Pee Paw Miller Lifestyle Blog

Joel Miller is my passion 30 | she/her | MDNI AO3 | Masterlist

[peepawmiller]

Summary: Joel takes you on a date. And then he takes you home.

Pairing: Contractor!Joel Miller x Married!Reader

Warnings: Porn with some Plot?, unprotected piv (please for the love of god wrap it up), cunnilingus, fingering, dirty talk, Joel works for reader, adultery, but reader's husband cheated first so it doesn't count and i stand by that, divorce, Joel has a big dick, light choking, dom!Joel if you squint, reader is down bad for Joel, shitty marriage, 18+ only, reader is afab,

WC: 6k

A/N: Looks like I'm turning this into a mini series thanks to popular demand (by me, I kept thinking about this). thanks for reading pals :)

Part 1 | Ao3 | Masterlist

The chime of the doorbell makes your heart jump in your chest, the staccato rhythm picking up as you approach the front door.

After Joel had fucked you next to your pool, he gave you a kiss, left you there to sunbathe, and returned to the meticulous task of assembling your kitchen cabinets. You spent the entire time exchanging heated glances with him where you lay, still naked and reeling from being fucked so thoroughly.

This time, he made no attempt to hide his perusal of your body and it heated your skin more completely than the sun ever could.

By the time the sun began to dip behind the towering trees lining your property, he’d finished the cabinets and covered them with a canvas tarp to protect them overnight. You watched as he wiped his forehead with the end of this t-shirt, giving you a peak of his tummy. You licked your lips — something he quickly noticed even from across the yard.

Sauntering back over to you, he sat on the edge of the lounger and ran a hand from your hip, up your tummy and between your breasts before landing at your neck. His thumb circled your pulse point as he leaned over to kiss you.

“M’ gonna go home now, darlin’. Shower. Put something decent on. And then I’m comin’ right back. That sound good?” His voice was like gravel, deep and rough and it made your entire body tingle. It did sound good, but you wanted him to fuck you again.

All you could do was nod as he kissed you again and then helped you up. You wrapped yourself in your towel and took his hand as he guided you through the house. Your stomach fluttered as he brought those soft lips down to you again and kissed you goodbye.

It took you a long time to process everything that happened, and when you finally did, you couldn’t stop smiling. The thrill of dinner with Joel carried you on a cloud of anticipation as you showered, primped, prepped, and dressed in a baby blue sundress that reached the tops of your thighs, thin straps, and a sweetheart neckline. 

You even had time to paint your nails — a matching blue with small white polka dots. 

Now, you bite down on your lower lip to stifle your smile as you open the door to find Joel on your front porch, a bouquet of pink, orange, and white wild flowers clasped in his large hand.

The corner of his lips tick up as you take each other in, his eyes roaming you hungrily, nostrils flaring at the sight of you. He doesn’t say anything yet, and you’re equally as speechless.

He’s swapped his dirty boots for a pair of worn but carefully maintained ones, his jeans black and faded instead of the ones he normally wears that are always covered in dust, paint, and plaster. His green button down brings out the hints of gold shimmering in his eyes, the top few buttons open and providing you a glimpse of his hard chest. 

You don’t even want to go to dinner at this point, and it takes every ounce of self restraint you have to keep yourself from pouncing on him.

“You look gorgeous, darlin’” he rasps, voice quiet and low. It sends ripples of heat straight to your core. He steps forward to hand you the flowers, but something snaps between you and he’s wrapping you in a heated kiss before you even realize that you’re the one who leapt first.

He grunts as he presses you closer, one hand still holding the flowers while the other knots in your dress at your waist. He’s being respectful, not ripping your clothes to shreds or even touching your ass yet. But his tongue is right there, pushing past your lips and pulling a moan right from you.

Joel has the awareness to pull away before you do, breathing heavy, neck flushed with want.

“Gotta treat you to a nice meal before I fuck you again,” he reasons, setting the flowers onto the table by the door.

It’s sweet how he thinks you need that. Sweet that he knows you yearn for a little bit of romance. And even if there wasn’t the promise of him taking you home and fucking you senseless, you think you’d still love the idea of dinner with him. 

Getting to know him. Opening him up and taking a peek at his thoughts. His wants. His needs. Giving him the same. You haven’t dated in years, but the thrill of it is still the same with one exception. You know he’s good and he’ll treat you right. You’re sure of it.

He nods behind him at the open door, the beat to shit red pick up parked on the street, engine sizzling, “After you.”

You can’t resist. You stretch up to kiss his chin, nipping with your teeth and snickering when he growls low in his chest. You snatch your clutch from the hook by the door and saunter out to the truck. He opens the door for you and helps you up to settle on the comfortable seat.

It’s surprisingly clean for a guy who works construction and likely tracks all kinds of debris into his vehicle daily. 

“Cleaned it up real nice, just for you,” he says after climbing in and starting it.

Your skin heats, his thoughtfulness doing unspeakable things to you. 

The drive is quiet, but comfortable. If there’s one person who knows how to exist in easy silence, it’s Joel. You like that about him. He doesn’t feel the need to fill the space with inane chatter. Like Jeremy. Always eager to hear the sound of his own voice.

When Joel parks outside a small Italian bistro, your grin widens. It’s quaint and out of the way, tucked behind a copse of trees that doesn’t make it immediately visible from the busy street if you aren't looking for it. 

He helps you out of the truck and rests a hand at your lower back as he guides you inside. You can’t remember the last time you were treated with such care.

He tells the hostess his name and uses her momentary distraction to drop a kiss to your bare shoulder like it’s a habit he’s been waiting to fulfill. Your cheeks feel hot as you look up at him, his eyes twinkling in the dim candlelight of the restaurant. 

The hostess confirms the reservation and takes you to your table. It’s an intimate place, small tables dispersed throughout the room, white table cloths, a small vase containing a single white rose on each one, warm, flickering candles decorating the room.

There are a handful of other couples already seated, relaxed, enjoying their meals. But you pay them no attention as he helps you take your seat and finally settles in across from you. 

You can’t help but compare each and every one of his behaviors to Jeremy. You don’t want to, but you do. Jeremy would never pull your chair out. He’d never help you into the car. He’d never plan a romantic evening out. He’d never touch you the way Joel touches you.

He offers a tentative smile, tilting his head, “What?”

“Nothing,” you say, trying to fight the urge to beam at him. He may or may not be aware of just how thoroughly he’s romancing you.

He looks down at the menu, “How do you feel about wine?”

“Love it.”

“White?”

“Perfect.”

When your server flits by the table, he orders a bottle of Chardonnay that she quickly returns with to fill your glasses. The moment she steps away, you catch the amused glimmer in his eyes.

“So, you’re married. And I fucked you in your backyard.”

Very direct. Just as he was after he’d done it.

You almost choke on the wine, but are able to carefully arrange your features into a neutral, unbothered expression, “Yes.”

“He’s a piece of shit.”

It’s not a question or an assumption. He knows, heard Jeremy yelling at you the last time he was home, heard the derision in his voice, the malice. You nod.

“He cheated on you?”

Again, you nod, your eyes flashing with the briefest flicker of pain you’re unable to control. Even if your marriage had been failing long before you discovered Jeremy’s infidelity, it still hurts to know how deeply you’ve been betrayed.

“I’m sorry,” he offers, his voice soft and silken. He reaches across the table to thread your fingers together.

You want to climb into his lap and kiss him. His words are sincere, not placating, but genuinely apologetic about your husband’s indiscretions. About how it must make you feel. 

“Don’t make it right – what we did,” he says quietly, “What we’re doin’.”

You take another measured sip of wine while you formulate your response, nodding slowly, “No. It doesn’t. Does that mean you don’t want to do it again?”

“Didn’t say that. Just said it ain’t right.”

The candle flickers across his expression, briefly illuminating the way his eyes have dilated, his lips tightening, his jaw ticks. You stare across at him, admiring the shape of his tension and the intensity of his gaze.

“Don’t know if I can stop myself now,” he admits.

You suppress a laugh, “Why? You seemed perfectly in control before I got naked and told you to touch me.”

That gets a low growl out of him, half grumble, half chuckle, “Tommy was there. Couldn’t very well go around flirtin’ and touchin’ you with him around. Anyway, he told me to stay away from you.”

You suck in a sharp breath, “Why?”

“You’re a client. Wouldn’t be right.”

“I think I can decide what’s right for me and what’s not,” you answer stubbornly, annoyed at Tommy’s intervention. Would Joel have fucked you sooner had Tommy not meddled? Probably not.

“Mm, I know, darlin’,” he says with an appraising nod. He sips his wine and purses his lips, disgruntled.

“We could’ve ordered something else,” you acknowledge, realizing he probably isn’t a wine drinker.

“‘S no trouble. You like it,” he says simply, forcing another sip.

That makes your chest ache, your need for him growing. Drinking something he doesn’t like just because you like it? Another point for Joel.

“So, Tommy is a meddler.”

Joel huffs, “Yeah. Always has been.”

“He told me to stay away from you too. Said you’re a grumpy old bastard,” you tell him.

His smile drops into a scowl, “I don’t care if he’s a brand new daddy, I’m gonna wring his neck.”

“Stop! Your niece or nephew can’t be fatherless!”

“Nephew. Benji. He’ll be alright. Better off, if I’m honest,” he grumbles. You know he doesn’t believe it, which makes it funnier.

You snicker into your glass, hidling your smirk just as the server approaches to take your orders. Joel looks across to you as you recite your selection. He orders the same and hands the menus to her with a gentle thanks.

“Big fan of ravioli?” You ask, resting your chin on your fist. “Would’ve pegged you for a steak kind of guy.”

He shrugs, “Ain’t no harm in tryin’ somethin’ new.”

“Hm, like fucking a client?”

“That’d be new, yes.”

“Is that so?”

His ears turn red at your inquisition, but he quickly settles his features into a calm, severe look as he leans forward to look at you properly, “Swear on my life. This is the first I’ve ever laid a hand on a client. Promise.”

Pressing your lips together to hide your smile, you nod, satisfied with his answer. You’d be lying if you said you hadn’t thought about it. Were you unique? Does he do this with all his clients? He’s single, after all, according to Tommy. 

“‘M I the first tradesman you’ve fucked?” He asks suddenly, making you blanch and laugh louder than what is appropriate in a tiny little restaurant like this. He grins, clearly very pleased with himself.

“Oh my god, yes. Jesus, Joel, don’t do that,” you gasp through your laughter.

Dinner is easy after that, relaxed and smooth with the difficult topic of your ill conceived exploits out of the way. He pours each of you another glass of wine, devours his ravioli, and smirks across at you as you run your heeled foot up his leg to tease him. 

He plays with your fingers, his smile coy and shy despite having already fucked you within an inch of sanity. You finish the bottle of wine together, the alcohol warming your skin, cheeks hot with its effects, and with the way Joel makes you blush with his heated looks and dark eyes.

The candlesticks in the room shrink into nothing and soon, you and Joel are the only people left in the restaurant. When he realizes this, he signals for the check.

He’s a gentleman when he pays for your meal and helps you out of your chair. He’s a gentleman when he guides you out to the parking lot with a tender, warm hand on your lower back, then opens the truck door for you. But as you’re about to climb inside, he yanks you back, spins you around, and kisses you.

You lean up to meet him, wrapping your arms around his neck as he clutches at your dress, tangling his fingers in it like he wants to lift the skirt and fuck you right here in the parking lot. You really wish he would. Don’t really care who sees. You’ve been aching for him since he left you lying naked and trembling by your pool.

“You’re trouble,” he mutters, your back hitting the side of the truck, “Wearin’ this skimpy little dress. Lookin’ prettier than anythin’ I’ve ever seen.”

His beard scrapes against your cheek as he plunders your lips, tongue seeking yours while his hips pin you in place. You can feel the hard outline of him through his jeans and you shudder at the thought of sucking him off as he drives you home.

Despite his fervor, he doesn’t lift you up and fuck you against his truck in the parking lot of a little Italian bistro regardless of how desperately you want it.

Eventually, he tears himself away from you and offers you a heated look before finally helping you into the truck. His hand remains firmly planted on your thigh the entire drive home, his fingers steadily creeping upward each time your hips shift.

”Patience, darlin’,” he chastises, giving you a warning look as he drives toward your home.

The moment he parks in the driveway, you don’t wait for him to open your door like the gentleman he’s been all night. You hear him chuckle as he follows you up to the front door, wiggling your ass a little just for his benefit. 

As you fumble in your purse for your keys, he stands a respectable distance behind you, hands tucked in his pockets so the urge to paw at you doesn’t hinder your hunt. You find the keys, get the door unlocked, and skip inside like the excited little minx you know you are. He chuckles again.

“Someone’s eager,” he rumbles, shutting the door behind him and finally reaching for you.

Your purse gets tossed aside as your arms come up around his neck, his lips finding yours like a homing missile. He shuffles you in the direction of the stairs until your ankles hit the bottom step. Since he’s been working on your house for the better part of three months, he’s become intimately acquainted with its layout, making it easy for him to navigate while he guides you along and turns your legs to jelly.

In a stunning display of brute strength, he lifts you up, hooking your legs around his waist so he can carry you up the stairs. You break apart with a gasp and clutch his strong shoulders to stabilize yourself.

“What’s wrong?” He asks, hands under your ass, powerful legs climbing higher. 

“Nothing,” you squeak, instantly soaked at the ease with which he carries you. What girl doesn’t want to be whisked away and fucked within an inch of her life by the rugged handyman building her house? You’re a simple girl with simple needs that he’s extremely adept at handling.

His lips curve into a smile that tells you he knows exactly what he’s doing to you.

He doesn’t set you down until he crosses the threshold to your bedroom, his lips on yours again, this time tender and slow like he’s trying to savor you. It weakens your knees and your fingers curl into his shirt to hang on.

“You understand what this means, don’t you?” He asks, big, strong arms curling around your waist while he backs you toward the bed.

You look up at him with wide, curious eyes, his meaning unclear.

“If I fuck you in this bed. In your house…” he lowers his head, lips brushing your ear, breath hot on your cheek, voice dripping with power, “You’re mine.”

Your entire body shudders at the possessiveness soaking his words. You were a goner the moment he laid his hands on you.

You nod, fingers curling in his shirt, “Yours.”

He lunges then, capturing your lips, sinking his tongue between them, devouring you wholly and completely. His big arms wrap around you, pressing you closer, making you whimper into him as he guides you toward the bed. Before you can fall onto its surface, his fingers find the zipper at your back and tugs.

He slips the straps off your shoulders and lets the dress fall to your ankles, leaving you bare apart from the scrap of lace covering your pussy. Joel breaks the kiss and takes a step back to admire you.

“Darlin’, you’re the prettiest thing I’ve ever laid eyes on,” he growls, eyes dark and hungry as they take you in. With one, thick finger, he skims a path from your belly button up to your chin, stopping briefly to play with each of your nipples before continuing on. He lifts your chin gently, assessing the way your breathing changes, lips swollen from his kisses, thighs squeezing together, “Your husband fuck you in this bed yet?”

Once Joel and Tommy had completed the renovation of your upstairs, you had opted to redecorate the space with all new furniture, art, accents, everything – mattress included. You’d only slept next to your husband once since then. And he hadn’t touched you. Not a single graze of flesh, or a tender caress. 

Shaking your head, you bite your lip, “No. He hasn’t fucked me in over a year.”

Joel’s eyes flash, something dark and dangerous in them that makes your thighs clench, “That right?”

”Too busy fucking his secretary,” you admit, leaning into his touch, his thumb tracing your plump lower lip. Your tongue darts out for a taste.

He allows it, and then grips your chin between his index finger and thumb, tilting his head, “You usin’ me to get back at him?”

You can tell by the question that he doesn’t like the idea of that. That he’s just some pawn in a battle between you and Jeremy. But it couldn’t be further from the truth. You shake your head, eyes softening.

”No, no, I promise. I want you, Joel,” you whisper, fists still clenched in his shirt as you press yourself against him, “I don’t care about getting back at him. I just want him gone.”

”You send your divorce papers yet?”

“Tomorrow. First thing, my lawyer will serve them.”

”Good girl,” he says lowly, giving you a brief kiss, “You still think fuckin’ me while you’re still married is a good idea?”

You nod, “Yes, I need it, Joel,” you whine, feeling the slick between your legs, the soaked fabric of your panties rubbing against you, “I need you.”

“You need to get fucked?” He nips at your chin, then moves down to your neck, making your legs weaken, “You need your pussy filled to the brim?”

Speechless, you nod frantically, hands flattening on his chest as he takes your waist and turns you to putty with his lips on your throat. “Please…”

”Alright, darlin’, lie back for me,” he grumbles, peeling himself away from you and helping you lie on the bed. When you position yourself in the center, he clicks his tongue and takes you by the thighs to pull your hips to the edge of the bed. Joel drops to his knees, and your stomach does a flip. “Need to taste this sweet little pussy before I fuck you.”

You’re not complaining.

His thumbs hook at the hem of your panties and he drags them down your legs slowly, your entire body lit with anticipation and a fresh wave of desire.

With his wide hands, he spreads your thighs gently, peppering kisses along your skin and inching his way methodically up to your center. The scruff of his beard tickles your skin, hips lifting in search of any sort of contact. It seems Joel isn’t in the mood for teasing today, because after parting your folds with his thumbs, he drags a slow, deliberate stripe up the center of your pussy.

He groans into you, your body overcome with sensation as he does it again. And again, and again, and again.

“Taste so fuckin’ sweet, baby,” he says, moving his hands to your hips to pull you further toward the edge of the mattress. 

He drinks you in like a man possessed, his tongue strumming your clit effortlessly and drawing out the most pathetic noises from the back of your throat. You writhe and arch, his movements slow and precise as he licks you. Your toes curl, fingers digging into his mess of curls. Fuck, he’s good.

He uses his tongue on you like he can’t get enough of the taste of you. Like he’s been desperate to make you cum on his tongue all evening. And maybe he has been. Maybe it’s all he’s thought about, because you know damn well it’s all you’ve thought about.

Before you can even register anything else, two, thick fingers press into you and you have to slap your hand over your mouth to keep from crying out.

Joel lifts his head and scowls, “What are you doing?”

You blink, hips moving to the slow, steady stroke of his fingers, “I — I —“

“Nuh uh, I wanna hear those pretty little sounds you make. You understand?” He asks, voice hard and stern like you’ve made a grave mistake.

You nod, whimpering a little when he crooks his fingers just right.

“Words, baby. Use your words,” he rasps, “Do you understand?”

“Yes, yes, I understand,” you insist, letting loose a sound that would make a porn star blush when he starts pumping his fingers steadily. His tongue is back on you, and in the next instant, you’re careening toward your orgasm.

Your skin is hot and your blood electric in your veins as you cum, a strangled moan puncturing the quiet of your bedroom. Joel grunts into your pussy and licks and laps at your release until you’re sure you can’t take it anymore. You’re still trembling when he pulls his fingers from you and moves up your body to give you a kiss.

Tasting yourself on his lips, you let out a faint sigh, pulling at the buttons on his shirt and pushing it off. His tongue is heaven on your pussy, but infinitely more devious when it slips between your lips. It’s dirty and slow, like he’s building you up just to shatter you again and again. Your entire body still tingles with the aftermath of your climax.

Your hips lift against him, clit scraping against denim. His cock is hard in the confines of his jeans, and all you want is for him to be inside you. 

With searching hands, you map out the contours of his muscles, built slowly over time by his craft. His tummy is soft, but underneath, you feel his muscles clench as your fingers continue their perusal. 

As much as you enjoy kissing him, you need him to fill you up, so you begin the delicate task of undoing his jeans and shoving them down his hips. They’re barely down past his ass when you arch up again, and dig your nails into his lower back to get him closer. His cock is thick and heavy against your pussy, making you both groan.

“So fuckin’ needy,” he growls, pushing his hips against you and creating a friction so overwhelming you swear it’ll make you cum if he does it again.

All you can do is nod, because you are. You need him so bad, you think you’ll die if you don’t get him inside you soon.

He grinds against you again, the underside of his cock stimulating your overworked clit. You squeal, arching into him, both somehow seeking more and less at the same time. Joel takes your hip in his large hand, thumb pressing into you to still your movements.

“Ask nicely, darlin’.”

It takes a few seconds for your brain to catch up with his words. You sound needy when you say it. Desperate and fucked out. “Please, fuck me, Joel. Please, I need it so bad.”

The sentence hasn’t even fully left your lips before he pushes into you with a low growl. Once he’s seated with the coarse hairs at his base nestled against you, he flexes his hips, pushing just a bit deeper until there’s nowhere else to go. You’re so full of him, aching as he settles against you, his girth splitting you wide open. 

Your nails rake down his back, but he doesn’t seem to mind.

“This pussy’s so fuckin’ tight, honey,” he hisses into your ear, withdrawing an inch and pushing back in. “Fuck.”

Under your hands, his muscles tremble with either the effort of holding himself over you, or with the restraint of not fucking into you like you want him to. Either way, you’re flattered and tilt your hips to take him deeper. 

“Don’t fuckin’ do that,” he warns, pushing his hips against you and making you gasp at the intrusion. Your walls flutter around him, practically screaming at him to move, pussy leaking with your arousal, “Ain’t bein’ polite.”

“S-sorry,” you whimper, nails digging into his lower back, “I need –”

“What do you need?”

“Need you to move, Joel, please fuck me,” you beg, sounding so pathetic to your own ears, you almost cringe. But the slow smile and jut of his hips makes you forget in an instant. 

“Yeah? Need me to wreck this pretty little pussy?” He hums, the low vibrato of his voice sending you into another simpering fit as you try to move your hips against him. “Careful.”

He gives you a hard kiss before sitting up to tower over you, knees braced on the edge of the bed as his hands roam your body. The steady shift of his cock inside you has slowly eased the ache, but you need more. He feels so big, your cunt practically drools around him.

“You’ve got such good manners, baby,” he huffs, arms hooking under your thighs to lift you higher, pushing his cock deeper. Your hands fly out to cling to the comforter, eyes hazy as he withdraws and pushes in again, so fucking slowly it’s driving you crazy. It’s the same position he took you on the lounger by the pool, the same heavy stare, the same dark look and powerful body looming over you.

When speech evades you, he simply smiles and adjusts you again before he begins a steady, rhythmic pace that’s both hard and easy all at once. His hips smack into you, before he slowly withdraws, then fucking into you again like he’s trying to make you cum on force alone. And it’s working.

Each push of his hips elicits a little gasp from you and a spark of arousal pulsing through you. Sweat gleams on his forehead with the effort of his control, so you’re not surprised when he abandons his subdued pace in favor of quicker, deeper thrusts. 

“Takin’ my cock so good,” he grunts, pulling you up higher, “You gonna cum on it like a good girl?”

You nod frantically, already on your way to your own undoing. When his thumb circles your clit and his cock hits you just right, your vision goes dark and your back arches. Your moans are obscene and loud, and you’re certain your neighbors can hear the way you scream for him. But you don’t care. The pleasure coursing through you crests while he fucks you through your orgasm, his groans faint and labored.

The moment you come down, he pulls out, making you suck in a sharp breath at the loss. He flips you onto your stomach while he lies prone on top of you and pants into your ear, “This sweet little pussy is gonna be the death of me, baby.”

In one, brutal thrust, he’s back inside you, making your back arch against him. He takes the opportunity to wrap a large hand around your neck, holding you up as he takes his own pleasure and gives you everything in return. Even after two orgasms, the size of him burns through you, fire coiling tight in your belly with each plunge.

Your walls clench around him and he growls into your ear, his breath hard. His lips find your throat and he grunts with each push, “Tryn’ to make me cum before I’m ready to be done with you, darlin’?”

You shake your head, voice broken and barely there, like he’s fucked the will right out of you, “No… no, I swear.”

His fingers squeeze around your neck, not enough to cut off your air supply, but the pressure is there, and it’s exquisite. His pace is relentless, his cock so deep, filling you so completely, all you can do is writhe and cry under him. A large hand lands on your ass as he growls into your ear, “Tell me who this pussy belongs to.”

You don’t even hesitate, not for a second, “You, it’s yours. It belongs to you.”

“What belongs to me?”

“My p-pussy,” you cry out, another crack of his palm against your ass. “Joel…”

“I gotcha, baby,” he breathes into your ear, his beard scraping your cheek, lips and teeth adding sensation to your skin as his cock stretches you out. His restraint snaps then, and he begins pounding into you with a force that makes your eyes roll back into your head and your entire body lock up. “That’s it, honey. I know you’re about to cum. Give it to me.”

It’s remarkable how quickly he’s become attuned to your body and its signals. He adjusts his hips, pushing deeper, harder, faster than what he should be capable of. His breath ragged in your ear, muscles tight against your back, cock dragging in and out of you. When he releases your neck, you slump to the bed, only for him to plant his hand next to you, while the other sneaks underneath you to rub your clit in time with his thrusts.

It undoes you so quickly, you scream into the sheets, hips pushing against him as you cum. Your climax washes over you so completely, you think you lose consciousness for several seconds. You’re nothing but sensation and bliss.

His deep growl reaches your ears, breaths coming in short bursts as he fucks you through it, “Fuck, feels so good. Pussy is grippin’ me nice and tight baby. I’m gonna cum.”

“Cum inside me,” you plead, words muffled by the bedding. You can feel him trembling above you, holding himself back, and then a rush of warmth as he fills you, cumming with a bone shattering groan that makes your entire body tingle. You love the way he sounds, love that you can do this to him. Wreck him just as thoroughly as he wrecks you.

His thrusts slow, then ease to a stop, and he bends over you to kiss along your shoulder and down your back until he’s withdrawing from you completely. A quiet whimper leaves you, devastated at the loss. 

After wiping up the mess you two had made, Joel settles in bed next to you, drawing you against his chest and giving you a tender kiss. It’s slow and thoughtful and lingering. There’s no intent behind it other than to claim and cherish.

“I can’t stay,” he says when he pulls away, “Gotta be up early for a job tomorrow.”

You sigh and nestle deeper, chasing his lips, “I don’t want you to go.”

“Mm, I don’t either. But my client is extremely demanding. Gotta get to the site on time to make her happy,” he mutters, tongue swiping against you. Your heart flutters, cheeks warming as he pulls away with a smile, “I’ll be back in the morning.”

“Stay a little while longer?”

He answers by pulling the sheets around the both of you, his arms cradling you against him despite the sweat you’ve both worked up. Joel kisses you again, his hand sliding up your back to rest at the base of your neck.

He’s warm and solid against you, his breathing heavy and deep, but you know he’s not asleep yet.

“Joel?”

“Mm?”

“Are you gonna tell Tommy?” You ask, not out of fear or hesitancy, but simple curiosity. If he tells his brother, what will that convey about the two of you? 

He lifts his head to peek down at you and arches an eyebrow, “Do you want me to?”

You shrug, truly unsure. You’re still married. He’s still technically working for you, and you’re not sure what this means for either of you. 

“Don’t see that it’s any of his business. But I meant what I said earlier. I don’t do shit half way, darlin’. This ain’t some game to me,” he tells you, resting on his elbow to look down at you. You look up at him with wide, glimmering eyes, “You either want this, or you don’t. But you better tell me soon so I –”

“I like you too,” you blurt, cutting him off so he doesn’t spiral. You’re growing accustomed to his directness. He doesn’t want to play mind games like some men. Doesn’t want to string you along. It’s refreshing. “I – I don’t want to tell Tommy, though. Not until you’re done… working for me.”

A sly smile creeps onto his face, “You don’t want him to know I’m fuckin’ the boss?”

“No!” Your skin heats and you bring the sheet up to hide your embarrassment, “It’ll look like I’m taking advantage of you.”

