#do I think about Din Djarin too much?

[mando-din-lorian]

I love me Star Wars time travel shenangians and I am absolutely giggling at the idea of Din going back in time and being, like, an expert in Yoda behavior and antics.

He’s spent so much time with Grogu, he picked up on things that seem to be natural for the species that perfectly align with Yoda.

He knows that they’re a carnivorous, and while they have sharp teeth to cut into meat, they typically swallow their food whole. He knows they like small prey, something usually slimy as it’s easier to swallow, and that food is important to them (as their species burn a lot of energy despite being small - my personal headcanon is that it’s because they’re so naturally in-tune with the force and use it more to often for basic living, thus it takes a lot to replenish that energy); offering food is like showing them off that they’ll be safe and well-fed with you, so when Din offers Yoda a raw, slimy eel as an offering of good-intent, everyone is absolutely baffled, disgusted, and enthralled when Yoda just swallows that mucus-covered atrocity whole and pats his legs, and they’re basically besties now

Din knows that they’re incredibly perceptive to sound due to their large ears, and thus speaks soft and quiet (or, you know, his natural way of speaking 😂) when talking with Yoda. He also knows that it’s easy for them to get ear infections, especially if they get a lot of water or wax-build-up in their ears, so any time after a mission in the rain, or in water, Din offers Yoda space-ear-wax cleaner and Yoda is like knows how to treat a person, this bitch does

And he just ends up getting along so well with Yoda and does things no one even considered to be Yoda thing (because Yoda is a maniac and likes to watch people bask in the confusion of his antics) that it’s just baffling. They don’t know what to do. How the fuck. What the fuck. They’re absolutely baffled, bamboozled, and bewilderment

To summarize, Din is Yoda’s homie and they have brunch every Friday and Din is more than comfortable with Yoda perching on his shoulder because their species likes having the higher ground

[daimyosprincess]

For the fic title ask, Glass Stars

Ooooo I like this, thank you for the ask bb 💖! Since I'm a reader insert girlie this would of course be an x reader fic.

Ok so I'm thinking a bittersweet piece with Din where he's contracted to work protection for some royal Core World family because of some political tensions while they summer at their ocean villa. You are a handmaid to the princesses, acting as their companion (like how ladies in waiting would be companions for british royalty). In between keeping the royal sisters entertained, a relationship begins to blossom between you and Din, long glances, dry jokes shared in private, a hand laid on an arm. You both know you're never going to see each other again after the dreamy months of summer end, but you don't want to pass up a chance at happiness, even fleeting as it is.

It's a summer of stolen kisses by a sparkling sea, touches given like precious gifts, and heartache that heals even as it hurts. "She's a star made of glass, shining impossibly bright to hide the fact that she can shatter and lose everything in her orbit."

[steviewashere]

I want to write something sort of meta, hear me out on it. Sorry, if this hits too close to home. The idea came to me and I needed to get it out of my system. And...would you look at that, another half-written fic.

Steve ends up getting really into Star Wars after Dustin shows him to it. Like, so much that he gets himself involved with conventions, cosplay, collecting anything and everything he can. He's involved in a fandom space. Learns the world of fan fiction. And let's say that maybe, during his time figuring out where he wants to go with life, he picks up writing fanfic as a hobby.

It encourages him to get an English degree. Encourages him to lean more into that hobby, but then expanding upon it to write original short stories and small novels that go published. But he holds strong to Star Wars and fandom and finding his spot cemented in it. He's been a fan for...nearly forty years at this point (set in 2024, ugh I know).

And maybe he dabbles in online spaces here and there. He ignores the insufferable adults in the Star Wars fandom (the "um, actually..." guys, btw). Indulges the effort of typing out his handwritten fan fiction, ones he used to bring and pass around at conventions, ones he'd let Eddie read with a shy look in his eyes. And he posts them online, has a Tumblr account, maybe does a few short things on Twitter, definitely is on AO3 (albeit newer, having never attempted online fan work before).

But then...then he gets his first little bit of hate. Vicious, gross comments on his work. Sometimes in private messages. Even publicly, once, on Twitter. It irks him. He holds strong, he does. But then it gets worse and worse and somehow, worse. Younger people claiming he's too old, others claiming that he can't write for certain characters because they're out of his age range, that he can't ship certain people, he can't say that a character would do this or that, that Star Wars is media for a younger audience (despite being somebody who saw it "back in the day"). But that he...That he's not supposed to be there.

And that last little comment sticks with him for a long time. It makes his effort and his attention and his love for writing fanworks falter. He stops. Thinks about the characters he loves, of Leia and Han or even Luke and Han or Lando and Han (listen he loves writing Han). But then he wonders if it's even worth it, to indulge this interest anymore. Yeah, maybe he's older than the source material. Sure, maybe he was introduced to it a little later than most, but that doesn't mean he doesn't love it. Yet, his attention towards Star Wars completely falls away.

He stops watching it. His DVDs going dusty and unused. Starts putting away all his action figures, because what if he posts a photo one day and somebody sees them and claims that that's not for him and—

Then, he goes completely offline from fandom. Even if he still gets the emails from users who actually enjoy his stuff, ignoring them completely. Focuses on using the internet for work. For his novels, for the little stories he actually gets paid to write. But his work just isn't the same. The passion, despite being an original story and original source material, is completely dwindled.

His hobby has been stripped from him. His interest has been knocked straight out of his hands. And he just...moves on.

Even if it hurts to go down into the basement of he and Eddie's home, eyes catching on the see-through bins of original action figures, Lego sets, comic books. Even if it makes something strangle in his chest when he opens up the browser on his phone and it immediately opens to a new ship he'd been getting into: Din Djarin/Luke Skywalker—because he finally picked up The Mandalorian, because he was finally talked into watching it when he had the free time.

And then it all bursts over when Eddie finally approaches him about it, when they're enjoying a night-in, sitting around lazily on their sofa.

"There's a convention coming into town," he comments, "supposedly, Hayden Christensen is going to be there. We should go, try and meet him."

Steve just grunts in response.

"Oh-kay...or we could just stay home and watch the movie?" Eddie suggests. "Been a while since I've seen Darth on screen, telling Luke about"—

"I don't want to," Steve cuts in quietly, "isn't really my thing anymore."

Silence then follows. For a beat. Then two. A third.

"Not your thing?" Eddie asks him incredulously. "Not too long ago you were raving all about that new show that's coming out! That you saw they were doing lightsaber whips and you were excited to see how they worked! What do you mean it's 'not your thing'?"

Steve shrugs. "Grew out of it or whatever. Got more important things to focus on now." He sniffs, trying to keep himself held together, grumpy and firm in his decision.

Eddie's stare drills into the side of his face. Scalding, just like that lava was in Revenge of The Sith. "Baby," he speaks softly, "did something happen? You haven't even...you don't read your beautiful little stories to me anymore. In fact, now that I think about it, I haven't even seen your lightsabers around here. What's goin' on?"

He fiddles with the hem of his shirt. A ratty plain white t-shirt that he wears now when he's lounging around the house. It used to be one with the Millennium Falcon on it, but that's tucked down far in his dresser. Not for him anymore.

"Steve," Eddie presses, "did something happen?"

His stare stays down at his lap, still fiddling with his shirt. Fingers flexing unfamiliarly in the strings, unlike the loose ones on his Star Wars shirts. "I just"—Steve heaves a deep sigh—"it's time I grow up. It's...not for me anymore. Too old for it now, I guess."

"You guess or you know? Because nobody's too old for anything. Unless, y'know, you're like eighty-nine and in terrible health and trying to hike Everest, then..."

Despite everything, Steve finds himself chuckling. A giddy little sound here and gone in a breath. He shrugs again, albeit smaller this time. Crumbling within himself. Quietly, honestly, he admits, "People were being mean to me about it online. About my writing. That I'm doing it wrong, that I—that I'm too old for it. That I don't belong because of my age." He finally brings himself to look at Eddie, blearily because his eyes are aching and wet. "I got to thinking and I...maybe I've just been too caught up in my own bliss to realize that those people are right. They're right and I shouldn't be into kids stuff anymore."

Eddie makes a soft, sad cooing noise in the back of his throat. "Oh, baby," he breathes. "Baby, those people don't know a single damn thing about your love. But...but I do. I know that you've seen every single Star Wars movie more times than I've probably eaten in my entire life. And what about all those Halloween costumes over the years? I didn't dress up like Leia for nothing, Mr. Solo."

Steve scoffs wetly. Goes to protest, but—

"And...and that handshake! The one with Dustin? You guys have had that for nearly forty fucking years! So, why bother indulging any of these...these hardasses on the internet? Did they sit next to you on the sofa as you fucking curled yourself like a shrimp and wrote every little intricate detail of a kiss between Luke and Han? Have they read your work while you blushed all shy, while you tucked your hair behind your ear and asked for the most earnest of feedback, to make sure you spelt things correctly or put a comma in the right place? These people, did they get to see you blossom and grow like a fucking bushel of roses over your hobby?

"Because I know I did. And even though you were nervous about your words on the paper, you still came to me. You still wrote and wrote and wrote until I had to bully you into breaks, just so you wouldn't ruin your poor wrists. If they had even an ounce of the passion that you do, they could write their own stories. They can make their own endings and make the characters the way they imagine them.

"They choose, instead, to—what—make fun of you because you have a space to express yourself? Because you found passion and turned it into something so beautiful, even I—a dungeon master, someone supposed to be amazing at storytelling—can't put into words? You found a way to do that, Steve. And you do that with kindness. You do it for free, mind you. If their only passion sits within sending you vitriol over people who aren't even remotely close to real, then they're the ones who don't belong.

"If I've learned anything, fandom is a space to share and bounce off each other's words. It's community and it's belonging and it's sharing what you love because you just love it. Fandom isn't bullying. Bullying is just bullying, Steve.

"And everything you've ever done in your life, in regards to fandom and outside of it, is so much better than hate. You may be a nerd or...or a little bit overzealous or whatever, but at least you aren't hateful. I think being hateful, that's worse—don't you think?"

Steve can only stare in response, fast tears down his cheeks, hands shaking in his shirt. Mind reeling. Because, yes, Eddie's right. And he maybe should've talked about it initially, but the hurt festered and festered and tangled and grew until he was nothing but an unhealed scab. And Eddie, he's the antiseptic to his uncovered cuts—the ones deep on his heart, where all his love is—even for things considered mundane, like movies, like TV shows.

"Steve," Eddie carefully murmurs, wrapping Steve's hands with his own, "you don't have to do something right to love it. You don't have to be a certain way to be happy. If Star Wars made you happy, then why give it up?"

He sniffles and chokes back on a sob. Because, again—damnit—Eddie's right. "I miss it," he admits quietly, "all I've done is miss it."

Eddie gives him a small smile. Something achingly soft that reaches deep within Steve. "Then open your arms and welcome it back, baby," he whispers, "even if you can't be online anymore, do it for yourself."

"I...I want to try it again, I'm just...scared. What if people hate it all over again? What if they're just nasty to me and shut me down and push me to the side and"—

"But what if they love it? What if your readers have missed you just as much?"

"You think?" he meekly asks.

Eddie's eyes widen and his eyebrows shoot up his forehead. "I know, actually. Your emails keep coming in on the computer's desktop because I keep forgetting to log you out. And, baby, you would not believe how many people have been eager for updates, for your return." His thumbs work into the backs of Steve's hands, warm and sure. "And, if it helps, maybe I can moderate your comments before you look at 'em? I'll read them to myself and if they're mean, I'll delete them."

Steve blows out a breathy little chuckle. "You'll just get mad at them," he gently teases. "But that doesn't sound too bad. Maybe I should try again. Not yet, though. I'm not ready."

"That's okay," Eddie assures, "take things slow. Maybe we start with watching the movies again? Getting your lightsabers back on display?"

"Can we go to the convention, too?"

"We can do whatever you want, Stevie."

For the first time in a long while, Steve finds himself smiling. "I love you," he whispers.

"I know."

[redr0sewrites]

thinking about strong, inexperienced subs - nsfw thirst, minors dni

🥀Character(s): Jason Todd (DC), Sevika (Arcane), Cassian (ACOTAR), Din Djarin ( The Mandalorian)

currently thinking about big, strong, inexperienced subs who are so, so nervous about their size and body. they feel too big, too strong.. what if they hurt you- or worse, what if once you remove all of the layers between you both, your disgusted with them?

they're apprehensive about sleeping with you at first, but soon, their own curiosity overcomes them and they let lust guide them to where they are now- sitting on your bed with you between their legs, arms wrapped around their neck and tongues interlocked.

with little experience to guide them, they're clumsy and clueless as you crawl into their lap, praising their every move as you slowly begin to give them the pleasure they so desperately need. they want to be good for you so badly, keeping their large hands on your waist and only touching you when instructed.

their eyes are glued to how much smaller you look compared to them- you weren't dainty by any means, but their large figure practically engulfs you as you remove their undergarments. they almost forget how to breathe when you begin to tease them, and soon all fears of hurting you are forgot to as they practically melt into your touch.

their heads are thrown back, eyes screwed shut as they whimper from each ministration. they knew it would feel good to finally have you touch them, but not this good. your hands are smaller and much more experienced, and the feeling of your nimble fingers over their aching sex has them trembling already.

"w-wait... s'too much-" they're babbling, already so close to the edge, and with a few reassuring words, they're cumming all over themselves with a soft, whiny groan.

"that wasn't so bad now, was it?"

sorry this is so mid i am fighting for my life :) tomorrow is my first day of school/classes i cannot do this 🙂🙂🙂 like i actually can't please please please i do not want to go back 🙏

[tossawary]

Thinking about a comedic "Star Wars" fic premise that could be either DinLuke or BobaLuke, not as an "OTP happily ever after" thing for either pairing, more as a series of ill-conceived hook-ups that everyone involved wishes were a little less emotionally complicated, actually.

Because the basic (been done before, I'm sure) premise of "I fucked a 19yo in Mos Eisley's only gay bar, that's kind of embarassing for me..." -> "I hate it when a past hook-up becomes a- MULTI-MILLION CREDIT bounty??? What the hell??? He killed HOW MANY people???" -> "Oh, fuck me, he's DARTH VADER'S SON!!!" works for either Boba or Din.

The flavor of the fic is of course extremely different for each pairing. Boba Fett is much more of an asshole, especially at this point in time, but he also has a lot of really interesting connections to Luke's past / family (Boba is SWEATING during his later meetings with Darth Vader). (He fucked a Jedi??? He fucked ANAKIN SKYWALKER'S kid??? Darth Vader is Skywalker??? Shit.) So, that has the potential to go to angstier places. DinLuke is just more likely to happen in the first place and also keep happening, because Din is less of a bastard and, you know, not canonically working for Jabba the Hutt or Darth fucking Vader.

(They're both 10+ years older than Luke, so you can make terrible helmeted daddy issues jokes about this silly situation either way.)

Because I enjoy fic premises based on how funny they are to me personally, I settled on both of these pairings. It's too funny to imagine Boba ("I'm too fucking old for this shit") Fett and Din ("The helmet has to stay ON during sex") Djarin having a "WAIT, HIM TOO???" moment in the middle of a firefight between Luke's little rebel friends and a bunch of other bounty hunters sent after them by Luke's shitty Sith Lord dad.

And Luke's friends, in between shooting at all of these competing bounty hunters, are like, "How do you already have TWO bounty hunter EXES out for your ass??? I thought you were only 20? 21?? And that you never even left Tatooine before you joined the Rebellion???" And Luke can only be like, "I lived near a spaceport, okay??? I'm SORRY that the only good club was in a wretched hive of scum and villainy called MOS EISLEY!"

Han Solo, pressed up against some crates for cover: "Look, kid, the criminal underworld doesn't have a lot of hard rules, but some things are just common sense... Don't fuck bounty hunters!!!"

Luke, sitting beside him: "Do we really have to do this now?"

Leia, on Luke's other side, leaning in as she pulls out a thermal detonator: "Who RAISED you??? Didn't anyone ever tell you never to sleep with Mandalorians???"

Luke: "Why would your parents even think to warn you about that?"

[thelibrarian1895]

Mandalorians hate Jedi because...

"the Jedi are child stealers" NO

And again I say NO. I saw someone claim this and it absolutely infuriated me.

First point, THE JEDI ARE NOT CHILD STEALERS. That accusation is sithspit anti jedi propaganda. If a parent or guardian told the Jedi no, they didn't want their kid to be a Jedi, the Jedi respected that. They would, however, remove children from danger. But would you call a social worker who took children from environments where they were being molested, starved, beaten, or worse, a child stealer? No? Then don't call the Jedi child stealers for the same actions.

Second point, the average Mandalorian didn't really know or care too much about Jedi. In all honestly, most Mandalorians, like the rest of the galaxy, had no real idea about the difference between Jedi or other force sects like the nightsisters or general darksiders or even the sith except perhaps the color of their lightsabers. Some Mandalorians, like our beloved Din Djarin, knew nothing at all about Jedi and only cared when in became relevant and then did as much research as possible regarding the Jedi. Others, like Jango Fett, had very personal interactions with Jedi and formed their opinions of the Jedi as a whole based on those interactions with no further reason or desire to look further into the Jedi.

Third point, for Mandalorians who studied history or listened to old stories, they knew why the Mandalorians disliked the Jedi and it was for a very simple reason that they liked to avoid actively admitting. That reason? The Jedi kicked the shebs of the Mandalorian armies.

Twice.

Quite possibly there was another point when the Jedi suppressed the Mandalorian empire but there were two times for certain. Granted, the republic played a large part and the Jedi definitely didn't all interfere in one of those two conflicts, and actually actively avoided one of those two conflicts except in a few cases, and there were definitely some terrible things done, but the fact remains that when the Mandalorian empire attempted to expand and basically take over the galaxy, the Jedi were key to stopping this. And no, the Mandalorian empire was not a good thing. But more importantly, if you thought your ancestors or your cultures' armies were in the right and they were beaten, would you like the descendants of those who beat your side?

Fourth point, would you like the side that beat your side if they refused to give you a proper rematch? The Mandalorians who know anything about Jedi know that Jedi have access to all this power, plus generally have a super cool plasma sword, but the Jedi won't fight or they'll de-escalate or generally indulge in pacifistic behavior and we all know how Mandalorians feel about presumed pacifists, right? A Mandalorian denied a fight is often a frustrated Mandalorian. A Mandalorian who sees someone who has all this strength and power often doesn't understand why that person doesn't use that power, doesn't take revenge or slaughter their enemies or a million other things that they would do with such power. So those that don't understand choose to dislike. Why won't the Jedi fight them?! (please imagine the sentence immediately previous spoken in an extremely whiney tone of voice)

Fifth point, the Mandalorians frequently throughout history worked with the Sith or were on the Sith side of conflicts because of a lack of knowledge about force sects meant the Mandalorians didn't generally realize how absolutely stupid it is to side with the Sith but beyond that the Mandalorians often learned about the Jedi from the Sith. So the Mandalorians got stories from the Sith about the Jedi being weak and cold and blah, blah, blah stupid sith propaganda that I don't want to perpetuate. And those Mandalorians would then think themselves Jedi experts, because hadn't they learned about the Jedi from another Jedi? Granted, a dark Jedi but still a Jedi, right? So they'd tell other Mandalorians the propaganda and so the Mandalorians had that Sith skewed idea of the Jedi perpetuated throughout their history.

So the Mandalorians have their own reasons for not like the Jedi, which have NOTHING to do with child stealing, just as the Jedi have plenty of reasons to want to avoid the Mandalorians. Personally though I'm going to blame a lot of those reasons on both sides on the Sith and be grumpy about the Sith and the effectiveness of their propaganda.

And finally, I'm pretty sure at least a tiny bit of the animosity between Mandalorians and Jedi arose from the Mandalorians being jealous that the Jedi had lightsabers and they didn't. To be fair, I'm a little jealous too. Lightsabers are cool.

[chaotic-iguana]

HI OMG UR FICS ARE INTOXICATING WTH!!!

Can I please req a Din Djarin where he and the reader are travelling together and reader is bubbly/sunshine personality and then she admits her feelings and Din doesn’t reciprocate at first.. then her personality changes and she’s all sad and he can’t stand it!!!! Cause he does love her and he can’t bare to see her that way!!!

Super angst and fluff please 😭😭😭😭 THANK H IF U DECIDE TO WRITE THIS 🤍🤍

HELLO THANK YOU SO MUCH!! ofc im writing anything u request lysm ur the best plus the prompt is so adorable ahufsdkfjhfs. just to try sumth new, im gonna switch it up and do this one from din’s pov. lmk what you think!!

Enough

Summary: Din rejects reader when she confesses her feelings to him even though he feels the same, only to regret it later.

Pairing: Grumpy! Din x Sunshine! Reader (no use of y/n)

Wordcount: 2.6k

Warnings: none, just a lot of angst and fluff

masterlist

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Din Djarin was not a good man. He was aware of this, which is why he was careful not to get to close. Not to taint things with his darkness; the destruction that seemed to shadow him wherever he went. He learned to turn his head away when you sung softly to the child, to clench his fists and keep himself from reaching for you when you giggled at your own terrible (adorable) jokes, to steel himself against your pleas to purchase every single fuzzy fabric you saw, no matter the form. Socks, blankets, shirts, trousers, even a kriffing hat, which Din stopped and let you buy just to stop the stares he was getting from people at the way you were practically jumping in your spot, pointing at the shop’s display. 

But despite his best wishes, Din was not a strong man, either. Not as strong as he needed to be, to resist you. You, with a beaming smile that never failed to make him blush under his helmet; with tender, caring hands that looked so soft that Din wanted to rip his beskar off so you could brush them against him, just once. Your hair, which smelled so sweet that Din could catch traces of it through the beskar. Your eyes, almost siren-like when you blinked up at him while rambling away about something. The way you scrunched your nose with a snort when you couldn’t hold in a laugh. The fact that you had never, ever asked for his name - or an explanation of his helmet, for that matter - even when he knew you hadn’t heard of Mandalorians before. The lilting notes of laughter in your voice before you turned to him with a sly smile, offering him with a witty quip he would have killed others for voicing, before throwing back your head and howling. No, Din was nowhere near strong enough to stand a single damn chance against you. 

He could hear you humming to yourself and the baby while you heated some broth, stopping to lean down and pepper kisses all over Grogu’s face as he cooed happily. Walking into the cockpit, he grunted in acknowledgement of your “Hey, Mando! Sleep well?” before turning to the child and nudging his helmet against his wrinkly forehead. When he turned around to see a gentle smile gracing your face in acknowledgement of the scene in front of you, he straightened up and cocked his helmet as if daring you to comment. 

He was itching for a fight: something, anything to stop the sweet torture of your presence which seemed to breathe life into your surroundings, no matter where you stood. You’d find a way to brighten a graveyard, Cyar’ika. Your smile tightened slightly before you presented him with a bowl of his own, brushing past him to take the child in your arms and leave the cockpit. Every muscle in his body was tense, his mind begging him to let you stay, to apologise for his hostility. To hear you prattle on about something menial while he ate, to revel in the domesticity of being with you. Not like that, of course. You were simply too good for him. Too perfect; too pristine. Your eyes too bright and your heart too soft for him to be worthy of your love. And so Din slipped off his helmet, ducked his head, and ate in silence.

He had noticed that lately, you still spoke to him, but you’d leave with the child more often. He could hear conspiratorial whispers sometimes, the child nodding and babbling his own input as if the two of you were hiding something. You weren’t awkward around him, per se, just less readily giving of your laughter, your jokes, your mindless chatter. All Din knew was that his mind would not rest unless he confronted you, and soon. A restless yearning for your erratic, unnecessarily bright gestures gave way to the anxiety spooling in his gut. Had you finally seen him for what he is?

