#do I think about Din Djarin too much? | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

pedrito-friskito · 2 years ago

Note

hey kay bb!! hope you're doing well 💖

mando has been on the brain lately so i'm requesting fluffy smut with him pls 🥺😫 (the yearning is *extra* today)

niiiiiiiiik my darling my dear hope you are also well 💗

ok…this got away from me. I blinked and suddenly a plot! exposition! SMUT! (multiple scenes at that) all the things. I’m a slut for Din Djarin and it really jumped out on this one.

(smut below the cut, a full plot, the helmet comes off, a bit of inexperienced!din, reader is kind of a bad ass, descriptions of bodies, unprotected p-in-v sex - wrap ur shit even if ur in space ok)

sleepover saturday

uncharted territory

(word count 9.1k - it REALLY got away from me okay)

gif by @aceofwhump

Then you are a Mandalorian no more.

Din Djarin aches in a way he has never felt before, much more powerful than any injury he could ever sustain. His Creed, demolished. His son, gone. His life, upended. As he staggers out of the Covert, trying to think of where to go next, he cannot shake the feeling of lost that settles around his shoulders like a cloak.

Maybe coming to Glavis was a mistake; maybe he should have stayed back on Nevarro, kept taking jobs from Karga until he finally had enough credits to take the old man’s advice, get himself a camtono full of spice and disappear into the Twi’lek healing baths until he forgot the whole thing.

The truth of it? He knew he could never forget. There wasn’t enough spice in the galaxy to help him forget it all. It wasn’t possible. And the larger part was that Din didn’t want to forget.

His leg aches as he walks. The bacta Paz had sprayed him down with had helped some, but the ache runs deep, and the drills the Armourer had forced him to run with the Darksaber had only made matters worse. He should find a place to lie down, to hide for the night before he decides what he plans to do next, where he plans to go.

Where will he go?

You are a Mandalorian no more.

The echo of the words make his head split, and for a moment, he has half a mind to wrench the helmet off, to launch it off the ring, let space swallow the beskar whole. But he stops himself; it feels as though his armour is all he has left.

His armour, and the Darksaber. The right to the throne of Mandalore.

Maker, he can’t think straight. The ache only worsens, his limp more prominent, and it gets to the point where he can take no more. He falls onto the nearest crate, his injured leg stuck straight out in front of him. His body feels twice as heavy, his head even more so, and he tips it back against the wall to lighten the load. He’ll rest just a moment, he’ll just shut his eyes for one—

“Mando?”

Din pulls his blaster from his holster as his eyes shoot open. There’s the sound of shuffled steps, something metallic hitting the floor, a murmured dank farrik! He hits a button on his vambrace, turns off the thermal setting on his visor.

“Sweets?”

You look exactly the same as he remembers. It’s been ages, but he could never forget your face. He knows what’s underneath your clothes, too, and the memory speeds to the surface of his mind faster than a pod-racer.

Before he had an in with Peli on Tatooine, the Razor Crest routinely parked and tuned up in Hangar 3-5, he had you. You were well-known within the Guild, had more than a few contracts with different gangs and hunters in the galaxy. If something on a ship broke, you were the one to fix it, and you had enough heavily-armed thugs on your side to make anyone think twice about trying to mess with you.

Some called you the Mechanic, simple and descriptive. Others, those you let a little closer, knew you as Sweets, a moniker earned by your penchant for candies and treats. You’d let your favoured clients off easy if they were short a few credits, but had something sweet from the far reaches of the galaxy to offer in lieu of the missing cash.

Din knew he was one of your favoured clients, perhaps your favourite. Or, had been. You’d crowed endlessly about the Crest, desperate to get your hands on it any time he hauled it in for service, whether it actually needed it or not. Sometimes he genuinely needed something fixed, some times he’d found some candy or sweet in a far off corner of the galaxy that he’d brought back just for you.

Other times, he just wanted to see you.

You were sweet in other ways, too. He knew first-hand. And he knew he was the only client you let into your bed. He’d been drawn to you the first time you’d been introduced — a common contact between you and Din sent him your way when the Crest was in serious need of a tune-up, and you were the closest mechanic he could get to without doing more damage to the ship.

Your knowledge astounded him, to start. You were barely into a diagnostic and you knew exactly what needed to be fixed, what parts you had and didn’t, how many credits it was going to cost him. And you hadn’t even set foot on the ship yet. Your competency drove him wild, only spurred on when he brought you aboard the Crest to give the interior a once-over, eager to see if he’d kept everything original, or if you had any modifications to offer that he might be interested in. Din followed you around the ship silently, answering whatever questions you had, mostly just watching you work. It was intriguing beyond belief.

“That’s not much of a bed,” you’d commented, cocking your head to the side when you hit the button that opened the bunk. “When’s the last time you had a new mattress?”

He just shrugged.

“One thing you should know,” you said over your shoulder, descending the Crest’s ramp, heading back towards the entrance to your shop. “I don’t use droids.”

Din nearly fell over. “That’s not a problem.”

“Good,” you replied, tapping at your data pad, your brow scrunching. “It’ll take longer than your usual hangar; I do everything myself.”

“I’m happy to wait,” he said, dipping his helmet, thankful it was hiding the way he was raking his eyes over you. I don’t use droids. Had someone made you in a lab somewhere, on some backwater planet, just for him? “I know she’s in good hands.”

The grin you’d offered him was sweeter than anything he’d ever seen, and you shooed him out a moment later, muttering something about getting back to work.

When he returned three days later to retrieve his ship, he almost didn’t recognize it. You’d repainted most of the outside panels, replaced all the ones that were missing, and the engines were so shiny Din could see his helmet reflected in them. Inside the Crest was another story; you’d outfitted him with a carbonite cell system, top of the line and primed for use. That meant no more mouthy bounties, no more wasting durasteel cuffs and gags when he could just hit a button and have a quiet ride back to the Guild.

And in the bunk, a new mattress, complete with a pillow, and bolted on the wall, a mount for his helmet.

“You don’t sleep with that thing on, do you?”

“The carbonite system,” he nearly sputtered, rubbing a gloved hand over the back of his neck. “I don’t have the credits, I didn’t—”

You poked the toe of his boot with your own. “Call it a gift, Mando. Let’s just say I shouldn’t have had the thing hanging around to begin with.”

“Is that gonna cause me any problems?”

“Nope,” you replied, popping the p. “Wiped all the identification numbers from the system. No one will know where it came from. Except you.”

He stared at you a long moment. “Except me.”

He was sure to pay you in full, plus the candied flowers he’d found at one of the vendors in the markets. You’d smiled again at that, and while Din committed the sight to memory, he also promised himself that he wouldn’t let it be long before he saw your smile again.

And he kept that promise. The next time he landed the Crest in your hangar, it wasn’t because he needed a tune-up or new parts. He’d struck gold at a black market on Coruscant; his bounty had lead him into the belly of a sweet shop, and after the Gungan had been dealt with, Din did some hunting of his own. He took as many boxes as he could carry, trying to take one of each flavour, a few extra of the ones he’d seen on the shelf in your shop.

“What in Maker’s name are you doing here?” you’d called as soon as he landed, stepping out of the shop and into the hangar, your hands on your hips, cocked to one side. “You ruin my handiwork that fast?”

“Not exactly,” he’d replied, walking down the ramp, his arms laden with goodies. Your eyes had gone huge. “I come bearing gifts.”

“For me?” you cried, gasping as you took the boxes from him, tongue poking between your teeth. “Mandalorian, if I didn’t know any better, I’d think you were flirting with me.”

He’d never been so grateful for his helmet at that exact moment. He might have crumbled to dust if you’d seen how red his cheeks were. “I-I owed you,” he stuttered out, “for the carbonite.”

“You didn’t owe me anything,” you quipped, swaying from side to side on your feet, staring down at your treats. “I told you, it was a gift.” You gave him one of those smiles again, and Din felt his stomach twist at the glitter in your eyes. “Why don’t you stay a while? I’ll feed you and everything.”

You disappeared into the shop, and Din paused a moment before following.

He saw you disappear behind a dark curtain that had definitely seen better days, and Din followed your further to discover there was an apartment of sorts attached to the shop. Apartment was perhaps too kind a word; it was one large room, a kitchen to one side, a large futon spread in the middle. Trunks and boxes and crates stacked along the far wall, a few grease-stained jumpsuits littering the floor. You stumbled over your feet trying to pick them up, tossing the offending fabric into a nearby crate, before you turned back to him. “What are you hungry for?”

You served him first. Noodles with dark sauce and some kind of shredded meat you thought was bantha but weren’t quite sure. But, as you stated with a shrug, “it’s good, and it hasn’t killed me yet.” After you slid the bowl across the table to him, you turned back to the stove and stayed that way. After a moment, Din wasn’t sure what to do, but then your head turned slightly, your eyes trained directly to the left, not wandering towards him over your shoulder. “I won’t look. Swear.”

He lifted the helmet just enough to shovel the food into his mouth. You were right, the mystery meat was good, and the sauce you’d made to go with it was even better. He nearly inhaled the food, not wanting to keep you too long, and when the helmet slid back down, the mechanism hissing back into place, your head turned again, still not looking at him.

“You’re safe,” he said, sliding his empty bowl back across the table.

You turned fully, serving yourself, and he expected you to sit across from him, keeping a bit of distance between you, but instead, you rounded the table and plunked yourself down on the stool right beside him. You ate much slower than he had, and Din let his eyes graze over you. The streak of engine grease on your cheek, the scar that split your lower lip, the intricately messy way you wore your hair. A silver chain sat around your throat, strung with a tiny silver ring. It disappeared down the front of your shirt most of the time, but right then it sat awkwardly, the chain caught on your collar, the ring sitting in the hollow of your throat. He resisted the urge to reach out and fix it.

The jumpsuit you wore was nearly identical to the ones you’d hurriedly swiped off the floor. Torn on one knee, zipper unfurling beneath your chest, a symbol he didn’t recognize patched onto your thigh. You’d tied the sleeves around your waist like a belt, a dirty rag tucked in at your hip. The Mechanic, herself. Sweets.

He thought you were beautiful. He had a feeling you’d look beautiful in anything.

Or nothing.

Din was distracted by your thumb at your lips, swiping a drop of sauce from your chin and sucking your finger into your mouth. His flight-suit was tight beneath his beskar to begin with, and you weren’t helping matters. “So,” you said simply, reaching for your food again. “Tell me a story, Mando. A good one. Best bounty you ever caught.”

The conversation filtered between you two easily. You were a good listener, easy to talk to, and Din felt like he couldn’t stop talking to you, telling you about his first kill, his first bounty. His first ship, before the Crest. He couldn’t bring himself to tell you about the before, before the Guild, before he was just the Mandalorian, when he was just Din Djarin. A foundling. Part of him wondered what you think, what your reaction might be to his past, but a larger part forced his mouth shut.

At some point, he turned himself towards you on his stool, one arm braced on the table, the other resting on his thigh. After you finished your food, you leaned heavily on the table, your head pushed into your palm, legs crossed at your ankles, swinging slowly, the toe of your boot tapping his shin every once in a while.

He could see you were tired, the way you started covering your yawns and rubbing at your eyes. “I should go,” he said, starting to get to his feet. “You’re tired, and I don’t want to overstay my welcome.”

Your hand flashed out quick — not quick enough to startle him, though — and wrapped around his wrist. You’d managed to wedge your fingers right into the space where his glove met his vambrace, and he felt you against his pulse, against his bare skin. “You don’t have to leave, Mando.”

Din. He wanted to tell you. My name is Din.

Slowly, his own hand reached out, hovering in the air, shaking more than a vibroblade. He saw your eyes trace its path, watching until it lowered, dropped until the flat of his palm met the curve of your thigh. His gloved fingers wrapped around the meat of your leg, his thumb pressing towards the inside.

He heard you gasp.

He moved forward an inch, and his hand moved higher, thumb riding the seam of your jumpsuit. You hummed, fingered squeezing around his wrist, and Din moved closer, until he had one leg between yours. He let his hand wander higher, listening carefully to the changes in your breathing, the hitch in your throat. The heat between your legs was almost stifling, and something feral in the back of his brain screamed for more.

Whatever snapped in him, it seemed to break in you at exactly the same time. You both shot to your feet together, and Din’s hands moved to your waist, to where your sleeves were knotted at your waist. Yours roamed his chest plate, fingers tapping along beskar until you hooked them in his cloak. He halted his own hands, ready to help you remove the fabric, but you handled it just fine on your own, finding the hidden snaps with ease.

His blood turned to flame when he felt your fingers along his throat, seeking his pulse in another spot. “You should stay,” you breathed out, your voice barely above a murmur. “Please, Mando, I want you to stay.”

He forced himself to nod, his mind now preoccupied with ripping his gloves from his hands. He needed to feel you, no barriers in between.

He needed to see you, something in him screamed, no barriers in between.

He silenced that voice before it could spur him further. Busied himself with diving his hand beneath the waist of the jumpsuit, the broken zipper catching on his wrist. You were even hotter beneath, and he sucked down a breath when he found you wet, slick coating his fingers.

Your body leaned into him, chasing his touches, and he hooked his other hand around your thigh, lifting you up and backwards onto the table. He could feel you watching, your eyes moving from his helmet down his front, to where his hand was jammed beneath the jumpsuit. He crooked one finger, testing, pressing it into you, and grinned beneath his helmet when you moaned.

Din hooked his arm under your waist, lifting you just enough that he could maneuver the jumpsuit over your hips, down your legs. His cock jolted between his legs at the sight of you bare, leaned back on the table, your chest heaving. Even though the visor, he could see how slick you were, the evidence shining on the insides of your thighs.

He wanted to taste you.

He pushed the thought away again. Another time, when he wasn’t smearing the inside of his flight-suit with precum, when you weren’t keening into his touch as he dragged his fingers against the sensitive skin between your legs, when he could turn the lights off and shed his armour, bare himself to you the same way.

You moaned again when his fingers found your clit, drawing a sloppy circle that had your muscles tensing against his hand, knees closing against his hips. “F-fuck, Mando,” you ground out, tipping your head back on your shoulders. “You’re good with those hands.” Another stuttered breath as he twisted his wrist, curling two fingers just inside your entrance, thumb stretching up to swipe over your clit. “Really good.”

He was grinning beneath the helmet again, eyes glued to your face as he pressed further, fingers threading deeper into you. He could feel everything, the twitch of your thighs, the clench of your cunt. You reached out with one hand, using the other to balance yourself, and closed it around his elbow, your fingers digging into the thick fabric so hard he was shocked your nails didn’t bite right through.

