d be too great a risk to fully experiment on you, especially if your child was possibly gifted as well. That means you had time. Time to learn the ship, to form an escape plan. This was the only way.

         You know Keyman wouldn’t do anything to the kid, but he’d kill Din without a second thought. You try to stop the threat of tears as you think about the Mandalorian; there’s so much you want to tell him. So much you want him to know, and your heart sinks at what he will think when he gets back to the ship. You can’t risk his safety, the kid’s safety. And you need to make a decision before he comes and finds you, putting all three of you in the same location; easy targets for Keyman.

         “Fine, you fucking bastard. Come to the landing dock,” you spit, hanging up the comm.. Your mind is going too fast, buzzing with different thoughts; multiple half baked plans that threaten to shut down your thinking all together. You don’t trust Keyman to keep his word; what’s to keep him from blowing up the Crest as soon as you’re in his clutches? You go to your comm. but hesitate, your fingers trembling over the buttons. Would Din even leave if you told him to? He’s stubborn and proud…what’s keeping him from standing his ground in the hopes of rescuing you? But if he’s hurt and you had given him no warning…would you be able to live with that?

         A dark ship pulls down to the loading dock, and your stomach twists into a vicious knot. You can feel Keyman on board, his proximity making you ill. He won’t come off the ship, not when he knows you were waiting for him with a blaster. Your comm. will be confiscated as soon as you board the ship, so there’s no point in taking it with you. You take a shuddering breath and dial for Din, releasing it from your wrist as you wait.

         “Tracinya? Are you okay, where are you?” The modulated voice sounds unhinged, full of panic. You’re flooded with guilt and a lump forms in your throat. You open your mouth to speak, but nothing comes out. What can you even say? He whispers your name, earnest and…scared? You need to say something.

         “Do you trust me, Din?”

         “What the hell-“

         “Fucking yes or no, Din. Do you trust me?” Your tone is harsh, but you need him to understand how serious you are. There’s a tired sigh on the other end, and a thick moment of silence.

         “With my kriffing life.” In any other situation, hearing this would have filled you with joy, would have made you grin wider than your ears. But all you can think about is how you don’t deserve it.

         “Are you on the ship?”

         “Yes I found your note-“

         “Leave. I need you to fly away now.”

         “Tracinya, please! Tell me where you are.”

         “I can’t, Din. Protect our son, okay? Leave now. I love you.” Before he can protest, can convince you to change your mind, you cease the communication. You lay the comm. on the ground, along with the blaster. You know they will get confiscated immediately. Even with that knowledge though, you can’t bear to part with the staff slung across your back. Keyman won’t destroy it, it’s too nice. And you’ll need something to grab when you eventually escape. And you will escape. You take a deep breath and head towards the ship.


         Your room has practically nothing in it. It’s made of durasteel, empty and cold. There’s a ledge coming from the wall that you assume is supposed to be your bed. A pillow and a blanket are stacked in the corner, and that’s it.

         When you had entered the ship, you were immediately greeted by five armed men. You assume they used to be smugglers before joining Keyman in his partnership with Gideon. They shuffled you along, immediately confiscating your staff, shoes, and belt. You were then ushered into your room and forced to change out of your clothes into a loose fitting dress. It was about a size too big for you, coming down to your ankles. The material was thin, but thankfully still opaque. The sleeves came down to your wrists, though the neck line was a little lower than you’d like given your current situation. Your clothes were confiscated as well, and you were forced to wait in the empty room.

         About an hour had passed, and you couldn’t stop the shaking of your leg as you waited impatiently for something to happen. You weren’t thrilled about seeing Keyman, but you also wanted to get the inevitable reunion over with. You considered going up to the door and yelling for someone in the hallway to give you an update.  As you stood, the door burst open, and you tried your best to appear calm.

         “You sneaky little bitch,” he sneered, limping in. His facial hair had grown out since the last time you saw him, making him look far more rugged than the pretty boy you were used to. It matched his scar better. But the limp…you wondered if he’d ever recover from that. It probably never healed right, a thought that fills you with a despicable smugness deep in your belly.

         “Nice to see you too,” you answer sarcastically, sitting back down.

         “I see the Razor Crest is gone…you know me too well.”

         “I just don’t trust you,” you retort, crossing your arms. You feel your cheeks heating up at the sheer discomfort of seeing him again. You never wanted to see him for as long as you lived. And now here you were, his prisoner.

         “Fair, I guess,” he says flippantly. His demeanor changes, his icy eyes narrowing like a predator’s. “I suppose congratulations are in order?” You inhale sharply, trying not to give anything away. He had already seen the medical records, you couldn’t deny your pregnancy. But you didn’t want to give him any other insight to your emotions.

         “You saw the medical records,” you state blandly, forcing yourself to hold his eye contact.

         “It’s funny, out of all the men you’ve fucked, it was this Mando bastard that you let knock you up. I know you were his cock slut, but to let that beskar son of a bitch breed you.” The way he said it made your lip snarl. He made it sound so dirty, as if it was grotesque. And it pissed you off.

         “Jealous?” you spat back, unable to help yourself. He got closer to you, his face inches from yours.

         “I don’t have time to be jealous of every man who’s cum inside your filthy cunt.” Ouch. “And trust me, he may be the first one to get you pregnant,” he pauses, his eyes flaming with something you can’t name. He leans in closer, his lips brushing against the shell of your ear, “but he won’t be the last.” You startle at this, scrambling until your back hits the wall. Your eyes scan the room, and you see two smugglers standing in the corners with their guns. You can’t risk fighting off Keyman.

         “Please,” you whisper, your lip trembling.

         “Calm down, no one is to touch you until you pop. Direct orders.” He crawls over you, bracketing your body as his hands press against the wall to frame the sides of your face. “But I’ll be the first in line once you do.”

         “You’re disgusting,” you mutter.

         “Sticks and stones,” he growls, inhaling the scent of your hair. It makes you shiver, and you wish you could melt into the durasteel. Thankfully he pushes back away from you and turns to walk out of your room. “The doctors will be in tomorrow to begin the tests. Try and be on your best behavior.” When he leaves, you hear the lock to your room latch, and you release the sob that has been building up in your chest. You take heaving breaths as the tears scorch trails down your skin. Your hand moves protectively over your stomach, craving contact to the part of Din you are carrying with you.