So later that day, after the supply run when you had fed and put Grogu to sleep, he approached you in the cockpit. He shuffled uneasily behind you, shifting his weight from side to side as he waited for you to break the silence. But uncharacteristically, you just continued to stare into hyperspace without a word. When Din cleared his throat, you turned your head his way. But your gaze was flitting around; your hands fiddling nervously in your lap. Why were you apprehensive? 

“Are you…” Din swallowed, unsure of how to phrase his question, “okay?” Are we okay?You looked up at him then, your eyes wide with anxiety, before looking down at your lap again. Could you be…scared? Of me? 

But then you took a deep breath; the nerves fading from your face and giving way to a look of complete resignation, your shoulders slumping with the weight of inevitability. Your gaze met his visor, and he could see that your fingers were lightly curled into fists.

“I don’t really know how to do this, Mando.” Another deep breath. The colour has faded from your face and suddenly you seemed so small, folded in on yourself, that Din had never had to wrestle harder with his own self-control to stop himself from pulling you into his chest and holding you; comforting you, until you’re back to your bouncy self. “You know that I like most people, right?” He nods; you do seem to like and be liked by most people he’s come across, even the ones he would deem unworthy to so much as look at you. 

“I’ve always really enjoyed meeting new people, and making friends. Life is easier when you’ve got people, right?” You’re rambling again, but instead of the usual enthusiasm lacing your tone, crippling worry dripped from your every word. Are you leaving him? 

“I think-I know that I like you more than I like everyone else. Anyone else. I like everything about you more than I’ve ever liked about anyone else and I just…” you trailed off, gulping. “It feels like you and Grogu are my family, already. And I guess I just can’t help but wonder if you might want more than this, like I do. I-fuck it-I’m in love with you, Mando.” And then you’re shying away from him again, biting your lip as you search his visor for a reaction. 

You’re in love with him? This has to be a joke. Din waited for the catch, standing unmovingly in front of you as if waiting for one of your signature punchlines to come tumbling out of your mouth. When it doesn’t, he just gaped at you, his mind overwhelmed with too many thoughts to even say anything. A part of him had never been happier than this moment right here; never loved you more than right now. But the other, more dominant part of him was practically reprimanding him. And what now, idiot? Profess your undying love to her and subject her to a life as the wife of a bounty hunter? No comfortable homes, no proper vacations or even neighbors. A life on the run. With you, dikuit - a man who has never been loved enough to understand how to reciprocate. There is nothing you can give her. There is nothing you can do. 

Din bristled under your gaze, suppressing a wince at the words that came out of his mouth next. “You mean to tell me that you are in love with a man you have never even see the face of? A man who hasn’t even told you his name? Stop lying to yourself. There is no ‘family’. You are the child’s caretaker, and nothing more. It would be best for you not to forget that in the future.” He wanted to slap a hand to his mouth, to bite his tongue - anything, anything not to see the way you wilted in front of him as his words registered. You slumped further in the chair, shoulders curving inwards as you brought your knees to your chest to curl up into a protective position, as if he was hurting you. Frustrated by the fact that he could neither pull you in his arms to comfort you, nor find it in himself to continue spewing bullshit he didn’t mean, Din just turned and walked away. He pretended not to hear the muffled crying echoing through the ship that night. 

——————————————————————————————————

That had been three weeks ago. He’d gone for a hunt right after, returning within the week. What he found back at the ship made a part of him wish he wouldn’t have returned at all. Your eyes sat bloodshot on hollow cheeks, sunken in your face as dark blotches formed under them. You were quiet, even with the concerned child - all the singing, humming goneas if it had never been. Grogu kept gesturing to you when he father looked his way, as if asking what was wrong. Din knew what was wrong. He just didn’t know how to fix it. He couldn’t find it in himself to leave you alone again, so he’d been mumbling excuses to you each morning as to why he was still on the ship. You’d never answer, just offering him the barest dip of your chin. Din hadn’t just rejected you-he’d been cruel about it. And he hadn’t slept since the night he’d spat those pathetic words at you in an effort of self-preservation, either. The moment kept replaying in his head over and over: your initial nervousness, the words you’d said to him, and your wince at the ones he’d reciprocated with. 

But like he’d admitted: Din Djarin was not a strong man. For you; only for you, he would crumble. To see your usual cheeriness replaced by this emptiness nearly made his knees buckle. You’d stopped eating, too - quietly slipping your food to Grogu, whose concern was overridden by his constant hunger. He’d done this: out of fear of hurting you, he’d reduced you to a mere shadow of what you used to be by doing it anyways. Out of his fear of fucking it up, he’d gone and done that exact thing without even trying to make it work. It was unacceptable to him, to go without hearing your laugh or your jokes or your humming. Not to see you giggling with Grogu. Fix it then, dikuit. So he would. 

Din walked into the cockpit, picked Grogu up from his place on the floor, and whispered a soft apology to him before shutting him in his cot. Grogu, ever-understanding, had just pressed a claw to his helmet and nodded as if wishing him luck. Thanks kid, I’m going to need it. He’d seen your confusion when he had taken Grogu out of the cockpit, but youremained mute. Walking back towards you, Din could feel his chest hurting at the way your hands shook and your eyes glossed over when he got closer. 

“I’m sorry.” His words have no effect; a tilt of your head is the only proof you offer to show that you heard him. Ironic, isn’t it, to be at the receiving end of what I do to others all the time? “For how harsh I was. I didn’t mean it.” Your mouth opens this time, but he raises a hand to stop you. If he doesn’t get this out now, he never will. “I was the one lying to myself, not you. I fell in love with you a long, long time ago, ner’karta. But I was scared-still am-because I have nothing good to give you. Not like what you deserve. My creed alone means that I can’t show you my face until we get married. My job doesn’t allow me stability. I have never been…loved. I do not know how to love you properly. All I know is that it doesn’t feel like a good morning until you say it, that I feel myself flushing under my beskar when you smile at me, that I have to bite my lip to stop a chuckle when you tell me your jokes. All I know is that since you’ve come into my life and made it brighter, it seems I can’t face the darkness alone again. These past two weeks have been hell, cyar’ika. I cannot bear to see you like this. Please forgive me. I will drop you off anywhere you wish to go.” 

And then your face is twisting and you’re sobbing - large, shuddering sobs that alarm Din when they begin. He reaches a tentative hand out towards you slowly, giving you more than enough opportunity to slap it away. When you don’t, he steps closer and pulls you into his chest. As I should have done then. You shake with the force of your hiccups, and Din reaches to rip off his gloves before wrapping his arms around you, a warm hand coming to cradle your head against him. All he can say is a feverish repetition of “I’m sorry, I’m sorrymy love, please forgive me”. 

By the time your tears subside, you can hear sniffs coming from under the helmet too; his modulated voice cracking and giving away his own crying. “Y-you don’t get to-to decide for me. You can’t decide whether or not you can offer enough or whether you can love me properly or not. Just love me, Mando. All you have to do is try.” Your voice is so fragile, so tentative as you speak into his chest that Din’s heart aches at the pain he can hear in it. You continue, “I don’t need stability from you, nor do I need your name or face. To have your heart is enough.” And though you can’t see it, Din has to shut his eyes and brace himself against the weight of his own tears this time. His chest warming, butterflies in his stomach as he tucks you impossible closer.

“Like I said, cyar’ika, you’ve had it for a very long time.” And then you’re smiling again, as Din’s knees threaten to buckle from the force of emotion that wells up at the sight. You’ve pulled back from his chest, but stay close enough to graze his helmet with your nose.

“Is that so, Mando? Do I want to know how long?” You whisper back, somehow looking straight into his eyes despite the visor. 

“Din.” At your frown, he clarifies hesitantly. “My name, cyar’ika. Din Djarin.” You beam brighter, repeating it to yourself. “Wait - cyar’ika? You started calling me that last year, when you were annoyed I bought that fuzzy green hat with frog ear and Grogu tried to eat it on the way home. I thought it was like a swear word, or something -not that I think you would swear at me, you just seemed very annoyed, you know?”

A chuckle slips past his modulator, before he gives in completely. “Close your eyes, please.” When you comply, he rips his helmet off and cups your jaw with his hand, thumb stroking your cheek. Leaning in, he presses his mouth to yours gently, leaning back to look at you. “Beloved, cyare. It means beloved.” Before he can say anything else, your hands tangle in his hair, and suddenly you’re pulling him back into another kiss. And another. And another. 

You two remain so wrapped up in each other that you actually forget to leave the cockpit until Grogu stomps in, having apparently broken out of his cot, and begins babbling at you both angrily, before seeing the smile on your face after so long and hurtling towards you at full speed, nearly tripping on his robes in the process before you catch him in your arms. 

It was true, though. You didn’t need Din to go out of his way to give you anything. This was enough. 

hello loves, as always - thank you for reading. comment your thoughts or find me on ao3. stay hydrated and have a great day! taglist: @imherefordeanandbones @theywhowriteandknowthings, @josephquinnswhore

[dindjarindiaries]

‘why is it, that whenever we see each other, you’re always covered in blood?’

for our boy din 🥹

Risk

character: Din Djarin (The Mandalorian)

prompt: "Why is it that whenever we see each other, you're always covered in blood?"

main masterlist • prompt masterlist

You woke to the sound of a fist pounding against your front door in endless succession. You sat up straight in bed, your eyes widened as you instinctively reached for the blaster on your bedside table. After taking a few breaths to steady yourself and gather your bearings, you dared to tiptoe out of your bed and make a slow approach towards the door.

The knocking continued. You lifted your blaster and pushed ahead, only pausing once you were close enough to reach the tiny, sliding peephole that would give you a glimpse of who was outside.

Expecting the worst, a quiet gasp passed through your lips as soon as you caught the shine of silver armor.

You lowered your blaster and opened the door. It slid aside to reveal Din's full form, his weight shifting between his feet as his visor gave you an obvious once-over.

"Are you okay?" Din's modulated voice was breathless.

You huffed and raised your brow. "I'm fine." Giving him a similar once-over, your heart rate picked up at the sight of crimson smeared upon various parts of his armor, most notably his cuirass. You kept your tone light as you spoke again. "Why is it that whenever we see each other, you're always covered in blood?"

Din exhaled, taking a step closer to lift his gloved hand to the side of your neck. "I'd rather it be on me than on you."

He glanced over his shoulder, the leather by your neck groaning as he gently tightened his grasp. Din lowered his hand to your shoulder and lifted the other to your arm, guiding you back inside your home. He paused, however, to let his visor meet your gaze.

"Can I come in?"

You chuckled and pulled him inside with you. "You don't need permission to come inside, Din."

Din didn't respond to that. Instead, he focused on making sure your door was secured closed behind him. Your chest tightened.

"What's going on, Din?"

The strain in your voice caused Din to face you again. He tilted his helmet in a slow, soft motion. "I'm sorry for scaring you." Din gestured with his helmet to your bedroom door. "You didn't answer your comm."

You raised a single eyebrow. "I was asleep." You gave the pauldron with his mudhorn signet a playful punch. "Some of us don't pick fights in the middle of the night."

Din huffed. "Right."

You gave him a more obvious once-over. "Is this your blood, or someone else's?"

Din's hands tightened into fists. "Which would you prefer?"

"Take a guess."

Din closed whatever distance was left between the two of you, cradling your face in his gloved hands as he nodded. "I'm fine." His helmet gently fell against your forehead. "And thankfully, you are, too."

Your brow wrinkled together, your voice no more than a whisper as you searched the empty void of his visor. "What happened, Din?"

Din sighed, his armored shoulders falling forward as he did so. "I don't think I've been careful enough."

You blinked at him. "What do you mean?"

Din lifted his helmet from your head and gave it an aimless shake. "In the search for my covert. Doing these jobs and giving them too much insight about what I'm looking for."

He paused. You lifted your hand to his beskar cheek, running your thumb along the curved ridge in the handcrafted metal.

"I just finished a job, and they wanted more from me that we hadn't agreed upon. I was about to leave when they..." Din took another soft breath, "mentioned your name."

Your eyes widened. After a few heartbeats, you recovered enough to speak. "How?"

Din shook his head again. "I don't know. I've never, ever told anyone about you. About us." His visor fell. "Like I said before, I must've slipped up somehow, become too careless in looking for information. But I'll stop." He looked at you again. "Because it's not worth risking you."

You clicked your tongue. "Din..."

He continued before you could finish. "I killed them all, everyone who heard your name." Din's voice wavered. "Hopefully, that means you're safe. But I didn't know for sure until I got here."

"Din." You held his helmet between both your hands, lifting your brow again to convey your severity. After a brief pause, you went on. "You shouldn't stop searching for your people just because of this."

Din shifted his weight between his feet. "But..."

"No." You remained firm. "I knew what I was risking the day we started this." You gestured with your gaze to your blaster, which you had set on a nearby table when you reentered. "And I can protect myself, too. Even if they had shown up, you know I could've put up a fight."

Din exhaled, but he ultimately nodded. "I know."

You smiled. "Good."

You lowered a hand to the lip of his helmet, your fingertips running along the exposed skin and scruff beneath until they caught on the seam of the cowl at his neck.

"Thank you for doing what you did to keep me safe." You tugged the material down enough to set a soft kiss upon the warmth of his skin. Din inhaled, a sweet breath you could hear from within his helmet. "Now, let's get your armor cleaned and get you in bed. We can figure out the rest in the morning."

Din nodded, his hand catching your elbow when you set a hand upon his cuirass.

"And next time?" You chuckled. "Please try to show up without all that blood on you."

Din also chuckled, nodding once again before he escorted you to the safety and security of a bedroom you considered to be just as much his as it was your own.

[burntheedges]

Pas de Deux Chapter 2

Din Djarin x f!reader | 2.5k | fic masterlist | main masterlist | ao3

fic summary: When Din Djarin – principal dancer at Concordia Ballet Company and generational talent in the classical style – suddenly left CBC and joined the Nevarro Ballet Theater mid-season, it shocked the ballet world. You never would have guessed that he would change your life, too.

a/n: it's time to figure out what Karga's plan is. 👀 See my notes at the end and on the masterlist about reader in this fic and ballet in general. Thank you @katareyoudrilling for being the best beta, as always!!

chapter tags/warnings: gen, ballet terms (see end notes and the masterlist for definitions and videos), a bit of angst, a bit of fluff

Chapter 2

You were one of the last people to enter the studio for rehearsal and realized the entire company had been gathered together. You hurried over to sit by Adrian and Owen before looking around and noticing Djarin was in the corner, deep in conversation with Kuiil. Maybe they had met before, after all.

Karga walked in just as you sat down and clapped his hands. “Well! Hello, everyone. First, let us welcome our newest company member, Din Djarin.” He paused and gestured towards the corner where Djarin was standing, smiling as you all clapped and stamped the floor. You glanced over to him and saw that he was leaning against the wall with his shoulders loose and arms crossed, expressionless mask back in place. “We are very happy to have him join us. Please introduce yourselves and welcome him when you see him.” Djarin didn’t react and you wondered how those introductions would go. “Now, we have a few announcements about changes to the spring programs.”

You felt Adrian elbow you and you elbowed him back without looking. 

“As I mentioned earlier this week, we won’t be making any changes to Midsummer, Swan Lake, or Cinderella.” You heard Adrian breathe a sigh of relief beside you and you nudged him again. “But we will be making some changes to the other shows. As you know, we have three mixed programs planned for spring, as well as the 5th anniversary gala.” 

Karga waved one hand and started to tick off his fingers as he continued. “For the first program, we’ll be adding a solo performance for Din. Given that one is so soon, in January, we don’t want to disrupt things too much.”

You heard some murmurs and saw some of your fellow dancers nodding. That made sense, and it sounded like they were going to spread out the changes. It also added a draw for the audience, to get to see Din Djarin alone on stage. A real showcase for his skill and artistry.

“For February’s program,” Karga turned to Talia, who was mostly in charge of that one, and nodded. “Din will be joining the Balanchine ballet. You’ll discuss that in your next rehearsal.” Talia nodded back at him, and then glanced over the dancers. You tried to not to wince – someone would be losing a role, then. Probably more than one person. But it didn’t make sense to not play to Djarin’s strengths, and something as technical as Symphony in C was perfect for him. And it was possible that he’d performed it before at CBC, anyway — they didn’t do a lot of Balanchine, but if they did, they’d pick Symphony in C.

“For April, we’ll be adding something new.” Karga looked over to one of the choreographers, Vince, who nodded at the room. “More to come on that, but it will be a small group.” You wondered if they would give the dancers who would be demoted in Symphony a chance in this new number – Karga was usually good about things like that. You glanced at Adrian and knew he was thinking the same thing as he glanced around at some of the others. 

“And finally, the gala!” Karga grinned hugely. You all knew he’d been looking forward to this for months, if not years – May would mark the 5th anniversary since he’d taken over and then renamed and reinvigorated NBT. The gala was his baby. You could feel a sudden tension move through the room – many of the dancers were slated to do something new or interesting during the gala and you knew no one would want to give up their roles, which were meant to be a true showcase of the company’s talent. You briefly wondered if they’d be adding Djarin to the longer ballet again, and if so, how much strife that might cause with the principals who were supposed to be in it.

But it seemed Karga had a different idea. “We will keep what is already planned just as it is, with one exception. We’ll be adding a three-part pas de deux to the program for Din and a partner. it will be spread over the course of the night, woven between the other numbers.” You blinked, surprised – it was definitely a novel idea, and you could see others trying to hide their surprise as well. “We will announce Din’s partner, and any resulting changes, soon. Kuiil will choreograph this new pas de deux.”

The room couldn’t hide its reaction this time. There were murmurs and glances that betrayed everyone’s shock – Kuiil was a very contemporary choreographer, with an only somewhat neo-classical repertoire.

And everyone knew Din Djarin was a master of the classical style. You’d never seen or heard anything that would suggest he had any familiarity with, or even interest in, more contemporary or expressive styles.

You wondered if this had been the subject of their argument in Karga’s office.

“And so that is our plan! Thank you, everyone, for your attention. I leave you to your rehearsals.” Karga nodded and swept from the room. The door closed behind him and the noise level rose sharply as everyone began to discuss his announcements. You heard Adrian and Owen start guessing at the changes in the February Balanchine number and your eyes strayed across the room to find Djarin.

But he was already gone. You caught only a glimpse of his shoulder as he slipped out the door.

…

The next few days were unremarkable, despite all of the recent changes. Djarin attended morning class but always slipped out the door as soon as it was over. As far as you knew, none of the other dancers had even had a conversation with him yet. He seemed to always be slipping out the door of every room as soon as he could. 

With opening night only two weeks away, your rehearsal hours were filled with the Nutcracker and little else. As Djarin wasn’t going to be in it, you never saw him in the afternoons. You heard updates from the others – Clara told you about some of the changes to the February Balanchine ballet, and Yuri had seen Djarin working on his solo for January with Talia. They had apparently chosen a medley of moments and scenes from La Bayadère, which seemed perfect for someone with Djarin’s level of skill. Talia had to be beside herself – technically challenging ballets were her favorite.

Adrian had the full rundown on who had been shifted around and who had been given new roles in the April show, and it sounded like everyone was at least mollified if not happy about the changes.

You didn’t see Djarin again outside of the morning company class for almost two weeks. It was late in the evening on a Wednesday – you’d had some physical therapy exercises for your ankles to complete after your last rehearsal, and you were finally headed home to have dinner and rest before a couple of easier days of show prep. The two-week run of Nutcracker performances would start on Friday and you needed the rest before the chaos began. 

You turned the corner into the building’s large lobby and found him kneeling on the ground in front of a small child. Maybe 4 or 5 years old, if you had to guess. He was adjusting the kid’s jacket and talking to him softly.

You retreated around the corner and tried not to draw attention to yourself, but you couldn’t help but stare as you came to a stop. 

“Hey,” Djarin’s deep voice sent a shiver down your spine. It was soft and warm as he spoke to the (his?) kid. “You ready to go home?”

The kid nodded, and his little green hat flopped around on his head as he did so. You glanced between them and for the first time, you saw Din Djarin smile. It spread across his face and you watched, mesmerized, as a dimple appeared in his cheek and his eyes crinkled. 

It was beautiful. He was beautiful. Shit. 

“Alright, kid. Let’s go.” Still smiling, he stood and held out his hand. The kid grabbed two of his fingers and they headed for the door. You were pretty sure they hadn’t even noticed you were there.

You blinked, a bit dazed. As you slowly moved towards the door yourself, you decided it had to be his kid – he’d mentioned going home, after all. And it put all of his quick exits in a new light, if he had childcare to worry about. 

You resolved not to mention this new possibility to the rumor mill.

…

By the end of the two week run of Nutcracker, you were exhausted. Long days of class, sometimes a short rehearsal, and early call times for shows left you worn out and ready for a break. On the Monday after a final show you always felt like you’d been hit by a truck, and this Monday was no different. You slept in for once, looking forward to a few days off for the holidays and a slow return to steady rehearsals after the new year.

In those few weeks you hadn’t seen any sign of the kid again. You’d barely seen Djarin at all, once again only catching sight of the back of his head as he slipped out of the door after morning class. (Whether you’d been watching him even more during class wasn’t something you wanted to own up to, even to yourself.) Given the hectic Nutcracker schedule and the fact that he wasn’t in the show, you weren’t really surprised that you hadn’t run into him.

You spent a comfortable few days relaxing, cleaning, and visiting friends before starting to prepare for the busy return to rehearsals in January.

During your first few days back in the studio in the new year, you focused on getting through class and warming yourself up. A few days off wasn’t enough to get truly rusty, but it felt nice to stretch and focus on moving your body.

After class on Thursday you found yourself alone as you walked down the hallway towards rehearsal for the January mixed program. You’d stopped to chat with Alexa for a few minutes about a tricky section of your choreography as Hermia in Midsummer, which was coming up at the end of February. It seemed everyone else was gone by the time you were done – you said goodbye to her and stepped out into an empty hall. As you walked you went over the choreography again in your mind, remembering Alexa’s advice about staying connected through the movements and briefly closing your eyes to focus.

Eyes still closed, you turned the corner to walk past the administrative offices and collided face-first with something tall and warm. And muscular. Your hands came up belatedly to catch you.

“Oh!” You startled and opened your eyes to find both of your hands resting on a broad chest in a tight black shirt. You blinked and lifted your gaze, pretty certain you knew who you would find. 

Din Djarin looked down at you with an unreadable expression. You blinked and realized his big hands were cupping your elbows, holding you upright.

“I’m so sorry! I wasn’t looking—“ you cleared your throat and tried to step back from him, but for a moment he held you in place. You met his eyes again and couldn’t read anything in them. 

Then he released you suddenly and you both took a step back. “Sorry. I was thinking about some choreography and not where I was walking.”

Djarin nodded and spoke the first words he’d ever said to you directly, face still expressionless. “It’s fine.” His voice was deep and somehow warm, despite how closed off he seemed.

You hesitated, remembering how Karga had encouraged all of you to be welcoming, weeks ago. “I don’t think I’ve introduced myself.” You did so then and bit your lip. 

He nodded and did the same, even though you obviously knew his name. “Din. Nice to meet you.”

You nodded, too. “Are you heading to rehearsal?” You motioned behind him in that sort of let’s-walk-together way that people tended to do. He nodded and turned and you found yourself walking casually next to Din Djarin. You wracked your brain for a topic of conversation. 

