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no-droids · 3 years

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Part Eighteen of the Rough Day Series

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 19.5K

Warnings: SMUT, religion kink (maybe?), squirting, consensual stalking/pursuing, canon-typical violence, mention of underage drinking, uhh I believe that’s it but as always, let me know if I’ve forgotten anything please!

A/N: Hey yall!!! So I know this chapter has been a long time coming and though I’m not completely satisfied with it, I hope it brings a little happiness to you for an hour or two while you read! School has been kicking my ass and I’ve been in a bit of an emotional slump recently, but I pulled a few all-nighters to post this on time and it’s finally finished! Thank you to everyone who has stuck with me and sent me encouraging words over the past month or so, I hope you enjoy the end of the Sanctuary arc💕

Also like last time, part 2 of my collaboration with @followwhereshegoes will be posted after the chapter!! As a reminder, sweet girl is a reader insert and every imagining of her will be different—this is Lisa’s interpretation of her and her artwork is absolutely gorgeous, so please go give her a follow!

Day 5–11:13am:

You zone out again in the early morning, but that happens a lot. Din always keeps you up so late, all the time, and without any caf here, the rising sun just makes your eyes droop instead of flutter brighter and wider. You helped a bunch of younglings find their way into their robes when it was still dark out, tying sashes and fitting masks while holding back your yawns. The walk into Nariss is close to three hours, probably more with all these tiny little legs, and you almost forget to change into your new digs before everyone grabs breakfast.

Even though your ragtag entourage leaves for Nariss just as soon as everyone finishes eating, you don’t reach the city until nearly lunchtime. Mostly because the kids walk about as fast as the elderly holy women chaperoning the trip. You and Naydee lag behind the group, forcing yourself to meander slow as fuck when you nearly sprinted this same exact path just a few days ago. On the way there, you listen to children of all sorts sing happily as they walk, chatter about their excitement for the parade, complain about wearing the fabric mask they made themselves, and more than once, somebody takes a tumble onto the ground and is left in teary sniffles and dirt stained clothes. Likely for this reason, the robes are designed to be two pieces—a long tunic with a hood and a separate pants portion to prevent tripping instead of a draping skirt, but the smallest ones are clumsy and find a way to fall anyways.

It’s a colorful bunch—a chaotic rainbow of babies running around, and you share easy conversation with your new friend about the plans for the day until she asks something that makes you nearly trip and join the dirty robe club.

“Sister Drya said your family is meeting you in the city,” she tells you, ignoring your immediate subtle toe stub and the awkward shuffle you have to do to make up for it. “There’s going to be lots of people downtown, I’m worried it might be hard for them to find you.”

Your heart thuds in your chest and you feel a bit short of breath at being abruptly confronted with the need to lie, but at the same time, you kind of love it. Having a secret, hiding the truth from others, and just the reminder that you’re almost guaranteed to see Din and the baby before midnight pours warmth and tingles through your tummy. Everything together is a hit of spice, filling you with a kind of excitement that used to be foreign to you. Having fun, experiencing new things isn’t quite over yet, but home is calling and you miss it with every fiber of your being.

“I don’t think so,” you eventually respond, hoping she can see your kind smile and the sentiment it carries even as light, shimmery fabric wraps right around your mouth. “If I disappear, you’ll know why.”

Naydee’s eyes crinkle in the corners to match yours. “Hopefully you’ll be able to see the fireworks first,” she nudges you, her skin glowing against the pale cream fabric she has wrapped around her own mouth and the hood laying delicately over her braids. “They start at eight.”

The fireworks, you almost forgot. You know what? Today is a good day. You hear yourself think the full sentence multiple times, and the words put a spring in your step after every single one. The road gradually becomes wider and filled with more travelers, and you feel safe in the back. Like some kind of sheepdog bringing up the rear of this migrating cluster of children, making sure none of them drift off by themselves and start eating grass or something.

Surprisingly, the kids manage to be relatively patient and well-behaved once they’re in line at the gates. The Sisters shuffle them along one by one as everyone moves up slowly, taking even longer to get into the city than it did a few days ago. The entrance is packed already—so many people visiting for the festival, and they’re all dressed in costumes or robes of sorts, or at least a mask. Most are beautifully crafted, but some manage to look slightly scary even with the soft springtime color schemes. It’s a completely different world, a different life for each person as you pass them by. Your stomach is starting to growl by the time you finally make it to the front, and luckily the guards just let the kids through without any ceremony. Just you and the rest of the caretakers in light robes need to hold still for the retinal scan, matching each other perfectly except for differing shades of fabric, skin, and eye color. Once the gates open for you and you step through, though… it’s… Maker.

Extravagant, magnificent are both words. Floral is another.

It’s like they hung up bouquets wherever they could think to fit them, and this is just the edge of the city. As the group moves through the streets and closer to downtown, it becomes more and more overwhelming. The air itself is a warm fragrance wafting all around you, sunshiney and breezy and perfect, flowers of all kinds lining the modern buildings and archways like they were planted there from the very beginning and it just took this long to bloom between the cracks in the concrete. You wish you had names for all of them so you could list them—the only thing you can offer is the color and vague descriptions of the ones that stick out to you. Tiny yellow ones that are so small, they need to be bunched all together in massive quantities to even resemble normal flowers. Up overhead, elaborate arrangements of enormous blue and purple and pink ones, wrapping around each other and hanging down from rooftops. Some don’t even have petals, it’s like they’re big green cups that are big enough to hold things inside them. You’re fascinated by every single one, wanting to stop and smell them all individually but needing to keep up with the large group and not allow any stragglers to be left behind, including yourself.

About an hour later, when you’re almost in the middle of the city and there are people everywhere, it’s time to eat lunch. There isn’t much to it because of how expensive it is, and you’d normally feel bad for accepting the small meal each one of the children gets, but you donated all of your credits to the Keja and left absolutely zero for yourself. Good intentions, terrible idea. Still, you pull your mask down and snack on some deliciously fried food, trying not to eye anyone else’s platter after you finish yours. It’s so good and it’s gone in an instant; you couldn’t even say what exactly it was besides which stall you got it at. Whether it’s just the brilliant atmosphere or if the food on this moon is really just that good, you’re not really sure, but you’re still slightly hungry afterwards with no extra money to sneak a snack.

Soon after, the kids all line up to get their faces painted, or whatever portion of their face is visible behind the cloth masks and hoods they’ve got on, and music blares from at least four different directions and none of the songs are even in the same language. Depending on the part of town, it seems like the celebrations are all different. It makes sense, considering most if not all of these individuals were victims of the Empire’s wrath, spread far and wide across the galaxy. Here, they’re free, and they want everyone to know it. Spring festivals of some sort are likely common for most cultures, at least those from planets with seasons, not like Arvala-7 where it was arid and hot year-round, and you’re assuming there are multiple things being celebrated today depending on which street you live on. There’s chanting in different tongues, dancing and drums, outfits and masks from different cultures every single time you look.

At some point, the children spot a crowded street with flowery rails set up all along them, and you stand behind the tiny heads while everyone waits for the parade to begin. You think your heart has just been beating slightly faster than normal all day today, but when you finally hear the sound of sirens blaring in the distance and cheers begin to pour out from the gathered crowd, it kicks up and you feel like you’re just as wide eyed at the spectacle as the waist-high babies all huddled together up against the railing.

A flurry of people and things pass in slow succession. First, New Republic officers with their blaring holobikes, bright orange as always. Then come large groups of people walking behind banners in languages you can’t read, some of them waving, some of them making different sounds and songs. Bands marching in formation, dancers in dresses and masks and gorgeous flowers in their hair like crowns, and then brilliant hovering vehicles decorated in bright colors and festive depictions. The craftsmanship and cultural significance is stunning to witness, it’s so insanely loud, there’s so much going on, and yet…

Through it all, you think of Din. No matter the faces, the sights you see. There’s someone juggling. There’s either a very tall man and woman walking together or they’re both on stilts. There are enormous balloons being led through the air, people are riding atop an assortment of animals you’ve never seen before, there are traditional costumes and spectacular stunts being performed. Stalls with games and prizes line the stretches of concrete on the cross streets, people are laughing and celebrating and drinking in equal parts, everything is so lively and festive and fun, and yet, though it all, you think of Din. Him and the baby, they’re always in the forefront of your mind, occupying your thoughts and making your tummy stir more and more as the time passes like the parade in front of you. You don’t think this environment would ever be his favorite, and in some far away galaxy, perhaps if you lived other lives together and called a beautiful moon exactly like this home, then you might have to drag him out to see all the with you and the kid every year. You’d have to bat your eyelashes and kiss his cheek and snuggle up to him all nice and pretty like, and he’d probably grumble and complain about it while wrapping his arms around you—all the people and the noise, sweet girl—but he’d go. For you, he’d go.

Your thoughts suddenly stop short and you blink for a second. Why… Why was that scene so vivid? So wistful? You used to preoccupy yourself with fantasies about Din all the time, back before you even knew him as Din. But in every single one, it was sexual and likely came from a place of boredom, a lack of external stimulation. Here you are amidst bustling surroundings, and you’re daydreaming about domesticity with him. Why? You want to travel the galaxy, right? You want to see things you’ve never seen before, right?

For some reason, you think of the floor, and you miss it.

***

Day 5—5:04pm:

It’s late afternoon at this point and nobody can find the teens.

More people have made their way into the city and it’s starting to get extremely fucking crowded, especially where you are downtown, and the handful of them must’ve slipped away with all the excitement happening and how difficult it is to keep the young ones together now that the parade is over. You don’t know how long they’ve been gone—one second they were walking around just slightly detached from the rest of you, you assumed because the boisterous younglings fucked with their cool vibe, and then the next Naydee is gasping out to you that they’re gone.

“Sister Drya is going to kill me,” she hisses, her dark eyebrows furrowed in self-admonishment and stress. So many fucking people here, you know her pain. “I was supposed to be chaperoning them, they were just here—”

She shakes her head under the loose, cream-colored hood, groaning and then speeding up her gait to catch up with the woman in charge, but you decide to grab her wrist before she can relay the bad news.

“I can go find them,” you offer, speaking as low as you can with the blaring noise surrounding you. “Before anyone knows they’re missing. Is there a way to convince everybody to stay in one spot for a little while? You won’t get in trouble, but I need to know how to find you again.”

Naydee’s eyes widen in surprise, and even though it’s likely a bit out of character for you, you have a feeling it’ll be a deceptively easy task. Even with the masses right now and how atrociously big this city is, you already have a general idea of where they’re likely to be. Besides, you’re not even sure your absence will be noticed if Naydee is the only one who figured out the teens were gone—the other Sisters can thrive without you while missing anyone else would be noticeable, and you owe your new friend a thousand favors for helping you out these past few days. The least you can do is save her from the scolding of one of the scariest old ladies you've ever met.

“Be as quick as you can,” she finally agrees. It’s a lot of trust to put into you, but you’ve had experience in reading the most unreadable man in the entire galaxy, some teenagers shouldn’t pose too much of a problem. “If you’re not back in thirty minutes or somebody notices, I’ll have to say something.”

You nod, silently breaking away from the group without another word. You think you can hear her announce to everyone that it might be best to eat dinner now to skip any long lines later—smart—but you’re out of their hearing range and line of sight almost immediately.

***

Day 5–5:17pm:

“Really?” You raise an eyebrow since they won’t be able to see the way your mouth is twisted up underneath your mask, crossing your arms and tapping your foot against the ground to further illustrate just how not fucking impressed you are.

Seven teenagers freeze, and slowly—depending on how much bravery they can individually muster—they turn around on their stools to face you. The atmosphere in the tavern is bustling and cheery, booze being passed around a large crowd that laughs and mingles, but your vibe is stone cold and quiet. The contrast doesn’t feel wrong on you like it normally would; the negative and disapproving energy you’re emitting makes you feel powerful, untouchable, armored and strong.

“How did you find us so fast?” One of the twin boys squeaks out behind a light blue robe, sounding worried.

“Had a hunch,” you grumble, glaring sternly at each of them in turn. Your tone is dry, your voice sits lower in your throat when you’re pissed off. All you had to do was look for the closest bar that doesn’t have any orange jumpsuits poking around waiting to card underage younglings, it wasn’t that difficult. “You’re not exactly unpredictable.”

“Are you gonna rat us out?” The other twin asks you, in a voice that’s oddly deep compared to his brother.

“I should,” you snap, quickly reaching out to push their drinks away. “I should let Sister Drya rain down her holy fury on your asses, got good people all twisted up over you for nothing and I’m missing dinn—”

You don’t know why, but you suddenly cut yourself off and jerk upright, spinning around.

The sounds of glasses clinking and boisterous voices fill the bar, but they seem to fade out for a second. Your eyes fly around the crowded space, your heart lodged in your throat and looking for anything reflective. Every flash you see is a false alarm—belt buckle, wristwatch, cocktail shaker—

He’s here… isn’t he?

Only, there’s nothing. Nothing is out of place, nothing jumps out at you the way you’re assuming it will. You’re braced taut and ready to bolt at the first sign of a chase, but it never comes.

It’s so… unexpected, this feeling. It’s not like you’re being hunted anymore, but instead, you’re the hunter. You’re feeling the weight of him from this far away and it’s like he’s calling for you to come find him, teasing the wild adrenaline rush you get from just feeling his presence, as if he absolutely knows it happens. Whispering soft in your ear and then vanishing the second you’re able to turn around, like he’s here but he’s not. Playing with you from so far away.

This… this is a taunt.

The whole thing at the inn was leagues below this, that was rudimentary. Teasing, getting even, having fun with each other, whatever you want to call that, that’s what it was. This is scarily sophisticated. Fluid and practiced and the best kind of frightening, stark and dangerous compared to the carefree and upbeat setting surrounding you. You’re not making it up, it’s not just you being paranoid. You know him with your eyes closed. You know he’s here somewhere watching you, just like you know the starlight that streaks across the pitch black horizon of hyperspace. Not because you can see it, not really, not directly. But because by it, even in the vastest and darkest and emptiest of voids, you’re suddenly able to see everything else.

“You okay, Nerida?”

The volume gradually comes back up and you blink, suddenly remembering where you are, who else is with you. The chatter becomes slightly louder than it seemed before.

“Yeah,” you eventually say, slightly airy while continuing to stare emptily at the crowded room. He’s not here, you don’t think, not anymore at least. But you’re not stupid, you know what this means. You’re already caught, there’s nothing you can conceivably do that will delay the reunion for the next—you look down and pull the loose sleeve up to check your communicator—seven fucking hours, there’s no way. He’ll pull back and follow you, keep up with you from a distance and then snatch you away right when you let your guard down. You at least need to get the kids back to their guardians before that can happen, though.

“Let’s go,” you quietly tell the group of foundlings, grabbing elbows and hauling them out of their stools. “Naydee was the only one who knew that you were gone when I left. Here’s to hoping she managed to keep it that way.”

***

Day 5–5:32pm:

Against all odds, you’re able to rally the wayward teens and successfully lead them through shoulders that are beginning to move closer together as the crowd grows and grows. You stay towards the back and don’t look behind you once—not only do you not want to give the younglings an unnecessary reason to become paranoid or to question your actions, but you can still feel Din lingering. Moving like a shadow, probably fitting in perfectly with the masked festival-goers, nothing drawing any attention to him with all the spectacular sights and noise occurring.

Soon you return to the same spot from before, and you and the teenagers seamlessly integrate yourselves back into the rest of the group without anyone noticing a thing is out of place. When you move to stand beside her, Naydee’s bone-deep sigh of relief is palpable even behind the concealing fabric; she squeezes your hand incredibly tight in a silent gesture of thanks, and then pulls something from the deep pockets of her robe and passes it to you sneakily. A purple fruit. She must’ve saved it for you.

Maker, fuck yes. It’s not much but it’s more dinner than any of the seven troublemakers get, but Naydee quietly assures you they’ll be able to eat something once they return to the Keja around midnight, just not the tasty expensive treats they’re selling at the vendors. As the sun goes down, you try not to stain your pretty fabric a deep maroon as you chomp and feel your lips start to curl upwards. It sounds so fucking stupid when you put it like this, but you keep going back to Din and revelling in knowing that he’s so close, like you’re just mentally checking in on him. You don’t get the sensation by thinking, though—more like you just focus really hard on your heart and feel him there just a second afterwards.

Is that how pure, stupid, shameless love feels when you’re completely entrenched in it? It’s not like it’s surrounding you, it’s not suffocating you or making you float. It’s just a thing. Like… a thing inside your chest, a physical thing you can search for and find, something you can point to on your body and say it’s right here, this is where my love for him lives. Right at the bottom of your heart, right where it curves and beats strong when other hearts meet flat at sharp angles. You do it over and over again, reconfirming its existence every single time. You don’t know what else you’d call it. Love is the only word. To love, to know. To hold in the heart.

Soon, you start to notice that people are slowly moving around your stationary group. You look up and watch the crowd begin to walk, some of them giving soft smiles to the cute children as they pass by, but all of them following the same unspoken direction.

“Where is everyone going?” You ask Naydee, standing on your tiptoes to watch the crowd migrate like a giant system, an organism or mechanism of thousands (or tens of thousands?) of smaller moving parts all traveling in tandem. It’s fascinating—you’ve been to crowded places, you know what it looks like when a lot of people are packed into one area, but you’ve never seen what it looks like when they all move together. They would normally be bumping into each other, slipping in between, fighting and never really getting anywhere, interacting individually and thinking separately. Now they’re progressing in one single direction, so many with the same mindset and understanding of what comes next. A second parade, almost, with New Republic officers directing the flow of pedestrians as they pass.

“The eastern part of the city!” Naydee yells over the noise and points, and beyond her extended finger, you can barely see the light of a dusky body of water in the distance beyond the buildings. “The fireworks are going to go off over the bay, but it takes awhile to get there!”

“Is…” You blink for a second, suddenly caught off guard, trying to think back to the holomap the concierge pulled up at the front desk of the inn. Surely you would’ve noticed it, but your sudden childlike hope makes you ask anyway. “Is it part of an ocean?”

Naydee shakes her head. “A really big lake!”

Your shoulders drop just the slightest bit in disappointment but still, you ache to see it. You can’t even imagine—the fireworks are likely going to reflect across the water, giving everyone double the view. And luckily, after all the children and caretakers are individually accounted for, you start to behind the slow-moving crowd towards the docks you know lie beyond.

Naydee scurries ahead to keep the kids together, ushering them forward and preventing any drunk passer-bys from accidentally stepping on them, and you quietly bring up the very rear of the entourage. You take the time to observe more than anything, walk in the back and experience instead of trailblaze. So many people, so many stories to be told, so many differences and diversity around you. Your face is partially concealed and you don’t move your head too much, just your eyes. They flick around to take in everything, the crowd thinning little by little as you make it out of the confined space downtown. You’re able to make out full bodies and outfits again instead of just heads and shoulders, allowing you to breathe just a bit easier under your mask.

And then at one point—and it’s almost a little startling because it happens all at once—the organizers must decide that the sun has officially gone down, because the lights come on. All of a sudden, paper lanterns and bulbs flicker into existence all around you and the world decides it wants to glow, glint and twinkle from the inside out. They’re everywhere, draping across rooftops and tangled around street signs and stuffed into the flower bouquets overhead, raining soft colors down on everything. You’re in complete awe, trying to keep walking but also needing to look at as much as fucking possible in the suddenly luminescent city. It’s so colorful, so vernal and warm and you feel like you’re… Like when you took a shower on the Crest for the first time and spent a few happy moments just playing with the water and soap for your own enjoyment, it’s as if all the brilliant rainbow of colors the bubbles would make under the fluorescent light decided to surround you at the same time. You’re inside stained glass, blinking at the flowers and wondering if Din can even smell the air or if it’s filtered, processed and reduced to nothing under the helmet.

And that’s when you see him.

But with the way your chest rapidly constricts and you can count your heart beats as they pound, blaring white noise through your ears and adrenaline through your veins, it’s like he's just allowing it to happen. You immediately understand that you don’t have fucking anything the second your eyes land on him; this isn’t a heads up that you caught wind of early, it’s not a gift or an advantage you’ve incidentally gained over him that you should be thankful for. Being able to see him directly like this, being able to make out all these fucking details from this far away… This just feels like you’re being informed of the endgame right before it comes. If you were anyone else, if you were a real bounty and this was a real hunt, his armor glinting and reflecting the lanterns overhead would feel like a knife you're about to be on the wrong side of.

You have a decision to make, very quickly. Either keep in this same direction, head straight towards him and just pretend like you are who you’re dressed as, a random caretaker for a bunch of rowdy foundlings during a spring festival on Nariss, or disappear. Drop back, move through the crowd and use the distance you have between you right now as your only hope of getting away in time. Neither one gives you a particular advantage—your chances of being caught have already skyrocketed exponentially just being able to see the reflection in his armor, the hovering shield at his side with big black eyes… staring directly at you.

You almost trip over your pantlegs, gasping. Baby. He beams at you and you think he calls out through the passing crowd, his tiny arms extending out, and your chest feels like you’re pulling organs as if they were muscles, cramping up and seizing with emotion. You want to run to them even though you’re meant to be running from them, call out over the noise and wave even though you’re not supposed to. You want to hold the kid again, squish his little forehead with kisses, walk around with Din’s hand pressed against your lower back and see the fireworks with him.

Your hands clutch at the draping fabric covering your chest, pulling and twisting it uncertainly. What do you do, what do you do?

No matter what, you know it’s over. Keep your head down and try to move past him, or break away from your group and try to escape—both are different paths that lead to the same result. What’s the point of running when he’s the one chasing you? The heart-pounding thrill is the only reason you’re even considering it, but his body stands so tall amongst the crowd, not moving while people ebb and flow like a river passing around him.

Except then you can hear his voice repeat the last thing he said to you in person as if he says it directly into the comm in your ear. When you do see me… try to outrun.

You should run—run, it’s better than just hoping he doesn’t see you when you already know he does.

Unless…

Out of a trillion different possibilities, you soon realize that there is exactly one situation in which this could turn out in your favor. You can immediately picture the scenario in your mind, but there’s just too many variables to conceivably rely on getting them all right. This maybe has a… two percent chance of working? Maybe? Everything would have to go perfectly, just fucking flawlessly, but what other choice do you have? Two percent is better than whatever odds you’re dealing with now.

You walk silently behind the group of foundlings as you approach closer and closer, keeping your head purposefully down as they skip and giggle and dance ahead. He knows you’re here—he has to know, you’re counting on him knowing. Walk right in front of him, pretend like you don’t see, make sure you keep left. Keep left, keep left, keep your head down, keep your head down—

A leather glove suddenly catches hold of your wrist hard enough to tug you backwards.

Your gasp is audible over the sound of the crowd and you spin around, jerking your head up to look at him in fear. Your heart slams as the beskar reflects your mask and hood back at you—you’re terrified and it shows, you can see it in your eyes.

You quickly try to yank your hand away, even as your index finger stretches up towards the communicator around his wrist.

“Miss Nerida?” A child’s voice cries, and then small hands grab at you from behind as you bury the urge to actually fight him. Your instincts are demanding you attack when his grip is this strong, but you just whine and struggle, slapping weakly at him with your free hand and feeling more of the younglings begin to pull at you, their high pitched voices calling more and more attention to the scene.

Your gaze flicks to the side, suddenly landing on a pair of New Republic officers helping direct the thousands of moving bodies from the closest street corner. They’re looking at you, pointing and beginning to speak into their own comm units. Din’s helmet snaps sideways to follow your gaze, and then he’s immediately dropping your wrist and stepping back, retreating as quickly as he caught you. Though you don’t want to—though you don’t want to give yourself away even more, you want to pretend fully that he was a complete stranger and the children were right to try to help you get away—your eyes fall to your son in the hovering crib by his side and you feel yourself crumble just a bit.

Just a few more hours, kid. A few more hours.

Children pull you away while your pursuers both disappear into the crowd, and you quickly turn to soothe the tiny babies instead of chasing after the one you miss so terribly.

“I’m alright,” you tell them, scooting them up and encouraging them to continue walking. Blend in, blend in, don’t let anybody think anything is wrong. “Come on, we’re fine, come on, we have to catch up.”

They take your lead as soon as one of the caretakers turns around and sees the small group crowding around you. You think she asks what happened, but you just tell her a man mistook you for someone else and nothing more comes of it. She’s able to settle the chaos better than you are, and by the time you’re continuing to travel forwards once more like nothing happened, the communicator suddenly flicks on in your ear.

