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spacecowboyhotch · 11 months

Text

summary: never wanted love, just a fancy car.

pairing: cowgirl!reader x cowboy!din

contents: 18+/nsfw/smut, cowboy au, typical Wild West violence & values (murder, stealing), flirting, pining, perceived unrequited feelings, yearning (if you squint)

wc: 4k

an: part two comin at yaaaaa. these two are so special to me. reader does have a code name in this that she uses, so if your name is scarlet sorry in advance!

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ch 1: takes one to know one

You don’t discuss the logistics or practicality of sticking together, you just do it. After meandering in Strawberry a few days longer to garner more money and supplies the two of you head southeast.

Din has a tent. You’ve gotten used to traveling as light as possible and staying in structures that already exist so as not to draw attention to yourself. But you already feel safer traveling with him. You feel yourself loosening up in the wake of his companionship and competency. And in that, you find a discomfort you’re not ready to unpack.

The town you end up in after dabbling in Strawberry– Cheyenne– is the closest thing you’ve seen to a true city. There are talks and whispers of New York and all the structure and opportunity it brings. Bustling with thousands of folk, buggies, art, and theater. Not to mention proper plumbing. But, settling down isn’t an option right now– or ever—you quickly remind yourself, as not to get your hopes up for something that doesn’t exist. Besides, you’re not sure you could ever imagine yourself working a steady job. Staying put in one place sounds so…stagnant.

Cheyenne is markets in back alleys, crowded streets, and a view of the sea. You’re grateful for the cool, salty air of the coast during this hellish summer. But the city has its cons: mixed in with the salty air is the stench of pollution that comes with such a populated place. Its lawman force— ever present and large— works to you and Din’s disadvantage. The work you do is harder in a place like this but the spoils will last you ten times over than in places like Strawberry or Annesburg.

You and Din have taken a room at an inn close to the edge of the city. You’ve just returned from a bath down the hall, one that was well overdue. Din’s already dressed in sleeping clothes, his hair wet and slicked back from his own bath. For just a moment you wonder what his hair feels lik. If it's as soft or thick as it looks. Whatever spell that is breaks when he closes his eyes as you enter in just a towel, turning over in the bed.

There’s nothing there for him, not that you can pick up. It shouldn’t matter, there’s nothing there for you either. He’s your partner, life has been so much better with him at your side already. It runs smoother, it feels safer. The fuzzy, unfocused picture that you were living in sharpened. Why would either of you even think to jeopardize something that works so well with the simple thought of more? You won’t.

“There’s a big wig in this city. Robert Leroy— folks call him Bobby,” You say to distract yourself from the sinking feeling in your stomach.

“What’s he got to do with anythin’? We’ve got our targets.”

You and Din had stopped at the jail as soon as you’d entered the city, eager to pick up as many bounties as you could. It earns you some trust with the lawmen and gives you an excuse to meander the city at any time, asking questions to get the lay of the land and search for real targets. This time it was easier than that, but it doesn’t mean you won’t maximize your time here, exploring every possible avenue of income.

“Bobby is the reason they’re our targets. I used my charm on the sheriff, he says Bobby’s the one who put the price on their heads. We get them and maybe we get invited to that big fancy party that’s next week.”

You aren’t able to see it, but Din frowns, teeth gritting at the mention of using your charm. He should be used to it by now, and it should never bother him. But in the recesses of his mind, there’s no denying that it does. None of those men deserve to look at you, let alone witness your charm.

“Party,” Din repeats, sounding skeptical.

“It’s at his house. His mansion. The one full of expensive shit,” You explain as you slip into the only thing of your mother’s you have left— an old, scratchy nightgown.

“You’re still not sellin’ it, girl.”

“We can’t pass up all the riches in that man’s house, Din. You’ll have to deal. I’ll charm, you’ll steal and we’ll leave this place,” You insist as you slide into bed next to him, facing away so that your backs are just a few inches apart.

Din’s body radiates heat and despite the sweltering heat, you stay beneath the blanket with him. Sometimes if the two of you sleep close enough to the other, you’ll wake up tangled in his arms the next morning. Neither of you say anything about it, going about those mornings as if they’re any other. And maybe they are.

“Do we gotta?”

“Strawberry’s reapings will only last so long,” You reason, glancing over your shoulder at him.

“You charm, I steal,” He repeats his version of your words and you can hear the mirth in his sandy voice.

“I just said that.”

“Did you? I didn’t hear,” He stretches, snuggling further in the mattress.

“You’re full of shit.”

He snorts, shaking his head, “Go to bed, girl, we’ve got busy days ahead.”

Din was right— the next week the two of you work from sunrise to sunset capturing all the bounties you’d collected from the sheriff. Some are easier than others, frequented black markets or popular bars for folk that run in your lifestyle.

But there’s one that’s tedious to catch; Stagecoach Mary, a notorious cowgirl who you’ve always admired all holed up in her little shack that rests in its own little bayou just outside of the city. The shootout with her eats up most of your ammo, and a bullet ends up grazing your arm. Din gets Mary hog-tied and strapped to his horse before he comes to check on you. He’s deathly quiet like he always is, but you can feel the urgency in his movements. He removes your button-down without asking, using some of the water in his canteen to cleanse the wound before he covers it in salve and wraps it.

“You alright?” He asks quietly as he helps you back into your shirt.

Your eyes go a bit wide at the raw sound of concern in his voice, but you quickly brush it off, “S’just a scratch, I’ll be just fine.”

“You’re sure?”

“I’m sure, Din,” You say gently, and though it stings like a bitch, you aren’t going to say differently. The last thing your resolve needs is him fawning over you, worried about your health.

His gaze raises to meet yours, eyes narrowing to appraise you before he sighs and starts towards his horse. Mary is quiet on the ride back thankfully, and when you drop her off at the sheriff’s office, you get exactly what you two have been working so hard for. Bobby himself is there– the sheriff had told him about you and Din, how promising your skills had been so far and he wanted to thank you both personally.

He looks like money, with frills and shiny leather shoes, his hair slicked back with a pomade that smells like pine, ““I can’t thank you fine people enough. She’s been a real thorn in my side.”