“Um,” you started without looking at him. “What are you working on this afternoon?”

You felt him look at you but didn’t look back. “My solo for later this month, with Talia, and then joining the Balanchine rehearsal for February.” You felt a shiver travel down your spine. His voice – you weren’t sure you were going to get used to it any time soon. It was so deep.

You nodded, glancing at him. He was still looking at you. “How’s it going?”

His expression didn’t change at all. “It's fine. Most of them were in Nutcracker so it’s picking up more now.” You nodded again. You weren’t sure what to say next, but to your surprise, he asked you a question.

“Have you danced the lead in marzipan before this year?”

You were surprised, but answered easily. “Once. I was in it but not the lead last year, and Yuna was sick for one of the shows. She was sugarplum this time. I, um, just made first soloist this year.” You could hear your self-deprecating tone and hoped he wasn’t thinking you weren’t up to it. You didn’t think he’d really noticed you – or anyone, for that matter – in class. 

But he surprised you again. “I saw one of the shows. You danced it well. Like you know it perfectly, but you made it your own. It felt light and airy. Like it should. I liked what you did with the pirouettes in the middle. And the rond de jambes at the end.”

With each compliment in his steady, matter-of-fact tone you felt the heat rise more in your cheeks. Your mouth fell open in surprise. You’d never heard him say so much all at once. “Oh! Um, thank you. I– well. Thank you.” He’d noticed you? And not just you, but the small ways you had tried to make the choreography your own? He’d seen that? You were stunned.

You looked at him again but found nothing in his expression. It was impossible to tell what he might be thinking. You wondered if you should say something else, or compliment him in return, but you’d reached the rehearsal studios and he turned to enter the smaller one. 

“See you in class.” He slipped through the door and was gone. 

You blinked and turned slowly to continue down the hall. You found Karga walking slowly towards you from the opposite direction.

“Hello, my dear,” he smiled warmly. “I see you’ve met Din.”

You nodded. “Yes, well. We’ve been in class together, of course. But yes, we just met. Officially, I guess.”

He patted your shoulder as he passed you. “Good, good. Have a good rehearsal.”

You thanked him and continued towards the studio in a daze, with Djarin’s – no, Din’s – voice running through your head. You danced it well. 

You couldn’t wait to tell Adrian. He was never going to believe it.

...

prev | next

a/n: we've met Din! 👀 some ballet notes ~

Classical vs. contemporary ballet - this is a pretty good (short) overview. Din's old company (CBC) was basically classical-only, which is how some are. Here's a short clip of a classical performance vs. a very contemporary one.

"Mixed programs" vs. story ballets - most companies will have some number of story ballets on the schedule every season (think Swan Lake, Cinderella, Giselle, Sleeping Beauty, etc.) which draw a bigger audience, and then various "mixed programs" that fill in gaps between them. Mixed programs are a chance for in-house choreographers to share their new creations, or for the company to showcase their skills with other known works, ex. Balanchine's shorter ballets (~20-30 minutes). Many companies have certain numbers in their repertoire that they can pull out for this reason.

Nutcracker - many companies have some number of Nutcracker performances on their schedule during or just before the holidays, and sometimes they cast (local) kids in various roles, too. Reader is dancing the role of Marzipan, and she also mentions the Sugar Plum Fairy. These roles have semi-set choreography, usually, depending on which version a company is doing (there are many famous versions). This short video is great and gives some insight into the ways a dancer might try to make very prescribed choreography her own (with voiceover from Emma Von Enck that inspired Din's compliments about pirouettes and rond de jambes). Many dancers have been in the Nutcracker because a lot of local companies and schools do performances of it every year (think school-aged kids doing it for the community).

Pirouette - a turn on one leg (in a variety of positions)

Rond de jambe - a half circle made with the leg. It's kind of like drawing the letter D on the floor or in the air.

Din's solo - they decide that Din is doing a sort of medley of variations (solos) from La Bayadère, a classical ballet, in the January program. Here's one of his variations and here is another from later in the ballet. (Here's a few dancers doing that first one, and Isaac Hernandez, also featured in the fic header!)

Symphony in C (the Balanchine ballet Din is joining) - a 32 minute ballet with over 50 dancers. There are some videos at the link. It has 4 movements and each one features a principal couple and a few other dancers.

tag list coming in a reblog!

[divaofmads]

Remember Me | Din Djarin

The account where I found the gif @tomshiddles

**WARNINGS**: Non-canon, no y/n (Crystalia/ Nickname as Cala: When your father noticed your abilities, he made a deal with Ahsoka, thinking that a Jedi should train you. You trained for three or four years, but Ahsoka had to leave.), Fluff, Soft Sex, Toxic, Obsession, Age Gap, Erotic, !!+18 Only!!, Death, Drama, Virginity Loss

English is not my native language. I am just trying to improve my writing skills. So I apologize for any mistakes I made.

Word: 4k∼

Pre-Story: You are a princess. A warrior princess from a rich planet. You had a happy life until Moff Gideon invaded your planet. You learned that Moff Gideon wanted to marry you when he was collaborating with your family. So you ran away and found Din Djarin to get revenge and kill him. You knew about the war they had with Moff Gideon back then. But it was out of business, you fell in love. You were going to get married after the planet was saved. You gave up your right to the throne.

Although all the Mandalorians helped you save the planet, Moff Gideon understood the bond between you and Din Djarin and was tempted to kill you. He distracted Din Djarin so that you were alone, and eventually managed to kill you in the duel you had. Moff Gideon did not leave your lifeless body alone and took it with him as he boarded the ship.

Note: You've never seen Din's face.

Please leave comment and be my inspration :)))

You were playing with Grogu on your lap. Since Din couldn’t take care of you while you were on your way to the Mandalorian planet with the Razor Crest, it was up to you to find various games for the boy. You didn't want him to forget his powers, even though he didn't choose that path, he was a great Jedi to you. You always tried to keep what he learned fresh in the name of gaming. Grogu was an orphan. After Din adopted him, he had a father. Now had a mother too. His loneliness evolved from being an orphan to an adoring family.

You held your hand up in the air, just out of reach. You were throwing the metal ball you had hidden in your palm somewhere, waiting for him to stop it with his telekinesis ability and take it, encouraging him. When he finally caught it right in the air, you shouted with joy.

"You were amazing, Grogu!"

Din turned to you as soon as he heard the joyful scream. It might not have been possible to see his face through his helmet, but his voice showed how excited he was.

"I knew you would do it! You keep doing better!"

As a parent, you were so proud of your son. Grogu was smiling and cooing.

When Din looked back to the road, he thought about how lucky he was. You both brought color and joy to his lonely life. You taught him qualities he didn't know about himself. Hours later, this happy family portrait of yours would become official.

You stopped playing with Grogu and called out to Din. “How much is left, darling?"

"It's almost there. We'll be there soon."

You stood up, placing Grogu on the couch and fastening his seat belt before you approached Din and grabbed his shoulder, got support by him as the Razor Crest shook slightly.

Din spoke up before you could. “Once we get there, we’ll both be leaving our old lives behind. Are you ready for that?” he asked in an unsure tone without waiting for an answer. “You know me, but you’ve never seen me in person. What if you don’t like the man under the helmet? Don’t you ever think about that? Young ladies care about that.”

Grogu's ears perked up as soon as he heard Din's question. He was too young to understand what was going on, but he was smart enough to understand that it was an important matter and that it concerned the attraction between the two of you. That was why you didn't want to get into such topics around the boy. You patted his shoulder over the pauldron and smiled.

"As long as no Wookie comes out of the helmet, you'll be fine."

"No, I can't be that hairy," he said, returning your joke.

But he was serious in his question. Since he couldn't get the answer he wanted from you, his anxiety increased. Although he seemed to have forgotten about it, in the back of his mind, whether you would like him when you saw him or not was being processed. Many times he wanted to take off his helmet with him. But he didn't want to go out of his way again. Otherwise, he would be too dirty to wash in the living waters. But when you died, he couldn't stand the pain and took off his helmet. He was alone. After Moff Gideon killed you and boarded the ship with your body, Din was on his knees, hugging your lifeless body in his mind. The mourning lasted for days, weeks and months. Maybe he shouldn’t have been so strict, he thought. Then you would know who he was and decide to fall in love accordingly.

Din Djarin didn’t even notice they had reached the planet as he struggled with his “if onlys.” That was until you tapped him on the shoulder and took your place in the chair.

“Here we are!” You picked up Grogu.

Din winced and readied the ship for entry into Mandalorian’s atmosphere.

As you descended into the vast courtyard of the Razor Crest palace, you saw Bo Katan herself coming to greet you. You wanted to get Grogu into his vehicle and get downstairs as quickly as possible, but he had no intention of letting go of your arms. Din said in a tone of happiness,

“He missed you more than I thought. Let’s go down.”

You were moving forward as the passageway hatch opened downwards. Bo Katan still couldn’t believe she was seeing you. It was more logical that Din had gone mad. She hadn’t even considered the possibility that you would leave the ship. The last time she saw you was when your hologramic lifeless body was adorned with Auricula flowers in the coffin. She remembered how devastated Djarin had been, and he had followed your lifeless body to make it comfortable.

What kind of a greeting would seem more sincere? Maybe it would be more appropriate to pretend that none of this had happened and greet the 'woman her friend is going to marry'. He has already begun the greeting ceremony by alienating the word 'care'.

"You've finally made it. We've all been waiting for you."

Din spoke up. "It's good to be here, Bo Katan."

Bo Katan looked at you and Grogu. You still loved each other very much. So you weren’t just a ghost. You were standing in front of her, real flesh and blood.

She shook your hand. “Princess Crystalia, I hope you find our planet for favorable your wedding ceremony favorable. Our ancestors have strived to continue their traditions for centuries. It is an honor for us to be a part of one of these.”

You smiled. “The honor is mine, my lady.”

Since you both came from noble lineage, you knew the protocols and developed your style in a balanced way.

Yet Bo Katan’s friendly demeanor was tinged with meaningful looks. “I’m sorry there’s no wedding dress. Din’s announcement that you were alive had already surprised us, but the news that you were getting married two days ago caught us off guard.”

"No problem. I guess it didn't seem normal to be married in a white dress among Mandalorians," you answered.

"For a nation that has dedicated its entire life to war, yes," she replied. As you walked through the palace corridors, she said, "Everyone is here. They are waiting for you to swear an oath of allegiance. You will see them all at the banquet."

When you entered the throne room, The Armorer was waiting for you as the person who will marry you. Welcomed you.

Your gaze was strange. "Will we be alone when the promises are made?"

If you were Mandalorian, you didn't even have to be in the same room when you swore your oath of allegiance with the person you were going to marry. All you had to do was know the promises and accept them. Everything had to be as simple and private as possible. Only after the promises were made would the others join in and a feast be held.

The Armorer answered. "Of course, this is your special moment, and you must spend your first night in the living waters, as compensation for seeing Din Djarin without his helmet for the first time. Thus will your marriage be consummated."

As you looked at her in surprise, Djarin spoke up. "I didn't expect such a big organization, to be honest."

Bo Katan glanced at Djarin. It was impossible not to notice the mischievous smile on his face. “You’re marrying a noblewoman. Of course there had to be some showiness, right?”

Grogu was looking at you with question marks next to him, aware of the tension. You locked eyes. The nervousness that fed his curious gaze had fueled Bo Katan's sense of conscience. Se turned to him and winked.

"It's okay, Grogu! Mom and Dad will be making a promise to each other in a moment."

The person who would perform your wedding would be the leader of Djarin's clan, and the person who will witness your words will of course be the Mandalorian queen. Bo Katan climbed the stairs and stood in front of her throne. She began her speech by explaining the reason for your being here and her duties as queen.

Your head was slightly bowed, as you should have shown respect to your queen. Din turned his head to you as Lady Kryze continued speaking. You agreed to follow the Mandalorian teachings in order to marry him. It was a source of pride. The fact that the woman he loved was there to support him on his own path made him even more devoted to his love. He had lost you once, never again, he told himself. He would never lose you.

When The Armorer asked you to repeat the words, Din turned his head toward her, so caught up in the perfection of a lifetime with you that he flinched.

“Together we are one,” she said, and you felt uneasy as you repeated it. You were not well versed in Mandalorian culture. “When we are apart, we are one,” Din repeated, tensing with excitement at the prospect of removing his helmet. “We share everything,” Grogu grinned, watching you as you repeated. “We will raise warriors!” you repeated.

Bo Katan, "Princess Cala, you are now Din Djarin's future wife. Your name is Din Cala from now on!"

Taking a deep breath, you turned to Din. You were now officially married. You would fight together, raising your adopted son Grogu. Of course, you had something else on your mind: the moment had come for him to remove his helmet. You would physically see the man you married. You had a smile on your face that showed his anticipation.

The Armorer says, "You can go to the living waters whenever you want."

Djarin bowed his head in agreement. “This is the way!”

You smiled at Djarin expectantly.

Djarin said, "You can see it after the banquet when we are alone."

"Okay then," you said with dissatisfaction and together you went to the dining hall where the banquet would be held.

Finally, you were at the steps of the living waters while they continued their feast. Some Mandalorians were also taking care of Grogu. No one could disturb you here. Feeling the mystical energy of the sacred waters to your cells while being with each other on your first night would complete your marriage.

You stood between the mine walls, looking at each other.

"Din, are you really sure about this? I mean, is it right for us to be here? For the intercourse."

Din spoke up. He took your hands and said,

"Cala, in the presence of the living waters we will belong to each other. There could not be a more perfect moment. If you are ready, of course."

You raised your eyebrows. “Ready for what? To see the man under the helmet, or for you to touch me?”

Djarin didn't know what to say. He was slurring his words, stuttering. He was trying to remain secretive.

You stepped closer. "You know what, Din Djarin? I never expected to see you like this."

"What do you mean?"

"You've always been a mysterious man. Sometimes I thought you were an emotionless droid. But now I see the excited man under the helmet," you said and grinned. "It gives me pleasure to surprise you."

"I'm not excited or anything," Djarin said, his tone half angry, half indifferent. "I just don't want to disappoint a young woman. That's all." He was a hunter! There was no job he hadn't taken on for credit in his day. How strange that the truly emotionless, bounty hunter was now showing his emotional vulnerability in the presence of a young Jedi. He was looking for the old Djarin. Where was he, really?

You rolled your eyes and gave him a smug look. “Is that why the topic always comes down to the helmet?”

Djarin got angry. He continued to act indifferent. "Think whatever you want. Of course, I respect that a young girl thinks such things to satisfy her ego." He said.

You frowned. You looked much angrier than he did. You stood right in front of him with determined steps. You were looking at his helmet with the same determination. Finally, Djarin stopped, realizing his stupidity.

"Come on Cala. Take off the helmet."

Excluding the times when you were thought to be dead, you had been together for a year and a half and you had lost hope of ever seeing Djarin. To love without seeing him... To fall in love with his character and soul without discriminating between handsome, ugly, old, young, wouldn't that be the most innocent love in the world? That's why Djarin surrendered himself to you. The woman he fell in love with wasn't someone who would care about material values. That's why he married you, that's why he opened the doors of secrets wide open and let his guard down.

Djarin closed his eyes as she reached for the helmet. This would be the first time you would make real eye contact. You would hear his voice changing under the helmet in its purest form for the first time. How could it not be exciting? It was the most special moment.

You slowly took off his helmet. Djarin had been curious about your reaction the moment your eyes met. He was good at hiding his emotions, but you weren’t much different.

“Aren’t you going to say anything?” he asked suspiciously.

You placed the helmet between your arm and waist and brought your other hand to Djarin’s cheek. When your fingers touched his skin, he was reminded of how much he desired you, how hungry he was for you. It was like a dying madman finding an oasis in the desert.

The fact that you still didn't say a word was causing him to get lost in the dark well of the unknown. Just as he was about to repeat the same question to you with his lips parted, you approached him and pressed your lips to his gently. You felt the warmth of his skin on you. After the long kiss, you stepped back.

Djarin was grateful for the love you had shown him. “I guess that explains it all,” he said. He never lost his reserved demeanor, unable to tell you how he felt. The teachings he had spent on the Mandalorian path had taken some of his abilities from him, involuntarily. But the feelings were permanent. This time, he was the one who made the first move. He was much more passionate now. His hands slowly moved up from your hands, following your arms to your neck, and from there he continued to kiss you, holding your face tightly. His moist kiss was so passionate that you didn’t even notice the loud sound of Beskar steel hitting the ground when you forgot about the helmet you had under your arm and hugged him. The sound echoed off the walls of the cave, though. You just continued, not caring if anyone heard.

Djarin moved a few inches away and whispered to your lips. "I never expected this day to come. But you are in front of me, my skin touching yours," he said and caressed your jawbone and moved towards lower lip again. He left bites and kisses without hurting your, while at the same time he was taking off your white waistbands. After taking his place on the fabric step, it was your war costume's turn. Leaving your lips and slowly placing kisses under your chin, his long arms found your back. He started to untie your clothes. His breath was trembling with excitement. From the day he fell in love with you until the day he tasted his death, your skins were longing for each other.

As he pulled away from you and began to pull your clothes down, he was admiring the beauty of your skin, but you averted your eyes in embarrassment.

He frowned and stopped pulling back the fabric - just as he was about to see her breasts. "We can stop whenever you want, Cala, it's okay."

Your lips parted, and you looked as if you were trying to explain yourself in a hurry.

"No, please don't stop. I just think I got excited about a man I'm seeing for the first time."

"Okay then," he said, and Djarin continued to take off her clothing. Your breasts were revealed first. The nipples were already hard, waiting to be sucked by Djarin. Then he saw your stomach and groin. He was amazed by the velvety feel of your skin. He dropped to one knee as he peeled it down. You were looking down at him, at what he was doing.

Djarin was looking at your groin. His hands suddenly slid down to your waist, careful and gentle, as if he were holding a delicate flower.

The man on his knees in front of you, kissing your groin, seemed to be performing a religious ritual. He could feel the Mandalorian faith on your skin, as if his lips were worshipping you as they touched you. He was in awe of everything about you. He was intoxicated. He could only come to himself when he flinched when his warm breath touched your skin. He untied your boots and caressed your feet, taking them out. He got up from his knees and stood in front of you. You were completely naked.

"It's your turn," he said. He wanted you to undress him.

You started taking off his armor one by one. You looked into his eyes as you took off his pauldron. You thought he was going to look at your body but he waited a long time to actually meet your eyes. He was happy for you to see him. He was completely special to the two of you.

You took his hand and pulled off his glove, bringing it to your chest. Your gaze was Djarin’s aphrodisiac. You wore a naughty boy grin as if what you were about to experience was a great sin.

You tossed the gloves aside and brought his hands up to your lips, kissing the tips of his fingers.

Djarin took this gesture as a sign of respect. "You know these hands are going to make you moan with pleasure in a moment, right?" he asked.

You nodded. "I know."

Djarin and you were now completely naked. The hand you held was now supporting you as you descended the steps. You stood side by side. You could not take your eyes off each other as the sacred waters slowly rose from your feet. You were now in the sacred waters up to your waist.

The heat from your sexual desire radiating from your groins and spreading throughout your body combined with the coolness of the water and you shivered.

Djarin grabbed you by the waist and pulled you to him. His wet hands reached your cheek. His lips came to life on yours again. The day you died came to mind as they made love, and this made Din Djarin become much more passionate when they were in a relationship. Because he had never confessed his love to you. He regretted it. He should not make such a mistake again.

Thanks to the buoyancy of the water, you wrapped your legs around his waist very comfortably. As your bodies moved aesthetically as if they were twisting with pleasure, the waves of water were wetting you all over. You were soaked as your tongues danced with each other. The drops of water sliding down your forehead were cooling your lips, making them much more slippery; feeling your sensitive skin deeply was fueling your hunger.

Djarin's hands were exploring your body. He was holding hard by the hips, caressing you. You were so plump that you overflowed from his palm. He anticipated the pleasure he would soon experience when he fucked you.

"Oh, Cala! You have such beautiful skin! I know we were made for each other."

One of his hands suddenly went to your breast. When he stimulated your pointed nipple, you moaned without taking your lips off his. His erection had already accelerated with your moaning. You felt a hardness right on your vulva. He was pressing on your clit, forcing you. You expected his cock to be thick, but you were surprised by its length. You grinned, showing your teeth.

"Tell me, how do I take it in? It's going to hurt, isn't it?"

Djarin moved his hand from her breast to her vulva and began to caress it. "Don't worry, once I get you ready, you won't mind me coming in."

His cock was now pressing against your vagina. The arousal factor applied from two places caused you to frown, burying your face in his neck, and moan loudly.

"Cala, you moan so wonderfully, moaning for me only incites my lust more."

He moved his hand from your hip to your hair and pulled you closer to him. His face found your cheeks, nibbling on them little by little, while his other hand continued to quickly caress your inner lips.

When you least expected it, he grabbed your waist, lifted your body a few inches up, and sat you on his lap again, allowing his penis to enter your vagina. Your eyes widened in surprise. A weak scream escaped your lips. Your hands were gripping his shoulders tightly. Your nails dug into his skin. Din Djarin was no different. He moaned along with you.

"Damn it Cala! I didn't think it would be this tight."

It was as if your vagina and his penis were trying to get used to each other. It was more pleasure than you could handle.

You asked breathlessly, but moans were escaping your lips with every word. “Aren’t you happy with this?”

"I'm actually very pleased!" he replied. It was impossible not to notice the pleasure on his face. He grabbed your hips again and started fucking you, slowly moving you up and down. Your genitals felt the pleasure equally, down to the smallest detail. It was impossible for you to speed up. You were shaking every time he lifted you up and down his lap. Your muscles could not resist any longer, and your body lay down on the surface of the water. Your back met the coldness of the living waters. Your hair was moving on the surface as the water rippled. In fact, the water flowing from your wet hair was sliding down your spine, making you shiver. Djarin was slowly increasing his pace and it felt like he couldn't hold back. But he had to hold himself back, he had to hold on. The glorious taste he was getting made him caress your breasts tightly.

You had lost yourself in each other's skin as if this was your last time making love. Your love was roaming in your veins and coming to life in your groins. Djarin pulled your body closer to his. He continued to bite your ears and neck. You could hear him breathing heavily. He was drawing circles on your clitoris, suddenly applying too much pressure, making you contract. Then he was surprising you with up and down movements. You were so full, so pleased, that your body could not stand it anymore and you threw yourself forward. You wrapped your arms around his neck. Your face looked like you were in pain, but everything was from pleasure.

As you got closer to your orgasm, you noticed Din Djarin was getting emotional. He wrapped his arms around you and held you tightly as he continued to move inside you.

"I love you, baby. I love you more than you could ever imagine."

You were completely in love with Dinjarin.

"I love you too," you said in breathlessly. "I love you too, my love."

Djarin cried out your name as he orgasmed hip muscles contracted, his hands squeezed your skin so hard it hurt. You came right after Djarin. Your body was still shaking, responding to the orgasm. He pulled his penis out of your vagina and his semen mixed with the living waters inside you. Then, without letting you out of his arms, he carried you to the shore and collapsed next to you, the wet stone was cold, thanks to sex, your burning sensitive skin felt the texture more. Djarin stared at the water drops glistening on her smooth skin.

Holding your cheek. "How are you feeling?"

"Strange."

Djarin frowned. “What does this mean?”

"I never imagined I would make love in the waters of a mine." you smiled.

After that night, you spent a few more days in the Mandalorian palace. Grogu was happy with his parents' happiness. He was spreading joy to those around him. The bad days he had were left behind with you, he had made peace with his memories.

