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daisies-daydreams · 2 months

Note

Hey, love!

I am here to request a sex pollen story with our lovely Jango Fett! I would love some build-up to the actual act? Maybe like a job gone sideways or maybe a short stop on a planet leads to a situation or maybe whatever you come up with!

Well, whatever you decide it will be good!

Much love,

Maggie

A Small Favor (Jango Fett x F!Reader)

Pairing: Jango Fett x F!Reader Category: Smut (with a hint of angst) Warnings: Depictions Blood/Wounds, Aphrodisiacs/Sex Pollen, Consensual Sex, Unprotected P in V Sex (You Know the Drill), Dirty Talk, Nipple Play, Squirting, Cowgirl Position, Missionary Position, Multiple Creampies, Multiple Orgasms, Swearing, Mentions of Infertility Word Count: 4.1k+ A/N: Hello dear! Thank you so much for your fun request (we both know I'm a sucker for sex pollen fics lol). Also Lucas allegedly said that underwear doesn't exist in space, so I had to...improvise. :| I hope you enjoy!

This was not how today was supposed to go.

What started as a mission you had been planning with another bounty hunter for weeks has turned into a complete disaster. A streak of lightning cracked over the lush Onderonian jungle as you and your partner, Jango Fett, quietly listened for the gut-wrenching hiss of the pack of Gutkurrs that were stalking you. You tried to steady your breathing as your heart pounded in your ears, the sound of heavy rain and rumbling thunder doing little to assist you in keeping a sharp ear.

Jango grunted as he tensed beside you; the prominent, red gash in his calf making you frown. You bit the inside of your cheek as you kept his arm over your shoulder.

"Come on, Fett. We only have a bit more to go," you tried to quietly reassure him. Your eyes widened when you heard the sound of plants rustling around you as one of the Gutkurrs release a bellowing roar that echoed through the dense, dark forest. You glanced over at the rugged Mandalorian as he wheezed.

“Har’chaak,” the bounty hunter cursed beneath his drenched helmet [damn it]. You remained as quiet as possible as the sound of shuffling grew closer. You shoved the both of you as much as you could beneath the ledge as the carnivores sniffed the air. You felt your heart drop into your stomach as a bright bolt of lightning illuminated their spiny shadows across the landscape in front of you. You leaned against Jango's helmet when a loud crack of thunder rolled over the forest.

"Are you sure your jetpack is damaged?" you asked. You remained quiet as the thunder dissipated, the clicking of the Gutkurr's claws soon replacing the rancorous sound. Jango slowly nodded his head. You sighed as your heart raced even faster when you saw a few streams of mud cascade over the edge above you. You held your gloved hand over your mouth, your body stiff as the insect-like creatures rumbled lowly.

Your eyes darted around the forest as lighting illuminated the lush greenery. Your eyes landed on the familiar glint of Slave I's energy-shield shining past a thick patch of magenta flowers. A tiny pulse of hope shot through your heart as an idea popped into your head.

"Jango," you whispered loudly. The man grunted while the beasts above you skittered about, dragging their sharp, raptorial legs along the muddy ground with impatience. You pulled a flare from your pack, your eyes shining with anticipation as your breathing grew ragged. The other bounty hunter simply gave a short nod, steadying himself against you as you prepared the flare.

You took a deep breath before you ever so slightly stuck your arm out from beneath the edge. The beasts roared and hissed as a streak of red light flashed across the sky, their footsteps rumbling against the soggy ground as the two of you dashed in the opposite direction. You squinted your eyes as you rushed through the patch of magenta flora resting beneath the thick midstory of the jungle.

Your eyes widened when a cloud of yellow dust unexpectedly sprayed in your face. You felt like someone just punched you in the stomach as you nearly doubled over, Jango slipping away from your grasp before you quickly caught him in your arms. He grunted as if he were trying to suppress a cough while his body tensed in your grasp.

You whipped your head up when a lone Gutkurr suddenly rumbled nearby, the reds of its eyes glowing in the light of the storm.

"Run!" you screamed as you tried to steady him against your side. Jango hobbled alongside you as you desperately ran towards the ship sitting in the thick field before you. Your heart raced as the creature's footsteps grew louder as it dragged it's long raptorial legs along the ground. You nearly slipped on a slick patch of mud before Jango grabbed and threw you forward. The two of you panted as he opened the hatch to his ship with the gauntlet on his wrist. Your lungs burned as you wrapped your hand around his wrist and stomped through the tall grass.

Your heart dropped when the Gutkurr roared menacingly as it launched itself forward and opened its wide, dark maw. Time slowed to a stop as you braced yourself to be bitten in half by its razor-sharp teeth...only to open your eyes when you heard the loud sound of a blaster echo through the field. You gasped when the beast fell in front of you with a pitiful groan, Jango heaving as his hand clumsily fell back to his side. You snapped your head up when you heard the rest of the pack roar nearby.

"Hurry!" you whispered loudly as you helped Jango into the hangar. Your heart nearly stopped when you saw a collection of red eyes glint on the outskirts of the field as the door slowly began to close. You pounded your hand against the button inside, praying it would make it go faster as the carnivores rushed towards Slave I.

You flinched and nearly stumbled back when the door finally locked shut just as the creatures surrounded the attack craft. Your chset rose and fell as you ran a hand through your hair, your mind still racing as your heart pounded wildly. You gasped and braced yourself against the wall as the ship began to rock back and forth, the muffled hissing of the Gutkurrs sending a shiver down your spine.

Your eyebrows shot up when the lights suddenly went out, leaving you and Jango in dim lighting as a menacing red glowed through the hangar. The other bounty hunter clenched his fists.

"Dank-" You flinched when the ship shook violently, followed by the frustrated grunts and shrieking of the insect-like carnivores. Jango grunted as he leaned against the wall, the gash in his leg now gushing with blood as he heaved.

You rushed to his side as the emergency lights of his ship flickered each time one of the Gutkurr's slammed their armored bodies against the sides of Slave I. Jango tensed as you gently laid a hand on his lower back, your eyes glowing with softness as you parted your lips.

"Where's the medkit?" you asked, your chest quickly rising and falling as adrenaline coursed through your veins. Jango's shoulders slumped as he tilted his head towards the far left side of the hangar. Your heart pounded in your ears as the ship continued to shake. You frowned as you guided your partner over to an empty seat, his grunts doing little to ease your troubled mind. A trail of blood followed his injured leg as you sat him down as gently as you could.

You furrowed your brows when you laid eyes on his ripped pants, your cheeks glowing with heat as the room grew stuffy in a matter of seconds. You flicked your eyes back up to the emotionless visor of his helmet as you swallowed thickly.

"Okay, um..." your voice trailed off as you got on your knees, your hands hesitantly sliding up to Jango's belt before he grabbed your wrists.

"What do you think you're doing?" the rasped, his breathing ragged as he balled his hands around your wrists. You nervously glanced up at his face as you squeezed your thighs together; the unbearable tension inside you only growing stronger as he touched you.

"I-I need to take off your pants to treat your wound," you said with a shaky voice as goosebumps broke out across your body. You winced as the ship shook again, the lights flickering violently as the creatures dragged their limbs and scrambled alongside the sides of his ship. You tried to take a deep breath as Jango slumped in his seat.

"Fine," he huffed and clumsily unbuckled his belt. Oh, Maker. Your throat grew tight as images of him slamming his cock deep inside your dripping, needy cunt flooded your mind. You shook your head and sucked in a sharp breath as you helped him out of his pants, the fabric falling to the floor and revealing a thin, dark one-piece clinging to his tan skin. You quickly shifted your gaze when your eyes lingered on the outline of his cock straining against his thin body suit.

"Uh...alright," you blinked several times as you desperately tried to suppress the urge to climb onto his lap and ride him until he-

"Just take them off...whatever it takes to patch me up," Jango breathed as he leaned back in the chair and yanked off his helmet. Your eyes widened as you gazed upon his rugged, scarred face. His thick, dark hair clung to his head as he sighed heavily.

You bit your lip as the fabric of your clothes rubbed against your sensitive nipples and slick folds as you adjusted yourself in front of him. Sounds of clanging Beskar plates and shifting fabric echoed inside the hangar as the noises outside began to grow faint. You swallowed the thick lump in your throat as your mind grew hazy at the sight of his thick, heavy cock springing free from the confines of his black one-piece. Your mouth watered as it slapped against the dip of his abs, a large pearl of precum smearing across his sweat-coated skin as he sucked in a sharp breath and shifted in his seat.

You were pulled back to reality when you heard him grunt with pain (or what you assumed to be pain...) and tense in the chair.

"Right!" you said with a strained voice as you rushed over to the medkit hanging on the wall. Your chest grew tight as a heavy wave of arousal suddenly washed over you, the space between your legs growing unbearably hot as you caught your breath.

You shook your head violently before rushing back over, your body shivering with arousal as you threw the kit opened and grabbed a large, clean gauze. Jango hissed and clawed his fingers against the arms of his seat as you wrapped your hands around his gash, putting as much pressure as you could onto the deep wound.

Your walls pulsed when you saw his cock twitch in front of your face, the large vein on the underside of his thick shaft making you wonder what it would feel like if-

"I think you can start cleaning it out now," Jango rasped with a shallow breath. You blinked and looked down at your hands, the bleeding having already slowed down enough for you to start sterilizing the gash. You swallowed and gave him a short nod before taking off your gloves. You felt him slightly shiver while you gently cleaned the wound, as if every lingering touch of your fingers made him sink further into a trance. The bubbling heat inside your core only intensified as you watched the thick bead of precum leak from his slit and down his shaft.

You feared Jango judging you for staring so much...only to see him tilting his head back as he breathed in short, shallow pants. Everything around you seemed to fade away as your core ached with a primal desire - you even nearly missed as you used the field cauterizer to close his gaping wound. Your vision grew blurry as you clumsily put the medical supplies away and sterilized your hands...only to feet Jango's warm palms slide over your shoulders.

"Wait..." he swallowed thickly as a deep red hue filled his sharp cheeks. Your eyes trailed down his rugged chest and lean stomach before landing on his girthy length again. It stood up straight and twitched beneath your hungry gaze as he ever so slightly shifted his hips forward. You whined as he tightened his grip around your shoulders, his dark pupils blown wide as he breathed heavily.

"I need...I need you," he muttered lowly. A bolt of pleasure struck through your core as your eyes widened. You gasped when he pulled you onto his lap, your thighs draped over his as he gripped your waist. You mewled as your breasts rubbed against his chest, your clothed pussy hovering over his weeping cock as he bared his teeth over your pulse.

"I don't know what's come over me...but I just...I need you," his voice dropped several octaves as he growled against your neck. You moaned and arched your back as he slipped his fingers beneath the band of your soaked, muddied pants. You felt him clench his jaw against your cheek as he struggled to contain himself. You gulped and parted your lips.

"Jango...I need you to-" that was enough for him to literally rip your pants off of your legs. Your jaw dropped as your clothes fell into tatters onto the dimly lit floor before he firmly tugged you forward. You ducked your head into his shoulder and screamed when he shoved you down on his girth in one swift, fluid motion.

Your eyes rolled back as his cock stretched your drenched pussy wide open, your cunt already slick and deep as his thick length spread your gummy walls. You swallowed as your cunt fluttered around his shaft as he began to thrust his dick into your burning sex.

“Oh, M-Maker Jango!” you screamed as he bounced you on his cock, your walls squeezing him tightly as your cunt squelched lewdly with every feral thrust of his hips.

"O-Osik," he hissed through gritted teeth as your pussy swallowed his dick whole each time your ass came back down and slapped against his taut, muscular thighs [shit]. You threw your head back as the thick tip of his member railed into your soft, oversensitive g-spot, each tender graze leaving your legs shaking and cunt aching for more.

"Jango," you slurred as your forehead fell against his, your warm breaths mingling while you tried to match his relentless pace. The hangar was flooded with sounds of skin wetly slapping against skin mixed with your combined grunts and moans.

Your eyes shot open when he quickly shoved his lips against yours, your wet tongues quickly finding each other in a sloppy, passionate dance as he pounded into you. You gasped for air when the two of you parted, your lips glossed over with your combined spit as he groaned.

"I want to fill you so badly," Jango growled into your ear as his hands slid down to tenderly squeeze your ass. Your moan rattled through the dark room as the head of his cock slammed against the soft, gummy plug to your womb. "Stuff you with my seed - over...and over..." his breath hitched as your walls pulsed around his veiny shaft. True euphoria pumped through your veins as your core tightened, squeezing his dick in a wet, vice grip as his thrusts began to falter. You whined as a deep, low rumble rose from his scarred chest.

"Yes, yes!" you screamed as your vision suddenly flooded with white. Your body tensed in Jango's hold as your cunt gushed with your warm juices. You babbled and squirmed on his lap as you drenched his inner thighs with your thick cream. Your body trembled as your jaw remained slack, your vision blurred with hot tears of pure bliss. Your body grew limp as your walls contracted deliciously, your mind dizzy and hazy with pleasure as he continued to fuck into your raw, puffy cunt.

You yelped when he released a gutteral groan, his fingers digging into the supple flesh of your ass as his cock twitched deep inside your tight canal.

"Take me - take all of me," Jango snarled as he slammed you down to the hilt, his thick brows furrowed as his cock throbbed against your cervix. You gasped as he soaked your walls with thick ropes of his heavy, warm cum.