“How do you like it, Sweets?” he asked, leaning forward until he was nearly hovering over you. Your hand moved from his elbow to chest, fingers hooked in his armour. “Tell me what you need.”

Your hand moved again, this time moving straight down his front, past his waist, right between his legs. His cock throbbed as you palmed him, a cat-like grin on your lips as you tilted your head level with the visor. You leaned up slightly, pressed your lips to the beskar edge that mirrored his jaw. Another squeeze, and the slow pace of his fingers faltered, his head nearly smacking into yours. “I need this.”

Din couldn’t hold back anymore. Something in the way you stared up at him, eyes tracing over the helmet, told him you didn’t want him to.

“I like it rough.”

It all happened in one fluid motion. He pulled you closer, right off the edge of the table, and you spun in his grip, leaning forward over the table, planting your hands flat. The jumpsuit slid further towards your ankles and you arched your back, your ass grinding against his hardness, and Din groaned audibly, tilting his head towards the ceiling. Your legs spread as much as the jumpsuit would allow, and Din worked his own zipper down, freeing himself from the flight-suit. You made the most delicious noise as the tip of his cock smacked against your ass, the tip dripping with precum.

Your head turned as he took himself in hand, tapping your ass with his cock again. “Maker,” you breathed out, your eyes widening. “I knew you’d be big.”

Beneath the helmet, Din turned crimson.

He planted his other hand between your shoulders, tipping you forward. You went willingly, eyes rolling back as he pushed his hips against your ass. He could see how wet you were as you bent, slick still dripping down your thighs.

There was nothing stopping him from dropping to his knees right then and there, lifting the helmet just enough to drag his tongue through your cunt. The thought alone made his cock pulse.

But then your hand reached back, twisting in the fabric covering his hip, and he couldn’t wait any longer. He bent his knees slightly, notching himself at your entrance, and pushed inside.

The noise you let out was nearly enough to make him cum right then and there. He knew he wasn’t gonna last, and judging by the sounds you continued to make and the way you were bearing down on him, hands clenched into fists on the tabletop, he didn’t think you were either. He set a fast pace, the space filling with the slick sound of him driving in and out of you, your moans echoing each move. Din’s gaze dropped, trained on the sight of his cock disappearing to you. Your hand flapped at his hip, scrabbling for purchase, and he wrapped his fingers around your forearm, groaning when you did the same.

He was right; you didn’t last long, and neither did he. Your entire body clenched as you came, one hand slamming against the table, nails digging deep into his wrist. It spurred his own orgasm, that coil at the base of his spine snapping, and he pulled out, cumming hard across the curve of your ass.

Silence settled over the both of you as you caught your breath. Din couldn’t help himself, rubbing his bare fingers over the expanse of your back, tracing over your spine. You arched a bit into his touch, making a satisfied noise before you lifted yourself off the table. You turned to him, leaned up to press a hot kiss to his bare throat. It made him shiver.

“Think we could do that again?” you murmured, lifting a finger and dragging it along the edge of his helmet. “Maybe you take all the metal off.”

Din cleared his throat, trying to ignore the way his cock twitched, already wanting a second round. “Helmet stays on.”

You stared at him a long moment, smile on your lips. “Helmet stays on.”

He kept close to you after that night. He rarely took bounties that took him to further reaches of the galaxy, loathe to admit that he was always within a few parsecs of your hangar. He brought you a long-distance commlink so he could tell you when he was coming back, so you could contact him if you ever needed him. He didn’t worry about you, per se; you were more than capable of taking care of yourself, and he knew for a fact you knew how to shoot the blaster you kept holstered on your thigh when he wasn’t around.

But then the comm went quiet. He called, you didn’t answer. A lead weight formed in his stomach, and he pushed the Crest’s engines are fast as they’d go. Carefully, though — he wouldn’t dare ruin any of your handiwork.

When he landed in the hangar, the lights were all off. It didn’t help his worry, and it only grew worse as he sprinted off the Crest, heading straight for the shop door.

It was locked, but the lock was no match for his vibroblade and a bit of brute force. Inside, the space was empty. no trace of you left inside. There was no sign of a struggle, no blood smeared on the floor or the wall, but it didn’t ease his mind any. What if someone had come for you, spirited you away in the dead of night to some backwater planet? Dank farrik, what if someone had put out a bounty on you? His mind reeled, raced, chewed him up and spit him out.

He never meant to get so attached to you.

Din switched the settings on his visor, finally determining that all the footprints he could make out on the floor were your own. Then he saw it, sitting on the edge of one of the shelves in the kitchen. The commlink, perched precariously, just enough out of sight that no one else would think twice, but not Din.

He thumbed through the screen, saw the icon flashing with a recorded message. Your face lit up the screen instantly, and he stifled the way his stomach clenched. You looked…scared. Not hurt, not injured, but scared.

“Someone sold me out,” you said, your voice distorted and warped. “I can’t give you details. I can’t really tell you anything. Just know I’m going somewhere safe, and I’ll miss you, Mandalorian. Take care of yourself.”

Your eye were shiny as you reached out to cut the recording, and Din’s heart sank into his toes.

He put the commlink in his pocket, and returned to his ship.

He’d watched the message so many times the words were engraved into his brain. The change in your voice, the way you’d blinked harder the more you spoke. The way you paused in the middle, glanced over your shoulder with a shock of fear in your eyes.

And now here you are, standing in front of him, a pile of metal spilling out of a crate tucked beneath your arm, that same streak of fear in those big eyes. Eyes that have haunted him all these years. You nearly drop the crate as you crouch, your gaze zeroing in on the wound on his leg. “Maker, Mando, what the hell did you do?”

“Long story,” he groans out, wincing as you adjust his leg slightly, leaning to the side so you can get a better look. “What are you doing here?”

“I live here,” you reply, getting back to your feet, retrieving your crate of parts. “C’mon, let me clean you up. You look like hell.”

Din goes willingly, not sure what else to do, his mind racing from the combination of the Covert and you appearing out of nowhere. He lets you pull him slowly to his feet, tuck yourself under his arm. “Sweets,” he starts to protest, but you drag his arm around your shoulders.

“Shush,” you whisper, glancing around as you start to lead him in the opposite direction he’d been going. “Lean your weight on me.” He does as you say, nearly crumbling with relief. “There you go.”

The ache only worsens as you go, Din resisting the urge to lean his head against yours. When you finally turn him towards the door, he thinks he may topple over completely, but you’re quicker, producing a remote from your pocket. The door slides open, revealing the inside of a hangar, and you all but carry him through, discarding the crate of parts the moment you’re through, hitting the button again once you’re inside. The door slides shut, and Din lifts his head enough to look around. It looks nearly identical to your old hangar.

Then he hears a curious little beep, and looks down to see a tiny droid scurrying towards you. A BD-1 unit; he recognizes it from Peli’s, though yours is a little more rusty around the edges, the cleaner bits of metal painted grey and yellow. “Not now, Shrimp,” you grit, waving at the droid. It beeps loudly back at you, like an arguing child, and Din stifles his laugh.

“I thought you didn’t use droids,” he mumbles.

“He came with the hangar,” you reply, moving him across the hangar. Shrimp follows a few more steps before darting off, disappearing into a pile of crates. “Couldn’t bring myself to scrap him. Besides, not like he’s much help; tiny thing can’t even lift a socket wrench.”

He laughs out loud this time, and when you pull him into the shop, he laughs again, despite himself.

There’s a shelf of sweets above the workbench.

There’s no curtain between the shop and the apartment, instead another sliding door, another remote. Din lets out a low hum when he sees the apartment beyond. More than one room, furnished with actual furniture. It’s…nice. It’s really nice.

You deposit him on the couch, propping his leg up on the table in front of it. “Wait here,” you mumble, pointing a finger at him before disappearing into another room.

He doesn’t move, but hooks his fingers into the edge of his helmet and yanks it off, depositing it on the couch beside him. He sucks down a breath of unfiltered air.

You gasp as you walk back into the room, nearly dropping the silver case in your hand. “Mando, you—”

“Din,” he says instantly, reaching down, tugging his gloves off, tossing them onto the helmet. “My name is Din Djarin.”

“Din,” you repeat, slowly, like you’re tasting his name on your tongue. The corner of your mouth quirks. “Din…Djarin.”

He just nods. You approach him carefully, like you’re walking towards an injured animal instead of a man, the silver case clutched against your chest.

“Your helmet,” you start, gesturing vaguely. A memory sparks. He told you before — not in so many words — about his Creed, his upbringing. You’d asked, and he’d answered. It wasn’t information he gave willingly. The second time he had you, when you were sprawled out completely naked on that old futon, writhing and moaning beneath him, when he’d shed almost all his beskar, felt the warmth of your body pressed up against all of him. Afterward, when you’d both been sated for the time being, you’d peered up at him from your place on his chest. “Do you ever take it off?” you asked, your voice laced with sleep.

And he’d answered.

“It doesn’t matter,” he says now, eyes darting towards the curve of silver. “I’m not a Mandalorian anymore.”

“What?” you ask, your brow furrowing. He wants to reach out, let his thumb ride the space between your eyebrows, feel it smooth over as he kisses the spot. “What does that mean?”

“It means…” He trails off. Loaded question. What does it mean? Truly? “My name is Din Djarin.”

There’s still confusion etched into your features, but you don’t question him further. Your brow doesn’t loosen, and you perch on the table.

“What’s in the case?” he asks, jutting his chin towards the silver case still in your hands.

You look at him for a long moment, eyes sweeping over his face, over his features. Like you’re committing him to memory. He’s doing the same, almost scrutinizing your face, trying to remember what it looks like without the filter of his visor, what you truly look like, with no barriers in between.

He could taste you easily now.

The thought catches him off guard, the throb between his legs a welcome change to the pulsing of the wound on his thigh. The bacta the Covert had given him has worn off almost completely, and the pain is climbing.

“B-bacta shot,” you stutter out, shaking your head slightly as you flipped open the case. Your eyes moved to the wound on his leg, peering at the plates of beskar, the flight-suit, the discarded helmet on the couch. “That needs to be cleaned.”

Din just nods.

“Think you can walk to the bedroom?” you ask, shoving the silver case into the chest pocket of your jumpsuit. He recognizes it — the tear in the knee, the patch on your thigh. You fixed the zipper. “It’ll be easier.”

It’s slow-going, getting him back to his feet, shuffling carefully to the bedroom. You ask him if he wants to bring the helmet; he just shakes his head.

What does that mean?

Your bed is unmade, but Din barely notices. The scent of you is amplified in here, and he’s sucking down breaths like he’s been deprived of oxygen. You help him lower to the edge of the bed, and he starts on the armour. You sink to your knees in front of him, setting the bacta shot on the mattress beside him. He removes a pauldron with shaking fingers, and you’re right there to take it from him, your movements sure, setting the metal carefully onto the floor, waiting for the next piece.

“You disappeared,” he says, after more pieces of beskar have been removed, when you’ve moved onto his boots, setting them both carefully at your side.

Your brow had just smoothed out, and it pinches again. “I had to. I left you a message.”

Din pulls the zipper on his flight-suit, reaches into the pocket sewn into the lining, and produces the commlink. “I know.”

Your lips part as you look at the piece of metal, dwarfed by his hand. “You found it.”

“I did.”

Bottom lip caught between your teeth, you look back up at him through your lashes. “It wasn’t safe.”

“You’re safe now,” he says, and you reach for the bacta shot. “Tell me.”

“It doesn’t matter now,” you reply, your voice bordering on stern. “Somebody sold me out.”

“I knew that much,” Din mumbles, and you shoot him a glare.

You sigh. “Let’s just say, there were some parts in the hangar that shouldn’t have been there, someone wasn’t happy with some work I did, and then next thing I knew, there were Imps on my tail. So I disappeared.”

“You could have told me where you were going.”

You shake your head. “They were listening. Tracking every message I sent out. I couldn’t let you get roped into it too.”

“You could have gone to the Guild,” he says. He’s too distracted to notice you pull the syringe out of the case. He doesn’t see the needle until you’re pushing it into his muscle above the wound. He grits his teeth audibly, hands curling hard around the edge of the mattress. “Dank farrik.”

“Sorry.”

“I would have come for you,” he says, breath hitching in his throat as you push the plunger down. It feels like his body has been flooded with ice water, his teeth chattering for a moment before the cold turns to a woozy sort of warmth that spreads through his chest like Corellian fire whiskey. He blinks hard, slow, one eye than the other.

“Can you stand?” He nods. Or thinks he does. “The bacta will help, but I need to put a bandage on that wound, at least.” More nodding. He’s vaguely aware of you draping his arms around your neck, your arms sliding around his waist to haul him up. He plants his feet beneath him, forces his weight over his ankles. His movements are slow, languid, like he’s moving through water. You manoeuvre one arm out of his flight-suit, pushing the fabric down his shoulders, until it settles around his hips. The metallic sound of the zipper seems to echo through his brain, and he knows you’re touching his waist, moving the fabric slowly over his injured thigh. But it doesn’t hurt.

All he can feel is you.

You sit him down again, work on pulling the suit off completely. Your hands are warm, soft, gentle against his bare legs, and he nearly buries his nose in the crown of your head when you bend down. Once the flight-suit has been removed, leaving him in his boxers and undershirt, you disappear again, and Din’s not sure if it’s thirty seconds or thirty minutes.

Something cold presses against his thigh, and he flinches. “Does it hurt?” you ask instantly, and your voice is clear, then muffled, then clear again. “It shouldn’t.”

“Nuh-uh,” he slurs out. He hears you laugh, and the sound is like tinkling bells. He wants to hear it again. “Sweets.”

“Yes, Din?” Clear, muffled. His name is a song on your lips.

“You’re beautiful.”

“So are you.”

“Mesh’la,” he mumbles, and then his eyes fall shut, his body slumps back, and he thinks you laugh again. He’s not quite sure; sleep is too busy yanking him under.

Din wakes to the sound of running water.

He’s disoriented, confused, not sure where he is until he pushes up on his elbows, looks around, drinks in the sight of your bedroom. The memory floods back; the Covert, then the hangar, taking the helmet off, the bacta shot that knocked him out.

But more importantly: you.

He rubs the sleep from his eyes. How long was he out? He can’t be sure; there’s a window on the far side of the room, but time on Glavis is different, artificial nighttime and starlight instead of sun. His armour has been moved from the floor, neatly piled on a dresser against the wall, his boots on the floor underneath. His flight-suit is spread out on a worktable in the middle of the room, and he can see from his spot that you’ve tried to mend it, patching the spot the Darksaber had cut open with a square of fabric. It’s looks to be the same kind of material, but the colour is darker. Beneath the sheets, his leg is wrapped in cotton bandages, and there’s no sign of blood seeping to the surface.

