#comforting din bby

[shirks-all-responsibilities]

This was just what I needed today! The end of this was just...

Their HUG, I just sat and savored the comforting feel of it, never wanting it to end. That detail about the physical awkwardness of their positions makes their embrace all that more precious and heartfelt, needing each other's comfort so desperately, I love it so much? And the stillness of the moment and the intimacy of his breathing, I can never get enough of sensory moments like that.

And then Din GENTLY STROKES UP AND DOWN YOUR BACK?? Can I just sit in that soothing moment forever? For ever and ever pls? And then you had to go and add HIS VOICE, humming THAT SONG with THAT MEANING and HISTORY?? 🥺🥺 I think my heart about dropped out of my chest from how profoundly comforting and tender that moment was. If anyone needs me I'll just be taking up residence in this fic!!! 🥰🥰

din request? reader feeling real sad and crying all day over something (maybe death or grogu leaving) and mando not knowing exactly how to console but goes to the bunk and awkwardly starts rubbing at their back and attempting to speak to them. but then reader asks if mando could sing to her or tell her a story (to take her mind off it and help her sleep) and din’s trying to think of something anything to help her because the mandalore aren’t known for their songs and bedtime stories but maybe he’s able to think of one. or maybe she doesn’t ask for anything at all but din still wants to comfort so he hums the song reader would sing to grogu to her surprise but it helps

gn!reader warnings: angst, loss, the razor crest lives

He finds you in the dark. There's a soft knock on the door of your bunk, a beat of silence, then the muted whisper of metal as it slides open.

It’s been almost a whole day since you disappeared—almost a whole day since the kid left—and you knew Mando would feel compelled to check on you eventually. He knocked a few times already, but this time he lets himself in when you don’t answer.

His boots are uncharacteristically quiet. He’s stepping lightly.

“Mesh'la?”

You stay tucked under your blankets, facing the wall, breathing slowly and deeply to feign sleep. You hope he'll leave.

You hope he'll stay.

Grief is complicated.

The kid is gone, and you didn’t expect to be this devastated. You feel hollow, scraped clean, and simultaneously too full. It doesn’t help that your only real reason to stay with Mando left with Grogu, so you’re about to lose him too. The little family of three you forged out of necessity was always going to be temporary. You knew that. It doesn’t make it any easier to watch it dissolve.

“Talk to me.”

If you wait long enough, he’ll leave, and you can go back to being miserable in peace.

“You need to eat something. And you’re dehydrated.”

He's probably checking your vitals right now, ever the caretaker. He’s not one to push boundaries, though. He’ll give up and let you be. There are no obligations anymore—no reason he needs to keep you with him to move forward, no tiny child to protect together.

But instead, to your surprise, a little bit of that characteristic stubbornness seeps into his voice, and he says, “I’m not leaving until you talk to me.”

You roll over reluctantly and glance up at him. He looks massive, looming over you in the cramped space of your bunk, his beskar painted cool blue by the low lights of the Razor Crest.

You’re not sure exactly when it happened, but at some point over the last few months, this beat-up ship started to feel like home.

Before you can stop it, a fresh tear tracks down your cheek.

Mando makes a pained sound in his chest and shifts his weight from one foot to the other, his right hand fidgeting restlessly against his thigh plate.

This is exactly what you wanted to avoid.

You’ve always kept displays of emotion to a minimum around Mando, sure that he wouldn’t know what to do with them—aware, too, that emotional support is not in the job description of hunting partner. This feeling, it turns out, is too big to hold in. No matter how hard you try.

Mando was his usual stoic self when Grogu went with the Jedi. You watched the impassive back of his head as he’d replaced his helmet and since then, noted no perceptible change in his demeanor. You’d returned to the Razor Crest together, he’d silently set the nav for Nevarro, and that was it—a tacit yet obvious announcement of the end of...whatever it is the two of you have.

Had.

It isn't his fault you got overly attached to a partner and a bounty. And it’s definitely not his job to put you back together, but he’s a good man, so you know he’ll try if you let him.

You sit up and wipe your eyes, doing your best to pull yourself together.

“I’m fine,” you reassure him.

He tilts his helmet skeptically.

“I’ll be fine,” you amend. “Really, I’m okay.”

You wait for him to turn and leave, to shut the door behind him. Instead, he takes a seat by your feet, your cot dipping under his weight. He looks down at his hands in his lap, his helmet hanging heavy, his shoulders slumped forward.

“I miss him too.”

He turns his head to look at you and slowly reaches for your hand, hovering uncertainly over it until you give him a dazed nod. And he slides toward you on the bed, so he can clasp it between his gloved ones, caught there gently.

You hold your breath, oscillating between the desire to reach for more of him and the fear that if you do, you’ll shatter this moment and scare him back behind his armor.

He looks at your hand between his then up at your face.

“You still have me.”

Your voice is watery and broken, but your lips turn up in a tentative smile. “Yeah?”

He leans into you at the same time he tightens his grip on your hand and pulls you into him. You wrap your arms around each other. It’s awkward to hug while he’s sitting on the edge of the bed and you’re scrunched up at the top of it, with him in his bulky armor and the blankets tangled around your waist. And it’s perfect.

He holds you tight against him, your face tucked into his cowl, his large hand on the nape of your neck. For the first time, you can actually hear him breathing before the sound hits the modulator. You can feel it too—the rise and fall of his chest against yours.

His other hand starts a slow climb up your back then descends, falling into a comforting repetition. And then he starts to hum, a low vibration in his chest that flowers into the softest sound.

At first, you don’t recognize the melody.

You usually sing the words—used to, anyways. It sounds different in his deep voice, filtered through the modulator. You sang it to Grogu most nights to put him to sleep, a song from your childhood. A comfort. A lullaby.

You didn’t know Mando knew it, that all those nights he was listening too.

When he reaches the end of the song, he pulls back far enough to look at your face, tilting your chin up with two fingers.

“You’ll always have me.”

[tightjeansjavi]

trinkets

A/N: so I woke up this morning thinking about Dieter & gumdrop—better known as trash panda and trash possum 🥺 I just love how silly they are together and I hope y’all do too!

~word count: 1.9k~ yeah—idk what happened lol

Summary: Dieter almost burns his script in front of the director, you’re at home writing Din Djarin fanfiction on your tumblr account, Oh! And something about Dieter cloning his cock in silicone?

Pairing | dieter bravo x f!reader

Warnings: none, fluff, implied smut (phone sex bby), language, dirty talk, dieter and the reader being a menace together, one mention of drugs, readers nickname is gumdrop/trash possum, reader has no physical descriptions, +18 minors dni!

series masterlist

When Dieter is away for a new filming project, you end up house sitting for him because there is no one that he trusts more, (outside of his agent) than you, his gumdrop. Plus, he’s secretly hoping that if you spend more time in his home, that you’ll be open to moving in with him. It’s his genius plan that he of course came up with when he was stoned out of his mind.

He didn’t realize that he could just ask you to move in with him. That was far too simple!

So, for the month that Dieter was away filming, you were lounging in his home like a house cat. He called you multiple times a day to check in on you, and because he missed your voice terribly.

“What have you been up to today, gumdrop?” He was hunched over the side of his hotel bed at an awkward angle. It was a terrible day on set. He was used to the director making last minute changes to the scene, tweaking irrelevant details and minor character traits that no one would pay attention to. Dieter, however, was not prepared for his character's redemption arc to be completely fried to bits.

He compared it to what happens to an egg when you crack it on a pan that is too hot, and the whole thing ends up burnt and crusted onto the pan.

He was furious, and instead of just sticking it through, he stormed off set after he threatened to quit the film entirely.

“Hey, Dee!” You chirped enthusiastically through the receiver. “I’m out by the pool, with a fresh glass of homemade iced tea, and I’m finally getting to write the bit where my slow burn lovers are finally going to kiss!”

He felt his lips curving upwards into a lopsided smile at your enthusiasm as he pictured you in your sunglasses, typing away on your laptop, eyes dancing, little giggles slipping past your lips because he knew just how badly you wanted to write this next part.

“I miss you so fucking much, my little trash possum.” He sighed, scraping his hand down his face before he fell back against the comforter. “This is about that tin helmet dude, right? With the little green guy?”

“Oh, Diets, I miss you too, trash panda.” You paused your typing, reaching for your glass of iced tea and took a sip. “Yes, baby. Din Djarin and Grogu. Speaking of, when you come home next month, do you wanna go to Disneyland?”

“Are Din and the reader finally gonna kiss? Shit, is he gonna take his helmet off and break the creed? Please tell me he takes the helmet off!” He felt like one of your fellow dedicated readers on tumblr, anticipating when you would post the next chapter to one of your many prolific series. “Baby, I would absolutely love to go to Disneyland with you when I get home.”

You giggled softly, shaking your head and set your glass back down on the nearby table. “Dee, I can’t spoil it! You know this, baby. You’re just gonna have to wait for the update like everyone else.” You typed in a few more words to add to the current sentence you were working on before saying, “how’s filming going? Shouldn’t you be on set right now, baby?”

“Well, if I were the tin helmet man, I would absolutely take my helmet off and break my creed for you, Meshla. And then after that I would—” he grumbled and rolled over onto his stomach, “I left set because this fucking director is completely trashing the redemption arc that my character is supposed to have! I had all these cool ideas that pretty much have now just been flushed down the toilet, and I may, or may not have threatened to quit.”

“How romantic, Dee. You’d break your creed for me?” Your lips curved downwards into a set frown when he explained to you what happened on set. “Oh, Dieter, I’m so sorry. Why the hell would the director do that? It sounded like before that it was going really well, too.”

“I’d break every creed for you, gumdrop. But yeah, the guy is on fucking crack, I swear. It’s making my job so much more fucking difficult. Y’know, I thought that after winning my first Oscar that people in this bloodsucking industry would actually take me seriously. Guess not, huh? Guess I’m still just a fuckin’ joke in Hollywood’s eyes.” He scoffed, pinching the bridge of his nose with his ringed thumb and forefinger to suppress his oncoming tears.

“Baby, you are not a joke in Hollywood’s eyes, okay? If you and the director aren’t seeing eye to eye, I think you should give it one last shot to try and meet a middle ground? If he doesn’t budge, then I fully support you in quitting this job. You’re so passionate about your work, Dee. No reason to be pulling teeth just for a paycheck.” You reassured him, setting your laptop off to the side now so you could give your boyfriend your undivided full attention.

“And this is why I fucking love you, gumdrop. You always know how to validate me and talk me down. What the fuck would I do without you?” He stifled a chuckle. “So, I think I’m gonna give myself another hour to be pissed and grouchy about this, and then I’m gonna march my ass back to set, and give this dude a piece of my fucking—”

“Dieter.” You softly warned him.

“Baby, I’m kidding. But I am gonna try and see if he and I can reach a middle ground. And if we can’t, well, guess I’m coming home early, trash possum.”

“As much as I would love to see you sooner, I want this role to work out for you, Dee.”

“Me too, gumdrop.” He scratched at his beard with a sigh, and just when he was about to say more, there was a knock at his door and the familiar chime of his agent's voice. “I’ll call you later, okay? Cause I wanna hear all about the tin man kissing the reader, finally.”

“Okay, baby. Just remember, you’re my Dieter Bravo, and I’m so proud of you.”

“Love you to the moon and back, trash possum. Catcha on the flipside.” He ended the call, tossing his phone to the side and droned out, “You may enter.”

-

Later in the evening, and you were finalizing the final draft of the chapter, Dieter texted you and told you that the conversation with the director went well, and things were back on track.

Dee! This is great news, baby! I’m so happy for you 💗

Me too! He actually agreed that destroying my character's redemption arc was piss-poor writing, and he’s gonna have a new script ready for me in the morning. Did Din finally kiss the reader?

See what happens when you just communicate? So proud of you, baby. And maaaaybe. I just finished finalizing the chapter and now I just have to post it! 🤭

See, now if I never met you, I probably would have torn the guy a new one and then set the script on fire right in front of him. Y’know, like that scene in the Social Network, where Andrew Garfield’s gf sets the scarf on fire in his trash can? CLASSIC! Anyway, I’m gripping the edge of my seat! I can’t wait to read, gumdrop.

Ohhh! Yeah, that scene is a classic! I’m glad that you didn’t set your script on fire, Dee. I should have the chapter posted within the hour. Oh! And before I forget, when you come home next month…I have a surprise for you x.

Shiiii is it you naked in my bed and touching yourself? Is that the surprise? 🥵

Well that’s part of it! Butttt you’ll just have to wait and see! 😉

Oh, sure, tease me, why don’t ya? Got my cock stupid hard already, you little filthy thing.

Pics or it didn’t happen!

Tell me if Din and the reader kiss, then I’ll send you a pic ;)

You are a little shithead

Tell me something I don’t already know, gumdrop 🥰

Fine. Fine. They kiss! He takes his helmet off, but she doesn’t see his face. She keeps her eyes closed because she doesn’t want him to break his creed for her 🥺

Damn, that just made my heart & my cock ache :( Din is such a romantic! Be still, my foolish heart. Your readers are gonna eat that shit up, babygirl.

Please show me. That clone your willy dildo you got me just isn’t the same. And yeah, he is such a romantic! Just like you 💗

Oh, fuck. Are you using it on yourself right now? Hold on, I’m gonna FaceTime you! I need to see this for myself 😉

I miiight be.

Seconds after sending that text, Dieter FaceTimes you and his freehand is already slowly and gently fisting his cock in your view just as he sees you fucking yourself with the silicone dildo of his cloned cock.

“So pretty, good golly. You take my fake cock so well, gumdrop.”

-

It’s hours before Dieter’s flight into LAX is expected to arrive. You had just finished moving in all of your belongings from your apartment, including all of your silly little trinkets and knick knacks that you have now displayed on every available surface in his home.

Tiny animal figurines, built lego sets, little trinkets and bobbles and you even went and bought a cabinet to store yours and Dieter’s Funko Pop collection. Little pieces of yourself and your exuberant personality were scattered about the house. You were, in some ways, like a crow; you loved to collect pretty and shiny things.

When Dieter arrived home, bag slung over his shoulder, and under his eyes, the first thing he noticed was the stack of cardboard boxes neatly stacked next to the front door and his heart immediately swelled at the sight.

“Gumdrop?” He called for you, kicking his shoes off on the rainbow doormat next to yours.

He padded further into the house, stopping at the cabinet with your shared Funko Pop collection and into the kitchen where he saw that along the window sill, you had an array of different animal figurines lined up in a row, and the very first two animals were a little ceramic racoon and possum.Then he finally saw you, lounged out by the pool, typing away like a maniac on your laptop.

He dropped his bag to the floor and pulled open the sliding back door to accompany you outside.

You looked up from the screen at the familiar sound, lips curving upwards into a grin that stretched across your entire face. “Dieter!” You said enthusiastically, setting your laptop off to the side and ran over to him, nearly slipping into the pool on your way because you were so excited.

He met you halfway, wrapping his arms around you and hugging you so tightly it felt like the oxygen was being crushed out of your lungs.

“Hey there, my little crow. You moving in or something?” He said teasingly, loosening his grip around you as your arms looped around his neck, “Cause, I was gonna ask you to move in at some point but I just—”

You shushed him with a kiss, molding your lips against his in a warm embrace. “Surprise.” You carded your fingers through his hair, tugging him in closer, “You’re stuck with me now, trash panda.”

He smiled against your lips, kissing you back deeply, giving your ass a playful squeeze as you yelped in surprise, giving him full access to lick into your mouth, “Wouldn’t’ want to have it any other way, trash possum.”

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[its-time-to-write]

ch. 2 - hustling for the good life

table of contents only reason I had the courage to post this is bc I saw another post that was like “bby you can write whatever you want.” so I did.

dancing is a dangerous game

Natalie comes back with these fluffy silver slides. They’re ridiculously comfortable and you’re not sure how she managed to find them so quick, but hey, that’s Nat for you. Her mantra is, “Comfort first.”

“You have to wear them with me,” she commands. “It’s in my contract. Plus, they go with your dress.”

You scrunch your face at her. “No it is not. I’m wearing my heels. There’s no way you’re getting me in public with those on my feet, much less a party with a bunch of famous people.”

—

“Ohmigod, I fucking love your shoes,” says Keeley Jones an hour later. 

Natalie smiles and points her toe. “Thanks!” she replies, “Had to convince this one that it would be fun. And thanks for getting us the invite, Keeley. Means a lot.”

Keeley shrugs. “Not a problem, babes. I’ve known Stella for a bit, and she hosts the best parties. Her boyfriend’s around here somewhere, and he always invites a bunch of his football friends. They’re pretty hot,” she says as she shoots you a pointed look. “Perfect for getting over a recent breakup?” she says pointedly.

You wrinkle your nose. “I’m not really looking for anything right now,” you admit.

“Or ever,” Natalie coughs.

“Fine,” you concede. “Or ever. I don’t really have time for another relationship between Mango and getting ready for the Blue Glass tour. Too much work.”

Keeley nods and says, “Ah. Last relationship was PR, was it?”

“Try last three,” you sigh. “But don’t tell anyone. They were trying to put out the rumor that I was getting engaged, but I don’t think that I could play with someone’s life like that. It’s just too hard. If I were to date again, I’d want it to be real. And private. But…” you shrug. “I’m me. I’ve had to fight tooth and nail for every ounce of privacy I currently have.”

Keeley shakes her head. “Well babe, they say there’s someone for everyone but for now, enjoy the single life! Go get a drink then meet me on the dance floor, yeah? My boyfriend isn’t here because he’s an old grump, but I promised him I’d have enough fun for the both of us.”

She talks about her boyfriend so affectionately that is stirs something in your chest. You think Keeley Jones must have the rare luxury of real love, and you wonder what that must be like.

“Come on don’t get all morose on me now, we’re getting smashed,” Natalie says as she drags you to the bar. You raise an eyebrow. “Ok, alright, I’m getting smashed,” she amends. “Keeley swore up and down the walls that this party isn’t going to end up on the internet, and I’m going to take full advantage of that.” 

You roll your eyes as Natalie herds you to an in-home bar and pushes her way through tall, muscly men. You admire her faith in Keeley, but you know that you can never be completely in control.

“Do you make espresso martinis?” she shouts above the din. The man behind the counter nods as you give her a strange look. “What?” she asks, “Don’t act like coffee and booze aren’t the best combo since peanut butter and jelly.”

She takes her drink and says, “We should go find Isaac and Stella so you can thank them for having you. You know, meet the hosts and everything.” 

“Alright,” you say, “but then we’re dancing the night away. Don’t need to be buzzed to have a good time.”

“But it’s better if you are,” she replies as she grabs your hand once more, weaving through what you assume are famous footballers, actors, and models. You wave to a couple people you know as she ducks under arms, effortlessly taking sips of her martini. 