“What did you do?” He breathes out, his footsteps moving fast through his voice. He’s traveling much quicker than you expected—is he still being followed? The officers are gone from your sight, they might be going after him right now, weaving between bodies and calling out to the perpetually vanishing glint of armor as he navigates his way out of danger.

You look down at the comm on your wrist and your heart nearly soars with victory. It worked. It worked. You just have to outlast a bit longer, don’t draw any extra attention to it—he’s preoccupied and he certainly doesn’t sound happy, but you hope that’ll be enough to make him slip. Use his frustration to your advantage, let him think the only thing you were successful at was momentarily escaping him.

“The cops weren’t part of the plan,” you admit quietly, keeping your head down as your loose hood billows in the twilight breeze. “Don’t get caught.”

There’s a few moments of just his breathing, his footsteps, and the noise floor humming through the comm, before he finally responds. “You look beautiful.”

You stare unseeingly down at the concrete under your feet, still feeling your hand tingle from where he caught you. The line abruptly mutes on his end and you just keep moving forward, onward, wanting to look back but knowing he’s already long gone.

***

Day 5–5:24pm:

Din is fucking furious.

He had you. You were right there, right in front of him, and even if he hadn’t been subtly trailing you all day, seeing the red footsteps get covered and flicker out of existence just a few moments after you make them, he would’ve recognized you anywhere. In black and white, in the fading light, with your face covered, children calling you by a different name and attaching themselves to you like they’ve known you forever—doesn’t matter, he would’ve known you. Your eyes have always given you away, always so expressive and starry and soft, but able to see right through solid steel whenever you look at him.

But then you slipped from his grasp, and then more guards pushed him further and further away from you. They must all be in constant communication, because every single jumpsuit he sees immediately spots him and starts following. It’s fucking exhausting, and he thinks of you the whole time.

He waits in a dark alley with the kid and taps the side of the helmet a few times to bring up the time on his comm, but then relaxes just slightly when he sees the hour. It’s earlier than he thought it was, he’ll be able to find you again.

Though, something tugs at him while he’s looking at the clock ticking away in front of his eyes, counting down each second that passes. There was… a moment. Back in the square, when he was holding onto you again, when you were looking directly into his once more—everything in his helmet—

No, he shakes his head while the kid looks up at him curiously, it can’t be. It was just a split second, it was gone so fast.

But he can’t get rid of it. Though there’s no explanation, he thinks the display screen flickered. The sky behind you looked different for a single frame, your footsteps weren’t bright red and visible anymore, your eyes weren’t grey and he stopped wondering what shade of fabric you and your friend decided to choose for you to wear. It was silvery, he’s almost certain. Like his armor, it only reflected the color of everything around it.

Color. Everywhere. Bursting for a blink of an eye, and then gone just as quick, before he could actually figure out what it really meant.

***

Day 5–6:59pm:

This water is quiet here, but it sparkles.

It doesn’t ever really get truly dark thanks to the enormous hanging moon and ringed gas giant dancing with Sanctuary II, constantly reflecting light back onto the surface and reacting with some of the trace chemicals up above the atmosphere, and you think the sky just might be the prettiest you’ve ever seen it. Must have something to do with the equinox, the glimmering angles of light being played with by celestial bodies in this stunning system, but it’s a dream. The Maker apparently couldn’t decide which colors he wanted tonight so he just splashed all of them together all at once, let them run and blend like ink in the gentle water below, like the various people who call this moon home.

That view in front of you, coupled with all the flowers and lanterns lining the streets behind you, and you’ve lost track of time the exact same way you hoped Din would. You think you’ve stood for about an hour or so in this one spot, half-listening to excited chatter from the babies, mostly just gazing across the stretch of water and being able to just barely spot the docks in the distance, but it feels like it’s only been minutes.

You check your watch—the fireworks should be starting any second now. You don’t know what to expect, just that in your experience, explosions tend to be loud. You've decided you’re not going to plug your ears, though. Tummy twisting with nerves and another inexplicable feeling you can’t quite put your finger on, you resolve to experience the unknown exactly the way it’s meant to be. Fully, without worry or fear.

Then, lacking any warning or ceremony whatsoever, a single flare launches silent and high from one of the small boats skimming the bay, and the crowd seems to hold its collective breath as the dim light disappears into thin air for a split second, before—

It’s… quite possibly the most dazzling thing you think you’ve ever seen. So shamelessly decorative just for the sake of it, not serving any other practical purpose besides celebration and visual spectacle, and you’ll probably never know another extravagance like it. You grew up with dust pelting against tired eyes, you never thought they’d get to reflect such gorgeous bursts of color back up at the sky, glassy and childlike amongst a group of equally wide-eyed children.

As expected, a deafening boom follows closely behind the singular display, but just witnessing it is incredible enough to make you forget to brace yourself for the sound and you jump almost violently in response. There comes a loud cheer from the people standing around you, a few delighted gasps and children who decide now is the best time to start crying, but then more flares begin to launch from the boats and the subsequent show will sear itself into your memory to replay over and over again.

Still, you think the endless sky and dark water below would have to light on fire to stop him from coming to mind.

Din.

You click the comm on, continuing to stare in stunned awe but wanting nothing more than to hear his voice right now, feel his hand rest on your lower back and the kid’s three fingers squeezing one of yours while the stars rain down from above. You’re only continuing to run from him because it’s expected of you, that’s the reason you’re here, but it’s becoming harder and harder to argue with yourself. “Do you always see in black and white?”

It takes him just a few seconds to respond, but he always does. “Only when I’m tracking someone.”

The loud booms can be heard over the earpiece, happening maybe a second after they crack and sparkle above you. You can’t tell if the latency is due to the electronics or if he’s just that far away from the source of the sound itself, but… you don’t think he is. He feels close again, like he could just walk up right next to you any second, or maybe that’s just how he always feels now.

“Does that mean you haven’t seen the sky here?” You ask after a moment. This whole time, everything has been grey for him?

“I saw it,” Din murmurs, and even though it’s quiet and explosions are thundering loud enough to deafen more sensitive ears, his quiet voice somehow breaks through it all. “When you left the Crest, I saw it behind you.”

For some reason, you suddenly feel like crying. Whether it’s the way he phrases it or the sentiment in the words, you’re close to tears without even knowing why, looking up at the sky illuminating spectacularly. He says it like he wasn’t the one who parked on this moon and told you to go on without him. “Can you… turn it off for just a second?”

He takes a second, before clarifying for you. “I turn it off and I lose your footprints.”

So that was the ultimatum. He doesn’t want to turn it off until you’re back with him again. Does he not understand? Does he not know what you know? Maybe you just happened to feel it first, this overwhelming physical sensation inside you whenever you think about him. It’s like the exact opposite of a hole in your chest. And it’s so odd, so counterintuitive. Being comforted in his absence, feeling him with you when he isn’t. Falling in love in the dark, knowing him without ever seeing him.

“You never needed them,” you say, reaching up to pull your mask down under your jaw and chin for a moment, wanting to freely breathe the freshwater and flowers while stars explode and fracture across the sky. It’s a truth you’re acknowledging, something you’ll carry with you, something you fundamentally own at this point. “You’d find me without the helmet. And I’d find you.”

The fireworks continue to bleed into the water beneath them, multicolor splashes rippling into existence and disappearing just as quick. You could’ve never imagined a more colorful, magnificent landscape—besides your waterfall on Naboo, of course. That was a pure product of nature though, a place hidden away and untouched by people, completely sacred. Light refracting against mist, natural glass that would shatter under your weight. This is a celebration of life and family. Loud in a different way, affecting you in a different way, but just as wonderful and touching. A cultivated paradise, designed to be beautiful and safe only because they wanted it to be.

“Think so?” He asks softly. He sounds so deep and warm, but… a little distant. You’re able to hear it in his words. You don’t know why, though. Doesn’t he believe you? Perhaps… perhaps this isn’t The Way. Perhaps this is part of a completely different oath, one where knowing and loving somebody isn’t the same thing as looking at their face, not at all. Where you can have them exist entirely separate from each other, because this is love. This is real, enduring, bone-deep love, and you haven’t ever seen his face, so how would he explain that? How would the Mandalorians reconcile that? You bear the mark of the mudhorn, you’ve moved through time and space with him, you’re a mother to his son, and you’ve never seen his face. It defies both the Mandalorian oath and traditional understandings of love, or it meets them right in the middle, depending on how you look at it.

“I know so.” For the first time, you think you might sound more confident and certain than he does. Maybe he doesn’t fully get it yet, but then you suppose he’ll just have to trust you. “Will you look at the sky?”

“I see it,” Din tells you, but you know he doesn’t. Not the way you want him to. And stars, you just want so many things for him, don’t you? The sky, fresh air, water, light, food, rest. You want him to see the galaxy the way you do—have a new appreciation for the gifts that are given just because you’re alive to experience them. All the physics and mathematics aligned perfectly for it to happen—all the chemistry, the systems, the dynamics that dictate the universe, they all got together and crafted a world where you, him, and the kid all exist together at the same time. You want him to know the significance of that.

“With color?” You ask, knowing his answer before he seems to.

“I…” Din wants to argue, or at least say it again. He can’t or he’ll lose you, he already told you he doesn’t want to turn the setting off. It’s such an unnecessary conflict, but you want to respect it so much that you’re willing to give up things of your own to make it happen.

“How do I fix it then?” You whisper, so desperately wanting this one thing for him, this one grandeur to behold. How do you fix this problem? How do you convince him to look with you? You’d offer to just go and find him instead of continuing to run away for the next few hours, but you know the show will be over soon and you don’t have much time left. “Do you want me to come look for you? It’ll be too late by then, you’re too far away. Look at the sky.”

It’s silent for a moment—truly silent, even though colorful bombs are going off above the bay. You don’t know why you’ve attached yourself to this so strongly, but it’s almost devastating when you don’t get a response. You look away from the spectacle for the first time in an eternity, gazing unseeingly into the crowd of onlookers with a sudden sadness taking hold of you. He won’t look, he’s too stubborn, he holds onto things too tightly.

But then, a flurry of flares start launching in rapid succession from the distant boats, screaming and crying on their way up and then igniting into showers of light, and the abrupt increase in activity manages to catch your attention once again. This must be the end, they saved the best for last. Every corner of the horizon flashes and sparks, and you’re mesmerized at how bright it is, how many colors they’ve managed to fit into one single frame.

“It’s beautiful,” comes his voice, and the smile that you break into feels just right for the brilliance of the view above you. Maker, it is, isn’t it? Now you can hear it—he sounds like he’s looking at it too, with color, in all its breathtaking glory, and you feel like you’re flying. Like he picked you up and let you watch up close, like you can feel his armor under your fingers right now as he carries you through the sky.

It swells up inside you, a rising wave similar to the ones you can see in the distance, and you know you probably shouldn’t say it because it’s not in your best interest to say it right now, but you have to say it anyways. It’s an unknowable compulsion, a need to connect and communicate directly with him but for your sake, not presently, not at this exact moment in time.

Luckily, you mute your comm just in time and simply give the words to him from very far away.

“Hurry up,” you say, sending the sentiment into the sky with all your love, and the conflicting hope that he won’t take the advice until a bit later on. “Come and find me.”

***

Day 5–7:37pm:

After the fireworks are over, people start to drift off in separate directions, clearing the traffic and congestion from the streets around you. Someone puts their hand on your shoulder and you blink a few times, spinning around and almost stepping on a bunch of tiny little feet by accident.

Stars, that’s a lot of children. They’re all crowded around Naydee, who pats a few heads and almost buckles under the younglings clinging to her leg.

“Figured you would be long gone by now,” she grins at you from behind her mask, and you’re reminded to pull yours up over your face just from looking at her. “It’s late—we’re going back to the Keja.”

“Oh, shit,” you breathe in surprise, but the noise of the gradually dispersing crowd manages to cover it up. At least from younger, more easily distracted ears, but you think Naydee hears you. Her dark eyes roll good-naturedly, looking happy but exhausted from the long day. You’re going to have to say goodbye now.

“What happened to your family?” She asks after a moment, and you think she’s being careful with the way she says it, likely because family is a difficult topic to navigate in general around some of the children hanging on her and begging for her attention. “Have you been in touch with them? If not, I’m sure you can come back with us. It’ll be late by the time we get there, but at least you’ll be safe.”

You open your mouth to automatically decline her offer, knowing Din is still in the crowded city looking for you and wanting to stay where there’s lots of people.

But then… well, he would expect you to do that, wouldn’t he?

There’s more people here. More danger, but better places to hide. It’s the obvious choice, it’s the one that makes the most logical sense. But you’d also be completely alone and you’re assuming the only reason he hasn’t snatched you up yet—which you know he could’ve done multiple times by now, is likely because you’re with a group of innocent foundlings, moody teenagers, and very stern older women. He probably doesn’t realize you’ve told them about him and the kid, though you were slightly vague on the details.

It’s also a little over three hours to get back, but you’re banking on it being closer to four with how whiney and tired some of the small voices sound, others sounding like they’re an enormous sugar rush contained into a tiny little capsule. Would he have the gall to try and get you right from under their noses? Will he even know you left the city, or will he assume you made the smartest decision possible and simply account for it ahead of time? No, you're overthinking it, just make a decision and stick with it.

“There’s also free food,” Naydee shrugs while you’re still considering, but… well, that settles that. Almost three days of friendship and she already knows exactly how to win you over in the end. Sustenance for your empty tummy, an escort the entire way there, and heavily guarded walls beyond. Din will have to get creative in response—you flaunted your imagination for days, coming up with dozens of evasion tactics to outlast him, but this one just seems… incredibly practical. Exploiting a weakness of his—isolating it, having it be reinforced by precedent, and then taking advantage of it. You bet he’ll catch on, but still, it’ll make it more difficult for him, and you’re grasping at straws to hang on just a little longer.

“I…” Quick, come up with something. You clear your throat. “The city is too crowded, I haven’t been able to find them. I could just… tell them where I’m headed and see if they can find me along the way?”

Naydee smiles and nods. “Sounds perfect.”

Yet, the entire walk back… you keep thinking you’re going to feel Din trailing behind you, waiting to feel the nerves twist in your tummy and your palms to sweat, but you don’t. You keep glancing over your shoulder and then down at your wrist, needing to talk yourself out of addressing him through the comm to let him know exactly what the plan is. You like maintaining a sense of secrecy from the new characters you’ve met on your adventures—Naydee, Karga, Peli—almost everyone you’ve been introduced to, you found a way to find a subtle enjoyment in hiding certain things from them. But with Din, you don’t have any walls. They crumbled nearly a full year ago when he silently pushed a cauterizer in your hand and took his armor off for you, and you’ve felt the inexplicable need to bare yourself to him in return ever since. It would be to your extreme detriment to do it now, but you still have to fight the urge.

Even if you don’t feel him following, you still find yourself acting like he is. Constantly turning back to double check the road behind you, drifting off in the middle of shallow, distant conversations with tiny foundlings who can’t tell the difference, keeping towards the middle of the pack this time to avoid being picked off towards the back. The belltower at the orphanage is loud and will ring for quite a distance, so your timing has to be utterly pristine for this to all work out. You eye your comm the entire way there, trying to stall just the right amount to avoid any realizations or fall into any traps he may be setting for you.

You eventually leave the city walls far behind you, and now you have no clue where he is. You lost him, and maybe that’s why you feel your heart beat insanely fast the whole time. He could be anywhere now. Behind you, adjacent, parallel—you can’t decide where to look, but it keeps you wide awake and focused while the group tiredly travels back to the temple.

***

Day 5–11:32pm:

You can see it in the distance, the brick buildings slowly coming into view. One might think your stress would have worked itself out by now, been brought back to a manageable level after four hours of walking, but you’ve been on red alert for the past hour or so. Any movement or rustle that doesn’t come from the sleepy children or exhausted caretakers, you’re on top of it, snapping your attention to the offending tree or animal and not being able to relax even after affirming it’s just nature, it’s not shiny metal bounding after you in the darkness, ready to take you down.

The infants are all likely snoozing away in the nursery, and the Sister who volunteered to stay behind and look after them comes to greet the group at the gate as you approach. Like always, two Brothers open the iron bars to allow you inside, and you feel the anxiety dig its claws into your tummy. If Din is going to get you, this is the very last moment to do it. These walls are guarded and you’re nervous for him, you’re nervous for yourself—you’re just fucking nervous. Jumpy and worried, not being able to pinpoint him anymore and feeling all the more anxious because of it.

It doesn’t feel right. Nothing feels right about this, but you can’t figure out specifically what’s wrong. This was the exact plan, this was a way for you to just survive these last few hours and yet, it doesn’t feel right that you actually succeeded in doing so. It doesn’t make sense that he’d allow you to return all the way here, especially when he was close enough to touch you earlier. Din has had so much time to snatch you up, so many opportunities to lure you away, confront you—anything to catch you, and he hasn’t done it yet. Why? Either you truly did escape and he has no idea where you are, which doesn’t feel right, or he’s choosing not to get you for whatever reason, which also doesn’t feel right. What’s he waiting for? You can’t have won. It was all too fucking easy, you’re expecting to see him around every single corner because he should be there, he shouldn’t have allowed this to happen.

When someone gently touches your elbow, you’re so on edge that you nearly whip around in surprise.

“Sorry!” Naydee immediately apologizes, taking her hand back to lift her hood and remove the mask covering her face. “Didn’t mean to scare you! I was just going to say that the commissary is still open,” she offers, and you watch the small group of hungry teenagers break off from the group to make their way there. “It’s going to take awhile to get the children ready for bed, so we’ll be in the dormitories if you need to sleep. Otherwise, I’m not sure I’ll see you again.”

You stare at her and blink a few times, trying to readjust your focus. She’s your new friend, she just said this was likely the last time you’ll see each other, but you can’t stop thinking about Din. Imagine he’s hours away in the city right now, still looking for you. You’re trying to evaluate your priorities here, but you truthfully never expected to get this far. Inside the gates, surrounded by brick buildings and silent guards. You know your way around here, you know hiding spots, you know how to outlast—it’s incredibly advantageous for you to be inside these walls. What is he doing?

Shaking your head to clear your thoughts, you give Naydee a quick hug and she happily accepts it. “I’m sure we’ll meet again at some point.”

She smiles and nods, pulling back and letting a couple grumpy foundlings catch her robes and yank on them impatiently. The loud group eventually disappears into the dorms, and the door shutting behind them cuts off the tired crying and chatty voices determined to stay awake, leaving you in silence that feels slightly unfamiliar after going without it for so long.

Fuck, you just need to breathe. As soon as the dead quiet grips the air around you, you realize you need to relax. You’re way too fucking wound up; you want to bolt at the smallest thing and the sudden silence of being alone multiplies it to the point where you have to remind yourself of its importance. Breathe. Focus. There’s about fifteen minutes before the bells ring, fifteen more minutes and the chase will be all over.

Can you eat? You thought you’d want to, but you think you’re too fucking antsy. You can’t stay here alone, that’s for sure, but you also don’t want to be around all the children right now. The commissary will have a handful of people wandering around, teens snacking and maybe a Brother or two standing guard. It’s the best place to wait the clock out, so you make your way there. The gentle breeze billows around your loose robes, your pantlegs swishing as you walk.

A few minutes later, you’ve got a plate of food in front of you but your mask is still up, and you’re just sitting there. Towards the back of the large room, sitting by yourself at one of the tables and staring down at your communicator. Five minutes. You have five fucking minutes left before he finds you. Can you feel him? Is he closing in?

You sit up a bit straighter, taking a deep breath. Focus on that feeling from earlier. The presence in your chest, the weight that didn’t used to be there months ago—focus on that feeling and branch it outwards. Can you feel him?

Something catches your eye.

Or no… it doesn’t, does it? Nothing is out of place here, nothing is visibly wrong or amiss. The only thing that’s changed from all the times before is how dark it is through the windows, and how there are only a few kids in here grabbing a midnight snack instead of being packed like usual. Nothing else.

But there’s… there’s an acolyte in the far corner, standing guard with his back to the wall. It’s not his presence that gives you pause—you expected him to be here, there’s always been at least one present whenever you’ve sat down to eat. He doesn’t look any different from the rest of the Brothers you’ve passed by this evening or the days before—tall, silent, dark brown robes, hooded and mysterious—so why do you suddenly feel yourself break out into a cold sweat as soon as your eyes land on him?

Bubbling laughter and chatter echoes through the large room from one of the tables near the entrance—seven teenagers stuffing their faces with food and sharing animated conversation with each other now that it’s late and they’re alone—but your stomach twists and your fingers start to tremble as you slowly rise from your seat in the back. You want to keep your head down and be casual but it’s impossible, you desperately need to keep looking at that silent guard in particular and your heart kicks up in your chest—

—and then it wrenches sideways when you’re carefully backing away from the table and the offending acolyte takes a single step forwards.

Run. Everything in you screams for you to run, and it’s rarely done that before, but you can’t. Not yet, you don’t want to draw attention, and the logical part of your mind rages against your gut instinct to haul ass. He’s here—of course he is, the thought screams through your veins as you try to weave quickly in between tables, feeling light on your toes and readying yourself to run as soon as you can. The dark figure seems to find a careful pace behind you, staying just far enough behind and walking in perfect silence, and you have so many fucking questions but you can’t even think a single thing beyond run away, run away. Where’s the kid? How did he get those robes? Did he actually take his helmet off just to get to you in a room where anyone could confront him?

Your feet propel you forward as soon as you make it out of the door, you break out into a sprint—just flat out bolting because you know how fucking fast he is and you need as big a headstart as you can get.

You race down the stairs and through the courtyard, the beautiful surroundings contrasting drastically with the way you’re running for your fucking life through them. It’s not beautiful to you right now; you feel clumsy and physically unable to move fast enough no matter how quick you go, your eyes are wide and every nerve is on fire and you can’t even tell if he’s behind you anymore with how silently he moves, but you just trust that he is and keep barreling forward. Your breath puffs against the clinging fabric of your mask as you keep sprinting, willing your legs to pump faster. Get to the belltower at least, get to where you have the smallest chance of being caught by the people who guard this place.

As soon as you allow yourself to even conceive the possibility, two Brothers in dark hooded robes suddenly turn the corner a little ways in front of you and your reaction time is perfect—you jerk to a halt and take a single step forward as soon as they spot you. Since your momentum already committed you to it, you just have to walk, keep your head down, move directly past them and hope Din disappeared from behind you in time.

Step, step, step—keep going, control your breathing, you’re okay, you’re allowed to be up late tonight and they shouldn’t stop you. Walk right by… Stars, you feel their silent stares as you casually pass, and it just feels so cold and analytical compared to the kind of danger Din is gives off when dressed in the exact same clothing. He’s hard and tangible and an unrelenting force, where they just feel like ghosts that haunt this place. The threat they present is impersonal and detached, but the terror currently chasing after you is so real that he can read your mind.

You wipe the sweat from your brow as soon as you turn the corner, and your feet are already starting to speed up on their own knowing you’re out of their sight. Run, get to the belltower before Din does, you can see it standing tall about a hundred feet away. The stairs leading to the door come closer and closer, but you hear something behind you and it propels you faster. It’s like you can feel him right at your heels even though you haven’t seen him, snapping at your ankles even though your footsteps are the only ones you can hear anymore.

You scramble up the stairs and close the door behind you, spinning around and facing it even as you slowly retreat backwards into the moonlit tower, trying to stay quiet. Breathing through your nose, eyes shifting around the enclosed space, continuing to back up and away from the door. Where is he? There are so many windows that allow you to look outside, but why can’t you spot his movement through them? Wasn’t he right behind you?

Behind you.

There’s no reason or logic at all to it; you just react. Spinning around and throwing a mean punch.

Din jerks back just in time to miss it, twisting and dodging at the very last second to avoid your next few hits—but… things seem to slow down, even if they’re happening so fast. The moonlight cascades through the dozens of windows lining the circular walls and it shines just enough to reveal small glimpses of him. With every aggressive strike from you, you see something else—you see a flash of his chin when you try to uppercut, you aim for his chest and you see a bit of his jaw. When you go for his jaw, he steps sideways and catches your wrist, and you see the bend of his nose catch the light this time.