His head turns in the direction of the noise of the water, and he pauses, waits for some kind of pain to prick through his body, but it never comes. He feels…good. Well-rested. His eyes follow the sound, and then he sees it.

The door to your bathroom is wide open, and from his spot on your bed, he can see directly into the shower. You’re inside, steam pouring over the top of the glass wall, and Din’s whole body jerks. He never forgot what you looked like naked, and it’s been a long time, but somehow it still feels like the first time. He can feel the blood rushing south, and his hands clench in the bedsheets.

He just stares, watching the water move over you, cascading down your spine, rolling in rivulets over your curves, following the lines of your body. He wants to follow them too, wants to read you like a map only he knows the key to.

Dank farrik, he’s missed you. He hadn’t realized how much.

The water shuts off, and he sees you reach for a towel, wiping your face first. He sinks back down on the bed, wondering if he should feign sleep, feeling like a kid caught doing something he’s not supposed to. But before he can— “You’re awake,” he hears you call, and looks back just as you wrap the towel around your middle. “I thought you’d be out for the night.”

Din coughs, shifting the blankets, trying to hide the tent that’s formed in his boxers. “You don’t close the door?” He doesn’t know what else to say.

You laugh. “I live alone,” you say, stepping out of the bathroom, walking towards the dresser his armour sits upon. “Force of habit.”

He clears his throat. Loudly. Pauses. “…it’s a nice view.”

Your tongue peeks between your lips as you walk over to him, still in just the towel. Your hair is still dripping, water droplets dotting your shoulders. You sink slowly onto the edge of the bed. “How do you feel?”

“G-good,” he spits out, adjusting himself, making more room for you. “Really good.”

The corner of your mouth quirks. “I’m glad. You scared me, Man—” You catch yourself. “Din.”

A drop of water splashes down from your hair, starts a path down your upper arm, and Din reaches out, catching it on his finger. You watch his hand, lips softly parted, and he continues the path, drawing his hand up and down your skin, the backs of his knuckles against your bicep.

“I wondered where you were, all these years,” you whisper. There’s longing in your voice, he notices; the same feeling sits like a weight on his chest. “I never stopped wondering.”

“I’ll tell you sometime,” he whispers back. There’s something forming in the air between you, thick like the steam that still foams from the open bathroom. Din can almost taste it, and the thought he’d had in your living room resurfaces, making him twitch beneath the sheets. He could taste you so easily now. “It’s a long story.”

The corner of your mouth quirks. “I got nothing but time.”

So does he, he realizes. He’s without a ship, without his son, without anything anchoring him to one planet or another, to any sort of path. He’d been wandering already, trying to find the Covert, and now he is unmoored once more, yet somehow managed to find his way back to your hangar.

To your bed.

His hand stops chasing water droplets, and he sees your teeth sink into your lower lip. He lowers his palm until it rests on your bare thigh, and he can feel how your skin is still hot from the shower. “I never kissed you,” he rasps. “Before.”

Your head shakes slowly, and you turn towards him more fully. The towel is loose around your chest, your hand holding it in place, and he reaches for it, slowly uncurling your fingers from the fabric, until your grip falls slack, and the towel goes with it. “You should fix that,” you murmur.

“I’m out of practice.”

Your lips twitch again. “How bad?”

“Few decades,” he says softly. “Since before I swore the Creed.”

“You were a child.”

“It was a childish kiss.” He pauses, moves his hand again, brushes dripping locks of hair from your face. “I don’t want to kiss you like that.”

“Just…” Din leans in slightly, tilts his head to the side. “Do what feels natural.” You mirror his movement, and his eyes are glued to your mouth, to the way your lips stay parted even when you’re done speaking, the way your collar lifts with shuddered breaths. He sees your hands move the towel out of the corner of his eye, pulling the fabric away from your body completely until you’re bared to him, head to toe.

You’re just as beautiful as he remembers. If not more.

The tip of his nose drags along the slope of yours, and his hand slides from your thigh to your hip. “I need you closer, Sweets,” he murmurs, and you nod against him, your foreheads tapping together. There’s a bit of shuffling, the blankets moved back, his tented boxers exposed but barely acknowledged as you climb into his lap. He revels in the way you look above him, your knees pressed either side of his hips. You’re hesitant to lower your weight onto his leg, and he guides you slow, giving you a quiet it’s okay as you settle onto him.

He doesn’t feel any pain; he just feels you.

Once you’re comfortable, your hands clutching at his shoulders, he adjusts his grip on you, palms skimming up your spine, mapping out your ribs and the curve of your ass. You make a quiet noise when he squeezes one cheek, the movement propelling you forward, making your hips roll into his, your core pushed against his hard cock. It makes him hiss with pleasure, and he slides one hand up to your hair, knotting his fingers in it and dragging your mouth down to his.

It’s not artful; he’s sure it doesn’t look pretty from the outside. There’s a lot of teeth and tongue, the fumble of hands as he tries to get you even closer. He’s sure you’ve been kissed better than this, and it makes his cheeks heat, makes him pull away, tucking his chin towards his chest. “I’m sorry, I—”

“Hey,” you say softly, your hands moving to cup his cheeks, tilting his face back up towards you. “It’s okay. Just…follow my lead?” You say it like a question, your thumbs swiping over his face, through the smatter of facial hair along his jaw. “I got you.”

Din nods, lets his lips part as you cock your head to the side, leaning in slow. You kiss his top lip and then his bottom one, giving him just enough teeth that he wants more, wants it harder. He grips your hips as you move, but your kiss stays tender, slow, your tongue a wet heat against his own. He’d dreamed of this, of kissing you, and this one — albeit the second attempt — is everything he ever imagined.

Finally, your mouth grows more insistent. He’s hard as steel between his legs, and he can feel how hot you are, your wetness spreading across his boxers with every roll of your hips. Your mouth is sweet, almost sugary, and he finds himself chuckling against your lips, still trying to get you closer. Your stomach presses to his as you wrap your arms around his neck, kissing him harder, your tongue licking into his mouth.

“Sweets,” he grinds out when you start pulling at his undershirt, insistent to get it over his head. He lets you, and when you lower your head again, your mouth moves to his throat instead, and it makes him moan. “Mesh’la, wait, please, I need—”

You pull back instantly, your eyes bright with worry. “What is it? Are you okay?”

“I want…” His eyes drop, tracing a path down your body, his throat growing dry when they land on the apex of your thighs, the glistening wetness he knows he’s caused. He lets one hand follow the path his eyes made, rubs his thumb over your clit. Your whole body shivers. “I want to taste you.”

Your eyes go big, pupils blown with lust, and Din uses your momentary shock to his advantage. He’s stronger than you, perks of the bounty hunting lifestyle, and he flips you easily with one arm around your waist, his other hand hitching your thigh over his hip. You squeak as your head hits the pillows, clinging to him until you’re laid out beneath him.

It’s his turn to kiss his way down your throat, and he does, laving his tongue against your pulse as he makes his way down your body. He pauses at your chest, moves to the side to close his lips around your nipple. It makes your back arch, a high-pitched noise falling from your mouth, and he grins against you, giving you just the edge of his teeth before he’s wandering across your chest to give the other the same attention.

You’re a writhing mess by the time he’s settled between your thighs. He can’t keep his eyes still, raking over every inch of you, trying to remember every part. He can see the muscles in your legs jump as he traces his fingers over them, the more sensitive parts of your skin making you keen.

With your legs spread, he can see everything, and his mouth waters at the sight of your wet cunt, walls fluttering around nothing as he teases you with his fingers, collecting your wetness on the tips before drawing them to his mouth.

He moans at the taste. Of course, you’re sweet. Deliciously so.

“Din,” you groan out, propping yourself up on your elbows. He can feel you watching, and his gaze flicks up to yours as he drops his jaw, lowers his mouth to you. Your eyes roll back for a moment, one hand moving to knot in his hair, and Din moans into you. His tongue explodes with the taste of you, sending shocks down his spine, making his hips rolls into the mattress, seeking relief.

Just do what feels natural, your words echo in his head. So he does. He licks into you, wide stripes with the flat of his tongue, smaller kitten licks to your clit. He can’t get enough of your taste, hooking his hands around your thighs, pulling himself deeper into you. And you guide him some, your hand in his hair an anchor of sorts, tugging slightly to get him right where you need him, a gasped oh fuck, right there! reaching his ears.

It’s not before long that you’re smacking at his shoulder, muffled moans on your lips with your teeth sunk into your lower one. He detaches from you, gets one more good look and lick in before he’s following your grip, kissing every inch of you he can reach as he makes his way back up your body.

“I need you inside me,” you slur, your hands reaching down, pushing at his boxers. His cock springs up against his stomach and he groans, the sound growing louder when you wrap your fingers around him. “Please, Din, I want to cum on your cock.”

It’s a miracle he doesn’t cum right then and there, hearing your words turn filthy. And filthier still as he hauls himself over you, plants one elbow beside your head, looks between you, reaches down to line himself up and—

Freezes.

He can feel your eyes on his face, features pinched with anticipation. Your hands have found homes along his ribs, fingers tapping out rhythmless patterns. Hips lifting, you must see something in his expression, because you move a hand to his chin, lifting his eyes to yours again. “Din,” you say, and a shiver shoots down his spine again at the way his name sounds on your lips. “It’s okay. We can stop, if you need to.”

“No!” he nearly shouts, and feels himself flush, lowering himself slightly, careful not to drop all his weight on you. “No, that’s not what I…I don’t…”

“Don’t what?” you murmur. Your voice is quiet, understanding. You give a soft laugh. “I know you’re not a virgin, but if you don’t want to, it’s okay, I won’t say any—”

“It’s not that,” he cuts you off, petting his hand over your still-damp hair. “I want to. I want you. It’s just that…” He chews at his lip. “No one’s ever seen my face, while we…when I…”

Realization slides through your features. “Oh.”

“Yes.”

“I don’t have to look,” you say quickly, skimming your knuckles along his cheek. “I can turn over, if you like, if that’s easier than—”

“No,” he says, not a shout this time, but firmer. “I want you to see, Sweets.” He drops his chin, emboldened by your softness, your understanding. He kisses you soundly. “I want to kiss you while you cum.” His words pull a silky noise from your throat.

He breaks the kiss as he takes himself in hand, pushes into your dripping cunt. You’re hot, clenching down on him instantly, arms draped around his neck as he lowers himself further, latches his lips to yours. He hitches one of your legs high on his hip, drives into you deep. He had you close on his tongue already, and he rolls his hips hard, catching something deep inside that makes your entire body seize.

“Yes, Din, please, oh gods, please, please, please,” you’re babbling against his lips, one hand pressed flat between his shoulders, the other knotted in the back of his hair. “Yes!”

Just as he said, he kisses you while you cum. He feels it pulse through your body, your limbs taut and then lax, still holding him close. Your hips chase his, cunt clenching tight as a vice, and Din’s not far behind you, pleasure lighting a fuse down his spine.

You pull your lips from his just as he starts to spill in you. Your hand moves to grip his chin, and you force his gaze to yours. He gasps and your mouth mirrors his, lips parted in a soft o, turning to a grin as he grinds into you, painting your insides as deep as he can go. It feels like an implosion, his bones rattled in his body, but then set on the softest bed of silk as he collapses into your chest. You hold him close, petting one hand through his hair, breathing deep and slow until his own evens out, matches yours, until your heartbeat syncs with his.

“Mesh’la?” he calls after a moment, cheek still pressed to your sternum.

“Yes, Din?” you reply, your voice scratchy as your nails start to drag along his scalp. His eyes are heavy.

“I missed you.”

He can hear the smile in your voice. “I missed you too.”

Din wakes alone in your bed again.

He thinks it’s the next morning — the rest of what he assume to be evening was spent in your bed, both of you naked and wrapped in each other. Again and again and again, he pulled pleasure from your body, let you pull it from his, found your bliss together. By the time you were both too tired to move, sprawled on the mattress, your head on his shoulder, you’d whispered, “You’re a good kisser, Din Djarin.” And then you were asleep, Din not too far behind.

He dresses quickly, boxers pulled back on, undershirt in his hand as he pads out of the room. He finds you standing in the kitchen, a steaming cup of caf in your hands. The droid — Shrimp, he dimly recalls — is perched on the table, beeping out a message to you. You’re nodding along, blowing the steam off the top of your caf, and your eyes flick to him as he steps into the kitchen.

“You know Peli Motto?”

Din’s brow crinkles with confusion. “You know Peli?”

You scoff. “That woman taught me everything I know.”

“You’re joking.”

“Swear on my hangar.”

Din just laughs, walking around the table. He slides an arm around your waist once he’s close enough, leans into kiss the side of your head. You lean into him. “Why are we talking about Peli?”

“She sent me a message,” you say, offering him your caf. He takes a sip, only feeling more confused. “Asking if I had any spare ships laying around my hangar. A replacement for her Mandalorian friend.”

Din balks. He hasn’t told you about the Crest. “Sweets…”

You step away from him, pressing a hand to his chest as your eyes go wide with realization. “Din Djarin, what did you do to that ship?”

“I didn’t—”

“Din.”

“It was Imps,” he says, trying to reach for your hip. “It wasn’t—”

“Where is the Razor Crest?”

He sighs heavily, and reaches out to take the cup of caf from you again. “Now it’s nothing but a scorch mark on the planet Tython. It was the Imps. They took my son.” The words are out before he can stop them.

Your eyes go so wide he’s worried they might pop out of your skull. “Your son?”

“It’s a long story.”

You pluck the caf out of his hands, walk around the table, pull out a chair and sink into it. “I got nothing but time.”

#sleepover saturday #my fics #din djarin #the mandalorian #the mandalorian fic #din djarin fic #din djarin x reader #din djarin x you #the mandalorian x you #the mandalorian x reader #din djarin smut #din djarin fluff #din djarin headcanon #din djarin fanfiction #the mandalorian smut #the mandalorian fluff #the mandalorian headcanon #the mandalorian fanfiction

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dindjarindiaries · 3 months ago

Note

‘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.

#so anyways i started screaming bc i love him!#din djarin #the mandalorian #din djarin x reader #the mandalorian x reader #din djarin fanfiction #din djarin fic #the mandalorian fanfiction #the mandalorian fic #prompts #dindjarindiaries

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redr0sewrites · 3 months ago

Text

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 🙏

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burntheedges · 1 month ago

Text

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!