         “Dank farrik!”  You wipe away your tears and slowly regain control of your breath. You need to focus. You refuse to give birth on this karking ship. You refuse to let anyone take possession of your baby. You will keep Din and the kid safe. And you’ll die before you let Keyman ever touch you again. You sit up straight and close your eyes, attempting to meditate. The mysterious force inside you got you into this mess…maybe it will be your ticket out.


         The child hasn’t stopped crying since they left Corellia. Din had followed your wishes, evacuating from the Crest’s current location. But instead of going immediately off world, he raced towards the nearest city to investigate at the loading docks. He knew that’s where you had wanted to confront Keyman, and it was probably his best bet to finding you.

         After an hour of searching, he had found your vantage point on the roof along with your comm. and blaster. He noticed that your staff was nowhere to be seen, hopefully still in your possession. He didn’t stop to examine the various emotions this thought elicited in him. He scooped up your belongings and headed back to the ship. He flew off planet, but hovered in the orbit, unsure of where to go next. That’s when the kid had begun to cry.

         Two hours later, the kid was still crying and Din was still drifting in the orbit. He grunted angrily, his hands making hard fists in his lap. He needed to breathe, to separate himself from the situation. His feelings for you were making this difficult, and you needed him to be better. What would he do if you were like any other quarry? Not his lover, not his son’s mother figure…if you were just some criminal he was tracking. Thinking of you this way makes Din feel nauseated, as if he’s betraying everything the two of you have built in the past year. But he needs to. He needs to do whatever it takes to bring you home.

         So, what would he do if he had some of the quarry’s possessions and had been able to visit their last known location? His best bet was to look for a lead on your comm. Maybe he could see who you had been speaking with previously. If he was lucky, he could use the past signals to pinpoint a current location, but he’d need help. He wasn’t knowledgeable enough to hack that information from the comm. himself.

         Din picks up the kid from the his seat in the copilot’s chair and holds him close to his chest, the violent sobs dying down to sniffles. With his free arm he types in the coordinates to Navarro and calls up Karga.

         “Mando! So good to see you, friend. Where’s your lovely little companion?”

         “I need a favor. Do you have someone good with tech?”

Chapter Text

You feel weak. Drained. It’s possible you have lost count, but you think you’ve been on Keyman’s ship for at least ten days. You have no windows though, and you don’t think the doctors, if you can even call them that, have you on a regular eating or sleeping schedule. You had fought them at first, easily subduing them until a smuggler came at you with the ugly end of a blaster. You knew Keyman was smart enough not to hurt you while you were valuable, but you couldn’t speak to the impulsiveness of half-witted henchmen. So you allowed yourself to be poked, prodded, tested, examined, and whatever else they chose to do to you.

            During these times, sitting and waiting for the blood samples to be drawn, you’d close your eyes and meditate. You’d try and focus through the pain and discomfort, honing in on the energy of the room, the energy that flowed out from your body and into the glass tubes they collected. If you were going to escape, you needed to unlock more of your abilities, try and understand them. Your meditations were helping keep you calm and driven, the thought of Din and the child kept you from falling into the inescapable sadness that loomed, waiting patiently to engulf you. But you wouldn’t fall. You couldn’t.

            Today is harder. You’re getting frustrated. You can feel this energy, this force, but you can’t figure out what to do with it. You can’t move anything like the kid does, you can’t even heal your own needle pricks that the doctors have given you.  After twenty straight minutes of trying to lift the piece of bread off your tray with your mind, you release a growl and punch the wall.

            “Dank farrik!” you curse, gripping at your bloody knuckles. As if knowing when you are most vulnerable, Keyman saunters in, a devilish grin on his face.

            “You know, it’s not ladylike to curse.”

            “Stick it up your ass,” you hiss, naturally curling in on yourself in his presence. Though he swore that he wouldn’t touch you for now, you have little faith in his loyalty to anything but his own interests.

            “So graphic. You learn that from your Mandalorian?”

            “Don’t you dare talk about him.” Keyman just rolls his eyes.

            “His piece of scrap metal hasn’t been seen on any of our radars. Face it sweetheart, he’s not looking for you,” he says cruelly, a disgusting glint of sadistic pleasure in his eyes.

            “He is. And he will find me, and when he does, you’re in deep bantha shit.”

            “Not everyone is as tolerant of that filthy mouth as I am,” he warns. “Gideon will be here in three days, and it would do you well to show him respect.” Your heart sinks and you try to keep yourself from trembling.

            “What do you mean? I thought I was staying on this ship?”

            “Worried you’ll miss me? As much as I’d love to hear that filthy mouth every day, if we accumulate more…passengers, there’s little room for them. And of course, Gideon wants you on his ship so he can keep an eye on you. That little green menace escaped him already; he’s not going to let something like that happen again.” You open your mouth to ask another question but are cut off by, “but don’t worry. Once you give birth to your little stowaway, you’ll be back here with me. Maybe I’ll even keep you in my quarters,” he adds with a sneer. He turns on his heels to leave, a deep chuckle coming from his throat.

            “Hey Keyman,” you call out with a snarl.

            “Yes, gorgeous?”

            “I’m going to kill you…you know that? I don’t know when, but I will make sure I see the life drain from your eyes.”

            “A lot of talk for a knocked up whore.”


            “Run it again,” Din demands, his arms crossed over his chest.

            “We’ve been at this every day since you arrived. I can’t find her, Mando,” says a rather sniveling trandoshan. The child grumbles at Din’s feet, a tiny scowl matching the one masked by his father’s helmet.

            “I’m not asking. Run it again.” His voice is steely, cold. The trandoshan shivers and runs the device again, desperately hoping for a ping on the signal coordinates.

            “Mando, you need to relax. We will find her, eventually,” Karga reassures from his desk.

            “We need to find her now,” Din snaps. “She’s alone with Keyman Whicor. Would you relax if one of the two good things in your life were with that scum?” Karga sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. While Keyman used to be in the guild, he couldn’t deny there was a certain sleaziness to the ex-bounty hunter. How the air would become tense any time he came to the cantina.

            “We will find her, Mando,” Karga repeats, unable to say much of anything else. He has never seen the Mandalorian so emotional, so open about the cards he was holding. It made him nervous. Din says nothing; he picks up the kid and hands him to Karga. The older man takes the child with a small nod, allowing Din to brush past him and out the door.

