Abstract: “I miss you,” the noises from downstairs should’ve been overpowering–music, shouting, broken glass, but she heard his murmur clearly, or perhaps she read it on his moving lips. “I never thought I would be doing any of it without you. I miss you.”
“Din, please,” it scratched at her throat with desperation, eyes heavy with tears unshed.
Please, stop saying that.
Please, come closer.
Please, go away.
Please, kiss me.
Content: f!reader; canon divergence, manda'lor din, (mild) smut, angst, i mean Angst, break-ups, borderline toxic past relationship
Words: 2.5k
a/n: inspired by battle cries by the amazing devil, which i suggest listening to before/during
also on AO3 - masterlist
reblogs and feedback are always greatly appreciated. you can send it here, too
“You haven’t changed one bit.”
The voice greeting her at the table was familiar, even through the modulor. She looked up into a dark visor, a helmet slightly tilted, the expanse of beskar reflecting flickering neon lights all across his torso, arms, shoulders–the mythosaur casting shadows on one, another creature on the other. His clan, the mudhorn.
“How’d you find me?” a whisper, hand tightening around the almost empty glass in front of her, the sticky table she rested her bent arms on digging lines into her skin.
“Luck,” he shrugged, taking one step closer. “I was passing by, and heard someone ordering Emerald wine,” she could almost picture the smile in his words, causing an ache to spread from the middle of her chest all through her limbs, so familiar she almost relished in it.
“Many people drink Emerald wine, Din,” she returned, looking into her glass and swirling it around a bit, the bright liquid sloshing side to side.
“Not in a place like this,” now the smile was crystal clear, and she downed the rest of the drink in one go. “What are you doing here?”
“Night off,” she shrugged, leaning back, arms unsticking from the table as she lifted one to call for another glass, the other curling against her chest. “What about you? I thought there wouldn’t be time for you to run around now that you’re Manda’lor.”
“I get nights off, too,” he tucked his chin down, searching for her gaze. “I’ve been looking for you.”
“What for?” her mouth felt dry, heart thundering and pushing into her ribs.
“I’ve missed you,” such an easy admission. Like a punch in the gut. “Could we go someplace else? More private?”
“Why?” she knew the moment he’d asked the question she would say yes, of course. She knew pretending otherwise did nothing–not for her, not for him. He knew that, too, but played along.
“I just wanna talk,” soft words, careful and controlled, like trying to tame a wild creature.
“Why, Din?” she repeated, and at last looked up.
She knew his shape like the back of her hand–the ridges and notches of his armor, the slope of his shoulders, that slight bent in his arms when he stood, the barely-there shift of his hip as he bent one knee, keeping the other leg out. She knew him over, under, all around.
“I haven’t seen you in years, cyar’ad,” he justified, hands falling to the table, leaning forward. She recoiled at the name, shifting back on instinct even when everything in her told her to move in his direction, reach for him. “Please.”
Refuse him, her mind begged–but she’d never been able to do it. Not when they were 15 years old, not as they grew up, certainly not in that moment.
“They have some rooms upstairs,” she sighed, hands falling from the glass as she stood. Din didn’t move, followed her with his eyes as she walked around the table, squeezing past him–he reached to brush her hand, and she immediately pulled away. “I’ll see what I can do.”
A shitty place came with a shitty room, which she thought was for the best–perhaps it could end soon. Perhaps he would go away. Away from the gray walls and gray bed and gray town outside the window. Away from her.
The door locked with a noise that reverberated through her bones, she just by the window and he a few steps behind–him looking at her, and her looking outside, arms crossed over her stomach.
“Cyar’ad, will you look at me?” no, her mind raged, yet she turned around, tipping her chin up–fake pride. Faker courage.
He sighed before bringing his hands up, palms over the sides of his helmet and thumbs hooked underneath, lifting it slightly.
“What are you doing?” alarm set in her voice as she jolted forward, hands wrapping around his wrists to stop him.
They hadn’t touched in so long, and even through the leather of his gloves electricity fizzled down her arms, burning her palms.
“Look at me,” he repeated, while she was shaking her head.
“We went to the Living Waters for a reason, you can’t–” the beginning of the end, such a beautiful place that now carried only bitter memories. The mythosaur. The Darksaber. Din, the Manda’lor.
“Yes,” he tried to nod, the movement hindered by their hands. “But you’re still my riduur,” he fought against her hold, slowly pulling the helmet off. “Of course I can,” his voice different, painfully familiar, even more painfully distant in her memory.
“We were kids, Din,” she pulled away abruptly, hands folding over her chest. “I don’t think that counts for anything.”
“It counts for me,” he shrugged, taking one step forward–she took one step back and aside, out of his line of sight, moving closer to the door. “I do miss you.”
“We talked about this,” her voice felt impossibly small.
She’d never once felt small when she was with him, but in that moment she might as well have disappeared between the cracks of the floorboards.
“Not really,” one step forward, one back, her hands brushing the wall behind her. “You left,” he wasn’t accusing her, she realized. Merely stating a fact. Somehow, it didn’t make it easier.
“I told you why, I couldn’t–”
“You couldn’t do it,” he finished for her, and with his next step her back collided with the wall. The door was on her left side–she could just run away. Again. “You never told me what it was.”
“All of it,” a cracked whisper, eyes wandering around–unsure on whether to set on her reflection on his armor or lift up to look at him or stare at the town outside again instead. “You’re the Manda'lor. The one ruler. I’m not even sure I believe in any of that anymore. I couldn’t–can’t do it.”
“You saw the mythosaur–same as I did,” she exhaled at his closeness, eyes falling shut. Perhaps she could pretend it was all in her head–she had before, playing variations of that conversation over and over again when sleep eluded her.
“I saw a creature people believed had ceased existing–just a creature,” shaky breaths, she closed her hands into tight fists at her sides. “No higher power. No divine. Just an animal.”
“Cyar’ad,” she wasn’t sure when he’d removed his gloves, but jumped at the brush of his bare fingertips across her cheek, eyes flying open to look up at him. “You believed in the battles,” he looked so different, yet the same. There were wrinkles around his eyes she’d never seen before, strands of silver through his hair, patches of white in his trimmed beard. “We used to be the best of them when together.”
“I got tired,” she shook her head, attempting to escape his touch. But he wasn’t holding her–a magnet kept her in place, kept her close to him. “I am tired.”
“I miss you,” the noises from downstairs should’ve been overpowering–music, shouting, broken glass, but she heard his murmur clearly, or perhaps she read it on his moving lips. “I never thought I would be doing any of it without you. I miss you.”
“Din, please,” it scratched at her throat with desperation, eyes heavy with tears unshed.
Please, stop saying that.
Please, come closer.
Please, go away.
Please, kiss me.
He once used to be able to read her mind, anticipate her every move, every request. She’d loved that of them, of him. She wondered if he still could as he claimed her lips for a kiss, or if he’d simply acted on his own desires.
Familiar hands traced a path down her body as he pressed himself against her, kissing and kissing and kissing her until her lips tingled and her breath was short. She could feel each ridge of his armor push into her flesh–it used to make them laugh when their armors would clash together, alerting possibly every person in the near vicinity that they’d come together again. But her armor was long gone, left behind the night she’d walked away.
His hands were scorching from above her clothes, pushing and pulling and holding her close as he prodded her mouth open, chasing the taste of the wine from her.
She ached, her body trapped between him and the wall, hands following the notches of his armor with a careful touch, as if it might burn her–she burned inside already, a fire ignited by his presence alone, burning brighter the closer he got, the more he touched and touched and touched.
It was enough to make her forget everything else, that kiss. To make her forget the shouts, the fighting, the tears, the silences–a ringing in her ears that covered those noises that haunted her on quiet, lonely nights. All that had left her tired, so fucking tired.
“I miss you,” hands gripping her sides, hoisting her up, pulling her to him. “Miss you,” mumbled across her jaw, her neck, heavy breathing that made her dizzy. “Ni nunynir gar.”
How fitting, she thought, that their language was so violent. That to miss meant also to not hit the target. A warrior’s speech–a warrior she was no longer.
“Come home with me,” touching, pulling, kissing, Din’s hands wandering over and under her clothes, a desperation she remembered from their last days together, when to drown in each other’s bodies was the only way to not be at each other’s throats. “Come back to Mandalore. Be with me. Please. Please.”
“I miss you, too,” a small admission that carried the weight of years apart. It was all that she could give him then–she knew already how the night would end. She knew already Din would put up a fight. He’d always been the best of them, and the weapon at his side, digging into the back of her thigh as she kept her legs wrapped around him, was proof enough of that.
Sighs in exchange for battle cries as he kissed her neck, her chin, her mouth, messy and hasty as he tore at her clothes, baring her from the waist down, the desperation of his words channeled into his motions.
“Love you,” mouth, “love you,” neck, “love you,” collarbones, “I love you,” chest–right above her heart while, still fully clothed if not for his trousers zipped open, he pushed into her with a cry of missed you, missed you, missed you.
A coming home to him–the belief it was just the beginning. A start over.
A release, a respite for her from the hurt–the knowledge it was going to be a final goodbye.
Fast and almost violent, soothing the ache in her chest somehow as she grasped onto him, shirt riding up the small of her back with each of his thrust and leaving scrapes from the drag across the wall–again and again, her hands buried in his hair. She used to wake up with his hair tangled up in her eyes, rake her fingers through his curls while he slept.
The first wave of pleasure came crashing down on them both quickly, one of his arms wrapped underneath her legs for support while the other pressed into the wall, keeping them standing, panting against each other’s lips, his hips rutting against hers until it hurt–and she welcomed it. She’d tried in the beginning to burn the feeling of him away from her, drowning in others, drowning in wine, but it never worked, it never helped.
Years spent longing for that–for his hands on her skin, for his kisses, for the stretch between her legs. Aching for the way he pulled her clothes away–with care, in spite of the urgency in his eyes, in his motions; for the feel of his body underneath her hands as she did the same with him–a little more uncaring, trailing pieces of armor and wrinkled clothes behind them.
Over and over through the night, getting lost in pleasure and pain equally, bruises on him and burns on her–as if trying to make up for the time lost. As if trying to accumulate, collect, hoard for the inevitable end, something to cling on to in the aftermath.
In the end they were just tangled bodies over the gray bed, skin against skin and his head on her chest where it always used to rest–she wondered if he could hear her heart pounding out his name, raging against her set mind. Please, please, please, don’t do it, just stay.
When she stood, she hurt in different ways–her body spent, battered; her heart cracking at the mere sound of his voice.
“What are you doing?” she hoped the haze clung to him, a moment of bliss that could last until she was gone. She cleared her throat, scratched from her calling out his name.
“I have to go home,” her words took some time to register–enough so that she could start picking up the layers over her body. He sat, frowning so deeply a multitude of lines showed on his face.
“I thought–”
“I know. I’m sorry,” in spite of the turmoil, of her insides turning and raging against her, she wasn’t going to scream, wasn’t going to beat her chest. She was just going to pretend it was fine–she was fine.
“Cyar’ad, wait,” she couldn’t stand it, couldn’t stand his pain on top of her own. She was so tired of it. When he stood, she shook her head and held up her hand–pretended it didn’t affect her to feel his heart thundering under her palm. “Wait–”
“No, Din,” a please, a whisper. “You have your life now, your role–I can’t be a part of that,” she shook her head, taking one step back when he took one forward, trying to reach for her–her palm still flush over his chest. “It’s done. Over. And a few years from now you’ll understand it was better this way,” it hurt to say, each word bleeding out of her mouth.
“That’s not true,” he argued, his voice raising ever so slightly. “I will miss you again. I will look for you again. Don’t leave again, cyar’ad. I love you.”
“Din,” his name was so sweet on the tip of her tongue as she took a small step forward–his hands grasped her elbows, eyes softening, begging. She reached for his face with her free hand, gently stroking the patches of his beard. “Shuk'la riduurok,” a broken love–not ended, just fractured. “Let me go.”
“How can I?” he turned his head, kissed the palm of her hand, her wrist, up her covered arm while pulling her forward. “I can’t. I can’t. I–”
She let him kiss her again, deep and demanding and desperate, holding onto her tightly–she let him, clinging to the feeling in the attempt to store it away, tuck it in her memory to keep forever, because she knew the moment she’d break away, something in her would shatter, something in him would crack.
“I love you, too,” whispered with tears dwelling in her eyes, frozen there until the door closed behind her–just a piece of wood separating them, thin enough to allow her to hear him moving around in an attempt to gather his things. Maybe to go after her, maybe not to.
cupid and psyche. | manda’lor!din djarin au (series masterlist)
“I’m afraid your reputation precedes you, and my father is a very superstitious man,” she began with a heavy exhale. “He visited an oracle - who told him that my faith lies in the bloodied hands of a man with no face,” at that she looked up fully, her neck craned, her eyes following the shape of his helmet before moving towards the visor, leaning in conspiratorially. “I prefer to think it’s because he noticed the improvements on Mandalore and amongst your people since you became ruler. It’s better than all that fate babble.”
part one | part two | part three
Content: minors dni. the story (narrated in third person, she/her) can be read as reader insert, although the mc is referred to as “cyar” multiple times (meaning “love” in mando’a); din being emotionally unaware and somewhat of an idiot, but also a simp, fluff, angst, arguing, miscommunication, mentions of illness, religious topics, symbolism, a slight hint of codependency, arranged marriage, cursing, smut (din gives her hickeys, fingering, unprotected sex, a blindfold involved, extreme make-out session, outdoors sex), this is extremely heavy in descriptions i’m not gonna lie
when i first started this au, it was meant to be shorter - as always when writing for this man, something overtook me and i ended up with 30+ pages of text. i tried to adapt it as best as possible with the star wars/mandalorian universe while still keeping some aspects of the original myth. some characters might be ooc. for cyar’s dresses, i used mandalorian armor colour meaning.
