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vi-does-stuff · 2 years

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Hope For More

alpha!Obi-Wan Kenobi x f!reader — sequel to Reach Out

Tags smut, mating cycles/in heat, post order 66, unprotected piv sex, breeding/pregnancy kink, extremely little plot aside from a luke visit lmao, no y/n

Word count 3.5k

You're settling in on Tatooine, leading a simple yet happy life with Obi-Wan as your mate. One day, he lets you properly see a certain part of his life — the main reason for him being on Tatooine in the first place — leading the two of you to decide to take your relationship another step further.

ao3

Once your heat fades, there isn’t a lot that changes on the surface in your life on Tatooine; you still get up early every morning to do your old Jedi routine; you still make biweekly trips to Anchorhead for supplies; you still take the opportunity to spar with Obi-Wan. The key difference, of course, is the new level to your relationship. When you get up early every morning, it’s in the same bed as Obi-Wan, being held in his arms. During your trips to Anchorhead, things seem slightly less tense — people can tell that you’re a mated pair, and (as unfortunate as it is that this is the case) treat you with less suspicion, and birth control is added to your shopping list. After your sparring sessions with Obi-Wan, you can hardly keep your hands off one another in a completely different way.

On the whole, you feel a certain kind of happiness that you haven’t felt in years. There are still certain things which are difficult for you both to discuss, but Obi-Wan is becoming more comfortable with opening up, and so are you.

One day he takes you to see Luke.

You’d discussed it the night before, Obi-Wan having offered to show you where the boy and his family live so you could see how they’re doing. While you were never exactly friends with Skywalker, you know that he means a lot to Obi-Wan, and appreciate his willingness to let you into that part of his life.

You wake up at your usual time, but for once Obi-Wan is already up and about, not having waited for you before getting out of bed. He’s sitting outside but not meditating when you find him, and you place a hand on his shoulder when you approach from behind.

“Are you alright?”

He turns to give you a soft smile. “I’m okay, thank you.”

“Still sure about today?”

“I am. You deserve to get to see him.”

You sit down next to him, and rest your head on his shoulder. “Want to meditate together? Skip the katas, and maybe spar later when we get back?” Every so often, you and Obi-Wan meditate together, allowing your Force signatures to freely mingle and using each other to ground yourselves.

“That would be nice.”

You both move so you’re sitting back to back, and you relax against Obi-Wan. There’s something you love about leaning back against him, feeling his strong back against you almost like an anchor, a more physical reminder of his presence than just the feeling of his Force signature.

The joined meditation session leaves you feeling calm and relaxed, and it seems it helps Obi-Wan too. The slight air of off-ness that he had before is gone, and it feels as though he is in a good mood as you both prepare and eat your breakfast.

“How far is it to travel?” you ask.

“Not too far. Especially now that we have the speeder.” You’d brought some spare credits with you to Tatooine, and recently spent some of them on getting a relatively cheap speeder from Anchorhead, which has made travelling a lot easier. You’ve kept the eopie still — she’s useful to have for milk, with you not having a bantha — and she no doubt appreciates the extra rest she’s getting. “Probably won’t be longer than an hour or two round trip.”

The proclamation of the trip taking an hour or two confuses you when, after only twenty minutes of driving, Obi-Wan parks the speeder and leads you up a relatively steep hill. “The farm is over there. Owen — Luke’s uncle — doesn’t exactly want me to spend any time with Luke, so I try to keep my distance.” He pulls out a pair of binoculars, and looks through them to the small set of buildings in the distance for a few seconds, before handing the binoculars to you.

You look at the house, quickly identifying the small boy running around outside. “Luke is the one running around?” you ask.

“He is,” Obi-Wan says, a tinge of almost unidentifiable sadness in his voice. You watch as he runs into the arms of a woman, who gives him a hug and says something to him that you obviously can’t make out.

“Who’s the lady he’s with?”

“Beru. His aunt; she married Anakin’s half-brother.”

You don’t say anything for a while, only handing the binoculars back to Obi-Wan so he can watch Luke for a little longer. You both wind up sitting down next to one another, taking turns to look through the binoculars until Luke disappears inside with Beru and Obi-Wan puts the binoculars away.

“Do you wish you could be the one to raise Luke instead?” you ask somewhat tentatively, not sure how Obi-Wan would respond to such a question.

He doesn’t respond immediately, but just as you’re about to apologise he speaks. “I don’t really know. Of course, it’s not as though I haven’t thought about it. Having children, I mean. And I was tempted to raise Luke and his sister as my own.”

“Why didn’t you?”

“They’d be more at risk if they were together. I have a friend who’d always wanted a daughter, and would be in a good position to raise her, and I thought Luke deserved to be with his family. And- well, if it got out that a famous Jedi General and Anakin Skywalker’s child were together, we’d be hunted down almost for certain. The bounty would be ridiculous.”

“But you’re still on Tatooine.”

Obi-Wan sighs. “I am. Just because I can’t raise Luke doesn’t mean I don’t care about him. Tatooine is a dangerous place, and… well, if he’s anything like his father then he’ll be very strong in the Force. One day, he’ll need to be trained.”

“Do you think Owen will let you?”

“Honestly… I don’t. But there will come a time when Luke has to make his own decisions, and it is only fair that he gets the chance to choose the life that his father before him lived.”

“I suppose that makes sense. It’s a shame that you can’t see him properly now, though.” You think of Obi-Wan as a father — not exactly an uncommon thought now that the two of you are mated — and your heart aches for him. “For what it’s worth, I think you’d be a really good dad, if you did raise him. Or anyone, for that matter.”

He turns to meet your gaze with a soft smile. “Thank you. That means a lot.” He pulls you into an embrace so that you’re leaning into his side, and presses a light kiss to your forehead.

“Have you ever considered…” you pause, staring straight ahead, recognising the somewhat monumental nature of the question. “Having a child of your own one day?”

To his credit, Obi-Wan’s surprise at the question is very well masked, and he doesn’t pull away. “I- well, I suppose I must have, yes.”

“Do you think you would like to?”

“If I believed they could live a good, safe life — I would like to.” He turns to face you again, a meaningful expression on his face. “What about you?”

You swallow. “I would too.”

“What do we do about this then?” he asks.

“I- I don’t know.”

“Would you be comfortable raising a child where we are now?”

You think about it. Perhaps they wouldn’t have a life comparable with your childhood in the Temple, but you’re not in massive danger when you’re in your hut. The Inquisitors seem to have stayed away from Tatooine, and though you’d need to find a steadier stream of income to give them everything they needed, you can’t think of any particular reason why you can’t have a child with Obi-Wan.

It helps that you really, really want a child with your mate.

“I would be if you were.”

He smiles. “It would be difficult at times. But… I think we could make it work.”

With the decision to have a child with Obi-Wan made, it feels like your relationship deepens yet further. You stop taking your birth control, and though you wouldn’t exactly describe yourselves as ‘trying’, you aren’t not trying in the same sense. You suppose that you’re essentially waiting for either of you to go into a heat or rut for anything to really happen — and it turns out you only have to wait a few weeks more in that regard.

You had half-guessed that you’d have another heat before Obi-Wan had a proper rut of his own, given their typical infrequency, but your irregular heats — a side effect of having taken suppressants for several years — strike again. Or rather, don’t strike at all.

You wake up one morning in Obi-Wan’s embrace, feeling him pressed hard against you. Normally, you wouldn’t bat an eye at this, but it’s the difference in his scent and Force signature which makes you pause. His alpha scent is even stronger than usual, arousal clear in the air, and kriff, his thoughts. The rut must be having an effect on his shields as his mind is wide open, displaying his every fantasy of pinning you down and fucking deep into you, again and again until his seed took.

He’s grinding his hips against you unconsciously, and you can feel yourself getting wetter, slick beginning to pool between your thighs. “Obi-Wan?” you ask, in an attempt to wake him up. “Alpha?”

You notice him slowly regain consciousness, his grinding against you slowing (although he keeps his hips pressed against yours) as he realises what he’s doing. “Omega?” he says, voice rough from sleep, the sound of it in your ear sending a pleasant shiver down your spine.

“Good morning,” you say quietly. “How are you feeling?”

“Excellent question,” he says with a quiet laugh. “I think you might already have an idea.”