You take the hand he’s offered, shaking it daintly, “We’re happy to help Mr. LeRoy, no one should have to leave in fear.”

Leroy squeezes your hand before bending to kiss it, “Please, sweetheart, call me Bobby.”

You giggle softly, batting your eyelashes at him, “Bobby, then. I’m Scar. This is my partner Djarin.”

Din blinks in surprise before quickly schooling his expression into the impassive mask he’s so good at. It's the first that he’s heard of your name. He knows that this is part of the charm, knows that you wouldn’t give this man– or any man– your real name, but curiosity blooms inside of him. Had you just picked it randomly? Did it have any deeper meaning? Is it close to your real name?

“Scar? As in Scarlet? What a precious little gem,” Bobby runs his hand down the length of your arm, turning to look at Din with a glint of jealousy in his eyes. “Djarin, bet you never get enough of this sweet woman’s charm.”

“We aren’t— she’s my workin’ partner, s’all,” Din says firmly, though the way that he clenches his jaw says otherwise.

But who is Bobby to tell a grown man how he truly feels? Especially if he can reap benefits. He grins, turning back to look at you, “Well I’ll be hog wallered, I thought a dime like you’d be taken, Scar. If that’s true…I’m having this grand party in just a few days. Come, the both of you.”

“Oh, we couldn’t Bobby!”

“I insist!”

A sly grin spreads across your face and you smooth your hand over his, “Well if you insist. We’ll be there.”

A few nights later, after spending the days in fitting rooms, shopping (and stealing), you and Din are finishing up getting ready for the party in your inn room. You peek around the partition to make sure that he’s dressed and your mouth goes dry. He’s in a sleek black suit, the silver accents of his belt buckle and cowboy boots glinting in the last rays of sun that flood the small room. He looks incredible, his hair wet and slicked back, skin scrubbed completely clean. You lean back, bracing yourself against the wall as you force those thoughts out of your head. A distraction, you need a distraction. You look down at your dress, toying with the skirts– perhaps your distraction could be in distracting him.

“How do I look?” You ask as you step from behind the partition, holding your arms out as if to present yourself.

Din simply stares at you, and you’re about to tell him to forget it when he finally speaks. “You look—“ He stops, going quiet for what seems like forever before he clears his throat.

“What, is it? I look bad, don’t I? It’s stuffy, but we gotta look the part.” Your head tilts as you turn this and that way, watching the skirt flutter as you twirl.

“You look—it’s good,” He supplies, turning towards the mirror to fiddle with his tie. He swallows, ignoring the way the fabric of his tie sticks to his sweaty hands.

You turn to look at him, frown deepening as you smooth your hands down the intricate corset of the dress, “You sure? I need him to look at me, and if it’s not pleasin'—“

“It’s plenty pleasin’, now finish up and let’s go.”

You and Din rented a carriage, standing out to others invited would just make this evening worse. The ride– like most of your traveling with Din– is quiet, and you fiddle with your fingers, forcing yourself not to pick at the polish you’d gotten down for the occasion.

The mansion is grand, all cream with pillars and statues so delicate they look fit to shatter if you look at them wrong. You’re guided inside by men dressed in impeccable suits, hor devours and glasses of champagne pressed into your hands as you make your way through the expansive foyer and down the stairs into an even large backyard.

This is something you could only imagine in those moving pictures you’ve only had time to see once or twice. There are tables full of food and alcohol, droves of people dressed to the nines dancing and laughing and eating. And while you’re impressed, disgust accompanies it. The excess when there are so many who don’t have enough to make it a week. You’d seen plenty of unhoused folks on the streets as you and Din explored Cheyenne and this party could feed them all for days on end. You swallow your disdain for everyone here by focusing on the goal and painting a smile on your face as you breeze through the crowd. Try as you might, you can’t find Bobby so you park at a table that’s moderately far from the various groups of others.

“Maybe he hasn’t come out yet,” You whisper to Din as you pretend to look over some of the food. It looks so fancy that it’ll make you sick.

“Stay here and watch for’em, I’ll see what I can find out.”

Your eyes don’t leave him as he skates through the crowd easily and your mouth turns down in a frown when he’s stopped by a beautiful woman. To your surprise, he doesn’t blow her off, smiling as he begins to talk to her. You’ve never seen Din like this before. In the short month or so that you two have been together, you’ve been the lead on charming as all the places you’ve been in teem with men and their testosterone. You aren’t sure what this feeling is that rises in your chest as you watch the woman Din is talking to throw her head back with laughter. What you do know is that you want to end. Your feet are moving you towards him before you can think logically about it.

“Djarin, could I speak to you for a moment?” You say in your sweetest, most polite voice— emphasis on your southern drawl.

The woman he’s speaking to gives you a smile that doesn’t touch her eyes.

Din excuses you both, walking you over to a quiet spot beneath an ice sculpture that is surprisingly intact despite the heat of tonight’s air, “What is it, girl?”

Delicately as not to draw anyone’s attention, you remove your arm from his grasp, mouth pressed into a thin line, “What the hell happened to ‘you charm, I steal’?”

“She’s been in the house before. I was gettin’ the lay of it. You ain’t doing much charming if you’re chewin’ me out, are you? Look who it is.”

Bobby has finally made an appearance.

You narrow your eyes at him but stay silent. Din just stares back, unphased and you eventually give up, slinking off to do your part. To charm. Once you’re by his side, Bobby stays close to you like a bee stuck in honey– it's annoying really but this life has given you incredible acting skills so he’s none the wiser.

Lucky for you he gets distracted by some bigwig oil men who start to throw around some big numbers. You stand by his side, listening politely– gathering the names of these men just in case you ever run into them again– until you grow bored. You excuse yourself to the powder room, assuring him that you’ll return shortly as you leave the sweetest kiss on his cheek. You feel the way he shivers against you, his eyes cloudy as he nods.

Not long after you’d gone to talk to Bobby you’d seen Din slip out of the crowd and into the house. It may be a pain to find him a place this large but if you’re caught it’ll be realistic to play a dizzy, turned-around maiden.

