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alltheirdamn · 4 months

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A Bounty for Reward (Mando x f!reader)

CHAPTER 10

Summary: Ni kar'tayli gar darasuum Warnings: fluff (like a fuck ton), unprotected piv sex, oral (f receiving), graphic violence, weapons, mentions of SA (attempted), language, helmetless!din (omg??) Word Count: 11.2k A/N: Here it is... here's ~the moment~ you've been waiting for

The flicker of the fire between you cast violent shadows on Mando’s armor. You watched as the flames twisted and danced together, a dangerous waltz that erupted into the dark and rose into the air in orange embers. He had managed to find a secluded spot within the outer edge of the forest, only halfway back to the Crest. Your body ached from the walk, and the humidity didn’t help since your clothes were practically stuck to your skin. You didn’t understand how Mando survived under all the layers of armor.

He had caught some frogs along the way, roasting them over the fire to help quell the hunger pains in your stomach. You were grateful for it.

“Mando,” you spoke softly.

He had been fixated on cooking, keeping to himself while you cleaned your blade and watched. His helmet raised without hesitation, the stare that ruminated behind his visor sending chills down your spine.

He waited for you to continue.

“Why me?” you asked.

It was a question without explanation, a question that held more weight than you could hold on your own. You needed answers. You needed clarity. You needed a reason, any reason, to deny yourself the feelings that swelled inside your chest, begging to rupture.

He considered you a moment, carefully turning the stick over the fire as the frog cooked through. His hands folded together, elbows resting on his knees as he looked past the flames that lapped forcibly in the evening breeze.

“I lost my parents in a Separatist attack when I was young,” Mando began, “The Mandalorians taught me to let go of my emotions and follow the Way. My armor became my protection, and I learned that emotions were the weakness I needed to conquer.”

Crestfallen, you continued listening silently, watching his body language tense with each new admission.

“I’ve only ever been loyal to my Clan, but then you show up as this helpless bounty,” he paused, helmet lifting to meet your saddened gaze, “You weren’t a criminal or a murderer. Turning you in wasn’t worth a reward, and I couldn’t figure out why I cared so much. I just did.”

There was a brief silence between you– comfortable, yet the air felt compressed by a heaviness you couldn’t fathom, a slow suffocation that wilted your breath.

You leaned forward, urging him to continue.

“I still do,” he corrected himself. “I’ve tried to deny myself this attachment to you, but I can’t anymore.”

Without thought, you stood, letting your body drift to where he sat. Every molecule in your body strained towards him, every forbidden emotion unraveling inside you. It was dangerous, letting yourself lose to the battle that stirred inside you. You ruined him and took his loyalty from his Clan without realizing it. It was selfish of you to let yourself grow so close, to allow him to grow this close.

You were taking away the very thing that made him a Mandalorian.

How could you?

How could you be so selfish?

Crouching before him, you steadied yourself on the balls of your feet, nails gripping his thighs. You had to make it clear to him that he could not lose himself to you, regardless of what you felt. He had to detach. He had to let go.

“I’m not worth all of this,” you uttered. “I can’t ask you to abandon your Creed.”

Mando reached out, brushing the hair from your face. Shrouded in the shadows the fire cast, he couldn’t see how your eyes pooled with tears; the emotions smothered you, threatening your judgment, blinding you from the decision you chose to make.

It was for the best, you told yourself.

It felt like a lie.

He said your name, a whisper through the breeze that surrounded you.

“I want you to know me, angel. All of me. If I’m going to break my Creed, I only want it to be for you.”

“Breaking your Creed… that means?”

“Ni copaanir haa’taylir ni,” he spoke softly. “I want you to see me.”

“Like without your helmet?” You cautioned.

He nodded, cupping your cheek to steady your gaze.

“Not here. Not now. But when you’re ready, I’ll show you.”

“Mando—.” You whined.

“Just think about it, okay? I’m willing to give you everything. I’m tired of fighting this attachment inside me. I’m tired of pretending this isn’t real.”

You rested your head on his knee, gazing up into the helmet visor, imagining what he looked like behind all the armor. What color were his eyes, and did they ever soften when he looked at you? Was his face as tan as his hands were? Would kissing him feel like coming home? Maker, you never realized how badly you ached to see him, to know every piece of him. He saw you freely every day: your body, eyes, and smile. You wanted to know if his smile was as beautiful as you believed.

You didn’t want to take him from his Creed, but you were so fucking greedy to know him.

“What color are your eyes?” You asked.

He smoothed a thumb over your cheek, and you could hear flames cracking behind your body in the silence.

“They're brown, angel.”

You were crying, and you couldn’t understand why.

He was yours.

Every fiber of your being yearned for him, and you were terrified to accept that you were falling in love—if this was what love felt like. You had never allowed yourself to give into those emotions, nor had you ever been given the opportunity after your parents died. Love wasn’t something you knew. All you knew was pain and aggression. This felt foreign; the emotions inside you were confusing and all too overwhelming. You didn’t deserve this, but maybe you could learn.

“I want to know you,” you admitted. “All of you.”

“I’m yours.”

Mando offered a hand to help you to your feet, leading you back to the log you had been sitting on. He pulled a cooked frog off the fire, extending it to you, and you both ate in harmonious silence.

The fire died out after a few hours, the embers dwindling until there was barely any light between you and Mando. The fatigue from the day had finally caught up to you to its full capacity, and you couldn’t keep from yawning. Mando still sat beside you, his hand resting at the top of your kneecap. He had been able to stop touching you since he caught you, always keeping one hand on your body in some way. Resting your head on his shoulder, you let the cool touch of his pauldron soothe your sweating body and drift off to sleep after fighting it for too long.

Daybreak streaked behind your eyelids, and you woke with a heavy groan. Mando had let you rest against him the entire night, his body tense and alert. Once he knew you were finally awake, he softly squeezed your knee and whispered your name.

“We should get moving,” he said.

Lifting your head, you nodded. Only a few more hours and you’d be back in the safety of the Crest.

“Did you sleep at all?” You asked, stretching your arms to release the tension in your muscles.

“I had to keep watch.”

You were guilty of letting yourself sleep when you knew he hadn’t in days. You caused him so much fear when you’d left he probably hadn’t slept in nearly three days—maybe more. You needed to get back to the ship so he could rest.

“Take the bed when we get back,” you offered. “You can sleep, and I’ll take the floor.”

“There’s still a bounty to hunt,” he sighed. “I promised Karga an extra quarry, so I need to deliver. When we return, I’ll ensure you’re safe and head out again. I don’t think he’s gone far, probably thinks I let him go free, and now he’s sitting idle.”

“I promise not to run.” You attempted a joke, but it didn’t land.

“Better fucking not,” he growled.

Your thighs clenched together at his tone, and you sat up straighter. His threats always managed to snake through your veins in a way you couldn’t help but react to. After all the emotions being laid out on the table, you needed to know how he’d fuck you now.

“Let’s get back to the ship,” you murmured, grabbing his hand and tugging him away from the makeshift campsite.

You never thought you’d be so happy to see the Crest again. Walking up the ramp hand in hand with Mando, you couldn’t help but sigh a breath of relief. You let him wander off to the armory wall, watching as he swapped out his blaster for a new one along with a vibroblade. A hissing noise came from the carbonite chamber, which worried you that the valve was malfunctioning again. You were too far from the village to gather more tools, so you’d have to work with what you had to fix the valve if it was faulty.

“How soon can we get off Sorgan?” You wondered aloud.

Mando clipped the blaster to his belt and walked to look at the chamber with you.

“The moment I catch the bounty, we’re leaving. I need to get to Nevarro to give Karga these bounties, and hopefully, Bo Katan will be ready by then.”

“Are you sure you don’t want to rest?” You chewed at your bottom lip, worrying he’d get hurt on his hunt.

You had barely been back in the safety of his presence for maybe 24 hours, and now he was leaving again. But this time was different; you had a reason to stay. You wanted to stay.

Mando embraced you, his arms snaking around your shoulder blades and squeezing you softly. You inhaled that familiar scent lingering on his suit and armor, nestling your head against his metal breastplate. How did you think you could leave this? You grappled with the guilt still lingering inside of you for all you had done. You tore away everything you had built together, and that trust you once had was hanging on by a thread. But you’d stay and prove to him that you could keep your word.

“I’ll be back soon, angel,” he murmured into your ear. “Be safe, and don’t leave.”

“I won’t,” you mumbled.

After a few more moments wrapped up in each other, Mando was gone. You stared at the space around you, realizing it was the first time you could call somewhere home—an old beat-up fighter ship and a grumpy Mandalorian—that was home now. Nothing else mattered.

Your body was still so exhausted from the trek back to the ship that you collapsed onto the bed and fell into a deep sleep. Thankfully, there were no nightmares or memories to flood your senses, only total darkness. It wasn’t long before you were jolting upwards at the strong smell of gas.

You cursed yourself for not taking care of the gas leak earlier.

Dank Farrik.

Running on little sleep and even lower motivation, you grabbed the toolbox and rummaged for a wrench and pliers. The new valve was supposed to fix the problem in the freezing stage of the carbonite chamber, not make it worse. The leak was worse, the gas escaping further into the hold until it fogged your vision. If it gets any worse, you thought, the entire chamber would be nonfunctional, and it would cause some problems with the bounties Mando had already collected.

Rubbing away the sleep from your eyes, your hands pulled at the leaking valve, inspecting where the issue had begun. The freezer valve you had bought was, in fact, faulty, the heat stripping away a layer of the pipe, leaving a tear in the rubber material. Fuck. There was no way to fix it unless you had a new pipe or some patching material. Even with that, the leak wouldn’t hold for long, especially in the ship's pressurized cabin. The only option you had right now was to try your best to wrap the tear until Mando got you to Nevarro, and you could hopefully find a better mechanic shop.