In the palace courtyard, you and Djarin were teaching him to be a good warrior, you were helping him develop his Jedi powers, and Djarin was introducing him to Mandalorian weapons.

Some nights, he would get scared because of the bad nightmares he had. Since you were both Jedi who knew how to manipulate the force, you would go to Grogu's room, feeling his fear. One night, it happened again. You entered Grogu's room and woke him up, hugging and telling him you were with him. At that moment, Din Djarin appeared at the door.

"He can sleep next to us tonight. What do you say?"

You looked towards the door as you picked up Grogu and rubbed his back. “I think this will be good.”

The three of you were now lying on the bed, Grogu in the middle of you, his eyes not showing the slightest sign of sleep.

"Come on, Grogu. You need to sleep," he said.

You offered with a satisfied grin. “How about you tell him one of your Mandalorian tales?”

Djarin sat up and looked at you. “Why should I tell? You’re the princess. I’m sure your nannies told you many fairy tales when you were little.”

You switched your position to Djarin and Grogu.

"Yes, they did. Now I want to listen to you."

Djarin gave in. "Okay, okay. I'll get started."

You were both listening to the story he told with curious eyes. The soothing tone of his voice had put you to sleep in a short time. He heard your snores at the most exciting part of the story. He muttered to himself. "Did you fall asleep that quickly? Anyway, good night and sweet dreams." He kissed the child on the cheek and you on the lips, then he put the blanket on you and watched how sweetly you slept for a while. He didn't need sleep. Besides, watching his wife and child rested him both mentally and physically.

A few hours after the sunlight had lit up the sky, Djarin saw the Imperial ship appear in the sky. He knew exactly who it belonged to. He quickly got up and began to put on his armor. The sound of Beskar steel woke you. You looked at Djarin, rubbing your eyes. “What’s going on?”

"We'll find out soon," he said.

The sound of the ship reached your ears. You got out of bed and headed towards the window. Your heart was beating rapidly, your breathing becoming irregular. “He came for me,” you muttered to yourself. The long absence of news from him had led you to assume he was dead. But it was Moff Gideon who stepped out of the gate shortly after the ship landed in the courtyard.

Din commanded as he walked out of the room with stiff and fast steps. "Crystalia! You and Grogu will stay here. I'll deal with him."

Of course, you didn’t listen to him. You put on your clothes and followed him. The Mandalorians had already appeared in the courtyard, their weapons trained on Gideon. While he was trying to negotiate with Lady Kryze, Djarin appeared.

"What are you doing here! You should be dead already!"

Gideon replied with his fake smile.

"But as you can see, I'm not dead. I'm more alive than ever. There's a lot of fake news these days, isn't there?"

Djarin knew that Moff Gideon had a sickening attachment to you. He had heard of your marriage, of course. He looked like he was going mad. He would kill her without mercy if she made the slightest move. You were his, no one could tear you apart. “What do you want from us? Wasn’t your defeat in our last encounter enough!”

Gideon looked at you standing behind Din Djarin. “I didn’t come here to cause trouble. I came to take what is mine.”

You looked at Djarin guiltily, Grogu in your arms. The tears in your eyes were not fearful, but regretful.

Djarin shouted with hatred. "Does it belong to you? We got married, now leave her alone!"

Gideon started to approach you.

“Being married doesn’t change the fact that Crystalia was made for me,” he said and stopped right in front of Djarin. You sighed in fear as he held the remote control in his hand at eye level.

"No!"

Lady Kryze, like the others, could not understand the worry on your face. The secret behind your death was hidden in his current reaction; it was clearly visible.

Djarin couldn't understand. Not your reaction, not the remote control Gideon was holding in his hand. "Whatever nonsense you're talking about, just say it clearly! I'm out of patience."

"The woman you married is nothing more than a clone created using Crystalia's DNA. Doctor Pershing and I created her so that her power would be much more intense than the real Crystalia's. When I became the ruler of the Empire, I was going to make her my queen and put her in charge of my army."

Djarin couldn't make sense of what Moff Gideon was telling him. You were Crystalia. Your looks, your voice, your personality. This couldn't be true. He turned to you.

" Cala! What is all this? Can you explain it to me!"

You were crying heartily. You placed Grogu in the arms of a Mandalorian standing next to you. You were about to approach him and apologize when Moff Gideon continued speaking.

“Crystalia was in love with you. When we created her clone, we reprogrammed the synapses in her brain in the hopes that you would be Din Djarin’s enemy,” he raised his voice angrily and glared at you accusingly. “Yet despite this, her consciousness brought you and your relationship to light! She escaped from my base and lost track of you! She found you, Din Djarin! She was supposed to obey me. She was supposed to worship me! And yet I see my clone, whom I created, marry Din Djarin!”

You walked over to Djarin and grabbed his shoulders.

"I'm sorry! I'm sorry!" you sobbed.

Djarin was disappointed. He had lost you for the second time. The real Crystalia's body was still lying in the lab. But the woman standing in front of him was also a clone derived from your genes, with your consciousness. You lied to him, but you made him feel like Crystalia. He couldn't decide whether to be sad or to thank you, the clone.

He took one of her hands and placed it over your heart. "Can you tell me this isn't real? I need it so bad, please tell me this isn't real, I'm begging you! You're not dead, are you?"

Moff Gideon spoke up. “Crystalia is dead, Mandalorian. I swore I would never reunite you, and I have fulfilled my oath. You no longer have a body to cry over. She was wasted on an incompetent clone in my lab. Fortunately, I have three more clones. They are waiting to breathe.”

Bo Katan Kryze gritted her teeth. "You're not evil, Gideon, you're sick!"

Moff Gideon looked at her grimly. “Perhaps. But I came here to fix the mistake I made,” he said, and pressed the button on his remote. “Goodbye once more, my love.”

Your body slowly began to transform into energy. You were turning into a ghost, your body becoming transparent as your cells lost their tangibility and merged with nature. Djarin shouted, panicking at the prospect of losing you once more as he lost the sensation of your skin. “No! Cala!”

"If even a part of me belongs to the real Crystalia, then she loved Din Djarin more than anything in the world," you said. Those were your last words, and when your body was completely gone, Din cried out in great pain. He had already suffered greatly from losing you. Losing you again was almost enough to make him lose his mind. He fell to his knees and pounded the ground. His cries still echoed off the palace walls. Grogu landed on the ground and jumped into Djarin's arms, sharing his sadness with his father.

Moff Gideon may have been glad to have brought his mission, but Din Djarin's suffering gave him a special kind of pleasure.

"What a shame," he said and turned around and got back into his ship. As he left, some Mandalorians wanted to make him pay for what he did, but Bo Katan said that the current situation was not ready for that. This was revenge that would have to be taken later.

[juletheghoul]

Ok I have an idea... I want to you pick all Pedro's characters or your favorite whatever you want and tell your opinion of who would pick boobs and who would pick ass in preference on a woman (I just saw this on Twitter about what men prefer and I think it would be fun to do with the Pedro's characters... Also if you want obviously you can add the other triple frontier boys 🫣).

OKOKOKOK 👀

Wait it's like you're in my head because this is something I've thought about A LOT. lol 💕 (I’ll get into the other triple frontier boys soon)

Okay let's get into it!

(adult subject matter under the cut, what can I tell you. 18+, I am using female pronouns for all of these)

Joel Miller; Tits. hands DOWN titties. I have thought this since before the show came out, this man is mesmerized by a set of tits and I will die on that hill. He is of the firm belief that all boobs are good boobs, and he cannot fall sleep without his hand up your shirt, full titty grab. You know those tiktoks where women flash their partners in the middle of an argument? That would absolutely work on Joel, he'd sigh, stare, lick his lips and then grunt a "now you're not playin' fair darlin'" *bonus - favourite position; being ridden so he has tits in his face.

Francisco Morales: Ass. Frankie is an ass-man through and through without a doubt. He's a grabber, he's the boyfriend / husband that can't help but give your ass a good crack every time he walks by and if you squeal he laughs and apologizes but says he cannot help it and then threatens to bite it. Every time he greets you, you can bet that his hand will creep down and get a big handful. *favourite position; doggy, because ass.

Marcus Pike: He gives me ass-man vibes. It's not to the extent of Frankie, but he can definitely appreciate a nice handful. He's been known to slip his hand down in the middle of a makeout sesh and get himself a good grip. We all know Marcus is a gentleman, but once he gets in the mood he's a bit rough, and that means you're going to get a bit bruised, manhandled. *favourite position; missionary, man is a romantic and wants to kiss.

Marcus Acacius: I genuinely don't think Marcus is partial to one more than the other, I think he just likes a woman's body. He loves tits, he loves the ass, he loves legs and pretty eyes and everything that comes along with the woman he's interested in. *favourite position; missionary, I think it just goes with the time.

Ezra: I think Ezra is a hedonist, and like Marcus A. he likes it all, but unlike him, Ezra is more feral about it. So when it's titty time? He's coming on them, he's rubbing it into your skin. When he's in an ass-mood? He's begging to come inside it, he's biting hard enough to leave the indents of his teeth. *favourite position; cowgirl, he wants to see you get wild, likes to watch shit bounce, likes to get wet.

Din Djarin: Ass-man. I think Din like how much he can grab at once, he likes how big his hands are. A lot of the time you're together, a lot of the time you're 'courting' you don't see much of him, so you end up getting bent over things and with that- comes a few spanks. *favourite position; honestly? whatever he can manage in the time you have.

Dieter Bravo: (on a woman, different obviously if he's dating a man, or a non-binary person) Tits. This man wants tits in his face at all times. Look at him, he'd motorboat you before leaving the house even if he's going to the store to grab a Diet Coke. No other notes, he just likes titties. *favourite position; 69, he wants it messy and intense.

Javier Peña: He's an ass-man, that big hand is reaching down to grab at a cheek whenever he's within arms reach. Javi is a biter, he likes to nip and get a squeal. A thong sends him into a frenzy, and if you're topless too? You're getting bent over the nearest surface. *favourite position; doggy, obviously.

Marcus Moreno: He gives me titty man, and secretly kind of obsessive about it. He can get a little intense, likes when you're really oversensitive, likes to bury his face in your cleavage, just loves tits. I don't think he could resist (what he would consider) a nice ass but tits are his favourite. *favourite position; I think he likes being ridden, likes to watch you move, and obviously titties bouncing.

Dave York: I'm not sure if it's an unpopular opinion but I've always thought of Dave as an ass-man. I think he loves to kiss, and slip his hand down and squeeze, but more than that - he'd slip his hand down a little further than is necessary, fingers slipping between the legs. He'd love the gasp, he'd love the widening of the eyes, he'd love to smile and press a soft kiss to your forehead after. *favourite position; I think the'd like the seashell (missionary but your legs are on his shoulders)

Jack (Whiskey): I think it depends on the day. Some days - when you're wearing something low cut - the tits cast a spell, he's all over them. Some days, it's all about the ass, full palm smacks and rough grabs. He's very versatile. *favourite position; cowgirl, either reverse or regular.

Oberyn Martell: Ass man, just hands down, those hands are all over it. He's a little more tender than the others I think, instead of smacks and rough grabs, it would be more of a soft but firm pulling you into his orbit. It's a gentle, but purposeful pulling off of your robes with soft kisses across your belly, and then on the swell of your ass. *favourite position; whichever one gets you pregnant faster.

Max Phillips: Max likes pussy, to be frank. Ass, tits, it's all good, they both have veins he can tap, before he taps. *favourite position; all of them.

Dio Morrisey: big titty goth girlfriend BIG TITTY GOTH GIRLFRIEND, baby bat likes titties, and I stand by that. No other notes, he likes titties, he likes cleavage, he wants them in and around his face at all times. *favourite position; I think Dio is a bit of a secret softie, he likes spooning sex in the morning, or at night, or after a nap, any time you're horizontal.

————

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[lincolndjarin]

Best Kept Secret

chapter twenty six : crucifixion

ao3 link ✿ series masterlist ✩ main masterlist ✧

pairing : bodyguard!Din Djarin x afab!princess!reader

rating : 18+ mdni

word count : 12.7k

summary : judgement day.

warnings: major character death, above canon typical violence, very brief references to suicide, torture, body horror (briefly), feelings of despair, blood, wounds, general kodo grossness, vomit (reader vomits several times, it is never described in detail), language, angst, brief smut, pregnancy, death, reader is not doing well in this like she's at a breaking point, i may have missed some so feel free to let me know.

a/n: please read the warnings on this chap! it's the most serious of the bks updates, definitely a bit more intense than the rest. gonna work on getting 27 out within the next few day. i've been terrified of releasing this chapter since i started writing it so once i post this i'm going to dig a hole and sit in it and hide for a while lmao.

i changed my editing style so if there's spelling errors lmk!! apologies in advance!!

“My room is too big.” 

He bursts into genuine peals of laughter and you gently smack his arm.

“Don’t laugh, it’s a serious issue! My room is enormous.” You’re giggling along with him now, it’s the hardest you’ve ever heard him laugh. You both just laugh for a few minutes, as if each other's company is the most amusing thing in the world. 

Once your giggles fizzle out you wait another moment before breaking the silence. 

“Where did you grow up?” You can’t see him but you can sense where he sits in the darkness, you crawl forward so you’re sitting between his legs, your own legs wrap around his waist. “I’m just curious.” 

“Aq Vetina.” You can’t recall anything about the planet. You aren’t even sure you’ve heard of it. 

“Do you remember your parents well? You don’t talk about them very much.” You put your hands on his shoulders, ever so slowly moving them up to his neck until you’re cupping his face. 

“I’ll never forget them.” He whispers. 

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. We can’t change the past.” You rub your nose against his, bumping them together as you hum and nod. “My mother loved ships. We didn’t travel, we never had a reason to, but she would take me outside and we’d watch ships fly past. I could never comprehend how she knew the name for all of them, it blew my mind.” You wrap your arms around his neck, staying silent in hopes that he’ll continue, he so rarely speaks so much. “My father worked a lot but he always made time for us, he was always home in time to say goodnight to me. He was always around when I needed him, he always provided for us. On his day off he’d spend the whole day cooking, I’d sit on the kitchen counter and tell him what my mother and I had done that week. When she’d come home we’d all eat dinner together.” 

“You sound like you were a happy child.” You can’t help but smile. 

“I never had reason to be otherwise.” He says it so matter of factly that you don’t doubt it for a second. He was loved. It only makes you smile wider.         

“What were you like, as a child?”

“Well behaved.” You immediately begin laughing once more. 

“I find that hard to believe.”

“Believe it. My mother homeschooled me, she always made sure I had manners. I wasn’t particularly athletic or talkative so I didn’t play with other kids a lot. It was just me and mama.” He sounds far away, it makes you want to hold him close and never let him go.

“So what did you do all day?” Your tone has softened significantly. 

“I would sew.” 

“Be serious.” He’s the one who laughs now at the disbelief in your voice.

“I am! I would sit with my mother after my lessons and we’d sew.” His fingertips dance along the back of your neck as he reminisces. 

“What kinds of things?” You don’t tease. When you really think about it you suppose such a hobby is fitting for him. A task that requires precision and care. 

“I would help her make clothes and blankets that she would sell most days. On the weekends she’d let me do whatever I wanted so I would practice my embroidery.” 

“My heart is actually about to explode out of my chest, you’re so cute.” You put on a mocking tone but the thought of such a thing really does make your heart clench. “Little Din Djarin stitching his name into his clothes.”

“You’re a cruel woman.” He leans forward, knocking his forehead against yours, almost as if he were reprimanding you. 

“What sorts of things would you embroider?” Your tone goes back to genuine, you could listen to him talk about himself for days and you’d never get bored. 

“Whatever my mother wanted. I would ask her what I should do and then I’d stitch it onto her blanket or the hem of her skirt. Mostly flowers, she loved daisies.” You’re pretty sure one of your ovaries literally popped at the thought of a little boy with dark curls and big brown eyes sitting beside his mother and embroidering a daisy onto her skirt. Your heart flutters a bit as you think of the necklace he got you. The silver outline of a flower you now realize is a daisy. “If he was ever gone for more than one night for work my father would bring her daisies, one for each day he was away.”

“Do you still know how?”

“I used to fix Grogu’s clothes when he ripped them but I haven’t done much else since I was a boy. He says it with finality but you carry on, not wanting him to stop talking. 

“What were their names? Your parents?”

“Clara and Arin Djarin.”  

“Those are pretty names.”

“What was it like for you? You said you had seven siblings right?”

“Eight actually.” You think of them now. There were eight of you and your parents' love for all of you combined wasn’t even a tenth of how much Din’s parents loved him. 

“Do you like having a big family?” He lifts you off of his lap, laying you back down as he crawls on top of you, laying against your chest. 

“I love it. I miss my siblings everyday, do you think we’ll be able to visit them someday?”

“If it’s safe to, of course we will.” He tilts his head, if you weren’t in darkness he’d be looking at you. 

“I wish they had visited here. They would have loved you.”

“You think?”

“Are you kidding me? The younger ones would adore you.” You tangle your finger in his hair, scratching his scalp. “Kids just naturally like you.” 

“They just haven’t learned to fear me.” You frown when he says it like a fact.

“I think it’s more than that.”

“Yeah?” The hopeful tilt to his voice has you leaning down to press a kiss into his hair. 

“Kids are intuitive, they can sense that you’re a good person.” He tenses up as you tell him he’s a good person. You know exactly what he’s thinking about now, how he punched your husband and then refused to leave. 

Neither one of you wants to talk about that though, not today. 

“What kind of room would you want? Since your current room isn’t to your liking.” He’s quick to change the subject and you let him.

“In all honesty, I like the cabin, I wish we could just live there.” You run your fingers through his curls as you think about it, gently pulling through any tangles.

“My cabin?” His voice is full of uncertainty as he pulls back a bit.

“It’s nice.” You feel a bit defensive, you consider the cabin to be the closest thing you have to a home. “Can you imagine getting to stay on Naboo? We could spend our mornings walking the market.” You rest your hand on the back of his neck now. “We could get jobs in the city, and then at night we’d come home.” 

“To the cabin?” He still sounds rather skeptical of your hypothetical future. 

“I’d cook dinner, you’d do the chores.”

“The cabin’s a bit small for us.” 

“We’d make it a bit bigger, add a few bedrooms, we don’t need that much space.” 

“A few?” He turns his head, his lips brush against your collar briefly as he kisses you there, freezing up when you speak again. 

“At least two, one for us and then some for any little Djarin’s who might need space.” With that he sits up entirely, his legs straddle your stomach.

“Little Djarin’s?”

“And Grogu, he would come live with us as well.” 

“You’d want him to live with us?”

“Of course, he’s a little Djarin.” Your hands rest on his thighs now as he seemingly ponders above you. He hums to himself in silence for a moment and you can’t help but grin at how seriously he’s taking all of this. 

“How many?” He finally speaks again and you laugh at the bluntness of his question. 

“Kids?”

“How many would you want?”

“You go first.” You haven’t ever talked about this sort of thing so you want to gauge his answer first so you don’t scare him too much with all the kids talk. 

“Maybe five? Or six.”

“Six?” Your voice pitches up immediately and you feel a rumble in his chest as he laughs. 

“Or five.”

“How about two, counting Grogu.” Turns out you didn’t need to worry about scaring him off. 

“How about three?” Three is manageable. 

“Counting Grogu?” 

“Counting Grogu.” He seems satisfied with that. 

“I suppose we could have three, you’re the one who has to build all the extra bedrooms.” 

“I don’t mind.”

“I’d work at the library and you’d work in a shipyard, we’d take turns staying home with the kids.” You pull him back to you, taking his hands and dragging him to lay his head on your chest once more.

“I’ve got enough savings, neither one of us has to work if you’d like.” It sends a twinge of pain to your heart how real this conversation has become, knowing that this exact dream isn’t possible. 

You could always make parts of it real.

Someday. 

“I’d want to work, to get out of the house, but you could stay home if you’d like.”

“When they’re still ik’aad, at least for the first few years I’d want to be with them.” He’s going to be a wonderful father. 

“Then I’d work, not long hours, just enough to get me out of the house, when I come home I’d give you a break, you could do the shopping and I’d watch the little’s.” 

“We’d go as a family, I wouldn’t want ‘a break.’” 

“You’d want to wrangle three kids in the markets?” You scoff in disbelief but he continues to sound completely serious. 

“They’d be well behaved.” You seriously doubt that. 

“What about either one of us makes you think our children will be well behaved? Is Grogu well behaved?” 

“We’ll manage.”

“They’ll be wild.” They will, not they would. 

“And smart.” He sits up again, hovering above you to give you a quick kiss. 

“And happy.” There isn’t a doubt in your mind that your children would be happy with Din as their father. 

“You’d really want to live here? I could build us a house anywhere.”

“I like Naboo, at least everything outside of the castle. I don’t even mind the castle, I just don’t care for the people inside it.” It’s true, somewhere along the way this place grew on you immensely. You love the city and the people in it. “And they’d get to play in the garden.” 

“I would build you a cabin anywhere you wanted, and I’d plant you a new garden.” He kisses along your cheeks and forehead as he speaks. 

“You wouldn’t need to plant me a garden if we lived here.” You insist. 

“We can’t live here, mesh’la.” He rubs a small circle with his thumb against your cheek. “This is too serious now, we’re supposed to be relaxed today.”

“When did we agree on that?” You muster up a weak laugh. 

“It was a silent mutual agreement.”

“I’m plenty relaxed.” You mumble. He buries his face in the crook of your neck, his stubble tickling you as you let out an airy giggle. 

“I’m actually very tense and I think we should take a break from all this talking and take care of that.” He mumbles against your shoulder.

“Oh?”

“Mhmm.” He emphasizes his point by pressing his erection against your hip, you hadn’t even realized that this is where he was going with that. 

“How long have you been waiting to jump me?”

“When we started talking about the five kids I was gonna put in you.” He continues to nip at your neck and shoulders as he speaks. 

“Skipping the agreed upon three and going straight to five already? You’re not even going to attempt to negotiate for four?” 

“So you’re open to four?” He pulls back and you can hear his smile. 

“Let’s start with one and go from there.”

“Right now?” His hips stutter down a bit against yours. 

“Maker, you’re insatiable.” You both burst into another fit of laughter. 

“What’s the worst thing that could happen?”

“I could get pregnant, and considering the lack of sex I’ve had with my husband I’m sure that might raise a few eyebrows.” 

“It would never get to that point, when we’re in the clear with this whole Kodo mess I’m getting you out of here.”

“Like… actually leaving Naboo?” 

“Exactly like that. I’m gonna take you far away from here when this is over, gonna keep you all for myself.” His hands move down, giving your hips a squeeze. 

“I’m already yours.” You laughed, rolling over to be on top of him. He’s right, if you’re going to leave anyway then what’s the worst thing that could happen? 

You never talked about that night after that. 

When everything sorted itself out you realized how crazy your fear had made you. You couldn’t just leave. At least that’s what you’d told yourself, now you feel like an idiot for not holding him to his words. It wasn’t realistic, you both knew actually leaving would take so much more preparation than a few whispered ideas during a time where neither one of you was in any position to be making such promises. 

It was just talk.

Lysa came to get you from the dining room. 

After everyone left you had no motivation to move, you just stood there, frozen in time. After a few hours she found you, she had taken your hand and walked you back to your chambers. She held your hand, she kept you upright when you threatened to crumble. And when you felt a wave of nausea ripple through you she rushed you to the fresher, a hand on your back as you threw up all over again. 

You sat breathlessly on the tile, Lysa rubbing your back.

