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burntheedges · 1 day ago

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Pas de Deux Chapter 5

Din Djarin x f!reader | 2.9k | fic masterlist | main masterlist | ao3

chapter summary: It's time for the first mixed program of the spring schedule, and so it's finally time to see Din perform.

a/n: Thank you everyone for your lovely comments on the last chapter. Everything still feels pretty shitty but being part of this community does not! See my notes at the end and on the masterlist about reader in this fic and ballet in general. Thank you @katareyoudrilling for being the best beta, as always!!

chapter tags/warnings: gen, ballet terms (see end notes and the masterlist for definitions and videos), a bit more angst (sorry), but we also have fluff

Chapter 5

In stark contrast to that disaster of a rehearsal, your performance in the January program went well. The first night had its usual jitters, but even so, you felt proud of the performance you and the others put on. And Jee had been excited and full of praise, with only a couple of notes about the choreography, which made you more excited for the next performance.

On Friday, though, you had a small costume malfunction, and so you were busy getting stuck with pins and missed Din’s solo. You heard the music from La Bayadère start and cursed — you knew you wouldn’t be back in time.

On Saturday, you saw it. You saw him.

You were standing in the wings, huddled with Adrian and a small group of dancers when Din’s music began. Everyone backstage quieted as soon as the orchestra began. He was wearing a sort-of doublet and white tights that screamed classical ballet. He started in the wings just in front of you and you watched the line of his neck and back as he walked calmly onto the stage.

You knew Talia had chosen three of Solor’s variations from different versions of the ballet. She had Din moving off stage and back on to continue with the three solos that usually appeared at different moments throughout the long performance. Three demanding solos, all in a row.

The music swelled and Din swept his arm upward and, from his first movement, he stole your breath away. Your eyes followed the sheer height of his jumps, the beautiful lines of his extensions. You couldn’t help but marvel at the perfection of his technique, the absolute ease of his movements. You watched the flex of his muscles and wondered at his strength. He made everything look effortless. He had such control, but none of that showed — his face was calm, expression serene.

You tightened your hold on Adrian’s hand.

Din dipped into the wings and back out for the second variation, and you felt someone next to you suck in a sharp breath when Din launched himself into the air into a double saut de basque in attitude followed by a revoltade. How did he look so weightless?

Talia had been right — this was the perfect way to showcase the absolute phenomenon that was Din Djarin. His strength, his precision, his control, his power, his grace: all of it was on display.

In the third variation, you assumed he must have been tired. But he soared through multiple double assemblé turns with such ease, it looked like he was floating.

When he fell into his final pose, the audience lost their minds.

You looked at Adrian, and he looked at you, eyebrows high.

“That was insane,” Adrian whispered, and you nodded. “I knew he was good, but oh my god.”

You agreed. And you couldn’t help but start to worry, again, about the pas de deux. How were you supposed to partner someone who danced like that?

…

You worried over that question so much over the next few days that the words started to feel meaningless in your mind. You found yourself waking up too early, too anxious to sleep. It was only a matter of time before that started to show in your dancing.

In class you didn’t look at Din. You knew you were letting this grow into something in your mind that it probably wasn’t, but you couldn’t get a handle on it. You’d been through this before — moments where all you could see were your own flaws — but none of the tricks you’d learned over the years to claw your way out of it were working this time.

By Thursday, you were so anxious about the entire thing that it must have shown on your face, or in your body. Adrian took one look at you after morning class and pulled you into the smaller, sad break room (with the couch everyone hated) to make you breathe with him until you calmed down.

“Look at me,” he said after you’d taken several deep breaths in unison, squeezing your hand. “You can do this. One practice isn’t enough to make or break anything, you know that. You’ve been there before.”

You nodded, closing your eyes and clutching his hand with both of yours.

“He’s good, we’ve all seen it. But so are you.” Adrian’s voice was firm and you tried to believe it, too. “And you know Kuiil picked you for a reason. Think about it — Din Djarin has never danced anything remotely like this choreography. On Saturday he was doing what he’s best at, and of course it was freaking amazing. But you’re better at this.”

He was right. You let that truth of it settle somewhere in your chest. You felt at home in more contemporary ballet choreography, and to your knowledge Din had never so much as tried it. Concordia would never even consider it, that much was definitely true.

