— just can’t say goodbye
bodyguard!din djarin x princess!reader
rated e - 4.8k
tags: sorta medieval vibes, references to antiquated societal expectations, mentions and references to virginity, arranged marriage, technically infidelity because of said arrangement, light angst, sneaking around, first time, fingering, PiV, creampie
this is for the 1500 kisses event for @janaispunk! I got din + wedding! Jana, thank you so much for hosting this awesome event & for the gorgeous moodboard! 💖
“Take me,” You beg. It’s pathetic, no more than a whimper, “Take me, and then take me away from here.”
He’s been in your bed since the second your maidens were dismissed. You won’t sleep until dawn, not if tonight is all you have.
“You cannot mean that.” It’s harsh, almost a growl as it buzzes from his helmet.
"I have never meant anything more.”
(or - a final night is spent in the arms of your bodyguard, before your arranged union the next morning.)
You'd always known your duty.
What was expected from you, of you, drilled deep from an early age. Borne with pride - you were the eldest daughter of the king, after all - until you were wise enough to see that perhaps your obligations and loyalty were as much a chain as they were an honor.
Your life followed a well-worn path. Absorbing the lessons. Hours spent in learning about those before. Women like you - the graceful neck beneath the head of another lord, another king.
Support them, love them, bear them children.
It hadn't bothered you. You hadn't known anything else.
Not until him.
The Mandalorian had been assigned to protect you three years ago. A renowned knight, his allegiance first pledged to your father. And then, you.
Your bodyguard is not from your planet. It’s something you clung to - an endless source of information about things you've never seen or known, when his lips finally loosened.
But you had always seen him for more than just your bodyguard. That it was more than duty that bound you to each other.
Over time, during those hours spent with his back facing your door - a steadfast barrier between yourself and the cruel outside world - you had started to see between the cracks.
To read into his minute movements. Catching the tilt of his head and cock of his hip. The dry comments that slip from beneath his helmet.
Pretending he doesn’t care which of your handmaidens were caught in a dark corner with Ser Shand.
But you know better.
You think that perhaps you were doomed from the start. That it was always going to turn out this way between you.
Because when you had finally reached out to touch temptation - to sink your teeth into that sweet, ripe fruit - he had let you.
And at first - with the way he had allowed your hand to flatten against his armor, fitting into her personal space - you had wondered if it's because he wasn't able to.
People do not often tell you no. You've grown up in a carefully-carved mould - your requests are rarely things to be denied.
The thought had you shrinking back, the flat of your palm pulling back to fingertips.
Until his hand had closed around your wrist, tracing up to map the back of your hand. Bringing it back to smooth against his chest, right above his beating heart.
It had you realizing that perhaps he was just allowing you to take the first desire that has truly been yours. That your hopes and wishes had not been alone.
That all this time, he had simply been waiting for you to come to him.
Hours are spent together since, stolen between dusk and dawn. The near-silent wandering of hands and mouths.
That beskar armor nearly always fixed in place. It’s as much a part of him as flesh and bone. The edge of his helmet only lifting when he gets desperate. Sealing his mouth to yours. Deepening the kiss, until he’s all you can taste.
So much of him is still a mystery, but he’s come to know you as well as the back of his hand. Knows just how to make you bend, and then break.
Working his fingers between your thighs, until you’re shattering his arms. It will be enough to hold him over, until next time.
It has to be.
In the months since that first night, you’ve never tried to push. You’ve long known that you don't need to see his face - to strip him bare - to love him.
Determined not to ask him for more than he can give.
That is - not until tonight.
You've tried to hold on as long as you can. Always had been good at pushing things down. Grinning and bearing - with that polite, learned smile.
The dread you’ve been holding back crashes into you now, a charging lance against a shield. Splintering, and you can feel the ache in your ribs as if truly struck.
You cling to him. Stripped bare, his armor a welcome chill as your fingers slip between the fastenings of his armor.
Tonight, he allows you to loosen them. The room pitch-black, as the moon hangs full against a blanket of stars.