Author’s note: cupid and psyche is a story originally from apuleius’ metamorphoses. it tells of the love between a princess, psyche, young and beautiful - so beautiful people neglected their worship of the goddess venus in favour of her -, and cupid (or eros or amor), venus’ son. the goddess sends her child to shoot an arrow to psyche that will make her fall in love with an hideous creature - instead, cupid pricks himself with his own dart and falls for the girl.
meanwhile, an oracle says to her father that she is destined to marry “a dragon-like creature who harasses the world with fire and iron and is feared by even jupiter and the inhabitants of the underworld” - so the girl is dressed in funeral attire and sent off to a peaky rock, where zephyrus will later bring her towards her destiny. cupid and psyche marry, but there’s only one condition: she cannot look upon her husband, and all their meetings happen at night, in the darkness.
when her sisters visit psyche in her new home, envious, they bring up the oracle that foretold she would end up with a monstrous creature, and convince her to try and spy on her husband’s face. so one night, she looks at him with the aid of a oil lamp and, startled by his beauty, accidentally spills the oil on him, wounding him and making him flee.
after that, in her attempt to seek help and her lover, psyche ends up meeting venus herself, and she puts her through a series of impossible tasks - the last one causes psyche to fall into a deep, death-like slumber: that is when cupid, now healed, finds her again, takes the sleep from her face and brings their case to zeus himself, who agrees on making her immortal and marrying them as equals.
special thanks to @lcvenderblues for putting up with me during the creation of this. love you <3
ps: how many references to pride & prejudice (2005) can you add in a single fic? the answer might surprise you!
cupid and psyche. | manda’lor!din djarin au (part one)
series masterlist
Abstract: Love took his hand, and even through the leather Din could picture the softness of her palms, the warmth of her skin. He helped her up, his other hand finding her waist to steady her as she rocked slightly side by side, gaze cast downwards to check the state of her dress.
Up close, Din truly saw how breathtakingly beautiful she was - looking at her, he had no trouble believing some higher power had wrapped its essence around her. He also saw a film of melancholy over her eyes, in her smile that barely reached her lips. Beautiful and sad - the perfect formula for divinity.
Words: 7.4K
Content: (go to the series masterlist for the full list of cw); she/her pronouns and gendered terms used, she’s refered to as “cyar” (love in mando’a) but there are no physical descriptions nor is her real name ever used, arranged marriage (technically), cursing, religious topics, symbolism, heavy descriptions
also on AO3 - masterlist
feedback is always greatly appreciated. you can send it here, too
They called her Cyar, because it was like glancing upon the face of Love itself.
Her name had been written in multiple comms, messages and letters addressed to the Manda’lor: a bride was coming for him, a woman whose beauty was discussed from planet to planet - a woman people all through the Galaxy did anything to meet, for they believed her able to grant them good fortune, beauty, love.
Din Djarin did not want a wife. As he’d mentioned multiple times to his council, he did not need one. He had people helping him rebuild Mandalore, his reign - his friends, those he’d grown to consider his family.
He didn’t need good fortune. He didn’t need princesses or princes or companions of any kind - he already had all that he required to rule, and to rule properly.
Mandalore had grown, cities had been rebuilt, people were returning to live under him, alongside him; the gardens were sprouting and creatures were growing. The planet might not ever return to his old splendor, but they were taking a step in the right direction.
Yet the princess had arrived nevertheless under Fett’s instruction - one day, Din was going to argue about how much power his advisers were allotted, when he was done commenting on the fact that he had no reason to seek a wife.
But what about companionship?
She arrived on her own, a ship that carried her and a single bag with her few possessions, clad in a green veil that kept her hidden from those who had greeted her up until the last moment - a graceful bow as she uncovered herself, leaving the Manda’lor’s council at a loss of words.
Cyar, they called her. A name that stuck within the first few hours of her arrival - everyone whispered about Love walking the grounds of the palace. A name whispered reverentially when they recounted the day to Din.
He’d done everything in his power to not be present. While he did not wish to be rude and unwelcoming, a part of him told him that it was going to be the only way to avoid this wedding. Perhaps she would grow tired, bored, irritated. Perhaps she’d demand to go back home. Perhaps her father would, seeing the Manda’lor not fulfilling his part of the pact.
“You should’ve been there,” Greef Karga’s voice held a wistful note ever since he’d gone back to Din’s meetings room, Bo-Katan and Cara with him.
“I’m not going to indulge this,” Din argued, watching the man crane his neck to look outside the window. Curiosity gnawed at him. “Is she as beautiful as they say?”
“Yes,” came as a chorus, taking him aback. It wasn’t that often his circle agreed on something - and that quickly, too.
“Well, then, if that’s the case, she ought to be with someone who will appreciate that,” he declared, and Karga turned to look at him, clear bafflement on his face. “I’m busy.”
“So that’s your plan, then?” Cara asked, arms crossed. “Not even trying to meet her? Have a conversation with her? Just - straight up no?”
“Precisely. If she’s so beautiful, she’ll have no problems finding a replacement,” he shrugged, the door opening and closing as Grogu toddled inside, sleep still in his eyes.
“What about you?” Greef argued, waving at the little kid. “We’re not going to stay here forever, Din - Cara and I, Fett and Fennec Shand, we have to go back home. You need someone.”
“I’m not on my own, I’ve got him,” Grogu hopped on Din’s desk, cooing in response - jury was still out whether or not he fully understood what was being said.
“Someone you can have conversations with,” Cara pointed out, her eyes falling to the child grabbing Mando’s gloved hand, tugging to gain his father’s full attention.
“There’s Bo-Katan.”
“Don’t look at me,” the other Mandalorian said immediately, lifting her hands up in defense. “I’m going off-planet to find the others - this,” she gestured vaguely to the room, the palace, ruling, “is not for me anymore.”
“Remember when you desperately wanted the Darksaber?” Din half-muttered, half-groaned, getting up and scooping the child in his arms, a content coo coming from him. “Thank you for welcoming her in my stead.”
He was half-way to the door when Karga called him. Din didn’t turn, knowing the look he’d see on the man’s face.
“Give it some thought, at the very least,” he told him, an almost fatherly voice. “And don’t leave the poor woman feeling unwelcomed - she’s had a long journey. The last thing she needs is to think she’s an intruder.”
A day had gone by since her arrival - dinner spent in solitude and a restless night had brought her out of her room when the sun was still rising. She thought that if she was bound to be alone, then at the very least she could be surrounded by green.
The Manda’lor liked to wake up early, take some time for himself to walk and clear his head - he did not expect to be met by a vision in blush pink. Her long dress pooled around her as she crouched next to a bush of small blue-ish flowers, her face uncovered and kissed by the golden morning light.
He understood then why people thought there was something divine in her. Why everyone marveled at her beauty, as if she were a statue masterfully chiseled.
“Should you be out here alone?” startled, the woman fell back, chiffon puffing around her legs with the motion in a pinkish cloud as a hmph noise left her parted lips. She looked up, wide-eyed, and Din felt himself taking roots onto the spot right under her gaze - frozen.
“It’s marvelous how your people manages to be stealthy even when covered in beskar,” even her voice held an ethereal note, gentle and sweet as honey. Regaining some composure - albeit with a certain difficulty - Din stepped towards her, offering her her hand.
“I did not mean to scare you, my apologies.”
Love took his hand, and even through the leather Din could picture the softness of her palms, the warmth of her skin. He helped her up, his other hand finding her waist to steady her as she rocked slightly side by side, gaze cast downwards to check the state of her dress.
Up close, Din truly saw how breathtakingly beautiful she was - looking at her, he had no trouble believing some higher power had wrapped its essence around her. He also saw a film of melancholy over her eyes, in her smile that barely reached her lips. Beautiful and sad - the perfect formula for divinity.
“That’s alright,” she escaped his hold too soon, a ruffle of fabrics as she stepped back towards the bush and grazed the tip of her fingers over the flowers. “I couldn’t help myself coming out here - I was led to believe I would not be seeing a flower again once here on Mandalore.”
“It used to be a beautiful planet,” the man in the armor nodded, folding his hands in front of him so they did not feel her absence too much. “With forests, jungles, seas, lakes the color of jewels - the people miss it.”
“So he built gardens instead?”
He. Din had the sudden realization that the woman did not know who he was. Protected by his armor, he was anonymous - just another Mandalorian on his home planet, casually taking a stroll in the gardens. To an outsider, he was no different than the others.
It had been a while since he’d been just someone else.
“Gardens seem to be good for morals,” he shrugged lightly, and a quick, brighter smile made its way across her rosy mouth. He thought about what Karga had said then, about Fett and his remark on companionship and slowly, tentatively, offered her his hand once more. “If it’s not too forward of me to ask, would you like me to show you around, Princess?”
She did not seem surprised he knew who she was. He figured it was something she was used to - something she’d had to grow familiar with. To accept. But she smiled again and Din felt his chest warming up underneath the armor, her hand in his scalding while gentle.
“I’d like that.”
Their arms interlocked, they walked the gardens side by side, the sun reflecting on Din’s armor as it appeared above the horizon. He spoke quietly, as if afraid the rest of the palace would hear them, and she leaned into him to listen with attention, stopping just every now and then to get closer to this or that plant from that or this planet.
Whenever she escaped his hold, Din found himself clenching and unclenching his fist, leather creaking softly as she neared a flower, a smile lingering on her lips as she took in the scent of it, shoulders relaxing each time.
He wondered what her home was like, whether there were flowers and she sought a taste of familiarity in those, or if she was unfamiliar with their essence, their colors; or whether people brought them as gifts to her from far away, and she’d grown fond of compositions.
He knew nothing about her but what the voices said, yet he had the distinct impression that her beauty was just the first layer of her being: she was attentive and curious, her eyes shimmered when she looked at a particularly pretty plant and she smiled when a small creature crossed their paths. None of the letters said that.
And, maybe because she simply didn’t know who he was, she did not shy away from Din. He’d grown so used to people looking at him with a hint of fear in their eyes from his hunting days, and to the reverence they showed him once he’d become Manda’lor - gaze cast downwards, voices low with a slight tremble, heads bowed.
Instead she wandered off, spoke from above her shoulder, and returned to interlock her arm with his, unafraid to touch him, unbothered by his closeness.
What about companionship?
Would a wife break that sense of loneliness that he was able to escape only with Grogu? Would she understand it wasn’t respect he wanted, it was just someone to talk with when the night didn’t pass soon enough and the mornings were too slow?
His council - his friends - were right. He needed someone.
“Each dome has a garden of its own, though this is the richest,” they’d reached a fountain and, holding her hand, he helped her sit down on the edge of it, crystalline water rushing behind her shoulders. “When more people will return, surely the other places will flourish, too - that’s the hope, at least.”
“You were right, a garden is good for morale,” she looked up at him still standing, then turned as the tip of her fingers grazed the rippling surface of cold water. Din saw goosebumps running up her uncovered arms. “It’s been a long night, and this has helped,” her voice lowered, perhaps timorous of her confession. “Thank you, for showing me around -” she paused then, a light frown knitting her brow as she brought her gaze back up to him, perplexed. “I don’t even know your name.”
There it was, Din thought, the point of reckoning. He knew things would change - it had been nice to live in an illusion for a bit, where he could just be someone else, and she could just exist at his side.
“That’s alright, I didn’t say,” he sighed, taking a small step back from her. “Actually, I think it was better that way.”
“What do you mean?” she kept her frown, tilting her head just a little. Din hesitated - could he say nothing? Could he move on, write a letter that would send her back home? Forget the whole thing?
“I’m Din Djarin.”
Cyar, they called her - Love itself. What you called someone or something had a power: Grogu would listen if his name was used, people would claim objects and places and rights in their names, he could go anywhere and be recognised by name alone.
Din Djarin, the sole ruler of Mandalore, master of the Darksaber.
Her eyes widened, hands stilling at her sides as a kriff fell from her lips before she looked down, chin tucked against her chest half hiding herself, half bowing.
“I am so sorry, Lord Mandalore, I did not -” breathy and trembling voice, she gripped the edge of the fountain, torn between getting up and folding down.
“That’s alright,” he shook his head, and sat at her side instead - enough space between them that he could not touch her. “I assure you - and Din is fine.”
“What?” she hazarded a glance in his direction - with the sun behind him, the armor was not blinding to look at. Still, it looked warm, painted in gold and orange.
“You don’t have to call me Lord Mandalore, or anything of the sorts,” his hand inched towards her, still too far, but reaching through the gap. “Din will be just fine.”
“But I -” she looked at him, then at his hand and back at him - for a moment it felt like she could see right through his visor, her gentle, worried eyes meeting his.
“I’d rather you didn’t,” he reassured then, voice lower, and after a moment longer her shoulders relaxed with a quiet exhale. “It was nice - conversing as we did, without feeling the weight of the crown,” a surprised chuckle escaped her, her hand quickly coming up to cover her mouth, eyes widening again.
“Yet you knew who I was,” she spoke slowly after clearing her throat, with her hands in her lap as she turned to face him, a fold of her dress falling into the water. “And still, you -”
He saw the hesitation in her eyes, lips parted as the sentence died on the tip of her tongue. She let her gaze fall to the water, carefully picking up the pink fabric that had darkened and was weighed down, wringing it before shaking her head.
“I - what?” he encouraged, a newfound curiosity in him.
“It’s nothing, it doesn’t matter,” there was the polite smile again - the not-exactly-sad, but neither happy one he’d noticed as soon as he’d seen her. A circumstantial smile. “Thank you, Din. The gardens really are lovely.”
“I’m glad,” he blurted out - half a mutter, really, looking up as she stood, letting the now wrinkled fold of the dress fall at her side. “Is there anything you need?”
“No, just some rest,” she reassured, inclining her head. “I’m afraid it’ll take a while for me to get used to sleep here, that’s all.”
“Are you -” he stopped himself. A part of him wanted nothing more than to grant her every wish, listen to all she desired and give it to her, no matter the cost. But then he thought about the melancholy vanishing the deeper they ventured through nature, and the following flicker of panic when she realized who he was, who she was to him. He straightened a little. “I’ll make sure there’ll be plenty of food for when you wake up. You’ve had a long journey.”
She seemed taken aback, physically taking a step back from him and the fountain.
“Thank you,” she repeated, softer, fidgeting hands smoothing her skirt down. “I don’t suppose I will see you at any meal, is that right?” Din grazed the tip of his fingers to the edge of the helmet absent-mindedly, then shook his head. “Alright then - I’ll see you around, Din.”
The second time they met it was by accident, too.
It was morning as well, a couple of days later, and the sun was creeping shyly above the horizon when Din made his way to the gardens. Cyar was already there, a pine velvety green dress wrapped around her as she lay down on the grass, the tip of her shoes poking out from underneath the long skirt.
Her eyes were close, eyelids dancing as if following a dream, yet the moment he took half a step back - not wishing to bother her, no matter the odd urge to clear his throat and see whether or not she was actually asleep - she turned her head, eyes fluttering open.
