Hey, ya"ll, I'm Vicki and I'm a 67 year old fan girl from Mississippi. I mainly just reblog things that I like, like handsome British actors, Led Zeppelin, rock music, books, cats, sarcastic humor and irony and liberal ideas. I have a hunger for...
summary: A decade-old broken heart. A girl with a ship and her own code. Din’s found a partner in someone he hurt—someone he knows he’s ruined any chance with. He’s keeping a respectful distance, but that doesn’t mean he wants her any less. It also doesn’t mean someone else won’t step in, and Fennec Shand is prepared to do just that. She’s not the only one, either—his girl’s caught the eye of a handsome marshal and the local Daimyo. Even if he gets his head on straight enough to admit his feelings, can Din hope to turn her attention back on him? And can he sort out the nagging feelings he’s started to have for the people he considers his closest friends?
rating: E [warnings: young!Din, semi-public sex, Din is kind of a dick rn but it gets better, weight talk/some insecurity, some violence, third person reader]
pairing [currently]: din djarin x f!reader
word count: ~5k
note: Well, here's this thing! This is gonna be like a lot. I just really needed to fill the void of them while waiting for S3, so. Thank you to my loves @starlightmornings and @unhinged-summer-fun for betaing and the reassurance/encouragement. This is definitely a ~passion project~ so I need it. Anyway we only have Din and reader girl right now. Again, this is a third person reader--she has a nickname and vague physical descriptions related to her weight, but otherwise, she looks however you want her to.
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For someone who loathed conflict, she found herself in the middle of chaos a lot. More often than not, someone paid her to do it. She gave no thought to her immediate safety, just a nod at the instructions. At nineteen, it just didn’t occur to her. She was simply too young to die.
Pinned behind a wall of steel crates, arm bleeding from a blaster strike, she tried to keep her cool. Her hands, unsteady at the best of times, shook with adrenaline. The job had gone wrong and, she suspected later, her boss knew it would. There was a reason he sent the newest, most disposable member of their crew to deal with this contract. Nikto biker gangs were a scourge on Tatooine, but Kenth didn’t want to waste his best people on them. His concern was the money he’d get for taking them out. If he lost a newbie to the task, so be it.
“Let me know if you need backup,” he’d said as she left the compound, and she waved him off. She didn’t need backup. She didn’t need anyone.
She was, of course, wrong.
The sound of blaster fire stopped before she’d decided whether to charge into the fray to face the rest of them on her own terms, replaced by the cut-off screams of the Niktos meeting the business end of a pulse rifle set to disintegrate.
A Mandalorian, of all things, rounded the corner to her cover spot, roaring at her to move. He wrapped one long arm around her waist and hoisted her to her feet, dragging her to the speeder sitting outside the bar.
“Hold tight,” he grunted as he pulled her on with him. She bristled at his commands; at the way he let her know she was not in charge here. But she was in no position to complain—she was alive, and it was his doing. The Mandalorian had saved her, and she never forgot it.
**
She was still spitting sand out of her mouth when Kenth came out to meet them. The Mandalorian had asked if she was okay when he parked the speeder, and nodded when she confirmed it. He hadn’t said a word since.
“You made it!” Her employer said. “Lucky we had Mando here. Just couldn’t wait to go save himself a damsel in distress.”
The other man didn’t answer. He just crossed his arms and leaned against the speeder. Maker, he was large. Broad shoulders, thick, muscular thighs—with the armor, he was overwhelming.
“This is Mando,” Kenth said, clapping him on the back. Mando stiffened, pulling away from the man. She nodded at him. “And we call her Ember.”
She scoffed at the name. It wasn’t her name, wasn’t her idea, but it stuck like tree sap. The more she tried to shake it off, the more the crew insisted upon it.
“Ember,” Mando rumbled, standing up straight and sticking out his leather-clad hand. She clasped her own over his, a sturdy grip hiding her tremor. He said the name so thoughtfully, cocking his head to the side. “Is that what you’d like to be called?”
It was the first time she found she might not hate it so much after all.
**
Kenth explained Mando’s presence to her, eventually. He’d come in looking for a place to lie low and avoid the arrest warrants from three different planets. Tatooine was as good a place to hide as any, she supposed. To her irritation, his reputation only made her crush worse.
Leave it to her to moon over the bad boy. If she didn’t get her head on straight, everyone would notice, and she was already the baby that no one took seriously. She didn’t need people teasing her for a crush.
He took her seriously, though. Even when she tripped over her words to talk to him, or giggled too loudly at something he said. He never mocked her inexperience.
Mando didn’t make her feeble attempts to avoid him any easier, either. If she didn’t know better, she’d think he was seeking her out. He showed up everywhere she was around the hideout. Mando was, without fail, always out back when she went out for target practice.
The heavy blaster pistol she used was a hand-me-down. When Kenth found her in the Mos Eisley cantina, fresh off of the passenger liner from Aq Vetina and looking lost enough to seem vulnerable, he asked if she needed work.
“Work doing what?” she’d asked, a suspicious squint in his direction.
“Oh, you know. This and that. You know how to handle a blaster?” He said, sidestepping her question with unnerving ease.
“No.”
“We’ll fix that. Come meet the crew. And take this. We’ll get you trained.”
It wasn’t a good gun to train with, but she couldn’t know that then. It was bulky and dense, and her arm shook when she tried to lift it one handed. Even after a few months of training, it was still too heavy for a decent shot.
It was downright embarrassing to have Mando staring at her while she missed the targets over and over again.
“That gun is too big for you, Ember,” he observed from his spot, leaning against some fencing. She had hoped he wasn’t paying attention to her at all; that the helmet had noise cancellation, and he was napping, not watching her make a fool of herself.
She froze at the comment.
Once, she’d mentioned it to Kenth, asking if she could have something smaller. A cruel smile had tugged at the corners of his mouth before he answered.
“You’re a big girl, Ember. You should be used to carrying some extra weight.”
So she waited for Mando to say something just as harsh, but he didn’t. He made his way to her—purposeful and strong. Even the way he walked fascinated her. He was, she was delighted to note, a little bow-legged. Not perfect, then.
Mando pulled a smaller blaster from his belt and handed it to her. “Try that.”
The weapon was light in her hand and well taken care of, if a little scratched; she lifted her arm, aimed, and missed. Letting out a breath, her shoulders sagged in disappointment. He stopped her as she tried to hand the pistol back.
