SWpromptsandask

The coldness of the ocean burned him as it found every gap and opening of his armor, his kute unable to keep out the amount as the salt gagged him and his rushing of the ocean covered his own cries.

But not the cries of his kid.

Of Grogu.

Grogu is gone, the Jedi has him and Din is drowning in the icy cold ocean of Trask without a friendly soul in sight.

Din had to get out but every time he got up, every time he reached for the metal bars above him he was showed back down into the water, to choke on more water as someone laughed and laughed and leered about his beskar.

His lungs hurt and his body felt heavy but more than that, behind the dark shadows above pushing him back down every time he made progress in getting out of the water was the sight of Boba that caught his attention.

Boba was standing there, arms crossed over his chest, face indifferent to Din’s suffering and Din felt the need to scream as he tried to reach for the man, trying to call for him despite the water filling his lungs, burning his limbs in their coldness.

Boba cocked his head at him, a considering tilt to his helmet before he simply turned, his jetpack firing up, simply disappearing into the sky.

Boba leaves him and Din cries out for his buir’ika, feeling like he’s about to shatter as he’s left behind again and Din can’t take it, he’s going t-”DIN!” A voice roars, arms around him as he’s brought out of the water shockingly, flailing in the grip before jerking away as best he can and throwing up.

For a moment, he’s so out of it that he can’t make heads or tail of anything, gasping and shuddering as he’s caught between reality and fantasy.

But slowly, as his breathing mellows down, the world comes into focus with Boba’s frantic whispering in his ear and the warm arms keeping him against Boba’s chest, the others hands on his chest.

He is not in the water and he’s not on Trask, Trask is far behind him, months and months by now and Trask was before he had ever meet Boba or been held by him or called him buir’ika.

Din is on Tatooine, he’s in the King’s suite of the palace, Boba’s palace in their warm bed. It must be around early morning, some slight light already making its way between the gaps of the curtain of the window and its enough to let Din see that he’s vomited onto the floor.

At least that’s some good news, vomiting in bed is never pleasant and is a whole more of a process to clean up.

Then there is the idea of throwing up on Boba…

Well, that would be humiliating, Din has done it once before already but he’d rather not repeat it, regardless how kind Boba had been during the entire stomach bug episode.

As he’s no longer struggling, Boba eases up his grip but only slightly, enough to ease one hand up to touch Din’s sweaty face, the scarred face popping into view in the half light. “Are you with me now sweetheart?” He questioned quietly, brows furrowed.

Swallowing thickly, Din nodded. “Yes, sorry.” He managed to croak, groaning faintly as Boba slowly shifted them, clearly intent on sitting up.

It was the last thing Din wanted but he still shifted with Boba until they were sitting against the headboard, Din’s back still to Boba’s chest. The lamp on Boba’s side is turned on, Din blinking blearily at the sharper light and by the time his eyes adjust, Boba is holding the canteen he keeps on his bedside for Din to take.

Taking it, Din swishes his mouth with water and swallows, the taste of bile disappearing before drinking more of the chilled water. He dazedly wonders why its cold before his brain reminds him that Boba invested in a fancy canteen that keeps the content chilled down, a wry smirk on the other man’s  scarred face when he told Din he liked to drink cold water in the heat.

His shaky thoughts are cut off as the other speaks up. “You were having a nightmare.” Boba’s chest rumbles against Din’s back as the thicker man murmurs and Din sinks more into the others chest at the reminder, swallowing thickly before taking in more water.

He nods but says nothing, replaying the nightmare in his head. It makes him shudder, his heart rabbiting as he remembers how indifferent Boba had looked in the nightmare.

He had never looked at Din like that.

Not even when they first meet.

Boba shifts behind him, his hands shifting to cup Din’s stomach instead, rubbing slowly, likely feeling how hard Din’s heart his beating. It worries him and a part of Din, still anxious from the dream, eases slightly. “Din, plea-”

“You left me,” Din whispered, the words cutting off Boba. “I… I was drowning and… and you left me.” He swallows thickly before turning around, holding the canteen tightly as he presses his face into Boba’s neck.

The warm body goes unnaturally still for a moment before Boba’s arms practically crushes Din to his chest. “You listen to me and you listen well, Din Djarin,” Boba whispered, voice fierce and low and Din has spent months listening and obeying that voice. He’s helpless to do anything but listen. “You are mine and I am never letting you go. They’ll have to pry you away from me,” His voice is almost vicious and then it soften, Boba’s scarred hand slowly stroking over the back of Din’s head, down his nape and settling on his upper back. “I love you too much to let you go now.” He confessed brokenly.

It should scare him, incense him, the idea of being kept and chained, of Boba’s vicious voice telling him he won’t let Din go but Din is also the King of Tatooine’s Princess. Boba’s chains are not the chains of slavery and Boba lets him fly when he wants to. Din leaves on bounties when his restlessness gets the better of him.

Boba’s words aren’t those of enslavement and servitude.

They’re promises of Din always having somewhere to go, of Boba’s love, of a safe place to put his head down.

The promise in those words makes Din sniffle a bit against the warm skin of Boba’s neck, still clutching the canteen as he swallows thickly in an attempt to stem the slow tears.

When he still says nothing, Boba shakes him slightly with his arms still around Din. “Do you understand me Din? I’m not letting you go. I’ll follow you anywhere if you leave me.” He whispered against Din’s temple, lips brushing gently against the skin that’s rapidly cooling with cold sweat now.

Manda, something must be wrong with Din but that promise soothes him, the realization that Boba won’t let him go.

Hiccuping a bit, Din nodded. “I-I get it. I get it Boba. I love you too. I’m sorry. I’m sorry.” He resisted the urge to whimper and simply let Boba arrange him into his body, feeling the canteen being plucked out of his clutching hands.

It gone, Din clutches Boba’s thin sleep shirt instead, hiccuping as he cries quietly into the older man’s neck.

Din has a place, his place is here and Boba won’t leave him.

Din won’t be left alone again.