“Darlin’, if anyone’s takin’ advantage, it’s me,” he chuckles, pulling the sheet down and pressing a kiss to your forehead. “Saw you walkin’ around in those skimpy little outfits and couldn’t help myself.”

“I didn’t exactly give you a choice, Joel. I basically stripped naked and threw myself at you.”

“Still,” he shrugs, “Could’ve said no.”

You look up at him with a slight smile, his eyes warm and gentle, softened in the dull light of the bedroom lamp, “Glad you didn’t.”

He smiles back. “Me too.”

The next morning, you wake to an email from your lawyer telling you that the papers have been delivered to Jeremy. He was confused and pissed off, but it’s done. The weight of it shifts something in you, the relief burning at your eyes. 

Joel left sometime during the night, but you wish you could reach for him, celebrate with him, kiss him. Because of him, your life has changed drastically in the past twenty-four hours. You want to thank him.

You get the chance to do just that over the course of the next few days, kissing him when he arrives to work on your house for the day, sitting in his lap while he eats lunch, begging him to fuck you before he leaves for the evening. It’s pure bliss, and for the first time in years, you feel something dangerously close to happiness. Something Jeremy hasn’t given you in so long, you forgot what it felt like.

You should’ve known, then, that it would all come crashing down.

taglist: @vickie5446 @pedroncigarettes @isabellaboo2025 @milla-frenchy @rosebuds-and-moonlight @dani111 @wildthyng @saralovesjoelmiller @cuteanimalmama @pedrofan @madpanda75 @faceache111

[kaizsche]

PEDRO PASCAL as ALEX SERIAN BEHEMOTH! (2026)

[604to647]

Safest with You (Ch. 21 - The Way to Get Over Someone, Part 2)

11.3K / Modern AU Retired Mob Enforcer!Din Djarin x fem!reader

Summary: Despite Din's attempts to be evasive, you learn the truth about your break-up, and make some decisions about what you are and are not willing to accept going forward.

Warnings: 18+ Content (MDNI please). Angst, pining, longing. Nicknames as usual (pretty bird, baby). Some smuttiness but won't spoil.

A/N: Well, we're here: the penultimate chapter (if you don't count the epilogue) - sorry for the word count! 😱 Thank you to everyone who's read up to here - I can't tell you how much it means to me! I know some of you have some strong feelings about Din's actions/dumbdumbness and that's okay!! If you feel like regardless of his intentions, he shouldn't be forgiven/can't be redeemed, I invite you to read up until the paragraph that ends with the blue heart dividers 💙💙💙. I hope that where it ends provides a satisfying conclusion for the series for you and thank you, thank you, thank you again!

All dividers by @saradika-graphics / Series Masterlist

You don’t know how you get through dinner; you must have gone on some kind of small talk auto-pilot because if Mark knew just how much your mind was preoccupied by another man while he was being nothing but genuine and engaging, he probably would have thrown a glass of wine in your face.

Outside of the restaurant, Mark gives you a shy look and asks if you want to get ice cream for second dessert.  Oh man, he really is good guy.

“Oh Mark, I really cannot believe I’m turning down ice cream, but I have something to confess to you,” you look apologetic and hope he’ll let you say what you think he deserves to hear.

“Honestly, Mark – you’re a dream date.  You’re smart and funny and Jen was so right, you’re a fucking catch.  I can’t tell you how guilty I’ve been feeling because I don’t think I’ve been reciprocating the energy and effort that you deserve.  I don’t know if Jen told you, but I got out of a relationship a while ago and I thought I was ready to date again – but being with you tonight… I realize I’m completely out of my element.  I don’t have any business going out with a great guy like you – not right now anyways.  I’m so sorry.”

Mark looks surprised, but his tone is understanding, “Oh!  Wow.  Jen did say something about that – I’m sorry about your last relationship.  It sounds like it really did a number on you.  If it makes you feel better – I had a great time.  I didn’t in anyway feel like I was carrying the date or anything.  And if tonight was you not feeling like you’re up to dating again, then I can’t quite imagine what it would be like to date you when it’s something you’re ready to put your all into.  Thanks for being honest.  When you feel like you’re ready to give dating another shot – think of me?”

It’s a generous and gentlemanly response; you really couldn’t ask for anything more.  The two of you part ways with a light hug outside the restaurant; Mark offers to call you a cab, but you let him know you’ll be fine, and wave appreciatively as he drives away in the car the valet brings him. 

Sighing a heavy sigh, you’re just thinking it might be best if you send Jen a message to let her know how the date went before Mark does when you hear a crash coming from the alleyway next to the restaurant.

Curiosity getting the best of you, you walk over to the side of the building and peek around the corner; there in the alley is the occupier of all your current thoughts, Din, kicking garbage cans in frustration.  When you see him punch the brick wall of the building and shake out his fist, your legs carry you to him as if on instinct – unable to see Din hurt without the urge rising to comfort and soothe him.

Din has both of his palms up against the wall when you close in on him, leaning his weight against his hands with his eyes closed, breathing heavy.

“Din?  Are you okay?” you ask softly, not wanting to startle him.

He looks up, surprised at your appearance – eyes stormy, the rich browns of his irises full of emotion, “I’m okay, pretty bird.”

Pretty bird.  Your heart swells at the familiar term of endearment that you thought you’d never hear again.  It’s like music to your ears.

“This doesn’t look okay,” you gently pull the hand that you saw him shake in pain away from the wall, turning it over and cradling it in your hands - gasping a little when you see his knuckles scraped and bleeding.  Din watches your pretty face cloud with concern as you take a handkerchief from your purse and delicately wrap it around his wounded hand; tying it snugly against his palm before turning his hand over and bringing his knuckles to your lips, pressing a tender kiss against the makeshift bandage.

“Thank you, baby.”

You’re looking at him with such a sweet expression that Din’s heart starts to ache again; he has to remind himself that your concern isn’t really for him particularly – it’s just your kind nature, “Where’s your date?  Did he go and get the car or something?”

You shrug good naturedly, “I sent him home.  Would you mind putting me in a cab, Din?”

“Of course.” As Din walks with you back towards the street, his injured hand rests protectively on your lower back and the gesture causes a chill to run up your spine.

It’s not in uncomfortable silence that the two of you wait on the curb, but Din is afraid that if he doesn’t engage you in some type of conversation, you and this moment will disappear before his mind registers it as being real, “Why did you send your date home?  Did he try something?” His eyes darken.

You shake your head lightly; Din’s protective nature is exactly as you remember - you’ve missed it, “No, nothing like that.  He was fine, really.”  You can’t deny it any longer, you’ve missed him, “He just wasn’t… you.”  With this admission you look up at Din and search his eyes – does he miss you too?

“Oh, pretty bird,” Din manages to breathe out before he descends on your mouth, kissing you fully and so full of longing and desperation he’s afraid he might actually break you.  Your arms fly up of their own accord and wrap around Din’s neck, pulling him closer, closer, closer; your fingers thread and tug at the loose curls at the nape of his neck and you long to run your hands through his hair again - you refrain, not wanting to mess up his hairstyle.  He’s yours and you’re his again in this kiss – every brush of your lips, every step in the dance of your tongues a testament to how much you’ve missed each other.

You’re melting.  Melting into Din’s strong arms and the safety of his hold, reveling in the warmth of his affections.  It’s like you’ve never left, his body molds to yours, fitting so right – pressed flushed against Din, you dare anything to try and get between the two of you right now.

Parting reluctantly when you hear the slow crunch of tires coming to a stop next to you, Din kisses your forehead gently before seeing you into the backseat of the cab.  When you see him open the passenger side door and speak to the driver, you recall with a surge of affection that cab ride after Katie’s birthday when you and Din reconnected after your brief separation.  Once again, Din tells the driver your address and emphasizes the importance of getting you home safely, punctuating his point with an overly generous tip.  Your heart swells at the memory – the déjà vu driving home how everything about your relationship had been real.

When Din comes back to see you in the backseat, your eyes are bright and full of feeling – he’s here, the sweet man who always takes care of everyone, who only every wanted to take care of you; he’s right here in front of you again.  Bringing your hand up to Din’s cheek, your heart soars when he leans into your palm with a smile; the soft feel and weight of his face familiar and comforting.

“Din, I know you didn’t sleep with Vanessa,” you say simply with no room for argument – a simple fact.  Now that you’ve said it out loud, it seems so fucking obvious.  How could you have ever believed that this man could have been capable of such a betrayal?

Simplicity and truth are all that Din can afford as well, “Of course not.  How could I ever want anyone else when I had you?  The perfect woman.  You’re the love of my life, pretty bird.  Would never cheat on you.”

The sincerity of his words brings tears to your eyes, “Then why, Din?  Why would you want me to think that you had?”

You look so confused and sad; for the billionth time, Din chastises his past self for his dumb decisions, “Needed you to hate me, pretty bird.  Needed you to stay away from me.  It’s the only way to keep you safe.”

Though this answer is vague, your response is relayed with certainty; hands cupping Din’s face, “I’m safest with you, Din.”

The kiss that Din presses to your lips at this declaration is achingly desperate, as if he’s trying to brush away all his past mistakes and wipe clean the hurt he’s caused.  He loves you.  You can feel it in every stroke of his tongue over yours, and in the way his teeth nip and nibble at your lower lip.

You’ve missed his mouth, his touch, and everything Din – and judging by the way his hands cradle your face and the deep emotions swirling in the richness of brown eyes, Din’s missed you just as much.  The two of you hold each other, foreheads pressed together for closeness, breathing in the other’s air as you soak in this togetherness that neither of you ever thought you’d experience again.

Finally, remembering what that last cab ride led to, you whisper, “Din, will you come over tonight?”

There’s a pause as Din’s brows furrow and his eyes squeeze shut.  This moment of tenderness with you, one where you don’t hate him, has been more than he deserves.  But it’s a fantasy, a mirage – the reports of escalating violence he listened to during tonight’s meeting still fresh in his mind, Din shakes his head in frustration.  Based on what had been disclosed in the meeting, he can’t help but think that it’s working – everything he’s done to remove the target on your back is working; he can’t throw away your safety just so he can have this feeling again.  That would be too risky.  Selfish.

“Pretty bird, I can’t do that.  I’m sorry.”

“I don’t understand, Din,” your voice breaks at his latest rejection and the sound tears Din in two.

He lifts your chin with his fingers so that you’ll look at him though the tears that are already starting to form in your beautiful eyes, “Baby, please understand.  We can’t.  We can’t be together – you deserve better than this, than me.  Being with me puts you in unnecessary danger.  My deepest fear is that you get hurt and I can’t… I won’t let that happen.”

“You’re hurting me right now, Din,” your voice small, sad.

Din knows he is, but he has to stay strong and resolved for your sake, even if this short respite from the dull ache of his everyday existence has been a heaven beyond his imagination, “I’m sorry, pretty bird.  I really am.  I love you, I love you.  But you deserve better.”

You say nothing but the few tears that roll down your cheeks speak volumes.  With great difficulty, Din says a wordless goodbye with kisses to your hair, then both of your hands before letting them and you go.  He knocks on the top of the cab to let the driver know he can leave; as the taxi drives away, he sees your hurt face looking back at him and it nearly brings him to his knees. 

Pressing the heels of his palm to his eyes, Din lets out a loud growl of frustration.  Taking several deep breaths before going back in to rejoin the Family meeting, he repeats to himself a mantra that he has to believe – This is the right thing.  The most important thing is that she’s safe.  Staying away from her keeps her safe.

---

Din’s resolve lasts exactly two days.

---

It takes you only the duration of the cab ride home to get over the sting of Din’s rejection.  Yes, the emotional whiplash of having him tell you that he loves you only for him say that it doesn’t change anything between the two of you hurt, but by the time you’ve taken Al out and finished getting ready for bed, your hurt feelings have been replaced by fresh purpose and determination. 

You finally have some answers.  Somehow Din has convinced himself that being apart from him is for your benefit and he’s willing to sacrifice his own happiness for it.  The problem for you is that he’s also willing to sacrifice yours. 

There’s a part of you that is livid about this, but you’re keeping this particular emotion at bay for the present moment with your newfound conviction to get to the bottom of what’s going on; you’ll get the answers you seek before you decide how you’re going to feel about it all.

You spend most of the weekend turning over the events of the last five months in your head, looking at them with a new perspective after the revelations from the past four days; mentally preparing a list of things that Din owes you explanations for and talking yourself in and out of how you’ll demand them of him. 

By some twist of fate, your regular Sunday brunch has been cancelled for the first time in forever, with several of your friends unable to make it – you can’t decide if this is in your favour or not.

On one hand, you could really use their opinions and a sounding board for your rollercoaster of thoughts and emotions; on the other hand, you suspect that Din is currently not your friends’ favourite person and you could probably do without the barrage of insults that would inevitably be thrown about as a reaction to his and Vanessa’s confessions from this past week.  Not that Din didn’t deserve them, but rather they wouldn’t help you work out what you need to do next.

By Sunday afternoon you’re sure of a few things:

Din loves you.

He has always loved you and he never stopped.

You love him, too.

He truly believed that being with him put you in danger.

What you didn’t know:

How could it be that he loved you so deeply but could so readily leave you?  Not just initially five months ago, but again, not two days earlier?

What gave him the right to decide what was best for you? 

Did he really think it acceptable to keep you in the dark about things that he clearly believed impacted your life so significantly?

The details of what prompted Din to act the way he did don’t interest you as much as why it led him to behave so unsympathetically for the past five months.  The more you think about it, the harder it is for you sit still and wait out the indetermined amount of time needed before you get your answers.

On Sunday night, you make the decision to head down to Mando’s yourself after work one day this week.  Feeling confident in your decided course of action, you’re as satisfied as you can be with the situation when you hear a knock on your door.

---

This is too easy.

Din mutters to himself as he walks through the parking garage beneath your apartment building undetected.  It was entirely too easy for him to gain entry into the garage and avoid the security cameras on his way to the internal stairwell.  He makes a mental note to talk to Paz about this gap in security as he’s taking the stairs two at a time up to your floor. 

He had tried to stay away, he really had.  But just as Din had always known, without the deterrent of you hating him and the surety that you would push him away, he had only his own self control to keep him from seeking you out, and that had crumbled under your loving touch outside the restaurant on Friday.

It had been too long since Din had gone without the feel of your soft lips pressed to his or basked in the warmth of your soft gaze and he had positively melted from both when he saw you after your date.  Like an addict in recovery, the high from his relapse was too intense to ignore; he simply could not be kept from you any longer.

He barely recalls what happened after going back into the restaurant on Friday and finishing the Family meeting.  Or how he got through Saturday at the gym, trying to slog through this month’s invoicing and attempting (unsuccessfully) to concentrate on Jimmy’s training.  Don’t even ask him what he did today.  All he knows is that after nightfall, his body drove his truck over to your neighbourhood and his feet carried him straight to your door.

Unsure of what type of reception he’ll receive if you open the door, Din doesn’t even know what he expects, only what he wants: you.

Your door opens with you already ready for bed, blinking at him with an unreadable expression.  Din thinks he should speak first and lets Al buy him some time when he noses out, nuzzling his snoot into Din’s large hands.  After giving your happy pup a few head rubs to show him how much he’s been missed, Din straightens up to look at you again; he opens his mouth to say something, though he doesn’t know what - and he never finds out because you kiss him.

You hadn’t expected to see Din before your planned confrontation, and you certainly didn’t think you’d see him at your door looking so soft and vulnerable.  After he had dispensed some love to Al, the expression in Din’s eyes when he raised himself back up to his impressive height was that of a much smaller man.  One who was unsure, ashamed.

To see Din like this takes all the wind out of the proverbial sails you had hoisted high over the last two days, the ones you had readied in anticipation of the fight you were bringing to his doorstep this week.  And just like before, when faced with seeing Din in distress, your mind, heart and body ache to soothe and calm him - so you do what comes naturally and press your lips to his.

Din’s lips never leave yours.  Not when you walk him inside your apartment and close the door, and not when he familiarly navigates the layout of your living room to sit on the couch and pull you down onto his lap.  He won’t stop brushing his desperate mouth against your perfectly plush pout, the one he dreams about regularly, even as he murmurs the only two phrases he needs to know you understand:

I’m sorry, baby.

I love you, pretty bird.

You match Din kiss for kiss, “I know.  I know, Din” as you undress first yourself, then the man whose touch you’ve been yearning for for nearly half a year and whose weight you long to be under again.  Your body cries out, remembering the feel of the corded muscles of his strong arms and the comfort of his hard chest; your hands molds to Din’s body as they roam and explore, afraid if you release him he’ll be ripped away from you again.  On Din’s part, even as his mouth becomes more insistent, his touch on your body remains gentle, reverent – where you’re urgent and possessive, he is worshipful.  And still, he recites:

I’m sorry, baby.

I love you, pretty bird.

With Din owning your mouth, your moans of I know, I know, I know are swallowed and vibrate down into his chest - setting his heart on fire and quickening his pulse even as he kisses deeper and steals all your air.

Feeling him lick into your mouth, you whimper ‘Din, please’ and the sound of his name once again on your lips makes Din’s dick jump.  He grabs you tight around the waist, holding you to him to continue fully exploring the open, moaning cavern of your mouth, conveying his devotion with each caress and massage of his tongue.  How could he have ever let you go?  You show Din that you don’t want him to do so ever again by meeting his every touch, every kiss, every guttural needy noise with a hungrier one of your own.

It’s been too long and your hearts and bodies have missed each other too much; Din is already hard and throbbing against where you’re wet and wanting.  Everything is hurried, messy, and inelegant.  You need each other and that’s all there is to it.

Overcome with your own greediness, you murmur, “Need you inside, baby.”

As Din’s entire body melts into a puddle at your words, every muscle in his broad frame relaxes and all his power and control evaporate in the face of his one and only fantasy coming to life; only snapped out of his euphoric state by the sensation of you smearing his leaking precum over his length with your soft hands - Din thinks he might come from this alone.  He’s craved your touch every moment since that fateful night outside his apartment, but he holds back for the heaven he knows is to come when you line him up to your entrance and slowly sink down.

It’s really has been too long – Din’s too big and you’re too tight and there hasn’t been enough prep; it hurts.  But somehow it’s welcomed - both of you needing it to hurt, wanting it to hurt, so you know it’s real.

“Nggghhhh – fuck, Din, so big,” you whine as he stretches you out - he’s bigger than you remember.  He feels better than you remember.

“I know, pretty bird.  But it’ll fit,” Din hums, “because you’re made for me.”

His sweet words belie the sting to your tight channel, but the joy that overflows from your heart straight to you core soon drowns out the pain; this is how it was always meant to be: you trusting your body to Din, and Din taking care of you.  Slowly, slowly, your sheath yourself onto Din’s cock – fitted so close that you feel every thick vein and groove along your warm walls. 

Din’s kisses are gentler now, tender and reassuring like his words, “Doing so good for me, pretty girl,” “You feel so perfect around me,” “Love this tight cunt, missed her so much.”

His praise causes your pussy to gush and your hands card through his soft curls appreciatively.  Gazing into Din’s eyes lovingly, you coo back your own song, “Feels so good, daddy,” “God, I’m so full,” “Noone wrecks this pussy like you, baby.”

When you’re finally fully seated, with Din bottomed out inside you, his balls nestled perfectly under your ass, the two of you simply just rest.  Countless minutes go by so you can relearn to breathe and Din thanks his lucky stars for the privilege of praying at your altar once more.

Fully blissed out and body trembling upon remembering its rightful place on Din’s cock, you whisper, “Din, please move.” And move he does.

Slowly and with the restraint of a saint, Din thrusts up to meet your tentative downward movements, dragging his cock deliciously in and out of your tight cunt, letting her suck him back in of her own volition.  You wrap your arms around his neck and feel Din’s sensual kisses on your lips, down your neck, and at the hollows of your throat; the wet trail his mouth leaves behind causes an electric chill to run throughout your entire body, your hips bucking a little harder, a little more ambitious in response.

There’s no rush, the two of you have all the time in the world to enjoy your reunion, and yet there’s an urgency - a hunger to devour as much of one another as you can, both starved from your time apart.  The need to make up for lost time takes over; every kiss of skin on skin is an apology and a promise, your declarations of love becoming louder and more unabashed, movements more fervent, frantic.

Din groans into your skin, “Pretty bird, not going to last.  Missed you too much,” as he starts to punch up with an impressive force, driving his cock deeper into your cunt and reaching that spot that only he’s ever been able to find.

“Give it to me, daddy,” you mewl, barrelling towards to your own orgasm faster than you had expected, “Need it.  Need you.  I love you, I love you, I love you.”  This is the first time you’ve said it back tonight, and the only time Din’s heard these sweet words in the musical lilt of your voice in last five mouths – this alone sends him on the fast track to the edge.

He snakes one hand between your bodies to find your already pulsating clit and starts to pen a long overdue love letter with his thumb.  Din’s other arm pulls your body as close to his as possible, so you’re now pressed flushed against his warm chest, moving with him as one.

I’m sorry, baby.  I love you, pretty bird.  I love you.

I love you, Din.  Missed you so much.  I love you.

You come - teary eyes locked onto Din’s as he signs over his fate with an elegant signature on your clit.  Your slippery nub kisses his thumb back just as hard, crying and begging for relief as you clench down from the onslaught of pleasure that only Din can give you.  Din spills deep into you as your pussy chokes him, milking the euphoria of his release for all it’s worth.  He’s in heaven.  You’re his heaven.

Wordlessly, you and Din exchange soft smiles and besotted looks as you clean-up after; a string of never-ending tender kisses lead the two of you back to the couch where you lay down in Din’s arms, sated and pliant, soaking in the strength and sureness with which he holds you, “Din, we need to talk.”

“I know, pretty bird,” he’s ready to tell you everything, lay it all bare for you. 

Propping yourself up on your elbow so you can look Din in the eye, you implore him to be honest with you, “You said you needed me to hate you.  That it was the only way to keep me safe.  What were you talking about?”

Din tells you about the photos that the Family received which had been received as threats and the various confrontations and incidents of harassment in the months following that confirmed them as such.  He tells you how scared he’s been for you, and how guilty and sorry he is that you were ever caught up in his world in this terrifying way.

Forcing himself not to look away from your pretty face when he sees it line with fear, Din tells you that he never wanted you to feel frightened or for your life to be interrupted, “You’re safe, pretty bird, I promise.  You’re well protected - the entire Fett Family is looking out for you.  They love you as much as I do.  The Family would never abandon you.”

“Just you then?” It wasn’t meant as a sarcastic or passive aggressive comment, but you just honestly can’t see what this had to do with why Din left you.  If anything, wouldn’t it have made more sense for him to stay by your side?

Regardless of your meaning, Din looks pained at your question and averts his eyes in shame.

“I understand that you were afraid for me because of the threats, but if the Family was willing to protect me, I still don’t understand why you would need me to hate you to be safe?”

“You should never have been in danger at all, baby.  The reason you’re a target is because of me.  Whoever issued the threats only targeted you because… because, they knew how much you mean to me.  How much I love you.  It wasn’t enough just to protect you from the threat, I didn’t want you to be under threat at all.  That’s the only way to guarantee you would be safe.”

You stroke Din’s face with your hand, and he leans in to your comforting touch and closes his eyes.

“If you hated me, then you would no longer be a worthy target.  The person they really want to hurt is me, and if we weren’t together anymore, they can’t do that through you.”  Din sighs, “But I’m so sorry, pretty bird.  The way I went out about it was all wrong - hurting you like I did is inexcusable and it shattered my heart to do so.  You didn’t deserve to think I cheated on you.”

Your heart softens and you lean in to lay gentle, sympathetic kisses to Din’s soft lips.  Finally, finally you understand.  Though you don’t excuse the hurt he caused, you can understand Din’s fallacious reasoning; in an odd way, it’s a relief to see him so unchanged – his actions ever consistent with his self-sacrificing nature and his conviction to take care of those he loves, to keep them safe.  The only thing is, his was not the only heart he had sacrificed.

“I thought you never loved me,” you say in a small voice, “when I thought you had cheated on me, it made me question our entire relationship.”

“Oh, fuck, baby,” Din’s shame and self-anger triple upon hearing your words.  He had expected you to be angry, to hate him for the lie he had you believe, but he never considered that you would have doubted what he felt for you prior to that horrible night.  Secure in the depth of his own devotion and the truth of just how in love with you he was, Din had thought what was unshakeable to him would be the same for you; but of course, now that you’ve said it, it makes complete sense and he adds this egregious transgression against you to his long list of regrets, “I’m so fucking sorry.  I never thought- oh, fuck.  It never crossed my mind that you might ever doubt how so completely in love with you I’ve always been.  From the moment I met you it was over for me, baby – you became the single most important person in my life.  I live for you, pretty bird.  I’m so sorry I ever made you feel any differently.”

Din looks at you with so much sincerity and desperation, you heart is unable to do anything but believe him.  You know without a shadow of a doubt that Din loves you and moreover, that everything he’s done has been in the name of that love.  And though you trust in his pure intentions, they’re misguided in a way that you have to make him understand.  If the two of you are to have a chance again, you need honesty and openness, and Din has to have faith in that same love when things get tough.

You’re lightly scratching Din’s facial scruff the way you know he loves, wanting to just enjoy this affectionate moment a little longer before you dive into the more serious things you need to talk about when you both hear Din’s phone start to buzz incessantly. 

Din reaches his long arm off the couch and easily finds his discarded pants and pulls out his phone, frowning when he sees the multiple notifications on his lock screen.

His entire body tenses as he reads Paz’s messages.

Hutt movement three blocks away from Lil’ Lady’s.

Woves confirms the group is growing.

Mods say traffic cams show more on the way. 

Din feels a stab of fear tear through his chest before the horror of what he’s done settles like a boulder in his stomach.

For the five months that Din had left you alone, there hadn’t even been a hint of suspicious activity anywhere near you.  No appearance of shady characters or any incidents of malfeasance, not a single one.  You had been safe.

What had changed tonight?  What could have possibly happened to incite a flurry of rival gang activity so close to your home when it had never previously been an issue?

It was him.  What had changed is he had been weak.  He had given in to his need for you, selfishly putting you in harm’s way.  Din realizes he had been right: staying away from you had been keeping you safe.  He gets up suddenly, the need to rectify his mistake overwhelming.

“Din?”

Din’s hurrying putting on his clothes and doesn’t answer you.  He doesn’t hear you get up from the couch after him and grab a house cardigan from the back of one of the dining room chairs to throw over yourself, watching as he carries on to leave without saying a word.

“STOP!!”

You hardly ever yell.  And you never slam your hand down on your dining table so hard and loud it hurts, but you need to get Din’s attention somehow.  It works - Din’s shocked out of his automated movements and turns to face you.

“What are you doing, Din?” you look distressed, confused, but most of all, frightened by what you think you already know is happening.

“This was a mistake, pretty bird.”

His words cause you to recoil; your voice comes out tight, bordering on bitter, “What was a mistake, Din?  Telling me you loved me, that you lived for me?  Or sleeping with me?  Tell me, which mistake do you mean?” 

Din rushes forward; he’s fucking up all over, he can tell, and hurting you again is the very last thing he ever wanted to do, “No, baby – none of that was a mistake.  Being with you tonight has been a happiness I never thought I’d feel again.  Honestly, I didn’t think I deserved it and still don’t think I do.  The mistake was me somehow thinking that everything was behind us.  That I wouldn’t be putting your safety at risk by coming over here.”

He can’t possibly be doing this again, you’re incredulous, “You’re doing this again?  You’re going to leave?  And I don’t get a say in it?”

“Pretty bird, you don’t understand.”