As soon as you’re out of sight you spit, wiping your mouth with your sleeve in a move most unladylike as you try to find Din. The halls are empty, it seems as if Bobby’s staff is either occupied with entertaining guests or off for the evening.

“Up here, girl,” Din calls from above you, and when your eyes meet he holds up a sack that looks fit to burst. The smile that spreads across his face is different than the one he’d given the woman he talked to early, this one is genuine and it makes your heart flutter.

“How’s it going?” You ask once you make your way up to the stairs to stand beside him.

“Good, last room we got left is his office. C’mon.”

You follow after him closely, keeping your steps light like a cat so as not to draw any attention from below. When the two of you turn a corner down the final hall which holds Bobby’s office, there are two guards— one blonde, one brunette— standing outside of the door that is gilded in gold. You roll your eyes at its gaudiness but step forward with wide, guileless eyes.

“I’m sorry you two, it seems we’ve got lost trying to find the powder room. Could you help us?” You bat your lashes at the two men, standing up a little taller to push your breasts out.

“Back the way you came, down the stairs, to the left,” the blonde one says, unaffected by your attempt at charm.

Nevertheless, you try again, getting a little closer to the brunette, whose eyes have had a hard time staying on your face.

You gaze up at him with puppy dog eyes, “Could you maybe walk us? I mean— we are lost.”

You raise your hand to fiddle with the distracted guard’s tie, but the first one’s hand shoots out, wrapping tightly around your wrist. You gasp, looking over at the guard in feigned offense, like you’re some helpless maiden– like you wouldn’t slit his throat if your knife wasn’t buried under so many layers of fabric.

“It would do you best to walk away ma’am or I’ll have to call the lawmen,” The blonde says, his grip tightening around your wrist until it makes you wince.

Din takes a step forward, his voice so low and rough it sends a welcome chill down your spine. You don’t have to look at him to know how terrifying he looks right now, “No, it would do you best to let her go or I’ll have to crush your windpipe.”

“You threatenin’ me, yokel?”

You lean closer to the brunette guard, grimacing as you say, “Well this ain’t gonna end well is it?”

His eyes widen for a moment, flickering behind you and you know that Din is moving, already going in for the kill. You do your best to pry your hand from the other guard’s grip but it is tight, and as you struggle the one in front of you struggles to get his gun. As soon as your hand is free you reach for his neck, planting your feet so that you’ll have the strength to snap his neck. There’s a loud crack from beside you before you can get your hands in the right place, and your glance over to Din, seeing the way he followed through— the man's face is red and limp, the blood vessels in his eyes busted.

You regret getting off track because it seems the guard still alive is successful, getting off one shot that flies up into the ceiling. Refocusing, you knee him in the stomach, and his gun clatters to the ground just as you get your hands around his neck and twist as hard as you can.

“Fuck,” You breathe as the second man’s body hits the floor. His gunshot will absolutely draw attention, you and Din need to move quickly.

“In and out, no safes, whatever is unlocked and out in the open.”

You follow his instructions with no hesitation, stepping over the two bodies and moving through Bobby’s office with ease. There are solid gold paperweights, stacks of bonds, maps of train routes and what they’ll be holding, and even a few stacks of money in drawers. It's a jackpot if you’ve ever seen one and the two of you share a look of wonder before kicking it into gear to get out of there. You can hear the footsteps of lawmen rumbling through the house and give Din the signal to move into the room across the hall– it's another powder room. The two of you squeeze into the shower, listening intently as the lawmen call to each other, trying to figure out where you’ve gone.

You hear a voice say, “They must’ve gotten by us. Comb the streets.”

That works perfectly in your favor, and you grin over a Din, knowing that the streets are not how you plan to escape. As soon as the coast is clear, Din grabs your hand, leading you the opposite way of all the lawmen and house staff that have started towards Bobby’s office and bedroom. The two of you sneak out a side door and make your way toward the bayou in the backyard. You’d already set up a boat there to make an escape— no one would expect it since you and Din had rented a carriage to arrive.

He helps you step in the boat, grasping the hem of your skirts so that it’s easier for you to step in, and joins you as soon as you're settled. He doesn’t know how to row— not well at least— so you grab the oars and get to work. Your horses are strewn up to trees not too far from here and afterward you’ll collect your belongings from the inn and leave Cheyenne for good.

Din has started to count the money he retrieved, thumbing through the bills with his steady fingers.

“I pocketed a few things here and there while I waited for you— mostly watches but some wallets too. This should be a lot, we could rest in the next town for a bit if you wanted,” You whisper into the night.

He nods at you but doesn’t stop counting, pulling out a few gold bars you imagine he got from a safe. Once he’s finished counting he restarts, wanting to make sure he’s right.

“This is enough to get outta this,” He mumbles once he’s finished.

You think you’ve misheard him. “What?”

“This enough to get outta this,” He says again, looking up at you. You’re too busy rowing to gaze back at him and he takes this opportunity to look at you unabashedly, something he never lets himself do. It’s foggy enough that even if you were to notice his eyes burning into you, he could play it off, blaming it on the wispiness in the air.

Though you both look ridiculous, stiff, and dolled up for this party even as you row diligently through the muggy bayou, everything about you still shines through. His eyes are syrupy slow, following the curve of your jaw, the swell of your cheek, the line of your nose.

“Din?”

“Hmm?”

“Outta this profession, you mean?” You repeat the question he hadn’t heard as he got lost in you.

He clears his throat and sits up, staring into the fog, “You can’t tell me you never thought about it. Slowing down with a little patch of land, few animals and crops.”

Sure you had– on your loneliest days you’d let your mind wander. You let yourself dream about a life like that with someone. When Din came into your life, those dreams became a little more specific no matter how many times you tried to push them away.

Your brows shoot up as you finally look at him, face twisted in surprise, “You want to settle?”

“I said I’ve thought about it. This is just enough to get far enough that no one knows us. We’d need a lot of money to get everything for a stead. Not to mention makin’ it sustainable.”

This is the first time you’ve ever heard him talk like this and though you’ve only been doing this together for a month or so, you’d think it was something he would mention before entering into a partnership with someone. But hell— he still doesn’t know your name. It's worked so far, hasn’t it?