You smile. “Maybe. I am going to go and make you some breakfast, to help keep you going.” You go to move, but Obi-Wan keeps holding you close to him, unwilling to let you go. “Honestly, alpha, I’ll be fine without you for two minutes.”

He growls softly, not exactly threateningly, but you try to release calming pheromones anyway. “I’ll come too.” It’s said quietly, but firmly; there’s no room to disagree, even if you would have preferred for him to stay in bed.

He eventually seems to realise that he needs to release you if either of you want to be able to get up, and closely follows you into the other room as you go to make some food. You’re quickly reminded of the reason for you wanting Obi-Wan to stay in bed — the smell of strong, aroused alpha is inescapable as you try to get breakfast, and it’s beginning to have more of an effect on you.

After turning the kettle on to make some tea, Obi-Wan turns and pushes you against the counter, pressing a forceful kiss to your lips that makes you weak at the knees. You’re grateful for his arms holding you in place as you practically collapse against him, and you can feel the evidence of his arousal hard against you as he licks into your mouth.

“Come on, omega,” he mutters. “I could fuck you right here. Just bend you over the counter, it would be so easy, I can already smell how wet you are-”

His offer is seeming more and more tempting, but you remind yourself that your priority should definitely be having something to eat now — you’ll both be out of action for a while, and the last thing you want is a hangry alpha in rut on your hands. You push gently against Obi-Wan’s chest, trying to discourage him, although it is rather difficult to talk with the way he’s sucking at your neck, right over where he sealed you as his during your last heat.

“Not yet, alpha,” you get out. “Soon, I promise. Don’t you want tea?”

“I want you,” he insists, but steps away nonetheless. “This tea had better be good.”

The tea is satisfactory, after all, though you don’t think Obi-Wan is paying much attention to its taste as he gulps it down as quickly as he can without scalding his mouth, switching between taking a drink from his mug and eating the toast you’d made for you both. He finishes before you, unsurprisingly, and as soon as his hands are free he pulls you even closer to him — the only way he seems to be content to eat breakfast is to do so with you sitting in his lap as you eat too — and resumes his kisses to your mating gland.

The second you finish eating — you’re getting impatient too, now — you twist around in his lap so that you’re straddling him, and kiss him properly again. You writhe slightly in his lap, creating fiction against his erection and the feeling of it making you aware of how wet you are. The kiss leaves you breathless, and even if you couldn’t feel Obi-Wan’s desire clear in the Force and through his scent, the way he looks at you when you come apart would tell you all you need to go.

“I’m ready, alpha,” you say. “Do you still want to fuck me?”

He laughs, the sound of it rough. “I never stop wanting to fuck you, my omega.”

And he keeps his grip on you strong as he stands up, carrying you through to the bedroom. It’s a typical display of alpha strength, one that you both love; it makes your alpha feel powerful, and to a certain extent it makes you feel more safe, like you’re protected in his arms. Your rational brain knows that you can protect yourself, of course, but your rational brain is rarely in charge when you’ve just had Obi-Wan’s lips on yours.

He puts you down on the bed and is immediately on top of you, caging you in his arms. He only now seems to realise that you’re still in your pyjamas, and of course that’s unacceptable, so he starts ridding you of your clothes. You help him along, and soon you’re chest to chest, the feeling of his bare skin against yours increasing your anticipation for what’s to come.

Obi-Wan moves to pull your thighs apart, and completely without warning goes to taste your slick, licking a stripe up your cunt. The feeling of his tongue combined with his beard against his sensitive skin draws a loud moan from you, and when he pulls away, his beard looks wet with your slick. “Just wanted a taste before I fuck you,” he says. “Can you turn over for me, omega?” You oblige him, twisting over onto your front. “Now present.” The slight alpha command that he’s laced into what he says is almost definitely an accident, but you don’t care either way, arching your back immediately, baring yourself for your alpha and angling your hips up towards him so he can see how much you want him.

“Good girl,” he says, using one hand to grip your hips while the other one puts his own cock into place by your cunt. “My perfect omega,” he adds as he sinks into you in one powerful thrust. It’s easier for him to do so than you’d have expected, especially given you’re not in a proper heat by now, but you don’t care, the two of you both moaning at the feeling of his cock sliding into you.

During the other times that the two of you have had sex, it’s been passionate, sure, but it feels like there’s something different about it this time as Obi-Wan begins his brutal pace. There’s never quite been this need before, as even when you first got together during your heat there was still a slight element of unsureness, of newness. Now that you’ve done this quite a few times, your pre-existing comfort with one another means there’s nothing stopping your alpha taking what he needs, and kriff, does he take.

It isn’t long before you feel like even more of a mess inside, moans thoughtlessly ripped from your mouth due to Obi-Wan’s movements. You’re grateful that your chest was already pressed against the mattress, otherwise you’d surely be collapsing against it, and it helps too that Obi-Wan is still keeping one hand tightly gripping your hip — you’re sure to feel bruised tomorrow, but you don’t care about that. His other hand is on top of one of yours, your fingers intertwined; you can see it when you look down, a reminder of how large his hands are compared to yours.

“Kriffing hells, omega,” Obi-Wan gets out. “Feel so good-”

All you can say in response is alpha — Obi-Wan seriously limits your vocabulary sometimes — as you attempt to push back against him even further, wanting more of his length inside you, more of these addictive sensations. Your alpha’s chest is against your back, now, and he nestles his head into the crook of your shoulder. He presses kisses to the area, barely touching your mating gland — you hadn’t thought he’d be capable of such teasing while in the throes of his rut, but there you go — and it only drives you further into arousal. Especially when you feel the very beginnings of his knot swelling inside you.

“Alpha-” you gasp, “Knot me, please.”

“You want my knot, omega? Want me to fill you up?” You gasp out another please, and Obi-Wan laughs, the sound coming out rough. “You can ask me more nicely than that, come on sweetheart.”

“Please, Obi-Wan, alpha, please knot me. I’ll do anything, just want your come inside me, please-”

Another laugh. “So desperate for my come. It’s alright, omega, I’ll fill you up. Give you my pups.” You can’t help but clench even tighter at that, and you begin to properly feel your alpha’s knot now. “Oh yes. Can’t wait to see my omega all full and pregnant with our children- really show everyone that you’re mine- kriff, you’re perfect.”

You’re reduced to a state of begging again, reminded of the other purpose of yours and Obi-Wan’s coupling today. The hand that was at your hip comes to grasp one of your breasts, teasing the nipple in the way he’s learned that you like. “These will swell too, won’t they? Full of milk for our pups — I bet you’ll taste even more perfect here.”

His Force signature is engulfed in flaming arousal, his hips moving as surely as ever, only held back slightly by his knot beginning to catch at your entrance. It’s getting bigger now, and you can’t wait to feel him stuck deep inside you once more.

“I love you, omega,” he says, his voice shifting slightly away from his previous tone. “So much.”

You respond with your own barely coherent declaration of love as Obi-Wan seals himself fully inside you, lightly attempting to pull out but no longer being able to. He comes with a moan of his own, arm wrapping itself around your waist to pull you in closer to him, and he projects the way he feels so strongly across your bond that you have no choice but to come too.

You’re both used to moving around while he’s knotted you now, and relatively easily manage to move so that you’re lying on your sides. Obi-Wan presses light kisses to your mating gland and one hand soothingly strokes up and down your side, feeling much calmer in the Force — and less intense in his scent — now that his rut isn’t having such an influence on him.

“I like how you’re relaxing me when you’re the one in rut,” you say with a smile.

“I’m just that good,” he says, and you can just tell by the way he sounds that he’s grinning. “How are you feeling, little one?”

“Wonderful. Tired. How are you, Obi-Wan?”

“Much better. Perfect, actually. I really am excited to raise a child with you, omega. Slightly scared, but excited.”

“What if this one doesn’t take?” you ask quietly.

Obi-Wan presses another kiss to your mating gland. “Then we’ll keep going. Practice isn’t a hardship, after all. And- well- I hope you know that no matter what, I’m happy with you. You. You’ve made my life feel whole again.”

“Obi-Wan… Kriff, I love you.” You feel warm, and oh-so right to be here with Obi-Wan. It’s somewhat awkward given your positioning, but you just about move your head so that you can kiss your alpha properly. “At least I can say it properly, now.”

He laughs. “I certainly wasn’t complaining about the way you were saying it before.” You find yourself yawning, and Obi-Wan lightly squeezes your hip. “Maybe we can nap for a bit while my knot goes down. We’ll need our rest before I get all rut-y again.”