"J-Jango," you said with a hoarse whisper as your greedy pussy drank every drop he shot into your tight walls. You whined as his lips brushed against your pulse, his hot breath fanning over your neck as his grip on your hips loosened.

You blinked away the tears of bliss that clouded your vision, the heat within you still lingering as you felt a few loose drops of his cum leak out of your stretched seam and stain your soft, inner thighs. You shot your head up when the regular lights suddenly flickered on, the sound of the storm and the creatures previously lurking outside completely dissipated.

"Looks like the ship's working again," you beamed with a lighter feeling in your chest. Your smile fell when you saw the lingering hunger remaining in his eyes as his cock remained hard within your raw sex. "Jango?" you murmured. You yelped when he rose to his feet, the room spinning around you as you instinctively wrapped your legs around his waist and hooked your arms over his thick neck.

"I'm not finished yet," the dark-haired man rumbled lowly, his face as stoic as ever as he climbed towards his bunk. "It's too much...too much-" the bounty hunter couldn't even finish his sentence as he swallowed thickly. You keened as his cock gently grinded inside your tight heat every time he ascended the ladder to his chambers. The bunk sliding-shutter was pulled down, allowing the two of you some privacy from the wildlife of Onderon as Jango stepped over to his bed.

Your heart wildly beat against your sternum as Jango laid you down on your back, his muscular form looming over you as his cock remained stuffed half-way inside your slick cunt. He gazed directly into your eyes as he wasted no time and began to rock his hips forward, his thrusts more steady and controlled than before as he rested his toned arms on either side of your flushed face. You threw your head back as every nerve ending in your body lit up with pleasure; the feeling of his heavy shaft dragging along your plush walls making your mouth water and toes curl.

"You're so tight, an'edee," Jango grunted as his brows furrowed with pleasure [all bite]. You had no time to ask what he meant in his native tongue before he started to pick up the pace, his eyes lit with a primal desire as he watched your body bounce with each swift snap of his hips.

You gasped and arched your back as a shiver of arousal crept down your spine, your pussy squelching lewdly with your combined juices each time he pushed his cock back inside your hole. A sharp cry fell from your lips as he perfectly hit your g-spot with a few quick thrusts.

"Y-Yes! Right there!" you keened as your legs shook around his waist. You heard Jango grip the sheets beside your head as he repeated the hypnotic motion with ease, your cunt clamping down on his cock as you moaned softly. The man above you grunted as you rested your hands on his upper back, your nails slightly sinking into his muscles as you writhed with pleasure.

"Haar'chak...I need to make you mine," the bounty hunter rumbled against your skin [Damn it]. You gasped when he unbuckled the latches of your overcoat, his hands making quick work of discarding all of the clothes from your upper body and tossing them aside. You flushed as his eyes locked on your bouncing breasts, his lips slightly parted before he dipped down and latched onto one of your pebbling nipples.

"Oh, Jango!" you cried and arched into his touch as the sounds of your hips slapping against each other grew louder inside the confined space of his bunk.

Your pussy pulsed as the Mandalorian puckered his lips around your bud before gently tugging at it between his teeth. You slid your hands up and slipped your fingers through his thick, black locks as he lavished your sensitive breast. You twitched when he moaned against your areola, the vibrations causing a little more of your warm arousal to smear along his stiff, swollen cock.

"You feel so, so good - I swear I could stay inside you forever," Jango murmured against your plush tit before quickly turning his attention to your other one. Your eyes widened as he swirled his tongue around your neglected nipple, one of his hands slipping down and pinching your other bud between his thick, calloused fingers.

You felt yourself careening closer to the edge of your release with every swipe of his tongue and push of his hips.

"J-Jango, so close," you whined and desperately clenched your walls around his dick, begging for him to stuff you with another heavy load of his seed. You watched as his Adam's apple bobbed, beads of sweat forming on his temples as he filled you over and over with his hard cock. You swore you saw stars in your vision when he dipped a pair of his fingers down and began to rub sloppy circles around your bundle of nerves.

"Cum for me, mesh'la. Let me feel you squeeze this cock before I fill you again," he snarled as he wildly plunged his dick within your puffy, sensitive walls [beautiful]. You released a silent scream as he pressed his thumb down on your clit, a shockwave of euphoria bursting through your core as you squirted all over his lower stomach.

"Yes," Jango groaned as your pussy sucked him in, his breathing growing more ragged while you shattered into a million pieces beneath him. You wailed and babbled his name as your cunt completely soaked the sheets below you, the sounds of his cock sliding into your slick pussy reverberating inside the small bunk.

"Oh, Maker," you managed to squeak out of your tight throat as your body shivered with the aftershocks of your release. Jango gritted his teeth as he wrapped his hands around your waist, his grunts filling your ears along with the sound of his heavy balls wetly slapping against your juicy slit.

"(Y/N)..." the dark-haired man roared as he rested his forehead against your own.

You gasped as his cock stiffened between your creamy walls, his cock buried down to the hilt as the intoxicating feeling of his cum filling you until it burst from the tight space where your sexes were snugly joined. You whined his name as he squeezed your tender love handles, his face contorted with pleasure as he remained tense against your sweaty body. You both released a shaky sigh as he spilled one more thick string of cum inside your rawly fucked cunt.

You closed your eyes as you caught your breath, your body coated with a thin sheen of sweat as you basked in the afterglow. The Mandalorian sighed as he slowly pulled out of you, his softening cock hanging between his legs as he adjusted himself in the small bed. Your bodies were practically pressed chest to chest as he gazed into your eyes.

"Are you alright?" he asked between heavy breaths as he knitted his brows. Your heart skipped a beat at his gentle words before you gave a slow, lazy nod.

"Yes...just c-catching my breath," you sighed. Jango grunted as his body seemed to relax against the warmth of your own. A question began to gnaw at your mind, causing your eyes to widen a little.

"Jango, will I get...you know..." you shifted your gaze as heat rose to your cheeks. You've thought about having a child from time to time...but with your current line of work, it's now nothing more than a passing daydream. His dark brown eyes held a rare look of longing as he tightly gripped the sheets.

"No," he muttered. "I...I can't have any younglings of my own," Jango hesitantly continued, his voice now slightly cold as he stared between your bodies. You frowned as your heart sank into your stomach.

"Oh," you replied before glancing away. A heavy silence seeped between the two of you before he sighed heavily.

"It's alright, though. I actually have an opportunity to-" Jango paused, his face growing hard as he pursed his lips. "Well, let's just say I'm able to...adopt one," the bounty hunter chuckled softly. You raised a brow and tilted your head curiously. You chose not to pry and instead remained quiet, the sound of the ship's tech humming filling the space between the two of you. You bit the inside of your cheek as you tried to think of something to say after a long period of silence.

"I think that you'll be a wonderful father, Jango," you said with a gentle grin. Jango blinked, his eyes softening as a genuine smile stretched across his rugged, worn features.

"Thank you...mesh’la," the mercenary murmured gently with a faint shine in his eyes.

----

Thank you for reading! ❤️

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#jango fett #star wars fanfiction #star wars smut #star wars fic #smut #jango fett x reader #jango fett x fem!reader #jango fett x y/n #jango fett x you #star wars fanfic

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yandere-wishes · 4 months

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My Star Wars prequels analysis

Ep 1 .... Qui-Gon Jinn is actually so daddy coded, I might die😍😍 Like sir let me be your bbg!!....And he's dead...

Ep2 Jango Fett is totlly daddy matrial. Like he's literally a dilf!!😍...And he's dead too...

Ep3 Count Dooku kinda grows on you. He's like an honary daddy!...Oh,he's dead...

In conclusion Star Wars has a thing aginst dilfs.😤😤

#yandere #yandere x reader #yancore #yandere x you #star wars #star wars x reader #qui gon jinn #qui gon jinn x reader #count dooku #jango fett #jango fett x reader #star wars headcanons #star wars imagine #yandere aesthetic

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keldabe-kiss1 · 1 year

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Mando'a lesson 1

Numbers

Su cuy'gar! Olarom anade.

(Hello, welcome all)

Today's lesson is on basic counting!

This will cover numbers 1-10.

·̩̩̥͙＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚·̩̩̥͙＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊·̩̩̥͙·̩̩̥͙＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊·̩̩̥͙

English || Mando'a || pronunciation

One || Solus || SOH-loos

Two || T'ad || Tahd

Three || Ehn || ayhn

Four || Cuir || COO-eer

Five || Rayshe'a || ray-SHEE-ah

Six || Resol || reh-SOL

Seven || e'tad || EH-tad

Eight || sh'ehn || Shayn

Nine || She'cu || SHAY-koo

Ten || ta'raysh || ta-RAYSH

·̩̩̥͙＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚·̩̩̥͙＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊·̩̩̥͙·̩̩̥͙＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊·̩̩̥͙

Now that you know the basic numbers, there is something i'd like to talk about.

Zero.

You see, zero might be a little confusing for beginners. Zero would be said as 'Naas' (Pronounced: Nahs,) Which In Mando'a it translates directly to 'nothing'

whereas things such as t'ad directly translate to the number 2 and nothing else. So don't get confused over it.

That's all for today, Ke hukaati gar shebs, ner habire!

(Take care, my students. )

#star wars x reader #star wars #clone wars #mandoa lesson 1 #Keldabe-kiss1 #din djarin x reader #mandalorian x reader #jango fett #boba fett

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dystopicjumpsuit · 9 months

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Promises and Pastry

Rating: T / SFW (whaaaaat?!)

Pairing: Jango Fett x Baker Fem!Reader

Wordcount: 3.3k

Summary: On your way to work, you stumble upon an adorable two-year-old Boba Fett, who wandered away from the bounty hunter Jango entrusted with his care. Wholesome, tooth-rotting fluff ensues. Feat. Jango Fett being a sexy single dad.

A/N: I wrote this for Father's Day. This is the last AO3 work that I needed to migrate to Tumblr, so DJ's Great Fic Migration is now complete 🖤

Warnings: fluff; canon-typical violence

Suggested listening:

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Boba Fett sits in a rundown cantina, waiting for his contact to show. The place is an absolute dive, but not even close to the worst he’s seen. The jukebox is playing an old, old song—some sentimental Arcadian jazz ditty about a lost love. The music is incongruous with the dingy setting, but something about the melody tugs at his subconsciousness. It makes him think of warm, soft arms; a gentle voice; the mouthwatering scent of freshly baked bread. Is it a memory or a dream? He can’t tell.

He finishes his drink and pushes the intrusive thoughts away, then orders another round as he waits for his new employer.

The air is crisp in the predawn hours, and only the dim glow of street lamps illuminates your path as you walk to work. Your mind is caught up with the tasks ahead of you: baking the para rolls, ryshcates, and buttersweet puffs that you assembled the previous day; mixing up tomorrow’s batches of dough; topping up the caf supplies before your barista arrives—and all of this needs to happen before you even open the shop for the day. The bakery has always been your dream, and it’s worth the early mornings to finally have a place of your own.

You are almost to the shop when you hear a strange sound. A small, distressing whimper that echoes clearly through the early-morning silence. You scan the area. Bar’leth is a Core World: a safer planet than some, but your bakery is located near one of the seedier areas. It’s an unfortunate tradeoff for the low cost of rent. You don’t see any obvious threats, but you clutch your satchel a little closer to your body, just in case. The cry comes again, and you increase your pace, eyes darting up and down the street. And then you see the source.

A tiny, weeping child huddles on the walkway. He can’t be more than two or three years old.

“Oh, my stars,” you whisper as you hurry over to him. “Are you all right, sweetheart?”

He looks up at you, wet tears clinging to his eyelashes. An adorable mop of dark curls tumbles around his face, and his tragic, golden eyes break your heart. He holds his hands up to you, and without a second thought, you scoop him up.

“Where are your parents, darling?” you ask, looking around the deserted street.

He wails something incoherent and buries his face in your shoulder. There is no sign of another living being anywhere. You rub his back consolingly and whisper gentle reassurances. Your heart has already made the decision before your mind can catch up: you can’t leave him out here. Settling him more securely in your arms, you hurry the last couple of blocks to your bakery and let yourself inside, locking the door behind you.

You flip on the lights in the kitchen, and the child ceases his wailing and takes a few shuddering gulps. You check him for injuries and find none; it seems he was merely, understandably, frightened. He peers around the bakery curiously.

“Are you thirsty?” you ask.

He nods, so you pour him a glass of water. He gulps it down while you turn on the oven, watching you with fascinated, intelligent eyes. He sloshes a bit of water on you, and you wonder how you are going to manage your workload with one hand occupied holding him. Just then, he spots a tray of day-old pastries.

“I’m hungry,” he says.

You’re relieved that he speaks Basic. Hopefully that means he can tell you where to find his parents. Your commercial kitchen is not exactly a welcoming environment for a toddler, but you set him down on a footstool and bring him a scone—the plainest one you can find, without too much sugar. Force knows the last thing you need is a toddler on a sugar high bouncing around your kitchen while you try to work.

You introduce yourself and ask, “What’s your name?”

“Boba,” he replies around a mouthful of scone. He has crumbs all over his face already; it’s impressive how quickly he made the mess.

“Boba, do you know where your parents are?”

“Dada went to work.”

“Where does your dad work?” you ask as you tie on your apron.