You make it to where your horses are, Augustine and Cresida look at you both expectantly, as if they’ve been waiting all day and have places to be.

“You’re serious,” You say in disbelief as he helps you out of the boat.

“There’s no reason for me to lie, girl,” He starts to shed his layers, removing the suit jacket and the crisp white button-down in favor of his long-sleeved undershirt. “You’ve never…”

You fish the pair of jeans you stashed on your horse out, hiking them up under the huge skirt of your dress before you take a knife and cut through it. You easily cut through the fabric of the tight corset, letting out a relieving breath.

“I have. Here and there. Didn’t see a point for it if it was just to be alone,” You murmur, shrugging into your shirt.

He’s quiet for a moment, before whispering into the night, barely heard over the symphony of crickets and cicadas, “Different now, ain’t it?”

“Yeah.”

Everything’s been different since meeting him. As the two of you mount your horses and start off into the night, your mind can’t help but wander back to that key detail— this man wants to settle down with a wild, nameless woman like you. Maybe that says enough. Maybe it’s all you’ll need.

ch 3: eyes full of stars

series taglist: @honeybrowne, @hotchs-bitch, @jazzelsaur, @lesbianhotch, @ivyheliotrope, @campingwiththecharmings, @frogers, @juneknight, @obscurexsorrows

#din djarin x reader #the mandalorian x reader #mando x reader #cowboy din djarin #cowboy!din #the mandalorian au #the mandalorian fanfiction #not sfw

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tremendum · 1 year

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heyy, can you write din djarin x reader where she's smth like a princess and he's hired as her bodyguard by her father or brother whatever you want (I know this is basic plot but can't help it 😭) tysm❤️🥰

i got u babes! its cute ive never written something like this but i hope u like it!! <3 its fluffier than anything ive really written to tysm for the request! also this is NOT PROOF READ im sorry

after midnight

(gif not mine!) pairing: din djarin x fem!reader (afab, use of terms like princess/duchess/daughter) rating: explicit. (18+. mdni.) word count: 6.2k summary: “you were... a princess. you were untouchable, and he knows better than to fall for one of his jobs. so he'd made a tower of armor to protect him from any attraction; but with every passing day he spent in your company, you happened to slip through those cracks like you were made for it.” warnings: mentions of political unrest/uprisings, reader resents their parents/family because monarchy is BAD folks, threats of death, but smut (PiV, unprotected), mutual masturbation (m&f), teasing, light themes of possession at one point, mentions of eating. cumplay/creampie. i think that's it.

★

YOU are no stranger to fear.

it's been a gently lived life for you, in your several decades orbiting the power of your parents' suns.

the duchess of your family's system, the 'Prize Jewel' your mother loves to say; the one who got the love of the people but sought none of the power.

you weren't the heir, not to the throne: that duty fell unto your younger brother, as per custom tradition. so you were coaxed into a life of sitting around, humming as your ladies in waiting braided your strands, staring longingly as your brother wielded blasters and vibro-blades; as if that is what constituted a good ruler.

so perhaps the fear you've grown accustomed to is the fear of the mirrors that so delicately lined your chambers; the mirror that appears on your own face as any noble speaks to you, as your father commanded you to embark on diplomatic missions that should be left to those who have any stake in the future of the system. the mirror which constricts any true personality or truth from presenting you to the galaxy. you were the duchess, your parents' daughter; you were not yourself.

you'd never gone off world, to either of the other planets in the crown's domain - until the day you did.

that kind of fear was different.

the tumultuous tracks of your heartbeat when that creaking drop ramp was sealed, those days ago; the footsteps that rang out like funeral chimes as the tall Mandalorian bowed his head to you before escorting you upwards into the cockpit of the ship that was to take you to the other side of the system.

you were not, though, afraid of him.

Mando had been your shadow for several months before you left on your enterprise - you were no longer frightened by the cold, sharp angles of his body, the dark rumbling of his scarce voice. now, that same low hum as he listens to you is welcomed. encouraged. sought for.

no, the fear was from something else; there was a scratching, a slow but insistent simmering that tightened the muscles of your lower back and your upper neck until you woke up in sharp gasps of discomfort.

maybe the fear was in the winding hills that turned into mountains, jagging up and into the sky; your fear clung to you even as you lifted your legs and climbed over top of them - those towers to the sky - and settled yourself with the acknowledge that your parents had sent you on this diplomatic embarkment to a hostile insurgence group with nothing more than the Mandalorian bodyguard and a datapad containing an ultimatum which was surely the fuse to the ticking bomb of your family's dominating sovereignty. the crashing of a scepter, or the squashing of a bug.

thankfully your father, in all of his Majesty's grace and wisdom, had offered you a full set of your Ladies of the Household on your journey - as if they'd protect you from blaster fire, or kidnapping, or whatever joys may have lied in wait for you once you reached the rebel territory.

and he knows you are highly mistrusting of those parasitic Mynocks he calls the Kingsguard; that was in fact the sole reason he'd hired the Mandalorian to be your personal guard.

so your father at least had the sense not to call upon the lord commander to escort you, as it would be likely you'd either be dead come nightfall or your cot would be empty come morning rise.

so he'd insisted on only the Mandalorian instead.

a fiercely dauntless man, a walking shield, as clever as he is dangerous.

after seeing him fight, there was no doubt Mando could protect you from hundreds if he needed to.

there was a stint by another insurgent rebel group, of which your family was battling many currently; they'd made threats on your life, so Mando has shown up with a personal arsenal and enough intimidation to make any man fall to his knees.

it took all of thirty seconds of staring at his figure, hearing his voice, to decide you'd fall to your knees for him, too.

and just before you were ordered to visit the duke of the defecting planet, you were informed he would be replacing the four kingsguard subordinated to Mando who usually escorted you around the kingdom.

one man instead of five? you were sure the King was finally sending you to your death, punishing you for his lifelong regret that you'd not been a son.

but you soon came to like Mando and his stoic, taciturn presence.

and at least your instructions were simply to deliver the ultimatum and leave the atmosphere within the hour; the insurgent's strategists would not, as your father and his Hand had believed, have enough time to read through the full terms before deciding they should just break into the duchess's chambers and slit her throat anyways.

you escaped the planet with nothing but a blaster shot grazing Mando's side and the hate of an entire species of oppressed constituents hurling insults at the Crown.

no slit throat for you - but in the end, you wouldn't even blame them if they'd tried.

you know, now, that your fear clouded your eyes, as bright as they may have been back when Mando was hired as your bodyguard. but they grew thick, the clouds lifting into the stratosphere and slipping into Mando's helmet with the modulated, quiet inhales you've come to know almost as your own. you don't think he ever intended to frighten you.

he was there to protect you. and he has.

he has not left you since arriving to the midway planet, where you'll stay for a few days before returning back to your kingdom planet.

here, there is fresh air, the salt of the sea, deep ripe fruits, and warm breezes. there is no fear here, only heat.