You smile. You weren’t expecting to feel as tired as you do right now, but you realise that you really could do with a nap. “Okay, alpha.”

Excited for the future that the two of you will have, you allow yourself to fall into a light but pleasant sleep, feeling safe and comfortable in your alpha’s embrace.

I cannot escape the alpha obi-wan brainrot atm. I hope you enjoyed it though, thank you for reading! <3

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#obi wan kenobi x reader #obi wan kenobi #obi wan smut #star wars fic #obi wan x you #alpha beta omega #omegaverse #vi does writing

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tremendum · 1 year

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be like me [v]

trust

pairing: din djarin x fem!reader (afab, use of she/her) rating: explicit for violence and sexual themes. (18+. mdni.) word count: 7.4k summary: there are few things in this galaxy that made Mando want to run, and you were one of them. because he is starting to see himself in you, and you in him. warnings: canon-typical violence, graphic depictions of violence, blood, and injury, reader gets injured, reader gets verbally sexually assaulted, slimy gross men, mentions of sexual themes, minor character death, attempted kidnapping lol, use of one Bacta shot so needles, lots of fluff like tooth rotting pining notes: here’s part 5! thanks for all the love, it makes me smile to see all the feedback ive been getting!! this chapter is kicking things up in the storyline a bit more, and ramping up to the next chapter! i hope yall enjoy, and as always feedback/reblogs/likes are v much appreciated! also let me know if your tag didnt work/if i missed u it got a little weird lol.

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your stay on Valara soured quicker than Eopie milk the moment your bounty was sealed into carbonite.

the moment he'd fastened off the bounty to his frozen fate, Mando was as silent as the day you'd met. you could feel the anger brewing beneath his armor, festering and boiling as you stand on doe-legs; your jaw clenches in anxiety as you watch him storm past you, helmet not so much as tilting in your direction as he slams his hand against the hydraulics to open the entrance to the Crest. "Mando, where are you going?" you ask, voice strong despite its retirement from the last forty-five minutes.

a helmet whips over to even with you, as if just remembering your presence. "I need to get more information about where the drop was. it was weeks ago, Zuca could be anywhere by now."

"okay, well-" you know you should mention whatever just happened, or maybe you shouldn't - you don't know what to do, Maker, everything happened so quick; your heart hasn't calmed down, you can feel his proximity still on your skin, his hand on your hip, the burning hand over your mouth... his thick thigh with its beskar casing against your aching cunt. every step you take is a reminder of the slick between your thighs, the absence of an orgasm leaving you foggy-brained and erratic. you shiver, a mixture between desire and fear - there's a bounty on your head. yours. and with your face in the galactic system and your Mandalorian shadow, almost anyone could find you.

"no. stay here." he commands it. you barely move your mouth to speak before he's pointing at you sternly, "don't try to argue. it's not safe."

you know he's right, but you furrow your brows, "exactly, which is why we should be leaving." you glare. is there even a brain behind that tin helmet? your chest heaves with a vicious rage; maybe it's your newfound freedom, or perhaps its something entirely different inside of you. but there's a clear change, you can feel it. you've felt it in the last few weeks.

you're just so angry all the time - full of rage, full of the red hot desire for revenge that keeps guiding your mouth and hands before your brain can even consider the options.

"were you not just in the same bathroom as I was?" Mando snaps, voice angry as he points out of the Crest towards the direction of town, "I know you heard what they said in there. they'll be looking for you. I need to protect the the kid, and it's a lot easier to get things done when I'm not also dealing with you." his voice is his regular, deep rumble, but it's angry and laced with something you can't recognize.

you have to fight the flustered feelings in your chest at his mention of the bathroom from the cantina, but as he finishes his sentence, anger flares ruthlessly in your chest as you take a step forward, fists tightening.

weeks ago, had any of this happened, you'd have cowered, sat back, just let it happen. you'd have simply closed your eyes with a deep breath and dreamt of the day where you find your family; now, you're boiling over, the anger making you wish you could snap his neck; put a laser straight through his stupid kriffing helmet visor.

"do you really think they'll be anywhere other than the outpost? Batuu is not that big, you told me that yourself." you take staggering breaths to calm yourself, confused as to why he wasn't listening. "for someone who hunts bounty for a living, you sure aren't trying very hard to catch it."

Mando takes a menacing step forward, closer to you. "I'm trying to keep you alive. which, if you can't tell, is not the easiest thing."

you're seeing red. "well, sorry if I'm not more grateful. you're only keeping me alive to use as insurance for your precious credits." you spit, the words feeling foreign on your tongue; "collateral, right, Mandalorian? some bounty hunter you are." you shouldn't be insulting his profession, but there's nothing that can stop the rage that boils within you. every second you stay on this moon is one less second you'll have with your family.

you turn away, intending to storm up into the ship's body and away from the infuriating man. but his words that follow just ignite the flames even more, "you don't know the first thing about hunting."

"then TEACH ME!" you all but scream, turning around again, irritation boiling over and spilling through your voice. you feel strong emotions hitting your eyes at your mention of collateral: yes, at first it'd seemed like this was true, but recently it'd felt, perhaps, as though he'd kept you around because he liked your company. it just made it all the more painful as he grumbles out his next words, the wind of the night breeze ruffling his cape gently.

"i tried. but a few weeks out of the nest and you suddenly think you're invincible." his voice is maliciously sarcastic, full of spite. it twists the blade of his words deep inside of you, corkscrewing viciously as you take a sharp breath.

"out of the nest?!" you snarl, wheeling back around towards him. how dare he make it sound like you were just some sweet little innocent girl who stumbled too far away from home - how dare he insinuate anything about your life before him? "are you kidding?" you're shocked, overwhelmed with the emotions that swirl in your gut, a sour taste in your mouth.

the two of you are like bombs. lighting each other's fuse and then dousing each other in kerosene, just to see who blows first. it was a fire lit the moment you'd stepped into that stall in the cantina; he'd coaxed feelings out of you that you'd never even imagined before... you shudder. you don't understand why it's gotten so bad recently, why you're so frustrated - but he's been just as bad.

despite yourself, a tear of frustration slides down your cheek. quickly you whip it away, holding your ground as Mando crosses his arms, "you know-" "-no, stop it!" you interject. your fingers wish to throw something at him, kick him - or hit him without breaking your fist. "fuck, Mando," you feel your eyes well up with emotion as you throw your worst look his way. "you've never trusted me. I know Zuca and the Ark'uz'iman. did you ever consider that I might have some good insight for you?"

it's quiet, and in the silence you can't held but shake your head, the anger simmering back down as you stare in wait. but it's Mando, and he's never been one to apologize. something in you deflates. you don't know why you ever allowed yourself to get your hopes up about him.

he's a weapon. a killer. he could never care for you.

Mando takes a breath. "fine, we'll go to Batuu. but I taught you how to wield a blaster," he shoves the hilt of it into your chest harshly, as he moves towards the ladder of the hull, "so you better use it this time."

you glare at the back of his head as he walks away.

Batuu's outpost is as deteriorated as your spirits when you and Mando trudged into town.

the rain leaks through the rafters that cover the market and dribbles down onto the cobblestone, the quiet bustling of the natives hushed and calm. lanterns are strung up above your heads, twinkling and reflecting onto the wet stone as though they were little stars. the market must have once been fruitful, lively - but it's now riddled with hushed whispers, empty vendor kiosks, Batuuian rats, and old stains of mysterious maroon splatters.

"look." Mando says stiffly, nodding up towards a rickety sign that swings in the rain; you have to fight the downpour to look up even through the partial cover of shelter. there's the insignia of the very syndicate you'd been tethered to for years, sitting plainly on a rusted metal, brazen and in the open. a huff escapes your lips, dry and unimpressed: it's insulting how little they tried to hide themselves in this outpost.