“Gods, I’ve been nauseous since the wedding. Even before everything fell apart.” It’s the first words you’ve spoken since they took Din, your stomach is still churning. “This has never happened before.” You groan, you’ve had many moments of upset throughout your life, but none that made you physically ill. Lysa looks almost painfully worried. 

“Ma’am… is there a chance you might be…” 

Kriff.

You never talked about that night after that. 

Maybe you should have. 

You both did a lot of things during those days. You had been so angry, and he had done everything in his power to ease that anger, to keep both of you as happy as someone could be in your situation. 

You shouldn’t have used that as an excuse to be reckless. 

“I’d like to go to bed.” 

“Of course.” She helps you to your feet, walking you back to your room, you turn to her one last time before you close the door. 

“I’m sorry. Elaine never should have gotten involved in all this.” You’d trade places with her in a heartbeat if you could. 

“It’s not your fault.” She truly seems to believe that. 

Except it is. Elaine never would have found herself in this situation if she hadn’t so often been helping the two of you keep your secret. 

“Goodnight, Lysa.” 

“Goodnight, princess.” 

You lay on the bed, unable to bring yourself to sleep in the closet. 

It’s cold. Colder than Hoth, as you stare at the ceiling in your far too big bed in your far too big room. Even bigger now that it’s just you. 

You let your hand roam down your torso to rest on your stomach.

Just you, hopefully. 

☆

You’re now having nightly dinners with Kodo. 

You don’t get any respite from him, you just want to stay in bed. You’re nauseous and tired and your head hasn’t stopped spinning since that night. A million thoughts a minute. 

Where is he?

Is he okay?

What the fuck can I do about it?

Mostly that. 

The worst part is your lack of a plan. If the roles were reversed Din would have already rescued you and you’d be living happily ever after. 

But that isn’t how your story is going. Instead you are alone, with no scheme on how to get to him. It’s only been three days but it’s driving you insane, you have never known such hopelessness, it’s maddening. To sit alone in your room all day, staring at the ceiling until Lysa comes to dress you for dinner. Neither one of you ever speaks, afterall, what would you say to each other?

“I’m sorry the love of your life had been sentenced to die?”

How morbid. 

Not that you’re above being morbid. 

You think about it often. How easy it would be to drive your dinner knife into Kodo’s throat. You’re seated beside him now at dinner, both of you at the head of the table, joined by the rest of his family. 

The thought of killing him is the only thing that brings you peace these days. You’ve never once in your life been violent until now. Din is good. He’s a good man. In every way he is the opposite of your husband yet Din is the one locked away, Maker knows where, while Kodo is being rewarded. 

It doesn’t make you mad, it makes you furious. 

It makes you want to poison his wine. 

But you don’t have poison. 

And you can’t put yourself in danger. Because you feel fundamentally different, and even if you refuse to think that such a thing is possible you know you wouldn’t just be putting yourself in danger. There’s more at stake now. 

That’s what you tell yourself to stay calm, a feat that is getting harder by the minute as you’re sat beside Kodo who is currently bragging about how he defeated a Mandalorian. 

“They aren’t as strong as you think they are. Under the armor they’re weak, pathetic.” 

It took six battle droids to keep him down. You didn’t even get near him. 

“Some people just need to be taught a lesson, don’t touch what isn’t yours.” He sneers and the rest of the table erupts into laughter. “I certainly taught that horned bitch a lesson as well, you all should have seen what they brought me last night.” 

You perk up, this is the only thing they’ve said in days that truly matters to you. You’ve heard nothing about the current state of either of them until now. 

“What did they do to Elaine?” Everyone’s head turns to you, all their expressions look as if you’ve announced something treasonous but Kodo smiles as if he were explaining something to a child. 

“She was properly punished, the way someone who observed such a crime with no intervention should be.” He puts his hand over yours when he says it. 

You don’t ask for any follow up. 

You don’t think you could stomach it, so you stay silent for the rest of your meal. When you’re finished you stand, the rest of the table is starting to pour more drinks but you simply lean down, mumbling something about being tired before giving Kodo a quick kiss on the cheek and dismissing yourself. 

You’re waiting for the night where he joins you in your chambers, after all his father is dead, but it has yet to happen. He had told you that once he was king he would be in need of heirs but he seems happy enough with his pleasure houses and you’re more than grateful for the women you entertain him so you don’t have to. 

So you return to your chambers alone, peeling off your gown before burying yourself under the covers. 

Sleep evades you as you toss and turn. You aren’t even tired, there’s too much going on in your mind, there’s no room for exhaustion. After about an hour you manage to drift in and out of unconsciousness, earning a brief reprieve from your anxieties until a sharp knocking has you jolting upright. 

You don your robe, rubbing sleep from your eyes as you rush to the door, you’re too tired to wonder who might even be bothering you at such an hour as you pull the door open. 

Lysa?

“We have to hurry, ma’am.” She grabs your arm, frantically tugging you into the hall. 

“Lysa? What are you doing? Are you okay?” 

“I am fine, but we don’t have much time.”

“Surely you have enough to tell me where we are going.” 

“Do you want to see him or not?” 

Din.

You nod, taking her hand as he rushes onward, stopping at each hall to peer around the corners until you make your way to a servants stairwell, skipping several steps in your descent until you run out of stairs. You’ve never been down here, you didn’t even know there were dungeons until recently. 

It makes your stomach twist in knots the moment you stare into the darkness. 

“Are there no guards?” You whisper, squeezing her hand.

“Not for the next hour, I’ve made sure of it.” She begins walking down the poorly lit corridor, pulling you along behind her. 

The stone floor is damp and it smells of mildew. Your bare feet are already freezing after just a few steps.

Every cell you pass is lit from the outside with a hanging lantern, they’re mostly empty, but you catch glimpses of movement out of the corner of your eye every now and then. In all honesty you’re doing your best to take in as little as possible, you don’t want to think about Din being down here in such a place, but there’s one element you can’t ignore. 

The wailing. 

Someone is weeping, a low, sorrowful song filling the vast maze of halls and you realize quickly you’re heading in its direction, Lysa tenses beside you as you continue on. You’re about to turn one more corner when she abruptly stops, turning to face you.

“He needs to eat.” She removes a fistful of rations from her apron pocket, shoving them into your hands. 

“He hasn’t?” He’s been down here for three days. 

“He won’t… let me.” You pause, cocking your head to the side and she gives you an apologetic look when she turns. “He won’t let me uncover his face.”

Oh. 

“I’ll feed him.” You nod slowly, tucking them into your own pockets before turning the corner. The contents of the cell immediately on your right have you stumbling backwards but Lysa is not swayed, pulling a key from her pocket, unlocking the door quickly before handing it to you. 

“He’s two cells down, on your right.” She doesn’t look at you as she rushes in, pulling a roll of bandages from her dress. “Shh… it’s okay, I’m here.” Her voice goes soft as she kneels beside Elaine. You can’t help it as you step into the entryway of the cell. 

Well, you’ve found the source of the wailing. 

She’s sat on a cot, curled in on herself as Lysa carefully peels back a series of soiled bandages from her face. 

“I’ve got you, it’s just me.” She continues to make an attempt to sooth a rather hysterical Elaine as she peels back the final layer of bandages and your stomach flips. “You’re okay, love, I need to change these.” You don’t know how Lysa is so calm, even in the darkness you can see the extent of her wounds. Now you know what they brought Kodo last night.  

Both eyes. 

“She was properly punished, the way someone who observed such a crime with no intervention should be.” 

Oh gods. 

You’re worried you may collapse as you watch Lysa tend to her with no hesitation, cleaning them with a careful hand before she begins to redress them. You can’t bear to watch any longer as Elaine begins sobbing once more. You try desperately to force the sight of your mutilated friend from your mind as you count down two more cells before quickly fumbling for the lock, letting it hit the floor as you take the lantern outside the door off its hook, bringing it into the dark room. 

It isn’t like Elaine’s cell. 

There’s no bed or interior light, it’s terribly dark and fetid, his cell running deeper than her’s. It takes a few steps for you to finally illuminate the room enough to see him. 

Maker. 

What have they done to your Din? 

You don’t hear Elaine anymore, there isn't a single thing that could distract you from the scene in front of you. There is nothing but the sight of your kar’ta. There’s too much for you to worry about, you don’t even know where to start, you’re frozen in place, a small part of your brain refuses to recognize the man before you as Din at all. He shouldn’t look like this. 

Armorless. 

They’ve stripped him of any clothing you recognize, the thought alone makes you nearly lose your dinner. 

They took his helmet, replacing it with a linen sack.  

Did they see his face?

You briefly have to shut your eyes, taking a deep breath as you take in the rest of him. His clothes are too thin, he must be freezing, they’ve dressed him in a cotton tunic and trousers that end just below the knee. You can see just how beaten and bruised he is. Unlike Elaine he’s in chains, kneeling on the floor with his hands shackled, taut above his head. You swallow the lump in your throat and finally crouch down in front of him, setting the lantern down beside you as you reach out to place a hand on his chest.

“Din…” Your voice cracks and the moment you come in contact with him he flinches back. Suddenly you know how Lysa held it together so well with Elaine, she just had to. You can’t fall apart, who would care for him now if you did? “It’s me, just me. Just me.” You whisper and place a hand over his heart but withdraw it quickly when he trembles under your touch. You ache at the sight of it but more than anything you’re confused, it only takes a moment for you to realize the issue. 

He doesn’t have his helmet. They’ve not only left him here blind, but deaf, of course any touch would frighten him. 

He assumes you're here to harm him. 

You lean in, careful not to come in contact with him as you speak clearly and loudly. 

“Din?” His trembling stops instantly. You find it a bit troublesome how much worse his hearing seems to have gotten in such a short time, you’re half tempted to reach under the bag to make sure he still has his ears. 

“Sarad?” Oh, Din. His voice is terribly small and it sends you forward, wrapping your arms around him as you pull him into an unreciprocated embrace. 

“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry.” You make sure to speak loud enough for him before pulling back, placing your hands against the fabric covering his face. 

“Are you okay?” He coughs a bit as he asks and you almost laugh at how ridiculous the question is considering the state he’s in. Are you okay? 

Technically no. 

But far better than he’s doing. 

“I’m perfectly fine, what can I do for you? Are you hurting?” You feel his face through the bag as you look down across his body. It doesn’t look like there’s been any permanent damage outside of a pretty nasty cut on one of his legs. 

“Don’t worry about me.”

“Now’s not the time to play the hero, Din.” He flinches a little and you calm your tone immediately. What the hell did they do to him? “Just let me help.”

“How’d you get down here?” 

“Lysa, she says you aren’t eating.” 

“She’d have to lift my- the bag to do it.” He sounds apologetic, as if you could ever fault him for following his creed. 

“It’s okay… may I?” You bring your hands to the hem of the bag but his head turns sharply.

“I- I don’t want you to look.” 

You have no response. He’s always wanted you to look. 

“I just, I don’t think you wanna see the condition I’m in. I don’t want your only memories of my face to be this.” He whispers when you don’t respond.

You should have looked when he asked you to. You should have done a lot of things differently. 

You shouldn’t have waited so long to look. 

You shouldn't have waited so long to tell him you loved him. 

You should have just let yourself love him. Why did you fight it for so long? It seems silly now. If you could do it all again you would have just taken his helmet off the first night you met him and you would have married him right then and there. You would have left Naboo that night.

And you would never keep any of it from him. You would tell him how important he is and how loved he is, you wouldn’t make him wait. 

Even now you can’t help it though, censoring yourself out of fear. Do you tell him about how nauseous you get every morning? About the way Lysa stares at your belly when she does your makeup? 

No. 

It wouldn’t do either of you any good, not when he’s in this situation. 

You take hold of the edges of the bag once more, gentler this time. 

“I’ll close my eyes.” You lift the fabric completely off of him, setting it in your lap as you simultaneously shut your eyes. You keep one hand on his face, using your thumb to find the corner of his mouth as your other hand fumbles to open a ration bar. You feel him part his lips as you feed him. He’s barely chewing, eating quickly and swallowing most of it whole. “Have they fed you at all?” You whisper as he finishes the first bar in a matter of seconds, his teeth lightly scraping against your fingers before you withdraw them, tearing open another bar.

“No.” His voice is still soft as you go to feed him once more, opening each package until he’s eaten them all. 

“Are you still hungry? I could see if Lysa has more.” 

“I’m okay.” You let your head fall forward, resting your forehead on his. 

“What else can I do for you?” 

“Nothing. Being here is enough.” 

If you had felt helpless before it was nothing compared to this. This is more than helplessness, it’s despair. 

“I’m sorry.” You pull yourself further into his lap, wrapping your arms around him in the process. 

“Hey… none of this is your fault.” It certainly feels like it is. Why does he keep comforting you when he’s the one shivering and alone down here? 

“Please, there has to be something I can do to help you.” 

“There is one thing.” You almost open your eyes, you're so relieved, you just want to ease his pain. 

“Anything. I’ll do anything.” 

“I need you to promise me you won’t look.”

“Won’t look?” Your eyes are already closed, you couldn’t look any less if you tried. 

“When they do it. I don’t want you to see it- it won’t be pretty.”

When they separate his head from his body. 

“I won’t.” You can’t deny him this, you’ll give him anything he wants. “Do you know how much I love you?” You whisper before leaning forward another inch to kiss him. 

The question is genuine. It terrifies you to your core to think that he may not know just how much you love him. 

“Of course sarad.” He murmurs against your lips until you let your head rest on his shoulder, fighting back tears. 

What do you say now?

What do you say to a man condemned to death? 

“I love you.” You mumble into the thin fabric of his tunic. 

“I love you too.” After a moment more with him you hear metal jingling as Lysa locks Elaine's cell once more. You quickly pull back from him, pulling the bag back over his head, once you know he can’t see you anymore the tears flow freely. Lysa steps into the cell and you remove your robe, wrapping it around him, immediately he begins to protest. 

“Mesh’la, you can’t leave this here.” His voice is strained and it makes you sick to think he started crying once he was out of sight as well. 

“Please, y-you’re gonna freeze.”

“They’ll know you were here, sarad’ika.” 

“Din…” You’re practically babbling as Lysa removes your robe from his shoulders, an apologetic look on her face as she grabs your arm. 

“Ma’am, I’m sorry, but we need to go.” Tears sting your eyes as Lysa urges you to hurry but you don’t want to leave him, you want to stay, no matter the consequence. You pull away from her, wrapping your arms around his torso. 

“You need to go.” His voice is urgent through the fabric as you cling to him tighter. 

Would it be easier to just stay? Get caught and join him at the executioners? You’re genuinely considering it when you feel your stomach churn once more and you’re reminded of the exact reason why you can’t stay. Before you lose your nerve and shatter completely you lift the bag, just enough to give you an eyeful of his split lip and bruised jaw as you gently lean in and kiss him one more time. 

Doing everything in your power to remember exactly what it feels like.

The curve of his lips and the shape of his chin, the overgrown stubble brushing against your skin as you press your face harder against his, desperation taking over as you taste salt on his lips. You hold him as long as you can, until you hear Lysa urging you to make haste once more. 

“I love you.” You press your forehead to his through the fabric, feeling the familiar shape of his face against yours. 

“I’ll always be yours.” 

That was the last thing he was able to say before you let Lysa drag you out of the dungeons. 

☆

It’s like everythings suddenly back to the beginning. 

You wake up alone, you go to bed alone, and you wander the castle alone.

There is no plotting or scheming to free Din. 

Even if you were a trained killer or bounty hunter, it would be more than difficult to get him out of the dungeon and on a ship off Naboo. It would be even harder to do so when you’re one of the most recognizable people on the planet. 

He is buried deep beneath the ground and there is nothing you can do about it. 

After all, you're just a doll. 

You don’t know when it happened but all your clothes are blue again. Every dress Lysa fetches from the closet is a different shade of blue and all your nightgowns are the color of the sky. A personal brand put on you by Kodo. It’s clearly more than just a preference now, it’s a reminder to you and everyone else that you’re his. 

And time blends. 

You know a date was set right around the time you visited him. One week until Kodo’s coronation and two until the execution. His first public event after being crowned king will be a death sentence, how fitting. 

So you wake. 

And you sleep. 

And you walk. 

Kodo never replaces Din and you haven’t seen Leo since that night, so you’re completely alone. It’s like he’s rubbing in the fact that you’re powerless. There’s no need for you to have a guard, you can’t leave. If you tried you’d be escorted back in an instant. 

You tried to convince Lysa to let you see him again last night. 

“Please, just a few minutes-“

“I’m sorry ma’am, it’s just not possible. The only reason I was able to get you down there the first time was because the guard that usually lets me in was working nights, he won’t be working nights again until next month.”

Din won’t live to see next month. 

“Is he eating?”

“He won’t let me-“

“You need to insist. Tell him I insist, and tell him you’ll close your eyes.” 

She pins back a bit of your hair, leaving half up and half down. You both bask in the silence for a moment.

“I’ll make sure he eats.”

“Thank you.”

That had been the last conversation you had with Lysa. 

She doesn’t come to dress you in the morning. You think nothing of it and dress yourself in the gown she’d laid out last night. It’s a bit difficult, putting your coronation gown on on your own but eventually you manage, when you’re fully dressed in the obscenely decadent blue fabric you begin to worry. 

You have no reason to assume that everything is fine. It would actually make sense for this to be a worst case scenario situation, everything else in your life is right now. 

You’re about to leave in search of her but you decide against it. Sitting at the vanity and doing your makeup as quickly as possible, the last thing you need to do right now is give Kodo a reason to be upset with you, you have to be presentable. You smear the shimmering blue eyeshadow across your lids before rushing out of your room. 

The halls are full. Servants move quickly from room to room, cleaning every inch as you carefully push through the crowds, making a beeline towards the dining room. 

Kodo is seething when you push open the large doors. 

He stands at the end of the table, shoving an armored guard as the veins in his neck jut out in his rage. 

“Where could she have possibly gone? She’s blind. You’re telling me some blind bitch outsmarted my entire guard?” 

Your heart flutters at the thought.

They escaped.

Your hope is shattered the moment Kodo begins speaking again.

“At least we still have the Mandalorian… I want security tripled, guards stationed outside his cell at all times.” He continues grumbling for a moment until he realizes you’re there. “Happy coronation day dear wife! I’m afraid we’ve had a rough morning here, somehow in the night the Togruta girl escaped, do not fret, we’ll find her.” 

God's you hope not.

Even if things are worse than ever regarding Din there is one flicker of light in that darkness. Lysa got Elaine out. Knowing that almost puts you at ease.

“Happy coronation day.” You actually manage a smile when you look at your husband, it’s weak but it’s genuine. You want to be mad that they didn’t help Din escape but you just can’t be. You know they most likely tried but if the roles had been reversed and you could only get one of them out you wouldn’t hesitate. 

So there is no animosity. Just a flicker of happiness for them.

They got out.

☆

You were under the impression that a coronation was a happy event. Yet when you step out onto the castle steps it seems to be quite the opposite. 

They look miserable. 

All of their faces are sullen and dejected. How shocking, no one is excited about Kodo being crowned king. He didn’t have any of the outside of the castle decorated or made presentable in any way. No one reacts when Kodo reads from an ancient looking book until a crown is placed on his head. 

A moment afterwards you’re instructed to kneel and a tiara is placed onto your head. 

The audience is silent and you feel shame when you stare out at them.

Even if you don’t have very much power you still feel as if you’ve failed them. The feeling follows you when you’re directed to the dining hall with Kodo.

“I have a couple gifts for you, wife.” His twisted smile makes your stomach turn as you enter the dining hall, now decorated with blue and gray banners.  

“A gift? You shouldn’t have, my king, I- I didn’t get you anything.” You feign remorse as you take a sip of the wine in front of you on instinct before spitting it back up into the cup. 

“That’s more than okay, you’re my gift, sweet wife, all mine.” The thought of such a thing makes you sick, you smile despite yourself. 

“That’s very kind.” You’ll only ever be Din’s. No amount of blue fabric and faux smiles can change that. He snaps his fingers and a large box is brought to you by a servant, they set it directly in front of you on the table. You look at Kodo who nods, sitting back in his chair as you stand, the box is wrapped in checkered blue paper, a large bow adorning the top. Your hands tremble a bit as you take hold of the edges of the ribbon, tugging on them until the bow slips free, much to your surprise the entire box falls open, the sides collapsing giving you an immediate view of the contents. 

The silver, shimmering contents. 

Din’s helmet. 

Polished like new, it sits before you, and the room suddenly empties. It’s as if you are completely alone, despite all the eyes that are most definitely pinned on you right now. Your hands continue to shake as your fingers wrap around the beskar steel, like you would when you held Din’s face, lifting it to glare into the visor. 

Empty. 

You can’t help but stare at your own emptiness reflected back at you. 

You want to hold it close, press it to your forehead but you’re snapped back to reality by the grating sound of Kodo’s voice breaking you from your focus on the helm between your hands. 

“That’s only one of your presents, open the next one.” He hisses gleefully. 

You set the helmet down, realizing there was another, much smaller box underneath it. Silently you scoop it up and cradle it in your hands. It’s a larger than a ring box, it just barely fits in your palm as you ever so gently open it, swinging the top open as if it were a tiny treasure chest.              

Huh.

It takes a moment.

You aren’t exactly sure what it is you’re looking at at first but when it registers your entire body tenses up, your grip tightening on the gift box. 

Bloody and pink, a tongue. 

Of course you know better than to assume Kodo would give you any old tongue. This is a special someone’s tongue. 

No, no, no, no, no. 

You had loved his tongue before anything else.

He can’t do this, he cannot do this to you.

You had fallen for his sharp wit first, it was what drew you into him. His sweet words had won you back, his declaration of devotion.

Now you hold all of that in the palm of your hand. 

“What do we say?” His nasally voice breaks through your mental anguish. 

No.

“Come on, where are your manners?”

Please. 

“Thank you.” Your whisper is nearly silent as you struggle to keep down the scream bubbling in your throat.

“What was that?” 

You clear your throat. 

“Thank you.” 

He makes you take it with you. You don’t bother telling him you won’t be attending the coronation ball in a few minutes, it’s not like you’ll be missed. 

In one arm you’re cradling his helmet, in the other the little blue box. 

You set each one down carefully onto the bed, even if it’s a bit demented these are the only parts of him you have left. You stare at the little box. 

You have never been hateful. 

Kodo made you into this. You are full of hate, for most things at this point. You hate your husband, you hate your room, and most of all you hate the little blue box on the bed. 

And the music starts. 

It must be deafening in the hall for you to hear it from your room but it’s there, loud and demanding of your attention. 

You’re moving before you even have a chance to think about it, in a few quick strides you’re standing beside the vanity, your hands gripping the top of the mirror as you pull it down in one swift motion, the contents spill everywhere and the glass shatters in an instant, shards splattering the floor but you take no time to process it. 

You move on to the next thing.

You yank each drawer from the dresser, throwing them to the floor, clothes strewn about until it’s light enough for you to push the entire dresser over. In your frenzy you go about the room toppling every stupid fucking table over. So many fucking end tables in  one room, and you throw everyone to the floor, trinkets and vases clattering to the ground as you destroy the room. You get a rush of adrenaline as you lift one of your nightstands and throw it against the wall leaving a small dent but more importantly the force of it makes anything hanging on the wall tumble to the floor, glass frames shatter. 

Your chest heaves as you stare at the carnage.  

And it isn’t enough.