Mando helps with that, though he won't let you admit it.

as you stare at that unwavering gaze, surrounded by the gilded intricacies of the farewell feast, all you can do is imagine him. Mando, his body on yours, that cold, heavy metal against the thrill of your heated bare skin. he tilts his head slightly at you; you wink at him over your cup of wine. the man next to you makes conversation about your father's latest agriculture subsidies.

you look back to find the relaxing - bone chilling- gaze on you still. you wonder if he'll crack before you do.

there have been close calls; once, when you'd drank a bit too much ale in the city square and Mando had carried you back to the keep, tucked you into bed as you tried to pull him in with you - you should stay, Mando - the time he'd agreed to teach you to spar and you'd ended up wide-eyed and pinned beneath his very sturdy frame.

you've seen the pressure on his flightsuit beneath those layers when you'd teased him - his own admission of guilt, that he feels something for you, too.

when you'd asked him to help you shoot a blaster, when you'd left the fresher open to shower, or not particularly covering up when you prepared yourself for the day. though he was always there, always at attention for the slightest danger.

even last night, you felt the stuttering in his breaths when you'd sat on your bed, staring down at him - his hand in the nook of your knee, the other unlacing your sandals that'd crawled up your supple calves the entire day. you'd felt his leather hands brush against the soft skin of your thigh, the way that helmet had stared up at you from between your legs. at your service.

you know he could see the way you jolted when he'd place his hands on your hips in passing, or how you'd get particularly flustered at the flip of a blaster trigger, the flex of a muscle under a flightsuit. you didn't try to hide your attraction to him.

but all of those things; those moments you had - even the subtle brushes of his hand just low enough on your lower back, the smiles you'd share even with the barrier of his cold beskar, the soft conversations you'd hold just between the two of you: all, under the soft shadows of the moons which orbit you.

never in the broad daylight.

those souvenirs, the ones which you held close to your heart in the last few weeks, high up in the pews of your heart's cathedral; all idolized yet forgotten with the mornings that rise in clean beskar glinting and sleep rubbing from your eyes.

DIN is sure you're looking straight through him.

those eyes; you're coy the way you look at him now, over the meal you eat at the table.

swirling with mischief.

that trouble-making look, the one he's studied for months as your personal guard. to the constituents of your family's crown, you were the sweet, young girl destined to marry away and sire many noble children. but behind palace doors, you were alive, you were a bolt of electricity that was never to be tamped down.

Din remembers how fiery you'd been when the King had ordered Mando to escort you to the insurgents with your Ladies of the House. you'd requested they not accompany you in this formidable expedition because, as he recalls you'd said, 'how can my bodyguard spare to protect not me but also ten others? shall we just get it over with and behead us all right here?'

he'd smiled behind that helmet when the King and Queen had heard your snippy tongue.

and so it was just you and him, as it'd been for months. and he likes it that way, as much as he would never admit that; you're a kind woman, much too old to be under the reigns of your parent's power but too caught in the web of bureaucracy to untangle yourself from it.

Din sees you tilt your head at him, blatantly ignoring the conversation at the table. heat courses through him at your adamant, keen attention on him despite him likely being the least worthy of your thoughts in this room. still, as always, you tease him.

a drop of a wink; syrupy, sweet, and much too indecent for the public space; much less for you to deliver towards your personal guard. he burns red under the helmet, heat rushing down towards his groin at the way your lips move around the spoon in your mouth.

you know he's watching you, of course; he's always watching you. it's in the job description.

maybe that's the problem: he watches too much. it's always been hard for him to remain simply professional with you, but it's been much more challenging the last few nights as he's tried to get a few hours of shut-eye in the dead of night; with your sweet soft breaths on that large, plush bed that nearly swallows you whole.

it's been excruciating - watching, as you run your hands over your bare legs, kissed by a sweet silk nightgown. massaging your plush skin, slipping just above the hem before dipping down - your lashes fluttering up at him as he stands tall and at attention over you.

he was a dead man, and he'd known it the moment he laid eyes on you.

you were... a princess. you were untouchable, and he knows better than to fall for one of his jobs. so he'd made a tower of armor to protect him from any attraction; but with every passing day he spent in your company, you happened to slip through those cracks like you were made for it.

he wonders if the true tragedy after all was his not watching: although you'd left the crack in the door when you'd stepped into the fresher last night, toweling off your soft skin as steam curls round the doorframe and pulls at him like the tentacles of some lust-ridden beast. you'd given him one of those coy smiles last night as you'd slinked out of the fresher: "thought you said you were always watching, Mando."

you had him wrapped around your dainty, manicured finger and you knew it.

your brows raise at him as you look back up to where he stands, just on the other side of the table, as the diplomats around you at the table buttering you up with a glass of wine, a divine feast, and fancy political phrases.

it doesn't suit you, as you've claimed to him countless times as you strip the bangled gold from your neck, ears, fingers, thighs and slip into something a little more comfortable and a lot less modest. it doesn't really suit you, he guesses. he likes you much more in the throes of your casual time; wearing trousers and a tunic, blaster strapped to your thigh though you don't quite know how to wield it. when you have no handmaidens to primp you and pluck you, to comb their fingers through your hair or paint fancy colors onto your eyelids. you were heavenly like that, in your most comfortable state.

that word; heavenly. the word sounds adolescent, when he looks at you.

you transcend beauty; you're alive, you're nothing but yourself, a woman with life and regret that her world bore her name long before she was born. you told him, as he escorted you through the war-torn scrappings of the insurgent city the day before, that you wished to be free from the chains of royalty. to the royal court, you were nothing but a mirror for them to project their desires.

when you look up at him with those tempting eyes, smirking at him when nobody at the table is looking - Maker, Din swears he will throw away everything he's worked so hard to keep professional.