“Your stance is all wrong,” Mando said, but he wasn’t taunting her. He slipped behind her, tapping her feet with his own. “Spread your legs wider.”
She swallowed at the way he said it, but followed his instructions, planting her feet shoulder-width apart. Suddenly very aware of how close his body was to hers, she sucked in her belly, as though that might fix every flaw she had. When he stood flush to her back and wrapped his arms around her own to steady her grip on the blaster, she thought she might pass out.
Instead, she focused on what he was teaching her.
“Deep breath,” he murmured. “Concentrate. Fire.”
This time, the old food tin shattered from the plasma hit. She let out a happy squeal, but immediately wished to pull it back in. He didn’t seem to mind.
**
Mando spent a lot of time with her after that. Purposeful time. A lot of time helping her with her aim, teaching her battle strategy, how to hold herself to look more intimidating. He ended up touching her a lot in ways that were arguably innocent, but they didn’t stop her from wishing for more.
Not seeing his face did not dissuade her attraction at all. She learned his movements—the way his head cocked to the side to prove he was listening; the way he tucked his thumbs through his belt loops when he relaxed. Everything he did endeared him to her, and even better—he wanted to be near her.
The blaster he’d given her was easier to use, but even with training, she was a mediocre shot. He had, to her horror, noticed.
“You ever think of trying something more…up close?” He asked as she cleaned the blaster. She liked the way it sent her into a state of relaxation, methodical and calm.
“What do you mean, ‘up close’?”
He huffed a laugh at her suspicion.
“Come here,” he said. She followed him outside, around the side of the hangar. Against the metal building leaned two simple wooden staffs. She raised her eyes as he gathered them both, handing one to her.
“Never seen you use one of these before,” she remarked.
He shrugged. “I don’t use them often. Figured we could both use the practice.”
The wood was warm from the suns, but felt good as she wrapped her fists around it. The tremors weren’t so pronounced when she had something to grip.
“Hold it out in front of you. Like this,” he instructed, holding his own out in front of him, hands about a foot from each other in the center of the staff, and she mimicked his grip. “Good. We’ll practice a basic strike first. Watch me.”
He stepped back on his right foot, holding the staff level to his elbows and drawing it around to his right side, then his left, slow enough for her to see each movement. “Now you.”
She repeated his movements.
“Good. Now strike down. Eyes forward,” He said, swiping the staff toward the ground instead. Mando was patient—he was always patient with her. She liked the weight of it in her hands, far more comfortable with it than any blaster she’d ever fired.
After a few sets, Mando nodded in satisfaction. “All right. Now try to hit me.”
“Can’t be too hard,” she teased, but the staff was already slipping, her hands sweaty from the desert heat. He didn’t answer, just stepped in front of her and waited.
She hesitated—she was too aware of her body, and what it might look like as it moved in front of him.
“Ember?” His voice was soft through the modulator, head cocked to the side. Encouraging her. “Let’s go.”
Gods above, he was fast.
She didn’t expect him to move like that—not in that cumbersome armor, in this oppressive heat. The rhythmic thwack thwack thwack of wood hitting wood grated her ears as he blocked every hit with his staff, side stepping her blows so easily. Her arms were losing strength, shoulders shaking with the effort. Finally, finally, she landed a glancing blow off his pauldron.
“I did it!” She cried, shocked at her success—too distracted to see the wooden staff headed to her ankles. “I got—oh!”
But her feet were no longer under her, and everything was upside down, and she was headed toward the ground. Before she could hit, a leather-clad hand reached out and caught the staff still clutched in her hands. Mando pulled her up and if he didn’t have the helmet on, she was sure he’d be grinning.
He plucked the staff out of her hands, and her palms hit his armor as she steadied herself. She expected it to burn, but it was cool. How was it so cool in all this heat? He dropped the staffs, pulled her closer to him, and tipped her chin up to look at him. Stars, did he know? Did he know what he did to her?
“You okay?” He asked, his other hand resting on the small of her back.
She cleared her throat. “Couldn’t help yourself?”
“Keep your eye on your opponent, tracin’ika,” Mando said. She knitted her brows at the unfamiliar word, but he moved on. “How did you feel? With the staff?”
“I liked it,” she said.
“You looked strong with it. Sure of yourself,” Mando said, nodding. Heat creeped up the back of her neck. No one had ever said she looked strong before. “We will practice more.”
“I’d like that, Mando, but you don’t have to do that.”
“This is the Way,” he said.
Whatever that meant.
**
It wasn’t often that another person took up so much space in Din’s mind, but she’d gotten under his skin. She found the weaknesses in that heavy beskar and crawled between them, settling herself somewhere near his heart.
It’d barely taken a week.
“I had it,” she’d grumbled when he pulled her out of that bar, bleeding and half-delirious. He’d pursed his lips in a smirk she couldn’t see. Had he really stopped smiling since?
He’d never really felt drawn to another person. Then she’d barreled into his life, full of sass and strength and that frenetic energy that comes with youth.
And she was beautiful. She was all soft hips and plump thighs and a lush, round tummy he fought to keep his hands away from. He’d wondered how she ended up here. How was she not well-taken care of, full of some lucky man’s babies?
She made him want to do things he’d never wanted to do. He wanted to take her with him; teach her to defend herself, teach her to fly his ship so she could pilot her own one day. She made him feel like there was some life after this. He could leave all this behind, take her with him to some forest moon and settle there until the end of their days. He’d take care of her just like she deserved.
It was dangerous. He had people depending on him. It should have stopped at helping her with her sparring. He should have left once the heat of his warrants let up.
He stayed, though, taking jobs out of Tatooine and the neighboring planets. When she approached him with bright eyes and asked to join him for the first time, he should have said no.
“Sure. I could use the help,” he said instead, knowing well that he did not. It was selfish and stupid, and he should have left that day. The moment she climbed aboard the Razor Crest and bounced into the cockpit, ready to learn anything he wanted to teach her, he knew he was in trouble.
That was the downside of letting no one in—he didn’t know how to get her out.
**
People noticed their friendship. Of course they did; Mando wasn’t friends with anyone. Bana, an exceedingly nosy male Duros, took particular interest.
“Known Mando quite a while,” he explained. “Never seen him so…enamored.”
“Shut up, Bana. He’s not enamored. We’re friends.”
“He doesn’t have friends.”
“Who says?”
“Him. Me. Everyone. He wants something, or he wants something.”