“Make me understand, Din.”

“There’s something happening right now, a danger that’s closer to you than should ever be allowed.  And it’s because I’m here.  This is proof that I’m no good for you baby.”

“Din, how can you say that?  I love you.”

“And I have to keep you safe because I love you, too.”

“What you’re doing is breaking my heart, Din. This isn’t the only way - you have to trust me.”

“This isn’t about trust, pretty bird, it’s about your safety.”

“Of course it’s about trust, Din!  You don’t trust me to be able to handle some of the things in your life – things that you think I’m too delicate or ‘good’ for, whatever the fuck that means.  You don’t trust me so you don’t tell me anything or let me make any decisions, and that’s really fucking condescending and hurtful.  You have to trust me, Din!  You have to trust that you can show me parts of yourself and your world that maybe aren’t perfect or you aren’t that proud of and that I’m not going to leave!  You have to trust that I love you enough!”

The silence between the two of you is punctuated only by your shallow breathing from finishing your speech and the electric tension that now hums in the air.  Something in Din’s brain is awakening, yelling at him that there’s a truth in your words that he hasn’t had the courage to face – that other than your safety, he’s been worried that bringing you fully into his world and telling you everything, sharing in all the fears and dark parts, would scare you away.  That he’s been afraid that you would walk away, so he did it first.

Din doesn’t know if he’s ready to face this realization or its implications out loud, not when you’re looking at him with so much disappointment and anger.  Not when the phone in his pocket continues to buzz non-stop.

You’re at your wit’s end and throw out ludicrously, “So, what?  We stay apart until you deem it safe again?  Then what, we’re allowed to date until the next time you think it’s safer for me if you leave?  And then we just repeat this pattern forever?”

Din’s exasperated too, frustrated with the unexpected turn this evening has taken – at himself.  He throws his hands up in the air, “I don’t know, okay?  I just know it’s not safe for you to be my girl right now.  And as for later?  May not then either?  Maybe you just don’t wait for me.”

You freeze, the retort on the tip of your tongue that you’re supposed to be a team and that Din doesn’t get to choose for the both of you, dissipates from your shock at his last words, “Wait. What do you mean ‘don’t wait for you’?”

Din doesn’t immediately clarify so you press on, “You would be okay with that?  If I moved on with someone else? Is that what you want?”

Din wants to reassure you; it’s not what he meant, of course.  His heart would shatter if you were with someone else; he had only meant that he knew it was terribly unfair for you to have to wait for this situation to resolve itself, and he didn’t want to force you to be or assume that you were okay with it – but it had come out wrong.  He stops himself from explaining though; realizing with a punch to the gut that he could use this to give you a clean slate, a clean break from him.  You would hate him again – but it would remove the temptation to come see you in secret like tonight, endangering your safety every time he was too weak to stay away from you.  So, he says nothing.

You take his silence the way he intends, as confirmation that Din doesn’t want you anymore and your tears come fast and threaten to overflow.   You’re angry, confused, and hurt.  Again. 

The barrier you had put up earlier when you so logically decided to figure out your feelings once you figured out the truth comes crashing down and you think you’re going to drown in the tidal wave of emotions that swell and rise with being so casually tossed away again.  You feel like a fool, letting Din toy with your feelings (and your body) over and over.

“Din.  Is that what you want?  Do you just want us to be over?” you choke out.

Din’s expression is unreadable and he won’t make eye contact with you - but when he sighs, it’s the most devasting sound you’ve ever heard in your life. 

Your cheeks are wet and you feel yourself shaking.  The words that are blabbering out now hardly make sense and you don’t think you even mean half of them, but you aren’t thinking straight - you just know these words will sting and make Din feel as bad as you do right now, “Why did you come tonight, Din? For an easy fuck?  You knew you would find guaranteed pussy here, didn’t you?  I can’t blame you, I guess. I mean, if you know you always have a desperate slut you can use, someone who’s stupid enough to buy whatever lies you tell her to get her to give it up, why not, right?”

Suddenly aware of how exposed you are, you pull your cardigan tighter over your body and shrink away from Din.

Din reaches for you - this, he cannot have.  He cannot have you reducing yourself to just a worthless fuck when you’re his sun.  He loves you more than anything, would hang the moon for you; you’re the most incredible and precious thing in his life, “No, no… that’s not it.  Please, pretty bird, don’t…”

You pull away from his outreaching hand and say in a flat, dead tone, “I’m not your pretty bird anymore.” 

Even Din can see that he’s hit your limit - hurt you beyond repair and now you’ve shut down.  Shut him out.  Fighting ever fibre in his body to go to you, soothe you and try to  reassure you of his love, he hangs his head, “No. You’re right… you’re not.”

The two of you stand in silence, facing each other but worlds apart, for what is probably only a minute but feels like forever.  Finally, Din turns to the front door to leave; pausing just after turning the handle, he whispers, “I’m sorry”, before exiting your apartment and closing the door behind him.

Once in the hallway, Din hears the lock turn immediately, followed by the most devastating sound he’s ever heard.  You’re sobbing, loud enough that he can hear it through the door and he wants more than anything to kick down the door and sweep you into his arms, take it all back - comfort you with kisses and lightly chastise you for even considering for a moment that he could ever stop loving you. 

But he doesn’t.  It’s better this way, Din tells himself. 

The sound of your sobs follows Din as he races down the stairs, towards the danger that lurks too closer for comfort.  He’s more than ready to take out his distress on the bastards who had deigned to look upon you as someone to threaten, to hurt - or just some unfortunate Hutts who found themselves in the wrong neighbourhood tonight.  Din doesn’t much care.  Blinking back his tears and steeling his resolve with clenched fists, all Din knows is you won’t be the only person he hurts tonight – you’re just the only one who doesn’t deserve it.

Exactly one week later, you storm into brunch still angry, exhausted and hurt from your altercation with Din the Sunday before; hot tears brim along your lash line from the humiliation of having slept with Din only for him to leave you again, and your frustration at his dismissal of any attempt to talk out your issues.  The only sure-fire thing you’ve decided is that there will be no more secrets - no more half truths, no more protecting people from hard and ugly realities.  Sure, you would have much preferred if this was the road upon which you and Din were embarking, but in lieu of that, you decide that you can come clean with your friends.  You tell them about the Fett Family and Din’s old role, and what he seems to still do for the Family.  You tell your friends about Poe, Boba, Cass, the Hutts and the Pykes, and the Mandos and the Mods.  You tell them about all the security incidents from earlier in the year and the threats you only just learned of and about Din’s and your place in it all.  You tell them about your run-in with Vanessa and how your date with Mark went and about sleeping with Din last week.  You tell them everything that’s yours to tell and even somethings that aren’t because you’re done with pretending that these secrets are worth keeping and somehow worth your happiness.

Your friends are speechless; all the food, and shockingly the drinks, are untouched as you talk and only after you indicate you’re done with your recollection of how Din left you crying in your foyer, do they descend on you to offer their kind supportive words and loving hugs.  Once everyone is settled back in their seats and people’s emotions have leveled out a bit, Rory asks,

“Do you still love him?”

It’s not the question you expected from her, or from any of your friends really, and it truly deflates you as you lean back in your chair to contemplate your response.  The last week saw you primarily cataloguing Din’s transgressions against your heart; it’s a long list and it had kept your mind and heart fairly preoccupied.  You’re furious at him… but did his foolhardy actions change the man you believed he was?  The man you had loved?  You answer only what you’re sure of,

“It doesn’t matter.  It doesn’t seem to matter to him what I think or feel.  Din just does what he thinks is best.”

Your friends nod sympathetically, understanding you’re already fighting a seemingly endless battle between your head and your heart.  They thoughtfully put forth their opinions in between bites of their now cold dishes:

“No matter what his reasoning is, it doesn’t give him the right to jerk you around in the name of ‘your safety’.”

“Does he have a point though?  Is it dangerous to be with him? Are you scared?”

“Won’t the Family protect you?  Why is he acting like he’s the only one who cares about you?”

“I don’t like that he hurt you on purpose with that Vanessa nonsense.  That lie was so elaborate.”

“How many times does he think he can do this to you?”

“You deserve someone who is honest with you.  Someone who will treat you like an equal partner in everything.”

“He loves you so much.  It’s always been clear to us that you’re his whole world, babe.”

You agree with it all – these same thoughts have been running laps in your mind since the night Din closed your door behind him.  Din’s martyr-like approach to your safety did not sit well with you, especially when it sacrificed the wellbeing of your heart without so much as a consultation of your feelings; it’s crystal clear to you now that entirely too many lies and secrets had been justified and tolerated in the last several months and even your relationship prior.  Yes, you know how you feel about what Din did.

But how do you feel about him?  To a certain degree, you know you still love Din, but things just aren’t that simple anymore.  Given everything that’s happened, how can you feel about him?  You don’t know.

6 months ATN

Waiting until there’s a break in the traffic, you cross the street quickly, heading straight for the bookstore across from your office building.  Right away, you spot the display you’re looking for: the centre table for “Current Hot Reads” with Bea’s book right in the middle - you can’t help but grin widely.  Picking up four copies, you busy yourself for a few minutes straightening up the display - strategically stacking and propping up copies of your friend’s book so it stands out in a pleasing manner amongst the other titles.  When you stand back, satisfied, to review your work, a kind voice behind you says, “Are you the author, dear?” You turn to see an older woman in a delightfully ostentatious fur coat smiling at you.

Unable to keep the pride out of your voice, you beam, “Ha ha ha!  No, one of my best friends is!  I’m actually buying these as gifts to give out to our mutual girlfriends at dinner tonight!”

“Oh, that’s so lovely dear!  What a good friend you are!” the lady smiles, “What is the book about?”

“It’s a modern romance, childhood best friends turned lovers.  The first in her series!” you gush, ready to talk Bea up to the high heavens.

“Oh lovely!  My granddaughter loves romance novels, maybe I should get it for her?”

For a moment you simply imagine what the granddaughter might think when reading the smut her sweet nana bought her and you do your best to hold in your chuckle, “Tell you what.  I’m going to buy an extra copy and leave it at the cashier for you.  If you decide you don’t want it or prefer to buy a copy, just tell the cashier to pass it on to the next person who’s interested.”

“Oh dear, you don’t have to do that!”

“I know!  But I want to!  I can’t tell you how much it delights me to support my friend.  Please ask your granddaughter to help spread the word about the book and the author.  I know she’ll love it, it really is just that good,” you enthuse.

The older woman squeezes your hand in thanks as you pick up a fifth copy of Bea’s book; leaving her to read the jacket summary as you head to the cashier.  After giving the cashier the instructions for the last copy, you give the display another quick once over before leaving the bookstore, heading directly to dinner with a spring in your step.

---

Din sees you the moment you walk in.  For some reason, maybe a sixth sense, he had looked up at the bookstore front door before it opened, and there you were.  He hasn’t seen you since the night he left you crying in your apartment, the same night he sent half of the Hutt enforcements to the hospital; when he accepted this surveillance post for the day, he had half hoped he would see you.  You’re just as stunning and bright as the you he keeps in his memories, if not more so.

He had also seen the display of Bea’s books when he walked in and already picked up a copy to buy in support; he figured he would give it to Lisa.  Din watches you rearrange the display from behind the shelves, trying not to be a creep but unable to take his eyes off of you – wistfully, he recalls seeing you do the same thing on the day you first met; it’s no less charming now than it was then.  Listening with a smile as you talk excitedly to the older lady about Bea’s book, Din’s heart swells when he hears you offer to buy her granddaughter a copy.  You’re still you.  Sweet, generous, unassuming, and unflinchingly kind.

God, he misses you.

He’s been trying to put you out of his mind, of course; positive that he’s eradicated not only any goodwill or affectionate feeling you may have held for him a few months ago, but also any chance he had of ever being with you again.  Whereas before he kept away for your safety and his own self punishment, he does so now out of self preservation.  To steel himself for his future without you.

Din does, however, allow himself one photo of you.  It’s one that Paz took the night of the fight with Rotta Hutt.  Taken right after he’s scooped you up ringside, the shot shows only the back of Din’s head, but your face is on full display, filled with joy and adoration.  He looks at it everyday; trying not to long for you more than he already does, Din comes to regard it as motivation of sorts – this is what makes all his misery worth it, he thinks to himself.  You.  Happy.

And while he can’t bring himself to delete his photos of you off his phone, or even erase your old messages, Din never looks at them either.  He doesn’t deserve to.  Especially not the dirty texts and photos; he doesn’t have a right to see you that way anymore - as much as he misses you, Din won’t violate your privacy.  But on the days when the pressure, stress and Din’s own loneliness lead him to release his frustration while in the shower, he imagines a soft hand touching him and knows it’s yours.  The voice that he hears telling him how good it feels, he knows is yours.  The moans that ring in his ears as he furiously fucks his fist can only be yours.  And when he comes, choking out broken pants of I love you, I love you, I fucking loving you so much, those words are for you and you only.

Seven months ATN

Opening your guest room closet, you sigh to yourself. 

It’s time. 

You’ve been avoiding doing this, but not only is it long overdue, you’re also embarrassed at how anxious you’ve been to attempt this task.  It’s been two months since Din left you crying on your knees in the front foyer of your apartment and seven since you fled his apartment after believing he had cheated on you.  In that hazy first week, you had gone around the apartment grabbing anything that belonged to him and stuffed it into what ended up being an overflowing bin that you then shoved into the back of the guest room closet.  Out of sight, out of mind.

But you have guests coming to stay next week, and moreover, it bothers you how rude it is to have kept these belongings that aren’t yours.  It was one thing when Din had been a lying cheating bastard; but now that you know he hadn’t had any ill intent and was as much of a victim of his poor decisions as you are, it doesn’t feel right to hang on to these items.  Bringing home some flat packing boxes from the work mailroom, you assemble them first, trying to prolong actually having to go through your ex’s things.

Stop being a chicken shit, you chide yourself, it’s been months.  Get over it and get it over with. You pull the bin out of the closet and his smell, Din’s smell, immediately hits you when you when you start to take out the clothes.  You close your eyes and let yourself breathe in the familiar scent.  It’s as inviting as you remember and immediately brings his handsome visage to your mind.  When you open your eyes, they’re filled with tears.  Dammit.

You force yourself to work through your tears.  Fighting it at first but eventually allowing yourself to recall memories associated with Din’s items, you feel and expunge all the emotions you had hidden away like you had these belongings.  It’s cathartic and freeing, and once you’ve shed the tears you need, you make quick work of the task.  When you’ve filled the last box, you write a short note apologizing how long it’s taken to return these items and quickly tape up the boxes so that the contents are once again out of your sight.

---

The following weekend, you and Katie take a cab with the boxes to Din’s neighbourhood.  You don’t think you’re ready to see Din in person, but you think you can handle dropping off the boxes… at Peli’s.  Katie helps you carry the boxes from the taxi into the drycleaner’s and you ring the little bell Peli leaves out when she’s in the back working with the machines.  You see her bushy crown of curls before you do her inviting face, the smile she smiles when she sees you is brighter than the sun.  You feel warmed just seeing her again.

“Well, look who it is,” Peli grins, eyes full of genuine cheer and relief, “long time no see.”

Nodding, your heart feels a tug with how much you’ve missed Peli and all the other friends you made through Din who you haven’t seen in months, “Too long, Peli!”

“Glad you can admit you missed me,” she teases, holding absolutely nothing against you, “what can I do for you?  Don’t tell me those boxes are full of drycleaning?”

“Oh… no.  Could I ask you for a favour?” sheepish that the very first time you see Peli after such a long absence, you’re asking something her.

Peli’s good nature isn’t phased for even a second, “Of course!  Anything for you, love.”

Then as if some higher being heard your request before you had a chance to speak it, Paz walks through the front door of the drycleaners.  He’s just as surprised to see you as you are him, but readily leans in to give you and Katie welcoming hugs.

“Hi Lil’ Lady.  Whatcha doing here?”

You gesture to the boxes and look between Peli and Paz, “Just wanted to drop off Din’s things but…  I didn’t feel up to going to Mando’s.  Do you think I could trouble you to get these boxes to him?”

Peli looks shocked, and for a moment you wonder if it’s possible that she didn’t know that you and Din haven’t been together for over half a year now.  Paz saves you from the potentially long and awkward explanation by nodding with some sympathy, “No problem, I’ll carry them over.”

“Thank you, Paz.”

“No problem, Lil’ Lady,” Paz gives you a smile that looks regretful, maybe even sad.

You turn to go, but suddenly feel compelled to make one last request, “Please don’t tell Din you saw me?  I don’t want him thinking about me anymore.”  You say this without any malice or bitterness, though you’re not convinced it comes out that way.

When going through Din’s belongings, you were initially hard hit by the waves of sadness and grief from the loss of your relationship; but after letting the ache of your heart dull, you had surprising found comfort in a barrage of happy memories:

Din’s favourite basketball team shirt you slept in.  You had teased him mercilessly for how often he wore it, but showered him in compliments at how good he looked in those loud team colours every time.  When you explained to him what Pima cotton was and delighted in a sports shirt feeling so luxuriously soft, you noticed that Din started leaving it for you to wear for sleep – first only at his apartment, but before long, he “allowed” the shirt to migrate to your place.

That lime green sweater he wore the first time he was invited to girl’s Sunday brunch.  Bea had wanted to introduce the new guy she was dating and thought that having another boy at the table might make it less intimidating.  Din had gone and immediately clocked Gideon to be an asshole, but somehow managed to convey a polite, yet protective vibe throughout the meal.  When Bea broke up with that odious man a few weeks later, Din, invited back to brunch and coincidentally wearing the same sweater had been so supportive (“You deserve better than that self-absorbed blow hard”), even offering to “take care of him” for her.  You had quickly refused on Bea’s behalf, knowing what “take care” might actually mean, but it had cheered her up so much nonetheless.

His cozy oversized patterned jacquard cardigan that Din wore whenever it was nippier out than usual.  Large enough that it could envelope you while being worn, Din took every opportunity to do so - pressing you against his hard chest while wrapping the front around you to keep the chill away when you were out at the farmers’ market, waiting for the subway, or just standing on the sidewalk while Al finished sniffing his favourite spots.

And more – all the clothes and items you packed away had at least one memory associated with Din where he had made you feel warm, cared for, cherished.

How grateful and lucky you were that Din had loved you the way he did.

Yes, he had broken your heart, but you know that he himself didn’t get away unscathed – Din had also been destroyed by your breakup.  Having long since recognized the immature and empty things said during your last fight as your own emotional lashing out, you saw with more clarity how your own hurt and pain had sliced through Din’s already battle damage armour.  To be honest, you regret your words and how you left things with Din; though the way he did it was all wrong, Din had only ever loved you, cared for you and put you first in the way that he believed matter the most.  And he did so without fanfare, pomp or circumstance - expecting neither accolades nor acknowledgment, or even a hint of self satisfaction.

Your heart truly goes out to Din.  He so willingly carries the weight of the responsibility to take care of others, to put their well being over his own wants and desires; he sees it only as his duty and a mark of his honour to put himself last.  Din never gives himself leave to be selfish, despite being the most deserving for exactly that reason; as long as others are well taken care of, you know that Din would never complain or wish for more for himself.  And while your heart has done its share of mourning for yourself, it also breaks for Din – you know with certainty that he’s as devastated as you are, and yet, he also bears the guilt of having been the cause of your respective heartbreak; likely believing himself undeserving of any sympathy or comfort.

You remember what Boba had once said of Din, that he’s a caretaker through and through.  He attends to the needs of those around him and always has – thinking of the betterment of others, sometimes, and possibly even often, at the expense of his own.  But Din’s always done so happily - it was his duty and he performed it consistently, admirably.  And you remember that you had promised Boba that you would take care of Din right back.

Refusing to add to Din’s already heavy burden when it came to your breakup, you don’t want him to think about you more than he has to when he gets his belongings back; you know he will only spiral into more self blame wondering if you’re still mad or how much you hate him.  He will undoubtedly think about how you might be hurting, and then feel regret and guilt, disappointment or whatever else that eats at him.

So, you make Paz promise not to tell Din that he saw you, to say that Peli had called him over to get the boxes and you were already gone when he arrived.  The fierce look in your eyes tells Paz that you won’t relent and he acquiesces – you were prepared to fight him if necessary, the urge to protect Din where you still can burning brightly within your heart.

Quiet and heartfelt goodbyes are said and longer than needed hugs are dispensed before you and Katie leave Peli’s, arms now empty.  As the cab pulls away, you wave what you sadly think might be your last goodbye to two people you’ve also come to love and will miss terribly.

9 months ATN

Seeing Peli and Paz at the drycleaner’s is the last contact you have with Din’s world.

After nearly the better part of a year, it no longer feels strange that there are facets of a life you had come to embrace, that are no longer familiar - like bringing baked goods down to Mando’s, or being part of the celebratory group when a Mando’s boxer wins a title.  Making a normal portion size of garlic knots is once again the norm.

Periodically, it might feel unsettling when you remember that you are or were, at least at one time, under threat, and that there are unseen eyes on you, both friendly and unfriendly.  But you never see anyone or any actual evidence of this so there’s not much you can dwell on.  Who’s to say the circumstances of the situation haven’t changed or if you’re even on anyone’s radar anymore?  It’s likely you’ve been forgotten by now and you leave these thoughts at that.

With time, you go from thinking of Din constantly, to less frequently, and now only periodically.  You don’t think you’ll ever quite forget Din.  He had loved you fiercely, of that you were certain, and in turn, you had loved him back just as hard.  He was undoubtedly, a great love of your life.  You don’t think that type of connection is easy to find, nor would you attempt to try and do so again – the way Din had seen you so completely and how you had felt being his was not a feeling you think you’ll let go of any time soon. 

But the price for that type of love was one that you hadn’t been prepared to pay – adherence to some creed or code of honour that was willing to sacrifice your heart wasn’t something you could open yourself up to again.  Not even for that kind of love.  But it didn’t mean you couldn’t look back on it with fondness and remember Din as a man you admired adamantly and would continue to hold up as one of the best men you’ve ever known.

He was kind.  Protective.  Caring and loyal. 

The strength of his character and his generous nature live on in your grateful heart.

Some of your happiest memories will always be ones that you shared with Din.  He had, as was his highest priority, made you feel safe and cherished; despite how it all ended, you knew his motivations and the intentions of his heart to be pure - he had only ever wanted the best for you.  Din’s easy way of making you laugh, supporting you in all your endeavors and of lightening your mental and physical load, all while making you feel like the most special person in any room, were not easily forgotten.  Nor his integrity, considerate nature and the gentleness of his touch.  A lover and a fighter – Din was a rare combo indeed.

You think you’ll love Din until your dying day, but you can’t pine for him anymore.

Had you forgiven him?  Hardly.  But forgiveness wasn’t necessary. 

Forgiveness implied that you needed something to change, to be acknowledged, in order to move forward, and that just simply wasn’t the case.  You neither forgave him or were looking to forgive Din; you didn’t expect there to be a continuation of your story and so, as far as you were concerned, neither of you owed anything further to the other, including forgiveness.  You’re at peace with where the pages of your love story have permanently fallen open; having reread those finally passages a million times, you’ve worked through your grief of having to put Din and your relationship behind you - what remains is only a nostalgic sort of affection and maybe wistfulness.

Your life has gone on without him, but it had always been full before you met Din and it remains so after him: full of friends, hobbies, Alfredo, accomplishment and pride in your work, and everything else your undoubtedly privileged life has to offer.  That’s probably the best word to describe it.  These days, when you do think of Din, it can be without bitterness or disappointment, because you do so only with genuine gratitude; not everyone will have the good fortune of being loved so wholly, so generously and so fearsomely, albeit it had only been for a little while.  Yes, it takes no great effort to admit: it had been a privilege to be loved by Din Djarin.

It’s been a good day.  Great even.  All your meetings finish on time (!), and no one on your team, yourself included, had extra work assigned at the last minute – you’re all able to leave ON TIME.

Stepping out of your office building, you can’t quite believe it – you haven’t seen this side of 5:30 since… you were a junior?  No, that’s an exaggeration, but it’s been a long time for sure.

You and your colleagues exchange excited hugs, marveling at your luck; a few even joke that you should all prepare to pay for this tomorrow before laughing and each going in your separate directions.

Pausing for a moment where you stand, you contemplate maybe popping into the bookstore across the street before heading home when your eyes are drawn to a hulking figure that sits on one of the courtyard benches directly facing your office.  Despite his size and striking profile, the man’s presence isn’t terribly imposing, but it is a wonder that you hadn’t notice him until now.

You lock eyes with the man, not ready to believe he’s really there, when he gives you a tentative smile along with a small wave of the bouquet of peonies that he holds in his hand.

Din.

Thanks so much again to anyone who has read this far in the series with me - I love you all so much! Your kind words and encouragement really motivated me to finish this chapter a bit earlier than I had anticipated! I'm still on the cruise, so I'm just posting this when the ship's wifi is strong 🤣 so adding a few tags for those who have expressed an interest in the story (if you don't want to be tagged, please tell me!):

@tuquoquebrute @furiousmushroom @cheekychaos28 @72scsuze @nerdieforpedro

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

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

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

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

@bebsjo @yopossum @cartonkid1200 @rav3n-pascal22

[peepawmiller]

This is the wildest emotional journey I’ve been on reading a fic in a long time.

I’m going to have to politely request a sequel even tho I know I haven’t finished this yet.

I’m ready for more emotional damage.

I love them

[broad-shouldrs]

Landslide || Mr. Ben

pairing: mr. ben x f!reader

word count: 2,287

summary: it's been 15 years since you last saw ben.

warnings: 18+, minors dni.

hurt/no comfort, one teeny tiny sex scene (if you can even call it that). 

a/n: this was written for @sunshinehaze1's PPCU Fic-less Writing Challenge. every time i tried to write smut for ben, my brain supplied some awful scenario to break this poor man's heart. i would say i'm sorry, but i'm not.

Fluorescent lights buzzed overhead, highlighting the last fifty years of grime on the once-white linoleum, caked over with layers of floor wax in an effort to get it to shine. Posters for the upcoming Student Council elections littered the blue-hued brick walls, each one with a different set of false promises in an effort to garner a single vote. A sea of parents walked the hallways, clutching their children’s schedules, dazed and lost, as they attempted to navigate the maze that was Back to School night. 

It was the typical chaos every year. One that Ben had grown to appreciate, allowing the chance to speak with parents about his expectations both as a group and in brief one-on-one conversations. What he had not expected, however, was a familiar set of eyes staring back at him. Eyes that had haunted him for the last 15 years. 

Ben abruptly stopped speaking, pausing his rehearsed speech on late work for his third period geometry class. He could hear his heartbeat in his ears, the pounding making it extremely difficult to continue his train of thought. 

He was transported back to the tiny studio apartment with the peeling wallpaper and creaky shower that you shared with him just after grad school. The apartment where he gave eight years of his life to you. The apartment where you got up and walked out of his life, leaving him feeling anxious and desolate as he replayed the countless arguments you had about the future of your relationship. His dreams of bedtime stories and crayon drawings on the fridge never outweighing your fear of being swallowed whole by motherhood. “I can’t. I can’t give you that, Ben,”  you said to him somberly.

Ben shakes his head, forcing down every painful memory that’s bubbling at the surface. He’s able to continue, mindlessly covering his syllabus like he did for the last three groups of parents that visited his classroom, while his thoughts wander. 

You’re here. In his classroom – and if you’re in his classroom, that means you have a kid. 

You have a kid. 

A freshman. Meaning, if he was doing his math right – and he always did his math right – that you got pregnant within a year of leaving him. 