Natalie stops in front of two people you’re pretty sure you’ve never met before, and you’re having trouble placing their faces.

She nudges you as she says, “Isaac, Stella, pretty sure you already know who this one is.”

They smile, and Stella leans forward to kiss the air beside each of your cheeks, which are a little flushed from Natalie’s presumption. You introduce yourself anyway, because you’re not going to assume people know who you are, for goodness’ sake. 

“Can’t believe you’re here,” Isaac says. “Fucking mental, you’ve been top of the charts for months now.”

Stella nods in agreement. “Me and the girls have been listening to Mango ever since it came out. I mean come on, Patch is absolutely gorgeous.” She catches your squirm of discomfort and continues, “But you must be tired of talking about all that. Don’t worry, darling, you can dance all your cares away. Everyone here is somebody, so no one cares who you are.”

You give her a small smile, grateful for her perception. “I’ll keep that in mind you say. Oh shit, is that Margaret? I’m going to go say hey. Haven’t seen her in forever.”

You excuse yourself to the other side of the room to grill Margaret about her relationship.

—

The night is sliding by at a glorious pace as you catch glimpses of Natalie flitting back and forth, making new friends and connections that she’s sure to use to your advantage later. 

You’ve passed a pleasant hour dancing with Keeley and Margaret but you get tired of it without the buzz of alcohol in your veins. You decide to slip into a corner and observe, relishing the sheer disinterest that people have you. You’re pretty sure you see a Beckham walk by, as well as an actress with a blockbuster summer movie.

Andrew would’ve loved this, you think and you allow yourself to indulge in a memory of your staged romance with the guitarist.

Andrew used to take you dancing. He’d pull you onto the dance floor and put his hands on your hips to help you move in time with the music. He was the kind of person where a touch never felt threatening, and it was actually enjoyable the way he’d slide a hand down your arm to sway you with the music. He’s the reason you can move as well as you do and can actually enjoy yourself without feeling self-conscious. 

You think of the song you wrote together, Ice, and how you thought your friendship with him might be the closest thing you ever had to love. Maybe you had just conflated admiration with adoration, but if he decided he had real feelings for you, you think you could have made it work.

But he had his own albums to promote, so your breakup was timed to bring in the most hits. You missed him, but still talked every now and then.

You silently thank Natalie for pressuring you into wearing those goddamn slippers because yeah, they’ve been getting comments, but as people get drunker, they stop caring about what other people look like and more about their own comfort.

You can catch bits and pieces of conversation, familiar voices mixing with the unfamiliar, and it’s soothing for a moment until it’s not. 

Without warning, the room is too hot and too stifling, and your skin is tight on your body and you can hear your heart pounding louder than the bass of the music. 

Fuck.

You look around for an exit, maybe a door to the backyard or something where you can panic unnoticed. You push your way to the kitchen and see a sliding door. It’s open and inviting, but it doesn’t seem like anyone’s outside so you take a step into the cool night air.

There’s a pool, so you take off the slippers, bunch your dress up to your knees, and dip your feet in.

The shock of the water combined with fresh air begins to slow your breathing and you take a moment to appreciate the relative peace, when a voice breaks the spell.

“Too crowded, innit?” says someone in an accent that’s definitely British, but not in a way that you can place. 

You turn to see someone sitting on one of the recliners. You must have missed him when you first came out.

“Nice shoes,” he says, getting up.

Don’t sit next to me, don’t sit next to me, you silently will him because anyone closer than three feet feels like choking.

He might be telekinetic because he sits three and a half feet away, trousers rolled up.

“Had the same idea,” he continues. “Isaac throws a mad party, but it gets all crowded and shit. And anyway, I still got training tomorrow. Or maybe it’s today.” He frowns. “Got no idea what time it is.”

You note that he seems to be personal friends with Isaac and that he mentioned training, so he must be a footballer. 

He also seems to be perfectly content to fill the silence without your help.

“I’m Jamie, by the way,” he says. “You’re American, ain’t ya? Heard there were a whole bunch of you coming. None of you appreciate good football.” He shakes his head in mock sadness. “Bet you don’t even know who I am, do you?”

You tilt your head to better assess his face in the darkness. You think he might be familiar, but maybe he just has one of those faces.

Jamie obliges your perusal by moving his head to better catch the light. “Don’t matter, love. Stay in Richmond long enough and you’ll see this sexy face all over.”

He studies your face for a moment. “You’re a musician, right? That new one with the album about the fruit.”

You chuckle and say, “I’d hardly say I’m new. That was technically my third album if you don’t count the singles. Did one called Rotary Phone first, but people didn’t pay much attention till the first single on Blue Glass. Turned out pretty good, too. But yeah, my new album has a fruit on it. Not really about mangoes, but…” You trail off. Those are the most words you’ve said to a stranger in a long time but Jamie doesn’t notice.

“Right, yeah, ok,” he says, “I remember your name.”

He pauses before saying it into the night.

You almost shiver.

You’ve never quite heard your name like that before.

It’s a little distorted with his accent, but the way he says it it’s almost- familiar. Like the way a close friend would say it. 

“Yeah, that’s me,” you reply quietly. “Big star, or something.”

Jamie nods. “Hm. Oi, you’re best mates with Taylor Swift!”

That makes you laugh. 

“Nah, I’m really not. People just think that because we both play guitar.”

The words are barely out of your mouth before Jamie’s disagreeing with you.

“You have to be good friends. I mean she basically co-wrote half of Blue Glass!”

“Tay was just featured in Creekside. She’s not listed anywhere else.”

“C’mon. Allie Gooding? The bird you have as one of your co-writers? You expect me to believe that’s not Taylor Swift?”

You raise an eyebrow. “I have no idea what you mean.”

Jamie gives you a look. “Allie? Alison? Taylor Alison Swift? It ain’t hard to figure out.”

You scoff as you tell him that he’s reaching. “You sound like a crazy conspiracy theorist.”

Jamie’s still looking at you like he doesn’t believe you, but he changes the subject. “What’s your favorite song you’ve written?”

“Margarita,” you reply without hesitation. “No contest.”

Margarita was on Rotary Phone and is more of a deep cut, but Jamie seems to know it because he nods in approval. 

“Mine’s Tiny,” he says. “I like that the words are about his heart but it’s really about his dick.”

You smile. Tiny was really fun to write. “Wait, hang on, how do you know so much about my music? You were acting like you’d barely heard of me.”

Jamie grins. “Didn’t want to freak you out, did I? A pretty girl’s a pretty girl, no matter the fame.”

You laugh at that and he joins in for a moment before becoming serious.

“Oi, but really, are you alright? Saw you come out here with your hand pressed to your chest, like.”

You take a shallow breath before answering with as much sparkle as you can muster.

“Oh yeah, totally. All good.”

Jamie raises an eyebrow and you raise one right back, but he isn’t backing down.

“I won’t press you, but I know what anxiety looks like. Gaffer- er, coach has it pretty bad.”

You’re saved from responding by Natalie staggering outside with Keeley on one arm. 

“There you are!” she shouts. “Been looking everywhere for you. See that one?” she asks Keeley, pointing in an exaggerated fashion. “That’s my best friend. My famous, gorgeous, single, bestie.” She notices Jamie and smiles. “You want to date her? She could use a boyfriend and maybe a couple laughs.”

You frown as you get up to rescue Keeley from drunk Nat. 

“No, I couldn’t. I’m good. And you should probably get home, young lady.”

That just makes Nat and Keeley giggle. “What is she, your mum?” Keeley gasps.

Jamie gets up too and makes his way toward Keeley. “Oi, Keels, better get you home safe so granddad doesn’t have a fit.”

She peers at his face before patting it and saying, “Jamie? When’d you get here? You trying to get with this one?”

“Nah,” Jamie says, “she wouldn’t be interested in someone like me anyway. Now come on, love, I’ll drive you home.”

He disappears inside with Keeley wobbling on his arm, loudly saying something about how he needs to be nicer to himself.

You sigh and reach for your phone to call the car.

table of contents

[vera-king-hrfl]

Heat of the Night part 7

Collab with @crowwolf ily bby!

The rugby game was supposed to be in this part, but we took a minute to research because I know fckall about that sport, so I waffled for about 2500 words. Next time! 😅

CW: homophobic slurs, mild violence, attempted assault.

A few nights later, Cal is at Creature Comforts, a bar designed to cater to those with alternative ancestry, with some friends, playing darts, drinking beer and chatting. Cal is currently tossing against Max, a half-orc who plays rugby as well, for a team in the Outer City. The young tiefling is losing. Badly. 

"What are you doing, Cal? I'm gonna take your whole week's pay if you keep throwing like that." Max goes to pluck the darts from the target, none of which had struck anywhere near the center. 

Cal forks over a few coins, shaking his head with a sheepish grin. "Sorry, Max. I'm a little distracted this week. Besides, it's not like I could beat you anyway. I'll just sit the next few out."

The huge green man, who towers over everyone in the place except for Cal and Dammon, is surprisingly soft-spoken for his rather fearsome appearance, his deep, gruff voice a pleasant rumble that cuts through the raucous din. "That’s alright, kid. I'll let you off the hook. Is there anything you want to talk about?"

Cal walks to the bar with Max to get another drink, then leans against it, sipping from the bottle, and shrugs. "Nothing dire, really. I just met someone."

The big man grins, showing teeth that put Cal's fangs to shame. "So. Too late for us, then?" 

The tiefling chokes, then wipes his chin. "Us? I... um... I didn’t know you felt that way..."

Max laughs with a hearty gusto that makes Cal relax a little and shake his head. "Just messing with you Cal; you're not my type. Besides, we'd just break the bed. You've gotten bigger in the past few years."

"Yeah, sideways, maybe." The tiefling snorts and pats his own belly, looking pointedly at Max's rock hard chest and stomach. 

Max chuckles again. "You could always come work out with us at the yard; I'll get you into shape in no time. But I don't think you need it. I bet your boyfriend loves the fluff."

Cal grins, blushing a little. "Yeah he seems to. But he's not my boyfriend yet; we've only been on two dates."

"Dates? Wow, I haven't been on one of those in decades. I just find a nice lady with a fat ass and ask if she wants me to jiggle it for her. Works more often than you'd think, as long as she doesn't run screaming when I walk in the room." He nods at someone across the room and slaps Cal on the shoulder, making him grunt and stagger a bit. "Talk to you later, Cal. Looks like Darys wants to be humiliated. Take it easy, kid."

"Yeah you too, Max." Cal stays where he is for a few more minutes, then approaches a table where Dammon and some other men are trading bawdy stories. "Hey Dammon, can I talk to you for a second?"

The handsome blond tiefling nods and rises, following Cal to a marginally quieter corner. "Sure, Cal. What's up?"

"Do you think... would it be weird if I invited the guy I'm seeing to our game this weekend?"

Dammon raises an eyebrow, his blue eyes sparkling with interest. "I didn't know you were dating anyone, but yeah, you can invite him. We're playing the Rivington Roeths; Max's team. Those guys are all pretty cool. What's he look like, so I can make sure he gets a good seat?"

Cal blushes a bit. "Oh, well... he has black skin and white hair, about yea high." Cal holds his hand at the level of his chin. 

"I see..." Dammon’s grin makes Cal blush a bit deeper red, but he's smiling too. "What’s his name?"

"Ryldinn."

"Hmmm dabbling in the dark, are we? Not that I blame you; most of those drow are kinda kinky." The paler tiefling winks conspiratorially. "Ask me how I know." Dammon’s attitude is infectious, and Cal ends up laughing with him.

"Yeah, yeah, I've heard that you like to visit the Caress."

Dammon chuckles, then sighs dreamily, closing his eyes for a second. "Mmm yeah, you haven't lived until you've been tied up by the twins. But anyway, sure, that's no problem. I'll have them comp two seats so you can sit with him during breaks if you want. Just have him say that Dammon has it covered. Can't wait to meet him. You hanging around for a while? Shop's closed tomorrow."

"Nah, been a long day. Besides, I lost all my beer money to Max already. It’s nice out so I'm just going to walk home."

"Alright, Cal. Get some rest. The Roeths go hard."

Cal grins. "I know. But I need to win back some money. I bet Max I could stop a drive."

Dammon whistles softly. "Bold. Well, lemme know if you need a loan later, alright?" They hug, briefly, and Cal lets himself out onto the street, pulling out his comm and staring at it for a second. He doesn’t want to bother Ryldinn if the drow is busy, so he settles for a written message. 

Thinking about you. 

He grins, cursing himself for a fool with a crush, and slips the device back into his pocket before beginning his walk home. It's shortly after ninth bell and the streets are sparsely populated in this neighborhood, with only a few people out walking dogs, strolling, coming home from work. It's quiet. Peaceful. 

Right up until it's not. 

"Hey there, cutie, what's up?" The loud, intoxicated sounding voice is coming from an alley to Cal's left as he walks past, and at first, he just ignores it, concentrating on his own thoughts. 

"Hey, I'm talking to you! Guys, come look what I found."

The note of hostility gives Cal pause, and he backs up a little to look down the alley. The voices seem to be coming from one street over, the speaker out of sight for the moment. The tiefling hesitates, then another babble of voices joins the first and he starts moving down through the darkness between the buildings. 

"Awww what have we here? Look at this pretty little faggot!"

"Hey, stick around, beautiful. Whatcha got in the bag?"

A pause, the response inaudible to Cal at this distance. 

"What if I don’t wanna let go of you? You gonna do something to me?"

"I think he wants to suck your dick, Barret."

"That right? You wanna suck my dick, fairy? Come over here. Maybe if you do it good I'll let you go."

Suddenly, three human men appear, dragging someone smaller into the alley, and Cal speeds up in time to see a petite man with white hair being shoved against the wall and pinned by the biggest of his attackers. Thick fingers grip the smooth dark face, and the man lowers his head. "Come on, princess. Gimme a little kiss."

"Hey!" The men turn at the shout, the big one releasing Ryldinn for a moment as Cal draws near. The drow tries to extricate himself but his ponytail is snatched by one of the others and he's pulled back as the leader addresses first his captive, then Cal. 

"I didn't say you could go." He lifts his chin and squares his shoulders. "This isn't your business, buddy. Move along."

"I'm making it my business. The fuck are you doing? Let him go."

The guy, a big man with overly processed blond hair and acne scars, who Cal assumes is Barret, steps closer. "Hold him, guys," he says, glancing back before crossing his arms and sneering at Cal. "What’s it to you, foulblood? You sweet on this little piece?"

One of his companions, a skinny guy with a prominent nose, snickers. "Maybe he's a queer too. You a queer, hellspawn?"

Cal smiles, baring his fangs. "Yeah I am. Got a problem with that?"

Barret steps closer, but the skinny one seems to have second thoughts and catches at his arm. He's whispering, but Cal's big ears catch it. "Hey man, you sure about this? He's a tiefling."

Barret snorts. "He's a fag, how tough could he be? Just keep that one here and I'll deal with him. You looking for a fight, cocksucker?"

Cal tilts his head until his neck cracks rather loudly. "Unless you want to let him go, then yeah. One for one. You can have the first punch. But I promise you don't want it."

Barett chuckles and glances back at his friends, briefly. There's a brief glimmer of hesitation in his eyes, but he obviously doesn't want to lose face in front of his minions, so he steps to Cal and raises his fists. "You got this coming, devil." The tiefling doesn’t bother trying to dodge. Barret is strong for a human, and his hit connects smack on Cal's jaw, but his heavy facial bones absorb the impact and he's barely moved. He lifts his hand, rubbing at his jaw and grinning. "My turn."

The "oh shit" is visible in Barret's expression now, but to his credit, he doesn't try to escape. Cal doesn't even bother hitting the guy, just lashes out, taking hold of the guy's head and shoving. The big human goes flying, careening across the alley and colliding into the brick wall with a loud smack, then tumbling onto his back, lying there groaning and holding his head. 

Cal turns to the others. "Next?"

"Uh..." The other two, Skinny and a chunky shorter man, look at each other for a moment, then Ryldinn is released and walks quickly to Cal, standing somewhat behind the bigger man. "Yeah, alright, you can have him. We're going. Come on, Barret, let's get you some ice." They help the man to his feet and the three of them stagger down the alley in the direction from which the tiefling had come. Cal watches them until they're out of sight, then turns to the drow, who seems to be a little shaky.

Cal reaches out and gently takes his arms, looking him over. The smaller man is dressed professionally tonight, tailored slacks and a snug waistcoat over a crisp blue linen shirt, his hair escaping from a neat tail at the back of his neck. There's a bulky messenger bag depending from one shoulder. "You alright, Ryldinn?"

The drow smiles a little, then steps forward into Cal’s arms and nods. "I am fine, Cal, just a little shaken. Thank the gods you showed up. What are you doing here?" He pulls back, and Cal cups his cheek with a smile. 

"I'm on my way home. Wanted to walk. Come on, let's get back to the street. How about you? This isn't really a safe neighborhood."

They emerge back onto the sidewalk on Ryldinn’s side of the street, and the drow starts fixing his hair and smoothing his clothes while he answers. "I am here for work. A few books I needed were being offered by a widow selling off her late husband's things. I suppose she is lonely; I spent longer than I intended having tea and talking with her. I live not far from here; I wasn’t expecting trouble." He reaches up to touch Cal's jaw, gently. "I'm sorry that man struck you. Does it hurt?"

Cal chuckles. "Not really. I'm tougher than I look. Dense bones. Don't worry about me; I asked for it. Can I walk you home? It would make me feel better."

Ryldinn smiles brightly, his little kitten teeth sparkling in the street lights. "I think it would make me feel better too. Thank you, Cal."

The tiefling smiles back and takes the slender dark fingers, kissing them briefly before resuming in the direction Ryldinn indicates. "I don't know if you got my message earlier, but I wanted to tell you. We have a night game tomorrow against Rivington, and you said you were interested... so if you're not busy..."

The drow squeezes his hand. "I would love to. This is my final task this week, so I should be free for a couple of days." He sounds a little nervous for a moment. "What kind of people go to games like that?"

"Oh, all kinds. But don’t worry about anything, alright? Most of them know about me; they won't give you any trouble. Just mention Dammon at the gate and they'll have seats for you."

"He is a member of your team?"

"Yep. He's the captain. He's also my boss; owns the shop I work at. He's a tiefling too. Really nice guy, known him since I was a kid. I think you'll like him."

"I'm sure I will, if he's anything like you. Turn here."

They cross another street and are suddenly in a much more gentrified, but far from wealthy neighborhood, with cute little shuttered shops and cafes. "This is nice," Cal says, looking around. "How long have you lived here?"

"Oh, around ten years now. I stayed with a friend until my Common was good enough to be on my own. The people here are nice and tend to keep out the intolerant."