Her gaze remained unfocused for a moment, then she took him in and sat up - quick enough he saw her inhale and press her lips together when her head spun - hands pressing at her sides onto the ground for support as she straightened her back. If he focused hard enough, he could hear her vertebrae falling back into place.
“Lord Mandalore,” she cleared her throat, bringing her legs up to her chest in an odd half-seated half-curled up stance, tipping her chin up to look at him as a delicate smile blossomed on her lips. “Sorry - I clearly did not expect anyone to come by,” she hummed sheepishly, looking down at herself - on her elbows, back and hem, the morning dew had stained the velvet of her dress a darker hue of green.
“Nothing to worry about,” he shook his head lightly and stepped in her direction. “And as I said, you may call me Din.”
“Of course - apologies,” she stated, moving to rest one hand on her bent leg, glancing away for just a moment, her eyebrows knitted as she weighed her options. He closed the gap between the two of them, offering her his hand much like the first time.
With a grateful nod, she did not hesitate to wrap her fingers around his and, with the aid of a slight push of her other arm, he hoisted her up easily. His free hand found her side, again, keeping her balanced as she staggered forward and stopped herself by placing her hand on top of the chest plate of his armor. She curled her fingers, gaze moving from where the cold beskar met her skin towards his visor, and gave a tentative smile.
However unwillingly, Din let go of her - the hand on her side falling, the one holding hers giving a light, reassuring squeeze to her fingers before dropping at his own side. Still, he let his gaze linger on the golden-yellow finish of her dress up close - around her wrists and throat, a thin band about her waist, the hem of the dress.
“No apologies needed,” he said after clearing his throat, shuffling back a step. “Actually, I should be the one apologizing - I did not mean to intrude.”
“You can’t intrude in your own home,” she offered with a tilt of her head, a shy smile creeping up her lips. “Plus, I imagine there are better places for me to lie down than here.”
“No one comes here besides me and Grogu, at times,” she knitted her brows again, perplexed. “He’s - it’s a long story.”
“I’ve got time if you do,” she said with a light shrug, bringing her hands behind her back and locking them there. It seemed to be such a casual gesture, but her posture turned more rigid, composed, regal even. It was a learned motion, a show.
“Would you like to take a walk?” he offered then, and surprise registered on her face when he offered her his arm once more.
Din figured he did not strike others as a physical person - not by reputation, at least. But he craved it - her nearness. The feeling of her arm in his had lingered like a ghost in the (short) time he’d kept his distance, and he’d replayed the image of her hand brushing his wrist from above his clothes over and over again, like a lovestruck fool. He could get used to the warmth of her body at his side, he thought. It would be innocent enough.
She threaded her arm with his, her chin lifted to keep looking at him with a smile as she brought her other hand on him, too. With an exhale, he started walking, and with a rustle of her dress she followed in silence. Waiting.
“Grogu is the reason I’m here, in a sense,” he began slowly, unsure just yet what he was going to say and what not. How he was going to say it. Had he ever told that story out loud in its fullness? Why was he doing it now?
“On Mandalore?” she wondered, turning her head to look at him. Din hadn’t realized he was already looking at her, following the planes of her face, the arch of her nose - he met her gaze when she turned and thought: that’s why.
“Yes,” he confirmed, and forced himself to look away, feeling the weight of her arm as she leaned in a little. “He was supposed to be a bounty - he’s a special kid. The client wanted him for Maker knows what,” he scoffed, thinking back on the labs and scientists and Moff Gideon. “I couldn’t do it. I don’t know why he trusted me, but he did, and after that I couldn’t do it.”
She nodded, perhaps understanding, perhaps encouraging. Din felt himself relax under her gaze - perhaps there was indeed something eerie about her. Whatever it was that brought people to confide in her as if she were a living deity, it made him feel at ease. He didn’t feel like he was in the presence of an inhuman creature - he felt, somewhat, safe.
“He became a foundling,” he continued, “as I had been. My task was to bring him to his kind, and I did that - tried to, at least,” he could feel her gaze on the side of his helmet, scalding, awaiting. “He came back to me, stubborn as he is. Has been with me ever since.”
“Foundling?” she asked tentatively - she sounded somewhat unsure. As if she was not used to asking the questions. He wondered what else she could’ve asked of him.
“By Creed, we cannot leave abandoned children to their fate - be it on a battlefield, as it was for me, or during another mission, as it was for him. For lack of better words, he’s like a son to me,” he explained, though he wasn’t particularly fond of the expression like a son anymore. Grogu was not like anything - he was.
He turned and saw the wheels turning in the princess’ head, putting together the pieces of information he’d just given her. There was an insatiable curiosity in her eyes, something he’d noticed during their first walk but that seemed more obvious now that he was giving away pieces of him. Somehow, he didn’t mind it.
“On a battlefield?”
“I was born on Aq Ventina - when the CIS attacked, my parents hid me. Later on, a Mandalorian found me,” he saw her nod, chewing absent-mindedly on her bottom lip. “You can ask away - I don’t mind.”
And he meant it - perhaps the story had gone unheard for so many years, he felt no point in keeping it for himself anymore. Perhaps it was just her. Still, she hesitated, big eyes turning to look at him for reassurance. All he could offer was to relax his shoulders, tilt his head a little. He went as far as to rest his free hand on hers draped on his forearm, giving it a light squeeze.
“What about them? The Mandalorian who found you?” she wondered, and of all the things Din expected her to ask, that still caught him by surprise. “They’re like a parent to you, aren’t they?”
“I suppose so,” he mused, taken aback. “Yes - he kept me as his own. Raised me. When I came of age, I had the choice, and I chose to be a Mandalorian but -” he slowed his steps, and she stalled at his side, her head tilted to look at him. So attentive, he thought, and wondered whether she could see the frown crossing his brow, the pout on his lips. “He’s been gone for a while - and anyways, my upbringing is not that an interesting thing to discuss.”
Just as he brushed it off, he watched her lips part to argue, then close again, thinking on it. She cast her gaze downwards, to the tip of her shoes poking from under the hem of her dress at each of her steps, the wet patches dried off already.
“Is that why you don’t like Lord Mandalore?” her voice had lowered, and a flush spread across her cheeks, worried and bright. Still, she went on. “Because of you being a foundling?”
Yes, he thought right away. There was some lingering feeling of the way foundlings like him had been treated in his early days with the Mandalorians. The feeling of non-belonging, of never being Mandalorian enough, always trying, trying, trying, but also -
“The Darksaber gave me this title,” he said, slowly. “I didn’t look for it, like Bo-Katan was. All I wanted was to get the kid back, and I somehow found Mandalore in my hands.”
“Yet reluctant rulers always end up being the great ones,” she hummed, and Din turned to look at her right away. She must’ve felt the weight of his gaze on her, because she tipped her chin up, eyes crinkling at the corners. “You’re less likely to abuse the power you’re given - I’ve met kings and senators and politicians, all of them greedy, all of them wanting more than what they had already in their hands.”
“I’m not a great ruler,” Din argued, shaking his head.
“From what I’ve heard, Mandalore hasn’t thrived as it is doing under you in a long time - long before the Night of a Thousand Tears,” she gave him a pointed look, one so intense he had to inhale long and deep in an attempt to regain some semblance of control over himself. There was a whole other Galaxy in her eyes. “Plus, you gave them gardens,” she added, bumping her hip with his.
Such a casual gesture - it made him relax again right away. As if she knew exactly what he’d needed to not spiral, to not get himself wrapped up in his own thoughts of power and ruling. He’d fallen into the role of Manda’lor because he hadn’t had a way out.
“That I did,” he huffed, and her smile brightened. “Are you still having troubles sleeping?”
“What?” her expression shifted, a light frown.
“You were just lying there, I thought -” a quiet, slightly surprised oh escaped her, then she cleared her throat. “Is there anything that might help? Perhaps another room?”
“The room is fine, it’s -” she shook her head, looking away from him. “Everything’s so new - even the sky is different, especially at night. I only ever saw one moon when the sun went down. And I think -” she trailed off, her fingers curling over his forearm before she shook her head again, scoffing lightly to herself.
“Yes?” he encouraged.
“I don’t miss the pilgrims,” her voice was low and slow, pausing to chew on the flesh of her cheek. “The requests, the begging, I don’t - I don’t miss it, and thank you for the peace this place has allowed me,” she bowed her head with her gratitude, though her eyes rose to meet his visor for a split second. “But I think I was so used to always have people around, always listening to them, talking to them, I never realized how it exhausted me. Without that, the days are slow and the nights are restless.”
“I could send Grogu your way,” there was a teasing smile in his words, and by the change in her expression - eyes brightening, eyebrows arching - she must’ve heard it. “You would surely feel exhausted after spending a few hours with him.”
“He sounds very charming,” she laughed, such a sweet sound it made Din’s steps falter, the fountain they’d stopped at the previous time right in front of them. She noticed, too.
There it was, their temporary goodbye - her arm left his, and he felt the absence like a cold gust of wind. Then, and only then, did Din realize how much of himself he’d uncovered for her - for this stranger. And how much a recondite part of him was still willing to offer.
“Din?” she called his name tenderly, turning by the edge of the fountain - her mouth moved and formed the shape of his name, so sweet and delicate. The smile lingered on her lips. “You’re an easy person to trust - your people know that.”
He found her at the fountain each day, each morning. It became a habit, one that Din dreaded.
The more time he spent with her, the harder he found it to think about breaking off the deal - engagement. They hadn’t discussed it, not even once, though it burned in the Manda’lor’s throat. Was he just waiting for her to bring it up? What would happen, then?
Two weeks went by as this, with mornings in the gardens and days spent avoiding the subject with whoever questioned him about it. He was not ready to give up that piece of tranquility she was offering - her arm interlocked with his, her head grazing his shoulder every now and then as he spoke, the smiles that felt truthful.
She was the only thing that felt normal in his life.
“May I ask you something?” he felt her tense at his side, the sleeves of her blue dress rustling as she brought both hands to her chest and turned her head to look at him.
“Of course,” he’d paid so much attention to her voice during the past days he heard the shift towards cold politeness in it right away. It made him want to backtrack, ignore his own curiosity. But her gaze was on him, and he could feel it even through the armor, scalding his skin.
“Why did your father pick me?” whatever she expected him to ask, was not that, surprise making the corners of her mouth quiver as she stopped walking. He followed shortly, turning to remain facing her. “Don’t take this the wrong way, but I did not even know about you until the first letter came - I find it hard to believe he chose me over someone who might have proposed.”
“You assume someone has proposed,” with a tilt of her head, her gaze softened.
“How could they not?” the question hung there for a moment, Din’s realization of what he’d said weighing him down. He held his breath a moment longer as her gaze lingered on him, and when she looked away and took a step back towards the path they’d created those past days, he exhaled and followed her.
“No one’s asked me to marry them,” through Din’s surprise she was twisting her hands, the long sleeves of her gown falling over to cover them. “People meet me and they see a deity, a saint, a holy vessel - they don’t see someone to spend their life with, but a miracle,” she frowned at her own words, then scoffed lightly. “It sounds so absurd, so petulant to say - I shouldn’t be complaining. But it is dreadfully lonely,” she lowered her voice at the last sentence, letting her hands drop at her sides. “My older sisters have been married for years, so he put all his efforts on me.”
“That still does not explain why me,” Din reached her side, the two steps that divided them feeling too many - he’d grown used to the weight of her hand in the crook of his elbow.
Her lips parted, eyes darting towards him as she inhaled and then back forward.
“I’m afraid your reputation precedes you, and my father is a very superstitious man,” she began with a heavy exhale. “He visited an oracle - who told him that my faith lies in the bloodied hands of a man with no face,” at that she looked up fully, her neck craned, her eyes following the shape of his helmet before moving towards the visor, leaning in conspiratorially. “I prefer to think it’s because he noticed the improvements on Mandalore and amongst your people since you became ruler. It’s better than all that fate babble.”
“You don’t believe in fate?” he wondered as her hand found the bend of his arm again, taking a step sideways towards him.
“I don’t know what I believe in,” she admitted, the tip of her fingers tracing the edge of the armor piece around his forearm. “Perhaps it’s reassuring to think that your life is already written - that no matter what you do, you will end up where you’re meant to,” they’d reached the fountain, where they would usually part ways. Instead, she kept walking on, a turn around the water with their arms interlocked. “But I don’t like the idea of being victims of it - just waiting for life to happen.”
“Yet you came here,” he pointed out, and a humorless chuckle left her lips.
“I had no choice in the matter,” she pushed the tip of her fingers against the edge of his armor, the cold beskar biting her skin. “I may be considered a living saint, but I’m still my father’s daughter.”
“Would you rather be home?” he asked quietly, his gaze cast down to her hand.
“No,” she shook her head, Din’s head turning to look at her as a guilty blush spread across her cheeks, eyelashes brushing her cheekbones as she lowered her eyes. “I don’t know - back there I’m just a step in someone’s pilgrimage. Here,” she hesitated, cheeks hollowing for a moment, “I think it’s the first time I’m being something else. Someone else.”
“Cyar,” Din stopped them both, tugging gently on her arm to make her turn and face him. She’d gotten used to her new name - it had gone from being whispered across corridors to the greeting they all reserved to her, her own title. The Manda’lor found it easier, too. Truer. “You can decide what it is you want to do next - and should you want to stay, you could do so under no obligation.”
In the days spent together, Din had gotten the feeling that she was able to see right through him, the armor meaningless under her attentive, peering gaze. Even at that moment, he almost reached for his helmet, just to make sure it was still there, that he hadn’t bared himself to her.
“It’s true then - you don’t want to marry,” she spoke quietly, a little smile blossoming over her lips. Din frowned and tilted his head, his hold on her arm loosening.
“What?”
“Something Lord Fett said when I arrived,” her reassuring expression was of no comfort to Din - not if Boba Fett was involved. “How he hoped I hadn’t traveled all the way for nothing, given your reluctance to consider the arrangement.”
“It has nothing to do with you,” Din blurted out, her eyebrows arching in surprise. “I mean - it’s not because of you.”
“I know.”
“I never thought about marriage,” he kept going, words flowing out of his mouth like from a ruptured dam. “Well, I did, but between bounty hunting, being constantly on the move, and then finding myself here, as Manda’lor, I never thought I could - that I would find someone.”