But for now, you reattached the pipe valve, keeping the bolt on the looser side to prevent another tear. There was nothing remotely close to the material needed that laid around the Crest, so thinking quickly, you stripped away a piece of cloth from the lining of your shirt, tying it tight over the tear. The gas still came out steadily, but far less than it had been moments ago. There was a good chance the fabric would wear away or catch fire, so time was limited on the leak before it turned into a real issue.

With the fragrant gas in the hull, you opted to lower the ramp— despite Mando’s warnings— and release some pressurized air into the open. The fog was dense outside, the visibility minimal as you scanned the perimeter. Something felt ominous about it, but you assured yourself that the location of the Crest was safe. And his bounty was only going to take, at most, a few hours.

Leaving the ramp fully lowered, you returned to the carbonite chamber, checking over the other bounties on the hold. The four in Mando’s possession remained locked into their blocks, the steady red light pulsing on the side, indicating that the freezing gas was still working at total capacity in each block. The good news is that it was an isolated issue. Bad news: Mando wouldn’t be able to store any more quarries without risking destroying the integrity of the entire chamber.

Tapping on the comlink on your wrist, you sent an alert to Mando’s, awaiting a response. Giving him a few minutes to respond— he was on a hunt, after all— you situated yourself on one of the crates closer to the ramp, enjoying the fresh air as it breezed through the hold.

Too much time had passed before you realized he never responded to the initial alert. Pressing the com button, you spoke into it warily.

“Mando, come in.”

Static.

“Mando, come in.”

More static. Enough that electrified your nerves into deep worry. Mando never had comlink issues, and he never took off his comlink.

“Shit,” you muttered to yourself. You couldn’t leave the Crest, and you definitely couldn’t leave the gas leak unattended without the fear of the entire cargo hold catching fire.

Returning to the torn valve, you worked at maneuvering the stripped fabric around it so that it wouldn’t snag on any heated metal. The bolt that held the valve in place was hot to the touch— hotter than usual. Grabbing the wrench again, you twisted off the bolt, cursing yourself as it fell against your palm. The grease left a small burn streak, and you made a mental note to patch it up later.

A med patch! Why you hadn’t thought of it the first time, you didn’t know, but you left the valve exposed while you searched for the med pack Mando left hanging in the refresher. Searching through the pack, you found the med patches, seeing only three left. Mando would have a fit over wasting them on the valve, but it was either this or catching fire. Unwrapping it from its packaging, you peeled away the adhesive, wrapping it strategically around the tear. The patch was thick enough to withstand the gas and heat, buying you more time to find a new valve pipe.

Twisting back on the bolt for good measure, you looked over your work, satisfied for now at the last-minute resolution. If anything, Mando would at least be impressed by your quick thinking. After all, you had been the child of a junkyard owner; you knew your way around most issues.

The burning sting on your skin was your next point of action; the searing red outline of the bolt inflamed against your skin. With only two med patches left, you chose a less sterile option and wrapped your hand with a roll of gauze unraveled in the med pack. It wouldn’t protect it from much, but it was enough of a solution for now.

A rustling outside the Crest alerted your attention, your skin rippling in pulsating nerves. Mando hadn’t responded to his comlink, and the infinite amount of ‘what-ifs’ was too high to consider any good outcomes.

“Mando, come in,” you hissed into the comlink on your wrist.

No response.

Ducking behind a stack of crates, you reach towards the weaponry wall, grabbing at the blaster rifle Mando left behind. He had only taken a vibroblade and blaster, so you internally thanked him for leaving such a big weapon for you to protect yourself with now. Even if you had no fucking idea how to shoot a rifle, you’d try your best. You aimed it through a gap in the crates, eyes laser-focused on the expanse of grass lying in front of you. Holding your breath, you waited.

“Looks like they abandoned it,” a voice grumbled, the sound coming from the left of the ramp. Your eyes snapped towards the side, connecting the voice to the grizzly face of a spice smuggler. Flanked behind him were two more men, both strapped with rifle weapons that resembled Mando’s. Squinting through the gap in the crates, you could see the two armed men wearing bounty comlinks, a hologram of your face displaying over them.

Shit.

So, it was true– more people had their hands on your bounty, and this time, it was for a far higher price in credits. The only thing keeping your fear somewhat at bay was the fact that you were still wanted alive. Kesi wouldn’t want you dead now; he would want you back in his hold to use as he pleased. Or, he wanted to kill you himself. Either way, you wouldn’t let yourself be taken this easily.

The leader of the three began to tromp up the ramp, the weapon in his hands looking to be a modified blaster. The body of the blaster rifle looked standard issue, but with the added power pack clipped into the chamber, it could have the firing rate of a repeating rifle. If that was the case, then your bounty no longer considered the need for you to be alive. The thought of it made your skin crawl.

“Rik,” he motioned to the one flanked on his left to move forward, “Scan the cargo hold. Find anything we can use to find her.”

“Gresk,” he tilted his head to the other, this one a pale green Rodian, “Keep watch on the clearing. I don’t know when that Mandalorian will return, and I don’t want to be caught off guard when he does.”

Gresk responded in a gurgle of noises, turning to stand guard at the base of the ramp. The leader, still unknown to you, began trodding up the ramp, Rik on his left. Your eyes– and rifle– moved with their movements, tracking them through the cargo hold. There would be little coverage for yourself as they moved closer, and you couldn’t shoot down one without risking the others to finish you off.

“I’m going up to the cockpit,” the leader said, “He’s gotta have some sort of tracker on her, or at least previous logged data on her whereabouts.”

“Got it,” Rik said, his hand clenching around his blaster.

As the other man ascended into the cockpit, your focus returned to Rik, who was now siphoning through the cargo crates. Most were empty, sans a few that held miscellaneous ship parts and scrap metal. Luckily, the weaponry cabinet had shut after you grabbed the rifle, the contents of Mando’s arsenal a secret to the bounty hunters on board.

Rik’s footsteps grew closer, and you were running on limited options in terms of survival. He didn’t hold the same modified blaster as the other, but the standard carbine rifle most hunters carried. He would have the upper hand at close range since your range was limited from the floor with the sniper rifle. There was a loud crash in the cockpit, redirecting Rik’s focus, and it gave you the smallest window to make a move.

Scrambling up from the floor, you angled the stock end upwards, driving the edge of it into the hunter’s shoulder. Yelling in pain, Rik tumbled to the ground, writhing in enough pain for you to escape the corner you had been hidden between.

But it wasn’t enough of a safety gap before Gresk turned around, his blaster aiming at you. The plasma blasts skimmed past you, hitting the metal walls behind your head. Yanking the rifle upwards to eye level, you sent a wave of blasts towards him, the use of the rifle scope unnecessary in short range. None of them struck, a disadvantage to your bad luck that was overflowing. Shit. Gresk returned fire, climbing the ramp to get to closer range. You continued to fire the rifle, the blasts searing the walls around him as he closed in. Ducking behind crates wouldn’t stop the plasma beams from striking you, so you opted for no weapons. Hand-to-hand would be more of a benefit to you.

Dropping down, you moved to kick Gresk’s legs out from under him, the blaster falling against the metal ground with a loud clunk. Grunting in pain, Gresk scrambled upwards, grabbing at your pant leg to tackle you down. Hitting the ground hard, your mind fizzled out momentarily, but a moment was all Gresk needed to get the upper hand. Pressing a blade to your throat, he grunted out a few alien words, compressing your airways in the process.

Losing breath, your fingers strained to find the handle of the blaster beside you, scrapping it against the ground until you found a firmer grip. Pressing the barrel to his side, Gresk fell over with a swift pull of the trigger; the release sounds enough to deafen your ears in an echo of vibrations. His body weight sagged onto your chest, your body heaving several breaths as you pushed him off. Wriggling yourself semi-free—your ankle caught under his waist— you laid in contempt, waiting for death or salvation to take its turn on you.

A stirring groan behind you forced your attention, and you watched as Rik dizzyingly began to stand, eyes focused on you as you lay trapped under Gresk.

“Rungar! Found the girl!” Rik yelled, his blaster pointed at you.

With a hand still hugging the blaster beside you, you lifted it high enough to send a shot at Rik, but not without him sending one back down, grazing the top of your left shoulder.

“Fuck!” you yelped, the blaster falling from your hand.

Rik toppled over, the hole burning through his sternum smoldering in red and orange colors. The smack of his head on the crates sent the stack of them crashing into the refresher door, the metal denting under the weight of impact.

The larger of the three, Rungar, as you knew now, clobbered down the stairs, the modified blaster tight in his grip. Your leg was still trapped under Gresk, your shoulder was burning in blinding pain from the blaster shot, and your hopes to come out of this alive were slowly dwindling.

Rungar gave you a toothy grin, his mouth curling upwards under his overgrown beard. He wasn’t dressed like a bounty hunter, nor did he carry the usual weapon of a bounty hunter. The possibility he could be a smuggler or a pirate worsened the situation. Because if he was— more than just bounty hunters had your hologram plastered across the galaxy. And if the information fell into the wrong hands… worse people than Kesi would be on your tail.

Crouching beside you, Rungar let the barrel of his blaster coast over your skin, the coolness of the metal sending debilitating chills up your spine. He let it glide over your stomach and chest and finally let it rest on the burn at the top of your shoulder. You winced in pain, unable to hold back a whine as he dug it in further.

“It’s a real shame that Mandalorian isn’t here,” he thought out loud, “I was hoping to kill him off, too.”