"So you live alone now?"

"Mhm. I enjoy my privacy. The friend was Astarion, if you can imagine. It was a little chaotic. He still drops in now and again to irritate me, but I spend much time alone."

Cal grins. "I guess that guy could be an annoying roommate. I live with my sister. She's a pain sometimes too, but it's not bad. We're both out a lot." Ryldinn slows before a charming three-storey building and turns down the walkway. It's a little darker here; the dense landscaping blocking some of the light from the street and the windows. "This it?" Ryldinn nods. "Alright. I guess I'll get going, if you're sure you're alright."

"I'm fine." Cal nods and turns to go, but Ryldinn tightens his grip, and he pauses. "My hero." He moves closer with that precious little grin, and Cal's breath catches at the invitation there. "Will the knight in shining armor kiss his princess goodnight?"

Cal swallows, "Oh, absolutely," then wraps Ryldinn in his arms and presses his lips to the tender mouth. The kiss is chaste at first, but then Ryldinn moans softly and parts his lips, and Cal can't help himself. He pulls the drow closer, up against him, and probes with his tongue. Ryldinn meets him, sealing his mouth to Cal's and letting their tongues slide together. The drow inhales sharply at the feeling, sliding his hands up Cal's chest and around his neck, pressing his tight little body to Cal and bringing one leg up to curl around one of Cal’s. It feels incredible, and Cal risks wrapping his tail around the firm thigh, drawing another little whimper from the trembling drow. A small hand drifts down his chest and stomach, slides over the covered crest on his hip, then wraps gently around his tail where it rests against his leg, and this time it's the tiefling who groans quietly. Ryldinn’s mouth is sweet, soft and a little shy, his kiss unpracticed, almost clumsy against Cal’s lips, as if this is something he hasn’t done frequently or recently, but he's certainly enjoying it as well, from what Cal can detect. He kisses the lovely man for a few minutes, but then has to pull away before embarrassing himself. He blows out a breath, chuckles, and kisses Ryldinn on the forehead before pulling him in for a hug.

"That was amazing, sweetheart. Thank you."

Ryldinn giggles softly into his chest. "You’re telling me? I've never kissed anyone with a forked tongue before." He looks up, still breathing a bit rapidly. "You'd better go before I drag you upstairs. Are you going to be alright? Your face..."

Cal smiles and cups his cheek again. "I'm fine. Like I said, I'm pretty tough." He takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly, trying to calm himself, then chuckles. "And yeah, I'll go, before I'm tempted to let you drag me. I'll see you tomorrow, alright?"

Ryldinn nods. "Tomorrow. Goodnight, Cal."

[wannab-urs]

Hiii! Forgive me if you already have this info posted somewhere that I didn't find, but I have been in desperate need of some Comfort Joel Miller... 🥺👉🏻👈🏻 Because real life has been stressful enough and riddled with anxiety 😩 And while I'm ALL about smutty goodness, I could really use some Emotional Hurt/comfort (or physical/protective), depressy/anxy, supportive bby boi shit to read. I'm not sure the best way to go about finding those stories specifically... So I figured I'd ask if you or writers you know have fic recommendations in those categories?? If so, that would be amazing 🖤

Hellooooo. I adore getting fic rec requests. Most of these are gonna have smut in them because I am just a girl (gn), but a few don't. I included some alternative stuff that's a little outside what you asked for, but similar enough.

Disclaimer: I have not read every fic on this list

One shots:

Breathe Through It by @tommysversion

Summary: you have a panic attack. Joel helps.

This is the one I think will be perfect for your request

Illicit Affairs by @schnarfer

Summary:  A little angst-ridden affair with Joel Miller, as a treat?

From the author: "there is a butt load of angst and emotions? He's very supportive (of having an affair with him)"  

Heavy Rain by @lunitawrites

summary: It´s been raining for weeks when Joel finds you curled up on his couch.

recced by @janaispunk !

Walking Through Fire by @macfrog

summary: you’re neck-deep in a bout of seasonal depression. your boyfriend suggests an autumnal walk.

recced by @janaispunk

Observations by @ezrasbirdie

summary: You're not like the other girls, but it'd be easier if you were. Joel Miller doesn't see it that way.

recced by @janaispunk

Series:

One Thing I'm Missing by @joelscruff

you and joel accidentally end up falling asleep together, and what follows is the beginning of a quiet and tender relationship neither of you saw coming

forever is the sweetest con by sistersadeyes (AO3)

Summary: your life, post-apocalypse, and the surly old survivor who darkens your door. Growing up with a doomsday prepper as a father hadn't been easy. But after the Outbreak, you can't help but feel a little grateful to the old man. You're almost sad he didn't make it long enough to see how right he'd been. You inherit the farm, the stockpile, and the bunker months before the Outbreak. And in the aftermath, you use it to prove that human kindness still exists, helping all those you can. Set 5 years after the Outbreak.

I cannot recommend this fic enough dawg

One Day at a Time by @sixhours

Summary: Joel becomes a dad. Again

Lots and lots of emotions, lots of growing together, very sweet, made me cry

A Heart For Eating by @motherofagony

Summary: a vicious raider attack robs you of human connection and lights a fire of destruction in your life in jackson. joel's fixated on you, and your lives tangle. revenge becomes a needful thing.

Mind the warnings, but this one is excellent. Joel's savior complex is nothing to be scoffed at.

WILDCARD -- ever thought about Din and Joel together? Do you like really long series?? I've got the fic for you

Cosmic Oddities by fromthewhales (AO3)

Summary: Turning a clan of two into a clan of four and asking the very important, albeit unhinged question: What if space dad and apocalypse dad were Weird About Each Other?

It's long as hell and it's a weird pairing and it fills my heart with joy. Joel and Din both have some hurt and they both give some comfort. this whole fic just makes me feel soft. It's precious.

Some hurt/comfort one shots but it's Joel that needs comforting:

Father's Day by @proxima-writes

Summary: Father’s Day is hard for Joel Miller after losing his daughter.

Seven by @proxima-writes

Summary: Joel Miller has spent twenty years pushing the grief and guilt surrounding the death of his daughter, Sarah, to the darkest recesses of his brain in favor of survival. Living a more quiet life in Jackson means the ghosts of his past have returned to haunt him. He finds his solace in you, the town librarian.

help me hold on to you by @proxima-writes

Summary: Joel always tries his best to keep his mind from wandering to its darkest corners, but occasionally, the frayed threads holding him together with sloppy stitches start to unravel. Sometimes you need to give him something to hold onto.

[1donoow]

STAR WARS REC

Pt.1

......

♡ - smut

Most of them are fluff

......

<a/n>i somewhat explain why there's alot in my pin post

obiwan kenobi

Poe dameron

Din djarin

obiwan kenobi

@galaxysiegefics - fluff headcannon

@absolutelyferal - bouquet

@dameronology - obi wan + a chaotic s/o

@underratedcharactersimagines - Being in a secret relationship with Obi-Wan would include

———————————————————————

Poe dameron

@plainemmanem - your mine

- ___

@queen-of-elves - you think im cute?

@budcooper - ___(medic!reader)

- ___ (badass mandalorian!reader)

@starryeyedstories - ___

- ___

@dameronology - I'll push you back

- the one where you have to babysit the child

- to all the pilots i've loved before pt.1

- the one where he's your safety husband

- random poe hc

- insomnia

@rabbitfxxdinsxmniac - headcannon

@poedamern - headcannon/scenario

- you need practice, sweetheart

@dailyreverie - let me know if there's anything I can do

- how long are you staying for

- seeing you in a new dress/suit

- the knife

- trick or treat

- ___

@supernovafeather - the hidden nest

@ozarkthedog - ___

@writefightandflightclub - A cut above the rest

@spilledkauffie - asking you out

@geo-winchester - ___

- wait for it

- best friends

@usercecilia - at ease

- dating Poe Headcanon (Solo!Reader)

@ichorai - golden age

@starrys-night - nsfw alphabet

@stormkobra-5 - ___

@spider-starry - level of concern

@just-a-bit-of-a-nerd - that's not mine

@maeby-bby - smut headcannon

@multific - some kind of fairy

@beeslibrarycorner - poe dameron dating hc

———————————————————————

Din djarin

@buckyhoney - early morning

@the-archxr - kar'taylir

- daylight

@makrokosmuss-blog - the mandalorian falling hard for you would include

- soft for you

@star-whores-a-new-hoe - headcannon

@writerlyhabits - headcannon

- ___

@letterfromvienna - ___

@thefuckinsandes - headcannons

@mandelirious - more than a feeling

@forever-rogue - ___

- ___

@whirlybirds - reunion

- reunion

@lavendertales - tempter

@misscampacyn - Imagine Omera doesn’t know that you are engaged with Din

- Imagine you and Din take off your gloves for the child

- Din wanting you to talk to him.

@blkgirl-writing - as you wish

@simp4hotch - learning mando'a

@spilledkauffie - dad!din djarin

- the pearl princess ch.1

@maeby-bby - smut headcannon

@kyber-kisses - children of wrath pt.3(jedi!reader)

@oliviajdjarin - comfort headcannon

- warmth

- breathe

@fabricated-misslieness - ___

@current-interest-writings - grogu learns first aid

- every baby needs a mom pt 2

@thesealard - family

@pedrito-friskito - sweet like sugar ♡

@firstofficerwiggles - grogu's teacher pt.4

@agremlinwrites - a mother ch.1

[davnittbraes]

The Fourth Step - Chapter Thirty-One

Part of The World Is Light, Embodied.

Pairing: Din Djarin x F!Reader

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 2900

Warnings, etc.: drinking games, excessive alcohol consumption, like too much, I need to make this clear I am in no way endorsing drinking this much or encouraging others to drink this much PLEASE DO NOT ATTEMPT, degrading language toward women, reader acts under false pretences with no regret, some introspection, a lil tease of smut at the end

Notes: Okay listen. Does this chapter advance the plot? No. Does it enhance our understanding of the characters and further develop relationships? Not really. And it almost got cut for those reasons, but then I’d have to significantly change parts of the next chapter and I like it too much as it is. Also let’s just have fun for once, bbys have been through enough. Also also this was going to be a beefier chapter but I revised how I’ve split the next few up so sorry again for the kinda low word count.

Mando’a translations at the end of the chapter.

Please check out the Series Masterlist page for more info.

The cantina is the same one you and Cara had sat in the last time you were on Nevarro, where you had tried to navigate your growing feelings for Din and your place in his life. Where you had struggled with trusting yourself not to run away from him, not to hurt him in the end. 

Where, for the first time, you had acknowledged that you felt drawn to him for comfort and support when your thoughts were too loud.

It had taken time, and a few steps backward, but now you’re sitting here, Din next to you, the low buzz of your anxious thoughts hovering in the back of your mind, there but unconcerning. 

Because you know you don’t have to shove them down deep, where they’ll grow into something you can’t control, something terrible and twisted that will turn all that’s bright into dark, seed fear and panic until you run from it, from everything.

The cantina is much busier tonight, nearly every seat taken, and the drone of conversation fluctuates with the raucous laughter of a large group taking up a few tables on the other side of the bar. But despite the mild chaos there’s a still and steady feeling of something like belonging, sitting here, your aliit and what you think might be friends around you, sharing funny stories and good drink. It’s a comfort you’ve never felt before. 

Never allowed yourself to feel. 

You take a sip from your glass of revnog while Karga - Greef, he had insisted - expounds on some recent event that involved people both Cara and Din know, with Cara jumping in on occasion to provide a sarcastic comment or detail the magistrate missed. Even though you’re not familiar with the story’s subjects, both Greef and Cara speak to you, not just Din, making sure you’re kept in the conversation. 

Still, you can’t stop your focus from wandering just a bit, your own experience being employed in similar settings guiding your idle observation of the bartender at work. 

The human woman is obviously experienced, her movements confident and efficient, hands carrying out two separate tasks while her gaze is constantly moving. She’s carefully assessing the other patrons with the practice of one who has served alcoholic beverages to people long enough to know trouble sparks before it flames, and if you catch it soon enough you can prevent an all-out blaze.

Memories of working at The Windflower flit across your thoughts - Tedha had always been the one to spot a fight brewing, able to step in and diffuse it with a charming smile and a witty one-liner that would instantly shift the conversation. 

You were less effective, your defensive reflexes a little more temperamental, which occasionally landed you in the middle of a brawl. That’s why you stuck to the production side of things, tucked away in the distillery where you could focus on your work instead of obnoxious, drunk scugholes. 

The bartender sets two cocktails in front of the Rodian who had ordered them and spins gracefully, reaching to the top shelf of the back bar and shifting aside a couple bottles to pull out the one she’s looking for. Something behind one of the bottles catches your gaze - a clear glass bottle, white label with gold writing. 

Your stomach dips in excitement and words blurt out before you can think about it. “Is that Windflower Savareen?” 

The bartender somehow hears your question above the noise of the crowd, immediately zeroing in on you with a warm smile and a nod. 

Throwing an apologetic smile at Cara and Greef to excuse yourself from the conversation, you slip out of your chair to head to the bar as the woman pulls the bottle down from the shelf. 

A thrill of familiarity runs down your spine at the feel of the bottle in your hand, the way the gold-red liquid glows in the dim light of the cantina. The pristine white label and gold font spelling out The Windflower’s name, date of the batch’s production, the name of the distiller. 

Your fingertip traces the letters carefully. 

Sozi Varu. 

A laugh slips from your chest. 

What are the kriffing odds?

Oh - 

Your thumb snags on the little wax seal beside the name. Gold, like the font, embossed with a trio of tiny berries.

You’d applied that seal yourself, to each bottle from this batch. 

You know you’re grinning at the bottle of brandy like an idiot, but the bartender seems to be taking it all in stride. Probably seen much stranger. 

She pulls a clean glass from under the bar. “I bought it a while ago, but I think it’s a bit too classy for the regulars here. Did you want a sample?”

“No, that’s ok, I’ll take -“

A deep, rough voice cuts through the chatter. “Better pick something else, sweetheart.”

Your gaze flies to the loud group on the other side of the bar, a mix of different species. A quick glance and you can tell each one is armed, blasters and other assorted weapons glinting in the low light of the cantina. 

They’ve gone quiet, watching you, an air of tension hovering over their tables. There’s a narrow look in their eyes that sets your instincts on edge. 

These are not good people. 

Then one of them - a Weequay, sitting in the chair nearest you - leans back with an arrogant assurance in his deep-set black eyes, condescension twisting his mouth. “Hard drink like that is too strong for pretty things like you.”

The rest of the table bursts out laughing, as if he just said the funniest thing they’d ever heard. 

Well. 

They just went from vaguely threatening to extremely annoying. 

You glance at the bartender, who’s watching the exchange carefully. She looks at you for a moment, a penetrating gaze that you feel go straight to your bones, then quirks an eyebrow in question, the hint of a smile curling up the corner of her mouth.

Yeah, ok. Let’s have some fun. 

Biting your lip to stop your own answering smile, you shift, cocking out a hip and lifting up the bottle by the neck, letting it waver awkwardly in your grip. “Oh, is this strong liquor? I just think the label is really pretty, I thought I would try some.”

The Weequay snorts an ugly laugh, echoed by his friends. “Tell you what, if you can manage to drink a glass, I’ll buy it for you.”

This time you let your grin spread, light up your expression with delight, push a sickly simpering tone into your voice. “Would you? That’s so sweet of you.”

“Well, slow down, you’ve got to finish the glass before I buy it, that’s the deal.” He stands leisurely, chuckling lowly as his friends slap him on the back and jokingly wish him luck. 

The bartender sets out two shot glasses when he takes a seat next to you, black eyes flicking down your frame and up again. “You sure about this? Maybe you should get your friends to cheer you on. Or are you here alone?”

You suppress the shiver that breaks out over your skin at the way his voice drops, disgustingly cloying. 

Well, that confirms he didn’t see who you’re with. Not that a moron like him would realize it’s probably not wise to challenge someone in the company of a Mandalorian. 

A subtle glance out of the corner of your eye tells you that same Mandalorian is watching you now, helmet tilted in amusement. A gloved hand rests on Cara’s forearm, as if he stopped her from standing up and something blooms warm behind your ribs - she’d probably started to get up to come to your defence. 

Greef and the kid are watching you, too, almost identical expressions on their faces, curiosity and interest pushing them to lean forward just a bit. The rest of the patrons are also turning their attention to your exchange with the Weequay, the buzz of conversation dimming. 

Good. An audience will make this even more entertaining. 

Sliding onto the stool beside him, you focus your attention on the task at hand, fluttering your eyelashes at him. “Well, I’m not alone anymore, am I?”

“That’s right, sweetheart.” The ridges on his jaw shift with his crooked grin as he reaches for the bottle and uncaps it. “Now, don’t be upset that you can’t keep up, it’s completely natural. Pretty girls like you are good at other things, aren’t you?” 

Disgust turns your stomach as he winks heavily, and you look away before it shows on your face, watching him fill both glasses. “I’ll do my best. Thank you for being here for me.”

“I’m not here for you, girl.” He laughs loudly, picking up his glass and draining it in one gulp. “Easiest free drink I’ve ever won.”

His friends burst out laughing, the sound grating in your ears, and he waves the empty glass toward them in triumph. 

Dank farrik, he’s not making this easy. 

You force a giggle, bringing your glass to your nose and taking an exaggerated sniff. The familiar scent fills your lungs pleasantly, layers of fruity sweetness that make your mouth water, and you pull back as if disgusted. “Oooh, that is strong, isn’t it?”

“You can still back out.” The grin on his face grows. 

“No, let’s keep going, I’m having so much fun.” Smiling playfully, you reach out to run a finger down the neck of the bottle, biting back a snicker when his black gaze tracks the movement. “But how about we make it more interesting?”

He leans toward you, placing a hand on your thigh, and it takes all your focus not to flinch. “What do you have in mind, pretty girl?”

Kriff. Your hand is literally tingling with the urge to punch that stupid grin off his face.

You tap the bottle once with your fingertip. “What if we play for the whole bottle? Whoever stops drinking first buys it for the other.”

His teeth flash as he laughs. “I’d be an idiot not to take that offer.”

Lifting the glass to your lips, you shift your features into a grimace and swallow the brandy down, internally revelling in the way it settles your stomach, heavy and warm. For added effect, you swoon a bit as you set the glass on the bar. 

“I did warn you, sweetheart.” He chuckles, patting your thigh. 

You lean toward him, blinking rapidly as if dizzy, noting the current haziness in his gaze as a benchmark. “You were right. Maybe I should have taken your advice, I’m not used to strong alcohol.”

“Ready to quit?”

Sitting up straight as if suddenly inspired, you smile. “No, I want to keep playing. Pour me another, please, you can do it so much better than I can.”