Her ears burned. “Don’t be ridiculous,” she’d snapped, hoping the conversation would end.
“It’s happened before,” he said, shrugging. “They’re usually not so…”
Bana stopped and looked away, but she knew what he meant. Mando’s conquests probably never looked like her.
In the end, a cheap bottle of spotchka was to blame for her finding her nerve. Just enough to put heat in her cheeks and a slight sway in her hips. She found him outside. His habit of keeping to himself was good for her. At least no one would witness this conversation if it went wrong.
“Hi, Mando,” she greeted him. He sat in front of the fire he’d made, his hands resting on the ground behind him, legs stretched toward the flames. He was almost cute like this, even with all the metal in the way.
She settled next to him as he inclined his head. “What are you doing out here?” He asked.
“Had some spotchka. Needed to get some air,” she told him, crossing her legs in front of her. She sat for a while, watching the flames undulate.
“Something on your mind, tracin’ika?”
It came out in a jumble. “Doyouwanttofuckme?”
He turned his head, silent for a moment. “What?”
“Um. Do you want…do you want to fuck me?” She wanted to take it back, but she squared her shoulders and met his gaze. “I feel like there’s something here. We wouldn’t be, like, in a relationship or anything,” she added quickly. “Just…fucking.”
Mando’s silence would have scared her if she wasn’t so used to his deliberate replies.
“I do not disagree, but…I can’t do that. I don’t do that,” he said. There was no more room for discussion. She wouldn’t beg him; couldn’t make things even more awkward than they already were.
The spotchka wasn’t sitting well anymore.
“All right, then,” she said, standing up. Mando said nothing, just stared into the fire. “See you.”
“Goodnight, Ember.”
**
“I don’t do that.”
It was awkward the first few days, but she didn’t have many friends, and he didn’t seem to, either. And they meshed so well; made such suitable partners. He didn’t mind taking her on jobs and splitting the money. So she moved past it.
Even the other crew members had started to treat her with a little more respect—if Mando of all people liked her, she couldn’t be all bad.
It was after one of these jobs—dropping off weapons for some faction of the Bounty Hunters’ Guild—that her understanding of what he meant became clearer. Something went wrong; something always did. The Empire was cracking down, and Mando’s ship—a pre-Empire Razor Crest that didn’t meet their criteria for legality—raised their hackles.
They’d come out unscathed. Mando’s skill as a pilot was just as impressive as everything else about him, but it left them with some adrenaline. He’d found her laughing with relief and breathing hard when he landed, sweeping her into something that felt like a hug while he checked her for injuries.
Her heart beat against her chest as he cradled her face in his hands. “Are you okay?” He asked.
“F-fine,” she stuttered. She was so close to him. He was intimidating when he was five feet away; pressed against her like this, he was absolutely devastating. For a moment, he just looked at her, the sounds of their breathing intermingling. She wondered, if he wasn’t wearing the helmet—would he have kissed her?
Mando let her go, his hands dropping to his sides like he’d just remembered where he was.
“Good,” he said, clearing his throat. “Go get cleaned up.”
The hideout was really a hangar on the outskirts of Mos Eisley. Anyone passing through just saw a building that’d seen better days, but it had everything they needed. Sleeping quarters, a kitchen, a place for target practice, somewhere to park their ships. Her least favorite area was the refresher. There were several sonics for use, but the lack of water was something she still hadn’t gotten used to. Having the blood and grime shaken off just wasn’t the same.
She hadn’t felt clean in months.
It was also ill-lit enough that people used the darkened corners for sex. A lot. She never knew when she’d run head first into someone getting railed.
So she stalled for a bit, stopping by her bunk to offload her weapons and grab a change of clothes. She didn’t have a lot of belongings now, mostly her guns and the few things she shoved into a rucksack when she left Aq Vetina, but that kept things neat.
She liked neat. Simple. Uncomplicated. The Mandalorian had thrown a wrench into her simple, uncomplicated life. That he’d had the audacity to show up and save her, to put this stupid, silly crush in her head—it still frustrated her.
And then sometimes, sometimes he’d do things like hold her close to him, checking for injuries. Push her behind him when she was perfectly capable of protecting herself. It made her think there was a chance of them having something more, if he’d just let himself, but she took him at his word.
“I don’t do that.”
She sighed and picked up her clothes, finally making her way to the refresher. Rounding the corner, she cringed at the all-too-familiar noises of some poor girl getting her guts rearranged.
“Oh! Oh! Oh, fuck, you feel so big—”
She rolled her eyes. Well, she was enjoying herself, at least.
“Stop—talking—”
The blood in her veins froze in place—her body had stopped working, she was sure. She knew the frustrated bite of that voice, the breathy rasp through the modulator.
Mando.
Mando was fucking some girl outside of the sonics. And worse—so much worse—he was making the most beautiful noises. The most gorgeous, feral, unhinged noises. Like he’d never felt the silken clutch of a pussy before.
She’d thought for some time that, perhaps, he hadn’t. He’d stiffen if someone came too close, and from what she knew, she was the only person he let touch him for more than a few seconds. She thought that meant something.
Watching him grasp this girl’s—Her name’s Nyra, she thought—hips, the slap-slap-slap of him against her ass; she was, she knew now, wrong. Arousal rushed through her, blood pooling in her core at the way he was moving, the noises he was making, the powerful grip of his hands.
She willed her feet to move, to sneak into the sonic before he saw her, before she made it horrible and awkward and he never spoke to her again.
But he looked up.
He looked up and saw her, shoulders tensing and hips freezing mid-thrust.
“Sorry!” She said, fleeing to the safety of the sonic and ignoring the burn of tears threatening to spill. She turned it on, focusing on the vibrations, ignoring the knock that came on the door. She didn’t know if it was Mando or Nyra, and she didn’t want to talk to either of them.
Later that night, when she laid in her neat little bunk trying to get comfortable, the thought she’d been trying to avoid settled itself in her gut at last—it turned out that Mando did do that.
Just not with her.
**
She resolved to pretend it didn’t happen. She would be professional and friendly, and act like she didn’t have to press her thighs together when she thought about him doing that to her. And it worked for a while.
She was proud of herself. What did she care if he lied about his casual sex practices just to avoid hurting her dumb feelings? They had bounties to hunt. And she was getting quite good at bringing them in warm.
Mando had hovered between awkwardness and concern those first few days, but she ignored his attempts to talk about it. He wasn’t good at it, and she didn’t really want to talk, anyway. She redirected him to friendly conversations about their pasts during the long journeys in the Razor Crest.