Ben’s heart cracked violently in his chest, shattering what was already fragile. You were the one who got away. His first love. The one who had broken his heart and left him feeling hollow and inadequate and less than. And now the proof was in the theoretical pudding, because he was right all along. It wasn’t that you didn’t want to have kids, it was that you didn’t want to have kids with him.

“I just want to talk about it,” he pleaded, his voice cracking. "Why can’t we talk about having kids without you shutting down?” You sigh, frustrated by the thought of having this conversation again. Your fingers curl where they grip the edge of the kitchen counter, your face turned away from the man you’ve been with for the past eight years.  “Because you’re not listening to me, Ben. I don’t want that life.”

Ben’s eyes sting with unshed tears, biting his lip to keep from trembling. He tries to keep the anxiety-driven thoughts away but fails. Miserably. “But you want me…” he starts, voice tentative and laced with fear. “Right?” 

You answered him with silence. Seconds go by which turn into minutes which feel like hours. Ben can feel his thoughts start to spiral. She doesn’t want me. It’s over. You pushed her too far. You weren’t good enough.

“I can’t be someone’s mother, Ben,” you whispered, your voice breaking through his turmoil but not providing the answer he wanted. “We’re living on your student teacher salary and are just barely scraping by.” 

Ben swallowed hard, “But–”

“But nothing, Ben,” you interrupted. “I don’t want kids.” 

This wasn’t new information but the way you said it felt like you had physically struck him. He fought back the nausea climbing his throat, threatening to come back up as he shakily asked,  “So, where does that leave us?”

“I don’t know.”

Ben didn’t know what to do except to excuse himself. His breathing had picked up and he felt like he was on the edge of a panic attack. He went into the bedroom, shut the door, and laid flat on the bed while thoughts of life without you taunted him. He stared up at the ceiling, feeling as if the weight of your conversation was crushing his chest. 

Slowly, the door opened and you looked at Ben – his eyes red-rimmed and fists clenching and unclenching in the duvet. You moved quietly to join him, sitting at the corner of the unmade bed and he moved to sit up. “You deserve someone who wants the same things, Ben.” 

“I love you,” he begged, his chest aching as if already knowing that wasn’t enough. That he was never going to be enough. 

The bell rings, a signal to parents that they are to move to their student’s fourth period classrooms. Ben gives his closing remarks, stating that he hopes this will be an exciting year and thanks everyone for their time. 

As people start to exit, Ben makes a silent prayer for mercy. He prays that you won’t approach him. Whatever deity there is in the universe hates him, because luck was not on his side. He watches as your son – your son – scrambles from his seat and grabs your hand, excitedly pulling you forward. He notices the reluctance on your face as your eyebrows knit together in apology.

Ben braces himself, flattening his palms against the edge of the desk as you stumble in front of him. He immediately is hit with the familiar smell of your perfume, the same notes of jasmine and vanilla that you always favored. “Mr. Ben,” your son calls out with enthusiasm. “I just want you to meet my mom.” In any other circumstances, this would have been normal – endearing even – but Ben’s heart strings felt like they were being plucked out of tune. “Mom, Mr. Ben is the best. He’s everyone’s favorite teacher.”

“Hi Ben,” you say, your voice soft enough that Ben almost doubts it happened.

Oblivious to the absurdity of the situation, your son spots one of his classmates and makes his way over to them, leaving you both to flounder for cordial conversation.

Ben doesn’t trust his own voice as he shifts nervously on his feet. “Hi,” he states simply. 

“It’s…been a long time,” you recall. “Fifteen years,” Ben replies almost instantaneously, unable to stop himself. He quickly realizes how embarrassing his comment was. As if he had been counting. 

A pang of guilt flickers behind your eyes and you glance over your shoulder towards your son, deep in conversation with a cluster of other freshmen. 

“So,” he forces out, attempting to keep his tone neutral. “Your son’s in my third period.”

You nod. “Yeah. You have him weirdly excited about geometry.” Your expression softens with relief, the kind only a parent would experience or understand. 

Ben allows the ghost of a proud smile, but underneath the sharp, twisting, gut-wrenching pain is making him bleed. “He’s a good kid. Smart.” He starts calculating in his head, silently debating asking the question that he had already discounted earlier. “He’s…fourteen?”

You tense visibly, wincing as if he had taken a jab at you. “He’ll be fifteen in December.”

Ben nods, slow and mechanical as he does the math, even though the answer is obvious. You left him in February. He remembered because winter had never felt longer. “So, he’s not mine.” You flinch and god, he wants to take the words back out the second he sees your face crumble. 

“Ben,” you laughed, tugging playfully at his hair. “Focus.”

You were on your back on that lumpy mattress he always swore he’d replace someday, your legs hooked loosely around his waist. His glasses were abandoned on the nightstand, because you kept bumping your nose into them when you kissed.

“I am focused,” he insisted, attempting to hide his laugh in your neck, his breath warm against your skin. He leaned up to kiss you again, his knee slipping on the sheets, making him tumble – half-falling, half-collapsing onto you with a dramatic oof.

You burst into giggles, cupping his cheek and tilting his face up to meet his gaze. “Very smooth,” you mumbled. Ben smiled, leaning in to kiss you as if he had all the time in the world. His warm, brown eyes shining, glinting in the morning sun, relishing in this special moment with you. 

“You’re distracting me,” he murmured. “In a good way. The very best way.” He kissed you slowly, his movements soft yet eager. Your tongues tangled in the warm, wet heat between your mouths, making your heart flip in your chest. 

Ben brushed your hair back from your forehead, tucking a stray piece behind your ear like you were the most precious thing he’d ever touched. You tugged him back down, your legs tightening around his middle as your lips searched for his in a rush of want. 

Everything inside him melted.  

Ben’s hips shifted, gently rolling up into you, pressing you right against him in the most delicious way. You inhaled sharply, fingers curving around the back of his neck as you guided him closer, gasping in his ear. “Ben–”

Ben pulled back just far enough to look at you, breathing hard and so earnest it made your chest ache. “You okay?” he asked.

You nodded, smiling softly. “More than okay. C’mon.”

You reached between your bodies, finding his cock, already hard and throbbing with anticipation, guiding him slowly into you.

Ben’s breath caught in a quiet gasp at the feeling of you opening around him, not unfamiliar but still overwhelming. He re-positioned himself, hooking his arm around your leg to allow himself to sink into you even deeper, encouraging your body to take him in. The stretch made your mouth fall open, a small moan escaping before you could swallow it down. 

“Hi,” he whispered when he had finally bottomed out, like it was the only word he could manage without making a total and complete fool of himself.

You smiled against his lips. “Hi.”

Ben started moving, shallow thrusts that built up to something steady and sweet. His forehead rested against yours, noses brushing, both of you breathing the same breath. You dragged your hands down his back, feeling each flex of muscle as his hips rocked into you. 

He gave an embarrassed yet delighted groan and kissed you again, hips speeding up as he lost himself in you. His hand slid down your thigh, lifting it a little higher around his waist, and the new angle made both of you gasp in sync.

“Yeah?” he asked, eyes bright, hopeful. “That good?”

“Ben,” you whimpered, fingers curling into his hair, “don’t stop.”

The tension built so fast it stole your breath, heat coiling low, his name tumbling from your lips without thought. “Come with me,” he said, voice cracking adorably.

You nodded and after one more perfectly placed thrust, you did. Your body clenched around him, mouth falling open as you cried out his name. Ben followed in a heartbeat, a warm, gasping rush inside you as he held you tightly, chest pressed to chest, like you were the air he needed most.

He stayed inside you, breath fluttering against your shoulder while his fingers drew nonsense shapes on your thigh. The fan rattled overhead, the city hummed outside, but all he heard was the sound of your quiet laugh as he tried to catch his breath.

You don’t answer and Ben can’t tell if it’s purposeful or if you’re just plain hurt. Either way, the quiet that follows is like a twist to a knife that he hadn’t realized was still very much planted in his body. 

Ben laughs, a single, humorless exhale. “Right. Well. Good. I mean… I didn’t think—” He shakes his head because the sentence tastes like bile. He can’t imagine that you could ever be so cruel to have not told him about a child. Of course your son isn’t his. “Doesn’t matter.”

There’s a brief moment where Ben thinks you’re about to speak, but it is quickly broken by the sound of the warning bell, indicating five minutes left before the next session starts. 

“You look happy,” he says, hating how small and unconvincing his voice sounds. Your eyes flash with something far more complicated than sadness. Regret, maybe. Or love that’s been buried alive and clawing for air. 

“I’m trying,” you answer, your voice shaking. He nods once, the way he does when a student gives an excuse that isn’t quite bullshit – a half-truth.

Parents shuffle past, breaking the bubble around you. Your son calls your name,  impatient and unaware of the history standing between his mother and his teacher. “It was good to see you, Ben,” you say.

“Yeah.” Ben forces a smile. “You too.” 

You turn, joining your son, ruffling his hair as he groans in embarrassment. He leans into your side and Ben watches you slip down the hallway with the life you’ve built — the one you swore you didn’t want. 

He tells himself to breathe. He tells himself that fifteen years is enough time to get over someone. He tells himself that this shouldn’t feel like the day you left all over again.

He feels himself go numb as the bell rings one last time, “Welcome parents! My name is Mr. Ben and I have the utmost pleasure of teaching your children for fourth period…”

[baronessvonglitter]

The way I’d give Ben a baby with a quickness.. mm this was some good angst 🥇

[broad-shouldrs]

i have no words. ben is such a hard character to get engagement with in terms of a fic, so i have no idea how you came across this. but, i'm so glad you did and i'm so glad you liked it. i like making hot men sad 💜💜

[laupuntoexe]

Harry Castillo × OFC

(a four-part mini series)

Summary: After four draining days in London, Clara escapes to the Electric Cinema expecting nothing more than a quiet evening. Her plan was simple: watch In the Mood for Love, drink an overpriced gin and tonic, and avoid talking to anyone. Then Harry sits down beside her… and ruins all three within five minutes. The film ends. Their story doesn’t.

Warnings: EXPLICIT CONTENT MDNI (18+), Fluff, Romantic Comedy, Slow Burn, Flirting, Sexual Tension, Smut, Unprotected Sex, Oral Sex, P in V Sex, Alcohol Consumption, Adult Characters, One-Night Stand, Explicit Sexual Content, Explicit Language, Dirty Talk, Praise Kink, Foreplay, Orgasms, Aftercare.

~ NOW SHOWING ~

🎬 Part I • Fade In

🎬 Part II • Close-Up (Coming Soon)

🎬 Part III • Final Cut (Coming Soon)

🎬 Part IV • End Credits (Coming Soon)

[tomshiddles]

@giftober 2023 | day 11: javier peña pretty in pink

[isabellaboo2025]

The Catfish Invasion - Part Thirteen

“The Masquerade Is Over”

Pairing: Frankie x Reader.

Plot summary: It’s October 1943, the country in the grip of World War II, and your small English village is fast becoming home to an influx of American servicemen sending hearts a-flutter. Yours already belongs to your teenage sweetheart until, that is, you meet Frankie ‘Catfish’ Morales.

Chapter summary: Frankie’s not going to stay away from you - and you don’t want him to.

Warnings: 18+only.

A/N: Here we go!

Masterlist

➰➰➰➰➰➰➰➰🇺🇸➰➰➰➰➰➰➰➰

Frankie comes back through the side door into the small dark passage, stands for a fraction of a second with his hand still on the latch, his back to the door he’s just come through, and closes his eyes.

He closes his eyes because he knows he’s not going to do what you’ve just asked him to do. Not because he doesn’t respect you, not because he doesn’t want to be the kind of man who does what a woman asks without question, but rather because, having touched you like he did, there’s no way he can leave you alone.

You responded – he knows you did. He saw it in your eyes, felt in on your breath, recognised it in the way your body tried to move closer to his.

And your words – I feel something – couldn’t have been clearer if you’d yelled them in his face rather than whispered them on a breath of air.

He keeps his eyes closed and exhales raggedly, the hesitation in immediately returning to the warmth of the hall borne from the undeniable need to touch you again. He can still feel the heat of your cheek against his palm, feel it burn the way his finger burned from the night in the jeep, and he wants other parts of his body to burn the same way.

He knows it’s not gentlemanly to have such thoughts about a woman he barely knows, but he wants to feel you, pressed tightly against him, wants to feel the heat of your mouth, your hands, your thighs…

He said he would do what you asked because in the darkness, with the tears coming down your face there was nothing else he could say. The saying of any other thing would have been cruel and the last thing Frankie ever wants to be towards you is cruel.

So, he said he would do what you asked, but he hadn’t, in the small, honest part of him, meant it, and if he was any lesser a man he would go back through the door again and drag you into his arms.

Instead, he opens his eyes, straightens his shoulders and walks the length of the passage out into the hall, arranging his face into an expression that won’t be questioned by others when he emerges back into the music and the dancing and the socialising.

The first person he sees, when he steps back inside the hall, is Santi, watching the door. He puts his cup of tea down on the shelf at the side near the urn, and crosses the floor to meet him, putting his hand on Frankie's elbow.

“Fish…walk with me."

"I’m not…"

"Walk with me. Smile at Mrs Robertson and come out the front, now."

He lets Santi steer him by the elbow across the front of the hall past the line of coats, and past Mrs Robertson at the door who, of course, asks if everything is alright.

“Everything’s fine, thank you,” Santi replies with a broad smile. “We’re just taking some air.”

Fortunately, she doesn’t ask any further questions or seem in any way intrigued and Santi keeps his hand on his elbow until they’re fully outside in the street in front of the hall, lit only by the small, thin moon from above.

“What the fuck?” Santi says, dropping his hand. “You danced with her, then she went out the back door, and you followed her and…please…please don’t tell me you did anything.”

“Jesus, like what?”

“I don’t know – like, fuck her?”

“Pope!”

“What?” Santi stares at him. “The way you’ve been acting lately, I wouldn’t be surprised.”

“I did not fuck her!” Frankie replies, indignant. “I just…we talked, that’s all.”

“About what? What did she say?”

Frankie looks down at his feet for a long moment, watching the moon reflect off the sheen of his boot as he tries to assemble his thoughts.

"She said to stay away from her."

"Okay,” Santi lets out a breath of relief.

"And I told her I would."

"Good."

"But I'm not going to."

Santi doesn’t say anything for a long moment. The moon shifts behind a cloud whilst somewhere in the hall behind them, Mrs Cook starts up another quickstep on the piano, and he folds his arms across his chest, his expression tightening.

"Say that again?"

"I'm not going to do what she said."

"Frankie..."

"What?”

"Look at me."

Frankie lifts his face from his boots and looks at his friend, knowing without needing to see for himself, that the look he’s giving him is quiet and settled – the face of a man who’s made a decision in the dark, and isn’t going to be talked out of it, not even by his closest friend.

"Frankie, no."

“I don’t care what you…”

"Listen to me."

"I'm listening, Pope, because I always listen to you. I listened to you in the hut when you talked about Pilar and I understood, okay? I understood what you were telling me and why and I get it, I do. You did the right thing for you and the right thing for Pilar and good for you. Way to fucking go. But what you did isn’t the right thing for me, or her.”

"I’m just…”

"She feels something, Pope, okay? She told me she feels something and I had one hand on her cheek and the other on her waist and..."

Santi groans.

“…and she told me to stay away from her, and the way she said it…it wasn’t…she wasn’t…she wasn’t actually saying that she wanted me to stay away from her. She was saying she was afraid of what would happen if I didn't."

Santi shakes his head, “That’s the same damn thing.”

"No, it isn’t.”

"Frankie, it’s the same damn thing! A girl who tells you to stay away because she’s afraid of what will happen if you don't, is a girl telling you to stay away. The fear is the reason. You don’t get to decide what she means and what she doesn’t – that’s on her.”

"She said it doesn't matter. She said it can’t matter. She said he’s going to ask me to marry him. She said all of those things whilst she was crying and…and she was saying them to herself, Santi, not to me. She was saying them out loud because saying them out loud was the only way she had to make them be true, and…”

Santi steps closer to him. “Frankie, you’re doing the thing a man does when he wants the thing to be the thing he wants it to be. You’re listening to what she said and hearing what you want to hear and calling what you want to hear the truth of what she said, and that it is only going to make things worse!”

Frankie pauses, holding eye contact with his friend, before nodding. “Maybe.”

"Maybe?"

"Maybe I am doing that, okay? Maybe I am. But the truth is, I don't know, not for sure. I don't know if I'm hearing what I want to hear or if I'm hearing what's there. And I am telling you that not knowing is not a reason to stay away. Not knowing is a reason to find out."

"But it’s not your finding out to do, it’s hers!”

Santi sighs heavily and rubs a hand over his face.

"Frankie, the finding out is hers. She has to decide what she wants, not you, and if you don’t leave her alone, you’re not helping her find out. You’re taking the finding out away from her."

Frankie shakes his head. "Pope, if I stay away, she doesn't find out and she marries her boyfriend and..."

"Then that is her finding out and making a choice.”

"No, that’s her doing the thing she’s already doing. That’s her staying in the place she’s always been because it’s the easy place and the easy place is the place where I’m not, and her staying in the easy place because I’m in it is not her finding out anything. That’s her being left alone.”

He lets out a ragged breath.

“That’s her being left alone in this village in the middle of this fucking war and never knowing what…what she could have.”

Santi says nothing for a long moment, the only sound coming from the whisper of the evening wind and the piano from inside the hall. Somewhere in the distance, a dog begins to bark and then stops, the village settling once more, ignorant of the turmoil.

"Frankie, I told you about Pilar so you wouldn’t do this."

"I know.”

"But apparently you’re going to do it anyway."

"Yes.”

"Jesus…” Santi shakes his head. “You’re a goddamn fool, you know that?”

"Santi, you told me that you’ve asked yourself every day since you last saw Pilar whether saying how you really felt would have made it better or worse, and you told me that the answer every day is worse. And I believe you. But you almost said it, and the almost is the thing you have to carry, because you almost said it and you didn't."

Santi blinks.

"She’s not married yet, not even engaged – not properly. He’s just some boy she’s known all her life and…and if I stay away from her now, if I do what she said and what you’re saying and she marries him, then I’m going to be you. I’m going to be carrying the almost for the rest of whatever piece of life I get after this tour, and I’m not going to be you. Respectfully.”

“Glad you added that, you asshole.”

"I’m saying it because it’s true and because you’re the only man I can say it to, and I would rather say it to you than say it to myself in the dark."

Santi looks at him for a long moment before making a noise that might be a laugh and might be something else.

"Alright, Fish. I’m not going to talk you out of it because I’ve tried and you’ve thrown everything back at me, so – alright. But you need to be smart about this, and you need to be careful. You need to be careful that the thing you do is the thing you can live with.”

"I don't know what I'm going to do yet. I came out from behind the side door of the hall ten minutes ago having decided that I wasn’t going to do what she said, and that’s all the deciding I’ve done.” Frankie pauses. “I might wait. I might wait a long time. I might…I might never do anything."

Santi snorts. “You will. I don't know when or how, but you’ll do something because you’re not the kind of man who decides that he’s not going to do what a girl’s asked him to do and then doesn’t do something. So…you’ll do it. And all I’m saying is, when you do, be careful.”

Frankie nods. “Okay, thanks.”

“Don’t thank me,” Santi sighs. “If this all goes wrong…”

“You’ll be there.”

He huffs another laugh. “Yeah, guess I will be.”

They stand for one more long second in the dark, then Santi inclines his head back to the door. “Come on, let’s go back inside.”

“Pope, you…” Frankie takes hold of his friend’s sleeve. “You won’t…say anything to anyone else, will you? To Will or Benny or Tom…”

“I won’t say a goddamn word,” Santi replies. “But I’m guessing I’m not the only one who saw what happened after you finished dancing with her, so don’t blame me if the others ask you about it.”

“That’s fair. I guess I could’ve been less obvious when I followed her out.”

“Long as she hasn’t come back in crying, you’re fine.”

They cross to the door together and once back amongst the warmth and the music and the dancing, Frankie heads straight to the trestle and takes a cup of tea from Mrs Robertson and doesn’t look across the floor. He doesn’t have to, because he knows that you’re at the other side of the room with Margery, your back angled very slightly to him, drinking your own tea slowly and carefully, not looking across the floor at him either.

Mrs Cook brings the latest dance to a finish with a flourish, and the floor stands and claps and breaks up, bodies moving in different directions, a low murmur filling the air.

Out of the corner of his eye, Frankie can see Will flirting with the girl serving the teas, while Tom and Benny are in conversation with Mr Robertson, the younger airmen’s expression screaming to be saved somehow from the drudgery of small, English village talk.

“Oh Lieutenant Morales,” Mrs Hadley clucks as she approaches from his left side. “I hope you won’t think me presumptuous in hoping you might have a dance free before the end of the evening?”

“I don’t think you presumptuous at all,” he smiles at her, still refraining from looking across the floor. “I’d be honoured.”

****

On the other side of the hall you, meanwhile, are drinking your tea slowly and carefully, trying to stop your hands from shaking whilst attempting to field Margery’s questions as best you can.

When you’d come back inside, she had immediately pounced and subtly redirected you, having seen you leave after your dance with Frankie and him follow you outside almost immediately.

“And then…?” she asks, eyes as big as saucers as you recount him coming upon you in the dark.

“He asked if I felt something and then…then he moved closer and…he put one hand on my cheek and the other on my waist and I thought…. oh Lord Margery, I thought he was going to…to kiss me and I wanted him to but then I…I told him he had to stay away from me.”

A sound leaves Margery’s throat that resembles a half snort, half cry and you realise that, for all intents and purposes, you’ve spoiled what she’s been hoping was going to come next. But she instantly catches it, turns it into a cough and takes another mouthful of tea, smiling at Florrie Bates as she floats past in the arms of one of the other Americans whose name, at this precise moment, you’ve forgotten.

“And what did he say?”

“He said he’d do it. But then he said he’s been thinking about me, and I told him that I had Henry and that I couldn’t do anything about it but…” you inhale raggedly, the teacup shaking in your hand. “But I want to, Margery. I want to, more than anything and that makes me a terrible person and…”

“Hush, old girl, of course it doesn’t!” Margery says fiercely. “It makes you human, that’s all. It makes you a woman who’s attracted to a man who’s attracted to you and that’s the natural order of things. And I told you before that you should be exploring your feelings and not worrying about boring old Henry…”

“Margery!”

“I’m serious, old girl. Things have happened now and you’d be a fool to ignore them.” She looks at you squarely. “You’re not a bad person, I know that. So, you’ll have to end things with Henry before you do anything with Frankie.”

“I didn’t say I was going to do anything with Frankie,” you hiss.

“Yes, you are – you know you are. And doing something whilst Henry sits in the background is a recipe for disaster, I’m telling you that now. I mean, look at Annie Taylor – flighty piece that she is. Talk of the village walking out with that airman whilst Barry’s away with the navy and you don’t want to be talked about like her, do you? You want to be talked about as a woman who was decent enough to let her old boyfriend down gently before taking up with a new one.”

You drain the rest of your cup and turn it around in your hands, shaking your head in the process. “I can’t because…because I told him to stay away and he said he would…”

“That’s why he’s trying his hardest, once again, not to look over here at you,” Margery says, glancing over your shoulder. “That man has no intention of staying away from you, old girl. He doesn’t know how long he might have left in this world and, believe me, he’s not going to waste a chance like this just because you’re too proud to tell Henry you don’t love him.”

Your head flies up and you meet Margery’s gaze again, mouth open and ready to defend your relationship. Only, you can’t. She raises an eyebrow, almost daring you to disagree, and all you can do is duck your gaze away again.

“If you don’t intend to do anything about your feelings for Frankie, then look at him,” Margery says after a few beats of silence. “Look at him right now.”

“Margery…”

“I’m serious, old girl, look at him.” She puts her cup down on the side and rests her hands gently on your shoulders, appearing for all the world like a simple, friendly gesture. “Just turn and look. He’s over by the trestle – you can’t miss him. He’s not looking at you anyway so there’s no harm done. nothing wrong with looking, is there? It’s not as though you haven’t done it before.”

She exerts gentle pressure on your shoulders and you feel yourself turning incrementally, a half turn at first, your gaze sweeping across the room – to where Florrie’s aunt and Mrs Robertson are chatting in the corner, where Mrs Cook is rifling through her sheet music, her tongue stuck between her teeth – and coming to rest finally at the trestle where Frankie’s standing with Santi, his gaze on Mrs Hadley, whose hand is on his arm.

Almost immediately, you feel your entire body start to shake again at the memory of what transpired. His hand on your cheek, his hand on your waist, his breath ghosting over your face…what you might have been prepared to do if things were different…

Margery’s wrong – there’s something very wrong with looking. Because right at that moment, Frankie’s eyes move from Mrs Hadley, just a fraction of an inch, and meet yours, like they have done before, but this time you find that you have to physically stop yourself from crossing the floor towards him. Your right hand snakes backwards and grasps blindly for Margery’s, squeezing it tightly in yours, pulling her close to you in ungainly fashion.

“Steady on, old girl,” she hisses as she bumps into your back. “You’re making it…”

“I…I need to go,” you mumble faintly, gaze still locked on Frankie who’s looking at you now with a mixture of concern and confusion. “I need to leave, now.”

“But…”

You cross the floor before she’s finished speaking and don’t wait for her, keeping your eyes on the door in front of you, your hand reaching for your coat where it waits for you on the peg without ever glancing in Frankie’s direction.

“You alright my love?” Florrie’s aunt asks as you move past her.

“Yes, I’m fine. I just…need some air.”

You don’t wait to hear her response or consider whether she finds your demeanour and actions strange or concerning. You simply pull your coat on quickly, but carefully, pull open the door and step out into the night air.

You start to walk, quickly, back in the direction of home with your coat unbuttoned and, behind you, you can hear Margery call your name and the sounds of her shoes as she hurries to catch up with you.

“Slow down, old girl…"

"I can't, Margery."

You keep going, with Margery behind you, and suddenly you hear the sound of the hall door opening and closing again, followed by the sound of boots coming down the steps.

You don’t look back because you know whose boots they are.

You hear Margery stop and say in a voice that isn’t particularly loud or particularly quiet but said at a volume that she knows you’ll hear, "Lieutenant."

"Miss Cole."

You keep walking because you know that if you stop and turn now, anyone coming out of the door of the hall behind you or coming down the lane from the direction of the cottages is going to see the two of you.

His boots come up behind you – twenty feet, ten feet, five feet – and you feel his hand take your arm above the elbow through the sleeve of your unbuttoned coat. And whilst it doesn’t stop you walking, it turns you sideways off the lane behind the old hawthorn where the lane turns a small bend before the row of cottages starts.

The hawthorn is thick and wide and tall enough for the two of you to stand behind it without any part of you showing to the lane, and before you can so much as draw breath, or ask him why he’s following you or not doing as you pleaded with him to, your hands go up to the front of his tunic under his coat and close on the wool between the two brass buttons, and his mouth comes down on yours.

In that moment, everything breaks – everything.

➰➰➰➰➰➰➰➰🇺🇸➰➰➰➰➰➰➰➰

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[isabellaboo2025]

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[peepawmiller]

I’m screaming at the top of my lungs

[misted-oblivion]

i need him to rail me and then take me out for coffee and then take me back home and rail me again

[simpingforjoel]

mr. pike would totally take you out for a cutesy coffee date like a gentleman after jumping your bones and then ruining you all over again once you get back home

[kenobiwanx]

our boy, din djarin

[pedrospascaled]

PEDRO PASCAL as JAVIER PEÑA Narcos | S02E03 -  Our Man in Madrid

[604to647]

Safest with You (Ch. 20 - The Way to Get Over Someone, Part 1)

8.6K / Modern AU Retired Mob Enforcer!Din Djarin x fem!reader

Summary: Five months pass as you and Din try to forget one another.