He shakes his head, and tears well in his eyes again. You feel something tug in your chest, and you blink back tears of your own. You’ve always been a sympathetic cryer, but your heart would have to be made of stone to not be moved by Boba’s woeful expression.

“It’s all right,” you soothe him, crouching down to brush those long curls out of his eyes. “You can stay here with me. We’ll find your dad, I promise.”

He nods with a sniffle, and then dives forward into your arms. You squeeze him tightly to you, then settle him onto your hip and get to work. Luckily, the trays are small enough that you can manage them with only one hand, but eventually, you need both hands to work. You start to shift Boba, and you realize he’s fallen asleep against you. It is far from ideal, so you retrieve a large cushion from the front of the house and set it up out of the way in the kitchen. You lay the boy gently down and get to work, amazed that he can sleep through your racket, but then again, it’s only four o’clock in the morning.

He sleeps for hours, and once you’ve finished prepping the next day’s goods, you change out of your utilitarian apron into the pretty, frilly one you wear when you’re running the register. You hear the back door open, and you turn to see your barista, Siero, staring at the sleeping child.

“What. is. that?” she asks.

“And good morning to you, too,” you say.

“Did you steal that child?” she asks suspiciously.

You roll your eyes. “No, I didn’t steal him. He was wandering alone outside the bakery. I brought him inside so he’d be safe until I can find his parents.”

“Have you checked the Holonet to see if anyone has reported him missing?” Siero asks, ever practical.

“Not yet,” you admit. “I’ve been busy getting ready to open.”

Siero pulls out her datapad and runs a quick search. “Nothing so far,” she says with a frown. “I hope you don’t expect me to watch him.”

“Of course not,” you say. “I’ll take care of him. Maybe his parents will come in. If they don’t, I’ll get in touch with the Children’s Wellness Department after we close up for the day.”

Siero shrugs and pulls on her apron. “Well, I always said you could run this place blindfolded with your hands tied. Looks like I’m about to find out.”

Boba continues to sleep as the first wave of customers makes its way through the shop. Fortunately, there’s a lull by the time he wakes up, and you’re able to take a break and sit with him at one of the tables as he eats a pedunkee mufkin and drinks a cup of hot chocolate that Siero makes for him. After that, you work the register with one hand while you carry him on your opposite hip.

He’s a sweet boy, polite and well-mannered, and your customers are enchanted with him. They are not the only ones; you can feel yourself growing attached, even as you remind yourself how utterly foolish it is to do so. He starts to echo you every time you thank a customer for their business.

“Thank you, come back soon,” he calls, beaming a delighted grin when you laugh.

All too soon, it’s time to close up for the day. Siero heads home, and you flip the Open sign over to Closed as you begin cleaning the bakery. You turn on your favorite old-timey Arcadian jazz music and set Boba down as you sweep the floors, wipe down the tables, and clear out the display case. He follows behind you, eager to help, and you end up swooping him up and dancing with him to the music as he shrieks and giggles with joy.

Ten hours earlier

Jango Fett limps onto the Slave I, lugging a gory bag containing the severed head of his bounty. It had been a brutal hunt—far more difficult than he’d anticipated. He should never have brought Boba with him this time. But by the time he had tracked his target to Bar’leth, it was too late to return the boy to the safety of Kamino. Instead, he’d entrusted him to the care of his not-quite-friend, sometimes-hunting-partner, Mado Kena. The Rodian had not exactly been delighted to be stuck with babysitting duty, and Jango wasn’t thrilled at the idea of leaving Boba in his care, either, but he hadn’t had much choice.

He’d tracked the bounty for hours and finally cornered him in a gambling den. It hadn’t gone well. The man fought back viciously, and Jango took a blaster bolt to his leg. Ultimately, he had killed the bastard. The bounty is lower for his corpse, but still worth enough to cover expenses.

He can’t wait to get off this rock. He hisses with pain as he climbs the ramp to his ship and tosses the bag into the conservator.

“Mado, I’m back,” he calls.

There is no response. The kriffer is probably holed up in his bunk. Jango pounds on the door.

“Mado, wake up, it’s time to go.”

There is no sound from the Rodian. With an exasperated sigh, Jango hits the control panel, and the door slides open. The bunk is empty. Jango stares at it for a moment, then whirls to check his own bunk. It is also empty. Cursing, he runs through the ship, checking every cubby and nook large enough to hold a toddler.

“Boba! Boba, where are you?” he calls, his voice ragged and urgent.

He comms Mado, but there is no response. Gritting his teeth, he calibrates his vambrace to track the comlink. Mado hasn’t gone far, and Jango immediately sets out to find him. His leg screams with agony, but there is no time to stop and apply bacta. He pushes through the pain, and soon tracks Mado to a squalid cantina. The hunter is passed out on one of the tables, and there is no sign of Boba.

Jango seizes Mado by his shirt and drags him to his feet. The hunter startles awake and thrashes in Jango’s grasp. The acrid scent of cheap whiskey oozes from his green skin.

“Where is my son?” Jango growls.

“Wha—what?” Mado stutters, blinking his star-flecked eyes with confusion.

“Where is Boba?” Jango’s voice is hoarse with rage and fear.

“He was just here,” Mado says as he claws at Jango’s fists to try to break his grip. “I got thirsty, so I came over for a drink. I brought him with me, I swear!”

Jango shoves the hunter back down into his seat and whirls to face the bartender. “Have you seen a little boy? He’s only two. Dark hair, brown skin.”

The bartender shrugs. “Sorry, bud, that Rodian was here when I started my shift. Didn’t see a kid with him.”

“Karabast,” Jango spits, rounding on Mado. “If any harm has come to him, there will be no place in this galaxy where you can hide.”

The Rodian cowers, and Jango strides out of the cantina, tracking the most important target of his life.

Not many things frighten Jango Fett, but as he chases through the night, his heart pounds, his stomach churns, his gloves grow damp with sweat. The darkness gives way to dawn, and then to the harsh light of morning, and still he hunts. He searches endlessly, desperately, sweeping the seedy district and working his methodical way outward into the fringes of respectable neighborhoods. There is no sign of his son, and panic claws at his throat.

By the time the sun is high overhead, Jango is near despair. He stops to rest his throbbing leg, leaning against a building as he gasps with pain. A flash of movement in his peripheral vision catches his attention, and he turns. Across the street is a quaint little shop with a cheerful sign that reads BAKERY, and through the large windows, he sees a woman twirling with a young child. Jango stiffens.

Boba.

He launches away from the wall and storms across the street, slamming the bakery door open with a shout. “Boba!”

You scream and cower away, shielding the boy with your body. Jango stalks toward you, a huge and intimidating figure in Mandalorian armor.

“Please don’t hurt us!” you cry. “I haven’t cleared the till yet. You can take all the credits, just please, please don’t hurt him.”

Jango skids to a halt. “Hurt him?”

“He’s just a child,” you beg. “Please.”

Jango raises his hands slowly, telegraphing that he’s not a threat. Currently. He breaks the seal on his helmet and removes it, setting it on the table next to him.

“My name is Jango Fett. Boba is my son,” he says.

Your terrified gaze darts to his face. Your hand is cupping Boba’s head protectively, but the boy twists in your arms when he hears his father’s voice.

“Dada!” Boba shrieks, pushing away from you.

You set the boy down with obvious reluctance, and he runs to Jango, who scoops him up into a tight embrace. He clutches Boba to his chest as he examines him for injuries.

“How did he come to be wandering the streets alone in the middle of the night?” you ask, more than a hint of judgment in your tone.

“My friend was supposed to be watching him while I was at work,” Jango replied. “Former friend, I reckon. I’ve been searching for him for hours.”

Boba is babbling happily. You can only understand about half of what he says, but Jango listens gravely to the boy.

“Is that so?” he asks. He shifts his attention to you, and you swallow nervously under the intensity of his scrutiny. “He says you gave him hot chocolate.”

You feel a hot flush wash over you at the disapproval you infer from his words. “Well, it was either that or caf, and I didn’t want to see what would happen if we gave a toddler a double shot of espresso.”

“Thank you for taking care of him,” he says, and his voice is filled with so much relief that you soften instantly.

“I’m glad you found him. He’s a sweet boy.” After a moment’s hesitation, you speak again. “Would you like something to eat? I’ve just closed up for the day, but we have a few things left.”

Jango looks surprised at your offer, but he accepts gladly. “I haven’t eaten since yesterday.”

You pull together an assortment of savory and sweet pastries: a vagnerian canapé, a water-chicken meat pie, a tal-toori, and dameapple turnover. Then you brew a large cup of caf and set it all on the table for him. He has collapsed into one of your big, comfortable armchairs, and Boba is resting against his armored chest. Without his helmet, you can see that he is remarkably handsome, and you smile at the way he rests his cheek on his son’s riotous curls. He looks exhausted; deep circles carved under his eyes—eyes that are exactly the same beautiful, rich brown as Boba’s—and there is a shadow of stubble on his jaw. The Arcadian jazz continues to play, and you pick up your broom to continue cleaning as Jango eats. Boba calls out your name and reaches for you.

“No, Boba,” Jango chides. “Leave the pretty lady alone. She has work to do.”

“I don’t mind,” you say, holding out your arms to Boba.

Jango shrugs and hands his son back to you so he can attack his plate in earnest. You dance as you work, much to Boba’s delight. Jango watches you, admiring the way your body sways to the music. He isn’t blind; he can see that you are a beautiful woman, and he takes a moment to appreciate the way a few strands of hair have worked themselves free from your simple bun to curl in a halo around your face. He realizes that he’s been holding a pastry halfway to his mouth as he watches you twirl and play with his son. He crams the rest hastily into his mouth and takes a long drink of caf to wash it down.

The food is good. Delicious, actually. He’s been eating ration bars for weeks, and he’s almost forgotten what real food tastes like. The warm light of the early afternoon spills into the bakery and bathes the room in a tranquil golden haze. He notices now that there are cheerful vases of fresh flowers on each table, and a low shelf full of books against one wall.

Kriff, he’s so tired. He stretches his legs out gingerly, feeling the ache of his blaster wound. He leans back in the soft chair, just for a moment. Just to rest his leg before making the long walk back to the Slave I.

You finish cleaning the bakery and get everything staged for the next morning, and when you and Boba return to the front of house, you find Jango asleep in your armchair. You finally get a good look at him without feeling quite so awkward and intimidated. He looks younger; his guarded expression relaxes into softness. His head is tilted back, leaving the thick, brown column of his throat exposed. His shoulders are impressively broad, and while some of that bulk is clearly due to his armor, you suspect that most of it is just Jango.

With a tiny smile, you retrieve a picture book from your shelf and settle into another armchair with Boba on your lap. The boy snacks on the leftover scraps from his father’s plate, even though you offer to get him a plate of his own. You read to him until he falls asleep, cuddled safely in your arms.

Jango lurches awake, staring wildly around him, his body tensed for violence. He’s disoriented for a moment, but then he sees you, curled up in an armchair across from him, Boba nestled securely against you. Both of you are fast asleep. He stands, flexing his leg experimentally. He’s not sure how long he was out, but judging by the angle of the sun, it’s been a few hours. He crosses to your armchair and gazes down at you and Boba. Something like tenderness is in his eyes as he smooths your hair out of your face.

Your eyes flutter open at his touch, and you smile up at him drowsily.

“I need to get going,” he says quietly, careful not to wake his son.

You nod your understanding and rise to your feet. He takes Boba and settles him against his shoulder. You help him put on his helmet, and he presses his free fist to his chest in a gesture of respect, careful not to jostle the boy.

“Thank you again,” he says sincerely. “For everything.”

“Of course,” you say. “Tell Boba to come visit me again sometime.”

“He’d like that,” Jango says.

You walk him to the door and watch as he and Boba disappear down the streets of Bar’leth, and as you stand alone in your bakery, the music continues to play.

“Boba Fett?” a man asks. He is wearing civilian clothes, but the stick up his ass has Boba willing to bet a thousand credits that he’s Imperial military.

Boba nods his head.

“The very man I was hoping to find," the man says. His clipped, affected Coruscanti accent grates on Boba's temper."The Empire requires your service. I’m to deliver you personally to Lord Vader’s ship.”

Boba finishes his drink and wordlessly follows the man, and the song plays on in the empty cantina.

---

Tagging:

@secondaryrealm @blueink-bluesoul @spicy-clones @wings-and-beskar @523rdrebel @merkitty49 @anxiouspineapple99 @sinfulsalutations @arcsimper5 @starrylothcat @clio3kantarella @cloneloverrrrr @goblininawig @ladytano420 @arctrooper69 @wolffegirlsunite @sunshinesdaydream @mandos-mind-trick @littlemissmanga @stunkbiggu

This fic has artwork!

#jango fett #jango fett x reader #sw prequels #x reader #dystopicjumpsuit writes

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thesexydancingcrepe · 1 year

Text

Playtime 🍑 🧺 ✨️

Ittw is by @skittlescripts

"Me," as the reader would probably tell my kids about the time Sun Wukong disrupted the "Immortal Peach Festival" and kids being kids, they wanted to do that too.

So now they have a game where the Reader picks Peaches as a "Peach Maiden," and they run away with the fruit as Reader tries to catch them.

(Jango always loses first since he immediately tries to give the Peach back to his Mama)

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vodika-vibes · 5 months

Note

Hey, i am back with another idea!

So, i was thinking about young Jango Fett and how he would woo a woman that isnt apart of the Mandalorian culture marry him.

