#din thots

so the trip to the cantina for a bite to eat should have been just like any other. you were looking forward to a quiet, unobstructed night with your partner before heading out for the next quarry in the morning.

din is in a stilted conversation with a mercenary when the devaronian corners you on your way to the bathroom. like, literally corners you. even though he’s nearly swaying with how drunk he is, the wide expanse of his shoulders enough to block any chance of catching din’s eye completely. 

you try to physically push around him with a polite “excuse me,” but you don’t get more than a step away before his hand is sealed around your wrist with so much force you can’t help but cry out as he pulls you to the floor.

that doesn’t end well for him. at all.

with the devaronian rendered to a bloody, unconscious heap in literal seconds, din is crouching over you in a heartbeat. he cradles the back of your head with a delicate touch that should be impossible after such immediate violence.

“i’m okay,” you attempt to reassure him, stretching out a hand for him to help you up. he complies but keeps an anxious hand at the small of your back in case you so much as falter.

you can practically feel the shift in the air as soon as he knows you’re alright. you’ve known him long enough to sense when his wires are getting crossed, raw anger and concern in competition to see what can get his posture the tightest. his hands flexing in and out of fists at his sides. a soldier, through and through. 

once you get your wits about you, you’ve gotta admit that it’s kinda hot. like really hot.

as soon as the door to the Crest seals behind you he rips the helm off, smashing his mouth against yours. it’s greedy, his teeth scraping against your lower lip, his hands grabbing fistfuls of your dress and literally ripping it off of you. 

you kiss him back eagerly, returning his bites with small nips of your own as you thread your hands through the hair at the back of his head, forcing him to curl his body over yours as he presses your bare form flush against his beskar-clad chest.

he takes you on the floor of the entranceway. it’s rough and fast, his teeth scraping over the soft petal of your nipple as he thrusts into you with a groan. you can’t help but cry out as he latches his mouth over the curve of your shoulder, pushing your hips up to meet his with every movement. the aftershocks of your orgasm are still rolling through you as he spills inside of you.

there’s only the sound of your combined panting for a few moments before he lifts his head to kiss you. it’s much softer, this time. less urgent, but still an obvious way of him leaving his mark on you all the same.

“mine,” he breaths against your mouth. “say it. please.”

the village is nearly bursting at the seams with energy, the spring festival that would start that night is enough to have nearly everyone on the streets in preparation. at first Din was insulted to be hired on a security detail, but some lordling had slipped Karga enough cash to make it worthwhile for the guild, so here the two of you were. 

it’s been a while since the worst of your worries were the Sullustan rabbit pups that wriggled free of their pen that morning. you can’t say you don’t appreciate the reprieve.

the spring festival was set to begin that night, and the villagers seem more than ready to begin the celebrations. the town is the spitting image of a pastoral landscape, warm and illuminated with the colorful ribbons curving in sweeping arcs of color high above you. the blossoms are beginning to open, the fields already thick with tall green grasses. the livestock were fattening and the beginnings of the harvest were coming in--which meant that the market that you and Din had to weave through on your way back from the Town Marshall’s offices is a maze of bodies and stands.

the Town Marshall had finally told you and Din that it had been a long cold season. raiders had been coordinating attacks on their homes, killing those who resisted. the lordling only just got it under control in time for the festival to be hosted safely.

once the two of you are a safe distance away from the heavy-set Marshall, Din mutters something about the lord’s incompetency in not hiring him sooner. you roll your eyes, prodding his side with your elbow.

“he wants to be extra safe,” you mutter in return, shooting him a raised brow. “play nice.”

you think you hear him give a huff from underneath that layer of beskar and glass. he walks closer to you in that way he does when you know he wants to reach for your hand--or the small of your back, or your opposite hip--but can’t given the circumstances. you keep pace with him as the two of your weave your way back to the main pasture, and it’s then that you pass the window of the dress shop that catches your eye.

it’s a dull peach color, made of sheaths of long, fine fabric decorated with the smallest of embroidered flowers. two wide stripes of the material are fastened to the bodice and tied into flowing bows at the peaks of the mannequin’s shoulders, perfectly framing the tight, curved neckline of the dress.