“You can do both, you know? I bet that was part of it. Casting someone who could show him how to let go of what he knows. He isn’t going to be the only person in that room who’s an expert on something.”

You took a deep breath and opened your eyes. When you met Adrian’s gaze, he smiled. “There you are. You ready?”

You nodded. “I can do this.” You couldn’t let yourself get in your head like that. You knew better.

“Hell yeah, you can. Come on.” He stood and tugged you to your feet, and then grabbed your shoulders. “Go fucking blow him away, ok? I know you can.” He shook you a little, and you laughed.

“Ok! Ok. I can do this.”

…

You tried to let that run through your mind like a mantra as you stepped into the small rehearsal studio. You can do this.

Kuiil and Din were standing by the sound equipment again. As always, Din was wearing black tights, black sweats cut off at the knees, and a tight, long-sleeve black shirt. You pointedly did not let your eyes linger on the line of his shoulders.

“Come in, my dear. We are going to start with something different today.”

You tried not to wince as Kuiil beckoned you forward, remembering the disaster of the week before.

“Today I will give each of you part of your solo pieces for the start, and I would like you to watch each other as you learn and begin to practice them.” He looked at each of you in turn as you nodded. “I want you to pay attention to each other. How do your bodies move as you learn? How do you come to inhabit the movement? How do you each make it your own?” He gestured between you. “As you know, after these moments, you will encounter each other on stage for the first time. Think about what that would feel like, as you watch each other today.”

You nodded again, frowning a little as you tried to work out what he wanted from you. To watch, to observe? To notice something new? To watch as if you’d never seen before? You supposed you could only watch and try and see what you found.

“Let us begin.”

He started with you. It was only a few counts of 8, a few moments following the wandering path of the violin in the music. What he gave you was very bare bones — you knew, from working with him in the past, that he sometimes wanted you to find your own way to connect things together. Kuiil always wanted his dancers to put themselves into his choreography.

You realized, after he had shown you everything he wanted to, that you hadn’t even looked or spared a thought for Din as you focused on the steps and the music. You were feeling better, more confident, focusing on choreography that played to your own strengths as a dancer.

“Good. Now, give it a try with the music a couple of times, and then I will show Din how he will begin. Do not be afraid to try different things as you let the movements settle.”

You nodded and took up the first position he’d shown you, arms extended a bit behind you. He started the music and you moved, finding your way through the moments Kuiil wanted in this brief part of the first movement. You let yourself sink into the music and the choreography, trying to feel it more than think about it. You whipped through turns and flicked your leg, almost smiling when your développé was timed perfectly to the music. There were moments that felt more awkward, moments you knew you’d need to work on, but overall you felt the weight in your chest lighten as you danced. You can do this.

Kuiil stopped the music just after you found the final position, and you sucked in a deep breath as you relaxed out of it and turned to look at him.

“Very well done, my dear. I can see the shape of it forming. One more time, and then we will switch. Try to smooth out that transition into the turn.” You nodded, but your curiosity got the better of you and you darted a glance to Din.

He was watching you intently, which you supposed was only following Kuiil’s directions. But for once his face wasn’t expressionless.

Din was smiling. It was a small thing, barely there, but it took your breath away.

…

Adrian was waiting for you after your rehearsal, and for once you were out the door and down the hall before Din.

“So?” He raised his eyebrows at you as he tucked his arm through yours, leading you down the hall to your rehearsal for the February mixed program. You were both in the same piece, for once, a collaboration between Jee and Vince. “How did it go?”

You told him all about it, about the way Kuiil had split the time between you. “Maybe he realized we need to get used to each other first? But we didn’t really do a lot of that, we didn’t even talk to each other much.”

“But you look like you feel better about it.”

You nodded. “Yeah, I mean, I got to do what I’m good at.”

“Hmm.” Adrian looked thoughtful. “I think that makes sense, though. Letting you learn about each other’s style.”

You shrugged. “Well, maybe. I guess we’ll see next time. But Adrian… he smiled at me.”

“Who, Kuiil?”

“No,” you almost whispered, glancing around the hall. “Din.”

Adrian’s jaw dropped as you led him through the door for your second rehearsal. “What,” he hissed, but there wasn’t time for him to ask you for more details. You put it out of your mind. You had to focus on the dance in front of you, anyway.

