#if you detected my lingering resentment at these underdeveloped chars yes you did

[bellsyafterdark]

Can I request the aftermath of din fucking the rancor + pov switch so we can see what everyone is thinking? 🥺

Unrelated but THANK YOU for having your stuff both here and on ao3...ao3 is down but you're still here so I may yet survive

Pieces on AO3 are more polished and while you can find things here in their rougher pre-edited version, I'm glad they've still come in handy through the intermittent outages!

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In the aftermath, the Gamorreans are quietly impressed. Jabba used to let his own rancor enjoy those who defied him however the creature liked, whether that meant tearing into an easy meal or, well...

They've never seen a being as small as the Lord's pet take a fully-grown rancor. Nor enjoy it (difficult to tell, all screams sound the same after a point). None had survived without eventually succumbing to significant injury.

The guards grunt at each other, gesturing to where the rancor is still bent on its haunches, Lady Shand and the shiny one lost beneath its shadow. All doubts are clarified. The shiny Mando pet is not human.

They doubt any of Lord Fett's company are. Not that it matters to them, sole survivors of a once hundred strong Gamorrean guard. But to pass under the guise of another, meeker species is an apex style of camouflage: Lord Fett, Lady Shand, and now the shiny one....

At their side, Krrsantan quells their curious exchange with a subsonic rumble in his chest.

He ignores their glance, knuckles sparking as his hands clench and unclench at his sides. It's not that Krrsantan is responsible for Din's welfare. He's not really sure what his role is in this castle-- fight at Boba's side when needed? Be a shield against his enemies?

He's certainly not the head of security, that's Fennec, for the little instructions she gives him and the other guards. She's been distracted ever since Krrsantan brought their new Mandalorian home. But ever since he helped sate Din's appetite in transit and dropped him in Boba's lap, Krrsantan has found himself watching whenever the silver Mandalorian strolled across his radar.

He remembers how feral Din could get. Krrsantan has heard whores described as starving in their desire, but those were all exaggerations until he met Din, trembling and pale, laser-focused on his needs, unlike those glassy-eyed, violent tweakers.

It's not that he feels responsible. But someone has to be.

The one watching Din definitely wasn't.

Fennec surfaces from her feeding stupor with a growl. Something tugs at the meal between her jaws and her hands fasten across steel and armour, clutching tight.

"... nn?"

A weak moan trembles from the one under her tongue and she blinks to clear her vision of the euphoric stars and smears. Dark shadows move above her.

"Fenn?" Boba's modulated voice finally reaches her, and she tilts her head, hearing over-sensitised as all her senses commonly grow in this state. Blood trickles from her chin and she pants hard, fingers moving instinctively to stem the flow at her meal's neck.

Sweetheart. Morsel. No, Din. This is Din.

She presses harder and feels a sting of guilt at the pained whine from their pet, his helmeted head lolling on the stone with exhaustion.

"I'm going to back up," Boba says. "Put the big one in his room. You ready?"

Din barely responds when Fennec nudges him with the nose of her helmet and laving her tongue flat over the fresh bite on his neck.

"Fennec."

She glares up at Boba astride the crown of his prized rancor, thick chains still coiled in his glove. He is a vision that would make her mouth water if the thirst hadn't been slaked. But the beast's eyes are starting to droop and she doesn't want to still be under it when it decides to nap. Fine.

With her chest to Din's back, she wraps an arm protectively round his front and her other reaches down between his legs to clutch at his inner thigh.

The sound Din makes when the rancor pulls out is guttural and wounded and Fennec's stomach drops at the way Din startles alert, scent surging with pain, hands flying up to cling to her.

She purrs and hushes him even when she just wants to drink in the veritable gush of seed that streams from his cunt, unstoppered, knees drawing up protectively as the rancor retreats, and Din is shivering into a ball, whining, and Fennec doesn't have enough arms to wrap him up in the way she wants, she can't do this alone.

"Boba!"

Nobody stares as Boba marches through the halls of his palace with Fennec and her rifle at his heels, they have more self-preservation than that. Curled in his arms, Din is rigid and silent with pain, Boba can only imagine how he clenches his teeth behind his helmet.

It makes his heart pang. He promised to keep him-- them safe. All of them, under his roof. He never thought Din would resort to this.

For the first time in a long time, he's glad he wears a cloak, less for the modesty and more for the comfort it seemed to provide Din once he was wrapped in it, slumping into Boba's chest as he was pulled in.

"The hell were you thinking?" he grumbles under his breath, quickening his pace. Two more flights and then Din will be resting in bacta.

Having mistaken the accusation for her, Fennec retorts, "He was hungry."

He glares over his shoulder at her. "The rancor? The fucking rancor, Fenn?"

A terse beat of silence. "It hasn't been enough for him."

We haven't been enough.

Again, that ugly twist in Boba's chest that makes his stomach swoop. His mouth hardens in a scowl. It had just been a few days, Boba had needed to attend to political negotiations, recon with the water traders, Fennec and Din had their own missions, it was almost a return to how things were before.

This was not the homecoming he'd expected.

"This can't happen again." The rancor was precious to Boba, but it could have killed Din, and then... and then....

Fennec scoffs under her breath. "He doesn't take orders from us."

Boba stops and rounds on his second, watching her body language freeze, primed for whatever reprimand comes next. He watches her for a long moment, sees the moment she softens from living stone, wariness leaking from her edges.

"Maybe he should," Boba says.

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/ping @battlemastercoffeeco @shalltheseboneslive