Hope i gave you enough information for the story!

Love yeah!

Cultural Miscommunications

Summary: You like to think that you're friends with Jango Fett, though you desperately want more.

Pairing: Jango Fett x Reader

Word Count: 1920

Warnings: Reader goes on a bad date

Tagging: @trixie2023 @n0vqni

A/N: I hope that this is close to what you wanted. There's not a lot out there for Mandalorian dating culture, though, admittedly, I didn't look too hard.

The first time you met Jango Fett, it was because he approached you when you were at a store. He was a visitor to the planet, and was hoping for some advice on finding something that he was looking for.

You knew, from the first glance, that he was going to be trouble. A bounty hunter, and a Mandalorian bounty hunter at that? There are easier ways to break your own heart.

Still, he was handsome and polite, and it was a step up from the way that guys normally talk to you, so you favored him with a bright smile, and offered your help. If nothing else, it would be an interesting little story to share with your friends in the future.

After all, there was no way you were ever going to see him again.

Except you did.

Multiple times that week, and the first couple of times you thought it was just a coincidence, but then you started thinking that maybe he was following you. He spoke to you only one more time during that week, the last day before he left, and he gifted you with a book, one that you had wanted to buy but hadn’t been able to afford, and he told you that it was a thank you gift, for helping him with his job.

And then he left, and you thought that that was the end of it.

Except two months later, he was back. A little more worn, a little more ragged, and with a new ding in his armor, but he greeted you with a small smile, and a question for the best place to get some quick and cheap food.

And, well, you invited yourself to his lunch. Solely because you were worried that he was going to keel over if he didn’t have a buddy to make sure that he didn’t.

He didn’t, wouldn’t, tell you about his hunt, but he was more than happy to talk to you about the planets he’s been to, and some of the weird things he’s seen as a bounty hunter. And with a little prodding, he admitted that he came back here because it was the closest, safest, planet he could get too, and he really needed to rest.

You invited him to crash on your couch, and when he argued, you insisted intensely enough that he finally agreed. You allowed him the use of your shower, and your laundry, and your kitchen, and he spent the night on the couch, listening to a newsreel on your holo.

And when you woke up the following morning, Jango was gone. But there was a note left on the kitchen table, next to a hot caf and a breakfast sandwich from the cafe down the street.

That time you were almost sure was going to be the last time you saw Jango…and it would have been, had you not ended up going on a trip with your closest friends.

And you know, you know, that you were brought along as a cover-up for your friend's hookup with her pirate boyfriend, but you did enjoy the trip to Rishi, right up until you were cornered by a different pirate group. And then Jango was there, dealing with the people threatening you with ease, and he looked just as surprised to see you as you were to see him.

Though, to be fair, he was probably more at home on Rishi than you were. And you were thrilled to see a friendly face. He, on the other hand, was furious that your friends dragged you to such a dangerous place and then left you to fend for yourself.

You ended up on Jango’s ship while he returned you to your home planet, and while he was still upset about you ending up in such a dangerous situation, he wasn’t angry at you. In fact, once he calmed down, you had several very long, and very nice, talks.

And when he dropped you off in your home city, you couldn’t stop yourself from wrapping both of your hands around one of his and asking him to come and visit again.

His response was a surprised laugh and a “we’ll see.” But you had a good feeling that he would be back. After all, you were friends now.

*****

That was almost a year ago now, and you like to think that you and Jango are pretty close. When he’s on planet, he crashes with you, always on your couch, though you’ve offered him your bed on more than one occasion. He always refuses though. No matter how exhausted he is. No matter how many times you swear that adults can share a bed without it becoming weird.

He always flashes that small smile and takes your couch.

And when he leaves, he always leaves a gift. A trinket from his most recent hunt, something he saw when he landed that he thought you might like, or, most often, food from your favorite places.

Honestly, it’s enough to turn a girl’s head.

And you’re not dating him. You’re not, as much as you’d like it. Because you don’t go places and he doesn’t touch you, and sure, he buys you stuff, but he seems totally physically uninterested in you-

But you’re not willing to give up yet.

Your friends, however, are much less patient than you are. Which is how you ended up in this situation.

This situation being dressed up in a flowy dress and your hair done up, and on a date with someone you, frankly, wouldn’t spit on if he burst into flames. It was supposed to be a girls night out with your friends, not a surprise blind date with a man who’s been crushing on you, but hasn’t had the stones to talk to you.

So here you are, at a nice, relatively low cost, restaurant with this total stranger who hasn’t taken his eyes off your chest since you sat down. You can’t even remember his name, honestly, and you’re a bit worried to order anything on his dime in case he feels entitled to anything you aren’t willing to give.

So when your comm chimes, you heave a silent sigh of relief. And when you see who’s messaging you, you have to smother a delighted smile.

“I just stopped at your apartment. Where are you?”

“I was supposed to be out on a girls night,” You reply to Jango’s curt message, “It was a trick. It’s actually a blind date.”

Jango doesn’t respond, though you know he sees your response.

“He’s been staring at my chest for the last forty minutes, and I’m too nervous to order anything because I think he’ll think that I owe him sex if I let him buy me anything.”

Jango still doesn’t respond.

“Jango?”

“The Code to your apartment is still 34790, right?”

“???Yeah???”

“Great. Where are you?”

“Saint Mocianne’s, the pasta restaurant.”

There’s no response, so you sigh and stow your comm back. You were kind of hoping that Jango would come to your rescue, but it looks like it’s no dice.

“You know, it’s rude to answer a comm while on a date, babe.”

You forcefully repress your shudder of revulsion. “Sorry. Work stuff.”

“If you were my girl you wouldn’t have to work.” And then he releases a chuckle, “Well, you’d have to work in my bed-”

“Wow. You…you just said that. Outloud. Where I can hear you.” You say flatly, “I think I’m actually repulsed.”

He opens his mouth to say something when a warm hand lands on your shoulder, “Sorry, I’m late. I needed to change.”

You turn your head and a flash of delight crosses your face. “Jango!” You stand and fling your arms around his neck, “Thank you for coming, do you have any idea what he just said to me?” You hiss in his ear.

“I heard him, mesh’la.” He rubs his hand up your spine soothingly, and then releases you, “You’re in my seat.” Jango says coldly to your wannabe date.

He sputters, “No. This is my seat, and she’s my date.”

“I was tricked into a blind date,” You grumble, “I never agreed to go on a date.” You rest your cheek against Jango’s shoulder. And while Jango always cuts a fine figure, whether in his armor or just his body suit, he’s wearing much more casual dress clothes, and he looks good enough to eat.

“What? No!” The Blind Date stands suddenly, “I was promised-”

“What?” Jango asks, his voice silky smooth, “What were you promised?”

“I…” He pauses and seems to realize exactly the danger he’s in, “Nothing.”

“Smart.” Jango turns to you, “Do you want to stay and eat here, or would you rather go somewhere else?”

“Somewhere else.” You reply immediately. He flashes a small smile at you, and places his hand on the small of your back to guide you out of the building, “You look very nice by the way, Jango.”

“I thought you’d prefer it if I didn’t ride to the rescue in my armor.” He lightly pulls you to the side as soon as you’re outside, “Are you okay?”

You hum thoughtfully, and lightly trail your hand across his chest, “I don’t know, I think your armor would have proven the point nicely.” you muse thoughtfully. And then you smile brightly at him, “He didn’t hurt me.”

“Well then, the next time I have to ride to your rescue, I’ll wear my armor.” Jango says in a low voice.

“Hopefully there won’t be a next time,” You laugh, as you slide your hand up to his shoulder, “It’s not like I’m going out of my way to go on dates with people. In spite of what my friends want.”

“Oh?”

“Well, there’s a guy I like and he’s sending really mixed signals.” You start slowly, “He’s always there, he stays at my place when he’s in town, buys me gifts and makes me feel like I’m important. But he also doesn’t take me up on any of my overtures.”

Jango blinks at you, and then he huffs out a laugh and presses his forehead against yours, “I think we’re having a cultural miscommunication.”

“How do you mean?” You ask with a frown.

“So far as I’m concerned, we’ve been dating since the day I brought you home from Rishi and you asked me to come back.” Jango trails his fingers along your cheek, “All of those gifts, courting presents.”

You stare at him, your lips parted, “Are you telling me I could have been kissing you this whole time and I didn’t know?!”

He laughs, “I’m afraid so.”

“Why didn’t you say anything?” You ask, “I would have definitely been taking advantage of that! Is there anything else that I should know?”

His grin becomes impish, and he flicks the pendant hanging around your neck, “Technically, this means we’re engaged in my culture.”

You release a heavy breath, and then stand on your toes to crash your lips against his. And he responds as though he’s been waiting for you to kiss him for ages. Which, thinking about it, he probably was.

You break the kiss, though you keep yourself pressed close to him, wanting him even closer. “Will you spend the night in my bed now?” You ask him, your voice breathy.

He laughs softly, “Will you marry me?” Jango asks in return.

And you surprise even yourself when you kiss him again and say, “Yes.”

#star wars #star wars legends #jango fett x reader #jango x reader #star wars fanfiction #x reader fanfiction #answered asks

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imabeautifulbutterfly · 1 month

Note

Hi beautiful!!!!!!

Goodness I've been over your prompt list so many times. There are so many good ones I don't know which ones to choose 🥵 so here's what I finally decided on! (For now 😉) 11 and 23 with my man Hunter please!!!

Can't wait to see what you create!!!! ❤️

Hello gorgeous! My dear @dragonrider9905 I knew you'd come to me with Hunter. Not that I blame you in anyway, shape or form. Also the GIF has nothing to do with the story ... I picked it because he looked hot in it. LOL

I hope you enjoy it, it's a little short.

I Love You

Warnings: Blaster shot, headache, injury, feelings being a burden, fluff, angst, declarations of love.

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You sat beside Hunter, holding his hand waiting for him to come to; the blaster to the chest knocked him out for a good while. Thankfully, his armour stopped any serious damage, but seeing him not responding was driving you crazy.

“He’ll come to, in a little while” Tech offered as he came to check on Hunter.

“I know. I just … when I saw the blaster hole on his chest plate … I couldn’t breathe … I just need him to wake up.”

“So you can yell at him?”

You glanced up to Tech, smirking, “Maybe. But that’s neither here nor there.”

“Just try not to yell too loudly, he’ll have a horrible headache when he wakes.”

“Then my point will get across even faster.”

Tech shook his head, “You have a strange way of showing your love.”

“I know,” you answered, your smile slowly shifting. It had been something Hunter mentioned over and over again, sometimes you got a little carried away with how much you loved him. Worrying about things you didn’t need to worry about. Putting pressure on him, when you didn’t have to … it wasn’t because you were possessive, or needed to lay a claim on him. It was because you were afraid to lose him.

You already lost so much, family, friends, home, that when you met Hunter and his brothers, it was a life line you desperately needed.

“Don’t worry, he may grumble a little but he enjoys the way you shower him with affection.”

“Thanks, Tech.”

He nodded before moving away, and he was right. It was about ten minutes later when Hunter started to stir, “Easy.” You kept your hand on his shoulder, keeping him from sitting up. “You took a blaster shot to the chest.”

“Is that why it feels like Wrecker sat on me?” He groaned out.

“Yeah … listen, I need to say something and I want you to really listen.”

Hunter looked into your eyes ready for whatever you had to tell him, “Okay …” he could never really tell where your thoughts would run to, this could’ve gone one of two ways, you breaking up with him or you declaring your love for him. It was one of the things he did love about you, your unpredictability.

“I want you to know, the only one who gets to kill you, is me.”

He tried to laugh a little, his head hurting with each jostle, “Not what I was expecting.”

“I’m serious,” you giggled along with him. “I’m the only one that’s allowed to kill you, so next time, duck.” You leaned down and pressed a kiss to his forehead.

“I didn’t get shot because I wanted to.” He clarified, closing his eyes and relishing in the kiss on his forehead.

“I know. I just … Seeing you get hit, the smoke, the hole … I thought I lost you at that moment.” You pressed your forehead against his as you gently cupped his cheek.

“You didn’t. You won’t.”

“I can’t lose you, Hunter.”

“I know, love. I know.” He let out a sigh filled with tension and disappointment.

“I’m sorry for loving you the way I do.” You offered, you tried not to be a burden, but from the way he sighed you could tell, “My feelings were never supposed to be a burden for you.” You pulled back to look at him, “I’ll try to do better. I promise.”

Hunter shook his head as he cupped your cheek, “No. I love the way you love me. Makes me feel special, that I matter. My sigh wasn’t because I was upset with you, I was upset by what you’ve been through already. I don’t want you to lose anything else, either. I promise to be more careful.”

You turned your head and kissed his palm nodding as a tear slid down, feeling a weight lift off your shoulders knowing that you weren’t a burden to him.

He patted the spot beside him, an unspoken invitation to have you lie down in the space that you had claimed since the first time you both started dating. You smiled as you adjusted yourself, resting your head on his shoulder, as he wrapped his arms around you.

“I love you, cyar’ika”

“I know. I love you, too Hunter.”

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kaminokatie · 3 months

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Simple Pleasures || Jango Fett

Synopsis - You and your Master, Obi-Wan Kenobi, head to Kamino in search for the bounty hunter responsible for the attempted assassination of Senator Amidala.

Warnings - NSFW.

Word Count - 2.3k.