Warnings: 18+ Content to be safe (MDNI please). Angst! (like a lot) Yearning, pining, mourning. People are hard on themselves in this one, folks. Nicknames (Din still thinks of you as Pretty Bird even though you're no longer his Pretty Bird; you're still Lil' Lady to Paz). And there is mild violence (of the Rory variety).

A/N: Thank you to everyone for being so patient with me! It's been a month since Ch. 19 and I guess this word count reflects that 😅😂 It could have been a little shorter but this ask convinced me to include the final scene instead of leaving it for the next chapter 🫣🤷🏻‍♀️ For that final scene, please imagine the suit/look from the Variety Hollywood issue shoot. The vibes of this and the next chapter is this scene in Twilight New Moon (cue 🎶it's a possibilityyyyyy🎶):

Dividers by @saradika-graphics / Series Masterlist

The week following that night at Din’s, you’re a shell of a person.  You cry for entire days but not much else - going on auto pilot taking care of Al but not yourself.  You don’t go to brunch that weekend, saying you feel disgusting, which honestly isn’t too far from the truth.  You’ve never been cheated on so you hardly know what it is you feel, only that an unyielding and tempestuous monsoon of emotions swirls inside you at all hours of the day.  You oscillate wildly between barely restrained hysteria, self-effacing shame, and sadness in an endless cycle.

To only your dog, you sometimes burst out half crying, half laughing at the absurdity of what you stumbled upon at Din’s apartment – how was it even possible?  Din, who you had loved with your whole heart, had pledged himself to you as you had him.  He had been your match in every way, and it was a tenant of his devotion that he only ever wanted to take care of you, make your life better.  How could the same man, without any warning, betray you in such an unfeeling and vulgar manner?  It simply could not be possible - it had to have been some type of cruel joke, you sob to Al. 

Then in an instant, you’ll turn your ire unto yourself: How could you have allowed this to happen?  Because it certainly did.  You stupidly let yourself be so blinded by love and desire that you didn’t see Din for what he was.  He wasn’t some honourable and noble protector; he was just some asshole who did and said what he needed to get his dick wet – and like an idiot you had fallen for it.  You were supposed to smarter than that, but it turns out you were just susceptible to a handsome face and a fat cock as anyone else.  The Din you had fallen for had been a total fabrication, and the dumbest part is that you had let him lie to you: you had blindly accepted that there were things in his life that he could never be fully honest with you about - that there were things that he just had to keep secret from you for your “own protection.”  You had accepted dishonesty as part of your so-called relationship right off the bat, it was no wonder that none of it had been real.  Stupid, stupid. 

Though you know now that it had all been lie, you still have moments, usually in the dead of night when sleepiness strips you of your ability to reason and overthink, where you simply just mourn.  Mourn the loss of what you had thought, no - felt in the very depth of your heart was a true, deep love.  It didn’t matter that it had all been an invention of your mind – the love you felt had been genuine for you, and you had cherished and held it dear.  The tears you shed during these periods of grieving are for the loss of your own false happiness and for the man that you had believed it.  It didn’t matter that they were never real to begin with, you had lost them all the same.

Your fog extends into the work week and you do something you haven’t done in ages: you take it off citing illness – you sleep, cry and try not to think of the crushing backlog you’ll face when you eventually return to work.  Near the end of the week, you make a phone call that you’ve been dreading but know is necessary.  Lala comes over the same day on her lunch hour – she thought you were just sick, having taken your excuse for missing the last brunch at face value, but when you burst into tears upon seeing her, she immediately knows that something is terribly, terribly wrong.

Taking you straight to her clinic, she slots you in with a fellow nurse right away so you can get what you’ve been dreading over with.  During the self-blame episodes of your emotion spiral, the weight of Din’s cheating and its possible consequences aside from the shattering of your heart have started to press down on you.  You definitely don’t need one more anxiety to occupy your thoughts, and this particular problem you could do something about.  You need to do something and accordingly you find yourself sitting in the clean but impersonal examination room answering the very kind nurse’s survey questions to determine what tests you need.

“Is there any particular reason you need a screening or is this routine?”

“My boyfriend cheated on me,” you say this flat, factually.

“Oh.  I’m sorry.   How long was your relationship?” her response is similarly dispassionate.

“Nearly a year.”

“During that time, how many sexual partners did you have?”

“Just the one.”

“Had you been tested prior to engaging in sexual activities with your partner?”

“Yes, all clean.”

“Was you partner tested?”

“He said he was clean.”  You can only answer what Din told you, with no confidence in whether or not it was the truth.

“Do you know how many other partners your partner had while you were together?”

“… no.”  Tears start to line your lower lash line.

“How long was he engaging in sexual activities with other partners?”

“… I really don’t know.”  Oh no, oh no, you’re going to cry.  Because you really don’t know any of it.  It's awful enough imaging that Din had been messing around with Vanessa the whole time that you and him had been together – if he was capable of that, who’s to say there weren’t others?

“Ok.  To identify the tests you need, I just need to ask about your sexual activities with your partner over the last year.  Is that okay?”

“Yes.”

“Did you kiss on the mouth?”

“Yes.”

“Did you engage in vaginal fingering?”

“Yes.”

“Anal fingering? Receiving, giving?”

“Yes. No.”

“Did you engage in oral sex? Receiving, giving?”

“Yes and yes.”

“Did you engage in penetrative vaginal sex?”

“Yes.”

“With protection? Or without?”

“Without.”  This is the only question you answer with shame.  Yes, everything had been consensual, but this – the decision to not use condoms was one made based on a mutual trust; a trust you gave openly and willingly to someone who hadn’t deserved it.  You had been careless in this respect – caught up in your feelings and your mistaken instinct that had told you Din was worth trusting.

“Did you engage in penetrative anal se-“

And so on, and so forth.  To the best of your ability, you answer clinically and without feeling, trying not to let the white hot flames of shame and anger simmering in your stomach boil up and over.  You had trusted Din, with your heart yes, but also your body.  One of the things you had loved about Din was how he always seemed to prioritized both your emotional and physical comfort and safety during your sexual activities, but for possibly the entirety of your relationship, he had actually been putting you in danger – taking a risk for you that you hadn’t consent to.  You don’t know how many other partners he was with when he was with you or if he had been safe with them – his cavalier approach to your health makes you sick. 

This feels good. It feels good to be angry instead of sad.

You wait patiently for the nurse to return with the swabs and containers and other equipment you need to self administer the tests.  Silently and alone, you follow the instructions while hot tears cascade over your cheeks.  It had felt good to be angry at Din for a moment, but it took more energy than you had to sustain it; the anger burned out quickly, leaving behind only sadness and embarrassment for having allowed yourself to be put in this position at all.

After leaving the samples where directed, you redress and meet Lala back in the waiting room and she takes you home.  You tell her that it’s okay if she tells the rest of the girls what happened, but you don’t know if you can deal with talking about it just yet and she nods understandingly.  You know your friends will be supportive (and possibly violent), but the strength required to feel your feelings and simultaneously express and explain them out loud doesn’t sound like something you have right now.  Not for the first time, you’re grateful that your friends are unflinchingly kind and understanding of you.

By the time the next Sunday brunch rolls around, your internal reservoir levels for self pity and destructive thoughts have lowered considerably.  You’re mainly just sad for what you thought was and what will never be, wallowing in the loss of what you had imagined would be a happy future with Din.

The girls are not quite that far along in their emotional journeys, but you’re better equipped now to answer their questions and receive their outbursts and reactions.  They all have choice words for Din ranging from lying cheating bastard to dickless waste of DNA.  Threats of violence to his personal (and commercial) property, as well as his physical being are put forth, predictably by Rory and less predictably from Katie.  Bea and Jen focus on drilling into you that you’re in no way at fault and that you hadn’t been wrong or stupid to trust and love Din the way you did.  Lala, being the only one to have seen you when you were in your darkest place, just holds your hand firmly, giving it a reassuring squeeze every so often.  You cry into your eggs and your friends shower you with comfort and support until you feel a little more like a human who is loved again.

One month ATN (After That Night)

Oof - you’re hungry.  It’s been a long morning of straight through meetings with no breaks until only now.  Well past lunch, it’s later than you would usually come, but you hope that your favourite sandwich shop still has some good options left – you’re starving. 

Walking in, the shop isn’t busy (which honestly makes sense as it’s nearing 2:00 pm) and the take away fridge is fairly bare, but with some satisfaction, you see your favourite sandwich sitting all by its lonesome on the top shelf.  Hand already out as you approach the refrigerated display, you reach up on your toes, just to have a big hand dart in ahead of your smaller one and snatch the sandwich out of your reach.

Falling back on the flats of your feat, you’re comically upset – this sandwich was your reward for your overly hectic morning and your disappointment is being further fueled by rising levels of hangry.  Maybe this nice man will offer you back the sandwich if you ask kindly; ready to give this sandwich stealer the sweetest most saccharine smile you can muster, you turn to face him and…

“Paz?”

“Lil’ Lady?”

This could be awkward.  You had loved Paz too.  Part of the great sense of loss you felt when you and Din broke up was from also suddenly losing the friendships you had made through him.  The Mandos, Poe and Lisa, Cass and even Boba had made up what had become a little family to you; the sense of belonging and love you had felt when they welcomed you into their fold and treated you as one of their own was one that you had treasured – their trust in you was not something you took lightly and you had kept their secrets with pride.  You had loved them all as well. 

Of course, like a knife to the heart, you’ve since come to the hurtful realization that those friendships were not as true or deep as you had thought either.  In all likelihood, Din’s friends were probably well aware of his cheating, or at the very least that his feelings for you didn’t run as deep as yours did him.  Though it saddened you, you couldn’t exactly be mad – their loyalty was to Din, not you.  At one time you may have felt some bitterness at this, but right now, seeing Paz for the first time after so long… you feel only happiness at seeing an old friend.

There’s a beat of silence and then it seems you both reach for a hug - it’s quick but warm.

“How have you been?” you ask, simultaneously; chuckling with you, Paz gestures for you to go first.

“Oh,” you don’t really know how to answer; Paz will surely know what transpired between you and Din.  Devastated?  Crushed?  Facing a crisis of self-confidence?  You opt for a watered-down version of the truth, “I’m as good as expected.  Busy at work.”

“Same.  With work, that is,” Paz smiles warmly at you; he’s missed you too.

“You down here for work today?” Suddenly recalling that Din had been downtown for Mando work the first time you met, you try not to let the pain of the memory show on your face.

“Yup.  Work.” Paz won’t tell you that he’s on a security detail, even though its not yours (you're under the careful watch of Koska and Iggy today).

You’re not going to ask about Din.  You’re not going to ask about Din, “How is… everyone?”

Paz assumes you must mean Din but he doesn’t know how to answer your question.  A shell of a man?  A man possessed when it came to the investigation into the threat made against you?  Depressed as all hell?  Paz can only parrot back your earlier response, “Uh, as well as can be expected.  Things have been tense, there’s a lot of stuff going on.”

You obviously don’t ask for details – it’s not your place anymore, and in truth, you feel like it never really was but you try to smile anyways, “Well, you can have the sandwich then.”

Paz looks down at the sandwich he’s still holding in his hand and laughs, “Are you sure?”

Nodding happily, it feels good to joke around with Paz again, “Definitely.  I’m here everyday.  I can have it anytime.”

“Ok, only if you let me buy you your sandwich, Lil' Lady.”

Beaming, you acquiesce, “Deal.”

Grabbing another sandwich from the fridge, you join Paz in line; the two of you standing together in comfortable silence.  You don’t know how it happens but a question that’s been silently buzzing in your mind slips out without permission, “Paz – can I ask you?  Are Din and Vanessa still together?”

You regret it the second the words leave your mouth, tears springing to your eyes.  Looking up at Paz, wide-eyed and embarrassed, you cover your mouth with your hands as if trying to magically stuff the words back in, “Omigod!! Paz!  I’m sorry!  That was... oh gosh... just really, really inappropriate of me.  Please don’t answer.  I never should have asked that.  Seriously.  Don’t answer please.  Besides, I don’t think either answer would make me very happy.”

Paz gives you a warm side hug and a sad look before he says reassuringly, “It’s okay, Lil’ Lady.  Don’t worry about it.”  He insists on buying you a cookie when you get up to the counter and you accept gratefully – you need all the comfort you can get right now.

The two of you say your quiet, but friendly goodbyes on the sidewalk outside of the sandwich shop; each genuinely hoping you’ll see the other again, but knowing that you likely won’t.

---

Paz is hovering.  Din can feel it, but he doesn’t look up from his seat on the ringside bench where he’s checking through an equipment list on his clipboard.

Paz continues to shuffle around until Din sighs and gives in to what his friend so obviously wants; looking up and tilting his head as his way of saying 'What?'

“Saw the Lil' Lady today.”

Immediately, Din’s heart leaps into his throat and his now empty chest constricts painfully; forcing himself to look back down at his paperwork, Din only grunts to acknowledge that he heard Paz.  Clearly Paz has something to say and in all the time they’ve been friends, Din has never been able to get Paz to keep his thoughts to himself, so he just waits.

“Ran into her at a sandwich shop near her office.  She looks good.”

Silence.

“She gave me her sandwich.”

Din closes his eyes, “Was it the egg salad?”

“Yeah.  How did you know?” Paz can’t hide the surprise in his voice.

“It’s her favourite,” Din says simply. 

For some reason, this takes all of the wind out of Paz’s sails and he lays a gentle hand on his friend’s shoulder.  “She asked how everyone was, but it’s clear she was thinking of you.  Why don’t you call her, brother?”

Even if the whole point of what he had done to you wasn’t so you would stay as far away from him as possible, Din can’t imagine a world where you would want to talk to him, “She hates me.  I fucked up, and I hurt her.  She doesn’t think about me.”

Paz doesn’t want to bring up your question about Vanessa, but he can’t help but think it must mean something that you asked at all, “Maybe she’ll forgive you.”

Din is done with this conversation; he gets up and starts to head towards his office, “I don’t deserve her forgiveness.  I don’t deserve her.”

Two Months ATN

Din never allows himself to see you.  You’re a creature of habit and for the most part, your life after him has reverted to normal; it would be so easy for him to catch a glimpse of you whenever he needed to see for himself that you’re alright.  If he was lucky, he might even catch one of your many soft and sweet expressions that he misses so much and be able to pretend for a moment that it was for him.

But he doesn’t allow it.  Part of it is a means of self punishment – Din chastises himself endlessly for hurting you; he doesn’t deserve to look upon your face, he doesn’t deserve any comfort.  But ultimately, it really comes down to his own lack of self control. 

Din makes the mistake of checking in with your daytime security detail in person only once, a couple of weeks after your breakup.  Din is chatting with Mayfeld through the latter’s rolled down car window, when, as if he senses your very presence, he looks up to see you exiting your office building looking positively elated at being able to leave work at a decent hour (for you) – your quick and graceful steps towards the subway easily hold Din’s gaze through no effort of your own and his body starts to move towards you of his own accord.  He may have very well walked right into oncoming traffic trying to get to you if Miggs didn’t have a firm grip on the back of his shirt.

No, he has absolutely no self control when it came to you.  Every part of Din yearns for every part of you.  Your smile, your laugh, the sweetness of your very being and the steadfast comfort of your company.  He wishes for nothing more than to make you happy again, to be there for you to lighten your load, to make you laugh so hard you snort, the way he used to pride himself on being able to do; what he wouldn’t give to hear you coo sweetly to Al, to swim in the melodic lilt of your voice when you recall a funny story from work or your friends, or to drink in your heady moans and cries while he gave you every pleasure you deserved. 

Din knows that if he allowed himself to be in your presence for even a moment, he would throw himself at your feet and beg for forgiveness.  Plead and grovel until you took him back and then everything, the very reason for all this misery, would be for naught.  He would do anything to see you, hear you, have you again, except risk your safety.  So, he leaves the protocol for your security to others, and he never lets himself go where he knows you might be – he exercises what control he has, so that he never loses control where it counts the most.

But his dreams he cannot control.  And Din dreams of you constantly.

He comes to both look forward to and dread these dreams.  In his dreams you don’t hate him, and they almost always start off with you looking at him like you used to, with love and admiration.  Sometimes the two of you are in a memory, maybe a special date or occasion, or even better, doing something beautifully mundane like walking Al – something the two of you did a million times without thought, just a routine part of the life you had started to build together.  But more often than not, the two of you are in bed.  Sometimes his, sometimes yours, but always just looking, talking, touching.  Din could live in these quiet moments of devotion forever. 

But the dreams never end well.  He discovered that once you left the bed in the dream, you would disappear.  Getting up to find you, Din would find the apartment empty and quiet and no matter where he goes in the dream afterwards, you would be nowhere to be found.  After this happened a few times, he would try to keep you in bed or at the very least, not let you out of Dream Din’s sight, but it never works.  No matter what he does, by the end of the dream you’re not his anymore. 

A horrifying recurrence as of late is that he follows Dream You into your kitchen to find Vanessa sitting at the island while you, crying, start to cook breakfast at the stove for him and her.  He recognizes the look you give him whenever he reaches this part of the dream, it’s the same one you gave him on that last night on his apartment landing – the look of devastation, betrayal, shock.  Your unspoken How could you?  You were supposed to love me above all else, haunts him even after he wakes with a start.  Every time Din has this dream, he relives what he did to you and he feels sick.

Even when it’s not this particular iteration, Din wakes from every nightmare of losing you again sweating and regretting everything.  In these moments, alone in a bed that’s remained cold and uninviting since you last graced it with your soft body, Din tears into himself.  What the fuck was his problem anyways?  He had made his proverbial bed and now he has to lie in it.  What would have been the fucking point of putting you through all this if he was just going to be a weak ass piece of shit and run back to you because it killed him to be apart from you?  Put you through hell and then put you in danger?  No, he can't run from it anymore: this is the price he has to pay for being who he is, for having done the things he had – he doesn't deserve good things.  He doesn't deserve you. 

What he does deserve is this cruelest of ironies: that the only way he's still allowed to love you is to take care of you by keeping you as far away from him as possible.

Four Months ATN

Oy!  Din Djarin!!

Startled by the loud and sharp toned voice that carries over the noise of traffic, Din stops in his tracks; turning towards the sound of the bark, he recognizes your friend Rory barreling towards him.  For a moment, he’s terrified that she might get hit by a car crossing the street to get at him, but the cars somehow seem to understand the determination of her gait and the ferocity in her facial expression and all roll to a stop at her outstretched hand.  You always said that Rory was a force.

Din waits dumbly in the middle of the sidewalk, ready to take the inevitably beating, verbal or otherwise – certain he could not escape her wrath even if he wanted to.  Perhaps he would be tempted to try if he didn’t wholeheartedly believe that he deserves whatever is about to come his way.

As soon as Rory steps up onto the curb, two balled up fists of rage ram right into Din’s chest, the force of which, if he had not been braced for it, might have sent this former boxing champ flying backwards.

You!!! 

An accusatory finger is now poking him incessantly, over and over, pushing right into his sternum.

Din holds his two hands up, as if to surrender, but doesn’t do anything to stop her oncoming assault.  It’s starting to hurt a little, but he knows he deserves it and more.

Liar!

Cheater!

Pathetic!

Asshole.

Garbage human.

Piece of shit.

How you could do that to her?!

She did nothing but love you. 

She’s the sweetest, kindest, most loving person you will ever fucking be with, and this is how you treat her?

You ungrateful worm.

You’ll never find anyone better than her.

You never fucking deserved her, you twat.

Din takes every angry word spat at him with a resigned expression and downcast eyes.  Every word is true and he knows it.  He welcomes this even.  No one has been angry with him, except save himself.  Not Paz, or any of the Mandos, not even Boba.  No one has yelled at him or hurled insults at him, or called him out for the despicable person he is to have hurt you the way he did.  His sweet, pretty bird.  No, not his anymore.  He swallows every single one of Rory’s admonishments willingly and his head might even slightly nod in agreement.

Don’t you have anything to say for yourself, you fucking coward?

Arms dropping to his side in defeat, Din hangs his head and asks the only thing he wants to know, even though he's sure he isn’t allowed, “How is she?”

How is she?! What the fuck do you mean ‘how is she’? How the fuck do you think she is??

“What I mean is… I’m not still hurting her, am I?”

Silence.

“She’s okay now, right?  She hates me, but I don’t matter anymore?  She doesn’t think of me enough to still hurt her?”

Rory stops and evaluates the man standing in front of her.  He looks… broken.  She’s been throwing all her weight into every push, poke, smack she’s laid on Din and he’s taken it all.  Absorbed it along with every harsh word out of her mouth; he hasn’t fought back or even flinched - almost as if he wants her to hit him.  To scream at him.  And now, with the only words he’s spoken, he’s asking to confirm, with what almost sounds like hope, that you’ve forgotten him.  Din’s choice of words strike Rory as odd.  He wants to make sure he’s not “still hurting” you?? 

Suddenly, her mouth drops open as she retracts her hands, “… you didn’t do it.”

Din looks shocked and almost terrified.  He opens and closes his mouth several times but nothing comes out.  No denial or refute of what Rory now realizes has been completely obvious.

“You didn’t cheat on her.  You never cheated on her,” Rory’s tone is softer now, but determined and confident.  She’s leaving no room for argument, not letting Din worm his way out of the truth.

With a sigh, Din has no choice but to confess, “How could I?  Why would I ever want anyone but her?  The most perfect creature to ever exist.”  If he had seemed defeated before, Din is now positively deflating right before Rory’s eyes.

“You love her.”  Again, not a question.

“Always.  Forever.”

“Why w-”

“Rory, please.  You must never tell her.  She has to go on hating me and wanting nothing to do with me,” fear is catching up with Din now.  If Rory tells you the truth, this plan to keep you safe will unravel.

Rory’s eyes widen in disbelief, “You have to be joking.  Do you know what you put her through?  And it’s not even true??”

Quietly, Din asks, “How much has she told you and your friends about what I do?”

“That you own a gym?” Rory crosses her arms and gives Din an incredulous look.

“What else I do.  What my old job was.  Who I worked for.  Who I’m connected with,” he has to be able to make her understand.

Rory lets these words hang in the air for a moment.  No – you were always pretty tight lipped about what Din might be involved in outside of athletics.  It did seem that in the months leading up to your breakup, you would often stress over Din’s work and wellbeing, and though your friends never asked you to expand on it, it wouldn’t make sense for the responsibilities a gym owner to give you that kind of anxiety.

“You got a knife wound once.  Lala told us,” Rory recalls.

Din nods, “And that was nothing.  That’s the least of what the people who might come after me would be capable of.  She’s in danger just by being with me.”

“You wouldn’t protect her?”

“Of course, I would.  With my life.  But why should she be in danger at all?  She didn’t choose this life.”

“She chose you.”

“She shouldn’t have.”        

“You don’t get to decide that for her?!!”

Din knows that.  He shouldn’t have chosen for you.  But he made the decision that he thought would keep you safe and now you both have to live with his mistake, “I know, Rory… I know, but it’s done now.”

“Undo it, asshole.”

Like he hasn’t thought about it a million times.  Like he doesn’t wake up and his first thought when he opens his eyes in the morning isn’t to find you and crawl on his hands and knees and admit that he had fucked up in how he handled everything and beg your forgiveness.  Sometimes Din’s halfway out the door before one of two things stop him.  The first is the very real possibility that you would tell him to go to hell – you had loved him better than anyone ever had, better than he deserved, and he had callously thrown away the greatest gift ever bestowed upon him.  The second, is the very real fear from the threat made against you; Din hasn’t eliminated it and what if, just what if, what he’s doing is actually working and removing you as a worthy target?  Yes, he shouldn’t have gone about things this way, but… what if it was keeping you safe for now?

“Someone threatened her, Rory.”

This stops Rory as she’s about to open her mouth to say something else.  Closing her mouth, she studies Din and her shoulders drop, “Who?”

“I don’t know.  I haven’t been able to find out who’s behind it but I will.  Until then, I have to try and make her less of a target.  Please.  Rory.  Please.  Make sure she stays away from me.  You can’t tell her any of this.”

“But… she doesn’t know?”

“No. I don’t want her to be scared.  And she is being protected - all the time, I promise.  But the safest thing for her is to stay the hell away from me.  If whoever wants to hurt me doesn’t think they can do it through her, then she’ll be safe.  Please, Rory.”

Din is begging her now.  His eyes imploring Rory to understand and decide as he once did, that your well being has to come above all, including loyalty and love.  He sees it in her eyes as she relents, much the same way his must have once upon a time, and she nods, “Okay. I won’t tell her.  And you promise she’s safe right now?”

“I promise.  I… wouldn’t be able to live like this if I couldn’t at least do that for her.”  Is it worth it?  Yes, your life, your safety is worth anything and everything to him.

“You think you can get them?  The people behind the threat?”

Din nods, “I’m sure of it.  I’ll make sure of it.  I’ll take care of it.  That’s a promise I won’t break.”

“Okay.  You should tell her afterwards though.”

“Maybe.”

“She deserves the truth, Din,” Rory gives him one last exasperated look.

“She deserves the world, Rory.”

The two of them give one another a silent nod of mutual understanding before parting ways.  They might not see eye to eye on everything, but Din trusts that your friend will put your wellbeing and safety first; she loves you just as much as he does.  Rory leaves Din behind feeling conflicted in a way she hadn’t thought possible when she confronted him earlier – the last thing she expected was to sympathize with him, but it’s become clear to her: the only person who’s been hurting more from your breakup than you, is Din.

Five Months ATN

“I want to go out with Mark.”

Four heads look up from their brunch with lighting speed to stare at you, shocked by your sudden announcement.

Feeling a bit awkward at this reception, you go on, “… I mean if he’s even still available.  And if he’s not, is there someone else at your firm that might be, Jen?”

Jen looks at you curious and hesitantly excited, “I can check, but I don’t think he’s in a relationship?  He broke up with someone a couple of months ago.  You really want me to set you up?”

You don’t catch the looks that Rory and Lala exchange before Rory cautiously asks, “Do you even like Mark?”

“Hey!” Jen looks scandalized.

You’re slightly bewildered watching your two friends seemingly stare daggers at each other, “I don’t even know Mark? I just…” 

You sigh. 

“… I just have to do something.  Try something new.  Babes, it’s been months and… I’m still not over him.”  Your friends know that the “him” in question is not Mark.

It’s been five months and you’re still in a state of melancholy and heartbreak that you can’t quite articulate.  The days where you’d cycle through extreme emotion, be it intense sadness, justifiable anger, or self-pitying shame, have long since passed.  You burned those emotional candles to their proverbial wicks and for the time that they were lit within you, they served their purpose.  You’ve processed those emotions and laid them to rest.

What remains is a type of grief, a longing from your soul that you struggle to contain on a day-to-day basis.

The best way you can think of describing it is Hiraeth – the Welsh word that conveys the feeling of “a longing for a time, place, or person that feels like home but may no longer exist or that never existed at all”; when you miss Din, it feels like a type of homesickness.  And though far from being lonely in your life, your heart nevertheless maintains an empty chamber that you are dearly afraid may be forever reserved for Din.  Your Din.  The one you had loved and thought loved you.

You miss it all - everything that had never been real: the closeness, the intimacy, the safety of Din’s embrace.  You miss the way he looked at you and made you feel like the only person in the world who mattered; you missed his adoring touch and the way that he would be soft and gentle with you when you knew he harnessed such strength and power within those same hands.  He had made you feel cherished and special, appreciated and exalted.  Yes, it had all been a lie, but you heart had believed in it and the memory of what you’ve irretrievably lost haunts you every day still.