His helmet set carefully on your side table. Too dark to see him, a way around his creed. Trust woven in his actions, and you thank him with the soft press of your lips.
Against his throat. Teeth nipping skin as he groans.
He can’t leave a mark on you. Not a single thumb-print bruise - not with the way you’ll be stripped and scrubbed tomorrow.
So you leave ones on him. Reminders he can keep, until you can manage a moment alone again.
Desire swirls hot in your belly. Your own palm slipping down to tuck against his front, cupping him. Another part of him that he’s denied you fully.
“Take me,” You beg. It’s pathetic, no more than a whimper, “Take me, and then take me away from here.”
The potential wrath of your family pales in comparison to the thought of being bound to another. The reality of your situation sets everything in sharp contrast, the pretty veneer you’ve been living in cracking at the seams.
Din’s breath is harsh in your ear - fingers stuttering where they circle against your clit at your plea, coated in your slick.
He’s been in your bed since the second your maidens were dismissed. You won’t sleep until dawn, not if tonight is all you have.
“You cannot mean that.” It’s harsh, almost a growl as it buzzes from his helmet.
You might have thought he was angry, if you did not know him so well. If you couldn’t hear his own desperation, woven into each syllable.
It has your hips canting into his touch. Each word panted out, as your fingers stroke where he strains.
"I have never meant anything more.”
Your fingers pluck at his belt, but he eases them gently away. Catching your wrist with his spare hand, pinning it to the bed. His thumb sweeping against your skin, soothing as you squirm against him.
The fingers at your clit slip down to press just inside you. As if he’s thinking about it for just a moment, giving you what you’ve long desired.
But instead there’s a finality to his words, as his touch slips back up. Increasing the pressure until you’re moaning into your pillow, the tightly-wound stream about to snap.
His words, murmured into your hair, as you come undone.
"I won't let you throw your life away."
But how can you live, knowing that he won't be yours?
Not in the way you want him to be.
The man you’ve chosen to marry - a high-born Mandalorian from another clan - is kindly enough, but he is not your knight.
No one could be.
Your only solace in this union is that Din is going with you, honor-bound by his own sworn duties.
A blessing in spite of everything. You do not think you could do this without him.
But it does not make the lead-weight of your feet any lighter. The room spins in front of you, stretching long and think as your hearing fades out to white noise.
It's only the grip of your fingers into the King's bracers that keeps you upright. Nails digging into steel, as you take one step at a time.
Your wedding is as beautiful as it should be. As you've always dreamed - your dress in pretty layers of white and gold. Up since daybreak, primped and pampered.
It's enough to almost, almost, have you regret meeting Din. If you had not known a love such as him, you might have been content for a marriage like this.
But of course, it's no more than a fleeting thought. Immediately shut down.
Better to know and grieve, than to not know at all.
You're still as stone, at the end of the aisle. All the movements practiced the night before - the events that had sent you rushing into Din’s arms after.
It hadn't seemed real until then.
Your lips feel carved into that smile. Hewn since the day you were born, your true feelings hidden in the dull sheen of your eyes.
Disconnected, as they drift. Annoyance flickering deep in your mind, when they slide over your groom.
His armor is ill-fitting. The leather straps at the shoulder stretched to their limits, hooked on the last notch. Too much space between the plates of his cuisses, and his poleyn.
You've spent weeks preparing for this, and he couldn't even dress in his finest for the ceremony. It feels like an insult, after everything.
Maybe if you blur your eyes, you can pretend it's him. Just until this is over.
The Cleric chants the words you’ve known since childhood. Repeating the phrases as your palm presses against your groom's. Each phrase bringing you closer to the end.
Only propriety and decades of lessons keep the quaver from your voice. They sound just as you practiced as they slide from you, even when repeated through muted lips.
There's a crackle of energy at the joining words. A golden string, glimmering.
Only now does your hand twitch. Resisting the urge to pull away. If you don't right now - right this very moment - then you will not get the chance again.
Your groom feels it. The slight tremble - his grip tightening around yours. The barest sweep of his thumb against your knuckles.