{Caffeinate Me}

You had come to Kamino with your Jedi Master, Obi-Wan Kenobi, in search of a bounty hunter that had been contracted to assistante Senator Padme Amidala on Coruscant. You and Obi-Wan had learnt of the creation of a Clone Army, ordered by Master Sipho-Dyas ten years prior, and cloned from a bounty hunter named Jango Fett. “Where is this bounty hunter now?” Obi-Wan asked the Kaminoan Prime Minister as you walked down the corridor of the facility.

“We keep him here,” the Prime Minister replied. Obi-Wan gave you a knowing look.

“I would very much like to meet this Jango Fett,” Obi-Wan spoke to the Prime Minister.

The meeting was arranged quickly. So quickly you and Obi-Wan found yourself outside of Jango’s quarters after mere minutes. You shifted uncomfortably on your feet as you waited for the door to open: this had to be the man responsible for the assassination attempt on Senator Amidala, you were sure of it. When the door opened, a young boy answered. His eyes darted towards your form almost immediately as the Kaminoan began to speak, “Boba, is your father here?”

“Yep,” the boy, Boba, replied with a nod.

“May we see him?”

“Sure,” he said, looking you and Obi-Wan up and down cautiously. Boba stepped aside whilst shouting to his father that he had some visitors.

“Be mindful of your surroundings,” Obi-Wan whispered to you as you both stepped inside. You nodded, giving your Master a reassuring smile. Wrapping your robes around you, you took in the surroundings of the quarters: everything was painted white, it was almost blinding, and although it was small, it seemed comfortable enough.

After a few minutes, a man stepped out of the side room rolling up his sleeves. “Jango, welcome back. Was your trip productive?” The Kaminoan asked him.

“Fairly,” he responded, never breaking eye contact with Obi-Wan.

“This is Jedi Master Obi-Wan Kenobi,” the Kaminoan introduced before pointing to you, “and Padawan Y/N L/N.” Jango’s eyes fluttered to your form, a soft smile graced his lips. “They’ve come to check on our progress.”

“Your clones are very impressive,” Obi-Wan started.

Sensing the conflict between the two males, you decided to jump in. “You must be very proud,” you said to Jango. There was no denying that this man was handsome, extremely handsome. It made your stomach flutter slightly as he continued to ignore Obi-Wan’s glaring stare and kept his eyes focused on you.

“I’m just a simple man trying to make my way in the universe,” Jango replied, holding his hand out to you. You took it and immediately he pressed his lips to the back of your hand causing your heartbeat to speed up slightly.

Obi-Wan rolled his eyes at Jango’s actions. “Ever made your way as far into the interior as Coruscant?”

Jango let go of your hand and looked to your Master, expression now deadpan. “Once or twice.”

“Recently?” Obi-Wan asked as he raised an eyebrow.

“Possibly,” Jango replied.

You, the Kaminoan and the child named Boba watched as the two men had a silent standoff. “You must know Master Sipho-Dyas,” Obi-Wan said.

Jango walked towards Boba, speaking to him in a language unfamiliar to you. The boy nodded and walked off before Jango turned his attention back to you and Obi-Wan, shrugging. “Master who?” He asked, eyes wandering over your body. He wasn’t exactly being very subtle and the whole ordeal was getting to your Master.

“Sipho-Dyas,” Obi-Wan repeated. “Is he not the one who hired you for this job?”

“Never heard of him,” Jango replied, taking a step towards Obi-Wan.

“Really?” You asked, tilting your head to the side.

The bounty hunter smiled at you, a seductive type of smile that had your heart skipping a few beats. “I was recruited by a man called Tyrannus,” he opened up to you. After a few seconds of silence, Jango spoke again, this time asking a question to the both of you. “Do you like your army?”

“We look forward to seeing them in action,” you replied before Obi-Wan could open his mouth.

“They’ll do their job well,” his smile remained as he stared at you. “I’ll guarantee that.”

“Thank you for your time, Mr Fett,” you said, trying to signal to Obi-Wan that you should probably leave.

“The pleasure was all mine,” he whispered huskily. He took your hand once more and kissed it again, letting his eyes flutter closed for a brief second. You allowed his lips to linger for a moment before you pulled your hand away. “Perhaps, we will meet again.”

“Don’t count on it,” Obi-Wan muttered under his breath, clearly frustrated by Jango’s advances on you.

“I would like that,” you whispered breathlessly before coming to your senses. You shook your head lightly as if trying to force yourself out of the obvious trance the man before you had put you in as Obi-Wan grasped your arm and led you out of the room. As you returned to the ship you had arrived in, Obi-Wan growled under his breath. “What’s wrong Master?” You asked as you stood in the pouring Kaminoan rain, staring at your Master with confusion.

“You are a Jedi, Y/N,” Obi-Wan reminded you. “Attachments are forbidden.”

“Attachments?”

“Don’t think I didn’t see the moves that that bounty hunter was putting on you,” Obi-Wan rolled his eyes as he wrapped his robes further around his body in a futile attempt to protect him from the harsh conditions outdoors.

“He was just being polite,” you replied, following suit and wrapping your robes around yourself.

Obi-Wan hummed in disagreement as he began a transmission to the Jedi Council. He reported what you had learnt about the Clone Army and Jango Fett, but you weren’t listening. You felt a pull to go back inside, and so you slipped away from your Master while he continued the transmission. You found yourself back outside of Jango’s quarters, pressing the bell-like button and waiting for someone to answer the door. It was Boba. “Dad, that Jedi lady is back!” He called, stepping aside to let you enter.

“Thank you, Boba,” you smiled politely at the young boy.

Jango walked out of the side room with a grin on his face. “I’m no Jedi, but I knew you’d come back. Where is your Master?” He nodded towards his son who left the quarters quickly, closing the door behind him.

“Outside,” you responded, looking down at your feet and kicking aimlessly at the white floor beneath you.

“Why is it you’ve returned to my home?” Jango asked as he stepped closer to you.

“I-I don’t know,” you said honestly. Your breath caught in your throat as the bounty hunter pulled you close to his body, the scent of soap radiating off his skin had you dizzy.

“I think you do,” he grinned, cupping your face with his hands. His eyes searched yours as he spoke. “What’s it like not being able to indulge in the simple pleasures of life?”

“Such as?” You asked as you let your vision cast down to his lips.

“Such as this,” he responded before kissing you softly. Your breath hitched at the sudden contact but you couldn’t find it in yourself to pull away. You allowed the rough bounty hunter to kiss you deeper, and found yourself wrapping your arms instinctively around his neck, bringing him as close to your own body as possible. “You’re a good kisser, for a Jedi.”

“Not my first kiss,” you responded, your nose bumping against his as you kissed him again.

Jango let out a soft noise as your lips connected once again. “So you do indulge in life's simple pleasures.” You just nodded as Jango’s hands moved to remove your robes, unwrapping the wet cloth from around your body and letting it fall to the floor with a silent thud. He bit your bottom lip before poking his tongue into your mouth, wet muscle fighting with your own for dominance. You moaned into his mouth, giving in and letting his tongue do whatever it wanted. This pleased Jango whose hands were working on peeling your tunic off your torso, throwing it into the corner of the room for you to find when he was finished with you. Anticipation shivered up your spine as the bounty hunter pushed you back onto the sofa, finally breaking apart the kiss and looking down at you as he took off his own shirt. “What would your Master say if he saw you right now?” He asked teasingly as he pounced on top of you, lips attaching to your neck and sucking on the supple flesh.

“Certainly wouldn't be happy,” you whispered, letting your eyes flutter closed as you relished in the sensation of his soft lips against your skin.

“Then let’s make this quick, hm?”

You nodded and looked down to see Jango unbuttoning his trousers, pulling his cock out of his boxers rapidly. He was thick, large and painfully hard, tanned, but the tip was blushing furiously and leaking translucent pre-cum. A moan left your lips at the sight that you almost didn’t register the feeling of your own trousers and underwear being pulled down to your ankles. “What about your son?” You asked, suddenly coming to your senses and looking around the room.

“He’ll be gone for a while,” Jango replied, kissing you again as he slipped his cock up your slit. You were already wet with anticipation from the idea of fucking a stranger, and a dangerous stranger nonetheless: a stranger thought to be involved in the plot to assassinate a Senator. Jango’s tip prodded at your entrance before he pushed himself inside of you, stretching you deliciously. “Ah, osik,” he hissed through gritted teeth. Your eyes rolled back into your head as Jango began to move quickly against you, hips slapping against your own as he pushed your knees up to your chest forcing his cock deeper inside of you. “You’re so tight Jedi,” he groaned, lolling his head back.

“Call me Y/N,” you whimpered, biting your bottom lip, stopping a loud moan from escaping your mouth.

“Fair enough Y/N,” he replied, nodding slightly. The sound of your name slipping past his lips had your pussy fluttering around his cock. A string of curse words in a different language left Jango’s lips as he continued to rut against you. Your fingernails dragged down his back, scratching scars that were no doubt a result of missions he had been on in the past.

“Jango,” you cried out, arching your back slightly.

“So kriffing pretty,” he groaned, smashing his lips against yours to quieten down the moans leaving his lips. “Gonna cum pretty? I can feel you tensing around me.” His words had you tumbling over the edge, orgasm washing over you like the Kaminoan waves. Your legs, that were still bunched up against your chest, shook violently as you came with a cry. Jango chuckled and his pace sped up, desperately chasing his own release. “You know what?” He asked, not giving you a second to respond before continuing. “I’ve wanted another child for a while. Maybe you could give me one.” You couldn’t even process his words as he fucked you dumb, not caring about the consequences this little rendezvous could lead to. You felt Jango’s cock twitch inside of you against your velvety walls, moaning your name loudly as he spilled himself inside of you violently and only when you had finished milking him dry did he stop moving his hips. You were breathing rapidly as he pulled out of you, body shaking intensely from the pleasure you had experienced. “You okay?” He asked looking down at you, eyes softening slightly as they met yours.

All you could do was nod as you attempted to regain your breath, allowing your body to go limp as the bounty hunter sat off of you and onto the sofa next to you. The silence in the room was deafening as you both came down from your highs. “I…” You started, standing up and grabbing your clothes off the floor and dressing yourself. “I should get going before my Master comes here looking for me.”

Jango frowned but nodded in understanding. “You Jedi and your rules.”

“We aren’t stupid though,” you said, giving him a silent warning that Obi-Wan was onto what he had been contracted to do.

You were surprised when Jango pulled you back down for a passionate, sensual kiss. “I’m sure we’ll meet again, Y/N.”

“I’m sure we will,” you replied into his lips. “Sooner than you might think.” You didn’t know his fate, but you knew that it wasn’t going to be favourable but alas Jango seemed confident.

He patted your arse softly, “you better go.”

“Tell Boba I said goodbye,” you whispered as you walked towards the door. You turned slightly to look back at the bounty hunter who was still naked and sitting on the sofa.

“I will.”

You nodded at him before exiting Jango’s quarters and heading back to the land strip to meet up with Obi-Wan who was waiting for you in the rain, arms folded across his chest. “And where did you go?” He asked through gritted teeth.

“To the bathroom,” you replied quickly, too quickly. “Lady problems.”

“The Council believes we should go after the bounty hunter,” Obi-Wan said, ignoring your blatant lie. “Now.”

“Now?” You asked, furrowing your eyebrows. Obi-Wan just nodded and ran off back into the Kaminoan facility. You ran after him, feeling Jango’s spend trickle down your thigh with each movement you made, a faint reminder of what you had done behind your Master’s back, your friend Senator Amidala and the Republic. You’d pay with the consequences though. You sensed it, although, you weren’t exactly sure as to what they would be just yet.

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l3xi3luv · 10 months

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Saw someone else so this but can’t remember the tag, but who’s y’alls first clone crush? Mine was

Boring? No. Iconic. I watched star wars In chronical order when I was like two and this man has stuck with me since then. AND LEMME TELL YOU WHEN I STARTED TCW? MAKER HAVE MERCY-

#jango fett #temuera morrison #clones #tcw #star wars #jango fett x reader #the clone wars #bounty hunter #boba fett #kamino #star wars the prequel trilogy

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gatorbites-imagines · 2 years

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Kinktober day 1

Jango Fett + rough sex

Happy first day of kinktober, can’t promise all prompts will be written the same way as this one, and lengths may wary. Happy spooky month.

Kinktober list

Jango grunted as he was shoved down, the clank of his armor meeting the control panel of his ship, a crack sounding as a lever or some other button snapped under his weight. (Y/N)s hand was tight around his unarmored throat, sweat glistening on his brow as he forced the bounty hunter down onto his back. He glared through the visor of the mandalorians helmet, breathing heavily through his nose.

Jango had been chasing (Y/n) around the galaxy for weeks now, the other man always seeming to slip right between his fingers at the last moment. At some point it had become more than just a bounty hunter and his target. It started the night Jango had been watching (Y/N) through his binoculars, looking in through his window. As he was about to pull the trigger, the other man had shucked off his pants and underwear, revealing his half hard cock. Jango could do nothing but watch as his target pleasured himself, his armor crowing hot and uncomfortable, especially around his crotch.

When Jango had finally caught (Y/N), they had scuffled in a less than professional manner. Hands grabbing hips, crotches rubbing together and teeth meeting what little skin was available. The duo soon found themselves back on Jangos ship, where (Y/N) took charge, throwing the heavily armored bounty hunter around and crowding around him.