But then it’s like he finally figures out that you’re actually fighting him, and now he’s coming for you. Trained and ruthless, not weighed down by any armor and lightning quick, launching perfectly aimed attacks that you’re only able to avoid from reaction and muscle memory alone. You block or move whenever he strikes, you attack whenever you see an opening, you sidestep at the same time he does—

Until you land a spin kick directly to the center of his chest and snap your leg to shove him back, your heel smashing into that soft spot right above his stomach with dead precision and brute force. He exhales sharply and takes a few more steps back to steady himself while you pause to catch your breath.

Din abruptly comes back and you fall into it with him again, keeping a sharp rhythm with each other that’s faster, harder, and way more real than any sparring match you’ve ever shared. The hours and days in hyperspace you spent practicing with him are but a fraction of what he’s throwing at you right now, the combinations so rapid and blurred that you just have to trust your knowledge of him and his movement through the dark.

But then, your downfall. Bells begin ringing an earsplittingly familiar melody above you, and it shatters your concentration—you falter just as he grabs you and sweeps your feet out, and though you know how to get out of that, you’re not quick enough on the jump nor counterswing to prevent it. He takes you to the ground, hard, and then your wrists are being pinned together above your head and your mask is being tugged down.

Din’s mouth on yours makes you want to cry.

The whole thing is like coming home. You spent a week surrounded by strangers and having them call you by a name not given to you, fending for yourself, and now here he is. Someone who knows who you really are, someone that wants to care for you. Tears come to your eyes even as they're pressed tightly shut, and Din kisses you like he’s never known anything else. His mouth fits to yours as if the Maker made your lips before ever considering the rest of you, his bare hand clutching your jaw and forcing you to open for him, letting him lick deep inside after going so many days without it. It might feel dominant and overwhelming if it happened to any other person, but through it, you can also taste his desperation and weakness, how soft he is even when he’s squeezing your jaw and squishing your wrists together too tightly.

Rigid steel that bends only for your touch.

He pulls back and your heart throbs at how moonlight continues to bathe just the smallest glimpses of him under the hood—never the full thing, never the whole face, but enough. The quiet light that brushes the arch of his nose, how it bathes the hard line of his jaw so that you can barely see his scruff when he turns his head the right way. His eyes are hidden in near darkness but there’s the faintest glimmer where they should be, and it’s the closest you’ve ever been to looking at him without the helmet. You can see him, you can see shadows of his chin, his neck—dear stars, his fucking neck. You’re pinned and paralyzed under him and the ringing bells, yet you feel like you just might float if he wasn’t holding you so tight to the floor.

“Where’s the baby?” You finally lift your chin and ask, needing to raise your voice over the melody clanging loud throughout the tower.

“Making friends,” Din pants back down at you, and… stars, then you just start giggling. Adrenaline turning into pure joy, imagining the kid wreaking havoc with all the other babies in the nursery right now. It feels more light and airy than anything your body should know.

“What are you so happy about?” He asks, swallowing and then continuing on with the same quick gasps. “You lost, I caught you in time.”

“Did you?” You drop your head to the brick floor and ask, biting your lip as he stares back down at you. Suddenly—

—Bong—

Din holds utterly still over you while you take a quick breath and wait for the next eleven bells…

…but then break into a slow grin up at him when nothing but utter silence follows.

There’s a moment. Just a single moment where the cogs turn rapidly under that shadowy hood, one where the faint reflection of light in his eyes flickers down to the communicator on your wrist that says midnight and back to you, one that solidifies the longer it takes for another bell to ring. It’s not going to.

One o’clock.

You think he puts it together. The one moment he was never able to figure you out—when you tried reprogramming the comms just a few days ago. The one trick up your sleeve that you resigned to throw away and almost forget about because the circumstances for pulling it off were never realistic. Fuck with the electronics and set the clock back just one hour—all you’d need to do is reset his communicator, the timecode is synced together. He told you before that it’s connected to his helmet, but all the buttons still work. Rapid, panicky thinking and a wild surge of bravery in the face of certain downfall is the only reason you were able to pull it off, and you’re perfectly willing to admit you just got lucky… especially when he’s still holding dead still over you.

But then Din moves so suddenly. You can’t account for it because there’s no build-up whatsoever—it’s so fast, you yelp while he grabs your knees and throws them both to one side. You flop over sideways and large hands reach up under the draping length of your tunic to yank your pants down over the curve of your ass, before he’s fitting his palm up between your legs and pushing two thick fingers inside you.

Your head thunks back against brick with how unexpected and merciless it is, but his other hand is grabbing your jaw and twisting, forcing you to look up, stare right into the dark shadow under the loose cowl. The whole thing is too overwhelming—you’re trying to keep quiet but your breathing feels like thunder crashing inside this tall, echoing chamber. He’s touched you so many times, he knows exactly how to do it by now, but it feels like so much more than that. Probably because you can see the way Din’s mouth silently falls open as he feels you, stretching his fingers up and hooking them tight inside. You can tell when he closes his eyes, the smallest glint slowly disappearing into nothingness while the hand around your jaw blindly moves up. It catches your chin and lips, and then two fingers push over the bottom edge of your teeth to slip into your mouth.

Your entire leg twitches and jerks while you lay sideways on the ground and open up for him, your neck twisted at a sharp angle to keep your eyes on him and his fingers in your mouth, giving you something to bite to stop making noise. Din makes room for himself inside you two different ways, and you just choke on his fingers and try to stay quiet, praying he’ll go deeper.

But then you’re not expecting his whole fucking arm to start moving the way it does—oh fuck, what is that? First you just feel jostled and displaced, but then suddenly a wicked, deep, burning pleasure starts to roar through you, radiating outwards from the rapid motion of just two fingers inside you. It’s not in and out, it’s up and down so hard and quick against your g-spot that your eyes cross and your hands go numb.

You think you grab at him, clutch onto his arm or chest and open your mouth to moan at the new and overwhelming sensation, but his hand pushes up against your chin and closes it for you, the bend of his fingers caught hard between your teeth but you don’t think he cares.

“Quiet,” Din hisses the word down at you while his arm continues to work, your toes starting to curl as the feeling overwhelms you. Fuck, what is happening, what is happening? It’s like he’s just shoving unfamiliar sensation at you so forcefully that you can’t even think straight anymore, not even ten seconds in. You can only feel the pleasure, fire blurring hot and shapeless through your entire body as your eyes clamp shut, his fingers isolating that perfect spot and stimulating it directly, relentlessly.

Something dull and white hot presses up tight against all the muscles you have down there and you’re almost afraid of how strong it is. You gasp and choke and he has to take his fingers out of your mouth and just clamp down around your entire jaw, sealing the whole thing shut with his large hand. And then Din’s fingers leave your pussy too—and stars, you should be embarrassed by how desperately it clamps around nothing for as long as it does. He’s not even inside you anymore but your body is on such a delay from the hot, twisting pleasure, and he doesn’t put them back in until your muscles are finished spasming.

Everything comes back full force as soon as he starts moving again. Noise starts to come from your throat, humming in your vocal cords to deal with the arcing, swirling build, and so Din just moves his hand there instead. He finds where it’s vibrating from your neck and he pushes up against it, trapping the sound right at the source. He’s fucking perfect at it for some reason… how many times must he have done this to know how to cut noise out without stopping airflow? You clutch at his wrist and silently mouth his name, feeling his arm work between your legs—faster, faster, harder, pushing you higher, higher—

Din pulls his fingers out again and this time, one of your thighs suddenly feels warm and wet while you spasm and you hear him growl out a ragged, “Fuck yes.” Everything is sparks zapping through you long after his touch is gone, you cry out but it’s all trapped under Din’s expert grip. His fingers soon push back inside you and you dig your nails into his forearm, your sounds muffled and quiet enough to hear his raspy groan.

“Let me see it again,” Din breathes, his arm starting to work up and down once more, and you don’t even know what he’s talking about anymore. What does he want to see? You losing your mind again? Being reduced to an utter mess in front of his shadowy but unobstructed gaze just because you managed to pull one over on him?

Fucking… apparently. It’s what happens, after all. You’ve never seen him like this before; whenever he’s worked up and taking it out on you, there was always something in it for him, too. He’d hammer into you and rock your world until his eventually shattered, and then you’d both lay exhausted afterwards, equally affected and satisfied. This isn’t like that—this is just cruel, targeted retribution on his behalf, coaxing the molten pleasure out of you with his fingers and keeping his other hand locked around your throat. You blink helplessly up at him, your vision starting to blur by the time he leans down to whisper to you.

“I missed you, sweet girl. Did you miss me?” It’s so soft and quiet compared to the strength and relentlessness of his movements. You can’t speak even if you wanted to, but when he finally pulls away to yank his hand out and you feel all your muscles automatically flex outwards and push against the sudden emptiness inside you, his voice groans long and satisfied while your thighs get wet again “Yeah you did,” he breathes, pushing your shaky legs to the brick with his hand and watching you struggle through the aftershocks.

Did you just cum? You don’t even know, that’s how fucked up you are right now. The whole thing felt like an orgasm from the very beginning, just a boiling hot tornado ripping through every single cell in your body, never really having a peak. If you didn’t cum, then why do you feel so weak? You feel heavy, your limbs don’t work properly, and you barely even register Din pulling at the fabric of his own robes until he fits himself up against your entrance.

When you do realize it, though… your body burns with it, wrecked already but wanting him to take what he wants from you.

“Oh, plea—” you gasp but you don’t even have enough time to get the full sentence out. He’s already pushing his hips forward, pressing you tight into the ground and opening you up after what feels like a fucking eternity without him. It’s the hottest, slickest welcome you could give him, you hear it in the whispered curse his lips brush up under your ear, the wet noises your body makes that get louder the longer you hold the moan in your throat and bury your head into his shoulder. He throbs thick and perfect inside your tight, spasming cunt, stretching you and smacking the rough ground near your head with how fucking good it is to be back, finally, finally—

Your hands grab uselessly at his chest while you try to acclimate, try to breathe while you’re blind with sensation. It’s so fitting for him, isn’t it? That your reunion should be just as physically debilitating as it is mentally. Din’s voice scrapes on a groan like he’s dragging it across the brick ground as quiet as he can, catching when you clamp down on him and shuddering when you clamp down harder. That’s just it—you don’t ever loosen, you just keep tightening and tightening around him, threatening to break and cum again.

This feels different from before, though. It’s deep, purposefully so. His hand reaches up to push the fabric of your hood back, lifting himself up over your body and wanting to start as deep as he can. You feel him in a place you’d never be able to reach and that’s just the beginning—that’s before he starts thrusting into you, hitting a dull sensation at the apex of each movement so hard that it becomes sharp. His hips don’t make practically any sound smacking into you because they don’t really smack, they just rock downwards and fuck you into the floor without needing to pull out really at all. You know he’s just trying to keep it as quiet as possible, but what he lacks in speed and agility he makes up in power.

You don’t even realize you’re making too much noise until a palm wraps tight around your mouth and the room gets a little emptier. Din keeps you all to himself on the floor, silencing as much as he’s working you up, smothering as much as he’s freeing you. There’s no easing up, no dragging it out, no gradual build or climb—it’s just there all of a sudden, pleasure and pain pummeling you all at once, engulfing you in flames.

You reach up to grab at the loose fabric of the hood over his face, catching a fistful of it before his hand suddenly snatches your shaky wrist and pins it back to the ground.

Maker, you forgot—oh, you completely forgot about how many people could find you right now if they ever decided to look in the right place. You’re not in hyperspace; your body is rocking against rough brick, you’re probably going to have a lump on the back of your head from how terrible you are at trying to map out heaven while holding still. He’s pinned down what he can with one hand; your fingers are the only things that can move besides how tight you can curl your toes, but you feel your moans turn into words against his palm. They garble indistinctly and you’re not really even sure what you’re saying, but Din decides it’s worth hearing.

“Shh,” he whispers, slowly lifting his hand from your mouth. “Shh, tell me—”

“W-wanna look,” you hear yourself whimper, trying your best to keep quiet but wanting to scream it while he fucks you hard and slow on the ground, “—I wanna see, I wanna look at you—”

“Fuck,” Din gasps, and though his grip tightens on your wrist and you know he can’t do it right this second, the words seem like they shatter something inside him, “Keep—oh fuck, please, k-keep saying…”

“I want to marry you,” you nearly whine for him, feeling his hips kick up rapidly and start hammering in and out, in and out, in and—“I want to see your face, I wanna be yours, I don’t want anyone else to know you the way I-I—”

You think he drops his head into your neck to muffle his own sounds. Though they start out rough and quiet and indiscernible, but they gradually become louder as he repeats himself over and over again, growling and fucking you rough. You only catch it on the peak, when he pulls his mouth away from your skin and gasps them raggedly one last time.

“—ve you—I l-love y—”

He kisses you to stop himself. But it’s not really a kiss, it’s more desperate than that. Though it’s beautiful, it’s beautiful in a different light. It’s not rejoicing at having you back with him once again; it’s a last prayer begging you to stay by his side forever. He loves you. He gives it everything—it feels even more concrete and simple than taking the hood off him and revealing his face would. You told you that you'd know him without ever seeing him, and you did. You picked him out and found him when absolutely nothing was giving him away, and this feels like a manifestation of that. Even if you’re not in a place where he can show you his face, his beautiful brown eyes, something still feels like it changes. He loves you. You gasp into his mouth and his tongue sinks deep into yours, tenacious and brave and unyielding.

When you finally cum, you almost bite him on accident.

Everything surges hot and molten while he pulls back and keeps fucking you through it, and you can’t tell where you’re touching him anymore, just that his skin is blazing hot under your hand and he feels like everything the armor isn’t. He loves you. You’re looking into his eyes right now. You can’t see any of the details, not really, but the moonlight flickers like silent stars moving through dark depths, staring right back at you and giving you an anchor for the euphoria rocketing through you. He loves you. Your nails dig in sharp and slowly drag downwards, scratching hard red lines into whatever thick muscle that is—

The back of his neck, making his hips stutter and when he cums for you, he does bite.

You lift your head just in time to feel his teeth catch your chin instead of your mouth, and his entire body shakes while you keep dragging your nails down the side of his neck and his throat. Din fucking lives for it, he releases you and arches into the pain and owns your marks like he wishes you made them deeper, stretching his neck and lifting his chin into the moonlight and—

Maker. You can see it, with direct light, you can see more of it than ever before. You can see his soft lips and white teeth gritting the sound of your name as quietly as he can, the dark facial hair dusting across the lower half of his face. A fucking gorgeous jawline and throat extended long over you, flexing hard with his cock pulsing inside you. You can just barely see the bottom of his nose from under the brown hood, the dark curls brushing up under his ears.

Stars, you still never see his eyes, the fabric of his hood acts like a blindfold draped over them, but you think you cum again. Even if it’s on accident, it’s mean—Din tries to keep from squishing you and his hand pushes down hard against your lower tummy while he shoves his hips deep one last time, and you cum while staring at half of his face in the moonlight. Completely lovestruck.

How can he be this beautiful when you’ve only seen fractions of him? You have everything but the eyes now, everything but the most mysterious thing about him, the reflection into his deepest self, but you feel like you’re hypnotized by every single feature you do see. His tongue coming out to wet his lips, the vein pulling under his sharp jaw—he’s gorgeous, he’s gorgeous, and your body agrees. It shakes and shudders under him and eventually, Din finishes and you keep looking as his chin slowly lowers, face disappearing into the shadow once more.

Stars. He’s so handsome and no one has ever told him, fucking dreamy and the biggest grump you’ve ever met. Without being able to see him, you already want to reach your hands out and touch him, drag your nails through his scruff and force him to extend outwards into the moonlight again for you. Whenever he does end up showing you his face, you know right fucking now that you’ll never be able to look away. For the rest of your life, you’ll be staring at him, apologizing blankly for your rudeness but not feeling sorry at all.

Din leans down and gives you a slow, gentle kiss, finally relaxing into a slouch and breathing hard with the effort it took to shatter you with pleasure.

“The kid is with the other foundlings,” he whispers against your lips. “You… you’ll have to go get him, I need to grab my armor.”

You squeeze around his cock, pulling at the fabric of his robes and ignoring him for just a second. He fucked you in robes belonging to one of the guards and nobody has mentioned it, you need to say something. “Where did you get this?”

“I found it,” he tells you after a moment, kissing up under your jaw. Oh fucking Maker, he feels so good and perfect inside you, shoulders so broad and crowding you on the floor, and his lips are plush and hot, brushing and fitting your skin like it’s just an extension of his own. “Some guy was wearing it.”

It takes you a second.

“Mando,” you suddenly gasp in quiet horror, pushing at his chest and trying your best to detach his mouth from your throat. It’s so much more difficult than it needs to be, but you eventually succeed. “What did you do to him? Where is he?”

He lifts his neck up just the tiniest bit, turning his face towards yours under the hood and holding still for way too fucking long. He’s too close to see the expression he’s making, but you know the tone of his silence. He’s in trouble and he knows it before you do.

“Ma—”

“They’re in a closet,” he admits at the very same time, completely monotone.

You don’t know which word to emphasize. A fucking closet? They’re? Plural? Instead of stressing any particular word, you decide not to do it at all and it ends up just coming out in the same exact blank tone as him. “They're in a closet.”

“Inside the Temple,” Din continues on when you lay still as a statue underneath him. His head slowly dips down once more, pushing his hips against you just the slightest bit to make you remember the cock still inside you instead. Your eyelashes flutter with it—fuck, focus—“I didn’t know there’d be more than two.” He kisses your neck so gently. “It was an accident.”

You don’t say anything at all, your mouth pinching down at the corners because it should but your heartbeat galloping with how… fucking sexy he is. You shouldn’t encourage this, this horrible behavior just to get close enough to catch you, but your curiosity overtakes you and you ask a question you’ve asked yourself before. “Did they put up a fight?”

“Mm,” he whispers noncommittally, rocking his hips down once more. “You did.” Your nails dig into his chest, making him falter just slightly before slowly kissing your neck again. “Did so good. Fought hard, outsmarted me. Pretty fucking girl.”

And then your eyes pop open as you feel it. His cock suddenly beginning to harden once again inside you, twitching and gradually gaining a thicker shape, and for a moment, you actually fucking consider it. He’s the only one in this galaxy that could not only ruin you on these sacred grounds, but then coax you into doing it more than once—stars, are you actually considering it?

“We can’t,” you automatically tell him, but it’s fucking pitiful. Zero effort, absolutely no umph behind it, leaving it entirely up to him and how much he wants it. Your logic reminds you that the kid is probably wreaking havoc in the nursery and there are tied up guards in the fucking temple that could be discovered any second. You shouldn’t have even let him fuck you here in the first place, but… “Mando, we can’t—”

His mouth opens against the crook of your neck and his tongue brushes velvet hot on your skin, tasting the glistening sweat there and not moving his broad figure a single inch over you besides getting closer, deeper. Your nails dig into his collarbone, aiming for reason one last time. It’s apparent that you’d be better off rephrasing, knowing the challenging streak in him and how much telling him what to do doesn't help.

“It’s not a good idea,” you attempt instead, breathless and trying not to move under his mouth and lazy hips. “Not smart. Bad idea to fuck again.”

Din’s body stops moving, even though he keeps getting harder. His jaw opens and then his teeth scrape softly against your flesh, making you tilt your neck back and gasp.

“Later,” he lifts his head to state aloud, committing it to truth now that it’s been spoken and heard by another person. “Later, I’ll fuck you on the ship, in our bed, when I can get you naked and have your taste in my mouth.”

Tingles rock through your body and you squeeze around his cock just as he pulls it out and tucks it back into his pants. Your lungs quiver when you inhale—it’s shaky, but it reminds you of how long it’s been since you’ve been able to breathe correctly.

“Later,” you finally agree, combing your fingers through your hair and glad you have this hood to cover your freshly fucked dishevelment. He came inside you and you don’t want to be leaking and getting your nice pretty robes all wet and stained, but then of course, without any prompting, Din quickly scoots back on his knees and drops his head down to take care of it for you.

***

Commotion.

After Din helped you clean up the way he sometimes likes and then disappeared to change back into his armor, you put your mask and hood back on and tried to look as casual as possible walking to the nursery. Your knees wobbled slightly and you couldn’t stop smiling under the mask the entire walk there, but when you arrived, you just saw a dim room with sleeping infants—not what you were expecting. Soon, however, you hear it: down the hall, distant and coming from the dormitories, you hear a loud commotion.

Fuck, you’re nearly wincing with every step you take now, and not because you’re sore. Well, you… are, a little bit, but in a great way. No, you’re just dreading the ridiculous shinanigans you already know are well underway, wondering if Din actually dropped the kid off in the dorms from the beginning or if he somehow migrated his way there to cause trouble.

When you walk inside, the first thing you see is a handful of crying and shouting toddlers, and while you can’t immediately spot your favorite floppy-eared monster, you don’t have to see him to know he’s probably standing tiny directly in the middle of this tense showdown. Automatically, you’re taking a few steps forward to rescue him, but then you stop as soon as you see what the other babies are so mad about. A large piece of chocolate leftover from the festival levitating just beyond their pitiful little reaches.

Hm. Who could possibly be responsible for using demon powers to steal snacks and hold them hostage from a sizeable group of hostile children. A mystery that may never be solved.

It makes you take a second. The sheer… the… stars, you can’t even think straight—how fucking typical it is just hits you right in the chest, sends your heart into orbit. Of course. Of course this is what he’s gotten himself into without immediate supervision, of course this is the shipwreck you’d walk into, and you’re holding back a chuckle before making a single move to intervene. In the midst of everything, you can hear adults approaching distantly from behind you.

“—don’t know where it came from, I was helping the younglings into bed when I heard the ruckus and I—”

The voices gradually grow louder, and you snatch the floating piece of candy out of thin air and whip around right before Sister Drya and Naydee walk in. Their hushed, concerned conversation is cut to an abrupt end, and you clear your throat as they take you in, standing in front of chaos central continuing to go off behind you. Do you… look as freshly disheveled as you are? You’re not supposed to be here, you know, but hopefully the only strange thing is your presence itself and not anything concerning your appearance.

“Nerida,” the older lady suddenly announces, the name alone holding so much expectation, and the younglings missing their candy have now turned their ire towards you and the crinkly food wrapper hidden in your fist. “What is the meaning of this?”

“Ah, yeah,” you stand up a little straighter, letting the chocolate casually fall out of your grip behind you, and a stampede of feet suddenly kick up to recover it. It’s fine, nobody will know, it’s fine. “It’s just…” Your head tips behind you to the cause of the uproar, feeling a bit sheepish yet so incredibly fond. “My… kid.”

Sister Drya stares at you for a few seconds, before tipping sideways and staring at the culprit. “That is your child?”

You turn around just in time to see him, now abandoned by the angry mob of children, finally notice you. All of a sudden, his pitch black eyes light up something bright and sunshiney, and you just start beaming in return. What an adorable little creature, apple of your eye and pain of your ass.

“Yep,” you sigh, dropping into a squat and watching him barrel towards you, catching him right before he can trip over his brown potato sack and scooping him up into your arms. “Hiya, bug,” you murmur with a grin, lifting back up and plopping him in his favorite spot in the universe—your left hip. “You making friends?”

He giggles and it’s like sparkles and bubbles fill the room instead, wrapping tiny arms around the largest surface area he can get and clinging. He laughs with a tiny open mouth, bless him, clearly not understanding the sarcasm, and suddenly your eyes feel just the slightest bit wet. No, you’re not crying, don’t be fucking ridiculous, but you missed him like hell and he’s just the cutest fucking thing—why do you feel like crying?

“Sorry about that,” you apologize to the two women while slowly turning around, brushing your thumb over one of his cheeks and smiling as it squishes. “He’s… uh. Not great at sharing. We’ll work on it.”

Takes after his dad, you purposefully leave out, just a different kind of sharing. Din hasn’t shown you his full face yet and the kid performs magic tricks to taunt a roomful of children a fraction of his age for a single piece of chocolate, completely different kind of sharing.

Sister Drya says something in response, but when you look up to address her, all you see is Din standing silently behind her and Naydee, slowly dropping his hand from his helmet to his side. They don’t seem to notice he’s there and you automatically try your best to pay attention to the Sister speaking to you, but your eyes get caught on the silver reflecting in the dim light beyond. Fuck, he’s a presence. An immediate distraction, taking all your focus with a single glimpse. Seeing him fully armored again, staring at you from the silent shadows behind everything… you melt a little bit, knowing that you’ve seen more of what’s underneath than anyone. Your shoulders settle and your entire body burns warm, wobbly like the air around a fire, and one of the kid’s hands leaves you to reach out towards his dad.

You watch the metallic helmet tilt sideways after a moment, saying everything without saying anything. Come on, make up an excuse, let’s get out of here.