You’ve never been one to believe the adage that to get over someone, you had to get “under” someone else and you’re certainly not looking to replace what you thought you had or even date for the sake of dating.  You’re just simply out of ideas.  You need… a distraction.  A real-life person to think about, instead of one that only ever existed in your head.

“Don’t push yourself if you’re not ready, babe,” Lala says, gently.

“I don’t want to ‘get back out there.’ I just need…”

“A rebound?” Rory’s assessment is unfortunately, spot on.

You look sheepish, “That sounds terrible.  But something like a distraction.”

Jen is hardly bothered, “It’s okay.  I won’t tell Mark but I don’t think he would mind even if he knew.  Men are weird as hell.”

Everyone laughs and you go back to your breakfast, half listening as Jen chirps some of Mark’s merits and tells you that she’s going to try and set something up for the upcoming Friday.  You don’t notice the worried and pinched looks that Lala and Rory continue to give one another for the remainder of brunch.

It’s absolutely pouring today.  The phrase ‘raining cats and dogs’ must have been inspired by a similar rainfall, you’re sure.  You hold your umbrella as close to your head as you can while deftly trying to keep your shoes dry by doing little and big hops to avoid puddles.  It’s a relief when you finally make it to the overhang in front of your office building and can shake out your umbrella before stepping inside.  Wiping your feet on the already soaked through mats that building maintenance has put down, you wonder if the weather will clear up before your date with Mark tomorrow.

You’re slipping your still dripping wet umbrella into a plastic sleeve when you hear a commotion by the security check desk.  Gabriel, the head of security is arguing with someone who by the looks of it is soaking wet and trying to get through the security turnstiles.  As you approach with your own access card already in hand, the voices get louder:

“Dude.  Come ON!”

“Miss, like I said, you have to have security access in order to move past this point.”

“I’m not going to go anywhere in the building, I promise!  I just need to get to the subway.”

“I heard you already, miss.  You’ll have to use one of the other two subway entrances.  This one is for people who have access to this building only.”

“It’s pouring!! Can’t you see?  The other two entrances are both over a block away and I’m already soaked!  I just want to get home!”

“I won’t ask again, miss.  Please leave.  There are people who need to get through.”

You’re shocked.  You’ve never heard Gabriel get frustrated or raise his voice before.  But that’s not why you’re shocked.  It’s the girl’s voice.  You know it. 

It’s Vanessa.

In some other universe you might hail this as karma, but in truth, you only have sympathy for the girl you see before you.  It really is miserable out and you’re sure that Vanessa isn’t some corporate espionage spy – she really is just asking for a little help to get out of the rain and home before she gets sick.  Without overthinking it, you come up behind her and give Gabriel a reassuring smile, “It’s okay, Gabriel, I can take her to the subway.”

Vanessa turns and looks at you with a wide-eyed, almost scared expression on her face.  You can’t help but feel bad for her.  Obviously because she’s soaking wet and shivering, but you think she must not have been met with much kindness in her young life.

“Ma’am, that’s not really protocol…”

Your reassuring smile is now extended to Vanessa as well.  You want her to know you’re here to help her, truly, “Gabriel, it’s fine.  I know her.  And, even if I didn’t, I could never let you send a woman out into that downpour when we could so easily help her get to where she needs to go, okay?”

Gabriel nods as you swipe your access card against the reader and you gesture for Vanessa to go through before you follow.

The two of you walk silently towards the subway for a few moments.

“You don’t have to…”

You wave off Vanessa’s concern, “I think Gabriel’s watching, so I’ll just walk you all the way to the subway entrance so he doesn’t give you anymore trouble, okay?”

She nods and the two of you continue on.

“You don’t have to be so nice to me.”

Your answer is genuine, “I really don’t know any other way to be towards you.”  It’s true.  Yes, Din had cheated on you with her, but you hadn’t been dating Vanessa, you had been dating Din.  He had wronged you, not her (even if she had probably been a bit smug about it).

Vanessa nods again, the expression on her face seems to relax into some kind of revelation that you don’t quite understand.  When you get to the subway entrance, the two of you pause awkwardly before she finally speaks, “Thank you.”

Again, you try to smile as kindly as you can, “It’s okay.  I meant what I said to Gabriel – I didn’t like that he was trying to send you back out in the rain.  Here.” You hold out your umbrella, still in its plastic sleeve.

Vanessa doesn’t take it, even as you continue to extend it in her direction, “I don’t know how far you have to go once you reach your stop – the rain may not have let up by then.  Really, take it.  It’s my firm’s – I have a bunch more upstairs.”

This time she does open her hands and when she grasps the umbrella’s handle to take it from you, she blurts out, “I never slept with him!”

Silence hangs between the two of you at her statement.  You don’t know what she means at all, so you just say, “I’m sorry?”

Vanessa is looking down at the umbrella in her hands, words just spilling out, “That night.  The night you ‘caught’ me and Din – you didn’t walk in on anything.  I don’t know how, but he said he knew you were coming over and he asked me if I could make it look like he and I had been sleeping together when you showed up.  We didn’t do anything.  I played on my phone on the couch until we heard you knock.  I- don’t know why I did it… actually… no, that’s a lie.  I do.”  She finally looks up at you.

“Din was so in love with you.  Like seriously, so stupid in love with you.  He hadn’t been with anyone for a while before he met you, and those of us who… had gone out with him once or twice just got used to it, I guess.  Like we wanted him but he didn’t want anyone and that was fine.  Then he met you and all of a sudden, he was the doting boyfriend, head over heals in love, showing you off to all his friends, taking you to meet Boba.  And then it was so clear: it wasn’t that he wasn’t the boyfriend type, it was you.  He only wanted you.  I guess… I was jealous.” Vanessa shrugs, ashamed, “So when the chance came up to hurt you... I jumped at it.  I’m sorry.”

To say you’re shocked would be an understatement.  There is so much to process.  You’re not sure what Vanessa is asking from you, but you do appreciate her honesty, “I mean, I guess I get why you did it.  But why did Din?”

Vanessa shrugs again, “I really don’t know, I didn’t ask.  It didn’t matter to me, I guess.  I’m sorry.  But after you left, I… propositioned him?  Thought I would shoot my shot since we were both basically half undressed.  He turned me down and practically kicked me out.  All he cared about was making sure you got home safe.  You’re all he cared about.  Always.  It was only ever you.”

“I- ” you’re speechless.  Actually speechless, “Thank you for telling me, Vanessa.  I- still don’t understand any of it, but I always appreciate honesty.  Truly.”

And with that, Vanessa gives you a little wave of the umbrella you gave her as a final thanks before she disappears down the stairs into the subway station, leaving you dumbfounded and shellshocked.

It had been a lie.

Din hadn’t cheated on you.  Not with Vanessa.  Not that night, or according to her, any other night.  You had been his one and only.  The way you had always thought.  The way he had always made you feel.

Every spiraling assumption and devastating conclusion you’ve drawn about your relationship over the past five months is now being called into question: that he never loved you, that he wasn’t the man you believed him to be, that the devotion in your relationship had been one sided.  Had it all been real?  Was your Din real?

But he had lied. 

He had made up an elaborate lie to get away from you.  To hurt you.  This revelation gives rise to feelings that you thought you had long worked through and put to bed: betrayal, hurt, disbelief, anger.  On top of this fast rising tide of emotions that you’re afraid might drown you rides a question you've never felt like you wanted the answer to when it was simply that Din was a cheater: Why?

The date is going okay, you think.  Actually, it’s going exactly how you knew it would – you’re not into it.  Mark is honestly nice enough, funny enough, charming enough – you can see why Jen was always trying to get you to go out with him.  But he’s not Din.

You haven’t told anyone about your run in with Vanessa because you still don’t know what to make of it all; you have pieces of a puzzle that you didn’t even know existed, new questions, even fewer answers, and a whole new host of confused feelings.  Unsure of your own heart, you hadn’t known what to say to Jen to cancel this date that she lovingly setup for you at your request, so here you are.

Even if your overthinking brain wasn’t in overdrive analyzing and reanalyzing everything you learned yesterday, your heart, which is still working out your feelings towards Din, has unequivocally softened.  The Din of your memories, the one for whom your heart still beats deep down had been real, and he had never betrayed you in the manner you believed for the past few months.  The love you had felt with him had been true and the affection and devotion that had been cornerstones of your relationship have started making their way back into your chest.

You feel sort of bad about Mark.  Yes, you had been very clear with Jen and yourself that this date didn’t mark any great interest of yours to start dating again, but you know you could be putting in more of an effort on this date.  You try.  You really do.

After the pre-dinner drinks are finished and the waiter’s taken your dinner order, you excuse yourself to use the restroom, hoping for a few minutes alone to gather your thoughts.  Heading towards the bathrooms, you walk down a hall that opens to the restaurant’s private party rooms on one side.  All the doors are opened and you peek in to see that most of the rooms are empty, one of them being cleared from a large party that must have just left; when you get to the last doorway, you’re stopped dead in your tracks when you see who's inside.

It's Din.

He’s leaning back in a chair that’s been placed further back and away from the dining table that must centre the room; part of the meeting but not an active participant – a perimeter guard.  His handsome profile is as striking as you remember; his strong aquiline nose and cut jawline that’s currently flexing as he swallows hold your attention by their very existence - how is he here just when all your thoughts happen to be of him?  Din’s chocolate brown eyes are fixed on someone or something in the room, but he must feel your gaze because he turns and sees you – keeping his expression neutral, as if he doesn’t want anyone else in the room to notice you, you still see his eyes soften as they lock with yours and your heartbeat picks up a little.

Hi, you mouth shyly.

Hi, Din's lips curve up slightly at your sweet expression as he mouths back, you look nice.

You do too, because he does.  He’s in a black suit with a crisp white shirt and jet-black tie; the monochromatic look works for him.  Din’s slicked back hair is different – you’re so much more used to seeing his curls loose and tousled, but the change isn’t unwelcomed.  He looks professional.  Devastating.

Work?  Your head tilts a little so you can see a little further in the room and Din knows you see Paz sitting in front of him wearing a nearly identical outfit.  He nods, You?

Date.

Din nods slightly, eyes unreadable, Be safe.

I will. Not sure how much more you can communicate this way or even what you want to say, you give Din a little wave before continuing down the hall to the restroom.

---

Din cannot sit still.

Date? You were on a date?

But that’s not even the most jarring thing about seeing you unexpectedly tonight at the same restaurant where Boba’s holding a family meeting.  What’s really turning Din’s world upside down is that you didn’t look upset to see him.  Your expression was soft, kind and inviting.  As if you didn’t hate him. 

You’re over him.  That has to be it.  You were over him, wholly and completely; much too sweet to hold onto any malice towards him, you had treated him politely, like an old acquaintance.  He wants to be glad – happy that you’re no longer hurting and that his transgressions against you didn’t leave a permanent mark on your beautiful soul.  But his heart feels like it’s made of lead; dropping from his chest into his stomach when he thinks of you being on a date.  Din gets up and takes a walk towards the main dining room of the restaurant, looking to satisfy his morbid curiosity.

He sees you right away.  Your back is to him, but he knows its you.  You sit across from a perfectly respectable looking man dressed in a sharp suit – the both of you clearly having come straight from work.  The man probably has some smart corporate job like you, like a lawyer or someone who underwrites space rockets or something cool.  The man is making you laugh; Din can tell by the way your shoulders shake.  He imagines your smile and the way that your eyes crinkle when you think something is super funny but you don’t want to let loose one of those melodic laughs of yours where you throw back your head and the resulting song carries over the crowd.  Din watches as you swirl your wine glass the way he always thought was super adorable, with two of your fingers pressed against the base of the glass stem, before you lift those same fingers to make a gesture with your hand that indicates you’re adding to your date’s story with some witty comment of your own.  Your date’s face lights up and his look of admiration and joy from the pleasure of your company is one that Din knows well. 

He decides can’t watch anymore and slinks back down the hallway; heart ripped to pieces, leaving you to your pleasant evening.

Thanks so much for being patient with me - these chapters are emotionally hard to write and even harder to edit 😅 Since I'm once again yeeting this into universe on a random day instead of my usual posting date, adding a few tags for those who have expressed an interest in the story (omigod if you don't want to be tagged, please tell me!):

@tuquoquebrute @furiousmushroom @cheekychaos28 @72scsuze @nerdieforpedro

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

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

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

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

@bebsjo

[peepawmiller]

Why am I CRYING 😭😭😭😭

They just need to get back together or I riot 🔪

This story is making me extremely emotional. He’s so stupid but I love him

[djo]

PEDRO PASCAL as JAVIER PEÑA Narcos | 3.08: Convivir

[604to647]

Safest with You (Ch. 19 - The Betrayal)

5.3K / Modern AU Retired Mob Enforcer!Din Djarin x fem!reader

Summary: Din addresses the threat made against you the only way he knows how.

Warnings: 18+ Content (MDNI please). Established relationship, unprotected PiV, nicknames (pretty bird, baby, etc.) Angst, angsty angst. Additional warnings withheld to avoid spoilers.

A/N 1: I'm just going to upload this now instead of my usual Friday posting because it's been a doozy to edit and while I don't think I've quite achieved the emotional punch I wanted, I feel like not posting it is holding me back on the next chapters; TLDR - it's not perfect but please take this from me 🙏🏻🫣

A/N 2: I'm sorry.

Series Masterlist / Dividers by @saradika-graphics 😘

It’s been a hell of a week.  More than once, Din’s come home worn down with evidence of some type of altercation etched into his energy.  Whatever is happening with the Mandos these days, it’s different than before – whereas prior to Cass and Rikard’s wedding the toll that the unrest had taken on Din was mainly physical, these days the weight that Din carries on his ever tightening shoulders seems to be more of a mental burden.  He won’t talk to you about it and that alone leaves you anxious with worry for him. 

After what must have been only a temporary respite, months of simmering tension in Din’s world feels like it’s about to break into a boil at any moment and you just know that Din will be in the middle of it when it does.  One night, Din comes home with a nasty knife wound down his side and you have to fight back tears as you do your best to help him clean and patch up his wound.  When it’s clear that your amateur first aid skills won’t be enough, you call Lala who came over immediately and put her nursing degree to use, mending and healing what you could not.  After walking her down the stairs to her waiting cab, you had hugged your friend tightly, thanking her profusely for coming and helping Din.  The look of concern on her face finally breaks you and before you can help yourself, you're crying in her arms – you've never had anyone with whom to share your worry for Din before.  Your friends have seen you stressed over Din in the past, but this is the first time someone has seen evidence of the violence that’s the root behind your anxiety.  Selfishly, you feel a weight lifted off of you from not having to hide this part of your life with Din from your friends for once. 

Climbing the stairs and reciting to yourself the instructions Lala left on how to keep Din’s wound clean and infection-free, you suddenly wonder if Din might be angry with you for having brought in an “outsider”.  But your concerns turn out to be completely baseless, evaporating the moment you fluff the pillows behind Din’s head while trying to make him more comfortable – Din takes your hand and apologizes to you, “I’m sorry, pretty bird.”

“Sorry for what?  Getting hurt?”

“Sorry that I can’t keep this part of my life out of yours.”

Silly old man. “Din, there isn’t any part of your life that I don’t want in mine,” you try to smile at him reassuringly, but he’s already succumbing to the pain medication and drifting off to sleep.

Din doesn’t tell you about the threat made against you - he doesn’t want to scare you or have you living in fear.  He also doesn’t want to add to the anxiety he knows you already carry on his behalf, especially since he doesn’t have any answers right now - the investigation into the threats is not going as quickly as he’d like. 

He knows he's not being fair.  It’s all hands on deck right now - every Mando on the payroll put on protection and surveillance details to ensure that each photographed target has sufficient coverage, including you.  That only leaves a few bodies with enough time and know how to properly investigate the threats and chase down leads.  These things take time, patience, focus – Din knows that, but all he can think about is you and how every minute he hasn’t uncovered the culprit behind the threats is a minute you’re not safe.  It’s distracting him and making him sloppy – like the other night where he literally chased down a lead who ended up pulling a knife on him.

As far as Din’s concerned, even if he has a Mando watching you every second of the day (which just isn’t possible), until he makes headway in the investigation, you won’t be any safer.  He doesn’t tell you any of this - just lets it stew and eat him up.  But you know him so well and he can tell that you know he’s keeping something from you and that it hurts you.  Din had made you a promise a long time ago that even if he can’t tell you everything, he would never make you feel like he was purposefully keeping you in the dark – he knows he’s breaking that promise every day. 

Something has to give. 

Din knows this but he doesn’t know what.  He could tell you everything – you would have to live as you never have before, frightened and terrorized.  Would you blame him?  He already does.  Or he could try harder to pretend that nothing’s wrong – somehow this feels like lying to you and quite frankly, he doesn’t think he could manage it anyways.  What he really needs is a break to come in the case so he can take out whoever is behind this, but he has no concrete way of making this happen.  In lieu of that… he could remove the target over your head another way.  There are no good options.

Then, without warning one night, it hits him square in the jaw what the only option is. 

It’s near closing time at the gym, but there aren’t any people working out – just a Mandos gathering.  Paz leads the meeting which consists primarily of going over surveillance reports and handing out protective detail rotations.  The atmosphere isn’t relaxed by any stretch of the imagination, but nothing out of the ordinary has come up recently and if anything, the meeting is fairly routine.

Din is only half listening to the protection assignments, having already heard that Jimmy and Mayfeld are assigned to you this week, when out of the corner of his eye he sees Brian get a text and leave to make a call outside, but he never makes it past the front doors of the gym.

Even from a distance, Din can hear Brian’s girlfriend through the line; she’s upset, nearly hysterical, whatever Brian is saying to her completely masked by the sobs coming through the phone. 

Having been silenced by what they can’t help but overhear, the Mandos all watch as Brian returns hurriedly to talk to Paz, voice low while his girlfriend appears to stay on the line; Brian has his hand over the mouthpiece of the phone but her loud sniffling can still be heard through the ear piece of the receiver.  When Brian leaves, practically running out the door – Paz calls out for a few Mandos to follow with him, but not Din.

“You should go see Lil’ Lady, brother.”

“Why? What happened?” Din panics.

It wasn’t Paz’s intention to alarm his friend needlessly, realizing too late the folly of his words, “Brian’s girlfriend was being followed while she was out walking the dog.  Not even very discretely.  Two cars filled with guys won’t stop harassing her – she’s not close to home so we’re going to go deal with it.”

“While she was walking the dog?!” Din’s immediate thought goes to you and Al as Paz knew it would.

“Yeah.  We’ll go with Brian.  You go home, ‘kay brother?”

Din’s already packing up, ready to close up the gym and head to your place, the buzzing in his head drowns out anything Paz might be saying: “nothing to worry about” or “it’s not the same.”

It might as well be the same.  Brian’s girlfriend was walking the dog.  You walk the dog.  She was alone.  You walk Al alone.  She had been so very frightened – he could hear it over the phone, and his heart constricts painfully imagining that same current of fear in your voice.  She has a detail, of course, but apparently whoever had gone after her was willing to take the chance, or somehow knew when she would be alone, without Brian and when her security would be rotating off. 

The Mandos can only do so much – even with their efforts, none of the targets being protected are 100% safe 100% of the time.  As he drives, Din can’t help but replay the sound his brain conjures of what you might sound upon realizing you’re in danger, scared and crying out for his help.

By the time he pulls up to your building, he’s come to the only solution that’s viable in order to keep you safe.  The one that that increasingly loud, incessant voice in his head has been nattering about since he saw those photos of you.  With a heavy heart, he picks up his phone and dials a number that he hasn’t called in a long, long time.

For the past few days, Din’s been coming home earlier and you can tell he’s making an effort not to bring Mando business home with him.  While you appreciate it, you think you would much rather if he told you more about what was going on, or at least be less closed off with you.  Tonight, he comes home tonight with flowers and a big bag of take out from your favourite Thai place as a surprise – you know he’s trying to make up for his mood the last two weeks; his sweetness warms your heart – he’s shut you out a lot recently but you know he probably hasn’t meant to.  And while you don’t need him to apologize for it, you do need him to know he can open up to you about what’s troubling him – the two of you have come such a long way since the first time he told you about his connection to the Fetts; it seems silly to keep you in the dark so much after saying, in Din’s own words, that you were one of them.  Sitting down with your plates, you let Din know as much in a gentle and calming manner – you don’t want him to feel bad, you just want him to know you want to be there for him.

Din sighs, “I know, I’m so sorry, pretty bird.  I don’t mean to shut you out.  I… just don’t want any darkness to ever touch you.”

Leaving your plate behind, you climb into Din’s lap and run your hands through his soft curls, gently placing soft kisses to the corners of his mouth before cupping his face in your delicate hands and cradling it so he looks at you, “I know, baby… but I’m a big girl.  And I know that I have my big bad wolf to take care of me if things are too much.”

Din smiles and closes his eyes, feeling a tingle every place where the soft graze of your fingers touches his skin: his face, jaw, neck.  He could stay like this forever, just melting into your touch.

Nodding, he tells you what you need to hear, “Tomorrow night, I have to do something that I’m dreading.  But it needs to be done and I’m the only one who can do it.  But, pretty bird – if there was any other way, I would never entertain it.  I haven’t been able to stop thinking about it.  It consumes my every waking thought.  It will be one of the hardest and maybe worst things I’ve ever had to do – and I don’t even have any idea if it will even work.  I don’t think I’m at all prepared for what will happen after - I’m scared, baby.”

Din's telling you the truth.  Tomorrow, he’s leaving.  Tomorrow, you’ll hate him.  He doesn’t know how he will find the strength to go through with what he has planned - all he knows is that he has to.  He’s almost afraid to open his eyes – he knows that when he does, he’ll be met your understanding and unwavering sympathy for his plight; you always look at him with so much care, love and belief in his goodness.  His heart shatters at how much he’s going to betray that trust.

“Will you be in danger?” you ask, timidly – you won’t ask details because you don’t think Din will give you any, but you’ve never heard Din speak this way before.  Normally so fearless, it’s so unsettling to hear your big, strong warrior admit that he’s afraid.

His eyes forlorn, Din nods, “I wouldn’t rule it out, baby.  If things go a certain way, I’ll go back to my place to lay low, okay?  No matter what, I’ll call you before 9:00 to let you know I’m okay.”

Still holding his face in your hands, you study your sweet, brave Din’s face and try to convey with your own gentle expression that you believe in him, that everything will be alright.  He reads you perfectly and his chest tightens even more – no matter what, you always remain his biggest supporter, confident in his abilities and his decency.  His precious pretty bird.  He closes his eyes and inhales your sweet scent, a mix of your floral perfume and the nameless subtle scent that he associates with just you, as you flutter soft butterfly kisses all over his face and neck.

That night Din takes you to bed and makes love to you.  His loving gaze and hands try to memorize every line and curve of your figure; he kisses your lips swollen so they’ll imprint on his own.  Mentally, Din attempts to record every sigh and sound of pleasure that falls from your mouth, hoping he’s captured them properly so he’ll never forget them.

He makes you sing with his fingers and mouth, honouring every deep valley and cresting wave of your body and thanks you for allowing him the privilege of knowing it so intimately by touching the very deepest, loveliest parts of you.  He drinks from you like a parched man in a desert that knows what he’s found is a mirage, but it’s as good to a desperate man as an oasis, so he’ll have more than his fill while the fantasy lasts.  He gives you mind numbing pleasure and takes none for himself, hoping that every orgasm his gives you tonight will somehow lessen the hurt he’ll inflict tomorrow.  The less selfish part of him knows that it will actually hurt more, but he cannot regret devoting himself to you for just one more night.

When Din finally enters you, it’s with him positioned on top - pinning you beneath his formidable frame, caged in and safe.  He won’t take you any other way tonight.  He won’t look anywhere else tonight but your bright eyes, the ones that remain, for now, filled with adoration and love.  If there’s anything he swears to himself that he’ll remember, it’s these eyes.  They close whenever he steals your air by uncovering those secret parts of you that only he can reach, and snap open wide as you gasp to the sensation of Din dragging along your tight, warm walls.  Later, after he’s already pulled two from you, Din slowly thrusts, stretching and filling you so that you both feel every inch of his worship and he watches them fill with tears.  “I know, baby, I know,” he whispers, not sure if he’s reassuring you or himself as his kisses your wet cheeks. 

The final time you come, you do so in tandem, both you and Din crying out loud, unashamed, and desperate.  Collapsing on top of you, Din softly chants words of praise and love: ‘I love you’ ‘You’re perfect’ “There is no one for me but you’ timed to his still pulsing cock, trailing off only when the fluttering of you sated cunt subsides.

---

You wake some time in the night to the gentle movements of Din’s lips pressed into your hair, murmuring words that you don’t understand, either because they’re too quiet or because your brain isn’t quite awake enough.

“Din?” you mumble, still half asleep.

“Sorry, pretty bird,” Din gently pets your hair, “didn’t mean to wake you. Go back to sleep, sweetheart.”

Rolling so you’re now facing him, you gently extricate one of your arms from under the covers and run your fingers down the strong line of Din’s jaw, smiling softly at the way his scruff tickles your finger.  Din closes his eyes at your feather light touches.

“Can’t sleep because you’re worried about tomorrow, baby?”

Without opening his eyes, Din nods and leans into your hand, encourage you to give his face more of your soft scratching.  He’ll miss this. Your soothing touch. The way you read him and know his feelings sometimes better than he does himself. And, of course, your sweetness - how you take on his troubles as your own so he never feels alone, and honestly, just how much you care. You care so deeply, about him, about everything, and it tears Din’s heart out that soon your beautiful soul will be marred by what he has planned.

He opens his eyes to what he will forever insist is the most gorgeous sight his eyes will ever behold: you smiling lovingly at him, softened eyes full of fondness, confident that the man you’re gazing at adoringly cherishes you, one who deserves how you cherish him right back, “Whatever happens, Din, we’ll get through it.  Together.  But you should get some sleep, baby - you probably need to be well rested for tomorrow.”

He nods again, he’ll agree to anything you say so not to burden you will extra worry or concern.  Still taking care of him. Always caring for him. Fuck. You’re a heaven he never thought he would find.  Din mirrors your actions, stroking your cheek softly as you smile sleepily at him, his gentle actions doing what they intend - lulling you slowly back to sleep.

“You’re so pretty,” Din whispers, unable to string together something more eloquent; it’s beyond him right now to find the words expressive and articulate enough to describe the beauty he’s looking at.

No matter - your face glows at his compliment, “Thank you, baby. You always make me feel so pretty.”

“You are,” Din’s voice is indulgent and true.

“And you make me feel so safe.”

“You are,” his chest tightens a little at this sentiment.

“So loved,” your voice lilts up a little at this declaration, soaring above the notes of the words and its pretty melody makes Din's heart take flight.

“You are,” Din’s emotions nearly choking him now.

“And so happy,” the look on your sleepy face is tranquil, trusting, content.

“Oh, fuck, pretty bird.  You make me so happy, too,” Din’s voice cracks. It’s such an understatement, in some ways even derivative of how you actually make him feel and yet, not untrue - you make him deliriously happy.

“And loved?”

“Yes, baby, I feel loved,” he grins at the innocence in your voice, though he knows when it comes to the lyricism of your words, nothing you say is by chance.

“And safe?”

“Very safe.”

“And pretty?” and there it is: your silly, teasing grin - wide and self satisfied, like a Cheshire Cat.

Din gives you what you want, “Yes, I feel pretty.”