“Where are you from?” She asked, staring through the transparisteel at the dancing stars of hyperspace.
“My covert moves around a lot,” he said, but didn’t elaborate. After a few minutes, he turned to her. “And you?”
“Aq Vetina.”
He was quiet for a moment.
“Where?”
“Aq Ve—“
“No, where on Aq Vetina?”
“Koria. Why?”
Mando raised a hand to the back of his neck and rubbed. “I am…I was born close to there.”
“So not here and there, then?”
“I…my village was attacked when I was a child. Kriffing Separatist army,” he muttered. “I was rescued by Mandalorians.”
“So you’re not…?”
“I am a Mandalorian,” he said, like he needed her to believe it. “A foundling.”
“What are you doing all the way out here, then? If you have a family.”
“I send credits to them. Visit when I can. They chose me as…support.”
She frowned. And all this time she just thought he’d chosen this lonely life, like her. “But you want to be back there?”
He nodded, rubbing his neck again.
“So why don’t you go back? Have someone else do it?”
“This is the Way,” he said, shrugging. After a while, she left the cockpit to give him some space. He seemed to enjoy being up here alone. She liked to give him that peace.
She was searching for rations when she heard him clanking down the cockpit ladder.
“Ember,” he said. The way the ‘R’ curled on his tongue sent a thrill of pleasure through her.
“Hm?”
“Why are you here? Where is your family? Did they…was it the war?” He asked. She raised an eyebrow, stirring the tasteless paste in its packet.
“No,” she said, taking a bite and frowning. “I left them behind because they hurt me.”
It was a simple answer to a complicated question. Nineteen years of ignoring sly comments about her weight and personality. She wasn’t strong or brave like her older brother; not diplomatic or charming like her little sister. Her hair was never done enough, stomach never pulled in enough—if only she cared more about herself, her mother would lament.
It was not, perhaps, quite so dramatic as being ripped from her mother’s arms in battle. But it had chipped away at her, bit by bit, until the comfort of her still living mother’s arms was a memory, even when they stood side by side.
“Physically?”
He was so abrupt.
She smiled. “No, not physically.”
“So you choose to be away from them? Even when you could be near them?”
It was the closest she’d ever heard him to emotional. Part of her wanted to explain, but she’d grown tired of explaining. Apologizing for her existence was not part of her new life.
“Yes,” she said, ears burning at the scoff that came from his helmet.
“I forget,” he said. “You are still a child.”
Her face fell, a wave of something hot and sick settled inside of her. It was the first time he’d mentioned her age. She hadn’t expected him to make her feel so insignificant.
“I’m not that hungry, I guess,” she said instead, laying the ration paste on a durasteel crate beside him. “I’ll go in the cockpit and you can have the rest.”
“Ember…”
The nickname chafed again.
**
After Mando snapped at her, she retreated. Stopped asking to go on jobs with him, stopped finding excuses to be in the same room with him.
And, of course, the others noticed.
“What’s with you and him?” Nyra asked. Nyra was nice, and it bothered her. She had no real reason to hate her other than the deep, burning jealousy that coursed through her when the Chiss was in eyesight.
It made sense why he’d want her. She kept her shimmering, blue-black hair shaved on the sides and spiky down the middle. It looked soft, and she wondered if Mando had ever slid his hand through it as he fucked her. It would be so easy for him to get lost in her vermillion eyes, run his hands up her flat torso and squeeze her perky—
“Ember?” Nyra said, snapping her fingers.
“Huh? Oh. I don’t know. I, like, annoyed him?”
Nyra chuckled. “He’s always a little annoyed about something.”
“No, it was different. It’s not a big deal, really,” she said. She didn’t want to talk about this with anyone, much less someone she walked in on him fucking. Nyra hummed.
“You should talk to him. He’s been a bigger grump since…whatever. Think he misses you.”
Her eyes slid toward Nyra. “Really?”
Nyra nodded, running her hand through her shiny hair. “Besides, between you and me, he’s much less willing to give it up when he’s miserable.”
Ah.
Well, that would explain Nyra’s interest in the situation. She forced a laugh and retreated. Maybe she should just leave it alone. Mando wasn’t supposed to stick around for long, anyway. It’d been months. Surely he’d leave soon.
But he didn’t go away. He hung around, haunting her with his presence and driving everyone else nuts with his moping. She resolved to talk to him just to keep the peace.
And she missed him, too.
**
It was the wrong time to finally talk about it.
She couldn’t know it was the wrong time, of course. He’d come back from a job that didn’t go the way he wanted, which seemed to happen more lately. The stomp of his boots carried through the hangar as she approached.
“Mando?” She called, announcing her presence. The stomps ceased, and he stuck his head out of the door.
“What?” He snapped, and her heart jumped in her throat.
“I—just wanted—”
“Where is my bacta?” He interrupted. Mando came down the ramp, his boots kicking up the desert sand. He marched right up to her, hands balled into fists at his side.
“W-hat?”
“My bacta. I need it. You had it last.”
“I don’t—I put it back in the compartment. Like you asked.”
“No, you did not. It is not there. Where is it?”
The suspicion in his voice cut into her, swift and painful. Did he think she stole it? “I don’t have it, if that’s what you’re asking,” she whispered. Was he angry?
She’d never seen him angry.
He sighed. “Fine. What do you want?”
She crossed her arms. “Depends on if you’re going to keep yelling at me.”
“Yelling at you?”
“Yeah, you’re being a real dick right now.”
“And you’re being a brat. Anything else?”
She swallowed the lump in her throat, willing the tears that sprung to her eyes to just go away. She didn’t want to prove his point. “I just—I just wanted to talk.”
“About what?”
She forced her nervous body still, ignoring her temptation to tap her fingers together, bite her lip—stay still. “I wondered if, like, you needed any help with—”
“No. I do not need any help from you. Go get in someone else’s way.”
The Mandalorian stomped away, leaving her frozen in place. Humiliation blossomed in her chest, seeping into her fingers and toes as she replayed the last three minutes.
She thought of it as she booked passage off of Tatooine, as she practiced with her staff, as she bought her own ship, as she moved on with her life.
The pain faded, eventually, and she moved past it the same way she had moved past his first rejection. She made a name for herself in the Guild, steered as clear of him as she could when she heard he went independent.