            Once alone behind the building, staring up at the planet’s moon, Din is able to release the scream he has been strangling in his throat for days. He yells and curses till his throat is raw, feeling the tears flow down beneath his helmet. He strikes the building, grunting in pain at the throbbing spreading across his closed fist.

            “Dank farrik!” The bounty hunter slides down the side of the structure, settling into the ashy ground. He needs to get it together, for your sake. He can’t lose focus. For ten days he has wavered between sorrow and rage; furious at you for putting yourself in danger, for leaving, and anguishing over the hole you left in his life.

            When he sees you again, he doesn’t know whether to cuss you out or fuck you over the nearest surface. All of it sounds so passionate; he knows what will really happen. He’ll hold you carefully in his arms, breathe in your scent, and never let you go for as long as he lives. He needs you…every part of him, those seen and unseen, hidden and forgotten about. Every cell craves you, survives because of you. He will find you again.


            You can’t get on another ship. You’re only hope of Din finding you is to have as few changes of location as possible. You are very aware that while Keyman’s ship may be difficult to infiltrate, Moff Gideon’s will be worse. You can’t imagine the kind of surveillance you will be under. You have faith that Din will find you, but at this point you can’t afford to leave anything up to chance. You need an escape plan.

            By now you know the doctor’s routines, the guard outside your door’s habits, and Keyman is about as predictable as the rising and setting of the double suns on Tatooine. You’d have to be quick and quiet, but your fighting skills are sharper than they have ever been thanks to Din. You can do this.

            Maybe there would be an escape pod. Or you could get a communication out to Din. Or kriff, even change the ships course to buy yourself more time. But you can’t sit idly by and let Gideon get you farther from your bounty hunter. You take a deep breath and focus on slowing your heart beat. You need to focus, to run through each and every scenario to prepare. Tomorrow, you strike.


            “Mando, we got a ping. If she’s still on Whicor’s ship….well you’ll be able to track it now,” Karga said gently from the doorway, the slight chill of the night air causing the child in his arms to squirm. Din is up on his feet before the older man can even finish his sentence.

            “Will you watch the kid?” Din asks, his heart feeling as though it’s slamming up against his beskar. He considers giving Karga specific instructions on what to do with the kid in case he doesn’t come back; probably take him to Tatooine, put him in the care of Cobb or Peli. But he decides not to. He’s coming back, and you’ll be with him. There’s no other choice.

Chapter Text

You breathe steadily and deeply, rubbing the pad of your thumb over the green stone of your bracelet to help center yourself. Today is the day. This is the day you’re getting off Keyman’s ship. You had planned to execute your plan the night before Gideon’s arrival when everyone would be distracted and scrambling to prepare. But this morning…it was like the entire force of the galaxy crashed into your brain, forcing you awake so it could scream at you to make your move. It was so vivid, so moving, you couldn’t possibly ignore it.

         It’s early still. The odd and disorienting limbo of time where you can’t quite call it night or morning. This is when the ship is most vulnerable. A single guard stands watch at your door, and in about twenty minutes, a doctor will come in like he always does to inject you with something. You suspect it is a mild depressant meant to calm you before you can wake up. Only this morning, he won’t get the chance to give it to you.

         You’ll pretend to be sleeping and subdue the doctor. The commotion will probably cause the guard to come in, but since he’s alone, you think you can take him. After that, you need to sneak through the ship while remaining hidden until you reach the small starfighter on the single dock. You’ve never seen it, but you know it’s there because you can hear it come in. That, and the fact that the ship hasn’t stopped for fuel or food since you arrived, so you’re pretty sure the starfighter is making supply runs.

         All that’s left to do is pilot the starfighter off the dock and as far away from Keyman as possible. Hopefully there will be a way to reach Din, but if not, you’ll fly to the nearest planet and come up with a game plan once you are safe. The promise of safety, of seeing Din again; it’s making your heartbeat pick up, and you have to remind yourself to stay focused. The child, Din, your baby…if you want your family together, you need to be successful. No mistakes.


         Traveling through hyperspace doesn’t seem nearly fast enough. The Mandalorian has been on edge ever since he was able to track your location. Without the kid, he’s forced to be alone with his own thoughts and fears. Years ago, that would have meant nothing to him. He had been used to the quiet, to solitude. Used to going weeks without uttering a single word or hearing one from someone else. But now…it was suffocating. Lonely. You and the kid have convinced him that he never wants to feel this way again.

         He likes the way you make him feel; like he could be a good man, the hero you think he is. You make him feel seen, and it’s terrifying, and exhilarating. It’s a feeling he refuses to lose. Not to some nerfherder like Keyman, or even due to his own fuckups.

         It’s a strange sensation to be so furious at someone, and yet unable to picture another day without them. That must be love. Din is not entirely sure if he knows what love is, but when he said it to you against the ship in the pouring rain…it felt right. It felt complete. And he wants it with you, for as long as possible, until his last breath. In this moment, coming out of hyperspace and seeing Keyman’s ship off in the distance, he decides there is something he needs to ask you.


         An unfamiliar shudder flutters through your body, and you’re wondering what this force is trying to tell you. You suddenly don’t feel alone. At the sound of footsteps outside your door, you reason it must be the doctor’s presence outside the hallway. You exhale and lay down quickly, shutting your eyes just as you hear the doctor open the door. You need to be patient, don’t reveal your hand until the perfect time. Three steps away, two steps away, one step and he grabs your arm to roll up your sleeve in preparation for the needle.

         You open your eyes, effectively startling the wiry man. Before he is able to scream for help, you grab his head and bring it down to your knee in a fluid motion. The blow knocks him unconscious, his body hitting the floor with a dense thud. You’re on your feet, running for the door as the guard comes in, his blaster thankfully at his hip. Before he can raise it, you disarm him, driving the blunt end against his chest, knocking the wind out of him. You shove him up against the wall, kneeing him in the groin before elbowing him in the temple to knock him out. He slides down the wall into a pile at your feet, and you give a small final kick out of spite.