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

124 notes · View notes

604to647 · 2 months ago

Text

Safest with You (✨Series Finale✨ Ch. 22 - The Long Road to Forgiveness)

16K / Modern AU Retired Mob Enforcer!Din Djarin x fem!reader

No Summary or Warnings to avoid spoilers! (18+ Content, MDNI please - there are no warnings that would apply that haven't been noted on a previous chapter in the series).

A/N: This is it! Our series finale!! 😭😭🥰 (And it's a monster - sorree🫠) I love these two so much and I don't think I will ever truly say goodbye to them - there is still an Epilogue coming and possible one-shots in the future, but this is the end of our main story/relationship arc for them; I hope it's enjoyable and satisfying 🥹. Thank you to everyone who has read along with the series - it was my very first foray into fanfic and I've learned (and I hope, improved!) so much as a writer over this past year - I can never thank Din, Pretty Bird and all of you enough for this experience. Merci, merci, merci et je t'aime 😘😘😘

Dividers by @saradika-graphics as always 😘 / Series Masterlist

You don’t know how long you stand there, unmoving.

He’s here.

You truly believed you would never see Din again, but here he is sitting before you, looking more handsome than you remember. The strong lines of his face and soft waves of his hair are both longer than when you saw them last but he’s still the same man who exudes a gravitational pull that you can’t help but feel tug at you. And yet, you remain rooted in place - unable to go to him, but unable to leave.

Finally, Din stands and rises to his full impressive height, looking at you pleadingly with soft, unsure eyes; he starts to slowly move closer, one gentle footstep a time - as if afraid to spook you.

You count his steps. One… Two… Three… Twelve… Fifteen… until he stands right before you, close enough for you to reach out and touch.

There’s an unspoken understanding between the two of you that even though Din sought you out, that you’re the one who has to speak first; your words the only ones with the power of invitation… or dismissal.

The only problem is you don’t know what you want to say. You had already made peace with the idea that you and Din would never speak again and chosen not to lingered on what remains unsaid, never mind how you would ever go about approaching those topics. While you frantically try to navigate the questions that suddenly flood your mind, Din gingerly holds out the peony bouquet to you in offer.

And like he had done so a million times during your relationship, Din quiets your overthinking mind with a simple, but sweet gesture so you can think clearly.

You reach out to take the flowers from him and briefly admire them – they’re beautiful. Your favourite.

“Thank you,” you say quietly.

“You’re welcome,” Din’s voice is equally soft, cautious.

Raising your eyes from the pretty pastel blooms you find Din looking at you with such familiar tenderness that you can’t stop your heartstrings from strumming. It was one thing to have worked through your feelings, finding a peace in being over Din while on your own; it’s another thing entirely when he’s right in front of you.

“Din, what are you doing here?”

Din’s countenance is one of resignation and apology, “I- um.. I just… I just wanted to let you know you’re safe.”

You don’t know how to respond to this declaration. Din takes your silence as a request to further clarify, “To be clear, you were always safe… always protected. I just mean that the threat made against you has been eliminated… no one is after you. And no one will ever come after you.”

It’s still not much of an explanation, but you ask, “And the others, they’re safe too?”

Of course you would worry after the others, smiles Din, “Yes, everyone is safe. You’re perfectly safe. You’ve always been safe and you always will be.”

And while you immediately understand that Din’s intention in coming today is to reassure you, give you closure, you find his words insufficient.

Eyes piercing, but voice soft, you sigh, “I didn’t feel very safe.”

“Oh fuck, pretty bird. Shit. I thought you knew that even if we weren’t together, the Family would protect you. I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean f-”

Your hand comes up slightly to interrupt, “You misunderstand, Din. I didn’t mean I felt like I was in any danger or that I was scared. Because I didn’t. I meant I didn’t feel safe. How could I? When the person who made me feel the safest, the one who I trusted the most to care for my well being had abandoned me?”

You inhale and exhale a deep, surrendering breath, “There’s a difference between knowing I’m safe and feeling I’m safe, Din.” Unsure of where these words are spilling from, you couldn’t stop them even if you wanted to, “You need to know that you have more to offer someone that just protection. To me, you were comfort, steadiness, security – my port in any storm no matter how big or small. With that taken from me, how could I ever feel safe?”

The look of devastated comprehension on Din’s face nearly makes you regret your words. You hadn’t meant, nor do you harbour any desire to make Din feel badly - he had come to you today with the sweetest of intentions. And so, you try to give him a kindly smile through your sad eyes, “Din, it’s okay. Really. I’m not telling you this because I want you to feel bad or because I need you to apologize for it. I know you did what you thought was the best for me, what kept me the safest… but, for the sake of the next person you’re with – I hope you can consider that making someone feel safe is as much about being there for them, being reliable, as it is protecting them from danger.”

The silence that follows is heavy with regret and contemplation. And even though it wasn’t the point of your speech, Din, for the moment can only speak to the one thing he’s sure of, “There’s never going to be anyone after you, pretty bird.”

“Din…”

“It’s the truth, but I know that that’s neither here nor there. I didn’t come here today to try and beg you for another chance or to see if you wanted to still be with me. I know it’s impossible - I ruined any possibility of us. But, please know - there isn’t any universe where I get over you. Where there’s a ‘next person’ - you were it for me. And having heard what you said today, I now know that as much as I thought I did what was needed to keep you safe – I do have to be very sorry and apologize because it turns out that I still failed. I’m so sorry, pretty bird.”

Din sinks to his knees and wraps his big strong arms, the very ones whose warmth and security you knew so well, around the back of your legs and presses his face into the softness of your belly. As you card your fingers through the silky curls of Din’s hair, the familiarity of the gesture softens your heart even further.

You know Din is sorry. You can feel his remorse and apology with every fibre of your being - and so, heart complacent in the face of Din’s complete surrender and capitulation, you forgive him.

There’s nothing more to it. Din’s sorry and he carries an albatross of regret for having hurt you - you have no desire to punish him more.

It had been naïve of you to think you had nothing left to say to Din - there are words that had, unbeknownst to you, been hiding in your heart, trapped with nowhere to go for the last four months, now beating loud against their makeshift prison to be heard. For your own hard-won peace, you can’t let Din go without having him hear them.

“Din, I meant what I said: you are so much more than the protection you provide. You were the keeper of my heart. Being with you was a dream – I had never felt more confident, content, and hopeful for the future. Everyday, I was the most cherished, adored woman on earth, and I believed you would safeguard my heart as if it was your most precious treasure. Every time you decided for me that my safety was compromised by being with you – every time you left – it felt like you were ripping that comfort and security away. Please, Din - I’m not saying I don’t appreciate your concern for my physical safety, but it should never have come at the expense of the safety of my heart.” Din rises as you punctate your point, “The hardest thing was losing the security I thought I had that our love was worth something to you too.”

You start to walk and Din follows, the emotion and sincerity in your voice holding him a willing hostage.

“And it’s not just how you approached the threat made against me, Din. I know you always kept secrets from me about parts of your life that, I don’t know… you thought might make me see you differently? And maybe that was partially my fault for being okay with it in the beginning out of some desire not to encroach on things that might not have been my business. I don’t even know anymore. But even if you didn’t know how I would react or thought I couldn’t handle the type of things you said I was too ‘good’ for, I think it hurt us in the long run that you didn’t give me the benefit of the doubt to try. Did you genuinely think I would choose to leave? I mean, Din - are you ashamed of who you are or any of the things you’ve done?”

In every battle Din’s ever fought with himself when it came to being with you, he’s asked himself this question, “I… I can live with myself, pretty bird.”

“Then maybe I could have, too? For the entire time we were together, you only ever made me feel supported and uplifted, comfortable no matter the situation, Din. I was certain there was nothing that I could tell or share with you that could ever make you love me any less.”

Against your wishes, your eyes well up as you think back to Din’s abandonment, “That’s how much I trusted you, how much my heart believed in your goodness. I… can’t help but be hurt that you didn’t trust me the same way.”

You allow Din to walk you down to the subway platform, and when he curls himself around you to shield you from the wind tunnel the incoming train brings, you heart pulls unexpectedly with a longing that you had thought was long extinguished. It’s this: this care, this thoughtfulness that has always been, to you, the measure of the man Din is – you leave him with this final thought before the subway car doors close behind you, “You didn’t need to protect me to make me feel safe, Din. You were enough.”

Din goes home and thinks about what you said.

He doesn’t think anyone has ever loved him the way you did – he had never had any one say that they saw him beyond being a protector. It touches something deep inside him to know that he gave you comfort and you had loved him for his soft and giving nature, not the hardness of his utility. He chose to provide for you in the manner he thought he was best suited, but what you had sought was something he never considered anyone would want from him: a true, equal partnership. That you had felt he didn’t believe in your love, in you - and that he hadn’t held both in the high esteem that he does? Well, that was inexcusable. Din adds it to the long list of ways he had hurt you that he could never forgive himself for.

Din doesn’t harbour any illusions that he has another chance with you, but this he can still make happen – he can show you that he does trust you. That he had held dear your belief in him and still does. He can show you that the love you had bestowed upon him was the greatest gift he had ever received.

He can find the courage to be truthful about all the things that he had thought he had to keep a secret from you. You were right - he hadn’t been wholly honest with you. Saying it was for your protection, but the truth was Din had been afraid if you knew the realities of his world, the darker side of who he was, perhaps you would look at him differently. Maybe you wouldn’t have been able to look at him at all.

But you were the most reasonable, smartest, sweetest, generous person he knew – and he hadn’t treated you as such.

You were right. He hadn’t shown very much faith in you or your love – but he could fix that. What did he have to lose by showing you the truth of who he was? He had already lost you - the least he could do is try and take away some of the hurt he had caused.

To say you’re surprised to see Din again the next day is an understatement. Having once again resigned yourself to never seeing him again after leaving him on the subway platform yesterday, you can’t deny the warmth that blooms tentatively in your chest when you find him sitting in the courtyard waiting for you after work once more

This time, it’s you who approaches him – an unspoken question on your bemused face.

Din rises to meet you and holds out another bouquet of peonies, just as beautiful as the one with which he had met you the previous day, “So, pretty bird, do you want me tell you who was behind the threat?”

Din comes every day to pick you up after work and sees you all the way home. Some days you take the subway together and on others you walk the long walk – but Din always stays to walk Al with you once you reach your building. He waits patiently downstairs while you go in to get Al and lovingly greets the pup who receives him as if Din hadn’t disappeared from his life for nearly a year. It makes you smile to see that their bond remains unchanged.

You and Din talk - freely, unrestrained; no more secrets, no emotions withheld – nothing is off limits.

As promised, Din starts with the topic of what came of the threat made against you and other Fett Family loved ones. You insist that Din not spare any of the details that he might be tempted to temper or deem too unsavoury for you; you don’t know that Din has already made the commitment to be nothing but transparent with you.

It was the Hutts. Everything had been the Hutts all along: from the small incidents of vandalism and theft to the minor outbreaks of violence that had increased in intensity and frequency all the way up to Cass and Rikard’s wedding, even the assassination attempt at Boba’s birthday, and then the threats made against you and those nearest and dearest to the Fetts. The Hutts had been behind it all, though they had not done it alone.

Ultimately it had been the Fett-Pyke engagement announcement (made some time when you and Din first started dating) that had set things in motion. When Cass and Rikard announced their intention to marry, there had been a small, contingent group of Pyke Syndicate members that had not been as happy for the couple as they claimed to be. They had tolerated the relationship even though they found it distasteful, but a marriage? A marriage meant a formal, legal tie to the Fett Family and that they just could not allow. It had been years since there had been any bloodshed between the two clans, but in their eyes, some things could never be bygones.

But what could they do? They were an older, fading minority in the Syndicate. Lom and Marg were progressive leaders who had numbers and support - if they wanted the union to happen, their followers would fall in line.

So, they reached out to someone who abhorred the idea of the Fetts and Pykes coming together even more than they did: The Hutts. The Hutts couldn’t care less about the legacy of old grievances - what they didn’t want is for two of their rival clans to become allies, even if they were, for the moment at least, only getting along for the sake of a couple of kids. They feared that the ties between the Fetts and Pykes would only become stronger and that eventually, familial ties and business ties would blur. If the Fetts and the Pykes were to work together, they would indisputably become the strongest crime syndicate in the city, easily overpowering and out-muscling the Hutts and other clans if they wanted to.

The small group of Pyke conspirators worked with the Hutts to slowly, and without raising suspicion, create discourse between the Fetts and the Pykes. They even enlisted the help of the Crymorah Syndicate to sow the seeds of mistrust. Those months of unrest and escalating security incidents during your relationship with Din had been the work of their efforts – Din had been right, there had been a behind-the-scenes culprit orchestrating it all. At first, they hit all the clans and their territories with impunity - not marking anyone as an obvious target in order to foster a general atmosphere of unease and instability. Then gradually, they increased the pressure on only Fett and Pyke marks, hoping that it would cause the two clans to start pointing the finger at each other and destroy any goodwill that the engagement had garnered.

To their great frustration, aside from putting everyone on high alert and causing undue stress on security teams from both sides, it seemed that the newly forged bonds of friendship and trust between the Fetts and Pykes, while tentative, were holding strong.

The wedding had gone off as planned to the displeasure of those who had been conspiring against it. A few of the lower-level Hutt footmen had made a last ditch attempt to make their frustrations known by crashing the end of the wedding and getting into it with the younger Pyke cousins; but even that disturbance had been easily squashed by Din and the Mandos.

The brief period of respite that had occurred after the wedding was due to the Hutts and the rogue Pykes regrouping for their contingency plan.

This time, instead of targeting both clans in order to insinuate some kind of escalating payback between the two families, they would target only the Fetts and frame the Pykes. The plan included a two-pronged strike on the Fetts: first, on territories and businesses that bordered those of the Pykes, and second, where it would hit the clan the hardest - family. Between the threats made and the unyielding onslaught of attacks and violence, they hoped to run down the Mandos and throw the organization in such disarray that the Fetts would foolishly follow the planted clues leading to the Pykes being responsible – thereby breaking up any potential alliance and possibly even leading to a war that would end the possibility on a permanent basis.

It was diabolical. And it could have very well worked if not for Boba’s instincts and his belief in the inherent good of those Pykes that he now, through marriage, considered family.

Din tells you every detail of his and Paz’s investigation: every false lead they chased down, the twist and turns of every revelation, and each and every time they fell for one of the Hutt’s traps. You hear the names of more Hutts and Pykes and Crymoreans than you can keep straight and you learn how Din got the information needed out of each one of them. Din doesn’t mince words and he leaves nothing to innuendo: he trusts you with the whole truth, no matter how dirty, gritty, or damaging.

Your expression gives nothing away. You ask a million questions. Din answers every single one in full. He talks so much that your time together eventually extends to include Al’s late-night walk so that Din can share as much as he can before needing to wait before he sees you again the next day.