Looking at him in the quiet shadows, you’re reminded once again about how much you love him, how much softness you have inside you for a man so hard, so guarded. And, for the first time, a voice in your head finishes a poem you didn’t realize you were writing, adding its own verse and bringing everything back around to the beginning. He loves you, too. How much he lets his guard down for you, the way he’s revealed more of his face to you than not. You love each other. You’re family.

So, all at once, you decide to mess with him, because that’s what family does best.

“Don’t be shy, come say hello,” you suddenly urge his silent figure, taking a step forward and speaking directly to him. “Sister Drya, Naydee, I’d like to introduce you to my—”

It’s remarkable, you see it happen in front of you. Like he has powers of his own, Din just literally fucking disappears. Like magic, he’s nowhere to be found within a blink of an eye. You know he’s capable of it; he’s done it plenty of times during the chase just to fuck with your head, but you’re staring straight at him when it happens this time and it might just be the funniest fucking thing you’ve ever seen him do.

Sister Drya and Naydee both turn around to an empty hallway bathed in shadows and you laugh. A deep, shameless, loud belly laugh. Where the fuck did he go so quick? You were staring straight at him and you have no fucking clue. He’s just out, and you’re left alone with his child and the unspoken understanding that he’ll just catch up with you later.

You’re giggling even as you shake your head and give the women your genuine thanks for keeping you and feeding you these past few days, grabbing your backpack with all your belongings and eventually using three green fingers to wave goodbye to them. The very first thing Din says when he seamlessly joins you outside the Keja later is, “That wasn’t funny,” which just makes you laugh harder.

***

About a half hour has passed, and you’re walking along a dirt road, cradling a very happy baby in your arms and giving the grown man next to you an incredibly hard time.

“You’re unbelievable,” you mutter, your back twinging slightly at the way you’re leaning about as sideways as you can get without falling over. You think you’re basically just the hypotenuse between the ground and Din, who easily supports almost your entire weight with your backpack slung around his far shoulder and readily allows you to rest against him.

“They’re fine,” he grumbles in response, squeezing you tight to his side. You just have to focus on moving your feet; it’s like he’s practically carrying your upper-half anyways. “I gave them the night off.”

“You stuffed them in a closet,” you hiss, feeling his shoulder shrug under your cheek.

“I gave them the robe back,” he says, not really defending himself and more just throwing it out there to see if it helps any. “I’m sure someone’s found them by now, they’re fine.”

Your eyes suddenly go wide, absolutely mortified at the thought. “Wait. What do you mean you gave the robe back?”

He shrugs once more, apparently not seeing the problem yet. “I borrowed it, so I gave it back after I put my armor back on.”

If you could plant your feet on the dirt road and screech to a halt, you would, but all your weight is already resting on him and you’re working solely off his forward movement. You just hope your tone holds the same amount of shocked disapproval your body language would’ve conveyed if you weren’t so completely attached to his hip like a parasite he adores.

“You fucked me wearing it, though.” Your voice is strangely flat, so fucking confused and horrified by the mental image of him just tossing the soiled garments haphazardly somewhere in the temple behind you, or even worse, leaving them somewhere respectful, and Din soon stops in the middle of the deserted road.

“Oh,” is all he says, emotionless and blank through the modulator. Did he not even consider this?

“I had to promise them I was a virgin just to sleep there, you know,” you admit, and you can tell that’s brand new information to him with how still he goes as you continue to lean against him. You’re getting the feeling that he probably knows a lot more about your experiences on this moon than you think he does, but can tell that this is brand new information to him. “And you locked three of their holy men in a closet, chased me across the temple grounds, fucked me in one of their robes, and then. You gave it. Back.”

Din stays perfectly silent for quite some time. You can never go back to that place, you know this for a fact. You’re banned forever now, it’s what you deserve.

Never one to be outdone but not actually having anything to say for himself, Din suddenly decides to just scoop you into his arms and boost up into the sky without a single word like an actual fucking maniac.

You squeal and damn near drop the baby because of it, but he cinches you tight to his chest and refuses to loosen with your struggle. Eventually, after you realize he’s completely locked you in and you won’t fall to your death with this poor innocent child in your arms, you glance over the shiny pauldron on his shoulder and watch the kid’s crib disappear by the abandoned road as Din takes you higher and higher.

The crib—he forgot the crib—

“D-Din,” you stammer out through the whistling air, stiff as a board. Stars, you have such a different sense of adventure than him; an explorer and a daredevil, one who gets a thrill from discovering the existence of the edge of a cliff and one who’ll take a running dive off of it without thinking twice. He’s hit with blaster fire some days, he faces down death completely fearless like it owes him one every single time, and you’re stiff as a fucking board while he carries you through the sky. It’s stunning up here, it’s exciting and wonderful, but you’re so scared that you can barely even look. He’s giving you the most fantastical view, everything your budding adventurous streak could ever ask for, and your terror is crushing. It would be different if you could hold on, but you’re responsible for not letting the baby slip through your arms and you just have to trust that he won’t let you slip through his.

You raise your voice. “Din?!”

“I won’t drop you,” he automatically reassures, and well you sure as fuck hope not, but there’s something else.

“What about the crib?” You call out over the wind whipping, tucking the baby tight to your chest and settling your hands over his ears to avoid them flapping and whacking you repeatedly in the chin.

“We’ll come back for it,” he responds, just as easily. Maker, you wish decision-making came that easy to you, that commitment and choice should be so simple as to just fly away from things on the ground and promise out loud to come back for them. You know he will, but still, his spontaneity shocks you after spending the past week thinking every decision through meticulously, and you’re taken aback by the casualness of it all while soaring through the sky, committing such spectacular feats without a single thought beyond it.

Soon—incredibly soon, which honestly kind of blows your mind—you spot Nariss glowing in the distance and then you’re flying overtop of the city, slowly dropping altitude in the middle of a quiet little side street.

Din carefully allows your feet to settle on the ground before letting go, but you still stumble a bit stupidly after flying so high without any sort of safety measure besides him, prioritizing the steadiness of the baby in your arms instead of your feet underneath you. His gloves catch at your clumsy body and pull you along with him without another word, leading you out of the quiet alley and into the middle of a beautiful, luminescent street.

What’s he doing? He seems slightly hurried, and you’re clueless but you go with it, clamoring along behind him to wherever he’s leading you.

Though, you suddenly remember one of the very last things you told him last night right before he steps up in front of a vendor.

“Caf,” Din grunts, sliding a few credits towards the man standing behind the counter. “The… biggest one you have.”

Okay, well. You could just about fucking cry.

“Y’sure?” The vendor asks skeptically, jerking his head at the large thermos behind him. He’s balding, wearing a white outfit with his eyes scrunched up and forehead sweaty, likely working all day. “It ain’t fresh. Closin’ up soon, was just about to trash it and go home.”

The helmet turns to gauge your response to the news, the sharp angles and contours looking so sleek and dangerous as they reflect the colorful lamplights, but just filling you with comfort beyond anything in the entire galaxy. He’ll take that armor off for you tonight and you’ll sleep next to him. He’ll call you by your given name, or the fond name he’s given you, and you’ll cuddle your baby on a metal floor in hyperspace with him, and all will be well. Even if he needs to leave again soon—even if you don’t get to go with him, you’ll always have these small eternities with each other, and that’s more enough for you now.

You’re completely zoned out while staring at him, and Din turns back to the vendor before you can even remember the conflict he was attempting to defer to you.

“Yeah, just empty the whole thing in there for her,” he mutters, and you want to marry him. It’s been a long week, and in your haze and delight of being with him in this gorgeous setting, your brain turns to cavewoman mush. Big man, makes me happy. Strong man, loves me, knows me. Provider, makes me feel good, protector, loves me.

Din hands you the large cup of steaming caffeine, clueless to your grunted inner monologue but knowing better than to reach out and grab the kid from your other arm. You’re just fine like this, hands full, the little frog snuggled up against your side and blinking up at your face instead of any of the shiny or glowing things around you. When you look down at him, you can see the world through his eyes—quite literally, they’re reflective and gigantic—and his father’s hand quickly finds its preferred spot on your lower back.

“Try to drink it quick,” Din advises you gruffly, pulling you snug into his side and sloshing the big cupful of piping hot liquid in your hand.

“It’s a thousand degrees,” you protest, trying to balance your three favorite things in the universe all begging for your direct attention at once. “It has to cool down.”

He gives a dismissive hm in response, and you frown even as your heart soars with how tightly he’s gripping you, how little leeway you have to even move without him. Part of you is so thrilled at being reunited with him that you consider snarking something back at him, excitement making you brave. He could probably chug boiling hot liquid in thirty seconds and doesn’t see the point in letting it sit any longer, and you could make some stupid joke about filtering it through his helmet or having a built in bendy straw but you decide to keep it to yourself.

So then you just stand there together, under stringed lights and flowers everywhere, and he waits. Holding you glued to his side, completely silent and clearly just waiting for your caf to stop steaming so threateningly in your hand so you can drink it. For some reason, the fact that he’s wanted by the New Republic doesn’t really register at this second—you’re not looking for cops, though he may be. You’re just lost in this beautiful, fancy city that’s on the edge of finally quieting down after a long day, and you’d like to see more of it with him next to you.

“Well, do you wanna just…” You ask, tilting your head around at all the vendors. “Shop around for a bit?”

“Shop… around,” Din repeats slowly, sounding the words out like they’re not common Basic. Admittedly, they do sit a bit awkward in his voice when put together like that, describing a phenomena he’s likely never even considered a thing before, but it’s so fucking pretty here and you’d like to show him something this time instead of the other way around.

“Yeah, like,” you shrug a shoulder, tipping your head in a random direction. Anywhere, you’ll go literally anywhere with him, the three of you can go explore. “Just wander around, and look at all the pretty things.”

From where you’re standing right now, you can already see glittering crystals and jewels being sold at the tent across the street, there’s a booth dedicated entirely to floral arrangements and crowns next to it, you can hear a distant quartet playing melodically in the distance and a couple is being painted by an artist on the corner. Bars are in full swing at this point, as if they weren’t all day, and even though the merchandise is all different, the multicolored tents look slightly similar when they’re underlit with multicolored lights. It’s less slightly lively than it was in the daytime, but also… more beautiful, in a sense. Muted, softer, more romantic.

“I don’t have any more credits,” Din admits casually, finally turning to look around at everything. You get the feeling that he’s just now seeing it, even after spending the entire day here. “That stale caf was the last of it.”

Money well fucking spent, you can assure him of that.

“It’s okay,” you tell him automatically, gently bumping your hip into his. “We don’t need credits, we can just look.”

So that’s what you do. Even though it’s completely not his fucking style, for the next hour or so, you just walk around downtown with him and sip your caf, looking at anything and everything new and experiencing it with him. At first, you think he’s just entertaining you, following you while you discover new streets and attractions, but then he points out different things and you know he's looking, too. There are large animals harnessed up and pulling carts for people to ride, there's an enormous spinning wheel set up in the distance, its colorful lights flickering out as soon as you ask what the fuck that is and why anyone would ever get inside one.

You eventually end up finishing your caf around the time he’s leading you back through a quiet, abandoned alleyway, and you hand him the empty cup to throw away in one of the trash cans on the corner. The conversation has faded to a comfortable quiet and you don’t really need to ask—you go willingly, not requiring anything beyond his hands on you and the baby dozing in your arms.

“Come on, sweet girl,” he murmurs, gently sweeping you up into his. You sigh, glad he’s giving you a moment to prepare yourself this time, holding the sleeping kid securely to your chest and resting your head on his shoulder. “Let’s go home.”

After you’re comfortable, Din rockets up from the ground and climbs high up into the canvas sky. He disappears with you and the baby into the pastel clouds above, making it back to the Razor Crest in probably about an hour, maybe less. You and the baby do nothing more than climb into the comfy floor blankets while Din starts up the engines, and you think you’re dozing off together by the time he makes the pit stop to collect the crib and the jump into hyperspace.

You think he might shower? You’re not sure—you just know he moves up behind you in bed at one point without any armor, burying his face in your hair while you cuddle the sleepy kid to your chest. It’s dark in the hull, Din’s palms are bare and warm as they slide around the front of your body and he breathes you in, and there isn’t a single place that can touch you here, not a single place you’d rather be.

Home.

***

@followwhereshegoes Thank you for the stunning artwork! 💕To anyone interested in possibly doing an art collab in the future, please message me!!

#the mandalorian #the mandalorian x you #the mandalorian x reader #din djarin #din djarin x reader #din djarin x you #mando x reader #mando x you #smut #reader insert #fanfic #star wars #rough day #no-droids

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djarinsbeskar · 3 years

Text

Foul - Boxer!Din AU

Definition - To break one of boxing’s rules (i.e. hitting an opponent below the navel, ear or while they are down), which can ultimately lead to point deductions if they are repeated.

A/N: The results of my Boxer!AU poll told me that the majority were interested in a jealous/protective boxer so I hope I have delivered! As always, relaxed fit = unedited, no beta. We also have a sneaky introduction to Paz in the Boxer verse which is super exciting! His concept art has been completed by the insanely talented @ronnieiswriting when I said I saw a mix of Jason Momoa and Winston Duke as our heavy. PLEASE heed the warnings in this chapter. There is nothing explicit but the topics hinted at might be triggering.

Word Count: 7k

Rating: 18+ (NO Minors)

Warnings: SMUT! (unprotected sex), blood and violence, toxic masculinity and derogatory speech, hints at discussions of non-con, somewhat possessive behavior, spanking, dom!Din and everything that comes with it.

Main Masterlist | Boxer Materlist

He might as well have been in hell. A colosseum of decaying humanity and dirt floors that erupted in a burst of dust like poisonous ash every time his next opponent fell. The hollow thump of pure muscle meeting the ground of the makeshift ring only drowned by the cheers of spectators. Masked, shadowed—unseen as they dropped hundreds – thousands sometimes – on which gladiator would remain standing in the end.

He felt like a king, a god among men within the confines of his realm of rope and canvas. It was easy to forget—standing under the spotlights that highlighted the sweat and blood and sculpted beauty of primal masculinity that it was a hollow victory any time he fought in the seedy underground rings of Akiva.

Every gladiator was a slave. Even the victor.

Why the fuck did he think it was a good idea to let you come to one of these fights?

“Enough!”

Paz’s unassailable strength banded around Din’s chest, pinning his arms to his side—attempting to contain lightning in a glass jar. Sweat, blood—it all dripped into Din’s eyes as he growled at his opponent, passed out in the middle of the dirt ring—face swollen and puffy from Din’s fists.

Laser focus and animosity spilled from charcoal eyes as he tried to break free of his friends hold with a vicious yank forward of powerful shoulder and an unfaltering purpose. The bastard had it coming. One round a few punches wasn’t enough to slake Din’s anger, the fumes of rage seeping into his skin and clouding his senses until all he could think of was making the asshole on the ground before him pay.

The practiced speed that Din wrapped his hands slowed at the rowdy group on the other side of the room. Dammit, for all the money they brought in, could these cheapskates not provide separate fucking changing rooms so he didn’t have to be subjected to idiots jacking themselves up on testosterone and false hope?

But pissing contests and fragile masculinity weren’t what caught his attention. He could tune that bullshit out like a fine art. What caught Din’s attention was the obvious death wish one of his possible opponents had – if he even managed to get that far up the ranks to Din – when he waved a red flag in front of the boxers’ metaphorical bull.

“See that one in the front row? You know the one I’m talking about.”

Bawdy agreements and asinine gestures raked up Din’s spine, thorny—and prickling nerves of instinct that made him pause the music blaring in his ears. He fucking hated the scum he came across in these fights. Gang members, criminals—the dredges of humanity he sometimes worried he was part of.

“Gonna get her on her knees choking on my cock before the night is out. Sluts like that love titles, champions—why else do they attend? Good excuse to win tonight, eh fellas?”

“Do you wanna completely destroy your career?” Paz yelled over the chortles and raucous cheers for more, for revenge—for everything under the poor fallacy of a sun that strung in dim, bald bulbs along the notoriously infamous Avika fighting ring.

Din thought you would be safe, arrogantly assuming people would avoid even looking at you once they saw who you were with. And you had been—you were safe, but even he couldn’t protect you from the thoughts of others.

The larger man struggled with him, dragging him out of the ring when it was obvious his words were falling on deaf ears. All Din could hear was the little pricks voice in his head from hours before.

Din stood.

Inhaled, exhaled—tried those bullshit breathing exercises that were supposed to focus his mind before a fight. Help to rein in a temper like his from overflowing in devastating tidal waves to destroy all around him. Din didn’t lose his temper often—but when he did, it was lethal.

The breathing exercises didn’t work.

Because the idiot kept talking.

“Did you see the ass on that?”

Leers sounded from his group of friends. Encouraging the vile words that Din always knew came from a man who felt entitled to a woman’s body. He had seen enough of the underbelly of the world to know what that led to time and again. Din might have been shameless in his youth and even until recently when it came to sex, to one night stands, to women—but he fucking respected the girls he fucked or didn’t fuck.

“Traipsing around in a dress like that? She’s looking for the attention,” the asshole defended himself when one of his party voiced an alternative point of view. They were promptly shut down and didn’t speak again.

Din’s blood turned to ice. An image of you running a hand down his arm on your way to your seat when you parted ways for him to get ready, dress sinfully tight but effortlessly classy—a zip front he was dying to pull open with his teeth later that night.

“It’ll look so good with my cock buried in it…”

The ice in his blood turned to fury, white hot and molten as he tied off the tape at his wrists—throwing the roll into the dingy locker he had been given for the evening. The clatter of noise from where it slammed against the metal back was the only warning he was planning on giving them. The lull of conversation was fleeting, his warning going unheeded—when dim-witted morons didn’t read the murder in his gaze.

Looks like they weren’t nearly as intelligent as the pigs he thought them to be.

Grabbing his water bottle and phone, Din stalked towards the chipped door—distracting himself with a text of “don’t go anywhere alone in this place, sweetheart. Ask Paz to go with you” sent to you without a second thought.

The immediate response of “Yes yes I know, for the thousandth time. Don’t worry and focus on yourself” did little to assuage the roar of blood in his ears. There was only one thing he heard over the noise, one thing as his vision became hued in red and fixated on a single target.

“Wonder if she’ll let me fuck her there too—can’t imagine she’s a virgin but her ass will still probably be tighter than her cunt.”

Bald headed and littered in scars and tattoos of a gang known for their viciousness, the other boxer – if he could even be called that – thrust vulgarly into the air, mimicking the hold he would have on the girl. Din’s girl.

The fucker had a death wish.

And Din was only too happy to play the part of the grim reaper.

His friends voice hardly registered over that same ringing in his ears, the roar of protective aggression at the lecherous sneer on the other man’s face who now lay in a heap in the dirt, the filth he spewed about his masseuse, his girl. How beady eyes, cold and villainous dared to drift away from Din before the bell sounded—over his shoulder, to where he knew you were sitting. Knowing your body had been tainted by the gaze of a man who would sooner take what he wanted from you by force than look at you with anything akin to the respect you deserved—it made something snap inside of Din.

And he attacked.

He was lucky he had only been disqualified.

He was damn lucky no one called the cops.

But the perks of underground fighting, was that everyone who attended had something to hide. And no one wanted to be caught in the middle of shady transactions or betting on fighters to beat each other to a pulp. Hell, the savagery Din subjected the other guy to was exactly what half the fuckers who showed up hoped to see.

Din wasn’t just a nameless street fighter though, not anymore. He had something to lose. Any smear on his record for assault and he would be suspended from tournament participation quicker than the asshole’s body dropped after a crushing blow under the jaw by Din’s right uppercut.

Thank fuck Din’s main sponsor was equally as shady. A good man by Din’s logic, but merciless when it came to succeeding. Din being benched was the surest way to make his benefactors patience run out. No, Paz was right—Boba even more so when he clocked Din good in the cheek after Paz wrestled the irate male out of the ring.

“You fucking idiot, bloodlust is an ugly image, boy—”

“I am not a boy—” Din snapped at Boba, teeth bared and bloody from his split lip, neck straining when he spat the words viciously at his long-time coach. He ran his tongue over the metallic tang of blood before spitting it out of his mouth onto the dirt flooring by the chaotic rows of metal seating.

“You almost killed a guy in the ring, you little shit,” Boba snarled with equal venom, matching the anger reflected in Din’s gaze with furious sense Din didn’t want to witness.

“Let me go,” was all Din growled, eyes never leaving his coach’s even when Paz loosened his arms around his chest. Heaving, coal black eyes darkened dangerously and stabbed the former boxer with a dare to try and restrain him again. The other man shook a rope of dreadlock that had come loose from the strip of leather he kept his hair tied in and made to say something when Din interrupted,

“Where is she?”

Paz closed his mouth, heavy brows furrowing over his eyes as recognition dawned in their dark hues,

“Is that what this is about? Dammit, vod—it’s not like she’s your girlfriend, isn’t that what you always say?”

“Don’t fucking try me tonight—” Din snapped aggressively, the threatening hum between the two men charged to dangerous voltage.

“Din?”

Your voice washed over him – aloe on the burns his fury had scorched his skin with – and he was making his way over to you in the next moment, mind battling with instinct as he ignored the calls and curses of his friends.

Mine.

Not yours—

Mine.

He moved with feral grace, parting the sea of people who bleated from the sidelines but cowered in his presence once his attention was facing them and there was no canvas or rope to separate boxer from spectator. They were lucky. He didn’t see them. Would step on them if they were stupid enough to stay in his path. All he could see, was you—watching him with confusion and concern marring those pretty features, absent of fear in the face of an incensed, adrenaline fueled boxer post fight.

He exhaled a growl as he came to stand before you, the sound cavernous and deep in his chest—the hands you had lifted to examine his face intercepted by his own when he grabbed them. His fingers wrapped fully around your wrists, and he was reminded of how fragile you were – even if you worked out whenever you could and had a will of iron that would make you whack him for saying that – and just how easily a man like him, any of the fighters here tonight—could hurt you.

Never.

They wouldn’t dare.

Not with him around.

But how could they know?

How would they know to stay the fuck away from you?

Knuckles stained with dirt and blood; his hand rasped against the softness of your palm as he dragged you in the direction of the unused backstage waiting room fighters had been offered as a changing room. Where this whole fucking thing started.

“Din—Din, what the hell happened up there?”

You jogged behind him to keep up with his pace, long legs taking him farther than your shorter ones could when confined to the heels you had worn for the night out. He stalked through the dimly lit corridors to the flaky, chipped door with a temporary sign on lined paper with “ATHLETES” scrawled along the front of it like some ironic joke.

He almost bent the worn, cheap metal handle in half—nearly pulled it from its socket with how hard he tore the door open and dragged you over the threshold inside.

You whirled on him with a huff, eyes flashing and hands planting on your hips in growing annoyance.

“Din will you just—”

You didn’t get another word out.

His wrapped hands cupped your cheeks between them, his mouth on yours hungrily when he bent over you. Biting, clawing, desperate—the kiss was more a battle of tongue and teeth than anything else. There was nothing soft, nothing slow or affectionate about the way his teeth sank into your bottom lip so hard you gasped. The way the blood seeping from his split lip painted yours in a crimson rouge—smeared and varnishing you in a visceral mark of his claim.

“Mine,” he snarled unknowingly into your mouth, lapping his tongue along the prairies of your tastebuds, plundering the depths of your mouth to brand every inch of you he could reach. Inside and out. His hands had the same idea, forming down over the shape of your curves as he walked you back blindly to the disused vanity pushed against the closest wall. Topped with a row of mirrors undoubtedly used by performers for whatever this place had once been used for, the glass was now aged with discoloration.

It didn’t matter.

He didn’t have eyes for anything but you as he hiked your legs up to perch you on the edge, your fingers curled into the taut muscles at his neck and clawing down over the sweat slick muscles of his pecs—catching on flat nipples that made ripples of pleasure heat his body further. Mad him tangle a hand in your hair, yank your head back harshly and meet your eyes with dark desire before dropping to your neck. His newest target.

“Din…” your irritated, questioning tone had morphed to fervent sighs. His tongue mapped a trail from the corner of your mouth – tasting the tang of his own blood – to the rapid tattoo of your pulse, a delicate sheen of perspiration beginning to shimmer on your flushed skin from the arousal. Another layer of flavor for him to get drunk on.

So fucking hot under his hands.

So beautiful.

So his.

