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#dyn: tender hearts tender hold.
crazywritingbug · 3 years
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Savior: Chapter Two
Mandolorian x fem!reader
Warnings: Mention of abuse and slavery
A/N: So I got a much bigger response to chapter one than I thought I would and got overexcited, so....yeah. Here y’all go!
For the first time since she could remember, Y/N woke easily. Wrapped in a blanket, under the stars, with someone tugging at her hand. Wait, what?
Glancing down she found a tiny green creature had clasped its hands around hers. “Oh, hello…” She muttered and it cooed up at her with big eyes and bigger ears. What was this thing? It was cute. 
“Hey kid, leave her alone.” The Mandolorian’s voice sounded out a moment between he appeared, scooping up what was apparently a child. 
“He’s alright,” Shespoke softly, “He’s adorable.”
“There’s a shower down below.” Was his only answer as he slipped into the pilot seat, setting the child in his lap. Y/N stood slowly, her legs complained with the movement, and her arms protested as she folded the blanket. All the while she got the feeling the Mandolorian was watching her, even with his back to her. Why? It wasn’t likely he had eyes on the back of his head, the helmet would probably make that hard. 
The feeling only faded when she climbed down and stepped into the restroom-if that was the right term for it- closing and locking the door behind her. The water wasn’t terribly warm, but it was better than a bucket and a cloth, leaving her feeling clean and fresh. The clothes she found left for her helped too, even if it was only a mechanics jumpsuit that hung on her body as if she was a scarecrow. Stepping out of the bathroom she tripped over something, falling with a crash. What had she fallen over? Had something fallen on the floor into her path? A tremor shook her as a cry sounded out and the Mandolorian appeared from nowhere, scooping up the sniffling child. Y/N couldn’t help but curl up on herself. What had she done? How could she have not seen him? What would the consequences be? A beating or death? She’d heard stories of the Mandolorians, of how they killed, how dangerous they could be if crossed. Would he hurt her or would he kill her? Was this were her insignificant life ended?
“I am so sorry…” Y/N couldn’t stop the tears. “I am sorry, I didn’t see him...it was an accident, I didn’t see him…” He stepped towards her and she flinched, arms flying up to protect her head. Was this it? Was she going to die? Then…the expected blows never came.
Braving a peek from beneath her arms, she found him offering her a hand. What was he doing? Was this some kind of trick? Maybe a joke? What was going on?
“It was an accident.” He said calmly, as she uncurled a little more, her heart still hammering. He believed her? He wasn’t angry? This was new… Her hand trembled as she placed it in his and climbed to her feet. 
“I believe it may be best for you to stay on board the Razorcrest when we get to Rattaka,” The Mandolorian noted as he brushed by her on his way to the cockpit. “I’ll find you a place to stay.” That was it? No swearing? No beating? Nothing except saying that it was an accident? Of course the punishment could be delayed. Would it be starvation? Sleeping out in the cold or no sleep at all? Something else she hadn’t yet thought of?
Y/N didn’t notice her hands had wandered to the scar on the back of her elbow until they brushed against a tender bruise. Flinching, she tried to stop her thoughts, worrying wouldn’t do her any good, it would just draw out the consequences. Yet seated in the cockpit behind him, she couldn’t help but fret, the. same thoughts rolling through her mind over and over again. 
“Oh,” she drew her knees up to her chest as the child wandered towards her, eyes wide. “Hello.” 
He- or was it a she? Never mind that it reached up towards her as if it was trying to grab her, cooing and babbling. What did it want? She didn’t have anything to give it. Was it yelling at her for tripping over it?She shook her head. “I’m sorry little one, I don’t understand.” 
She shook her head. “I’m sorry little one, I don’t understand.” 
“He wants you to pick him up.” The Mandolorian didn’t even turn around. What? It wanted her to hold him? Even after tripping over him? Hadn’t she hurt him? What if she did it again by accident? Certainly the consequences would be worse. 