The movement startles you.
Just long enough for the string to loop around your joined hands, and then tighten.
It's too late now. Bound forever, until death do you part.
“You may now kiss your bride.”
Your eyes go to his helmet, as the ceremony winds to an end. His finger and thumb catching on the hinge, as his head tips towards yours.
You can’t bring yourself to meet him. Not until his lips press to yours. Not until there’s an intimate familiarity to them.
The gasp that slips from you is quiet. A hushed thing, breathed into the chaste kiss. There’s scruff on his jaw where his skin should be smooth shaven.
The height is off, too - something you’re only just now noticing.
It’s like your heart remembers how to beat again. Confusion and hope swirling in you in equal measure.
You squeeze the hand in yours, as the kiss breaks. Eyes shining as you both turn towards the crowd, life finally flickering in them agin.
It’s here, that everything begins to fall apart. Almost fool-proof.
With a bang, a man stumbles through the arched door at the end of an aisle. The pale blonde of his hair is mussed - eyes wide and red-rimmed as he shouts, a finger pointing towards the pulpit.
“Stop them!” It’s a high, hoarse thing, “He’s an imposter-!”
There’s a rippling murmur, gasps and cries as the man’s voice carries.
But your husband’s hand is is tightly grasping yours.
“Trust me?” He mumurs, and you’re nodding.
Following behind him as he darts to the side, making for the hallway. Your skirts bundled up in a fist as your heartbeat pounds behind your ribs.
There’s voices behind you. The stomp of feet, though the guests and the hired protection do not know the castle the way the two of you do.
Ducking down one corridor, and then another. News hasn’t spread fast enough - there’s murmurs from guards that you pass, but they’re not quick enough to stop you.
The sky bleeds red when you burst outside. A ship waits, engines roaring - the same one you watched drop out of the sky years ago, with his first arrival.
“Su cuy'gar!” A voice calls from inside - another Mandalorian hailing as he rushes down the ramp, “You’re late. I’ll stall, but you need to go.”
It's one you recognize as a member of your Father's own guard, hand-chosen. Boba Fett's reputation for ferocity and loyalty preceeding him. Only now do you realize just where that loyalty truly lies.
“Vor entye, ner vod.” Din clasps his arm, a farewell woven into his thanks.
“Ret'urcye mhi, princess,” Boba’s head dips in a nod, “We’ll handle things from here.”
You’re whisked inside, and ship takes off just as guests begin to pour from the door. Boba blends into the crowd as you watch the scene from above, becoming no more than another bystander.
They grow smaller. Doll-sized, and then ants, and then the stars are streaking as the ship makes the jump - shooting you out into hyperspace.
It’s here that your legs finally give out. All that tension building up until it snaps, until you’re collapsing into the co-pilots chair.
Din’s hands are on you in a second. Gloves shucked with his teeth, discarded on the floor. Warm and familiar as they cup your face.
“I am sorry,” His voice is rough. Still distorted beneath your betrothed’s helmet, but you know it’s him, “I couldn’t let you marry him.”
“I know,” You head turns, lips pressing into the palm of his hand, “I was so afraid. I wanted to run, I almost did-”
He feels how you tremble. A ragged breath as his touch turns soft - smoothing over your cheeks, knuckles brushing your neck.
Your name is breathed out, as you relax against him. As your hands start to wander, tugging at the edge of his cuirass.
“I don’t like this on you.” Your voice sounds thick, in your own head. Biting through the emotions that threaten to choke you, “It’s not yours.”
“No.” He hums, and it sounds like a laugh, “Though as my wife, you may remove them now. If you wish.”
Din’s words makes you ache with want. His wife.
You wonder if he’s teasing you, or if all that he said is true. He’s never allowed you to remove more than a piece or two before.
“Is your armor here?”
“Mine is in the bunk. Along with your things, I had them packed while you were getting ready today.”
You smile then. Relief in knowing that this was planned. That he had put the ball in motion, in those few hours you shared before dawn.
