Freak Renaissance

Warnings : to be added later....

Chapter - 1 : Nightmares and Visions (12th june)

Chapter - 2 : The fortune teller's prophecy

Chapter - 3 : White wolf in winter's shadow

Chapter - 4 : A heart in spring

Chapter - 5 : Break of dawn

Dividers by @/uzmacchiato

Chapters will be released every Thursday and Sunday

Tag list : @redstarleftarm, @sweetserendipity65, @sambuckystony, @nymphhbabiee, @darlingdenise, @venigrantrogers, @i-gotta-go-so-much-bigger, @bstan01, @phoenix-in-writing, @singulartoast, @danerb67, @onyx8514, @globetrotter28, @buckysdecaflove, @alyssinwunderland-blog-blog, @herejustforbuckybarnes, @v33mustdie, @star-yawnznn, @buckybsdoll

Kid, so he could look away.

Kid, so you'd stay safe.

You've been watching him for six years now. Learning the way he takes his coffee, the tells when he's had a bad night, how he'll rub at his left shoulder where metal meets flesh, like the junction still aches. You've seen all of it, studied all of it.  Sometimes you think about making a list, just to prove to yourself how pathetic you've become. Line item number one: he takes his coffee black but adds sugar when he thinks no one's looking. Line item number seventy-three: the nightmares are worse in winter. You could write a dissertation on Bucky Barnes and never run out of material.

You've watched him go from your dad's traumatized war buddy to something resembling human again. Watched him learn to laugh at your dad's shitty jokes and argue about sports teams and pretend the nightmares didn't still wake him up sometimes.

Watched him, lately, watch you back.

It's different the way he watches you. You don't think there's a name for it, or if there is, it is too scandalous to say out loud. His gaze will catch on your mouth when you're talking, or track the movement of your hands, or linger on the strip of skin between your shirt and jeans when you reach for something on a high shelf. Then he'll look away fast enough to give himself whiplash, and call you kid again like the word's a shield against whatever he's been thinking. It's one of those 'say it enough times, you'll start believing it' situation.

The first time you caught him staring at your mouth, you'd forgotten what you were saying mid-sentence. Just stood there like an idiot while he blinked and looked away. Your dad asked if you were feeling okay. You weren't. You haven't been okay since you were nineteen and saw him for the first time.

What's killing you now is that you don't know what happens next. You've played out a dozen scenarios in your head — him kissing you against the kitchen counter, you finally calling him on his bullshit, the world ending before either of you has to acknowledge this thing happening between you two. But you can't predict Bucky Barnes. He's controlled but also has triggers you don't know from stories he won't tell, and trying to guess his next move is like trying to catch smoke.

When you let yourself into your apartment on a Tuesday and hear him at your sink, you're not even surprised anymore. This has become routine. Your dad forgets his stuff more often than not, Bucky shows up to collect them, the excuse wearing thin each passing day. Both of you pretending this is normal.

"Kitchen," he calls before you've closed the door.

You don't question why he's here before you're even here. To be honest, it makes you happy, to see someone else — no, to see him. The henley he's wearing enhances his biceps, you almost want to chew through it. You've seen him in this shirt before. You know you have. But every time feels like the first time, like your brain can't quite process the reality of him. There's grease smudged on his jaw that he's completely missed while washing, all you want to do is let your fingers touch him under the guise of removing it. His hair's getting long, and you have approximately thirty seconds before you do something stupid like offer to trim it for him.

"Where's dad?"

Bucky glances at you, a fractional hesitation before he shuts off the water. "Got held up at work." He reaches for the dish towel — the one you've told him a hundred times not to use for his greasy hands — and starts drying off. "Said he'll grab the bike next week."

"Right. Next week." You drop your bag on the counter, not surprised once again. Your dad's been saying next week for three weeks now. At this point, the bike is practically furniture. Why does he leave his things over here if he never cares enough to get them back himself? 

"Well, he's busy." 

"So, he sent you?"

"He didn't send me, I offered," he says. The way he's looking at you now makes your aware of your heartbeat, the steady thunk it used to be is now replaced by this erratic energy that has nowhere else to go.

The kitchen suddenly feels too warm. Or maybe you're too warm. Maybe you've been too warm since the moment you walked in and saw him standing at your sink. You shrug out of your jacket, feel Bucky's eyes track the movement, watching the fabric slide down your arms, every inch of your skin waking up under his gaze. When you look back at him though, his eyes are fixed on the ragged towel at his hand, like they weren't on your skin this whole time. 

The grease on his face is starting to bother you. Though, bother would be a big word. You just want to rub it off. Why? You don't know. Maybe to get your hands on him. "You've got something on your face," you tell him.

His hand rises automatically, searching for the stain in the wrong place. "Where?"

"Other side. No — here, just —" You step closer, and immediately realise this is a mistake. You know it's a mistake even as you're doing it, but your hand's already there, thumb swiping at the smudge on his jaw.

Bucky goes still, that's the only way to put it. A whole-body freeze, every muscle locked down. You're close enough now to see his pupils dilate, to count his eyelashes if you wanted to, which you absolutely do not want to. That's what you keep telling yourself. Liar, something in you whispers. You've wanted to count them since forever. You've wanted to note every detail of him and keep them somewhere safe.

There's a faint knowing of the world running in the background, but nothing else seems to matter when he's still not moving. And neither are you. "Got it," you say, but you don't step back.

"Thanks." 

Your thumb's still on his jaw, his stubble rasping against your skin. You can feel the texture of it, slightly coarse. Suddenly, you're struck by the intimacy of knowing how his face feels under your hand. This is the kind of knowledge that belongs to girlfriends and wives, not to the daughter of his best friend who's been harbouring increasingly inappropriate thoughts for years. You can feel his pulse jumping in his throat, like he's been running. Neither of you is moving. Neither of you is even breathing if you're entirely honest. There's a slow dance of his eyes, from your own to your mouth, then back to your own. Yours do the same, mirroring him in the most minute way possible. There's about three inches of space between your mouth and his.

"This is a terrible idea," Bucky says as he leans in, which in turn makes you lean in. The distance closes in itself by excruciating degrees. 

"The worst." The two words from your mouth are swallowed by his own, the space between you both narrowed to a negative as his lips touch yours. The first graze of it is gentle, testing. Like he's afraid you'll shatter or bolt or realize what a stupid thing this is. But you've been waiting for this. There's months — no, years — of watching, wanting and pretending you weren't doing either, years of lying to yourself that you could be satisfied with just existing in his orbit, and gentle just isn't going to cut it. You fist your hand in his shirt and pull him closer, breaking whatever thread of control he's been clinging to.

Bucky makes a low sound in his throat and kisses you harder, hand coming up to cup the back of your head, metal arm sliding around your waist. The metal is cool even through your shirt, a shock of temperature that makes you gasp into his mouth. He tastes like coffee and mint gum, the taste so unique because it's him. When his tongue sweeps into your mouth, you forget how to think in complete sentences. Language becomes optional, unnecessary. Who needs words when you have this, have him finally, finally touching you the way you've dreamed about. Your free hand finds his shoulder, gripping hard enough to feel the shift of muscle under skin, as he backs you up until your hips hit the counter.

The kiss turns messier and desperate. His beard scrapes your chin, fingers tangling in your hair, pulling small sounds from you. You'd be totally embarrassed if you had any capacity to think. But, you're drowning in it, in him, in six years of wanting finally combusting into this.

The limbo of the kiss, the existence narrowed down to the dance of your lips is mercilessly interrupted by his phone buzzing in his pocket.

Bucky tears his mouth away from yours with a curse that would make your father blush, his forehead finding residence at your temple, both of you panting. You can feel his breath on your skin, uneven, matching your own. His hand shakes slightly as he fumbles for his phone.

"It's your dad."

The words are a bucket of ice water, waking up fear and shame, squashing any leftover desire. Guilt crashes over you in waves. This is your dad's best friend. Your dad's traumatized war buddy who he trusts completely, who he invited into his life, into your life. And here you are with swollen lips and shaking hands, having just had his tongue in your mouth. 

Bucky steps back, puts physical distance between you before he answers the phone. The loss of his warmth feels physical, like something's been ripped away. "Yeah?" His eyes are still on you, pupils still blown, gaze oscillating between your parted lips and your pleading eyes. "No, just wrapped up. Heading out now." A pause where he could take a deep breath, but doesn't. "Yeah, she's good. I'll tell her."

When he hangs up, the silence that follows is excruciating.

Expectant eyes search his face, his mouth, guilt threading through your own features as you take in his. Whatever you'd expected him to say, it wasn't this, "I should go," Bucky says

"That's it?" The words tear through you, frustrated and angered by his choice, his decision. "That's all you're gonna say?"

"What do you want me to say?"

"I don't know. Maybe any sentence that doesn't make me feel like I imagined the last five minutes."

His jaw clenches and unclenches. You can see him thinking, the gears turning behind his eyes, weighing what he should say versus what he wants to say. He looks like he's choosing his next sentence carefully. But when it does come out, it doesn't seem all that careful. "You didn't imagine it."

"No? Great. Very comforting." You cross your arms, looking like the very kid he claims that you are. "So what, you kiss me like that and then just leave?"

Bucky doesn't quite meet your gaze as he grabs his jacket and starts his way away from you, stillnot looking at you. 

"Why?" You prod. 

"You know why." Finally, he looks at you, whatever you see on his face makes you want to hit him or kiss him again. Pain, maybe. Regret. Want that he's trying desperately to bury and failing. Not trusting your body to keep its distance, you put some between you, stepping back. Bucky sighs, and runs his metal fingers through his hair. "Your dad's my best friend. I'm too old for you. This is — we can't —"

"I'm twenty-five, Bucky."

"I know how old you are. You think I don't know exactly how old you are? You think I — Fuck!" The frustration in his voice borders on anguish, like the knowing is what's killing him.

"Then what's the problem?"

"The problem is that your dad would kill me. The problem is that I've got no business touching you. The problem is that I can't —" He runs his hand through his hair again, and you think he might pull it off if he's not careful. "I need to go."

Bucky walks out, leaving you standing in your kitchen with kiss-swollen lips, racing heart, and anger. You're furious. At him for kissing you and leaving. At your dad for existing. At the whole goddamn universe for making this so complicated. At yourself most of all, for still wanting him even as he walks away.

A week. Seven days of you jumping every time someone knocks on your door, checking your phone obsessively like he's going to text you, half-expecting Bucky to show up with another tissue-thin excuse about tools or motorcycles or whatever.

He doesn't.

Day two, you convinced yourself you hallucinated the whole thing. Day three, you stared at your kitchen counter trying to remember the exact spot where he'd backed you up against it, like if you stand there long enough you'll be able to conjure the feeling of his hands on your waist.

Your dad picks up the bike himself. Mentions Bucky's been busy with some job for Sam, says it casually, disinterested. That means he has no idea anything's changed. You smile, nod and try not to think about the way Bucky's mouth felt on yours.

It doesn't work.

You replay the kiss in your mind so many times it starts to feel like fiction. But, you can still feel the ghost of his metal arm around your waist, still taste coffee and mint when you close your eyes.

On day seven, you've nearly convinced yourself to show up at his apartment and demand answers.

But he shows up at yours.

It's Tuesday night, exactly one week later. You're in old sweats and a tank top, halfway through a pint of ice cream you're eating straight from the container. 

The knock is an inconvenience at this time, perfectly ruining your plans of rewatching Brooklyn 99, turn your mind off and eat the damn ice cream. You almost don't open, 9 PM is hardly any time for visitors, hoping that person takes the hint and fucks off.

The second knock comes up more insistent, a hurry in the air, forcing you to pad towards the door, ice cream in hand. 

And there's Bucky. 

Bucky, who looks terrible, dark circles under his eyes, wearing an expression like he hasn't slept in days. He looks how you feel, which is both gratifying and heartbreaking. His hair is damp. It takes you a moment to understand it's drizzling. Drizzle would be a stretch, for the raindrops are the size of a pomegranate pearl, dropping down with vigour. 

"Hey," he says.

"No." You start to close the door, even though all you want to do is haul him inside, towel off his hair, dry those strands that are matted together. 

His boot hits the doorframe, an obstacle in your plans, a test on your self-preservation. "Wait —"

"I don't want to hear it, Bucky. I really don't." You try to push the door close anyway, mustering up the courage. But he's stronger than you physically, stronger than your thinning anger, which is dissipating by the second. "Move your foot," you try somehow. 

"Not until you let me talk."

"Why should I?"

"I don't know. Maybe you're a nicer person than I deserve."

A smile starts to break into your features, but you quickly tone it down. He's not playing fair, showing up here looking lost and using that voice. "Flattery's not gonna work."

"I'm not trying to flatter you. I'm trying to apologize."

You stop pushing on the door, the bare minimum you could do without showing all your cards. "Then apologize."

"Can I come in?"

Now, that would be a tremendously bad idea. If he comes in, you're not sure where else he'll be coming in. 

"You can apologize from right there." 

Bucky's quiet for a moment, studying your face. You try not to show your true feelings,keep your expression neutral, unaffected, like your heart isn't actively trying to beat its way out of your chest. "I'm sorry. For leaving like that. For not calling. For —" He looks like he's frustrated with himself, abruptly stopping the sentence. He takes a deep breath before continuing, "for all of it."

"Okay." You still don't open the door wider. "Apology received. Have a good night."

"Don't do that."

"Do what?"

"Shut me out. I know I fucked up, but —" He runs his hand through his hair, the water droplets cascading down his skin. You hate that you find it endearing, that even now, even angry and hurt, you're memorising the way the water runs down his temple, the exact shade of misery in his eyes. "Can we talk? Please?"

The 'please' is what does you in. You've never heard Bucky Barnes say please about anything, the sheer novelty of it makes you hesitate just long enough for him to see the weakness in your armor. "Five minutes," you tell him, stepping back.

You close the door behind him as he enters. When you turn around, he's closer than you expected, your back hitting the door with the need to put distance between you both. "You said you wanted to talk," you remind him, voice breathier than you'd like.

"I can't stop thinking about it." His gaze drops from your eyes to your lips. "About kissing you. About how you tasted. About the sound you made when —"

Feigning indifference seems like the only way out of this. "Okay." You try to sound unaffected, like your pulse isn't racing, like you haven't been thinking about it too. Obsessively, unhealthily, to the point where you can't focus on anything else. "So you've been thinking about it."

"That's not okay."

"No?" You raise an eyebrow, daring him. "Sounds like a you problem."

Bucky takes a step closer, trapping you between him and the door, the distance feeling anything but threatening, not having felt this alive in seven days. "I've been trying to do the right thing. I know that sounds like garbage from where you're standing."

"It does have that smell."

His lips curve into a smile. You wish you were immune to that, to his smile, to him. His hand comes up, hovering near your waist but not quite touching. "Your dad trusts me. He's trusted me for years. And here I am, showing up at his daughter's apartment, thinking things I've got no business thinking."

"What kind of things?" 

"Don't ask me that."

"Why not?" You're goading him, and you both know it. "Afraid you'll tell me the truth?"

His hand finally makes contact, just a light touch on your hip, just over the fabric of your top. "I've thought about you in every room of this apartment. I've thought about you when I shouldn't, in ways I definitely shouldn't. I've tried to stop, and I can't, and it's driving me out of my mind."

"You should suffer a little. You left me standing in my kitchen like what happened meant nothing."

"It meant everything." His other hand finds your waist, both of them spanning your hips, and you wish you weren't wearing anything, just so you could feel his hands on your skin. "That's the problem. If it meant nothing, I could've walked away and stayed away. But it meant everything. I still tried to stay away — tried to do the right thing, but here I am."

His breath comes out hard, he's so close you can clearly see the flecks of gray in his blue iries, which are turning black by the moment. You can smell the rain on him, soaked strands falling in front of his face, begging to be brushed away from his eyes.

"Stop calling me kid," you tell him.

Bucky's hands tighten on your hips. "I didn't call you that tonight."

"Not tonight. In general."

Bucky doesn't respond, but his hands move a fraction, the metal in his arm grazing your skin, cool even through your thin tank top.

"Say my name."

He hesitates like the word might burn him. You watch him struggle with it, something like pain or hurt flickering across his face before he utters, "sweetheart."

"That's not my name."

"Please." His voice is rough, pleading. 

"Say it, Bucky."

"Please don't make me."

The vulnerability in it catches you off-guard. "Why not?"

