❝ 𝘳.𝘦.𝘮. ❞ [ Pedro Pascal characters x reader ]

bendable vows | fluff

prompt: (Y/n) sees Mando's face for the first time

warning: mild language

word count: 2525

pronouns: gender-neutral

══════════════════

second-person point of view. . .

══════════════════

Asking about the culture of Mandalore had felt like walking on eggshells. You had feared appearing ignorant, or worse offending him with a stupid question. Your curiosity had triumphed over your fear that day and you had started the conversation.

Surprisingly, Mando had been gladly willing to entertain you. He had been open regarding The Way, answering every musing you had without making you feel inferior. He had shown he trusted you. That conversation had been a benchmark in your relationship.

He had said it was an unbreakable vow; a promise he could never break no matter what it cost him. He had told you if he were to ever violate their sacred code, he would be excommunicated from his culture permanently. He would have died before he took that beskar helmet off.

At least, that was what you had thought until the day came when The Child was stolen from him in a violent firefight. The Empire, or what shambles were left of it, found the ancient Jedi stones you had visited. You put up one hell of a fight, but in the end, you lost. You lost the fight, you lost the Razor Crest, you lost the kid--you lost everything. 

Now homeless and childless, you and Mando were calling up every ally that could possibly come to mind. You were frantic and ready to do whatever it took to have the little goblin back in your arms safe and sound. It brought burning tears to your eyes when you dared to wonder what they were doing to him.

Desperate times call for desperate measures. And that was precisely what led to you, Mando, Cara, Fennec, Boba, and a recently borrowed from prison Mayfeld infiltrating a highly unsafe Imperial refinery on Morak. Retrieving the coordinates to Moff Gideon's cruiser was the only way to rescue The Child. 

"Since we can't trust Mayfeld in there alone," you let out a cornered sigh, "I'll go with him."

Desperate measures. Even though you were no master combatant nor a weapons expert, you were the only other person who would not trip the alarm so you volunteered to accompany him without a second thought.

"You're not going in there," Mando asserted, his tone unwaveringly decided on your behalf. "It's too dangerous."

The intention behind his words was clear, he might as well have said: I can't lose you too. Mando, having fought the criminal himself, knew Mayfeld could not protect you if things became dire. So Mando insisted he went along too, clearly with some plan to hide the beskar that covered him from head to toe.

How jarring it was to hear his familiar voice come from a foreign Imperial trooper's helmet. Not only did the uniform look like the embodiment of mud, but the get-up did not fit him properly. It was too tight around his arms and legs, but loose around his torso. Your disguise did not fit you perfectly either, but it still made you laugh.

"Are you done?" Mando wondered almost judgementally.

"Ignore me," you waved your hand dismissively. "Just trying to commit this image to my long-term memory."