Chapter Text
“Single file everyone, show me how straight you can make a line!” You called out above the many little heads in front of you, “you too Poe!”
With a satisfying breath of relief with the somewhat curved line. A warm smile sprawled your lips as you said your goodbyes for the day.
“I’ll see each of you tomorrow- and don’t forget about the art project!”
The kids, one by one, scurried off after seeing their parents, their backpack almost larger than their frame as the little legs darted below them.
After the last child was picked up, you gathered your notes from your desk. A sigh escaped you, this time of drowsiness: you had spent all morning and afternoon with preschoolers yet your workday was nowhere near completion.
The speeder keys jingled in your grasp as you approached the rust bucket. With a gruff twist of the engine and a bit of luck, the tin can coughed to life. You turned through the streets of Canto Bight arriving at your second job of the day: combustion engine specialist and repair guru.
That’s what the title was on paper anyways. In practice, it was a lot grimmer and you seldom stuck to one thing. Your ‘specialist’ title applied to whatever odd job Boss had convinced the client they needed. It is not a natural talent of yours, you prefer something more on the creative side, but after getting the job, Boss taught you the basics.
Honestly, you should be thanking Maker itself you still have the position when almost every other repair shop in the kriffing galaxy is fully operated by DUM-droids.
That’s because the store owner can’t afford to purchase a droid, in fact, no one on this block can, which has probably more detrimental issues. Nonetheless, you are grateful for the paycheck when there otherwise wouldn’t be one. But, it pays less than teaching these days, which is saying a lot. Also, the job is boring. Really boring. You have to deal with rude customers and even violent situations; you were under a speeder (and what felt like 3 feet of oil) when a zabrak burst in with a clearly ill-functioning blaster, demanding money and scrap parts. You chuckled at the thought, rolling back under the speeder to continue your job. The zabrak didn’t get his way, of course, you had called his bluff and relished as his cheeks flushed a deep red. Good memories.
You glance at the time and curse. It’s only been 15 minutes. Maker.
Your eyes drift up to the clock every once in a while during the rest of your shift. The hours slowly crawl by, filled with nothing but nagging customers, grease, metal, and bad, repetitive store music.
Finally, it’s over.
Exhausted, you punch out and leave the shop into the crisp night air which had a slight salty tinge due to the proximity of the shore. Upper city Canto Bight shimmers off in the distance while you watch over your shoulder on the way back to the speeder. It groans to a sluggish start.
“Just one more, one more today.” You murmur out loud, you're on the home stretch.
—-
Sweeping sucks and it’s degrading. What was once a relaxing activity has turned into a perpetual nightmare of moving a never-ending pile of dust. The fathiers kick up dust- over and over again. You think they are intentionally trying to drive you crazy. To be fair you would too if you were forced to run in a circle for entertainment.
The job paid the best of the collection simply because it was graced by the presence of inner-city Canto Bight, the sin darling of the outer rim. That was why you put up with the sweeping even after your hands became covered in calluses and your hair caked with dust- the credits were hard to ignore.
At least your shift was almost done.
You heard a shuffling sound behind you and whirled around to find its source. The noise was too light to be a fathier.
One of the people you hate the most, your boss, stood before you with a terrified-looking child at his side. One you did not recognize from the school although the age fit.
“This isn’t working out,” the man gruffed. He pushed the child forward indicating you to give up your broom.
“What do you mean?” Panic began to rise within your chest, strangling the tone of your voice.
“I found a more efficient system,” the man returned plainly with a hint of pride.
“What,” your voice is harsher now. What was the worst that could happen- you get fired? “Child labor?!”
“Yes.”
Your fists clenched at your sides. The kriffing laws on this planet actually allow this. As long as the wealthy tourists are happy- nothing else matters. Children be dammed.
There goes your payment.
—-
“Dank farrik!” You hiss as you send your foot repeatedly into the side of your speeder.
You are royally screwed now. Tears threaten the corners of your eyes but you won’t let them fall- not yet.
Maybe the school and give you a raise? You almost laugh at the thought. But it might be worth a try.
You’ll have to find another job quickly.