You’re not sure when, but during one of these nightly dog walks, Din’s fingers tentatively lace through yours and instead of pulling away, you give his hand a gentle squeeze and leave your hand resting comfortably in his. He holds your hand every chance he gets after that.

After he finishes his tale with an assurance that those responsible in the Pyke Syndicate have been weeded out and dealt with, along with some graphic details on how Boba exposed and put an end to the Hutts’ subterfuge, Din opens up to you about his past.

He tells you everything you’ve ever wanted to know about the type of work he’s done for the Fett Family in the past and what he still does to this day. Every scar on Din’s body that you’ve ever traced beneath your delicate fingers has a tale of savagery and he tells you every single one. You grimace at the graphic descriptions, but your eyes never shy away from Din, tender and worried even now for wounds long since healed over.

Your heart breaks for Din with every story he recounts where he lost a friend, was betrayed by someone he had trusted, or where he saw the duplicitous nature of the people who occupy the world he was born into. Every loss, every breach of trust has carved a mark into this man that you thought you knew so well, molding him into the cautious warrior that he is – only now, perhaps, do you truly understand why Din is so protective over those he holds dear, why he had been so protective over you.

He’s the man you always knew he was: honourable, loyal, true of heart, wise but somehow not jaded or world weary. Din remains unchanged in your esteem: a good man who tries his best. You can’t help but admire him.

One night, right before you and Al head in, instead of wishing you a good night, Din looks nervously at his feet.

“Pretty bird, can I kiss you?”

You look at Din, not without affection but still unsure of how you feel or how you want to feel now that your story seems to be continuing beyond what you had reconciled yourself to, and shake your head, no.

Din nods understandingly and tries to give you an expression that’s devoid of disappointment; while he would have loved for you to have answered affirmatively, he would never push you.

He continues coming to see you every day and the conversation resumes without reservations.

You go back in time in your relationship and ask questions you didn’t even know you had back then. Din remains candid and open – he’s found it to be easier to be plainly honest with you now that he’s started. For your part, you’re astonished to learn of things you probably should have suspected, like how the boxing circuit is mob dominated because of the rampant gambling, and other things you never have would guessed, like how Mayfeld owns a successful chain of barbershops.

Sometimes the conversation veers again to how you and Din separately fared over this past year. He always apologizes profusely and refuses to shy away from any re-airing of your insecurities and confusion about this time. For the first time, he confesses aloud the depth of his depression and the emptiness he felt without you in his life. It brings you no joy to hear how Din struggled and how he’s punished himself while you were apart.

It’s with sincerity that Din tells you that he found a small comfort in knowing you had moved on, that if not gone, at least the hurt he had inflicted on you had lessened; you tell him about your healing turning point: when you returned his items. He listens, full of emotion, as you recount how going through his things unearthed memories of a loving relationship and that you consider him to be a great love of your life. When you tell him this, it’s with an unnamed swirl of feeling that thunders in your chest.

You chuckle somewhat awkwardly when Din tells you about how Peli had stormed into Mando’s after you dropped off his boxes, bellowing that even though you had made Paz promise not to tell Din he had seen you, she “didn’t effing promise.” Though the image that Din paints of an irate Peli is amusing, you sheepishly explain the reasoning behind the promise you extracted from Paz. Din can’t quite believe it – you had wanted to protect him? After everything he had done? He thanks you for having attempted to shield his feelings, though he doesn’t think he deserved it - but then again, he never thought he deserved you.

With earnestness, you assure Din that he did and even after learning everything he’s now been so transparent about, your opinion hasn’t changed - he’s a good man.

It takes several weeks of you repeating this for Din to maybe concede that he could be.

Every night before he leaves you, Din asks you the same question, “Pretty bird, can I kiss you?”

And while your affections for Din continue to grow and your trust in what he says solidifies, still you shake your head and say no. Your nightly refusal is received with an understanding nod – no guilt, no pressure.

After about a month walking you home everyday, Din suggests getting dinner one night. You could bring Al, he says, hopefully, and cites the nice weather and abundance of dog friendly patios.

You have dinner together that night. And the next night. And the next.

Din’s company is as comfortable and easy as you remember; his very presence can still calm you and his sweet words and longing glances set your heart a flutter the way they used to. You find yourself sometimes wishing Al’s nighttime walks were longer just so you can stay with Din, even though you know you’ll see him again the following day. And yet…

“Pretty bird, can I kiss you?”

Your answer remains unchanged. When you look deep in Din’s eyes, you see a yearning that mirrors the one that’s started to grow in your heart, but even with all that’s been said between you and him over these past several weeks, you’re still terribly unsure. Unsure if you can trust Din with your heart again.

Tonight, instead of just nodding at your response with graceful acceptance, Din looks at you with seriousness and gingerly brings his hand up to cup your face - he wants to makes sure you see in his eyes the sincerity that comes with his next words.

“Baby, I want to be clear - I love you. I’ve never stopped and my feelings for you are as strong as they’ve ever been. But I have no expectations and I would never ask you for anything. If all I can ever be to you is someone whose company you enjoy once in a while, then I’m happy. These past few weeks is the happiest I’ve been for almost a year. I don’t expect you to feel the same way as me and I won’t push. If you want me to stop asking to kiss you - if it makes you uncomfortable, or you just don’t want that thought to have any place in this friendship we’re rebuilding, then I’ll stop and I promise I’ll be okay with it.”

There he is - the considerate man you had loved. The one who took intimate care of your emotional safety and for whom disrespect and unkindness were never an option. You don’t know if there’s a future for you and Din in the way that he’s imaging, but Din’s sweet words and the way he’s looking at you right now make you hopeful for the possibilities.

“Don’t stop asking,” you say in a shy voice.

The smile on Din’s face couldn’t be more radiant - it lights up his whole face and he breathes, eyes soft, “Ok, pretty bird. I won’t stop asking.”

Din’s daily presence and the time you spend together become such a comfortable part of your life that you hardly recall what it was like before; as time goes on, your conversations become less expository and return to an easy, natural rapport.

You ask after Paz, Lisa, Poe, Cass and Boba, and even Fennec and her mods, all the Mandos, Peli and the more colourful characters from the gym – delighting in all their recent shenanigans.

Din always asks about your friends. When he admits how much he admires them, especially Rory, you tell him he reminds you of her sometimes and that she’s surprisingly been his biggest champion. You think he looks proud at this. To your surprise, Din tells you that he’s read Bea’s book – he happily discusses its characters and plot points with you, and you giggle at how he tries to hide his excitement when you tell him insider info on the upcoming second book in the series.

Topics of discussion come out of nowhere but the conversation never wanes: what books you’re both reading, new and upcoming fighters at Mando’s, Greef’s short lived attempt at mandating a required book club for all the fighters (“Gentlemen, we need to also exercise the mind”), the latest season of the Korean dating show that you were both addicted to, Katie’s upcoming play, Mayfeld’s sad attempts to recreate your garlic knots.

When you offer to make a batch and bring it over to Mando’s one day, Din jokes that he won’t tell Mayfeld unless you want him to replace Din at your next after work pick up. Inwardly, his heart is doing backflips at you making any future plans that involve him, however tangentially.

He’s in love with you and he won’t even lie to himself anymore about wanting you back. But he meant it when he told you he’ll never push or pressure; it would pain him to make you uncomfortable in any way. Din drinks in every happy smile you give him and floats on the waves of your musical laughter; contents himself with stealing admiring looks when you’re not looking and he holds your hand like it’s the most precious thing he’s allowed to touch - because it is.

Din endlessly compliments you and it truly takes him no effort to make you feel the way he always did: special, beautiful, smart and witty, and like everything you do and say matters. Your kindness and sweetness to him seems to know no bounds – he should have never expected anything less; even knowing everything you do now about him, you still treated him like he’s someone worth being around.

He thanks you for this. For being you.

You tell him there’s nothing to thank you for as you squeeze his hand and something in your expression gives him courage; he asks you again, “Can I kiss you, pretty bird?”

Tonight, you nod. As Din leans in, your heartbeat quickens not just from anticipation, but also fear.

You’re frightened. Frightened because you want Din to kiss you. Frightened because you think you want to open up your heart to him, but you don’t have any assurance that he won’t abandon you again. Frightened because you want to take the risk, because you think he’s worth it.

As soon as Din’s lips touch yours, the tingling spark that spreads throughout your entire body from the familiar and missed touch leaves you shivering. Din must feel it too because he wraps his arms around you and pulls you in close, crushing his mouth to yours to deepen the kiss. When you open up to invite him in, you unexpectedly let out a loud sob that bubbles up from your chest without permission and hot tears spring from your eyes, running down your cheeks.

“Baby,” Din gently cradles your head in his large hands and strokes your hair soothingly.

You hiccup and choke out, “Was I so easy to leave, Din?”

“Oh fuck, sweet girl – no, of course not. Leaving was the hardest thing I ever had to do; it nearly killed me every time I walked away from you.”

“You did it so many times,” you cry, sad and exposed. Din had left you. Even if you understand his flawed reasoning, you still can’t quite reconcile it with the love he professes to feel for you.

“I know,” Din hangs his head in shame, he tilts your trembling face to his and tries to brush away your tears.

“I’m so sorry, baby. I’ll probably never understand the anguish I put you through – I told myself it was better than if any physical harm were to befall you, but I hated it, hurting you. I only ever wanted to keep you safe, care for you, and give you everything you deserve, but I had convinced myself that it was worth it if you were safe. When I saw the way you looked at me that night with Vanessa, I could see the betrayal you felt… it gutted me and I knew right away I had made a mistake. I felt like the biggest piece of shit on the plant. I was the biggest piece of shit on the planet. And it was probably nothing compared to how I made you feel.”

You want to tell Din that you don’t like it when he talks poorly about himself, but you let him continue.

“I already didn’t deserve you, but the way I left you… the way I hurt you? Well, that just confirmed it. How could someone who could hurt an angel be deserving of that angel? But baby, I loved you so much - you were my everything, my sun, my moon. And I missed you so fucking much. Every single waking moment of every day, all I could think about was you. How you were, if you were okay, hoping I hadn’t somehow hurt you beyond repair. Part of me wished you would have forgotten all about me so that I couldn’t hurt you anymore, and the more selfish part of me hoped you wouldn’t – that you might still remember what we had before with love. When you told me that you had questioned everything about our relationship, I realized how stupid I had been to think I understood the damage I caused. I was a bigger piece of shit than I already knew. If it was possible, I was even less deserving of you than I thought. I didn’t expect you to ever be able to forgive me. So whenever I thought there was another choice between your safety and my happiness… I couldn’t choose my happiness. I didn’t deserve it… and you deserved better anyways. So, I always chose your safety and walked away.”

Din’s own tears have now begun to fall; he lets you wipe them away with your soft thumbs.

“But it was never easy, and I am so, so sorry, pretty bird. Walking away from you is the biggest mistake I’ve ever made. I love you more than life itself.”

He looks broken. He’s so hard on himself, you think. Din’s words touch you and you believe them to be genuine, but you don’t know how much stock you can put into them, “How do I know you won’t do it again, Din? How do I know that when push comes to shove, if you think it will somehow be good for me, or if I deserve better, or if you’re saving me, or whatever, that you won’t leave again?”

“I could never leave you again, pretty bird. I would rather die than hurt you ever. And it would fucking kill me; it almost destroyed me to be apart from you this last year. Absolutely nothing could ever be worth betraying your trust and heart again… even imagining it makes me sick to my stomach. I love you and I won’t ever go away unless you wish me away. I’m going to dedicate everything in my power to making you happy and to make things up to you, to earn your trust back – because that’s what you deserve. You deserve complete devotion, loyalty, unquestioned love. I was too stuck before on if I was deserving of you, but fuck – that was so fucking stupid of me – the only thing that matters is giving you what you need and deserve. I’ll never leave again, baby – I promise.”

Din debates getting down on his knees to beg you, “If you give me the chance, I’ll spend every day proving it to you. Every day trying to earn back your trust. Would you be willing to give me the chance?”

The truth is you don’t really need to think about it - for these past few months, Din has already been on the long, slow road back into your heart. It hasn’t always been easy and there had been unexpected turns, but Din has been unwavering and consistent in his pledge to be open and honest. He’s extended himself and now you want to do the same; you look at him, soft and earnest, and nod your answer.

Before the joy that blossoms in Din’s chest can explode, you place a tender hand on his cheek and your happy expression mixes with one of concern, “Din, promise you’ll never call yourself a piece of shit again, okay? The man I loved, the one I want to love me again is honourable, loyal, unflinchingly kind and sweet - and I need him to know he’s a man of value and true genuine worth. You said so yourself, it was simpler for you to walk way when you thought you didn’t deserve me - when you believed you weren’t the one for me. I need you to feel like you’re the one for me, okay? Forgive yourself, please. I deserve a man who is as kind to himself as he is to me.”

How are you so fucking sweet? Din doesn’t deser- no, that exactly the type of thinking you just asked him to stop feeding into; he shakes it off and agrees to your request.

Din means it. He could never leave you again - even if the world was burning down, he’d stay by your side.

He reminds you of his vow ever day after. Tells you. Shows you with his soft and hard kisses and with the way he holds you and treasures every touch you share. He demonstrates it in his commitment to and the dependability of his love - showing up everyday and being unflinchingly open and honest about everything. His raison d’etre is to cherish you, adore you, support you in the way you deserve. Din’s love for you has never wavered and he can only show up day after day after day so that you hopefully never have a reason to doubt it again.

And then one day, Din’s not there. You leave your office at six, around the usual time when you’d find Din waiting for you. Only today he’s nowhere to be found - not in the courtyard, or alongside the building, or out towards the street.

You’re momentarily confused - he’s here every day, where is he? When your head clears, you realize that it’s not just that you expected Din to be here, you want him here. You look forward to seeing him every day and enjoy having him as a regular and consistent part of your life again. Whatever is going on between the two of you, however or whatever you’re still figuring out, it makes you happy that he’s here.

And today he’s not - your heart constricts at what this might mean. Is Din okay? Is he hurt? You hurry down the steps of the courtyard straight to the street to flag down a cab so you can head directly to Mando’s. It never even crosses your mind that Din has had a change of heart, that maybe he no longer wants to walk this slow road that the two of you have been treading - the one paved with trust and forgiveness, all leading to a destination you haven’t even defined. Not for a second do you worry that Din may be giving up on what has essentially amounted to the hint of a promise that the two of you were working towards being to each other what you were before.