"Once I say it, that's it. I can't take it back. Can't pretend this is something I can walk away from."

"So you do want to walk away still?"

So soft, so fragile, your name leaves his mouth. It sounds different in his voice, shaped by his accent, rough with want. You've heard your name a thousand times but never like this.

"Was that so hard?" Your own voice is softer now, your hands somehow having found their way to his chest, fingers curling into the fabric of his jacket.

"Yes." All that want he's been trying to bury, is written across his face in sharp relief. His eyes are almost black, pupils blown wide, grip on your hips tight enough to bruise. "You have no idea how hard it is."

"Saying my name is hard?"

"Saying your name while I've been watching you, wanting you, knowing I shouldn't touch you. That's hard."

"You want me?" The question comes out barely above a whisper.

"Don't ask me that." It sounds like it's being dragged out of him. "Please."

"Why not?"

"You know why."

"No, I don't."

Bucky makes a sound that just might be the frustration in him seeping through, but his eyes are full of want. "Yes. Fuck, yes, I want you. I want you so much it feels like it's killing me. Happy now?"

"Not yet," you tell him befote smashing your lips into his. Anything but gentle, absolutely no testing the waters thing he did the first time. This is want distilled into action, six years of waiting and pretending all combusting at once, every fantasy you've ever had, every late-night thought you've tried to suppress, finally made real. Your hands fist in his damp hair, tightening his grip on your hips, bruising. When you bite his lower lip, he groans into your mouth like you've wounded him.

"We shouldn't," he speaks against your lips, but he's doesn't pull away, not even close. "Your dad —"

"Is not here." You pull back just enough to look at him. "Do you want to stop?"

Bucky looks at you like you're asking him to cut off his other arm. "No."

"Then stop talking about my dad while you're kissing me."

That startles a brief laugh out of him. Without wasting another second, he's kissing you again, walking you backward through your apartment. You're vaguely aware of furniture and doorways, of his jacket hitting the floor somewhere, of your ice cream forgotten on the counter. None of it matters as much as the slide of his tongue against yours, the taste of him, the way his hands are mapping your waist like he's memorizing you.

When the backs of your knees hit the couch, you try to pull him down with you, but Bucky resists. His hands find your hips, steering you around until you're standing and he's sitting, thighs spread wide to make room for you between them. The position puts you above him, taller for once. On his face, theres a crack in the armor where you can see straight through to the want underneath.

He looks up at you, and you've never seen him like this. Vulnerable doesn't seem like the right word for Bucky Barnes, but it's close. It's in the way his hands rest on your hips, loose enough that you could step away if you wanted. In the tilt of his head, exposing his throat, how he's letting you see him want you without the usual defenses. It makes you feel invincible and terrified both.

"Still time," he says.

"For what?"

"For you to tell me to leave."

You reach down, fingers sliding into his hair. The strands are cool and wet against your palm. When you drag your nails lightly against his scalp, his eyes flutter close. "I don't want you to leave."

Bucky leans forward, resting his forehead against your stomach. The intimacy of it steals whatever breath you have left. His hands tighten on your hips, thumbs stroking small circles through your tank top, the warmth of his breath you can feel through the thin fabric.

"Should've done this right," he mutters into your stomach. "Should've taken you to dinner. Somewhere nice. Not just shown up at your door like some —" he stops, breathing into you, the warm breath wet against your skin even through the flimsy cloth. 

"Like some what?" You prod. 

"I don't know. Obsessed asshole with no self-control."

That makes you laugh, earning a smile from him that you feel against your stomach. "I don't want dinner," you say. 

"You should want dinner. You should want the whole thing — flowers, romance, somebody who isn't —" He sighs, not able to finish what he was going to say. If he says it, it will be real. 

"Who isn't what?"

"Too old for you. Too —"

"Bucky." You tug his hair until he looks up at you, mouth parted, so gorgeous. "I don't care about any of that."

"You should."

His hair is soft under your touch, your fingers playing with them as you speak. "Well, I don't. And for the record, I hate fancy restaurants. They never give you enough food, and everyone whispers."

His mouth quirks into the fondest of smiles. "That's your objection? Portion sizes and volume?"

"I'm serious. I went to this place once where they served a single scallop on a plate the size of my head. One scallop. I'm supposed to eat one scallop and pretend I'm satisfied?"

"Sounds terrible."

"It was. I stopped at McDonald's on the way home." It had been a date, actually. Some guy from your office who'd taken you where the menu didn't have prices and the portions were insulting. You'd been hungry, bored and wishing the entire time that you were with Bucky instead.

Bucky's hands slide under the hem of your tank top, fingers finding bare skin. "No famcy restaurants where they serve a single scallop. Noted."

His touch almost derails your thoughts, you have to work to keep your voice steady. The rough calluses on his fingers drag against your skin, leaving trails of fire. "Anyway, you're here now. That's worth more than some overpriced shit."

"Is it?" There's doubt clouding his eyes, you can see clearly. 

"Yeah. It is." You just hope he understands how much you mean this. 

His hands move higher, taking your shirt with them, bunching the fabric above your waist. The metal hand is cool against your overheated skin, cold enough to make you gasp. Bucky stops his touch on its tracks. "Is it cold?"

"A little."

He starts to pull back, his touch leaving you becoming a physical thing you feel the loss of. Catching his wrist, you hold the metal hand flat against your stomach. "Don't."

"You sure?"

"I like it." The contrast, the warm flesh on one side, cool metal on the other, makes your skin feel alive. You've thought about his arm before, late at night when you shouldn't. Wondered what the metal would feel like against your skin, wondered if he'd let you touch it, trace the plates. "Feels good."

His grip tightens, both hands spanning your waist now, the slight tremor in his fingers you feel more and more each passing second. Like he's overwhelmed by being allowed to touch you like this. Like he can't quite believe you're real. The next thing you know, Bucky is leaning in, pressing an open-mouthed kiss just above your navel.

The wet heat of his mouth against your skin makes your knees weak, almost wobbling. He does it again, lower this time, tongue tracing a path across your stomach that has you gripping his shoulders for balance. His stubble scrapes your skin, adding another layer of sensation you've never felt. When he bites down gently on your hipbone, a soft gasp leaves you, like there's not enough oxygen in this room for the both of you, especially not with the way he's pressing these kisses. 

The silence while he's kissing your stomach is too much. You need to fill it with something before you combust entirely. "Been thinking about this?" Your voice comes out breathy.

"Yes." Bucky doesn't even attempt to lift his head, continuing his way across your stomach, hands holding you steady.

"How long?"

Bucky's mouth stills against your skin. For a second you think maybe he won't answer, maybe he'll pull back, and this is it. But almost soft as a whisper, his words come. "Long enough to feel ashamed about it."

"How long is that?"

"Remember that barbecue last summer?" His lips brush your navel as he talks. "You were wearing that black top, and you bent over to grab a beer from the cooler? Yeah, I spent the next twenty minutes trying not to stare at your ass."

"That was July."

"I know when it was." His hands slide higher, taking your shirt with them. He pushes the fabric up and over your head, dropping it somewhere behind you, leaving you in just your bra from the waist up. The air feels cold against your exposed skin, but Bucky's gaze is hot enough to burn. "Been drivin' me crazy for months."

You remember that day. Remember catching him staring and thinking you'd imagined it. Apparently, you hadn't. Bucky looks at your bra, but decides against it, pushing it up too, just shoving it out of the way, pulling you down into his lap. The position puts you straddling his thigh, friction of his jeans against your sweats making you acutely aware of how wet you already are. Embarrassingly wet. He's barely touched you and you're already soaked through, probably leaving a damp spot on his jeans. 

Bucky's mouth finds your breast, and whatever coherent thought you had left scatters like startled birds. He sucks your nipple into his mouth, tongue working the sensitive peak. Your hips roll forward involuntarily, the pressure against your clit perfect but not nearly enough, chasing more friction, grinding down on his thigh.

"That's it," he murmurs against your breast, switching to the other side. "Take what you need."

His metal hand cups your neglected breast, thumb brushing over your nipple, the cool touch making you gasp. He seems to like that reaction, doing it again with more pressure. Having him like this, puts all your fantasies to shame, your fingers threading through his hair to hold him close.

You didn't know it could feel like this. This consuming. Every nerve ending in your body is focused on the wet heat of his mouth, the cool press of metal, the friction building between your legs. You're making these small desperate sounds you can't control, hips moving faster now. Bucky groans against your breast like watching you get off on his thigh is the best thing he's ever seen.

"Bucky —" You're close already, wound too tight, and it's almost embarrassing how fast he's gotten you here.

"I know." He bites down gently on your nipple, soothing it with his tongue. "Can feel how wet you are through your sweats. Gonna cum just from this, aren't you?"

The words almost send you over, but before you can, he lifts you off his lap, laying you down on the couch. You barely have time to process the change before he's hooking his fingers into your waistband, dragging both your sweats and underwear down your legs in one smooth motion. Your bra which was previously pushed atop your breasts, is discarded too, and you're naked. Completely naked while he's still fully dressed, and somehow that makes this hotter. There's this moment where neither of you moves, stuck in a limbo, where he just looks at you, sprawled across your couch. You watch him take in every inch of exposed skin. You watch him watch you. 

"Jesus," he breathes.

"Are you just gonna stare, or —"

Bucky kisses you, cutting off whatever sarcastic remark you were about to make, mouth insistent, tongue tasting yours. When he pulls back, you try to follow, chasing him, but he's moving down your body.

He kisses your jaw, your throat, the hollow at the base of your neck where your pulse is racing. You wonder if he can feel how fast your heart is beating, if he knows what he does to you. He takes his time with your breasts again, like he can't quite believe he gets to touch them. His mouth blazes a trail down your sternum, mapping the soft plane of your stomach with lips, teeth and tongue.

When he reaches your navel, his tongue dips inside, circling, your back bows of the couch in response. "Bucky, please —"

"Patience. Wanna look at you first." His hands are on your thighs, pushing them apart. The first brush of cool air against your wet core makes you shudder. You should be self-conscious about this, spread open for him, the position in itself making you vulnerable, but the way he's looking at you makes you feel like a goddamn masterpiece, killing any embarrassment before it takes root. 

His finger traces your slit, so light it's almost not there, and you try to cant your hips up for more pressure. Bucky's metal hand presses down on your lower stomach, holding you still.

"Stay," he says, like you're a misbehaving dog and not someone who's writhing for breath beneath him. It's not quite a command but close enough to make you clench around nothing. 

Bucky explores you with devastating thoroughness, tracing the shape of you with one finger, learning what makes you gasp and what makes you whimper. He spreads you open with two fingers, just looking. "She's so pretty," he murmurs, almost to himself. "So fucking pretty."

He leans down to lick a stripe up your center, tongue flat and broad, and you forget how to breathe. Even the first touch of his mouth is too much, when you're already so worked up, so close from grinding on his thigh. The wet heat of his tongue against your clit makes you cry out, not even embarrassed about how loud you are. Let the neighbors hear. Let the whole building know. He seems encouraged by the sound, doing it again with more pressure. He eats you out like it's the only thing he wants to be doing. Like he could spend hours between your legs and die happy. His tongue works your clit in slow circles, alternating between broad strokes and focused attention that has you squirming. When he closes his lips around the sensitive bud and sucks, you nearly come off the couch entirely. "Oh god — Bucky —"

He slides one finger inside you while his mouth stays focused on your clit. Your fingers on his hair tug them harder with each pass of his tongue, almost scaring you with how tight you're pulling and whether you're hurting him. You might actually rip his hair out, but you can't bring yourself to care because it feels too good. None of that even seems to cross his mind as his finger curls, finding that spot inside you that makes your whole body tense. He works it mercilessly while his tongue keeps that same steady rhythm.

You're pretty sure you're babbling now, saying his name and god and please in an endless stream, nails of your one hand — the one not currently buried in his hair — grasping his flesh shoulder, hard enough that it has to hurt. Again, Bucky doesn't seem to care. If anything, he doubles down, adding a second finger and increasing the pressure of his tongue. He's going to ruin you for anyone else. Not that there's ever been anyone else to compare with, but after this, you're done for.

You can feel the release gathering in the clench of your thighs, in the way every muscle in your body goes tight. Bucky seems to sense how close you are, his free hand gripping your hip to hold you steady as he keeps that relentless pace. "C'mon," he says against your clit, the vibration of his voice sending shockwaves through you. "Let me taste it."

The orgasm crashes over you, your whole body seizing as pleasure tears through you. With your hands, it's never been like this. Never this intense, never this all-consuming. This feels like you're coming apart and Bucky's the only thing holding you together. You're dimly aware of crying out his name, your thighs trying to close around his head, the way your inner walls clenched rhythmically around his fingers. Bucky works you through it, tongue gentling but never stopping, drawing out every last aftershock until you're pushing at his head from oversensitivity.

When he finally pulls back, his chin is glistening. He looks obscene, debauched, like something out of your dirtiest fantasy. The satisfied look on his face would be smug on anyone else. On him it's just honest satisfaction, like getting you off was the highlight of his month. "You good?" His voice is rough.

Words seem far away right now, you can barely remember your own name. You just nod, boneless, wondering if it's possible to die from pleasure.

Bucky crawls up your body, settling his weight on top of you carefully. Even wrecked with want, he's careful not to crush you. When he kisses you slowly, you can taste yourself on his tongue. It feels filthy and intimate at the same time, sending a fresh wave of arousal through you despite having just come. "That was —" You still can't form complete sentences. "You're really good at that."

He grins against your mouth. "Yeah?"

"Don't let it go to your head."

"Too late." Bucky is smiling, you realize this might be the most relaxed you've ever seen him. Happy. He looks happy. When was the last time you saw him look happy? "You have no idea how long I've wanted to do that."

"Since July, apparently."

His thumb traces your lower lip, smearing spit. "July's when I stopped being able to pretend."

"What changed?"

"You looked at me." He says it simply, like it explains everything. "Just me. After that, I couldn't pretend anymore that I didn't want you looking at me like that all the time."

You've been looking at him since the day you knew him. You don't tell him that, those demons can stay where they lay. You pull him down into another kiss, slower this time, trading breath and heat. When you finally break apart, you can feel how hard he is against your hip, still fully clothed and probably painfully uncomfortable.

"Your turn," you tell him, reaching for his belt. Bucky catches your wrist, slowing you down, thumb stroking across your radial pulse, eyes pleading, saying everything his mouth can't. The gentle touch is at odds with the hunger in his gaze. You feel your pulse jumping under his fingers, giving away how badly you want this.

"I want to," your voice is barely a whisper. You need him to know, to understand that this isn't one-sided, that you've been wanting this just as long. That seems to be all the permission he needs. He releases your wrist and lets you work his belt open, the metal buckle clinking as you pull it free. Your fingers are shaking slightly, adrenaline and want making them clumsy. His jeans follow, while he watches with those hooded eyes, like this is some kind of religious experience.

When you get his shirt off, you take a moment to just look. God, he's a masterpiece. You've seen him shirtless before, but never like this. Never laid out for you, never yours to touch. There are scars you knew about, the ones you've seen at pool parties and barbecues, the ones your dad mentioned in passing when he thought you weren't listening. But there are others you didn't know, smaller ones scattered across his ribs and chest, a puckered bullet wound near his collarbone. Each one tells a story he's never shared, pain he's survived, and you want to learn every single one. The place where metal meets flesh is a work of terrible artistry, plates and skin fused in ways that probably hurt more than he'll ever admit.

You lean in and press your lips to his shoulder, right where metal becomes man. Bucky goes very still. Like he's holding his breath, waiting for you to recoil, to change your mind. "You don't have to do that."

You don't respond him with words, just another kiss to the seam, the metal cool under your lips, then lower, across his chest, the skin warm, the contrast intoxicating.You work your way down his body, following the trail of dark hair that disappears beneath his boxers, wanting to map every inch of him with your mouth, memorize the way he tastes. Bucky's hand leaps to tangle in your hair, gentle but insistent nonetheless, pulling you back up. 

"What's wrong?"

"Nothing's wrong. But if you put your mouth on me right now, this is gonna be over embarrassingly fast," he answers. The admission goes to your heart and cunt at the same time, the idea that you affect him that much doing things to you. 

That makes you pause, a laugh threatening to bubble out of you, but you keep it contained. "How fast we talking?"