least to say, you can’t really help the way you melt a little while looking at it. it’s absolutely beautiful and, more importantly, utterly impractical. it’s a shame, but that’s the life you signed up for. you don’t really think that much of it as the two of your part ways and go about your days.

so when you return back to the Crest and there’s a neatly bowed box on the bed, you can’t suppress the happy grin that overtakes your face as you lift the top of the box and reveal the neatly folded fabric of the dress from the window. in a moment of pure awe, you run the tips of your fingers over the thin material, delicately tracing the small flowers.

you are pretty sure Din is still out on patrol, doing his rounds in making sure security was up to par for the events tonight. you wish you could have thanked him before getting ready, but you hope the two of you could at least catch a glance of each other once the festivities began. you know he’d more than make up for the day’s necessary distance between the two of you once you returned home for the night, but it would have been nice to see him while you were fresh.

you get ready quickly, showering then stepping into the dress. you’re in the middle of trying to figure out the back’s fastenings when a gruff voice comes from the threshold of your shared cabin.

“need help with that?”

you look over your shoulder at your partner with a bright smile. he’s leaning against the doorway with his arms crossed, the heat of his gaze readily apparent despite being hidden beneath that T-visor. 

“yes, please,” you face forward again so he can easily reach the fastens. wordlessly, he crosses the room to stand behind you. you ease into his touch as he pulls the strings closed with deft fingers. you think for a second before speaking up again. “thank you, for this. it’s beautiful.”

din hesitates after tying the last bow, you feel him graze his knuckles over the curve of your shoulder in a gentle caress.

“we’ll be late,” his voice is thick with something that makes it sound like he’s the one who doesn’t want to go.

turning to face him, you look up at your partner through your lashes with a smile. you think it’s in the way his hands linger as they drag over your sides that makes you want to play the tease for the rest of the night.

it’s a role you’re far too good at, anyway.

“sounds good,” you stand on your tip-toes to bump your forehead against his in your usual parting gesture. 

the festival is a whirl of bright colors and music and dancing. by the time the band starts playing the slow songs, you’re barefoot with the rest of the young women and twirling around the maypole fixed to the center of the pasture. there was a lot of cooing over your dress when you first arrived, and more than a few of your partners got a little handsy, especially once the drinks started flowing. nothing you couldn’t laugh off with a small roll of your eyes and a push.

you knew your were one of the safest people in the galaxy as long as that familiar glimmer of beskar is at the corner of your gaze. you were really only interested in his hands, anyway.

it’s more than a little annoying when one of the lordling’s guards keeps approaching you for a dance. you oblige him the first time out of courtesy--he’s only a year or two older than you, and decent to look at, but you are much more interested in the group dances with the other women than the ones with the men that kept stealing your newfound friends away.

the crowd has been reduced to just adults, the children long since tucked into their beds, and the tone has changed accordingly. the guard approaches you for the third time that night, interrupting you and the girl trying to teach you the footwork of the slow song being hummed by the band.

the guard isn’t even able to open his mouth before Din materializes by your side.

“you should listen when she rejected you the second time,” his voice isn’t necessarily sharp, but it certainly isn’t friendly. “leave her be.”

“it’s the spring festival,” the guard snorts with a sneer, his eyes still raking up and down your body. you feel the heat rise to your cheeks as his gaze catches on the dress’s daring neckline. the guard’s tone goes sharp with the way men can get when they think they’re in the presence of a similarly belligerent companion. “if she’s gonna be a prude then she shouldn’t’ve--” 

Din takes one step forward.

it’s a small movement, almost unassuming--certainly unrecognizable to anyone still dancing--but he somehow manages to make it drip with promised violence.

the guard balks almost immediately, stuttering an apology before retreating. Din takes another step forward, as if to follow him, but you reach out your hand to stop him. he does so immediately, turning back to you.

“are you okay?” he lowers his head to speak to you quietly. he doesn’t let go of your hand, just rubs his thumb along the length of your palm. no matter how long the two of your have spent--traveling the galaxy, tangled in sweaty sheets, sharing meals, falling asleep against the other’s chest nearly every night--he still manages to render you breathless. 