Maybe he had daydreamed about it for even longer. Knowing he could not, but still unable to help thinking through things. How he would always choose you, if only you were to ask.
And you finally had, at the very last second.
He lets your hands slip across his chest, mirroring that first night. New, in the way you slip the leather straps free, until pieces are left stacked on the floor.
The flightsuit beneath is his own. Your fingers have traced the stitching night after night, patterns you know by heart. And for the first time, he lets you tug at the zipper under his chin. Guiding it down with you, exposing tanned skin beneath.
It leaves you greedy. Fingers mapping every inch that appeared. Tracing over old battle wounds and scars from a lifetime ago. A pounding in your heart as each second stretches to the next.
Expecting him to take this back. To wrap himself away again, hiding from your eyes.
Soon, only his helmet and small clothes remain. Your fingers drifting to where he’s half hard, another part of him you already know well.
But his hands wander as well. Plucking at the ribbons that weave up the back of your dress, encasing you.
“Are you fond of this?” He’s asking, just as a fingers hooks beneath. The sharp tug that follows the shake of your head has the seams splitting. That ribbon starting to fray, and then snap.
Your gasp is almost as loud, as the fabric rips. The straps drooping down your arms as the dress starts to pool around you, dragged down by the layers of tulle.
“I’ll get you another,” Din rasps - watching, as you wriggle free.
Seeing the layers of lace beneath, meant for another man. Deep down, knowing it was always meant for him.
His bare hands catch at your hips. Sliding over skin, then up.
"I'll marry you again, cyar'ika. Properly,” Din’s words make you shiver, as his touch drifts across your arms, “As many times as you want, as long as you're mine."
“Yours.” You echo.
Reminding you about binding rituals of the ceremony - all the excitement of the escape almost making you forget.
But when his fingers catch yours, dragging your hands to the curve of his helmet, it’s impossible to think of anything else.
Intent in his movement. The tip of his head towards you, the muscles in his chest going tight as he holds his breath.
“Are you sure?” The beskar is cool beneath your touch.
You know what he offers you. Something akin to the vows you recited, something spoken in his own language.
“Yes,” He echos, “I’ve never meant anything more.”
There’s a weight, one of which you’ve never known. That this wasn’t just to save you. That he’ll wind up right back here as many times, until you believe him.
The lift of your hands is slow. Revealing the stubble on his neck, then chin. You’ve seen bits with the tip of his head. A knowledge that the hair is dark, but then there’s the soft curve of his lips.
Ones that you know the shape of, tracing yours fingers over them in the darkness. Pressed against every part of you, night after night.
There’s a patch of hair missing against his jaw. His nose, and you resist the urge to press your lips to it. A hint of curls, grey-flecked at his temples.
And then his eyes.
He needs the mask, you realize. You would have fallen immediately, looking into eyes like that. Warm and dark, as brown and pretty as his hair.
Everyone would have known what you meant to him, if that had caught him looking at you like this.
The exhale of your breath is low. Only a heartbeat until your mouth is pressing to his, insistent.
Hungry, unleashed fully for the first time. His hands slide up your hips, as the helmet hangs from your fingertips. Curling around your back, pressing you to him.
He’s dreamed of taking you countless times. Your own desires mirroring his - something flickering in your mind, now. A thought that maybe, you should move.
Down to his bunk, perhaps.
But there’s something about here. The cockpit, the streak of stars behind you. His strong thighs spread and bare in the seat before you, as you stand between them.
It’s easy to crawl into his lap. To straddle him, your clothed core already damp when you fit yourself against him.
You can feel groan in his chest as your palm flattens against him. One of his real ones - not modulated through metal.
“Please,” It’s hushed, whispered against his mouth. A rock of your hips, grinding against him.
He catches your hand, dragging it down again.
“It’s yours,” He husks, “It’s always been yours.”
Pleasure blooms low in your belly. Your fingers cupping against his length, before they slip beneath the fabric to curl around him.
Eagerly easing him out. His hips lift so you can shove his small clothes down. The weight of his cock trapped between your belly and his, as his own fingers trace the damp fabric at your core.