“Mine,” he repeated into the curve of your neck, framed by tremulous stretches of muscle either side that he carved with scrapes of his teeth to leave tracks of slow fading pink grazes before he bit into it. Your legs – already open and inviting him to settle between them – crossed at the ankles around his narrow hips to keep him close. It was fucking intoxicating the way he could make you feel, the desperate need he had for you.

Months of sleeping together, of knowing his body so intimately had given you a rare insight to his emotions whether he knew it or not. And you knew he didn’t need to talk right now, he needed to fuck. To work through whatever had affected him so badly in hard kisses and rough hands on your soft flesh. It didn’t stop your stomach from flipping at his possessive words though, deliriously spoken but whispering the unacknowledged desires you had for him beyond his body.

“Yours,” you admitted before you could stop yourself, your hand cupping under his jaw to lift his mouth back to yours. His raspy moan at your agreement turned positively filthy when you carded short nails through his damp hair. Din was weak to having his hair stroked, his staunch dominance buckling in violent shivers of pleasure when you dragged those skilled fingers down the back of his skull and neck.

Traipsing around in a dress like that…

His eyes flew open, and he broke the kiss—ripped his mouth from yours to press his forehead to yours, eyes searching while his free hand ran indulgently up your torso to the neckline of your dress,

“Never let anyone disrespect you, sweetheart—” he rumbled, his fingers already undoing the zip of the dress, the nude pink material tempting to the eye and celebrating those features you were most proud of—that he found irresistible to know you loved. That someone could make you uncomfortable in those clothes… fucker. He snarled and pressed a long kiss to your mouth, large hands spreading the sides of the dress open wide – no underwear, baby? – and shucked the material down your arms to leave you bare before him.

His appreciation for your body – fucking gorgeous – was only tampered by the frustration he had with himself at the noise of confusion you made at his words. Of course, you hadn’t heard anything that asshole had said thankfully—but fuck, he couldn’t get it out of his head. You read his desperation somehow, and nodded slowly with puzzled eyes, teeth sinking into your swollen bottom lip as you leaned back on your hands.

So trusting…

Fuck.

It made alarm and something akin to fear rise swell uncomfortably in his throat.

He tried again.

“Never let anyone take advantage of you,” he whispered against your mouth in earnest, his hands running up your bare thighs to press his thumbs into the seams of your legs and hips, “tell me—”

His mouth dropped to your collarbone, funneling those feelings into lapping down to your heaving breasts, sucking a nipple into his mouth with a groan and befuddling your mind to his request until he nipped the swollen peak – say it, baby – and caused your head to fall back against the mirror,

“Yes—yes,” you moaned, “I won’t—”

He snarled internally, dammit. Hearing you say it didn’t help. He wanted to say how he wouldn’t let anyone disrespect you, how he wouldn’t let anyone ever take advantage of you. But he couldn’t. Had to frame it like advice he would give any woman he knew instead of speaking it like the promise he wanted to make.

Din had been fucking you for the last few months now, exclusively after only a few months—but it never went beyond that. He had no reason, no excuse to be worried over your life or safety or what you did when you weren’t in his bed. He wasn’t expected to be involved in your life the way a friend or family member was. Not the way a boyfriend was.

He didn’t do relationships. Never had. Too much trouble and frankly—he liked his privacy, his space—and liked not being accountable to anyone but himself. The consequences of any shitty decisions he made would fall on him and him alone. If he demanded that of the women he slept with and then insisted on inserting himself into their lives in the next breath, he would be a hypocrite. And Din hated hypocrites.

He couldn’t.

But fuck. He never wanted to hear someone speak that way about you, never wanted them to think they had the slightest chance with a woman like you. His blood boiled at the notion of someone else’s hands on you, his tempered flared when he imagined your pleasure or smiles, or laughter give to someone who didn’t deserve you.

Like he did?

Fuck no, he knew he didn’t.

He never said he wasn’t selfish though, and he coveted you with sinful greed.

“Fuck me, baby—please, please—” you mewled into his neck as your hands that had started all of this with that first massage, fit into the sliver of space between your bodies to stroke along his cock over his shorts impatiently. His head fell back, and his mind blissfully emptied for a moment, grunting your name at the frisson of pleasure before those damned memories resurfaced again.

Look at the ass on that.

That.

Her. You weren’t a thing, a possession. You were—

He snarled. Misplaced anger manifesting in aggressive passion as he grabbed your wrist from where you stroked him to pin behind your back on the vanity.

“Always so eager, aren’t you—” he grinned darkly when you nodded, “turn around.”

The command was delivered low and dangerous, more a rumble of noise—deep echoes of jungle predators crackling like the kindling of threat, inspiring awareness that one wrong move would be fatal. But you never made a wrong move—not for as long as he had known you. Whether it was alleviating a pain deep in his muscles that had bothered him for months or pushing yourself slowing off the vanity to your feet as you were now—you always knew what he needed.

Wisps of hair fell into his eyes as he watched you—the decided turn of your naked body to dace the mirror—eyes never leaving his even as they caught them again in the aged glass. Bending forward, your ass pressed into the front of his shorts, and you rested your elbows on the vanity.

Perfect.

He didn’t realize he had whispered the word as he pressed his mouth between your shoulder blades, tongue trailing down the arch of your spine while his hands kneaded plush cheeks—spreading them and exposing your slick cunt to the cool air. The hitches in your breath, small squirms of your hips for relief—they all fed into his desire for you.

And he desired you. Constantly.

“I’m gonna eat your pussy until you can’t stand, baby—and then I’m gonna fuck you until you can’t speak,” he muttered against the shell of your ear, massive bulk bowed over your back and shadowed eyes – the duality of warm walnut and lethal obsidian – bore into yours through the glass.

“I want them all to know who you belong to,” he nipped your ear, flicking his tongue along the cartilage—the black ink on his back catching the light as his muscles rippled with movement, a roll of pleasure from your ass grinding back against him with a whimper of his name, “so don’t be quiet this time, sweetheart.”

Your eyes fluttered open molasses slow from where they had dropped closed at his words,

“What—what hap—” you tried to turn your head, the concern mingled with lust in those gorgeous, honest eyes making warning bells blare painfully – too close – and he silenced you with a kiss. Swallowing the worry that hinted at feelings that surpassed those expected from a fuck buddy, he buried it deep inside himself, in the shadows like a coward. To be locked away where he would remain safe from it.

Your tongue grew sloppy with a moan when he ground his crotch into your ass—dragging the solid thickness of his clothed cock between your soaked folds and up against your tight rear entrance.

Wonder if she’ll let me take her there…

Bastard.

He sucked on your tongue with a groan of your name, hand releasing your cheeks to fan up your ribcage and cup your breasts. You jerked in sensitivity when rough hands pinched sore nipples – he fucking loved how sensitive your tits got just before your period. The cry you released was nothing short of musical, tempting him lower as he kissed down your spine—wrapped hands sanding down over your ribs again when he lapped around the rim of your ass, circling it before he traced lower.

You were dripping.

He dropped to his knees behind you, eyes drunken with an ingrained pride that he was the one in this position, looking at the petals of your swollen pussy glistening with arousal he inspired from just a few kisses and rolls of his hips. He kept his eyes on the steady trickle of wetness from your twitching entrance, his teeth grazing distractedly down the back of your thigh as he did so.

A finger ruddy with flecks of dried blood caught a string of your arousal – don’t waste a drop – and he sucked it between his lips with an approving groan, the noise of your whimpers the perfect accompaniment. Blood and lust. The essence of humanity, that was what he tasted when he sucked his finger clean. It tasted like life. And he wanted more.

A sharp crack echoed through the room when his hand came down hard on one cheek, and again... and again—each strike making that dripping wetness gush until he couldn’t hold back anymore. He buried his face in your cunt, nosing at your entrance and tongue spreading puffy lips apart so he could trace in pitter patter swipes through your folds—greedily gathering anything he could get on his tongue before swallowing. Dehydrated on the sands of depravity and sordid company—your cunt was an oasis of relief where he eagerly drank his fill.

You tried to move, your hips slamming up against the edge of the vanity – that’ll bruise – and you keened with a shuddering cry when his mouth simply followed your attempt to escape the onslaught of pleasure that was too much too soon.

“Fuck—fuckfuckfuck—” you gasped, dropping a hand back to tangle in his hair, dragging him closer despite your protests. Mm, he loved when you got like this—overstimulated from the first touch. No matter how much you whined, no matter how many times he wiped tears that smudged your makeup when he unraveled orgasm after orgasm from the knots inside you—he knew you loved the intensity as much as he did.

He spanked you again – take it – your cheeks red and beautiful when he spread them side for him to spit directly onto your quivering cunt. His saliva dribbled and mixed with your juices to gather over your clit, his mouth forming over the little bud enthusiastically, urged by your slow ruts back against his face to streak his face with your essence.

“More—” you whimpered.

“Greedy—” he growled back.

The sound of your breathless laugh meshed delightfully with the swallow of a moan – guttural and primal – and made his cock twitch in his shorts. His hips snapped up uselessly from where he was kneeling—finding no purchase or warm embrace to bury itself in as his tongue took that pleasure for itself.

It licked and curled with practiced, seemingly illogical strokes along your clit and up to your entrance—sloppily kissing it before his tongue dove into your tight depths, thumb working in quick circles over your clit. He knew exactly what to do to make you come undone.

Your first orgasm was sudden—strong and surprising. He hadn’t even fucking fingered you and you were already spasming around nothing. Your muscles tensed as you went on your toes to lean even further on the vanity, trying to escape his tongue that worked you through each wave—drowning you in the pleasure he knew only he could give you. You were his. His his his his h—

You sobbed his name, a raw answer to his internal mantra his mind struggled against and failed to overcome.

Din wanted you.

He wanted your body, your mind, your time—he wanted what Paz had.

Fuck.

The way the older man mooned and gazed with shameless adoration for the little baker he had fallen for in so short a time. Hell, Din teased him over it constantly. And maybe he didn’t want that—but he wanted something. Din wanted something with you. Wanted you to visit him in the gym and stop him mid set just to kiss him and tell him that you would wait for him to finish so you could go home together. He wanted to buy you flowers without having to think of a fucking excuse like last time to distance himself from the sentimentality. He wanted to open his front door and feel our presence as more than just a visitor. That a toothbrush and the stray pieces of clothing you forgot at his place would turn to shoes at the door and your taste in décor mixing with his.

Din wanted you.

But he had no idea how to do anything but fuck you. He didn’t know how to date or be romantic. Was clueless to things like companionship—to the softer emotions he knew you craved. That all people craved. Din had no idea how to do any of it.

You lay with your cheek on the wooden surface of the vanity, eyes half-closed and spacey as you watched him lift his head from your pussy, face shiny from your release and when he licked over his lips, still hungry for more—you mewled.

“Don’t tap out on me yet, sweetheart.”

You shook your head, a whimper and almost childish refusal while your cheek remained plastered to the vanity, all strength having left your body and an adorable pout trying to lie and tell him you couldn’t take any more.

“Mm, yes you can—” he answered you, dragging his mouth back up your slit and along your tight ass where he lapped at the rim again. Later. It took time for him to stretch you to take his size—it was better left for when he had you in his apartment and could take his time.

His hand followed his mouths direction as it continued up to meet your mouth—smirking against your lips at the whimpers you made from the slaps he gave your pussy—the obscene, wet sound filling the area with each slap slap slap until his hand was damn near slipping every time he struck your cunt from how wet it was.

A bang on the door—a harsh slap to your pussy so you would moan just right for him, and he growled out a threatening “occupied” to whoever was outside. You were too high strung to even notice.

“No one else can have you,” he rasped darkly into your temple, his free hand tangling in the strands to pull your head back against his shoulder—the position no doubt edging on uncomfortable with the way your spine and neck were arched back—moUlded into his hard frame. Your eyes fell to half mast even as your lips parted—still smeared with specks of blood you hadn’t yet licked or chewed off—and he bit your jaw in warning.

“No one else—” you parroted, your hot breath fanning over his cheek even as you rocked back against him, a steel confidence entering your fucked out gaze—mercurial in the swirling heat, “just like no one else can have you.”

The boldness of your words, the conviction spoken in that voice of wooden flutes and bubbling creeks made his blood light with fire—yes. As much as he anted you, he yearned for you to crave him in return.

“No one else,” he repeated your words back to you, rutting his hips against you when his cock pulsed with a negligent ache that demanded to be addressed. He kept one hand in your hair when he pushed his shorts down enough to free his leaking cock, the turgid length swollen and angry as he rubbed the tip between your lips.

Maybe he would buy you flowers tomorrow, after all.

Din gave you no time to prepare yourself – that’s my girl – sliding inside you with one brutal thrust that had you pushed up against the mirror and his cock engulfed in fiery bliss. He felt the heat run up his spine, a volcanic metamorphism into marble as his muscles froze in an immediate pause to stop himself from spilling inside you after one damn thrust.

You weren’t doing much better—one hand clawing for purchase on the mirror and the other digging your nails into his hip as you panted his name, an incoherent string of curses and praise as your sensitive walls convulsed around him. The position had him pressed right against that one spot he cock curved up against that could make you see stars and your care for being caught dissipate in cries of ecstasy.

“Baby—fuck please, so—too deep—” you whimpered in inane babbles, tightening in residual spasms from your orgasm and the sudden intrusion of his cock, still a stretch after all these months. Too deep… he snorted, rolling his hips hard to try shove himself deeper still. He could never get deep enough, always wanting more—always seeking to conquer the untouched lands of your body.

“Mm, want me to stop?” he teased, dragging his hips back with a smirk at your immediate rejection of no no no fuck—please, no—hand pathetically trying to drag him closer to you by the hip. Lovely little thing… thinking you were strong enough.

“That’s better…” he purred, relief washing over him when he pulled out—the walls of your cunt stretching around him, refusing his exit, and trying to keep him nestled inside you. The pace he chose was brutal. He fucked you like he fought tonight. Violently, mercilessly—and deaf to the calls to relent. But where he wanted his opponent to suffer, he wanted to devastate you with pleasure, enrapture you with ecstasy and leave you moaning his name where others would curse it.

Wet cock slapping as he pounded into you in short, frantic ruts – need you baby… fuck I need you – there was no time for you to catch a full breath before he was knocking it out of you again. His fingers had to tighten in your hair to keep you up – your body trembling under his as he sank his teeth into the taut muscle at your neck and his cock sank into your welcome body – exposed and waiting for him to litter in his signature.

He would never get enough of the way his marks looked on your skin—the way you decorated him in yours. You were powerless to do much else than accept them right now – likely getting him back later – boneless and weak under the attack of his mouth and the dominance of his body.

He would make sure everyone in this fucking shithole of a place knew who you were with. They would have to be blind not to notice the blotches of poppy bruises snaking down your neck with the elusion to more hidden from unworthy eyes. The smudge of your mascara as tears pearled like crystals in the corner of your eyes when you glanced at him in strung out bliss.

“M-more—” you begged, dropping one of your hands between your legs to rub at your clit—fingers splitting around the girth of his cock as he fucked you to feel the thick length disappear into you over and over, the soaked mess amassed from your frantic desire for each other trickling down your thighs.

“Yeah?” he grinned, breathless and sweating for much more pleasing reasons than he had been in the ring, a languid kiss to your neck as he hiked one of your knees up onto the vanity—spreading you wider for him to sink deeper.

You spasmed, your head falling back against his shoulder with a cry.

“Yes—there, there baby, fuck you feel so good…” you rambled, fingers working feverishly over your clit in wet strokes, grazing his balls every time they slapped against your skin and making him muffle his moan in your neck.

Rolling a nipple between his fingers, his large—bloodied hand completely swallowed your breast, squeezing it and tickling sounds that belonged to him from you and into his mouth when you kissed him. One last kiss before you collapsed back onto the vanity, and he stood to his full height so he could ruin you with his cock.

His name was the only thing you remembered as he split you open with full, hard thrusts—the entire length of his cock stretching your tight walls around it and playing along raw nerves already on the brink of another orgasm.

“Gonna cum, sweetheart—” he strained, desperate for release as he watched himself fuck you in the mirror—him behind your smaller body, squirming under the pleasure while his muscles bunched and relaxed with each snap of his hips—the veins in his forearms prominent and tendons taut as he poured all that training and dedication and determination into you, into pleasing you.

“Inside—inside, Din fuck, please—”

His mind emptied. Nothing else mattered about tonight—not the fight, not the disqualification, not the rage. Your eyes—cloudy with lust and achingly trusting as you looked back at him were all he could think about. Nodding without even realizing, the thought of filling you running in his mind on a loop.

“Fuck—!”

He wanted you to cum before him, he always did—but he was so high strung, so tense that he couldn’t stop himself, burying himself to the hilt with several punched out moans—exhaled rapture with every pump of his seed against your waiting womb. Your eyes rolled closed at the amount, bloating you with his release and as he came, you worked your clit frantically—chasing that addictive edge you gladly hurled yourself over at just the thought of him coming inside you.

Din dropped his forehead to your shoulder with a gasp, your spasming walls too much on his sensitive length but he had to stay inside—the contractions of pleasure, the gush of your release might push his out. He couldn’t have that. So, he gritted his teeth, mumbled husky praise – good girl, that’s it—just like that, soak me – to work you through your orgasm and pressed open mouth kisses to sweaty skin, the salt tickling his tongue as he caught his breath.

His mouth worked over the sweep of your shoulder, up your neck to your jaw when your orgasm subsided, purring your name and nonsensical strings of words he had no idea made sense or not. He finally eased his softening cock out of you slowly when you shifted your hips—testing your strength and finding it lacking when you realized both he and the vanity were what kept your legs up.

“Feel… feel better?”

“Mhm…” he confirmed noncommittally, nuzzling the marks beginning to bloom and darken like a forbidden garden only he was allowed indulge in the scent of. One of his hands ran absently down the back of your thigh, feeling for his release—pleased to feel nothing but your sticky arousal, his own still nestled inside your sore cunt.

“Want one of those crepes you’re always raving about from that twenty-four hour place?” he purred, helping you stand—going so far as to pull the straps of your dress back up so that zipping the metal teeth would be easier. Your eyes brightened despite the lazy, satiated fatigue hiding in their orbs.

“Gino’s?”

“Mm,” he nodded, looking down from his greater height and lips quirking in an annoying desire to smile when one – bright as daylight – broke out on yours.

You nodded quickly, looping your arms around his neck to drag him down to your mouth, kissing him good and proper while his hands fell under the still open sides of your dress to settle on bare hips,

“Are you ever going to tell me what set you off tonight?” you mumbled against his lips cautiously, the ghost of a smile from the promise of dessert still lingering but a hesitant worry entering your gaze, unsure if his mood would sour again.

It didn’t.

He nudged his nose along yours, aquiline curve slotting along yours as he hummed in thought, thumbs rubbing lazily into your hips,

“Maybe later,” he settled on and captured your lips again.

You left the changing room together, his gym bag slung over one shoulder and his free arm wrapped around your shoulder—nose never leaving your temple or nuzzling into your hair with blatant affection as you blushed at how obvious it was to anyone who saw you what you had been doing.

You had both tried to tidy yourselves—cleaning the corners of your makeup and trying to flatten your mused hair was about all you could do. Din didn’t even attempt to cover the freshly fucked look of messy hair and heavy eyes as he pulled an unzipped Mythosaur Gym hoodie on over his muscle shirt.

A group were passing in the corridor as you asked him something—his former opponent with one eye swollen shut from the bruises forming around his eye, jaw, and cheeks. Din answered you easily, an automatic response to whatever you were asking as his eyes met his opponents, cold fury and arrogant pride flashing in their depths.

You remained none the wiser as you passed the group, Din’s body protectively placed between you and them. He probably should have told you; he knew you wouldn’t be swayed by it—comfortable in your body as you were, but he couldn’t bring himself to. He could protect you from slander and toxicity at the very least—and he planned to. Even if he had to do so in the shadows for now.

For himself, the swelling and bruising on the idiots’ face weren’t the only thing he had to satisfy himself with. He was the one whose cum was still buried inside you, clinging to your thighs and keeping you slick and wet for him to add more to later when he got you back to his place. And as you glanced up at him with a disarming smile after he dropped his hoodie over your shoulders without a thought once you both were outside in the crisp air of the early morning darkness—he secretly hoped that he would be the only one to have that privilege from then on.

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lavendertales · 3 years

Note

Hi heartbreaker beautiful Ari 💖

So @beskarboobs and I haven't been able to fully forgive you process the events of the final chapter of Cyare 💔 and we NEED to know if you had an alternative ending in mind.

What would have happened if the idea of breaking our hearts hadn't cross your mind?

#CyareSupportGroup

#CyareSupportGroup is now accepting y’all bills for therapy

A/N: I am SO sorry for taking SO LONG to write this down but October absolutely beat the shit out of me. But I do hope this eases your minds and hearts! FYI, this is set right after the Bo-Katan fight where they come out victorious (and alive). But I suppose it can also be read as a stand-alone one shot.

word count: 2.2k

WARNINGS: tooth-rootingly fluffy. cowgirl, cockwarming, hints of breeding kink?? feelings all over the place anyway.

AGELESS/EMPTY BLOGS & MINORS WILL BE BLOCKED!!!

gif: @azertyrobaz

AO3 | series masterlist

There’s light in the room. Din scrunches his nose, feeling warm. He shifts in the slightest, warm breath against his chest, tickling all of his senses awake. He opens his eyes at last and is met with your head buried at his chest, snoozing peacefully.

He smiles to himself. Never in a million years would he have imagined something so serene, so comforting. You became his home, his safe space, and it all seemed to have happened too fast. But the reality is, you’ve always been his safe space. It almost makes his head spin the more he looks at you, so warm and soft in his arms.

Looking at you… almost hurts. It almost hurts to realize how blissfully in love he feels with you. He dares think you might not even be human; how can someone earthly feel this good, make him feel so heavenly?

“Stop staring. It’s creepy.”

Your voice is a tad raspy in the mornings, and Din finds it terribly endearing. He smiles wider, kissing your forehead and gently lifting your head in order to meet with your face the precise moment you’ll open your eyes.

When you do, you smile as well, as if with your whole chest. You doubt you’ll get tired of seeing the image of Din Djarin, the very same little boy you’ve befriended in your childhood, with messy hair and scruffy facial hair staring back at you, in the same bed, your naked bodies entangled with one another.

“It’s not creepy,” he says. “It’s romantic.”

You frown. “Mhm. And how many relationships have you had till we met?”

He chuckles, fully aware of the idyllic oblivion he had been living in up until that point.

“You got a lot to learn about romance,” you tease him.

“I know all I need to.”

“Oh? And what is that?”

“I love you. That’s all I need to know.”

He leaves no room for any other reply. You chuckle softly because, well, what could you reply to that other than the obvious and much needed “I love you too”?

When you kiss him, it’s soft and you melt right there in his arms, in his mouth. His lips are like plush, his mouth a hot furnace against yours, flushing your whole body as he pulls you in. The kiss deepens, your tongues waltzing with each other for more pleasure and soon you find yourself atop of Din, his arms holding your hips and moving you teasingly against his—now—erection.

You grunt into the kiss, letting a moan separate you as he props himself against the headboard. You’re straddling his lap, moving back and forth gently, feeling yourself get wetter with each passing second. There’s no room for pleas; Din knows what you want, and vice versa. The only sounds are your respective huffs and puffs, lips finding each other in the early morning light and desire sparked in both your hearts needed to be expressed with your bodies.

“Can I?” he asks.

You’re not sure what he’s referring to, so you simply cup his cheeks, peck his nose and mutter Always. One of your hands now reaches to his hardened shaft and guides it slowly to your entrance. You moan with every additional inch of him entering you until you feel full and oh, so warm. The pace is slow, unrushed and calm. It feels like you have all the time in the world, so you take it.

This time Din is the one who pulls you in for a kiss. His arms roam on your back while yours rest on his broad shoulders as you slowly ride him. You don’t seek release; all you want is to feel him, to have him in the most human way possible. Through kisses and touches, your body is ablaze the more you feel him reach deeper inside you. You swiftly brush against the hairs at the base of his cock with each lift and drop, the tingly contact causing a giggle to erupt from you.

“What? What is it?” Din asks, nearly breathless.

He’s overly sensitive and he’s not sure if he can hold on for much longer.

“I just—love you, that’s all,” you smile.

Your foreheads are pressed against each other, your breasts squished at his chest as you lean in and hold onto his shoulders. You maintain that languid pace, allowing Din to move into you just as he pleases. He grunts and snakes his fingers to your locks of hair, grabbing a handful of them, but not once hurting you.