“I don’t know if that’s a good idea,” Y/N shook her head, speaking to the child more than anything. The little green creature frowned at her before waddling away to climb up into the Mandolorian’s lap. Part of her almost sighed in relief. Now she couldn’t cause him to get hurt. All she had to do was stay in her seat and not touch anything. 
That rule was broken a half second later as the whole ship shook and her hand flew out to steady herself on the wall. What was that? Had they hit something? A meteorite? Oh, stars above, what if it was another ship? 
The Razorcrest swerved sharply as another ship dove by. What was going on? Was the other pilot drunk? Were they attacking? Did Gaffa want her back? A yelp escaped her lips as she scrambled to stay in her seat, the ship almost dropping out from underneath her. It wasn’t a yelp, but rather a gasp that followed the sound of firing weapons. Why were they being shot at? Why were they being attacked?
“Hold him.” The Mandolorian had spun his seat around, placed the Child in her lap, and spun back to the controls before she could even process what was happening. Why was he giving her the kid? Nevertheless, the command in his tone had her arm wrapping around the Child, pressing him close against her. Whatever was happening, she would not let him get hurt again. Not on her watch. The ship dropped again and so did her stomach. Could she do her watch with her eyes closed?
*** 
Dyn didn’t need the computer to tell him the Razorcrest was in bad shape. He could feel it in the way the ship shook and shuddered. There was no way they were going to make it to Rattaka without a pit stop at the very least. He bit back a sigh when he glanced at the charts. Tatooine, it had to be Tatooine. Didn’t he spend enough time on that sandpit hunting down bounties? Now he needed to get repairs there too? Great, just great. 
Turning to Y/N he opened his mouth to tell her Rattaka would have to wait, only to find the word fleeing before they could be spoken. Eyes squeezed shut, she’d curled up on herself and around the Child. Something about it tugged at his heart. But why? Why her? What was it that had him wanting to help so badly? 
“You can open your eyes.” How was he supposed to say it in a way that wasn’t a command? She clearly needed a gentle hand. She would do well on Sargon, now that the raiders were dealt with. Her e/c eyes popped open, wide with fright.
“What was that?” She whispered it, her words shaking even with the softness of her tone. 
“Bounty hunter.” Dyn stated and nodded towards the Child who looked up at Y/N with an almost...concerned? Confused? Maybe an amused expression. “You can set him down.” 
Y/N moved carefully, uncurling herself, almost gracefully timid in her movements, and set the little one down on the floor. He went right back to begging to get in her lap. Why did he like her so much? He didn’t seem to react like this with any of the other women he’d encountered so far. 
What was so special about her?
Save for laying a hand on the Child’s head, she made no move to pick him back up. She did not say anything either, not a question, not a comment, nothing. What was that about? He’d expected at least a half dozen questions, so why was she silent? 
He couldn’t help but note how her hand traveled to her right elbow, rubbing a spot on the back. Was that a nervous habit of hers? Never mind, it was no concern of his. He just needed to find a spot for her to stay and that was it, he would never see her again. 
“We need to stop on Tatooine.” He stated and she barely nodded, her eyes fixed beyond the cockpit windows to the space beyond. He turned back to the controls. Well, that fixed that. 
Actually, no it didn’t. He looked back at her. She had barely moved.“That’s it? No questions?”
Y/N’a gaze darted to him before dropping to her hands. “Slaves shouldn’t ask questions.” She just barely spoke loud enough for him to hear. “It can get us in too much trouble, it’s not worth the risk.”
Slaves shouldn’t...just how long had she been a slave? How long had that idea been embedded in her thinking? How long had it taken her to learn that lesson? What had it taken? 
“Ask me a question.” He tried to keep it a gentle prodding, but it escaped as a dare. Her eyes darted up to him and seemed to almost search his helmet for an expression or one through the visor. It was nothing new, so why did he feel like she could see right through the Bersker? 