He preens as he refills the glasses, shoulders back and chest puffed out. 

It takes every effort not to roll your eyes. 

You both sling back your second glass and his friends burst out into shouts of encouragement and laughter, some even pounding the table, ignoring the warning glare of the bartender. 

He fills the glasses again, seeming not to notice how his hand shakes just a bit as he pours. “How’s that? Don’t push yourself too hard, I like my women conscious. For the most part.”

His friends laugh loudly at that, and he raises his glass in a toast to them, drawing even more laughter. 

Your hand grasps his on your thigh, squeezing so tight he flinches before he can catch himself. Good. “I think I’m ok, let’s keep going.”

He swings the toast toward you, winking as he drinks, and you drain your glass to avoid laughing in his face. 

The brandy is filling your system, swirling through your bloodstream, but you breathe deep, fix your gaze on the Weequay, waiting. 

There - his features are relaxing, smirk smoothing into a lazy smile, eyelids drooping. 

Another round, and a few more minutes, maybe. 

This time, he spills a little as he pours, though he’s too busy looking at you to notice. “I like a girl with determination. Think it’s cute.“

“Aw, you’re a flatterer.” The simpering sweetness in your voice almost catches in your throat, and you drink quickly to swallow it down. 

His hand starts to slip up your thigh and you press it down, stopping him from going any further. 

He frowns, eyes narrowing as he drinks. “And you’re being coy. Don’t like girls who are coy.”

You push your bottom lip in a pout. “Can’t we finish the game before we move on to… something else?”

His grin returns instantly, the haziness pulling his expression into something almost dopey, and reaches for the bottle. “Right, the game.”

That same haze is slipping over your own thoughts, and you take a deep breath again, focus on the feeling of your lungs filling and emptying. Once more, breathe in, breathe out. 

Just need to stay alert for a few -

The bottle rocks wildly as he misses, fingers grasping clumsily and almost knocking it over. He grunts in frustration, frowning at the bottle in deep concentration, his hand faltering as he tries to grab it again. 

There. 

You lean in, ducking into his line of sight to catch his attention. Those black eyes are clouded, can barely even fix on you. “Starting to feel it, huh?”

“What?” He shakes his head slowly, gaze unfocusing.

Pulling the bottle closer, you tap a fingertip to the wax seal, abandoning the playful and flirty persona. “This particular batch was distilled with namana berries. Not a lot, just enough to give a hint of the Namana Effect.”

You refill the glasses, push his toward him. “Not as much as namana liquor, obviously, but it can sneak up on you, overwhelm your neurotransmitters. Especially with the amount of alcohol I’m guessing you already have in your system.”

Sitting back, you pick up your own glass, contemplating him. “I’d say you’re going to pass out any second now.”

He blinks, eyelids slow and heavy, scowl creasing his face, hand leaving your thigh to join his other as he uses both to hold the glass to his lips. Clumsily, he gulps down the brandy, almost dropping the glass as he sets it on the bar top. “Shows what you know, girl.”

You take a sip from your glass, savouring the taste, watching him closely. 

The haze in his eyes grows, intensifies, and -

His eyelids close -

He slides off the stool, hitting the floor with a thunk. 

His friends leap to their feet, knocking over chairs and crying out in surprise and anger. One of them takes a step toward you, hand on their blaster, and the bartender gives a warning shout, wordless but full of unarguable authority.

They pull back, grumbling, throwing hesitant looks at the bartender.

Calmly, you drink your glass, set it on the bar and stand up, glancing at the unconscious Weequay at your feet. “Should probably get him to a medic. Oh -“ you grab the now half-empty bottle of Savareen, tilting it toward them - “Make sure one of you pays for this before you go. I won it, fair and square.”

Not bothering to wait for a response, you walk back to your table as the other patrons erupt in applause and laughter. One of the man’s friends hustles to the bar and pays up while the others lift him off the floor, shuffling his unconscious form out the door. 

Grinning, you set the bottle down in the middle of the table. “Care to share in the spoils of war?”

Greef laughs, a deep belly rumble. “That was very impressive. Where did you learn to drink like that?”

“Oh, here and there.” You shrug one shoulder, sliding into you chair next to Din. 

His hand immediately grabs your thigh, fingers digging into the same place where the Weequay’s hand had been. Like he’s trying to erase any imprint, any sensation left behind.

A quick glance shows his shoulders are relaxed, not tensed in anger, the black visor turned toward you just enough that he’s probably looking at you out of the corner of his eye. 

The helmet tilts ever-so-slightly, his unseen gaze dragging over you, a different sort of tension creeping through his frame. The kind that tugs at you, makes you crave more than the heat of his palm through his glove and your leggings. 

Arousal curls hot in your core. 

Ok, you’re very in to territorial Din. 

Cara raises her glass in a toast to you, pulling your focus. “You’ve got more patience than I have. I would have decked him the moment he called me ‘sweetheart.’”

You sigh dramatically. “Trust me, there were a few moments when I wasn’t sure if I’d make it through. But the suffering was worth it, in the end.”

Greef and Cara’s laughter inspire a chuckle of your own, the swirl of alcohol and namana in your bloodstream amplifying the giddiness bubbling in your chest. It feels good. 

You feel good. 

Din’s hand on your thigh relaxes, thumb stroking circles that send a shiver up your spine, stoke the heat of want that shifts your hips closer to him. 

And as much as you’re enjoying yourself right now, you can tell by the way those gloved fingers dip down to caress your sensitive inner thigh that you’re going to enjoy yourself even more later.  *****

Mando’a translations

Aliit - clan, Mandalorian equivalent of family

***** Previous Chapter Next Chapter

[toomanystoriessolittletime]

hi bby ✨ I’m hoping to spread a little love around today (it is someone’s birthday after all — so you might see others answering this)!

I am a big fan of people enjoying cake and celebrating, and sometimes cake can be just tooting your own horn 💁‍♀️ so with that in mind, I’d love to know what THREE pieces of work you’re super proud of that you’d recommend others reading, and why 🍰

hiiiii 💞

that is such a nice thing to do 🥹

What work am I super proud of.... A very good question. According to my AO3 account I posted over 200 fics in the last 5 years so there's a lot to choose from... okay....

First up is Prey, it's my Din soulmate AU with a twist, and people should read it first, because I worked at this fic for months, it robbed my last nerve (no seriously, thinking about writing the second part still gives me anxiety lol) and plotted and tried to get out of my comfort zone with this.

second is a shitty day which I wrote after a.. shitty day and I just wanted to be comforted by a sexy man who would just hold me (don't judge me lol). Also it's one of my sadly few Matt Murdock fics

and third.... I'm gonna go with You, staring one Dave York who has a secret second family. I have been more or less constantly thinking about this Drabble ever since I posted it (and I just noticed that it isn't even in my masterlist) and I can not wait to get into writing a full length One shot for this this year.

[rexxdjarin]

Hi Julie! 💕 I'm going to do a double whammy for the ask games lol.

For the writers ask game: 🍓🍬🦋

For the OC ask game: 3) and 20)

Writers Ask Game

OC Ask Game

MOLLY HI BBY🤍 I will always do the MOST for you!!

From the Writer's Asks:

🍓 ⇢ how did you get into writing fanfiction?

this is sooooo embarrassing but I used to write fanfic on this very blog for several boybands in the 2010s lmaooo I will not name names but that's how I started. it is super cringey and insane but I really did love the writing. and then I got into creative writing in high school and well the rest is kind of history.

🍬 ⇢ post an unpopular opinion about a popular fandom character

I love this one omg. so my unpopular opinion about a popular fandom character........im kinda over din djarin and almost every way he is depicted. I personally think its because of how bad mando s3 was and how let down I was that I kinda got the ick from him. but generally people have started to make din so one note that I havent bothered reading or writing him in like over a year.

🦋 ⇢ share something that has been on your heart and mind lately 

awwwwwh ok well its been on my heart and mind for a while but I really have been missing being able to interact with everyone and write like I used to. my life has been really difficult lately and I unfortunately dont seem to have the time or money to be in a comfortable enough headspace to create and it makes me sad :( but I have been trying really hard to at least interact with people and read any fics ive been behind on.

From the OC Asks:

3) When is your OC’s birthday or what is their zodiac sign if you haven’t picked a date yet? Answer both if you wish.

Well since I dont really know how the star wars calendar works (does anyone lol?) we cant be fully certain of an actual day. but I think Mari would be closest to either an aries or a sagittarius. she is absolutely a fire sign, all that intensity and leadership and passion and sexual magnetism is very her.

20) What hobbies does your OC have?

Mari loves cooking, watching stuff on the holonet, people watching from her balcony and whatever the star wars equivalent of boxing is.

[wordbunch]

1, 9, 24!

1 - who is/are your comfort character(s)? Imma be so predictable... basically anyone from LOTR oopsie 😂 also Tony Stark, Din Djarin, What we do in the shadows gang, Harry/Merlin/Egssy from Kingsman, the trio from Only murders in the building 😍😍 9 - which do you prefer, hot coffee or cold? actually I think I'm more into cold-er. I put cold milk in it so the temperature ends up being sorta medium 😂

24 - if we were together on a rooftop, what would we be doing? slide into my DM's to find out ;) jk, having a cold drink and looking at the sky and just rambling about everything and anything, and enjoying the moment 💗 ngl now I wanna chill on a rooftop w u :(

thanks for the ask bby!!!

[ao3feed-brucewayne]

Sa Te Manda Jorhaa'i (As the Manda Commands)

read it on the AO3 at https://ift.tt/3kWJ2wU

by RandomReader13

In one universe, Clan Mynock ended up in 52 BBY and prevented Jaster Mereel's death. In another universe, the Force sends them to stop an even greater tragedy. AKA “I have questions,” Fett said. “That is something we have in common,” the robed man said. He nodded in greeting. “I am Jedi Master Yan Dooku. We were sent here on a mission to apprehend Mandalorian terrorists who were killing innocents and children.” He cast an eye over the True Mandalorians as they all bristled. “I believe we have been misled.” From his place on the ground behind Jason, Tim started laughing hysterically.

[44 BBY Timeline] [Birdwatchers Challenge Day 68 - Ancestor]

Words: 8299, Chapters: 1/2, Language: English

Series: Part 5 of Between The Stars

Fandoms: Batman - All Media Types, Star Wars - All Media Types, The Mandalorian (TV)

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences

Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply

Categories: Gen

Characters: Din Djarin, Grogu | Baby Yoda, Bruce Wayne, Dick Grayson, Cassandra Cain, Jason Todd, Stephanie Brown, Tim Drake, Damian Wayne, Adonai Kryze, Dooku | Darth Tyranus, Yaddle (Star Wars), Jango Fett

Relationships: Din Djarin & Bruce Wayne, Cassandra Cain & Dick Grayson, Stephanie Brown & Tim Drake & Jason Todd & Damian Wayne

Additional Tags: Time Travel, That's Not How The Force Works (Star Wars), The Force, Jedi Temple (Star Wars), Mandalorian Culture (Star Wars), Mandalorian Clans (Star Wars), Mando'a Language (Star Wars), Adopted Sibling Relationship, Fear of Death, Batfamily (DCU), Protective Batfamily (DCU), Hurt/Comfort, Family Feels

read it on the AO3 at https://ift.tt/3kWJ2wU

[psychedelic-ink]

sweetest sil if ur still taking those kink requests might i ask for our darling boy din djarin and praise kink 👀👀👀👀👀👀👀👀👀 ya girl is going THRU IT

bby I love you so much and sending you so many hugs and kisses xxx hope you like it, it ended up being a tinsy bit hurt/comfort-ish but it's din and I couldn't help myself dfvfdvd

warnings: praise kink, jealousy, arguing, possessive din, bdsm undertones

send me a kink + character and i'll write a lil'something

“Are you going to tell me what the hell that was about?”

The modulated voice sounds angry, but frankly, you couldn’t give a damn. You snap back at him, not hiding the venom in your voice. 

“No.” 

You walk deeper into the Razor Crest, you can hear him following you, his steps rageful. Thank god Grogu isn’t here, you don’t think you can keep your anger to yourself tonight. You attempt to put as much of a distance your can between the two of you but before you can he grabs your wrist and tugs you to him. Your shoulder aches from the force, it fuels the anger. 

“Tell me what’s happening?” 

“I don’t want to talk about it–” 

“Well we’re going to,” he hisses out a breath, you can imagine him gritting his teeth. “You can’t just leave without an explanation,” 

“Yes I can,” you snarl, staring directly into his visor. “Besides I bet you would enjoy having someone else around,” 

“What?” the anger disappears for a moment, replacing it with confusion. “What are you talking about? Replace you with who?”

“Those– Those–” you growl, unable to speak, you wave your hands. “I’m not blind, I see how they throw themselves at you, all of them more useful, or pretty, dying to be your companion and thinking ‘why her ?’ I can see it in their dumb faces,” 

He only hums. You watch with suspicion as he tilts his head and lets go of your wrist. He’s smiling, you know it, you feel it. 

“What?” you ask, taking full offense of his silence. 

“Nothing, just didn’t think you were the jealous type,” 

Your body heats up, it burns. You avert your gaze and try to ignore the way your heart beats as he gets closer and closer. His gloved hand cups the side of your face, turning it to face him. When you feel the cool beskar pressing against your forehead, your bottom lip trembles. 

“You’re beautiful,” he says, voice deeper than normal. “And talented, and kind– You are your own worst enemy,” 

Your heat swells at his words, emotions bubbling to the surface, you blink the tears away. You don’t want to fog up his visor. His hand slides down your face, and the other comes up, both of them cupping your breasts. Your breath hitches, chest heaving heat builds between your legs. 

“Love the sounds you make,” he groans, pulling off your shirt. Din presses his helmet between your breasts, you hiss at the cold. He looks up, hands tugging down your pants. “Love this pretty cunt that’s always soaked for me– Bend over,” 

You dutifully do as you’re told. Your legs shake under his gaze, he kicks them apart, beskar clad chest flush against your naked back. His fingers dig into your waist, pulling you closer against his clothed cock. 

“Have you ever seen yourself? Your the most gorgeous creature I’ve ever encountered and I’ll be damned if I let you leave,” 

“Din…” 

“Is it sinking in now?” he backs away momentarily only to return with his cock pressing against the curve of your ass. “Can you feel what you do to me? Even when I’m seething with anger– Even when you piss me off the only thing I want to do is to fuck you,” 

“P-Please, just fuck me, please,” 

“Say it and I’ll fuck you,” 

You blink heavily, mind too scattered to make a meaning of his words. He rolls his hips, cock dragging across the small of your back. 

“Say you’re beautiful,” he repeats.

“I-I’m,” 

“You’re,” 

Fuck, he’s repeating after your every word. You’re soaked, slick dribbling down your thighs.

“Beautiful,” 

“Beautiful,”  he chuckles, the tip of his cock finally nudging your entrance. Your eyes roll back at the stretch. “Good girl,” 

When morning comes rolling in, you have no idea how many times Din made you cum. All you can feel is the ghost of his tongue, fingers, cock– All of them fucking into you again and again, tearing you apart, making you so sensitive that you couldn’t even remember your own name. You’re sticky, wet, and in dire need of a shower. Din’s still covered in beskar, only his cock visible to the naked eye. 

He presses his covered head between your shoulder blades, a kiss, your mind translates. Maker, you love him so much.  

[davnittbraes]

The Fourth Step - Chapter Thirty-Five

Part of The World Is Light, Embodied.

Pairing: Din Djarin x F!Reader

Rating: Explicit (not this chapter but series as a whole)

Word Count: 3500

Warnings, etc.: a smidge of angst, a sprinkling of banter, and a sickening amount of fluffy feels #sorrynotsorry

Notes: I don’t even know what to say. This can be considered the penultimate chapter of this fic, even though the story’s not quite done yet. But everything has been building to this step for our bbys, and I hope I’m doing them justice.

We’re definitely in AU territory with this chapter, since Mando S2, TBOBF and S3 wouldn’t have rolled out the way they did if Din had come to this point in his relationship with his creed. Again, I hope I’m doing right by his character, and giving him the arc he deserves.

Mando’a translations at the end of the chapter.

Please check out the Series Masterlist page for more info.

Soft.

Your muscles are loose and languid, heavy, pressing into the yielding surface under your body. 

Warm. 

Soothing heat radiates from beside you, frissons sweeping through your chest from the comforting weight on the middle of your back.

Safe. 

Familiar scents and sounds drift through your sleep-dulled senses, reinforcing that subconscious recognition of the steady presence at your side, one that will protect you and defend you from any and all harm. 

Din. 

Your heartbeat flutters as sleep slips away, smile automatically curving your lips against the edge of the blanket. 

One by one, those vague impressions that pulled you into the waking world form into physical sensations - the well-known noises and smells of the Razor Crest, the mattress under you as you lay on your stomach, the tall, broad body stretched out next to yours, the large hand resting flat on your back. 

The even and sure breath of the man beside you, quickened enough to tell you he’s already awake. 

You blink open your eyes to the dark night cycle of the hold, peer in his direction. “Din? Are you ok?”

His hand on your back flexes slightly, smoothing up over your nightshirt to rest between your shoulderblades. “I’m fine, cyar’ika.”

There’s some kind of emotion in his voice you can’t identify, and concern twinges behind your ribs. You shift closer, turning onto your side, reaching a hand out to him to find him facing you, spread your fingers over his chest. 

His heartbeat thuds under your palm, faster than usual, and that twinge grows tight around your own heart. “Can’t sleep?”

His chest moves with a heavy breath, not quite a sigh. “I’ve been thinking.”

“About what?” You stroke your thumb in small, soothing circles over his underlayer. 

“My Creed.”

The last dregs of sleep whisk away as an anxious tension stills your movements. Taking a steadying breath, you keep your voice light, unassuming. “Heavy thoughts for so late at night.”

This time he does sigh, his hand on your back pressing lightly as he shifts closer to you. “Almost morning. Day cycle starts in about an hour.”

He matches your tone, but it doesn’t stop the anxiety from finally bubbling up, looking to reassure him. “I meant what I said, Din. I love you, all of you. I respect your Creed, and the oath you swore.”

A pause, his heartbeat races against your palm. The tension thickens, your own chest grows tight, what is wrong -

His voice is so soft you can barely hear it over the rush of your pulse in your ears. 

“I broke my oath when I took my helmet off that first night on Nevarro.”

You’re staring at him, eyes wide, even though you can’t see him. “What?”

“The Creed doesn’t allow for darkness or blindfolds. If you remove your helmet or if it’s removed for you in the presence of others, you are considered no longer Mandalorian.”

Why had - 

No -

You can’t -

Guilt crashes into you with a force that almost punches a whimper from your throat, caught at the last second and trapped behind clenched teeth. 

It’s your fault. 