         Harsh and heavy footsteps draw your attention, and your heart leaps up into your throat. Who the kriff could that be? Everyone on the ship should be asleep, and you weren’t loud enough to wake anyone. Without thinking, still high off the adrenaline of your previous take downs, you lunge towards the door, your arms swinging blindly. In a rush of strength, the intruder grabs you by the wrists and pins them against the wall up above your head. As you ready yourself to begin kicking, you register the familiar physique and the distinct armor. Your mouth drops open.

         “Din?” He sighs out your name, his body shifting as if a crushing weight had finally been lifted off of him. He holds you against his frame, and you eagerly return the embrace, burying your face into the crook of your neck.

         “Tracinya, my tracinya. Are you okay? Are you hurt? Did they hurt you?” His voice sounds nearly panicked, and the pit of guilt in your stomach begins to deepen.

         “Yes. Yes, Din I’m okay.” The man tears himself away and holds you at arm’s length by your shoulders.

         “Then what the hell were you thinking? Dank farrik!” His helmet is boring into your soul, and you can’t help but grimace.

         “Okay look, I know you’re mad-“

         “Mad doesn’t begin to cover it,” he snaps. Before you can apologize, or retort, because honestly you’re still a little pissed at him, a blaring sound tears through the ship. Your eyes land on the doctor who must have come to, a device in his hand flashing. Before he’s able to scramble away, you kick him in the back of the head, hopefully knocking him out for longer this time.

         “Kriffing bastard tripped the alarm,” you hiss, looking into the Mandalorian’s visor.

         “So stealth is off the table,” he mutters. He hands you his blaster and releases his beskar spear from his back. “Hope you can fight in that dress.”

         “Don’t have much of a choice.”

         “Stay close, and don’t go running off again.” You roll your eyes and follow him out the door and down a corridor.

         “You know, if you had just treated us as equals and stopped being a control freak for once,” you challenge, taking aim at smuggler rounding the corner. He dodges and runs towards you, but receives a smack to the throat from Din’s spear.

         Kriff, yes, I know. I fucked up, can we let it go, tracinya?” A few more smugglers come through and you take aim, blasting one of them right in the chest.

         “I don’t know, handsome, you don’t seem to be letting this go.” You really wish you had your staff with you instead of the blaster. You were a decent aim, but you needed to be impeccable in this situation. You dodge a blow from a particularly large man and kick him backwards into Din who easily slams him into the wall. The show of the bounty hunter’s strength immediately stirs something in your belly. Karking hell, keep it together.

         “I’m not the one who left. Kid wouldn’t stop crying,” he grunts, receiving a blaster shot to the front of his armor. You snarl at the offending henchman and shoot, the blast thankfully hitting him in the stomach and knocking him to the ground. Despite the exchange of sharp words, you can hear the tell-tale heaviness in Din’s voice. Watching you fight is stirring something in him as well.

         Kriff, Mando! Really going for the jugular, huh?” This was certainly not the time or place for this discussion, but words seem determined to flow from both of you.

         “That’s not what I’m trying to-“ he pauses, giving an impressive back kick to a nasty rodian, sending her flying. “Just need you to understand.”

         “Understand what? How much I hurt you?” you shout out. “Get down!” He obeys immediately, his hands hitting the floor as you shoot the smuggler who was coming at him with a vibroblade.

         “Stars you’re infuriating,” he plucks you out of the way of a charging twi’lek, spinning you back around to kick her square in the back. “To understand how much you mean to us. And to understand that I’m-“ he lifts his spear knocking the final smuggler unconscious. He breathes deeply, his gloved hand coming up to rest on the side of your cheek. “I’m sorry, tracinya. I’m sorry that I ever made you feel less than you are. That I ever made you feel that I wouldn’t trust you with my life, because I would. I promise to be better, if you promise never to leave us again.” Before you can respond, you catch movement out of the corner of your eye. You push Din as forcefully as you can out of the way of a blaster shot, raising your own to shoot down a smuggler that had been hiding quietly behind a wall.

         “Yes, I promise,” you stammer out, attempting to catch your breath. “I- I’m sorry too.” The bounty hunter grabs your wrist and pulls you along down a different hallway, determined to continue with the escape.

         “When I get you off of this ship,” he begins, taking a moment to scan his surroundings for potential threats. You remain still and quiet behind him, allowing him to take the lead. “I’m going to fuck you till neither of us can walk, and then I’m marrying you.”

         Your brain freezes at that, the blood seems to stop flowing in your veins, the air absent from your lungs. You feel…how do you feel? You’re elated, you’re terrified, you’re impossibly aroused, and once again, so very guilty. He sounds so sure of himself, like the choice is simple. Even after everything that has happened in the last two weeks, he wants to marry you. You. Knowing all of your faults, your shortcomings, your past. He wants you, and your chest constricts, realizing how much trust he has in you. He trusts you with his son, with his life, even after all of your mistakes and misguided decisions. And suddenly, the weight of your secret feels impossible to bear. It’s dragging you down so harshly you don’t think you could take another step. No more secrets from him.

         “Din…there’s something I need to tell you.”

         “Tell me on the Razor Crest,” he insists, motioning for you to follow him as he takes off to the right. You force your feet to follow, the lump in your throat proving distracting.

         You’re only a few feet behind him. That should be a safe distance. But as you race after him, you release a startled cry as a door springs up from the floor, its material clear and thick. Din hears it and immediately turns back around, slamming his fist against the transparent divider. You look around wildly for what could have triggered the door before you are hit with the most searing pain you have ever felt in your life.

         You crumble to the floor, dropping the blaster in the process. You can’t see or speak, your senses overcome with the fizzling burn at your shoulder blade and the smell of your burnt flesh. You’ve been shot.

         Keyman’s slow clap sounds from behind you, the scrape of your blaster being kicked away, and the distinct feel of magnetized cuffs clamping down on your wrists and pinning you to the durasteel wall. You yelp in pain, the pull on your arms aggravating the shot wound.

“I underestimated you again. Believe me sweetheart, I won’t make that mistake anymore,” Keyman sighs. “I really didn’t think the Mandalorian would show. Figured you were just his little plaything. Replaceable .” Din is pacing back and forth like a caged animal as he watches Keyman stroke your face.

“I swear to the gods, I’ll kill you if you hurt her.”

“That’s some big talk, Mando. Wonder how tough you’d be without that beskar.”