“Why is a bounty hunter chasing you?” She spoke gently, almost shyly. 
“Because I am a bounty hunter. The kid was a target, but after I delivered him I stole him back. Now there’s a bounty for both of us.” He nodded towards the child who now sat between her bare feet. Shoes, she needed shoes. Did he have any on board the ship that would fit her? Where could he find a pair? And maybe some different clothing, the jumpsuit was the smallest he’d found on board but it still hung off her as it would off a skeleton. When was the last time she ate? She was so thin that it-wait, what was he doing? Why was he thinking like this? He wasn’t responsible for feeding or clothing her, he was just finding her a place to stay. The Child was his responsibility, but not her.
She nodded, but said nothing else.
“Is that all your questions?” He quizzed her and she shook her head. “Then ask another. You can’t keep acting like a slave when you aren’t one.”
“Why are you helping me when you already have enough to deal with?” She pulled her knees up towards her chest, almost as if she was scared of the answer. “You must have known that I have nothing to offer, that I am pathetic and well,” An almost bitter laugh sounded from her lips. “I’m desperate. So why not only help me, but pay for me when you could have-should have- walked away? Why bring me on board your ship? Why risk getting in trouble with Gaffa to help me? To save me?”
Why did Y/N have to voice the questions that had been bouncing around his head? Why did she have to ask the few questions he didn’t have an answer for? And why was he having her ask questions? Why did it matter to him that she quit acting like a slave?
What was wrong with him?
“There’s bigger fish in the sea than Gaffa.” Was the only answer he could give before he turned back to the controls. Maybe having her ask questions was a bad idea. 
The rest of the flight was spent in silence.
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superpoweredmilk · 4 years
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mandalorian x reader imagine!!
seeing him without his helmet, ep 8
warnings: nooone
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imagine being the one to stay behind with him instead of IG-11...
“I need to take off your helmet.”
He raises his blaster with a remarkable speed for someone bleeding out as much as he was. “If you take it off, I’ll kill you.”
“Mando-.”
“Don’t call me that.”
“Dyn,” you breathed. “I have to take it off to save your life.”
“It’s forbidden,” he croaked weakly between pants. “No living thing has ever seen me without it since I was... since forever.”
You looked into the visor pleadingly; he was weak, he was vulnerable. You could easily pin his arms down with your knees and remove it, but...
“Please,” you said softly, stroking the part of the helmet where you thought his cheek might be. “Please, Dyn. I don’t want to lose anybody else.”
He was silent.
“You... you know that more than anybody,” you said, shifting on your knees, inching closer to him.
“I love you.”
“I won’t make it.”
“Let me save you.”
Gently, you slid your fingers under the rim of the helmet, feeling him breathing beneath your touch. He didn’t stop you as you lifted the heavy Beskar from his head, only watching you weakly as he saw that you had your eyes closed.
“I-I’m sorry,” you stammered. “I don’t know why- how am I supposed to heal you when-”
“You can open your eyes,” he said in his gruff voice. At last, after months of passionate lovemaking, tender embraces... you were hearing his voice unmodulated, unobstructed.
Free.
The wound was bad, but it wouldn’t prove fatal. Such a drama queen, you thought.
Holding up a phial, you touched his arm gently. His eyes darted to your hand. “Bacta spray,” you said.
“That’s gonna sting,” Dyn replied.
As you administered the medicine, you looked down at your hands working on him. His hair was slick with sweat, his face caked in fresh and dry blood. But gods, he was so ruggedly handsome; more than you’d ever dreamed.
“Dyn?”
“Yes.”
“You love me?”
“Yes,” he said again. He sounded stronger this time.
You glanced down at his lips for a brief moment, but he caught you looking.
“My face is covered in blood.”
“I know,” you said, wiping away some of it on your sleeve.
“Will you still... kiss me?”