“Din,” her hand wrapped around his wrist, a grounding gesture that made him snap back to reality, his eyes finding hers on the other side of the visor - gentle and reassuring, she was smiling at him, head bobbing in a barely-there nod. “I know that. It’s alright.”
“I do enjoy spending time with you,” he murmured, tentatively, and a flash of something crossed her eyes. Din liked to pretend he was growing to know all the nuances of her expression, in her voice, in her gestures - it was not the case. A part of her always remained a mystery, her own secret. “I just don’t know if it’s something I’m made for - not in the way you’d deserve, anyway.”
As he spoke, he turned his hand until her palm rested in his, gently wrapping his fingers around hers, thumb pressed in the middle of her palm - he took a step closer, unconsciously, standing toe-to-toe as she lowered her gaze. Din missed the flicker of surprise in her eyes at his words, but not the shudder of her shoulders as she inhaled.
“I mean it,” he persisted, his thumb pushing a little harder into her hand.
“I know,” she repeated, reassuring, resting her free hand underneath his. “It’s not that, it’s -” her shoulders fell with her shaky exhale, eyes lifting to look at him through the veil of melancholy that seemed to leave her only for a few moments a day. “You’re the only person who’s ever treated me like a human - like I’m real.”
Din hesitated, bowing his head slowly - like a magnet, he felt himself pulled closer by the vulnerability in her voice, in her shimmering eyes not leaving him, the sorrowful honesty of her admission.
The beskar was cold against the skin of her forehead, making her take a sharp breath in, eyes fluttering shut. Her whole life had been spent through mysticism and cries of magic, yet the closest to divine peace she’d felt was in that moment, with a man who was meant to be her future but had revealed himself to be an extraordinary present.
“I enjoy your company, too, Din,” she added then, a mere whisper that fogged up the beskar for a moment. “Thank you.”
Some days, Grogu would vanish and no one would be able to find him. The palace was too big for a creature that small, and it always sent Din spiraling towards panic despite knowing he was safe.
“So you’re the little prince I keep hearing about,” her voice was brighter, gentle, and Din stopped mid-step through the gardens, his eyes trained on the baby blue fabric of Cyar’s dress pooling around her crouched frame, the same position he’d seen her for the first time.
Except this once she wasn’t looking at flowers, but at Grogu, his big, curious eyes on her, lips parted showing his front teeth as he cooed, grasping the air - asking to be picked up. With a benign smile, she wrapped her hands around him and brought him up to her hip, rising back up to her feet.
“Your father must be worried,” she kept her voice soft, holding him carefully against her with one arm as she brought one finger to his face, gently booping his nose - it made the kid giggle, eyes closing. “Should we go find him? Reassure him you’re all right?”
“Bu-ir,” Grogu babbled, the only full word he seemed to be able to say just yet, though with its difficulties.
“Yes, your buir - we’ll find your dad,” she reassured, squinting as her smile grew a little. She took one step forward, the child secured at her side, before looking up and noticing Din already standing there - her face softened furthermore, if possible. “Hi.”
“Bui-r!” Grogu waved his arms, trying to reach for Din as soon as he saw him, his excitement turning her smile into a barely-controlled laughter as she stepped closer.
The vicinity was familiar - almost a month had gone by, and she’d grown accustomed to the feeling of the leather of his gloves on her arm, to the coldness of the beskar biting her skin. She could hear Din coming, recognize his steps across the corridors or grass. If she was exploring the castle and heard his voice in a certain room, she’d make sure to pass in front of the door, linger a moment if it was open, smile.
“Yes, kid, hi,” Grogu hopped towards him, and Din quickly reached over to steady her, his free hand wrapping around her shoulder, her sleeve crumpling underneath his touch. “I didn’t know you spoke Mando’a,” he said as a greeting.
“Just a few words I picked up here and there in the corridors, or in the few texts in the library,” she shrugged, moving her gaze from him to Grogu nestling against his shoulder, eyes moving from his father to her. He babbled something, tugging the sleeve of Din’s undershirt until he dropped his hand from Cyar’s shoulder.
“I can help, if you want,” he offered, looking down when the kid kept on pulling at him - he was pouting slightly, gesturing towards the ground before batting Din’s hand on his back. “Okay, alright - don’t wander too far,” he warned, putting him down.
“I like having something that keeps me occupied,” she was saying, watching the child toddle away with his arms open, a light spring in his step as if getting ready to hop. “Plus, you’re busy enough as it is, you don’t need me pestering you about it or bothering you.”
“You wouldn’t - it’s never a bother, being with you,” he found honesty came easier to him when she was around - in her he’d found a safe place where he could just be. Not Din Djarin, the Manda’lor, former ruthless bounty hunter - just Din.
It was in the shape his name took on her lips when she smiled while calling him; in her eyes brightening up when she saw him before the sun fully came up; in her touch lingering longer on his arm, on his hand, thighs pressed together when they sat side by side, knees bumping.
It was in her tales from home, chipping away at the layers of the days when people would seek miracles from her - no one had found her on Mandalore, no one had demanded anything of her during her time there; and it was in his recounting of before. Before the Darksaber, before Grogu, before being a foundling himself.
The intimacy terrified him, yet he couldn’t help himself. He’d started to need her.
“Magnificent,” it was a breathless whisper, her eyes widening. Her voice alone brought him back to reality, following her gaze down towards Grogu, walking back to them with a flower floating above his head.
Din couldn’t find it in himself to reprimand the child for the flaunting of his powers.
“C -” Grogu’s mouth twisted in a grimace, word falling flat as he frowned. “Cyr-a,” he tried again, and his father had to mask his chuckle with a cough, turning his head to the side. He bumped his shoulder with hers, gently, and she tilted her head without moving her eyes from the child.
“I think that’s for you,” Din offered quietly - something tightened in his chest when her expression softened, eyes shimmering as her smile widened. “Kid, try again - it’s cyar,” he repeated the word in Mando’a slowly, the now-familiar language rolling off his tongue under the perplexed gaze of his child.
“Cyr-a,” he repeated, stubbornly, flower swinging from side to side over his head with the movement of his hands. Din scoffed, shaking his head lightly just as the princess lowered herself in front of Grogu, enough to be at his level.
“For me?” there was a new tenderness in her voice, something Din had never heard, not even when she spoke of her family, of her sisters. “Thank you, sweetheart,” she murmured, sweet-voiced, and lifted her hand to reach for it.
Grogu made a sound of protest that stopped her, fingers outstretched as the kid took a step forward, pushing the flower towards her, past her hand, up to her face. When the petals brushed her cheek, she let her eyes flutter shut and rested both hands on her lap, slouching slightly forward with a content smile.
The flower tucked itself over her ear, pushing some locks of her hair back in the process - satisfied, Grogu chittered happily and scurried away, between his father’s legs and back inside the palace.
The sound of her laughter was as sweet as honey, rippling up Din’s spine as she sat on her heels and looked up at him, white petals kissing her flushed skin, such a bright smile it made him ache.
“So, how do I look?” she beamed, tipping her chin up in a show-off motion.
The curve of her neck, her dress pooled around her kneeling frame, hands resting in her lap - but also the dirt on the hem of her dress, her hair ruffled, her posture relaxed enough her shoulders slouched forward. With the sun shining on her from above, Din thought she’d never looked more -
“Magnificent,” he breathed out, an echo of her word that caught her by surprise, eyes widening somewhere between amused and flattered - for the first time, such a statement didn’t feel like a burden. It just felt true.
cupid and psyche. | manda’lor!din djarin au (part two)
series masterlist
Abstract: The silence that wrapped around them was velvety, charged, the Manda’lor’s fingers brushing her jaw. She chased the delicate touch, head tilting to the side towards him as he splayed his hand against the side of her face - with a sigh, she let her eyes flutter shut, leaning into the warmth.
Din rested there for a moment, then, gradually, he started tracing the shape of her face with the tip of his finger - from the hairline, to the arch of her brow and the bridge of her nose, the apple of her cheeks, down again towards the jaw and the chin. When he reached her mouth, she parted her lips for him, an exhale escaping her as he slowly swept his thumb over her upper lips, then the bottom one.
Words: 7.5K
Content: (go to the series masterlist for the full list of cw); she/her pronouns and gendered terms used, she’s refered to as “cyar” (love in mando’a) but there are no physical descriptions nor is her real name ever used; minors dni, din being emotionally unaware and somewhat of an idiot, but also a simp, fluff, angst, arguing, miscommunication, cursing, smut (din gives her hickeys, fingering, unprotected sex, a blindfold involved, extreme make-out session, outdoors sex)
also on AO3 - masterlist
feedback is always greatly appreciated. you can send it here, too
There were times when something in the sky aligned and they found each other as the sun went down - always at the fountain, laughing at the initial awkward surprise of the meeting.
That evening Din stopped in his tracks as soon as he saw her, the magenta silk of her dress capturing the silver lights of the impending night each time she moved her hand above the surface of the water, head bent towards the book in her lap. The sleeves left her shoulders and collarbones uncovered, her back shifting slightly as she turned the page, and the skirt draped over her legs, down towards the ground.
Half a step, and she looked up, a flicker of worry in her gaze until she noticed it was him. It always only took her a moment to recognise him, and her smile was such a reward Din felt compelled to sneak up on her multiple times a day, had he the chance to, just to see it again.
She waved at him, placing the book down on the edge of the fountain and got up as he stepped in her direction, his legs carrying him before he could even think about it properly.
“I was hoping to see you,” he always did. In the halls and rooms and corridors; on the balcony of his room and Grogu’s bedroom; wherever he went, he hoped to catch at least a glimpse of her.
“Is everything alright?” she found him as she always did, her hand resting on his forearm that now most likely held the imprint of her palm, a scar to remind him always of her lingering touch.
“Yes, just -” he took his place at her side, the familiarity of walking through the garden as they spoke, guiding them. “I would’ve told you in the morning, but that would’ve been too quick, and I didn’t want to -” he cleared his throat, feeling her eyes against the side of his helmet. “I have to leave for a dozen or so days. Bo-Katan found a Mandalorian covert.”
“Oh,” she said, simply, turning her head to look right ahead, a little frown crossing her brow.
“I was wondering if you’d like your sisters to come visit,” Din spoke softly, yet she’d grown so accustomed and familiar with his voice she could’ve heard it in a whisper, and turned her head to blink her perplexity towards him. “I know they’ve been sending multiple comms and letters, and I wouldn’t want you feeling any more lonely, so I thought -”
“Yes,” blurted out, barely contained excitement as she gripped his arm, her body twisting in his direction. “Thank you, I - thank you, Din.”
Her joy brought a quiet laugh to his lips, shaking his head as he reached up with his free hand to brush her hair out of her eyes, attempting to tuck a wild lock behind her ear.
“You could’ve just asked, you know? They’d be more than welcome at any time.”
“I know, I just - I didn’t want you to think me ungrateful,” she admitted, lowering her gaze as his touch lingered over her temple. “Plus, I’m not really lonely,” he was about to reply when she stepped forward, bringing him with her. “Grogu’s being a very gracious host,” she declared at last, amusement in her voice though she attempted to muster her quivering mouth in a serious expression.
“Has he now?” Din wasn’t as subtle, chuckling through the question and letting his hand fall on top of hers for a moment before dropping it, stealing a glance in her direction.
“Of course,” she nodded, chin tipped up as her eyes shimmered with delight. “He’s been showing me around the palace, giving me flowers -”
“Is it flowers you wish for?”
It was meant as a tease, almost a joke, but when he turned his head to look at her he saw the subtle shift in her expression - lips parting, eyes moving away from him and towards the ground all too quickly, her fingers twitching against his arm as she cleared her throat.
He stopped in his tracks, letting go of her as he turned his head around - just a moment, and he was walking in another direction.
“Din?” she called with a little frown, quick in following him. “What are you doing? Din -”
She watched somewhere between amused and concerned as he dove between the bushes, extending his hand towards a row of roses, feeling the heat rise up her chest and neck. The Manda’lor plucked the flower with ease, a suppressed groan echoing through the modulor as he stepped back again in her direction, shifting it from one hand to the other.
Cyar watched as he offered the rose to her - almost the same color as her dress - and could almost picture the smile on his face. His face. Then, she turned her head to look at his other hand, held in a half-fist closer to his chest.
“You hurt yourself,” instead that for the flower, she reached for his hand, palm cupping it to bring it closer to her as she stepped forward.
“It’s nothing, it’s just a thorn,” he reassured as she lowered her head a little, inspecting his hand closer. “I assure you, it’s fine. I’ll take it out later.”
“Let me,” she said instead, voice soft, fingers inching up towards the strap of his glove. The leather was warm underneath her skin, and she hesitated. “Is it - can I -”
“Yes,” layer by layer he felt himself baring under her concerned gaze. “Cyar, it’s nothing,” he repeated as she undid the fastening of the glove, deft, elegant fingers burning so close to his skin.
“Just let me, Din,” a whispered request, soft eyes lifting towards his visor. Again that feeling of being seen, no matter how much beskar there was between them.
He nodded once, feeling the breath hitch in his throat as she shuffled even closer, gently prying the glove from his hand. The thorn had pierced right through the leather, a tiny thing stuck on the pad of his thumb that left a raised bump on his skin.
The princess’ touch was delicate yet electric, the tip of her index finger tracing lines across his palm, her other hand cupping the back of his warm and soft, making Din’s knuckles tingle. She ghosted over the thorn, wrapping her fingers around his hand when he instinctively jerked back, and lifted her eyes towards him. She was so close he could feel the warmth of her breath on his bare skin.
“Sorry - it’s fine,” his voice sounded strangled, and he found himself clearing his throat, shifting his position just lightly as if to shrug off the heaviness on his shoulders, on his chest.
He missed her eyes the moment she lowered her gaze, almost ducking his head to search for them again - instead, he felt himself tense up when she bowed her head and her lips wrapped around his thumb. The rose fell from his hand.
All of her, soft and warm. The scrape of her teeth against his skin and the slight sting of the thorn being pulled out; the tip of her tongue brushing over the small wound before she lifted her head, her hand supporting his leaving him to reach up to her mouth.
It all lasted a few moments - seconds, really, his fingers curling against her jaw as she took the thorn from between her teeth, holding it up between the two of them with a little smile.
“There,” said before letting it fall on the ground, then looking up towards Din’s visor.
The silence that wrapped around them was velvety, charged, the Manda’lor’s fingers brushing her jaw. She chased the delicate touch, head tilting to the side towards him as he splayed his hand against the side of her face - with a sigh, she let her eyes flutter shut, leaning into the warmth.