"subtle." you mutter to yourself, shaking your head. Ark'uz'iman was once strong, but in the years since the fall of the Empire, it'd also fallen from its grace; there was nobody to hold guard in the entrance to the building at all as you follow Mando through the alleyway and duck into the small hall that leads into the building.

your fingers are tight around the blaster at your thigh, swallowing back the warmth of your throat when Mando mutters, "stay close to me."

you roll your eyes, about to mutter something witty back before he stops in his tracks, coming upon a large room that holds crates of galactic goods; your eyes graze over the weapons stacked in the crates, strewn between canned bantha meat and other smuggled delicacies.

there are voices in the room, too. they're subtle, quiet, and you have to strain yourself to hear them. "there's six of them." Mando says quietly, and your brows barely furrow before you remember he's got heat sensors in his helmet.

your throat goes dry at the thought of him using his heat sensors - has he done it around you? could he tell how weak he made you between your legs when he so much as spoke to you?

you shake out of it as he motions for you to follow him, his helm poking over to corner briefly before turning back to you, "none of them are Zuca. they're all wearing green."

you nod, not surprised. you doubt he'd still be here, after all. he's probably out in another planet, indulging in whatever sins he can get his hands on. or, perhaps, he's out there somewhere looking for you too.

"the green jackets are for smugglers. none of them will know where he is." you whisper back, but a call from the room makes your head whip back, "hey!"

as if on command, Mando whips around the wall and starts shooting; you're frozen for a second, the fear gripping you like a vice - you'd never really fought someone yet besides Mando; and you know that no matter how much he denies it, he goes easy on you.

but these people are unforgivable; the scum of the galaxy, fueling hate and agony and danger and despair.

the thought alone springs you into action, sliding yourself around in order to latch your sight onto one of the men in the room shooting at Mando; your first shot bounces off the wall and explodes a crate of jargon fruit cans.

gritting your teeth, your face heats in embarrassment, dodging a shot that singes a few strands of your hair. your next shot in return hits the wall but then reflexes into the man's back, sending him yelling to the ground. he's out in an instant, your arm buzzes as your chest constricts - you just took someone's life.

a grunt of pain snaps you out of it again as Mando's arm jerks back, a shot taking a rip out of his flight suit at the elbow. you don't hesitate as your blaster's triggered, hitting Mando's shooter right in the chest.

the one to your left starts to charge towards you, catching you off guard as you shoot at the one near Mando. his arms are strong as they grab you, lifting you off the ground. panic floods through you at the feeling of his arms on you and you let out a scream, groaning as your breath leaves you.

you try to jab backwards towards the man's chest, but he lifts you and pulls back, effectively pushing hard into your chest cavity, a sickening crack following a searing pain that blossoms in your ribs. you let out a strangled, pained yelp, struggling to breath as the pain spreads, licking your throat, your stomach, your arms. the room smells like smoke and blaster residue, the other man shooting at Mando and lighting the room up with blaster red as the shots ricochet off of his beskar. you're panicking as you struggle in the man's arms - you can't suck in a breath, it hurts, so bad- (you have to remember to breathe, cyar'ika.)

in a split second, you suck in a sharp inhale before slamming your heel down hard against the man's foot, the cracking noise sickening against your ragged breath. there's a chink in his hold as he reels from the pain and you kick back again, hitting his shin this time. it's a good thing this man wasn't wearing the beskar you'd grown accustomed to fighting against.

you fall away from him, sliding towards Mando's legs as you roll, protecting your side as much as you can. you grab your blaster as you slide, and when you stand, the man who'd held you is crumpled on the ground with a shot through his forehead. your chest throbs along with your heartbeat, the pain making your vision swerve for a moment. you gasp to catch your breath, each shallow gulp ringing pain down your side.

the last one standing raises his blaster; but as your eyes take in his face, the excersized flush drains from your face.

you recognize him instantly. "Vros." your voice is strong and cuts through the droplets of water that trickle down the gutters outside. just when he looks at you, you pull the trigger, barely adjusting your aim.

instead of hitting his chest, his own pistol flies from his grasp; he lets out a strangled yell of pain as he clutches his hand, the smoke rising calmly from the wound in his palm. Mando kicks back the pistol as it skitters towards you both and you tuck it into your waistband.

Vros. one of Zuca's subalterns; he'd been based at Csilla's quarters for years with you, one of the largest confidants of your boss and certainly one of the most disgusting men you've ever known. shivers run down your spine, but you're shocked when you search for the fear you know would be instilled in you, instead coming up with red, hot anger.

Mando's blaster is aimed at Vros's icy blue head as the man's eyes land on you.

"oh, my my." Vros nods his head as his eyes take in your figure, "so what they say is true."

you don't say anything, your heart thundering as your hand squeezes the pistol. Mando is unmoving beside you, a statue of cold resilience, of patience - he was letting you take the reins.

at your silence, Vros grins, gesturing to you as if beckoning a lover. "i've missed you, pretty girl. i was wondering if you'd really left Csilla." he coos, and it's slimy as it slicks through his mouth. you feel sick.

"where is he?" you grit your teeth. all you see in your mind is a blaster shot between the eyes of Zuca.

"he's heartbroken." he chides, tsk-ing as he shakes his head, "he's been searching for you. he's going out to your old stomping grounds, you know." his eyes glint maliciously.

your eyes widen; Zuca? on your home planet? your heart strikes cold with fear: he knows where your family is; what if he hurts them? is he going to use them as collateral for you?

your heart flutters with yearning, desire... something else. you resist the urge to look up at Mando, yet you're still comforted by his warmth, the proximity of your two bodies. your stomach twists as you realize the burning smell is coming from Mando's arm wound, just to your right.

"what planet?" you push, your pistol almost shaking with the anger that flows through your veins. but it's like you aren't saying anything, the way his eyes move over you, a grin on his face.

"you clean up nicely, don't you? you want to come home with me tonight, girl?" he smirks at you, eyes dark. but you don't cower; no, you fume. "Vros, where the fuck is he?" you ask evenly, hand leveled with the pistol down the barrel of his nose.

but you're ignored, as always. Vros's eyes widen in understanding at his one-sided conversation. "oh, so you're... you're his. i see." his eyes flicker from you to Mando's looming figure. something sour swirls in your gut. "let me have her for a few hours, at least?" he smirks as he boldly asks Mando. Vros's words make you grit your teeth; want to squeeze his neck until it snaps.

at Vros' prompting, Mando takes a step forward, concealing half of your figure. pressing forward, Mando's weapon threatens the man's skin with unwavering calmness. you can feel the anger that swirls up around Mando in plumes as he nearly growls, "where is Zuca?"

but Vros still doesn't even bat an eye, instead craning his neck to catch a glimpse of you yet again from behind the concealment of Mando's wide body. "are you sure, Mando?" he looks to him, "I'd pay you handsomely for 'er. girls that look like her are worth hundreds of credits, even after i'm done with them-"

and then there's a loud sound, an echo of a blaster shot and a moment of a scream; then it's quiet, the breeze running cold through your veins.

Vros lays, lifeless, on the ground. Mando's blaster is smoking slightly as he lowers his arm - you can't tear your eyes away from the sickly smirk on Vros' lifeless body; the smile etched onto his blue face forever, grinning up at the stars.

you blink, deflating.

"you killed him." you state dumbly, anger starting to bubble up again in your chest. you look up at him as he turns to you, "why did you kriffing shoot him, Mando?" you yelp. he knew where Zuca was. he may have been your only chance.

it's silent for a moment, the anger radiating off of you both and onto each other. something in you twists as you swear you can see a glint from behind the mask.

"he wasn't going to tell us any more than he already had," he says simply. "he was spewing nonsense."

you swallow dryly. that's for sure.

your hands shake, the adrenaline of the fresh blood on your hands and your aching ribs causing tremors throughout your body. it doesn't go unnoticed by Mando. he says your name.

"are you okay?" he asks, hands jerking towards you before hesitating, hovering in the air awkwardly. they drop as quickly as they reached out, and it leaves you feeling colder than before.

you swallow the bile that sits heavy in your throat, pressing your lips together slightly before nodding, not trusting your voice. you drop to your knees to avoid his stare, unable to look at that pitying feeling emanating from his mask. it makes you squirm.

you rifle through Vros's dead body, trying to even your stuttering breaths as the pain throbs through you as you pull miscellaneous items out in search for anything that could hint as to where your home planet is. there's a fob in his pocket that you pull out quickly, pocketing the credits alongside it. Mando's staring at you, and you stare back, "what? it can't hurt to have some extra pocket money." you defend.

"show me that." he says, palm out stretched towards you and the fob you hold. you simply place it in his hand, standing back up to your full height to examine it with him.

there's an etched few symbols that you recognize faintly in your mind; it's associated with lights, a festival - your home. "this is- this is from my home." you say, surprised at the void in your voice where affection and yearning should be.