You came into his life and he betrayed his people -

His hand on your face brings you back to the moment, stalls your spiral. He cups your cheek, tilting your head up so he can press a kiss to your forehead, words falling over skin too warm with emotion. 

“It’s not your fault. I made the choice. And I would do it again, with no hesitation.”

You squeeze your eyes tight, force the guilt back so his words can sink in, calming. 

A breath, another, and anxiety still laps at the edges of your awareness, but at bay for now. 

Swallowing against a dry throat, you gently pat his chest once, a wordless reassurance that you’re alright. 

He kisses your forehead again, pulling back a little so you can hear him clearly, speaking with resolute confidence, words obviously repeated and examined for any flaw, any hesitance or uncertainty, and determined to be only truth. 

“I gave my people everything I am. My name, my identity, my self - I stopped being Din Djarin when I swore the Creed. In their eyes, I became Mandalorian. Something of value.”

A sort of bitterness turns his voice down at the end, tingeing the soft words, bleeding into them. “But remove my helmet, take off the mask, and they no longer consider me one of them. They only see me as Mandalorian, or not.”

Your hand flexes on his chest instinctively, wanting to take away that bitterness and soothe the source of it, words on the tip of your tongue but you bite them back, let him continue, sensing he needs to finish what he wants to say. 

“I’ve thought about what it means to be a Mandalorian. And what it means to be a man.” A pause, his chest rises under your palm. “I think they are the same, in many ways. Both should care for the ones they love and try to protect them from harm. Support those who support them. Live with honour and respect for others.”

He sighs, a sound heavy and soft at the same time, weighted with regret. “But my people don’t believe that. They would have me be one or the other. Mandalorian or man.”

You can’t stop the whimper this time, tiny and hushed but slipping out all the same. The frustration - pain - that he has suffered, trying to be what his people want him to be, denying parts of himself in an effort to fit into the rigid mold they made for him…

He obviously hears your muffled sound, lips brushing your skin in reassurance. “I know now in my heart I am both. I am a Mandalorian. I am Din Djarin. And you see me, tionas. A Mandalorian, and a man.”

Another kind of emotion grips your heart tight, pushes you deeper into his embrace, fingers curling into the cloth of his underlayer as if you could pull him close enough to take him into you, take away his pain. “I see all of you, my love.”

His heartbeat throbs against your hand, breath catches in his chest. “Not all. Not yet.”

Then he’s moving, pulling away from you and there’s a rustle of motion beside the bed and you sit up in surprise, almost reaching out to stop him. 

What happened -

Why -

The lights flick on, blinding. 

Pfassk. 

You clap your hands over your eyes, panic surging hot up the back of your throat. “What - wait, I’ll see -“

The bed dips as he sits beside you. “I know. I want you to.”

Your pulse thuds loud in your ears, so hard it’s almost choking. “Din -“

“It’s alright. I need you to see me. All of me. Please.”

Long fingers curl around your wrists, not pulling but there, a reminder that he knows what he’s doing, he wants this, and everything that this means.

Your thoughts fly in a million different directions at once. 

What does this mean?

It’s -

There’s -

We -

Too much too many thoughts and you can’t -

Everything -

This means everything. 

A tremor runs through your body. 

Everything is different with you. 

Your mind quiets, centres. Focuses. On this moment. 

He wants this. To share a part of himself that he’s never shared with anyone else before. 

Your own words float through the chaos of your thoughts, words first spoken a lifetime ago. 

Whatever you can give me. I’ll take it. 

Your lungs pull tight.

I’ll take it. 

You relax your hands. 

Let him guide them away from your closed eyes. 

A calloused thumb brushes your cheekbone. 

His voice rasps gently. “Open your eyes, tionas.”

A pause. An eternity. 

You open your eyes.

The entire world shifts -

brightens -

blossoms  -

glows -

You blink -

The world is golden skin and tousled dark hair - 

Skin you’ve mapped with your hands, hair you’ve sifted through your fingers countless times -

The world is a graceful arch of a nose and a strong brow and plush lips -

Lips that have pressed to every inch of your body -

Your heart stops -

The world is brown eyes, warm and gentle, a gaze that holds everything you’ve ever looked for, everything you’ve ever wanted. 

You can’t breathe.

You can’t think. 

Moments pass and a tension grows thick in the air, buzzing along your skin, and you crack, instinct taking over, words falling from your lips without thought. 

“You could have warned me you look like the lead actor from one of those HoloNet dramas you love.”

That warm, brown gaze sparks, those plush lips quirk ever so slightly. “I wouldn’t know. I’ve never seen one.”

Your own lips spread wide in a grin and then you’re kissing him and his strong hands curve around your waist to pull you close and the world condenses into just this, the two of you, right here. 

Time passes, somewhere, and you pull away, some undeniable urge bringing your gaze back to his, your fingertips tracing those laugh lines you’d felt for the first time so long ago - are they deeper now? - where they flare across his skin beautifully, frame those dark eyes that draw you in for another kiss. 

A soft sigh weaves it’s way up from your lungs as you pull back again, cup his jaw, smooth a thumb over the light scruff there, note the sweet little bare patches on either side of his chin, then meet that gaze with all the sincerity you feel. “Thank you, for giving this to me.”

His features shift, setting so seriously it takes you a moment to realize nothing is wrong, that’s just a typical expression for him. “I would give you everything.”

There’s a certain weight to the last word that makes you blink, look at him closer. 

A small furrow forms between his brows. “I want you - and others - to know this, beyond doubt and question. Because in my mind, there is none. I know I still follow The Way, and I follow it with you.”

You can’t help but lift a thumb to smooth that furrow, your heartbeat stuttering at the subsequent smile he gives you - bright, warm, beautiful. “I’m with you, Din. Step by step, together.”

His smile flutters, torn between growing and falling back into sombreness. That brown gaze flits away, and back again, as if he’s unsure of what he’s about to say. 

Leaning in, you kiss him gently, a silent reassurance, then pull back and wait patiently. 

He looks at you for a long moment, expression softening. A deep breath, then his words fall quietly between you. 

“There is a vow, among Mandalorians, that binds two people together.”

Your thoughts flash, quick. 

I would give you everything. 

You know what kind of vow he’s talking about. 

Funny, though. 

Your heart beats steadily, your muscles relaxed. No anxiety turns your stomach, tightens around your ribcage, squeezes your throat. 

There’s no panic. No worry. No nagging voices trying to pull you away, make you run, hide. No whispering thoughts churning out fear and doubt.

You’re ready take whatever he gives you. 

And give him everything in return. 

You listen calmly, watching the myriad of emotions dance across his expression as he continues. 

“The vow itself is simple. To raise any young ones in your care as Mandalorians, teach them to fight and to live with honour. To share everything that life brings, to celebrate or bear it together. And to always be of one heart, no matter what might try to come between you.”

His last words ring with familiarity, and you smile. “We are one when together, we are one when parted.”

Regret pinches the corners of his eyes. “Yes. I shouldn’t have… I should have told you what that meant - could mean. But there are more words to the vow that we haven’t spoken. You’re not sworn to anything.”

This man. 

This wonderful mass of contrasts and layers. 

Who so confidently guides your own fears away, keeps you rooted to the present, soothes the edges of your anxiety with ease. 

Here, before you, with nervousness pulling his brow, deepening the lines around his mouth. 

You soothe those lines away with a brush of your fingers. “I want to be.”

He falters. “Tionas, I need to be sure you understand what this vow means. It’s -“

“A marriage vow?” Your mouth curves up in a smile at the look of mild shock on his face. 

“Yes.”

“I know. I understand.”

A mixture of doubt and hope lift his brows. “And you still want…”

“Yes, I still want.” You huff a laugh, an overwhelming giddy lightness pulling the sound from your chest. 

“Are you -“

“Crikking hells, Din, I want to marry you.” Your words dissolve into giggles, hand leaving his face to push lightly on his chest. 

His features shift into a beautiful combination of joy and delight, smile curling his mouth. “Of course you would curse and then laugh at me when I’m proposing to you.”

It takes a deep breath but you finally get yourself under control. “You should know what you’re getting into.”

He sighs in mock exasperation. “I’m aware.”

Another push on his chest and a giggle slips past your lips. “Just tell me what to do.”

He takes your hand from his chest, and presses a kiss to your palm. “Repeat the Mando’a after me.”

You nod, squeezing his hand once. 

For a moment he just looks at you, something like reverence glowing in his gaze. When he speaks, his words are hushed and weighty. 

“We are one when together. Mhi solus tome.”

Your voice is steady and unwavering, sure. “Mhi solus tome.”

“We are one when parted. Mhi solus dar’tome.”

“Mhi solus dar’tome.” 

The tiniest sliver of anxiety breaks through your contentment at the last word, and you shy away from the thought of being parted from him. He takes your other hand and twines your fingers through his, lets them rest on the blankets between the two of you. 

He is here and you are here, right now, together. 

Your calm settles over you once again, and he continues. 

“We share all. Mhi me’dinui an.”

“Mhi me’dinui an.” Your tongue slips on the unfamiliar words, but you catch it, push through as images flit through the back of your mind. 

Soft voices under a starry sky on a quiet little planet -

A small box full of trinkets and the heavy weight of guilt unresolved -

Gentle fingertips smoothing over skin littered with scars -

Quiet laughter blending together in the dark of the hold -

His gaze is soft, voice weaving through the memories. “We will raise warriors. Mhi ba’juri verde.”

Big, amber eyes, tiny clawed hands that reach for you -

Soft coos and bright babbles and the curious flick of wide ears -

The barely-there weight of a little form curled into the crook of your arm -

Tears prick the corners of your eyes. “Mhi ba’juri verde.”

His hands release yours to cup your face as he kisses you firmly and the warm, bright thing in your chest bursts into a thousand lights that race across the universe. 

You’re dizzy, swaying, drunk on the rolling waves of emotion that cascade over you again and again. You break the kiss, gasping for air, lungs shaking with laughter, and he smiles at you and it’s the most beautiful thing you’ve ever seen. 

Your fingers trace the curve of his lips, the sweep of his cheekbone, the arch of his nose. He closes his eyes, revelling in your touch, but that won’t do, you want to see those brown eyes that hold everything and you brush the pad of your thumb along the corner of his eye, echoing his words. 

“Open your eyes, Din.”

He blinks, creases sharpening as his smile deepens, but his gaze darts away again. “I wasn’t sure if… if you would…”

Realization makes you pause. 

He’s nervous. 

About his appearance. 

It makes sense, he’s never experienced any sort of reaction to his physical self - the one beneath the beskar. He can’t know what others might think of how he looks, because you’re the only one who has seen him. 

He doesn’t know how beautiful he is. 

You lean back, hold his chin up with the tip of your finger, peering closely as if considering his features. “I’m still right.”

Confusion, uncertainty flicker through that brown gaze. “About what?”

It takes effort to hold back the laughter, incredulous at the thought that he would doubt your attraction to him. “You’re very oglable.” 

Surprise - bashfulness - delight -

The golden skin along his cheekbones flushes pink and -

Kriff. He’s blushing. 

You can’t stop the laughter anymore, watching emotion scramble his expression. All those years spent under a helmet are obvious, he’s never had to school his features or been aware of what others might read on his face. 

It’s ridiculously endearing, seeing this seemingly somber and stoic Mandalorian fluster and blush. 

Then he’s moving, lightning fast, and pushing you down onto the mattress, pulling himself over you to press his lips to yours and steal your breath away. 

A soft sigh against your cheek, the gentle swipe of his tongue along your bottom lip and you open to him, wrap your arms around his shoulders and lose yourself in the slow, languid glide of his kiss, the feel of his broad frame over you, the warmth of his hands on your back, the beat of his heart pressed against yours. 

The sound of a muffled babble breaks into the moment, and the rest of the world seeps through. 

Din groans as he pulls back, glancing in the direction of the bunk. “Kid has the worst timing.”

“If we can figure out what makes him sleep late some days, we’ll be set.” You tilt your chin to press a kiss to one of the bare patches along his jaw. 

Another babble floats through the hold, this one ringing with insistence. 

And if history repeats itself, the next sound will be much louder, full of indignation, and followed by the thump of tiny fists on the door of the bunk. 

It pushes the two of you into reluctant action, Din moving to stand until you grasp his arm. “Let me get him. You stay here and think about how pretty you are.”

He huffs his laugh - your heart stutters, seeing the way his eyes light, the hint of that blush on his cheeks - and shifts aside to let you slip out of bed, fingers grazing your thigh as you stand. “Thank you.”

The seriousness in his voice makes you pause, look down at him. “For calling you pretty?”

“For saying yes.”

Your stomach dips at the curve of his brow, pulled up in earnestness. “As if I’d saying anything else.” Bending to kiss that brow, smooth a curl of his hair back into place, you hold his gaze firmly with yours. “I love you, Din.”

He rests his hands on your hips, brown gaze soft with love. “I love you, tionas.”

A sharp cry from the bunk snaps your attention. “Ok, ok, I’m coming.” 

One last kiss and you reluctantly step away from him, grab your clothes to pull them on as you make your way to rescue the grumpy little green dude who’s now banging on the bunk door with more force than should be possible for one his size. 

The memory of that brown gaze, mingled with the echo of those solemn words, hovers in the back of your mind for the rest of the day. Your entire body feels lighter and more solid somehow, floating and yet rooted in place. It’s disorienting and wonderful at the same time. 

Every tilt of the helmet, every modulated word seems so much more, now. Your mind overlays the image of his features, showing those lines around his eyes crinkle when he huffs his laugh at the kid’s antics, the warm brown of his gaze when the black visor turns toward you. 

You drift to each other at every opportunity, hands reaching out to touch and grasp and hold. Like you can’t resist being near the other and not feel them, needing them to be closer. 

Those solemn words are knotted around your hearts, inextricable, and it pulls tight whenever there’s distance between you. 

Even now, him seated in the pilot’s chair, you and the kid in the passengers’, watching the dwarf planet in the Pax system draw closer through the transparisteel. You can feel it, that pull, the desire to reach out and feel the one who shares your heart. 

Din’s gloved hands move confidently over the control console and the Razor Crest shifts into the landing sequence. The helmet turns, black visor glancing back at you, and you smile, seeing those eyes full of love behind it. 

The planet looms big and the transparisteel goes white as the ship enter’s the atmosphere, breaking through cloud cover. 

You watch it pass, fear and anxiety a barely-there presence in the back of your mind. 

Because you know, without doubt or question, no matter what awaits you on the surface, nothing can come between the two of you.

*****

Mando’a translations

Tionas - question 

Cyar’ika - sweetheart

*****

Previous Chapter

[taetaesbaebaepsae]

Monsta X After a Breakup Part 2

A/n: The long awaited MX after a breakup part 2! Hope you like it bbys! It's not betated so please read at your own risk.

Warnings: a little bit of smut, angst, longing, some aftermath of violence, mentions of infidelity (no one actually cheated), some toxic ex boyfriend behavior, alcohol used as a coping mechanism (I have a brand), mentions of casual sex, implications of smut, dirty thoughts

Word Count: 10415

Shownu (Hyunwoo)

The phone call had been hard, and he hadn't slept for a couple of nights after you'd called and refused to come home when he'd asked.

After that, though, there seemed to be some kind of forward movement in how he felt. It isn't as if he forgot, of as if it hurt less, just like he...made room for it.

He's not the type to call you often or text you, but he'd sent a few checking in on you, and you'd respond sometimes, and sometimes you wouldn't

It was that more than anything else that bothered him, that you weren't communicating when you'd always been the one who dis most of the communicating.

It also got him thinking, though, that maybe that was part of the problem. That he didn't communicate, didn't tell you how he felt often enough.

It's three months before he runs into you at a boba tea shop, one that you'd always loved. He won't deny that he'd been going there mostly hoping that he'd see you, but after a while, he'd given up on that and enjoyed their milk boba tea.

He didn't see you right away, in fact he didn't see you at all until he felt a hand on his shoulder.

"Hyunwoo?"

For a moment, it was like all the sound went out of the busy shop, like there was a tunnel with only your voice, you saying his name in a way he hadn't heard in months.

He doesn't speak, can't speak, feels like there's a rock in his throat but you sit down across from him anyway, your fingers sliding off his shoulder and he'd swear he could still feel them there, like you'd marked him through his sweater.

Hyunwoo had always thought that it'd be awful to see you with someone else, he'd comforted Hyungwon after his ex had gotten a new boyfriend last year and you'd been there along with him, making tea.

After the breakup he couldn't help thinking of that moment, how devastated Hyungwon had been, normally so stoic, and wondered how he would feel.

What Hyunwoo hadn't expected was how much it hurt to see you, period, even on your own, smiling softly at him from across the table. You were wearing a blouse that he'd bought you, a soft pink that complimented your hair and skin tone.

He clears his throat twice before he can say anything, thinking that all that room he'd made for the heartache had shrunk to nothing all of a sudden and it was taking up all the space in him, filling up all the empty spaces he'd made.

"You look good," he manages, and it sounds stupid and his cheeks flush hot. It's true, you do, and he knows he's lost weight, that his cheeks look gaunt instead of full like usual, knows that he doesn't look nearly as good as you do.

"You do too," you say softly, as if it isn't a lie, and he can barely look at you, his heart aches so much at the sight of you. "I didn't think you liked this place much."

"You did," he mumbles, finally catching your gaze and he feels frozen in place, like he can't break eye contact even if he wanted to.

You nod slowly, smile fading. "Yeah. Yeah, I did. I do."

It's awkward. Fuck, it's so awkward when everything had become so easy with you and he hates it, he can hardly breathe.

"I should go." He says it before he finishes his thought and scoots the chair back from the table and it makes a screeching sound on the hardwood and everyone is looking at him and he wonders if he might be having a panic attack.

You dart across the table, catch one of his hands in both of yours to stop him.

"Don't," you whisper. "Stay a while, let's catch up."

"i-I've been trying to catch up." His voice seems loud compared to yours, compared to the low, busy din of the shop. He's angry, now, his skin feels hot and he hasn't been angry, not this whole time, not the whole three months you've been gone. "I've been trying to talk to you."

"I know. I'm sorry." You catch one side of your bottom lip between your teeth and he's always found it cute and he still does but he's so angry.

He stands up without thinking it through, stands there for a moment before stalking outside. He can't stand the way the whole shop is staring at the two of you, can't stand the way you're staring at him, as if you feel sorry for him, as if he hadn't been inside you, lying on your flowery comforter, kissing along your cheekbones and the tip of your nose just a few months ago.

He's halfway to his car when you call out his name and you're nearly wheezing near the parking garage.

"God, you're so fast, your legs are so much longer than mine please-"

Goddamnit, you're cute and he can't help himself from stopping and turning to face you, crossing his arms over his chest.