“W-What?” Your arm jerked and you nearly sprayed the Bacta into his eyes.
“Kiss me, Y/N.”
And you did; slowly and softly, your mouth moving against his just a little too roughly, his teeth hitting yours every so often. It was messy, but it was good.
Really good.
You could tell he hadn’t kissed anyone before, but strangely, your heart swelled with love at the thought.
He was your first, and you were his.
And he was yours.
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whirlybirbs · 4 years
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ok but when was the first time Condor called Dyn, Din'ika?? He must've been so flustered, my god..
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—   DIN’IKA   ;    DIN DJARIN / READER
summary: oops, here’s some soft oya’karir content. set pre-mando s1. 
pairing: condor!reader x din djarin
a/n: been pining over din n boba all day, so soft mando content was much needed. enjoy from soft bucket head content, starring everyone’s favorite galactic war veteran from my age old fic oya’karir which you can read here on ao3. 
Navarro is a strange place. 
Even more strange is the tribe you’ve been taken into with a tentative hand by the one Din Djarin. You didn’t know his name, then, nor his intentions, but you’d followed the promise of being reunited with your people many months ago. In turn, you’d found a haven. You’d found safety, and some semblance of a home.
Suddenly, being the last of your family line isn’t so devastatingly isolating.
You are, however, the only one who bears a naked face in the Covert — and for that, you own no armor, no gilded weaponry. The reverence held for such items has long since been lost to you; once upon a time, your mother had urged you to hold the same beliefs as the Mandalorians around you. 
But, that was before the war. 
You’re pushing your hair behind your ear — face screwed up in concentration over your sniper rifle — when there’s a gentle knock on the frame to your small, meager quarters. Lit by candlelight, the warm glow bounces around the room and glints like gold off Din Djarin’s helmet.
“Still awake?”
You sit up, a smile playing on your face. Cross-legged, you shift on the small mattress resting on the ground. “You’re back early.”
“Don’t tell me you were waiting up.”
A gentle shrug. It’s well past midnight. You were waiting up — and Din knows, but he doesn’t dare confront the lingering pull of emotions surrounding the realization. Instead, he moves to lean against the doorway. 
You brush an unruly tress back behind your ear once more as you bend and reassemble the blaster rifle. Your hands work nimbly as you speak. 
“Easy job?”
“Quick,” he mutters. But not easy. Beneath his helmet, his eyes are rooted to you and the way your nose scrunches at the vague answer. When he speaks, he sounds distant, “Some poor bastard who owed Carga credits.”
“Doesn’t everyone in this town?”
Din makes a strangled sound beneath his helmet. It’s a laugh. You know it well. It garners a mischievous smile of your own; you throw it up at him as you lock the barrel in place and screw on the scope. 
You stand slowly, gripping the blaster rifle with a gentle hand. Swiftly, you move across the room and hang it on it’s spot above your small trunk of clothes opposite your bed. As you do, you throw a sideward glance towards Din. 
“You oughta clean your armor soon, Din’ika,” it’s chiding. You swagger towards him and prod at the plating of his armor. There’s sand caked there, peppering the paint with marred scratches, “You’re setting a bad example for the little ones.”
Din, all the while, is trying to wrestle with the lump that’s formed in his throat at the gentle declaration of affection — the best he can do is cough and shift on his feet. The fire it stokes in his chest, especially as you blink and grin up at him like he’s the moon and the stars, is one he hasn’t felt in a long time. 
“Din’ika,” he mumbles, testing it on his tongue, “Better than di’kut.”
You press your hand flat to the plating above his heart; your lips flash with a tender sort of humor. It’s weighted with meaning. You speak quietly. 
“I think it’s fitting.”
Hells alive, Din nearly sighs. You’re beautiful — you’ve always been beautiful. But, now... less like a wounded animal on the run? You’re healthy and happy and, despite the initial protest, are content in the enclave. You’re every bit the sort of woman his brothers would sing praise of — strong, daring, and assertive with a gentle hand. 