“yeah,” you murmur, longingly looking up at him, still unsure what level of public affection he’d be willing to display while on the job.

as if in answer to your unspoken question, Din wraps an arm around your waist, pulling you against his body as he lovingly nuzzles the brow of his helm against your forehead. it’s somehow infinitely more intimate than any kiss could have been. 

“have fun,” he tells you as he pulls away, retreating with no more than a brush of his curved knuckles against your cheek. you lick you lips, wanting nothing more than to take his hand and march him straight back to the Crest--or, well, straight back to your bed, that is. or any bed. even one of the pallets of hay tucked in the alleyway would’ve been fine.

instead, you turn back to your cohort, dance with the tittering girls until your feet hurt and a sheen of sweat glazes your skin.

the night is one of laughter and flowers and bright bursts of light. and when the band stops playing, Din is there to lead you home. he’s there to sweep you off your feet in a bridal carry once the two of you enter the empty stretches of the street. he’s there as you giggle and peck the side of his helm in appreciation, leaning your cheek against his shoulder. 

or maybe he’s actually drunk, and that combined with the whole not-sleeping-for-five-days thing is doing a number on his fine motor skills, because it’s nearly three in the morning when a clattering sound that feels like someone’s trying to destroy the Crest itself has you jumping out of your bunk and grabbing the blaster you keep under your pillow.

you peer out of the door of the cabin as the man who’s supposed to be your mentor pulls himself off the floor, snarling a curse at himself as he recklessly pulls off his helm, throwing it to the other end of the hull.

it’s so unceremonious of a gesture that you’re almost too shocked to avert your gaze. almost. you catch a glimpse of tousled brown hair and a stubbled jawline before forcing your eyes to the floor, tucking your blaster in the back of your sleep shorts.

you’re about to slink back to your bunk, to close your eyes and feign sleep until he gets ahold of himself, when a rough, unobstructed voice echoes through the room.

“don’t.”

you freeze, then slowly shift your gaze towards his feet.

you never knew about the specifics of the deal between him and Karga, just that Karga needed you trained because of some debt he owed to your uncle and Din just happened to be the guildsman in need of the extra credits. you never questioned it and he never elaborated, so it was relatively unexpected when your relationship grew into something... cordial? the closest thing to a friend you’ve had since you were a little kid? whatever it was, you knew the feeling was mutual, so you never really felt the need to put a label on it. him telling you his real name felt like enough of a serious bond, you never thought to push it any more than it already was. what he’d allow it to be, that is.

so the next thing that leaves his mouth is enough to have your heart dropping to the absolute depths of your stomach.

“you were so fucking beautiful i nearly refused Karga in training you,” he says with a cruel huff of air that could possibly pass as a laugh if it weren’t for the circumstances. “didn’t think i could keep it professional. still don’t.”

you try to keep as still as possible, with your gaze turned down--out of respect, but also out of a fear of meeting his eyes. of actually acknowledging the way your entire body seemed to be chanting go to him. go to him.

then, as if he were reading your mind,

“look at me.” he says the next part softly--impossibly soft. “please.”

it’s almost as if he sucked the air out of your lungs. 

cautiously, your gaze traces the length of his body before settling on his face.  the sight of those brown eyes alone would have done you in, how unexpectedly gentle they were. how they seemed to caress your face even with the several feet of distance between the two of you. 

“i do still,” his voice is a low croak, slightly slurred and heavy with something you can’t place. you're able to smell the bar on him now, the sickly tang of sweat and liquor. his gaze burns with it. “think you’re beautiful, i mean. too beautiful--too kind to be involved with any of this.”

you can’t stifle your indignation, even despite the circumstance. “din--”

“i had to separate a father and his child today.”

you close your mouth, your retort already forgotten. you realize he’s not talking to you--or, well, he is. but not really. you stay quiet. you listen, hovering in the middle of the hallway with your arms wrapped around your stomach as a self-soothing gesture.

din licks his lips, nostrils flaring as if he too didn’t realize that he’d just spoken. then he slumps even further against the wall he’s seated against, legs played and head rolled back. he closes his eyes.