Din rested there for a moment, then, gradually, he started tracing the shape of her face with the tip of his finger - from the hairline, to the arch of her brow and the bridge of her nose, the apple of her cheeks, down again towards the jaw and the chin. When he reached her mouth, she parted her lips for him, an exhale escaping her as he slowly swept his thumb over her upper lips, then the bottom one.
Her eyes opened as he lingered at the corner of her mouth, and she wrapped her hand around his wrist, gaze lifted towards him - her pupils were dilated, breath shortening and her chest heaving. Carefully, he dragged his thumb past her lips, her jaw going slack before he grazed the pad of his finger against her tongue. Warm and soft, her gaze still on him, Din groaned.
He moved down, dragging her bottom lip for a moment before caressing the column of her throat with his knuckles - he could feel her heart beating rapidly underneath the confinement of her skin, ragged breathing as he kept on going. From one side to the other of her collarbones, across her uncovered shoulders and the exposed area of her chest. In his wake, goosebumps rose across her skin.
His hand slid easily over the silk of her dress, down her sternum and her stomach, then up again to gently, tentatively cup her breast. She squeezed his wrist, a surprised whine falling from her lips as she arched into his touch, eyes rolling to the back of her head as he kneaded the soft flesh.
His free hand fell against her hip, maneuvering her closer as he repeated his motion - once, twice, then her head fell forward, attempting to hide herself in the crook of his neck.
“Let me see you, Cyar,” the husky tone of his voice sent a shiver up her spine, squeezing his wrist again in response. His gloved hand caressed her back as he reached for the nape of her neck, guiding her head back. “Mesh’la,” a soft praise as he moved his attentive ministration to her other breast.
A moan escaped her lips as she succumbed to his touch, heavy eyelids falling closed as she reached her other hand up to his shoulder, gripping his armor to balance herself. Her tongue darted between her lips, wetting them as he rolled his thumb over her hardened nipple. The silk caressed her sensitive skin, making her gasp again.
“Maker, Din,” his name on her lips like a holy chant, her head falling to the side in his gloved hand, cheek brushing the leather. She was heavy in his arms, his hold the only thing keeping her upright.
“You can stop me,” he moved his hand from her chest, stopping on her ribs as she forced her eyes open - dark and eager, her gaze moved over his helmet, lingering where his mouth was supposed to be; she held onto his shoulder tightly, shifting closer.
He could’ve fallen to his knees there and then.
Instead, he moved his hand down across her abdomen, silk singing under his touch. She held his gaze - she had to know she was - and he stopped the path of his hand at the apex of her thighs, her chest heaving as his fingers curled in the folds of her skirt.
“Stop me,” he repeated, both hoping she would and she wouldn’t.
“No,” she shook her head, the word barely a whisper as she let go of his wrist.
“Cyar -” her name like a warning, groaning when she shifted her hips towards his touch. She rocked her body into his, both hands now on his shoulders.
“I want it - you,” the confession landed heavily into Din’s chest, her fingers fumbling to grip the fastenings of his armor, something to hold on to. “However much you’re willing to give me - please.”
He moved slowly, bunching up the skirt on her legs, the fabric rustling. While he looked down towards her, taking in every uncovered inch of her skin, she kept her gaze trained on his helmet, as if that way she could discern what he looked like underneath - not his face, exactly, but the expression that accompanied his trembling fingers and heavy breaths.
When he dragged his fingers up her inner thigh, her knees buckled slightly, legs shuffling open to accommodate his hand. Soft and warm, his fingers pressed against her core from above her underwear drew a mewl out of her. Din flicked his gaze up to watch her eyes flutter shut, head thrown back as she bucked her hips into his hand.
“Bid mesh’la,” he hummed, a low drawl in his voice as he moved his fingers past the waistband of her underwear, pushing it down with his wrist as he reached between her legs again. He hissed at the slick coating her, watching as she licked her lips again, brows knitting. “So beautiful,” he repeated.
He dragged his fingers up to the apex of her core, nudging her clit as he lingered there - a circular motion that made her tremble against him, a loud gasp she attempted to choke back, eyes fluttering shut again as Din teased her with slow, small circles.
“No one can hear us,” somewhere between an encouragement and a plea, he let his other gloved hand fall from the back of her head to the small of her back, pushing her furthermore into his hand. Cyar gasped again, a keening sound trapped in her throat. “Let me hear you, cyar’ika.”
He punctuated his words with his fingers dragging back down, and as he lowered his head towards hers, he pushed his middle finger past her entrance - just the first knuckle. Her hands locked behind his head, holding onto him as she clenched around him and held her breath, stomach fluttering as the rest of her body started feeling light and shapeless. The hand on her back moved slowly, up and down motions over her spine, and when Din pushed another knuckle inside of her, she exhaled with a moan.
The beskar was cold against her heated face, and she leaned into him fully, bucking against his hand. He drew another whine from her when he curled his finger inside of her, another when he pulled out, then added another finger. Mouth agape, she clenched around his fingers again, stuttering Din’s name over and over.
Her back arched, hips moving of their own accord into his hand as he started pumping his fingers in and out of her slowly, savoring each little whimper that fell from her lips. Her thighs shook when he added his thumb against her clit, making her tighten the hold of her arms around his shoulders.
Praise after praise muttered through her shortening breaths, the Manda’lor brought her right to the edge, curling his fingers and rubbing her just at the right pace. She writhed against him, and he wrapped his arm around her to hold her steadier, her climax building up quickly.
“So close,” he could feel her fingers digging into his shoulders between the empty spaces left by the armor, each of his strokes causing her to curl her fingers. “Maker, I’m -”
She barely managed to draw a breath before she was toppling over, Din’s arm the only thing keeping her upright as her legs turned to jelly and she called his name once more through her climax, coating his fingers.
“Are you sure of what you said, Cyar?” his strained words and heavy breaths were almost lost through the buzzing in her ears, his movements slowing down as he coaxed the orgasm fully out of her. She forced her eyes open, tilting her head back as she attempted to bring him back into focus, the whole world rocking with her. “About wanting me?”
“Are you seriously asking that when you’ve - fuck,” she cried out, jerking up into his touch when he dragged his fingers out of her - she clenched around nothing, screwing her eyes shut and resting her forehead against his helmet. The curse caught Din by surprise, making him chuckle lightly. “Are you, really?” she breathed out, her hand falling to his chest plate.
“Yes,” he nodded, bringing his hand to her hip - he drew circles against her side with his thumb, searching for her gaze while she kept her eyes closed, regaining her breath. “Because I’d like to kiss you.”
It took her a moment to register his words, the rate of her heart picking up again. Din watched her lips part, brows knitting once more as she pulled her head back and attempted to focus her gaze on him. Her face was flushed, and she was still slightly out of breath.
“You -” he’d noticed it wasn’t easy to surprise the princess. It wasn’t easy to fluster her, either. But there she was, stammering through a single word, a lost look in her eyes as a more intense blush crept up her neck. “How?”
Din didn’t reply. Instead, he carefully unwrapped his arm from around her middle and, hands resting against the back of her thighs, slowly sunk to his knees in front of her. Cyar’s gaze did not leave him, her hands on his shoulders as he reached for the hem of her now wrinkled dress. He tilted his head back just for a moment, meeting her eyes, then tugged at the fabric and ripped it. He came back up with a wide strip held in his gloved hand, holding it up under her surprised eyes.
“Do you trust me?”
“Of course.”
She did not even hesitate, her gaze softening at his question. More than ever, he wished he could be what she needed, what she deserved.
He was brought back by her turning around, arms a little open for balance, and when he looked over her shoulder, she had her eyes closed already, eyelashes kissing her cheekbones. How selfish of him to let himself fall for Love itself.
The Manda’lor placed the makeshift blindfold over her eyes, and she fixed it for him, tugging it until it blocked everything out of her vision. He tied it around her head, careful to not make the knot too tight, and once he was done he let his hand brush the curve of her neck, the exposed skin of her back - she leaned into his touch, rocking towards him.
Din made quick work of his other glove, letting it fall into the dark alongside the other and then, not missing a moment more, he took his helmet off. He saw her recoil at the hissing noise it made, inclining her head when he bent down to place it on the ground, following the sounds of his movements, her back still to him.
He let his gaze wander without the obstacle of the visor between them, feeling his breath shortening again as he rested his hands on her hips and slowly, tentatively, helped her turn to face him. Her head moved before the rest of her body, chin brushing her shoulder - even with her eyes shielded, she kept her head slightly ducked down.
Din felt the corners of his mouth tug up in a half smile, and watched as she tentatively put her hands up, palms outstretched reaching for him. He bowed his head into her touch, his eyes fluttering shut the moment he felt her skin on his, so soft and delicate, a sigh leaving his lips.
“Can I hear your voice?” as she spoke, her thumbs traced the shape of cheekbones, upwards towards the corners of his eyes.
“What?” Din cleared his throat, forcing himself to look at her despite the desire to lean into her touch furthermore, bury himself into the palms of her hands.
“Your voice - without the modulor,” she took half a step forward, hesitantly feeling the ground with the tip of her shoe before getting closer. Her breath kissed his lips as she brought her hands down to his jaw - a little smile formed on her mouth at the scratch of his stubble. “Can I hear it?”
“What do you want me to say?” he spoke slowly, the sound of his own voice odd in the open. But her smile only widened, her head tilting as if to listen better.
“Anything,” she whispered, a nod of encouragement as she held his chin with her thumb and forefinger. His lips brushed her thumb as he bowed his head, a half-kiss before he spoke.
“I’m sorry about the dress,” she snorted, pulling him a little closer. He let his gaze wander across her skin, the little marks on her face, the shape of her lips he already had memorized so well. “Can I kiss you now?”
She barely had the time to nod before his mouth was on hers.
Din’s kiss wasn’t harsh, but there was a desperation, an urgency in it that made her stagger backwards a little, him following short as he wrapped one of his arms around her again. She held his face in her hands and parted her lips for him with a sigh, relaxing fully against him.
Love tasted sweet, the finish of sunberry wine that had been gifted to the Manda’lor and remained untouched until she arrived. He felt intoxicated by it - the deeper the kiss, the lighter his head felt, arms firmly wrapped around her to hold her flush against him.
Din Djarin was a ruined man, getting lost in the feeling of her lips on his, in the honeyed sounds she made when he nipped at her bottom lip in the moments he had to pull back, both of them trying to regain their breaths before losing it over and over again in each other.
Her hands wandered - one reached through his hair, a surprised gasp muffled into his mouth as she hesitated on the curls. At Din’s groan, his head tilted to lean into her touch, she buried her fingers into them. He kissed her jaw in return, then the column of her throat.
Her other hand fell to his chest, tracing the shape of the armor piece with the tip of her fingers, down his side until she reached his hip, lingering there as his mouth moved across her shoulder - sloppy, messy, hungry kisses that had her arch into his touch furthermore, panting.
When he latched his lips on the skin of her chest, she moaned again, that same, sweet sound that echoed even lovelier without the barrier of the helmet around his head. It spurred him on, the tip of his tongue tracing a beeline up across her collarbones. Warm, soft and oh-so-sweet.
He wasn’t sure how it happened, if she’d brought them down or he had, but he found himself kneeling between her legs, dew grass under his hand as he supported himself so as to not weight down on her, her hand hooking around the edge of his armor and pulling at him, the other one gently stroking his hair, scratching the nape of his neck.
Drawing her legs up, she braced her knees at his sides, locking him in - he rocked his hips against her as he buried his head in the crook of her neck once more, and she trembled in his hold with a low cry, tugging at the roots of his hair.
“Din,” his name had never sounded better, never sweeter. It sent a ripple right down his spine and into his stomach, bringing him down against her again, rutting his hips to elicit another whine in the shape of his name.
He pulled his head up to go in for another kiss, and stopped.
Head thrown back, skirt bunched up and neckline lowered, the marks of his kiss across her neck and chest, disheveled and breathing hard, she shifted underneath him, wetting her bruised lips. He felt light-headed, the hand that wasn’t holding himself up tracing a slow line up her stomach, across her sternum, up her throat, and watched her shiver, offering her neck to him.
“You don’t know how beautiful you are,” he breathed out, and watched her tilt her head, a frown vanishing behind the blindfold as she parted her lips to argue. He cupped her chin instead, fingers pushing gently into her cheeks. “Listen to me,” he leaned in, brushing his lips to her parted ones. “Like this - when you’re no one but yourself, out of control, you’re the most beautiful creature I’ve ever seen.”
A strangled noise escaped her throat as she brought both her hands to his face again, pulling him down almost harshly, and crashed her mouth onto his. Deeper, more urgent, holding onto him with her hands through his hair and her legs wrapped around his hips. If the corners of the armor pressing into the flesh of her thighs bothered her, she didn’t show.
Instead she arched into his touch, her whole body trembling against him as he let his hand trail back down again, wide palm tracing the swell of her breasts, the curve of her hip, moving from skin to dress to skin again when he kneaded the flesh of her thigh.
“We should stop,” even as he said it, he kissed her neck again, bit another mark into it. “We should stop,” words slurred against her skin, a weak cry coming from her.
“D’you want to stop?” her voice so close to his ear made him rut his hips up into hers, gaining the desired whimper before she continued. “Because I don’t.”
Did she know he needed it? He needed her permission, her encouragement. He needed to know he wasn’t demanding anything from her, that she was the one in control. He would’ve given her everything he asked. He was giving her himself.
“Stay, then. On Mandalore,” he pleaded, his face hidden in the crook of her neck - right where the shoulder met the neck, she smelled of flowers and sugar. “Stay with me, however you like. Ask anything of me.”
“I’m not going anywhere,” a gentle reassurance, an enormous contrast with the panting and desperation he felt coursing through himself. “I’m not going anywhere,” she repeated, a breath against his temple, a delicate kiss that had him melt over her. “Don’t stop, Din,” she said then, bucking up her hips to meet his.
Din made quick work of his belt, the zipper of his trousers - any other night, he would’ve slowed down. Any other night, he would’ve scooped her up, brought her to her room, undressed her layer by layer, taking in every bit of her in the candlelights. He would’ve kissed every inch of skin, studied its marks and imperfections, those things that made her her. He would’ve waited to see the sun come up and paint her body gold.