It’s the warrior in you. After all, you’re the one they call Condor. 178 confirmed kills. A veteran and a fighter. 
Din’s hand is careful when it comes to rest atop yours. “It’s late.”
His gloved thumbs brush your knuckles and you hang onto this moment for a second or two longer before exhaling slowly. “It is.”
You both pull away, and spare longing looks as he backs through the doorway and you retreat towards your bed — the threshold of the room separates you, and the distance crackles alive with longing.
Neither of you are sure when the feeling had crept in. But it’d made a home, just as you did in the enclave, and just as Din Djarin had in your life. 
“Good night, Din’ika.”
There’s a laugh. “Good night.”
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themilky-way · 4 years
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honey {din djarin}
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gif credit: gameraboy1 on tumblr
pairing: din djarin/the mandalorian x female! reader
summary: the mandalorian never really cared for romance. he had never wanted it in his life, but some things are bound to change, right?
warnings: um nothing just fluff i think lmao 
author’s note: idk how many more ppl my heart can stan bc sir pedro pascal is adorable as fuck. in my mandalorian feels too lol i miss mando
-------
the sky set out in front of the razor crest was changing colors with every passing minute. a dark orange red adorning its surroundings first, and then switching to a deeper hue of orange and violet. the air around the ship was strong enough to cause some turbulence, which made the small green child aboard to yelp suddenly. 
the mandalorian, captain and designated owner of the crest, turned his helmet to see if it was alright, and when he determined he wasn’t hurt or in pain, he turned the cold stare his visor gave off back onto the controls in front of him. his chair, the pilot’s chair, was positioned directly ahead of the large front view window and he fingered with the buttons and screens for a while until he set a safe planet to land on. 
the mandalorian heard the child giggle again, but this time it wasn’t because the ship was shaking. he heard a pair of boots tread light footsteps from behind him before stopping near the child. he looked at the crib through the corner of his eyes, the action covered by the safety of his helmet, and saw a figure near it. a shadowed hand extended to pet the baby’s head, the coos growing louder with joy. his eyes turned back to look at the scene in front of him, his hands gripping the joystick just a little tighter. 
“din?” the voice behind it is faint, questioning. he doesn’t let himself look at you though, because he knows that if he just merely glances at you for half a second, he’ll drop every one of his morals. instead, all he does is force a noise from the bottom of his throat to respond. 
“you should go to bed,” you suggest. in your mind, you’re laughing at how stupid the phrase had sounded. you, a regular person with only minor knowledge in martial arts, telling a mandalorian to do something? a complete and utter joke. 
regardless, din knew what you meant. but words weren’t his thing; they never had been. so his eyes stayed planted straight ahead and just shook his head, muttering, “i’m fine.”
“no you’re not. i can take over for a couple hours. believe it or not, i’m more qualified in flying a ship than actual combat,” you assured, laughing slightly as you said the last part. you hoped that underneath that strong, emotionless armor he wore he was smiling. even the smallest curve of his lips would satisfy you, realizing that he was capable of feeling something, anything. 
you watched as din pushed a couple buttons at the colorful panel in front of him, hearing a whirring sound when a gloved finger gave a final press to a red disk. he got up, and with a gradual pace began walking over to where his cabin dwelled, and without shifting his helmet to look at you, said, “come with me.”
it sent shivers through you; your arms, your legs, the nape of your neck, they rushed cold when the sound of his words entered your system. you looked down at the child, which had a perplexed look on its face, and reached out to you with a tiny finger. you grabbed it gently, and whispered, “i know, weird right? i’ll be right back, okay honey?” the child made a noise of approval and you shook his finger lightly before letting go, striding over to where din was. 
when you got there, din was standing next to his bed with his back to you, and looking at a small shelf hung from his wall. you stood in the doorway, your hands neatly clasped together behind you, and you watched him. watched him as his hands laid rigid at his sides, his body tense like it always stood. his back, in particular, was where you believed he had the most pain, and you wished he would finally allow you to run your hands through his strained muscles to grant him some form of comfort. but the mandalorian couldn’t agree to this, regardless if he knew of your will to do it or not, for personal reasons. he respected his creed, and you respected him, so you never pushed boundaries you knew would make him uncomfortable. so once again, you pushed the idea of touching him to the back of your mind. 