The engine of the speeder rumbles below you after a few failed tries. The drive home is a blur, the lights flash by and the salty wind whips your hair. Shouts of excitement and regret dim the further you get from the gambling center. They are replaced by the fizzing of broken street lights and the rustle of looming shadows.
You sigh, park the speeder, and somehow find the energy to carry your feet up 4 flights of stairs to your apartment. You gently knock on the door.
There is a shuffle from behind the frame, as the usual routine of checking through the peephole before opening transpires.
Mazey recognizes that it is you, done with work and home a few minutes early because that douche bag fired you. After the door swings open you exchange a warm but beaten smile before stepping inside.
Life Daylights did almost as good of a job and were cheaper than the alternative, so the whole apartment was filled with the small bulbs attached to their string- you like the look of them better anyway.
You glance at your half-finished, dusted-over art on the walls and windows. You didn't have the time to complete them these days and it’s not like they would sell for much anyway so instead they hang there; a reminder of what could but never will be. The plants however do not need your attention to flourish and Mazey has taken to the hobby more than you ever did. She prefers putting them in small little jars and arranging them like a scene from planets you both want to one day visit if you had the credits.
“How is she today,” you murmur, keeping your voice low enough so Tim doesn’t hear.
“The same,” Mazey responds but there is something in her voice that you don’t believe. You both share the same eyes thanks to dad; you can always tell when hers are unhappy.
“Sis!” Tim squeals from behind the spoon of what appears to be cereal as he drops the utensil into the bowl with a splash before rushing to hug you. He only reaches to your waist but the sentiment is still the same.
“How was school bud?” You found the energy to add a playful inflection in your voice.
Tim tells you ALL about his day as you make your way over to the table and pour yourself some of what he was eating. To make space for your bowl you relocate the piles of pill bottles, needles, and other miscellaneous medications off to the kitchen counter- you’ll organize it later. Right now you are kriffing exhausted.
Your eyes begin to feel even heavier as you search the job section of the holo news. Nothing. Nothing. Well… there is always availability at- you won’t let yourself finish the thought. You will never be that desperate.
Tim is done with his story around the time you begin to panic about your financials- for what seems the 100th time today. The cost of her medication will go up soon, it always does, you won’t be able to handle it. You won’t be able to keep the lights on again. You failed like he said you would.
After Tim is in bed you check on her. He should have been asleep hours ago but he stays up to see you because you always leave the house before he wakes. Mazey stays with him for the bus in the morning; that doesn’t mean she doesn’t do much. The textbooks piled high in the corner of the kitchen would indicate that. The words describe math and science of the distant stars, things you will never understand but are glad it gives Mazey the chance at a real career. She is going to save you all in the end; you just have to hold on in the meantime.
“Hi mom,” you murmur, as you approach the sound of oxygen struggling to pump and an array of machines beeping.
“How was your day?” Her voice croaked, you could just about see her through the dim light of the table side lamp. She appeared more fragile, a noticeable change from yesterday. You had grown long accustomed to differences since the illness. Originally she lost that sparkle in her eyes, then her weight most notable on her face. Her cheeks which were once a warm pink and full of comfort now lay flat against the bone of her jaw. The biggest change of all was her hair, she had given up and shaved the last of it cycles ago.
“Good,” you lied, just wanting her to see the best in the world, “the kids are doing artwork on their favorite system- I expect many beautifully colored galaxies when I go back tomorrow!”
She smiled and began to chuckle, the sound brought a smile to your lips. It was a rare occasion indeed, getting her to laugh when she looked this sad, the nostalgic feeling of her laughter filled the air with the scent of warm cookies fresh from the oven. You remember racing Mazey for the first taste, the chocolate chip was always your favorite.
The moment was short-lived as coughing erupted from her lungs. The sharp biting noise tore you from your memories to the depressing present. Her meds were going to go up, or she would need more of them- you just felt it.
——
The weekend rolls around which normally would be a nice break but now it means you are down to just one job when you could have been working two.
You wipe the dirt off your hands on a rag on your belt, tossing it to the side. The speeder was mostly fine now it just needed the gunk removed from its inner workings- something anyone could have done and most definitely not worth the ridiculous price tag your boss planned to charge for it. You were fine with him overcharging customers, there were few mechanic stores this close to Canto Bight and people got desperate if they had to travel far. His prerogative.