Because you already were. Because you believe every word he’s said about never leaving you again, how he would be open with you about everything, that being apart nearly killed him, and how he would never give you reason to doubt him ever again. You had told yourself you wanted to believe in Din and that you eventually could, but your heart already had.

So, if Din wasn’t here, it wasn’t because he didn’t want to be - there had to a reason. You’re nervously fidgeting in the cab when you get a string of texts about halfway to the gym.

Unknown number [6:27 pm]: Hello! This is Jimmy! A big delivery of equipment for Mando’s came late today and we’ve been unloading it and Din left his phone up in his office and didn’t realize what time it was. He told me to text you and tell you he’s sorry he’s not there to pick you up and he’s really sorry and he’ll call you when he can get back up to his office and he’s really sorry!

You breathe a sigh of relief and laugh a little at yourself for how worried you had been.

You love him.

Your head’s been proven right with what your heart already knows: Din will always come through. He’s your steady rock – your person to depend on, to trust. You love him.

As soon as the cab pulls up to Mando’s, you spot Din. His back is to you as he pulls a giant box off of a truck to load onto the pallet that Jimmy’s patiently holding the handle to. Din’s back and arm muscles stretch and strain against his shirt as he lifts the heavy cargo in one swift motion, carrying it almost effortlessly - though you can see from the bulge of his veins and the tension in his neck that an impressive effort is being exerted. And though he looks positively drool worthy, it’s the knowledge that that same strength devotes itself to your care and safety that has your heart racing.

The moment he’s set down the box you’re running to him, calling his name; Din turns at your voice and the surprise on his face is quickly overtaken by a grin so bright it might send you stumbling if you weren’t so determined to get to him.

Slamming into his hard chest, you bury your face into the comforting wall before you happily breathe in Din’s familiar, musky scent.

“Hey pretty bird. Did you get Jimmy’s text? I’m so sorry – I really meant to pick you up as usual. This delivery just took longer than I thought it would. I’m sorry, baby.”

Mumbling into his chest, you nuzzle in further, “It’s okay, Din. I know you would have been there if you could. But…”

Pulling back so there’s no misunderstanding when you say what your heart wishes for Din to hear, you lace your fingers behind his neck, “I hated that you weren’t there and I just wanted you to know that. I want you always, Din. I don’t want you to… away.”

Din presses you back to his front and chuckles into your hair, “Okay baby, you already know I’m yours, always. And after the way I fucked up this last year, I couldn’t be apart from your even if I was stupid enough to try. It would fucking kill me - I’m never going to ‘away’, sweet girl.”

“Good,” you murmur, tipping your head back and letting Din’s lips find yours.

It feels like a first kiss. Not a tentative or exploratory one like the first time your lips touched all those many moons ago, but like the first kiss heralding in a new era. One full of promise, of giddy bliss and of partnership. A future. Every stroke of Din’s tongue against your own is brave and insistent and he fills your mouth with the emotions leaping from his chest that he can’t quite articulate because you won’t allow him the air to speak. You nip and lick and sigh – wanting nothing more than to devour him, and you just might have if the hoots and hollers from your audience at Mando’s didn’t tear you, suddenly shy, from Din’s kiss swollen lips.

“Alright, alright, knock it off,” Din shouts over his shoulder good humouredly - he looks down at you, unable to contain his elation, “Pretty bird, should we go and get Al?”

You nod happily.

Over the next two weeks, you and Din enter a new phase of your renewed courtship. No more hesitation or careful treading of your feelings, only open and jubilant reveling in your affections and love for one another. Din dotes on you and spoils you as he always did, and you let him – generous in return with your praise and reassurances that he makes you undeniably happy.

He wines and dines you with enthusiasm, taking you out nearly every night even though you insist it’s not necessary. He tells you that he has a lot of dates to make up for. You make out like teenagers and take Al out on longer than necessary walks just so you can stay in each others’ arms.

Though your time together gets progressively more amorous, you don’t spend the night and Din hasn’t even come up to your apartment - as much as you can’t keep your hands off one another, you haven’t had sex. You’re not exactly sure why this is, except that you know Din is respectfully letting you take the lead, so it must be you. It’s not that you don’t want to – Din remains the most delicious man you’ve ever set eyes on and just one look from him can sometime send your heart racing and pussy clenching. The way he’s been gripping your waist tighter, coupled with the heat that radiates from his hands when he runs them down your back and over your ass when you say goodnight indicates Din wants you just as much as you want him.

But for some reason, you just can’t cross that threshold with him yet. You don’t have any doubts about Din’s commitment or devotion, and you want him with a near constant ache between your legs, so what is your deal? Do you just want this flirty, almost innocent phase of your relationship to last a little bit longer? Is it that once you fuck him again, you know you won’t be able to stop and you don’t want sex to overshadow the bond you and Din have been rebuilding? Or is that while you believe in him, your brain can’t stop reminding you that at the end of the day, Din’s promises are just words with no tangible assurance that they’ll be kept? Are you a crazy person?

You need someone to talk you off the ledge – you’re counting on your friends to help you figure out why you’re being so ridiculous when you go out tonight for Jen’s belated birthday celebration.

---

Unfortunately, you never get the chance to ask your friends for help in analyzing your self-imposed celibacy because the dinner goes off the rails almost immediately.

It starts when your pre-dinner cocktails come and inexplicably included is a round of beer that none of you ordered. Your waitress gives you an apologetic look and explains that a group of guys at a nearby table sent them.

It’s an obvious ploy so they can invite themselves over since none of you ordered beers, so you send the pints back over with a polite, thanks but no thanks.

They approach anyways. There are five of them of varying ages, but all old enough to know better – and all imbued with too much liquid courage and arrogance to care that they’re intruding and unwelcomed.

Successively, the men come over individually or in pairs, as if their smaller numbers might put you and your friends at ease. It doesn’t. Your polite assertions that it’s a girls’ night and that you’re looking to spend time with only each other are purposefully ignored; as your dismissals get more insistent, so do their efforts.

You and your friends get no reprieve or peace from the group’s increasingly aggressive advances and inappropriate comments. When one of the men gets too comfortable with putting his hand on your lower back, you recoil and an unsettling chill runs up your spine.

It feels calculated and unnerving – too aggressive to be considered eager, but just this side of menacing. You suspect that your table’s would be suitors aren’t playing dumb; the decision to ignore you and your friends’ clear wishes and boundaries feels deliberate. It’s almost as if once their rejection was assured, they thought it would be fun to mess with you, scare you.

When Lala runs back from the bathroom to report that one of them grabbed her on her way back, that’s when your general sense of annoyance and discomfort morphs into anxiousness.

While the obvious answer might be to leave, you all realize quickly that at least in the restaurant, you’re in public – you’re more than sure that if you attempt to leave, your group will be followed out of the building… right into a dimly lit, possibly empty street.

And since your harassers haven’t done anything for which you can lodge a formal complaint (there were no witnesses to Lala’s run in), the five of you remain trapped at your table, unsure of what to do next.

“I’m going to call Din,” you finally say - whenever something feels off or potentially unsafe, your instinct is to run to Din

“What can he do?”, asks Jen.

“I don’t know, but I’m sure he’ll have some ideas,” shrugging, you dial Din's number and hope he’ll pick up. Luckily, he does so after the first ring, “Hey, pretty bird.”

You almost sigh in relief, “Din…”

“What’s wrong, sweetheart?”

You can’t help but grin into the phone, “How do you know something’s wrong?”

“Just your voice,” Din says lightly.

Suddenly you're plagued with uncertainty. Why did you call Din? What could he do? Would he be annoyed that you bothered him over something that really amounted to a 'bad feeling'?

“I don’t know if it’s anything,” chewing your bottom lip, you're hesitating when Din interrupts with the soothing tone and words that you need to hear.

“Baby, if you called, then it’s something to you. And that means it’s something to me. Tell me what it is.”

He’s always been so good at reassuring and grounding you - you continue with a little more certainty, “Well, you know how the girls and I were going out to dinner tonight? Well, we’re at Toshi’s and there’s another table of just guys that have sort of been… harassing us?”

You can practically hear Din frown and you hurry to explain the series of events that led up to your call, finishing, “It’s not that they’ve threatened us or anything? They just haven’t left us alone all night. They know we’re not interested but keep coming by and making comments that make us feel uncomfortable like how they’ve already decided who’s going home with whom from their group? One of them tried to grab Lala when she was going to the washroom and now none of us want to get up by ourselves and we’re starting to wonder what’s going to happen when we try to leave the restaurant.”

Din doesn’t miss a beat, “How many of them are there?”

“Five,” you grimace, “same as us - they’ve made that observation out loud already.”

“Okay, pretty bird, you did the right thing calling me. Would you be okay putting me on speakerphone?”

As soon as you press the button and place the phone in the middle of the table, you and your friends lean in. Din’s voice comes through calm and sure, “Hey everyone - I’m so sorry you’re going through this and that your evening has taken this turn. I know it’s easier said then done, but don’t worry. Everything will be okay - no one is going to bother you again and you’re all safe. I know the owner of the building that Toshi’s in and I’m going to give him a call right after I hang up – building security will keep an eye on things until I get there. I’ll bring a couple guys and we’ll be about ten minutes. Is that okay? Do you need me to bring anything?”

Everyone shakes their head and choruses a thank you to Din before he hangs up; you’re happy to see some relief settle over the faces of your friends.

It probably takes less than ten minutes, but the wait for Din feels long. Your appetizers arrive but no one is really in the mood to eat; everyone remains kind of somber, though Bea and Katie do attempt a few light hearted jokes about how things would be so much easier if Toshi’s was a mob front.

Even before you see the look of recognition flash in Rory’s eyes at someone or something behind you, you feel him - your body untenses as if it senses that Din’s entered the room and it comes as no surprise when a few seconds later you feel the familiar curl of his strong hands around your waist. You close your eyes and without turning around, lean back and completely relax against the warmth of Din’s hard chest.

“Hi, pretty bird,” he whispers in your ear, giving your temple a soft nuzzle with his nose. Tilting your head back, you feel his soft lips brush over yours, “Hi, Din.”

Once he’s sure that you’re comfortable, Din gets straight down to business, “Is everyone okay? I know which table of guys you were talking about – just the ones over my left shoulder? None of them have bothered you since I hung up, right?”

Your friends confirm readily and Din continues, “I want you to know that you’re all safe. You’ve been safe since the moment you called me. But I know there’s a difference between knowing you’re safe and feeling you’re safe.” You turn your head to plant a soft kiss to the base of Din’s neck upon hearing your own words used to comfort your friends.

“You don’t have to all look at once,” he chuckles, “but building security has had their eyes on you for the last ten minutes. There are two guards by the bar, one at the stairs, another at the top, and a fifth by the bathrooms. The manager of Toshi’s has also been alerted, so any move by those guys would have resulted in them being thrown out and it still will.”

You’re sure the entire restaurant hears the collective sigh of relief from your table.

“Now, the five of you – you’re in total control of what happens next, but there’s no rush or pressure to make any decisions. If you’re done with this evening, we can leave right now and I’ll escort you upstairs where Jimmy and Woves will ensure you’re unbothered as you get in the cars. We’ll personally drive you all home or anywhere else you might like to go. But you’re also welcomed to stay if you feel comfortable enough to try and salvage your evening – again, you’re perfectly safe. I’m here now and I’ll make sure of it.”

Contended, you see that all your friends are smiling, their shoulders and overall energy decidedly more relaxed; Jen even starts eating her calamari. Din’s tone is authoritative, but accommodating – he’s here, here to take charge and take care of you and your friends, but just as importantly, letting you call the shots and doing what makes you feel comfortable instead of dictating the terms of your well being.

His next words surprise even you, “The other thing that is completely up to you as well, is what you want to do about those guys. You can let bygones by bygones and pretend they never existed, because for all intents and purposes, they don’t exist to you anymore. Or, if you would like them to be taught a lesson on… how to respect women? We could do that too. Completely up to you.”

You look up at Din in wonder. Of course, you know what he is suggesting, but him being so forthcoming and transparent with your friends about this side of him? It’s so… vulnerable.

“I think you all know what I would choose,” says Rory, frankly and without a hint of hesitation, “but honestly, Lala, you’re the one who got the biggest scare when that guy grabbed you. What do you think?”

“Oh! I mean… yeah. That shit was inappropriate and no one should ever get away with thinking that was okay,” Lala says thoughtfully, “but I’m not the only one they got physical with.”

She looks pointedly at Din and he looks down at you, voice a little graver, “Did one of them touch you, pretty bird?”

You sigh and your face says it all, “It was just my lower back, Din.”

“Which one, baby?”

Before you can decide if you really want to answer the question, someone else chimes in, “The one in the blue.”

“Bea!!!” You look wide eyed at Bea and she makes a face like, What? No remorse at all.

It’s not that you care to spare any of those assholes from their deserved fate, but you don’t want Din to get more keyed up than he already is.

Trying to get things back on track, Katie waves her hand in the middle of the table and puts forth, “I think I might like to stay and eat. I’m starving and I think I would prefer to wash away the memories of the last hour with some more pleasant ones. And… my vote is that those dickheads get what’s coming to them.”

It seems like everyone agrees, but as the main courses start to arrive and the waiters comically try to arrange the plates on your cluttered table, Din looks down at you, “That okay with you, baby?”

Your heart melts at how he’s still deferring to you, even though you know from the way his fists clenched at Bea’s words that he likely has his own preference on how he’d like to handle things. You appreciate the effort he’s making to let you lead - you appreciate him.

Nodding, you whisper, “Thank you for coming.”

“I’ll always come for you, pretty bird,” Din whispers back.

“Your pretty bird.”

Din is doing his best to do things differently. He’s taken into account all the things you’ve talked about over the last two months in regards to him letting you into his world and not shielding you from things that might be less than innocent – he’s unsure if he’s doing it right but he knows you’re worth the effort, “Mine?”

You look at him with soft, but sure eyes, “Yours.”

He practically growls, “Mine,” before slotting his mouth over yours. The kiss starts sweet and gentle, but you quickly deepen it to show Din some of the urgency that’s been building since he arrived. He returns your affections with a similar insistence and possessively tightens his hold around you. When you finally pull away, it’s with a gaze of devotion that you shyly drop before snuggling into his shoulder, fitting comfortably into your favourite nook beneath his jaw. Din places an affectionate kiss to your hair and murmurs, “Eat,” - gently turning you towards your food. Your heart fills with joy when you look at your friends - for the most part they look like they’re enjoying themselves, eating and chatting as if this were a regular evening. Din did that, you smile to yourself. Happily, you turn your attention to your plate, mindful of Din’s reassuring presence and the ever-present hands on your hips that steady you on your stool.