"Thirty seconds, maybe." He doesn't look embarrassed about the admission, though there's a slight red tinge to the tip of his ears. That blush, that tiny hint of vulnerability, makes you want him even more. "I've been half-hard since I kissed you in the doorway, and I've been thinking about this for months. So unless you want me coming down your throat before we even get to the good part, you're gonna have to wait."

The bluntness of it sends heat racing through you, right between your legs, warmth spreading over the apples of your cheeks. Glancing down to not meet his eyes, you're met with the unevenness of this situation, suddenly very aware that you're naked while he's still got his boxer briefs on. "That's not fair."

Bucky manoeuvres you, hands on your hips, guiding you back down to the couch with a gentleness that contradicts his size. "Life ain't fair, sweetheart." 

Bucky's body looms above you as he settles between your thighs. The breadth of his shoulders blocks out the light from the lamp, casting shadows across his face that make him look almost dangerous, but he's soft to you. You watch him shove his boxers down, cock springing free, curved slightly towards his stomach, thick and flushed, bead of precum spilling over the tip. It's bigger than you expected, thicker, and for a moment anxiety spikes through your arousal. His flesh hand wraps around himself, working his cock, while the metal one is braced against the couch, framing your head. And you realise this is quite possibly the hottest thing you've ever seen.

"Like what you see?" You'd assume it was asked out of cockiness if you didn't know him better. You know him better, and there's genuine curiosity in his question, mixed with almost boyish shyness. 

"You already know the answer to that."

"Maybe I wanna hear you say it."

"You're fishing for compliments now?"

"Is it working?"

"Yes," you admit, earning a bright eyed and genuine smile from him,transforming his whole face, making him look younger, happier, and you want to be the reason he smiles like that forever. "You're gorgeous, okay? You're so hot it's actually annoying."

"Annoying?"

"Yeah. You walk around being all broody and hot, and I'm supposed to just — what? Pretend I don't notice?"

"You can notice me all you want, sweet girl."

Sweet girl. You like the sound of it, somehow much more intimate that anything he's ever called you. It's not really an accomplishment because all he's called you before is 'kid'. 

Bucky laughs, a sound you want to bottle up and listen when your days get dark. His fingers are between your legs again, two of them sliding inside easily, thanks to your orgasm from earlier, still wet, still open. But the stretch makes you gasp anyway, an open-mouthed silent cry, that he swallows for himself with a kiss. He works them slowly, watching your face, conflict playing across his features. Want versus restraint. Need versus caution.

"You're so tight," he mutters, almost to himself, fingers pumping in and out. Each slick sound makes your face burn, embarrassingly loud evidence of how much you want this. "Gonna have to take my time with you."

"I can take it," you tell him, voice fracturing with need, the ache to be filled by him. His cock stands proud against his abdomen, jerking with every motion of his fingers, taunting you. You want to feel the weight of him inside you, splitting you open, claiming you completely.

"I know you can." He curls his fingers, finding that spot inside you that makes your back arch, and does it again just to watch you squirm. "But I'm not gonna hurt you. Not if I can help it."

He leans down to kiss you, slower this time, thorough, his tongue plunging into your mouth, remnants of your own juices lingering, while his fingers keep that steady rhythm. You're climbing toward another orgasm already, your body wound tight and responsive. Bucky breaks the kiss, only to pepper a few more on your jaw, the corner of your mouth, breath coming in hot. 

"Have you taken cock before?"

The question catches you off-guard, the blatant crudeness of it. Stilling beneath him, you will your breath to come, his fingers slowing on your cunt not being of much help. 

"Baby." His free hand comes up to cup your face. The tenderness in the gesture makes your eyes sting. "I need to know. Need to know how careful I gotta be."

The truth sits in your throat, heavy as a stone. You could lie, tell him you've done this a dozen times, that you're experienced and worldly and this is no big deal. But lying to Bucky feels wrong, feels like starting this thing between you on a foundation of sand.The way he's looking at you, open and honest, worry lines framing his face, also makes it impossible. "No," you finally whisper.

His fingers stop moving, just frozen inside you while he stares at you with an expression you can't quite read. Shock. Concern. Fear? "What?"

"No. I haven't."

Bucky starts to pull his fingers out, a pained expression on his face, like the knowledge of it physically hurts him. "Jesus Christ. You should've — I wouldn't have—"

No, no. He can't do that. You catch his wrist, holding his hand in place. "Don't."

"We can't —"

"Yes, we can." You roll your hips, taking his fingers deeper, and watch his eyes go dark, control slipping. "I want this. I want you."

"Your first time shouldn't be — It should be special. Someone who —"

"Someone who what? Takes me to a fancy restaurant and serves me one scallop?" You're babbling now, words tumbling out, desperate to keep him in. "I don't want that. I want you. This is special."

"I'm too old for you. Too fucked up. Your dad's gonna —"

"I don't care about my dad right now." You tighten your grip on his wrist, needing him to see that this isn't some impulsive decision. "I care about you. And I'm not some delicate flower you're gonna break. I can take you."

Bucky looks at you like you've wounded him, like the trust you're placing in him is almost too much to bear. You can see the war happening behind his eyes, and you hope he loses, you hope the walls he'd erected within the past twenty seconds crumble and he comes back to you. "You're all I want, Buck," you press. 

A long sigh leaves him, but finally he says, "you tell me if it's too much." The words sound torn from him, reluctant but resolute. "The second it's too much, you tell me and we stop. Understand?"

"Yes."

"Say it."

"If it's too much, I'll tell you." You pull him down into a kiss, teeth claiming his lips. You bite down, tasting copper, needing him to feel something, anything. "Now stop treating me like I'm made of glass and fuck me already."

That startles a laugh out of him. You wrap your fingers around his length, almost pulling him by his dick, he doesn't seem to care though. The skin is hot and silky under your palm, cock twitching in your grip, precum leaking from the tip. Bucky pulls his fingers free, positioning himself at your entrance. The blunt head of his cock presses against you, even that initial pressure making you tense. "Breathe," he instructs. "Just breathe for me, sweetheart."

You force your muscles to relax, and he pushes in. Just the tip at first, just enough to make you gasp at the stretch of it. It's immediately more than his fingers, wider and so overwhelming you forget how to think in complete sentences.

Bucky freezes, his hard length stuffing you halfway. "You okay?"

"Yeah. Just — a lot."

"I know, sweet girl." His metal hand comes up to cup your face with a gentleness, it in itself bringing you to tears, cool metal against your overheated cheek grounding, keeping you anchored. "We go slow. As slow as you need."

He works himself in gradually, stopping every time you tense, giving you time to ease yourself. It's torturous, this slow invasion, your body struggling to accommodate his size. But his words keep you company, praise, reassurance, sometimes filthy little things he'd want to do once you get used to this. Things about how he'll fuck you in every room of this apartment, how he'll bend you over the kitchen counter, how he'll wake you up with his cock inside you. About how good you're doing, how tight you are, how perfect you feel. When he's about halfway in, tears fully start leaking from the corners of your eyes. You don't think it's from the pain, just from the overwhelming fullness of it, the sensation of being split open, claimed and filled so completely there's no room for anything else. 

Bucky immediately senses the tears and stops, jaw clenching with the restraint of holding himself still above you, trembling with the effort of not moving. "Too much?"

"No." Back of your hand rushes to wipe your eyes impatiently, frustrated that your body's betraying you like this, showing weakness when you want to be strong for him. "Don't stop. Please don't stop."

"You're crying."

"I know I'm crying. It doesn't mean —" You roll your hips, to show him that you can take him deeper, that these are good tears, from pleasure alone and nothing else. At another roll of your hips, Bucky groans. "See? I can take it."

Bucky stays still, his hand finding your lower stomach, pressing down gently. The added pressure makes everything more intense, even fuller. "Can feel myself inside you," he mutters, almost wonderstruck. "Right here. Can you feel it?"

"What?" You're barely coherent, too overwhelmed to process what he's saying. You think he's trying to distract you, the palm on your abdomen pulls you enough from whatever discomfort you might feel from your first time. You welcome it. 

Bucky takes your hand and presses it against your lower stomach, right where his hand was. You can feel it, feel the solid presence of him inside you, the way your body's stretched around him. "Oh my god." The realization is visceral and overwhelming. "That's — you're —"

"Yeah. That's me, fillin' you up, sweetheart." Sounding wrecked, Bucky pushes the rest of the way in. The slide of it, the final inch that seats him fully inside you, makes you both freeze. You just lie there connected, trying to adjust to the reality of this. Through hooded eyes, you look at him. He's focused, jaw tightening as his gaze is fixed on the way your cunt swallows him whole. 

"You okay?" His eyes tear from your place of union reluctantly to look into yours. 

"Ask me that one more time and I'm gonna hit you."

That makes him laugh, the movement jostling where you're joined, making you clench around him involuntarily.

"Can you —" You shift your hips experimentally. "Can you move? Please?"

"Yeah." He pulls out slowly, so slowly that you can feel every ridge and vein, before he pushes back in just as carefully. The slide is easier now, your body adjusting, learning to take him. "This okay?"

"More." You're chasing the friction, hips canting up to meet him. "I need more."

Bucky is so careful, watching your face for any sign of discomfort. But when you urge him on with hands, hips and broken pleas, his control starts to slip gradually. The thrusts get deeper, the couch creaking beneath you, until you're making sounds you didn't know you were capable of.

It's never this good when you're alone. Bucky seems to have woken up your body from a slumber you didn't know it was in. Every sensation is not only new but also heightened. 

"So fucking tight," he groans, his hand pressed to your belly again. "Can feel my cock moving inside you. You're takin' me so well, sweetheart. Look at you."

You can't look at anything except him, his jaw is clenched with effort, pupils blown so wide there's no blue remaining, just black, the flush spreading across his chest. The still slightly damp hair falling in front of his face, but he makes no effort in moving it off, the salt and pepper stubble that scratches your cheek everytime he pushes forward, everytime his pelvis meets yours. He's gorgeous like this, desperate and wanting. 

"Bucky —" You're climbing again already, wound too tight to last much longer. "I'm gonna —"

"I know, baby." His thumb finds your clit, circling with devastating precision. "Can feel you getting tighter. Squeezin' me — fuck —"

The added stimulation is almost too much. You're right on the edge, balanced on that knife-point between pleasure and too much. Already at the verge of losing, made worse by Bucky leaning down to suck a mark into your neck while his hips keep that relentless rhythm. "Wanna fill you up," he mutters against your throat. "Wanna fuck you full of my cum. Wanna fuck a baby into you."

"Yes — Please —" You are completely disconnected from your mouth, it being a separate thing only remembering words that are his name, yes and please. 

"Gonna make sure it takes." His thrusts get erratic, control fraying. "Gonna keep you full of me until your belly swells. Until everyone can see what we've been doing."

The image he's painting is filthy and visceral. Your hands fly to his hair, gripping tight, verge of telling him yes to everything when he keeps going. This is not just distraction anymore, the farthest part of your brain whispers.

"Think about it," he groans, hand spanning your stomach again. "You round and full with my kid. These perfect tits getting bigger." His thumb presses harder on your clit, while he bends to take one nipple into his lips, neck straining. "So full of milk you'd need me to help you, need my mouth on you. They'd be so heavy, baby."

That's what sends you over. The orgasm tears through you, whole body seizing as pleasure obliterates thought, ears ringing, not even hearing the way you scream his name. Your inner walls clamp down on him so hard, he curses, loses his rhythm, your nails digging into his shoulders hard enough to leave marks.

Bucky fucks you through it, chasing his own release. "That's it. Milk my cock. Show me how much you want it. Want me to breed you properly —"

He comes with your name on his lips, hips grinding against yours as he spills inside you. The warmth of it, the sheer volume is startling, pulling soft noises from your wrung out body. You can feel it coating your walls, filling you up exactly like he promised, marking you from the inside out. 

Boneless like you, Bucky balances himself on top of you, forearms braced against the couch, not pulling out. You feel his cock twitching inside you, spurting the remnants of his release, and feel the wet slide of cum down your inner thighs. Through the haze of your orgasm, something clicks into place. The way he'd been fixated on your stomach from the beginning, how his hands always found their way there, pressing, holding and claiming. The breeding talk that seemed to come so naturally to him. He'd been obsessed with it, with your stomach, with the idea of filling you up, you'd just been too overwhelmed to notice.

"You're obsessed with my stomach," you say, still trying to catch your breath.

Bucky lifts his head to look at you, and there's no embarrassment in his expression. If anything, there's pride there, satisfaction. "Yeah. Have been since you wore crop tops all summer."

"All summer?"

"I'm not proud of it." But he's smiling slightly, thumb stroking across your stomach where he's softening inside you. "Couldn't stop thinking about marking you here. Putting my hands on you. Making you mine in every way that matters."

The possessiveness in his tone, the raw need, stirs something primal in you, that wants to be his. The fact that this is your first time ever doesn't concern you, just makes you feel wanted and claimed in the best possible way.

He finally pulls out, and you both wince at the sensitivity. The slide of him leaving you feels like a loss, an ache of emptiness. "Did I hurt you?"

"No." You cup his face, forcing him to look at you. Those worry lines are back, you want to smooth them away. "That was perfect. You were perfect." You kiss him softly. "I'm fine. Better than fine."

He still looks unconvinced, but before he can spiral into guilt, you pull him down on top of you. His weight is comforting rather than crushing, and you wrap your arms around him, holding him close. His arms band around you, face buried in your neck. 

For a while, he stays where you put him, his body heavy over yours, warm and shaking in small, leftover ways he would probably deny if you mentioned them. His face remains tucked in your neck like he can hide there from every terrible, responsible thought trying to crawl back into his head. You can feel the guilt gathering anyway. It keeps making itself known in the careful way he holds his weight off you, the tiny pauses before his mouth touches your skin, the way his arms tighten whenever you shift. The guilt doesn't get to settle in though, because you thread your fingers through his hair and tug gently, pulling him back to look at you. "Stop thinking so loud."

"I'm not —"

"You are." Your thumb traces the crease between his brows. "I can hear it from here."

Bucky huffs a laugh, pressing a kiss to your collarbone before starting a slow path downward. His lips drag across your sternum, then lower, mapping ribs and soft flesh. Each kiss is soft and slow, like he's got all the time in the world to learn what makes you sigh. When he reaches your navel, his tongue dips in the same way it did earlier, circling, and your hips twitch involuntarily.

"Stay still," he murmurs against your skin, quiet want in his tone. His mouth continues lower, across the plane of your stomach, and this is where he lingers. Open-mouthed kisses pressed to skin that's still flushed and overheated, his stubble scraping in ways that make you squirm. Both hands splay across your belly, spanning the width of it, metal and flesh holding you like something precious. He's almost worshipful about it, pressing his lips just below your navel and staying there, breathing you in.

"What are you doing?" Your voice comes out soft.

"Thinkin' about how good you'd look." His thumb strokes back and forth across your stomach. "Round and full. Wouldn't be able to keep my hands off you."

Bucky's orgasm doesn't seem slow him down, he's only edging you towards the start of another one, the words sending signals straight to your core. "You already can't keep your hands off me."

Bucky laughs as he presses another kiss lower, then another, working his way down until he's kneeling between your spread thighs. 

You're about to pull him up, tell him you're still not recovered, but Bucky's not looking at your face anymore. His gaze is fixed between your legs, watching as his cum starts to leak out of you, painting your inner thighs white. "Fuck," he breathes, his fingers gathering the mess and pushing it back inside you. "Can't waste it," he mutters, almost to himself, two fingers pressing deep, pushing his release back where it belongs. "Gotta make sure it takes. Gotta keep you full."

You're boneless, can't do anything but lie there and let him have this strange, filthy little ritual, watching through dazed eyes. The room smells like rain and sex. Your couch is absolutely never recovering, and maybe neither are you. He keeps his fingers inside you with that focused, almost frightening devotion, pushing the mess back where he thinks it belongs, one open-mouthed kiss landing on your lower stomach as he does it.

You reach down and catch his wrist, stilling his hand. "Bucky. I'm not going anywhere. It's not going to leak out in the next five seconds."

He looks up at you, a bashfulness in his face you've never seen on him before, caught doing exactly what he wants with zero shame left to hide behind. "I know. I just —" He trails off, fingers still buried inside you.

"You just what?"

"Like seeing it," he admits. "Like knowing I put it there."