“stop staring,” he ordered. his voice was rough, raspy from hardly ever speaking, yet when he directed himself at you, it had a slight tinge of tenderness. it surprised you, and even more so to him. 
“i’m not-yeah, um, okay, sorry,” you stuttered. heat rose to your cheeks and you scolded yourself for barely being able to talk right, but who could blame you? a mandalorian was making you blush without even realizing it. 
“why am i here?”
“i need to give you something.” he turns around then, and your breath catches in your throat. you’re never used to him. the effect he seems to have on you and you wonder, deep in your mind, if he ever notices. dyn lifts his palm up then, holding up an item too small and obscure in color for you to know what it is. “come,” he says. 
you start walking towards him, stopping right in front of him and close enough that he has to peer down through his helmet to see your face. “give me your hand.”
you do, too quickly for your liking, but he takes it in his gloved one lightly and rubs your palm softly with his thumb. it was instinctive to him, to touch you in such a delicate way. the action itself poured out of him without thinking, and it caught both of you off guard. how is it, that the man who belongs to one of the most merciless creeds in the galaxy, is touching me so beautifully?, you wonder. in a matter of seconds, as if he read your mind, his thumb stops moving along your skin, and places the item into your hand. 
extending it with both hands and bringing it up closer for inspection, you learn that it’s a bracelet. it’s a thin band of shiny white gold, much like his armor, and it’s decorated with multiple lavender butterfly charms all around. it’s elegant, graceful, a striking contrast to his own lifestyle. wrapping it around your wrist to clasp it, you find that it fits perfectly, recognizing that he must’ve gone into a shop during one of your many stops and had it custom made. 
“din...it’s so gorgeous. how did you-where did you ge-”
“let me help you,” he cuts you off suddenly. he doesn’t want you to ask him the question because he doesn’t want to answer it. he doesn’t want to admit that he doesn’t find you annoying anymore, he doesn’t find himself scurrying to hide in his cabin when you appear, he doesn’t dislike you at all now. it’s the opposite. maybe even more than that. 
“yeah, please. thanks.” you turn your wrist so the clasps are exposed to him, and his fingers work quickly to hook the clips together. once he’s finished, he lets his hand linger a little on yours, hesitantly almost, and you observe him. your eyes dart from his hands to back up to his visor to try and get some sort of feeling out of him. you watch as he begins to move his pointer finger from the base of your wrist down to the very tip of your middle finger. the cold leather of his glove tickles your hand a little and you smile. a childish, innocent smile. you can’t see him, but he smiles with you. the image of you like this, giggling like the baby right inside the cockpit of his ship, makes him happier than he’s ever been. 
with a sudden wave of confidence, you direct to him. “you can hold it, you know,” you voice softly, “it’s alright.”
your courage dissipates as soon as the words leave your mouth. maybe you’ve made a mistake in advising him to partake in such an intimate action. perhaps you were dreaming, this whole scene a mere conjuring of your own touch starved mind. it could also be that din didn’t even want to touch you at all, and you’ve placed him in an uncomfortable position he now has to escape from. 
but, suddenly, your hand is interlocking with his. the size of his hand envelops your own, and through the leather of his glove, it sends sparks flying in every direction. he feels warm, and through the material of his mitt, you can also feel the different shapes of his callouses. this completes him, fills him to the brim with joy; with something far stronger than liking and closer to that of desire. he tightens his grip on your hand, and you reciprocate. you drop your interlocked hands down, and your free hand starts to lightly play with the fingers of his other one. you’re smiling, a dent on your cheek forming. 