When nothing but a whimper escaped your lips, he continued, his eyes dancing over your injured body.

“You made this far too easy for me,” he said, slowly lifting your chin with the barrel of his gun.

Squirming under his touch and Gresk’s body, you pulled your free leg around, knocking Rungar sideways in a loss of balance. His finger pulled against the trigger in his daze, a sputter of blasts bouncing around the cargo hold. Shards of metal and wood rained down on you, and you struggled to free your trapped ankle as Rungar gathered himself again. With another forced tug, your ankle slid free, and your hand came around to deliver a hard punch to Rungar’s side.

The force of the hit hurt your hand more than it hurt him, as he laughed at your attempt to stun him.

“I like it when my girls put up a fight,” he snarled, pulling your hand into a bone-breaking vice.

Yelping in pain, you stood paralyzed as his thick fingers twisted around your skin, the bones under his grip rubbing against one another. Refusing to give up yet, you threw your leg around his calf, pulling it forward until his weight gave out under him, his body sent flailing forward against Rik’s dead body. Shifting his hold on your wrist, you pulled his arm around his back, the bones in his shoulder cracking as you yanked it backward.

Rungar screamed in a mixture of pain and anger, his face twisting back to see you. You smiled, gripping his wrist tighter, watching as he writhed in pain below you. But it didn’t last long as he rolled his body, dismissing the pain in his shoulder as he brought his blaster up to aim at you. With only a millisecond to react, the shot skimmed past your face, leaving a devastating hole in the metal behind you. Not only was the modified blaster able to shoot automatic rounds, but it also had a more significant target attached to its barrel. The larger the target, the bigger the destruction.

The only option left that you had now was to run. Mando was unresponsive, and the Crest was standing in literal tatters as the destruction of the blasters caused too much cosmetic damage. You were lucky enough that none of the shots had hit the broken valve– one shot would have sent the entire ship up in flames and you with it. Turning to run, you trampled over Gresk’s body, nearly tripping with the lack of strength your ankle had from being trapped so long. Another round of shots fired off behind you, this time one hitting you in the back of your thigh. It wasn’t a full shot, but the shrapnel of the plasma had hit you enough to leave you injured and falling to your face.

“Maker, fuck!” You screamed, your hand instinctively reaching back to feel your skin tinged with the burn.

“I told you,” Rungar’s voice crept closer, “I like it when you put up a fight.”

His hands groped your body, pushing you over onto your back. The stench of his breath was hot on your cheek as he leaned into you, lips roaming over your chin and neck.

“I like it even more when they can’t fight back,” he laughed, the tip of his tongue skating over the pulse surging under your throat.

It sickened you, blinding all senses as you fell victim to his power. You seethed with anger as you felt his hands trailing over your body, fingers digging into the burning flesh of your thigh. You screamed in pain, tears spilling over your cheeks. All you could do was struggle and squirm under his hold, your arms pinned at your sides. Your fingers search for anything you could use against him, wishing— no, begging—for release from this nightmare. Too often had you experienced this exact moment with several other men and clients, and you wouldn’t let your last moments alive end like this. You wouldn’t let yourself die without telling Mando how you felt and how much you needed him. You had control; you had the strength to fight back this time.

Fumbling fingers brushed against something metal, and the blade handle grazing your fingertips. In his own daze, Rungar was incapacitated to feel any motion below him, and you took the opportunity to grab onto the handle with desperate force.

Holding your breath, you pulled slowly, coaxing it free from the leather holster at his hip. You could still feel the crawl and dig of his fingers as he roamed your chest, kneading the soft flesh of your skin with low groans in his throat. It was easy to fixate on the surge of bile stirring in your stomach, but you suppressed it, keeping focus on pulling the blade free.

With a heavier yank than expected, you freed the blade, the jerk of your elbow a brief distraction for Rungar. His eyes grew in rage as he saw the blade gripped between your fingers.

“You stupid bitch!” He roared, knee driving into your abdomen to keep you pinned.

You reeled over, the pain shooting up your body as you tried to keep centered on the goal of staying alive. Rungar’s hands shot to yours, fighting with the blade as you kept a white-knuckled grip around the handle. Minor cuts grazed his calloused fingers, but they were no concern to him as he continued prodding your fingers open.

He was nearly successful in pulling your fingers free, the blade slightly slipping out as he shifted his weight, giving you a fraction of room to slide free of his hold and scramble onto your knees. Regaining balance and control, you plunged the metal knife upwards into his chest, driving it right between the soft tissue of his collarbone. Twisting it with what little strength you had left, you listened to the harmony of his screams, digging it further in. It wasn’t enough to kill him, but enough to disable him briefly so that you could gather yourself.

Grabbing his weapon from beside his writhing body, you unleashed a round of shots into his body. It should have sickened you, seeing the hail of plasma destroy the dirtied skin of the pirate. But in the blinded, desperate rage… watching him struggle in death felt good. It was a moment of power, a moment to claim back all you had lost over all the years in Kesi’s hold. It wasn’t just his death; it was the death of every single man that had touched you. Every time you said no, every unwanted touch, every night tied up in the dark… it was all dead in your memories.

Pain erupted from you as you turned to the other two lifeless bodies, another round of shots laying claim until there was no longer recognition in their features. Rik and Gresk were minimized to nothing but seared flesh and charred bones. Never had you seen— or done— anything so gruesome. But still, you didn’t feel sick. Not an ounce of remorse tingled in your body, nor did you feel the pain of your injuries.

You felt triumphant.

You felt reclaimed.

You kept to yourself for the next few hours, watching the sun pass over the sky behind thick layers of fog. The ramp stayed lowered as you let the smell of burning flesh roll out into the open. At first, the scent tinged your nose, but it had been long enough now that you no longer noticed the stench. Your adrenaline was also slowing in your veins, replaced by the paranoia of other hunters coming for you. Mando still was unresponsive in the comlink, and you had given up trying. Keeping the modded weapon near you, you replayed the events repeatedly in your head, wondering what more you could have done. You had been successful, yes, but not successful enough.

In the distance, you saw the outline of reflective beskar emerging through the forest's edge. Mando was hauling the bounty on the cable he had used on you just days ago. The dead bounty dragged against the muddy ground, leaving a trail with each step Mando made. Taking in the situation before him, Mando unclipped the cable from his waist and sprinted toward you.

Rising from the ramp, you walked down slowly, watching in simmering anger as his silhouette jogged closer, his pace approaching a cautious stride. Looking at the remnants of the fight, Mando paused several yards from you. Your body twitched, a deep yearning for him folding over the other emotions that swam within your bloodstream. Tossing the blaster lazily to the ground, you closed the gap between you, standing feet from him.

“Is your comlink broken?” You bit, the rage no longer at a simmer but a full-on boil.

“You’re injured,” he stated, his helmet trailing over the outline of your body.

“Oh, so your eyes work at least,” you snarled.

Your name was a whisper on his tongue, “What happened?”

“I got ambushed. Three hunters.”

“And they’re dead?” He cautioned, focus now turning to the spectacle behind you.

The smoke that had since filtered out of the Crest now danced through the clouds and fog above you.

“I had no choice. You weren’t responding,” you accused.

“The bounty got a good shot in. Bounced off my comlink and smashed the transmitter,” Mando explained, raising his wrist to show the proof.

The metal attached to his wrist guard was bent inward, shards of the comlink jutting out in all directions. It was nonrepairable, the transmitter far beyond the point of replacement. The entire comlink would need to be replaced, and that just added to the list of things to fix on Nevarro.

“They’re dead?” he asked again, and this time, you turned towards the destruction, nodding as you looked upon the Crest.

“Yeah,” you sighed.

More than dead, you thought to yourself.

“I’m proud of you,” his voice was rugged, a hint of something under his words.

“That I killed people?” You scoffed. “You’re proud I’m a murderer now?”

“No. I’m proud you defended yourself,” he corrected himself.

“I had no choice.” You were bitter.

Turning from him, you began walking back to the Crest, a slight limp in your leg as the pain faded and went. There were still fizzles of adrenaline shooting through your nerves, enough to pacify the sting of the blaster shot. Mando’s heavy boots followed suit, his pace quickening to match yours.

“How bad is it?” He asked. About your injury or the mess, you didn’t know.

“My leg or my shoulder?” You continued walking, unphased.

Mando’s hand grabbed at your arm, twisting you around. His helmet did a long once over of your body, settling again on your face.

“How hurt are you?”

“I haven’t had time to look, but I assume it's pretty bad,” you lamented. “Three against one isn’t very good odds.”

“You came out alive,” his voice was softer now. “I like those odds.”

A moment stalled between you, and you could feel your anger phasing out the longer you stood in his presence. Something about the security of his body, the armor he wore, the weapons he carried— it all summed up into a man you couldn’t live without any longer. How you could survive in the universe without him, you didn’t know; the luck you had today would run out eventually.

You wondered if Mando could feel your anger dissipating the longer he stared because you felt the way your chest slowed its rise and fall as it returned to a normal staccato of breathing. His gloved fingers grazed over your shoulder, your shirt covered in dried blood that clung to your charred skin. It was a tender feeling as his thumb rubbed the swollen skin around the wound, yet something else inside you pulsed in earnest need. Maker, what was this?

“I should have some bacta spray in the med pack. I’ll patch it up,” he decided.

“Well,” you stalled. “We have a bit of cleaning to do first.”

“It can wait. You risk infection if we don’t get it sprayed and bandaged first.”

“Mando…” You were weary, “It’s bad.”

There was a hitch in your breath, your eyes bouncing between his visor and the smoking ship. Yes, you had sat on the ramp and watched the day pass, but you hadn’t looked back on the mess you had left.