YOU had pulled the best of the feast onto your napkin once you bid the hosts thanks for the feast, hiding it under the layers of your gown as Mando walked you back to your chambers.

"I kept you some." you offer meekly now, heat painting your face as you offer the spread to him, having taken off your shoes yourself this time. he'd kept his sight on you the whole time, the visor of his beskar piercing you with each movement.

his helmet tilts in question; you spread open the napkin to reveal the small feast of delicacies you'd packed for him. you wonder how he'd missed it, when his eyes were always on you.

"you shouldn't have." he's demure in tone, shifting from his casual position leaning against one of the stone pillars near the intricate dressing screen to standing evenly on both long legs; you smile gently, heart fluttering.

"I thought you deserved some of the feast." you reason, "you did more work than I did, after all." you grin, shrugging a shoulder. you feel the fabric slide over your bare shoulder and it brushes against you like a feather; a ghost of lips that could never be blessed upon your skin.

cursed to always lie in weight under the heavy support of beskar.

but his fingers; they're a different story.

they're gentle, tingling as they brush up the expanse of your deltoid, cascading with a buttery kind touch to return your dress to its rightful place. his hand, swallowed by the leather that protects you so devotedly, trails down your arms, soothing every goosebump that rises in its path. your hand catches his wrist before he can pull away; the tantalizing, intoxicating air in the room rendering him languid as you pull, gently, until your lips press gently to the tip of his thumb.

his breath falters in a staccato as you gently, tenderly press kisses to the tips of each finger; each, a promise. an unnamed affection for the man who does nothing but protect, nothing but exhilarate. the movement feels like the stretch of a plastic band, stretching the tensile strength of your aptitude for waiting, for restraining yourselves.

you wait with baited breath for it to snap in your faces.

it doesn't, though. his hand falls away gently, leaving you to still orbit around each other like lonely stars, crossing paths every few blue moons.

when he speaks, he sounds almost strained. "thank you, ner cyar'ika. you are kind."

your cheeks are warm and they heat up more when you smile up at him. and this time when you step away into the fresher, you make sure the door is fully closed.

the water is warm, curling tendrils of milky sweet oils that bathe your skin in a sweet, plush aroma. you return to the main room slowly after you bathe, ensuring he'll have enough time to return his helmet to its proper place before you see. you wring your hair out with your hands as Mando rises from where he sat on the loveseat; his full height shining that reflective metal against you. your warped, clean, scrubbed reflection stares back at you.

he.... he sees you.

you've always noticed it; maybe that's why you'd commanded your father's men to leave you at the first sight of the Mandalorian's skills - you see a lot of yourself in him. a life concealed behind the preceding reputation: a princess - young, beautiful, generous, stagnant. a Mandalorian - bounty-hunter-turned-guard, sturdy, resourceful, rough.

mirrors follow you no matter where you go. they've been thrust upon you your entire life, every snaking hallway of the kingdom winding down reflective images of your youth, bouncing you from person to person, nothing but a blank canvas for the aristocracy to paint their whims upon.

you suspect, as you stare at Mando's unwaveringly reflective armor, that he understands that more than either of you could know. your heart soars with affection as you pad up to him, craning your neck to take in his entire height.

"did you enjoy it?" you ask with a small smile, combing your fingers through your wet hair. he nods, "yes, cyare. thank you."

you shake your head, unburdened by the gesture of gratitude. "let me guess- your favorite was the..." you pinch your chin with your fingers, scrunching your nose as you pretend to think. "chocolate cake." you say finally, tilting your head as you try to gage his reaction.

a tilt of a helmet, flickering in the candlelight of your chambers. "yes." he sounds surprised; as if you didn't know just as much about him as he knew of himself. it sparks butterflies in your stomach.

"I know you like it sweet, Mando." you tease, sending him a soft wink as you set your face cloth down on the table he leans against; you stare up at him from this angle, your movements molasses as you smile, hand sneaking around his ribs to hold him lightly. his hand rises tentatively to steady your waist, thumb rubbing the satin of your nightgown. "don't worry, I do too." you whisper.

he sighs.

it's a soft, gentle thing; one that nobody would dare imagine your big, bad Mandalorian protector to ever release. but you know him. you see him - Mando is many things, and one of them is hesitant. not unwilling, or shy: hesitant.

(you'd wait a thousand lifetimes for him.)

"cyar'ika," he starts, tone slipping into that gently warning one - the kind he gets when he's feeling bashful. "I don't like it when you tease me." he chides, and it's - kriff, it's playful. you can almost see the grin behind that helmet; his fingers pinch at your sides gently and you screech with laughter, swatting away his touch but hoping he'll soon return it, much like a magnet.

"you do, though." you defend, emboldened by the privacy and the budding tenderness that coaxes you into his arms. his hands soothe over your hips as you stare in silence.

warmth surrounds you; coaxes you to mutter it-

"stay with me, tonight?" you whisper, eyes wide at your own words, shocked you'd finally given in to all of the hunger that has swirled between you for all this time. his helmet tilts. "I am always here with you. my job is to watch you." he says gently, the lilt of guilt ever present in his voice.

you shake your head, eyes shutting in frustration - not at him, never - at who, then? your father? your mother? the last name you've been cursed with for your life? the privilege, the restraint?