“Verd ori’shya beskar’gam,” you snap, staring daggers at Keyman. He gives you a sneer and strikes you across the face, forcing the back of your head to collide painfully with the wall. You stifle the yelp of pain, not wanting to give him the satisfaction. You spit at his feet, the mix of thick blood and saliva staining the ground. “I thought you weren’t supposed to hurt me…what will Gideon say?”

“Sweetheart, I’ve captured the Mandalorian. He won’t mind a few bumps and bruises as long as you’re in one piece.” He pulls a pair of ankle cuffs from his belt. Just as you move to kick him, he aims the blaster towards your stomach.  Din slams his fist against the divider again, only seeing the danger to your life, unaware of what Keyman is really threatening. “Be a good girl and let me put these on.”

“You wouldn’t dare,” you challenge, calling his bluff. You know how valuable your unborn child is to Gideon’s plan. Keyman himself told you his orders.

“You took out my entire crew. If I tell him it was the only way to subdue you…I think he’ll get over it. Now hold still.” You ultimately obey, allowing the man to bind your ankles.

“So this is your plan? Keep us here until the reinforcements arrive?” Din’s voice is pure anger, a menacing growl.

“Like I said before, Mando. I won’t underestimate this little slut again.” You see Din’s fists clench violently at his sides. “She’s going into carbonite until he arrives to claim her. Far easier to keep my eyes on just one of you.” You gasp, eyes wide and fearful. You can’t help the quickening pace of your heart, the way you begin to hyperventilate. The sheer terror of losing your autonomy, of losing your child to something that has already taken so much from you. You open your mouth to beg for your unborn baby’s life, but Din beats you to it.

“Carbon freeze me instead.” His voice is dark and sure, somehow still threatening in spite of the hopeless situation. Without even knowing the full story, he’s willing to sacrifice himself…you nearly sob.

“She’s really got you wrapped around her finger doesn’t she?” Keyman smirks. “Did you make the mistake of falling in love with your whore?”

“Don’t call her that,” Din snaps, his tone frothing with venom.

“Just being honest, Mando. She even let you knock her up.” Din’s entire body goes still, as hard and unmoving as his armor. Your breath shudders and tears begin to fall down your face. “Oh…you didn’t know?” he asks with sadistic pleasure.

         “Fuck you, Keyman.” You can’t think of anything else to say. Din didn’t deserve to find out this way, to have it thrown at him as a taunt. But you force yourself to move past it, instead opting to bargain for your child’s life. “You can’t put me in there. It’ll destroy the baby,” you whimper, wishing more than anything you could be stronger. Wishing that you weren’t at his mercy. Keyman gets down on his knees and leans over you, whispering in your ear. His lips graze the cartilage, making sure he’s still loud enough for Din to hear.

         “I’m more than happy to help you make a new one.” Bile rises up in your throat at his words and you try to lean away from him. But you’re immobilized. No way to escape.

         “Carbon freeze me instead,” Din repeats. “I will do anything. I swear on my life, just leave her alone.”

         “You’re really serious?” Keyman asks after a slight pause, his eyes malicious and calculating.

         “This is the way.” You know Keyman, you can see his mind working. His motivation is clear. He doesn’t just want to win…he wants to be cruel.

         “Okay, I’ll let you freeze in her place. If you take off the helmet, Mandalorian.” You hang your head in acceptance. You would never ask him to do that. This is who Din is, and you would never demand anything more from him. You fell in love with him, a Mandalorian, a man dedicated to his creed. The thought of him removing his helmet made you nauseous…this is wrong.

         “Okay,” Din answers after only a few beats, and your head snaps up to his visor. Your eyes are frantic, searching his helmet, pleading with him. You hear Keyman chuckle and lean up against the opposite wall, ready for the show, taking delight in the shared vulnerability between you and Din.

         “No. No, no, you can’t. Don’t do this!”

         “Tracinya,” he says softly, getting down on his knees, only the inches of the transparent wall are separating the two of you.

         “Din,” you breathe, uncaring that Keyman can hear. You need the bounty hunter to know how serious you are. “You can’t. Please, don’t do this. I’ll be fine.” He says your name softly, trying to comfort you as he is about to do the unthinkable.

         “It’s okay.” His hands move up to his helmet. “I promise, it’s okay.” You hear the hiss of air as it unlatches. “I love you…both of you,” he whispers as he begins to lift.

         “Wait,” you demand, the pounding of your heart so painful you think it’s bursting. “Mhi solus tome.” [We are one when together]

         “What?” he pauses, the tremble in his voice only detectable to someone who knows him as well as you.

         “Mhi solus dar’tome,” you continue. [We are one when parted]

         “Tracinya, you don’t have to do this. Not here.”

         “Mhi me’dinui an.” [We will share all] You take a shuddering breath, but give him a genuine smile. Because no matter what, even with Keyman’s looming eyes, even separated from each other on this kriffing ship, you’re his and he’s yours. And you will not have him remove his helmet for you without having earned it the way his creed demands. “Mhi ba’juri verde.” [We will raise warriors]

         “Mhi solus tome, mhi solus dar’tome, mhi me’dinui an, mhi ba’juri verde,” he repeats back to you. “We will raise warriors.” His voice is ragged, even through the modulator. But there is a relief in his tone, a burden that has dissipated. His hands shake as he removes his helmet, and by habit, you close your eyes. “It’s okay, tracinya. Look at me.”

         You flutter your eyes open, staring right below his chin. How is it that you can feel so exposed when he’s the one without his helmet? You raise your gaze to meet his, and a wholesome warmth flows through your body from your fingertips to your toes, wrapping you up in a longing, a devotion, that you’ve never had the honor of feeling before. Because for the first time…you see him. Truly see him, and it’s the most beautiful and heartbreaking moment of your life.

         His eyes are so brown. They make you think of the child, dark and open with only the hint of color around the edges. They’re deep and warm, and though you can’t see the bottom, you’d gladly fall into them and drown. There are tears welling up in them, and you’d fight everyone in the galaxy to be able to wipe them away.

         His jaw is square and strong, like you knew it would be. His small mustache and stubble are the only things marking an otherwise smooth face. Clear of scars, clear of blemishes, always protected by his helmet. His prominent nose matches his face more than you thought it would, distinct but fitting. And his hair, something you’ve run your fingers through tenderly, have gripped and tugged in the throes of passion…it makes your heart swell with fondness. It’s dark, but a more obvious brown than his eyes. And it’s tousled, messy, thick…almost playful. It doesn’t match the persona of the Mandalorian, but it’s perfect for Din Djarin.