Watched The Long Good Friday recently mainly for Bob Hoskins & Helen Mirren. Was surprised to see Pierce Brosnan have a couple of brief appearances as an Irish killer. Such a hottie!
summary: A decade-old broken heart. A girl with a ship and her own code. Din’s found a partner in someone he hurt—someone he knows he’s ruined any chance with. He’s keeping a respectful distance, but that doesn’t mean he wants her any less. It also doesn’t mean someone else won’t step in, and Fennec Shand is prepared to do just that. She’s not the only one, either—his girl’s caught the eye of a handsome marshal and the local Daimyo. Even if he gets his head on straight enough to admit his feelings, can Din hope to turn her attention back on him? And can he sort out the nagging feelings he’s started to have for the people he considers his closest friends?
rating: E [warnings: young!Din, semi-public sex, Din is kind of a dick rn but it gets better, weight talk/some insecurity, some violence, third person reader]
pairing [currently]: din djarin x f!reader
word count: ~5k
note: Well, here's this thing! This is gonna be like a lot. I just really needed to fill the void of them while waiting for S3, so. Thank you to my loves @starlightmornings and @unhinged-summer-fun for betaing and the reassurance/encouragement. This is definitely a ~passion project~ so I need it. Anyway we only have Din and reader girl right now. Again, this is a third person reader--she has a nickname and vague physical descriptions related to her weight, but otherwise, she looks however you want her to.
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For someone who loathed conflict, she found herself in the middle of chaos a lot. More often than not, someone paid her to do it. She gave no thought to her immediate safety, just a nod at the instructions. At nineteen, it just didn’t occur to her. She was simply too young to die.
Pinned behind a wall of steel crates, arm bleeding from a blaster strike, she tried to keep her cool. Her hands, unsteady at the best of times, shook with adrenaline. The job had gone wrong and, she suspected later, her boss knew it would. There was a reason he sent the newest, most disposable member of their crew to deal with this contract. Nikto biker gangs were a scourge on Tatooine, but Kenth didn’t want to waste his best people on them. His concern was the money he’d get for taking them out. If he lost a newbie to the task, so be it.
“Let me know if you need backup,” he’d said as she left the compound, and she waved him off. She didn’t need backup. She didn’t need anyone.
She was, of course, wrong.
The sound of blaster fire stopped before she’d decided whether to charge into the fray to face the rest of them on her own terms, replaced by the cut-off screams of the Niktos meeting the business end of a pulse rifle set to disintegrate.
A Mandalorian, of all things, rounded the corner to her cover spot, roaring at her to move. He wrapped one long arm around her waist and hoisted her to her feet, dragging her to the speeder sitting outside the bar.
“Hold tight,” he grunted as he pulled her on with him. She bristled at his commands; at the way he let her know she was not in charge here. But she was in no position to complain—she was alive, and it was his doing. The Mandalorian had saved her, and she never forgot it.
**
She was still spitting sand out of her mouth when Kenth came out to meet them. The Mandalorian had asked if she was okay when he parked the speeder, and nodded when she confirmed it. He hadn’t said a word since.
“You made it!” Her employer said. “Lucky we had Mando here. Just couldn’t wait to go save himself a damsel in distress.”
The other man didn’t answer. He just crossed his arms and leaned against the speeder. Maker, he was large. Broad shoulders, thick, muscular thighs—with the armor, he was overwhelming.
“This is Mando,” Kenth said, clapping him on the back. Mando stiffened, pulling away from the man. She nodded at him. “And we call her Ember.”
She scoffed at the name. It wasn’t her name, wasn’t her idea, but it stuck like tree sap. The more she tried to shake it off, the more the crew insisted upon it.
“Ember,” Mando rumbled, standing up straight and sticking out his leather-clad hand. She clasped her own over his, a sturdy grip hiding her tremor. He said the name so thoughtfully, cocking his head to the side. “Is that what you’d like to be called?”
It was the first time she found she might not hate it so much after all.
**
Kenth explained Mando’s presence to her, eventually. He’d come in looking for a place to lie low and avoid the arrest warrants from three different planets. Tatooine was as good a place to hide as any, she supposed. To her irritation, his reputation only made her crush worse.
Leave it to her to moon over the bad boy. If she didn’t get her head on straight, everyone would notice, and she was already the baby that no one took seriously. She didn’t need people teasing her for a crush.
He took her seriously, though. Even when she tripped over her words to talk to him, or giggled too loudly at something he said. He never mocked her inexperience.
Mando didn’t make her feeble attempts to avoid him any easier, either. If she didn’t know better, she’d think he was seeking her out. He showed up everywhere she was around the hideout. Mando was, without fail, always out back when she went out for target practice.
The heavy blaster pistol she used was a hand-me-down. When Kenth found her in the Mos Eisley cantina, fresh off of the passenger liner from Aq Vetina and looking lost enough to seem vulnerable, he asked if she needed work.
“Work doing what?” she’d asked, a suspicious squint in his direction.
“Oh, you know. This and that. You know how to handle a blaster?” He said, sidestepping her question with unnerving ease.
“No.”
“We’ll fix that. Come meet the crew. And take this. We’ll get you trained.”
It wasn’t a good gun to train with, but she couldn’t know that then. It was bulky and dense, and her arm shook when she tried to lift it one handed. Even after a few months of training, it was still too heavy for a decent shot.
It was downright embarrassing to have Mando staring at her while she missed the targets over and over again.
“That gun is too big for you, Ember,” he observed from his spot, leaning against some fencing. She had hoped he wasn’t paying attention to her at all; that the helmet had noise cancellation, and he was napping, not watching her make a fool of herself.
She froze at the comment.
Once, she’d mentioned it to Kenth, asking if she could have something smaller. A cruel smile had tugged at the corners of his mouth before he answered.
“You’re a big girl, Ember. You should be used to carrying some extra weight.”
So she waited for Mando to say something just as harsh, but he didn’t. He made his way to her—purposeful and strong. Even the way he walked fascinated her. He was, she was delighted to note, a little bow-legged. Not perfect, then.
Mando pulled a smaller blaster from his belt and handed it to her. “Try that.”
The weapon was light in her hand and well taken care of, if a little scratched; she lifted her arm, aimed, and missed. Letting out a breath, her shoulders sagged in disappointment. He stopped her as she tried to hand the pistol back.
“Your stance is all wrong,” Mando said, but he wasn’t taunting her. He slipped behind her, tapping her feet with his own. “Spread your legs wider.”