What you didn’t like however was how intently he was watching you work. And you knew why- an opportunity to make more credits.
“How was the hydraulics?” He hummed and you felt your stomach churn.
“Untouched,” you counter, hoping that will deter him from what he was suggesting, “the issue was with the carburetor, there was a lot of build-up.”
“Really?” Oh no here it comes. “I thought the hydraulics looked a little rough too,” you shift uncomfortably, “I am going to suggest they get that fixed either this visit or the next. Would you please be a dear and ensure they will be needing to come back in a month or so?”
“I’m sorry sir but I only see an issue with the carburetor.”
His charismatic smile darkened.
“Check out the hydraulics.”
Your fists clenched at your sides, “No.”
He gave you a disappointed look, “I’m sorry dear, I don’t think this arrangement is going to work out with you here.”
You unfasten the tool belt and it drops to your side.
You began to walk away when, “Oh, and don’t ask for a letter of recommendation.”
You send him a rude hand gesture as you step out the door.
—-
Your speeder endures another round of kicks and curses to its side.
“Keep it together,” you voice, but the whisper fades away and you are left feeling helpless.
That stuck-up, half-witted, scruffy-looking nerf herder- just had to be so greedy and you just HAD to do the right thing. Now you only have one job and it doesn't pay on the weekends. Which means no money coming in for almost two days.
—-
You wait with your mom for the doctor to come back in. The room is cold and smells like disinfectant. Machines buzz and beep around you- the pipe is still in her arm. You distract her with magazines and bad holo shows. But despite the circumstances, she seems to be doing alright. Routine can make almost anything comfortable, however, there is another layer you pick up on- you are always at work. You have missed so many of her appointments and this is the first one you were able to make in what feels like forever (because you got fired) and she seems happy about your presence.
The door swings open and the doctor, dressed in a white lab coat, walks in. Her nose was buried in her clipboard. She finally looks up with sorrowful eyes and you feel your heart shatter.
—-
The good news is that she has a good shot at surviving this. The bad news, and why you found yourself with a glass of whiskey in your hand alone at a bar, is that your intuition was half correct: BOTH the price and quantity of meds increased. Kriff.
There is this dream that you've heard rumors of- outside of Cantonica, people who need financial help or medicine can receive it somehow. The risk of drowning is not entirely possible. That could never be here. Canto Bight is a playground and nothing more. It’s not supposed to function for people to live there behind the scenes. The mistake was being born here and stranded with no way to afford escape.
So instead you spend the credits you made today on calming the burning in your chest for the burning of a drink. You look down at the drink with a grimace, three empty glasses line in a row and hopefully, three more are on their way.
“Hey, there birdie,” the barmaid with heavy makeup comes up to you trying to be comforting. You just wanted to be left alone.
“Let me guess,” her brows furrowed, “it’s either a guy, credits, or a guy and credits.”
You shoot her a dirty look and down the rest of your glass.
“Well? Was I right?”
“Credits,” you hum to buzzed to care. Maybe you were past buzzed at this point.
“I would say gambling but you look too smart for that.”
“Thanks.”
“You a local?”
“Unfortunately.”
She made a sound of acknowledgment, “Jobs?”
“Yes.”
She paused for a while contemplating. You swirled your blue drink, watching as the ice clinked against the sides of the glass. Both the price and the quantity went up. Both of them. You're drowning.
The woman looks you up and down. “May I give you a suggestion?”
“ s’Sure,” you slur.
“How far have you read into the holo news job postings?”
“I know what's back there.”
Nothing good.
“I used to live on the streets…” There was a musical inflection in her voice as if she was teasing you.
“I know where you are going with this. I have thought about that as a possibility. I have but…”
When you trail off, she takes her opportunity to finish, “I have an apartment all to myself. Six months is all it took,” she paused seeing the look of temptation blatant on your features, “Canto Bight is all about pleasure birdie. If you aren't here for that then you starve.”
Her words were true but you were stubborn. You wanted to bend the world- have them see what you were capable of. Something no longer possible. The price and quantity of the meds increased. She needed the medicine. If it was just six months…
“What did you do?” You asked before you could stop yourself.