“I’m—ngh—tell me where—“

“What?”

Your own breaths become hitched; you start to feel him pulse and throb inside you and you know he’s close.

This might be a good time for him to know.

“Shit—shit, I’m gonna—quick, tell me where to—“

You cup his cheeks, waiting for the moment of detonation where his face betrays the pleasure that takes over his whole body. “Inside.”

Din looks bewildered at you, unable to stop though. “But you—you have—“

“It’s fine, it’s okay—just come inside me.”

It’s all the reassurance he needs. The questions he can ask later. For now, he lets himself go, coming hard. It feels different; explosive, intimate. It takes him a while to climb down his high; once he does, he settles to slow, almost unbearably sensitive thrusts in you. You settle down too, feeling him throb still as his head falls in between your breasts, resting as if they were a plush pillow, kissing them softly and listening to your whimpers as he takes each nipple in his mouth until they turn to pebbles under his touch.

“You sure it was okay to—“

“Yes.”

You smile at his flustered aura, his flushed cheeks and sweaty temples as he looks up to you with those soft, kind brown eyes.

“I was going to tell you earlier, but since this happened… I might as well tell you now. I took the implant out.”

Din puts some space between you two as if to draw enough air to formulate some coherent words to say back to you.

“You did? How come?”

“Well… we’ve been talking about marriage and having a family and with everything that happened, I figured having a little one of our own would be something good for us both.”

You’ve left him speechless. His eyes go wide, impossibly gentle as they stare back at you with gratitude and genuine surprise.

“You didn’t have to do that,” he murmurs. “I have you and Aayla. It’s more than enough.”

“I know. But… it couldn’t hurt to try. Right?”

Definitely not, Din chuckles to himself. The trust you’ve shown him, the closeness you wanted both of you to feel is simply overwhelming.

“The fun is in trying,” you smile and peck his lips.

“Marry me.”

It’s his turn to leave you speechless and in awe. He moves his hips in the slightest, thrusting upwards in you and watching your mouth form the perfect round shape with the gasp that abandons your lips. The proposal shouldn’t come as a surprise; you’ve discussed it before. And yet, there you are, baffled.

“I don’t suppose you mean right now, do you?” you try to laugh it off.

“I said I’d ask you again after we defeat Bo-Katan. We’ve done that. Our people are safe. It’s our time now. Our time to be a family.”

Your fingers caress his brown locks as you inspect his face. There is nothing that could keep you apart from that man anymore, so there is nothing left for you to say.

Except, well—

“Yes.”

Din’s eyes widen yet again, making his appearance all the softer and lovable.

“Yes? You’ll—?”

You nod enthusiastically and the last thing you see before you close your eyes to welcome his hungry mouth again is his smile. Happy, content at last.

“Celebrating the victory, are we?”

Rina is nothing if not perceptive. You cock an eyebrow at her, a flushed smirk residing on your face.

“What are you talking about?”

“Do not play pretend with me, Amara Ovarug. You haven’t left that bedroom since yesterday. I had half of mind to come barge in, see if you’re okay.”

“I was more than okay, I can assure you.”

“Okay, I don’t need the details.”

She inches closer to you, whispering in the giddiest voice you’ve ever heard come from her: “Did you really stay in the bedroom with him since yesterday? I was just bluffing before.”

You chuckle, unable to contain yourself, and you nod.

“Holy Maker! Was it—?”

“I thought you didn’t want details.”

“Well, no, not details, but I’m still as curious as a loth cat. You gotta give me something.”

“Okay. We chose to do the union at last. And it’s today, at sunset.”

“You’re getting married today?!”

However surprisingly, the voice does not belong to Rina. You both turn around only to be met with Aayla’s shocked face, staring at you in disbelief. For a moment, you fear the worst. You know she adores Din and that she is a huge supporter of your relationship, but you did not think for one moment she would react badly to the news. You thought this would be great for her, an opportunity to rebuild a family, and the look on her face puzzles and scares you alike.

“Aayla—we only decided this morning,” you approach her. “We’ve been talking about it, and now we’ve finally decided.”

“I’m just surprised! I thought this day would never come.”

Now you frown in utter confusion.

“What?”

“I thought Din wants to marry you anyway, he always had those heart eyes when he looked at you in the beginning—“

“You didn’t even see his face when he first arrived here.”

“Didn’t need to.”

You exchange a worrisome—albeit amused—look with Rina.

“But you’re so stubborn and you think about everything all the time, so damn much—“

“Language.”

“Sorry.”

“I’m glad you’re on board with this.”

“Well, yeah. I love Din!”

You smile, eased. “So do I. And now—“

You crouch, on the same level as Aayla. “We can be a real family. The—three of us.”

“Why did you hesitate?” Rina asks.

“I didn’t.”

“You did,” Aayla fortifies.

“Okay, when did you turn into a forty year old living inside a little girl’s body? It’s unsettling.”

Aayla shrugs. “I got it from my mother.”

The hug is cut off only by someone else’s presence. Aayla exclaims cheerfully and runs to the silhouette in the distance whom you quickly identify as Din. Aayla, on the other hand, seems to be eager to hug him, but refrains herself from doing so.

“Do I get to call you Din or dad now?”

Visibly flustered, Din chuckles. “Whatever makes you feel comfortable, Aayla.”

“Okay. Is it okay if I give you a hug?”

Damn, you’re unsure when did Aayla turn out into such a well-spoken and attentive little lady, but you enjoy every second of it. It warms your heart tremendously when Din takes Aayla in his arms; albeit seeming a little confused and clumsy regarding any other human contact that is not you, he quickly welcomes it and gives into it.

“So, doing the union,” Rina smiles towards Din as well just he lets the girl from his arms. “Finally! Kept us all waiting.”

Din’s eyes lock with yours, sparkling with excitement. Yours do the same dance, contain the same twinkle; it’s instinctual at his point.

“Kept her waiting long enough, I think,” Din says, moving closer to you now.

He takes his hands into yours, the skin on skin contact sending a rush through you that is unlike anything else you’ve ever felt.

“Look, the sun’s setting!”

All three of you turn to the landscape, as pointed by Aayla, and when your eyes meet again with Din’s, you just know. You feel it in your heart, in your head and in your body.

It’s time.

With your hands still joined, you smile at each other under Rina and Aayla’s looks. It comes out naturally, as if it is a default setting to your very existence. In this very moment, it feels like you and Din are the only two people on Concordia. You don’t ever remark the other Mandalorians and common folk moving closer to watch the Mand’alor announce his loyalty to his loved one.

“Mhi solus tome, mhi solus dar’tome, mhi me’dinui an, mhi ba’juri verde.”

We are one when together, we are one when parted, we will share all, we will raise warriors.

Din’s lips curl into a bright smile as he recites the same words back. “Mhi solus tome, mhi solus dar’tome, mhi me’dinui an, mhi ba’juri verde.”

He presses his forehead on yours, closing his eyes, and you mirror the gesture. You remain there, united as one at last, with everyone else exclaiming happily in the background.

When you open your eyes again, the man before you is the same Din Djarin you’ve offered your heart too. Your best friend, the Mand’alor, and now, your husband and partner for life.

And just like that, you have everything you could’ve possibly wanted.

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gecko-whoria · 2 years

Text

eat your heart out.

w/: bartolomeo

notes: i'm actually in the middle of the beginning of dressrosa right now, so bear with me while i take liberties with the end of the colosseum fight to feed my love of confession fics

warnings: n/a

word count: 785

You can do this, (Name), you spent the whole fight psyching yourself up, you got this! You gave another nervous glance to the colosseum doors, clutching the bundle of flowers in your hand. You knew it was a stupid idea, waiting for someone whose epithet was quite literally "The Cannibal", but some small part of you hoped that you had a chance with Bartolomeo. That maybe, whether by luck or whatever natural charm you might have, you'd be able to show the beloathed pirate a little bit of love.

The sound of the crowds spilling out of the colosseum quickly drowned out your thoughts, your eyes shifting to catch a glimpse of his signature lime green hair. Nothing could have prepared you for how tall he was in person, easily towering over most of the spectators as the crowd shuffled him along.

You took a deep breath, then shouted, "Bartolomeo! Over here!"

Your heart leapt into your throat when he started to make his way toward you, tucking his hands in the pockets of his pants as he shoved his way past the people that separated you. You instinctively gulped when he stopped in front of you, gazing down with a bored look.

"Who the hell're you?" He looked to the flowers. "And who're those for?"

"They're, uh," you stuck the flowers out in front of you, feeling more childish than you ever wanted to, "they're f-for you."

Despite the din of voices, there was a swallowing silence that engulfed you and Bartolomeo. You were sure he could hear you gulp as you clutched the flowers, clearly trying to conceal any emotions that had begun to bubble up inside you.

Bartolomeo snorted. “Bull-shit. Ain't nobody in this whole damn colosseum wanna give me flowers. You oughta work on your comedy material a bit more, dollface."

You slowly lowered your hand and pulled the flowers back to your chest, biting down on your lip to keep it from quivering more than it already was. You knew all the rumors about what a jerk Bartolomeo was, but you hadn't ever imagined he could really be that way. You'd thought it was all some elaborate act, but it seemed every bit of it was true.

You watched him leave with tears misting in your eyes and curses settled on the tip of your tongue, fooled into believing calling him an asshole would make you feel like less of an idiot. You let the flowers hand loosely in your hand as you slunk off toward the exit, telling yourself you'd hand them off to the next fighter you saw leave the colosseum.

You were too caught up in ruminating on your meeting with Bartolomeo to see one of the disgraced fighters approaching you, his hulking frame seeming to block out the sun. You looked up to see his arms reaching down to grab you, wrapping around your abdomen as you cried out. You tried to fight out of his grip, but he easily overpowered you, dragging you away from the colosseum gates as the crowds grew thinner and thinner.

"Someone! Anyone! Help!" You cried, reaching out for the discarded flowers, wishing and willing for Bartolomeo to come and save you at the last minute, though you knew it was nothing more than a pipe dream.

In an instant the man released you, suddenly separated by some kind of invisible wall. You looked around for its source, a small gasp escaping your lips when you caught sight of Bartolomeo standing with his fingers crossed and a devious grin on his face. He looked down at you, pushing the man back with his barrier until the two of you were alone, releasing his ability to offer you a hand.

"Why did you come back?" You asked, allowing him to help you up despite the nervousness it caused you.

Bartolomeo shrugged. "Thought it'd make me look worse if I let a lady like you get kidnapped. And anyway, I guess I prolly shouldn't be too much of a jerk to the only fan I got, y'know?"

You smiled at him, gathering up the intact flowers and handing them to him. "Now will you accept them?"

You noticed a hint of blush on Bartolomeo's cheeks as he took the flowers from you, holding them against his chest as his eyes shifted away from you and back. "Yeah, I guess....they are pretty nice after all...."

You leaned up and pressed a kiss into his cheek, blushing yourself when you saw the way he reacted to it. "Thank you for saving me, Bartolomeo. I knew you couldn't be that bad."

"Pssh, nah, I'm the worst there is, sweetheart."

You didn't believe it for a second.

#writing #op #one piece #bartolomeo x reader #bartolomeo the cannibal #one piece x reader #op x reader #x reader #x reader fanfiction

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hecckyeah · 2 years

Text

okay. now that my brain stopped short circuiting for a second, let me address some stuff about the new tbobf episode (which is mostly just me trying to explain it to myself and understand some of the choices that were made because i mean come on, it’s dave filoni and jon favreau we’re talking about. they’re solid.)

first and foremost. I think that “I’m really sad and angry about boba being a side character in his own show, they should have handled this differently,” and “oh my gosh DIN is here and LUKE and AHSOKA and GROGU, I THINK I’M DYING this is AMAZING,” are two sentences that can and should coexist.

alright. we agree? good. now, some things I’ve been thinking about regarding luke in this episode.

I hated the sequels. if you’ve been following me for any amount of time, you probably know that. I disowned them way back in 2017 when TLJ ruined my life. I’m just about the biggest luke skywalker fan you’ll ever meet, so TLJ feels like a personal betrayal. anyway, so every piece of star wars media I’ve seen since then I’ve taken with more than just a grain of salt. I want to believe things will change but unlike the MCU, I don’t think star wars will branch off into separate realities. there were whispers about that a while ago, but honestly I doubt they’re true.

all that to say, unfortunately I think they’re slowly, slowly pushing star wars toward that direction. and in doing so, they have to make certain.......choices for certain characters. that means placing doubts in our minds that maybe luke isn’t the perfect peacekeeper we always knew him as.

I HOPE. I hope they prove me wrong. I honest to goodness could not imagine a world where the s*quels are true in every reality.

but. there might be a light at the end of the tunnel, because I don’t think luke’s intentions are wrong at all. and let me explain.

it does seem like luke is the biggest hypocrite ever when he asked grogu to choose between being a jedi and going back to din. but he has a point, and please hear me out on this.

right now, at this stage in grogu’s life, he can’t do both. he’s just a kid, he’s still being shaped and formed into who he’s going to become in however-many-hundred years from now. if he goes off galavanting around with din again, soon he’ll be back to square one. if he spends his life with his dad, until din is old and gone, he won’t be able to go back to luke because luke will probably be gone, too. and by then, who knows if there will be more jedi around able and willing to train grogu as well as luke would have?

grogu is probably one of, if not the most powerful students luke will ever have. he needs to train this kid, set him on a good path before he can be manipulated or changed by other people who want to hurt him or use him for his powers. luke knows all too well what it’s like to be manipulated or wanted for your power.

when luke placed those two objects in front of grogu, he knew the kid understood the implications of both. he can read his thoughts, remember?

grogu knows his little heart has to be fully focused on his training in order to succeed. loving people is good, we know that and luke knows that. but there is some truth to the whole letting go of attachment thing. didn’t din do that when he let grogu go? didn’t anakin do that when he yeeted old palps down to his death, knowing it would kill him but finally deciding to be unselfish and let go of a life with luke? even kanan jarrus and ezra bridger both did that, showing immense self sacrifice for the greater good.

now it’s grogu’s turn. if he grabs that armor and says see ya later, he’s being selfish. he misses his dad, and that’s okay. but there’s a greater purpose here, and I think that’s what people don’t realize. the jedi obviously took it to the extreme, but the essence of it is true.

when luke leaves dagobah during empire strikes back, that might seem like a valiant and wholehearted fuck you to the jedi and their attachment rule, but did no one see where that left him?? he ended up literally almost dead, hanging off a piece of metal under a floating city, with one less hand and a murderbot for a dad. oh, and he got his best friend imprisoned and also left for dead. if leia hadn’t been right there, luke would have died that day.

that was luke learning the meaning behind don’t get attached the hard way.

attachment doesn’t mean not loving people. love is what brought anakin back from the dark side. but in order to do that, luke had to leave his friends on endor and see the bigger picture. when the emporer is taunting him, saying that his friends will die, he’s obviously distressed. but he’s able to refocus and trust that his mission, his purpose, lies with his father. that’s called letting go of attachment and not letting it blind you.

grogu has to learn the same lesson, but this time he has luke there to guide him.

#i hope this makes sense i'm literally just word vomiting #tbobf #tbobf spoilers #luke skywalker #grogu #jedi shenanigans #meta #ish?

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sofiaaaaaaaa03 · 3 years

Text

Goodbye

Pairing: Dan!Din Djarin x Teen GN reader

Request:

hello ily u and ur writings are so great

uhhh may i request dad!din with a teenage reader (like, 15 idk) after grogu leaves with luke? like maybe comforting each other, and the reader asking what happens next, etc etc

just some good ol' angst fluff :] 💞

Scenario: After Grogu leaves with Luke the Reader and Din comfort one another after having to say goodbye.

Rating: PG

Warnings: none

Word Count: 1,980

A/N: I love you!! Thank you so much for reading and I’m sooo happy you like my writings. And yes! I LOVED that Idea. I hope you don’t mind if I sort of went with my own thing for how the reader and Din argued a bit, it sort of just made sense in the situation??? Anyways, I hope you like what I came up with :))) I haven’t written anything in awhile so I’m a tad rusty.

Saying goodbye to each other was always something you’d always known would happen. You simply chose to not think about it and greedily hoped that Din would not be able to find another Jedi who would take Grogu under their wing. In your world, Clan Mudhorn would never break apart and you’d three live together for a very long time. However, life in its mysterious ways is ever changing and never promises one’s future. It certainly never promised yours.

You thought of this as you watched the Jedi in front of you. It was not just any Jedi, but a Jedi who was offering to take care of your little brother. You felt your face blanch at the thought of Grogu leaving you and Din. The thought of you leaving this ship with only Din and the memories you’d made with Grogu terrified you. It couldn’t be real. It can’t be real. You shut your eyes tight, turning your head toward the ground before anyone could see your expression.

“Y/N.”

Din’s hand rested on your shoulder, when you’d looked up you were surprised to meet flesh instead of metal. He took off his helmet. For a moment there was nothing that mattered but the expression your guardian made. It was… sad. Tears pricked his eyes, something you’d never expected to see from him. Din gave you the tiniest of smiles and told you it was time to say goodbye.

Goodbye?

Din held Grogu out for you to take. Slowly you accepted him close and relished one last time on what it was like to hug him tight.

“Ni kar'tayli gar darasuu, ner vod.” You whispered. During the time the two of you spent with Din he’d taken it upon himself to teach you Mando’a. It’d become a habit to show affection in his native tongue. Grogu cooed, leaning away to take in your face. You gave him a tight lipped smile, taking in his own. He’d grown so much. It was hard to believe that he was once a small little thing. “ I’ll always be your sibling. Don’t forget me.”

You sat Grogu back down on the floor and began to rummage through your bag before pulling out a small, plush frog, making Grogu’s ears perk up.

“Can Grogu take this with him?”

Luke nodded, but Grogu made it clear that he wanted you to keep the plush when he wouldn’t reach out for it like he always did. Instead, he stared at you with his big eyes before gently pushing the frog back to you. You bit back a frown. You wanted to ask him, beg him to take the frog you’d put so much love into just for him. Instead you stood up straight and held the plush close to your chest, glancing again at Din who was holding a stoic expression. You forced a smile onto your face.

The goodbye was harder than you’d imagined. So was the deafening silence when the Jedi, his droid, and Grogu disappeared into the elevator.

The moment the elevator door shut you snapped your head towards Din, but he turned his back to you and walked away. He wandered to the far end of the room and stayed there, quiet as he kept to himself. His hands fiddled with the darksaber that weighed more than you ever imagined it would before this mission began.

It was easy to forget that there were others in the room, though you were quickly reminded of their presence when they surrounded you to provide comforting words, some giving warm embraces and telling you about their own separations from loved ones. They reassured you that you would be fine in the end. You didn’t believe them. Fennec was talking to you, but your focus was on the far side of the room where Din was currently talking to Bo-Katan and Cara. You wondered what they talked about. You wondered what was going to happen now. Now, that the clan lost one member and had no ship to call home.

Din would barely look at you when Bo-Katan and the other women left the cockpit, looking for supplies and scrounging up any valuable information left. That was assuming that there was no emergency delete button someone pushed in a panic amid the raid. You didn’t bother thinking about it long, as you stared at the back of Din’s head. He’d kept his helmet off, making it the longest that you’ve seen him without it. You stared at the helmet from where it sat on top of the mainframe.

“Are you going to rule Mandalore now?” Your voice cut through the barrier between the two of you, making Din shuffle in his steps.

His back remained towards you and his tone was cold. “I don’t want to talk right now.”

You frowned, taken aback by this sudden attitude he’d taken on. “What do you mean by ‘I don’t want to talk right now’?”

“Exactly that.”

“But I want to.” You crossed your arms.

“It can wait.”

His response came off indifferent as though he wanted to move on. For a moment you felt like you’d shut down, sure there were times where Din would behave like this coming home after a long day, too exhausted to deal with two children. But he’d never done this before. No. This was new. You didn’t like new. Not now, not when things were so uncertain for you.

“You can’t just shut me out so quickly!” You walked up so that you spoke to his back. “You’re not the only one who just went through that. I never wanted to say goodbye to Grogu. I didn’t think it’d be this soon, either. I didn’t think that. And now I don’t know what you’re going to do after this, where you’re going to go, if you’re going to let me go with you, if-”

“If I let you go with me?” Din turned to face you, eyebrows furrowed. “Y/N, of course you’re coming with me. You’re my foundling.”

“So was Grogu!” You exclaimed, suddenly realizing that tears were streaming down your face. The stress and grief were suddenly catching up to you and it showed, causing Din to raise his hands up a little. He slowly lowered them, seemingly in thought. He sighed, and gently pulled you to sit down with him on some chairs by the mainframe. You felt ashamed of yourself for crying in front of him, but didn’t say anything. Instead you were wiping your tears with your shirt as you waited for him to finally speak.

“You know Grogu is too strong with his magic to be left without training.” Din scratched his ear, eyes downward so that you couldn’t see the tears pricking his eyes again. “You… you’re only a kid. You remember that, right? You need me to protect you before you’re strong enough to leave the clan.”

You stared at him with big eyes as though you were pretending to process what he was saying. But you understood what he meant. He had the best intentions for Grogu and he has the same intentions for you. You were lucky to have someone like Din. The cloth of your shirt suddenly caught your interest as you stared down at it, playing it in between your fingers.

You sniffed, rubbing your arm across your nose. “I’m sorry for yelling at you…”

“It’s okay, Y/N.” Din wrapped an arm across your shoulder and pulled you close. As you settled into him you rested your head against his shoulder, waiting for him to say something though he never did. Maybe he was thinking about Grogu. It wouldn’t be a surprise. Anyone could see how much he’d grown attached to the little thing, despite his initial response to having to care for him.

“You’re a great dad…” You whispered, playing with the frog in your hands. Din smiled warmly, something you missed as you continued to look down.

“Do you remember how happy Grogu was when you gave him that frog?” Din’s voice made the armor he’d dawned vibrate slightly. It ticked your cheek. You liked how it felt.

“Mhm.” You nodded as you made the frog dance in your hands. It’s chipped, mismatched buttons stared back at the two of you.

“When I was young I used to lose my toys all the time.”

You looked up at him, “But that was before the Mandalorians took you in, right? Weren’t they, I dunno, strict about toys?”

“No.” Din looked off, watching the stars that decorated the space they shared. “If they found a kid that still had their toy with them they didn’t take it away. In my clan, every child had a toy of their own, to help make their transition easier, though I kept losing mine.”

The two of you shared a small laugh. Din shook his head and looked at you fondly. “Grogo went everywhere with that frog. It meant so much to him. Guess it was because of you.”

You didn’t say anything. A warmth began to spread through your sternum at Din’s remarks. You hugged the frog close to your chest. It still smelled like Grogu. The same, earth-like geranium that followed him around. He knew that you needed the plush more than he did now that you had to say goodbye, and you were thankful for that.

“Are you going to miss him?”

“Of course I am.” Din nodded solemnly before he turned towards you and ruffled your hair. “But we’ll see him again.”

A moment of silence falls upon you two, one of the mainframes makes a sound and the security shows the women entering a room on the other side of the ship. They were covering good ground and carried several bags of what was assumed to be supplies for their next mission. Would Din be a part of that mission?

“So, what happens now?” You inquired, glancing up at him. “Are you going to rule Mandalore?”

Din looked up and inhaled deeply as though he was pondering the question. He must have made some sort of plan prior. But his possession of the dark saber meant that plans had now changed. “I never expected to become a… king. Though, there’s not much to be king of.”

Behind closed doors between Din and the adults you’d hear bits and pieces about what the Empire had done to the planet. Though you were heavily uninformed, you had a good grasp that the planet was practically not worth ruling.

“Are you going to go with Bo-Katan? She wants to take back Mandalore. With you as king it’d be fitting.”

You didn’t miss how Din grimaced slightly at her name. “What?”

Din pushed himself up and motioned for you to follow as he grabbed his helmet and began walking out. He draped an arm across your shoulder when you caught up to his pace. “Bo-Katan doesn’t seem to be all too happy with me having the darksaber. I should keep some distance and wait for her to cool off.”

You whispered a small ‘oh’ and looked ahead. Guess he wasn’t going to go with her then. “So we have no plans then, great.”

Din glanced at you, “ What do you think we should do?”

Your mind flashed back several days ago to when you’d barely escaped being destroyed along with the razor crest. “I miss the ship.”

“You and me both.”