The honesty of it makes you want the next round desperately, and before that thought could take root, you tug on his wrist, pulling him towards you. He withdraws his fingers reluctantly, wiping them on his discarded shirt before crawling up your body. When he settles next to you on the couch, you turn into him, tucking yourself against his chest. His arm comes around you, metal hand cool against your overheated skin.

"So that happened."

"Yeah. That happened." His lips and hands keep mapping your body in small increments, like he's making up for lost time, like he doesn't want to let you go. 

The silence stretches. You count his heartbeats — twelve, fifteen, twenty — before he eventually says, "your dad's gonna kill me."

"Probably." You trace patterns on his chest with one finger, following old scars, the raised tissue telling stories he won't. "But at least you'll die happy."

"Small comfort."

"I could tell him it was my idea," you supply. 

"That'll make it worse. Then he'll kill me for not having more self-control." He catches your hand, stilling your wandering fingers mid-trace. "He trusts me. Trusted me with you. And I just —"

"Fell in love with me?"

The words shatter between you. You've never said them out loud before, never put a name to this thing that's been building since you were nineteen. Bucky goes very still at that, body stopping everything, even breathing. "What?"

"That's what this is, right?" You prop yourself up on one elbow to look at him. "Because if this is just some — I don't know, some itch you needed to scratch, you should probably tell me now before I —"

"It's not." He cuts you off urgently. "It's not that. It's —" The struggle plays out on his face, words getting stuck somewhere between his chest and his throat.

"It's what?"

"It's me being stupid in love with you for the past six months and trying real hard not to be," he finally says. The confession comes out rough, like it's been dragged from deep inside him. "It's me seeing you and forgetting how to be a person. It's me lying awake at 3 AM thinking about your laugh. It's — fuck, I don't know. I'm not good at this."

"Doin' fine so far," you tell him softly.

"I'm old. You just graduated college a few years ago. Your dad's my best friend. I got no business —"

"Bucky." You cup his face, forcing him to look at you, meet your eyes, the intensity in them hopefully squashing any lingering doubts. His eyes do that thing where they won't hold yours for more than two seconds, darting away like he's afraid of what you'll see if he stays. "I'm twenty five. I have a job, an apartment, a 401k that I don't understand but I have one. I'm not some kid you're taking advantage of."

"I know that. I do. But —"

"But what?"

"But I've been to war. I've killed people. I got nightmares that wake me up screaming and a metal arm because I got fucked up and — You should want someone normal. Someone who doesn't have to check the exits in every room and who doesn't flinch at loud noises."

You think about all the times you've watched him scan a room, cataloging threats that aren't there. How he never sits with his back to a door. How he jumped that time your neighbor dropped a toolbox in the hallway. "Should I? Is that what I should want?"

"Yeah."

"Well, I don't." You lean in and kiss him before he can argue, or state reasons why this shouldn't happen. You continueto speak against his mouth, "I want you. Nightmares, metal arm, all of it. I want you at 3 AM when you can't sleep. I want you checking exits. I want all the parts you think are too broken to love."

A frustrated sound leaves him, sounds like a laugh but could easily be anything else. "You're gonna regret this."

"Let me worry about that."

"When your dad finds out —"

"When my dad finds out, we'll deal with it. Together." You settle back against his chest, listening to his heartbeat, its jumping out of his ribs. "Besides, he likes you better than me anyway. I'm pretty sure if it came down to it, he'd keep you and disown me."

That actually makes him laugh. "That's not true."

"It absolutely is. You fixed his transmission. I can't even check my own oil."

"I'll teach you."

"See? This is why he likes you better." You press a kiss to his sternum. "Useful."

"That's me. Useful." You can hear the smile in his voice now, the tension finally bleeding out of him.

"Among other things." Your hand drifts lower, fingers trailing down his stomach.

He catches your wrist, halting its path. "Again? Already?"

"What? You get to be obsessed with my stomach but I can't appreciate yours?"

"I don't —" He stops when you look up at him. Your expression must give away exactly what you're thinking, Bucky's jaw tightens, Adam's apple bobbing on a hard swallow. "Okay, yeah. I'm obsessed with your stomach. Happy?"

"Very." You kiss his jaw. It's hard to keep your hands to yourself when he's laid out beside you like a Greek statue taunting you. "For the record, I'm obsessed with your arms. Both of them. And your shoulders. And this thing you do where you bite your lip when you're concentrating."

"I don't do that."

"You absolutely do. You did it like three times while you were trying to get my bra off."

"I was nervous," he admits. There's a pink tinge creeping up his neck, faint but visible. "Kept thinking you'd realize this was a mistake and change your mind."

"Not a mistake." You tilt your head up to look at him properly. "Best decision I ever made, actually. Well, second best. First best was wearing that black crop top to the barbecue."

He groans. "Don't remind me. I had to hide in the garage for twenty minutes."

"Why?"

"Why do you think?" He shifts, and you feel the evidence of why pressing against your hip. "You bent over to grab a beer and I thought I was gonna die right there."

"Poor baby. Must've been so hard for you." You're not even a little bit sorry. 

"Not funny."

"It's hilarious." You kiss him again, deeper this time. His tongue slides against yours lazily, like you have all the time in the world. When you pull back, his eyes are dark again. "Also, we should probably move to the bedroom. This couch isn't big enough for both of us."

"Can you walk?"

Good question. Your legs feel like overcooked pasta, your body wrung out and remade into someone new. "I — Maybe?"

Bucky sits up, taking you with him, and before you can protest he's scooping you up. "I got you."

"I can walk," you insist, even as you're wrapping your arms around his neck. The automatic way your body curls into him feels like muscle memory you haven't earned yet.

"Sure you can." He's heading down the hallway. "But let me do this."

"Such a hardship, carrying me around naked."

"The worst." He's grinning, and when he lays you down on your bed, carefully, like you're precious cargo. He stands there for a second, just looking at you sprawled across your sheets. You should feel exposed — you are exposed, completely bare under his gaze — but the way he's looking at you kills the urge to cover up.

"What?" you ask.

"Nothing. Just —" He shakes his head. "Can't believe this is real."

"Want me to pinch you?"

"Smart ass." He crawls onto the bed, settling beside you and pulling the blanket over both of you. You curl into him automatically, throwing one leg over his hip, and he makes this satisfied sound in his throat. Out of content, maybe. Or possession. Hard to tell the difference.

"Gonna stay?" you ask, even though you already know the answer.

"Yeah." His arm tightens around you. "If that's okay."

"More than okay." You press your face into his neck, breathing him in. He smells like yours. "Bucky?"

"Hmm?"

"I love you too. Just so you know."

For three full seconds, he doesn't move. Doesn't even breathe if you're being honest, his ribs don't move. You're about to take it back, pretend you were joking, anything to break the awful stillness — "Yeah?"

"Yeah. Have for a while now. Since before the barbecue, even. Maybe since I was nineteen and saw you sitting at my dad's table looking all broody and tragic."

"I wasn't broody."

"You were absolutely broody. You still are. It's annoyingly attractive."

He huffs a laugh against your hair, the warmth spreading to your neck, raising goosebumps. "Attractive, huh?"

You bite his shoulder lightly, teeth scraping enough skin to make him hiss slightly. "Everything about you is attractive."

"Everything else like what?"

"You don't cut your hair unless it bothers you, until it falls over your face and blocks your vision, like now. You like it when I ask you things, when I need help… I think it makes you feel wanted, you don't know that I always want you." Your mind goes to your windowsill. "You always fill the bird feeder, even if I forget." 

"You noticed all that?"

"I've been studying you for six years, Barnes. I could talk about you in my sleep."

"That's — That's a little creepy, actually."

"Says the man who just spent ten minutes trying to plug me up with his cum."

A soft laugh vibrates from him as his fingers trace idle patterns on your hip. "Go to sleep, sweetheart."

There are a hundred things you could say. Practical things about what happens now, how this changes everything, whether he'll still come over for coffee on Saturday mornings with your dad or if this makes it weird. But your eyes are heavy, body sated and wrung out, not enough energy to keep the conversation going, even if you so badly want to.

"Buck?"

"Yeah?"

"Don't leave before I wake up."

"Not going anywhere. Not anymore, sweet girl." A soft lingering kiss to your forehead is all you remember, the ghost of its touch following you to dreamland. 

MY MASTERLIST!

“Say it,” he rasps, the dominance of his heavy hand holding you down making heat unfurl along your skin.

“When I think about you…”

Slowly, his hand slides along the soft skin of your inner thigh until his fingers brush against your folds, slipping effortlessly though the wetness.

You shudder, and he stills.

“Well…?” He waits.

“I…I touch myself.”

With a rough growl, he slides two fingers inside you and your knees buckle, but his other hand presses down harder, keeping you bent and open.

“Does it feel as good as this?” he grunts as he drives his fingers into you with an urgent rhythm.

You can barely answer, your stuttered “never,” coming out between heavy pants.

He’s relentless, stealing your breath as your body winds tight, his name gathering in your throat.

“Don’t you dare.”

He removes his fingers and you mewl in frustration.

“Please,” you beg.

No answer but the rough sound of his belt and thigh plates hitting the floor before you feel the press of him between your legs.

But he doesn’t push inside. Instead, he drags the tip of his cock through your soaked folds, coating himself in the mess you made. He groans. “You want this, don’t you?”

Your head rolls against the control panel, hips pushing back against his.

“It’s all I want.” 

He knew coming back to Solana was a mistake the moment he saw you walk into the room in that wedding dress.

Kriff, he knew it was a mistake when he received your father’s communique, but still accepted the invitation to return, somehow managing to convince himself that he would be able to handle it.

That was a mistake, too.

Din one hundred percent does not have a handle on it, himself or anything else.

He understood the danger he was opening his heart to in coming back, fully knowing that he would have to leave you again - which is why he didn’t bring Grogu; he thought he had properly weighed that inevitable torture against the heaven of seeing you again, hearing your voice once more, just being in the same room as your perfume – he could endure it. He told himself he had to.

Unfortunately, Din had grossly underestimated the hold you still have on him, while overestimating his own fortitude. 

From his very first glimpse of you stepping into the room, all reason flew out of the Mandalorian’s head.  Your graceful figure stopped his heart dead while the glow of your beautiful countenance shocked it back to life in an endless cycle.  You carried the silk masterpiece draping off your body so well, it was you who was the work of art, not the garment; barely breathing, Din likened this moment to visiting a painting after having only seen it in a holofilm – his memories and dreams of you didn’t hold a candle to the real thing.  The feared warrior was about to keel over and all you had done was walk across the room - you hadn’t even noticed him yet.

It was only when he heard your breathy thanks for his assistance with your dress that Din truly understood the magnitude of his error.  That’s all it took: you speaking to him one time and he was ready to throw away all semblance of decorum and honour, get on his knees and obey your every wish and desire - no matter how disastrous for either of you.  With great difficultly, Din forced himself to avert his gaze from your beautiful face - for fear that he might see some sign from you, real or imagined, that would give him permission to haul you over his shoulder and steal you out of the room.

This was the moment Din Djarin reconciled with the truth that he was indeed, a weak, weak man.  And a fiend.  Since that chance meeting with you on Coruscant, the absence of you dominated his every waking hour and plagued each sleepless night somehow more persistently than ever.  He was an addict, and you his drug of choice – after that sweet hit months ago, his mind, body and soul were constantly jonesing for more.

At the same exact time, Din realized the risk he exposed you to by returning.  To be in such close proximity and not be able to touch, kiss, or hold you was asking a level of restraint and control that he could no longer promise to embody.  If, for even a nanosecond, his heart believed he could reclaim the life he once shared with you, Din would surrender to his desires completely and discard any remaining sense of duty, decency. 

He had no qualms admitting he would happily sacrifice himself if only to taste the sweetness of your kiss again, to feel your soft body fold against his, to see you arch as he made you come over and over, hear you whimper his name as he filled you.  He would do it all even fully knowing it could be but a brief dream, a spelled mirage that would be broken once you married and he left again – the last time having nearly killed him, would Din have the strength to survive such a devastating blow twice?  He loved you enough to be willing to find out.

Dank Farrik. Perhaps his own downfall he could accept, but Din was unwilling to subject you to that same fate.  On Coruscant, in your inebriated state, you had been so candid and unguarded in admitting how deeply you had grieved, how hollow his leaving had left you – how could he force you to suffer the pain of separation again?  The sadness and hurt he witnessed in your pretty eyes that night haunt him to this day still – only a villain would risk your chance for future happiness just because he couldn’t control his damn self.

And what if he did something even more foolish than reaffirm his everlasting love for a woman he could never be with?  Like ask you to come with him?  To leave behind your entire life, your duty, your stupid fiancé?  Because, what if you came?  And for what?  A lone bounty hunter with few credits to his name and even less merit after he stole the Princess of a planet that has shown him and his son nothing but kindness and welcome?  A man with nothing but deserved shame and a small cabin on the outskirts of an insignificant planet in the Outer Rim.  You would forsake your honour and homeland, the love of your people, the future you’ve been working towards all your life for that?  For Din?  He would stain your reputation and that of your royal house for his own selfish desires, deprive you of the chance to start a family with your new husband and continue your illustrious line?  He could not.  You would resent him and certainly grow to hate him.  He would lose you all over again, only this time slow and tortuous. 

No, for both of you to survive, Din needed to cut himself off at the knees.  As unnatural as it felt, he had to build a defensive wall between you and his heart, blockading any hope of affection and tenderness, if he was to have a chance at protecting what was left of your peace.  You and him were always destined to end, but he would suffer now, alone in silence, if it meant lessening your agony in the future.

While your father made polite small talk, Din vowed himself to be a stranger to you so there would be no chance of falling into familiar old patterns, of seeking the intimacy of your company.  He steeled his body, tone, thoughts, and even his unseen facial expression to one of impassibility and indifference.  If the fires of his love for you did not burn so intensely, the coldness he forced himself to exude might have actually frozen over his heart.

He hid from you for as long as he could after leaving the East wing parlour, afraid of what even one moment alone with you would do to his defenses - but fate’s cruel sense of humour caught up with the Mandalorian as surely as did you in that stairwell.  Din drowns in his own regret and shame as he thinks back to this last conversation with you, likely the last the two of you will ever have – your palpable confusion and hurt had sent his heart reeling and beating violently against its Beskar cage, screaming and begging to be heard.

*****

“Din.”

“Princess.”  Yes, cyare. Cyar’ika. Mesh’la. Riduur.

“Din, can we go somewhere to talk?”

“What would we need to talk about, Princess?”  Anything you desire, mesh’la, but may I ask, only talk?  I wish desperately to hold you in my arms and kiss the honey of your lips once more. 

“Why have you come, Din?”

“Your father recalled me to review the adequacy of the security plans for your wedding; I’m here to ensure that your nuptials proceed without disruption.”  I missed you too much and I’m not strong enough to stay away anymore.  Every single day for the past year I’ve fought against it, but my path has always been to return to Solana and reunite with the part of myself that I left here with you. 

“You’ve come to help give me away?”

“Solana called, and I am here to fulfill my duty to its people.”  I would rather die, but I don’t have a choice.

“I thank you for your service, General.”

“Is there anything further, Princess?”  Please don’t cry, cyare - it kills me to hurt you like this.

“In your haste to leave previously, this was left behind; now that you’re here, General, it can be returned to its rightful owner.”

“I thank you, Princess.”  This is pendant, as with my heart, is yours and always will be.  I will find some way to return it to you so you will always have a piece of the Mandalorian who loves you, even if you hate me.  Ni kartyli gar darasuum (I love you).

*****

Din does everything in his power to avoid you for the rest of the day, but the image of your crestfallen face and the despair with which you proclaimed he’s forgotten you follow him like an unrelenting wraith, gloomy and accusatory.  Even when he goes to the training grounds to reunite with his former comrades, the invisible string that tethers him to you for always tugs until he cannot ignore its pull any longer – he instinctively looks up to the southside tower and sees you waiting for him, as you have so many times before, in that secret spot.

The Mandalorian wishes to go to you more than anything - it would be so easy for him to take off and fly into your waiting arms, but the consequences of doing so keep him firmly grounded; the ripping of his heart would only be temporarily mended if he gave in now, just to tear open later into an merciless chasm of pain that would swallow you both.  So, Din pretends not to see you - he fists his hands so hard his palms hurt, just so he isn’t tempted to adjust his helmet display to zoom in on your beauty, and he distracts himself with the comradery of the men under his former command.  When it comes time to file into the castle, he forces himself to do so without checking if you’re still on the turret. 