It wasn’t a mess.

It was a massacre.

The adrenaline was thickening in your veins, slowing all blood flow entirely. No longer were you seeing the world around you in a haze; reality was a bitch that bit down hard. The pain in your extremities came on suddenly, then all at once, inspiring your ability to stand much longer. Sagging into his side, you clung to Mando’s breastplate, nails digging into hardened beskar. His hand caught under your armpit, hauling you up against his body, helmet peering down on you in silent worry.

“You shouldn’t have waited this long,” he scolded, “You’re probably infected already.”

“Mando,” your voice was barely above a whisper, the pain stripping away your voice. It was all you could breathe out before a wave of tears and cries burst from your chest.

Images of the men's bodies and their mutilated features tore through your mind, the vivid memories painted permanently in the indents of your brain. It was a choice you had to make, yet it sickened you to know you caused this damage.

“Whatever it is, I can deal with it,” he assured you. “What matters right now is you.”

He pulled you tighter against his body, his grip on your side enough to keep you pinned against him as he walked you both forward back to the Crest. The smell of smoke had long carried off, at least to you, and you didn’t know what Mando could or could not smell.

“I’m so sorry.” It was an apology mostly to yourself.

The Crest was painted with blaster shots, their rounds embedded in the steel shell of the ship. Splatters of body parts were strewn across the ground, the flesh mixing with shards of wood that had exploded in the crossfire. It was horrifying to look upon the ship with fresh eyes, the ghosts of their struggle plastered across the expanse of the cargo hold. A silent cloud of understanding hung over Mando as he walked you through the maze of destruction, his hand occasionally reassuring you with a small squeeze. He spoke nothing as he looked onwards at the fragments left in your wake, the shrapnel of your past lodged within the metal bearings of his ship. Rungar had awoken a beast inside you, one that preyed and hungered for your vulnerability. For so long, you had been able to smother the darkest parts of your past, to silence the screams within your mind with distractions. Mando had even been a distraction– his life constantly moving and his quiet needs that met yours in the desperate moments that melted together. Odd enough, his pain and your pain weren't too far off; the only difference was that he hadn’t seen your pain unravel in front of his eyes.

No one had.

Not even you.

Mando offered no words as he scanned the remainder of the Crest, his boots walking meticulously through the pathway of bodies, finding his way to the med pack lying on the ground. Surprised to find it intact, you watched as Mando siphoned through the components in search of the bacta spray and the med patches. Your wounds were pulsating in pain, the effects of your emotions getting the betterment of your mind and body, the need to stay awake and alert slipping away the longer you waited for Mando to find the spray.

“Hey,” he snapped, noticing as your head fell against the gash on your shoulder. Your eyes blinked softly at him, mind foggy as you watched his helmet turn from one into two.

“M’sorry Mando,” you muttered. “I lost it. I really lost it, didn’t I?”

His hand shot to your face, fingers pinching at your cheek until you knocked consciousness back into your body. Panic tore through his body language as he rushed further into finding the bacta spray, finally gripping it and two med patches in his hand. You had forgotten there were only two left.

“Two should be enough to cover these right now, but I’ll need to get more so we can change them in a few days,” he explained, laying them out as he readied the spray can. “I swear I had more of them.”

“You did,” you groaned, head lulling to the side again. Catching it, Mando focused your eyes on his visor, shaking your jaw until you stayed upright. “The freezer valve on the carbonite chamber was leaking, so I used a med patch to save us some time until we could buy a new pipe.”

Mando’s head turned over his shoulder, considering your work restoring the contraption. While the rest of the ship was questionable in terms of functionality, the carbonite chamber was still fully functioning, albeit with the small leak that had been subdued.

“I’m sorry.” It was the only words you could find fitting in the silent expanse around you. “Fuck, I’m really sorry.”

You drew your hands to your face, forgetting the burn that stung your palm, now ripped open and dirtied from fighting. The gauze you had covering it was now bloodied and stained, another reminder of the mess you had created.

“I fucked up,” you muffled your cries in your hands, “I ruined your ship. I—I killed people. I’m a fucking murderer. I’m a murderer, Mando!”

Your cries turned into sobs, your body shaking as you continued hiding your face behind your bandaged hands. Soft, gloved hands reached out, taking your wrists in a strong vice. With blurred eyes and cheeks dewy from tears, you woefully watched as Mando turned your injured hand over in his, examining the burn with expert consideration. You were a fucking mess, coming completely undone in front of a man that should rather want you dead, at least for the damage you had done on his fucking ship.

“You’re not a murderer,” he spoke, his finger brushing over the inflamed skin of your palm. “You defended yourself, and there’s a difference. You had no choice, right?”

You were silent.

“Right?” He asked again, this time with an edge of exasperation.

All you could do was nod, the muddy images of Rungar on top of you slowly floating to the surface of your memory. Shot after shot, your mind snapped into the moment— under his bodyweight, under his hold, under his breath. Wagging your head in protest, you shoved what remained of your unfortunate encounter into the depths of your mind, hoping they could rot away in the darkest corners.

Your name off Mando’s tongue was enough to quell the wrench inside your heart, a pacifier to the surmounting pain that overflowed beyond the reaches of your nerves and mind. Guiding your hand away from your body, Mando covered it in bacta spray, followed by a pained wince off your lips.

“I won’t use the med patch on this, but we’ll need to keep it clean,” he said.

“Mhmm.”

You were fading, your consciousness slipping the further you succumbed to the pain and trauma. Mando’s hands were rough on your skin, a force to keep you alert and steady on him. Yet, you ached to lose yourself to the pull of sleep. If you were asleep, at least you could forget the world burning around you.

You were destruction in the human form.

Everything you had ever known was gone, and part of you— all of you— wondered if it was your fault.

Had you fought harder, maybe your parents would still be alive.

Had you fought harder, maybe you wouldn’t have been Kesi’s slave.

Had you fought harder, maybe you could have kept your freedom.

But now, this was all you were. All you would ever be.

A hopeless mess.

Failure.

That’s all Mando could think as he pieced together the mess inside the hull. He was a failure. He left her alone somewhere he thought was safe. He risked her life for a bounty. He almost lost her. All in a single day. He was a fucking failure.

He had carried her limp body to the bed, hand smoothing down her matted hair. Despite it all, he was proud of her. Proud that she outsmarted three bounty hunters. Proud that she fought them off. Proud that she made it out alive.

She shouldn’t have had to do any of that in the first place had he been there with her. He should have stayed; he should have taken off his fucking helmet and claimed her, body and soul until the world collapsed around them. She needed him more than anything, and he failed.

His mind reeled on an endless loop of hopelessness. And at the core of it all was this twisting inside his heart, thinking of the possibility that almost turned reality; he had nearly lost her.

He knew there was a possibility other hunters were out to find her, but he had been so caught up in this comfortable world they built together that he didn’t consider the risks. He had failed her in more ways than one.

And he would rip the galaxy to shreds if that meant keeping her alive.

She was his entire world now.

He left the cockpit after a while, setting the navigation for Nevarro. He needed to return his bounties; they needed more supplies to fix the Crest. More importantly, he needed to meet with Bo Katan and rid the galaxy of the man he hated most.

Whatever happened in the hull, the Crest had nearly been desecrated. He hadn’t let her see his shock when they walked up the ramp; he had been far more concerned with the state she was in. But the destruction inside was enough to tell him she fought hard. The metal frame of the hull was littered with blaster holes, now burnt into gaping black spaces. Crates were destroyed, vibro blade marks scattered the floor paneling, and worst of it all was the blood that covered almost everything.

Mando couldn’t distinguish where one body started and the other ended. Each one was massacred to the point he could no longer identify them by face or body. He shuddered at the images that burned into his memory. He had never seen such brutality before. She had poured every ounce of her anger into those rounds of shots, and his heart ached for her. She held so much pain and fear, always staying strong for him, that in those moments of survival, she let them consume her.

He didn’t know what they had done to her, and anger seized him every time he thought of the possibilities. When she was ready to open up, he’d listen. But he would be patient. Grief and guilt consumed her.

But he would be damned if he let her pain be her pain alone.

Hours passed, and he had finished cleaning what he could of the Crest and found himself settling into the silence of the cockpit. She was still sleeping heavily in his bed, and he needed to find the right words to calm her when she woke.

She killed them, but she wasn’t a murderer.

She fought for herself. She was strong.

She survived.

But more importantly, he needed to prove his loyalty to her. He would remain at her side no matter what the galaxy threw at them because she meant more to him than any Creed or Clan. He needed her to see him even if she wasn’t ready.

You awoke in a blazing silence that sat heavy around you. Every muscle in your body screamed in pain, the adrenaline rush now fully satiated. Waking alone was jarring, and you feared for a moment you hadn’t survived. Was this hell? The silence was deafening, the darkness thick and washing over you.

Where was Mando?

With a rasping voice, you called out for him. You peeled your body away from the bed, scared to revisit the horrors inside the hull. But as you limped around in the darkness, there was no trace left of the bodies that had been laid out. Aside from the lingering blaster holes, everything had been cleaned. Your heart seemed to seize with a profound sense of gratitude. Mando had done this for you. Somewhere inside you, you knew that.

“You’re awake,” his voice was rough.

You jolted at his sudden appearance, leaning against the ladder of the cockpit. He was in nothing but his pilot suit and helmet, the dark visor tracking you as you walked the path through the empty space. His presence soothed the ache in your bones, and you so desperately needed to feel his arms wrapped around you.

“You cleaned it.”

His helmet dipped, the silence fading back into place. You paced around, your feet drifting you closer to his body. He didn’t move, only watched you silently. You had been used to the silence, but now all you wanted was his words filling the air around you. You needed to drown out the silence.