"Mando." you say, pressing your palms flat against his chest. "you know what I mean." your eyes swirl with emotion: please, Mando, I can't keep waiting like this.

he waits. "it would be wrong."

you tilt your head, "it wouldn't." but you, much like him, are at a loss for words. a life of inoculation has rendered you unable to express any semblance of amorous emotions, even to this man - the one who is your confidant, your protector, and possibly your only true friend in this world. "I need you. I will-" you swallow, your heart thundering with desire, "I will do anything for you, Mando."

you can't resist the growing wetness in the apex of your thighs as his helmet moves over your figure, wrapped in a silky robe and still wet from bathing. he hums lowly, a long and slow sound, his head tilting ever so slightly as you clench your thighs in search of relief from the growing pressure.

"I have wanted you since I met you." he sighs, hands falling from your shoulders. "but... I shouldn't touch you."

DIN can see your eyes flicker down as he says it.

maker damn you; you've always been too clever for him. he sees the hunger swirl in your blown out pupils, the same hunger that plagues his mind and has sent blood rushing downwards. he feels himself throb as you grin up at him, lashes fluttering as a droplet of silky water trails down the expanse of your bare, awaiting neck.

you know him, you see him. and he thanks all of the stars that you know how badly he needs you, too.

"well, if you can't touch..." you tilt your head to stare up at him through your lashes, loosening the robe which covers your silk nightgown; each inch that slips down your body, Din feels himself stiffen and heat with desire. "...you can at least watch." you whisper, letting the robe drop before you step back from his figure; his eyes trace over every curve, each smooth line and jagged bump.

when you're far enough away, he lets out a shaky breath. "gar Kelir ruin ni, dala" he mutters to himself, swallowing thickly as your figure slinks away from him, traipsing onto your plush bed.

his heart thunders in his chest; you lie on your back, gently, eyes meeting his somehow through the shield of beskar as you move your hands slowly, slowly up your legs. silk catches on your deft fingers as you tease yourself, sighing in relaxation.

Din, standing rigid as a pole as he watches you, cannot look away. you seem flushed, even as your fingers trail over your breasts, toying with the pert nipples which poke through the smooth fabric of your dress. a whimper; high-pitched, breathy as your eyes splinter to Din again. "fuck," you whisper, one hand dragging down to torturously drag the hem of your gown upwards, up, up-

he's salivating.

your thighs, plush and welcoming, spread as you spread your glistening cunt for Din to see. for him, he realizes, only for him. a dark wash of possession shudders his whole being as you let out a whimper, the cool air hitting your wet, hot heat as your fingers start to spread your juices; it takes every ounce of restraint from Din to not just pounce on you, take you right now.

your finger finds your swelling clit and your strangled groan sounds too much like his name - your eyes are hooded, littered with desire and pleasure as you lie out on display for him.

he can't help but watch; his cheeks, hot. his hands, clenched - his heart, thundering, beating hard as Din watches you touch yourself with hungry eyes. your moans are smooth, melodic to his ears as you slowly dip one finger into your heat, whimpering as the stretch as your greedy little hole swallows you up.

he can't stand it.

Din takes a step forward, a staggering, desperate step towards the bed- your eyes snap up from where they'd watched you take your own fingers, eyes blown wide. you whimper, you goddamn whimper it, "M-Mando."

YOU almost pass out when he mutters it, low and baritone.

"take it off." Mando mutters darkly.

you stop your languid pumps as you stare up at him, eyes wide as you see him, now looming just over you, eyes trained still on your heat.

slowly, you sit to peel the dress off of yourself, the material catching on your nipples and sending a shiver down your body.

you're soon bare; laid out for him, your entire body on display for him as you stare up, chest heaving with desire. his helmet does not leave your form as he watches your hand snake back down, toying with your wetness as it pools out of you, dripping onto the mattress below you.

there are thousands of things you wish to say; nothing escapes you except whimpers and moans, the muted, heated pleasure swirling through you as you slip your fingers into yourself, pumping languidly. if you close your eyes, you can almost imagine the bite of cold beskar on your bare chest; the thickness of a warm cock slipping through you.

your eyes stay on him instead, though; the reflection of your squirming, pleasured body on his beskar. you feel sweat sheen your forehead.

your heart nearly stops as Mando slowly starts to palm himself; his cock, hard and strained against the fabric of his flightsuit as his hands pull himself out of the pants. your eyes widen and your fingers start to pump into you quicker, moaning out Mando's name as his hand slowly starts to pump himself.

his cock, skin golden and veins prominent as he pleasures himself to the sight of you. arousal floods around your fingers as your other finger falls to lazily toy with your neglected clit. one hand grasps your breast and pinches a pert nipple, your back arching as you whimper.

you need Mando, you need him.

"fuck, fuckfuckfuck M-Mando, I need you. i-it's not enough, need more." you groan, the dam breaking as the low high you've been riding simmers.

he stops his own movements, his chest heaving beneath the beskar.

"I don't-" you swallow around your dry throat, "I don't think I can cum without you." you admit, heart thundering as you stare up at the beskar wall. "please."

he pauses and your words hand in the air; suspended by a string, one that is tight and ready to snap.

"stand up, princess." he orders.

DIN almost smiles at the speed at which you scramble on eager legs, to stand up, staring up at him with wanton need. he takes a deep breath before one hand reaches out to graze the swell of your breast; the plush give of soft skin, the goosebumps that trail behind his touch. his cock twitches as your hands find him, pumping slowly as you bite your lip.

he groans at the soft feeling of your gentle hands around his thickness; your lips grazing over his beskar chestplate.

his hands tug you as he falls to the mattress; a squeal leaves you as your hands grip onto his shoulders, "Mando!"

he grins beneath the helmet.

the smile slowly fades into a grunt of pleasure as you eagerly find your place straddling his hips; your wet hot cunt envelopes his cock with your slick, rubbing him as you whimper. "fuck, cyar'ika." he grunts. "gonna fuck you nice and good. promise." he mutters.

you smile as you nod, "maker, Mando. I've-I've dreamt of this." you mutter. he smirks- he knows you have. he's heard it.

but the pride is soon washed away with shock and pleasure as you line his head up at your entrance, easing onto him gently; his hands squeeze your bare skin and he wishes he could pull his gloves off and really feel you.

dank ferrik, you are so tight around him; swallowing his thickness in your greedy cunt as your breath stutters, gasping at the stretch. you're hot, wet, and Din's eyes shut tight at the feeling. kriff, he won't last long.

you take him gently, slowly, and all Din can do is breathe through it and resist his hips from bucking upwards and spearing you into two.

his brain is a puddle as you fully sheath yourself on him, thighs plush and shaking as you swallow him.