Mando looks at you, "how are you sure?"

you swallow. "i'm not." you admit honestly, the vulnerability leaking through your features, gnawing on your lip. this isn't the first time you've wondered if he's annoyed with the burden of your amnesia, but you realize now that the sweet sting of knowing it'd be so much easier if Zuca had never taken those memories from you is no longer just yours to bear. somehow, it almost makes you feel better despite the guilt that Mando can carry some of this weight alongside you. if he chooses.

the fob turns over in his orange-tipped gloves. the leather is cracked, and the fabric is covered in jet grease, blaster residue, and a blue smudge that looks suspiciously like the Kid's breakfast. his flight suit is a dark, deep brown, creased from a lifetime of work; your eyes trail up slowly until they land on the wound that has cauterized but is red and angry nonetheless. a strike in your stomach pangs you: you were so fond of him... you almost flush in embarrassment.

"-we still have some bacta in the Crest, right?" you say then, eyes not moving from where they observe his arm. your ribs are sharp as you take a breath, but you keep your eyes away from his gaze - the muscles underneath his left vambrace clench and flex as he turns over the fob in his hand.

"I can tend to it later." he dismisses you easily, as though his injury was a splinter and not a shot wound. you shake your head at his pain tolerance, but you gulp. you're afraid to admit your fears of the break in your ribs - was it residue from the physical trauma you endured back at Csilla? were you still afraid of Mando, after everything? did you just want to prove to him that you aren't a burden?

you lick your lips and swallow, knowing you can fight through it and possibly sneak off to find some healing ointment for yourself on your way back to the Crest. "maybe they have some information stowed here." you suggest, dropping it in hopes that he wont notice the pain laced onto your face.

"it better not be DNA encrypted." he mutters, and you huff, wincing slightly at the sharp shooting of pain through your chest. your hand holds your side as you walk towards the hall, blaster raised, "you're telling me, Mando. I'm done pricking my fingers for this piece of shit."

"I'm not going back to Ryloth with you ever again, that's for sure." Mando gently jokes as he kicks away the weapons and wipes the blood off his cuirass. you roll your eyes when his back is turned, hiding your grin as you slink around the room, grabbing some cans of food to stuff into your satchel.

"there's something here." Mando's voice calls from behind you, sifting through several papers that look like receipts on the table next to a crate of automatic rifles. you find your way back to him with winded breaths, sharp pain stinging your chest. you grit your teeth through it - how the hell did Mando just walk around so normally with such wounds all the time? you come up beside him, blinking down at the full paper he holds in his grip: just to be met with your face staring back up at you. "woah." you say dumbly, reading over your own file, as seen by the Ark'uz'iman syndicate. your name is up top, followed by your name day, height, age, an image of yourself; your throat dries up as you keep reading.

Planet of Purchase: Daluuj.

"Daluuj." you echo the words you read. "that's where i'm from..." you swallow thickly, emotions swirling around in your head heavily. your tongue feels heavy, but a sharp pain in your ribs makes you gasp.

Mando's head turns down towards you, but you avert your gaze, grabbing the file from his hands, folding it to stick into your waistband. "can we- can we get back to the Crest?" you ask meekly, the sudden weight for the day pulling you down, drooping your eyelids.

his hand falls onto your forearm with no hesitation this time; your eyes snap to the touch, surprised at the sudden contact. it's warm and feather-light, almost timid in nature. "are you okay?" his voice is soft when it hits your ears, sending a warmth striking down into your stomach.

you nearly shiver at the tenderness laced into his words, looking up at him through your lashes, "yeah. I kind of- I think that guy may have broke my rib. it's fine." you nod, shrugging lightly, playing off the pain as casual.

he's stoic, hand resting on your arm as he stares down. the visor is dark, but you can feel the concern ebbing from him, as if his brows are drawn, eyes searching to assess your injury. you almost squirm under his attention. "come on, we have a Bacta shot back home." he draws away from you, making a beeline for the exit of the building. on his way out, he pockets two smuggled grenades for himself, holstering them on his belt; though his hesitation in the threshold of the entrance does not go unnoticed by you as he waits for you gently to catch up to him.

you bite your lip; he was going to give you a Bacta shot? those are terribly expensive. you follow him, sticking close to his side as you walk out of the Ark'uz'iman building.

but you don't notice the hooded figure's reflection in the rainy cobblestone until you're being tackled to the ground, a net smothering your body.

you can't help the scream of pain that escapes you as the force of another body smacks you into the pavement, but you don't intend for it to be his name. "Mando!"

you barely see through the net as Mando's soon shot with the same kind of netting as yours, a grunt as he smacks into the side of a market building. "dank ferrik!" he groans, struggling to fight against the restraints. you moan in pain, the sharp pain aching your whole body as you struggle against the person above you; they lay on top of you, struggling to force bindings onto you through the net. you kick hard, you head-butt, throw elbows, groaning as you struggle.

hands grab at your sides roughly, pulling at your net and slamming you back down hard; you see stars float in your vision at the impact on your ribs and you can't breathe at all - kicking, shoving; your mind reels to remember everything Mando's taught you.

finally, your hands grasp the dagger that lives on your hip, unsheathing it and swiping it across the figure's body near your head as hard as you can. your knife gets stuck in something hard and you can't help the cry from your throat at the sickening feeling of warm blood, dripping down from the perpetrator onto your own face.

the dagger stays sheathed in the body’s neck as it is thrown off of you with a force of a gundark. your scream ripples through the empty cobblestone street, spitting furiously as you try to keep the foreign blood out of your mouth and your lungs full of air.

hands grab you and you kick hard, your knee contacting hard metal that sends echoes of agony throughout your shin - beskar. "M-Mando, fuck." you whimper, pain searing though you as your companion pulls apart the net that suffocates you, his own still caught by his legs and hip.

he shushes you, looking around as you blink the pain and stars from your eyes, hands shaking to help him rip apart the net. "he was a hunter." Mando explains, looking back from the slumped, lifeless body to your right. "he had our pucks."

you're dizzy, exhausted, and you let your head fall against the wet cobblestone, eyes closed as you tilt up towards the weeping sky; fuck, you needed help. you were hurt, and you needed help. "M-Mando," you gasp out with a wince, opening your eyes and craning to look at where he crouches next to you, "it hurts." you sound broken, and you hate it. the man's blood flows off of your face and throat in streaks, the hot, thick liquid mixing with the light and viscous rainfall as they swirl into the street. you spit his blood from your mouth, fighting the rising bile.

"we're going back. can you stand?" he asks, leaning back as you try to sit up, a sharp pain stuttering your movement until you wail, jerking back in pain. "fuck," you hiss lowly, hands shaking as they come up to your abdomen. "sorry." you groan, shaking your head.

Mando's glove falls onto your shoulder, the touch warm and unprecedented; you nearly jump as your eyes fall onto his mask. droplets of rain slick down his helmet, curving into the contours of false cheekbones; your eyes follow their small trails and you wonder if they curve into his skin, along the phantom jawline you'd so dreamt of in the dark hours of the night.

"okay." his hands slowly move, snaking under your knees and shoulders gently, "I'll have to carry you. hold on to me and try not to move."

his voice is gentle in his instructions as he starts to lift up, your groans cutting through the trickling of rain gutters; the outpost was miserable and desolate, and your cries fell upon empty alleys.

you don't remember much from the end of the walk back - your hand streaked with someone's blood upon his contoured helmet, holding on as if it was tethering you to this realm; everything fades fast until the sway back and forth of Mando's pace and the thrum of his heart against your cheek carries you into Mando's quarters, strewn onto the bed.

Mando hoped you couldn't tell how badly his hands were shaking.

you lay now, spread before him on top of his charcoal sheets - an image he'd seen in his mind countless times the last few weeks, though always in this circumstance.

in his mind's eye, you'd always be writhing around in pleasure, face flustered as he took you apart; methodical, slowly, passionately. your hair would be splayed out on his sad, flat pillow, your eyes shining with pleasure, ecstasy.

but as he looks down at you, all your eyes hold is pain.

Mando, you breathe out. his breath hitches as he leans down, setting the med pack next to you; he reminds himself to thank you later for replenishing your stock of medical supplies on the last run.