Your face is wet with tears and your hands with blood from cuts you didn’t feel upon your skin as you tear open the closet door, the pile of blankets mock you from the floor, you grab them, your vision now blurry with tears as you pull them out of the closet, throwing them onto your bedroom floor. When you return to the closet you’re in a frenzy, you tear at the fabric before you, yanking each and every dress off their hangers, ripping what you can.

There is nothing else for you to do, so you destroy everything you can get your hands on until the only thing left untouched is your bed, left in pristine condition as you let out a small sob. 

Maybe you are a hateful person now. 

You feel as though you have every right to be at this point. 

You step over the shard of glass, giving your bloody hands a glance before wiping them on your gown.

Happy coronation day. 

You sit on the bed, your trembling fingers wrap around the helmet, now that you’re alone you waste no time to hold it against you face, until your body just gives up, too tired to stay awake anymore.

☆

A guard wakes you in the morning, knocking on your door, when you answer it they tell you Kodo requires your presence in his chambers.

You dress in a blue gown that you don’t look too closely at. Stopping at the fresher on the way, rinsing the dried gore from your palms, wincing as you clean your wounds. None of which seem too deep. 

You want to cut Kodo’s tongue out, to make him feel it. But you know that sort of thing would be an impossible task. So you daydream about it as you walk. You’re more than displeased when you open the door and are greeted by Leodall. You hadn’t seen him since that night and from the looks of it he wasn’t expecting you. He swallows loudly when you step inside Kodo’s room.

Normally you’d be curious, you’d probably take a look around but your eyes refuse to focus on anything but Leo as you scowl at him. 

“Why’d you do it?” You don’t hesitate to ask, you have no idea how quickly Kodo will be joining you. 

He simply stares at you, shame apparent on his face.

“You owe me an explanation at the very least.” You cross your arms in front of your chest as he clears his throat. 

“I thought he’d reward me.”

You laugh. A harsh dry sound 

“What could he have possibly given you that you couldn’t have just asked me for?” Your gaze never softens and you’re practically seeing red as you stare at him.

“I thought he’d give me a lordship.” 

You can’t help it as another crisp and pained laugh slips past your lips. 

“You thought Kodo would raise your status? I thought you were supposed to be smart.” Is he an idiot? “He doesn’t see servants as people, if you wanted such a thing you could have asked me, maybe I could have done something.” 

A glimmer of something similar to hope flashes through his eyes. 

“Would you- would you consider doing so now?”

“You cannot be serious-” Your expression goes from fury to disbelief as you stand. 

“It seemed worth asking.” He puts his hands up defensively as you storm up to him, poking a finger into his face. 

“You slimy little weasel, it should be you on the chopping block, not him. If it were up to me I’d have them put your head on a spike.” The words pour out of you like venom. 

“I would be nicer to me if I were you.” He sneers and your incredulity only grows. You can’t help it, you scoff in his face. 

“I would rather die.” A part of you really means it. 

“You might if you aren’t careful, I saved your life by letting Elaine and your Mandalorian take the fall, I could have told the king that you were a willing participant. I saw the two of you together, I read your little rules. He never forced himself on you. I wonder what Kodo might think about that.” You aren’t a fighter, you’ve never so much as thrown a punch in your life but you grab him by the collar of his shirt and slam him into the wall, the back of his head hits the stone and you don’t feel an ounce of remorse as you do so. 

“Do it.” You tilt your head to the side, almost as if you’re taunting him. “Tell him.” Any of the confidence he briefly had is gone in an instant. “The moment you do I’ll tell him that you’re covering your tracks, and that you made a pass at me. I wonder how Kodo would reward you for trying to touch what’s his?” Leo’s head turns as you both hear Kodo’s piercing voice in the hall. You release your grip on his shirt, brushing off your gown as you turn towards the door. Kodo and three others make their way into the room as Leo coughs behind you. 

“Dear wife, I have another gift for you.” He takes a step to the side, gesturing at a line of three people you don’t give so much as a glance. He doesn’t even seem to notice the obvious tension in the room. “A new staff!”

“I don’t need a new staff, I’m fine on my own.” You abandon the pleasantries. You’re in such a state of upset right now, what's the point? 

“You’re the queen now, staff is required. These three will replace the ones you've lost in a week, until then Leodall will be training them intensively to tend to your every need. Two guards will also be assigned to you but I promise they will be much less loathsome than your Mandalorian.”

All five of them will be trained to keep an eye on you. To report back to Kodo, after everything with Din you should have known he’d keep you on a shorter leash. 

You barely look at them. 

You hate them. 

You shouldn’t, they’ve done nothing wrong, but you hate them. 

You give each one a quick up and down, naming them in your mind. 

A BD-3000 droid commands the most authority just based on how she stands so you mentally note her as Elaine's replacement. You’ll call her new Elaine. 

New Lysa is a pasty young blonde woman with rosy cheeks. You truly wonder how well informed she has been on your circumstance. She’s smiling from ear to ear and seemingly couldn’t be happier to be here. 

And new Leo is somehow even more nervous looking than actual Leo, practically shaking like a leaf at the sight of you. The bags under his eyes are worse than your own. A lanky thing with messy brown hair. 

There’s no reason for you to fight this, Kodo always gets his way so why bother. So you nod. You don’t pretend to be grateful this time, instead you shove your way past all of them, content to return to your room and never leave. 

☆

The morning of the execution comes before you’re ready for it. 

Of course you didn’t sleep last night, how could you?

You dress yourself, apparently your new staff isn’t starting until tomorrow, not that you mind another day to yourself. You manage to find something that isn’t blue, a gray dress trimmed with gold, the closest thing you’ll find to funeral attire. No one else will dress with any respect for him but they can’t stop you. Your vanity is destroyed so you don’t bother with your hair or your makeup, you simply don’t care enough. 

For the most part you feel nothing when you open the door, only emptiness until you look down. 

Someone left you a small vase of flowers. 

You pick them up, taking a closer look but your heart skips a beat when you do so.

Daisies. 

After a few short breaths you throw the vase into the wall across from your door, tiny shards of porcelain fly everywhere as two servants at the end of the hall give you a look of horror. Your shoes crunch over the remains of it as you make your way down the hall and to the entryway of the castle. 

Kodo insists that the two of you get to see him first. 

You’re sweating wildly out on the steps as you wait.

Long before you’re ready for it they bring him out. 

A shivering skeleton of a man with a linen bag over his head, immediately bile rises in your throat. Kodo is grinning ear to ear when his legs are kicked out from under him and he’s forced to kneel.

Kodo himself reaches forward and tears the bag off, too excited for any decorum or finesse. 

You gasp as you stare down at the broken man before you.

In all honesty he isn’t at all what you envisioned. 

His eyes verge on being hazel; they're such a light brown. You’d always pictured them to be nearly black. It doesn’t matter what color they are though, when you see the tears forming in his lash line you flinch, clutching the ring on your necklace to silently let him know silently just how much he means to you. 

He’s a mess. 

You don’t like looking at what those weeks in the dungeons did to him and the last thing you need to do right now is empty your stomach on the palace steps. 

He’s too thin. Far, far, too thin, it’s like his entire being has shrunk down. He’s hollow.

Your breath hitches when Kodo grabs a fistful of his dark hair, forcing him to turn and stare at the crowd. They must have cut it while he was down there it’s a mess, jagged edges and shorter than you’re used to. 

“This man has committed an act of treason against the crown.” His voice is loud and booming as the city goes quiet. “For such a crime he shall face the proper punishment.” He yanks him downawards, you watch in horror as Din’s head hits the stone, an incoherent mess of sounds pour from his bloody mouth and you have to look away. 

He didn’t want you to look.

You remind yourself to try and calm your breathing. You can hear the scuffle as they drag him to the guillotine, placing his neck into the wooden divot, your heart threatening to beat out of your chest as you turn to look. His eyes are everywhere but on you as he looks at the people around him, desperately pleading for his life. Not a single person so much as glances at him, afterall, it’s just nonsense, no one can understand him without a tongue. 

You can’t stand it, you almost cover your ears but you manage to resist as Kodo puts an arm around your waist, pulling you close to him. 

“You’re welcome, sweet wife.” He whispers, his breath hot and wet against your ear. 

Fuck it. 

You don’t suppress the shudder in your spine as you shoot him a look of disgust. In a matter of moments everything you care about will be gone, why pretend any longer.

A bellowing chime plays from a nearby clock tower and you know it’s time, you straighten up as you stare at the guillotine in abject horror. 

This is it. 

Your chest rises and falls in sharp short bursts as everyone prepares themselves, a hush forming among the crowd on the street. 

And it begins, a chain reaction that you cannot stop now that the executioner has his ax raised above his head.

You had expected more. More time.

A part of you thought that time would slow, that you’d have a chance to stop it. 

But no. 

There is no epic fairy tale moment where the sun glimmers off of the blade and the executioner raises his ax, giving you this perfect moment to run to him, to shield him from the inevitable, to beg them to take you with him. 

That moment never comes. 

You barely have enough time to close your eyes like you promised him. In one unbroken motion the rope is cut, the blade falls and boom. 

Just like that, he’s gone. 

When you hear the metal slicing through the air you squeeze your eyes shut, hearing only the wet crunch as it cuts through flesh and bone. A soft, squishy thud when his head hits the stone. 

In fashion with your decision to no longer hide your disgust from Kodo you vomit. Bending down you puke onto the stones, spraying your own, and Kodo’s feet. The triumphant smile on his face vanishes as he realizes what’s happened. You wipe your mouth on the back of your hand, refusing to look at Din’s limp body as you give Kodo one last look of detestation before turning around and running back into the castle, not caring what anyone thinks anymore.

The moment you’re inside the reality of it all settles in as you feel tears falling wildly as you run up the steps to your room.

☆

You have been good, and kind, and in return the maker rewarded you by killing the love of your life. 

So when you stand in the center of your demolished room you do the only thing your body can do at this point. 

You scream. 

From deep within your stomach, you scream, loud and raw. 

If anything was left unbroken in your room you’d be throwing it at the wall. But there’s nothing so you scream. 

You shriek.

You howl. 

And you wail.

You scream until there is no more noise. Your voice, like the rest of you, gives up. 

You aren’t sure how late it is when you finally stop. You’re tired and it’s dark outside and your throat is raw. 

And you lay on the floor. Because the bed is too big, and too cold, and the closet is so empty. So the only place left to sleep is there. You lay on the floor with no more tears to cry and no more sounds to scream as you stare at your bed, only from this angle can you see a rectangular shape under your bed frame. 

You wipe your nose with a stray piece of fabric before slowly crawling over to it, you sit on the floor and when you retrieve the item a brand new lump forms in your throat as you stare down at the box Din had bought all those days ago at the market. 

Your failsafe. 

With quivering hands you open it, staring into the small space containing a mess of items but what catches your eye is a piece of folded paper with your name on it. You take it between your fingers, opening it, careful to not let your tears fall onto it. 

Sarad’ika,

If you’re reading this then I’m afraid things aren’t going all that well for me. There are plenty of possible reasons as to why I’m no longer with you, but what’s important is that I plan on doing everything in my power to get back to you. There is only one thing in the galaxy that could keep me from your side, and if that is my fate then this box will ensure you’re taken care of. 

The most important thing is for you to get off this planet. I have included a few possible plans for you, do what you have to to survive. Elaine will help you escape. 

You can seek out Greef Karga on Nevarro. Tell him Din Djarin sent you, tell him what’s happened and he will see to it that you are cared for. Explain our circumstances and I am certain he will provide you with safe lodging. 

Tatooine is also an option. You’ll find a Mandalorian there by the name of Boba Fett, he will not turn you away. You will be protected there, if you need to relocate for some reason after that he will help you locate the Mandalorian convert. Show the Mandalorians your ring and you will be cared for the rest of your life, the convert will protect you. 

As an absolute last resort there is a planet located in the Outer Ring called Ossus. There is a school there, taught by a man named Luke Skywalker. I doubt he would be eager to take you in but you must insist. Bring the chainmail, they’ll know who sent you. Take care of each other. 

In this box you will find enough credits to get you off planet and take care of you for several months, a year if you’re frugal, I suggest you take a few jewelry pieces to pawn off for extra credits as well. You will find a small chainmail shirt, and a necklace of mine. 

And lastly you will find your vibroblade. 

Protect yourself. You’re strong, and more than capable of doing so.

I have one request for you, please, I will only ask this one thing of you. 

Be smart. 

You are the smartest and kindest person I have ever had the honor of knowing. Be smart, take care of yourself. If the roles were reversed I know that I would go to extremes to either get you back, or find justice for you. And all I can do is ask that you do not attempt any such thing, the only thing I would ever want for you is safety and happiness. 

So seek those things out. 

Be safe. Be happy.   

I was lucky to know you, and even luckier to be yours. 

an ner kar'taylir darasuum, 

Din

All my love. 

You flip the paper over, desperate for more, more Din, but all you find is scrawled coordinates to each location. Your fingers sift through the items, everything he promised is found inside but you latch onto the blade. Laying back down on the floor you clutch it between your fingers as you think of Din.

Din, who was yours.

Din, who they took from you.

Who Kodo, took from you. 

And your grip on the knife tightens. 

☆

Two guards stand outside your door round the clock now. 

They never follow you or come into your room but they’re there, silently watching as you direct all your anger at your new staff. As promised Leo trained them to be as persistent and infuriating as he was. 

When the two new girls come to fetch you in the morning you can’t help it when you scream at them to leave you alone and to stop trying to clean the ever growing mess of things. 

It doesn’t matter that it isn’t their fault, you can’t stand the sight of anyone. 

All three of them try. New Elaine and Lysa show up three times a day, trying to dress you and squeeze their way past you into the room but after enough shrieking they always leave you be. 

New Leo usually tries once or twice a day, you don’t even look at him. You always stare at the floor, when he tries to speak you give him the same treatment as the girls, screaming at him and slamming the door. 

Why should you let them in? You know what they are. They’re here to spy on you, to be Kodo’s eyes while he’s busy being king. They’re easy to evade. When you leave to fetch yourself food or a book from the library you easily outrun them. The two girls are worse at navigating the castle than you were when you first arrived and new Leo has a bad leg, sometimes he’ll make attempts to limp after you but they’re always unsuccessful. 

You think of nothing, day after day because there is nothing to think about. 

Except for the fact that Kodo took your future away from you. He took everything from you. 

If you thought time was blending before Din’s death nothing could have prepared you for now. You don’t track the days as well, you keep your curtains drawn and only leave when you get hungry or start to think of Din. The last thing you need to do is have another screaming fit so you keep him locked away in your heart, an ache that’s always there that you don’t address. 

One day, in a fit of tears you took your knife and decided on a whim to kill Kodo. You didn’t care about the repercussions at that point you just wanted him to suffer but the moment you opened the door you nearly tripped, stumbling backwards the guards didn’t so much as glance at you. 

Another vase of flowers.

You’re tempted to just kick them down the hall but you can’t help yourself when you lean down to pick them up. 

A bouquet of blue lilies. Your nose twitches at the sight of them, out of the corner of your eye you see new Lysa and new Elaine approaching so you take the opportunity to slam the little glass vase into the stone floor. Glaring at them when you do before returning to your room. 

☆

Maybe it’s been three days since Din died. 

Maybe it’s been three months. 

You aren’t sure.

You aren’t sure when you made plans to kill Kodo either but suddenly you have them. A fool proof way to get him alone. 

And suddenly you’re dressed for the first time in, well, however long it’s been. In a baby blue nightie with a robe you march out into the hall. The guards watch in silence as you walk away, your bare feet scampering down the stairs until you find yourself watching the main entrance. Waiting for your loving husband to make his nightly trip to a pleasure house, a trip that is typically accompanied by guards. 

You grip the handle of the knife in your pocket as you wait until you finally hear footsteps approaching. 

“Kodo, honey?” You step out from behind the stone column, holding your robe closed as you bat your eyelashes at him. He stumbles around drunkenly until his eyes focus on you. 

You’ve only used your voice for screaming for so long you sound meek, exactly as you want to right now. 

“Wife?”

“I thought maybe you’d like to join me tonight…” You hold a hand out towards him, putting on a sickly sweet tone of innocence. His mouth twists into a grin. 

“I knew you’d come around eventually.”

He doesn’t question where you’re taking him, he simply follows.

What a joke. 

You pull him up the stairs, you know from hide and seek where to find an empty room so you guide him there in calculated silence until he trips a bit, laughing to himself as he stutters.

“I knew if I got rid of the Mandalorian you’d realize how much better I am than him.” The statement doesn’t sit right with you and he can see it on your face, even in his drunken state he can sense your confusion. 

You both stop, you’re above him on the stairs as you turn and stare into his eyes.

“You- you knew?”

He simply nods, that sickening smile of his is plastered on his face. His icy blue eyes shimmer with delight. 

“How long?”

“When Leo told me I remembered everything. That little altercation in the hall when your boy knocked me out came right back to me, from there it wasn’t hard to figure out.” Your eye twitches as he speaks.

He knew you loved him and he took him from you anyway.

Any hesitations you had are gone as you nod, pulling him onward until you reach the large vacant tower room. He’s so drunk you decide to just drop the voice, pointing at a spot on the floor. 

“Lay down.” You mumble, reaching into your pocket once more.

He eagerly does as he’s told, laying down on the cold stone, you take a deep breath, in one swift motion you grab your knife, holding it behind your back as you toss your robe aside. He gives you a toothy grin as you ever so slowly walk to him, standing above him before sitting, straddling his waist. 

You look him up and down, one last time. 

Your loving husband. 

One of his hands plays with the blue lace of your nightie as you collect yourself. You look up at the ceiling briefly. 

I’m sorry. 

Not for Kodo, but for Din. This is exactly what he didn’t want you to do. 

You aren’t a killer. And you aren’t hateful, but a person can only be pushed so far before something breaks. 

Be smart. 

You think of Din’s note one last time before you bring the blade out in front of you and slam the blade into Kodo’s chest. 

He makes a sickly wet sound, coughing as he stares at you in shock.

You remove the knife, the hot steel cauterizes his wounds, there isn’t so much as a drop of blood as your face twists with fury and you bring it down again into his stomach now. 

How dare he look surprised by any of this. 

After what he took from you? He deserves galaxies worse. 

So you remove the knife. 

And you stab him again.

And again,

and again,

and again,

and again,

and again.

Until there is no more shocked look on his face. You don’t have a snarky remark or a statement to commemorate your revenge, you’re all used up at this point, all you have is this, this stabbing motion. 

He didn’t even have a chance to fight back.

You crawl off of his body, sitting on the stones as you toss the knife to the side, waiting for a rush of euphoria. 

But it never comes. 

It doesn’t feel as good as you thought it would. 

Staring down at Kodo’s lifeless body. You let yourself crumble. Collapsing down onto the floor, gasping for air as you sob. 

This was never going to bring him back. 

You lay there on your hands and knees for quite some time, just wailing, because what else are you supposed to do right now? You realize far too late that this was never an act of malice, some demented and shattered part of you thought that this would somehow bring him back, that it would give you peace. 

They won’t execute you. 

You planned this exactly so they wouldn’t.

Kodo didn’t tell anyone about your relationship with Din in much detail, not enough for them to assume that you could be with child. Everyone will assume that it’s Kodo’s. They won’t kill you, they can’t. 

Not if they think you’re carrying Kodo’s child. Now that Kodo’s dead, there’s no one to tell the royal family that you never consummated your marriage, your child is the most well protected person on the planet. The future monarch. It’s almost funny, you haven’t permitted yourself to think about the stirring within you as a child until just now, in this moment of weakness. A child, your child. 

Who will most likely grow up without a mother because of the decisions you've made today.

You bite your fist, swallowing a scream as you sit back on your heels. 

Your child will never know how loved they were. Your little one will never get to sit beside their mother while their father teaches them to sew. You put your head in your hands as you wail, no longer caring who hears. Your fate is sealed, what does it matter? 

You don’t turn when you hear someone coming up the stairs. When they pull you into their arms you try uselessly to shove them away. Your vision is blurry and filled with tears as you stare up at the unfamiliar figure now holding you. They rub your back, drawing swirls and stars against your spine as they pull you closer. 

“It’s okay, I’ve got you.” They mumble into your hair. You dry your eyes hastily on your sleeve, confused by the voice you’re hearing, it’s painfully familiar, on instinct you wrap your arms around their torso, pulling yourself into their lap as you both sit on the floor beside Kodo’s body. “You’re okay, I’m here.”

“I’m- I’m sorry.” You whisper against the stranger's shirt. You knew you weren’t hateful. You’re certain of it now because even though he took quite literally everything from you, you still feel bad when you look at Kodo. 

A large hand cups your face, pulling you back to their chest so you can’t see the corpse anymore. 

“I didn’t mean it- I- I didn’t mean to kill him. Well I did but I just-” You begin to ramble as a fresh flood of tears begin sliding down your cheeks. 

“Hey- hey it’s okay. I know you didn’t mean it. We gotta get you cleaned up, okay? I’ll take care of this, I’ll fix it.” Their arms tighten around you, giving you a reassuring squeeze. You finally find the courage to look at your companion and it takes a moment for you to even realize who you’re looking at. 

New Leo. 

Why would he help you? You treat him like shit. When you look at him he looks like he’s about to cry and for the first time since Din was taken from you drop the walls you’ve put up and you let yourself feel bad for him. You show an ounce of kindness to him because in all honesty he’s the first person to make you feel safe since the night Din was taken from you. 

A lighthouse while you sail through a storm.

So you hug him. 

You pull yourself closer to him and you offer him a comfort you haven’t known for days.

“I’m sorry… for all of it, but especially the flowers, I should have told you, I just- you wouldn’t let me and the guards wouldn’t let me in without your permission and you just wouldn’t look at me.” He begins to mumble his own apologies, sending a surge of confusion through you. 

You furrow your brows, pulling back once more giving him a perplexed look as you search his nearly black eyes for some kind of answer. 

And it clicks. 

All at once it snaps into place and you want to say his name, so desperately, but you’re terribly afraid of being wrong. 

And then he smiles. A soft smile that makes you feel okay and you don’t even care if you’re wrong and you don’t care if it doesn’t make sense you just have to ask.

“Din?”

☆

a/n : yeah so uhhhhh yeah uhhhh this is the first chapter i've ever written where im actually very fond of the writing and nervous about the plot stuff so im gonna go hide?? and just vanish for a while lol

//

I don't have a tag list anymore !! follow @lincolndjarinnotifs for updates!!

[yeollie-plz]

Drummers Drumming

Day 12 of Pedromas! | Masterlist

Din Djarin x F! Reader

Synopsis: Din likes it rough, you like it when he wears his helmet.

Genre: smut

Warnings: helmet on! sex, p in v sex, unprotected sex, helmet kink? (ig like a mask kink vibe), jealous! sex, claiming, spanking (ass and pussy), choking

Gif credits to owners!

Din takes you from behind. His hips are moving fast and deep, spearing you onto his thick cock. In the rush of this evening’s events, neither of you have stripped yourself of much clothes. Only enough to get his cock inside of you.

But as the cold metal of his helmet sends sparks through the skin of your shoulder, you aren’t complaining. Something about him needing you this bad turns you on. Something about him still wearing his helmet, also turned you on.

The sound of skin slapping bounced off the walls of his chambers. Hips thrusted harshly into yours as he desperately uses you, trying to reach his peak. He’s grunting above you.

His arm wraps around your middle, angling your body onto his dick. The curve of it hits your g spot, causing you to moan out.

“That’s it, feel me. Feel all of me.” The sound waves pass through his helmet and tickle your shoulder. You shiver.

“Gotta make sure you know who you belong to.”

You moan again, “I do, I know.” You try to affirm.