“what is it?” din asks, and you laugh. that sweet-like-honey, angelic laugh that makes his heart nearly stumble out of his chest. 
“nothing. i just like the way your hand fits in mine.”
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bestintheparsec · 4 years
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For your requests, how about from the 100 ways to say “I love you” list—39. Don’t cry. and 89. Stay there. I’m coming to get you. for Javi? Maybe when Reader goes alone after a suspicious suspect and ends up in a tricky situation, and something bad’s happened or she’s afraid something bad WILL happen so she calls Javi in a panic and he’s got to comfort her. I love you angel!🤍
“Stay there. I’m coming to get you” + “Don’t cry”
Pairing: Javier Peña x Reader
Warnings: mild violence
Words: 1.4k
- I had to throw in a (completely unnecessary) little rain scene in there; only for you, Molly🥰 This got longer than a drabble, but it was fun to write and I hope you like it! I love you lots, thank you for sending this in🥺
Requests | Masterlist
~
Javi taps his foot in frustration while he sits at his desk. What would it take for these people to take potential hits seriously? He lights a cigarette and shakes his head. He looks across his desk at Murphy’s empty chair. You and Murphy had stumbled upon information that revealed where a key sicario would be tonight. As usual, the higher-ups doubted the credibility—and legality—of your source. After a bit of bickering, the three of you were sent off with a warning and specific directions against pursuing this lead.
It’s been hours now, and without much to do here, Murphy headed home early. You had left even before then, muttering something about never being able to get anything done.
Javier’s not expecting it to be anything interesting when he answers the phone.
“Javi?” you breathe. Your voice shakes.
He can immediately sense something is off. “What’s wrong?” He puts the papers he’s holding down on the desk. He hears a mix of static and the loud background music of the bar on your end.
“I—I’m sorry,” you mutter. 
“For what—” he starts, before it clicks in his head. “Fuck. Did you go against Messina’s orders?” He sits up straighter and rubs his eyebrows. “Did you go alone?”
“I had to,” you answer hurriedly. You try to keep your voice low. “I found him. The informant wasn’t lying.”
“Then what’s the problem?” he asks, impatiently. More static.
“I…I think he knows something’s up. I think he’s got backup. I can’t tell.” Javier hears a small gasp on your end, followed by some loud voices in the background.
“Do not go back inside,” Javi instructs, but there’s static and he can’t hear your response. “Stay there. I’m coming to get you.”
“Did you hear what I just said?” Javier repeats when you don’t answer and the noises get louder.
“Javi, I wanted to say—” you start, but you’re interrupted by something.
“I have to go,” you whisper before the line goes dead. Javier swears under his breath. He pictures you scared, and he doesn’t like it. He’s only seen that look a handful of times, and he hates that he’s not there with you now. Only because you’re his partner. He would worry just as much about Murphy, Javi reasons with himself.
Fuck, he whispers. Why hadn’t you called Murphy first? He was the one who found the informant. He quickly punches in Murphy’s number and fills him in, telling him to meet at the bar. He can’t tell anyone else—all of your jobs would be on the line if they found out you went against orders. Javier puts out his cigarette and pulls his gun from the drawer, slamming it shut before hurrying out.
~
You’re on the grimy floor in the hallway by the bathroom. You force yourself to sit up; your head throbs when you do. Your lip is split and you can taste the metallic blood every time you speak. The sicario stands in front of you, hovering. As suspected, he did have backup, who was now standing guard in front of the hall.
He’d disarmed you before you had the chance to run. The bystanders in the bar had known better than to interfere. You thought he was going to kill you right there in front of those people—for some reason, he didn’t. You want to believe it’s because he saw the DEA badge; but you don’t expect these bastards to be afraid of much. Which means he wants something from you, and he’s going to take it at whatever cost.