“You’re the prettiest, Din,” you yawn, eyes ready to close but still crinkled in mischief. Not for the first time he wonders at your playfulness and how you always manage to make laugh. He will miss these lighthearted, carefree moments with you the most, he thinks. Miss making you laugh right back. Oh, your laugh. He wishes there was someway he could record it, to have on hand and replay anytime he needed to lift his spirits.

“Ok, sweetheart. It’s clear you’re delirious.  Time for sleep,” he nuzzles his nose against your neck as you giggle.

“Nope, I’m going to remember every word of this tomorrow morning, pretty man,” you insist, though your languid, sinking body belies the conviction in your tone.

Once he hears your soft, sleepy purrs, Din resumes what he was doing before you woke.  He certainly was not sleeping; he won’t let any of these last remaining moments he has with you go to waste.  Instead, he contents himself just watching you sleep in peace, admiring your beautiful features, unable give them up for even a minute more than he has to - not when he knows that this is the last night he has with you in his arms. 

And so, he appreciates as much of you for as long as he can - soaking in your presence and the warmth of your lithe body against his, feeling your soft calm breaths as your chest rises and falls in your worry free sleep.  He murmuringly declares all his love, devotion and regrets, knowing he will never have a chance to speak these truths directly to your face; so like a coward, he pours them out now, hoping something within you will hear him and always know how deeply he cares for you.  And how very, very sorry he is.  He admires your loveliness for as long as he can, forcing himself to keep his eyes open to the woman he loves until he’s overtaken by exhaustion.

How long is too long?  This is the question you ask yourself at half past 9:00 pm.  When you last saw Din, kissing him goodbye this morning as you left for work, he had reassured you again that he would be careful today and he would check in by nine o'clock.

It’s been an entire day of trying to keep your mind off what Din is doing and failing miserably.  You can’t get the image of your strong hulk of a man - the fighter, the protector - looking so unsure of himself, beaten, frightened.  Anxiously you’ve been awaiting his call all evening, fidgeting and unable to sit still or focus on any task that you attempt to pick up for a distraction.

Is he hurt?

This fear plagues your thoughts starting at 8:00 pm and only intensifies as time ticks by. 

“Fuck it,” you say to Al at 10:00 pm, “I’ll take you for a walk when I get back, ok bud?”  Al looks at you as if to say ‘It’s about time, Lady’ before laying his head back down for a nap that will thankfully be undisturbed by your restlessness.

You fret the entire cab ride to Mando’s, but mercifully, it’s quick.  About to put your key in the lock, it strikes you that it might be a good idea to exercise some caution, so instead, you knock softly.  Worried when Din doesn’t answer right away, you say quietly through the door, “Din, it’s me.  Are you there?  Are you hurt?”

To your relief, you hear the lock start to turn; but when the door finally opens, your stomach drops. 

It’s not Din. 

Instead, Vanessa stands on the other side of the door, half naked - wearing only her underwear and one of Din’s button-up shirts.  You look at each other in silence for what feels like forever; your mind feels foggy, unfocused, but you think you perceive a small smile on her lips.  With every second that passes, the strangling pressure on your heart grows stronger, smothering every loud beat.  Finally, you find your voice, “Is Din here?”

And suddenly he is.  Visible from the doorway and standing only a few steps behind Vanessa, Din’s shirtless and his pants are unbuttoned, as if he had pulled them on in a hurry.  He can’t quite make eye contact with you, and in this moment, any hope that you might have had that this isn’t what it looks like, vanishes. 

Vanessa turns and steps towards Din - as she is about to pass him, she stops at this shoulder and says, loudly, “When you’re done, come back to bed, baby.” Cupping the far side of his face, she pulls him towards her, planting a kiss to the corner of his mouth before she walks off in the direction of the bedroom.

You look away and try to swallow the sob that's trying to claw its way out of your throat.  Din is coming towards you now and instinctively, you back away.  This is not your Din.  Not the Din who always leaves you the last bit of milk for your morning coffee.  Not the Din who holds his hands over your eyes during scary movies, but narrates for you what’s happening because he knows you still want to know.  Not the Din who pledged his love and loyalty to you.  Not your Din.  But your Din is a lie. You think you're going to be sick.

Din watches as you shrink away from him and his heart shatters.  He knows with certainty that he’s lost you.  Yes, this is what he planned for; he needed you to no longer be his. If you weren't his, there would be no incentive for anyone to target you - but seeing you so hurt and being the one to hurt you is more agonizing than he could have prepared for.

He shuts the door so that it’s just the two of you standing in silence in the hall.  Willing yourself to look up, you stare at Din directly, “I came tonight because… I thought you might be hurt.” 

I know, baby, Din laments, I knew you would.  Because you’re considerate and all kindness.  And I leveraged your goodness like a weapon and used it against you.

You pause, still trying to reconcile what you’ve stumbled upon and what you’ve believed up until tonight to be the essence of the man you love.  Didn’t Din assure you that Mandos never cheat?  That he has never and would never?  That you were enough for him?  As if to give him one last chance to somehow offer an explanation that your brain couldn’t conjure up on its own, you continue in a smaller voice, “Just last night you were telling me how happy I make you,” your eyes desperately search his, “How could you do this?”

You do, pretty bird.  You make me so very happy.  Din looks at you with a resigned expression, “I told you… I’m not a good guy.”

You don’t know what you expected – a denial maybe?  Some attempt by Din to comfort you?  An acknowledgement of how he’s betraying a year long relationship that had been one of the happiest of your life?  Somehow this stoic non-response stings just as much as the cheating. 

“No. You’re not,” you whisper.

Din can only look at you sadly, eyes downcast in shame.  No, I’m not, pretty bird.  Finally.  You acknowledge the very truth that Din’s been running from since he met you.  You and your goodness had almost convinced him that despite the things he’s done in the past, or what his connections and ties are, he might be good too - good enough for you.  But a man worthy of you wouldn’t place you in danger just by association; the man you deserve would never betray your sweetness or belief in him by leading you into darkness without your knowledge.

“… you’re an asshole.”

“I am.  I’m sorry.”  It’s the most truth he can offer you tonight.

The tears are coming now and there isn’t anything you can do to stop them.  Your body is screaming at you to leave, to get yourself far away from Din and the flaming wreckage of what you thought was a true and deep love - one you had given all of yourself to and for which you were now left with only questions that you know will never be answered.  “I never want to see you again,” you manage to choke out.

Din is grateful for the small grace that he won’t have to lie to you again.  “You won’t.  I promise,” he whispers, devastated.

And with that, you turn and flee.

---

Din stays standing on the landing until he hears the downstairs door slam; you never turned around and he is suddenly very aware that he will never look upon your face again.  The realization hits him with a force the tips him against his door; he closes his wet eyes and rests there for a minute before going back into his apartment.  When he turns from closing his door, he finds Vanessa standing in the living room, looking at him expectantly.

“Well?”

Din sighs. “Well, what?”

“Is it done?”

Is what done? Is he done breaking the heart of the only woman he’s ever truly loved?  Is he done ruining the best thing that’s happened to him a long time?  Destroying something that’s brought a light to his life he never thought was possible?  He supposes it is done.

Din sighs and nods.  He’s not unappreciative of Vanessa’s help, but she represents everything he’s broken tonight, “Thank you for your help, Vanessa.  Do you need a ride? I can drop you off on my way.”

Vanessa smiles coyly, “Right now?  I thought we could…” she lets her voice trail off, looking eagerly at Din.  But when he remains unmoved, face dispassionate and detached, she takes the more direct route, “I mean, she already thinks we had sex.  We might as well actually have sex.”

Din doesn’t have any fight left in him; he just needs tonight to be over, “I don’t think we can do that, Vanessa.  I have to go, are you sure I can’t offer you a ride?”

She dresses as she gathers her things, annoyed, “Where do you have to go?  Are you going after her?”  Hands on her hips, she looks at him in disbelief, “Din. She hates you.”

“I know she does.  But I still want to make sure she makes it home okay.”

Exasperated, Vanessa storms past Din and out the door, ignoring his offer of a ride and for the second time in ten minutes, Din hears his downstairs door slamming closed. 

---

Din expects you make it to your apartment before him, but he has enough time to park his truck and find a spot where he won’t be seen before he sees you come downstairs with Al.  Your pretty face is ashen and a look of shock is still written on your face.  With a lump in his throat, he watches you let Al do his business and the ensuing tug of war between you and your dog, both intent on going in opposite directions.

His chest aches when he hears you cry as you kneel down, “I’m sorry buddy, I can’t take you for a long walk tonight.  I’m sorry.”

Your sweet pup shows you the compassion and care that Din can’t offer you, allowing you to lead him back into the building without further fuss.

Din stands on the sidewalk, looking up at your apartment far into the night.  He experiences a sinking sensation of déjà vu, remembering the last time he was in this position – when he ended things with you after your third date.  What a fool he is, letting go of his perfect match twice; the finality of his actions this time leaves no hope in his chest.  And so, Din remains rooted where he stands, not moving even when his legs start to protest; he barely registers your security detail coming over to check on him.  Jimmy’s calls of his name or questions as to what happened are unable to cut through the dull droning in Din’s head of his own failings.  Called in by an panicked Mayfeld, Paz arrives a short while later; upon seeing Din’s near catatonic state, he intuits with disbelief what Din did tonight.  With some difficulty, Paz draws Din away and back towards his vehicle – Din never even hears his best friend’s insistent whispers that things will be okay and that they have to go.  His head is filled only with you and a sad recitation that drowns out all other voices: I’m sorry, pretty bird.  I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry.

Bc I'm not posting on my usual day, tagging a few people that have been so patient with me and supported this series. Ty ilysm 🥹 @tuquoquebrute @furiousmushroom @cheekychaos28 @72scsuze

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

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

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

[peepawmiller]

How could you do this to me specifically after discovering this two years later?

It might be one of my favorite angsty tropes of pushing someone away with zero explanation just to protect them. And this was 💯💯💯 but I’m also SAD so how dare you

I’m UPSET

[604to647]

Safest with You (Ch. 18 - The Threat)

4.8k / Modern AU Retired Mob Enforcer!Din Djarin x fem!reader

Summary: Peace between the Clans after the wedding is short lived.

Warnings: 18+ Content (MDNI please). Established relationship, petnames (pretty bird, baby, etc.), one (1) daddy, two (2) spanks, unprotected PiV, oral (m receiving, reference to f receiving), a teeny bit of ass play and a wee smidge of choking. Angst - it's back, baby!

A/N: This takes place after The Wedding (but it's not necessary to read). I need to write the next few chapters together, so it might take me a beat to post Ch. 19 but I will try my best 🥰 as always, thank you for reading!

Series Masterlist

Dividers by @saradika-graphics 🥰

Din had never experienced the old saying “the calm before the storm” before.  He had heard of it, of course, but in his experience, there was ever only the build up to the storm or the storm itself.

In retrospect, “the calm” was exactly what the last few weeks had been.

The weeks leading up to Cassandra and Rikard Pyke’s wedding had been tense.  Security concerns increased in light of the unrest that had been rising in intensity and frequency for the months prior, complicating already intricate and complex security logistics necessitated by the union itself.  It gnaws at Din to no end that he and Paz haven’t been able to identify the culprit orchestrating all the previously thought unrelated disturbances; he’s at least glad the theory that the incidents were random has been abandoned and that even Boba agreed there had to be a common thread between all the events. 

Happily, the wedding had gone off without any major incident; the happy couple had married and celebrated joyously with both Families.  No blood had been spilt, and one could even declare that the relationship between the Fetts and Pykes has never been better.  There had been that minor scuffle at the end of the evening; Din hated worrying you unnecessarily even more than he hated lying to you, so he had told you a half truth when he said it was just a few kids who drank too much.  It was a half truth in that only half of the drunk kids in question were wedding guests - the other two had been Hutt wedding crashers.  For whatever reason, two lower level Hutt foot soldiers had decided to check out the wedding venue after most of the guests had wound down their celebrations and a few of the younger Pyke cousins had taken offense.

It had been easy enough to break up and smooth over, sending the kids to their proverbial corners - that part he hadn’t downplayed.  And since then, it’s been… quiet.

No more skirmishes.  No vandalism.  No theft.  Nothing. 

It’s as if whoever was responsible went on vacation or decided that whatever they were trying to accomplish in the first place wasn’t worth it.

At first, it had been much too suspicious to be trusted.  The Mandos remaining on high alert even when nothing out of the ordinary was being reported.  Then slowly, things started going back to normal.  Late night patrols taper off and security surveillance whittle down to a minimum.  Jimmy returns to training with Karga full-time.  Din’s schedule regulates and to make up for lost time, he takes you out to dinner nearly every night, chipping away at the long accumulated list of restaurants you want to try.  Mayfeld goes back to doing whatever Mayfeld does.

It was the calm.

Din’s humming to himself as he folds towels - checking the clock, he’s glad to see he’s about half an hour or so away from Greef coming in for the late shift, at which time he can go back upstairs to spend the rest of his Saturday night with you.  The two of you had spent a lovely morning at the same farmers’ market he had taken you to on your second date, and much of the day had been spent recreating a similar afternoon – him working while periodically popping upstairs to visit you and Al, helping you with the lasagna.  The only notable difference was that instead of letting you nap, he had made you come on his tongue twice before heading back downstairs to oversee the lazy Saturday gym crowd.

Otherwise, history was repeating itself delightfully even now with Paz coming by after his workout to check in with Din.

“Hey brother,” Paz clasps his hand on Din’s shoulder before the two men embrace, “good day?”

“Yep,” nods Din, good naturedly, “you?”

Paz’s face slips into an unserious grimace, “Was going pretty good, but just got the call to check in with the boss, so like Rihanna says: work, work, work, work, work.  You wanna come with?”

Din shakes his head, “Nah, I’m retired again, remember?  Besides, I’ve got lasagna.”

“Ooo!  Lil’ Lady made lasagna?  Save me a slice, brother!  Wait… unless ‘lasagna’ is code for some weird sex thing?  Then please don’t think of me, thanks.”

Din whips a towel at Paz’s head as the latter heads out the gym, the back of his shoulders shaking with laughter.

---

Satisfied.  That’s the word Din thinks best describes how he feels in this very moment.  His stomach is full of wine and lasagna, and he currently has his delectable dessert straddling his lap with her tongue down his throat.  When you lift yourself up to press down on Din’s mouth with your plush lips, your core grinds a little on the top of his now soft again belly and you both let out a heady groan at the sensation.  Din suspects that after the bout with Rotta Hutt, you had made it your personal mission to reinstate his softer stomach, and he happily acquiesced - eating second helpings of all your delicious cooking that seemed to constantly fill your and his apartments with mouthwatering aromas.

Brushing your tongue over Din’s, your hands go to card his soft curls through your fingers when you feel his meaty hands slide down your sides until they come to a rest on your ass, cupping your cheeks and palming them lightly while you whimper into his mouth. 

“Feel good, pretty bird?”

“Mmmhhmmmm, feels so good, Din,” you murmur as you kiss across Din’s jaw and trail your lips down his neck, tongue darting out to lick his bobbing Adam’s apple.  You feel Din’s hands tighten and squeeze hard at the feeling, and it makes you giggle - you give your butt a little wiggle and dance around in his lap as a response.

Smack.

You yelp and then immediately moan from the spank Din administers to your behind.  Din chuckles throatily and lands another hard smack to the other cheek, watching your ass ripple as he growls in your ear, “Gonna be a good girl, baby?”

You pull back so Din can see the pouty, doe-eyed expression you’re giving him, “What do you mean, daddy?”

Din’s eyes darken, “Are you gonna be a good girl, or are you gonna be a br-”

Bzzzzzzzzzz. Bzzzzzzzzzz.

Din’s phone buzzes with an incoming text.  Then another.  And another.  It continues to vibrate, even as you reach over to the coffee table to grab it for him.

Brow furrowed, Din looks at the notifications on his locked screen and sees texts from Paz, Mayfeld, Woves, Bo, Iggy with more coming in every few seconds from other Mandos.  Each text containing just one line:

This is the Way.

Din’s face hardens and his body tenses, he sits up straight and you have to lace your fingers around his neck so you don’t slide off his lap.  The words themselves are innocuous, chosen to sound authoritative and purposefully vague and mysterious; but the text protocol being executed is deliberate and meaningful, one that Din himself implemented years ago.  It was a code red and a check-in system rolled into one.  It meant he had to go.

He gives you with an apologetic look but he finds you already watching him with an expression full of softness and understanding, “You have to go?”

Nodding, Din closes his eyes and pulls you tight against his chest, tucking your head into your favourite nook under his chin before murmuring, “I have to go.”  You hug him back just as tightly and tell your man you love him.  Tipping your head back, you eagerly accept one last tender kiss before Din gently pulls you off his lap.

As Din sends off his own text (This is the Way.), you grab a jacket for him and see him to the door, eyes worried, “Be careful, Din.”

“Always, pretty bird.  I love you.”  And then he’s off - hurrying down the stairs, taking two at a time.

---

Entering inconspicuously through the back entrance of an office building that acted as a Fett safe house, Din greets the Mandos that beat him here in the open lounge area.  Some are nursing drinks, others seemingly just waiting around.  Everyone looks to be on high alert.  Still not knowing what the alert was for, Din doesn’t ask – he would rather get the debrief straight from Paz, but he doesn’t see the Fett head of security in the room.  Koska gives him a little nod when she spots him and tilts her head towards the boardroom, mouthing, “They’re waiting for you.” Who exactly they are, still unknown to Din even as he pushes open the thick oak door. 

Paz is inside, as are Bo and Brian.  There are no other Mandos.  Everyone is sitting around the long conference table except for Paz and Fennec, both of whom stand flanking Boba’s seat at the head of the long table.  Many of the chairs are already filled by Fett Family seniors and principals and in front of every seat, even the empty ones, is a brown manila envelope.  Din sees that those already sitting have opened theirs, but the contents are unknown to him – either stuffed back into their envelopes or placed face down on the table.  As he walks towards Paz, Din notices that all the envelopes have names written on them; the handwriting is unfamiliar, but he recognizes the names of some other clan members that haven’t arrived yet.  It’s not until he’s nearly at the end of the room that he looks at the envelope in front of the empty seat to Boba’s right and reads his own name.

Cocking an eyebrow at Paz, he’s mildly alarmed to see Paz’s expression.  Normally so impassive and stoic while conducting official security business, Paz looks… nervous.  Din looks quizzically at his envelope, then at Paz, Boba and Fennec; Boba gives a slight nod of his head and Din doesn’t even bother sitting down, just reaches over the chair to grab his envelope, ripping it open.

Din reaches in and pulls out a thick stack of photos.  He goes through them, faster and faster, the top photo being filed to the back so he can see what the next picture is, his actions becoming more frantic and hurried with each photo.

“What the fuck is this?!” he roars.

You.  Every picture is of you.  You stepping off the subway.  You eating a sandwich outside your office.  You having brunch with your friends.  You walking the dog.  You’re wearing so many different outfits in the photos, they must have been taken over several days.  Weeks even.  Din thinks he’s going to be sick - someone has been watching you for weeks.

Since no one has answered, Din thunders again, “What the fuck is this?!” Several of the people sitting, bristle.  Paz looks defeated.  The epiphany that what Paz had been nervous for was Din’s reaction hits suddenly, “Paz, did you know what was in this envelope?!”

Boba, ever calm, but radiating an undercurrent of fury, suggests, “Paz, why don’t you catch Din up in private?  Please rejoin us when you’re ready.”

Paz gestures to a side door and Din follows, still clutching his envelope and the pictures of you.  He waits for the door to the smaller, empty room to close behind him before he goes in on Paz, “Brother, what the hell is going on??”

Paz sighs, “First, I owe you an apology.  You’re right - I knew what was in the envelope.  Actually, I didn’t know, but I had a really good idea.  It didn’t give me any pleasure to see you ambushed like that, brother.”

Din nods, waiting for more.

“A box of envelopes was left outside Peli’s doorstep this morning with a note on top that just said ‘For Boba Fett’.  We checked her cameras and asked around, but there was nothing usable – whoever left the box knew where all the cameras were, where the blind spots are, and they dropped it off at 5 a.m. when there was no one around.”  Paz sighs heavily before continuing.

“Peli called it in and after the box and its contents were cleared, Boba went through it in the late afternoon – he himself got an enveloped filled with pictures of Poe, Lisa and their kids.  Everyone who received an envelope got called in – there are at least 25.  All the envelopes so far contain pictures of loved ones: spouses, partners, family, kids.  All the photos recent.  Bo and Brian’s envelopes contained pictures of their girlfriends.  That’s how I was fairly sure yours had the Lil’ Lady in it.”

Din wordlessly hands over the pictures of you and Paz takes the stack, going through it with a pained expression on his face, “Recent?”

Din nods, “Who the hell did this?  What do they want?  Was there anything else in the box?  What is the fucking point of these photos?!”  Din thinks his brain is going to explode.

Paz shakes his head, “We don’t know.  That’s what we have to find out.”

“But it’s a threat.”

“Yeah.  It feels like a threat.”

Din presses the heels of his hands to his eyes.  His heart and head are pounding, a million thoughts racing through his mind.  Are you safe right now?  He shouldn’t have left you.  No, you’re at Mando’s – there’s nowhere safer.  Had you noticed anyone following you these last couple of weeks?  No, you would have told him.  That means whoever did this was a professional.  And they must have a team, if they were able to take pictures of so many targets over the past few weeks.  Targets.  Fuck.  You were a target.  A voice that Din hasn’t heard in months practically screams in his head: Because of you!! 

His rage and fear suddenly trampled by a new emotion: guilt. 

Beaten, Din looks up at Paz, his voice breaking, “This is why.  This is why… she shouldn’t be with me.  This is what I was always afraid of.  That being with me would put her in danger.  That I would put her in danger.  She’s being threatened because of me.”

Din hangs his head, that old insecurity over bringing you into his life, or rather his life into yours, resurfacing after all these months - ready to tear down the life that he and you had started building together.  How could he have done this to you?  You don’t deserve it.

Paz lays a firm and what he hopes is a reassuring hand on his best friend’s shoulder, “We’ll get who ever did this.  And we’ll keep her safe.  We’ll keep them all safe.”

Din nods, swallowing hard, but unable to peel his thoughts away from images of you.  You in the pictures.  You when he left you tonight.  You smiling at him.  Trusting him.  And then before he could stop it from creeping into his mind, a terrifying vision of you, limp in his arms, hurt.  He closes his eyes and wills himself to breathe, “She has to be safe.”

He follows Paz back into the main boardroom - ready to formulate a plan, to figure out the next steps, to do whatever it takes to bring down whoever was responsible for this transgression against the Family.  Din forces his face to wear the steely visage familiar to those in the room who know him as Boba Fett’s most fearsome enforcer, doing his best to ignore that nagging voice in his head that periodically interjects, “You know what you have to do.”

---

Something has happened tonight.  You can tell.  When you hear Din’s footsteps trudging up the stairs, it’s almost 11 p.m.  He had texted you earlier letting you know he was going to be late, but implored you to save taking Al back until he came home.  You didn’t know about the way his chest tightened when you wrote back to tell him you and Al had gone out and come back already.  As Din gets closer to the top floor, you think you can hear a weariness in those steps, as if he’s shouldering an additional weight.  Meeting him at the door, your heart cracks when you see the furrow of Din’s brow and the exhaustion in his eyes.  Something has happened tonight.

Wordlessly taking Din’s things from him and guiding him to the couch, you straddle Din’s lap and lightly trace his face with your fingers, as if trying to wipe away his worry.  His eyes are closed, his breathing even, but barely controlled.  On more than one occasion, Din has marveled at your talent for being able to soothe and calm him, often with a single touch.  But not tonight.  Tonight, no matter how much you may try, his muscles will not relax, his fists will not unclench, and the tension he carries in his shoulders will not dissipate.

You curl yourself against his hard chest, resting your head on his tightened shoulder and whisper, “Din?  Do you need to use me?  Work out some of this stress?”  Taking his clenched fist, you gently pry open his hand and lay it flat against your own chest, holding it close to your heart.

Din breathes out shakily and opens his eyes to see you looking up at him, wide-eyed with love and concern.   Fuck.  He loves you so much.  And he needs you.  You always know what he needs. 

But he can’t. 

He can’t get the image of the you in those pictures out of his mind – so innocent and unassuming; the idea that someone was looking that same you but with the intention of scaring or hurting you has Din wound up so tight, he’s afraid he might snap at any minute.  Regretfully, he chokes out, “Can’t, pretty bird.  Not this time.  This time… the way I’m feeling right now... I- I might hurt you.  I don’t want to hurt you.”

You can see how hard Din’s struggling and you want to cry for him.  Cupping his rough, tired face in your dainty hands, you kiss him softly and nod, not wanting to add to his burden.

“I think I need to go work it out in the gym, baby.  Take it out on some bags.  Then maybe catch-up on some work.  I’m still behind on paperwork for the gym because of the other stuff that was going on before,” Din sighs.

“If you want, I can take on some of the admin, like tax forms and stuff.  You know I’m good at that,” you offer, wanting to be at least some help.

Against all odds, Din smiles.  How do you do that? “That would be wonderful, sweetheart.  Thank you.”

You relax into his chest, but when Din’s hold on your waist remains tight and his breathing stays sharp, you climb off his lap and prod him gently, “Don’t be too long, baby,” letting your hand linger on his cheek for a moment longer before going to get ready for bed.

---

When you wake in the middle of the night, it’s just past 1:30 a.m. and you’re alone in bed.  Sitting up, you listen for Din but the apartment is silent except for Al’s soft snores.  Where’s Din?  You throw on a long cardigan over your lace trimmed sleep set and grab your keys, padding downstairs.  Opening the door to Mando’s second-floor landing, you hear the thump thump thump of gloves hitting a bag.  Quietly, you walk across the walkway and down the opposing side stairs, coming upon where Din’s working a hanging punching bag.  His shoulders are up, his back muscles tense and glistening with sweat; his gloved fists flying at the bag in consistent intervals, over and over and over, with a force that sends the bag nearly swinging each time.

You don’t know how long Din’s been at this, but judging from his laboured breathing and the beads of perspiration that have rolled down his back, dampening the waistband of his sweatpants, you’re guessing it’s a while.  You can feel his exhaustion rolling off his body in waves from where you stand.  Din’s so hyper focused, you don’t think he’ll even hear you if you call his name, and for a moment, you’re not sure how you’ll get his attention without needlessly startling him; but Din solves the problem for you when you see him pause in his attack, holding the bag still with his gloves and resting this forehead against the leather, breathing tired and shallow.

“Din?” you call out delicately, you’re close enough to him now that you can see the fatigue that lines his face.  It takes you a moment to put a name to the look he gives you, but when you do, your heart nearly shatters.  It’s defeat.  Din’s looking at you, but his eyes are far away, downcast and weary.  His frame, held so tight and tense, droops and deflates as he takes in your figure walking gingerly towards him, as if all the agitation and aggression that he’s been trying to work out over the past few hours simply floats out of his body, along with all his power and determination.  Your big strong man is broken and you don’t know why.

Bringing your hand to his cheek, you exhale with relief when you feel Din lean into your soft touch, eyes closing and face somewhat relaxing; he’s still here, your Din.  Silently, you take his gloved hand with your free one and lead him to the boxing ring.  Using the little stairs tucked into front right corner, you walk up to the raised platform and duck under the ropes to stand in the ring, holding your hand out to Din, beckoning him to join you.  As if in a trance, Din heeds your unspoken request; removing his gloves before meeting you in the middle of the ring, still looking at you with an expression that further breaks your heart – one of failure, resignation.  Holding his face in your hands, you bring it down to yours and press your lips to Din’s – tenderly, warily, so not to spook him.  When Din’s eyes close and you feel him melt against your mouth, you trail your lips to the other parts of him that need your attention. 