“I don’t think you do.” Another grunt as he snaps his hips forward, you jolt forward. “Not with how you were flirting with that asshole.”

“I wasn’t-” A thurst. “-flirting.”

You choke on your words slightly, saliva building in your mouth at how good he is fucking you. At this point, you have lost all control of yourself.

“Seemed like flirting to me and it seems like you need to be punished for it.” He pulls out without warning causing you to moan at the loss, and the slight pain.

Din sits on the cot. Grabbing your hips, he drags you over his lap, ass still up in the air. The cold of the air makes your pussy want his warmth back even more.

“Be a good girl and take your punishment.” He says before landing a smack to your ass. It is so hard that you know it will be red tomorrow.

“I think about fifteen will help you remember who you belong to. Count.” He commands.

And so you do. But as the fifth slap is landed onto your cheeks, you are whimpering. Your wetness is dripping down your thighs, the spanks only helping to make more slick.

He tuts at your noises, landing another smack. He strokes your pussy lips, soaking his gloved fingers. Your hips buck at the contact.

Three more spanks, to each cheek. So close to the end. So close to him, hopefully, fucking you again.

But as his hand comes down again, it doesn’t make contact with your butt. Instead, it makes contact with your abused pussy. A shocked noise passes your lips. A dark sigh comes from him as he lands his last two spanks there as well.

He gives you just a second to recover before grabbing your neck. He uses only that hand to push you to sit up. With a bit of help from him, you are now sitting on his lap, facing outward.

His hand is still wrapped around your throat as he squeezes it slightly. Knowing just how you like it. His other arm is wrapped around your middle again, just to lift your hips up enough to slip you onto his dick.

It’s almost too easy with how wet you have become from all the activities of the night. The much needed stretch of your pussy walls, causes you to whine.

Din uses his strength to lift you on and off of his cock. You are shocked at how easily he makes it seem. Using your body as his fuck toy, he fucks you onto him hard and fast.

The top of his helmet is once again rested on your shoulder as he looks down at your pussy swallowing his cock. He moans at the sight.

“Kriff, I love to watch this pussy as I fuck it. So good for me”

His words have you moaning. His cock is now brushing your sweet spot, getting you close to your orgasm. You clench onto to him, wanting to somehow take him even deeper. He groans at the feeling.

All you can hear is his heavy breathing, muffled by the metal of the helmet, and skin on skin. Sweat beads on your forehead as your skin burns with need. A desperate moan escapes you as you clench around his member again.

“Just feel it.” His fingers tighten around your neck, your vision blackens at the corners at the lack of oxygen.

And that’s when your orgasm hits you. It is like a wave crashing over you as you are shaking above him. It is so intense that your ears ring and your vision goes white. Something with the mixture of teasing, roughness, and his expertise has you having one of the most intense orgasms of your life.

He continues to work you through your peak, still fucking into you without loosing his speed or power. Wanting to cum as well, he lets go of your neck and lean you down to get deeper.

His dick brushes your cervix, overstimulating you just a bit. But he doesn’t care about your whining and continues his assault on your core. Finally his hips are stuttering, as he fills you with his cum.

He works your body onto his dick, making sure you are completely full of his seed. Pulling out of you slowly as to not overstimulate either of you.

“Now do you remember?” He says after letting you both catch your breaths. You look at him in question, not sure what he’s asking.

“Do you remember who you belong to?” You almost laugh. You couldn’t believe he was still on this. Jealous, jealous man.

“I am and always will be yours.” You say matter of factly. Placing your hands on either side of his helmet as you stare into the eye slits.

Your eyes glaze with love as you stare past those dark shades and he knows you are truly seeing him.

<- Previous Day

Taglist:

@britlord @kittenlittle24 @godlypresley @amyispxnk

[truly-neutral-art]

Din/Luke Pacific Rim AU pt.5

Even tho this is a continuation of an AU it was also my gift for the @stardads DinLuke Secret Santa! I was so hype to get Pacific rim AU for a prompt!! Hope yall had a good holiday season and enjoy this update!

Little excerpt from the wip under the cut.

Din stepped out of the helicopter to sheets of rain pouring down on him. He raised a hand to try and block the water from his eyes to little success. He watched as Ahsoka jogged down the landing pad towards two figures and thought it was best to follow suit. 

Before he could get a good look at anyone an umbrella was shoved into his hand, which solved the rain problem at least. That found him face to face with two figures, one he recognized and one he didn’t. 

“This is Marshal Skywalker, though I’m sure you already know that,” Ahsoka said. Din took the Marshal’s proffered hand and shook it quickly. 

“Hello sir, it’s been a while,” Din stumbled out. Skywalker was just as intimidating as he remembered. Tall, burn scars on his neck, and intense eyes that spoke of years of experience in the k-war. 

“Glad you could join us. You’re a hard man to find Djarin.” 

“That was the point,” Din blurted out before he could think better. The only thing that seemed to save him was Ahsoka’s small chuckle at the comment.

“Mr. Djarin, this is Luke, he’s in charge of the Mark Three restoration program.” The other figure stepped forward from his place behind the Marshal. Din recognized him from the news coverage Grogu made him watch, but he was much different in person. On TV he was easy, almost cocky smiles and casual postures. Here, he was stern, with a military stiffness to his shoulders. He stared up at Din with bright blue eyes, not unlike the color of Kaiju Blue. 

Din found himself intrigued by the pilot, the difference between him on the TV and now. It wasn't just his demeanor either, sure he looked charming in interviews, but even with his hard stare, and his blonde hair matted down by the humidity, he was striking. He looked almost too soft to be a pilot, the only thing betraying his profession was the small scar on his upper lip. He was also young, couldn't be much older than 21 if Din had to guess. He certainly hadn't been a pilot back when Din had been, which also betrayed his age beyond his looks. 

“He personally handpicked the list of your potential co-pilots,” Marshal Skywalker continued. 

“Wait, I thought you were a pilot. Why are you doing restoration?” Din asked. The glare that earned him from Luke was chilling. He opened his mouth to respond but was cut off by the Marshal. 

“With Red Five destroyed and his co-pilot out of commission, Ranger Skywalker has been reassigned.” At that, Luke’s glare shifted towards the Marshal but it was carefully ignored. 

“How about we go inside before we discuss anything further,” Ahsoka suggested. No one could really argue with that, so they all headed through the thick metal doors into the Shatterdome. 

As they entered, Luke grabbed Din’s umbrella and placed it in a bucket near the door. With a lurch the large elevator they had stepped into began its descent. 

“Ranger Skywalker?” Din said, gaining Luke’s attention. “You’re related to the Marshal?” 

“He’s my father,” Luke answered. His voice was tight, a slight furrow to his brow left over from whatever had slighted him before. Din wasn’t too surprised, most pilots were proud. If Luke had been grounded due to his Jaeger being out of commission he probably took that as a slight against his abilities. 

“I heard Red Five was out of commission last month,” Grogu had been inconsolable after hearing about the destruction of his favorite Jaeger. “I didn’t know it was piloted by the Marshal’s son.”

“We try to keep it out of the media,” Luke explained. “Not really a secret, but there’s no reason to advertise it either. Makes both our jobs easier.” Din caught the pained expression on the Marshal’s face from the corner of his eye. But as soon as it was there it was gone and the Marshal spoke up again. 

“First we’ll give you a tour of the facility and then Ranger Skywalker will show you to your Jaeger. First thing in the morning we’ll find you your co-pilot.” 

“Marshal, you’re aware that I’m not drift compatible with most pilots, right?” Din inquired. It had been something nagging at the back of his head since he’d agreed to this mess. He wanted to keep Grogu safe, no matter how much he dreaded getting back into a Jaeger, but if he couldn’t even find a co-pilot this would all be for nothing. 

“You’re the only Mark Three pilot left, it’s our best bet to have you in Razor Crest for this mission,” the Marshal explained. 

“Wait, you restored the Crest?” Din looked from the Marshal to Ahsoka. 

“Whoops, did I forget to mention that?” Ahsoka said with a poorly masked smile. 

Din was a bit unsure how to feel. He’d spent his best years in the Crest back in the day, but it had also been the site of his greatest failure. Before he could fall down that train of thought something else caught him up.

“Hold on, what mission? No one has told me exactly what’s happening here.” Before he could get a response the elevator doors opened and everyone was shuffling out. As they approached two heavy metal doors a worker moved to a lever to open them. With loud creaks the doors shifted to the side revealing the center of the Shatterdome.

[knightlycowboy]

The Concession - Din Djarin x f!Reader

gif from @rebeljyn 's gifset here

Din Djarin falls in love. Whoops.

The Savior / The Concession / The Choice (END)

AO3 Link

TAGS: S2 Din Djarin, "Who Did This to You?", P in V, Unprotected Sex w/o consequences because who likes those, m!Masturbation, Fluff, Pining, touch-starved!Din, helmet-less!Din, soft!Din, protective!Din, Grogu bein a sweet shit.

WARNINGS: Star Wars cursing/slang which I know annoys some people lmao, abusive shopkeepers.

A/N: "Shit" is Star Wars canon (thank you, Andor); Din is a groaner (Chapter 5 of TBOBF); & Din is a bit of a poet (thanks pledge to Bo-Katan in Chapter 23); I have cited my sources LOL.

"No," the Mandalorian snaps. "No droids." 

A gloved hand flies to his holster and the rusty pit droids screech to a halt, beeping nervously.

Leaning against the frame of the Razor Crest, at the top of the boarding ramp, you roll your eyes at Din Djarin's back. His distaste for droids had been made clear to you the first time he'd stopped for parts.

Those droids had been considerably less polite about Din’s preference, and he had taken too much pleasure in enforcing it.

"Listen, buddy, they're my refueling dr-"

"Then I'll take my business elsewhere."

The attendant sighs loudly, glaring at the Mandalorian. The skinny, maroon male with a fin-shaped head rises from his chair behind his workshop desk. He walks toward a shaking pit droid and grabs the refueler.

"It'll cost you extra," the attendant's eye-stalks narrow at the bounty hunter.

Din comes to an agreement with the disgruntled worker, sullenly agreeing to a slightly higher rate.

As the Mandalorian keeps watch over his ship, your footsteps clang down the steep ramp, and you sidle up to him, saying, "We need some things. Ration packs are gone. And - don't tell him -" your voice drops to a conspiratorial whisper, "But I think Grogu deserves a treat." 

"He would agree with you.” Din’s elbow brushes your shoulder, and he realizes he’d leaned closer as you spoke.

You continue, “And you need something to relax.” 

At that, Din’s helmet turns. “I do not.” 

“You’re even more impatient than usual. You’re on an anti-droid campaign; the last time we stopped, you threatened to yank out one’s navigator circuits just for bumping your foot.” You look up at him, raising a teasing eyebrow. 

The Mandalorian goes as still as one of those droids he had deactivated. His intimidating, T-shaped slit brands into your vision. Behind it, you know he’s boring holes into your face. 

“Alright. Nothing for you, then.”

Your shoulders drop when you turn away from him, almost relieved to be out from underneath his piercing, hidden gaze. 

The Mandalorian had paid you a few days before, and this was your first real opportunity to spend your own money. You can’t stop smiling, even as you place the kid in his white pod and stuff your pocket with your credits. Grogu is as excited as you are - giggling in his quiet way.

As you pass the statue of Din Djarin, he extends a closed fist. Obediently, you hold out your hand. The tan-hide fingers of his gloves open and credits fall, clinking. You look up questioningly at him.

“For the food. Your wages are not meant to be spent on communal necessities.”

 Your lips curve into a lopsided, sweet smile that Din immediately commits to memory, and you nod.

Turning to Grogu, his fuzzy ears perked and eyes wide, you ask, “Ready, kid?”

***

The marketplace is huge. Stretching the length of the entire square, it’s busy for a planet this remote, but the size increases the options. 

Grogu floats along beside you, and you keep one hand on the lip of the pod, just to be safe. The responsibility of the kid is the greatest charge you’ve ever been given, in more ways than one. Grogu often holds your hand or squeaks to get your attention to point at something glowing or stinky or flashing. His outright affection is a lamp to your lonely heart. 

After visiting several vendors, you’ve resupplied what was necessary (with credits left over), and now you move on to something for Grogu. You’d be buying that with your own wages. Din could say whatever he liked, but what else do you have to spend your money on except the cute baby?

You walk past a booth advertising repair supplies, but when you realize it’s for clothing repair, something clicks in your brain. Grogu’s ears flop forward with your sudden stop. Your eyes run over the objects, and you select some, a smile splitting your face. You hope he will be pleased.

Several minutes later, Grogu makes a bah! sound, pointing at a live amphibian display. You’re pretty sure it’s a pet vendor, but the look on the kid’s face tells you he won’t take no for an answer. And maybe you should parent him - tell him no - but that’s Din’s job, not yours. 

“Hi. How much for the frog eggs?” You politely ask the vendor, digging in your pocket for credits.

The bug-eyed lady tells you in a language you don’t speak, but she holds up three short tentacles on her hand. She pushes six eggs toward you, which you gratefully take and set in Grogu’s pod. 

When you try to hand her the credits, she’s pushed out of the way by someone behind her. A man with a smushed nose yells in the same language the lady had spoken, and points away, clearly telling her to leave. 

You watch warily, and once the woman has gone, the man turns to you. 

“My apologies. The price is one credit per egg,” he simpers at you. 

Disliking the hike in price, you move to return half of the eggs, but he protests, “Once the item has left my possession, they must be paid for.” 

“But I can give them back to you,” you assert. “I’m not paying that much for frog eggs.” 

His smushed nose twitches up like a feral Loth-wolf, “Yes, you are.”

"I'm not." You set three eggs back on the counter. 

The man seizes your wrists, holding you in place. The crowded market is loud, but your indignant cry and the vendor's screamed accusation of theft cause several people to stop and watch. 

You try to twist out of his hold, but his scaly skin tears at yours. The snarling vendor suddenly ceases making noise, and he releases your wrists to clutch at his throat. Shocked, your head snaps to the child.

Grogu has one little, three-fingered hand raised and curled. 

“No!” You gasp, slamming the button on Grogu’s pod to close it. Far, far too many eyes watch. 

The vendor, choking and sputtering, recovers quickly and lunges at you across the table. His hands grip your upper arms, but you wrench out of his hold. Hoping to draw all attention to yourself, you punch the vendor with all your might. The vendor stumbles.

“Never seen someone pretend to choke over three credits,” your lie is an incredibly lame one, but you hope it’s enough for passersby.

He clutches his jaw; his spat insult is garbled, and he begins to inch around the long table, trying to get a better shot at you.

You turn and walk away with as even a pace as you can manage. Running would make his accusation true. The crowd swallows the two of you up well, and you lengthen your stride.

 But the vendor is regaining his volume. Nervously, you check over your shoulder. You jolt when Grogu’s pod bumps into your hip, then zooms away.

“No,” you yell again, grasping for the white vessel, but it comes to a hovering stop in front of a tall, silver man.

“Thank the Maker,” you sigh with relief. “We have to go.”

Din immediately notices the red ring of heat around your wrists and along your knuckles. He strides toward you. The closer he gets, the safer you feel - his protective aura slowly engulfing you.  

Din grabs your forearm and examines your wrist. There’s a raw quality to your skin where the man’s abrasive hands had clamped down and twisted. After a moment, his face locks onto yours.

“Show me who did this."

Cold, calm, his words are a promise.

Confused by his reaction, and still so used to answering when asked a direct question, you wince over your shoulder. Din finally seems to hear the vendor shouting in the distance as he searches the crowd for a ��thief’ and her ‘dangerous pet’. Din abruptly straightens and steps past you.

Running after him, you reach for his gloved hand, fingers sliding home. “Din, please; we need to go.” 

The familiar contact makes him stop and turn to look at you. He says nothing, so you use the opportunity to explain.

“The ki- I made a scene, and it would be best if everyone forgot about it. A Mandalorian publicly roughing up the very same shopkeeper would give them more reason to gossip.” 

Din Djarin frowns the longer you speak. He knows you���re right. The kid is far more important than his sudden anger. He nods curtly.

The man’s vicious insults about your likely occupation and parentage echo down the street and make Din’s lip curl. But for the sake of the child, he manages to turn back toward the Razor Crest. It’s only when he passes Grogu’s stationary pod that he realizes he’s still holding your hand, fingers loosely intertwined. 

He gently flexes his hand, letting go.

____________________________________

As the Razor Crest speeds away from the planet, you smile. Vacuous and bone-chillingly cold, space is the worst. For most of your life, the inhospitable conditions had been worsened by your constant transport in the dark hold of some Creator-forsaken vessel.

But the cabin of the Mandalorian’s ship is warm and full of life, occupied by the kid's excited babbling and your semi-nervous laughter.

The kid waves his stubby arms in the Mandalorian’s lap as the Razor Crest dips and rises through a relatively calm asteroid field. Expertly maneuvering the expanse, Din Djarin has little motivation to do so except the smiles on his passengers’ faces. If you ask, he’ll tell you it’s a shortcut to the next system, which is only mostly untrue.

It’s been three months since Din collected the bounty on your former master. During that time, the Mandalorian had found one of the kid’s kind. A Jedi who could’ve taken Grogu, she declined the task. She told the bounty hunter of a place, a Seeing Stone, where Grogu could reach out for a Jedi master himself. 

Though a week has passed since learning of the Stone, Din had yet to bring Grogu to it, instead taking a couple of jobs. The stoic Mandalorian won’t admit, especially to himself, that he’s reluctant to let the child go. 

Reaching a lull in the slow-moving asteroids, Din draws the thruster back to stationary level, then looks down, his helmet nearly touching his breastplate, at the child still waving his short arms. Din turns his silver face to you questioningly.

Before he can speak, you joke, "I don’t want to learn to fly out here, if that's what you're about to ask.”

He shrugs with acceptance. Your eyebrows pinch in surprise, wondering if he’s playing along or serious.

“Okay, kid. We're done here,” he tenderly lifts Grogu and passes him to you. 

Grogu makes a protesting sound and hides one of his hands inside his robe.

“Big, mean Mandalorian is no fun,” you mutter to the child teasingly. Grogu coos in agreement.

Din shakes his head and swivels back to the control panel, flipping switches and entering data. The kid catches your attention, triumphantly showcasing a small metal sphere from his robe. You press your lips together and wink, silently promising you won’t tell. 

The Mandalorian’s gloved fingers run over his ship’s control panel like he’s conducting the Coruscant Orchestra, and then, suddenly, his right hand freezes in mid-air as he reaches for the thruster. 

“Grogu,” Din growls, spinning in his chair.

You laugh openly, “He’s a toddler, Din. You can’t close your eyes for a second.”

The Mandalorian rises, his bulk taking up the entirety of the cabin. He gently wrestles the ball from Grogu's fingers.

Long, soft ears droop, and massive, black eyes turn glassy. 

“Oh, look what you've done,” you croon, looking up at Din with an expression mirroring the kid’s.

Though he doesn't move, you can somehow see when Din’s annoyance is overruled by something stronger. Then the Mandalorian’s wide shoulders slowly rise and fall, a long-suffering sigh leaving his body.

“You are both menaces,” the Mandalorian accuses. He extends his hand, palm upward, “Grogu. Take it.” 

You hold your breath, allowing the child to focus on using his power. Grogu closes his eyes. The metal ball wiggles in the concave of Din’s large palm, then zooms to Grogu’s tiny hand.

Din makes a fist in excitement, “Great job, kid.”

Beaming at the Mandalorian, even more enthralled with him than the magic child in your lap, you wish you could see his proud smile.

Noticing your expression, Din's chin swivels to the side, clearly questioning. 

"Nothing. It's just that - it’s good to see you like this.” You shrug, trying to minimize your staring. “I know you’ve been stressed.”

The silent moment draws out as he assesses your observation. Still standing, the Mandalorian’s right hand hesitantly rises to whisper across the left side of your jaw. The gloved softness of his thumb caresses your cheekbone for an instant and a lifetime.

Din drops his hand like it weighs as much as a rancor. He turns around and sits back in his pilot's chair. Silver armor reflects the red and yellow lights around the cabin as he finishes his navigational procedures. 

Cheeks aflame, you duck your face down into the kid. 

___________________________________

“‘Occasional repairs,’’' you quote at the Mandalorian. “Every karking week there’s a new hole in this poor ship.” 

On the other side of the wing, busy soldering panels together, the Mandalorian's head snaps up. Unmoving, his expressionless mask simply stares at you. You bite your lip to prevent a grin and continue replacing bolts.

The beskar helmet remains for a while longer, hiding Din’s thoughts. He imagines what you’d look like if he put you on your knees and made you pay for your jokes. If he wiped that pretty smirk off your face. He feels a stirring in his flight suit, so he wrenches his mind away. 

The act the two of you committed in that field has not been repeated. His dedication to his helmet - to his creed - is paramount. And you tempt him too much. 

For the second time in the past year, Din has accidentally grown attached to someone - first the kid and now you. But with you, it’s a danger of a different kind.

Din had hoped that he just needed to get it out of his system. Get you out of his system. He had won that mock fight in the field, but he had yielded to his desire for you. 

Instead of feeling sated, Din feels hungrier as the days go by. Useless information, such as the number of sonic showers you've taken, clogs his mind. He would be ashamed of his counting, but he's too battle-weary to care. He does not count how many times he's taken advantage of the privacy of his bunk, remembering your eager face, your receptive body underneath him. 

All that armor wasn't worth a damn thing.

It’s easier for you. As inexperienced as Din but with your self-esteem already in the sarlacc pit, it wasn’t a stretch to imagine he'd had his fill of you and… well, that was that. Though you dream of it nearly every night, waking up to the strange feeling of both gaining and losing something.

Of course, the Mandalorian still needed you to care for the kid or help him replace several wing panels when he inevitably damaged them, as you were currently doing. 

At dusk, white trees sway behind you in the biting wind. This planet is rather cold, and Grogu, asleep inside the Razor Crest, doesn’t join you for the lovely, young Gornt dinner that Din had hunted. The two of you butcher it in silence and place it on the makeshift spit.

You then plop onto a log and snuggle down into your clothes, shivering. Though the items Din had given you months earlier are sturdy and warm, some of the chill of the night manages to seep through. You cross your arms, rubbing them.

Din vanishes from the other side of the fire - the smoky, dark air impenetrable. Squinting, you try to spot his reflective armor, but it works against you in this instance, easily blending him into the flickering, dim light.

A heavy material suddenly falls onto your shoulders, and you jump.

"Oh!" 

The Mandalorian stands directly behind you, the thick cloak he was trying to give you still partially in his hand. 

"I was focused on trying to see you through the smoke. I didn't think you'd be there." You clutch the brown garment tight around you and softly smile up at him, "Thank you."

Din nods, the clinking sound of metal audible as he returns to his log across the firelight. Your mouth gapes for a moment when you realize that the material around your shoulders is his torn cape.

"Do you not get cold?"

"I do." 

"Why not wear one yourself then?" You lift part of the cloak in indication.

"Mandalorians are taught to withstand uncomfortable circumstances. As a foundling, I frequently exercised in far less temperate weather." 

"A foundling?" You query, your eyebrow raising.

The Mandalorian leans back and shifts his legs apart to better distribute his weight.

"My youth was upended by war. When my village was destroyed, I was found by a Mandalorian."

"The name is quite literal, then?" 

"My people are quite literal," Din crosses his arms and his commanding presence is distracting.

He looks so big sitting on the log, his legs open, back straight, and arms folded. 

"We have similar beginnings," you swallow, trying to ignore the burning inside that has nothing to do with the fire.