You took that motivation forward through your weekend and the next week of rehearsals. You had so many performances coming up — the February mixed program, Midsummer, and then after that, Swan Lake. And another mixed program in April. And Cinderella. You usually didn’t let yourself think that far ahead — you had so many rehearsals, and so much physical therapy, that you tried to focus on the next performance and maybe the one after. The ones that were right in front of you.

But it was a helpful distraction, for once, thinking through the rest of your season.

You knew Din had joined the Balanchine ballet for the February mixed program, and you knew those rehearsals were heating up. So you barely saw him outside of morning classes, and you’d been trying not to watch him as much. You wondered, a bit, if you should try to talk to him again, but you weren’t sure what you’d say. Hey, let’s get to know each other so we can actually dance together?

That one smile aside, he was still so closed off you weren’t sure how to bring yourself to try.

…

The Thursday of your third rehearsal with Kuiil arrived, and you moved quickly down the hallway, almost running — your rehearsal for Midsummer had gone long and you didn’t want to be late.

You turned the corner, moving quickly, and let out an “oomph” as you almost slammed into someone. You felt strong hands come up to steady you and once again blinked up to find Din looking down at you. His large hands were warm where they rested on your waist.

“Shit,” you cursed. “Din, sorry, I was —” you took a deep breath. “Sorry. I was running late. Obviously.”

His face was, of course, expressionless once more, but you could have sworn you saw the tiniest lift in the corner of his mouth as he looked at you. “It’s ok. I’m late, too.”

You smiled at him, hesitant, hoping to find that bit of ease you’d briefly had together before your rehearsals started. “Balanchine?”

He nodded. “Balanchine.”

You stepped back a bit and ignored the way it felt when his hands slid from your waist and brushed over your hips before falling by his sides. “How’s it going?”

Din fell into step beside you as you started to walk towards the small rehearsal studio where Kuiil would be waiting for you. “Good. They hadn’t rehearsed much when I started, so it was easier to step in and join one of the pairs.”

“Who have they paired you with?” Symphony in C featured four principal couples, and many of them had danced together for years at this point.

He nodded, seeming to understand your question. “Yuna. They hadn’t finalized that pairing yet, so it was easy to step in. And we didn’t do a ton of Balanchine at CBC, but I’ve danced the first before.”

That made sense. Yuna had just made principal this year, and had yet to form a strong connection with any of the others. You couldn’t imagine them breaking up the pairing of Mira and Diego, for example, or giving Din the adagio in the second movement, when he barely knew anyone yet. And that role, the pair featured in the first movement, was tough. It was perfect for him.

“Yuna’s great. She’s so good at partnering, too.” You could almost see Talia’s vision for them, in your mind — she and Din would dance beautifully together.

You’d arrived at your studio, but before you could step inside, Din said, “she said the same thing about you.”

You froze as Din moved past you into the studio. He had talked about you? With someone else? You stepped inside, in a bit of a daze, as you tried not to wonder what they’d talked about.

Later, during rehearsal, you clung to that positive moment in your mind, because it felt like the first rehearsal all over again. Kuill had you both run through the sections he’d shown you the week before and then returned to the moment you met on stage for the first time. But you could tell from the start that it hadn’t gotten better.

Somehow, it had gotten worse.

You’d lost count of how many times you’d tried it so far, but you took a deep breath as the music started. You started your pass across the floor, leaping into an attitude before rolling out of it. You were supposed to stand and find Din in front of you, except he wasn’t where you expected him to be, so it didn’t quite work. And then the moment passed.

No matter how hard you tried, you and Din couldn’t seem to find each other at all, throughout the rehearsal. You had no idea why you couldn’t seem to connect with him. Were you feeling the music differently? He felt so distant from you, even standing only a few feet away. Your movements felt separate, like you were on two separate stages, rather than sharing one space together.

You could feel the frustration begin to build from the base of your spine. You didn’t understand how you could have such an easy conversation with him in the hall and then hit this wall inside the studio, where it should have been easier to connect with him. It had never been this difficult for you to get to know another dancer before.

“Alright.” Kuiil stopped the music and you tried not to read into his tone. “That is enough for today. I know you have the mixed program this weekend. Focus on that, clear your minds, and next week we begin again.”

As you started to leave, feeling defeated, Kuiil called you back. You turned and saw Din hurry out the door in the mirror. You caught a glimpse of his expression as he did and realized he was frowning. Your own mouth turned down in response.