He squats down to your level, quiet for a second before he grins and grabs you by the neck, slamming you into the wall.
“I asked you a question, puta,” he enunciates slowly, “who told you I’d be here?” He snarls, his disgusting breath in your face.
You look him in the eyes, noting all the scratch marks you’d left on his face. 
You’re still fully conscious, and blink a few times before you spit in his face. “I’m not telling you anything,”you attempt to growl. But these men know the look of fear like the back of their hands, and he can sense it on you.
“Have it your way,” he remarks calmly. He stands up, pulling you by the shoulders. He smiles again before his fist pounds across your face and you fall to the ground again. He kicks you hard in the stomach and you let out a gasp. You try to sit up once again and watch him reach for his gun, pointing it at you. You don’t have time to process your thoughts, when abruptly, you hear a gun shot ring out. Then a few more. You wince, keeping your eyes shut. 
You let out a cry and flinch when something touches you, but when you open your eyes all you see is Javi, Steve, and the sicario’s body next to you on the floor, blood spilling onto the tile. Despite the scene, Javier’s expression is all concern. Steve runs his hands through his hair and exhales.
Javi kneels down in front of you and takes in your appearance; blood from your nose is starting to dry and your lip is also bleeding, but you’re otherwise unharmed. He closes his eyes and sighs in relief.
“Are you alright?” he asks. “Is anything broken?” Unexpectedly, he reaches out and touches your arm, his fingers lingering on your skin for a few moments. The tender gesture takes you by surprise.
“No,” you sputter. “Just a few hits, some ice will be enough.” You look over toward the guard’s body on the floor next to Steve. “You got here just in time.” 
Javi chuckles without humor and looks at Steve, then back at you. “Are you sure we don’t need to take you to the hospital?”
“Yeah. I’ll be fine.”
He tells Steve to go get the car. He gives you another once-over, his brows furrowed. Without a word, he scoops you up in his arms and stands. 
“I think I can walk, Javier,” you say, your lips curling into a tiny smile.
“Yeah, well, you also thought you should come here alone, cariño.” He uses the term jokingly, but your heart still flutters. “Please don’t try to bust a sicario on your own again. At least tell me before,” he teases.
He looks at you questioningly when he sees you frown. 
“I’m sorry,” you say for the second time tonight. “For putting you in danger. And thank you, really.” Out of nowhere, you feel your eyes start to water as you process the events. You’d foolishly risked their jobs as well as your own; on top of that, you’d put them in harm’s way, too. 
“Don’t cry,” he says, his voice gentle. “I’m surprised we didn’t all do the same, honestly. Since when do we follow the rules?” he smirks.
You suddenly become very aware of the fact that Javi hasn’t moved anywhere, and you’re still just casually in his arms. You blush at how ridiculous you must look and break eye contact, much to his amusement.
“Let’s get you home,” he says, and walks out to the exit past the police who’ve just arrived. It’s dark and drizzling outside, the droplets washing some of the salty taste of blood off your lips. 
He spots Murphy’s car and heads towards it. “I hope you know I’m going to come next door and check in on you for a while,” he comments. You look up at him. His hair is weighed down by the rain, and the expression in his eyes when he looks at you is…soft.
“It’s a busted lip and some bruising, Peña,” you answer. “Not a concussion.”
He knows this, of course. But he’s afraid to say something he regrets, so he doesn’t say anything else.
He opens the car door, and you lean into him before he puts you down.
“Javi? I wanted to tell you—”
“Shh,” he interrupts, carefully setting you down in the backseat. He pushes a rain-plastered section of your hair behind your ears. For a split second, there’s a sign of hurt in his eyes. “You…don’t need to. You’re not on your death bed.” He wipes away at the droplets on his face and closes the door before walking to the other side. 
He’s right, you think. Maybe some other time.
~
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