“I’m sorry—I… It’s all a blur.”

“I know, angel.”

“I didn’t—.”

“Stop,” he said. The word sounded strained, hurt. Had you hurt him?

This ship was his home, and you let so much damage come to it. You failed him. You failed yourself.

He pushed off the ladder, stalking you in the darkness. A thread tethered between the two of you wound tight, pulling you both closer until you were toe to toe. His height forced your neck to bend, eyes searching for something hidden behind the helmet. You inhaled the smell of smoke and gunpowder falling off his body; it smelled like home.

“First, please do not apologize,” he started. His hand came up to cup your cheek, his gloved fingers smoothing your skin.

“Second,” he exhaled, “You are not a murderer. You did exactly what I would ask, and that is to fight.”

You nodded slowly, trying to believe the words he said. It was so easy for him to say those things, but living with them was harder for you.

“I’m proud of you, angel. So proud.”

More tears streamed down your face. He saw past the destruction, past the pain, and saw right into you. Darkness lingered inside you, and you knew he saw and understood it. You were two souls entangled, lost together within the chaos. He made you feel seen.

“I’ve held so much inside myself,” you shakily exhaled. “It all just came crashing down. I couldn’t stop it. I couldn’t stop myself. I—It was like I was outside of my body.”

“I need you to understand what you did wasn’t wrong.”

Your tears hadn’t yet subsided; they blurred your vision, and all you could do was bury yourself in his arms. Mando wrapped himself around you, pinning you to his body, holding you through each shaky breath.

You pulled away, his arms still wrapped tightly around your waist. Mando reached toward his helmet with an audible exhale, his fingers curving under the metal. Instinct told you to slam your eyes shut, and that’s exactly what you did. You wanted to see him; you were ready. But it still didn’t feel real. The moment his helmet came off, everything would become a reality, and you’d never have to imagine what he looked like again. He’d officially ruin his loyalty and abandon his Creed, and you still grappled with the selfishness inside you that was taking him from that. Would he regret it?

“Mando—.” You tried to protest.

He hushed you quietly, and then came the sound of your name. Unmodulated. Raw and real. The sound was far more delicious off his tongue without a filter. Your name was almost your undoing, your eyes watering again and squeezing tighter. He said your name again, now a plea of his lips.

“I want you to see me. Whatever I am without this armor, I am yours,” he confessed. “My loyalty for my Creed is stripped away now. You are my Creed, and all I know is you. Please, angel, just open your eyes.”

Your lips trembled, your cheeks hot and wet from an endless flow of tears that would not cease.

“Mando,” you whispered.

A beat of silence passed. “Din. My… My name is Din.”

And there it was: the dam breaking. Your eyes slowly opened, and everything around you ceased to exist. Even in the shadowed darkness, his features began to morph into an actual reality. Here he was— Din—standing before you, stripped bare of his Creed.

Dark curls stuck to his forehead matted from the helmet, but you yearned to run your fingers through them. They curled around his temples, graying in some places. His skin was tan despite never seeing the sun, and his chin was covered in days-old stubble, greying along the edges of his jawline. And his eyes… maker, his eyes. Pools of chocolate that caught the light even in the darkest space. They were radiant and glowing as you drew in a shaky breath. Everything you had searched for lay within those irises. Soft, warm, inviting. His lips were just as welcoming, the bottom one more pouty than the top, the curve of his lazy smile, everything you had imagined— yet so far from what you had expected. He was beautiful, encompassed in a rough exterior and soft features.

“Din,” you whispered.

His eyes shut, his lips forming a brilliant smile.

“Maker, I’ve wanted to hear your voice say my name for so long.”

Then his lips were crashing into yours, desperate and hungry. This was coming home. Passion, agony, longing, needing. Every unsaid emotion spoken in tongues, searching for each other. Your fingers tangled themselves in his curls, sweat still dampening them as you raked your nails over his scalp. He let out a satisfied groan against your open mouth, and you swallowed every unmodulated sound. Maker, you loved the noises he made. Craved them. Needed them.

His arm snaked around your waist, the other pulling your leg around his torso. You lifted the other, pressing yourself to him, wanting every space between your bodies to dissolve until there was no telling where you began and he ended. His hand came up to hold your neck, fingers brushing over your skin as he claimed you with another bruising kiss. You moaned against him, feeling his hardness pressing against your body. You met his need with a deep ache in your core, desperate to know the way his face would twist into bliss when he was buried inside you. You wanted to see every face he could make— every emotion.

You pulled from his lips hesitantly, eyes roaming over a face so new but so known within your soul. Lips swollen, you smiled broadly at him, disarmed and content. This was your Mando. Your Din.

Din.

Maker, knowing his name, was a gift on its own.

And the words tumbled out before you could catch them.

“I love you, Din.”

His eyes blazed with profound emotion, softness, and darkness blurring within the gold flecks inside his chocolate pools. His head dipped into the crook of your neck, pressing open-mouth kisses against your neck. You could feel the hum from his chest against your pulse, your thighs squeezing his torso as you quelled the need that bubbled under the surface.

“I love you,” he mumbled, kissing softly against the shell of your ear. “Maker, so much. I love you so much, angel.”

You ran your fingers through the hair at the nape of his neck, tugging lightly until his eyes met yours.

“Then fuck me like you love me,” you demanded.

He unraveled.

Everything moved in a blur as he walked you back against the wall of the cargo hold, his mouth leaving sweltering kisses down your neck and collarbone. The pain from your injuries still radiated faintly through your body, but you could shove it aside to relish in his touch on you.

“I need you, Din,” you whined, his lips trailing down your sternum as he pulled down your sleep shirt.

His mouth ravished your breasts, his teeth grazing over your nipples and soft flesh, leaving bruises in their wake. He was marking you. And you fucking loved it.

You pulled at his soft curls, basking in the feel of his hair through your fingers. You had ached to know how he felt under the helmet, no matter how selfish, and you reveled in knowing every part of him now.

His lips crashed against yours, his hand coming up to your throat and squeezing lightly. You moaned into his open mouth, and he swallowed every sound you made.

“You’re mine, angel,” he growled. “Fucking love you s’much.”

He pulled you from the wall, lowering you both to the ground without a care to make it to the bed. That was fine with you. You needed him inside you now. Pulling at his flight suit, Din stripped it off in one move, then returned his attention to your sleep clothes. You shed your shirt, hissing at the cold of the floor beneath you. He ripped away at your shorts, exposing your whole body to him.

Scars and all, he loved you. Maker, he loved you. You would never tire of it.

“I can’t promise I’ll be gentle,” he confessed, his hand roaming down your stomach. You squirmed under his touch, lifting your hips with a whine, hoping he would move his touch lower. “You tell me if it’s too much, okay?”

You nodded, eyes heavy-lidded now. “Give me all of it, Din. I can take it. Just want you now.”

His hand traveled lower, feeling you slick between your thighs already. A groan escaped his lips as he pushed two fingers in, your body flexing around them as he curled them inside you. His tempo sped up, the only noises filling the space coming from your breathy moans as he hit the spot that made you see stars.

“Din!” You cried, clawing at his arms as he pulled the orgasm from your body. Your back arched off the floor, your cunt clamping around his fingers as stars around you exploded.

“That’s my good girl,” he praised, leaning down to capture your lips against his.

Wasting no time, Din aligned with your core, thrusting to the hilt. You screamed out his name, legs wrapping around his waist as he drew back and plunged in again. His thrusts were hard and brutal, your skin biting against the metal floor. It was piercing and violent, but you drank in the way he claimed every part of you.

“Fuck,” he rasped your name, his hand wrapping your neck. You took a deep breath before he tightened his hold, drawing the air from your body.

His pace quickened, his cock bruising against your cervix in a ferocity he hadn’t even shown before. You were entirely at his mercy, unraveling under his hold until another orgasm simmered under the surface.

“Please,” you gasped under his choking grip.

With his other hand, Din found your clit and began rubbing in slow circles until you were crying for release. His hand squeezed tighter until your vision blurred, and everything but he disappeared around you.

“Cum for me, angel. Give me everything,” he growled, his brown eyes clicking with yours. There was so much fire behind his eyes, hunger and thirst that gazed upon you.

Your body obeyed, and you thrashed under him, tossed into the current of euphoria as your cunt clenched his cock into a vice. His breath came out ragged as his body tensed with his release, filling you full until he slumped against you. His hand fell off your neck, tangling into the mess of your hair.

You gasped for a lung full of breaths, your arms snaking around his broad shoulders to hold him against you. With his cock still nestled deep inside you, you kissed below his ear and down his neck.

“Keep doing that, and I’ll never want to stop fucking you,” he groaned, thrusting softly into you.

You lifted your hips to meet him thrust for thrust, your body moving with his. You couldn’t get enough of him, only wanting everything he could give you.

He was yours. All yours. This mysterious bounty hunter: your salvation and savior. He saw every part of you and still loved you. You would never be alone again in this galaxy, always protected and always loved.

“I love you, Din,” you whispered, stroking his untamed curls. You could feel his smile against your skin, a smile for you and you alone. You’d never tire of his face and the beauty of it.

“I love you, angel,” he sighed.

His cock grew harder inside you, and you could feel an orgasm coiling inside your core again. You were insatiable, just as he was.

In one swift move, Din had you pinned on your stomach, his hands yanking your hips up until your knees were scraping the ground.

“Fuck!” You cried as he filled you once again.