"I am going to have to put it into your ribs." he says matter-of-factly, eyes searching your features for any more fear, but only finding acceptance. you nod sharply at him through your shallow breaths, your chest rising and falling sharply, "okay," you say smally.

"I trust you."

his chest flutters at your words and he's thankful you can't see him blush as he nods at you, pulling out the prep swabs, alcohol, sterilized needle.

despite his worry over your injury, he was so proud of you.

you hadn't even hesitated when you'd ran into all those members of the syndicate; you'd fought and avoided and dank ferrik, you'd even remembered to go for the feet and shins. and then, after he'd been shot - you'd stood and not hesitated to shoot the man who had shot him.

Mando watches you, the way your eyelashes flutter closed, the breath that puffs from your plumped lips through sweat-flushed cheeks; he swallows roughly. everything seemed so normal, you'd barely batted an eye after killing three men; those same hands which had trembled just a moon ago when they'd first held a blaster in their soft grasp.

he can't help the shuddering breath as he realizes it: you were becoming like him.

it sends anxiety through his whole body, the crushing realization that you had been imbrued with the burden of another's life. your eyes, bright and more alluring than any sight in the whole galaxy: now dimmed with the pain that comes with his line of work.

he'd broken countless ribs in his time, and it twists his stomach to see you go through it for the first time. you were corrupted by him. he sees that anger in you now - it's in your face, your eyes... there's a vengeful anger that spits words from your mouth when he tells you what to do, there's a stubbornness in your body when a threat poses itself. and then, there was Vros, the slime that Mando had lost control of and shot dead before they could get any more information. he shudders slightly, remembering the rage that boiled inside of him at the words he'd spoken about you.

(girls that look like her are worth hundreds of credits, even after i'm done with them.)

the memory of it makes him clench his fists, resisting the urge to destroy. it makes him sick, the way that he couldn't control himself. you are dangerous for him, and you have no clue.

as he gently coaxes your shirt up, coursing over the softness of your bare stomach, your hand falls onto his forearm fleetingly before falling to the cot below you.

he sees the goosebumps on your skin under his gloves and it twists his heart even further: he'd been attracted to you immediately when he'd first seen you, though he knows he'd started to have feelings for you after only a few days of your company; that hurt him, it scared him -

there are few things in this galaxy that made him want to run, and you were one of them. because he is starting to see himself in you, and you in him.

you're staring at him again.

it's weird when you do it, so openly, so devotedly, as if you couldn't bare to look away. as if you could see him through the mask; a stupid thought, he knows, but one he liked to indulge in nonetheless.

trust was a hard thing to find in this life. it was flimsy, fleeting, unreliable - but one thing that's been constant is you. you're changing, he can feel it, but throughout it all, all of the fear, the anger, the ambivalence, the arguments that seem to bubble up daily between you and his clashing personalities; through it all, you were there.

he's realized after saving the kid that even someone like him, with a life like his, needs love.

and you are a testament to that.

Mando knows his strength, he knows that he could plow through a crowd to get to what he needed; but as he looks down at you in pain, near tears on his bed because of him, it's simple. it's clear.

he'd put the entire universe to the blade for you. every time.

you're stuck in the world of your discomfort until Mando's gentle tone cuts through the ship. the kid is in his pram, wide eyes peeking over the edge in concern. you smile to him weakly, cooing softly. his head tilts back in response.

"are you ready?" is all he says, voice low. you swallow, wiping the sheen of sweat from your brow, "yes." you respond, breathing shallowly. he nods once, moving to set down the sterilized needle onto the side table before moving to pull at his gloves.

your eyes widen as the first one is removed, a hand that nearly glows in the damp room in its bareness. his skin is tanned, the same tone as the skin of his back you'd seen last; your breath leaves you this time not from pain, no, from wonder.

you don't say anything until Mando's flicking the needle, testing the Bacta inside it. "you don't have to." you say gently. he doesn't have to. you know he could just as well give you this shot without taking his gloves off, he's certainly done everything else with them. no, he's chosen to take of his glove. to touch you.

his helmet cants towards you, "I know I don't have to." he's sure. the butterflies flutter through your torso and it makes you bite back a sheepish grin, flustered by his kindness.

you're helpless as his bare hands touch you. you're putty, pliant, giddy, full of wonder as the warmth of his dry hands cascade over your shivering body, gently easing the bacta shot into your ribs and soothing over it easily. you barely feel the sharp pinch as he injects you.

"there, done." he leans over you slightly, until you open your eyes and see him looming over you. "it should start to work pretty soon." he nods.

you send him a smile, a flush blossoming through your chest at the silence. he doesn't move, just staring down at you in peace. "so how'd I do? I shot someone." you say, the healing medicine of the Bacta shot soon coursing energy through you. you gently scoot, making room for Mando if he so chooses to sit next to you.

he actually laughs at your words, you can see it in his shoulders and the way he shakes is head in amusement. it's a deep rumble that soothes your stomach and makes your cheeks heat up. "you did. a few people."

you lift one shoulder, still breathing shallow as the pain starts to dissipate gently, slowly. "I'm sorry, though. that I got hurt. I just-" you cut yourself off, embarrassed. but Mando's patient for you, always. "i just thought maybe..." maybe you'd be proud of me, for how I fought. but you don't say that, "that if I wasn't there, you wouldn't have had to use the shot on me. and maybe you could have avoided getting hurt if I'd done better."

your eyes fall pointedly to his arm, where the skin is still marred.

"no, ka'ra, it's not your fault." he shakes his head, leaning down to his knees. you swallow as his helmet is evened with your eyes, kneeling down to your height. your handprint, crusted maroon with the blood of another man, is still smeared down the front of his helmet and it makes your heart thump in pain. "you did well. I'm glad I had you by my side."

neither of you say anything; the air is tender, thick with the memories of the last few days and everything that's happened - you briefly wonder if Mando's even slept in the last cycle.

but soon, your breath catches in shock. Mando's slowly reaching out to thumb a loose strand of your hair, smoothing it gently and snugly near your temple.

his bare hand, the skin tingling against the intimate touch of your head; you're breathless, afraid to move to as to startle him. it's like sighting a rare, desired animal while hunting in the woods. his hand is warm and bare against you and it blankets you in a peaceful comfort.

calmed by his gesture, your eyes flicker away, up towards the small ledge that holds the few items Mando keeps in his room: a spare handlight, one of the kid's llittle toy balls, and-

your heart skips.

the Sable, just next to his cot.

it sits, polished next to the other items, of which have caught a layer of dust. but the Sable, it sits proud and clean, as though he's cared for it all these weeks. he'd accepted your gratitude, he'd accepted your culture even though you didn't truly know it. you had no true religion, no culture, just a family waiting out there for you. and he'd accepted that. cherished it.

you want to cry.

your swell of emotion must be misinterpreted by your companion as his touch lingers; his hand drops from your space gently. "look at me." he says gently. though just as his hand slips away, you catch it in your own grasp; warm skin on warm skin, the electric touch of two beings who long for a connection in a vast and isolated universe.

you yearn to do it, to feel your lips pressed against his knuckles; to express your gratitude for everything he's done, despite how you sometimes treated him - but you don't.

instead, your breath hits his hand warm and heave, a breath of thank you barely a whisper as it passes your devoted lips. he doesn't pull his hand away until you release it, and you finally break the moment by looking back up at him.

"you did amazing, c'yare. and we know where to go. we will wait until you are healed." he says gently, affection lacing his words. it makes you grin, nodding a watery agreement. stars, you needed to rest.

amazing, he'd said. you want to mention the Sable. you should, you should tell him- you should tell him how fucking much he means, how important he and the kid are, how - how this is the one place in the universe you feel safe. but it doesn't allow itself to fall from your lips - not yet.

"i wish i could be more like you." you say softly instead. you're feeling better and less in pain by the second, and the soft breath that falls from Mando's modulator eases your shoulders and swirls in your stomach. "no, you don't." he says gently, a lullaby that rocks you into a deep affection as he moves, rising up from crouching in front of you to sit next to you. he leaves a sizable space between you, his thigh not touching yours.

staring down, your lips quirk up into a half-smile. despite your injuries, you can't believe you found out where your family is. you were going to finally find them. you don't let the tears fall, for fear that Mando may have a heart attack thinking he'd upset you again.

"I guess," you start, turning to look at him as you pull the med kit towards you to begin your applications on his arm wound, "despite it all, it was a good thing. I'm going home. thank you for teaching me."