“My dear, I can see that you are frustrated.” You nodded. As he’d said before, your body couldn’t lie. “I want you to think about something before our next practice. How did you learn to connect with other dancers on stage?”

You thought about it for a moment. “Through movement, I suppose. And interpreting the choreography together.”

Kuiil nodded. “How is it different, when you are performing different styles?”

You blinked. You suddenly understood where he was leading you. “In classical pieces, it’s more pre-defined. It’s constrained. The connection, I mean. And how we are able to express it.”

He nodded again. “Think about that, as you rehearse this week. And we will try again.”

…

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a/n: so 👀 how do you think the next one will go 👀🩰

Solor - this is a very difficult, technical role in a famous classical ballet, La Bayadère! Here’s a really long video of an almost complete performance by Sergei Polunin. The exact number of variations/solos that Solor has can vary by production but there could be as many as three, one per act, and I decided to make Din do all of them. Here’s one, two (and another one, and another, and another), and three with the double assembles. You may have noticed that the second variation can have a lot of different jumps in it – I stole the idea for the double saut de basque and revoltades (and another) from a couple places. I know I saw someone doing the double saut de basque in attitude where most of these men are doing a double saut de basque en dedans (both are in that video) but now I can’t find it.

Symphony in C - a very NYC Ballet piece choreographed by George Balanchine. It’s basically 100% focused on technique and it’s hard!! There are four principal couples featured in four movements. Din joins the first couple. Reader also mentioned the third. This is the sort of performance CBC would have been less likely to do, but it’s so technical and classical they would have added it to their repertoire to broaden it without moving from their classical stance. Here’s a recording of the whole thing from 1973.

Classical ballet - I’ve mentioned this before, but now I’ll say that not everyone would interpret classical ballet the same way. Din’s previous company was on the more strict end of the spectrum. We’ll learn more soon!

I know I've mentioned attitude before, but this time we also see a développé!

tag list coming in a reblog!

#din djarin x reader #din djarin x you #din djarin x f!reader #din djarin fanfiction #the mandalorian #din djarin #x reader #pas de deux fic #nbt fic #ballet au

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penvisions · 2 days ago

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of beskar and kyber {chapter 23}

Pairing: Din Djarin x Force Sensitive! Reader (the Mandalorian x Force Sensitive! Reader)

Summary: You begin to heal in the safety of the Crest, as you travel alongside Din once again.

Word Count: 4.4k

Warnings: canon typical language, canon typical violence, inner musings of reader, mentions of past heartbreak and pain, deadly poison, talks of injuring / killing people, ritualistic and religious activities, talk of past manipulation and administration of sedative drugs, reader has a lot of quiet moments in this, sexual content, kissing, descriptions of the male body, din djarin y'all. those are the ones i can think of, i'm so sleepy

A/N: been recovering from a tooth extraction and needed a little comfort / happiness. so please enjoy this baby chapter that doubles as an interlude before the series picks back up. love y'all

ao3 link || series masterlist || main masterlist || ko-fi

The hum of your lightsaber is a quiet one as you practice smooth movements to illuminate the grove of tall trees you’re in the midst of, slicing through the open air of the field to allow you to see in every direction. The sun had set hours ago, the fire crackling still as Din and ad’ika are settled on the other side of the clearing. Both nodded off, as they sit around it with remnants of a giant bird that had been hunted and roasted over it for dinner. Eyes follow the white of your blade, the energy flowing strongly so much so that it lifts the fine hairs on the back of your neck and prickles your skin.

But there’s no one around, even if you think of the shuffling sound that alerted your senses from your own idle relaxation.

“We’re safe, mesh’la.” The deep rumble of Din’s voice calls, still quiet though enough volume to trickle into your ears even as you strain to hear anything out of the ordinary. “I’m not picking up any heat signatures.”

“I could’ve sworn…” With the push of a button, the saber retracts, and you turn around to face the man where he’s sitting and leaning up against a fallen trunk. Endor was alight with so much energy, left over from many battles of wartime that ravaged the world at one point in time. It had been a simple ask, from your lips to Din’s hears. The last sight of battle against the Empire. The last place you one of your own had been rumored to be. Though that was years ago, the energy still lingered. Strong and sparkling all around. It was hard to focus on what was real and what was whispers from the past.