“i had to separate a father and his kid today,” he rubs a gloved hand over his face. you can’t bring yourself to look away, as if it would be some kind of a disservice to the sorrow carried by the slant of his brow. you swallow, taking in the curve of his nose, the bob of his throat, the high planes of his cheeks. “he wouldn’t stop screaming, and it’s been bouncing around my head and it’s driving me fucking crazy,” he takes a shuttering breath. “and i can’t--i can’t stop thinking, i can’t--” another breath, this one more like a desperate gulp. “is that what i sounded like? is that--”

you cross the room. you don’t really process doing so, just that in one second you were standing in the darkened hallway and the next you were seated beside him, one arm wrapping around his shoulders and the other tangling into his hair, pressing his face against the side of your neck in the only form of comfort you could offer.

without words, he wraps his arms around you in turn, pulling you into his lap and burying his face into your chest. you close your eyes, banding one of your arms over the expanse of his shoulders to keep him against you. you run your free hand over his scalp in slow, patient arcs. anything and everything to assure him that this is okay. 

you are forgiven.

it will be okay.

you sit there with him, gathered in your arms, until his breathing slows. until his chest rises and falls in the gentle, even movements of deep sleep.

you stay there until it takes you, too.

--

the quarry is already cuffed, seated beside his captor in the opposing booth, and the merchant who captured him casually has his blaster pointed at the two of you, even though it’s pretty obvious that the thing isn’t loaded. 

so it’s just the principle of it that’s making din grit out each phrase like he’s four heartbeats away from ripping the merchant a new one.

the clamor of the bar didn’t even dip when the man seated across from you drew the gun, though it did earn a few glances from your server, who still placed the cups of murky alcohol the trader ordered on the table without a word. 

the merchant cracks his neck, gesturing between you and din with the blaster in his hand.

“give me half the bounty up-front and i’ll let you take him back to the guild,” the merchant nudges the slumped-over quarry with a boney shoulder. his lips pull back in a sneer as his eyes rake over you. his teeth are brown with rot from the local smoking shop, the smell of it still radiating off of him.

you resist the urge to roll your eyes, already fed up with this little tit-for-tat but attempting to keep the situation low-key for din’s sake. there was a Republic guard post way too close to the bar for the two of you to make a fuss. otherwise there wouldn’t be any semblance of a negotiation happening right now--all four of you knew that.

din stiffens beside you regardless of how silly you find the situation. it’s something that would have been unnoticeable to anyone but you--but you know his tells better than you know yourself. the tightness in his voice drips with the promise of violence.

“stop waving that thing around.” the quiet crack of the vocoder rises just above the murmur of the bar. people definitely start eyeing the four of you after that.

you glance down. his gloved fingers are curled into tight fists resting on the tops of his thighs. under the table, you lift your hand from your lap in order to cup your palm over the crests of his knuckles.

the merchant keeps talking payment, but complies in steadying the blaster. you try to resist the smile begging to pull at the corner of your lip as your rub your thumb in soothing arcs over the top of your lover’s hand.

din’s shoulders relax as soon as you start the small gesture of reassurance. you allow yourself that small, private smile when his other hand lifts and curls around yours, holding you against him as he patiently details just what he’ll do to the merchant if he doesn’t quit the act and hand over the quarry. 

the two of you are slipping out of the bar’s back entrance minutes later, the bounty stumbling behind you on the chain the merchant was kind enough to hand over without so much as a word, face sheet-white with fear.

with the quarry blindfolded and keeping pace a feet paces behind the two of you, you see din hesitate a second as he scans the empty alleyway before turning to face you.

“are you okay?” he keeps his voice low, head bowed slightly to look down at you. you roll your eyes at the poorly concealed worry that creeps in on the edges of his tone.

standing on your tip toes, you affectionately bump your forehead against his.

“all good. can we stop by one of the food stands before we go back? i’m starving.”

you know the soft crackle of air admitted from the vocoder is poorly suppressed laugh. he turns and begins walking again, tugging at the quarry to get him to follow. you smile, bright and wide and beaming, the whole walk home. 

--