Mando's pulling the child into his arm that is not occupied by your healing ministrations, "you are becoming a great fighter. I'm... I'm happy for you." you barely notice the lilt laced through his words.

"you can't have success without a hiccup, right?" you lick your lips, repeating something Mando had mumbled to you once last week when you'd been repairing the Crest, "so I guess you can't have glory without a little gore." pulling out bacta wipes and bandages, distracting yourself from your shaking hands as you prepare to help Mando dress his own wound.

it's silent, then with a huff of amusement, "that's why our faces are over every single bounty in this system, ka'ra."

and despite yourself you grin.

taglist: @toobsessedsstuff @tizylish @millersdjarin @cloufire @kalea-bane @daddy-long-legolas

@dontletyourchildrenwatchthis @ponyboys-sunsets @leithatnight @imobbssed

#din djarin x reader #din djarin smut #star wars smut #star wars fanfiction #star wars #the mandalorian #the mandalorian x reader #the mandalorian smut #mandalorian #tremendum’s space cowboy✒️

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dapurinthos · 3 months

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i'm making the lactose content in my meds everyone's problem now by giving my lactose intolerance to jocasta nu and the fun of being lactose and casein intolerant to sifo-dyas. dooku just doesn't like regular mammalian milk in general. he thinks it's unhygienic and decided, when he was five years old, he no longer needed to drink animal-sourced milk because milk is for infants, not nearly grown-up jedi initiates like him, no way (he said to his crèchemaster while being baby).

qui-gon, however, can digest milk, because he's from coruscant and he's pretty much capable of eating anything (jo, while also being from coruscant, cannot, because i said so. very endangered population, indigenous coruscanti with unmutated mcm6 & lct genes); anakin can digest bantha & eopie milk but not nerf milk (the dominant milk of the core, thanks to their origin on alderaan and subsequent spread throughout the core worlds); yoda cannot digest mammal milk for he is not a mammal (going back and forth between reptile and amphibian); along that line, ahsoka cannot digest it because togruta are one of those fun examples of convergent evolution in the gffa so they look humanoid but are not; obi-wan doesn't care if he can digest it or not but he's consuming it anyway because whey and lactose are binders in the standard rations he gets.

#keeping up with the skywalkers #star wars headcanon #the fun time when you realize that there's something ELSE you can't digest in dairy products b/c you had to keep upping your lactaid dose #and even then it stops working #& you get the same symptoms after eating cow & it's DEF. not alpha-gal because lone star ticks are waaayyy too south for that to happen

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fanthatracks · 1 year

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https://youtu.be/DGiX6qXPwI0 While this is hardly new news - the quotes from the Oscar-winning Sound Design icon Ben Burtt date back to the original Celebration Europe back in 2007, when we were busy celebrating the 30th anniversary of A New Hope - the involvement in The Mandalorian of Brendan Wayne, grandson of the legendary Hollywood star John Wayne, makes this a very relevant quote. Believe if or not, the 1976 Western The Shootist wasn't The Duke's final film appearance; it turns out that his distinctive drawl was a part of 1977's Star Wars, albeit altered and used in the most unlikely manner as the voice of Snoot Snoot, aka Garindan, as Burtt explains. “We had that character that looked kind of like a mosquito from the first Star Wars that we found we needed a sound for. I was wondering back a few months ago how I did it – because I keep notes and tapes – and I discovered it was an electronic buzzing which had come off of my synthesiser that was triggered by a human voice.” “I listened to it and realised it was John Wayne. I had found some loop lines in the trash from the studio that had been thrown away. So the buzzing was triggered by some dialogue like ‘all right, what are you doin’ in this town?’ or something like that.” [amazon box="0593597915"]

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whitesunsberu · 2 years

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tatooine food

bantha milk: a distinctive blue colour used as a plain drink, ingredient and base for cheese, yoghurt and butter.

black broth: a soup that uses blood as it’s liquid base. when animals are killed for their meat, the blood is collected and often sold on the cheap.

jerked meats: most commonly the meat from eopies and banthas, as both can be employed on moisture farms or be farmed in their own right. the meat is dried so it can be kept for longer.

insects: easy and free way to add protein into a diet can be eaten as they are or ground into doughs.

tzeja: a herbal tea made from a mix of native flora, most towns or families will have their own mixtures and ratios.

#✮ ‹ ∘ 𝓑.𝓦. it was her kindness that sent them on their way : study #probably gonna keep adding to this list as i think about desert cuisine

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obi-wkenobi · 2 years

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what's to be remembered about? eyes emoji

Hi, Maddie! 😊 You picked my favourite wip! To be remembered is a non-linear story that highlights important moments of Obi-Wan's and Anakin relationship - both platonic and romantic, whilst he's in exile on Tatooine. I've been working on this fic for a looooong time as it's very important to me, and I hope to post it at some point during the running of the Kenobi show. It's a very sad fic, but I hope people like it anyway. Here's a snippet:

He falls apart in his fifth year of exile. One moment he is sat in a cantina in Anchorhead, absently watching the relayed feed of HoloNet news as he also discreetly observes Luke, Beru, and Owen buying blue milk from across the street, when he hears it.

The crackling static of the Holotv isn’t enough to distort the image of a hulking figure dressed head-to-toe in black, nor the name mentioned alongside it—Lord Vader.

Darth Vader, Anakin—alive.

He hurries from the cantina to his Eopie, casting a final look at Luke, Beru, and Owen as he leaves, and shortly arrives at his home. His grief, his loss, his failure to destroy Anakin as he had promised Master Yoda he would, is not explosive or sudden. His pain is subtle and raw, uncontrollable like the consequences of his actions. It wants to rip him apart, to scour him from the inside out until he is a shell of the man he once was. It is agony unlike anything else, to think that he had killed Anakin was unbearable, but to know that he hasn’t and that he lives—monstrous and in pain because of him, is excruciating.

When Obi-Wan wakes he wakes up alone, as he has for years. His face is hot and wet against the rough, grainy floor, where he had fallen to his knees the night before. His body turned inside-out, tears drying on his tacky cheeks and his throat sore from his relentless sobs. He breathes, in and out, forcing his heart to slow and feeling his pulse throb through his veins, feeling life. The smell of sand and Anakin’s hair, thick in his nose, scrape along the valves of his heart, making him want to tear it out.

from this wip title as game. 💙

#ask games #obikin #my writing #to be remembered #obi wan kenobi #anakin skywalker

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amukmuk · 3 years

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If you’re down for two, here’s a prompt: completely trapped without any physical constraints

OoooOOOO! Yes!!! This is an amazing prompt!! Based in NeHOC:

“What do you mean you won’t come with us?” Puck asks, looking from the senator with her arms crossed haughtily over her chest, to Stride, and back to the senator.

“I am not going anywhere until someone gets me a large, half-whole blue milk, half-skimmed eopie milk, extra hot, quadruple espresso shot, no foam latte, with whip, two packets of artificial sugar, one packet of raw sugar, two pumps of vanilla syrup, and three dashes of cinnamon; how am I expected to work this early without proper caffeination? It should be a war crime.”

From this ask

#NeHOC #the adventures of Puck & Stride #coruscant guard #tcw

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irrfahrer · 3 years

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💩 for a ridiculous headcanon

A total random and ridiculous detail about Ziv: She is lactose-intolerant. Which is the result of her beeing not a Humanoid but a carnivorous aquatic mammal, which means that the only time in her life she is able to digest milk is during infancy when she has yet not had teethed and her body and metabolism had not yet shifted to a carnivorous diet. This means that she is not able to eat anything made of Eopie Milk which is blue Milk, Blue Milk cheese, ice cream, yogurt, butter and most sweets like sweet-sand- cookies or blue cookies. Whilk-milk,Falumpaset-milk, Thala-siren-milk, Moof-milk, Banta-Milk is neither edible for Ziv. She can however eat food and sweets made with Nerf-Milk as it similar to Goatmilk does not contain lactose, yet after years of having literal stomach cramps by simply looking at milk products, Ziv gives a width berth around everything containing milk even when its Nerf-Milk. As mentioned before Ziv has to very carefully watch her diet for she lives in a galaxy in which most meals are set for Humanoid species and while there are some alternatives for more common Carnivores like Togrutas, those are again Humanoids that can digest milk. However if one wants to knock Ziv out for a dayand a night and have her begging for mercy while laying halfdead on the ground while hugging a bucket to her chest, one give her a piece of blue cheese or a glass of blue milk.