         He raises his eyebrows at you, and you see him gulp nervously.  His hand is pressed against the glass, desperate to touch you. And you realize he’s wondering what you think of him. And you want more than anything to tell him that he’s beautiful. That his face is both everything and nothing like you thought. But it’s him. And because of that, it’s perfect. You want to tell him that he’s the most handsome man you’ve ever met. That you’re honored to be his wife, to have earned this part of him.

But you can’t. Not here. Not when the rage is boiling up from your core. A rage so blinding and suffocating that the edges of your vision are turning crimson. The spit in your mouth has turned to poison, the blood in your veins now fire and lava. This hatred …it needs an outlet. Your eyes snap to Keyman, his face contorted into a disgustingly wry smile. He thinks he’s won, and that makes your body vibrate with energy. Vibrate with something foreign that you’ve only felt once before in your life. And you’re going to unleash it.

You allow your hatred for Keyman to fester, to fuel you. He threatened your son all those months ago. Threatened your unborn baby. He took away your chance to tell Din you were pregnant. Tainted and sullied the memory of that moment forever. And now this. Din shared the most intimate part of himself with you, all under the voyeuristic and cruel eyes of Keyman Whicor. An act that should have been on the Razor Crest , where you could exchange your vows in your own way, with the child present, as a family. Your lips curl into a smile. You see Keyman’s face falter.

         “Something you want to say, sweetheart?” he challenges, making sure to take an extra long look at Din’s face just to spite you.

         “Did you know, Keyman, that no living thing has seen Din without his helmet since he swore the creed?”

         “Is that so?” he asks, crossing his arms over his chest, condescension evident on his face.

         “Yes. And as his wife, I intend to keep it that way.”

Before Keyman can utter another word, you release the floodgates of your feelings. The rage, anger, heartache, hatred; every negative thing that has plagued you since the moment that officer assaulted you in your village…it all pours out of you to drown him. Your body trembles as you concentrate on his throat, and you shudder as you watch it involuntarily constrict, his eyes widening with panic. His hands shoot up to his neck, clawing at the invisible hand, desperate to be released. But not this time . There will be no reprieve for him, no mercy, no escape. The sound of his windpipe crumbling under the force is sickening, but you press on in determination. The edges of your vision begin to dim, and your brain feels detached from your skull. You’re fading, the exertion more than you can take. But you refuse to let go until finally, finally , Keyman’s body drops to the ground. Lifeless.

         “Din?” you whimper. Your head hangs forward as you slip from consciousness. As the world turns to black, you hear him yell, the sound like a battle cry, and then the distinct sound of his beskar spear hitting the divider. Over, and over, and over.

Chapter Text

When you open your eyes, you are greeted by darkness. The kind of void where you can’t see your own fingers in front of your face. You feel raw and vulnerable, like a piece of you once buried is now exposed. But it feels good. It feels almost natural.

            Your senses flood in, and you recognize where you are. You can smell it on the sheets, the smell of Din. You can feel it in the tremors around you, the rumble of the Razor Crest coasting through hyperspace. You lean up, attempting to move the divider and let in some light, but you’re stopped short by a sharp gasp. Your shoulder blade sears with pain; you’ve never been shot with a blaster before and have quickly decided you don’t ever want to experience it again.

            Your mind begins to race with what had happened on the ship. You remember Keyman shooting you, remember him separating you and Din. A tear trickles down your cheek. His face. His beautiful face wrecked with fear and despair. Your husband’s face. You take a deep breath, muscling through the pain in your shoulder and forcing yourself up. You need to see him.

            With trembling arms you drag the divider open, thoughts consumed with how you even ended up back on the Razor Crest. As your bare feet brush against the cold floor, you can feel the ship shake as it exits hyperspace, apparently arriving to whatever destination Din had set. You remain seated on the edge of the bed, patiently waiting for the ship to land. You have no hope of climbing the ladder in your condition.

            After nearly ten minutes you can feel the ship land, creaking lightly in time with the heavy steps of the Mandalorian exiting the cockpit. His boots appear on the top rung and your heart clenches; your stomach churns in anticipation.

            “Tracinya?” there’s relief behind the modulator as Din looks over to see you awake. He skips the remaining rungs and hurries over to you. You detect a small shake in his gloved hands as he cups your face gently, as if you were made of glass.

            “How long was I out?” you ask, trying to offer him a reassuring smile through the pain in your shoulder.

            “Three days. I’ve been applying bacta and checking your pulse and breathing but I didn’t know what else to do… I’m so glad you’re awake,” he shudders. He pulls you in against his chest plate, and though it’s cold and rigid, you snuggle against it anyway.

            “I’m okay Din, you saved me,” you whisper, letting a few more tears fall. You’re safe, he’s safe, and Keyman can never hurt either of you again. “Din…I am so sorry.”

            “Shh, I know, me too. If I had just…I’m sorry too.”

            “No, Din,” you look up at him, his helmet blurry from the obstruction of your tears. “I am so sorry. I- I lied to you, and kept secrets, I put our baby at risk-“

            “Stop it,” his tone is firm and sharp, a gloved hand cupping your jaw. “You did what you thought was best for all of us, just like I did. I’m sorry you felt that you had to keep things from me.”

            “We have a lot of things we need to work on…don’t we?” you say softly.

            “Yes. But you’re worth it. My riduur,” he strokes a leather thumb over your bottom lip. “My runi.”

            “You don’t regret it?” you ask, referring to both his proposal and how the two of you became married.

            “I don’t regret a single thing that involves you. I never have.”

            “I love you, Din.” He sighs, almost as if he is relieved.

            “And I love you.”

There is an odd pause, a question hanging in the air. You see Din’s fists clench and unclench, a nervousness still radiating off of the cool beskar. There’s something on his mind, but you don’t feel comfortable pushing right now. Instead you wait patiently in silence, looking expectantly up at him. Eventually he shifts his feet and clenches his fists again.