His hips connected with yours with each thrust, your cunt sore and crying for release. You could feel yourself coming undone again, a strange feeling unraveling inside you. The orgasm was close; you knew it, but something foreign inside you pushed you closer to the edge. His cock was jackhammering into you, hitting your core at the right angle, and without warning, your body caved into the release, your cunt drenching him.

“Oh fuck,” he groaned, fingers bruising your hips. “Fuckin’ soaking me, baby.”

You didn’t even have the energy in you to be embarrassed by the liquid seeping out of you as he continued pounding into your body. All you could feel was the wetness rolling down your thighs and his body pressing against you. His hips began to rock slower, deeper, harder until he was cuming inside you with your name falling off his lips.

Din rested his body weight on you, his hands brushing away the dampened hair from your face. Your breathing was ragged as you came down from your high, your body alight with pain and bliss. With a soft kiss to your temple, Din rolled off your body, hitting the floor with a heavy thud. You turned your head to face him, body slumping into the ground as you gathered your bearings. Your cunt ached from his roughness, yet you still felt insatiable. But your body throbbed with pain from your injuries again, and you groaned into the metal floor.

“Was it too much?” He asked, brushing away the hair from your face.

You muttered a soft no, curling into his body. The feeling of his bare chest against yours was everything you had dreamed it to be. You ran your fingers up his stomach, tugging at his chest hair lightly before tracing the outline of his collarbone. You were memorizing every inch of his body, too in awe to believe this was real. Lifting your face to meet his, you kissed along his jawline, finding a gap in his scruff where his skin was smooth and warm.

“You love me,” you sighed.

“I think I have since the start,” he admitted.

“Even when I was a pain in the ass?” You teased.

His laugh rumbled through his chest, the sound of it so beautiful.

“You still are, angel.”

He rolled on top of you, caging you between his muscular frame. He dipped his head down to capture your lips in a soft kiss, coaxing your mouth open to slip his tongue over yours. You let out a small whine, feeling his cock harden against your thigh. You were both so fucking insatiable.

“I need to taste you,” he moaned.

Kissing down your body, Din pulled your thighs around his shoulders, careful to avoid your injury. As his head dipped lower, your breath stalled, the slickness between your thighs a devastating revelation into how much you needed him. His mouth trailed further, wet lips meeting your inner thighs. You careened back, your head pushing further into the metal floor.

“So fucking perfect,” he whispered, mouth grazing your wet cunt.

“Please,” You begged.

Wasting no more time, his mouth was on you, tongue devouring anything it could touch. You squirmed at the sensitivity of your cunt, his tongue drawing slow circles around your clit. Strangled groans of pleasure erupted from his chest as you bucked your hips against his tongue, begging for more. Taking control, Din shoved his tongue inside you, gathering every bit of juice leaking out, forcing a wave of pleasure to surge through your belly.

“Din—.” Your voice was hoarse, a sob choking your words.

Your pleas were cut off as his mouth clamped around your clit, sucking it until you were shaking through an orgasm. A cry of relief fell from your lips, your thighs clenching around his thick neck, his shoulders keeping them in place as you returned to your body. His eyes peered up at you through dark lashes, a wave of desire flashing through his irises.

“I think you can give me one more,” he challenged.

His tongue darted out, licking up your folds and pressing against the throbbing bud of your clit. He didn’t even move his tongue, only applying pressure against it while you fought off another surging orgasm. Your hands reached out to grip his curls, holding him against your cunt as you rolled your hips. His growl vibrated against your body and his fingers bruised your hips as he held you tighter.

“Ride my face, angel,” he rasped.

Your body was shaking as you ground your clit against his tongue. You caved in to the feral need to cum for him, your entire body electrified by the sensation of his mouth against you. Your mouth fell open, and you exhaled his name as the orgasm tore through you, ripping you apart from the inside out. Everything was heightened around you; the feel of his tongue lapping at your swollen clit, the stubble on his jaw rubbing against your skin, the soft curls of his hair that intertwined between your fingers. You must have cried through the last orgasm because your cheeks were damp with tears, and you could taste their saltiness rolling onto your lips.

“C’mere,” you whispered, yanking at his curls.

Din climbed over you, peppering your sweaty skin with kisses as he made his way back up, burrowing his head into the crook of your neck. Maker, you were the luckiest woman in the galaxy.

He was yours; body and soul.

“Din,” you whispered, massaging his shoulders.

He groaned at your touch, his body weight pressing into you.

“Yes, angel?”

“Thank you.”

He nipped at your neck, humming against your skin.

“For what?” He asked.

“Saving me.” You meant it in more ways than one.

“Always,” he promised.

#mando x reader #mando x f!reader #the mandalorian #din djarin #din djarin x reader #mando #mandalorian fanfic #star wars fanfiction #helmetless!din #so much fluff #eat your heart out

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mads-nixon · 7 months

Text

Epiphany Pt. 14: Soon You'll Get Better

Lewis Nixon x Reader

Masterlist

Series Masterlist

Song Inspo: Soon You'll Get Better: Taylor Swift (feat. The Chicks)

A/N: thanks for being patient with this one, guys! it really hurt me to write this one. this is about the fictional portrayal of easy company on the show. nothing but love and respect for veterans on this blog!

Word Count: 4.8k

Summary: Easy finally reaches its breaking point, and (y/n) doesn't realize just how low that could be until tragedy strikes.

Warnings: main character death, intense grief, sorry for the pain guys

JANUARY 10, 1945: BOIS JACQUES, BELGIUM: 0900HRS

“Hey Doc,” Skip whispered as Eugene walked by. “Come here!”

Gene crouched just outside the hole, peering down at (y/n) who was silently sleeping in his arms. “Warren, how ya doin’?”

“Doc, (y/n)’s cast is killing her. Do you have anything for the itch?” Skip asked quietly, concern creasing his brows. “She tried to tear it off last night.”

“Casts ain’t supposed to get wet. That’s why it's itchin’ so much,” he replied, adjusting his helmet with a grimace. “I’ll see what I can do. For now, keep her mind off of it the best you can. She really needs to go back to the hospital.”

Skip thanked him with a nod and then he was gone, his form blurring in the snowfall as he walked away. An exaggerated yawn echoed in the air, and George stretched his arms above his head.

“It’s somehow even colder than before,” he groaned, pulling his coat closer to his body.

Muck tugged the blanket around (y/n)’s shoulders and sighed, noticing her cradling her cast in her sleep. “Yeah. It always is.”

George caught his eyes. “How’s she doing?”

“Not good, Luz. Last night…” he trailed off, shaking his head. “I’m worried about her. After what happened with Captain Nixon and now this, I don’t know how much more she can take. Her arm isn’t going to get any better if she’s out here trying to pry her cast off.”

“What?” Luz asked, his eyes widening in disbelief. “She tried to pry it off? When?”

“Last night.”

Silence hung in the air as the duo pondered the situation. As much as they wanted (y/n) to be there with them, they knew that she’d be better off at the hospital, healing up properly.

Skip’s eyes floated to the frozen ground of the foxhole as he spoke sadly. “She needs to go back to the hospital.”

“Yeah,” Luz agreed. “She’s not gonna like it, though.”

The pair quickly became quiet as (y/n) stirred and blinked her eyes open, slowly becoming aware of her surroundings.

“Good morning, sleeping beauty,” Skip greeted from above her as she sat up.

George chimed in with a teasing grin. “We were starting to think you were going to sleep through the whole war.”

Laughter bubbled up from within her, and for a brief moment, the itch in her cast was forgotten. “Well, I can’t have that now, can I? What would you knuckleheads do without me?”

“Have some peace and quiet,” Penkala grumbled, squinting his eyes in the bright morning light. “How’s the wrist today?”

George and Skip shot him a pointed glare, and (y/n) sighed, looking down at her casted arm. “About the same, but it’s not bothering me right now.”

Wanting to steer clear of the subject, Skip sat up against the frozen dirt wall. “(Y/n), did I ever tell you about how I swam the Niagra River once?”

Alex ran a hand down his face with a groan. “Not this story again!”

“No, you didn’t tell me that,” she grinned, rolling her eyes.

Skip ignored Penkala’s outburst and continued his tale. “It was a bet, so I went ten miles up from the falls and started across. The current was so strong that it must have carried me at least two miles downstream before I got across. But I got across.”

(Y/n) stared at him in disbelief. “That’s the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard.”

“Oh, come on,” he defended. “Let me finish the story and then you can complain about how much of an idiot I am. These two have already said enough on the matter.

“I could always say more, Muck,” George chimed, smirking as his voice shook from the shivers that wracked his body.

“Whatever, Luz. Shut up and let me finish,” Skip grumbled. “Now, personally, I didn’t think it was all that stupid, but my mom, my sister, Ruth…they gave me all kinds of hell.”

The woman buried her face into her scarf, the scent…his scent…long gone as she envisioned his story in her mind. “Well, I would’ve, too! It was a stupid thing to do, Skip. Based on what you’ve told me, I bet Ruth was close to throwing you over the falls for doing something like that.”

“Well, luckily she didn’t,” he smiled, his voice softening as he looked down at the ground. “Faye was not happy.”

Seeing her friend so helplessly in love, (Y/n) couldn’t help but smile.

“Sweet Faye Tanner,” George drawled, winking at him.

Rolling his eyes, Skip kicked at George playfully. “Shut it, George.”

“Well,” Alex perked up. “As I said before…they had a point. You’re an idiot.”

The group broke out into chuckles, their icy breaths filling the foxhole. All of them seemed to get lost in their thoughts and silence hung over them. (Y/n) stared out at the frost-laden forest before them, seeing the carnage left by the constant shelling: splintered and fallen trees, splatters of blood against the white snow, and craters filled with frozen dirt. It all put an unsettled feeling in her stomach that she couldn’t quite shake, as if the world was waiting for the opportune time to flip her life upside down.