---

By dessert, things feel back to normal - just a regular fun night out with your friends. The only reminder that anything was amiss earlier is Din standing sentry at your table. Though his presence is perfunctory, that hasn’t stopped Din from joining in on the conversation and joking around with your friends. You’re practically gleeful seeing them get along so well – knowing that in some ways, Din has won back the hearts of your friends the way he has yours.

After the last plates have been cleared and the last of the drinks drank, Din wraps his arms around you and plants a loving kiss to the top of your head, “Ready to go?”

“Anyone need to use the restroom?” He winks at Lala, who punches him in the arm and laughs. You beam, proud that your strong protector’s warm blanket of safety has enveloped your friends and put them at such ease that they can now laugh off events that were so upsetting only an hour ago.

“Yep! Right after we settle the bill,” chirps Bea.

“Oh, uhhhh…” Din scratches the back of his neck and avoids eye contact with your friends, “I took care of that already.”

“DIN!”

You don’t even need to join in, your friends ready to reprimand your boyfriend without any assistance from you.

Din puts his hands up in surrender, “Look, I settled it over the phone on the way over! I wasn’t sure if you guys would want to leave right away, so just in case, I paid so there wouldn’t be any unnecessary delay. I’m… sorry?”

“Oh. That was smart,” concedes Rory.

“And incredibly thoughtful,” you add, smiling appreciatively at your considerate man. The truth is, you’re prodigiously proud of Din’s display – he’s smart, strategic, decisive, but never arrogant; he’s good at this.

“Alright, pretty bird. You lead the way, okay? Jimmy and Woves will be right outside to get you. I’ll bring up the rear.”

You nod and do as Din says without question. As you’re climbing the stairs towards the restaurant exit, you spy from the corner of your eye that table of guys also getting up to leave and a (very small) part of you feels sorry for them.

Upstairs, your relief and happiness at seeing Jimmy and Woves is second to only how you felt when you saw Din earlier. They hug you cheerfully and greet your friends with protective warmth and familiarity before ushering you all into Din’s truck after your friends say they don’t mind squishing together in the back. You notice that when Din comes up, he’s followed by who you assume are the five guys from building security that he mentioned earlier. They line up to block off the sidewalk in what you recognize as a flanking position – they’re there to cut-off any escape routes.

Oh.

Din walks over and opens his passenger door, leaning in to give you a quick kiss; with a look you can only describe as apprehension, he whispers, “Pretty bird, you don’t have to look.”

You know what he’s saying. This is the part of him and his life that he’s always shielded you from – a type of violence and barbarity that he deems you too ‘good’ for; he won’t hide it from you anymore, but it doesn’t mean you need to have a front row seat.

Kissing him back fiercely, you need Din to know that he has nothing to worry about - there’s nothing you can see that will change how you feel about him, who you know him to be. You think his slightly dazed expression when he checks in to makes sure everyone in the backseat is doing okay means your message was received.

Through the still open car door, you hear a growing commotion and raised voices; via the windshield you see that the offending group of men have emerged from the restaurant and are now being roughly handled and herded by Jimmy and Woves into an alley. Though they outnumber them, the guys from the restaurant are no match for the two Mandos’ size, strength and skill; with the additional intimidating presence of building security, they have no choice to comply – but it doesn’t look like they’re doing so without loud protest and undeserved indignation.

The last thing you hear before Din closes the passenger side door is Woves laughing, “You dumb fucks really don’t know whose girl you were messing with, do you?”

You don’t watch.

Not because you don’t want to see Din when he’s like this or even because you’re especially squeamish, you just don’t really see any reason to. The minimal sounds that you can hear through the door coupled with your friends’ gasps and reaction commentary tell you enough of what’s happening in the alleyway.

You know it’s over when you see Jimmy reach into the car in front of you and hand Din a towel to clean his hands right before he walks over to his own driver side door. Quickly, you whisper to your friends, “He’s going to be anxious that we saw him like that, okay?” It’s probably unnecessary, but you give them a look that that conveys how important it is that Din feels comfortable about having shown them this facet of his character, knowing how difficult it was for him. You don’t care what happened or what he was doing outside of this truck only a minute ago, all you care about is that Din extended himself, opened himself and this part of his life up to you and even your friends – you want him to know he's appreciated for his efforts.

When Din gets in the truck, you can tell he’s uneasy - so without saying anything, you take his right hand and place it on your upper thigh, closing your legs and trapping his fingers between. You then wrap yourself around his arm and look up at him with tenderness - you want him to know that you’re not afraid of these hands. You adore these hands.

Upon understanding your feelings, Din’s entire stance relaxes with relief and gratitude; he leans in to press his lips to yours, sealing in his returned affection. No words are exchanged, none needed.

It’s Bea’s deadpan that breaks the silence.

“So… is this what you meant when you said you could ‘take care’ of Gideon for me? Because, I would have taken you up on it.”

The entire car fills with laughter and even Din can’t help but chuckle – you’re glad to see any remaining tension he’s held onto evaporating as he realizes that your friends are still comfortable around him.

And though he no longer worries that they may think so, Din still wishes to make sure that you and your friends don’t view him as some type of violent thug – a monster, “Just so you know, none of those guys are severely injured; no one has to go to the hospital. They’re just… banged up a little. Not trying to ruin anyone’s life or anything – just wanted to teach them a little lesson like you wanted.”

“What were you guys doing at the end?” Lala looks genuinely curious.

“Oh, you saw that, eh? Yeah, we made them hand over their IDs and we took down their addresses, just to keep an eye on them for the next week or so. Plus, maybe a Mando or two shows up unexpectedly to remind them not to forget the important lesson they learned here tonight.”

“Dannnngggg, Djarin. You’re cold,” marvels Katie, half amused, half impressed.

“Well,” Din voices lowers, serious, “I don’t take very kindly to men who take pleasure in making women feel uncomfortable.”

Your friends nod appreciatively. You lean over the centre console and press a soft kiss to the pulse of Din’s throat; the movement forces his hand to slide a little further up your inner thigh and you smile against his skin when you feel his Adam’s apple bob beneath your lips.

“Still had to wail on that guy in blue a little though, huh?”

Din catches Rory’s eye in the rearview mirror and sees her playful smirk, returning it with one of his own, “Well, you know. It takes some people a little longer to understand the lesson than others.”

The car fills with a lighthearted laughter again and then that’s the end of any talk regarding what transpired tonight. The men that harassed you and your friends earlier this evening and their comeuppance now a thing of the past – nothing good can come of thinking or talking about it anymore.

As Din pulls the car away from the curb, you can’t help but gaze at him in admiration; there’s no need to tell him that he was impressive or that his display of restraint was commendable - you know that he didn’t do any of it for accolades. Din did what he always does: protect and uphold his duty to make things safer for others.

Your friends chat comfortably in the back seat as Din drops them off at home, one by one. You don’t join in the conversation – instead, you lean against Din’s arm and soak in the warmth of his hand in between your legs, focusing on the way he steers the car one-handedly. The showcase of power that he exudes with just his left arm, open palm deftly pressing against the rotating steering wheel and the way the veins on his forearm flex when he power steers the truck through tight turns has you practically drooling. You’re no longer able to deny the hot sticky desire that’s pooling just a few inches from where Din’s right hand currently resides.

At every stoplight, you notice how the streetlamps catch the handsome profile of the man next to you and wonder again at the goodness he exudes. Even knowing now all that he’s done in the past and having bore witness to some of that brutality tonight, you want to tell Din that you see no viciousness in him; that it’s easy to see past his ferocity and to the good that drives him, to the decency that’s the core of who he is. You want to tell Din that you know him - you want to show him that you know him.

The ride to your place is quiet, but comfortable – filled with light touches, soft looks and even softer kisses. The serenity in the car is quite opposite to how you’re feeling inside - it’s nearly overwhelming now, how much you want this man. Never having had a chance to talk it through with your friends tonight, you’re still not sure what your reticence to sleep with Din was, but whatever the reason was, it’s moot now. Tonight, Din not only showed you the measure of the man you’ve always known him to be, but the man he’s become for you. So many of his actions and efforts tonight, both overt and nuanced, took into consideration the feelings you had laid bare for him over the last two months. Every doubt, insecurity, hurt that you had given voice to regarding Din’s secrets, making decisions for you, not trusting you – he had taken each to heart and you saw first hand tonight that he was never going to put you in the same position that had driven the two of you apart almost a year ago.

You don’t expect Din to be perfect, lord knows you’re not – but you can trust him to care, to look after your heart above all else.

When he turns off the engine, Din looks over at you with some returned hesitation, as if he’s still not sure how the events of the evening might have impacted you and where the two of you stand. Bringing your hands up to scratch Din’s facial scruff the way he likes, you kiss him with surety, knowing what you want and more confident in your feelings for him than you’ve ever been, “Din, do you think Jimmy and Woves might be willing to drive your truck back to Mando’s?”

He nods, eyes still uncertain, “Sure, pretty bird.”

Your own eyes bright and sure enough for the both of you and you shyly offer, “So you can come up and spend the night?”

The smile that breaks out across Din’s face lights up all his handsome feature and takes your breath away; the thought strikes you that you want to always be the reason he smiles like this.

Din helps you out of the car before handing his car keys over to Jimmy and you float through your goodbyes to the Mandos for the night, but remember to thank them again and again for coming the rescue of you and your friends. Their heartfelt hugs remind you again of the joy you’ve always felt at being accepted as one of theirs and you’re so grateful to be familiar with that feeling yet again.

The kiss that begins in your elevator is all consuming and hungry, open-mouthed and full of anticipation. Din licks into your mouth like a man starved - you match every stroke and brush of his tongue with a more ravenous one of your own. You couldn’t keep your hands to yourself, even if you wanted to – you need to touch him, grab him, hold him, never be apart from him again. Din’s own large hands roam your body, possessed by some primeval need to explore, mark and claim – the desperation in his touch makes staying quiet an impossible feat. You moan and simper shamelessly, body throbbing with want.

Your joint passion carries the tangle of your bodies through your front door, into a place where the last held memory of the two of you was one of heartbreak. You erase it with your desire for one another tonight, letting your renewed love and whispers of affirmation and devotion wipe the slate clean – you’re making new memories now.

Pulling back for what feels like your first breath of air since you walked into your building, you cup Din’s face in your hands and nearly gasp at the tenderness and love you see in his eyes. You hope he can see the same in yours, “Din. You let me see. You let me see you in that alleyway tonight.”

He nods into your palms, rubbing his rough scruff against your delicate skin, “And you didn’t run away, pretty bird.”

Smile bright, you declare yourself as his, “Why would I? Why would I run away from a man who stands up for what’s right? Who comes to the aid of those he cares for with no hesitation? Who care for their safety in every way that matters? Why would I run away from a good man?”

No words. There are no words in existence that can convey the depth of Din’s feelings for you. He’s overwhelmed by your openness, your sweetness, and yes, your goodness. After everything the two of you have shared over these past several months, he’s made it his priority to be forthright with you and not shield you from the truth of his world, no matter how ugly - he had faith in your love, and it was time he showed it. But even so, there had been a part of him that worried despite your pure intentions, when actually faced with the darkness that was sometimes a very real part of his life, you might find it too much.

But tonight, as always, you proved to him that you were more than he could have ever dreamed. Not only did you not run away from him, here you are, readily telling him that you still believe in him. In his goodness. Fuck, he loves you. And though he’s promised you that he would no longer think himself undeserving of you, he still can’t quite figure out what he’s done in his life so that he does.

He supposes he will just have to do what he can to deserve you from this point forward.

“Need you, baby,” Din groans against your neck, humming into that sweet spot just below your earlobe; adding, when he feels you shiver, “Don’t worry, pretty girl – we’ll go slow.”

As Din trails his lips down your neck, slow and sensual, you tilt your head to give him more access and sigh, “But what if I don’t want it slow, Din? What if I want it rough, daddy?”

Now it’s Din’s turn to shiver. He growls against the hollow of your collarbone before nipping at the delicate skin there with his teeth, “Then I give my girl what she wants.”

Authoritatively guiding you backwards towards the big balcony window, Din undresses you without ceremony as you cross your darkened living room. The trail of your discarded clothes tells a tale of impatience and desperation, and when you’re finally pressed against the cool glass, it’s with a firmness that makes you gasp as much as the sudden press of the frigid surface to your naked body.

Din’s eyes, blown wide and dark with lust, devour you. Already hard and panting just from the exertion of stripping you of your clothes, now that he has you bare and gorgeous before him after so long, Din can’t imagine how he ever thought he’d go slow.

He descends upon you - hands groping your hips and ass harder than the softness of those curves deserve, but you whine into Din’s mouth to express your approval. Din smiles a wolfish grin against your lips before he parts them with his tongue to consume you again and you willingly accept his frantic and punishing kisses. The cold glass that you’re being pressed against doesn’t feel quite so cold anymore - you’re warm all over despite being naked and only getting hotter as the searing heat of Din radiates off of him in waves, fueling your own desire. Greedy and shameless, you claw him for more, more, more even as your arousal drips and coats your inner thighs.

“Need you, daddy,” you whimper, hands reaching out to feverishly relieve Din of his clothes; he steps back to tear his shirt over his head and undoes his belt with a fluid flick of his thumb. Pussy thumping, your mouth waters as your eyes rake over the perfect male specimen before you. If possible, everything is bigger than you remember – Din’s shoulders span wide and impossibly broad, framing the thickness of his expansive chest; it calls to you in the dark, hard but inviting. His arms are like tree trunks, powerful even in their current dormancy - you eye the tight muscles currently flexing as Din’s hands itch to touch you again. As you ogle lower, the sight of Din’s softened stomach makes your entire being melt; before you is evidence of a hard man who has fought and earned his right to a gentler life. You don’t dwell on this tender moment however, because your eyes can’t help but trail further down to the already hard, girthy cock that bobs between your bodies. Mesmerized, an involuntary whine escapes your lips; you lick them as your body instinctively arches towards Din’s, pussy practically crying to be filled.

With the reflexes of a hungry wolf pouncing on his prey, Din’s hand flies out at your needy whimper and pins you at the base of your neck with his paw of a hand; though not squeezing, he nevertheless holds firm your body as he pushes you flush against the window.

You gasp at this display of roughness, but it’s Din’s next words, huskily growled as he towers over you, that have you buckling at the knees:

“Did that guy really think he could touch what’s mine?”

You shake your head the best you can while still in Din’s grip and bite your lower lip, looking at Din with a coquettish look, “No one can touch me but you, daddy.”

“What else, pretty bird? What else am I the only one allowed to do?”

You pretend to think, “You’re the only one who can kiss me.”