But the night moved fast, and in the morning he’d fly to the other side of the Galaxy, so incredibly far away from her - egotistically, he wanted to know what it felt like. He wanted to feel himself buried in her, feel her squeeze him the way she had his fingers, feel her fall apart around him again.
She dragged her hands down his cheeks as he lifted his torso up, looking down between their bodies. The skirt bunched up around her stomach left her exposed to him as he aligned himself with her entrance. There were marks on her thighs where his armor had dug the flesh, one in the shape of his fingers, too.
He buried himself in her so slowly it made her breath hiccup, mouth agape as she shifted her legs around him, shaking at the stretch. When his hand moved to her leg again, caressing the underside of her thigh, she exhaled long and deep - a soft, heavenly sound that had Din choke a groan at the back of his throat.
“No one can hear us,” she echoed his words, dragging her thumb across his bottom lip and pulling it down. “Just let me hear you. Please.”
Din stuttered a moan out at her words as his other hand fell beside her head too to support himself, pushing his hips flush against hers. He stilled then, lowering his head until he was resting his forehead against hers, breathing heavily into each other, growing accustomed to the feeling of the other’s body.
And then he started to move.
He dragged himself almost all the way out, then back in with a snap of his hips, her mouth falling open in a gasp. It felt overwhelmingly good - the feeling of her fluttering around him, pulling him deeper; the scratch of her nails over his scalp; her body arching to meet him. So he did it again.
And again, and again, letting the noises escape his control, groans that were followed by quieter whimpers from her, whispers of yes, yes, yes as he picked up the pace, his eyes never leaving her face even when he felt his eyelids droop heavily.
He wanted to memorize every inch of her, wanted to know what made her lips quiver and her cheeks hollow when she inhaled deeply, what had her knitting her brows. Moreover, he wanted to know all that made her smile, what made her eyes shimmer, what else would bring that flush to her cheeks.
She tensed underneath him, a string ready to snap, and her clenching around him brought him over the edge with a loud moan that she trapped with her lips, simultaneously locking her legs around him to keep him flush against her. A silent, breathless request.
Through his climax, Din did not cease the rocking of his hips - through his stuttering thrusts, he reached down between their bodies, carefully balancing himself on one arm again, his fingers quickly finding the bundle of nerves at the apex of his core. Cyar keened through their kiss, stomach fluttering as Din touched her.
She followed shortly, quietly this time, every noise that came out of her mouth drowning in Din’s, both of them unable to let go of the other. The only sound was that of their skins, releases sinfully echoing through the night as, even after they were both done, Din did not stop. Slow, uneven, sloppy movements, making her tremble underneath him, feeling himself growing lightheaded each time she twitched under him.
And then they stopped. Spent. Exhausted. Her legs falling from his sides, head shifting to the side while she attempted - and failed - to even her breath. Her hands fell from his face, one to squeeze his wrist twice, the other to the back of his head. Din all but fell on her, trying to keep himself lifted off of her in spite of his arm giving up - a hmph noise left her, but with a following chuckle she wrapped her arm around his neck.
“Sorry, let me just -”
“Don’t move,” she warned, her voice hoarse and hazy. “I’m okay. You’re not hurting me.”
Din tucked his head underneath her chin, peppering her collarbones and shoulders with quick, messy kisses as her chest kept heaving in deep, long breaths. All the while, the tip of her fingers traced the edge of his undershirt at his neck, then the shell of his ear, and back to his neck.
“I don’t suppose you can postpone tomorrow’s trip, can you?” she spoke softly, tipping her head back as Din kissed her throat. “And staying out here won’t make the night last forever. It’ll just take hours off of your sleep.”
“I’ll be alright,” his lips moved against her skin as he spoke. “But no, I can’t. Wish I could,” he punctuated each word with another kiss to her jaw.
“And here I believed there would be positive sides to being Manda’lor,” she breathed out, an amused note in her wistful exhale. Slowly, Din raised his head, eyebrows arching - the moons cast the only light of the night, the ones of the palace dim and distant.
“Are you mocking me,” he brought one hand up to cup her chin - her grin flashed like moonlight, “while I’m still inside of you, Cyar?”
Her laughter rang through the night, leaning into his touch as she scrunched up her nose, nodding only half-heartedly. Din could’ve sworn his heart was about to burst out of his chest, in an attempt to get closer to the lovely sound of her glee.
“You are -” he scoffed, lightly squeezing her cheeks, then leaned down to kiss her again, never tired of it.
It wasn’t a new side of her - the teasing, the laughing, the jokes - but it felt different. A last step to pierce through formality, through the roles they were meant to uphold, through expectations. It was just them - Cyar and Din, wrapped in their bubble that did not feel little at all, it felt like a whole Universe made just for them.
Except the beskar was still around his body, and her eyes were still covered, and no matter how much he wanted to reach up and rip the blindfold off, he just could not bring himself to do it. One last obstacle. One last barrier.
The Manda’lor had fallen for Love, yet it seemed like fear was stronger than Her.
“So when will the wedding be?”
“I don’t know if there'll be a wedding.”
“What? Does he not like you?”
“Have you seen her neck? Of course he likes her. That was him, right?”
“Oh, Maker - not that it’s any of your business.”
“I didn’t hear you say no.”
“But what about the wedding?”
“It’s - complicated.”
“It’s because he’s ugly, isn’t it? That’s why he never takes off the helmet.”
“Don’t be so shallow.”
“I bet he’s very handsome, is he not?”
“I wouldn’t know. I haven’t seen him - nor do I want to, if that’s how he prefers it.”
“I never took you for a meek creature, sister.”
“But what if he truly is the monster from father’s prophecy?”
“Don’t be ridiculous. He’s no monster.”
He would go away and come back a thousand times more if it meant seeing the look in her eyes again. Surprise and unabashed joy as her eyes widened, mouth splitting in a bright smile that knocked the breath out of Din’s lungs as she got up.
His heart beat faster, his gloves suddenly felt too tight, his armor too heavy.
What would happen, he thought, if he asked her to close her eyes and let him kiss her again? Would she let him do that? Would she think that was all he wanted? Did she want anything else? The days spent without her had made him realize how much he’d started to crave and depend on their morning walks, on their conversations - how could he be sure it was the same for her?
“I’ve missed you,” an hushed whisper clutching his hand, bringing it up to her chest. There, her heart beat strong and loud, his dark gloves in contrast with the tan of her dress that covered her up to her neck.
I’ve missed you, a genuinity in her words that made him bow his head and, ever so gently, rest his helmet against her forehead. She smiled wider then, looking up towards the visor before closing her eyes and leaning into him.
I’ve missed you too, burning on the tip of his tongue, but he found himself unable to speak up. I’ve missed you too. So did I, his breathing the only sound coming through the modulor.
Still, he allowed himself to caress her side with his free hand - slow and gentle, the dress rustling under his touch up her hip, her waist, her elbow, her shoulder. Perfect tranquility.
“Has everything gone alright?” she cleared her throat, squeezed his hand a little tighter, a little closer. He wanted to melt into her.
“Yes, they’ll be here in a few weeks,” and I missed you too. “How were your sisters?”
Her smile faltered - just a moment, eyes unfocusing as the corners of her mouth quivered, turning downwards. He would’ve missed it, had he not been looking at her so closely. He lifted his head, reaching to cup her cheek as she smiled again and leaned into his touch.
“Good - they could stay just a few days, but it’s been nice having them here,” she nodded, closing her eyes, eyelashes kissing her cheeks. Din let his thumb trace the curve of her cheekbone, still looking at her carefully.
“Are you alright?” she nodded before the question was even finished, stepping back and taking both his hands in hers before letting go of him. Din searched her eyes, but she turned her head, walking forward.
“Of course - shall we walk?”
She’d had the same restless energy when talking about her father and the people asking miracles out of her, Din recognized and, with a hidden frown, followed in her steps. Instead of locking their arms together, she simply took his hand, fingers intertwined. So linked hand to hand, her a step forward, Din’s eyes trained on the nape of her neck.
“These Mandalorians,” she spoke calmly still, and her voice brought Din back to reality. “Are they more like you or, say, Koska?”
“What do you mean?” he picked up his pace and reached her side with two long steps. She did not look at him as she shrugged lightly.
“Your helmet,” with her free hand, she gestured towards her own face. “The others take theirs off, so I was wondering whether it was a Manda’lor thing, or -”
Trailing off, she shrugged again, letting her hand fall at her side. Against his knuckles, her fingers curled, the leather of his gloves creaking with her movement - he eased his hold a little, searching her gaze.
For the first time, Din felt himself close off, somehow shying away from her - how could he explain why, in spite of everything he’d learned, he still wore his helmet around most? That Grogu was the only one who’d seen him without more than once? That a part of him still cared too much about it, and no matter the strength of his desire to be seen, or touched, he couldn’t do it? She’d been the first one to make him step over that line he’d drawn himself.
“By Creed, I cannot remove my helmet,” a lie, he called himself out.
“Don’t they follow the same Creed?” hesitant, she turned to look at him, big, worried eyes running over his helmet before settling on the visor. She parted her lips, a sharp inhale before biting her lip and murmuring, “You did remove your helmet. With me.”
The murmur was like a poker through his heart - there was fear in her admission, and her wide eyes pierced past his armor, his helmet, right into him. He dropped her hand.
“You didn’t see me - it’s different.”
“Is it?” she took a step in his direction, attempting to reach for his hand again and then thinking better of it, curling both fingers up towards her chest. “How so?” it was a genuine question, not an accusation, he could hear it in her voice, and yet -
“Where is this coming from, Cyar?” like a mirror, Din felt himself grow restless.
He couldn’t admit it, couldn’t say it to himself, let alone out loud, let alone to her - Love, brave and unwavering, who’d looked at him and seen the man underneath the armor without ever asking him about it. He couldn’t admit he was scared.
The beskar was his protection - physical, yes, but it also hid all he couldn’t show. How a single touch would bring him to his knees; how he wasn’t able to control his expressions fully, because he’d grown so used to no one ever seeing him; how he felt better knowing he had the excuse of his Creed to keep himself hidden away rather than bare himself to others.
“Curiosity, I suppose,” she kept her voice low, even, twisting her hands in front of her chest. “I don’t know how any of this works. Is there someone you can show your face to? Why do you have to keep it on all the time? Has it always been like this? Had we married the moment I got here, would I have seen you?” the last sentence seemed to slip her, but as her eyes darted around unfocused, she didn’t appear to notice. “My sisters said -”
“Your sisters have nothing to do with any of this,” she took a step back - his voice wasn’t harsh, but he’d interrupted her so abruptly it just felt hostile. “What is it, are they worried I’m the creature of your father’s prophecy?” she flinched.
It felt like a weight had been dropped on his shoulders, hunching his back, stealing the air from his lungs again, and again, and again. While it wasn’t an admission, while she hadn’t said she thought about that - she flinched, a hand pressed to her heart.
Slowly, he backed away.
“Din,” she followed him, worry etching her features as she reached out. “They said stupid things, I don’t care about that, I’m just - I want to know you. I’m curious about you.”
“Why?” it wasn’t anger that was building up in the Manda’lor’s chest, but it bubbled hot all the same. He felt like clawing his skin, his flesh, reaching right for his heart. Even more so when hurt crossed her eyes, lips parting in surprise.
“What do you mean why, I -” again she stepped forward, rocking slightly side by side. “I just want to know you. I don’t care about the helmet, I don’t -”
“So if I told you I would never take this off in front of you, you’d be okay with it?” he’d bared himself to her, in all but aspect, and there was the reckoning. “Would you not care, not knowing if I really am the monster of your prophecy?”
“You’re no monster, stop it,” she breathed out, hand timidly outstretched.
“Would you not care?” he repeated, more firmly. Her lips quivered, a deep frown knitting her brow as she shook her head.
“Of course I wouldn’t,” a broken whisper. She inhaled deeply - how had it gotten to this? What was happening? - and when Din did not reach for her hand, she folded it against her chest once more, feeling where her heart was beating out of control. “I was miserable before coming here, Din. You’re the one who made me feel alive again, you - of course I wouldn’t care. Not after what you did for me. Please.”
In the end, it was that that got to him. The voice cracking through her plea, hand splayed above her heart, trembling lips and watery eyes. One moment and everything seemed to be falling apart, and he did not know how to stop it. How to stop himself. How to stop her. He backed away, slowly shaking his head.
Love had never felt like that before - people would seek her out, would ask anything of her, and the one person she wished to keep close was slowly but surely slipping through her fingers. Panic started mounting in her chest, hand curling in a clawlike motion as if she was considering ripping her heart out and offering it to him.
“I do not care about prophecies and monsters. I do not care to see your face. I don’t need it,” he did not stop, her eyes widening. “You said I could ask anything of you - marry me then.”
“How could you marry someone you do not trust?”
“I trust you, Din - I do trust you,” she rocked back and forth, as if wanting to reach for him again but knowing it would end in heartbreak one more time. “Please, you have to believe me. The only thing I care about is you.”
“Do you?” a cruel scoff left his lips and landed like a punch to her gut. “Or are you just trying to prove -”
“Don’t say it. Don’t say that,” a breathless request as she shook her head. “You’re being unfair - I don’t care about any of that, just you. Just you. Please.”
It hurt.
It hurt to look at her in a pain he’d caused with his cowardice.
He couldn’t stand it and, straightening his back, he did his best to push it all down. Affection and adoration and interest and all those things that the months together had brought to his heart and had been left to simmer in the time of their separation, growing and growing and growing.
It hurt to push that away, too. Hurt so terribly much he felt light-headed.
“You’re welcome to stay for as long as you want or need on Mandalore, princess,” his voice felt foreign, as if someone else was speaking. “Do not feel any type of obligation towards me or my people - you’re free of any previous arrangement that has been done.”
“No, Din, I -” he wanted to hear it. He wanted to be deaf to it. He wanted to run up to her and held her close. He wanted to get as far as possible from her. If he stayed, he would crumble.
Perhaps that was why, when her lips moved, when her mouth formed the words I’m in love with you, he turned away, pretended he hadn’t seen it, hadn’t heard anything. Blissful ignorance to carry him forward, carry him away.
cupid and psyche. | manda’lor!din djarin au (part three)
series masterlist
Abstract: He was at her side in a moment, kneeling by her, careful not to bump into her. He tugged his gloves off hastily, his palm quickly finding her cheek - clammy, cold - and then, quickly, the pulse point on her neck. She was cold everywhere, and her heart was jumping in her chest, irregular beats that echoed through Din’s head: one-two-three, one-two, one-two-three.