Everything was all so much, you took a deep breath as you engaged your saber again. The white of it glows brightly even as you made your way a few steps into the tree line and ensured that your trio was truly safe. You trusted Din, you had faith in him to keep you safe but there was an underlying feeling of unease on this planet. If for no reason other than your own connection to the force and how it practically bathes everything in sheen here. The planet was one in a long list of those to visit, to search.

“The glow seems…brighter.” Din’s voice was a low velvet caress as you as you fit yourself beside him, close enough to feel the coolness of the beskar that protects his body. But he’s removed the left pauldron, that same arm wrapping around your shoulders and gently pulls you to rest your head against the thick flight suit he dons underneath. His questions are still more statements made that imply his curiosity, though he does outright ask you things in some instances.

But it’s never serious, not since that day he stood beside you as you buried your mother. You appreciate his caution, almost, but you feel…okay. For the most part, more connected with yourself. Despite taking her life, you don’t feel the pull of dark tendrils around your limbs and mind in the quiet darkness of the light or the moments when your brain recalls the ordeal that led to it.

“It’s the energy, it’s so concentrated here.”

“Is…there a reason for that? Beyond the battle taking place here.”

“It’s because he died here. Anakin.” You say his actual name, not the one you know he has taken on in his journey into the dark side. “He brought balance to the force after all the wreckage he caused, all the destruction he caused. It’s not…it’s not common knowledge but he a good man once. Tried to do good, but the Jedi, the teachings and disciplines….they were constricting. Open to interpretation that went against human nature.”

“You trained under him.” He knows that, from the confession you made the first time you headed toward Nevarro with him, at the request of a pleading Greef Karga.

“Yes, him and his master wanted me to train to take over eventually. But not when he was a Jedi, I had only glimpsed him over the couple years I was at the temple. There was a war going on, so many people in and out of those doors. So many Jedi all fighting and more training, more providing guidance and protection. A lost of masters and skilled individuals were lost. But only one Sith can be in power at a time, at full power. To kill your master gains you the title. Anakin…he was struggling even with the best medical aid. If he wasn’t in a bacta tank, he was…hooked up to a respirator and all kinds of support. I never asked what happened to him, but I always wondered if it happened during the attack on the temple. The one that he led.”

“But you didn’t kill him.” Din moves slightly, leaning back into the trunk of the tree he was sitting against more firmly before he helps to situate your legs across his lap. Fingers hidden in gloves trace down the length of your legs, swirling over your knees and down to where you ankles flashed as the fabric bunched up around the tops of your boots. He pulled everything back to cover you, hand tracing back up hooking around your left thigh to hold you to him. Safe, content, even as the conversation gains weight.

“No, when I found out their plans to begin the destruction of Mandalore, I intercepted the first few deployments. The first they chocked up to a mistake on the droids. The second, a judgement in error.”

A breeze picks up and makes its way through the small clearing, Din notices the way you tense and pulls you closer into his body. The beskar captures your heat from leaning against it and it warms you to feel the give of his sides in between the plates.

“Akiz, he fought alongside me. Once he was well enough, we tried our best to do what we could. But the last ship we took down, it was…too much for us to handle alone. Storm troopers managed to get a distress signal out and Moff Gideon came after us. He was lost in the crash, too injured to move without causing more damage. He…he gave me his helmet and told me to run. I barely made it out myself. The gunfire alone, the smoke, the fire, all of it was too much. But it gave some people time to get out, to relocate.”

“Is that when you fled to Tatooine?” The deep tone of his voice washed over you, the attentiveness he exhibited and the questions he had begun to seek answers to soothing your heart, your mind. He was engaging in a way he hadn’t been previously, had said he was unaccustomed to. It made you giddy, that he was willing to ask and converse with you more freely, little jokes sneaking in here and there during the lighter moments. Care and concern cloaking the darker moments.

“Figured the desert was the easiest place to get lost in. They wouldn’t send droves of people to search the sands for one person. Resources were abundant, but not enough for that. I was considered a ‘calculated loss’ at that point. The damage I did outweighing the worth I was to them.”

“I was there a few years before the Empire fell. Once I got the news, I fled home and well, you know how that turned out…”

“But you did good, took out what you could. Helped my people to get to safety, to flee.”