“Here?” Din murmurs as he bends to kiss your neck tenderly – a marked contrast from the hard grasp he still has on its base; at your breathy moans, Din takes his time nipping softly from the sensitive spot under your ear, down the column of your throat and back again.

Din’s barely touching you and you’re already vibrating with need. “Mmmhhmmm,” you answer his question with the lightest of sighs.

“Where else, sweet girl?”

“On my mouth, baby. Only you can have my mouth, Din.”

Din groans at your words and seals his lips to yours. You open eagerly for him and his tongue enters your mouth to claim you brusquely, kissing you harder, deeper. His hand releases your neck, but Din keeps you pressed against the window with the heaviness of his body, slotting his knee between your legs and groaning a throaty roar when your slick wets his thigh. “Dirty girl,” he hums as he moves his to worship your breasts, cupping them both in his meaty hands and thumbing your pert peaks. “What about these pretty tits, baby? Is anyone else allowed to touch these perfect tits?” he buzzes against your lips.

The sound you make is near pornographic as Din starts to grope your breasts - pulling, twisting and teasing so you dissolve beneath his touch, “Only you, daddy! Only you can play with my tits… oh f-fuck. And only you can suck on my nipples, daddy.”

Din takes your direction to heart - lowering his mouth to kiss your breasts, sucking and decorating your soft flesh with marks of his devotion. You roll your hips at the sensation, urgent in your own search for some friction, but your body is jolted from its lustful efforts when you feel Din take one of your nipples between his teeth and tug, “Yes, yes, yes, Din. Just like that…”

“You like that, pretty girl? Is this what has you moaning like a slut?” Din mumbles as he moves to give your other breast the same treatment. The abandoned nipple is soon comforted by Din’s furious and equally talented fingers - rolling and tweaking, pinching and pulling on your hardened tip until you start to tear up from the overwhelming sensation. It’s almost too much for you to handle and you let loose a string of unabashedly needy ramblings, “Oh god, yes, please, Din. Right there, oh yes, daddy, that’s it, that’s it, that’s it, that’s it… Din, Din, Din! Yes! That’s what your little slut needs, oh yes, yes. Please.”

Mindlessly, you start to grind down on him, so lost in the pleasure Din’s giving, you grab onto the soft curls of his hair for some semblance of stability. Spurred on by your near incoherent babbling, Din’s hands move down to your ass and he lays down a sudden hard spank across your backside that has you gasping in surprise. Grabbing a cheek in each hand, he stills your movements and hums, his face still buried in your chest, “Is there something you need, sweet thing? Something only daddy can do for you?”

Whimpering from the still reverberating ring of Din’s smack on your ass, you eek out, “Only you can make me feel good, daddy!” Almost contrite, you plead, “Need you to touch my cunt, please, please. Fill her up, please, Din. This pussy is yours, no one else’s. She needs you.”

Din looks up and the sight of you already wrecked above him nearly sends him to the moon. He almost gives up on his assigned task of being rough and unforgiving with your lithe body – all he wants to do is kneel at your altar and venerate the needy mess he’s reduced you to. How long could he conceivably petition you to let him pray, awestruck, to this goddess above him with her half-closed eyes and dirty thoughts spilling from her perfect pouty lips? Forever, he hopes. He could love you forever.

Except you want him to touch you now. With no choice but to obey, Din runs his hands from your ass down along the back of your legs and then over the top of your thighs, inching closer to your crying core. Mouth still occupied with sucking, nipping and licking between your peaked nipples, Din’s hand knuckles over your slit before sliding the tips of his dexterous fingers through your drenched folds, “Look at you, already soaked. Who is my good girl so wet for?”

Sighing from relief, you smile dreamily, “You, daddy. This pussy only gets so wet for you.”

Din’s response is to sink two of his thick fingers in to the hilt with one swift motion; you cry out from the stretch of him, having nearly forgotten how he fills you so completely. Your body hasn’t forgotten – flooding Din’s hand with a fresh wave of slick, your pussy pulses around his fingers as if to say welcome home. He pumps into you with the gratitude of a man whose been denied the light of day, resigned to blindly feeling his way in the dark and is now being offered the salvation of the brightness and warmth of sunshine. His sunshine.

“Still so fucking tight, baby,” Din grumbles, mouth still full of your heaving breasts.

“She missed you, Din,” you confess as your arms tighten around his neck, hands fisting his wavy hair.

Din bites down on the pillowy soft flesh that fills his mouth and growls, “Missed her more,” before increasing the intensity of his movements; the wet slapping sounds of his worship drowned out only by the wail you let loose when Din angles his hand so he can press his thumb down on your throbbing clit.

When Din’s other hand comes down, open palmed and harsh against your ass, you scream from the pleasure of the sting and it launches you towards your first orgasm. You’re trapped between Din’s two monster hands: one that’s thrusting and curling to your deepest, most sacred parts and the other kneading and groping your cheek so hard, you welcome the hand marks you know you’ll find there tomorrow.

“Open your eyes, pretty bird,” Din commands, “Want to see you when you come.” You open your eyes at his rough tone, but the eyes that meet yours are soft, a sea of devotion, veneration, love. The very sight pushes you over the crest of your own pleasure and you shatter – chanting daddy, daddy, daddy, as you flutter.

He fucks you through it with words of praise that only serve to prolong your high – Such a good girl. My pretty slut looks so perfect when she comes. Never going to let you go again, bun.

You’re still catching your breath when you feel Din slip out of your sopping hole; you barely have time to bemoan the loss when you feel Din spin you around to face the window. In the darkness of your apartment, illuminated by the brightness of the moon, you see the reflection of yourself and Din perfectly - the sight has a fresh wave of honey leaking down your leg.

“Look how fucking gorgeous you look, baby,” Din murmurs in your ear as you take in your fucked out expression and the dark obsidian of Din’s eyes as they travel your naked body; his hands roam every inch of you as he maneuvers your body into the position of his liking.

Spreading your legs to make room for himself, Din places your hands against the clear glass so you can brace yourself, before pushing gently on your lower back to arch your ass out to him. Taking a moment to admire the view before him, he notches himself at your entrance and then curls over your body, hands covering yours, “Gonna fuck you now, bunny.”

You hum, low and welcoming as Din pushes in, his girth presses its attention against your warm walls and your cunt quivers as she remembers who he is. You wiggle your ass playfully, beckoning him in further, which earns you another smack to your ass that has you clenching and gushing.

“Greedy little slut,” chuckles Din darkly, but he gives you what you want and thrusts in, bottoming out and punching all the air out of your lungs. The two of you stay like this as you get used to him again - you feel so full, needy, loved. When you tilt your head back, Din captures your mouth in a hungry kiss; you invite him in and moan as his insistent tongue glides over yours and leads it in a passionate dance, pausing only for air.

“Daddy, need you to move now, please,” you sigh through your oxygen deprived daze.

And move he does. Thrust after thrust, drag after drag, Din’s cock moves inside you and lays claim to the heaven he’s been dreaming of for longer than he can remember. He sets a steady but fervent pace, gritting out dirty words of praise in your ear that have you pushing back against him for more, even as your body screams at you to run from how good it feels:

My perfect slut, taking me so good.

Wish you could see how you’re creaming around me, pretty bird.

This needy cunt is so tight, it’s choking my cock.

You had forgotten how vocal Din can be and how much you love it, crying back your own song of filth and desperation:

Daddy, fuck, daddy – no one fucks me like you!

Love taking your fat cock so deep, baby.

Wreck this pussy, Din – it’s yours.

You move with him, meeting every drive of Din’s length with a downwards bounce of your own so that he bottoms out and taps your sweetest parts every time. Din’s dirty words, hot breath, and nipping teeth on your shoulders push you closer and closer to the edge. But it’s the wrap of his protective stance, the curving of his large frame over your smaller one, and the overwhelming feeling of Din taking care of your pleasure that has you closing in on your summit. Feeling you tighten around him, Din drops one of his hands and takes yours with it, cupping your heat together. He presses your delicate fingers to your clit, and with his larger ones on top of yours, draws perfect tandem figure eights. You’re so close, so terribly close, and you whine your predicament back to Din. He coos back reassuringly as he continues to fuck you hard, pushing your pulsing clit into the pads of your fingers as his larger ones hold them firm, “Let go, pretty bird.”

It’s the sight of Din’s hand that’s still pressing yours to the window that sends you toppling over the edge. Large and meaty with bruises and scraped knuckles that burn bright in the darkness, each minor injury a reminder of the violence and damage that its capable of inflicting and that it did inflict tonight – to protect, attend, avenge. And yet that same hand holds you steady, cradles yours with care and devotion. Din’s yours like he’s no one else’s. You’re safe and loved and untouchable because you’re his. You cry out as much as you come.

Then he’s punching up into you, chasing after his own high to those same musical cries, now incoherent and babbling. Din’s own words somehow soft and sweet, belying the punishment he’s doling out to your cunt:

Love being so deep inside you, baby.

You were made for me, pretty bird.

Don’t want to be anywhere except with you.

You’re spent and limp, just a worn-out fuck doll for Din to use, but you hold yourself up for him, wanting him to join you in your euphoria. And when his pace gets sloppy and sweat starts to dot his brow, Din’s laboured pants punctate the softest of his pleas: Do you know how good you feel, baby? What you do to me? How much I love fucking you? How much I love you??

Your melodic refrain of I do, I do, I do sings Din off the cliff, the repetition of those two little words conjuring up a bright flash of an image of you in white, walking towards him down a petal strewn aisle and he comes with an ear-splitting roar; painting your insides before collapsing on top of you, pressing you both to the now foggy window.

You do. You do know beyond a doubt how much Din loves you. The two of you trade quiet vows and promises as Din regains his strength while holding you tight. You stay knit together, melted and molded to one another as he softens inside you – bathed in the pureness of moonlight and wading in the pool of your love.

“I love you, Din.”

“I love you more, pretty bird.”

Locked in your loving embrace, having been apart for too long, neither of you is in a hurry to let the other go – even though you both know you have forever. Din’s strong, protective arms band around your chest and waist, his calloused but gentle fingers lace through your graceful ones that hold his just as faithfully. Your soft breath fans over his lips whenever Din lifts his head slightly to look once again at the beauty before him.

“Din?” you whisper, smile playful.

“Hmmmm?” He mumbles, spent, into your hair.

“I think I might want it slow now.”

Din looks down at the heaven he holds, knowing he’ll forever cater to you, devote himself to you, unable to ever deny you anything - even if you didn’t have the sweetest, most beguiling smirk on your face right now, “Anything my pretty bird wants.”

You loll your head back against Din’s shoulder and watch your reflection in the glass shudder as Din detangles one of his hands from yours and slithers teasingly to your core – gushing as he begins to draw slow, lazy circles over your still swollen clit.

---

Later, at midnight, when you and Din are out walking Al, your phone starts buzzing incessantly. You chuckle when you look over the messages coming in over the group chat.

Rory [12:03 AM]: So, we gave you until midnight. You and Din are done fucking right?

Bea [12:04 AM]: RORY!

Katie [12:04 AM]: Omigod, Rory!

Rory [12:05 AM]: What????

Jen [12:05 AM]: Jesus. What Rory means is, we hope you get this message before the morning.

Lala [12:06 AM]: Because we want to invite Din to brunch!

Rory [12:07 AM]: It’s not really an invitation because he has to come. We won’t take no for an answer.

Katie [12:07 AM]: We want to thank him for helping us out tonight!

Jen [12:07 AM]: Tell him brunch is on us too. Since he paid for our dinners.

Bea [12:08 AM]: Do you think we should ask Jimmy and Woves, too? Technically they helped as well.

Lala [12:09 AM]: Or another time? Maybe this brunch should be all about Din.

Bea [12:09 AM]: Yeah, you’re right! Another time then – we owe Din a bunch of brunches.

Rory [12:10 AM]: Right! He has to come to all the brunches for the next month at least. Unless… like, he’s too injured… you know, from all the sex.

Katie [12:11 AM]: I swear to god, Rory!!

Looking up at Din, who’s already smiling down at you, you beam, “You’ve been summoned to brunch tomorrow.” You show him your phone and he laughs, “They don’t have to do that.”

“I know, but it’s a big deal to them, you know? And me, too.”

“They’re not… put off by what they saw?”

Your heart melts at Din’s hesitation. He must still not understand how clearly his virtue and honour shines through. You’ll have to spend the remainder of your days showing him.

Looping your arms around Din’s waist, you look up at him in adoration, declaring with all your heart, “Never. They feel perfectly safe with you. Same for me, Din. I’ll always feel safe with you.”

Din looks back down at you, heart full and in awe, forever grateful to whatever mystical force brought you into his life, “And you always will be, pretty bird.”

You believe him.

Thank you to every single person who has read this series - I really can't express what it's like to know you were as invested in Din and Pretty Bird as me 🥹🥹. Tagging a few people who I hope will enjoy and find this ending to be worthy of their interest in the story 😘😘🥰🥰:

@tuquoquebrute @furiousmushroom @cheekychaos28 @72scsuze @nerdieforpedro

@toobsessedsstuff @whirlwindrider29 @inept-the-magnificent @mellymbee @that1nerd-20

@hipabbster23 @bitccchmood @bigbutchenergee @rainbowcat164 @the-strawberrythief

@johnssherlock221 @misstokyo7love @vivian-pascal @florxdexcerezo @fanficlover1414

@rarachelchel @heartbrokenlilbitch-nef @jeewrites @sunnytuliptime @kulekehe

@bebsjo @yopossum @cartonkid1200 @rav3n-pascal22 @sjc7542

@xxx-silhouette-xxx @pedroswife69 @kilamonster @mandoshoney

#din djarin #modern!din djarin #din djarin fic #din djarin fanfiction #din djarin x f!reader #din djarin x reader #din djarin x you #pedro pascal characters fanfiction #pedro pascal characters #modern au #no y/n

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divaofmads · 3 months ago

Text

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.

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 he 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 his 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 his 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 his 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 his face. The secret behind his 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 her, but you made her 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.

#pedro pascal smut #pedro pascal x reader #pedro pascal #din djarin #din dijarin x reader #din dijarin fanfiction #din djarin smut #din djarin x female reader #fluff #one shot

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lincolndjarin · 1 year ago

Text

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.

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!!

#lincolndjarin #the mandalorian #best kept secret #bks #din djarin #the mandalorian x reader #the mandalorian fanfiction #the mandalorian x you #din djarin x reader #din djarin x you #din djarin fanfiction #mandalorian smut #din djarin smut #pedro pascal #din djarin/reader #din djarin/you

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sirdindjarin · 2 years ago

Text

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.

___________________________________

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