Her worries led her mind back to him. She couldn’t help but miss Lew, even though they’d fought. She also knew deep down that he didn’t mean the hurtful things that he said, but the sting of their argument still lingered. Apologizing was what she wanted to do, but the memory of her own outburst left her feeling embarrassed. (Y/n) sighed softly, vowing to herself that when the time presented itself, she would find a way to apologize and let Nix know that she still cared about him more than anything. For now, she waited, her mind filled with thoughts of the man she missed more than words could express.

“Hey, (y/n),” George called out into the silence. “We want to talk to you about something, but please don’t bite our heads off for it, alright?”

Curiosity coursed through her as she raised an eyebrow. “Okay…this sounds an awful lot like an intervention, guys. What’s going on?”

George nodded toward Muck, whose face wore a nervous expression as he spoke. “We think you should go back to the hospital.”

“What?” she asked, her voice tinged with irritation. “Why? I’m doing fine.”

“(Y/n), we know you’re struggling,” he said gently. “We also know that you’re not gonna get any better if you’re here in the cold with a sopping wet cast.”

As much as she hated to admit it, there was some truth in what Skip was saying. Taking a deep breath, she replied, “Look, I get it, okay? This cast is driving me crazy, but I can’t just leave. I’m not gonna leave you guys here.”

Alex chimed in, his voice filled with concern. “You need to heal. Doc said the same thing earlier.”

Muck raised a brow at him questioningly. “You heard that? I thought you were asleep.”

“I’m always listening,” he shrugged with a smirk. “Anyways, we’re just worried about you, (y/n/n).”

(Y/n) frowned as a mix of stubbornness and helplessness washed over her. She knew they had a point, but the thought of returning to the hospital and being separated from them didn’t sit well with her.

“I just need a bit more time,” she finally admitted. “I’ll get through it.”

Skip exchanged a worried look with George before he spoke, “We know you’re tough, (y/n), but sometimes the smart move is to take care of yourself. It’s not about abandoning us; it's about coming back a hundred percent.”

She turned her gaze to the ground, battling her inner conflict. “I’ll think about it, alright? Just give me a little more time.”

The trio nodded solemnly, realizing that she wouldn’t go unless forced. They had a decision to make, and Skip knew which one he’d make for Ruth. It was the same one he’d make for (y/n).

1900 HOURS

In the chill of their foxhole, Skip couldn’t shake his worry for (y/n). He got out of the foxhole with an “I’ll be back,” and a grunt as he made his way to one of the only people he knew could get her to see reason. The man breathed into his hands, trying to warm them among the constant pinprick sensation in them.

He pulled his rosary from his pocket, kissed it gently, and began to pray as he walked. “Please help us, God. Help (y/n) to see reason and get the help she needs. It's hard to see the people you love suffer, and I don’t know what else to do. I know you have the power to do anything, Lord, so please change her mind about this. Thank you for keeping us safe, and please continue to do so if it is your will, Father. Amen.”

When Skip made it to the Captain's measly shelter, he found Winters and Nixon pouring over maps in preparation for the upcoming objective. Hearing the crunch of his footsteps, Dick’s head shot up, and a blue-tinged smile formed on his face.

“Come on in, sergeant. What can I do for you?” he asked, folding the maps and laying them on a nearby table.

Skip returned the grin and walked in, taking his helmet off. “Well, sir, I actually came to speak to Captain Nixon.”

At his words, Lew raised a brow at his uncharacteristic serious expression. “Alright,” he replied, guiding Muck outside the tent for some privacy. “What’s going on?”

Skip hesitated for a moment, then decided to give it to him, straight. “It’s (y/n), sir. She’s been going through hell with that cast. Last night, she tried to take it off herself. I had to stop her, sir. Doc says she should go back to the hospital.”

Nixon’s brows furrowed in worry. He knew firsthand how stubborn and headstrong (y/n) could be, especially when it came to her own well-being. “She what? Why hasn’t she gone back to the hospital?”

Muck sighed, his breath visible in the air. “She doesn’t want to leave us, sir. You know how she gets.”

Lew clenched his jaw in frustration, his thoughts racing. “Where is she now? Is she okay?”

“She’s calmer now, but it’s still bothering her. It’s the worst at night,” Skip admitted. “We’ve tried to convince her to go back, but she says she’ll think about it. We all know she’s already made up her mind.”

Nodding, Nix’s face was etched with deep worry. He could imagine her struggling by herself, and it made his heart ache. “Alright, I’ll try to get her back to the hospital.”

The sergeant sighed in relief, grateful he was stepping in. “(Y/n) probably won’t be happy about it, but it’s for her own good. I’m worried it might be her breaking point, sir.”

Lew patted his shoulder with a nod, his brows pinched in concern. “Thanks for letting me know, Muck.”

He turned to leave but stopped and faced the Captain again with a deep breath. “Sir, I know this may be out of line, but I heard what was said between you last week. You never know what could happen out here, so don’t leave things unsaid.”

Before Nix could respond, Skip was gone, his figure disappearing into the haze of the snowy landscape. His words seeped into Lew’s mind, and he realized he had to speak to (y/n) immediately and make things right. Either one of them could be killed at any moment, and they were just wasting precious time not speaking to the other.

Returning to the tent, Nix grabbed his rifle and swung it over his shoulder. “I’ll be back, Dick. There’s something I’ve got to take care of.”

“You mean someone?” replied, a knowing smirk on his face.

Nix shrugged as he exited the tent. “Something like that.”

As he navigated the forest to (y/n)’s foxhole, he couldn’t help but dwell on their argument. He knew he had been harsh to her, even if he didn’t mean what he said. He’d called her ‘useless’ for crying out loud. That alone would hurt anyone, much less someone who’s wounded and trying their best to contribute despite that.

Finally, in the distance, he spotted Skip talking with Malarkey, Luz, and Penkala a little ways from their hole. Skip nodded at him, and led the group farther from the hole, wanting to give them actual privacy this time. Approaching her foxhole, he could barely see her huddled silhouette. She didn’t hear him approach, lost in thought or possibly asleep.

Lew sat down beside her and gazed at (y/n)’s sleeping form. The harsh cold couldn’t deter him from admiring the woman he loved as she lay there, wrapped in her coat and the warm scarf and gloves he had given her. Her features were softened by the dim light of the forest and the redness of her nose gave her an adorable charm that melted his heart.

He noticed her cradling her injured arm against her chest, the white of the cast peeking out from under her oversized coat and makeshift sock glove. “(Y/n)?” he called softly, his voice cutting through the stillness of the forest.

She stirred, her eyes slowly opening to meet his gaze. Surprise flickered across her face, and she shifted uncomfortably, wanting to meet his eyes but finding it hard. “Hi. I wanted to apologize…for how I acted the other day and how I’ve been acting. I know you didn’t mean it, but it did hurt, Lew.”

Lew felt his heart soften as he heard her words, a wave of relief washing over him. He knew she wasn’t one to apologize easily, and her willingness to do so meant a lot. “Thank you,” he replied quietly, “and I’m sorry too, for what I said. I love you and would never think you’re useless.”

With the tension lifting between them, their gazes finally locked. “I love you, too. I hate fighting,” she whispered, scanning their surroundings quickly. “I’d much rather do this.”

She snaked her good hand around his neck and pulled him closer, connecting their lips. As (y/n) and Nix’s lips met, the world around them faded into the background, and for that brief moment, it was just the two of them in their own world. No war, no Bastogne, no snow…only them. (Y/n) felt the warmth of Lew’s breath against her skin, and the gentle caress of his hand on her cheek sent warmth coursing through her body that she hadn’t felt for weeks.

As they pulled away, their breaths were slightly ragged, and the icy wind, which had been nipping at their cheeks, was now replaced with a comforting warmth. A soft, affectionate smile played on his lips, his eyes never leaving hers. She returned the smile, a sense of calm she only got around him washing over her.

With a gentle, lingering touch, Lew’s hand brushed her cheek, before dropping it to hold her hand again. “I’ve been worried about you, (y/n), and I’m not the only one. The guys are concerned, too.” Nix paused. “I know about the cast.”

“What about it?” she asked innocently.

Nix shook his head. “I know it’s bothering you, sweetheart. You don’t have to hide it. I also heard that you tried to pry it off last night.”

“What a traitor,” (Y/n) playfully scowled as she looked over her shoulder at Skip in the distance.

“I’m serious, (y/n),” Lew pleaded. “You know you won’t get better here.”

She sighed, looking down at the cast. “I’m not going back to the hospital, Lew. I won’t leave you or the guys. I can’t.”

“We’ll manage. And we’ll still be here when you get back,” Lew said as his fingers brushed her cheek, guiding her face to him once more with a voice full of worry. “Please.”

The sincerity in his voice pierced her heart, and for the first time in days, her wrist didn’t feel like the most significant pain. “I’ll think about it,” she conceded.

With a quick peck on her temple, he pulled her in for a quick hug, muttering in her ear, “If not for me, do it for Muck. He’s about worried sick about you.”

“He told me I remind him of his sister, Ruth,” (y/n) murmured into his neck.

Pulling away, a smirk quirked Lew’s lips. “Good, because I was starting to worry I had some competition.”

“Whatever,” she scoffed, rolling her eyes with a laugh. The pair stood to their feet and made their way toward the huddled group of men. “What did Skip say to you?”

Lew shrugged, his eyes staying forward. “Just that you were struggling and the guys were worried about you. I guess he thought I could talk some sense into you.”

“Good luck with that,” (y/n) chuckled as they neared the group.