She swallowed at the way he said it, but followed his instructions, planting her feet shoulder-width apart. Suddenly very aware of how close his body was to hers, she sucked in her belly, as though that might fix every flaw she had. When he stood flush to her back and wrapped his arms around her own to steady her grip on the blaster, she thought she might pass out.
Instead, she focused on what he was teaching her.
“Deep breath,” he murmured. “Concentrate. Fire.”
This time, the old food tin shattered from the plasma hit. She let out a happy squeal, but immediately wished to pull it back in. He didn’t seem to mind.
**
Mando spent a lot of time with her after that. Purposeful time. A lot of time helping her with her aim, teaching her battle strategy, how to hold herself to look more intimidating. He ended up touching her a lot in ways that were arguably innocent, but they didn’t stop her from wishing for more.
Not seeing his face did not dissuade her attraction at all. She learned his movements—the way his head cocked to the side to prove he was listening; the way he tucked his thumbs through his belt loops when he relaxed. Everything he did endeared him to her, and even better—he wanted to be near her.
The blaster he’d given her was easier to use, but even with training, she was a mediocre shot. He had, to her horror, noticed.
“You ever think of trying something more…up close?” He asked as she cleaned the blaster. She liked the way it sent her into a state of relaxation, methodical and calm.
“What do you mean, ‘up close’?”
He huffed a laugh at her suspicion.
“Come here,” he said. She followed him outside, around the side of the hangar. Against the metal building leaned two simple wooden staffs. She raised her eyes as he gathered them both, handing one to her.
“Never seen you use one of these before,” she remarked.
He shrugged. “I don’t use them often. Figured we could both use the practice.”
The wood was warm from the suns, but felt good as she wrapped her fists around it. The tremors weren’t so pronounced when she had something to grip.
“Hold it out in front of you. Like this,” he instructed, holding his own out in front of him, hands about a foot from each other in the center of the staff, and she mimicked his grip. “Good. We’ll practice a basic strike first. Watch me.”
He stepped back on his right foot, holding the staff level to his elbows and drawing it around to his right side, then his left, slow enough for her to see each movement. “Now you.”
She repeated his movements.
“Good. Now strike down. Eyes forward,” He said, swiping the staff toward the ground instead. Mando was patient—he was always patient with her. She liked the weight of it in her hands, far more comfortable with it than any blaster she’d ever fired.
After a few sets, Mando nodded in satisfaction. “All right. Now try to hit me.”
“Can’t be too hard,” she teased, but the staff was already slipping, her hands sweaty from the desert heat. He didn’t answer, just stepped in front of her and waited.
She hesitated—she was too aware of her body, and what it might look like as it moved in front of him.
“Ember?” His voice was soft through the modulator, head cocked to the side. Encouraging her. “Let’s go.”
Gods above, he was fast.
She didn’t expect him to move like that—not in that cumbersome armor, in this oppressive heat. The rhythmic thwack thwack thwack of wood hitting wood grated her ears as he blocked every hit with his staff, side stepping her blows so easily. Her arms were losing strength, shoulders shaking with the effort. Finally, finally, she landed a glancing blow off his pauldron.
“I did it!” She cried, shocked at her success—too distracted to see the wooden staff headed to her ankles. “I got—oh!”
But her feet were no longer under her, and everything was upside down, and she was headed toward the ground. Before she could hit, a leather-clad hand reached out and caught the staff still clutched in her hands. Mando pulled her up and if he didn’t have the helmet on, she was sure he’d be grinning.
He plucked the staff out of her hands, and her palms hit his armor as she steadied herself. She expected it to burn, but it was cool. How was it so cool in all this heat? He dropped the staffs, pulled her closer to him, and tipped her chin up to look at him. Stars, did he know? Did he know what he did to her?
“You okay?” He asked, his other hand resting on the small of her back.
She cleared her throat. “Couldn’t help yourself?”
“Keep your eye on your opponent, tracin’ika,” Mando said. She knitted her brows at the unfamiliar word, but he moved on. “How did you feel? With the staff?”
“I liked it,” she said.
“You looked strong with it. Sure of yourself,” Mando said, nodding. Heat creeped up the back of her neck. No one had ever said she looked strong before. “We will practice more.”
“I’d like that, Mando, but you don’t have to do that.”
“This is the Way,” he said.
Whatever that meant.
**
It wasn’t often that another person took up so much space in Din’s mind, but she’d gotten under his skin. She found the weaknesses in that heavy beskar and crawled between them, settling herself somewhere near his heart.
It’d barely taken a week.
“I had it,” she’d grumbled when he pulled her out of that bar, bleeding and half-delirious. He’d pursed his lips in a smirk she couldn’t see. Had he really stopped smiling since?
He’d never really felt drawn to another person. Then she’d barreled into his life, full of sass and strength and that frenetic energy that comes with youth.
And she was beautiful. She was all soft hips and plump thighs and a lush, round tummy he fought to keep his hands away from. He’d wondered how she ended up here. How was she not well-taken care of, full of some lucky man’s babies?
She made him want to do things he’d never wanted to do. He wanted to take her with him; teach her to defend herself, teach her to fly his ship so she could pilot her own one day. She made him feel like there was some life after this. He could leave all this behind, take her with him to some forest moon and settle there until the end of their days. He’d take care of her just like she deserved.
It was dangerous. He had people depending on him. It should have stopped at helping her with her sparring. He should have left once the heat of his warrants let up.
He stayed, though, taking jobs out of Tatooine and the neighboring planets. When she approached him with bright eyes and asked to join him for the first time, he should have said no.
“Sure. I could use the help,” he said instead, knowing well that he did not. It was selfish and stupid, and he should have left that day. The moment she climbed aboard the Razor Crest and bounced into the cockpit, ready to learn anything he wanted to teach her, he knew he was in trouble.
That was the downside of letting no one in—he didn’t know how to get her out.
**
People noticed their friendship. Of course they did; Mando wasn’t friends with anyone. Bana, an exceedingly nosy male Duros, took particular interest.
“Known Mando quite a while,” he explained. “Never seen him so…enamored.”
“Shut up, Bana. He’s not enamored. We’re friends.”
“He doesn’t have friends.”
“Who says?”
“Him. Me. Everyone. He wants something, or he wants something.”
Her ears burned. “Don’t be ridiculous,” she’d snapped, hoping the conversation would end.
“It’s happened before,” he said, shrugging. “They’re usually not so…”
Bana stopped and looked away, but she knew what he meant. Mando’s conquests probably never looked like her.