“Some port hopper Twi'lek got bored from moving from place to place. He wanted consistency I suppose. I got food, clean water, warm showers, and credits. I got to travel and see the stars from other planets.”
Maker, what are you doing?!
“I’m s’sorry,” you cough, “I shouldn't even be here right now. Credits and…”
“Oh common, get your halo dirty- it pays.”
You vehemently shake your head, hurriedly finish the bill, and stumble out the door.
—-
You had spent the day hungover and searching for jobs when they called you to come into the school. Finally a raise at last. There were no jobs on the news. There was never going to be anything nice and you knew that but you still clung to a shred of hope. Maybe the new money from the school would be enough to support you while you sold some of your art. If there was no hope then what was the point?
You sat in an office chair wearing a nice dress and your hair down.
“Thank you for coming in,” the man behind the desk spoke, shuffling around papers. He had a cute smile. You had seen him before in passing but never said much more than ‘hellos.’
“I am glad to be here,” you breathe, “I wanted to talk about my wage. Perhaps a pay increase?” You smiled at yourself for the fake confidence.
“That is sort of why you are here,” he bit his lower lip nervously, “while you do a wonderful job and the kids adore you-”
Oh no.
Maker please no.
“-you should be getting a raise. We want to apologize that we will have to cut all of the teachers' income due to funding. We see this is best to ensure the kids get enough school supplies for the upcoming season…”
He trails on for a while but you don’t interpret the words you just stare forward at his lips when he speaks. Your world is collapsing around you. You think for a moment the Maker is bored and you're its only source of entertainment but surely the Maker is not this cruel. You want to go back to the bar… you shouldn't waste anymore credits. You want to make the pain go away nonetheless. You will deal with this later.
A while passed, you awkwardly waited by your speeder until the man from earlier bumbles out of the school towards his vehicle. You approach. The poor soul. You've never done something this bold before and you sure as hoth don’t want to remember the details.
“I’m sorry about the pay cut,” he whispers on your lips in between kisses when you are back at his apartment.
“I understand,” you say, not wanting to think about it. Only the release.
—-
He rolls off of you (way too soon) and you both lay there for a bit to wait for his breathing to slow.
Wow you really should not have just done that.
“I am considering prostitution to pay for my moms medical bills,” you blurt. Oh now he thinks you are even weirder than from before. Stars, what is wrong with you?!
It’s strange, he doesn't necessarily want to immediately leave after you say that. He just gives you a sad smile, sits up and puts his shirt back on.
“It probably pays more than teaching,” he muses, reaching for his shoes. The sympathy ending there.
“Probably.”
—-
A few days pass and you've scheduled an interview with a ‘Gentlemans Club’ establishment… you didn't know what to wear for your interview but it turns out that didn't matter. They hired you on the spot, “We are always understaffed,” they had said.
Now you wait on the other side of your apartment door as Mazey checks through the peephole and lets you in.
“I have good news,” you smile when the three of you were gathered around your moms bed so she did not have to get up, “I interviewed for a mechanic job!”
“Oh wonderful,” your mom smiles, warming your heart.
“Really?” Mazey seems more suspicious.
“Yes,” you begin to explain, treading carefully not wanting to give away the details, “I will work away on a ship for about six months and I will have room and board and they will send the credits back to you guys.”
“Six months?” Tim echoed.
“I know. If it is too long I can stay here if you guys prefer, but the pay is unlike anything I have ever seen before.”
They go quiet at this.
“It would be more than my old three jobs combined.”
“Don’t go if you don't want to,” Mazey murmurs, “we understand.”
“Will you get to see the galaxy?” Tim asks.
“Sure will bud!” you tuck a strand of hair behind his ear, “And if I go I can tell you all about it when I get back!”
“Would you get to see Naboo?” Mazey asks before she can stop herself. Her cheeks red with embarrassment from her childlike wonder.
“Perhaps,” you hum.
“What about Hoth?!” Tim squeals in excitement.
“Maybe!”
They both giggle.
“When will you know if you got the job,” your mom asks, having to clear her throat.
“I just came back from the interview they hired me on the spot!”