“Do you think we can find a new one?”

“You can’t just find a ship, kid. It’s gonna need some credits.”

“Yeah but technically you’re a king now! Use that royalty of yours and get us one.”

“That’s not how it works kid.”

“You don’t know yet! You’ve been king for what, five minutes?”

“Maybe I will leave you here.”

“No you won’t. You love me too much to do that.”

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thefanbasewhore · 3 years

Text

“You can hold my hand if you want.”

Summary: [Number 45 from the prompt list, "You can hold my hand if you want."] Din's search for a bounty leaves reader tired and unable to keep up with him but Din has an idea that will slow him down.

Warning/Content: soft fluffy din 🥺 relationship is not established between characters (yet lol) but yeah, Din is a touched starved beskar babe 🪐

Paring: Din Djarin/female reader

click here for my tag list! || Masterlist.

“Let’s go.” The words catch the static of the hissing vocoder making her eyes shift to him with confusion. The planet they landed on was one she never heard of before somewhere far in the galaxy but none the less looked like any other planet. The Mandalorian had been tracking this bounty for weeks but that’s not was surprising, no man or woman is a matching for him. It’s the fact he pushes the button on his arm and sunlight squints eyes as it lower with a slow hiss. “This planet is a scumhole, I’m not leaving the kid or you here on the ship alone, let’s go, he’s close.”

The fob beeps with flashing red to prove him right. She doesn’t reply just nods an understanding while the child is tucked into the bag that lies across the beskar clad chest. She tries to move but the sudden close proximity of him only inches away from her face makes her freeze, gloves reach for the sling of the bad lifting it over his head to lay it against her shoulders watching the way it forms between the valley of her breast - it’s tempting, hard not to tilt his head when they’re so close but with a deep breath he manages to keep his eyes against hers. “I want him to stay with you. Use your blaster if you have to and if I said run, you run, understand?”

It’s a silent nod, eyes averting his gaze at all costs while it’s not intentional she can’t help how nervous she feels under the gaze of the visor but gloved fingers bump the point of her chin to gently lift to what she guessed is his eyes. “I need to hear you say it. You and the child’s safety comes first.”

“I understand Mando..Shoot anyone that’s not you and run.” Even through the gloves he can feel the softness of smooth skin and wishes he could stay here forever with his fingers pressed against her cheeks but the act is too intimate for just partners. There are so many lonely, sleepless nights Din has to remind himself that it’s not more than that, nothing more then a business deal.

The sun was bright, temporarily blinding the trio as the reach the threshold of warmth from the outside, the heaviness of his boots already carry on before she can even realize he’s heading towards the woods, taking long strides that still were no match for the Mandalorian.

By the time they reached civilization the sun started to set over the horizon, a small yawn from the woman a few feet behind him has him turning over his shoulder to see the exhaustion etched across soft features. He stops for a second as he squeezes his first with frustration, it’s aimed towards himself mostly guilt because well he’s been trained his whole life to be a warrior, to be able to endure walking for hours but the woman who doesn’t realize he’s stopped and crashed into the hardness of his back with a soft ‘oof’ isn’t built for such things.

“Are you...” He turns to face her, eyes shifting from drooping eyes to watch her cross her arms around her chest to rub palms against the bare skin of her arms, goosebumps rising as the body’s attempt to keep internal heat as she feels fingers beginning to numb from the last few hours. “Are you cold?”

Before she can even answer leather gloves reach behind his head to bunch the cape and pull it from the collar and drape it over her shoulders. It’s thick, dirty and torn in some places but was instantly warms the tingling skin.

“Just a few more hours, he’s in town and then we can go back, I know you’re tired.” His hands never leave her shoulders as an attempt to warm the skin, press closer for his body almost flushes against her own shivering body.

“I’m fine, baby is asleep though. I’ll be right behind you, promise.” He doesn’t like the though of leaving her behind, drifting unprotected behind him all because he didn’t know how to slow down. No matter how much the helmet helped enhance his senses it wasn’t always guaranteed especially with the linger presence of the woman that scrambles his brain, he couldn’t concentrate with her so close.

“Come, I want you in front of me.” She knows the hand against her back doesn’t mean much just a means of a way to direct her towards the front of him. One foot in front of the other, he wonders how someone can be so slow but still manage to be so noisy. It can’t be stopped, the way his chest hits her back with accidental force, long nights of discipline make it almost impossible to not walk over here.

He takes a deep breath, stopping just to give her a few feet to walk before his one stride meets with her again, he let’s out a frustrated huff that makes her turn towards him. “I’m sorry Mando, I’m trying. I don’t -.”

The way her voice falters as her voice drops with frustration to meet his own. Despite not being able to keep up with him, running through the woods for hours with no food or water but still managed to fight against screaming legs and an aching back, he was impressed to say the least, she’s always filled with such an intense fire and he couldn’t help but drift towards it. He wishes she would realize how strong she is, see herself through his eyes.

Din tenses behind as the words almost fall effortlessly from his lips, “You can hold my hand..if you want too.”

Cheeks turning red under the helmet and for more times then he can count he’s glad for the shield that separates him from the outside world. It’s starting to get hot, her gaze across his skin heating the nape of his neck, words fumbling out in embarrassment, rejection as moves his extended arms back towards him. “This way I know I’m going to fast.”

One heavy boot touches the ground as his attempt to get as far as possible from the lingering silence. She knows it takes a lot from his to offer this, to say those words and for the moment is too shocked to move. It’s uncharacteristic, the way his fingers touched her chin early, took his own source of heat to wrap it around her shoulders as well as rub the smooth skin of her hands and then offering this.

Before he could manage to stride ahead, small fingers reach for his forearm to stop him, a small smile makes his heart jump in his chest. He’s thankful they’re still in the wood, no one here to see how ridiculous he looks stiffening with her touch, his throat drying as the hand slides down the whole length of his arm to fill the gaps of his fingers with her own. Din tries not to stare, a heavy haze of tension filling the air.

It’s unspoken but truthfully had been lingering for months but even though it’s not bare skin, it’s intensified and he can’t help but stare at the roundness of her bottom lip as his other hand reaches up to press a thumb against the plumpness, moving closer and closer but stopping with as his helmet bumps against her forehead with a small gasp of pain.

His cheeks are ablaze as he can’t believe he forgot that the helmet was there. Her touch temporarily blinded him, all senses void the only thing that mattered was how beautiful she looked in that moment, tiredness weighing down eyelids, lips swollen from sucking on them. A breath is stuck inside his throat with realization, her own curious gaze lifting to meet his eyes then down to his lips exposing just what he wanted to do. “Kifff, are you alright I didn’t mean-.”

His own words drop as the small fingers press against the coldness of the helm, the decreasing temperature didn’t help the shivering but at the moment she can’t care less. Her head tilts slightly pressing a kiss against the coolness of the beskar right where he lips lie under it. It’s not what he wants but all that can be given in the current predicament. It’s the way unsure eyes roam over the helm looking for any reinsurance but is only met with the coldness of zero emotions but the lingering is so sweet he feels his ears ring, lips twitch with the briefest smile.

He pauses, can’t move due to the way the linger thought of how those lips would feel against his own, against his skin. If this was the feeling he got from just them lingering against his helm he can’t imagine the way his body will explode with goosebumps, he feels something stir deep inside him. He wants to turn around and return to the crest to continue this in the dark, wants to feel his skin flushing hers but he hesitantly pulls his fingers from her cheeks with a shaky sigh.

“Let’s go.” Fingers tighten their hold on his own, pressing his forehead against the heated one in front of him. “Stay close sweet girl, I don’t want anything to happen to you.”

tags: @victias , @altarsw, @coonflix, @mudhornchronicles, @buckysalefty, @capsheadquaters, @ilikemymendarkandfictional, @maileecabudol, @mermaidbrina, @godohammers, @nikkixostan, @fangirlmendes

#din djarin #din dijarin x reader #din djarin fan fiction #din djarin x reader #din djarin imagine #the mandolorian imagine #the mandolorian x reader

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luukeskywalker · 3 years

Note

dinluke - first kiss?

YEAAAH BROTHER YOU KNOW JUST WHAT I WANT TO WRITE

“So,” Luke asked, his eyes for once cast shyly down, and Din felt his breath leave his body as he studied the sunlight filtering across the Jedi’s freckle-dusted face. “I have a question.”

Din nodded his head, a silent invitation to ask. He didn’t trust himself to speak at that exact moment. Still, after everything Luke had done, no questions asked, the man deserved an answer or two. Even if Din didn’t really have a lot of answers, he’d try his best.

Luke continued to look down. The light hit the fringe of his bangs and his eyelashes at just the right angle, turning his features golden. “I know that some Mandalorians don’t remove their masks.”

Din’s whole body turned to ice. Was Luke thinking of their first meeting? Where, without shame, he’d removed his helmet? Broken his sworn Creed? He’d never asked in the months since that day, even though Din had visited his academy often to ask question after question about the force, and raising a Force-sensitive child, and once or twice how to handle a lightsaber (however, he hoped he wouldn’t have to keep those lessons in mind for much longer…), and foolishly Din had hoped that Luke had put that unmasking out of his mind entirely.

But clearly not.

“And I was wondering, I guess, how - um.” Luke laughed, a shy little thing that sent a light, gentle feeling fluttering through Din’s chest. He tried not to think about it. “Sorry,” Luke ran a hand through his perfect hair, “I’m trying to find the right words.”

Din had a problem. It was something unlike he’d ever experienced before, and it ate at him with a ferocious, confusing, desperate hunger. He did not know what to do with it, but it burned in his chest whenever he caught a glimpse of that damned Jedi’s smile.

He certainly hadn’t expected it. When Luke had taken Grogu with him, Din had not expected to ever see the handsome young man again. He’d certainly never expected Cara Dune to lose her mind once the man had left, and could not believe it when she immediately told him who, exactly, that had been - Luke Skywalker.

At the time, the name held no meaning for him. He could only attach the name to an ephemeral black-clad Deus ex Machina that had swept in and, in equal measures, saved his life and took it away from him.

Oh, how things had changed. It didn’t take him long to track down that Jedi academy, and for some reason Luke was more than willing to entertain his endless questions. He’d even smiled with an almost smug glee when he’d asked Din if they could hold their conversations in the privacy of his own quarters.

It was all downhill from there. The real Luke Skywalker was leagues different from the one he’d met on that Imperial cruiser. This Luke almost always had a smile on his face, and answered Din’s endless array of stupid questions with a joyful patience. He’d inform Din on Grogu’s progress with barely concealed excitement, and was not even a little hesitant to show off his newest student’s skills. For that matter, he never stopped talking - he always had something to talk about, whether it was some new story about his travels, news from his strange family, or even just an anecdote from one of his classes.

And he was beautiful. He wielded such tremendous power with an insane amount of grace - but not necessarily the dignified kind. He was so bright, his smiles so infectious and his every movement so self-assured and confident, was it really a surprise that Din quickly found his heart racing in the presence of such a stunning man?

So seeing Luke before him, shy and, dare he say it, nervous, it sent all of Din’s emotions into hyperdrive. “It’s okay,” he found himself saying, suddenly needing to know what Luke wanted to ask. He felt the urge to reach out across the endless expanse of the table that separated them and take up the Jedi’s gloved hand, to feel the warm whir of the mechanical limb under his touch.

“I was just wondering how you - showed affection for your, ah, partners.” Luke finally said, the words spilling out of him almost too carefully, as if to mask some emotion from bleeding into his voice. “I imagine that you have ways around that helmet, right?”

His heart stopped, sputtered for a few horrible, endless seconds, and then started again. Blood rushed to his face and had he not been wearing his helmet, he was sure Luke would know everything.

“... Yes,” He said eventually. “The Creed does not get in the way of intimacy.” A pause. “You don’t have to wear your armor around your Clan.”

“But,” Luke looked down again. Din wanted to protest, wanted to see those blue eyes focused on him again. “What if you’re not Clan?”

His heart was pounding so hard that he was surprised Luke couldn’t hear it, even through his polished armor. He didn’t know what came over him just then, but the way Luke’s voice quivered when he asked that question made something in Din’s mind snap.

He stood up from the table and moved to stand in front of Luke. The Jedi looked up at him then, and any doubts Din might have had were silenced immediately by the shy, excited glint in Luke’s eyes. He reached down to cup Luke’s cheeks in his own hands. He was grateful for the armor again, for protection from his own shaking, nervous hands.

He pressed in close, close enough that Luke’s breath fogged in his visor. For once, Luke said nothing. With the lightest amount of effort and an excruciating slowness, with the fear that Luke would for some reason bolt if he moved even a little too eagerly, he pressed his helmet to Luke’s forehead.

Under his gentle touch, he felt rather than heard Luke’s shuddering breath. Din hoped that Luke had noticed that his breath had been stolen in much the same way. Everything was too much, but he couldn’t tear himself away.

Luke was so warm. Din had known this before, had been lucky enough to bask in the residual warmth that emanated off of him in waves, but this… this was different. That heat licked at his fingertips and scalded the spot where his skin met Din’s helmet, as if he was being burned through Beskar.

They stayed there for a long time. Longer than a kiss had any right to be. And when Din finally pulled away, slowly, as if it pained him (and in some ways, it did), he was so awestruck by Luke’s stricken, blushing face that he almost went in for another.

“... There are ways around the Creed,” Din said shakily.

“I see.” Luke’s voice was barely a whisper. He smiled, and then laughed, and it was as if the fragile moment was over. “I see.” He spoke louder, closer to his normal volume. “And… do you make out like that with just anybody who asks?”

Din hoped that somehow, Luke knew that his eyes rolled. “A Mandalorian never kisses and tells.”

#dinluke #skydalorian #luke skywalker #din djarin #the mandalorian #star wars #my writing #crimsonrainseekingflower #ask

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little-mad · 3 years

Text

Downsides of Thievery Pt. 10

~ Previous Part ~ Next Part ~

What was going on around Gavin was essentially up to his imagination due to the fact that Rael wouldn’t move his damn hands. While he wasn’t really eager to encounter any more alteons, Gavin was beginning to feel claustrophobic with parts of Rael’s body surrounding him on all sides.

After the interaction with the guard at the entrance, Gavin heard Rael exchange a few more brief greetings as he made his way through the palace. It was bizarre, being so near to other people but being unnoticed or otherwise unacknowledged.

Gavin found it kind of odd that no one had even commented on the weird way Rael’s hands were situated. Surely at least some of them had noticed, right? So why didn’t they mention it? Maybe minding one’s own business was a big staple of alteon culture or something…

The din of voices, rummaging around, and clanging dishes that had been present ever since entering the building began to fade. Only once everything had fallen silent did Rael speak up. “I’m going to remove my hand now,” he stated.

Before Gavin could get the chance to try to prepare himself, he suddenly found himself bombarded with light. “Ah, god,” he complained as he blinked away the spots in his eyes.

Once his vision had recovered from the initial assault, Gavin carefully opened his eyes all the way. The sight he was met with took his breath away. Sure it may have just been a hallway, but it was the most stunning hallway he had ever been in!

The walls were made of smooth gray stone that rose up into arches in the ceiling. Banners of a rich blue color, decorated with a complex emblem hung from the walls on either side. Floor candelabras that looked to be made out of some kind of dark metal stood every few feet along the sides of the hallway--it was impressive how well candles managed to light the area.

The centerpiece of the room was the tall door that Rael stood directly in front of. The thing was made of dark wood that had been carved with intricate designs. It looked as though it would weigh a ton, even to someone Rael’s size.

Gavin had been in a lot of fancy places in his day--it had usually been while he was breaking and entering, but that was besides the point. The point was, none of those places matched the grandiose nature this literal castle possessed. “Think of all the riches I could find here…” Gavin’s thief brain was kicking in and he very nearly smacked himself as a result. “Yeah, like I haven’t gotten in enough trouble for stealing from alteons,” the more rational section of his mind countered.

“Hey, are you listening?” Gavin was abruptly jerked out of his own mental argument by the sound of Rael’s voice, which he only now realized had been going off in the background for the past few seconds.

“Uh--sorry, what did you say?” Gavin asked sheepishly as he leaned back to look up at the alteon’s face.

Rael blew out an impatient sigh. “I said, this door leads to the central part of the palace,” he summarized. “I also said that I’m going to keep you uncovered from now on.”

Gavin wasn’t really sure whether to be pleased or upset by this news. On one hand, he was eager to not be stuck in the oppressive dark. However, on the other hand, being out in the open meant getting ogled at by giants. Plus there was the risk of someone snatching him again… “No one's gonna try and grab me, are they?” He voiced his concern.

Rael’s expression softened so slightly Gavin barely even managed to detect it. “No, the palace is the most secure location in the world, you’ll be fine,” the dark haired giant assured him.

Satisfied with the response, Gavin gave a nod. He relaxed just a bit. Despite the many ups and downs they’d had together, Gavin trusted Rael’s judgement as well as his ability to protect him. Though the giant had managed to handle the Kaydin situation with words rather than violence, Gavin didn’t doubt that the guy would kick ass in a fight--if the definition in the guy’s biceps were anything to go by anyways.

To be honest, Rael would have preferred to keep Gavin hidden until the moment he delivered him to the Emperor. However, he knew that while the servants he’d passed by already had known better than to intrude upon a soldier’s business, most of the people in the central part of the palace would have no qualms in doing so. If he were to walk in, clearly hiding something, he would no doubt get stopped at least several times. At least with Gavin on display, everyone would instantly know the situation. Of course that may not prevent them from interfering, but Rael could only hope for minimal interaction.

After a quick glance downwards to ensure his passenger was secure, Rael pulled open the large door that separated the servant’s section from the rest of the palace.

The decor and architecture in this area, while similar to that of the previous section, was far grander and more extravagant. Rael didn’t even have to look to know Gavin was stunned by the sight. He took a small bit of pride in knowing the human was impressed by alteon craftsmanship.

The room they were in was the front entryway, it was where most visitors would first enter the palace. A handful of guards dotted the room, and of course, as soon as they all spotted Gavin, their eyes were glued to the little man.

Rael could feel Gavin fidgeting nervously in his hand, and honestly, the feeling was somewhat mutual. While Rael wasn’t the focus of anyone’s stares, he was still getting far more attention than he would prefer. Imagining what they could all be thinking about him made Rael feel sick to his stomach.

“Just...try to ignore them,” he advised himself as he began to walk further into the entryway. Avoiding making eye contact with anyone, he made his way towards the grand staircase that was the focal point of the room.

After ascending the steps, Rael was met with the enormous doors that would lead into the throne room. Rather than going through them, he made a right down the hallway that would take him to the Emperor’s office. The throne room was only used for official, large scale events. The Emperor was far more likely to be working in his office at this hour.

Unfortunately, there was no shortage of people milling around, and while so far everyone had refrained from approaching Rael, that streak was about to come to an end. “Ah, so this must be the human who attempted to rob Lady Elyth,” remarked a woman he recognized as being one of the Emperor’s scribes.

The scribe stood in front of Rael, effectively blocking his path. He sighed internally. Despite having no actual title, the Emperor’s scribes were well respected around the palace, and as close servants of the Emperor, soldiers like Rael were expected to defer to them. This meant he would be forced to humor this woman.

“Yes, I’m on my way to bring him to the Emperor now,” Rael stated, hoping the scribe would want to avoid getting in the way of Imperial orders.

Rael had to fight the urge to look down when he felt Gavin inching backwards on his palm. The little guy seemed to be trying to put some distance between himself at the unfamiliar alteon that was currently staring at him.

The woman gave a nod of understanding but still didn’t move. “This one certainly appears younger than the other ones I’ve seen,” she commented as she leaned in for a closer look.

Rather than jerking backwards as he reflexively wanted to, Rael remained still. He glanced down to see that Gavin had retreated all the way towards his chest. It was evident he was trying to keep a calm expression on his face, but it was easy to tell the man was highly uncomfortable. “Just hang in there,” Rael thought, wishing he could mentally send the message to the human.

Finally, after several long moments of ogling, the scribe pulled back and straightened up. “The Emperor is currently meeting with one of his advisors in his office, so you’ll have to wait until he’s finished” she informed him. “Anyways, enjoy the rest of your day, soldier.”

“And you as well, miss,” Rael replied. He waited until the woman had walked past him and out of sight before he started forward once again.

Gavin let out a deep sigh of relief, but otherwise kept quiet, which was for the best considering there were still guards about. Rael didn’t fail to notice that the human hadn’t moved away from his body. Even through his clothes, Rael could feel the slight movements that brushed against his chest. Were he not a man of fortitude, he may have reacted to the ticklish sensation.

After turning a corner, Rael made it to the more secluded area of the palace that housed the Emperor’s personal office. He was surprised to find the small sitting area outside the office completely vacant. Typically, there was at least one guard stationed outside the door so long as the Emperor was inside.

Rael furrowed his brows. Had the scribe not confirmed that the Emperor was indeed in his office, he might have suspected the ruler was elsewhere. But, since Rael couldn’t risk potentially barging in on a private meeting, he wouldn’t be able to check to be certain. “We’re going to have to wait,” he told Gavin in a low voice.

“Okay, yeah..good,” the human replied, not bothering to hide his relief at getting to postpone his impending judgement.

Being sure to keep Gavin steady, Rael took a seat on the stone bench across from the door to the Emperor’s office. It was only once he was seated that he realized how cramped the hand that was holding Gavin was. For quite awhile now he’d been making a concentrated effort to keep the appendage still so as to not accidentally exacerbate the human’s injuries.

“I’m going to set you down beside me, alright?” Rael waited for Gavin’s nod of confirmation before carefully relocating him onto the bench. Once the human was safely settled on his own two feet, Rael gratefully shook out his aching hand.

“Nothing like a giant castle to make a guy feel small,” Gavin remarked with a nervous chuckle as he sat down.

Rael glanced down at the human thoughtfully. Sometimes he forgot that in Gavin’s eyes, humans weren’t unusually tiny and weak creatures. To him, humans were normal sized--therefore he perceived alteons as giants. It was strange for Rael to imagine, because he couldn’t help but see Gavin as anything but tiny. “It’s quite large even to us alteons, if that’s any consolation,” he said honestly. “Anyone unfamiliar with the layout is bound to get lost.”

It had taken a good few weeks after beginning work at the palace for Rael to get a hang of navigating the expansive property. The winding hallways and innumerable doors made the place a virtual maze. He could only imagine how daunting it must be for someone of Gavin’s size. It would be effortless for the little guy to get hopelessly lost.

Just then, Rael’s attention was drawn to the office door, which had begun opening. The person who exited was familiar--he was a fellow member of the Imperial Guard. Rael quickly realized that he must have been the one who was meant to be on duty outside the office, though that didn’t explain what he’d been doing inside the room.

“Rael, there you are,” Ashryn greeted as he swiftly shut the door behind him before Rael could even get a glimpse inside the office. “I was wondering when you would arrive.”

Ashryn was tall and well muscled. His skin was a touch lighter than Rael’s and his braided hair was of a chestnut brown color. Judging by his broad shoulders and sharp jawline, the guy would undoubtedly make for an intimidating adversary.

“The Emperor just asked me for some insight on a few matters,” Ashryn explained, gesturing back towards the office. Rael suppressed a look of confusion. He had never really heard of a guard of Ashryn’s rank being asked for input from the Emperor himself. “But enough about that,” Ashryn declared, interrupting Rael’s contemplation. “I’m eager to meet this human criminal.” In an instant his gaze was upon Gavin. A sly smile tugged at the corner of his lips, and there was a glint in those pale green eyes of his that Rael didn’t like in the slightest.

#g/t #giant/tiny #g/t writing #my writing #oc: gavin stone #oc: rael

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captainkappa · 3 years

Text

Fanfic:: Out of Reach

“Soulmates” has become the equivalent of “love at first sight” across the galaxy. Lock eyes with someone, hold out a bare hand for a greeting, it’s as simple as that. .

But Din doesn’t think about any of that as he stares at the black-robed Jedi in front of him.

Or "The 5 Times Din and Luke Didn't Touch Skin-to-Skin and the 1 Time They Did'

Day 1 of @dinlukenation‘s Dinluke week! My very first soulmate AU ever!

A HUGE thanks to @notsosweet16 for betaing!

AO3 Link

-=-=-=-

“Soulmates” has become the equivalent of “love at first sight” across the galaxy. Lock eyes with someone, hold out a bare hand for a greeting, it’s as simple as that. People’s hands are covered in tattoos where they first made contact with their soulmate, romantic or otherwise. Wearing gloves has become something of a statement, limiting your ability to easily find your soulmate.