“I could’ve done more, I should’ve done more.” You can’t help the heat that tinges your words, emotions strong on the matter, on the memories. There was so much, so many small things that couldn’t been done or done differently. A dangerous free fall that would once awaken the dark tendrils that lay dormant in the corners of your mind. But since Maldovan, you hadn’t felt the pull of them, the motion of them slithering about and biding their time. They were gone, or at least, they didn’t seem to bother you as much.

“You did what you could, that is enough.” He assures you, his voice holding so much emotion even through the modulator. Soothing you and making sure you understand that what you did do was enough, that it was more than enough. Forsaking what could’ve been done was a dirty business and he knew it all too well.

“You and your space sword.” He jostles you a bit, hand running up and down your arm to keep you warm as another breeze flits by. He thinks he’s funny, you know this because the same rumbling chuckle sounds in his chest as when he had first used the term. There’s no use fighting the smile that pulls at your lips, affection blooming in your chest.

“Wish I had one of those pulse rifles, like you.” You can’t help the slight whine that coats your voice, it was always a lavish thought, to purchase one of your own. “Could cause some good damage with one of those.”

“I’m sure you could, mesh’la.” His laughter echoes around the small clearing and your heart skips a beat, he’s so carefree right now. So at ease and it makes you wish for more moments exactly like it.

“Your laughter makes me happy.” Voice dipping, you reach up to plant both of your hands atop his shoulders and shift to straddle his lap. There’s a twitch against the inside of your thighs that sparks flames across your skin despite the chill of the night air. “It’s such a good sound, ikaad.”

Baby.

“Is that a new nick name?” His big hands wrap around your hips, keeping you steady in his lap, fingers toying with the hem of your shirt. He presses his forehead to yours, the coolness of the helmet causing a shudder to race down your spine. He pulls you flush against him, his rough action hitches your breath and it fogs up the front of the helmet.

“Do you like it?” You ask, hesitancy underlying your words even as you press your hands to the sides of his helmet and begin to lift it. Eyes closed, you can hear the compression hiss as you pull it away from him. His hands reach up, helping to guide yours to set it down beside you both. There’s a rustle of fabric, the hiss of leather and then you feel his bare fingers cradle one side of your face while the other spreads across your lower back.

He chuckles once again at the hitch of your breath, the way you worry your bottom lip between your teeth and tighten your eyes against the sensation of his skin against yours. His nose brushes yours, his lips a hairsbreadth away, the feel of them so close making you dizzy.

“Moan it into my mouth and we’ll find out.”

And then his lips are on yours.

You take a seat at the makeshift table, fingers trailing over the cabinets and side paneling that have been left open to reveal the caf maker on your way over to it. There's steam rising from the back of it, from the mechanics inside that heat up the water and transform the condensed grounds into caf. Scenting the air and making your heart calm. you hadn't loaded it up nor pressed the button to it up, but Din had.

The hush of water sounding from the fresher tells you where the man in question had disappeared to. The warmth of his body and the comfort of it pressed to had disappeared from the bed and woken you up from your deep slumber.

The helmet he dons is sitting there in the middle of the table, the beskar glowing in the low light it catches. You take a sip of your steaming drink, just a little sip before you reach for it and cradle it in your hands.

The artistry of it is immaculate. Beautiful. You see him in the visor even if he's not behind it. Feel the energy of him in it even if it's not secure over his head. It's a part of him, it's the first thing you had seen of him. It was him, in a way.

Peering inside as you tip it slightly, the panels lining the inside of it glow as the power coursing through them picks up on the energy tingling your entire body. Gentle fingers trace them, feeling the delicate and careful positioning. You didn't dare lift one up to explore underneath, not wanting to activate anything or disrupt anything on accident.

The sound of the shower shutting off barely registers as you continue to look over the precious thing in your hands. You don't know how long you do nor do you register the figure that steps out of the fresher. Eyes focused and mind at peace as your thoughts wander over the skills that went into the creation and forming of the helmet, of the man who wears it.

You wonder if...the Creed is something you would be willing to take, if given the chance.