“I need you,” You breathe, arching into his fingertips. How they press and rub at you through the lace. It’s far past want.
Want was those early days, stolen glances from beneath your eyelashes as your solemn guard. Finding excuses to make him laugh, so sure he must be smiling beneath the helmet.
Din wears his expressions so openly without. His own desire shown in the grit of his jaw. Those lips that part on a groan, as your fist gives a slow pump.
The lace at your hips tears as easily as the ribbons that held your dress together. A pivot of his chair until he can lay you back against the metal panels of the dashboard, chilling fevered skin.
You whine at the distance that now stretches between you, but his hands only tighten where they grip at your waist.
“Shh, cyar’ika. I’m not going anywhere.” He soothes you, as the reason he moved you suddenly becomes clear.
It’s easier for his fingers to fit into you this way. The flip of his hand, as it faces palm-up. The tip of one stroking against bare skin. A familiar stretch as he slips to the first knuckle.
And then, as a shallow gasp slides from you, he sinks further than he’s ever been.
Had to hold back, before. Give you just a taste of what you’ve been wanting. This - the feel of him nudged so deep inside you.
“I know,” Your husband soothes, as his thumb nudges at your clit - distracting you.
From the slow plunge of his finger. How that quick twinge of discomfort bleeds into a pulsing throb you know well.
It’s not long before your hips are lifting. Your breath growing shorter, as a second fingers slips in to stretch you out. Getting you ready.
His cock is heavy where it rests on your thigh, the tip sticky against your skin. Flushed and swollen - making you realize that maybe you had been too hasty, thinking you could take him before.
Your own hands drift - and this time, you watch. Catching how dark and blown-wide his eyes get. The peek of his tongue between his lips when your fingers pinch at your nipples.
The way he inhales, when he feels you clench down around him. Back arching off the console, as his fingers curl against a spot that you never knew existed inside you.
“There,” You moan, as nudges against it again, “Din, please-”
His jaw grits, his voice low, “Yeah? Are you close, ner riduur?”
You’re used to the pretty names he calls you - a hidden way to show his affection. But never like this, with the soft purr of his voice. The way the words slide so easily from his tongue.
It must mean something special.
“Yes,” Your fingers pinch harder, teeth sinking into your bottom lip. Biting back the panting gasp of your breath, as his thumb presses against your clit.
“Come for me.” It’s a command, but there’s a razor edge of need in his words, “Always sound so fucking pretty. Let me hear you.”
You’ve always had to hold back. Muffled into pillows, his palm of his hand as it clamps over your mouth.
The cry rips from you today, as you reach your peak. Eyes fluttering shut as the star-lines streak across your bare form - still bright, even as your vision darkens.
Your nails scrape against his skin, as he leans into you. Din’s mouth sealing to yours as you’re hauled into his lap, his thick fingers slipping free.
The kiss is messy, your mind still swirling as you reach down. Desperate for more, now that you’ve had a taste.
He pants into your mouth, “Don’t have to, cyare. This is-”
The words breaking off with a groan, as your fingers squeeze around him. His own need evident with how he throbs against your palm.
“‘s not enough,” You’re breathless, the dregs of pleasure settling low in your belly, “I’ve waited, we’ve waited-”
“Long enough.” He rasps, a flash of teeth in the darkness when you lean back.
Your nod is sharp. Determination in the pull of your shoulders as you lift up, angling his cock between your thighs.
A breath, and then you’re lowering yourself. The pressure you felt before is nothing compared to now - a muffled cry, as your nails bite into his shoulders.
As he stretches you open, even with how slick and ready you are. His own hands tug at you, trying to keep you from dropping down too quickly.
But you take him. You were made for him, after all. You decided that long ago. Even if you had joined with another, you’d never be theirs like you are his.
And you always were a quick learner. That competitive streak in you takes over now - figuring out just how to move in the cramped space.
That sting easing into pleasure, with the roll of your hips. The movement is familiar - you’ve sat astride him before, just never like this.