In the end, a cheap bottle of spotchka was to blame for her finding her nerve. Just enough to put heat in her cheeks and a slight sway in her hips. She found him outside. His habit of keeping to himself was good for her. At least no one would witness this conversation if it went wrong.
“Hi, Mando,” she greeted him. He sat in front of the fire he’d made, his hands resting on the ground behind him, legs stretched toward the flames. He was almost cute like this, even with all the metal in the way.
She settled next to him as he inclined his head. “What are you doing out here?” He asked.
“Had some spotchka. Needed to get some air,” she told him, crossing her legs in front of her. She sat for a while, watching the flames undulate.
“Something on your mind, tracin’ika?”
It came out in a jumble. “Doyouwanttofuckme?”
He turned his head, silent for a moment. “What?”
“Um. Do you want…do you want to fuck me?” She wanted to take it back, but she squared her shoulders and met his gaze. “I feel like there’s something here. We wouldn’t be, like, in a relationship or anything,” she added quickly. “Just…fucking.”
Mando’s silence would have scared her if she wasn’t so used to his deliberate replies.
“I do not disagree, but…I can’t do that. I don’t do that,” he said. There was no more room for discussion. She wouldn’t beg him; couldn’t make things even more awkward than they already were.
The spotchka wasn’t sitting well anymore.
“All right, then,” she said, standing up. Mando said nothing, just stared into the fire. “See you.”
“Goodnight, Ember.”
**
“I don’t do that.”
It was awkward the first few days, but she didn’t have many friends, and he didn’t seem to, either. And they meshed so well; made such suitable partners. He didn’t mind taking her on jobs and splitting the money. So she moved past it.
Even the other crew members had started to treat her with a little more respect—if Mando of all people liked her, she couldn’t be all bad.
It was after one of these jobs—dropping off weapons for some faction of the Bounty Hunters’ Guild—that her understanding of what he meant became clearer. Something went wrong; something always did. The Empire was cracking down, and Mando’s ship—a pre-Empire Razor Crest that didn’t meet their criteria for legality—raised their hackles.
They’d come out unscathed. Mando’s skill as a pilot was just as impressive as everything else about him, but it left them with some adrenaline. He’d found her laughing with relief and breathing hard when he landed, sweeping her into something that felt like a hug while he checked her for injuries.
Her heart beat against her chest as he cradled her face in his hands. “Are you okay?” He asked.
“F-fine,” she stuttered. She was so close to him. He was intimidating when he was five feet away; pressed against her like this, he was absolutely devastating. For a moment, he just looked at her, the sounds of their breathing intermingling. She wondered, if he wasn’t wearing the helmet—would he have kissed her?
Mando let her go, his hands dropping to his sides like he’d just remembered where he was.
“Good,” he said, clearing his throat. “Go get cleaned up.”
The hideout was really a hangar on the outskirts of Mos Eisley. Anyone passing through just saw a building that’d seen better days, but it had everything they needed. Sleeping quarters, a kitchen, a place for target practice, somewhere to park their ships. Her least favorite area was the refresher. There were several sonics for use, but the lack of water was something she still hadn’t gotten used to. Having the blood and grime shaken off just wasn’t the same.
She hadn’t felt clean in months.
It was also ill-lit enough that people used the darkened corners for sex. A lot. She never knew when she’d run head first into someone getting railed.
So she stalled for a bit, stopping by her bunk to offload her weapons and grab a change of clothes. She didn’t have a lot of belongings now, mostly her guns and the few things she shoved into a rucksack when she left Aq Vetina, but that kept things neat.
She liked neat. Simple. Uncomplicated. The Mandalorian had thrown a wrench into her simple, uncomplicated life. That he’d had the audacity to show up and save her, to put this stupid, silly crush in her head—it still frustrated her.
And then sometimes, sometimes he’d do things like hold her close to him, checking for injuries. Push her behind him when she was perfectly capable of protecting herself. It made her think there was a chance of them having something more, if he’d just let himself, but she took him at his word.
“I don’t do that.”
She sighed and picked up her clothes, finally making her way to the refresher. Rounding the corner, she cringed at the all-too-familiar noises of some poor girl getting her guts rearranged.
“Oh! Oh! Oh, fuck, you feel so big—”
She rolled her eyes. Well, she was enjoying herself, at least.
“Stop—talking—”
The blood in her veins froze in place—her body had stopped working, she was sure. She knew the frustrated bite of that voice, the breathy rasp through the modulator.
Mando.
Mando was fucking some girl outside of the sonics. And worse—so much worse—he was making the most beautiful noises. The most gorgeous, feral, unhinged noises. Like he’d never felt the silken clutch of a pussy before.
She’d thought for some time that, perhaps, he hadn’t. He’d stiffen if someone came too close, and from what she knew, she was the only person he let touch him for more than a few seconds. She thought that meant something.
Watching him grasp this girl’s—Her name’s Nyra, she thought—hips, the slap-slap-slap of him against her ass; she was, she knew now, wrong. Arousal rushed through her, blood pooling in her core at the way he was moving, the noises he was making, the powerful grip of his hands.
She willed her feet to move, to sneak into the sonic before he saw her, before she made it horrible and awkward and he never spoke to her again.
But he looked up.
He looked up and saw her, shoulders tensing and hips freezing mid-thrust.
“Sorry!” She said, fleeing to the safety of the sonic and ignoring the burn of tears threatening to spill. She turned it on, focusing on the vibrations, ignoring the knock that came on the door. She didn’t know if it was Mando or Nyra, and she didn’t want to talk to either of them.
Later that night, when she laid in her neat little bunk trying to get comfortable, the thought she’d been trying to avoid settled itself in her gut at last—it turned out that Mando did do that.
Just not with her.
**
She resolved to pretend it didn’t happen. She would be professional and friendly, and act like she didn’t have to press her thighs together when she thought about him doing that to her. And it worked for a while.
She was proud of herself. What did she care if he lied about his casual sex practices just to avoid hurting her dumb feelings? They had bounties to hunt. And she was getting quite good at bringing them in warm.
Mando had hovered between awkwardness and concern those first few days, but she ignored his attempts to talk about it. He wasn’t good at it, and she didn’t really want to talk, anyway. She redirected him to friendly conversations about their pasts during the long journeys in the Razor Crest.
“Where are you from?” She asked, staring through the transparisteel at the dancing stars of hyperspace.