Din keeps his eyes closed and uses his remaining energy to mentally track the path of kisses that you lay across his jaw and down his throat.  You dot kisses along his collar bones and over the expanse of his wide chest; flitting out your tongue to taste the saltiness of the sweat that still clings to his hard pecs and his solid midsection.  You squeeze each arm and massage gentle circles over his muscles with your skilled fingers, working down from his flexed biceps to the raised veins of his forearms and ending at his still wrapped hands that you raise to your lips, delicately nipping at his exposed fingertips.  Din revels in your soft fairy-like touch and the heaven of your soft lips against his rough skin.

He opens his eyes only when he feels you slide his sweatpants down past his hips, eyes coming into focus to you see you on your knees before him, cardigan shrugged off to reveal barely there sleepwear that matches the sultry gaze that peers up at him.  Wordlessly, you take him in your mouth.

Hearing Din hiss above you, you work his length gently in your soft mouth, feeling him harden under the efforts of your lips and tongue.  When you feel both his hands come to a gentle resting grip in your hair, you flash a doe-eyed look at him, trying to gauge from his expression what he needs.  What you find is Din, eyes closed and mouth slack – tension and pressure finally evaporated from his body, his face burden free; you hum in pride and vow to suck, lick and tease every last remaining drop of agitation from him.  Rhythmically bobbing your head over Din’s cock, you let him hit the back of your throat repeatedly as you gently fondle his balls with your small hands until you feel them tighten and you hear Din’s heaving breaths above you.  Pulling off of his perfect dick, you see a flash of surprise in Din’s eyes as they snap open; you make sure he’s watching as you dip your hand down your sleep shorts and start to rub your clit through your already drenched panties.

When you see a dark hunger replace the look of surprise on Din’s face, you use your free hand to pull on his wrist so he’ll join you down on the mat.  Mouth latching to yours open mouthed, needy, violent, Din allows you to maneuver his strong frame easily so that he lays beneath you; you shimmy out of your shorts and panties before straddling him, hovering over his already weeping cock.  Normally both so vocal during sex, no words are exchanged between you and Din tonight.  Every question and want expressed only through looks and touch - communicating heart to heart, mind to mind.  When Din removes your top, you realize it’s the first time he’s really touching your body since you came downstairs - his touch is desperate, gripping, tortured.  You let him grab and grope your breasts, waist, stomach, arms, hips and thighs with a fervent need, as if he needs to prove, convince himself that you’re all there. 

Notching him at your entrance, you feel Din’s hand snake up the valley of your breasts and come to a rest around your neck.  Lolling your head back to give him more access, you follow the direction of his firm grip and sink down on Din’s dick; your movements guided by the pressure that Din puts on your neck, letting him pull you down until you’re fully sheathed on his throbbing cock.  Keeping pace with the flex of Din’s fingers on your throat, you bounce – ignoring the sting of pain from having taken him with no prep; no matter – your overstretch walls soon flooded with arousal as your movements quicken and your breaths sharpen, dizzy from your airway being constricted.

Eyes rolling to the back of your head, you ride Din with abandon – there's no dirty talk, praise or degradation tonight, the only sounds echoing off the walls of the empty gym are the urgent slapping of skin on skin and Din’s loud animalistic moans and grunts.  For Din, this is primal, physical, making sure you’re real and that he can touch you, hold you – you’re here, within his grasp.  Safe.

Keeping one hand on your neck, as if tethering you to him via your airway, your lifeline, Din is hypnotized by the sight of you on top of him – pretty tits bouncing, pert and perky.  You’re beautiful.  Perfect.  That you give yourself over to him so readily when you already give him so much fills him to the brim with emotion: you trust him with your heart, your body, your life.  He inches a finger towards the tight ring of your ass, pressing in past the initial resistance and feels your pussy flutter around his cock once he slips in.  Always so willing to take.  Because you trust him.  Love him.

Fuck, he loves you more.

Crying out as you come, you clench down hard on Din’s cock but don’t stop moving, determined to fuck yourself through it; Din follows shortly after, spilling himself to the look of euphoria on your face.

No words are exchanged as you gather your things and lead Din upstairs after turning off the lights in the gym.  And still none when you guide him into the hot shower, washing his tired body under the spray of the water steaming up the bathroom.  Din is barely awake – eyes shut as he lets you wash his hair, only partially registering the soft touch of your fingers against his scalp.  Melting into your sweet kisses to his lips, chest and back, he slips further towards dreamland.

Silent even as you dry him and dress him in a pair of clean pajamas, Din, exhausted from the physical exertion of trying to punch out his frustrations and the mental load of what he learned today, completely dissociates from everything except the warmth of your presence.

Only once he’s laid down on his side of his bed, head already sinking into his pillow and lips tingling from your goodnight kiss does Din speak, “I love you so much, pretty bird.  How will I ever live without you?”

All you can do is smile when you see your hulk of a man finally relaxed enough to drift off towards sleep.  You’re so relieved to have managed to put him to bed that you don’t notice he isn’t utilizing the hypothetical.

Not ‘How would I ever live without you?’ but will.

[peepawmiller]

I love angst. I love angst I love angst.

But I’m also emotionally damaged by whatever is going to happen, thank you

Me, at the last line:

You can hurt me but you have to heal me okay

[di-n]

NARCOS | 1.03: The Man of Always

[604to647]

Safest with You - Ch. 17 (The Preparations)

4.7K / Modern AU Retired Mob Enforcer!Din Djarin x fem!reader

Summary: Wedding planning for the upcoming Fett-Pyke nuptials ramps up and you lend a helping hand.

Warnings: 18+ Content (MDNI please). Established relationship, fingering, unprotected PiV, roughish sex, semi public sex, mirror sex (again!), light roleplay, nicknames per usual (pretty bird, baby, sweetheart, etc.), reader has to try a bunch of dresses on but there is no implied body shape or size.

A/N: This chapter precedes The Wedding, a drabble I wrote all the way back in October. You don't have to read it (there is no real plot progression), but Ch. 18 will pick up when the wedding has already taken place 😊 Thank you so much to everyone who reads this series - ilysm! 🥹 Series Masterlist

You would think that with the amount of stress and anxiety you’ve been feeling lately, you were the one getting married.

Din has been out late on security detail every night since the fight with Rotta.  That creeping feeling you had at the BBQ, that something like escalation was just around the corner seems to have materialized as if you manifested it, crashing into your lives without nuance after fight night.  Whatever or whomever is responsible for the incendiary string of misdemeanors seems to have been emboldened by the Hutts’ recent defeat, their humiliation lighting the fuse to a powder keg that you’re sure is just waiting to explode.

You worry for Din - not because you don’t think he can handle himself, but truthfully, you don’t even know what’s out there to worry over.  Din insists on keeping the darker sides of the Family’s business and what he does away from you – which you understood and agreed to, but your imagination can’t help but run wild.  You spend too much of your time away from him worried for his well being and trying to quiet that overthinking part of your brain that loves to indulge in paranoid, imagined scenarios.

In truth, most nights Din comes home perfectly fine – a little stressed maybe, but fine; he’ll unwind a little as you walk Al together, sometimes venting to you about what’s been going on, but other times just reveling in your soft touch and gentle calm.

You don’t tell Din that the calmness you exude for him only surfaces when you’ve laid eyes on him again; that otherwise, you’re a bundle of tightly wound nerves while the two of you are apart.

One day, you don’t know why, but a looming sense of dread hangs over you all day – there wasn’t any particular reason other than possibly your worry and anxiety having been building up for weeks and you had subconsciously reached a breaking point.  Certainly, Din hadn’t said anything or indicated that today was different than any other.  But still, you feel your skin prickling all day and you check your phone more than usual – for what?  You don’t even know.

For the first time that night, you add pacing to your efforts to work out your nervous energy; Al watching, confused, as you do laps of Din’s apartment while waiting for him to come home.

Your head snaps up when you hear uneven footsteps on the stairs and watch as Din stumbles in through the door, holding his hand to his face, blood dripping down to his wrist.  Blinking back tears, you lead Din to the couch and wordlessly climb into his lap with the first aid kit to start cleaning the blood and inspecting his wound.

Din is pissed at himself.  He was careless. 

Tired from the endless nights of patrol and seemingly never-ending malfeasance that requires the Mandos’ constant intervention, he had let his guard down for a minute while Jimmy had gone ahead to check on some Fett Family protected businesses.  It had been long enough for some young punk who must have been hiding in the shadows to get the jump on him.  Ultimately, it didn’t take more then a few minutes for Din to subdue the wannabe thug, pinning him to the ground with his arm across the back of his neck to choke out that this kid worked for the Crymorah Syndicate, but not before Din only half ducked the swing of the baseball bat - hence the blood now pouring out of his head.

The scared and pained expression on your face as you focus on disinfecting and bandaging his bloody cut is making Din feel even worse than the massive headache that continues to pound between his temples.

It’s the first night he takes you up on the offer you brought up at the BBQ: to use you to fuck out his frustrations. 

He takes you right there on the couch.  Facing you away from him, Din holds you wide over his lap, fingering you roughly and playing with your clit until you come.  Once he has you lolling your head back onto his shoulder, he slams you down on his cock and fucks up into you at a demanding pace, taking out his grievances on your lithe, supple body, chasing only his own high.  You’re completely fucked out of your mind, all thoughts leaving your brain except for how good it feels to give yourself over to Din entirely, letting him handle your body and use it for his selfish needs.  Pliant and limp like his own personal fuck doll, Din thrusts into you with a force that causes your breasts to bounce so violently you start to sweat, moaning and whimpering into Din’s neck as you’re jostled without reprieve over his lap; Din grunts low and dangerous in your ear, “So good at taking my cock, baby.  Take it, take it.  Take what daddy gives you.”

He uses you until you’ve come shaking on his length twice more, legs spread so wide they’ve started to ache, body shiny with sweat and voice hoarse from screaming so much.  Only then does Din finish, spilling rope after rope of cum into you, stretching your legs taut with his paw like hands so he can shoot his spend into you as deep as possible and all you can do is let him and take, take, take.

After, he gently closes your legs and pulls out, laying you down tenderly on the couch before fetching a warm cloth to clean you up.  You remain in a completely brain numbed, cock drunk state – every anxious thought and worry having been fucked out of your head.  Your overthinking brain shut off the minute Din entered you and the noise of your stressful thoughts dominated into submission by his punishing cock; you feel nothing but pleasure, relief, peace.  Later while cuddling in bed, Din checks in with you that he hadn’t taken things too far with your offer to let him use you.

Sleepily, you nod and let him know that you’re more than okay.  And it’s true.  The original intent was to give Din an outlet for his frustrations, but now you think that him using you could be just as much for you as it is for him. 

In comparison to the burden of your mental load, the actual wedding planning for Cass’s wedding has been a breeze.

Admittedly, you don’t have to do very much.  Periodically, Lisa will invite you to come taste something or ask you to pick up some samples for her.  Mainly you do research into different vendors that still need to be secured and ask Rory if there’s anyone on the blacklist before sharing your suggestions with Lisa.  If a Rory approved vendor from your list is selected, you usually attend those meetings, feeling somewhat responsible for their performance – what Lisa and Cass don’t know is that the vendors approved for your lists are usually ones that having working relationships with Rory’s boutique – you being to suspect that their relationship with Rory is enough to secure lower than standard prices and higher than usual levels of service.  You buy Rory brunch for three weeks in a row to thank her.

The biggest request to date from Cass is that you attend the bridal dress consultation and bridesmaid dress shopping with them at Rory’s boutique. 

The appointment itself had been a favour you weren’t willing to ask of your friend; knowing the calibre of Rory’s work and the level to which her services were in demand, you didn’t think it right for you to ask her to make any exceptions for you.  But being the elite friend that Rory is, she cleared it with her boss to open up the boutique privately after hours on an upcoming Saturday and extended the invitation after she had already made all the arrangements.

You couldn’t believe it.  It was so incredibly kind.  You cry a little.  Afterall, Rory doesn’t even know Lisa or Cass - she did all this on the strength of her love for you alone.  Rory awkwardly pats your head and just says she can tell that you’ve been under a lot of stress lately and this is such a small thing she could do to help you out.  You cry more.  You hadn’t realized that you had let your anxiety and concern for Din and whatever was happening with the Mandos affect your mood that much; you obviously don’t share with your friends Fett Family business, but that they knew something was up but never pushed you to tell them makes you love them all the more.  Sometimes you’re not sure you deserve your friends.

Today, you decide you definitely don’t deserve Rory.  Helping Cass find her dream dress has been relatively easy - Cass looks gorgeous in everything she tries on, and with Rory’s expertise, she easily pulls five perfect options and gives the proper advice and compliments to help the bride narrow it down to the one.  One of Cass’s aunties proclaims that she’s never been to such an efficient and smooth wedding dress consultation and she has five married daughters – you smile proud: that’s the power of Rory.

But the selection of the bridesmaid dresses is an entirely different matter.  For one thing, only two of the bridesmaids are actually in attendance (one of them is Lisa).  For another, there are seven bridesmaids in total, some of whom even Cass doesn’t know very well and half of them from the Pyke’s side.  Everyone has an opinion, several have sent notes, and no one is available to FaceTime.

You think Rory must pull over fifty dresses.  You stop counting after twenty-five – somehow becoming the doll that all the dresses are modelled on, standing up on the pedestal in front a couch full of women so they can judge the chiffon trimmed monstrosity you have on.  It’s not as easy as just throwing your hands up and letting dress after dress fall over your shoulders and hang smoothly off your body while you sway the fabric prettily.  Some of the sample dresses are too big and requiring copious pinning.  Others, too small, pinch your skin and your sides where the zipper bites into your squishy bits.  Others are too long, causing you to almost fall trying to step up onto the pedestal, and some have so many buttons that your limbs go numb while waiting to be buttoned in or out.  Many of them are very, very ugly.  It’s seemingly impossible to please seven bridesmaid and one bride who all have very different tastes and very different bodies, especially if offending any one of them might incite a gang war.

The women are getting increasingly frustrated and snippy with each other, all while you stand in front of them in a little satin strapless number that is definitely too short (for a wedding) and too small (for you, the back barely zipped and your boobs pushed together comically, close to scandalously spilling out the top).  You’re hot and tired, and the arguing that is only getting louder is starting to creep its way into your shoulders where you’ve been holding all your stress lately.  You’re about to ask for a break and voluntell Lisa to be the next dress model when Rory comes striding back into the room and does it for you.  She’s grinning triumphantly and behind her walks your knight in shining armour: Din carrying a box of baked goods intended to help refuel the women and invigorate the appointment that’s slowly going off the rails.

You don’t wait around to find out if it works.  Ramming yourself into Din’s chest, you let him wrap his arms around you and melt into the comforting warmth of his presence while you breath a sigh of relief - as big of a breath as your too tight dress will allow, anyways.  Unbeknownst to you, Rory makes eye contact with Din over your head and tilts hers discreetly towards a door in the hallway that has a little velvet rope drawn across.  Looking down at your tired face, Din understands her meaning immediately and mouths ‘thank you’ before he starts to walk you in the direction indicated.

“Din?” you look up at him sleepily as you come a stop outside the door which he’s opening gingerly. 

“Don’t worry, pretty bird, no one will bother us here,” he smiles indulgently and directs you up the staircase hidden behind the door, keeping his big firm hand splayed on your back to hold you steady as you ascend.

The stairs lead to the third floor of the boutique which is home to a private consultation room.  It’s similar to the set-up of the room you were in downstairs, but a bit smaller, a little more intimate.  The racks of dresses lining the walls are fewer and the furniture up here is luxurious and fine. 

You heave a sigh of exhaustion and start to move towards the chaise lounge near the window when you hear Din chuckle behind you, “Baby.  What are you wearing?”

“Hey!” you spin around, stress and exhaustion catching up with you, annoyed, “You try on a million dresses and none of them fit, and Elena wants strapless, but Lisa doesn’t want to have to buy a new bra.  Xi’an hates all fabrics but silk and Cass wants it to match the wedding colours, but Morgan’s grandma says green is bad luck.  Sasha thinks that it’s not fashionable to match and that everyone should wear a different style, and Elsbeth wants everyone in a mermaid style but Winnie thinks a train will upstage the bride!!  And I’m not even in the wedding - I’m just trying to help!! It’s so much to take in, it’s not possible to look good too!!”

Din chuckles again - you look so feisty and irritated, breathing heavily in your too short, too tight dress, but he’s finding it terribly endearing.  He doesn’t tell you this because he thinks he might find himself with a shoe thrown at his head, so instead he silently steers you over to the mirror; wrapping one arm around your waist, he hooks his chin over your shoulder and walks two fingers across the tops of your overspilling cleavage, “I didn’t say it didn’t look good, sweetheart,” and starts kissing your neck.

Sighing now from the tingle of Din’s lips on your hot skin, you whisper, resigned, “This thing is like, a bajillion sizes too small.  I can’t believe I even had to try it on.  It’s too short.  Too tight.  Too low cut.”

“Too slutty,” Din murmurs behind your ear as he starts to push the hem of the dress up your thighs, the skirt so short he only raises the fabric a few inches before your white lace panties come into view in the mirror.  You moan a little when you see the hungry look in his eyes reflected back at you.

“Seems to me if it’s too tight, we should just,” Din’s starts to drag the back zipper down very slowly, “… loosen it a little.” You exhale as the fabric around your chest falls away from your body a little, giving your lungs room to expand.  As you take in a few deep breaths, your tits fall out over the top of the dress, exposing your naked curves to Din’s darkened stare, “Well, well, well… what do we have here?”  He reaches up to palm your breasts, groping them gently before rolling your nipples between his thumbs and middle fingers, toying and pinching them just the way you like.  You arch against Din and when you feel his hardening cock press against your ass, you whine, “Oh Daddy…”

“That’s right, pretty bird,” coos Din, he reaches up to wrap one hand around the base of your neck while the other drops from your tits to slip down the front of your panties and gently starts to massage your clit, “Daddy’s going to take care of you.” 

You relax into Din’s hold, letting him guide your head back to rest against his shoulder, softly moaning as he strokes through your folds, “You’re stressed baby, you take on too much.”

“No, it’s okay…” you murmur, eyes still closed.

Din drags his fingers over and around your slit, pressing gently against but never breeching the entrance, pulling a needy whine from your lips which he shushes, “Yeah, you do, pretty bird.  You’re helping so much with this wedding.  You’re stressed worrying about me all the time.  And you have your own work and Al to take care of.  You deserve to be taken care of too, baby.”

And as if he knows you’re about to protest that he does take care of you, Din chooses this exact moment to plunge two fingers into your needy cunt; you would double over from the electric shock of pleasure to your system if Din wasn’t holding you upright.  “Gonna take real good care of you, sweet girl,” he whispers as he starts driving his fingers into you, drinking in your breathy chants of daddy, daddy, daddy, perfectly timed to his thrusts.

“Open your eyes, bunny.  Look how good you look when you’re being taken care of,” commands Din, softly.  You open your eyes and take in your reflection in the mirror: you have a lazy grin spread across your face, Din’s arm crosses over your chest to hold you by the neck but you can still see your exposed breasts, your nipples perky and sensitive.  Your eyes linger over your white lace panties stuffed full with Din’s hand, and your mouth relaxes into a soft ‘O’ shape whenever the movement under the fabric results in a wet squelch from your dripping pussy.  You look depraved and serene all at once.

“Feel so good, daddy,” you purr, as your arms reach up and around the back of Din’s neck, arching your body further into his touch.  Din adds a third finger slowly, hungrily consuming your sharp intake of air and the way your legs quake at the added stretch; when he starts to write your name in cursive over your clit, your knees actually buckle.

“I got you, bun.  Don’t worry, your big bad wolf is here.  Gonna take care of everything for you, little bunny.  All you have to is come,” Din hums, shifting you in the firm embrace of his arm so you rest comfortably against his body, propped up against his thigh while he continues his efforts on your cunt.

Your eyes glassy, you smile dreamily as you continue to watch the way Din works your body over with his nimble fingers; when you start to climb towards your peak, your body instinctively tries to run but Din grips you tight, “You’re close, pretty girl.  Can feel you on my fingers.  Let go and come for me.  I got you, baby.”  His reassuring tone and confident swipes over your swollen nub push you right over the edge and you come with a melodic wail that’s more of a cry of relief than anything.

Fucking you gently through your high, Din murmurs praise in your ear as he pulls you back to Earth, “Did so good for me.  So perfect, sweetheart.  Always come so pretty for me.  Feel good, pretty bird?”

You nod lazily under Din’s jaw, arms still hanging on to his neck as if for dear life.  He chuckles, and through the fog of your post orgasm stupor, you feel Din position your body closer to the mirror, placing your hands against the glass for stability before helping you out of your shoes and underwear.  You feel his warm breath on your neck before he nips playfully at your earlobe and you smile affectionately, mainly to yourself in the glass.  But when you hear him rumble low in your ear, “Gonna fuck you now, bunny,” you brain wakes up and your eyes snap open, “Din!  We can’t!  This isn’t my dress!  And this is Rory’s place of work!”

Din places his hands over yours and gently kisses down your neck, tutting reassuringly, “Uh uh uh, you’re still worrying too much.  Didn’t I say Daddy was going to take care of everything? I’m going buy this dress, and Rory is the one who sent us up here.  You have to let go and let me take care of you, sweetheart.”

He’s right, you do worry a lot; as Din eases his cock between your snug walls you think you should let him take care of all your concerns, no matter how silly. Din sets a slow, languid pace and you grin teasingly at him, already cock drunk, “And what am I going to do with a dress that doesn’t fit, daddy?”

Din grins back at you, “We could use it for role play?”

“Like slutty bridesmaid?”

He starts to thrust a little faster, a little harder, “Or maybe you’re a slutty cocktail waitress looking for a big tip.”  He smirks at the you in the reflection, slutty little you with your tits out, bouncing hard while being railed by your big bad wolf.

“Ohhhhhh yessss, fuck that feels good.  You got a big tip for me, daddy?” you slur, eyes still twinkling despite having gone unfocused.

Din rakes his big hands up your arms and down your sides, grabbing on to your breasts and toying with your nipples before grasping you hard and slamming his cock into you without warning.

Your yelp of surprise quickly turns into bawdy moans as Din continues to rut into you with a force that shakes the glass you’re still bracing your hands on, “Fuck, Din.”

“Maybe one of the dancers didn’t come in tonight and this poor slutty cocktail waitress has to fill in and give me a lap dance,” smirks Din, he’s leveraging one of your favourite roleplay fantasies and he knows it.

You grind back into his crotch, circling your hips as he fucks into you, cooing, “I’m sorry I’m not your regular girl, daddy.  Please don’t be upset.”

Still smirking, Din lays a loud smack to your ass, “Can’t be too upset when I’ve this perfect ass bouncing on me.”  You squeal from the sting and the ease with which you and Din have slipped into this dirty dialogue.

Continuing to pound into you, Din crowds you towards the mirror, open mouth kissing at your neck and focusing on that spot behind your ear that drives you crazy, “Gonna let me take you to the VIP room, baby?  Gonna let me do VIP things to you?”

You whine, “That’s against the rules, daddy!”

Din pushes you into the mirror so your tits are pressed against the glass and growls as he continues to fuck up into your core, “What did I tell you?  No more worrying in that pretty head of yours.  You gonna let me break some rules and wreck this pussy, little slut?”

You know you’re just playing a silly fantasy game, but this is the second time Din’s told you to stop worrying and to let him take care of things – you know there’s some truth behind his words so you give in; you know he’ll take good care of you, “All yours, daddy.  Do whatever you want to me.”

“Good girl,” Din rewards you by snaking his hand down to your clit and giving your throbbing bud the attention it’s been aching for.  He bites down on your shoulder and drinks in your little cry, “Gonna fuck you until you don’t have a thought in that slutty little brain of yours, ‘kay?  I’m gonna take care of it all for you, just trust your daddy.”

He nuzzles his strong, perfect nose into your cheek to press your face against the mirror and you can see the glass start to fog up from how hard you’re panting; the cool surface doesn’t quite feel so cool anymore as you nod the best you can.

Over and over, Din punches the air out of your lungs, and you just take, the patch of condensation on the mirror growing bigger and bigger; you focus on Din’s face, the way his eyes are blown wide with lust and the curl of his lips as he snarls, “Pretty little whore, want me to take you away from this club?  Away from all your worries? Be the only one to fuck you?  Take care of you?”

“Yes!” you cry, you kiss your reflection as your lips smash against the glass with every hard thrust from Din’s cock; your pussy trapping his hand against the smooth surface of the mirror as he continues to draw perfect circles on your clit.

“Then come for me. Give it to me, baby.  Give me ever worry, every anxious thought.  Give it all to me, bunny,” Din coaxes.  Demands.  And you do, you come hard - your walls clamping down on Din’s length, fluttering with the aftershocks of your orgasm while continuing to pulse down on Din as he comes nearly right after, absorbing your fall and taking it all from you.  He shoots his spend deep and you take from him too, letting him give you everything he’s got.

After pulling you away from the mirror, you watch absent-mindedly as the Din in the mirror holds you upright against his chest until he’s sure you can stand; he helps you put on your underwear and adjusts the tiny dress to cover you up the best he can before leading you to one of the plush lounges.  Laying you down gently, Din covers you with a blanket he finds before you see him go off and disappear into an alcove in the corner of the room.  He must have found a bathroom or a changing room because he comes back with some tissues and helps you clean some of the joint spill that’s now dripping from you, before you watch with some amusement as he cleans the mirror that the two of you defiled.  Thoughtful, thoughtful man. 

When he’s finished, Din comes back to you as he always does, kneels by your head and strokes your hair, kissing you tenderly, “Pretty bird, I mean it.  You’re taking on a lot.  Too much.”

This time when he says it, you’re too placated and pliant to argue, so you just nod, sleepy.

“This dress fitting was too much to ask of you.  And even though it’s in your nature to help, I know you’re really doing this for me.  I ask too much of you sometimes – I know it hasn’t been easy with me coming home late, scaring you with what I might be facing while I’m out.  I’m sorry,” Din looks at you with such a soulful, downcast look, your heart breaks – you bring your hand to his cheek and warm when you feel him leaning into your touch.

“Don’t be sorry.  I love you, Din,” you whisper, trying to let him know with your eyes that you can handle it.  You can handle anything with him.

Din knows. “Let me take care of you too sometimes, okay, pretty bird?  You don’t have to handle it all on your own.”

“Okay,” you smile.  This one word breaks any remaining tension that Din had been holding on to and he leans in, kissing you with devotion, sealing in your promise.

“I think you’re done for the day, sweetheart.  No more of these dresses for you.  I’ll go downstairs and get your stuff from Rory.  I’ll pay for this one you’re wearing now… and then we’ll leave?”

“Sounds good, daddy,” you yawn, closing your eyes.

As Din approaches the staircase, he looks back at you and asks, curious, “Did you try on any wedding dresses today, pretty girl?”

Half asleep, you shake your head, “Nope, just a million bridesmaid dresses.”

“Hmmm,” Din muses, thoughtful, “Bet you would look really good in a wedding dress, baby.”

“Din, don’t even start…” your voice trails off as sleep carries you away, barely registering the conversation that’s taking place.

Din continues down the stairs, humming and grinning stupidly to himself.

The Wedding takes place after this chapter and before Ch. 18, but it's not necessary for the plot to read - just know that when Ch. 18 starts, Cass and Rikard are already married 🥰

[peepawmiller]

🗣️JUST LET THEM GET MARRIED

I love when he takes care of her 🥺 he’s so soft and sweet and hooooot I love them

[peepawmiller]

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