He’d listened to her heart that night, his head resting on her chest as they regained their breaths - how it remained quick for a while, but regular, one-two, one-two, one-two; and then, bit by bit, how it had slowed down, a gentle song that almost lulled him to sleep, right there on the grass, with her hands in his hair and her body still wrapped around him, one two, one two.
Words: 6K
Content: (go to the series masterlist for the full list of cw); she/her pronouns and gendered terms used, she’s refered to as “cyar” (love in mando’a) but there are no physical descriptions nor is her real name ever used; mostly fluff but also angst, mentions of illness and fainting, allusions to death
also on AO3 - masterlist
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The Manda’lor moved through his palace like a spirit.
He avoided the gardens, because he knew Love lingered there along with the memories, the hurt, the feeling of her skin under his hands - that same feeling he had to push out of his head at night, when he tossed and turned and the desire for her burned him. Her voice echoed in his mind throughout the day, making him feel distracted, disconnected; he thought he saw her in every corner.
Not even being with Grogu could distract him - the little kid would spend the day repeating Cyar, Cyar like a plea, asking for her when he was with his father. It drove Din insane, and he had no one to blame but himself.
Yet it was done.
The engagement broken, the letter sent - shall she wish to remain on Mandalore, she would be my guest for as long as she desires. He hadn’t written that, tasked someone else to do it for him because he couldn’t bring himself to do it. Couldn’t write the words I do not wish to marry your daughter. Lies had come easily to him his whole life - not this one.
He wanted to - so desperately he wanted to go back to her and apologize for lashing out, for not listening to her. He wanted to get on his knees for her and hold her and ask her to never leave, to stay with him, to look at him. Yet he took all he wanted and tucked it away in a hidden corner of his mind, letting his anger - at himself, at the whole situation - overpower him.
Loneliness had wrapped its hands around Din’s neck and was squeezing tighter each passing day - each time he thought he saw a glimpse of her, his throat closed up and he froze, looking and looking and looking until he knew for certain it wasn’t her (and was she avoiding him, too? Was that the reason why it was only the ghost of her that he saw?) and moved on, a little dizzy, a little out of breath.
They all noticed. Cara and Fennec would roll their eyes, the first calling him an idiot under her breath and the latter shaking her head in tandem. Karga went on and on and on about it, wondering what had happened, why he was sulking, why Cyar seemed to have vanished despite they knew she was still there, and would there be a wedding, would there be a ceremony, would, would, would -
The only one who said nothing was Boba Fett. He’d been the one Din had asked to write the letter for her father, and had said nothing about it even then, simply arching an eyebrow in his direction before getting to work.
They would all be gone in a month or so, back to their roles, to their jobs, to their lives - and then Din would truly be alone.
“Something happened between the two of you,” it wasn’t a question, but Fett was careful to say it with just a hint of uncertainty, some room for doubt. He sat on the other side of Din’s desk, two fully armored men in a room where the biggest threat was a paper knife, and rested his helmet on the seat beside him. “Bo-Katan said you were distracted during your last trip. That you seemed to be more homesick than ever.”
Homesick, Din thought ruefully. Mandalore was his place, his reign, his new life - but it didn’t feel like home. How could a place feel like home to someone that had never had one? Always on the move, always leaving things behind - the closest thing he’d had to a home was the Razor Crest, and now -
Now, he thought, home was not a place, not a planet. It was a hand on his arm and a weight against his side and a sweet voice calling his name.
“You manage to get off each other’s throats long enough to speak about me?” he scoffed, glancing in Fett’s direction. “It doesn’t matter. It’s over now.”
“So something did happen.”
“It doesn’t matter,” he insisted. Perhaps if he insisted long enough it would become true, her ghost would vanish, and he’d manage to forget the taste of her mouth, of her skin. He shook his head, pushing the image away.
“You can try to fool the others, Mando, but you should remember I was the one who made her come here,” he’d almost forgotten - he frowned underneath the helmet.
“Why did you?” he wondered then, and Fett chuckled lightly, shaking his head as if to say took you long enough to ask.
“The letters you saw were from her father, but there were others - between her and I,” he spoke calmly, and Din felt himself straighten up in his seat, paying closer attention to his words. “She’s a brilliant woman, but most of all she was gentle. And, surprisingly enough, she never spoke of herself - for someone whose beauty is praised throughout the whole Galaxy, I almost expected her to be vain.”
“She’s not,” he blurted out, defensively, and Fett chuckled, an amused look in his eyes.
“No, she isn’t. I thought that was who you needed.”
“Someone who’s not self-centered?” Din scoffed again, averting his gaze even though Fett could not see him.
“Someone kind,” he corrected. “For a moment, with your being so hostile to the idea I almost thought it would be pointless - then, a week after you met her, you already seemed a changed man.”
“I wasn’t -” all he needed was a look from the other man to shut himself up, biting his tongue. “Still - as I said, it’s over now. It doesn’t matter.”
“Doesn’t it?” Fett tilted his head just slightly, squinting before he sighed. He got up from his seat and recovered his helmet, holding it underneath his arm as he walked towards the door. “By the way, I did not send the letter.”
“Lord Mandalore?” a mere, fearful whisper coming from the door made him look up. A young maid was standing a step outside the room, twisting her hands with a worried look in her eyes. She looked vaguely familiar, Din thought - but then again, everyone in that place did. “My apologies, sir, I did not want to bother you, I just -”
“What is it?” her eyes darted around the room as he spoke, attempting to find something else to focus on that wasn’t him. He was constantly reminded about the fact people found him intimidating, someone to fear, someone to obey. Almost everyone did.
“Something happened and I did not know who else to call,” the woman turned her head to look down the corridor, as if waiting to see someone else pop up and aid her.
“What -” he started again, slower.
“It’s the princess,” she blurted out, interrupting him, and before she could even start the next sentence Din was on his feet, walking around the desk and reaching her with quick strides. Her eyes widened as she took a step back, even though the distance between them was great before speaking up again in a quick ramble. “She wasn’t feeling well this morning - actually, she hasn’t felt alright for a few days now, but said it was nothing and then -”
“Can you tell me where she is? I’ll take care of it,” Din urged, because he couldn’t retain a single word of what she was saying - all he knew was that something had happened to Cyar, and his head was spinning, his heart beating faster.
“She’s in the gardens, by the fountain. I didn’t -”
He did not hear the rest, running past her and towards the gardens he’d been avoiding for days - just to be sure he’d not run into Cyar. He’d been so careful, taking a painful step back from being around her because he knew that, the moment he looked at her again, he was going to want to hold her, kiss her, peel the layers off himself for her.
He would admit he’d made a mistake, closing himself off all over again like that. He would ask for her forgiveness, would tell her anything she wanted to know because he wanted her to know him - he needed her to know him. He needed her.
Fett had been right.
Cyar lay on the grass the same way he’d found her multiple times before - slightly twisted to the side, her dress (silver this time, capturing the rays of the sun and painting her in a warm light) spread around her, one hand resting across her chest, the other at her side, her eyes closed. She looked as if she’d only fallen asleep.
But her face was ashen, her lips dry and chapped, and deep, dark circles surrounded her eyes, her chest moved slowly, her breaths shallow, her fingers twitching slightly above her collarbones, and Din felt his heart drop.
He was at her side in a moment, kneeling by her, careful not to bump into her. He tugged his gloves off hastily, his palm quickly finding her cheek - clammy, cold - and then, quickly, the pulse point on her neck. She was cold everywhere, and her heart was jumping in her chest, irregular beats that echoed through Din’s head: one-two-three, one-two, one-two-three.
He’d listened to her heart that night, his head resting on her chest as they regained their breaths - how it remained quick for a while, but regular, one-two, one-two, one-two; and then, bit by bit, how it had slowed down, a gentle song that almost lulled him to sleep, right there on the grass, with her hands in his hair and her body still wrapped around him, one two, one two.
“Cyar?” Din felt dizzy just looking at her like that, reaching to cradle her face. “Sweetheart, can you hear me?” her head was heavy in his hands, eyelids trembling. Holding her head, he reached back and tugged on his cape, harsh, hastily placing it over her in a futile attempt to warm her up.
It had been a while since Din had felt that type of panic mount in him, pushing the air out of his lungs fully. He did not know what to do, he looked at her, so frail-looking, and didn’t know how to help her. It was breaking his heart, all over again.
Slow and delicate, he picked her up - one arm behind her legs, the other behind her shoulders, careful to pillow her head and hold it against his shoulder so it would not loll back and to not let his cape slide off of her. His fingers cradling the nape of her neck, he felt her curl against him, a shaky exhale leaving her.
“Okay, it’s alright,” he cooed, a half-whisper mostly for himself. “I’ve got you, I’ve got you.”
He repeated so, over and over again, I’ve got you, I’ve got you, all the way to his office, hoping, praying someone would be there.
Right at the door, with the same maid that had alerted him, Fennec and Cara were trying to speak to her when they noticed him hurrying back, their eyes widening upon taking in the limp form of the princess.
“I need help. Please.”
For two days, the Manda’lor did not leave her side.
No matter how hard people tried to coax him out of his room - where he’d insisted they carried her, because it was closer and he could keep an eye on her that way -, he wouldn’t budge. After she got out of the bacta tank, he sat at her bedside in silence, observing the tiny shifts on her face, the color returning to her cheeks hour by hour, her breath evening out.
Still, she slept. Only one time she opened her eyes, hazy and glossed over, looked at him - though he wasn’t sure she actually saw him - and then went right back to sleep, an unintelligible whisper on her lips. Meanwhile, he would pace, nibble at the food the others had sent over for him, pace again, look over at her.
The maid - Xiran, he learned, through the turmoil in his head - had told him she hadn’t slept properly for weeks, had gone a couple of days without sleep altogether, without remembering to eat unless someone told her to. She was barely in her room, rather pacing the halls and, most of all, the gardens. Day and night she would stay there until someone brought her back in. She had been turning into the ghost he saw at each corner, slipping away from herself.
Din reclined back on his chair with a heavy sigh, his eyes falling shut for a few moments, arm crossed over his chest - he was tired, worried, his head hurt, but he’d barely gotten any sleep since she’d started occupying his bed. She needed time to recover, he repeated himself, time, time, time -
The covers rustled and he looked up to see her stir, whole body stretching and shifting under the blankets over her, a low hum leaving her locked lips before she blinked her eyes open, slowly, attempting to take in the unfamiliar space. She looked at the high ceiling, at the big windows, the covers wrapped around her and the bed she was in. Then, she turned her head towards the man at her side.
The glaze had vanished from her eyes, sleepy but lucid, and he almost sobbed out his relief, leaning towards her with an exhale as a frown took over her features.
“Who are you?” she croaked out, shying away from his touch. For a moment - a long, agonizing moment - Din felt fear grip his throat, panic rising in him all over again. Had something happened? Could she not recognize him? Was she hurt?
And then he realized.
He wasn’t wearing his armor. He wasn’t wearing his helmet.
For the first time he stood barefaced in front of her, showing her that part of him that for so long had been hidden away, that no one but his child truly knew - and she had no idea who he was, no hint as to who was this man standing beside her. To her, he was a stranger.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered, because those were the only words he found himself being able to form. Her face opened up in surprise - lips parting, eyes widening, eyebrows arching. She shifted back towards him, her head tilted over the pillow.
“Din?” there was timor in her whispered question, her hand grazing the blanket as she reached for him. “It’s you? Where’s your helmet? What happened?”
Slowly, he let his hand slide into hers, fingers interlocking, skin against skin - she was still mildly cold, and he scooted closer to wrap both hands around hers, attempting to warm her up a little more. Her eyes, more and more awake as the moments ticked by, wandered across his face, perplexed and curious. She moved onto her side, getting closer, taking in every inch of exposed skin.
“You exhausted yourself,” he felt his own voice raspy, forced himself to clear his throat as he moved from the chair and ultimately kneeled by the bed, arms resting at her side as he looked up at her. “Passed out in front of Xiran - she came to get me. My room was the closest.”
A blush crept across her cheeks, and her gaze flickered away for a moment, as if ashamed - then, curiosity pulled it back towards Din’s face. She reached over with her free hand, tentatively, the tip of her fingers brushing the unruly curls on his forehead. She moved down across the bridge of his nose, lingering on the tip before resting her palm against his cheek, cupping it with tenderness, eyes shimmering.
“What were you thinking?” he whispered then, his breath fanning over the skin of her wrist as he gave a gentle squeeze to her hand still trapped between his. “You weren’t sleeping, nor eating, you - Cyar, I was losing you.”
“No,” a whimper as she shook her head before pushing her elbow into the mattress and lifting her torso. She leaned in, the position far from looking comfortable as she rested her forehead against his, the motion familiar, welcomed. Din inhaled, a shaky breath caught in his throat as he closed his eyes and basked in the feeling. “I’m sorry, I was - I’m sorry.”
“Oh, you have nothing to be sorry for, sweet girl, I’m -” she was shaking her head again before he even finished the sentence.
“No, listen to me,” she dropped her hand underneath his chin, shifting back enough to tip his head back a little and make him look at her. “I shouldn’t have asked you that - I trust you. I trusted you with or without the helmet, and I’m sorry, I need you to know that I am,” her thumb grazed his bottom lip, gaze softer, pleading. “You didn’t have to take it off for me. I’m sorry I asked - I should’ve known better.”
“You didn’t ask me to take it off,” he retorted, moving one of his hands from hers up her arm. “You have nothing to apologize for. I decided to do that, alright? I did want you to see me.”
“You disappeared,” there was a tremble in her voice as she grew teary-eyed. “You disappeared, Din. I looked for you and I waited for you and you disappeared,” breath uneven, she looked away from him at last, blinking rapidly to push back the tears. “If you want me to go, I will but don’t - don’t disappear again, please, I can’t bear it, I just -”
“Hey, it’s okay, it’s alright,” Din could feel his heart shatter at the growing sorrow in her voice, and he clutched her hand, squeezing it, grounding her. “Cyar, I don’t want you to go anywhere. I want you here, with me.”
The admission fell easily from his tongue. He’d thought about it over and over again, sitting at her bedside. He’d kept an eye on the rising and falling of her chest and realized there was no point in keeping on lying to himself - he needed her, wanted her to stay with him.