If it had been offered to you before your master's had found you in the marketplace that fateful day of your childhood. If your mother would have been just as willing to send you away if it meant you'd give up your purchase on what little your family name had and let you go with those who sought you out. She had been hesitant with the Jedi, mulling it over for weeks before she had made the decision to let you go in search of something greater than what she could offer you on K'ath. A blacksmith's daughter, an armorer in training from her own shaping. But that didn't deter you from holding onto your adoration for the skills, the handiwork and devotion it took. You had cultivated it even amidst the jedi, their lack of need for armor or weapons at odds with the interest you held.

You had been so young, it had been a rare instance of intense interest. The man who had seen the power of the Force flowing strongly through you, the easy direction of such casual in the way you had been idly playing with shells laid out before you and the tools of your trade. And then the journey to where you are now had begun. Taken away on a long travel, the first time you had ever been in hyperspace had been something mesmerizing. You hadn’t asked many questions on the way to Coruscant, you had merely followed closely behind the Jedi Master that had seen the potential in your younger self. Even younger than those around you once you were placed amidst a group of six or seven other children. An age gap of four to five years separating you. You had only been six at the time, far too young for the world you had been taken to be a part of.

But despite that, you can recall so clearly the trainings and the meetings, endless conversations about your life and past. The attachments you may have had beyond your mother and if you had any other family they might be able to trace to see how the concentration of your blood was so strongly suited for the life that had become your own.

It had been dizzying, going from a humble life as a blacksmith’s daughter on the mostly oceanic world of K’ath.

But the Mandalorian's....they prided themselves in the armor they dressed in, created rituals around it. The metal it's comprised of was revered, respected, a culmination of everything you felt with the artistry and creation of even the most basic of metal and armor. The man that Din was, the values he held and tried his best to let guide his life...even if the bounty hunting was a little more black and white, a simple way to provide means for his remaining people, his covert...they were admirable. He was admirable. A good man. At the very core of who he was.

The Creed he had sworn...it was something you had been thinking over a lot. Asking him gentle questions here and there as you mulled over specifics and recalled memories of doing the same with Akiz. The man whose last name you had adapted while on the run with him. He hadn't offered you to take his religion, but he had taught it to you, allowed you any knowledge you had sought after to the best of his ability. But there was a clear distinction between the faction he and Din practiced and that prominent on Mandalore. That had been prominent on Mandalore. Even so...the itch was there, to explore it and consider it as an option to truly become more like the person you thought yourself to be.

There was no reason for you to seek a new identity, not now with the royalty of what was almost your life vouching for you with the New Republic and clearing whatever record you had accumulated. Din too, they had vouched for, in regards to the connection with the job you had both worked for his old crew that seemed to be ages ago now...

He's been going without it more, the helmet. When ad'ika is asleep or occupied in the upstairs cabin, his penchant for meditation picked up from you despite his smaller attention span. You had conveyed to him the feeling of the Force and calmly let it flow through your mind, pushing the feeling into his own carefully and showing him some of the faces you recall. Hoping he could practice reaching out, because you had questions too. There didn't seem to be...anyone and it was a rather lonely realization. You had knowledge, but very little from the time you had trained as a girl to the time you had spent with Moff Gideon in his base, with those who were building you up to learn the darker path...

"You look so beautiful, ner kar'ta." Din's deep, unmodulated voice breaks your silent reverie. You don't look up from the helmet in your hands, the scented steam from his wash wafting into the open space of the hold now that he's leaned up against the doorway. Heat floods your face, his unabashed compliment spurring butterflies in your stomach and tingles in your chest.

You ache for him, you had done it back on Maldovan and every day since. Even as he lays beside you each night and cares for you and adi'ka in the ways he knows how. A quiet job he's determined to keep up even in the hard moments, the low moments, the ones where your aversion to touch and conversation flares and your memory fizzles. Actual jobs were slow right now, more focused on beginning the search for other Jedi, others who had been able to devote their life to the ways you had only been beginning to.

You still hadn't looked upon his face, doubt still lingering despite everything you've been through together in nearly a year.

It is a big step, it is a big decision. Monumental, in more ways than one. Words that meant so much shared between you both, for each other. The vows he had written down in your notebook for you to look over, what he recalled from listening to his fellow people in the covert. Spoken word the only way they persevered as they did. He had wanted to share them with you, have you look over them and contemplate them. He wasn’t asking, he wasn’t pushing, it was simply a way for him to express himself and let you come to him slowly in your own time.

But you look up now and you see the shock wash over his features as your eyes take him in.

Tension fills the hold, thickening the air and the tingling in your chest grows as you greedily take in his features.