Jango was half folded in on himself as (Y/N) stepped in as close as possible, his legs lifted halfway up onto the other man’s shoulders. The hand around his throat flexed and Jango groaned, the cod piece of his armor growing even more uncomfortable. “Get that fucking helmet off” (Y/N) growled, squeezing Jangos thigh as he sneered, his own hardness pressing against Jangos cod piece.

Fumbling with his hands, Jango got his helmet off. He didn’t have time to put it down before (Y/N) was on him, shoving his tongue down the other man’s throat. Jango gagged as the man forced his tongue further into his mouth. The helmet fell to the floor with a clank, as Jango clutched at (Y/N)s shoulders.

(Y/N) palmed at Jangos cod piece, pressing down on the armor and grinding it against Jangos cock, forcing a moan out of the mandalorians throat. He smirked, watching Jango throw his head back as he kept grinding down with his palm. As Jango lay with his legs spread, (Y/N) let go of his thigh to grab a knife from his belt. Before Jango could panic, (Y/N) had cut the fabric that held his armor in place.

Jangos cock sprung into the air, twitching at the sudden cold of the ship. (Y/N) smirked up at the bounty hunter as he reached down, ripping the fabric until his hole was visible, fluttering as (Y/N) pressed his dry fingers against it. He groaned, face scrunching up at the slightly uncomfortable feeling. (Y/N) snickered and removed his hand, only to shove the fingers into Jangos mouth.

The bounty hunter moaned at the taste, closing his lips around the appendages, and sucking. He knew this was most likely the only type of lube he would be getting, so he made sure to get the fingers covered in his spit. As Jango was busy slurping on his fingers, (Y/N) let go of his throat to reach down to undo his belt, pulling at his pants until he could free himself, his length bouncing as it was pulled free.

Jango gasped as (Y/N) pulled his fingers from his mouth, leaning in close to nip at Jangos lip as he pushed a finger inside the bounty hunter’s hole. His leg gave a small jolt at the uncomfortable feeling, the spit covered finger moving back and forth, soon joined by a second. At any other time Jango would complain, wanting his partner to go slower. But all he could do now was moan against the other man’s lips as he forced a third finger inside.

Growing impatient, (Y/N) pulled his fingers away and spat into his palm, lathering the drool over his cock. Seeming to press even closer to Jango, he pressed the head of his length against the spit covered hole, which fluttered at the touch. Both men groaned as (Y/N) pushed inside, the burn making Jango throw his head back, smacking it against the control panel.

(Y/N) gave the man very little time to adjust as he grabbed his thighs, pulling them up to give himself better access, and he began to thrust. Jango choked what could both have been a groan or a yell, his hands grasping at (Y/N)s shoulders as he roughly moved his hips back and forth. Jango couldn’t focus as tears gathered in his eyes, moving his hand to grip at (Y/N)s hair and forced his lips against his own. The wet noise of their kissing joining the noise of (Y/N)s hips meeting his own, and the groans and gasps that escaped both men.

Jango knew he would have hand shaped bruises on his thighs where the other man was gripping, a choked off scream tearing its way out of his chest as his partners cock rammed against the bundle of nerves inside him. He could feel (Y/N) smirk against his lips, focusing strictly on Jangos prostate with renewed fervor. Jango could barely focus as he moaned into the other man’s lips, his thighs tightening around his shoulders.

Jangos cock gave a twitch as he felt his orgasm hurdling closer, each ram against his prostate forcing it closer and closer. (Y/N) moved his hips faster, alerting his partner that he too was growing closer. Jango dislodged from their kiss, throwing his head backwards with little care of the control panel, as his cock spurted white across his still armored torso. A spurt shot up and hit (Y/N)s chin, who lurched forwards and sank his teeth into Jangos neck. The tightness of Jangos hole as he came pushing him over the edge, flooding the man with his seed. (Y/N) lazily thrust his hips a few times, drawing out the pleasure as much as possible before he came to a stop. He leant up to kiss Jangos lips carefully, who was still blissed out and unresponsive.

(Y/N) pulled out with a wet noise, tucking himself into his pants once again and doing his belt. He smirked to himself at the blissed-out bounty hunter, who was still moaning quietly to himself. When Jango came back to himself he found himself alone in his ship, armor streaked in his own cum and hole still dripping. As he got down from the control panel, a piece of flimsy caught his attention. “Call me ;)” it said, followed by a number. Jango snorted softly under his breath, tucking the paper away for later.

#male reader #jango fett #star wars #jango fett imagine #jango fett headcanon #jango fett x male reader #jango fett x reader #star wars imagine #star wars headcanon #star wars x male reader #star wars x reader #i have no idea what im doing #kinktober #kinktober 2022

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imarvelatthestars · 6 months

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Just a Man: I

Pairings: Jango Fett x f!Reader

Content: this is a Headless Horseman au set during a historical time period on Earth with a special focus on Māori culture to honor Tem's heritage; warnings include - decapitation, violence & warfare, mercenary activity, explicit references to colonization, (D)jango is morally ambiguous and a problematic king but we love him anyway, and also smut

Notes: no use of y/n, although the reader is given a placeholder last name.

Many thanks to @moodymisty who inspired it & @wolffegirlsunite who let me yell all my feral ideas at her.

a playlist | next chapter

important vocab: aotearoa - literally 'the land of the long white cloud', the māori name for new zealand korowai - a type of cloak waka - canoe; waka hourua - large double-hulled canoes made for ocean travel iwi - tribe tamariki - children mana - the supernatural, indestructible power of the gods that exists in everything pounamu - special greenstone or jade that many pendants and patu are made out of patu - a traditional māori war club kaitiaki - guardian django - possibly from a romani word meaning "i awake"; fetu - alternate spelling of the māori name "whetu" (wh- = f-)

1575 – Rotorua, Aotearoa

It is cold this night and he draws his korowai tighter around his shoulders. Most are asleep by now and he ought to be among them, but the stars have kept him up, the stars and their reflections on the lake and what lies beyond them all. This wonder is not a new one. Fetu has wondered about the great beyond many times, enough to have been scolded for it beyond what he can count. Yet still the desire remains.

It calls to him now, itching at the back of his throat, at his hands, his feet, urging him to action, to run into the night and never look back. For the thousandth time, he wonders what sort of chaos would erupt in his absence. His wife would be furious and it might honestly be best that he never return should he indeed choose to leave – her fury would certainly kill him. His brothers would shake their heads, his parents would bow theirs in shame and reluctant resignation, but no one would be surprised.

No, he tells himself like he’s done every night before, I will stay. Duty. Honor. These are things that he believes in and to run would be to abandon them. I will stay.

The stars are quiet. So are the gods, though he swears he hears something on the wind, something like the crashing of waves on a shore that whispers, “Go. Run.”

Fetu shakes his head, one corner of his mouth cracking into a smile. He’s letting his mind run away with him again. Best to get some sleep before any more foolish ideas take root.

Sleep does come, but it doesn’t calm the hunger gnawing at the edges of his mind. The not-quite voice from the lakeshore follows him into his dreams and it is here that the world comes alive with thunder and lightning and the rumbling of the earth. He sees things he has never seen before – a great waka of a shape he would never have conceived with cloaks hovering high above the bow, strange weapons that spark as if crafted by god-fire, lands as brown as his skin that rise and fall like the mountains but shift like the sand on the beach, long stretches of ice and snow, beasts of unimaginable heights and with strange faces, taller even than the tallest warrior. All this could be his to explore, the dream tells him, less with words and more with the kiss of the sea breeze on his face.

Think of the legends, it says. And he does think of them. He pictures the ancestors who sailed from Hawaiki to discover this land, the waka hourua that sailed over vast oceans, the bravery and boldness still recalled over fires so many years later. He thinks of the desperation that has burned in his gut since he was a boy and how everyone in the iwi has tried to douse that fire, his parents, the elders, his brothers, his wife. But it doesn’t have to be that way any longer. He could run.

It would be shameful, he reasons.

It would only be shameful if he were to return. And both he and the dream know that he would never want to.

I have tamariki. They are young.

They are strong like he is. They will endure.

I belong here. Even though he has always known that a part of him belonged elsewhere.

Had the ancestors stayed where they belonged, he would not be here now to live and die. Had the ancestors lived in their fear-

Fetu bristles. I am not afraid.

And yet he stays.

He surveys the things his dream has shown him, the almost glimpses of foreign people at the edges of his vision. There is destiny in the wind that pulls at their hair, there are legends in the footsteps they leave behind. There is a place for him, only if he is willing to go.

He wakes to the sound of his son crying. Another bad dream, something about drowning in the belly of a beast whose mouth is too full of teeth. Fetu thinks that facing such a creature would be an admirable end, an exciting end. His skin pimples with the idea. But he shushes the boy and tells him to go back to sleep. After all, it was just a dream and dreams are not always true.

But sometimes. Sometimes they are. This is the part he keeps to himself.

He’s always been good at plans. It’s why his brothers have always deferred to him. He sees things differently than they do, understands how others think and how best to use that to his advantage. He knows when to be quiet and when to speak, when to wait and when to strike. So he knows that now is not the time to run off chasing his dreams. The start of his story must be slow and careful, it must be restrained, and while this restraint burns in his throat, it is nothing new. He’s been waiting his whole life. He can wait a few months more.

The seasons will change with the arrival of the new year. The weather will warm, food will grow, and he will prepare. New weapons will be made, provisions carefully measured in the back of his mind, valuable skills resharpened, deals made with neighboring iwis in the late evenings when no one knows he is even missing.

Strangest of all, though, is the ache that burrows into his sternum when he watches his children. Poa is growing into a man more and more with every day, a man both very like and very different to him. There’s a gentleness in his eyes that Fetu never felt at his age, but there is also his quiet strength and warrior’s prowess. And Omeka is much the same. She is soft at heart, but it is a deceiving softness. She’s wise for someone so young, very kind and very smart, and incredibly fierce. He smiles when he thinks about the man she will marry one day. Whoever he is, he will need all the help he can get.

He's proud. And he knows for certain now that they will endure without him. They will outlive him and carry his lessons on to their own children, and he will live on through them. It could almost be enough, but… it isn’t. There is a difference in his mind between the legacy of his descendants and the legacy of his name and deeds stitched into song.

The lands of his dreams still call to him when he sleeps. Forests and barren valleys and faded grasslands. He will go there one day. Soon. The weather is almost right. His provisions are nearly ready. His weapons are made. The rest of the world is so close that he can almost taste it.

There is a place at the very north of this land that is said to be the first spot where the ancestors first saw Aotearoa. The rest of the world lies beyond this point. Hawaiki is to the north, apparently, but that is a dead land. His focus is set on the west. Where does the sun go when it sinks beneath the horizon? What people live there? What markings will they bear on their faces, what stories will they tell? He wonders if Poa’s sand beast that eats children whole lives in those faraway lands, and he smiles. There’s only one way to know for sure.

And so the long white clouds of his people fade away with the waves. He sails into the horizon with his own waka and a man from another iwi, a fellow adventurer yearning to discover the untouched reaches of the sea. It is a long voyage and it is hard. Fetu’s back burns under the sun and his arms ache at the end of each day, but he is more alive now than he ever was before. He finds himself smiling. His chest hums with something he cannot name, perhaps some new mana granted by Tangaroa for daring to venture where few will not go.

The land they first come to is not too unlike their own. There is greenery and there are people, a remarkable people that themselves in bright colors and speak in tongues he cannot comprehend. He doesn’t learn much of their language because the sounds don’t quite fit inside his mouth, but he learns enough to understand fragments of stories that tell of islands further up the coast. That is when things change. The land becomes red and cracked and dry, rocky and barren, and he cannot comprehend wanting to live in such a place, fascinating though it is. Yet still, there are people who make it their home.

It's not enough. He wants more. A part of him says that there isn’t much more he can find. He shouldn’t need more. He should be content with what he’s found.

To be content is to be complacent, and that is one thing that Fetu will never be again. He wants more, so more he will find, even if he finds himself sailing to his own ruin, to the underworld itself.

There are so many islands. There is so much water. There is so much world, and he eats it up like a starving man, consumes everything he sees with an appetite so ravenous that he cannot see beyond it. There is only the memory of the dream, the promise given to him by the gods (for what else could it have been?) that keeps him going. His companion left long ago, too tired, too homesick, too weak. He found another. And another. New islands and people come and go, new creatures for him to sink his teeth into, new weapons that crave blood like he craves the unknown.

He never looks back.

Why would he when everything he needs is before him?

He is making his own destiny, carving it out of seafoam and sweat and the constant beat of pounamu above his heart, the only piece of home he deemed worthy.

The stars shift a bit, the weather changes again, but it doesn’t become cooler. Now Fetu finds himself sweating more often than he isn’t. Now his own breath feels heavy in his chest and his hair wilts under the weight of the air. His latest companion suggests they stop and rest.

He travels on his own after that, and the rim of the waka has a dent in it from the force of his patu striking through sinew.

He’s so hungry. He’s never been so hungry before, but no food can satisfy it. It keeps him up at night, burns through him during the day and pushes him through every current and storm. He cannot stop. He’s almost afraid of what will happen if he does. All he knows is that he is searching for something and he has no idea what it is. It calls to him all the same.

The dreams return. They crowd his mind when he wakes. They whisper to him, tell him to keep searching, keep clawing his marks into history and if he tries hard enough, children will know stories of the great warrior who traversed the seas and took the world in his hands, made it his.