"Why do you want to talk now?" He asks finally, looking down at you and you take a couple of deep breaths before meeting his eyes.

"I-I missed you," you say quietly and just like that, he's not angry anymore, not even a little.

His arms drop to his sides and he feels like he's breathing too hard to just have walked halfway to his car but all that space he'd made is filled now, filled with all the things he'd wanted to say to you threatening to spill out.

"Then why won't you talk to me? Why won't you answer my calls?"

"I needed to think. I needed to...try to remember why we split up."

He takes a deep breath through his nostrils, exasperated. "Why did we split up?"

You go on this long rant about how you've always felt like you weren't good enough for him, that he was too handsome and good and you were a nobody and he can't stand it, how you keep putting yourself down so he stops your words by pressing his mouth against yours.

You sputter when he pulls away and he can't help smiling and it feels strange, feels like he's using muscles that have atrophied.

Hyunwoo doesn't have trouble at all telling you all the reasons he fell in love with you, all the reasons he's still in love with you, after he puts you into the passenger side of his car, cups your face in his hands so that you won't turn away from him.

He kisses all the tears from your cheeks.

"Now, you'll come home, jagiya?"

The drive home seems to take forever and he can barely keep his eyes on the road.

He feels like he can breathe again when you're spooned against him in his bed, feels like he's home again and that everything will be easier from here.

Wonho (Hoseok)

It took him three weeks to start being angry, and god it was so much better than feeling devastated.

The gym becomes his religion and after three months he's gained twenty pounds of (mostly) muscle and delegated screenshots of your sweet texts and pictures of the two of you together to a folder that he only allows himself to look at once (or twice) a week.

He doesn't call you, doesn't text you, knows that he might say things he will regret because he's been here before.

You aren't his first heartbreak, but you might be the biggest, since he'd allowed himself to let down his walls with you in a way he hadn't for years.

He'd like to think that he doesn't still hope that you'll come home but that's a lie he can't even tell to himself. Part of him hopes that because he's working on himself, you'll realize that he's trying and contact him.

Three months, and you haven't so much as called, though, and he's trying hard not to think about it, so when Jooheon goes through his own breakup, Hoseok is grateful to have somewhere to put his energy that isn't just the gym.

Jooheon reminds Hoseok a lot of himself after the first time he'd had his heart broken, and even though Hoseok had given up the bad coping mechanisms and habits he'd had through that time, he doesn't judge the younger for indulging.

He hopes that eventually Jooheon's ex will come back around and he'll straighten up, because that certainly hadn't been the case for him.

It'd taken him years to get to where he is now, using something like the gym instead of a bottle to get him through a breakup, but he hopes for better for his friend.

So he goes out with Jooheon once a week or so, makes sure he doesn't do anything more stupid than he's already doing, and the others help out too, taking turns to watch out for him.

Hoseok knows that you enjoy clubs, liked to go out dancing with your friends and he'd even taken you a few times, sipping soda while buying you fruity cocktails, laughing at you being tipsy and touchy.

He's surprised, though, to see you out now, looking so happy dancing with your friends, glowing almost.

You'd said that you were holding him back but as he sits on the lobby couch waiting for Jooheon to return from the bathroom he wonders if he'd been the one holding you back.

Realistically, it's been three months and that might be enough time for you to move past the heartbreak, but it certainly hasn't been enough time for him and he starts to panic a little when he doesn't feel angry anymore, when darkness creeps up on him and his thoughts start to spiral.

You weren't good enough. You never have been. She was bored by you, tired of you because you're needy and clingy and useless.

He watches a bit longer than he should have because soon enough men are flocking to you and the group of girls you're with and there's a hand on your waist and Hoseok's heart feels like it might fall out of his mouth if he opened it, like it's stuck in his throat.

Jooheon returns soon enough, tugging Hoseok toward the bar and he tears his eyes away, tries to ignore it, sips on a bottle of water while Jooheon takes shots at the bar.

After an hour or so, he's looking for you in the crowd again, and he's looking so hard when a girl bumps into him he barely feels it.

"Sorry," she mumbles, a bit slurred and Hoseok rights her, laughing a little.

When he looks down, it's your eyes he looks into and he loses his breath, gasps out your name.

Your smile fades and you brace yourself on the bar and suddenly he's worried, wonders how much you've had to drink.

"Are you okay? Do you need a ride home?" He asks, nearly yelling over the music in the club, but you frown, something like anger across your face.

"I'm fine. Not your problem anymore."

Even over the club music your tone is harsh and at first it hurts, feels like an arrow in his chest but then he's angry again and that's better, more familiar.

Hoseok raises his hands. "Yes, princess, sorry for caring." He shoots back, and you stalk off, outside onto the deck the club has for smokers.

You don't smoke, and he doesn't either but he's following you outside before he can think better of it, because Jooheon has disappeared onto the dance floor and he'll be there for hours.

You're leaned up against the brick with your arms crossed and Hoseok thinks you're so cute when you're angry but how dare you be angry now.

You'd left, he hadn't. He'd begged you to stay, to talk it out, to work on things but you'd left and now--

Now all he can think is how he wants to kiss the worry lines on your forehead, around your eyes, the corner of your frowning mouth and somehow that longing just makes him angrier.

"What the fuck was that?" He can't stop his words and he knows it won't help to argue but he feels like he might implode if he doesn't get it out. "What are you so mad about?"

"Like you care," you mumble, and Hoseok realizes you're more than tipsy, drunk actually, in a way he'd seen on only the rarest occasion.

He calls your name and when you look up at him your eyes are glassy with tears.

"You never called. Not even a text." Your voice shakes when you speak.

Hoseok should still be angry. He should be livid that you left him but you're upset he didn't call, but he can only want to thumb tears off your cheekbones.

He takes a step forward by instinct alone and curses himself.

"You left me," he says, and it comes out soft instead of harsh like he'd wanted. "You left me, Y/n."

You start to sob then, nearly incoherent when you try to speak and cover your face with your hands.

He simply can't help himself, arms going around you like muscle memory, the way you bury your face in his chest making his breath hitch, for tears to burn at his eyes.

"I miss you so much," comes out of his mouth, and he hadn't even known he would say it until he did, voice breaking.

You hug him tight, still crying and he sits you down on the bench, brings you a bottle of water after a fight through the crowd to the bar.

You end up talking all night, and as you sober up you explain that you just weren't sure about how he felt, if this was as serious as you thought it was. You tell him that you know how badly his last relationship went and wondered if Hoseok would ever want to fully commit and he just stares at you, blinking in shock.

He can't be angry when you somehow hadn't known he was in love with you, that he thought you were the one made for him, and he tells you over and over, sliding close, arm around your shoulders.

Hoseok puts you to bed at his apartment, the one you'd spent the night in three to four nights a week, and he asks you to move in with him, once while you're still tipsy, wrapped up in one of his hoodies with puffy eyes, and once the next morning, when you groan at him, hungover, first thing.

You say yes once you've got some food in you, and Hoseok is all smiles, bouncing around and kissing you over and over.

Minhyuk

He's stubborn and willing to admit that, but this is ridiculous. He can't bring himself to call you, no matter how badly he misses you.

Even while he's drinking, he makes himself turn off his phone, can't stand to look at it and wonder if you've tried to contact him.

When you do call, he sends it straight to voicemail, lets his inbox fill up. He can't help feeling angry, petty even, because it was you who left, despite how the fight started.

He thinks about it all the time, the things he said, the things you said, you could be so cruel when you were angry, but so could he.

"I could find someone else so fucking fast," he'd said, and god, he doesn't even remember what he was so pissed off about.

You'd laughed, loud and bitter, almost a bark. "I could replace you in thirty seconds, don't try me."

He barely remembers the rest of the fight, everything blurred out by the moment that had made him freeze.

You'd started packing your things and he remembers being so angry that he'd packed for you, knowing in the back of his head this would be over soon and you'd both be crying and apologizing.

That hadn't happened, you'd left, even when he cracked and begged you not to go, and he finds that unforgiveable....

At least at first. The first month, he was angry, burying everything in casual sex and booze. Out every other night, until his friends grew concerned about him.

The second month, he could barely get out of bed. He hadn't changed the lockscreen of his phone and he'd just stare at it, this selfie of you blowing a kiss at the camera. He could barely keep up with his schedule and when he was at home he'd sleep as much as possible, trying to get away from his thoughts.

The beginning of the third month, he sees you, in all places, in a grocery store near his place.

Minhyuk knows your parents live far from the city so he was surprised to see you there, and even more surprised to see a guy with you, your arm linked through his as he pushed the cart.

Minhyuk had stopped in the middle of the aisle, all the breath going out of his lungs. He'd felt angry and then almost numb, but now it rushes in, the longing, the hurt, the panic. Everything he'd been trying to block out.

It isn't as if Minhyuk hasn't felt things. He'd fallen in love before, been hurt before, but he has issues feeling things when they happen because when he lets himself, he feels so much it's overwhelming.

It's overwhelming now, washing over him in waves, and it surprises him that he's not even jealous, not really, just....gutted.

He realizes slowly with horror that he's going to start crying if you speak to him and he backs out of the aisle quickly, knocking over a display of canned tomatoes.

Which of course, draws a lot of attention to him and he wants to phase through the floor he's so embarrassed.

He knows that you see him but he manages to abandon his cart and make it to the parking lot before you call his name.

His eyes are burning with tears and his chest hurts and he isn't sure he can do this.

He braces a hand against the car, doesn't speak.

"Minhyuk? I've been trying to get in touch with you..." you say slowly.

Your calls had stopped the week before and Minhyuk hadn't thought much of it at the time but it made sense, if you'd met someone...

"Yeah...I needed some time," he says, his voice strained, and he's sure he sounds like an asshole, but he's been an asshole, and now that he's feeling everything he should have been feeling already, he realizes it.

"I'm sorry. I shouldn't have-"

Your steps lead away and he can't help it, he turns around, calls your name. He wipes at his eyes, trying to be discreet about it.

"Do you want to talk?"

You get in the passenger seat of his car after he opens it for you and he gets in.

When you look at him, your eyes are wet.

"You should have answered my calls."

"I know," he says, eyes burning as tears well in them again. "I know, baby. I should have."

"You're a fucking asshole." You say, but your voice is breaking, tears streaming down your face.

"I know," he chokes out. "Do you have a boyfriend now?"

He hates himself for asking but you let out a shaky laugh.

"What if I did?"

"I'd have to beg you to leave him and that'd be very embarrassing." He says firmly, and you laugh again and it sounds more genuine and it makes butterflies bloom in his stomach.

"Don't be stupid. How could I get another boyfriend when I can't stop thinking about you?"

Minhyuk lets out a long breath. "God, I'm so glad you said that. I've been crazy, baby. I just...I couldn't even think about it without losing it, so I tried not to think about it, and--"

You wipe at your eyes. "Yeah, I heard you were running a train of girls through your apartment," you say dryly, a flash of anger in your eyes. "But we can fight about that later, yeah?"

"You can hit me with a truck if you want to but will you please come home?" He begs, literally begs, if he had been outside he would have gotten down on his knees. He'd made it three months but fuck it, he'll risk it all just for the chance to have you back, and he's been stupid not to realize that.

You fly into his arms, climbing over the gearshift to kiss him over and over, and he can't stop crying for an embarrassingly long amount of time.

Back at home, when he's inside you again, moaning and kissing every inch of your face, he stops still as you whine, cupping your face.

"You can't ever leave me again," he says, and it sounds stupid and toxic but he can't help it, can't help spewing out everything he feels now that he finally has you back.

"Never," you promise, and Minhyuk doesn't know if this will last forever.

No one can know that, but he knows that he wants it to, and that's what matters.

Kihyun

You finally accept one of his calls after two months but it isn't what he'd hoped for.

"Every time you call it hurts me," you answer, words slow and there's music in the background, as if you're out with friends.

"Yeah? Then we should talk, shouldn't we?" He says automatically, desperate to see you. "Where are you? I could pick you up-"

You laugh and it's bitter and he hates it.

"That would just fuck me up and we both know it."

"What do you mean? Jagiya, please-"

He keeps begging to an empty phone line, not realizing you'd hung up for a moment and when he calls back over and over it goes straight to voicemail.

He bangs the back of his head against the headboard and he wants to down a bottle of wine but he stops himself.

That's how he'd spent the last two months, calling you drunk and maudlin, and that's not what he wants you to think of him.

He's realized, over less time than he'd thought, that he wants to be with you more than he's afraid of being hurt, and he just wants to tell you that.

The next month is agonizing because you've all but disappeared from social media and you won't contact him. He'd show up at your place if he wasn't afraid you'd call the cops. He's almost ready to do it anyway when you finally call, late, almost 2am.

"Jagiya?" He's not asleep when you call, lately he never sleeps, and again your words sound slow.

"Come pick me up. Fuck me up."

It's like something is blooming in his chest but it hurts, too, how you only call when you've been drinking, and how you think it's a bad idea.

Fuck, maybe it is, maybe this is all a bad idea but he's driving to the location you send so quickly he barely remembers to put on his coat despite it being the middle of winter.

You're wearing less clothes than you should be in this weather so he wraps you in it the second you get into the passenger seat of your car, snaps on your seatbelt for you, an instinct from when you were together.

"I'm sorry," is the first thing he says and your eyes widen in surprise.

"I don't think you've ever said that to me."

"I should have," he insists, keeping the car running. He doesn't even know where to take you but he just wants to take you home.

"But you didn't," you say, angry, and you have every right to be.

"I didn't," he says, more softly.

"Was it because you weren't ready?" You ask, voice shaking. "Because...because you didn't trust me?"

Kihyun makes a distressed sound in the back of his throat. "Of course I trust you, it's not like that, I--" he sighs, runs a hand through his hair and he can't keep his eyes off you.

Your eyes, the way the corners of your mouth twitch when he speaks, as if you might smile or frown. He loves every little thing about you but he hasn't been able to say it.

"I love you," he says, finally says it and the world doesn't shatter.

You seem to, though, breaking down in sobs and Kihyun hates himself, even if you're drunk and emotional he hates that he made you feel so upset.

He reaches out to you but you pull away.

"That's the first time you've said that, in 8 months, Kihyun. After I've left. Does it mean anything now?"

Now it feels like the world shatters, and his lip trembles and he hates the tears burning in his eyes. "It does. I swear it does, jagiya, I love you so much I can't stand it."

"Then why did you argue with me so much? Why did you push me away? It was like it was on purpose, Ki, picking fights-"

"I know," he interrupts. "I know, I was just...I didn't realize what I was doing until it was too late. "I know you're seeing someone.." The words stick in his chest, something burning like acid in the back of his throat even to say it. "But I needed you to know. I love you."

"Stop saying that," you gasp, sobbing, and he reaches out to you again and you let him pull you into his arms, burying your face in his chest.

"I should have said it every day," he insists, voice hoarse.

You just sob into his chest and he runs his fingers through your hair, hums to comfort you.

"Can I take you home?" He asks when you die down to a sniffle, and you look at him, searching his face.

"Are you going to hurt me again?" You ask, voice soft and broken.

Kihyun feels like you've stabbed him in the stomach. "No. No, never, jagiya. I promise."

That's a lie and he knows it, when you love someone, you end up hurting them, even if it's in little ways. He knows that because he's loved before, and so do you, but he can promise that he will never intentionally hurt you, and that might be enough.

When you're wrapped in his arms on the couch and he's feeding you little sips of water he can't help laughing when you get the hiccups, you can be so cute when you're drinking.

He loves you so much it scares him, that much is still true, because he's thinking about what happens when the morning comes, if you might run back to your boyfriend, try to forget all about Kihyun.

He can't even bear to think of it, and he can't sleep even when you fall asleep on his shoulder and he carries you to bed.

He watches you sleep, off and on, even while he's trying not to think, because you're beautiful and he's missed you, and before he knows it he's worried himself to daylight, just lying in bed and scrolling through his phone next to you.

When you wake, you're hungover and you blink at him a few times as if you're not sure where you are and panic rises in his throat.

When you get back from the bathroom he's worried his bottom lip bloody, worried that you'll grab your bag and go.

You stand in the bedroom for a moment, as if you're considering that very thing and he sits up.

"You didn't sleep at all?" You ask, and he swallows, shaking his head. He feels a bit dizzy, he's going on 48 hours without sleep and he feels almost drunk from it.

He scoots to the end of the bed, reaches out to take your hand.

"Couldn't," he admits. "I was worried you'd leave."

"I should leave," you say, and he nods, a headache forming at his temples.

"Probably," he says, voice hoarse and cracking from lack of sleep and the tears caught in his throat. "Do you want me to beg you to stay?"

Your eyes widen. "Would you?"

Kihyun takes your other hand, pulling you closer, between his legs, moving his hands to your hips, looking up at you with wet eyes.

"Please stay," he begs, and buries his face in your stomach, kissing you there. "Please don't go."

You freeze for a moment and he thinks you'll leave after all, but instead you drop your hand into his hair, thread your fingers through it and he sighs, feeling like it's easier to breathe with you touching him.

You stay, all day, and he knows eventually you'll have to collect your things, end your relationship, leave his house.

He has a million questions about your new relationship and what you plan to do about ending it but he bites back every word, knowing that he has no right to ask them.

Kihyun knows that when you do go, even if it's just to make a trip, he'll worry himself half to death before you return, but he keeps his mouth shut. He'd let his words and actions control him before and it had pushed you away, so he'll deal with whatever concern he has on his own, communicate with you about it when things are more stable.

He doesn't know what will happen next, can't promise that you won't leave him heartbroken in the end, and he still can't sleep with how strongly he feels worry and fear, just watches you, pushing your hair back from your face as you sleep.

You're worth the risk.

Hyungwon

MAfter he'd seen you out and you'd waved at him like he was an old friend, like you'd never meant anything to each other at all, Hyungwon has an admittedly hard time.

It's hard for him to understand how you can feel that way when he still feels like he's drowning, like he's barely keeping his head above water, trying to avoid a tidal wave of emotions.

"Maybe she just keeps it to herself," Hyunwoo suggests when Hyungwon breaks down and tells him what happened. "I'm not one to outwardly show my feelings, and you aren't either, so maybe-"

"No. No, I know her, she's not like that. She wears her heart on her sleeve." Hyungwon insists, tone blank and numb, like the rest of him.

You do wear your heart on your sleeve, you always have, and it was one of the things he loved about you.

You'd been the one to ask him out, in fact, smiling brightly and telling him how handsome you thought he was, and he had been shocked but flattered.

He really hadn't even thought of you that way until you'd confessed, but it was alarming how quickly he'd fallen after you'd started dating.

You were just so bright and open, talkative in a way he had never been, and it was endearing.

You were just as bright when he'd seen you walking with your new boyfriend, just as sweet and friendly when you'd waved and smiled at him, and it was like you'd punched him in the stomach, taken all the wind out of his lungs.