His skin is bronze all over, you've seen it before. Flashes of it about the cuffs and neckline of his suit, full swaths of it as he lay in bed beside you in his underclothes or sleepwear he’s begun to walk around in on a regular basis. Seen all of it bared, in that one instance he had indulged you in booking a stay instead of returning to the ship… Felt it before with your wandering hands, against your own skin. Both in innocent settings and some that spark thick, syrupy desire low in your middle…

Stray droplets from his wash catch the dull light as he's in nothing but a pair of flight pants, slung low on his narrow hips. Strong arms that are crossed over his chest make your stomach flip. His neck is thick, shoulders broad, skin littered with silvery scars that tell of his past. A strong jaw you only glimpsed at before is now traced by your eyes adorned with dark scruff, his plush lips parted slightly as he almost freezes in his spot. You had felt those lips on your own, the way they moved desperately against you. Conveying so much in a moment when nothing felt like it would be right ever again.

"You're beautiful too." The words are barely a whisper, but they spur him into movement. He's pushing off from the door frame and crossing the space in three long strides. His hands reach and you don't flinch as they wrap around your ribs and help to pull you up from your seat. He simply holds you as you gaze up at him, eyes taking him in and his own roving over your steadily growing smile.

He’s so beautiful, the man standing before you. The man who, when you first met, never anticipating meaning anything to you. But he’s all you want, all you need, he’s…he’s home for you. The reason behind no place ever feeling quite right, the hiding spots you created for yourself just shy of being accommodating. Off kilter in the way that the space inside his ship isn’t. He’s given you so much with his simple disregard for a bounty out on you so long ago, his own actions allowing this feeling to flourish into what it is now. He’s safety, he’s protection, he’s…he’s your heart.

“Ner kar’ta, you’re so beautiful.” You feel the rough palms of his hands rove up to cup your face, his wide eyes so brown and sparkling in a way that you were sure was reserved just for you. Thoughtful in a way most people wouldn’t expect of the man, the Mandalorian – a feared and renowned bounty hunter.

But right now he wasn’t that man, right now he was Din Djarin. The one who had helped you to reclaim your life back, to give you options when there didn’t seem to be anymore to consider. He was the one who had helped you to reclaim so much that you had lost, even things you hadn’t realized.

“You’re too kind, mesh’la,” His head ducks a bit, gaze focused on the pulse he could surely see jumping in the column of your neck. Thick curls tumble, the water still soaked into the tresses smelling so sweet and exactly like you. You can’t help the urge to reach up and run your fingers through them, delighting in the flutter of his long lashes as his eyes close. A deep hum sounds from within his chest, almost vibrating through you with now you’re held so close to him.

“Ni kar'tayl gar darasuum.” And oh it’s so beautiful the way you see the wrinkles around his eyes deepen as his face breaks into an almost shy smile. Eyes wide and earnest as they flutter open in response to your whispered sentiment. The hitch of his breath visible as his chest rises with it and the way his lips nearly tremble as he dips down to capture your own. The words repeated and breathed into you as his strong nose brushes against yours and his hands curling around face. “Gar're ner yaim.”

I love you. You’re my home.

He kisses you, again and again. His lips a soft pressure that makes your heartbeat fast in your chest and you can’t help but tangle your fingers in his damp hair, returning them with as much fever. His own hands, his warm palms trail over the column of your neck to your shoulders. Stirring tingles to dance across the bare skin exposed in your sleepwear of a tank top and shorts.

“Bal gar cuyir pal'vut.” He pulls back just enough to trail his soft lips along your jaw breathing words into the skin there. You can’t help but wrap your arms around his neck as he begins to nip and lave his tongue down your neck, seeking and praising you in the most intimate way. Your muscles shake as you resist the urge to jump up and wrap your legs around his waist, resist the urge to lean in and use your own teeth along the golden planes of his chest. As if reading your thoughts, his arms loop down below your arms, your waist and grab at the back of your thighs. Large hands so secure against the give of them he hauls you up into his hold and begins to walk you towards the open door.

Lips meet lips in deepening kisses, almost desperate and urgent as heat begins to swirl in your belly and arousal tingles brightly across every inch of skin that touches his. Small groans and panting breath bubbling up and are swallowed as his words echo in your head.

And you are mine.

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