And then one day, he sees it. The waka from his first dream, the one that stretches into the sky with cloaks full of sea air. The people that guide it are so strange that it almost scares him. Almost. They are pale like corpses, like clouds. (He came from a land of clouds once.) Their words are sharp and harsh, their teeth are yellow, rotting, and their bodies stink. But their eyes spark like fire. Their weapons are unyielding, harder than stone, painful and brutal in a different way than the wood and whale bone and greenstone his people have used for time untold.

Whatever has brought them to him, he is grateful because for the first time in his life, Fetu feels a knowing. This is where he was always meant to be. He holds the thing they call a “pistol” in his hands and senses something awaken deep beneath his ribs the first time he fires it, something that should never have seen the light of day. It marvels at the destruction wrought by a single little pebble and a bit of fire.

Every day, there is something new to learn. Compasses, maps, pistols and sabers, letters and ink and paper, a new language of sounds and ideas that make no sense to him, but he devours it all, swallows it whole. He learns that the curves and lines on the paper spell out his name, mark places they’ve been and places they will go, immortalize the ideas in their heads so they can never forget them. This is how these people tell their stories. He thinks they must have terrible memories, but he learns their ways without hesitation, makes them his own, stitches their knowledge into his very being so that he can travel in ships like theirs and discover riches like gold and diamonds and spices, and he will write the stories that will live on after he dies.

Finally, his dreams are inching toward reality.

There’s no room for nuance in the life that Fetu the Bold the Brave the Great just Fetu has built for himself. Colonies, empires, they matter little to him. What matters most is turning a profit, since that is what gives power in this world beyond the edge of the sea, and profit can be made on any side. Captains and soldiers are eager to find their local resistance blotted out in the middle of the night – unfortunate accidents and animal attacks take the Império Português by storm – and dethroned sultans and disillusioned nobles are more than happy to find a mercenary to defend their homes, their fortunes, their wives for a night.

His ambition takes him far and he take great pride in his achievements, but there comes a time when his ambition fails him. October 31, 1596 – a curious amalgamation of calculations that the Portuguese like to use to mark the passing of time – is an ordinary day. Fetu wakes up and collects payment for a job well done. He stops the client when he sees that his money is short. This one time, he misses the obvious and all his well thought out plans fail him when a sultan’s sword slices through his throat.

The pain is so hot that it goes cold and the disturbingly uncomfortable sensation of blood bubbling out of his body, his esophagus ripping open and his trachea crackling sends him to his knees. Double crossed for the last time.

The only regret that comes to mind when his vision starts to go hazy is that he cannot kill the man who did this to him, who snuffed out his light before he had a chance to properly shine. He was just getting started. There was still… so much… left to see…

October 31, 1596 – Somewhere in Malacca, Malaysia, Portuguese Empire

After all the stories he’d heard as a child, he’d thought that Hawaiki would be… different, somehow. More water, perhaps, and less blood. But then Fetu has a moment of realization. That blood is his, he remembers it pouring out of him. The ground pressed into his cheek is not the ground of Hawaiki, but the earth of a kingdom far from the one he was born to. It stands to reason, then, that Hawaiki is not a literal underworld in some very far away place, but simply a vision of the place where you die, something you are forced to relive over and over again.

Only, he can feel his chest rising and falling. He can see his breath creating clouds in the dirt. He can hear it rasping in his severed throat. Alive. Oh, he does not like that. fingers map out the jagged tear through his body, slick with blood and saliva and shattered, jagged pieces of something he doesn’t know how to name, but it makes him feel sick. He doesn’t want to know what happens if he vomits now, he just needs to get cleaned up. He needs a doctor, he needs a fucking miracle, whatever those damn Portuguese are always going on about in their book of gods and magic.

The trek between the spot of his resurrection and the only strong-stomached person in the city who can stitch him back up is a bit of a blur. Fetu finds it hard to gauge where he’s going half the time because the world feels out of focus and uneven. His hearing has decreased dramatically, too, and his smell and taste – well, he’s no fool, he knows those things may be lost to him forever. It matters not. He’s still alive and he is not giving up, no matter what the world may throw at him to slow him down. He still has a story to write.

He isn’t entirely certain how this story will write itself, though, because his own capabilities have diminished significantly. Even after he recovers and his throat is somehow stitched together into some semblance of not-destroyed, his eyesight doesn’t return to normal, nor does his hearing or even his touch. The world is muted. Colors are less vibrant and music is more muffled, the smells that were once most pleasant to him now smell of nothing at all, and food leaves him feeling incurably ill. What he had assumed was life he now sees for what it truly is – another kind of death that has transformed his surest desires into mere fantasies.

There is no pleasure in the world. And the hunger that once gnawed at his stomach grows until it becomes so insatiable that nothing could ever quench it, not the blood he draws on the battlefield, not the gold he obtains from wealthy fools who crave control, not the finest silks nor the richest feasts, and not even the knowledge and people of the distant lands he once sought.

He joins a crew sailing for the seat of the empire. Good. He wants to leave these scattered islands full of people who remind him of the ones he left behind. He wants something new, something to satisfy the emptiness that lingers in his belly. But the crewmates whisper in the dead of night, say things they think he cannot hear because they assume he’s asleep. He hasn’t slept since the day he died and came back wrong.

“He’s a savage, like all the rest.” This does not surprise him. The Portuguese are a delicate lot, easily offended by anything they do not understand, and he knows the mere lines of his moko are enough to frighten them. “You see his eyes? Half clouded and empty.” “Can’t even look at him, mate, that scar on his neck is damn ugly.” “Maybe he’s a demon.” “Don’t even look alive.” “Like a corpse.”

These things, however, do.

Is he truly such a gruesome sight to behold? He’d never thought about it. For the first time in a long time, Fetu wonders what he looks like. He thinks about the stench of their fear and the hushed insults they would never dare to voice in the light, and he smiles, and it feels like the first smile of his life.

A demon, he muses. A monster. Monsters live on in legends, haunting the living and children’s nightmares, they are immortal and powerful, feared and respected.

The ship docks in a new land dotted with hills and odd structures. Lisboa, they call it. A quick look at a map tells him he is in another world entirely.

Fetu thinks about the things the crewmates whispered through the voyage and he decides that it would be cruel to disappoint them. He leaves the ship with blood staining his wrists and a quiet in his gut that he has not felt in ages.

September 1820 – Sleepy Hollow, New York

Dead leaves skip over cobblestones. The wind, cool and sharp. One of the horses in the pasture whinnies and huffs, shaking its mane. The evening fog is rolling in already and even while the sun is still in the sky.

The weather has been strange of late, oscillating between the warmth of summer and the biting chill of autumn for several weeks. Today seems to be more autumnal in persuasion, with many trees dropping their leaves and the sunlight taking a particular glint, somehow warmer and darker without any physical warmth to show for it. And while you find this time of year to be particularly delightful, you can’t help shaking the feeling that something is different this season, more than any of the others before it.

Perhaps it’s the withered look of the apple trees, or the petrichor in the wind and the lingering smokiness of chimney fires, or maybe it’s the call of the ravens as they flock overhead the woods. Perhaps it’s just a feeling, albeit a bad one; it will pass, like all feelings do, so you choose not to put too much stock into it.

You end your walk with a final visit by the pasture so you can watch the horses, enjoy the calm and quiet of the moment before-

“Miss Atherwood!” “Miss Atherwood!”

Before the children spot you. But that was a fool’s hope.

You turn so your back leans against the fence and spread your arms wide as the children come running toward you. Cora reaches you first, nearly knocking your feet out from under you with the force of her tiny body colliding with yours. Her arms are around your waist in an instant and you hardly have a moment to compose yourself before Moses appears too, running so fast that he’s little more than a blur before he’s buried himself in your arms.

“We missed you!” Cora cries. She tilts her head back to look up at you better, and you catch the little strand of silver-white hair at her temple as she does. “You were gone for ages!”

You smile. “It was hardly a week.”

“A week too long,” Moses decides, very seriously. “This place is boring without you.”

These children warm your heart like nothing else. Never before have you felt so loved and wanted, so entirely at home, not even with your own family. You press a palm to the boy’s cheek first, then Cora’s, and you smile.

“Well, now I’ve returned and we can continue with all our mischief just like before-“

“So that’s where the two o’ ya ran off ta.” Josiah Minor’s honey-sweet Southern twang is like a salve on your heart. He’s just exiting the house further up the path, smiling brilliantly as ever.

You duck your head and whisper a cheeky, “Just so long as your father doesn’t catch on. Now get!”

And off they go, like a pair of young horses at the races, giggling and pushing and yelping, narrowly avoiding knocking their father down simply due to pure dumb luck.

“’s good ta have ya home,” Josiah sighs once he’s pulled you into a hug. It’s rare, these embraces, but you treasure every one he offers. “House just ain’t the same without ya.”

“Believe me, I’ve never been so happy to be back.”

He raises one bushy eyebrow. “That bad?”

“Worse. But it’s better now that I’m here with you and your rascals.”

He seems eager to hear how your venture home went and you tell him some of it, but it leaves a sour taste in your mouth. Your grandparents have grown crotchety in their old age, worse now than ever before, and they seem to find fault in everything. They especially find fault in your choice of employment – after all, working under the authority of a former slave is not the sort of appearance they wish to keep up, and it reflects poorly on their choice to adopt you – but you care little for what they deem right and wrong. You’ve only ever known happiness under Josiah’s roof and you intend to stay here for as long as you are needed. Longer, if you can manage it.

Supper that evening is a pleasant affair, full of laughter and delighted exclamations as you tell the children about your travels, the animals you saw along the way, and reveal the gifts you’d chosen for them. Cora adores the little blown glass rabbit you spotted in the market and she chooses to name it “Lula”, although the importance of the name is lost on you. Moses, on the other hand, admires the sketch you made of a Lenape family you passed one day. He’s always been enamored with the original stewards of this land, always eager to learn more about them and their ways, so although this drawing isn’t much, you know it means something to him. And for Josiah, a book you’d gone out of your way to purchase and spent far too much money on, and he almost refuses to take it, but it’s important to you that he does.

“Your wife would want you to take it,” you finally say, softly, no bite or malice but the simplicity of the truth. “She came to mind when I saw it and I thought…”

The book is turned over and over in his hands, but he doesn’t dare to open it. The children lean forward in their seats to see better, and Josiah tilts it toward Moses first to give him the first look.

“’Siddur’. Is this like mother’s siddur, the prayer book?” A coil of his beautiful brown hair falls over his face when he looks up at you.

You nod. “I passed a synagogue on my way home and went in to speak to the rabbi.” Immediately, the children are chattering away, asking you questions about the experience. Not once have they seen a synagogue, they’ve never been outside Sleepy Hollow before. And the last time they saw a rabbi was for Moses’ circumcision – which is to say, such a thing is beyond their comprehension. “I know how much your mother’s means to you, so I thought perhaps a new one that needn’t fear your grubby little paws might be appreciated.” And to Josiah you cast an apologetic glance. “I hope it’s not too forward of me?”

But he smiles. It’s a very sad smile, but there’s happiness there too, a glimmer of hope and love that reminds you of the look he gives Cora when she acts a bit too like her mother. Bittersweet. “Means more ‘n you can guess, Mizz Atherwood.”

The wonderful thing about being a governess in the Minor household is that it simply does not feel like you’re working. Moses and Cora are brilliant pupils who are more often eager to learn than they are not, and they are still of an age where your wisdom and humor tickles them and they choose to include you in their chaos. It’s part of the reason why this house is always so full of laughter. But being employed here has also given you access to all the wonders of elevated class, most notably Josiah’s library.

In his efforts to educate himself and his children, Josiah has collected what you can only assume to be thousands of books, and they cover every subject imaginable. The history of the world, science, philosophy, art, linguistics, maps of foreign lands that you can only dream of, ancient fairy tales and folklore passed down through the generations. You’ve been most enamored with the tales of Scheherazade of late. You wander here when the moon is high and the children are asleep so you may read by firelight, transport yourself to distant kingdoms and times you wish more than anything that you could see yourself. For now, you content yourself with your books.

Only, something catches your eye as you settle into one of the wingbacked chairs near the fire. Something outside.

Everyone in Sleepy Hollow knows better than to go peering outside their window in the dead of night. Local Lenape legends and Old World ghost stories have mingled since the colonies first started, trickling down through each generation until even outsiders like you hear them. There are things in the woods, creatures, things that will look back if you dare to go searching for them.

And so you choose to tug the curtains shut, ensuring that the fabric overlaps so nothing can look in and you cannot look out, but… you do linger. Just for a moment, just long enough to look in the general direction of the thing you thought you saw, whatever it may be.

A chill runs up your spine.

Best to settle by the fire, you tell yourself. The fire is safe. You are safe. Of course you are. You’re simply seeing shadows in the starlight.

It’s awful. It’s worse than awful. There may not even be a word for the pure dread and horror pooling in the pit of your stomach, but the feeling only continues to grow, nameless or not.

The blacksmith was killed last night. Brom Bones. He was a fierce sort of man, tall and broad and always working in the smithy. His eye had been cast in the direction of Katrina Van Tassel for several months now, and the whispers in the town say he had even planned to propose to her.