But Din doesn’t think about any of that as he stares at the black-robed Jedi in front of him. He doesn’t think about soulmates, or his Creed, or anything of the sort. He just thinks about Grogu, how he wants him to see his face clearly before he has to go with his people.

And so, he takes off his helmet, finally able to look at Grogu without the filter of the T-visor.

Din can’t imagine handing Grogu over, can’t imagine physically being responsible for this separation. He sets Grogu on the floor, lets him toddle to safety, something Din could never provide.

He doesn’t remember how he got back on Boba’s ship. His helmet is still off but he has the vague notion that no one saw him.

Not that it matters.

He comes out of the fog when his body cries for it, so he drags himself out of the cot and to the fresher, cognizant enough to be thankful no one else is in this part of the ship.

He takes care of his business and is faced with his reflection in the mirror. He realizes then that he should’ve kept his gaze to the sink, but now that he’s looking, he can’t tear his gaze away.

Puffy, red rimmed eyes meet his, brown curls matted to one side where he’d been laying down, but he can’t pull his eyes away to the small flower tattoo on his cheek. Din doesn’t know a damn thing about flowers, but it’s small and green, with a million little petals surrounding the center.

It’s right where Grogu touched him.

As if he didn’t know already, as if he needed magic ink to tell him what he knew in his heart of hearts from that first moment he held out a finger to the child.

He stays there until his legs burn and the tears come back. He’s glad no one is there to watch him.

Din is slumping in his seat, one of the first things they beat out of foundlings before they earned their armor. Beskar is sacred, it demands a straight spine and discipline when wearing it.

He couldn’t think of a better way to make his displeasure known for this political party Bo-Katan is dragging him to than to slump in his seat on the ride there. Especially in this gold-plated nonsense Bo-Katan pulled out once they’d taken back Sundari. This armor isn’t his, it’s a shell that other Mandos are shoved in, a shell Din never asked for.

Bo-Katan turns around in her seat to face him, a scowl on her face. She almost looks as displeased with the situation as Din does.

“You’re acting like a child,” she says.

“Then fight me.” He holds the darksaber loosely in his hand, dangerously close to dropping it.

“I’m not about to kick a man when he’s already down. Pull yourself together and I’ll challenge you.” She turns back, eyes to the swirl of hyperspace. “We’re nearly there, pull yourself together.”

That’s been the majority of their interactions for the past few months. Bo-Katan refuses to take the saber back unless it’s a fair fight and he can’t bring himself to care. What’s left is a lot of tight silences. While Din still finds that taking back Mandalore is a fool’s errand, he can at least admit that kicking Imp ass feels cathartic.

But the weight in his chest comes back when he takes off his helmet in the borrowed room on the cruiser. Then he feels like he has all the time to consider never putting his helmet on again, leaving him to stare at the reflection, at that small bundle of petals on his cheek.

Din only has four other soulmate tattoos; two from his parents, one from the Armorer, and one from Paz. He’s seen people in the galaxy with thousands, covering their entire bodies. It’s in these moments he decides to keep the helmet on, if only to hold this small part to himself, to keep it as secret as possible.

Today, Bo-Katan needs him as the figurehead for some New Republic party. Din wanted to tune out the plans, but Koska’s infernal tapping prevented that. The whole point of this was to make a strong showing in order to prove that Mandalore was strong enough to not join the New Republic. That political meeting wouldn’t take place for a month, but Din still had to go to this stupid party.

They exit hyperspace to see Chandrilla, a bright spot in the sights. They bring the small vessel to where they’re directed, landing in amongst a hundred other ships with senators of all races disembarking. Din clips the darksaber to his belt and heaves himself up, following after Bo-Katan with Wolves at his back.

He tunes out of the security check, with Kryze firmly stating that “the Mand’alor” would not be without his darksaber. Din wants to shove the offending thing in the security guard’s direction, let it get lost, let the responsibility fall from his shoulders.

But the security guard bends to Kryze’s will and the darksaber remains firmly at his side as they enter the paty, descending a short staircase to the main area.

It’s not as opulent as Din expected, he’s crashed fancier when bringing in bounties. He can hear Bo-Katan whisper to Wolves about how different it would’ve been on Mandalore in its prime, with matching tables and tablecloths, with crystals all of the same matching set. Din tunes out the conversation to look for the quietest place to hunker down and wait for the night to end. The area is entirely open, tall windows letting in light from the setting sun, illuminating where senators mingle and where tables are set up for dinner later.

He continues his scan of the room but stops as his eyes lock with a man across the room, a man with dirty blond hair, wearing all black robes.

Din barely realizes he’s walking until he is face to face with the man.

He can barely keep the fury out of his voice when he asks, “Where’s Grogu?”

The man, who looked calm before, now looks at him with raised eyebrows. “I- You changed your armor.”

That… isn’t the response he had been expecting, but it still doesn’t answer his question.

“You said Grogu would be safe with you. Where is he?”

He steps forward, forcing the Jedi to step back, but he’s not scared like most people are when he does that.

“He is safe! I couldn’t get out of attending so I got Chewie to babysit! I’ll be back as soon as I can. Sometimes I’m forced to come to New Republic meetings, but I have systems in place.” The Jedi looks him dead in the eyes, an impressive feat considering the helmet. “I give you my word that your son is safe.”

The sincerity grips Din to his core and before he can say anything in response, Bo-Katan has finally caught up to him and is dragging him away.

She brings him to an alcove that he’s already decided will be where he spends the rest of the party. She thrusts a finger in his face. He doesn’t flinch.

“I didn’t mind you doing your own thing at this party because I thought you wouldn’t do anything,” she hisses. “I didn’t expect you to yell at the last karking Jedi in the galaxy! Don’t do that again!”

“Whatever you say, princess.”

The look on her face is one of the best things he’s seen recently. He makes a mental note to thank Fett for teaching him that insult.

The rest of the party passes in a blur. Din stays where he is, just watching from the shadows. Sometimes he catches sight of the Jedi, who seems to have made it his mission to talk to everyone. He cuts an imposing figure still, even when not in combat, in all black robes flowing behind him. Dinner is served and Din stays in place, knowing there are ration bars on the ship.

He sees the Jedi laugh at something a woman in white says, his head tilted back, and he looks the most human he has all night. Din turns back to watching the two Nite Owls.

Finally, Bo-Katan signals that the night is over. He leaves his spot and joins them. They’re halfway up the steps when a voice calls out to them.

He turns to find the Jedi, face slightly flushed, a step or so below them.

“Manda’lor, I apologize for how the night started. I wish to make steps in order to make up for that in the future, if you’ll allow it,” he said, holding a gloved hand out.

He could feel the heat of Bo-Katan’s stare on the back of his neck.

“Okay,” he says, shaking his hand.

That’s why he hears the scrape of flimsi against the leather of his gloves. He pulls back his hand, palming the paper to look at later. The Jedi nods and wishes them a safe flight.

It’s only when he’s safe in his room on the cruiser does he look at the paper the Jedi slipped him.

It’s a set of coordinates and a note.

The Jedi school needs to be kept a secret to ensure the safety of the padawans. I’ll be back on the surface in two standard days. I hope this is okay as a first step.

-Luke Skywalker

He leaves for Yavin as soon as he can. Bo-Katan doesn’t question him, just lets him take one of the ships from the cruiser with the promise that he will come back when he’s of right mind to fight her for the darksaber.

It’s the first time they’ve agreed on anything. He leaves the gold-plated beskar in the borrowed room and leaves, feeling more like himself than he has in a while.

As he powers up the hyperdrive, the same phrase burns its way through his skull.

I’m going to see Grogu again.

A restless few hours in hyperspace later, he arrives on Yavin IV in the early morning. He picks up a hail and it’s Skywalker, who leads him through where to land.

He lands near one of the tall structures that poke out of the tree line. The ramp of the ship lowers, but when he sees Grogu, held in the arms of the Jedi, it’s not soon enough. He leaps off the ship, landing in a way that his knees will protest later, but he can’t help himself. His son is there, wiggling out of the Jedi’s grip so he can run up and meet him in the middle.

Din scoops his child up and holds him close, pressing his forehead to his. Grogu babbles nonsense and it’s the most beautiful noise he’s heard.

When his heart stops racing, he looks up and realizes that Skywalker is surrounded by five other kids, a human, a Miraluka, a Wookie, and two Twi’leks.

His gaze finds Luke’s again.

He clears his throat. “Thank you.”

Skywalker gives him an easy smile and says, “Let me show you around.”

He gets the tour of the temple, often interrupted by the curious questions of the children who have latched onto him. At the end, Luke shuffles everyone off to dinner, but holds Din back for a moment, a hand on his elbow, fingers finding the spaces between his armor.

“This isn’t a one-time thing,” Luke says. “You’re welcome back to the school whenever you want. I just ask that you don’t interrupt Grogu’s lessons and you keep the school a secret.”

And with that, Din falls into a routine.

He starts taking bounties again, something Greef is all the more happy for even if he sticks to small ones that won’t take months to bring in. He visits the school at least once a month, circling the planet if need be, to make sure he doesn’t land during lessons. He’s thankful for any time he gets with Grogu, before or after lessons.

It’s in the times in-between where he finds himself surprisingly restless. Luke said to consider himself a guest, but his body itches for action. Yavin is a peaceful planet, so instead of action, he finds projects for himself.

First are the lights in the basement. Then a side door that hesitates a second too long before opening. Luke tries to dissuade him from working, but Din’s stalwart. The next time Din comes for a visit, Luke shows him the list of updates he wanted to do, which he had made when he first moved in, again reassuring Din that he doesn’t need to do anything with it.

Din takes it gladly.

He’s working on the overhead fan in the kitchen - it gets stuck on the highest setting - when Luke’s droid bumps the back of his leg. Luke has introduced it to him, but the name escapes him. He doesn’t find himself recoiling from droids anymore, but he still prefers to put distance between droids and himself and Grogu.

He glances down at the shiny blue and white astromech. “What?”

The droid spins in a circle, beeping loudly.

“What? Do you want a damn cookie?”

The droid spins in a more furious circle and finally, he sees the problem.

“Oh, your wheel is stuck.”

The droid lets out a beep that sounds exasperated, but he can’t be sure.

“Well, why are you telling me? Go tell Skywalker.”

The droid makes a bunch more beeping noises and moves toward the window. Din, at a loss for what else to do, followed. He sees Luke in the courtyard with the padawans. They’re sitting in a circle, legs crossed, eyes closed. Even at this distance, Din can see how peaceful Luke looks, how the lines smooth from his face, lines someone Luke’s age shouldn’t have yet.

He looks down at the droid that’s moving in a semi-circle, back and forth. He thinks it’s trying to look cute.

“Alright. Lemme see it.”

It’s an awkward dance to get the droid to prop up its leg. He imagines Luke must have a space set up for this very thing, but his tools are already here and he’s not about to go poking where Luke hasn’t already told him he could go.

It’s where Luke and the foundlings find him when they come in for lessons, Din hunched over the astromech, quietly bitching back as it beeps in apparent distress.

“I’m almost done!” Din exclaims, holding the last two wires in his hand. “Do you want me to stop here? Your movement would be even more limited.”

“Are you two having fun?” Luke asks, snapping Din out of his reverie.

He turns to face a smirking Luke, glad the helmet hides the warmth inexplicably climbing up his face.

“This thing demanded I fix his leg.” He taps the leg in question, which gets Artoo’s head spinning.

Luke snorts but puts on the same face he gives his students when they’ve done something bad. “That’s not very nice, Artoo, he was just trying to help!”

Artoo shakes its head, which might be an apology? Din can’t tell because then Luke is squatting down in front of him, a hand on Din’s knee for balance.

“If he’s not going to thank you, I will. You didn’t have to.”

And Din realizes he didn’t. It had never occurred to him not to do this for Artoo, for Luke.

“You were busy, and this piece of shit wasn’t letting up.”

That definitely gets him an angry beep from Artoo, but Luke just smiles.

“He’s definitely thankful,” he says with a smile that seems to come easy to him.

Din, not knowing what to say in response, just nods and finishes soldering the last wires in place. With the hatch in place, Artoo straightens up and gives them a turn around the kitchen. He then gives a series of loud beeps as he turns in a tight circle.

“Yes, you look very nice,” Luke says to the droid, who bumps his leg in affirmation. Luke continues, “Well, while I’m here, do you want a tune up, buddy?”

The droid spins his head in an affirmative and Luke chuckles.

“Alright, let’s go down to my workshop.”

Luke takes a couple of steps before turning back.

“Coming?”

Din looks up from where he was putting his tools away. “Do… you want me here?”

“Of course! Besides, you know what they say, four hands are better than two.”

“I’ve never heard that before.”

“You’ve never met a besalisk before then.”

Din just shakes his head, an amused smile on his face that he knows Luke can’t see, but he packs up his tools and follows Luke to the workshop, which is easily the messiest place in the temple. Parts are strewn everywhere, there are tables but they merely serve as a means to hold more stuff, but Luke walks in like it’s home, throwing his robe over a chair, shoulders relaxing with the movement.

Artoo wheels over to a spot against the wall, and Din quickly realizes the platform elevates for better access on the droid. The tools float over and with a jerk of Luke’s head, he beckons Din over.

He settles in on the other side of Artoo, wordlessly putting his tools with Luke’s between them. He lets Luke open the main access panel and already, the astromech is beeping up a storm.

“What’s he saying?”

Luke doesn’t look up from his work, pulling out the necessary parts and handing some over to Din.

“Artoo is bitching about the last time I did this for him. No, it was not on Hoth.” He lightly smacks the droid’s recently fixed leg.

Din can’t help the way his head tilts. “Why would you ever go to Hoth?”

“It was a Rebel base for a while.”

And Luke launches into a story about the initial days at that base, jumping into the snow just to jump in the hot springs. That turns into his story taking down an AT-AT by himself. He can tell Luke is skipping over parts based on when he pauses, but Din doesn’t mind the censorship. Din even finds himself recounting the events of Sorgan. He finds himself startlingly content like this, passing tools to one another, swapping stories, a mouthy droid between them.

Din can’t find Luke anywhere, but he’s not about to panic just yet.

The last time he has seen Luke was when they were trading off kids. Since the list of repairs has gotten shorter and shorter, he helps with the children. Luke has never asked for his help, but the grateful look is evident to Din when he arrives to take the foundlings off his hands. Din is in charge of the kids after lessons, giving Luke the break he desperately needs before dinner. On some days, Din has to leave a heated plate outside of Luke’s door, the Jedi already passed out from a long day.

And so, with Artoo on reluctant-babysitter duty, Din wanders the halls of the temple, checking in all the usual places; the workshop, the study, the meditation room, and the man’s personal room.

It’s only when he walks outside the temple and looks up does he find Luke, a dark spot on the levels of the temple. He didn’t even know there was a way to get onto them.

So, he powers on his jetpack and takes a short flight up. Luke glances at him for a moment before he looks back to the horizon. Din swallows, noticing how the robe falls off his shoulder, revealing a brown tunic, the collar being pulled down with the weight of the robe, revealing freckled skin.

“You missed dinner,” he says, by way of greeting.

“Ah, sorry. I was cleaning after the kids and looked up and… have you seen anything like it?”

Din looks at the horizon and he really tries, but it looks most of the same as most sunsets he’s seen on moons like Yavin IV; varying shades of red petering off into soft clouds.

He sits down, leaving plenty of space between him and Luke, to try and see if being at his level will give him the same experience. It doesn’t

Before he can give an appropriate answer, Luke whips his head around and stares at him, really scrutinizing him. Din is struck dumb for a moment, unaware as to why he’s under such a microscope.

Finally, Luke speaks up. “How well can you see the colors?”

“Not terribly well.” When was the last time he looked at a sunset without the helmet? Sorgan, all those months ago?

Luke considers him again before pulling at the cloth belt at his waist. Before Din can realize what he’s doing, the cloth is around his eyes, firmly tied in place.

“Here. This okay?” Luke asks.

Din is struck dumb for another moment. Luke had just been waxing about how beautiful the sunset was and now… was blinding himself so Din could see. Has anyone ever done that for him? Din can’t remember.

“Um… how well can you see?”

“I see a little bit of the sky, but that’s it. Dark as night in here.”

Din holds up three fingers. “How many fingers am I holding up?”

“One,” he says with a smile like he’s told a joke.

“Okay… okay.” Din takes a shaky breath before undoing the clasp and removing his helmet, putting it to the side.

Immediately, the world is bathed in a soft red. He looks to the horizon and his breath catches in his throat. The sun is low in the sky, surrounded by a deep orange that fades into red. The clouds, as few of them that there are, look like they’re on fire. He shifts closer to Luke, just enough so the glare of the sun against his ship (his ship, that he bought with his own money, no longer relying on Bo-Katan’s charity) is no longer in his eyes.

Luke must correctly interpret his silence for awe.

“Right?” Luke says, happiness clear in his voice. “But I’ll be honest, no sunset can match a binary sunset on Tatooine.”

“You’re from Tatooine?”

“Yeah, 19 miserable years under those suns. ‘Course now… I think a lot differently about that time.”

And just like that, Luke is talking about shooting womp rats and all the things he and his friends did to fight off the boredom. He touches on the excitement when his friends were getting their soulmate tattoos, the games they’d play to touch and see. His hands fly about as he does so and Din can detect a hint of a twang in his voice the more he talks about his past. He also catches how his voice pauses when he talks about his aunt and uncle who raised him, but he doesn’t press.

His hands settle as Din finds himself talking about his youth in the Fighting Corps, the mischief he and his siblings would get into, even when they should have been too tired to move.

Din looks down and sees that the tips of Luke’s fingers are touching his own. He can’t tell if it’s on purpose or not, so he leaves his hand there.

By the time the other moons are visible, the two of them are still up there.

Maybe it’s a bad idea to take a high-profile bounty right after losing the darksaber to Bo-Katan, but Din is feeling on top of the world, so he decides to act like it. As he nurses his wounds on his ship, it’s clear he’s rustier than he realized.

He delivers on the bounty though, he’s not that out of practice. Nonetheless, he ends up using more bacta on himself than he anticipated. That’s after realizing that the tube was expired by a couple of months, but he slips into old habits, using the spray anyway.

As much as Din planned on going straight to Yavin, he lingers in Nevarro, lingering in the market before buckling down and using his new found credits. He buys a pack of cookies for the foundlings, a plush bantha for Grogu, and he hesitates further before grabbing the leather gloves and slapping them on top of the pile.

Din spends most of the ride to Yavin IV wondering if he should forget the gloves or give them to Luke as intended. He doesn’t think about how his hand keeps finding his arm and rubbing at it.

He comms ahead to let Luke know he’s arriving so that when he touches down, Luke’s corralling the children to stand far enough back. Grogu is the first to escape, running up and not slowing down, but Din considers himself an expert at picking up his son, even when he’s holding things in his other hand. The children crowd around him and soon he’s divested of the cookies and plush. He can see the other man’s expression soften at the sight, and further soften when Din holds out the gloves.

“I… I thought of you when I saw them,” he says, suddenly nervous.

Luke takes them, bare hand feeling the smooth leather. He looks back up to Din.

“Thank you,” he says. His eyes slide down Din’s body, holding him in place until he stops.

He turns to the children around him. “Tayf, can you bring everyone inside for nap time?”

The Miraluka girl nods, corralling all of the smaller children into the Temple. The Wookie walks up and wordlessly holds out his hands for Grogu. Din gives him over easily, knowing how much Grogu loves his new friends. He goes to follow the kids, but a firm hand on his elbow stops him.

Leaning in close, Luke whispers, “Are you okay?”

“What?”

Luke balls up the sleeve of his robes and pressed on his arm. He looks up at him with intent in his eyes. “You’re bleeding.”

Din looks himself over and the movement causes pain to flare up on his arm and that’s when he remembers.

“I’m fine. The bacta I used had expired, but that’s it.”

Luke’s still looking at him with a steely gaze, but the grip on his elbow lessens.

“Can you… indulge me and let me help you out still? You should probably wash out the old bacta anyway.”

Din’s tongue suddenly feels much heavier. “But your students…”

“Can handle nap time by themselves. Please? If your Creed will allow it?”

Din accepts.

Luke keeps an arm on him the entire walk there and Din has reasons why that’s unnecessary on the tip of his tongue, that he’s survived far, far worse, that the wound is on his arm and not his hand, but he keeps his mouth shut. Luke steers him to a fresher that is out of the way enough that the kids won’t walk in on them.

Luke gestures for him to sit on the edge of the tub and once seated, looks much more nervous than he did outside.

“Um, if you need me to turn around or… something.”

“I can take off my armor while you grab the bacta?”

“Yes! Yes, that’s a good idea!”

Luke leaves. Alone, Din carefully pulls off and lays down the pauldron and vambrace on the ground next to him. He considers the flight suit before carefully rolling it up past the wound. It squeezes uncomfortably, but it’s better than stripping entirely or cutting the sleeve.

Luke returns with a small pile of things in his hands.

“This is maybe a little too much but,” the glove snaps against his skin and he hisses, “you never know.”

Din just nods, suddenly trying to remember the last person who took this much care with him.

The actual process of cleaning up and bandaging is quick. Not much blood was trickling out, so it was a routine process. That’s what Din tells himself as he hyperfocuses on the occasional drag of the glove on his skin, the tender way Luke’s fingers prod at the wound for signs of infection, how their faces seem so, so close right now.

But it’s a barely there feeling, and then Din is pulling the sleeve back into place and Luke is shucking off the latex.

“Thank you.”

Luke gives him a small smile. “Just make sure you restock before you leave. The temple’s stores are open to you.”

“I know.”

Luke turns to start dinner but pauses. “Thank you for the gloves by the way.”

“It’s nothing.”

“No, it’s not.”

The wound tingled for ages after Luke left, and Din was left to consider if it was because of the bacta working or Luke’s proximity. He brings up his other hand to trace the wound, to try and chase that lingering warmth.

+1.

All of the famous soulmate stories involve the touch being a big climactic moment. Holos show the touch happening at the exact right or wrong time. Stars, even Han and Leia had that moment, shouting at each other in the Rebel base. According to Luke, everyone could recount where they were when the shouting suddenly stopped as they made contact.

Din and Luke don’t get a big moment. They get dishes.

The padawans are all asleep in their beds. Din is washing dishes and Luke is drying. Din’s gloves lie abandoned on the table. Din hands a bowl to Luke, their fingers brush with no thought-

And then it clicks.

The two of them whip their heads up to stare at each other, the bowl forgotten on the floor, shattered.

“Did that-?”

“Are we-?”

Din pulls his arm closer to him to confirm that yes, there’s now a small flower tattoo where their fingers brushed, bright, long golden petals drooping toward his palm.

He looks up and sees Luke checking the same with his hand.

Din tries to battle down the rising panic in his throat as he speaks, “I- It’s okay, this doesn’t have to be anything else than friendship.”

Luke looks up sharply. “What… what if I want it to be more?”

“But… attachments?”

“I’m attached to my sister whether I like it or not. I… I’m a grown ass man who can love without falling to the darkside. I’d be able to let you go, like now if you said you wanted to stay friends.”

Din feels dizzy as he admits, “I don’t want to just be friends.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah.”

They hold eye contact and Din is suddenly aware of the space between them.

And how he doesn’t want there to be space between them.

He grasps Luke’s fingers, this time better appreciating the warmth in them. He feels Luke’s fingers flex against his and that just emboldens him to reach up with his other hand and cup the other man’s face. He can more so feel rather than hear how Luke’s voice hitches, feels the warmth of his cheeks as they flare red.

“Can I… do something?”

“Sure,” Luke says, a touch breathless.

Din lets go of Luke’s jaw and brings his hand around. He tangles his fingers in Luke’s hair, sighing at the softens, at the knots he runs into, made from being out all day with the kids.

He tilts Luke’s head forward, bringing his head forward as well, until their foreheads meet. Luke closes his eyes with the movement and Din is just happy to stand here.

He whispers, “This is called a keldabe kiss.”

Still with eyes closed, Luke smiles. “I like it.”

Din does too.

#dinluke #skydalorian #din djarin x luke skywalker #din djarin/luke skywalker #dinluke week #man i hope even more people participate thoughout the rest of the week!#so many firsts packed into this fic #ok i think thats enough tags #omg guess whos a dumbass and forgot teir own fanfic related tags #this bitch #kappa writes #my fanfic #the mandalorian #star wars #sw

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