“My covert moves around a lot,” he said, but didn’t elaborate. After a few minutes, he turned to her. “And you?”
“Aq Vetina.”
He was quiet for a moment.
“Where?”
“Aq Ve—“
“No, where on Aq Vetina?”
“Koria. Why?”
Mando raised a hand to the back of his neck and rubbed. “I am…I was born close to there.”
“So not here and there, then?”
“I…my village was attacked when I was a child. Kriffing Separatist army,” he muttered. “I was rescued by Mandalorians.”
“So you’re not…?”
“I am a Mandalorian,” he said, like he needed her to believe it. “A foundling.”
“What are you doing all the way out here, then? If you have a family.”
“I send credits to them. Visit when I can. They chose me as…support.”
She frowned. And all this time she just thought he’d chosen this lonely life, like her. “But you want to be back there?”
He nodded, rubbing his neck again.
“So why don’t you go back? Have someone else do it?”
“This is the Way,” he said, shrugging. After a while, she left the cockpit to give him some space. He seemed to enjoy being up here alone. She liked to give him that peace.
She was searching for rations when she heard him clanking down the cockpit ladder.
“Ember,” he said. The way the ‘R’ curled on his tongue sent a thrill of pleasure through her.
“Hm?”
“Why are you here? Where is your family? Did they…was it the war?” He asked. She raised an eyebrow, stirring the tasteless paste in its packet.
“No,” she said, taking a bite and frowning. “I left them behind because they hurt me.”
It was a simple answer to a complicated question. Nineteen years of ignoring sly comments about her weight and personality. She wasn’t strong or brave like her older brother; not diplomatic or charming like her little sister. Her hair was never done enough, stomach never pulled in enough—if only she cared more about herself, her mother would lament.
It was not, perhaps, quite so dramatic as being ripped from her mother’s arms in battle. But it had chipped away at her, bit by bit, until the comfort of her still living mother’s arms was a memory, even when they stood side by side.
“Physically?”
He was so abrupt.
She smiled. “No, not physically.”
“So you choose to be away from them? Even when you could be near them?”
It was the closest she’d ever heard him to emotional. Part of her wanted to explain, but she’d grown tired of explaining. Apologizing for her existence was not part of her new life.
“Yes,” she said, ears burning at the scoff that came from his helmet.
“I forget,” he said. “You are still a child.”
Her face fell, a wave of something hot and sick settled inside of her. It was the first time he’d mentioned her age. She hadn’t expected him to make her feel so insignificant.
“I’m not that hungry, I guess,” she said instead, laying the ration paste on a durasteel crate beside him. “I’ll go in the cockpit and you can have the rest.”
“Ember…”
The nickname chafed again.
**
After Mando snapped at her, she retreated. Stopped asking to go on jobs with him, stopped finding excuses to be in the same room with him.
And, of course, the others noticed.
“What’s with you and him?” Nyra asked. Nyra was nice, and it bothered her. She had no real reason to hate her other than the deep, burning jealousy that coursed through her when the Chiss was in eyesight.
It made sense why he’d want her. She kept her shimmering, blue-black hair shaved on the sides and spiky down the middle. It looked soft, and she wondered if Mando had ever slid his hand through it as he fucked her. It would be so easy for him to get lost in her vermillion eyes, run his hands up her flat torso and squeeze her perky—
“Ember?” Nyra said, snapping her fingers.
“Huh? Oh. I don’t know. I, like, annoyed him?”
Nyra chuckled. “He’s always a little annoyed about something.”
“No, it was different. It’s not a big deal, really,” she said. She didn’t want to talk about this with anyone, much less someone she walked in on him fucking. Nyra hummed.
“You should talk to him. He’s been a bigger grump since…whatever. Think he misses you.”
Her eyes slid toward Nyra. “Really?”
Nyra nodded, running her hand through her shiny hair. “Besides, between you and me, he’s much less willing to give it up when he’s miserable.”
Ah.
Well, that would explain Nyra’s interest in the situation. She forced a laugh and retreated. Maybe she should just leave it alone. Mando wasn’t supposed to stick around for long, anyway. It’d been months. Surely he’d leave soon.
But he didn’t go away. He hung around, haunting her with his presence and driving everyone else nuts with his moping. She resolved to talk to him just to keep the peace.
And she missed him, too.
**
It was the wrong time to finally talk about it.
She couldn’t know it was the wrong time, of course. He’d come back from a job that didn’t go the way he wanted, which seemed to happen more lately. The stomp of his boots carried through the hangar as she approached.
“Mando?” She called, announcing her presence. The stomps ceased, and he stuck his head out of the door.
“What?” He snapped, and her heart jumped in her throat.
“I—just wanted—”
“Where is my bacta?” He interrupted. Mando came down the ramp, his boots kicking up the desert sand. He marched right up to her, hands balled into fists at his side.
“W-hat?”
“My bacta. I need it. You had it last.”
“I don’t—I put it back in the compartment. Like you asked.”
“No, you did not. It is not there. Where is it?”
The suspicion in his voice cut into her, swift and painful. Did he think she stole it? “I don’t have it, if that’s what you’re asking,” she whispered. Was he angry?
She’d never seen him angry.
He sighed. “Fine. What do you want?”
She crossed her arms. “Depends on if you’re going to keep yelling at me.”
“Yelling at you?”
“Yeah, you’re being a real dick right now.”
“And you’re being a brat. Anything else?”
She swallowed the lump in her throat, willing the tears that sprung to her eyes to just go away. She didn’t want to prove his point. “I just—I just wanted to talk.”
“About what?”
She forced her nervous body still, ignoring her temptation to tap her fingers together, bite her lip—stay still. “I wondered if, like, you needed any help with—”
“No. I do not need any help from you. Go get in someone else’s way.”
The Mandalorian stomped away, leaving her frozen in place. Humiliation blossomed in her chest, seeping into her fingers and toes as she replayed the last three minutes.
She thought of it as she booked passage off of Tatooine, as she practiced with her staff, as she bought her own ship, as she moved on with her life.
The pain faded, eventually, and she moved past it the same way she had moved past his first rejection. She made a name for herself in the Guild, steered as clear of him as she could when she heard he went independent.
Labelled ‘Handcrafted for NBL in Pitiquito, Mexico’ and signed ‘painted by Kenn Fung’, one of soft ivory leather painted with humming birds and roses, with tan thong top-stitched seams, flared trousers.
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