Mazeys brows furrow, she is on to you. It was a blatant lie, there were no mechanic jobs on this planet. People came for gambling and pleasure- not to hire someone to fix their ships.
Mazey opens her mouth to counter but you interrupt before she can get a word in, “I think I'll do it!”
“Our angel!” your mom exclaimed, resting her hand on your cheek, “thank you.”
It was the most deepfelt words of gratitude you have ever heard, she had done so much for the family after he left and you were all giving back anyway you could. Perhaps this was really for the best.
“Well when do you start?”
—-
Goodbyes were always difficult for you.
You tried to avoid them whenever possible but after you had hugged your mom and Mazey, turning to Tim is what broke you. His eyes were puffy and shimmering with unshed tears, trying to be strong.
“It’s not goodbye,” he sniffled, “we will see you soon.”
If you talk you will just turn into a pool of tears so instead you kneel down and hug him at an equal level. This was for the best.
You nod to them and step into the taxi so they could have your speeder while you were away. You had a small go-bag with you where you had brought a handful of clothes, some of the few lace bras and underwear you owned- you didn't really know what to expect. At the last minute you grabbed your sketchbook and some charcoals for grins. If it takes up too much space you can toss them, although the thought hurts- you had saved for so long to buy them one summer.
—-
“Name?” The lady at the front desk asks and you open your mouth to say it.
“Not your real name honey. Here is the list of some of the ones we have available. We want to keep your identity safe.”
“Oh, okay.”
She hands you a yellow paper with a list and you skim over the choices.
Crystal
Midnight
Sapphire
Cinnamon
Candy
You turned the page to hopefully find something less… horrible. Maker, are you really doing this? And you thought sweeping was degrading- no way in hoth is someone calling you ‘Cinnamon’ in bed.
Dimond
Sparkle
Cherry
Josephine
Your eyes paused at Josephine from where it stood out on the list. Okay that one is not bad. Seeing that the name below it was ‘Glitter’ you decide to cut your losses and go with the name you don’t absolutely hate.
“Name?” The woman prompted.
“Josephine.”
“Alright Josephine, lets get you in the system.”
—
Din had been acting like a droid, as much as the term disgusted him, for the better part of 3 months.
Get the puck.
Get the bounty.
Get Paid.
A simple and effective program that was albeit not mentally healthy. He rarely ate and laid in bed restless most nights staring at the ceiling. Din did not even need or use the money, his job suited him so he just did it; he wanted a purpose because he gave his old one away to a stranger.
Din was empty and lonely. Emotions he had never really felt before. Emotions all of his training told him to repress- he just broke. After he retrieved the bounty from the scummy streets of Canto Bight and shoved him into the carbonite- it was a blur. He was desperate for a release. Needed a distraction. And his feet carried him there. At least the visor hid the shame.
Now he could spend those credits he had been hoarding.
—
The woman spoke for a while about benefits and income: all dependent on the person and what they were willing to pay for your… service. The average income was 7-10% of the clients travel wage plus tips and any food/ room and board they were willing to supply. That would be enough. The average would be enough to keep the lights on AND pay for her medicine!
This was not a fancy institution by any means, they would have seen your speeder and kicked you to the curb without an interview if that were the case. Again, anything within the heart of Canto Bite found wealth. You were almost giddy as you put your signature on the last paper still left to be overturned.
Josephine
The woman then explained the mechanics, they would get a portion of your income but would leave your tips alone. So that would be your best bet at the most credits.
“How do I get tips?”
She gave you a knowing smile and continued on talking, “This device goes on your arm. It acts as a built in birth control,” she placed a black strip on your bicep. It beeped and stung like a shot. “Double tapping the band like so,” she pressed her index finger twice on the bar and a small green light flashed for a second, “is how you will receive your tips.”
The woman tapped three times then held her finger on the band the same light flickered red. “Triple tap and hold sends the nearest law enforcement to your location.”
You hated the way this line of work was so thought out and developed with the newest technology. Surely there were more productive things to focus people's efforts. Technological development followed the credits you supposed, and few things in the galaxy were more profitable than Canto Bight’s pleasure industry. Which was now a good thing for you.
