Hard Edges || Mandalorian X Reader

Prologue

You run your hands down the seam on the outer hull. Surely this is what people buy droids for? It's only then you notice it – all the welds are imperfect, as if they were done by hand. Odd.

"Razor Crest, hey? Didn't know any of these still flew" you joke, trying to ease the mounting tension in the air. The visor just stares back at you, silent and unwavering.

Okay, not much for jokes...

You walk up the ramp into the cargo hold, trying to ignore the wave of pressure as he stalks your every step. Stars, it's predatory the way someone that size, in that much armor, manages to move so silently. A fact that should (and does) strike fear into your gut, but your cheeks burn with equal amount of something else alongside it. Inside the deck is immaculate, obviously converted for his line of work, but in a very utilitarian way – everything solely made for function. Fitting, you think, glancing over at the weapon-clad beskar statue looming over you.

Room, board and 50 credits a week just to keep a single ship in the air seems like a dream next to the no credits a week and never-ending thankless labor of working for Peli; but you can't shake the feeling of danger here. It is not comforting to note that though it has been patched up very well – the ship has obviously seen more than its share of the fray. You begin to climb the ladder to the cockpit.

Years working in a shady backwater hangar on Tatooine means you know a runner's ship when you see one. You reach the top and step into the small space, the only light coming from the console. Now, you don't know much about Mandalorians, but you know that usually people run from them – not the other way around.

You feel, rather than hear him step up off the ladder and the energy hits you like a kick in the chest. The space is so small, and he takes up most of it. His physical size alone would be enough to make anyone cower, but the intimidating air coming off him is so thick and heavy you fight the urge to bolt – what in the 'verse could this man ever need to run from? The thought sends shivers down your spine, and you almost jump out of your skin when a low, filtered "So?" breaks the silence.

It's a single word, the only word he's uttered after Peli so graciously offered your services to him. He has seemed to be made of steel since she called you, dressed in overalls and positively disheveled from the back room and gave you're the run down of their deal. You were starting to wonder if he did speak, until now. One single word, a question you think. It only occurs now that he is offering you a choice.

So here you are, teetering on the edge. On one side, what seems to be like a good way to get your self killed. The other side, a lifetime of indentured servitude on this maker forsaken desert planet.

You run your hands down the curve of your back to settle at the base of your hips and the subtle shift in his shoulders is not lost on you. That impish side, dormant for so long perks her head up in the back of your mind – only to quickly vanish as his hand comes to rest on his holster, reminding you just how dangerous this man could be.

A smarter person would have turned down the job. But you've never been the best at making decisions...