"that's good." he mutters, breath shaky, his hands guiding you to move against his hips, "how does it feel, princess?"

"Mando, fuck, y'so big, filling me-" you're moaning and he thinks he may pass out; heavenly, heavenly, you you you-

you groan as you start to fuck yourself on top of him, your gummy warm walls coaxing Din towards his high, having been spurred along by the pleasure you'd been giving yourself earlier.

you shudder at the curling sensuality of his words and he can feel you gripping him tighter and tighter, pulsing around him and dragging him down with you into the depths of pleasure. shivers of pleasure coast down your entire body as Din starts to piston up, his thick length, smooth and hard, spearing into your hot cunt. your desire drips down and smothers the fabric of his flight suit; briefly, he thinks he will never wash them again. your breath is laborious as you near your high- Din chases his, too, because this has already gone on for too long and he's greedy, as greedy as your tight, pretty cunt is and-

he lets out a splintering moan when you cum with a scream; your legs quivering, weakening as you slump against him. Din fucks you through your high with a moan of his own, pushing up into your pulsing pussy, the wetness easing him to spear into you with a fire of ecstasy.

"good- you're so good, y'feel so good, Mando," you whimper. that's it for him - he cums with a long groan, release snapping through him with a moan of your name.

he sees colors, shapes of you in a meadow, spread on a blanket with him taking you from above; with you riding him in the cockpit of his ship; you, thighs spread on your father's throne while he delves his tongue through your plush folds.

you are his. you will always be his, nobody else's. he will consume you.

he fucks up into you as he rides through his high, his seed smearing your chanel as he holds you close. "fuck," he mutters, rolling you both onto your sides as his hand caresses your cheek.

"s'good." you mumble, smiling at him.

he smiles back. you can't see it, but he knows you can feel it.

"m'not done with you yet, princess." he promises, tugging you towards the edge of the bed, spreading your legs to see his own seed leaking out of you, mixed with your own wet, sticky spend. it's a sight better than any he's ever seen; shivers of desire roll down Din's spine.

and then Din spends his time on top of you, pulling orgasm and orgasm from you until you're crying, shaking and heaving breaths; he's shaky, drunk from the pleasure of your wet arousal. he aches to taste you, to coax you to sleep with his tongue lapping up your spend; he needs to taste you.

perhaps, another time.

he soothes himself for now with his fingers, his cock; another time, he will taste you.

---

YOU are exhausted. you can barely stay awake; but as Mando lays with you between the sheets, you can't help but feel so alive. the sun starts to creep towards the horizon line, over the shimmering sea; the gentle breeze of the world flowing through the faint curtains.

"Mando?"

he cranes to look down at you, his thumb tracing over your spine.

"in the morning," you start, your hand trailing over his beskar. you figure it isn't comfortable to don this armor in the plush of your mattress; he stays no matter, willing to give you what you want. always, whatever you want. forever.

him.

you chew your lip, "will we- I mean, I just..."

a thumb, warm though marred with old leather, pulls your lower lip from the clutches of your pearled teeth, soothing over the plush, bitten skin. a shiver runs down your spine as he coaxes you to stare up into that endless helmet.

"what is it, mesh'la?" his voice is deep and soothing in its modulated baritone. you preen at the nickname in his native tongue and though he has willingly taught you words and phrases of his language, you are unsure of this one's translation. it sounds lovely coming from him.

"please don't take me back." you whisper.

he tenses under you; you can feel it. you wish you didn't have to plague him with your burdens of asking him such a crime; to take the duchess, the girl made of nothing but stardust, and give her the life she deserves.

a whisper of your name. quiet, an exhale gentle and barely picked up by the modulation function of the helmet.

DIN has been waiting for you to say it.

he wonders just about when he realized you were going to ask him to take you away. was it just now, after you'd finally connected in bliss? was it last night, when he'd taken a blaster shot to protect you - his job, of course, but a lifetime of debt to repay to him, you'd claimed - or, perhaps, was it all those months ago?

your words pull him from his shock as you mutter softly.

"would you take me with you? away?"

all the moments shared between your two souls wait with baited breath as Din tries to find his words through his thundering heart.

"in the morning..." he parrots your words from before, but with a different tone. regret. his heart thumps as you tilt your head, bare shoulder glinting in the light of the moons. "will you still want that? will you want..." he doesn't finish the question, but he doesn't have to. not with you. want me?

you look at him with eyes so soft he almost melts. "I've always dreamt of leaving my life. it's not who I am." you're firm in your words, hand curling over his shoulder as you blink, "I never thought I would act on it. I had nothing to do, nowhere else to go. but now..." you shrug and he starts to feel hot at the implications in your voice.

Din's heart thuds importunately under your sweet palm; could you feel it, under all the layers that separated his body from your bare one?

"if-if you'd have me... it'd be a dream to stay with you. wherever you go."

Din can't breathe; so many words burst to the forefront of his mind, but all he does is stare in awe.

you'd been watching life through the jail of your parent's grasp your whole life; and what is the princess of a mid-rim planet to the rest of the galaxy?

stardust.

"wasted dreams?" you ask softly, shaking your head, "that's worse than death, Mando."

YOU fall asleep with Mando's arms wrapped tightly around your middle; the weight of beskar pushing you deeper into the comfort of knowing you've spent your last night ever in this system.

his words echo in your head.

in the morning, mesh'la, we will leave here. wherever you'd like.

it's illicit; the things you're about to do, the traditions which will be seared. your eyes, bleary with exhaustion and hope, looks to the mirror across the room.

you lie in the arms of the Mandalorian, bare besides the plush sheets which wrap around your figures - and when you stare into the reflective piece of decor directly across, it's you who stares back in the reflection. you smile to yourself.

stardust.

those moments, you hope, will shine in broad daylight now in tandem with the sweet secrets after midnight.

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