Dinner comes and goes.  Din is in equal measures disappointed and relieved when Serene announces that you’ve retired early after a full day, and he’s still conflicted when the time comes to bring his plate back to his old room to eat alone.  But once inside his former quarters, self-flagellation wins out – the knowledge that you’re somewhere near, hurting, and he cannot comfort you sits like a pit in Din’s stomach.  That you truly believe him to no longer care for you unsettles the Mandalorian to the point of nausea – appetite gone, he cannot bring himself to eat even one bite.

He decides to go for a calming walk around the castle instead.  There’s a storm rolling in now; the percussive sounds of rain and thunder a welcomed accompaniment to the wild beating of Din’s heart.  He’s loved Solanian rainstorms ever since that night in the Solana countryside when he bore the skin of his body to you for the first time, while the outside torrential downpour enveloped and muffled the sounds of your perfect first lovemaking.

About to do a third turn of the hallways in the West wing, Din’s sensors pick up on the commotion of scurrying feet above him, the addition of harsh, frantic tones lead him upstairs to investigate.  His instincts kick in at the sight of Serene and Olivia’s panicked expressions and pleading gestures to a small group of the Royal Guard; upon hearing the thunder of the Mandalorian’s approach, the crowd falls silent and turns towards the noise.

“General!” The guards stand at attention and both your lady’s maids look relieved at Din’s appearance. 

“What’s wrong?” The General’s heart pounds – it already knows the answer.

The two women look at each other, unsure, before Olivia pipes up, “It’s the Princess, General.  She’s missing and we cannot find her anywhere.”

“When and where is the last time she was seen?”

“In her bedchambers. Right after…” Olivia falters awkwardly, not sure how much to reveal in front of the Guard; Serene saves her, “… after you left her on the stairs this afternoon, General.”  The anger in her voice is unheard by most among them, but not Din; to him it’s loud and well deserved.

But he cannot dwell on that right now.  Military precision and strategic mind snapping into place, Din lays out a search plan to cover as much area as possible in as little time as possible, then dispatches his men.  He himself runs straight to the South tower.

The rage of the outside storm provides cover for the echoing boom of his heavy footsteps, but nothing can quiet the yell inside Din’s head as he races through the castle, no, no, please no.  He reaches the door to your secret meeting place in record time, hoping against hope that another member of the legion has already found you.

The door is stuck. 

Din pushes and pulls the jammed handle.  He throws his weight against the thick paneling.  The narrowness of the spiraled staircase leading to this remote area of the castle prevents him from getting the leadup he needs, but still he tries over and over to shove his way through to the outside.  Huffing and out of breath, Din adjusts the infrared reader on his internal display to see what’s beyond the door.

Nothing.  Thank goodness.  Out of habit, he does a secondary scan to make sure before turning to go.

Wait.

Barely perceptible and flickering so quickly he nearly missed it, a subtle flush of warmth shimmers small and faint on Din’s HUD.  The Mandalorian recalibrates his sensors so that the heat signature materializes slightly more in focus; now that he knows where to look, he can make out a shape on the ground.  It barely glows, dimming and flashing erratically.  It’s dying.

No!

Ready to burn down the door, Din’s blaster is out of his holster faster than he can think; he shoots at the lock until it’s mangled and smoking and then shoulders his entire body weight against the door until it splinters open.  He fights against the howl of the wind now rushing to enter the castle in order to get to you, cape whipping around his body, rain slicing against his visor.

Skidding across the slippery wet stone floor, the great warrior drops to his knees in one frantic motion to hover over your unmoving body, trying to shield you from the rain.  It makes no difference, your clothes and hair are so drenched and waterlogged they practically pin you to the floor, every part of you is wet and you’re so, so cold. 

“Cyare, please, wake up, please, please,” Din pats your face gently, trying to dry and warm your cheeks with his gloves to no avail, “wake up, please.  Come back, come back to me.”  You make no response, face ghoulishly unmoving, unnatural hue taking over your countenance.

Fear like he’s only ever felt when Grogu’s been in harm’s way grips onto Din’s insides and twists. 

No, no, no, please, no.  It cannot end like this.  I cannot lose you like this.  Please, Maker, no.

With a surge of super human strength, Din lifts your limp body and cradles you close to his chest, protected and treasured, “Mesh’la, we need to get you dry.  I’m going to get you help.  You’re going to be okay.  You have to be okay.  Don’t leave me, please.” 

Then, he runs.

At the bottom of the Southside tower stairs, Din starts yelling for help as he runs towards where he last saw another soul, anyone.  It feels like the castle is an empty labyrinth tonight and despite the racket he’s making, help does not meet him quickly enough - Din doesn’t think, he just keeps going, muscle memory taking over as his feet bring him to your bedchamber doors where luckily, both Olivia and Serene have heard his call and rush to meet him.

“Please,” he begs, “she’s so cold.” He’s not in the right mind to explain further or do anything other than hold you as directed while your maids strip and try to dry you.  After laying you in bed, Din stumbles until his back hits the wall, paralyzed by the worst-case scenario fears running rampant through his mind. 

What if he were to never see your eyes sparkle again, either with mischief, in wonder, or full of lust?  Never hear the melody of your voice cooing sweet praise and encouragement to his son?  What if that cold, unfeeling utterance of your title was the last thing he ever said to you?  What if your final thoughts of him were that he didn’t love you, that he didn’t live and die by the very thought of you?

What if everything he had forced the both of you to suffer since returning had all been for naught, that even when trying to protect you he could only hurt you?

People attempt to get his attention - they suggest he leave to get some rest, give you some privacy, tell him there’s nothing more he can do for you right now, but Din hears none of it.  Doctors, nurses, Serene, Olivia, servants, his Lieutenant – he pays none of them any heed; all Din knows is there is only one voice that can send him away and that’s yours.  He might actually growl this at the doctor.

Din remains in your room, an ever-vigilant gargoyle looming fierce and protective, his eagle eyes scrutinize every move made near or to you, his approval necessary to proceed.  He is immovable, unapproachable, ferocious, inconsolable – a sentinel on guard with nothing to lose but the treasure over which he keeps watch.  The Mandalorian’s stubbornness yields small results but results nonetheless; after a few hours of being bundled up and all manner of heating pads and blankets being added to your bed, you look better, definitely drier.  Din’s helmet readings confirm those of the medical equipment: your body temperature is slowly, but steadily rising, your heartbeat is once again strong enough to be picked up by his sensors. 

But you don’t wake up.

The doctor says to be patient, the nurses say he doesn’t need to stay; the former is more difficult than Din anticipated, the later impossible.  He sits vigil by your side, barely blinking so he doesn’t miss any changes in your condition, frustration growing when nothing does.  By hour six after having found you, Din is ready to send for his son and ask Grogu to Force heal you.

Who needs sleep when he has worry and guilt?  Din knew you were up on that turret all by yourself, and he knows why you were there.  He knows he’s the reason you’re lying in this bed right now, fighting for your very life.  He should have gotten to you sooner.  He should have never let you wait up there alone.  What if Serene and Olivia hadn’t told him you were missing?  What if he hadn’t conducted his second scan and you had been locked out in the rain overnight?

What if… what if… what if…

Din drops his head, cradling his helmet in his hands, unable to stop the spiral of his thoughts and the turmoil of his heart.  Maker, please, please let her be okay.  I’ll do anything, give anything - she just has to be okay, please.

If you’re not awake by morning he’s going to call Grogu.

---

Slowly, you try to blink your eyes open, the bright lights of the room sharp and stinging – all you can manage is to squint; only able to turn your head in tiny increments, you haltingly scan your surroundings until coming upon the imposing, armoured figure waiting at the bedside.

“Din?” you barely recognize the scrape of your own voice.

“Mesh’la,” panic and relief flood through the Mandalorian’s modulator in equal measure, “You’re awake.  How are you feeling?  Does anything hurt?”

Adjusting your body in small measures, each ache and every soreness catching you by surprise, you manage to shimmy up slightly into a sitting position with Din’s help.  It takes you until now to realize you’re in your own bed; still disoriented you manage to croak out, “Everything hurts?  Din… what happened?”

“The door on the Southside tower… it was locked and you got trapped outside in the storm.  No one could find you… when Olivia told me you were missing, I… I tried to get there as fast as I could…” Din chokes on his words as he relives the fear of those moments.

Recollection flashes behind your eyes as you start to remember – the wedding dress viewing, giving back the Mythosaur pendant, fleeing to the tower, letting go, the numbing cold of the rain - you nod in comprehension, “You saved me.  Thank you, Din.”

“I do not deserve your thanks, cyare.  It is my fault you were up there, my fault you got hurt,” Din drops his head in shame, “I’m so sorry, mesh’la.  I was avoiding you and shouldn’t have… I knew you were up there and didn’t go to you… this is all my fault… you were out there in the cold for so long… who know what could have happened if…”

“But it didn’t happen.  You found me,” Din’s obvious guilt chips at your heart, “There’s no need for apologies, Din.  It’s not as if we made an agreement to both go to the tower – I was there of my own free will and you were under no obligation to come meet me.  None of this is your fault, really, General.  Feelings change.  I understand.”

Feelings changed??  No, you didn’t understand at all.

The absurdity of your words necessitate the only action Din deems to be appropriate, as bold and brutal as it is.

Clang!

Din’s helmet is ripped from his head and thrown to the ground so quickly you’re nearly unable to squeeze your eyes shut in time. “Din!” you gasp, shocked.

Grimacing as your muscles scream in protest, the effort to sweep your hands up to your eyes hurts more than you want to admit – but that pain is nothing compared to your fear of the harm it would do to see Din’s face uncovered.

Rough leather envelops your hands and gently pulls them away from your face, “Princess, it’s okay.” You shake your head as adamantly as you can, keeping your eyes closed.  Din’s gravely baritone remains gentle and reassuring, “Trust me, cyar’ika.  Open your eyes.”

Even with his explicit permission, you still feel hesitant; slowly, you open your eyes but keep your gaze lowered, focusing on the gentle way Din holds your hands - his thumbs rubbing gentle circles over the backs as he patiently waits for you to look up.  After a short while, you cautiously peer through your lashes, still nervous and uncertain until your eyes snap all the way open in recognition.  Disbelief and confusion overtake your face as your hands leaves the cradle of Din’s to touch the visage before you.

“I know you,” you whisper, blinking with wide-eyed astonishment, half expecting this image to disappear before you can comprehend its existence.  Din nods indulgently, his smile as gentle as his eyes, letting you take your time in putting all the pieces together. 

“Coruscant,” you say definitively, your memory sharpening as your heart leaps, “that wasn’t a dream?”  At the shake of Din’s head, you melt even further, “You were really there.  You took care of me.”

“Of course, mesh’la,” as his eyes crinkle, the browns of Din’s irises fleck with an enchanting hue of gold, “I wish to always take care of you.”

“But,” your thoughts struggle to form as you become distracted by how handsome the man is; your fingers run over the soft and hard lines of Din’s face, caress the curves of his smile, a cheeky finger pokes at his dimples, “why did you let me believe it was a dream?  Why didn’t you want me to know that we had met?”

As the Mandalorian sighs, his features soften and his eyes deepen with emotion – their expressiveness captivates you, “Princess, do you remember what I told you that night about why we couldn’t meet again?” Of course, you remember - you had memorized those romantic words and replayed them in your head countless times since that night; it’s only now you fully realize that poetic declaration of love wasn’t of your creation, but Din’s.  Heart blossoming, you nod and Din continues, “I admit what I said was dramatic, but the sentiment behind my words has always been true.  I am so incredibly weak for you, mesh’la.”

Your mouth opens to object, but Din anticipates you; he pulls your hands back into his, “I know you would say that I’m strong, cyare, but it’s simply not true when it comes to you.  Strong for you, yes, strong in your name, always, but when it comes to my heart, my soul?  They obey only you; I am, forever at your mercy.”

You may not agree, but a Mandalorian being vulnerable and exposing his soft underbelly is not something to scoff at; you squeeze Din’s fingers and continue to listen patiently as he closes his eyes in recollection.  You miss their warmth immediately.

“This past year without you has been excruciating, mesh’la.  It’s all I could do to scrape enough of myself together to be the father Grogu needs, but otherwise, I was barely living.  Food had no taste, drink was without spirit, and the absence of you was an ever-present weight on my chest that made it hard to even breathe at times,” Din nearly chokes, needing a minute before he can force himself to take in air properly. “I missed you every waking moment of every single day and retreated into my memories of you during each sleepless night; I was hollowed out, half of a man, tortured by the memory of true happiness and the knowledge I would never find it again,” Din finally opens his eyes and his look of sad resignation hurts your chest.

“The reason I didn’t want you to know I was really on Coruscant is the same reason I’ve tried not to be alone with you since coming back to Solana,” anguish overtakes Din’s voice, “To have even one true moment with you, anything remotely resembling what we used to share, would be like giving a sip of water to a man dying of thirst.  Once I had a taste, my weaknesses would prevail and then nothing could hold me back from quenching the thirst I’ve been living with as my constant companion.  I would not have the strength nor would I want it, to resist my heart’s deepest desires any longer.”  He looks apologetic.

“If we shared any real closeness, however briefly, I would have no choice but to throw all caution to the wind and beg for you to take me back, let me into your life again,” Din hangs his head in shame, “and that wouldn’t be fair to you, mesh’la.  I have no right.  No right to ask for connection or intimacy from you, to beg you to love me, when I have no more to offer you than I did when I left.  I have no right to risk all that you’ve worked for, to allow my own lack of restraint to spell ruin for your future and maybe even Solana’s.”

“In short, I am weak, so I ran,” a weight seems to have lifted off Din’s shoulders, “but I’m not running anymore, Princess.  I thought that hiding my feelings from you would save the both of us from a deeper wound, but now I know that was cowardice speaking - and our love deserves bravery.  Cyare, I may not be strong enough to thwart fate, but I will never abandon you again.  From now on, anything that needs to be faced, I want to face with you, together.  As long as you are willing to have me, I promise I will remain by your side and carry you through whatever may come.”

Din wishes he possessed more eloquence, but he is a mere bounty hunter appealing to real grace; he watches as you process his confession with thoughtfulness and sympathy before your angelic features relax into a familiar, affectionate look - one he’s dreamt of many times this past year, the beauty of which could only be surpassed by the words you say next:

“Ni kar'tayl darasuum gar, Din.”

Until this moment, Din Djarin did not know what true peace in one’s soul felt like.  “Ni kar'tayl darasuum gar, Princess,” he lets you pull him closer by the back of his neck until his uncovered forehead rests against yours for a helmetless Keldabe kiss.

“I thought you didn’t love me anymore,” you sniffle quietly, though your tone is one of tremendous relief.

“I could no sooner stop the rotation of a planet around its star, cyare.  I’m so sorry for letting you believe that, and even more so for having hurt you,” Din’s remorse crushes his heart, “I beg your forgiveness, my Princess, and will accept any such punishment you deem fit.”

Unable to look at you, the stoic hunter attempts to shrink; you truly believe there is a part of Din that wants you to discipline him for his transgression, and that all of him believes he deserves it – your Mandalorian has always been so hard on himself.  With a playful little grin, you duck down slightly so you can meet Din’s eye, “I won’t lie, General, there is no one in the known worlds who can shatter my heart and mend it so completely.  I’ll let the offense go unpunished this one time, but would warn you not to do anything of the sort again.” Chuckling, more generous than cheeky, you reassure your beleaguered warrior, “I am happy, Din.  There’s nothing to forgive.”

The way the tension melting from Din’s features transforms his face from world weary to that of a man ten years younger is nothing short of stunning; his voice, however, remains gruff, “It’s more than I deserve, mesh’la.  Though I admit I cannot think of any worse torture than seeing you in that wedding dress and knowing it wouldn’t be me receiving you at the end of the aisle.  That nearly killed me.”

Throwing your arms around Din’s neck, you bury your face in the scrunch of his neck cowl and burrow in deep and safe, comforted by your Mandalorian’s familiar scent and the sheer colossus of his being, “I hate that stupid dress.”

Din chuckles, rasping in your ear, “You looked beautiful.  An absolute dream, cyare.”