You'd needed a break, that's what you said, and Hyungwon feels stupid for taking that at face value. He'd assumed a break was all you needed, been willing to give you space and hadn't forced a conversation or come to your house, even though he'd had the urge to do so, many times.

He wonders now if you'd met someone before you'd broken up, needed the break to figure things out and just...chosen someone else.

He won't even allow himself to voice that thought out loud to his hyung, worried that something might show on Hyunwoo's face that confirmed it. Hyunwoo was right about not outwardly showing his emotions, but his thoughts were often a different matter.

Hyungwon tries not to even think it, feeling like it's a betrayal of trust to even consider the idea that you might have been emotionally cheating, but he can't help himself and it spirals.

He doesn't sleep the first night after he sees you, and only manages a few hours the night after that, and so on until he feels like he might pass out at practice.

He's sent home and he feels like a failure, tears pricking at the backs of his eyelids when he lies on the bed and tries to rest, ordered to do so by the choreographer.

Hoseok comes to check on him, brings him food that he barely picks at, tries to cheer him up with joking around and putting on Hyungwon's favorite k-drama.

Hyungwon is grateful but he can't say it helps much other than distracting him for a few hours, which is as helpful as it gets these days.

He can't react like Jooheon has been with his breakup, going out, letting out all his emotions through drinking and clubbing and throwing shit around his studio.

Hyungwon's always been more low key than that, and he'd like to sleep the days away but he hasn't even been able to do that for one of the first times in his life.

On the third day, with only 6 hours of sleep in almost three days, he can't stop himself from calling you.

It's the first time he's called since you left and he half expects to be sent to voicemail so he's surprised when it keeps ringing, and even more surprised when you answer, sounding as bright as always.

"Wonnie! It's so good to hear from you!"

Hyungwon sqeueezes his eyes closed, feeling like they're full of glass from crying and sleep deprivation.

He asks to meet up with you and you say yes with no hesitation, agreeing to meet him at his apartment in an hour.

He cleans up frantcially, all his dirty laundry pushed under the bed, taking the dishes to the kitchen and stuffing them in the dishwasher without running it.

He manages to get his apartment looking halfway decent before you get there, and at least that is a comfort.

You look amazing, smiling at him as he opens the door and he wonders if he looks as devastated as he feels.

He figures he must, because your smile fades when you come inside. "Is everything okay?"

"Yeah," he says automatically, and then sits down heavily on the couch, rubbing a hand across his face and letting out a chuckle. "No."

"Wonnie, what is it?" You sit down next to him, close, and his throat feels tight.

If this were a few months ago you'd have curled your legs up on the couch, tucked your head onto his shoulder.

"Your boyfriend doesn't mind you coming here?" The words come out like venom, burning in the back of his throat. Maybe he's angrier than he'd thought, because he hadn't planned to mention your new relationship at all.

"What? What is that supposed to mean?"

Your tone isn't angry as much as it is surprised and Hyungwon looks at you, jaw clenched.

"I mean, if it were me I wouldn't like my girl meeting up with her ex at his place."

"Hyungwon, I don't-"

He can't even let you finish, more questions swirling in his mind and they just come spilling out.

"Did you meet him while we were together? Is that why you left? Is he why you left?"

"What? No, I left because-"

"Because why, Y/n? You didn't give me a single reason!"

He is angry, livid even, and he hadn't even realized it until now.

"If you'd let me finish," you huff out and he shuts his mouth, blocking even more questions and accusations.

"I just needed some time, Wonnie." You tell him softly, putting a hand on his knee, and your touch causes him to flinch.

"Time for what? To start seeing someone else?"

"No! Just...I was feeling like we were stuck in a rut, like you...like you weren't really interested in me anymore."

"What are you talking about, I'm crazy about you!" He nearly yells it and you giggle a little and he huffs out another breath. "It's not funny, Y/n, I've been going crazy!"

You blink at him again in shock. "You...you have?"

He looks at you, frowning and incredulous. "Yeah, obviously! My girlfriend dumped me for seemingly no reason and then I see you out with someone else and you just fucking...wave, like everything is fine."

You frown back. "Of course everything isn't fine. What was I supposed to do, chase you down and beg you to talk to me?"

"I mean, yeah! I would have loved that. You asked me for space and so I gave it to you but I didn't want to, Y/n."

"You-you didn't?"

You sound uncertain which isn't a usual tone for you, and Hyungwon takes your hand, squeezing it gently.

"Of course not. I love you, Y/n. I didn't want to break up."

"Why didn't you say that? When I brought it up you were so...so reasonable about everything."

He frowns and suddenly he's angry all over again. "Are you trying to say that you dumped me and got a new boyfriend because I didn't protest enough?"

"No! I just...I did think we needed space. I felt like you were so busy and you were pulling away from me and maybe if...if I let you miss me a little."

"A little?" He explodes. "It's been three fucking months!"

"I know, but-" Your eyes are welling with tears and Hyungwon is breathing hard he's so upset but he can't help himself from squeezing your hand again, taking in a deep breath to calm himself.

"You should have talked to me about it instead of-"

"I tried to talk to you!" You burst out, crying in earnest now. "I tried but you always blew me off because you had something else to do."

Hyungwon thinks back and he had blown you off, even thought he didn't think of it that way at the time. He'd really just been busy and he'd thought there would always be time later...

"Shit," he curses as he realizes. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry, Y/n, I didn't realize that you were trying to talk to me about something important."

You sniffle. "It doesn't matter now."

Anger had been somewhat freeing, seemed useful in a way that feeling just heartbroken hadn't been, but now it drops down on him like an anvil, weighing him down, slumping his shoulders.

"I guess not," he says quietly. "You've moved on, yeah?"

"What?" He's looked away from you, not wanting you to see how hurt he is, but you take his chin in one of your hands to force him to look at you.

"Wonnie, no. I don't have a boyfriend. I haven't moved on. I was so excited when you called, I-"

Hyungwon stares at you. "Wait, go back. You don't have a boyfriend?"

You shake your head. "No, that was just a friend, we went to the new boba place together."

Hyungwon feels like something has broken loose in his chest, letting out a breath, relieved tears springing to his eyes.

"So...we could...we could get back together?"

"Please," you sniffle again, wiping your tears with the back of one hand while still holding his hand with the other tightly.

He pulls you into his arms, into his lap until you're laughing at how he's manhandling you, hugging you tightly against him.

He's so happy to have you back that he can't be angry anymore, at least not now. Later, it might come up, but he's willing to communicate things more effectively with you, especially after this misunderstanding.

As long as he has you, he can work through anything.

Jooheon

Jooheon knows he's a mess. He knows he can't go on like this, drinking and partying too much, calling you and leaving voicemails that you probably don't even listen to.

He knows he has to change the way he's coping eventually, but after three months, he can't seem to get it together.

He'll have a couple of good days and think that maybe things will be better, that he can actually do this, get through it without all the bad coping mechanisms, and then something happens.

Once, it's finding a pair of your socks under his bed. Once it's someone tagging him in an old photo of the two of you together on Instagram.

Both times, he feels like there's this hollow void in his chest and stomach, something he needs to fill but he can barely eat and it doesn't help anyway.

Not much does, but if he goes out drinking and dancing he can distract himself for a few hours, fuzz out his thoughts and pretend that he can deal with it later.

Now, it is later and he still isn't dealing and his friends are worried about him and you still won't talk to him.

"I know. I know, hyung, I'll do better," he promises Kihyun when the elder is walking him into his apartment, or well, carrying might be a better term.

The sad thing is, this isn't even the most inebriated he's been this month. This week, even.

He's fucking up so much at practice he's had to have a meeting with a manager, and that sucked, but what was infinitely worse was the subsequent meeting with Hyunwoo.

He'd expected his hyung to do his normal dad "I'm not angry; I'm just dissappointed," but it was worse than that, which he didn't even know was possible.

"I understand you're going through something," he'd said. "And I'll mitigate the damages from management as much as I can, but you have to work with me, honey. Okay?"

Jooheon hadn't been able to speak, sobs catching in his chest, and he'd had his twelfth emotional breakdown of the last three months.

Hyunwoo had hugged him tight and Jooheon had felt a little better afterward, like something bitter and viscous had been removed from his lungs.

That had been a good day, when he'd gotten food in him and some sleep, but the day after had been...not so good.

He'd been working on a beat, which was astronomical in terms of progress since he hadn't so much as looked at his studio equipment since the breakup.

The search history on his laptop was embarrassing (google "how to get over a breakup," "how to get your ex back without being a humiliating mess," "how many shots in a bottle of Casimigos), so he'd gone to the studio instead of working in his room.

He gets stuck on a lyric and opens up the browser and apparently the last thing he'd looked at on it (more than three months ago), had been your Instagram page.

He knows he should close the page immediately, maybe disable the wifi all together, but of course, he doesn't, because he's incapable of making good decisions after you'd left.

He scrolls through your page and sees a picture of you kissing the camera, your lips plump and pink with lip gloss and a smile in your eyes and that's enough to make him close the window, shut down the desktop and text Changkyun to see if he'll go out to a dive bar with him.

Jooheon remembers the first hour vividly, buying a round of shots for the bar and then others kept buying him drinks in kind and then everything goes blurry around the edges and Kihyun is picking them up, bitching about the late hour and how drunk they both are.

Changkyun makes it to his room without help but Kihyun puts his head under Jooheon's right armpit to get him to his room, complaining about how heavy he is.

"I'll be better," Jooheon mumbles, and Kihyun sighs, looks down at him with worry lines between his eyes and Jooheon hates himself, closes his eyes against the burn of tears and then everything goes blissfully black for a while.

He wakes up to the ringing of his phone, which is odd because no one ever actually calls him except for Jackson, who's been too busy to call much, and management, who definitely wouldn't call after midnight.

He answers it without looking at the screen and barks out a "What?"

"Shit. Shit, Joo, I'm sorry, I didn't realize how late-"

Jooheon sits up on the bed so quickly that the world spins sideways, clearing his throat, when he hears your voice.

"No, no, it's okay. What's wrong?"'

There's something weird rolling in his stomach, some complicated and conflicting emotions like panic and hope and worry, when you don't answer, a long pause.

There's music in the background.

"Where are you? Do you need me to come get you?"

"Yes," you say quickly. "Yes, please, I'll explain when you get here-"

Fuck.

He can't drive he'll kill himself or someone else.

"Send me your location, I'm coming," he says, putting you on speaker to schedule an Uber.

Jooheon doesn't ask any questions, it doesn't matter, he'll be there no matter what is going on, just looks down at his ruffled clothes and shrugs before heading outside.

Luckily no one else is awake to yell at him for leaving the house this drunk but he's slept some of it off, at least, and he can walk in a straight line.

He's hanging his head out the window, looking for you, because you've sent a street corner with nothing on it and finally he sees you standing away from a group of people.

You all but run to the car and he wonders what's gone wrong.

He asks the Uber to wait, gets out to meet you and before you can speak a guy behind you calls your name.

"Y/n! Hey, where are you going?"

He's obviously drunk, more drunk than Jooheon, even, and Jooheon narrows his eyes at him when he grabs your arm.

You widen your eyes and look afraid and that's all it takes, Jooheon takes a swing at him and catches him in the cheekbone.

It's not by any means a good punch, Jooheon's been losing weight and he hasn’t been in a fight since he was 9 but he beat the shit out of that kid and he’s planning to do the same to this guy.

Luckily for everyone involved, the guy yells "Ow!" and backs off, rubbing his cheek.

You give him a grateful look and slide into the Uber without a word and Jooheon follows.

The Uber driver raises an eyebrow but otherwise doesn't complain and Jooheon rates him five stars and gives him a hefty tip before sliding in beside you.

You lean over to whisper to him, "Thank you."

It's a lovely moment and you're so close and he reaches out to hug you but then you wrinkle your nose and flinch back.

"Jesus fucking Christ, you smell like you drank a liquor store."

He pauses and drops his arms, chuckles a little. "Not the whole liquor store."

He wonders if he's slurring his words, your face is going in and out of focus even though he's able to concentrate and stop the blurring.

He's more drunk than he thought even after a nap, and you're looking at him curiously.

"I can't judge; I've been drinking too. Not as much as you, obviously." You say dryly, and he laughs.

You're funny. You've always been so funny and a wave of more complicated emotions washes over him: fondness, longing, sadness.

This is why he can't keep his shit together, he thinks. He can't pinpoint a specific emotion to focus on, he feels everything when he doesn't distract himself, and with you close to him, it's so much worse.

"I miss you," he blurts out, and it definitely is slurred and you look up at him, the corners of your mouth twitching in a weak smile.

"Missed you too, Honey."

You touch his pinky with yours and it makes his heart race like he's back in high school. He can't help himself from twining his fingers through yours and you don't pull away.

He holds your hand the rest of the drive home in silence, his heart thudding hard against his breastbone.

"Are we going to your place?" You ask, but there's no uncertainty in your tone so he just nods.

When you arrive it takes him thirty seconds to get the damn door open because it's an unfamiliar car, not because of the booze, surely, and you giggle at him and it makes him feel on top of the world.

Jooheon has a memory, almost like a flashback, of tossing you on his bed, tugging at your ankles to spread your legs apart, just a few months before, and he clears his throat, can't look at you when you sit down on the bed, taking off your heels.

"Are you okay?"

You look up at him with a sigh. "Yeah. Yeah, I'm okay. Thank you for picking me up. I know....I know things aren't great between us right now."

You look away and he wants to take your chin in his hand, make you look at him, kiss your pursed mouth, but instead he sits down hard on the bed next to you, bouncing you a little, your skirt riding up, bare thigh flush against his.

He looks down at your skin, wants to run his fingers along it, and looks away, blowing out a harsh breath. That's not what's important right now, how much he wants to touch you, how it's this longing deep in his chest, rising up his throat.

"What happened?"

You let out an "ugh" sound and plop down faceup on the bed, your bare feet grazing the carpet.

"Nothing, really, that guy just wouldn't leave me alone and I was there by myself so I felt kind of....scared."

The last word comes out small and Jooheon frowns.

"You shouldn't go out by yourself."

"Yeah, yeah, I know. My friends were tired, though."

Jooheon nods slowly. "Yeah, my friends get tired of me too."

You laugh softly and when he looks down at you it's another flashback, his favorite rerun, you looking up at him from his bed with a fond smile.

He feels so full of emotion and so empty at the same time, another contradiction, and he's too tired and drunk to stop the words coming out of his mouth.

"I'm trying to be better." He pauses, trying to collect his thoughts, but thery're all over the place and instead he just keeps talking. "I'm trying to get it together, Y/n, but it's...."

"Impossible?" You ask softly, and his gaze shoots to yours.

"Yeah." His voice sounds hoarse to his own ears and he lies back next to you, leaning his head against yours. "Yeah, impossible."

"Me too," you admit, and he's surprised.

"Really?" He hates himself for feeling better that you aren't doing well. He'd had this idea that he was a mess while you were doing fine, since you wouldn't answer his calls.

You reach down to wrap your fingers around his forearm and the touch soothes him, makes him feel like things might actually get better.

"Yeah. Drinking and dancing and hanging out with strange dudes isn't as fun when you do it like, every other night."

"You been hanging out with a lot of dudes?" When you don't answer, Jooheon curses. "I'm sorry. That's stupid. I'm stupid, ignore me."

You laugh. "If I could do that, I'd probably be doing a lot better."

Jooheon frowns. "You have been."

"Not in my head," you say quietly, and he turns on his side to look into your eyes.

"God, I'm so happy to hear you say that," he breathes. "All I do is try not to think about you."

You sniffle, eyes welling with tears. "All I've heard is that you're out all the time, figured you'd picked up another girl by now."

Jooheon scoffs. "I'm a fucking mess, even if I wanted to pick someone up they'd be repulsed."

"You underestimate how handsome you are."

You're looking at him in a way he knows, in a way he's intimately familiar with, and all of him wants to close the distance and kiss you but you've both been drinking and he feels dismayed at the idea of your first kiss since the breakup being at a time like this.

"Y/n," he says slowly, but it's you who closes the distance, kisses him hard and needy, and he's powerless to stop himself from wrapping his arms around your waist and pulling you closer.

After a few long moments he pulls away, breathing hard.

"We can't do this right now."

You whine, pouting, and he wants to nip at your full bottom lip but he stops himself.

"If you still want to kiss me in the morning..."

Jooheon is surprised when you break out into a smile.

"Don't remember you being such a gentleman."

After that, it turns into talking all night instead of kissing, and instead of not sleeping because he can't keep from feeling all those complicated emotions, he doesn't sleep because he's talking things out with you.

By the end of it he's crying and you're crying and the sun is coming up and the alcohol is wearing off enough that he's getting a headache at his temples.

You suggest ordering breakfast but before either of you can make a move to do so, you're snoring against his chest, lying on top of him with your thighs around his waist, and what is he supposed to do? Move and disturb you? Never.

Eventually, you do get breakfast, and you talk more, seems like you've both talked for two days before you finally work things out.

It isn't easy, and with the two of you both being sensitive and emotional, it probably never will be, but nothing good is ever easy.

Changkyun (I.M)

For a solid week after you'd broken off the sexual relationship, Changkyun can't feel anything.

He's numb in a way that he's never experienced before, and it's a little scary but he has to admit it's better than what he was feeling before.

It doesn't help him get back into the swing of things, though, in fact it's the opposite, he's sleeping all the time and missing practice, barely able to focus in meetings.

After a brief period of crying to his hyungs and getting advice from them, he's gone radio silent about the breakup and everyone tiptoes around the subject, never even speaking your name.

Changkyun hopes that the numbness, when it fades, fades into moving on, since six months has gone by since the breakup, and three since you've broken off everything, even the brief reprieve he got when he was inside you, kissing you hard and dirty because if he did it softer, you'd push at him, tell him to stop it.

"That's not what this is, Kyun," you'd said harshly, the last time he'd kissed you soft and sweet, so he'd huffed out a breath and pushed you against the wall, left marks along your throat, and you'd liked that better, even if it made him feel hollow inside.

It was the only way he could be close to you, so he did what you wanted...until you broke things off, even physically.

"I can't keep doing this," you'd said after he was lying panting beside you, hoping you'd let him pull you into his arms.

He'd sat up, panicked, but you were already pulling on your clothes.

"Why? I'm not...I didn't ask for more..."

It's pathetic, he's pathetic and he hates himself.

"It doesn't matter. I'll always want..." you pause, stop yourself, grab your purse.

"Wait, Y/n-"

Before he could get any words out you'd left, and after a few desperate hours in which he'd bought a burner phone and tried to get you to talk to him, the numbness had swept over him.