“Is- the baby, is it okay?” His voice sounds so small, so scared. You know right now that Din is vulnerable, cracked glass that is one small touch away from shattering. You smile up at him and give a gentle nod. You can feel her, her life force flowing through you, growing stronger with each passing second. He doesn’t relax though, so you grab his wrist and bring it to your stomach. It’s much too early for him to be able to feel anything, but you want the baby to recognize his energy, to be familiar with his protectiveness, his love.

“You can’t feel it, but if it’s anything like me, our baby will be able to sense you.” You can’t explain it, but you can already tell she’ll be just like you and the little man. Sensitive to the energies around her. You’ll tell this to Din later tonight, after the rawness of it all has begun to heal over.

“How…I thought you couldn’t-“

“Your son,” you say with a laugh. “Turns out he was healing me all this time, and I didn’t even know it.”

“With how often we- uh- well it was only a matter of time then,” Din jokes, and you can practically feel his blush rising up his cheeks.

“Oh yeah, we didn’t stand a chance,” you laugh, happy to lighten the mood a bit.

He helps you to your feet, a protective arm around your body. You wrap your good arm around his neck and give a kiss to his throat, just beneath the helmet. You can hear a light chuckle from behind the helmet, but he pushes you away gently. You shoot him a smirk.

            “As I recall, you promised to fuck me until neither of us could walk.”

            “Pretty girl, you’re going to kill me. Is that what you’re thinking about right now?”

            “And you aren’t?” you challenge.

            “I’m always thinking about it,” he admits in a gravely voice. “But I’ll be the responsible one. We just landed on Nevarro and I need to go get the kid.” You give a dramatic sigh but concede. The little man is about the only thing that could keep you off of Din right now.

            “Fine. You go get him, I’ll get out of this fucking dress,” you say disdainfully, eager to remove any reminder of Keyman.

            “Change into whatever you want, Tracinya,” he leans down to your ear, his voice  a husky growl, “you won’t be wearing it long.”

            You hit him playfully on the chest plate and let him go, closing the ship door behind him. You grab a pair of undershorts and a black shirt from your things and head to the fresher. Though you wanted to scrub away any remaining essence of that ship, this proves more difficult than anticipated. Your range of motion is not great, and you spend half the time maneuvering your bandages away from the stream. For the first time, you almost wish Din had a sonic on board instead. You’re patting yourself dry when you hear the main door open, the Mandalorian’s heavy footsteps followed by the lightest patter of feet.

            “Mama?” you hear a small voice say. Mama, I feel you. The wind is knocked out of your lungs and you bite back a whimper. You’ve missed him so much…and you can hear him. You had been able to feel energies from each other before, but after what happened with Keyman, it’s like your mind is more receptive to it. “Mama?” Mama, it’s Grogu.

            “Did you just say—“ Din begins. You’re caught in the emotions of realizing Din has never heard the kid call you that, and the other realization of him having a name. You tremble and try not to sob; you finally know his name…and you can tell Din his name.

            “I’ll be right out,” you manage, the sound strangled. You get dressed as quickly as your injury will allow, ignoring some of the pain in favor of efficiency.

            “Tracinya, I think he just called you—“ His voice cuts off, just as strangled with tears as yours.

            “Hey little man,” you greet, opening the door and falling to your knees. He races over to you and leaps in your arms, something you didn’t think his little legs were even capable of. He nuzzles into you, his fingers clinging to your shirt. Nothing could tear him away from you. You hold your hand out to Din and he takes it automatically, as if he’s acting on impulse instead of thinking. You easily drag him down to the floor to join you and the little man—Grogu. “I missed you Grogu,” you whisper, the sound of his name making the child squeal.

            “Grogu?” Din asks, his breath slightly shaky. The child turns to him and makes grabbing arms.

            “That’s his name. He just told me.”

            “Grogu?” Din repeats, earning a wide grin from the child. Din chuckles, repeating the name over and over to the delight of his adopted son. You watch the two of them for a long time, unable to tear your gaze from the love and affection the two share for each other. And you can’t help but wonder how you got so lucky. How did so many unfortunate events, and heartache, and mistakes grant you this moment? You don’t realize that Din is staring at you, his chest heaving as he waits for you to answer him. He repeats your name again.


            “I love you. And he loves you,” he states, as if it were the most serious sentence he’d ever utter. “Can you do something with me?”

            “Anything, Din.”

            “Repeat what I say,” he takes a breath and focuses his attention on Grogu. “Grogu.”

            “Grogu,” you reply diligently. The child coos.

            “Ni kar'tayl gai sa'ad.”

            “Ni kar'tayl gai sa'ad,” you attempt, unfamiliar with the words. Your cheeks blush a light pink, hoping you didn’t butcher the phrase. “What does that mean?”

            “I know your name as my child.” The child smiles at this.

            “An adoption vow,” you deduct, smiling down at your son. “You sure know how to show a girl a good time. Not everyone gets a son and a husband in the same week,” you joke, attempting not to cry from all the emotions building up in your throat.

            “Mama?” Grogu coos.

            “Yeah, that’s me,” you respond, the tears streaming freely down your face now. Grogu looks over to Din, his eyes searching as if he can stare straight through the helmet.


            “I’ll take it,” Din agrees, wrapping his arm around you and squeezing you to his side. “Thank you,” he directs softly to you. You don’t respond and lay your head on his shoulder, gazing down at Grogu.


            After a few hours of convincing from Din and Grogu, you finally let the child heal you. Of course, your shoulder is as good as new, but the child is now knocked out in his pram. You’re reclined on the cot while Din takes a shower, attempting to read some stale book you managed to find near the back of the ship. You assume it must have belonged to a quarry, but its unknown back story may be the most interesting thing about it. Movement at the foot of the cot draws your attention, and you lift your eyes only for your cheeks to flame a deep crimson.

            Din is standing there with his towel wrapped low around his waist. His toned chest is heaving as he studies you, the visor of his helmet trained on you intently. You bite down on your bottom lip, painfully aware of the way your heart is stuttering. Din holds out a hand to you and you carefully crawl to the foot of the bed. You take his hand, only then realizing that you both are trembling. He takes both your wrists and guides your fingers up under his helmet, letting you feel where the latch release is.

            “Are you sure?” you whisper, your thumb resting on the latch.