Snuggling in even further, you press yourself against the strength of Din’s Beskar, seeking sanctuary in the only place you’ve ever truly found peace; as you cocoon yourself in his arms, a question you can’t seem to reason out on your own continues to gnaw at you.  Looking up, you rest your chin on the heart of the General’s armour, “Din, there’s one thing I still don’t understand.  Even if I thought you merely a dream, why did you show me your face on Coruscant?  How was that allowed?  How can you show me your face right now?”

Not without some reluctance, Din lets you leave the safety his embrace and helps you sit back comfortably on the bed; still holding your hands in his, the General rests his forearms on his thighs and leans forward, serious, “I was raised to follow the Amidalor (The Way of the Mandalore) and since speaking the Creed, have lived by the tenet to never show my face to another living being.  You know that I broke this rule previously for Grogu and as a result, was deemed an apostate and stripped of my standing as a Mandalorian.  Though I broke the Creed of my own volition, and I have never and nor will I ever regret anything I do for my son, my resulting exile was one of the most difficult times of my life – rivalled perhaps, by this past year away from you.  It was only after I redeemed myself in the Living Waters of Mandalore that was I able to shed my shame and guilt, and truly regain my sense of self and identity.”

Your chest tightens, remembering; even when Din first told you the story, his sense of loss and anguish at being excommunicated by his covert came across so fresh and acute - seeing your big strong warrior still triggered by such a painful time in his life had nearly broken your heart.

“Having done it, violating the Creed again is not something I wish to consider in my lifetime.  I’m saying all this so you know I do not take lightly to the act of removing my helmet and revealing my face,” Din says gravely.  You nod along, but all this you already understood.

“In my covert, there has only ever been one known exception to the rule and that is for one’s riduur.  Even this is not widely accepted among all sects, but… I believe This is the Way and choose to live by it,” Din hard swallows; sometimes he still feels like that young foundling from Aq Vetina trying to find his footing among his new people, terrified of stepping out of line, “Among all the star systems in this galaxy, there will only ever be one being to whom I will pledge myself as a lifelong partner and who I would ever consider my spouse.  Though we never said the vows to one another, I belong to you, Princess, as one belongs to their riduur.  Only to you will I ever commit a lifetime’s devotion, only with you do I ever wish to be equal in partnership, and to you I am so bonded that I will never raise warriors with anyone else.  You see, cyare, in my heart, you are already my riduur and so my face, as with all of me, is yours.”

You’re crying now. 

Though these are not the Mandalorian marriage vows Din taught to you, the sentiments of his speech so closely mirror those words on commitment, partnership, and devotion, you can easily imagine them recited at an altar in front of loved ones.  If only you were not so overwhelmed with emotion right now; you wish you could find the words to properly express the magnitude of your own feelings and pledge your everlasting fidelity and love to the only man in the universe you will always give your everything.

Din sees you needlessly struggling; he doesn’t need any verbal confirmation to know you are of one mind – the pureness of your heart is written all over your pretty face; he tries to lighten the mood, joking, “I hope you understand now, mesh’la, why I took great offense to what you said earlier - when it comes to my riduur, feelings do not, in fact, change.”

You cry even harder.

Pulling you back into his arms, Din hums soothing noises into your hair and rubs gentle circles on your back as your tears cascade down the slope of his Beskar like a glittering waterfall, soaking into his flight suit.  Only after your breathing evens and your body relaxes into his hold does the General let you pull away, “What happens now, Din?”

“Now, you rest and recover, cyar'ika.  And after,” he pauses to kiss the back of your hands, a devoted knight swearing his allegiance, “we take it day by day, together.  There is no being or force in this galaxy that can tear me away from you ever again; I will not, cannot, leave your side save by your say so, Princess.”

How you’ve missed this – the way the steady confidence of this man and the surety of his words always give you strength.  With him, you’re allowed space to be unsure, vulnerable, even lost, able to rely on him to lead you to the right path with his unwavering support.  Never are you more certain of who you are and what you’re capable of than when you’re with Din.

“I cannot marry him, Din.”

“No, you cannot,” his tone has the same finality, the same conviction as yours – the way one might repeat a fact as simple and true as the gravitation bond between planet and moon.  Finally making this declaration out loud feels like setting your heart free from a cage; the knowledge that Din is behind you, ready to catch you, sends your spirit soaring high and into his space so that you can crash your lips to his.

This kiss, the first you’ve shared in over a year feels like coming home; it’s bathed in the relief of belonging, steeped in the comfort of knowing and being known, powerful in its own quiet calm.  Euphoria washes over your entire being like an ocean, drowning you in its embrace.

Your lips move together in a well practiced choreographed dance, the two of you falling in sync easily after all this time - but there is nothing routine or neat about the way Din’s mouth devours yours.  He presses into you, passion-filled, unruly, barely restrained; everything is too much and not enough, vividly felt, yet hazy and dreamy – all the most wonderful of contradictions.  The General’s tongue is punishing while worshipful, each stolen breath is urgent but never-ending, this kiss feels like forever and yet could never be long enough. 

You chase the end of such a kiss with a series of soft pecks, unwilling to sever the connection of your lips, except to whisper sweet affirmations to one another.

I’ve missed you.

I love you so much.

Never letting you go ever again.

Sense and practicality return too soon to your Mandalorian.  “Cyare, I know I just promised never to leave you,” Din starts, chuckling at your anticipated whine of protest, “but you must allow me to fetch the doctor.  And either Serene or Olivia to tend to you.  Likely both as they are equally worried about you.”

“And you’ll come back?”  You know he will, but there is such a comfort in the reassurance that only Din can provide.

He knows this; he knows you, “I will always come back, Princess.”

Satisfied, you let Din press one more promise to your lips before you watch him put his helmet back on and slip out the door.

---

In the hallway, Din waits for your door to fully close behind him before releasing a ragged sigh of relief, letting loose the very thread that seems to have been stitched throughout his body, holding him together this entire time; tipping his head back, Din finally lets himself properly breathe, every inhale and exhale slow and deep.

It will take more than just this moment for Din to fully embrace his new lease on life, now that the tension that’s been pulling him taut and sharp for the past year has finally dissipated - but he is content.  Smiling to himself, happy, hopeful, Din is pushing off the door in the direction of your maids’ quarters when he’s stopped in his tracks by a familiar voice,

“General.”

Din turns to see the king emerge from the shadows of a nearby alcove.

“Is there something I should know about you and my daughter?”

---

Din follows His Majesty into the closest study in silence, already kneeling in fealty by the time the older man turns around to face the Mandalorian.

“Tell me, General.  How long have you been in love with the Princess?”

Din does not miss the hint of accusation in the King’s tone – he resigns that the truth will serve everyone best, “Since the moment I met her, Your Majesty, and more so every day since.”  He knows this is not what your father is really asking, “I had already known the Princess for several weeks when you bestowed upon me the rank of General.”

Astonishment colours your father’s expression as Din continues, “Please forgive me, sire.  There was no conspiracy on either of our parts to deceive anyone, especially you, or proport ourselves inappropriately.  When I first met the Princess, I was unaware of her rank and drawn to her kindness and good nature alone.  It took very little time for me to fall beneath the spell of her wit and charm, and to be enraptured by the purity of her heart.  By the time I learned of her royal identity, I was already head over heels for the woman who held the title.”

The king sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose, needing some time to process this information, “And the entire time…?”

“Nearly, Your Majesty,” Din still cannot meet the gaze of this man who he respects and venerates so much, “After I accepted the New Republic assignment, the Princess and I attempted to put a stop to our feelings, agreeing to remain within the boundaries of our stations - to be royalty and devoted knight only.  But the enormity of our respect and admiration for one another could not ultimately be contained, and after months of slowly failing restraint, we gave in to our affections for one another.”

Shaking his head, your father asks, confused, “But why would you choose to hide your relationship?  Why would you keep it from your king?”

“Because,” Din’s head snaps up in surprise, he would have thought the multitude of reasons were obvious, “… she is the Princess.  The hierarchy of court and kingdom is rigid – our love would never be accepted; its very existence could tarnish the Princess’ reputation and diminish the majesty of your royal house.  And even if by some miracle it did not, I still cannot be the future you envisioned for your daughter.”

The Mandalorian bows his head again, missing the way your father’s mouth curls with amusement, “The Princess is, by her own admission, someone with great political and diplomatic worth; membership into your great house is coveted by many in the galaxy.  Your Majesty, you must have had some expectations as to the type of person who would be deserving of marrying her?  Certainly, someone of importance, with their own respectable standing in the kingdom if not the galaxy.  Perhaps even a title or belonging to an esteemed and celebrated lineage? At the very least, you must wish her marriage to bring political or security advantage to Solana.  The Princess expects no less of herself.”

“And that, General, is how you see my daughter?  What you deem her worth?”

“No, sire.  As much as I respect her rank, the Princess’ title has no place in the esteem I hold for her,” Din’s modulated voice fills with emotion, his admiration evident to your father, “To me, she is… ethereal.  Truly one of the humblest, genuinely compassionate beings I’ve ever met – that she wields the power of her position with such grace and thoughtfulness is Solana’s great fortune and its true source of strength.  Your daughter is smart and funny, and despite her immense privilege she does not shelter herself – she exhibits such genuine zest for life and affection for people of all walks.  Her spirit is strong and full of grace, but she can be feisty and stubborn – there is never a dull moment with her.  Beyond everything, the Princess is open with her mind and generous with her heart - I cannot say there is another like her in all the worlds.”

It feels incredible to be so effusive about your amazing qualities.  Due to the secret nature of your relationship, Din has never espoused his never-ending admiration for you out loud to anyone except for Grogu; to be able to do so to your father, a man to whom Din credits many of your merits, feels like a gift, “If it were up to me, Your Majesty, the Princess would only know love and reverence for her character and not her status - she should have a partner who worships the very ground she walks on.  But duty comes first, and that is not something either of us would have her hide from.  Your daughter’s marriage should strengthen your great house and raise the glory of Solana, keeping her safe and prosperous.  And I cannot offer any of that.  I am no one.”

“Are you sure, General?” The king straightens his posture, standing regal and self assured, “That you are no one?”

Your father gestures for the Mandalorian to rise and holds unwavering eye contact with the dark T-visor as his most revered commander gets up, “How can you say you are no one, General?  Are you not the leader of my armies?  Do Solana’s military forces not look to you as their shining example of exemplary combat skill and strategic intellect?  They trust you to lead and support them in training, demonstrate for them conduct befitting the deepest, truest sense of honour, duty and valour.  And why would they not?  You treat your brothers in arms like equals and protect their families like your own despite having no ancestral ties to this land or personal reasons to pledge allegiance to their sovereign.  Are you not a hero of the Battle of Planoor, where you led our troops to victory over Imperial insurgents?  Did you not repel the scourge of the galaxy and their attacks on Solanian freedom at great personal risk to yourself?  If I’m not mistaken, you bear a permanent souvenir of that day on your body that would have dealt a lesser man a much more tragic fate.” 

The gentle warmth of your father’s eyes and the pride that shines from their depths is undeniable, “General, even if I had not decorated you for these accomplishments myself, I would still hold you in my esteem as one of the finest men in the galaxy.  You came to our planet a stranger and took every citizen of Solana under your protection; I’ve personally witness you defend and care for my subjects as if they were of your own Creed.  Never does the core of one's character ring clearer to me than in the way they show up for the innocent and defenseless; you, General, stand for what’s right and fair, always with compassion, and ever respectful of the dignity we owe to all living beings.  Decency, General, is your greatest strength.”

“Tell me this, General,” the king’s tone grows indulgent and paternal, “What type of man gives so selflessly to those from whom he would never consider asking for repayment? The same that exhibits bravery and perseverance in the face of insurmountable odds, I would think. A man who fights through his own struggles to approach even the most daunting of challenges head on in the name of justice and truth.  What chance does evil and tyranny have against this type of man who willingly puts his life on the line and never backs down from a righteous fight? Who leads by tireless example and inspires an entire nation to do the same?  General, I can not fathom how a man such as you are could view himself as no one or think himself unable to offer Solana prosperity and safety.”

Though, to most, he is generally considered a man of few words, Din has never found himself to be truly speechless until now.  He was raised to be honourable for the sake of honour, brave for bravery’s sake, and that even if a Mandalorian had nothing, he would always have his integrity; praise for living The Way is something that will always catch Din off guard.  While he’s still absorbing the generosity of your father’s words, the older man flabbergasts him yet again, “General, did you truly think I requested your return to Solana in order to review security plans?”

Behind his visor, Din’s eyes grow to the size of saucers, his attempts to speak fall flat; the modulator of his helmet picking up only awkward stuttering as the Mandalorian opens and closes his mouth repeatedly.

“I admit it took me longer than it should to make the connection between your leaving and my daughter’s change in demeanor.  She is, as you say, strong and spirited; and while she hid her sadness well, I know my own daughter and it was clear to me that something within her had broken,” the king speaks freely, the anguish of being unable to comfort his own child still an open wound, “I did suspect her upcoming marriage was the source of her dread, and privately, considered cancelling the betrothal entirely if she should wish it.  It baffled me that she was trying to hide her obvious unhappiness with the arrangement, and the more she insisted she was fine, the less I believed her.” 

Scratching his head, your father mentally retraces his own steps, “Any which way I thought about it, my daughter’s misery could be traced back to the date of her engagement, so I saw no reason for her to continue denying it… that is, until I realized it was also the same day you abruptly left Solana.  Up until that moment, I did not suspect there was anything more to your attachment than respect and a general fondness, but once I started to seriously consider your departure as the trigger for the Princess’ melancholy, I had to rethink everything I thought I knew.  Was it possible that your leaving and my daughter’s betrothal were not as unrelated as you had made it seen?”

Din is nodding along now, but the proper response to your father’s story still eludes him.  “I needed to know for certain.  I could not let my daughter sink deeper into a sorrow that she would not even admit to, so I sent you the invitation.  Forgive me for my duplicity, General – I knew that as a loyal son of Solana you would heed my call, even if it caused you what I was beginning to realize would be great pain,” his Majesty does look slightly sheepish, “You arrived and almost immediately proved my theories correct – perhaps you thought you were being subtle, but the effect you and the Princess had on one another in the East Wing parlour was tangible, electric – it charged the very air of the room.  There could be no doubt about it, there was something powerful between the two of you, I just didn’t know the extent and depth of that connection, of that love – or rather, I didn’t know until I overheard the two of you just now when the Princess work up.”  Upon finishing, your father looks satisfied, relieved.

“I love her, Your Majesty.”  It’s the truth.  And the only thing Din thinks is worthy of saying right now.

“I know.”  The king’s tone is full of fondness for his General, “And I cannot think of anyone better to whom I could entrust my daughter’s heart than the protector of the realm she loves so much.  But neither of us can nor should we speak for the Princess.  Come, let us hear what she has to say on the matter.”

---

Din paces the hall outside of your room for what feels like hours.  He’s been out here alone since your father left him at the door, except for the doctor who came and left, and the few appearances by Serene and Olivia as they rushed about their duties.

The General is still in a state of shock over what’s transpired since he found you on the Southside turret; from the complete dismantling of all his emotional walls, to your forgiveness and the reconfirmation of your love, then unbelievably, your father’s revelations – every development has felt overwhelmingly surreal.  Never in all of Din’s wildest dreams did he imagine that he would find himself in this position – and on top of everything, something even more unexpected and precarious has started to roost in his chest, a stealthy assassin that shadows his every thought: hope.

The door to your room opens to your father exiting while bidding you a swift recovery and a good night; though Din cannot hear the man’s exact words, he can tell they are full of paternal affection.  When the king turns, he makes for Din directly; expression poignant, eyes misty and full of wisdom, he clasps a hand to the Mandalorian’s shoulder pauldron, “She’s waiting for you, son.”

There’s no time to linger on the significance of the endearment, nor the litany of emotions that surge through the Mandalorian upon hearing it, because from inside the room you call to him, voice full of song, “Din!”

He leaves your father to saunter down the hall with a renewed lightness in his steps, and rushes to your bedside, kneeling once more before the ruler of his grateful heart.  You receive the collapsing frame of the strongest man you know in your open arms and tuck yourself into his covered neck, ecstatically crying.  Cupping your face, Din brushes his leathered thumbs over your wet cheeks, “Mesh’la;” he waits for you to speak more, afraid still of his own hope.