Never feeling this full, when your thighs are finally flush against his. Din’s hands guiding you like they often did - grasping at your waist, keeping your rhythm steady.
Even as it threatens to stutter, with just how good he feels. The angle you ride him sends him across the place his fingers found. Each drop of your hips sending you higher, eager to follow his murmured encouragement.
“You feel so fucking good,” It’s ragged and low - close to the tone he has when he comes, spilling across your belly, “Been waiting so long so have you like this-”
“Yours,” You sigh, again. Finally able to say it aloud, “I’m yours, we can have each other any time we want.”
Din groans at that, his hips bucking into you.
“Mine.”
It’s possessive. The hairs on the back of your neck standing up, as his fingers slip down again. Needing to know just how it feels to make you come around him, after imagining it for so long.
Your rhythm goes sloppy with his touch. Unable to figure out how to keep moving with your mind so clouded with pleasure. Chasing his touch as you bounce, head tilting back as his lips press against your throat.
Up, and then up, until he’s kissing you again. Your arms twine around his shoulders, curls tucked between pinched fingers as he brings you over the edge again.
Sharing a breath, as you moan into his mouth. His cock filling you as you clench down around him, almost as if trying to keep him inside as your orgasm pulses through you.
Din used to worry about monsters and beasts darkening your doorstep, never knowing he’d create one in you. Hungry like you’ve never known, eager for more even as your energy slips from you.
With his own desperation, he’s not far behind. Not with how you tight you are. Ready to give you everything, now that he finally can.
His jaw grits as he buries himself in you. Doing most of the work now, your legs leaden in your afterglow. Rutting his hips against yours, notching himself deep into where you’re wet and warm.
“Princess-,” Din rasps, like he used to. A low huff of a breath as you correct him.
Your lips at his ear, as you croon, “Riduur.”
“Fuck,” He groans at that, his voice dropping low, “Riddur, where do you want me?”
It makes you moan, the rough tone in his voice. How that name in his native tongue affects him just as much as you.
Your hips begin to move in earnest, skin slapping against skin. Those dark eyes on yours as you answer - finally able to express your hearts desire, after all these years.
“I want to feel you.”
His breath grows harsh, as your hips roll.
“Come in me. Please, Din.”
There’s no need for you to beg. He’s already there - a rough grunt as his hips near lift off the seat. Tugging you down and flush against him as he spills inside you.
You can feel him throb, as his warmth floods your walls. Threatening to spill from you, to leak onto thighs that are already sticky with your release. Sweat-dewed with exertion.
That heady ache of need fades, when you both come back down. It’s just bliss now, warm in your limbs. In his embrace. For the first time in weeks, you feel like you’re able to breathe.
The stars streak across his skin, illuminating pieces of his face. So like the stained glass back home, each feature split and soldered with darkness.
“Do you regret it?” His voice is low, barely audible over the hum of the engine, “Leaving with me?”
Your head tilts back, as you look at him again. A sight that you cherish, one you hope you can indulge in, but never take for granted.
And after all the questions that led to today - this one has been the easiest to answer.
“No,” You catch his hand, pressing it to your heart. Mirroring his words earlier.
“It’s always been yours.”
In every world - you would have gone with him.
Sometime amongst the late hours, you wind your way downstairs.
Fitting together in the narrow bunk, not minding the small space. Drifting off with a hand cradled against his neck. Thumb brushing his cheek, loathe to leave the warmth of his skin.
Soft dreams swirl in the moments you do sleep. In between the times when you wake - reaching for each other. Another hour spent twined together, re-learning every inch.
Not fearing the dawn, this time.
Because for once... your life is yours.
thanks for reading! and jana, thank you so much for hosting this event, I was so excited to celebrate with you! 💖
Su cuy'gar! - a friendly greeting (lit: "still live," i.e. "so you're still alive.")
vor entye - thank you (lit: "I accept a debt")
ner vod - my brother
ner riduur - my spouse / wife
ret'urcye mhi - goodbye
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