As much as that felt better than being heartbroken, his hyungs didn't feel the same way, and did everything they could to get him out of his funk.

Nothing worked, until Jooheon coaxed him out to a house party of a mutual friend, where Changkyun nursed a beer, standing against the wall in the kitchen where he's people watching.

Things are pretty crazy, a girl dancing barefoot on a kitchen table, a couple making out against a fridge, a guy doing a keg stand.

He catches the girl on the table's eye after a moment and then all the air seems to thin in the room when he realizes that the shade of her eyes are a very familiar color.

"Shit," he curses to himself, chugging the rest of his beer and feeling like someone had thrown a spear through his gut, and you're climbing down off the table and if you so much as speak to him he knows he'll never feel numb again.

He makes it to the liquor table, manages a shot before you touch his arm.

"Kyunnie, please, can we talk?"

Your voice sounds so small and his throat feels full and he can't look at you.

"No," he says firmly, pouring himself another shot, and when a girl asks him to dance, he's so grateful he could kiss her.

When he catches your eye once more, he does kiss her, almost in a panic, knowing that you'll draw him right back in, and it's Jooheon who ruins everything, pulling him away by his shoulders.

"What the hell are you doing? Y/n is right there, didn't you see her?"

Changkyun wishes he hadn't seen you, wishes he'd never even met you at all, but it's too late now and everything's coming back up and he feels nauseous with it, with all the hurt and anger boiling back up in his stomach.

He looks over your head for the girl, finds her finally (he didn't quite catch her name, doesn't even quite remember what she looks like but her eyes light up when he calls out "hey!) and beckons her over.

Changkyun looks at you, finally, smirking, feeling some sense of victory, and your eyes are welling with tears and how is he ever supposed to feel numb again when he still loves you so fucking much?

He needs more booze, he needs to kiss this girl again, he needs something to keep it from coming back.

When he takes the girl's hands, you angrily wipe at your tears with the heels of your hands.

"So that's how you're going to play this? This is what we're doing? Okay."

Your voice sounds alarmingly flat and panic rises in his throat when you stalk away. He suddenly has tunnel vision, ignoring the girl he'd gone to such trouble to find and watching you weave your way through the crowd and when he loses sight of you, the panic takes over and he starts to follow you even as his brain screams at him to stop.

When he catches up to you, you're sitting on the kitchen counter with some guy's hand high up on your thigh and Changkyun wants to throw him across the room.

Instead, he pushes him out of the way, pulls you down from the counter, and you let him take your hand and lead you out to the balcony.

"I'm sorry," he bursts out, and why is he apologizing? You were the one who had left, cut things off when all he wanted was to be close to you, to get back together, and now you won't even talk to him.

"I tried so hard," you start, your voice reedy and shaking. "I tried so hard to fall out of love with you, Kyun."

The breath he takes in feels like broken glass in his chest. "I don't want you to fall out of love with me."

"You hurt me," you accuse, a sob catching in your chest and fuck, it hurts so much to see you crying, even after all this. "You said such awful things to me that night and I just...I don't fucking deserve this, Kyun!"

"You didn't....you wouldn't even talk to me, you-"

"You came and said all these things, like you loved me and that you were sorry and then you just wanted to fuck me and now you show up at this party making out with some random girl and I'm supposed to just....deal with it? Not talk to anyone else? I'm supposed to be home waiting around on you to booty call me again?"

He stands there, shellshocked, his mouth open for a moment. It's slow, the realization that it's how it seemed to you, that after the fight he wanted sex, of all things, when really it was just the only way he could think to be close to you.

"God, I'm so fucking stupid!"

Changkyun realizes he's laughing too late and you're trying to open the balcony doors but he puts his arms around your waist, hugs you tight against him and you're stiff for only a moment before you collapse, crying.

"You've got it all wrong, honey. I am sorry. I am so fucking sorry, for what I said that night, for everything. For being too stupid to realize how it must seem to you..."

He explains everything, how he'd thought it was the only way to be close to you again, that you were done with him, and rightfully so, and you stare at him for a long moment before you yell at him for being an idiot, and he absolutely deserves it.

He can't stop smiling, though, when you go to push at his chest and instead hug him tightly, wrap your arms around his neck, pull him down to kiss him hard, because it's not like the last time.

This time, when he bites marks across your throat it isn't because you're trying to keep him at an arm's length, but because he wants everyone to know you're his again.

[sunb0rn]

weirdest compliment you've ever received?

yung "comforting" ata?? like dati nung di pa kami totally nakakapag usap ng isang tumblr bby girl. comforting daw ung presence ko gnyan.

tas weird din in a way kasi inisiip ko bakit ung mga taong pinaka malapit sa akin parang they dont find me comforting naman?? kht tinotodo ko yung gnagawa ko for them. awit. sadgerl pa pero truu ksi. hahaha

[mudhornchronicles]

festivals | din djarin 

pairing: din djarin x reader; din djarin x military!reader; din djarin x general!reader

warnings: remembering of aq vetina, mentions of war

a/n: i’m back ya’ll. school really messed me up ANYWAYS we back with another dinny fic. the festival idea came from my own culture in Mexico with a celebration called Danza de los Viejitos! 

masterlist

_______

Spring on your planet was the time of a cycle where your planet gets the most visitors. You would know… you had to authorize every single ship that came into the atmosphere. You sat in the control center every day for the past 9 rotations authorizing ship after ship – making sure none of them came to cause trouble. Your planet could not take a hit like that anymore.

But it was finally the day.

Pink and purple skies, green leaves, and warm winds created the perfect day to hold the celebration of your culture’s history – the day your people escaped imprisonment and a life or servitude.

In 19 BBY, your planet was invaded by Gamorian raiders and the elders fought them off. Civilians and military, all passed 40 years old, stayed behind while they forced everyone younger on escape ships. They wanted to “protect the able ones from extinction.” Your father stayed behind, a 38-year-old general in the emperor’s army, stayed behind as your mother your two brothers, ages 12 and 16, and a 5-year-old you were loaded onto the ship, leaving your father behind to fight for his people.

When the fight was over, he became this planet’s emperor after Emperor Molur became ill and unable to rule.

That same year, a few civilians claiming to be from an attacked settlement named Aq Vetina entered the atmosphere. Your father couldn’t turn them away as he saw “fear and a cry for help” look in their eyes. He knew that look. He lived it. It hurt him when he saw a group of dirty, shaking individuals in need of help with nothing but the clothing on their backs. Their red robes and frightened demeanor became engrained in your mind and as you saw safer days, so did they.

Your father painted visual minds of how the elders, 60-year-olds, fought off the raiders with the skill set they once knew in their youth. The determination they had to fight for their planet was motivating and drove you to also protect your planet they way they did for you. That was when you decided to serve. You trained day and night all throughout your youth and into adulthood. When your father, or your emperor you should say, deemed you well, you entered the military along with your siblings.

Your eldest brother left the planet when he met his partner. He wanted to see what the galaxy and so he went. Your other brother left the military to pursue education. He loved children and took advantage of his patience and knowledge. You remained.

You worked and worked as you climbed the ranks. You wanted to earn your position and so you did. Your peers were elated for you and served well under you. You knew every soldier in the force by name and up to their grandparents. You loved your planet and everyone in it even if they weren’t born there.

Your father deemed this day in remembrance of those who gave the planet’s inhibitants the right to remain happy on this planet and celebrate their lives. He decided that spring would be the best season as the brightest colors came to light.

A tradition this festival had was a performance by civilians wearing an elder-resembling mask and clothing too big and dated to be their own. These masks were decorated in white rope hair, wrinkles, and big smiles. These civilians would wear these to bring their elders alive for one night. They would dance through the street as watchers threw flowers and cheered them on. It never failed to put a smile on your face.

This was a tradition ever since and now, in 19 ABY, it was bigger than ever. Every species you can possibly think of has been present at some point, but you have never seen a Mandalorian enter your planet.

That is until today.

“Identify yourself, Razor Crest,” you hear the private ask.

What in the Maker is a Razor Crest doing here?

“This is Razor Crest requesting to land.”

You roll your eyes. Yeah, no shit, you thought.

You gesture the private to hold. You walk over and hold down the button on the comm.

“What is your business here, Razor Crest.”

“The festival. Should there be another reason?” a gruff voice answers.

You tilt your head. Why do I have a bad feeling?

“Stage 91 is clear to land. Over.”

“Stage 91. Heard.”

You allow the private to move on to the next ship in line. You take a deep breath in and decide its best to quiet this questioning voice in your head. You’ll just see for yourself, you said to yourself.

“Are the Sergeants on the field?” You ask the private.

“Yes, General. All 12 Sergeants and 38 Captains are out in the field making their rounds.”

You nod. “Very well.” You look over your shoulder and look at the other privates on the datapads. “Private Lukis,” you call out.

The poor young man, no more than 21, quickly stands, dropping items from the desk, and salutes. “Yes, General. Private Lukis at your attention.”

You stifle a laugh, and you shake your head in disbelief. “Private. I understand you’re new, but I’ve told you numerous times that you simply answer with yes, General. None of that is needed okay, son?”

Still saluting, he replies with, “Yes, General.”

“Put your hand down, son, and call a land speeder for me.”

He quickly nods his head, gives a yes general and proceeds to call in for a speeder.

As you go to walk towards the door, you look over to him and call for him again. He looks at you, saying yet another yes general and smiles. “You’re doing great, Private. I’m appreciative of your aid in the force.”

“Thank you, General.” He exclaims, his face turning red. “I am happy to be here.”

With that you left to go see this Razor Crest.

You waited as you saw the ramp go down with a hiss. You stand at attention with a Sergeant to your right and a Captain to your left.

Your eyes widen at the glimpse of beskar and take a deep breath. You slowly exhale as the broad warrior makes his way down.

“Is this how you greet all of your guests?” he dryly says.

“For the guests we find unsual, yes. What’s your business here, Mandalorian?” you sternly ask.

“Heard there was a festival.”

You simply nod.

“Am I allowed to be here?”

You remain looking at the warrior as you command the other officials to move on.

“I take it you brought more guests on that ancient craft of yours?”

“Just me.”

You take a couple of steps towards him. He doesn’t flinch.

“I’ve never seen a Mandalorian on this planet before. You leave your clan somewhere else?”

“Yes.”

“How unfortunate. They would have loved the festival. Do you enjoy dancing, warrior?”

“No.”

You let out a single chuckle. “By the end of the night, you will. Enjoy the festival, Mandalorian. I suggest you have plenty of credits on hand… with the treats they sell, you’ll want to buy some for the trip.”

“Thank you, General.”

You bid farewell and walk towards your landspeeder. You look back at the warrior and notice he’s still looking at you. “How did you know I was a general?”

“Your confidence. It would be a waste for you not to be.”

You smirk at this. “And the stars on your lapel give it away,” he continues.

You look at your embroidered stars and smile. “Good eye, Mandalorian.” He nods in appreciation as you hop on the land speeder.

“I’ll see you around, warrior.”

“I’m sure,” he says.

You ask the droid to be taken to the palace. You have to get ready too.

Bright colors flow as you walk the streets of the festival. Paper decorations and string lights go from streetlight to streetlight and the sound of laughing children sing songs to your ears. You walk with your father as you both greet anyone who comes in your way. Your father, dressed in an intricate silk number with florals and bright colors, is the embodiment of happiness. His smile is even brighter than the jewelry he wears. You, having gone with a black number with an embroidered masterpiece of bright colored patterns, take in the sight of it all.

As you continue on, you spot a glimmer of silver in the corner of your eye. You turn your head and spot the Mandalorian from earlier, leaning against a tree. You offer a small wave and he returns a nod.

“I want eyes on my father at all times while I’m gone, do you understand?” you speak into the commlink.

“Yes, General. Delta and Sierra on him,” your captain replies.

You excuse yourself from your father’s side and receive a kiss your hand as he smiles at you. You can be the most frightening general in the galaxy, but you are never too tough for a kiss from your father.

You walk towards the Mandalorian and spot the wooden trinket in his hands. “I see you found Mister Ferin’s stand. His work is stunning, isn’t it?”

“Yes,” he replies. He sounds much different than earlier today. Is he upset?

“I must admit I have many of his trinkets. He made me a carousel when I was young and I still cherish it everyday.”

“He’s very talented.”

You look at the Mandalorian and are met with your reflection in his visor. “Would you like to walk with me, warrior?”

He pushes himself off the trunk of the tree. “Very well. Lead the way.”

And so you do.

You showed him your favorite drink stand and even convinced him to try one. He refused to take off his helmet, so you improvised. You connected two straws so it would slide under his helmet.

It worked.

You showed him the dance of the elders. He paid attention to every detail of it. He asked about the history, the significance of the colors, and even the music. You felt comfortable. You were more than happy to talk about and when he asked for specifics, your heart fluttered.

How was this beskar-clad stranger so much more interested in the history than anyone you have ever met? Everyone else came for the parties, but he wanted to learn.

He came to learn.

You walked some more as he drank from his two-straw drink. He asked to stop by again and you happily agreed. You got to know him too. You had learned that he had a son – a foundling, he said. You knew he was taken in by Mandalorians and you knew about the events of the last couple of rotations. His stride was confident and was openly speaking to you as if you were best friends the whole time, but then he stopped abruptly. You looked over at him.

“Mando? You okay?”

His visor stayed fixed at the view in front of you.

That’s when you saw it.

He became vulnerable.

His stance turned frail, and his chest began to heave. You looked over and spot an elderly couple sitting on a bench in their red robes, taking in the scene of the festival.

You asked again. “Mandalorian, what did you see?”

“Where did they get those robes?” He gruffed out. There was no emotion behind the question. It felt as if he wasn’t there anymore.

“I… They’ve always had them. That’s what they came here with.”

“Came from where?” He turned to you.

“Their settlement. It was a long time ago. Remember when I said our planet got attacked? So did theirs, except… not many survived from their settlement.”

He stomped over to the couple and you hurried after him. He stopped in front of the couple.

“Where did you get those robes. Where are you from?”

The woman gasped at the Mandalorian, but the man remained still. He eyed the warrior before him.

“What’s it to you, bucket?”

You quickly answer. “I’m so sorry to alarm you, Mister and Missus Pescur.”

“What settlement did you come from?” The Mandalorian asked, more softly now. “I- I know these robes.”

“I doubt it,” the elderly man says. “We were not Mandalorians. Just peaceful civilians who were attacked.”

“You are from Aq Vetina.”

“So what?”

“I… I was born on Aq Vetina. My mother and father were killed in the attack and I was taken in by the Mandalorians. I- I didn’t… I didn’t know there were any survivors.”

“Yeah? Well, you know now, bucket. We have lived peacefully on this planet so do not go around running that rusted helmet about it. The Emperor and the General have kept us safe. You mess that up, I’ll hunt you down myself.”

“Mister Pescur, I assure you this warrior means no harm. He is my guest.”

His wife stands and looks at the Mandalorian. “You are from Aq Vetina?”

He sighs. “Yes.”

Her frail hand slowly reaches for him. He eases his body’s tension and allows Mrs. Pescur to pat the back of his gloved hand. “You’ve seen many things in your life, haven’t you son?”

“Yes,” he chokes out.

“You needn’t be so rude!” She says slapping her husband’s knee. “This poor young man was blind sighted! Apologize!”

Mando chuckles, shaking his helmet side to side. “I should be apologizing.”

Mr. Pescur stands in front of Mando as he sizes him up. “Prove it.”

“Prove what?”

“Prove to me you are one of us,” he says. “I’ll apologize when I see that you lost something just like we did.”

You shift your gaze over to this beskar-clad warrior. You hear a sigh modulate through as he whispers his agreeance. You watch him as he lifts the lapel of a pouch on his belt and pulls a beaded bracelet. Obsidian pearls polished to perfection all tied together with a braided red string. He reluctantly hands it to Mr. Pescur with shaky hands.

“My family name is Djarin,” he states. “My father was a mechanic, fixed anything with a gear… and my mother was a sea-“

“A seamstress,” Mr. Pescur finishes. “Din? Little Din that always ruined his red robes when it rained?”

His wife gasped. “The little boy who would always ask to be hidden from that womp weasel in the market?”

What a small galaxy, you thought.

Within a blink of an eye, the old couple had their arms wrapped around Mando. “My boy,” Mr. Pescur tearfully says, “look how you’ve grown.”

Mando, or Din as you learned, did not reciprocate the hugging interaction. He was paralyzed. “I don’t remember a Pescur family,” he mentions.

“We changed our name here!” Mrs. Pescur exclaims. “My name is Lurina. Do you remember? You’d hide at my mother’s post at the market and would always ask for a berry treat when you left. I must have been in my 20s at the time.”

“Yes!” Din remembered. “You would always carry a blue satchel with the extras for the post.” Mrs. Pescur laughed as she confirmed his memory. Din turned to Mr. Pescur and pointed. “You would help my father when he would fix the generators. You’d always stop by her post.”

As the couple went on and on about the memories they remember from their settlement, Din looked over to you.

“I had no idea that there were any survivors… let alone ever find them. Thank you.”

You shot him a confused, yet genuine smile. “Why are you thanking me?”

“For allowing me to walk these streets.”

You placed a hand on his arm – a wordless you’re welcome. You remained with the couple for a few more minutes before they decided to go back home. You watched as they bid their farewells and Mrs. Pescur sliding the ornate bracelet on Din’s wrist. Din stopped them with a low wait.

He slowly removed his helmet and looked back up and the couple. Mrs. Pescur smiled and ran to him. She wrapped her arms around him as he did her, giving her a short squeeze. As they let go, Mrs. Pescur pressed a chaste kiss on his cheek as she spoke, your parents would be so proud.

Mr. Pescur took his time walking to Din. He reached a hand up and laid it on Din’s other cheek, gently patting it. Din took matters into his own hands and hugged the elder man, giving him a squeeze too. Mr. Pescur laughed and joked Squeeze me with that build of yours and I’ll pop, boy.

The lights over your head became brighter the more you stood there. You patiently waited for Din to slide his helmet back on, but he took a hold of your hand instead. A bold move, you thought. He looked to you and smiled.

Who knew you liked dimples and brown eyes? He wore them well.

“General,” he promptly said. “The night is still young. I’d like to see more of this festival.”

“You a dancer? Because that’s what you are going to get dragged into at this time,” you joke.

“As long as it is with you,” he confesses, “I am willing to make a fool of myself.”

“You don’t even know me, Mandalorian.”

“You can call me Din.” You nod.

“Alright Din, still doesn’t; change the fact that you don’t know me.”

“You’re right… but I’d like to.”

You can’t help but to blush at that. You nod and look around as you hear the music in the background. “Squirt some oil in that armor of yours, Din.” You interlock your fingers with his. You shot a grin in his direction as you bobbed your head towards the music. “We’re going to a festival.”

______

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