“Din!  I am to be engaged no longer,” the joy in your eyes sparkles like the most brilliant of constellations, your cheeks are flushed as if you had pinched them in disbelief, and your rosy lips quiver in hopeful excitement.  Din thinks this might be the most beautiful you’ve ever looked.  A celestial glow radiates from your very being, “Father says he will meet with our bannermen tonight and cancel the betrothal.  He will explain I’m not yet ready to be a wife and that the anxiety has been affecting my health.  They are old family friends of court, so he believes they will be understanding, but he is fully prepared to offer and provide all necessary rewards and compensation for any trouble or distressed sustained.  Father has tried to reassure me all will be okay, but I admit to some feelings of guilt.”

Din strokes your hair lovingly, forever amazed by the extent of your compassion and empathy, “I trust His Majesty, cyare.  I am sure all will be well, as he promised.  But if you do wish to speak to your former fiancé and his family directly, I will be right there with you for support.”

Hugging him tightly before pulling back to gaze into the welcoming abyss of Din’s visor, your fingers gently caress his helmet as you would the lines of his handsome face, “Will you stay now, Din?  On Solana?  With me?”

The silver dome tilts forward and its vocoder cannot mask the sincerity and conviction of Din’s pledge, “My place is and will forever be, by your side, Princess.  My weapons are yours to command, my heart is yours to hold; I fight in your name, I love in your name and the honour of doing both will forever be a part of my own personal Creed.”

Your poetic warrior.  There are no words that can properly express the immense joy and gratitude you feel for being so well loved, not only by the great man before you, but the other great man in your life, the king.  How lucky are you?  To have such a benevolent, compassionate man as your father, your mentor, and to be the chosen partner of a man who equals him in courage, decency, and selflessness?  It’s all you can do to keep from bursting into tears again.

And just when you think that this is the happiest a person could ever feel, Din, still down on one knee, holds out his Mythosaur pendant in offering and says in a voice so hushed it could almost be mistaken for his natural, unmodulated baritone,

“Princess.  Cyar’ika.  Though it is only very recently you find yourself engaged no longer, would you bestow upon me the honour of being engaged once more?”

It’s a dream, this must be a dream, you think, as you whisper back, “Yes.”

Unable to hold back the flood of happy tears any longer, you let them fall freely and press your forehead to your future riduur’s helm, sealing in your forever with a Keldabe kiss.

1 year later

On any other planet (save Mandalore, and possibly Nevarro), a Beskar covered warrior strolling casually through an outdoor market might look out of place, but not on Solana.  As Din walks down the main fairway, a head taller than every one else, he does garner a fair bit of attention, but it’s of the most welcomed variety.

“Good to see you, General!”

“Solana is glad to have its General home!”

He waves to every well wisher, shakes a few hands, and accepts offers of food and other wares from the local vendors; he has to struggle with a few to convince them to accept payment, but at the end of the day, it’s a rare being who can say no to a Mandalorian.  On a few occasions, Din has to excuse himself hastily, cutting the small talk short on account of needing to keep an eye on Grogu who wanders the market ahead of his father, also happily accepting gifts - mainly of the food sort.

Father and son are heading in the direction of the National Library to surprise you with an early return from their latest mission for the New Republic.  Halfway to their destination, Din spots a familiar figure leaning over a vendor table, examining its goods – slightly bemused and genuinely curious, Din saunters over and looms behind his unsuspecting target for several seconds before uttering, low and dangerous,

“Mayfeld.”

The bald-headed man spins around, wide-eyed and stunned, “Mando!”  Out of habit, he raises his hands in the air to show that he’s unarmed, innocent, “What are you doing here?”

“The General lives here,” the vendor interjects in a tone the suggests the answer should be obvious, “Welcome home, General.”  Din and the vendor exchange polite nods before the latter goes to help another customer.  Meanwhile, Mayfeld purses his lips into a smile, amused by this newly acquired information, “General, eh?  Listen, Mando – I’m not here for any trouble!  I’ve been living the straight and narrow life since…” he shrugs and turns his palms upward to make a gesture that Din assumes is meant to indicate Mayfeld’s prison break, faked death, or both.  “I’m just trying to find a place to settle down, have a nice, quiet life.  And Solana’s known to be friendly to those looking to make a fresh start!  I swear I didn’t know that… whoa, whoa… wait a minute!” Mayfeld’s expression turns panicked as he spots the Royal Guard change the direction of their march and make a beeline to where he’s standing with Din.

“Relax, Mayfeld,” chuckles Din, “they’re here for me, not you.”

The synchronized footsteps of Solana’s finest come to a halt a few feet from their fearless leader, standing in the position of attention, they salute in unison, “General!  Welcome back, General!”

Din returns their salute with an invitation to be at ease, then warmly greets the Lieutenant who steps forward with a clasp of forearms, “Lieutenant, right on schedule.  I’m happy to inform you that I can grant you and your men early dismissal from your duties today.”

The uniformed man tuts jovially and nods in understanding, “The offer is appreciated, General.  If it’s all the same to you, the Guard will accompany you to the library, and from there, you can relieve us of our charge.”

Din gives his second-in-command a hearty clap on the shoulder to indicate his appreciation and agreement with this plan; at their commander’s approval, the troops resume their previous course, with Din also preparing to move once he confirms that Grogu is still wandering ahead in that same direction.

Mayfeld has yet to recover from the wonder of this exchange when Din addresses him again, “Let’s go, Mayfeld.  If you’re serious about settling down on Solana, it’s best you come with me.”  Even if the man thought that the Mandalorian bore him ill will (which Migs’ gut tells him he does not), he would be a fool to refuse after having just witnessed Din’s command over the planet’s security forces.

A few minutes of walking in silence is all Mayfeld can manage, “So, Mando… these guys work for you?”

“We all serve the King of Solana.”

“Right, right.  But, like, you’re their leader?”

“I’m their commanding officer, yes.”

“Did you have to… I dunno, fight and defeat the previous General for the position or something?”

“No.”

“Hey, is that your little green guy up ahead?”

“Yes, that’s Grogu.”

“Okay, okay!  He’s bigger than the last time I saw him… you remember?  We were on that… you know what?  Never mind where that was, he’s definitely bigger!  He’s a growing… boy?”

“Yes, boy.”

“And you know, Mando… just in case, you were worried, I want you to know, I kept my promise… I’ve never told anyone I saw your face or what you look like… as far as I’m concerned, that never happened.”

“I wasn’t worried.”

“Right, right… and you still don’t do that, right?  Show anybody anything?? I don’t mean any disrespect to the Creed!  It just seems like a lot of things have changed since the last time we… hung out?  Took out some Imps? You know what I’m getting at, Mando?”

And so on and so forth, the primarily one-sided nervous chattering is non-stop for the entire walk.  Din can’t pretend he isn’t amused, but his Beskar covers it well.  He keeps his answers short and clipped, mainly to mess with Migs, but also so he can keep his attention on the library building as it comes into view.

The General knows you’re coming out before he even sees you because he hears an adorable squeak emanating from his son, followed by Grogu turning into a little green blur scurrying at an impressive speed up the library’s front steps.

“Little love!” Your voice rings out sweet and melodious as you exit the front doors, quickening your own steps forward to meet the small green fur ball that force jumps into your arms.  You cuddle him close and flutter kisses all over his happy face, “You’re home early!”

“Are you okay?  Did you get hurt?” You fuss lovingly over your son, letting him coo back his reassurances, then tickle him adoringly - the two of you purring and giggling in reunion, oblivious to all those around you.  Nuzzling your nose into the top of Gorgu’s soft head to smell his sweet scent, you ask the single most important of questions, “Are you hungry?” followed by, “Where is your father?”

As an answer to the latter, Grogu points to where Din is standing, and to the former, he drops from your arms and waddles over to a captain of the Royal Guard who had somehow been relegated to holding all your son’s collected market snacks.

You pick up your skirts and run straight for the General, flying into his arms with a force that would have knocked a lesser man onto his back.  But he isn’t a lesser man, he's your man.  A Mandalorian.  Your smile is so wide and bright, Din thinks for a moment his helmet HUD has been blinded – but perhaps it’s simply that his own eyes have crinkling closed from smiling so hard himself. 

To be back in Din’s arms after nearly three weeks apart, your longest separation since his official return to Solana, feels like a homecoming; all the tension and worry floats from you body as he lifts you off your feet and you melt into the brilliance and safety of his armoured embrace.

To be in Din’s arms at all, out here in the open, is something you will never take for granted.

Even after your previous engagement was dissolved, you and Din agreed to continue keeping your relationship a secret from your subjects.  Your main concern had been the feelings of your former fiancé and his family.  Though the long-time friends and trusted members of court had accepted your father’s decision to end the betrothal with grace and understanding, flaunting your and Din’s love so soon after would have been beyond inconsiderate, cruel even.  The idea that people who have been nothing but kind and loyal to the crown might suffer embarrassment due to whisperings and gossip was more than you could stomach.  Privately, you also worried that the public might mistakenly blame Din or think him capable of something dishonourable.

Your father had supported discretion – in his experience, the general population preferred to be spared the messy details of palace life, and very rarely reacted well to multiple announcements of change; it would be best to wait and let Solanians come around to the cancellation of the royal wedding in their own time, before springing anything new on them.   

Behind the closed doors of the castle, however, there was no need for any such prudence.  You were free to openly hold Din’s hand, express you admiration and appreciation for the man, praise him, tease him in front of others, shower him with affection.  Even this liberation was more than you had ever dared to dream for your love; to this day, you continue to cherish every open touch, every uninterrupted embrace, every endearment spoken in front of others.  Your attraction and desire for one another you still kept private, sacred for just the two of you, but now there was no more need for pretense, no more false goodbyes at the dinner table, no more sneaking into your bedchambers via the balcony.

Finally, your love could just breathe; it could blossom in the light, instead of shrinking into the safety of the shadows.  You and Din could touch, comfort, even look at one another without being mindful of who was around, how much time had past, that it might be the last time.  For all of the privilege and fortune of your title, there is nothing you will ever prize more than an unhurried morning spent with the love of your life, restful and worry free.

In public, everything remained above board; you kept things subtle and formal, Din remained close and protective - the most devoted knight to his Princess.  You really ought to have given the people of Solana more credit. 

That Din’s return to the realm and the dissolution of your betrothal occurred in short order was neither here nor there, barely registering to your subjects as mere coincidence.  What they did notice was that their Princess appeared happier, lighter, no longer beleaguered by the unknown sadness that had plagued you for the past year.  You once again exuded the joie de vivre that they had so missed, exemplifying the passion and optimism that many consider the foundation of Solanian culture; they were getting their Princess back.

The General, long admired for his strategic brilliance, combat skills and strong leadership, Solanians welcomed back on his own merits.  But it wasn’t long before his public appearances with you drew eyes to him in a way they had not previously.  His protective positioning over you was one of a supportive shield, always gentle, never aggressive or oppressive – he hovered at the ready without ever interfering with your authority; you were free and safe to be your authentic self, a bright star around which his calm, steady presence naturally orbited.

His intuition always place him right where you needed him to be, anticipatory and respectful.  He doted over you.  Quietly spoiled you.  He cared for you a great deal - that much was obvious to those with eyes to see.  Over time, Capital inhabitants who would describe themselves ranging from inquisitive to flat-out nosy, noticed that the General would often reach for you before catching himself, that the unseen eyes behind the black T-visor lingered on you longer than necessary, that the press of his guiding hand on your back was more affectionate than instructive.  After several months of observed ‘evidence’, confident in their powers of deduction, Solanians collectively concluded that the General was indeed in love with their Princess; and rather endearingly, united in their hope that the Princess may one day return his affections.

To the absolute delight of the now invested realm, it appeared that you were slowly opening your heart to the hardened warrior.  His quiet words made you laugh out loud and his thoughtful attention drew from you the most breathtaking of smiles.  His soft touches were allowed to linger longer and then longer, and eventually, you began returning them with you own.  You faced each other, walked side by side – no longer royalty followed by a knight in her service, but equals, trusted confidants.  The day you took Din’s arm while strolling through the capital’s market place, the glassware vendors won a handsome wager from the weaving merchants.  As the encouraging smiles and approving glances from the public grew bolder and more apparent, so did your public displays of familiarity and affection, until hand holding, long embraces, and forehead to helmet touches while amongst your people were all common place. 

You could not have been more grateful for their support, but to your subjects, loving their sovereign as well as she had always loved them, was an honour.  For Solanians, the sight of their Princess happy and safe in the arms of their General was cause for celebration – and so, without any formal announcement, your attachment was a secret no longer. 

You murmur into where the fabric of Din’s cape meets his cowl the same questions you asked his son, “Are you okay?  Did you get hurt?” Fingers digging and groping all the soft spots between the Beskar, you nuzzle in deep, ready to hibernate in Din’s warmth after so many long days apart.  Din squeezes you back tightly, “I’m perfect now that I’m back with you, mesh’la.  No injuries this time.”

His modulated husk sends shivers down your spine and you wiggle in the Mandalorian’s strong grip with a little bit of cheek, “I’ll feel better when I check you over myself later.”

“Me too,” Din’s voice is liquid velvet, his words a promise.

The two of you share a private chuckle before he presses the helm of his silver dome to your forehead and holds the kiss for a quiet moment.  Only when Din unhands you do you notice the stranger next to him eyeing the two of you with what can only be described as incredulous shock.  To your surprise, Din acknowledges him directly, “Mayfeld, let me introduce to you the Princess of Solana -”

Mayfield bows, somehow both in awe and disbelieving that his old acquaintance can make such a fortuitous introduction, “Your Highness, it’s an honour-”

“- my wife,” Din finishes, grin evident to anyone within earshot.

Tossing all attempts at decorum aside, Mayfeld’s head snaps up to stare confoundedly at the Beskar-clad man, practically screeching, “Your wife?!?”

You can’t help but look over at Din in amazement as well, unable to conceal the thrill and pride that runs through you at having being claimed out loud and proud.

You and Din had quietly married six months ago in a small ceremony attended by only a handful of your closest friends and family; then honeymooned for ten blissful days on Nevarro, just the two of you.  Trading in your titles and rank for domesticity and the simple life of Din’s cabin on the lava flats, you don’t think you’ve ever felt quite as carefree or relaxed in all your life as you did as a newlywed in the Outer Rim.  Your days were spent leisurely: meeting Din’s old friends, breaking bread with Magistrate Karga, giggling with the Anzellans who called you “Pretty Lady” (“Good job, Big Guy!”), long and lazy blurrg rides over the planet’s rocky flats and hills, perusing for souvenirs in the Nevarro City market, coming home to the isolated quiet of your cozy abode.  Your nights were equally as varied, with Din taking you at all hours in every manner, on each and every surface of his house.  There was much to be said for the freedom to be as loud as you wanted, as wanton in your cries of ecstasy as you needed, as prolific and unrestrained in your lust for your riduur as you desired.  Helmet on, helmet off, it didn’t matter – the man you rode for hours, naked and dripping wet in the planet’s volcanic hot springs was yours and you didn’t care who heard.    

Upon return from your little slice of heaven, there didn’t appear any obvious reason to announce your marriage.  If their past behaviour was to be any indication, your subjects would likely figure it out in time – there was no rush, if you were happy, they were happy; as far as Solanians were concerned, their Princess had already selected the future King consort and they wholeheartedly approved.

Accordingly, the opportunities to be announced as Din’s wife have been few and far between; you study this Mayfeld with tremendous curiosity - who is this man to Din that he would so openly and happily share such an intimate detail about your lives?

“Yes,” you nod happily, “I am his riduur.”

The man resumes his awkwardly low bow, “Congratulations, Your Highness!  Uh, and well done, Mando… I mean, General.”

Din’s large hand rubs your lower back lovingly as you bend over to pick up Grogu, who after satiating his craving for Solanian delicacies, has come seeking your attention; as you straighten, Din pats a still stunned Mayfeld on the back and answers your unspoken question, “Mayfeld helped me obtain some critical Imperial intel at great risk to himself.  Without him, we would not have so quickly rescued Grogu from Moff Gideon.”

“Oh!” Your eyes widen in understanding, “Thank you, Mr. Mayfeld!  Thank you for helping rescue my son!”  Familiar with most parts of the tale, you’re incredibly interested to learn more about this man and his role in Din and Grogu’s life before you, but more than that, you’re truly grateful, “Please join us at the castle for dinner tonight! Have you yet to find lodging? If not, you shall be our honoured guest until you do. And if you should ever decide to extend your stay on Solana, I will personally do what I can to help you settle in as comfortably as possible.”