Squeezing her upper arm gently, he peered down at her, his cheeks rosy from the frosty air. “Please think about it, for my sake…or Skip’s if that’s not enough. And be careful, you know I love you,” he whispered.

“I will, and I will. Love you, too,” she smiled, her wrist long forgotten as she was under his warm gaze. “Tell Dick hey for me.”

With a firm nod, he slowly turned and started back toward his tented foxhole. (Y/n) watched him go, her heart feeling lighter than before. Things were okay between them again, and it became one less thing she had to worry about.

A voice called her name, breaking her from her stare, and she turned to see Skip waving her over, a grin plastered on his face. Joining the group, she stood between George and Skip, the former in the middle of a great impression of Lieutenant Dike.

“Ah, 1st Sergeant Lipton,” he imitated. “You organize things here, and I’m gonna go for…help. I need to go polish my oak leaf clusters.”

The group broke out into laughter, and (y/n) raised a brow in confusion. “What?” she asked, unable to keep a goofy grin from her lips.

“(Y/n), you’re not gonna believe what I saw. So, you-know-who comes running up to Lipton. He’s got no helmet, no gear, no nothing, and then he says that.”

“What an idiot,” she laughed, throwing her helmeted head back slightly. “I can’t believe he’s still here.”

Skip wheezed beside her, almost doubling over in laughter. “Complete asshole,” he said between laughs. “That’s really good, George.”

Lip cleared his throat behind George and called out to him and beckoned him over. George bid his goodbye and went to talk to Lip, while (y/n), Skip, Don, and Alex did the same.

“Goodnight, goodnight all,” Mal remarked, walking toward his foxhole.

Skip wrapped an arm around (y/n)’s shoulder, calling out to his friends. “Yeah, see ya, Luz, see you Malark.”

The trio started to their foxhole in silence, but it was soon broken by Skip’s teasing voice. “Did your Captain talk some sense into you about going to the hospital?” he asked, squeezing her shoulder playfully.

“My Captain?” she teased. “I’m pretty sure he’s your captain, too, Skip.”

He raised his eyebrows skeptically. “Well, I’m not the one necking the guy.”

She gasped and quickly looked around, praying nobody else heard his comment. “Skip!”

“What?”

Alex chuckled from beside her as he pulled his beanie down over his ears. “Everyone knows it! None of us would ever turn you in, (y/n). You know that.”

“I know, I know,” she sighed, her feet crunching softly beneath her. “And to answer your question, Skip, I haven’t made up my mind yet.”

“(Y/n), come on. You’re putting yourself at risk of getting hurt again. Aaaand,” he drawled, “If you go now, you might be back in time to celebrate my birthday.”

“I can’t believe it’s a few weeks til the 31st,” she mused, peering up at him. “You’re turning 23, old man. What would you like for your present?”

“You going to the hospital and getting better would be the best birthday gift,” he answered softly, pulling her closer to his side.

The words hung in the air, resonating in (y/n)’s heart. As she looked at Skip, she saw the earnestness in his eyes and his brotherly smile, and a surge of emotions coursed through her. She realized that her stubbornness might not only be hurting herself but also the people who cared about her.

“You know what, Skip? I think I can work with that,” she smirked, elbowing his side. “Looks like you’re getting your wi-”

Before (y/n) could finish her sentence, the sky erupted in a deafening roar as artillery shells rained down upon them. Trees, splinters, and the earth trembled beneath their feet with each impact. The world turned to chaos as the air was filled with dust, snow, and the screams of their friends.

“Incoming!”

Without a second thought, Skip grabbed (y/n)’s arm and took off behind Penkala for their foxhole. With pounding hearts, they sprinted towards the safety of their hole, holding their helmets to their heads. The relentless explosions continued to rock the ground, and (y/n) would have lost her balance if it weren’t for Muck’s grip on her bicep.

Seconds later, they reached the foxhole just in time. The trio jumped down into the hole and immediately ducked in its cover. They peered over the edge at the German’s horrifying display of firepower as they were showered in dirt and wood splinters. Amongst the dust and explosions, they could make out a figure in the distance who couldn’t stay on their feet, falling to the ground every few seconds. They recognized it instantly.

“George!” (y/n) yelled. “Come on!”

Skip and Alex joined in, motioning for George to get in. “Luz!” they cried. “Hurry!”

She watched on for an agonizing moment as George scrambled to his feet but was then knocked down again, and she knew she had to do something. Jumping out of the foxhole, she sprinted toward George, her eyes locked on his figure. Skip reached out to grab her, but she slipped out of his grasp.

“(Y/n), no!” he yelled after her.

Skip’s heart raced as he watched her run off into the barrage, and panic ate at him. His protective instincts screamed at him to follow her, and in a burst of terror, he attempted to leap out of the foxhole after her. But before he could fully leave the hole, Alex grabbed him by the collar and yanked him back forcefully.

“Skip, you can’t!” Alex shouted, desperation filling his voice. “You can’t follow her out there!”

Muck’s body twisted and turned in a futile attempt to free himself from his friend’s grip, a mixture of frustration and terror etched across his face. Realizing he wasn’t getting to her, he yelled after the pair.

“(Y/n)! George!!”

As (y/n) dashed toward George, the world around her seemed to blur in the chaos of the artillery barrage. The deafening roar of exploding shells and the earth-shaking tremors filled the air, making it difficult to hear anything but the explosions and blood pumping in her ears. Every step through the snow-covered forest was a struggle, and her boots almost slipped on the icy ground.

Finally, (y/n) reached his side, her gloved hand wrapping around his arm in a vice-like grip. She yelled, but her voice was lost in the roar of the artillery. The dirt shook beneath them as another shell landed dangerously close, sending them both sprawling to the ground. (Y/n) and Luz frantically crawled forward on their hands and knees, their fingers digging into the frozen earth.

Back in the foxhole, Skip and Alex continued to scream for them, their voices somehow echoing among the chaos. Their pleas turned into frantic cries, “(Y/n)! George! Come on, get in here!”

With each painstaking crawl, the ground continued to shake as explosions sent dirt and shrapnel whizzing through the air. Her breaths came out in ragged gasps, and she kept her eyes on her friends ahead of them. The world around them seemed surreal, with bursts of blinding light and deafening explosions as the artillery barrage continued. It felt like an eternity had passed when they’d almost reached the foxhole.

“Come on! Come on, Luz! Hurry, (y/n/n)-”

The world seemed to blur as (y/n) and George saw a blinding light, followed by a colossal plume of dirt, debris, and flames engulfing their friend’s foxhole. The two friends who had been calling out to them just moments ago were silenced in an instant. (Y/n)’s surroundings slowed, and for a brief, excruciating moment, everything froze. The deafening roar of the artillery was drowned out by the sound of her racing heart. Her eyes widened, and her breath caught in her throat as she watched the horrifying scene unfold.

The realization hit her like a freight train, and her vision blurred as tears welled up in her eyes. Shock and disbelief passed through her, and her hands trembled uncontrollably. She clamped her gloved hand over her mouth, unable to comprehend what had just unfolded before her eyes. Skip and Alex were gone. Gone.

“No,” she whispered, her throat tight.

Reality slowly washed over them, and as another shell screamed towards them, George grabbed her arm and pulled her toward the nearest shelter, which happened to be Lip’s hole. Lip pulled (y/n) down into the hole first, wrapping her in his arms as Luz huddled next to them, the barrage continuing.

“Muck and Penkala,” George screamed.

Lip couldn’t hear him. “What?”

“Muck and Penkala got hit!”

As soon as the words left Luz’s mouth, a shell landed right behind their cover, sending the logs protecting them flying into the air. The men yelled, but (y/n) stayed silent. Her body trembled with each deafening explosion that rocked the earth, and her heart felt like it was tearing apart. The tears flowed uncontrollably, blurring her vision as she cried hysterically into Lip’s shoulder.

She was crammed between the two men, each covering her the best they could as the assault continued. After a few moments, the world stilled, and a haunting silence hung in the air, a stark contrast to the earlier chaos.

A whistling sound and a thud echoed through the foxhole, but (y/n) couldn’t bring herself to look up from her sheltered position. George’s movement beside her drew her attention, and she heard the familiar sound of a Zippo being opened, followed by the scent of cigarettes wafting through the air.

“(Y/n)? You okay?” Lip asked shakily. “You hurt?”

Lip’s concerned voice broke through the somber atmosphere, and he shifted to give her room to breathe. His question echoed in her ears, pulling her back from the brink of despair. She turned her tear-stained face towards him, her watery eyes shimmering in the moonlight. She attempted to respond, but all that escaped her was a shuddering gasp as she shook her head slowly from side to side.

“Skip and Alex,” she croaked, a sob racking through her body as she dropped her face into her hands. “They-”

Carwood’s heart broke for the girl, knowing how close she was to them. “I know, (y/n). I know.”

As she sat there in the foxhole, huddled with Lip and George, the weight of her grief bore down on her, and she couldn’t help but reminisce about the cherished moments she’d shared with her friends. The laughter that was always present in their company, the hilarious stories they swapped, the letters read, and the deep connection they all shared.

The realization that she’d never again hear Skip’s mischievous teasing or Alex’s sarcasm again unleashed a fresh surge of agony, leaving her feeling utterly distraught. The pain of knowing that Skip would never get to hug Ruth again, or experience the joy of marrying Faye Tanner pierced her very soul. The future he once envisioned had been cruelly snatched away.

He would never reach the age of 23, and Alex’s life would never extend to the milestone of 21. The cruel hand of fate had robbed them of their dreams and aspirations, leaving (y/n) with a grief-stricken heart, mourning not only their past but also the future that would never come to pass.

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