He shifted at her side, bringing himself nearer as he guided her to lie back, hand moving from her arm to her face, gently brushing the hair from her face, lingering across her warming cheek. Her eyes closed, lips parting in a shaky exhale.
“I hoped that by keeping my distance you’d decide to not stay, that if I pretended to be indifferent then the decision would come easier, because I thought -” he hesitated, her eyes fluttering open as he caressed her head. “I thought I’d never be able to give you what you need, what you deserve.”
“Din,” he noticed her gaze linger on his mouth as he spoke, following its shape, its movements, and he licked his lips when she called his name. She cupped his cheek, the tip of her fingers scratching against his unkept beard. “You made me feel like I could just exist - that’s all I ever wanted and needed,” with a sigh, she shifted lower until his face hovered hers, still rubbing her thumb over his jaw. “You already gave me everything, and I love -” a shaky breath, “I love… I love you.”
Her whisper caressed Din’s lips, their gazes locked as the words hung between them - there was nothing heavy in her confession. On the contrary, she suddenly felt lighter. Calmer. A little, involuntary smile quirked up the corners of her mouth.
“I love you,” she repeated, the words as easy as they were true. “And retain you within my heart, as if you were mine own spirit or Love itself.”
How ironic, Din thought, to hear those words when he’d spent the past months looking at her as if she were Love itself, when she was the one newly named Cyar, and the name suited her such.
“The Mandalorian who adopted me belonged to a smaller group - they’re called Children of the Watch,” he spoke slowly, somewhere between wanting to shy away from her and never stop looking at her. As soon as she grasped his words, her eyebrows arched, face opening up with curiosity. “They broke away from Mandalorian society to follow the Way of the Mandalore. Before meeting Bo-Katan, I didn’t know it wasn’t the same for most Mandalorians. And I still find it odd, taking the helmet off - I spent most of my life with it on, more years hiding underneath it than without. It’s no longer tradition as much as it is habit.”
“Are they here? On Mandalore?” she questioned tentatively, and when Din shook his head she looked at the curls falling against his forehead, nibbling at her bottom lip as she reached for him.
It felt so surreal, being able to see and touch him like this - as if she hadn’t woken up just yet. But the weight of his hand on hers, the gentle touches on her head making her eyelids feel heavy all over again, the scent of him pervading her senses - that felt real. Tangible. He did.
“As far as I’m aware of, there’s only two of them now - and they don’t recognize me as Manda’lor,” she frowned lightly. “They don’t think of me as Mandalorian anymore, because I removed my helmet for Grogu before. Twice, actually,” he leaned in then, the tip of his nose brushing hers as a smile spread across her lips again. “Never regretted it.”
“Not even now?” both hands at the sides of his face, she let her thumbs rub small circles over his cheekbones, the slight scratch of his stubble on her pads making her believe more and more that she was awake.
“Absolutely not,” he shook his head again and, bracing his arms at each side of hers, sat next to her on the bed, his head still bowed towards hers. “I told myself I didn’t want to marry, that I didn’t need it, but really I was scared - still am. Because I don’t think I ever needed someone as much as I need you,” he got closer still, nuzzling her nose with his as he lowered his voice furthermore. “I never thought I’d fall for you, not like this, but the thought of being without you has been driving me insane.”
“Din,” his name was a murmur through her smile, hands coming down to stroke his jaw. “Are you asking me to marry you?”
“If you’ll have me,” he nodded.
Instead of replying, she brought one hand behind his head, using it for leverage - half pulling him down, half pushing herself up, until their lips connected. A sense of relief washed over Din, his eyes closing at the contact, leaning in, in, in, until she was resting against the pillows again, and still he kissed her, and she kissed him, slow and gentle, savoring each moment as if it were the first and they were rediscovering each other, over and over again.
He shifted above the covers, one of his knees nudging her side as he held himself above her, doing his best to not weigh on her as her hand trailed down the back of his head, his neck, a gentle scratch over his skin before she moved over his shirt, tracing his shoulder blades as she parted her lips for him. His skin burned where she touched him for the first time, the new feeling making him dizzy.
He indulged in it a little longer, the taste of her getting to his head as well, before forcefully pulling himself back, both hands braced at the sides of her head - if he dared to touch her, there would be no coming back, he knew. He’d be fully lost in the feeling of her, not knowing how to come back to himself. A quiet gasp left her lips at the loss of contact, her hand stilling against his back, the other curling at his jaw.
She looked up at him, lips reddened while still a bit chapped, her eyes wide, pupils dilated and brow knit closer, somewhere between pleading and confused. Still, she took the time to watch him again, hand opening at the side of his face and thumb swiping across his plush mouth. He left a quick peck against her pad that made her smile softly.
“You need to eat something,” he cleared his throat, forcing his gaze away from her mouth. Tentatively, he reached for her cheek, brushing it gently - she leaned into his touch right away, eyes never leaving him. “Regain your strength.”
All the times she’d seen him with the armor on and he’d felt like she could see right through him were nothing like that moment - she was looking at him, openly and unabashedly, and the dread Did expected just wasn’t there. He felt, for lack of better words, comfortable. Like it was meant to be as such. As if his face had been made for her to gaze upon only.
“You’re so expressive,” she whispered, sounding almost incredulous. Her hand moved from his back and she reached for his forehead instead, tip of her finger grazing the spot between his eyebrows, ticklish. Din scrunched up his nose instinctively, and her smile widened, lips still parted, her eyes shimmering. “Darling,” a breath against his mouth as she rested both hands on his cheeks again. “Can you just lie here for a few minutes?”
Din nodded, leaning in again to kiss the tip of her nose, between her brows, lingering a moment longer against her forehead before moving at her side, tucking one hand underneath the pillow while the other draped across her chest, fingers wrapping around her shoulder.
Cyar turned her head to keep looking at him, one hand resting on his, the other reaching for his face once again in a messy tangle of limbs. With a butterfly touch, she traced his features - she started at his forehead, drawing around the curls resting on his skin, then down across his brow and around his eyes, down the bridge of his nose, lingering for a moment on the tip.
Din tipped his chin up then, kissing her wrist briefly, drawing another smile out of her, eyes crinkling at the corners before she lowered her hand, thumb tracing the shape of his lips slowly, the same way he had done that night in the garden - the air didn’t feel as charged, this time. He melted under her touch, and she dragged it on as much as possible.
Later on, they’d have to call staff to come over and bring food. They’d bicker over calling someone to help her dress, settling on him being the one to do that, and she wouldn’t shy away from his gaze. They’d walk slowly towards Din’s office, where someone constantly stayed back to await news, arms linked. They’d meet Grogu and he’d hop alongside them, babbling nonsense that made the princess smile. They’d announce the wedding, and Fett would only say I told you so.
Later on - but in that moment, it was just the two of them, the whole Galaxy reduced to a world of two, of gentle touches, of soft kisses, of tranquility found only in each other.
Love found him in the gardens, right by the fountain.
Mandalorian weddings never demanded a big audience, a big ceremony - most times, it was just two people in a room, a few words, and that was it. Married life began.
So they went back to where it had all started, and as the sun rose painting the world golden, she appeared between the flowers in a soft, simple white dress, face covered by a white veil, and Grogu hopping alongside her, happy squeals coming from him. Underneath his helmet, Din’s cheeks hurt as he smiled.
Even before she’d reached his side, her arms were extended towards him, palms up towards the sky - he met her halfway, his hands falling into hers and pulling her close enough the veil rustled over his armor. Through the lace, he saw her beam, the only half hidden shimmer in her eyes.
“No second thoughts?” soft-voiced, she guided his hands to her waist, freeing her own to reach up and hold his helmet, beskar cold against her palms. Beside them, Grogu climbed the edge of the fountain, getting himself as high as possible to look at the pair, a single teal flower secured in his tiny hand.
“No,” his voice was firm in spite of the fluttering of his heart, and he slightly bowed his head towards hers, careful this time to not let their foreheads touch. His hands brushed over the soft fabric of her dress, from her hips to her back, holding her firmly against him. “No turning back now - I’m not letting you go.”
Tightening her grip, slowly and surely, she took the helmet off of his head. Grogu cooed at the sight of his father’s curls falling around his head, a happy noise that mimicked the clad expression on Cyar’s face - she liked looking at him the most at night, when they spoke softly tucked away in a place made all for themselves, the moonlight casting its glow across his skin, his face, his shoulders, his chest, and she chased it with her lips.
In the morning light, Din’s dark eyes were shining, wide and soft as he gazed back at her. As always, she let her fingers linger over his skin, across his cheek and jaw - would he ever grow tired of her touch, he wondered? It did not seem fathomable.
When he picked the helmet from her hand, she dropped her arms at each side of her, following his movements as he placed it down by the fountain, right in front of Grogu - she watched the man and child look at each other, Din’s gaze softening furthermore at the kid’s happy noises, his free hand reaching up to touch his face as well. Under her adoring gaze, Din ducked down towards his child.
When he straightened back up, his face was slightly flushed, and his mouth split open in a smile - she didn’t know how often he’d smiled before, how bright it used to be, but during the days that had lead to that moment, she’d watched his smile grow bit by bit, had tried anything she could to gain one after the other after the other. She could never get enough of it, never enough of him.
Din undid the straps of his gloves next, doing his best not to rush through it, despite the tingling in his palms, his skin begging for her. Half-way through the process, she helped him, tugging gently at the leather until it slid over his knuckles, exposing his calloused fingers, always so soft when touching her, when her lips brushed over them or wrapped around them.
He handed the gloves to Grogu, who was all too happy to throw them inside the fountain, water splashing with a resounding noise that broke the last bit of tension built between them with a laugh.
Warm hands reached down the space left between their bodies, fingers wrapping around the edge of her veil, the fabric singing and rustling under his touch as, careful and slow, he lifted it up and away from her face. Cyar blinked rapidly at the unfiltered morning light, and Din let his gaze wander across her warm, flushed cheeks, down to her mouth, further down to her neck, to the pendant hanging from it.
The beskar Mudhorn captured the light and shimmered against her skin, a smaller reproduction of the signet on his armor and stitched on Grogu’s clothes. A clan changing, expanding, the symbol of her belonging held close to her heart.
He cupped her cheeks, holding her face in his hands as he leaned in and brushed his lips on hers - just a peck, just a taste, an indulgence for himself.
“I’ve missed you tonight,” he whispered, and felt her skin warm under his touch.
“We’ve spent every other night before together, Din,” she pointed out, hand coming up to rest against the back of his - her soft palm cupping his hard knuckles, thumb stroking his calloused fingers. “One night apart hasn’t killed you.”
“No,” he agreed, gently nudging her chin to draw her closer again, chasing another kiss. “But it made me think about all the other nights we’ll spend together from now on,” he added then, a breath against her smiling lips. “All the other days, too.”
Cyar pulled back, her hand wrapping around his fingers to gently pry his hand from her face. She turned his palm up, then bowed her head to kiss the softer skin there, lips moving down until she ghosted the pulse point on his wrist while gazing up at him.
“Mhi solus tome,” a murmur on his skin, the jolt of his heart in reaction to her words under her lips. “Mhi solus dar'tome.”
If not for Grogu’s chirrup, Din would’ve been too enthralled by the way Mando’a rolled off her tongue to focus on anything else but her mouth, her eyes, would’ve let the moment go by quietly, his thumb stroking the side of her hand. But the child’s presence made him realize it was happening, and that the pause was his cue.
“Mhi solus tome. Mhi solus dar’tome,” he repeated, pushing his fingers under her chin, guiding her head back up. “Mhi me'dinui an,” he added then as her hand fell to wrap around his wrist, still feeling his pulse while hanging onto him.
It was happening, it was real.
“Mhi me’dinui an,” she echoed and, after a lingering moment, her gaze fell down towards Grogu. The kid squealed and waved the flower eagerly, hopping on the spot - her cheeks ached, as did Din’s chest looking at them. “Mhi ba'juri verde.”
“Mhi ba’juri verde,” he said, eyes moving from one to the other. He remained on Cyar’s at last, her eyes shimmering as she stepped as close as it could get, standing toe-to-toe with him as her fingers wrapped around the edge of his chest-plate, pulling him gently down. “Ni kar'tayli gar darasuum,” he whispered then against her smiling mouth.
The kiss was short lived, him parting his lips for her and her pulling back right away, a shimmer in her eyes as she rested her hand against Din’s chest, the beskar covering where his heart would be.
“I have something else to say,” she announced, and left a quick peck against the corner of his lips before taking half a step back. He watched her, a slight confusion knitting his brow, his hands missing the feeling of her body in them right away.
She turned towards the fountain, one step in its direction until she stood right in front of Grogu and crouched down. The dress pooled around her, her position reminding him of that first day, that first meeting - how lucky he felt in that moment, knowing this was going to be his life going forward.
She extended her hand towards the child and, forgoing the flower, he grabbed her index and thumb into his tiny hands, holding onto her as he rocked forward, ears twitching and big, warm eyes fixed on her.
“Ni kyr'tayli gai sa'ad,” she told him through a smile, head slightly bowed, and at her words Grogu gave a shrill squeal, ears flapping. I know your name as my child, the same words Din had said to him once they’d settled down on Mandalore, the promise of making their lives better while remaining together.
“Cyr-a,” he jumped up and down, up and down, unrestrained giggling as her whole posture relaxed, quiet laughter in response to his excitement making her shoulders shake. And then, hopping down in front of her, still holding onto her hand, “Buir,” he called her. Mom.
Din’s heart had been mending itself night after night at her side, day after day with Grogu - in that exact moment, he felt it swell with joy, intact and happy at last. He kneeled down at her side, leaning in to kiss her head from above the veil, his arm snaking around her waist to hold her close.
There it was, all that he’d ever need - his clan of three.
the sentence “And retain you within my heart, as if you were mine own spirit or Love itself" is a direct translation from the text of the original myth, using "love" instead of "cupid"
mandalorian wedding vows translation: we are one when together, we are one when parted, we will share all, we will raise warriors.
"ni kar'tayli gar darasuum" means "i love you", the sentence describes the eternal bond between two people, a lifelong love (from "kar'tayli" - to know, to hold in the heart)
thank you thank you thank you to whoever read this story and commented and shared it, it really really means a lot to me, and i'm glad you enjoyed it. thank you especially to @lcvenderblues for supporting me and bearing with me before, during and after its creation
would anyone be interested in some excerpts from my cupid and psyche au with manda'lor!din? bc i'm really excited for it but it's still in the works and i just want to yell about it