“Now what?” You ask although a little hesitant to know the answer.
“You wait until a client comes in and you work out the details. It never takes long, we serve the whole galaxy after all.”
On cue the door swings open and a kriffing Mandalorian walks in.
Your eyes nearly bulge out of your skull. They are still alive?! You had only seen them on those bad holo shows with your mom. You almost thought they were a myth. But no. There was one right in front of you with the helmet and everything. And a most definitely full functioning blaster at his hip.
A modulated baritone breaks your train of thought, “Nine percent travel wage plus tips.”
Oh, he was a client.
“Fifteen.” Maker, what is wrong with you. Nine was already generous you probably just lost the best offer you were going to get.
“Ten.”
He was so tall.
“Twelve,” you counter.
“Deal.”
Twelve percent of his credits earned in addition to tips and free room and board. A dream come true.
The woman spoke, “There is a room down the hall if you want to see if she is compatible, it's on the house.”
You stiffened and noticed to your surprise he did the same, responding instinctively, “She’s compatible.” And turned and headed towards the exit; you were supposed to follow.
This is actually happening.
Mandalorians were supposed to be bounty hunters right? So you are going to take 12% of his bounty credits? Is that legal?
You felt like a bounty right now though. From what you had seen from those shows- they would trail behind them in cuffs to their ships and certain doom. You tried not to make the comparison as his ship came into view. You were doing him a service… you didn’t have a bounty on your head (at least you didn't think you did), you weren't going to end up in carbonite.
The ramp lowered and your nerves spiked. You glanced over your shoulder to see the flickering lights of the Maker forsaken city, breathed in the salty air one last time and followed him into the belly of the ship. The ramp closed behind you.
The hull was larger than your apartment with multiple segmented doors. You assumed a refresher, bed room and stuff like that. You had never been on a ship before. You wondered what types of planets it has been to.
He seemed awkward, almost as much as you. Looking at you from under the visor and messing with the glove in his hand. Would you get to see his face?
He pressed a button to the side of a wall and a compartment opened up. He gestured for you to put your bag inside so you did and looked back up at him- neither of you saying a word.
5 months, 29 days, and 55 seconds to go. Yikes this is going to be rough.
“I am going to start the take off cycle,” he pointed at a ladder which led to what you assumed to be the cabin, “get yourself prepped and I will be back down in a few minutes.”
“What, no tour?”
“Later.”
“Where are we going?”
“Takodana.”
You nod and he climbs the ladder, disappearing overhead.
There is a slight hum from the corner of the room and you investigate. Creeping closer, there is a low light emitting from the side of the corner, you lift your hand to turn it and jump backwards. There is a disfigured humanoid completely encased in carbonite. So he is a bounty hunter that was confirmed. It honestly didn't scare you as much as you thought it should. You were more interested in the man, his story, how he came to be a frozen bounty in the belly of a hunters ship. You could see the individual muscles and veins of his arms- it would really be quite the specimen to draw…
‘Get yourself prepped and I will be back down in a few minutes.’
Holy bantha dung, the meaning of that sentence just hit you like a pile of bricks.
You step away from the carbonite. There should be a bed around here somewhere right? That would probably be the best place for… that- at least in your experience.
You start scanning the hull for any sign of a mattress. There is a button next to a panel on the wall by where you had left your bag. You press it and two doors swing open revealing an absurd amount of weaponry. Wow you should have asked more questions about his profession before blindly following someone into their ship. Triple tap and hold calls in the nearest law enforcement… no. He is a bounty hunter. This is a part of the job; you shouldn't ask questions. Besides, bounty hunters probably make a ton of credits.
You feel the engine rumble below you. Goodbye Canto Bight.
You try for a second panel. Bingo. There really wasn't going to be enough room for both of you to fit in there… oh well you'll make it work.
Okay, tips. Think about the tips. You slip off your shoes and crawl on top of the bed and lay down. You think about the guy from a few days ago to get you in the right headspace. Nope. That had almost the opposite effect on you… he was nice but that is about where his virtues (and talents) end. You maneuver your hands underneath your waistband; maybe an idea will come to you.