#headcanon #Ziv the fierce warrior #defeated by a glass of milk #asdfghjkl #IS THAT RIDICULOUS ENOUGH? xD #thanks for the ask dear <3

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khaleesa · 5 years

Text

Fic: Sprouts

Fandom: Star Wars

Pairing/Characters: Obi-Wan Kenobi x Sabé, original child character

Rating & Warnings: K for kidfic

Word Count: 1400

Summary: They can hardly be surprised at their son’s enthusiasm for gardening...

A/N: Is it spring yet? Not quite, but I’ve had a gardening bug lately, and a friend’s Instagram story inspired this little Sabewan fic. (And made me realize how long it’s been since I wrote any fic, eep! I mean to do better!) Set in Born of LIght-verse, a few years after Growing Seasons. Unbetaed. I hope this fic is a nice little glimpse of spring! Please read, review, reblog. :)

Read it on AO3. Or here. ;)

~*~

Sabé dreamed of gardening, so vividly that she could smell the rich soil, feel the itch of it on her skin, taste--

Spluttering, she snapped awake and sat up to meet a pair of wide blue eyes twinkling at her from the foot of the bed. Specks of black dotted the unbleached bedlinens between their owner and her, like the proverbial trail of breadcrumbs in the fairytale.

"Ben Jinn Kenobi!" Sabé grimaced at the grit on her lips and put up a hand to wipe it away. "Did you throw dirt on me?"

With his sunny grin, Ben held up pudgy hands, displaying evidence of his toddler mischief, the lines of his palms darkened with potting soil. "Pwant seeds!"

Sabé flopped back on her pillow and met another pair of blue eyes now open beside her, crinkling at the corners with his silent amusement.

"Yes, I did say we'd plant seeds today." She scrubbed a hand across her face, scattering more dirt onto the sheets. "I suppose I ought to have specified after breakfast."

"We can hardly be surprised at his enthusiasm for gardening," Obi-Wan said, "seeing as he sleeps in a cellar garden." He moistened the pad of his thumb on his tongue, swiped it across her cheekbone, then brushed his lips over the same spot. "But Benji," he added, sitting up, "you know you are not supposed to play with any of the gardening equipment."

Ben's round eyes welled at the gentle rebuke, only to light up again as he found himself caught in the arms of his father, who lay back again with the little boy on his chest.

"How did he reach that bag of soil, anyway?" Sabé mused as she lay there with them, combing her fingers through his untidy shock of dark hair. "It was on the top shelf."

Ben bolted upright on Obi-Wan's chest, his own puffing with pride. "I make it fwy!"

Sabé noted her husband's rapid blink. "We can hardly be surprised at his enthusiasm for levitation," she said, "seeing as his father is a Jedi."

~*~

While Sabé made breakfast, Obi-Wan went out to tend the eopies and Ben--ostensibly--went along to help. A toddler, in all honesty, was more hindrance than help with milking and mucking, but as days in the desert were long, and more so with a child to keep entertained, nobody truly minded the chores taking more time than they ought to. That might change now that Ben could, apparently, make things fly. Sabé hoped he wouldn't test his abilities on anything unfortunate in the pen or barn. At the same time, she'd be sorry not to see it.

An even better sight, however, was that of Obi-Wan carrying their son back toward the hovel on his shoulders, both wearing grins as bright as the twin suns that rose over the dunes. She glimpsed them through the side windows as she set the table with steaming bowls of oatmeal and muja berry jam made from their own crop.

"I thought Mari Starfall's jam was delicious," Obi-Wan said, hmming after his first bite, "but nothing tastes better than food you've grown yourself."

Sabé had to stop Ben from reaching into his bowl with his hand, closing his fingers around the handle of his spoon instead. "How quickly you've forgotten our first Naboo lettuce crop."

"Pwant seeds!" cried Ben, waving his spoon and flinging oatmeal and jam over his tray.

"It seems after breakfast may prove an unattainable goal," Obi-Wan observed.

"After ours, then," Sabé said.

They wolfed down their oatmeal, then fed Ben as much as they could get him to take--mostly by asking him what they were going to do today, then shoveling spoonfuls in whenever he opened his mouth to reply, Pwant seeds! After a few bites, he caught on, clamped his mouth shut, and refused to answer, kicking his legs and grunting until they wiped the jam off his cheeks and chubby hands and released him from the confines of his chair. He toddled toward the open cellar door, and Sabé hurried after him, catching his hand to help him descend the steps.

She called over her shoulder to Obi-Wan, who'd started to clear the table. "The washing up will keep till later."

"Yes," Obi-Wan agreed, setting the bowls on the kitchen counter on his way to them, "we'll need something to do after we've completed the single task on our to-do list. Even a three-year-old can't make planting seeds take all day."

"We have potting soil to clean up, too," Sabé announced cheerfully as they were greeted by most of the contents of a large bag piled on the cellar rug. And they'd thought it was safe out of reach on the top shelf. "Thank the stars that didn't fall on Ben's head. How does one childproof for Force-sensitive offspring?"

"Send them to the Jedi Temple," replied Obi-Wan softly, with a sad smile as he scooped up Ben, who'd let go of Sabé's hand to run squealing to play in the dirt. Planting a kiss on the dark hair--which he discovered had jam in it--he said, "The potting soil is for planting, not for playing, young one."

"Not for pwaying," Ben echoed, and wagging his forefinger solemnly in imitation of his father.

Sabé stifled a laugh, but Obi-Wan's grin broke free. Together, they cleaned up the mess, which was an agreeable pastime to Ben, for it meant he got to scoop dustpanfuls back into the bag after Obi-Wan swept. When that was finished, Obi-Wan plopped Ben on a stepstool Sabé had pulled up to the workbench, where empty trays were lined up, ready for new seedlings. She handed Ben a child-sized shovel the Starfall children had outgrown--though it wouldn't be too long before their new addition would be ready to help Mari in her cellar garden-and let him fill each tray with soil. He did this quite competently, and managed to cover the workbench with a healthy layer, as well. Then, one at a time, she gave him salthia beans that had soaked overnight to press into the soil, showing him how to place the eyes facing downward. She had to do most of them over.

"Now we must cover them up," Sabé said, moving soil over the first bean. "Gently! Like you're tucking them into their little beds."

"The seeds sweeping?" asked Ben, looking up at her.

Sabé smiled over his head at Obi-Wan. "That's right. They'll grow while they're asleep. Just like you." She tickled him under the armpit as he reached to cover the seeds. His squeal of laughter echoed in the cellar, then he said, "Top it, Mama! Shh! I putting the seeds to bed!"

"Sorry," Sabé whispered.

"Shh, Dada!"

"But I didn't say anything," Obi-Wan protested in a hushed tone.

The trays of salthia beans were soon sufficiently covered. Ben insisted to be allowed to carry them to their place beneath the grow lights. With some convincing, he allowed Sabé to help.

"Turn off wights?" he asked.

"No," Obi-Wan told him, "unlike you, the seeds need to sleep with the lights on so they can grow big and strong."

Ben stared at the trays beneath the humming grow lights, then waved his hand at them. "Gwow, seeds!"

"It'll take a few days for them to sprout," Sabé said, taking his hand to guide him back upstairs. "Maybe even a whole week."

"Not a whole week!" Ben cried, though he hadn't the faintest idea what that meant.

That evening, when they returned to the cellar at his bedtime, Ben stopped to check the progress of his seeds. "They gwow!"

"I told you, Benji," Sabé said from across the room, where she pulled back the covers of the little bed in the corner by the laundry unit, "they won't sprout for a few days."

"Erm," Obi-Wan said, "you might wish to come re-evaluate that hypothesis."

"Are you barvy?" Sabé asked, joining them. She stopped short at the sight of green poking up through the dark soil, then bent low over the trays, not trusting her eyes.

"Gwow, seeds!" Ben demanded, waving his hand over the trays as he'd done earlier.

"Our son appears to have a natural mastery of plant surge," Obi-Wan said.

After she'd picked her jaw up off the floor, Sabé slipped her arm around his waist. "Well, we can hardly be surprised."

#obi wan kenobi #sabé #obi-wan x sabé #sabewan #sobiwan #star wars #born of light #my fic

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