            “If you promise to be gentle,” he teases. You smirk up at him and lift up his helmet with a soft hiss of air. Out of habit, your eyes immediately close as you carefully lay it on the ground. Din cups your chin and draws your face up towards his, and your eyes flutter open.

            “Stars,” you breathe, mesmerized for the second time by his face. His bottom lip is caught between his teeth, a sign of his nervousness. Though you’ve seen him once before, this is different. This time he could more appropriately gauge your reaction. His brown eyes are so deep, like they possess their own gravitational pull. Beckoning you down and under, swallowing you in the flecks of black. You feel your cheeks burn at the new intimacy, and you’re pleased to see crimson creep up into his as well. Though his helmet, ever stoic and impassive, masked his thoughts, his face was just as you had suspected: An open book, full of expression, unable to hide. Incapable of lying.

            “So beautiful,” he murmurs, as if seeing you for the first time.

            “I think that’s my line, Din,” you whisper. “I can’t believe… this handsome face is just for me.” He releases a breath, a smile forms across his lips.  The dimple you felt all those months ago in the darkness finally making its appearance. You stroke your thumb over it reverently.

            “Not disappointed?” he jokes, a sliver of self consciousness still lurking beneath the surface. You lean in and capture his lips, your tongue licking slowly at the seam. His breath hitches.

            “I can’t believe this is the face that’s been between my legs.” His laughter at this is nearly a bark, caught off guard by the crass comment. “I’m the luckiest fucking woman in the galaxy, handsome.”  He grins at you, an expression that makes every inch of you clench, and you barely conceal an aroused gasp. Din says nothing to you, instead falling to his knees onto the durasteel floor. Still clad in only his towel, he maintains his searing eye contact with you as he slowly lowers your waistband. You wordlessly comply, allowing him to remove your shorts and panties before dangling your legs over his shoulders.

            You begin to lower yourself down to lie on the cot, but a strong hand to your back keeps you sitting upright. You feel yourself trembling, your pussy already pulsating wetly in anticipation of his perfect mouth. He simply shakes his head at you.

            “No tracinya…I want you to watch.” He noses at the apex of your thighs, breathing in your scent as if it was the air he needed to breathe. “Fuck,” he growls. Your abdomen clenches at the sound. You are not going to last long. He licks a wet stripe up your sex with the flat of his tongue and a whimper escapes your mouth. Correction, you’re going to last an embarrassingly short amount of time.

            He grabs your wrists and guides them close, tangling your fingers in his thick hair. He tongues lightly at your clit, teasing it with circles that are just a little too soft, but wet and searing nonetheless. His eyes are hooded, and he looks up at your through his thick eyelashes, pupils dilated. He refuses to break eye contact, and you are left in a trance. Staring at the lust that passes over his face, his pink tongue flicking quicker now, the shift of his jaw as he pleasures you from a new angle.

            “Din, shit! Kriff,” you whine, the sounds ragged and frankly…pornographic. He moans low, the vibration sending thrills across your skin.  You begin to pant as your nipples harden in arousal, your grip in his hair tightening like reins. He mouths lazily at your pussy, and you can’t tell if you’re more soaked from him or your own pleasure.  You gasp as he surprises you, lightly tugging your clit between his teeth.  He spreads your thighs further, his eyes only darting down for a moment to appreciate your needy hole before locking with yours once again.

            “Are you close baby?” Fuck, hearing his voice and seeing the face that produced it is a whole new stimulation for you. Your head feels so dizzy you’re not sure if you even answer him. But he chuckles anyway, apparently getting his answer. He backs away slightly from your quivering sex, his mouth glistening with your taste, lips swollen and face red with need. You watch him intently as he rises from the floor, dropping his towel to pool at his feet. His cock is fully erect, precum already leaking from it. He gives himself a few strokes as he studies you. “Fuck, look at you. Take your top off.”

            You comply immediately, practically tearing the material off of yourself to reveal your naked form to him. The two of you study each other like hungry animals, the first time you both have been fully naked with open and roaming eyes.

            “Go lie back on the bed,” he orders, but his voice is soft and reverent. It’s loving, enchanted. You crawl backwards and rest your head on the pillow, arching your back and spreading your legs in a show for him. You let a moan escape from your lips, pleased with the utterly wrecked expression that crosses over his face. “Baby girl, you are perfect.” Baby girl. Kriff, you don’t know why that does something to you.

            “I don’t want to be perfect, I want to be ruined.” You know where his buttons are, and just how to push him. You grin in triumph as he moans loudly, crawling up the cot and slotting himself between your legs. Perfectly in sync with each other, he frames your face with his hands on your pillow as you grip onto his shoulders. He slides into you as you wrap your legs around his waist to push him deeper. And the two of you moan together as he drives further, settling deep inside you, your walls contracting to greet him. How perfectly you two fit. How desperately your body has missed his. And how fucking breathtaking he looks right now as pleasure and relief overtakes him.

            He moves inside you, deep strong thrusts pushing you. The sensations are hypnotic, intoxicating. But his face… you can’t miss a second of his face. You want to see every shift, every twitch of muscle. You want to know what has been happening beneath that helmet for the past year. His mouth hangs slightly open, his plump lower lip captured by his own teeth when he switches angles. His eyes roll back when something feels really good. His pants have a small rasp to them that you’ve never noticed, either concealed by the helmet or completely missed by the sounds of your own pleasure in the darkness. His hair becomes more tousled and wild, like a mane as he fucks you deeper, harder. But it’s the look on his face. The emotion that’s painted there clear as day.

            His need for you. His desperation for your touch. His pure pleasure at the sound of your moans, his relief at the clench of your muscles. But above all, the love. It’s pouring out of him, washing over you with an intensity that has tears welling up in your eyes. Your warm bodies slotted together in perfect unison, unspoken words passing between you as you gaze up at him. You don’t feel your body building. He cums first. His shoulders tense, his eyes close, his head falls back. His mouth opens as an erotic groan escapes, his face crumbling in an overwhelming pleasure. And it’s the sight of this…this human, and vulnerable, and sexy expression…it catches you off guard. And your orgasm is practically stolen from your body, your walls contracting and pulsing around him. You moan loudly, unable to repress it.

            Your eyes open after a minute of recovery and Din is inches from your face, his body collapsed on top of yours. His eyes are searching your face, desperate to see you. Desperate for you to see him. To finally be seen.



            “I love you.”