"I was a little more fortunate in who found me," Din states. He leans forward to finally adjust the rod holding your dinner.

You lose your gaze in the flaming light, remembering.  

“I still can’t believe how much things have changed,” you murmur. 

Din Djarin can’t either. He has a life-altering decision to make, and a child to let go of, and both thoughts weigh on him like a karking Mudhorn. Din sighs internally at his unintended choice of simile.

Your eyes stray upward to the navy sky, breathing deeply. The frigid air burns your lungs, but you only draw more in, relishing your freedom to do so.

"You did not deserve that life," Din’s rough, mechanical voice answers over the sound of the crackling fire. 

You frown, "No one does." 

Running with the Mandalorian was a great way to stay ahead of the slavers. Paid employment, constant movement, and no one besides Din knowing your name - it was too good to be true.

Dropping your head from the sky, you level the Mandalorian with the most heartfelt gaze you can manage, "Thank you. I would've never had the courage to run without you."

Unable to see his reaction, you feel the distance most acutely. It isn't just flame and metal that divides you.

"I-" Din starts, but you cut him off.

"But mostly it's thanks to Grogu," you grin, trying to lighten the mood.

The helmet bobs as though he's amused, then Din sighs dramatically. 

"I need to separate you two."

"I love him," you giggle, remembering a moment a few days earlier when he had picked up a very dignified, sentient species of frog and tried to eat it. "He is such an agent of chaos." You laugh into your cloak-covered hand. 

Grateful that you can't see the fervent emotion glimmering in his brown eyes, Din studies you. Your fond smile is lit by the glowing fire and the cold winds blow redness into your cheeks and nose. You’re secure in his cloak, and it makes his chest ache.

"Shit," he breathes. The hiss through his modulator doesn't pick up the word well, to his relief. 

It's not a surprise if you do truly love the kid. He is adorable and you've been with him every waking moment for three months, but the word you've just introduced is jarring to Din.

Talking about Grogu brings the dangers you all face to the forefront of your mind. Your smile falls.

"Will you continue to teach me to fight?" You don't immediately register the sudden rigidity of Din's posture, so you press on, "It’s upsetting to me that I'm better with a blaster than with the skills I was taught and trained in by my family." 

The Mandalorian is relieved. You've given him an excuse to say no.

"I cannot teach you the methods of your people." 

“That’s alright; anything would be appreciated.” 

Din shifts his thigh on the log, agitated, and you struggle to fill the silence, “You don’t have to, of course.”

Then, as the silence lengthens, and you watch his helmet glint as he looks away, you realize what he must be so uncomfortable about. 

“Oh. I am not asking we repeat that. I’m sorry,” you raise a hand to chest height as if you’re trying to physically defend yourself from the awkwardness. “I’m really sorry. I didn’t mean-”

“I know.” 

“I- Din, really I only meant the…” you grimace and clamp your lips together, unable to bear the tension. Standing, you insist, “I swear to you, I never expected more.”

Forgetting to return his cape, you unconsciously hold it closer as you retreat into the Razor Crest. 

The Mandalorian does not watch you walk away. His conflicted eyes remain trained on the crackling fire. Sparring with you brings every heart tug, every little attraction he has to you to the surface, and that's too frustrating to manage while IMPs track him and he deals with letting go of Grogu. 

But Din knows he really should continue to teach you. It’s in your best interest, as well as Grogu’s. His hangup is entirely selfish, and Din is not a selfish man. 

***

Hours later, when the sun has started to rise once more on this short-cycle planet, the Mandalorian finds his brown cape hung on the door to the refresher. He jerks it off its resting place, and goes to tuck it back around himself, when he notices that something is wrong.

Frozen, the Mandalorian stares at the brown, rough material in his hand. There are no holes in it anymore, only stitches. 

_________________________________________

Combined with the sound of intentionally-loud footsteps, Din places Grogu - who had jumped between the two of you all night - on the edge of your cot, allowing the child to wake you up. Din strides to his weapons cache.

You yawn, then snicker at Grogu’s delighted face as he babbles what must be his version of Good Morning. 

“Morning, kid.” You pet his ear and he begins to purr.

“You should stop babying him,” the Mandalorian doesn’t look at you as he searches among the weapons.

“Why? He’s a baby.” 

Din shuts the doors to his stash. “He is fifty years old."

“He's what?” 

Din shrugs and inclines his head in humor. You stare incredulously at the middle-aged child who rotates his little head between you and his father. 

“His species is unknown, but they age differently than we do.” 

“Uh, yeah. Fifty?” 

Din’s modulator makes a rasping sound. It could’ve been a small laugh, but you’re not sure. 

“Is fifty so terrible?”

Something in Din’s voice makes you look up at him. He casually leans against the hull. 

Unsure if you should have the gumption to even ask, you stutter, “A-are you also fifty?” 

The beskar mask does not move as the man behind it debates his reply. He decides on honesty.

“No,” Din states. He clasps one hand over the other in front of him, adding, “But I will reach that number in less than a decade.” 

You make a small, accepting gesture as you had subconsciously placed him around his early forties anyway. In any case, it doesn’t matter to you. He is the Mandalorian who (somewhat inadvertently at first, you’ll admit) saved you. Even without that gratitude, you would feel an attraction to him. He was strong and kind and protective. Ruthless, sure, but only when necessary.

Din pushes off the wall, “You didn’t ask why I woke you.” 

“Oh.” It hadn’t occurred to you, so used to being woken up - far more rudely or violently - each morning for the prior two decades. “Alright, why did you wake me?”

He reaches behind his back, unhooking an item, and holds out the fighting stick he had used in that skirmish between the two of you. 

“I will teach you what I can.” 

***

Din Djarin is careful not to touch you, even through his gloves. He doesn’t trust himself anymore. Instead, he instructs you in tactics. After clocking your strategy in less than three moves, Din is worried about your future opponents doing the same. 

“You dislike giving ground, but there will be times you’ll have to. It’s how you will outmaneuver them,” the Mandalorian stands, hands folded, his knee cocked, as he speaks. 

“How do you know that?” You ask in response to his first statement. 

Din clenches his jaw at the memory so very close to other memories, and answers you in a contained voice, “You were not subtle.” 

You smile, abashed. “See, that is why I asked you. I’m far too inexperienced.”

Din closes his eyes in frustration.

You continue nervously, thinking about how hesitant he had been to agree to this, “My master took me to many fights, and you’re the best I’ve ever seen. I value your opinion.”

Din is used to compliments. Those whom he returned quarries to often praised him for his work. But your praise is one he actually wants, and something throbs in his chest. Then he grows irritated with his rampant, immature yearning for you. 

Din speaks harshly, “This is for the protection of the child. You are his guardian when I am not nearby.”

Locked onto that T-shaped, black slit, your eyes flicker a little at his callous, impatient pronouncement, but you nod. 

“Of course. For the kid.”

__________________________________

Unhappy to be removed from where he had curled up on his father’s pilot seat, Grogu had insisted upon sleeping in the cockpit with his little metal ball. You had assured the Mandalorian that you didn’t mind staying in the passenger chair for the night. The cushions were comfortable enough, and it made the child happy. 

An hour after Grogu had begun purring in his sleep, you’re brought to consciousness by a deeper, labored sound. Bolting to your feet, worried about the Mandalorian below, you descend the ladder. 

The door to the Mandalorian’s bunk had not fully closed, apparently jamming on some loose junk part that Grogu must’ve picked up. There is no light on in the enclosed space, so you cannot see him. But you can hear the way he mutters your name once, rough and agitated. You can hear the sound of material jerking and his rasping, vocoded grunts. 

Your throat tightens and your breathing stops. Eyes wide, you slowly back up, terrified for him to find you in this way. A molten weight in your stomach wants you to push open the door and take care of him, but after the manner in which he spoke to you the entire afternoon, and the obvious way he tries to forget about that day in the field, you can’t. You can’t even fathom why he would be uttering your name. It’s too confusing.

Dazed, you return to the cockpit and try to block him out. Sleep does not come to save you for far too long, and when it does, it provides you no escape from the Mandalorian.

__________________________________

Din’s tortured use of your name had kept you awake far into the night. When you groggily open your eyes the next morning, you know you won’t be able to let this go. You must talk to him. Bravery is a muscle you’re trying to flex anyway, so you might as well try it on the scariest thing you can think of: an angry Din Djarin. 

While Grogu plays with a ship part you pretend to have never seen, one Din had pried out of the receiving slot of his bunk door this morning, you and he traipse down the boarding ramp, intending to save the rest of the Gornt meat for traveling. 

Absolutely guessing at how you’ll begin this conversation, you decide you’ll just hope for the best. 

“I- I heard you last night.” It’s barely more than a whisper.

The Mandalorian stops dead in his tracks and you stumble, trying not to run into him. He turns on you, a solid wall of muscle and metal, but says nothing. You swallow and force what shred of courage you have to the front. 

“I heard you say my name. You don’t have to do that alone. I can help you,” your final words are almost inaudible.

The Mandalorian provides food, shelter, and companionship. Ignorant to any kind of normal relationship, friendly or greater, you want to show your gratitude. And if that was how you could help him, all the better.

Your inner self, the one that’s been unthawing since the day your master was frozen in carbonite, wants Din in a far more genuine manner. You want him. His compassion and honor, his fatherly love for Grogu, his non-pitying care for you, and his primal confidence have you in danger of becoming a hopeless devotee.

“Help me,” he reiterates, his tone worryingly neutral.

“Passage for assistance,” you try to ease the tension slightly with another old quote of his. “I can still assist you. It’s repayment for your aid.”

Even as you say it, you feel the depth of the lie. You want Din for yourself.

He’s silent. At his side, the fingers on his right hand fidget. The broad bounty hunter leans over you. As he tilts his head, the cold sun glints off his armor. 

Din’s voice is as sharp as his vibroblade but twice as lethal, “You are no longer a slave - do not make me say that again. This is not a business transaction.” 

Not a business transaction? While technically a rejection, his clarification makes you dizzy. Your breath comes out shakily, fogging in the chill air. 

“Okay. What if that’s not my real reason for asking?”

That does it. Stunned, the Mandalorian might as well be a statue made of beskar. Din had found it easy to believe you allowed him to touch you because you felt in his debt, and he hated it. Made him feel as slimy as a Hutt.

“Tell me.” 

Din watches your facial expressions run the gamut and he knows that whatever you’re about to say is the truth. 

“I care about you.” Will you ever stop whispering? “For you, not just what you’ve done for me,” your second greatest act of bravery this morning is touching his cold chestplate. You swallow as you look up into that blank face. 

Din doesn't move. Doesn't think he can move, but then his body responds before his mind does. Soft leather brushes your cheekbones as he takes your face in his large hands. He tilts his cold helmet to your forehead, and you instinctively close your eyes, sighing in relief. This was not what you were expecting when you followed him out here.

You can't hear the first thing he says, but it sounds like dank farrik. You laugh quietly in his hands.

"You are a menace,” he mutters a little louder, the modulator somehow enhancing the timbre of his voice. “You and the kid.”

Grinning, you open your eyes as he lifts his helmet from your skin. “Don’t bring him into this,” you joke. 

Din’s thumb ghosts across your lips and you shiver. The Mandalorian is calm. This is inevitable now. He need not fight himself any longer. He grasps your wrist and brings it upward. Gently guiding your fingers underneath the edge of his helmet, Din presses them to his lips.

Utterly shocked at this new gift, you gasp. A scratchy cloth wraps around the bottom of his chin, but above it, his soft, scruffy facial hair and plump lips make your skin tingle. Nerves jumble in your lower stomach. He presses another kiss before slowly lowering your hand.

You tell him disbelievingly, "I thought there was no way -” 

“What you thought was wrong.” 

Your heat signature rises at the sincerity in his voice. Din tilts his head, watching your reaction to him. He lets his covered fingers drift over your lips again, then he drags them down the column of your throat and past your exposed collarbone, enjoying your whimper. Your pupils are dilated.

“You want me now, don’t you?” He asks, his voice hoarse. 

You nod, whispering past your suddenly dry mouth, “Yes.” 

The Mandalorian crouches for a split second, hefting you into his arms with no effort. Your legs automatically wrap around his middle, arms around his neck. His hands clasp underneath your thighs as he strides up the loading ramp as though every second he delayed was one wasted. 

Din lays you out on his bunk and hits the button for the door without looking at it. He does not turn on the light. In the tiny, black room, you can hear him divesting himself of his flight suit and armor. It makes your heart throw itself against your chest. You sit up and struggle out of your own clothes, wanting nothing between you and him.

“Will I ever get to kiss you?” You ask timidly.

Din answers you immediately. His rough palms bracket your face, then he reverently pushes his lips into yours. His facial hair brushes against your skin and you weakly moan into his mouth, parting your lips for more. The Mandalorian groans, as well, enraptured by this new sensation. 

Din wraps a muscled arm around your waist, crushing you to him in the small space. His warm, broad chest forces yours to mold around him. Your hands gently drag along his torso, mapping him. He shudders underneath your fingers.

His lips break like waves around yours. You could be floating above the bed and it would feel no different. He kisses you like it’s what he needs to survive; his occasional noises of desperation stake your heart and dampen your thighs.

“Need to touch you everywhere,” Din’s real, untampered voice knots your stomach. 

“You can do whatever you want,” you breathlessly repeat the unspoken affirmation you’d given him the first time. 

He chuckles, and you shiver again, drunk with lust. Din lowers you back onto the hard bed, settling over you.

His hot mouth surprises the sensitive skin of your breast. Din moans, involuntarily you think, as he tastes you there, gently pulling and sucking. You jerk, pressing up into him with a cry. Who knew that could feel so good?

His big hands flow down your sides, pressing into you, exploring, and you get a burst of understanding. This man is starved.

Your hands comb into his hair, and while you wonder what its color is, you’re choked up to find that it’s soft and wavy. Din groans loudly when your fingers rub on his scalp. He seems invigorated by it as he growls and returns to your lips with a fever. His tongue demands you allow him inside, but there is no resistance on your end. 

Suddenly, Din breaks the kiss with a wet pop of his lips. He vanishes from above you, but then two large hands slide up your thighs. He pushes them apart and your breath hitches. 

“You trust me?” The Mandalorian knows the answer, he just wants to hear it.

Nodding dumbly in the dark, you realize he can’t see you and squeak, “Yes.”

He shifts down and presses a row of kisses up your inner thigh. His nose brushes your coarse hair, and your breathing breaks a second time. 

Din flattens his tongue and licks the spot he already knows you like. You jolt and his arms wrest around your thighs, holding you in place for him. You whimper as he buries his face in your folds, shocking your system. Your hands return to his hair, and his chest swells as he quickly shoves you toward your end. His nose continually nudges your bundle of nerves and each time it feels like you’re hurtling through hyperspace.

Your back arches when he traps your clit between his lips, and he responds with another obscene noise. This time, the vibration of his deep voice rips your orgasm from your marrow. Crying out his name, you quake, chest heaving through the waves of euphoria. 

Too overwhelmed by all his options, Din moves back to your mouth, breathing heavily himself, “Incredible.” 

He licks into you again, his hand cradling your face to allow him deeper. Taking advantage of his position, you wrap your legs around his trim waist, pulling him down. His hips cant toward you, and you feel his length fall onto your abdomen. You hadn’t forgotten how big he was, but the heft of it makes your body tremble. 

The Mandalorian could be a patient man, but this would never be one of those moments. Din fists himself, rubbing once along your soaked seam. He pushes forward, steadily feeding his cock into your tight, forgiving heat. Din grunts several times, overstimulated. 

“You don’t know what you’ve done, mesh’la,” he gruffly murmurs, his naked voice still so shocking to hear.

You have no idea what he means, and you file it away for later study. Solely focused on how he feels halfway inside you, you clutch at the back of his thick thighs, encouraging him. But then he snaps his hips, driving himself to the hilt.

“Din, oh,” you sharply gasp. 

He grinds his pubic bone into your mound, stimulating you; his chin tilts up, proud, when you shudder. The Mandalorian grabs one of your hands and brings it to where he’s joined with you.

“You feel that?” Din’s voice is weighty, meaningful.

“Mhm,” you sigh, your fingers leaving his hand to explore his dark curls. He’s right. The deviant way his thick member disappears inside you is intoxicating.

He languidly draws himself out, letting you experience every ridge and vein, pulsing with your filthy sounds. He re-enters you just as intentionally, and when he’s given you everything, he leans down and drags you into a kiss. A kiss that means something to him. His tongue surges through your mouth in a single stroke before his full lips pull on yours, one hand gripping the back of your neck.

He lets you go, trailing his mouth down your throat, obsessed with the taste and the feel of you on his skin.

Din returns to your lips, his forearms framing your head. His fingers twist in your hair, and he begins to pump faster. His length strokes along a spot that makes your eyes flutter in the pitch blackness. Your nails carefully rake at his toned back, drawing a strangled moan from him as he shoves himself inside again and again. Losing a measure of self-control, he thrusts hard, placing a palm on the back wall for stability. 

Your hands finally, finally, reach up for his face, expecting at any moment that he’ll stop you. His lips are parted as he pants in exertion, his facial hair fluttering with his breath. Din’s cheekbones are round and high; his nose is angular and fitting. 

“I knew you were handsome,” you praise, the words fluctuating in cadence with his pounding strokes. “Wouldn’t have mattered.”

He scoffs, barely conscious of what you’re saying. His forehead drops to yours again, and he can’t believe the life he’d known had unraveled so drastically. In under a year, Din had gained a child and this. 

“Turn over,” he orders.

Of course, you obey without hesitation.

His calloused fingers slide around your hips, pulling them upward. With your chest still pressed into the bunk, you moan when he slowly re-inserts himself. He nearly chokes when your body draws him in; the angle and drenched grip of you makes him shake his head in disbelief. 

“You okay?” He rumbles. 

Your chin scrapes on the metal bed as you nod, “Please move.” 

He clasps an arm around your middle, hunching forward. His scruff and lips tickle the top of your spine as he begins to rut into you. It’s already too much - Din grunting, his chest hair scratching your upper back, his muscled arms holding you in place as he fills you over and over. You begin to clench around him again, crying out harshly in a rush of pleasure. Your legs shake, giving out underneath you.

The Mandalorian’s large hand splays across your breast, and he pulls you backward onto your knees alone, welding you to his perspiring chest. As his length plunges up into you, his lips brush your ear. He’s whispering something, but you can't understand the words.

Then, Din exhales with a groan and rolls several long, pulsing strokes, burying his come as deep as he can with a final, gravel-filled grunt.

***

In the dark, there’s only the sound of two people fighting for breath. Din has leaned against the cool wall; he tugs you to him. You sit somewhat beside him, your legs tangled together. Your head rests on his heaving shoulder, and every now and then, you feel the press of his lips in your hair. He laughs once, quietly.

“What is it?” 

“Your life is not the only one that has changed.” 

Blinking rapidly, your heart glows with warmth. Yours had changed the most. This Mandalorian had come into your non-existence and given you everything. Courage, freedom, responsibility, love. 

“I know you like to fight, but this is one I’ll win,” you laugh softly. 

___________________________________

Tagging:

@morks-watermelon

[pedropascallme]

Stupid For You

Pairing: Din Djarin x f!Reader

Summary: “‘What do you think, kid? Do I sound like your dad?’”

Warnings: Use of gendered titles (“wife” and “mother”) but otherwise just longing and a little fluff?

AN: Read part two here

Soundtrack: Stupid For You by Waterparks

“I could bring you in warm…or I could bring you in cold…” You hopped around in Din’s old chest plate, doing your best impression of the Mandalorian as Grogu watched on, gurgling happily and reaching up for you.

“What do you think, kid? Do I sound like your dad?” You picked him up, cradling him in your arms as he continued to babble nonsense. You had finally figured out, after days of being unable to stop him from crying, that all the baby really wanted was his father. It had been an accident that you had found out, really; it just happened that Grogu had gotten himself stuck in an old pauldron, and it just happened that you really wanted to try on some of the armor for yourself, and it just happened that you had to bring the kid everywhere with you—otherwise you would end up in a ship piloted by a wild-child who enjoyed tearing apart anything he could reach with his tiny baby hands.

Din had been gone, what, four days now? Not too bad. He had been gone longer before. He often returned to the ship after a little over a week, battered and bruised, and all you had to do was make sure his son was fed and happy. You were essentially just a glorified babysitter, although sometimes you liked to think of yourself as a sort of makeshift mother; you really did love the kid. Still, the longer you spent on the Crest, the longer you cared for the child, the longer you spent time with Din, growing increasingly fond of the few words you shared with each other (including a few in what you assumed was Mando’a that you couldn’t understand. What in the fresh hell was a “mesh’la”?) you couldn’t help but…miss him?

It was stupid. You were stupid. You knew his given name, and you knew he was a Mandalorian, and you knew his freak baby was capable of a little too much. Everything else was more or less a mystery to you. He seemed to like it that way, and you weren’t really in any position to change it at all. Making any move he was uncomfortable with could result in losing your job, the one true connection to anybody else that you had. Maker, you had seen what Din could do; worst case scenario you’d end up in carbonite. And, really, what would the galaxy’s scariest bounty hunter want with a wife? Not that you were thinking that far in advance, but weren’t you?

Stupid.

The child yawned, big eyes drooping slightly as you walked him to his floating bassinet. He continued to try to keep conversation with you, small patu noises here and there.

“I hear ya,” you placed him down, “but how about we continue this conversation at a later date?” He squawked and you put your hands on your hips, jutting out your knee in an attempt to properly emulate Din. Grogu made a sound that seemed like a laugh, eyes closing slowly as he tried to fight off his drowsiness. 

“This is The Way.” You whispered to him, still trying to bring him peace of mind by pretending. You could feel that he missed his dad—guardian—whatever—every time Din went out during these long periods. And, hey, pretending to be as fearless and powerful as Din was fun for you, too. It kept you and the baby from going stir-crazy. It made you both feel a little safer when you put on the old, beat-up armor and acted like you were an unstoppable Mandalorian. Grogu’s breathing settled into a soft rhythm, signifying that he had lost his battle with sleep. You closed the top of his crib, turning on your heel.

“Is that what I sound like?”

You stopped in your tracks.

Din stood before you, still as a statue.

“W—I just—”

“I think my voice is deeper.” He walked forward, only taking a few strides before he was directly in front of you. 

“You have a modulator.” You tried your best to avoid his gaze, heat blooming in your cheeks as you had been caught in the act of imitating—mocking—your boss. Your caretaker. Roommate? Boss.

“Mm.” He stood still before reaching his arm out in front of him, a gloved hand making contact with the chest plate you were wearing. He wrapped his knuckles against it, and you felt the vibrations of the metal over your chest. You could feel your heart in your throat. He was back, without any warning, without so much as a hello, and now he was standing before you, this beautiful man without a face, making what must have been the first purposeful physical contact you two had ever had.

“Where did you find this?”

“The-the kid found it. Kept rummaging through your, uh, wardrobe…” You trailed off, unsure if that was the correct word to use for the tiny storage space on the ship that Din had the habit of throwing spare capes and old clothes in. “He likes when I wear it.” You tried to sound like you weren’t pushing down the feeling of intense humiliation.

“You’d make a good Mandalorian.” Din dropped his hand. “It looks good on you, cyare.” 

He stayed in front of you for a few moments, peering through his visor and examining you. After a few moments, he turned, walking away and up to the cockpit.

You stood where he had left you, raising a hand to where he had touched the armor you wore. 

Stupid, stupid, stupid… 

You're playing ring around my head I wear you like a halo You're a symphony, I'm just a sour note