So a Mandalorian, you think, like a fairytale. A knight in shining armor here to save you from your financial doom. You wonder if his armor is as magical as the stories say. Despite the whole murder, bounty hunter aspect you are trying so hard to ignore, you suppose you could have gotten someone a lot worse. Oh Maker, a Hutt could have… the slime. THE. SLIME.
You certainly were not being very productive at your new place of employment. You felt as dry as Mustafar. Come on- focus. It was strange trying to do this in a stranger's bed with the distinct smell on their sheets, something comparable to wood chips and… gunpowder?
Your fingers ghost over a place that gives you shivers. Yes definitely wood chips, perhaps a soap? You shiver again. He probably did take the armor off to shower. He wasn’t a total barbarian.
“Enjoying yourself?” A low noise growls next to you.
“Starting to,” you tease. Then he kriffing sits down next to you and just watches. You're not one to blush but stars! His visor was completely unreadable. He could be giving you a completely disgusted look right now. No, don't think like that. He asked and is paying for this and you should do your best to provide a good service.
“What can I call you?”
“Mando.”
“Something is telling me that’s not your real name.” You start lifting your hips ever so slightly and you see him shift. Perfect.
“Is your real name Josephine?”
“No.”
“Then I don’t see the problem.”
You bite your lip, wimper, and lift your hips with more forrosity: pretending you are doing a much better job than you actually are. It works, he nearly jumps from where he is sitting.
You begin to trail your free hand up underneath your shirt. How hard did the guy in the carbonite fight? How many people have lost to this man and here you are, moments after meeting, able to have this much of an effect on him. Stars.
Your hand travels below your bra and thumbs your nipple and you add a whimper for good measure. Finally he breaks.
It happens in a flash of silver. An arm wraps around your middle and you're turned around, back to him, legs folded under you on the bed.
“Bite,” he orders, holding the glove to your lips and you follow. The glove slips from his hands revealing tanned skin. He’s human- good.
He hesitates a moment on your waistband until you roll your hips back on him- giving him permission. When you do, you feel a hardness there that is not from the armor. His fingers drop lower and he tisks disapprovingly when he discovers how bad of a job you actually did. Leaning down with the helmet sending a dark rumble in your ear and his glove still in your mouth, “Joey.”
And your eyes roll to the back of your head.
His fingers, unobstructed from the leather, work perfect circles you never thought possible and you crumble. You swear your knees gave out because you sink into him further. The hard armor is surprisingly comfortable with the warm man underneath. He rocks into you and you see stars. And you climb higher and higher- his gloved hand reaches and presses ever so slightly on your throat and you collapse; back arching into him. The glove slips from your lips. There is a modulated hum in your ear and then, “May I?”
You nod.
Your pants are snatched over your butt and your shirt is ripped off so fast you barely had time to recover. And you fall slightly forward onto the bed throwing your hands out to catch yourself. He scoops your legs out from under you so your feet fall to the floor but your upper half is still on the mattress while he stands behind you.
He doesn't bother to remove any of his armor but you are completely bare in front of him. He just takes himself out of his pants, lines up, and slowly begins to split you open. You make an unrecognizable noise as he starts up a sharp rhythm. Both of his hands have a death grip on your hips using it as a counterweight and to keep you almost flush against the mattress. Besides the occasional uncontrolled sound from you, and a grumble or two from him, both of you don’t say anything. The room is mostly quiet except for the whirl of the engine and the vulgar slapping sound.
Until he grinds into you in a way you can’t describe and you let out another noise; there is a desperate attempt to muffle it with the blanket below you but the ungloved hand leaves your hips and pulls your hair. This forces your head upwards and the sound comes out unobstructed.
You would be embarrassed if you could find the will to care. Right now there is a Mandalorian in full armor taking you from behind and it is fantastic. You hit another high and tighten around him.
“Kirff,” he hisses from behind you and his hips stutter; filling you up. Warmth dribbles down your legs. He pulls out immediately and stumbles backwards.
Exhausted he leans back over you, placing his bare palm on your spine to ground himself as you both return from bliss.
“We will be there in an hour or so,” he double taps the band on your arm; the light turns green.
“Thank you,” your respond.
And he heads up to the cockpit leaving you there exhausted and dripping. A successful first day on the job.