Your thoughts drift to her rather quickly. It hurts too deeply to dwell on Brom’s fate or on the reality of what his final moments would have been. You hope the news doesn’t hit her too hard, though you certainly wouldn’t blame her if it did. To lose someone so close to you, someone you may well have thought you might spend your life with, is a thought that scarcely bares imagining.

You decide to do something for her. It will keep your mind off things (off the stories the people are telling of the blood on the anvil, the hammers bent in half, the bullet holes in the back of the furnace). While Cora and Moses are working on their impromptu mathematics quiz, you set to work on a condolences note for Katrina. A few roses from along the pasture path are trimmed of their thorns and bundled together with twine. It isn’t much, but it is something and it encourages a slightly more positive outlook on the whole scenario, even if only just.

You don’t notice the prints in the dirt until your walk back to the Minor home. The grass by Brom’s shop is trampled and at first you think this is a result of the earlier chaos that had to have arisen when his body was found. You think this is very logical and applaud yourself on your amateur sleuthing, only to stop in your tracks when you notice tracks that do not match any you have ever seen in town before. They’re boot prints, likely large enough to be a man’s, but the shape is odd, pointed at the toe in a certain way that doesn’t make sense to you. The detail is minute, almost impossible to miss, and you think again that it is something easily explained away. Perhaps someone was called in from out of town to deal with the matter. A doctor or added law enforcement would make the most sense.

But then you see the prints again. They lead to and from Brom’s smithy, you realize, and they follow the path. The path you’re standing on. Your heart skips over itself momentarily until you remember that this path if often walked and by folk other than you. Josiah often takes this route, as do the children and any travelers passing through.

You read too much into it, you tell yourself. This is, by all accounts, believable and logical, but your mind starts to wander the moment you come upon the edge of Josiah’s property and find the prints crossing over it.

A flash of the previous night strikes you then. The thing in the shadows, the thing you thought you saw. You thought it had been nothing more than the fire’s reflection on the glass or your eyes moving too quickly to make sense of the outside world, perhaps a raccoon or squirrel had darted past, and its tail caught a glimmer of moonlight. This is what you told yourself when sleep failed to take you and you tell it to yourself again now, hoping to soothe the anxiety hammering away inside your chest, but your thoughts are racing, and all logic has fled because a man was found dead this morning and the tracks leading to and from his home seem to have followed you.

Everything suddenly feels too hot and too cool all at once. With your heart thundering away as it leaps into your throat, you feel your body go warm, but then the sharp slice of fear pierces your spine and ice-cold panic shoots through your limbs.

The thing outside, what was that thing outside?

What if it was nothing? What if you are simply being paranoid?

A quick breeze drifts across the road and carries with it a few dead leaves. They make a crackling sound as they skip by.

It’s a silly thought. Brought on by a sudden bought of hysteria, no doubt. But still, you wonder. What if the thing you saw was no mere critter, but a… a murderer?

A new day brings with it new clarity, and the shadows that had clouded your mind previously are quickly chased away. The warmth of summer is fading fast and September is in its final moments. Food is starting to need harvesting. Fires are staying lit more consistently. Clouds cover a fair portion of the sky, both night and day.

Rosh Hashanah comes and goes, the Jewish New Year that you help Josiah coordinate so the children may have their celebration even with their mother long buried. Yom Kippur comes soon after, not nearly as solemn as you’re sure it’s meant to be, but they are young and Josiah doesn’t have it in him to bring sadness back into his home after the losses they’ve all suffered.

Studies are not put on hold necessarily, but they are somewhat reigned in to allow for other things like afternoon harvesting and cider making, the drying of corn husks for use in crafts you intend to teach them later in the month. Apples are peeled and cooked into cobblers, sliced and drizzled with honey and cinnamon, squashes cut open for stews and mashes. The house begins to smell like autumn and even though the days become shorter with each sunset, there is still a dazzling light that illuminates the Minor household.

And then suddenly it doesn’t.

Because Johannes Van Tassel is found dead. His throat cut, a bullet to the temple, the same as Brom. All while his daughter, Katrina, slept. Rumors start to fly. Gossip cuts hot and quick, and everyone believes their own spin of the tale to be the most likely. All you know is that you may likely retch on your own shoes if you hear one more person speak of it.

You and Josiah try not to let the children overhear the whispers. “They’ve known too much death already,” he tells you, and you understand. After witnessing their mother’s passing before the age of ten, it terrifies you both how cruel and violent the outside world can be. They are still so small, so little and innocent. It would break your heart to see them lose that innocence too soon.

So Bones and Van Tassel’s deaths are simplified for younger ears, lacking any of the gruesome details you have heard on your walks through town. They are told not to be afraid, to stay indoors once the sun goes down, and that you and their father will keep them safe. They have nothing to worry about.

But death is fixated on Sleepy Hollow. With Van Tassel’s passing, something turns up dead every morning. Livestock are left in their pastures with snapped or slashed through necks, travelers passing through are found mutilated outside the inn, townsfolk begin to disappear, picked off one by one, and no one can understand why.

Sleepy Hollow descends into chaos as primitive fear takes hold of every heart and mind. People begin leaving precious jewels, the best sections of their harvest, coins, anything and everything laid out before their homes in the hope that the demon who stalks the streets will overlook them. The church benches are filled to overflowing every day. Guards are stationed at key crossroads, the mayor’s house, the infirmary, the Van Tassel residence, and still every morning another man is found dead, his throat cut through.

The curtains of the Minor’s home are drawn shut during the day. You do not look outside once dusk has fallen, you do not dare to dwell on the image of the thing you saw those weeks ago. You do not search for strangely shaped boot prints. You do not watch the horses in the pasture. You do not leave the house.

And as All Hallow’s Eve approaches, you find yourself falling victim to your own panic and paranoia. Josiah gives you a pistol. You acquire a butcher knife from the kitchen and keep it close to your bed. The children do not sleep well and Cora has taken to crawling into bed with you at night. Moses says he’s not afraid of anything, supernatural or not, but you know he is. You catch him sneaking out of his father’s room on more than one occasion, early in the morning before the servants are awake.

For the first time in a long time, you pray. You don’t want to die, nor do you want the children to be frightened. You want them to live long and prosperous lives, happy and content and full of hope. You fear this is a dream that will never come to pass.

And then one night you wake to smoke and fire.

October 31, 1820 – Midnight

Everything is ablaze. Brom Bones’ smithy is nearly burnt to the ground, the Van Tassel residence is smoking and the women inside are screaming, and Crane is dead. Still, he feels nothing. There is no pleasure in the death he deals, no pleasure in the screams of the burned and dying. But there is blood on his boots and across his chest plate, and that could be enough. He thinks that if he soaks himself in enough blood, he may yet feel something stir in the cold, dark pit of his belly.

He marches on. There aren’t many men left of a strong build and capable age – he saw to that already – so his journey through the sleepy little village is an easy one. What few do attempt to challenge him are cut down quickly, cut through the throat. Always the throat. The ones that get back up again receive a bullet to keep them down.

A girl goes stumbling into his path, her eyes wide and frightened, hair loose around her shoulders. He thinks she begs him for mercy, begs him to take her at the cost of sparing her home. And he finds it strange how this brings heat into his body like carnage has yet to do, but it’s not the heat of lust that clouds his mind. The heat of anger stirs him, pure and righteous fury at the audacity to assume he could be bought for such a price. His knife cleaves through her ribs easily and when she falls, whimpering and crying as blood bubbles between her fingers and her yellow hair goes pink, Django feels alive again. Not by much, not enough to be tricked into thinking that his mortality has been restored, but enough that he feels human again for the most fleeting of moments.

So that’s what he needs. In all his years, he has never craved a woman, although he has known a few. His mind was always set on other sights. But now he thinks he may understand what it means to desire one, not for the sweetness of what lays between her thighs but for the sickly sight of her mouth agape in horror.

His attention flickers then to the house just up the path, the one beyond the blacksmith’s shop. He remembers a woman there, young, pretty enough, remembers her face in the window, her body wrapped up in a cloak as she traced the steps he took from Bones’ shop and across her land, back into the forest. Out of the entire town, she’s the one that’s come the closest to finding the truth. It will be good to kill her. The perfect ending to his scourge upon this town.

He's hardly conscious of the carnage he leaves in his wake, or how he breaks through the barricaded door, the servants shrieking and trembling in the corners of each room. He pays them no mind. All he sees is her, you, fuzzy and half shapeless in the back of his mind, but he will know you when he sees you.

The room he finds you in is simple, plain, sparsely furnished, but he spots you easily enough. Cowering between your bed and the wall, a pistol against your breast. There are shadows behind you that he can’t make out, strangely shaped things that rustle like little kits hiding behind their mother in a storm.

All he sees is you.

What remains of his vision is tunneled and fixated on you, your eyes, how wide they are, how the sparse rays of moonlight catch your irises. His boots are loud and heavy in this room. Your chest rises and falls as he steps closer. His fingers begin to twitch, eager to lift his blade and slice through your flesh, hoping, pleading, desperate for relief. He doesn’t know if he’s the one pleading or if you are.

The sound of a pistol firing takes him by surprise, for surely he hasn’t fired his prematurely? But then the dull ache of something lodged in his shoulder tells him otherwise. He turns.

This man reminds him of something, someone. He cares not who or what it is. He cares not for this man and the smoking gun in his hands. A quick flourish of his wrist is enough to topple him, and so he turns back to you.

His heart no longer beats, but he thinks he hears the ghost of it now as he advances. This is it. This is the moment he has been dying and living for. Your blood will be the answer. It must be. He raises his hand and-

“No!”

Time has not stood still for Django since the day he died, but it pauses itself in this moment. Long enough for him to see the whites of your eyes. Your teeth are bared. You’re screaming. Your pistol is smoking, and his sternum feels shattered. And this time you advance upon him, a knife brandished in your other hand as you scream and scream, and when you move, the shadows behind you are illuminated. The knife flies, buries itself in the crook of his arm when he raises it, and it hits him with enough force to make him stumble. But what brings him to his knees are the shadows, the children.

224 years have passed since he first died. Even more have come and gone since he left Aotearoa, his iwi, his tamariki. He didn’t even realize he still remembered the words. 224 years and he still finds that he would know them anywhere.

He sees Omeka curled into a ball and crying, though she’s trying to be brave. He would know that face anywhere. The wide brown eyes, so kind, so wise, the dark hair streaked with silver, the mark upon her temple that she was born with. He sees Poa, still just a boy, not yet a man, sees his lip snarl and curl, those little teeth bared and flashing against his dark skin, the big brown locks of hair Django still remembers grooming for him.

And then he sees you. Your weapons are spent, you have nothing, yet still you stand before his children like a warrior. You will not let him harm them; he knows this. You will give your life in defense of theirs.

The tamariki are shaking. Poa is crying now, but he hovers over his sister like a kaitiaki. He is proud of what they have become, proud they are his, yet all he feels now is shame. For how far has he fallen? To draw blood from an innocent woman, to loom above innocent children like a warmonger, to crave the fleeting flickers of their heartbeats as if their blood would fill the empty hole inside him? His people have not been above the consuming of flesh before, and it would be so easy. It was so easy; it has been for years. To take thoughtlessly, to kill every time he felt alive and every time he didn’t, to let the blood of his victims sink beneath his skin so it became a part of him. Yet sitting between your four walls, covered in gore and rattling with an anger so fierce that it threatens to burn him alive, he finds that this one time, it is not so easy to take.

He runs.

He’s never run before. He did not run from home, he left it behind when it no longer served him. He did not run from his past, but chase after the future, the promises the gods whispered in his head. Django has never run, neither did Fetu. But here in this village on the edge of the map, in this country built on blood and theft and desperation, both halves of him turn tail and run.

All the while, he sees their faces. The Poa he raised himself and the Poa he found under your protection flicker back and forth, morphing together so their faces become one. Both Omeka’s do the same. He cannot tell where his tamariki start and yours end.

He remembers the men he voyaged with, from Malaysia to Portugal, the ones who had convinced themselves he was a monster, the moment he convinced himself that he would become one. He remembers the sultan who took his life and the faceless, nameless doctor who stitched him back together. He remembers the face of every person who has met their fate at the end of his blade or his pistols.

He remembers the blood. So much blood. He recalls desperate nights where he licked his hands clean, hoping it would reinvigorate him, start up his heart anew, trigger the breath that once stirred in his lungs. That is what he had hoped for here, though he hadn’t fully realized it then. He had only wanted to feel something, anything. Just once more.

He can certainly feel now. He feels the burn of bile as he dry heaves inside his helmet. He rips it off and his head goes tumbling through the grass, and it hits him, stronger than any wave or weapon, exactly what it is he has become.

Django wishes he could die. He wishes more than anything that he had never been cursed with this half-life, that he had never dreamt of the worlds beyond his and chased after them like a child chasing after its mother. He was a fool. He is a fool.

He thinks of Omeka’s face and his body retches, even while his head is still detached. The world is out of focus, blurry, and his senses are so dull that he can’t feel a thing beyond the queasy rumblings of his gut. The shame.

taglist: @dystopicjumpsuit @clonemedickix @wizardofrozz @anxiouspineapple99 @multi-fan-dom-madness @deejadabbles @rain-on-kamino @wings-and-beskar

#jango fett x reader #jango fett x you #halloween au #headless horseman au #star wars #jango fett #x reader #yes there are more parts to come!!#at least 1 more if not 2. we shall see what the final edits yield

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