You slide your arm through Mayfeld’s as he thanks you and tells you to call him Migs.  Then Mayfeld, you, and Grogu in your arms, form a chain and start heading towards the castle, the Royal Guard walking alongside in perfect formation.  Din admires the sway of your hips and the graceful glide of your movements for a few minutes before shifting his soulful gaze to his son chirping happily in your arms, safe, full, loved.

Following from behind, Din is catching up on military reports and capital news with his Lieutenant when he’s distracted by the sight of you throwing your head back in laughter, genuinely amused by something Mayfeld has just told you – likely an anecdote that the Mandalorian might prefer to stay buried alongside Mayfeld’s prison record.  Both you and Mayfeld turn at the same time to look at Din; you with a cheeky grin and a cute little shrug before you turn back around, Mayfeld looking absolutely gobsmacked while dramatically mouthing, “YOUR WIFE?!?!?!” then returning his attention to you.

Din maintains his pace, keeping an adoring and protective eye on you and his son, his family, from a comfortable distance; grinning broadly beneath the helmet, he murmurs to no one in particular, proud and content, “My wife.”

🎶All Night by Beyoncé🎶:

Found the truth beneath your lies And true love never has to hide (True love never has to hide) I'll trade your broken wings for mine (Trade your broken wings for mine) I've seen your scars and kissed your crime (Seen your scars and kissed your crime)

All night long Love, all night long Sweet love, all night long Sweet love, all night long All I wanna, ain't no other We together, I remember Sweet love, all night long

They say true love's the greatest weapon To win the war caused by pain (pain) But every diamond has imperfections But my love's too pure to watch it chip away (chip a-, chip a-, chip away) Boy, nothing real can be threatened True love breathes salvation back into me With every tear came redemption And my torturer became my remedy

All night long Love, all night long Sweet love, all night long Sweet love, all night long All I wanna, ain't no other We together, I remember Sweet love, all night long

How I missed you, my love

A few tags for those who have commented or reblogged that I tortured them with the angst - I am sorry again and thank you for supporting me and this series! @okiegal68 @bishtrouille @johnssherlock221 @baronessvonglitter @la-vie-est-une-fleur29

Hand washing the car on a hot summer’s day was something you would never normally do.

You always let your dad handle a job like that. He’d always tease you for being ‘spoiled,’ always hitting you with the typical line of, “What happens when I’m gone? How will you take care of yourself?”

And every time he hit you with that line, without fail, you would find yourself grabbing the plastic bucket, soap, and sponges out of spite, just to prove a point.

Now, you were outside, drenched in a mixture of sweat and water as the sun beamed down. You were splayed over the hood of the car in a way that looked anything but sexy. You had on a tank top and shorts—natural, given the heat—but despite the porn director approved outfit, you looked anything but pornographic.

Matter of fact, if someone were to come up to you now, they would probably lose interest instantly.

“Hey there,” a familiar, deep voice called from behind you. “Looking pretty hot.”

Normally, you would scramble to make yourself look at least somewhat decent for anyone who approached you in this state.

But it was your best friend—so who cares?

“Steve,” you huffed, raising a leg to balance yourself on the hood of your dad’s car. “Are you going to help me or just taunt me?”

Steve crossed his arms, watching you slip and slide all over the green station wagon that looked like it was ready to fall apart at any given moment.

“Has your dad seen you like this yet? I’m sure if he saw what a poor job you were doing, he wouldn’t ask you to clean it again.

You puffed a strand of hair out of your face. “The reason I’m cleaning in the first place is to prove to my dad that I’m perfectly capable.” You mumbled under your breath, “… He called me spoiled.”

Steve chuckled lightly. “Can’t say I disagree.”

Sneering, you spun around and hurled your wet, soapy sponge in his direction. It landed right in the center of his chest, dampening his snug t-shirt with a dark spot that began to spread. He laughed, catching the sponge before it hit the ground.

“Get off the hood before you hurt yourself,” he grinned, taking a step closer.

You grunted as you slid off the car. As you stood up, your eyes trailed past Steve’s shoulder—something unfamiliar catching your attention.

The house across from yours had been unoccupied for months, but someone had recently moved in. Days had passed, and you hadn’t seen the new neighbors yet. But for the first time since the ‘FOR SALE’ sign was removed, you were finally seeing the man who lived there.

He was tall—maybe around Steve’s height. He had dark hair that fluffed messily at the top, and he was covered in dirt, looking as though he’d been doing yard work all morning. The sun hit his eyes, and he squinted, shielding them with a large hand.

As he looked up, his gaze drifted across to your lawn, and his eyes met yours for a long moment.

A warm, friendly smile tugged at his lips, and he waved. You blinked, a light smile forming on your own face when you realized he was waving at you. You waved back shyly, and his smile grew wider.

“He waved at me,” you pointed out.

Steve, curious, glanced over his shoulder. When he caught the man’s eye, he gave a quick, short nod—a casual greeting between guys.

“He seems nice,” Steve shrugged. “Your new neighbor?”

You nodded, stealing a few more seconds to look at the man across the street. He bent over, his large traps tensing against his cotton tank top as he shoved a pair of gardening gloves over his rough hands. He crouched, his dirty boots and jeans digging into the soil as he began to pull at stubborn weeds.

A man. Hard at work.

The best kind of man.

“He is,” you breathed, looking back at Steve. “And he’s hot, too.”

Steve huffed a laugh, stepping out of your way and towards the car, sponge in hand. “You trying to make me jealous, sweetheart?”

You rolled your eyes, grabbing a spare sponge from the soapy tub. You stepped up to the opposite window from Steve and began to scrub.

“You know, I’ve seen this play out in movies and stuff—” Steve shouted from the other side of the car. “The girl who washes her car and catches the eye of the conveniently attractive neighbor across the street.”

You quirked a brow. “In movies, or in porn?”

Now, it was Steve’s turn to roll his eyes.

“Point aside, you should go for it.” He peeked at you over the roof and nodded in your neighbor’s direction. “You’ve been single for quite a while now. It wouldn’t hurt to dip your toes back in the dating scene.”

You snorted. “Whatever happened to you being jealous?”

Steve shook his head at your comment. “I’m just saying—you’re young and pretty. You could grab that guy’s attention if you really tried.”

Pausing your sponge, you glanced over your shoulder, catching your neighbor’s gaze again. He had been staring at you—for how long, you didn’t know. Either way, your heart did a little flutter in your chest, your face warming at the thought of him watching you.

“You really think so?”

Steve hummed. “Have I ever lied to you?”

Since that day, and with the help of Steve’s encouragement, you found yourself spending more time outside just to catch your neighbor’s eye.

Most mornings, he was already out there working on the front of his house—mowing the lawn, painting fences, or tending to the plants.

The job itself didn’t matter. It was the man behind it all who suddenly made this boring, textbook suburban neighborhood interesting.

Despite only a few days passing since you last washed the car, you miraculously decided to wash it up again the day Bucky was working on the front of his house. How convenient!

Grabbing your tools while wearing a tank top—thinner than the last one—and shorts that rode so far up they were bordering on a wedgie, you stepped out with a confident stride that immediately caught his attention.

He glanced at you from his spot on a ladder, squinting as he smiled.

“Good morning!” you chirped.

“Morning,” he shouted back, nodding to the same car parked on your driveway. “Cleaning again?”

“Oh, yeah,” you smirked, motioning to your bucket. “Just something I like to do every few days.”

If Steve or your dad were here, they would be laughing in your face.

The man’s eyes slowly raked over the car—taking mental note of just how pristine and shiny it already was—before trailing back to you. “Must be a high maintenance girl, huh?”

It was just something about the way he said it—his voice deep and textured with a rasp that made every syllable sound flirtatious. You chuckled softly, your face warming.

“Something like that.”

He chuckled in return before getting back to work.

You dunked the sponge into the bucket of soapy water and got to work. Most of your time was spent focusing more on suggestive poses than actually getting the car clean. You stretched your arms high to reach the roof so the hem of your tank top rode up, then leaned low over the hood, letting your short shorts ride up to reveal the curve of your ass.

It didn’t take long for your clothes and skin to be covered in soap and water. The sun was in your favor today, catching the water as it glistened on your skin and the soap as it trickled down your thighs.

One quick glance over your shoulder made your heart stutter.

You knew you were doing it right because he was looking right at you.

He slowly began to descend the ladder. Before you knew it, he was walking in your direction, crossing the street until he reached your driveway. You had to bite back a smile as the sound of his boots scuffed closer, stopping just behind you.

“I believe we haven’t properly introduced ourselves,” he called out to grab your attention.

You didn’t turn around right away, careful not to make it too obvious. You glanced over your shoulder first, your back arching in a way that felt a bit of a strain—thanks to your usually terrible posture—then slowly stood up, trying not to groan at the sudden soreness.

“I don’t believe we have,” you said, setting the sponge down and wiping your wet hand on your damp shorts. Good enough.

You extended your hand and gave him your name.

He returned the gesture with a smile, his grip warm and rough—the hands of a working man.

“It’s nice to meet you. I’m Bucky,” he huffed. “Bucky Barnes.”

He looked around, appearing almost skeptical to be standing in your driveway. “You look young,” he pointed out. “Are your parents home? I’d like to introduce myself, being new to the neighborhood and all.”

“They’re on vacation,” you explained. “I’m a student over at Jepsen University.”

“A student, huh?” He rubbed his chin with his left hand. No ring. “A pretty thing like you oughta’ be careful at Jepsen. There are a lot of nasty frat boys roaming around campus.”

You chuckled, a light sway in your movement. “You went there?”

He nodded. “Graduated top of my class.”

Even though there was no ring, you still needed verbal confirmation before throwing yourself at him.

“How are you and the family liking the neighborhood so far?” You tested.

Bucky took it upon himself to lean against your car, making the frame creak slightly. He didn’t seem to care about the soap dampening his jeans.

“Well, me and my girl are liking it so far,” Bucky said. “It’s quiet, and plus, I get a good view across the street.”

You made a face at his explanation. My girl. He had a wife? Or a daughter? He was deliberately flirting with you, wasn’t he?

Bucky caught your expression and laughed lightly, waving a hand dismissively.

“My girl Alpine,” he clarified. "She’s the cat loafing on the windowsill in my living room, always staring out.”

You felt your face warm, and your posture eased up instantly. Not only was your neighbor hot as hell, but he was single—and a cat dad! There was a bit of an age gap, but that wasn’t something you couldn’t handle.

You crossed your arms, the movement accentuating your breasts beneath the thin tank top, and jutted your hip out to emphasize your curves. You smiled pridefully, watching as Bucky’s gaze traced a slow path from your eyes down your body.

“Like father, like daughter, then.”

His grin widened handsomely. “What can I say? We like looking at pretty things.”

You smiled, biting the inside of your cheek. He was such a natural flirt—and despite all your attempts to grab his attention, your words suddenly failed you when the time came.

Bucky glanced around the driveway as if he were still searching for someone. Then, he asked, “That guy who usually comes over to help you out—” he brought up slyly, still looking around, “he your boyfriend?”

You blinked at his question. The way he was subtly trying to fish for information made your stomach do a flip in celebration.

“Steve?” you asked, your voice coming out breathier than intended. A small, teasing smile tugged at your lips. “No, he’s not my boyfriend.”

You noticed the way Bucky’s shoulders relaxed slightly at your words. He was jealous.

“He goes to Jepsen, too?” He questioned.

“Yeah, he’s my senior.”

“Ah,” Bucky drawled. “A frat boy, then?”

You couldn’t help but laugh at his endless questioning. “I wouldn’t call him that. He’s my best friend,” you reassured him, watching the way his blue eyes searched yours. “He just comes over sometimes to help out—or more like he comes over to make fun of me while I do all the work.”

Bucky chuckled a deep, gravelly sound that was effortlessly charming. “Best friend, huh?” He pushed himself off your car, taking a step closer to you. Fuck, he even smelled good. “Well, I can’t say I blame him for wanting to hang around. Though, if you ever need a man who’ll actually help instead of just laughing at you, you know where I live.”

He tilted his head toward the house across the street, his gaze dropping to your lips for a second before meeting your eyes again.

“You said your parents were away on vacation?” he asked.

You nodded.

“For how long?”

“Just for a couple of days,” you replied.

Bucky hummed, an amused smile playing on his face as he looked at you. He leaned in, his voice releasing a low murmur as his warm breath tickled your skin.

“A couple of days, huh?”

You caught his gaze tracing a path down your tank top before he met your eyes with a devastatingly slow smirk. If he had this much confidence at his big old age, he was definitely a troublemaker when he was in college, that’s for sure.

“Would you look at that? That’s plenty of time for us to get well-acquainted.”

He watched the way your breath hitched and smiled, looking satisfied. He pulled away and turned back towards his side of the street. If he didn’t know any better, he might have thought he heard a small whine escape you.

“See you around, neighbor,” he called over his shoulder with a charming smile, sauntering down your driveway and back towards his own.

As he walked off, your heart was beating with excitement—beating far too fast to keep up. And the only thing you could think about was how much you were going to gloat about this to Steve later.

You sat across from Steve at the same dingy diner where you two met every Thursday for brunch.

While you sat cross legged on one side of the booth, Steve sat opposite from you in a crisp navy blue collared shirt with a name tag that read HYDRA’S MECHANIC! and the name Steven on the top right.

“He has a cat, Steve. A cat!” You smiled, dipping your toast into a pool of egg yolk. “Her name is Alpine—and he called her ‘his girl.’ Isn’t that so sweet? I nearly had a heart attack right there in the driveway.”

Steve held a coffee mug in his hand, watching you. He was supposed to be heading into work in twenty minutes, but he was currently occupied with the girl in front of him—and her endless rambling.

“And he’s single,” you continued through a mouthful of toast. “No ring, no wife—just a gorgeous, ripped cat dad with a voice that sounds like it came straight out of a smutty audiobook.” You paused, taking a quick sip of your drink. “I mean, yeah, he’s definitely got a few years on me. He’s a little older, but honestly, it doesn’t matter. It just makes him more…” You sighed dreamily. “Capable.”

Steve didn’t say a word. He set his coffee cup down, picked up a fry, and dipped it slowly into a side of ranch with a lopsided smile.

“What?” you asked, your brow furrowing as you caught his grin.

“Nothing,” he said simply, the corners of his eyes crinkling.

“Steve. I know that face,” you pointed out. “That’s your ‘I’ve got something to say, but I won’t’ face mixed with something else. Come on, tell me! What are you thinking?”

Steve chuckled, wiping his hand on a napkin before leaning back in the booth. “I don’t know how I feel about you going after some guy who’s that much older than you. He seems like the type of guy you have fun with—not someone you bring home to your parents.”

Your eyes went wide. “What? You encouraged me to go for it!”

Steve held up his hands defensively. “I know, I know! It’s just… I don’t know. Can’t a guy worry?”

You couldn’t help but smile at his bashfulness. “Aw, you’re worried over little ol’ me, Stevie?” You tilted your head, taunting him.

He rolled his eyes. “You know what? Forget I even said anything—”

“No, no,” you leaned in, resting both arms on the table “Okay, fine. I’m hearing you. What can I do that’ll make you more comfortable in this situation?”

Steve shrugged, lifting the coffee cup and bringing it to his lips. “Could start by meeting the guy, I guess.”

“Okay,” you agreed casually. “He did mention you, actually.”

Steve quirked a brow, eyeing you over the rim of his mug. “Did he?”

You nodded. “He asked if you were my boyfriend.”

He scoffed a laugh. “Boyfriend? He’s already getting jealous? God—how old is he again?”

You gave him a look. “He was just curious, Steve.”

“Sure, and I’m a superhero fighting crime in New York.” Steve set his mug down, dipping another fry into ranch and plopping it into his mouth. He gathered his phone and wallet, quickly tucking them into his pockets. “I gotta go. Shift is starting soon.”

“Wait.” You sat up straight. “My dad won’t stop texting me asking if you can fix the wagon—it keeps making this weird noise and he won’t leave me alone until you look at it.”

“I’m free tomorrow after work. I’ll swing by then. I’ll consider this—” he motioned to the table, where the bill sat squarely in the middle with your name on it, “—payment for the repair.” Steve pushed himself out of the booth, licking the ranch off his thumb before pointing a finger at you. “I’ll text you. And don’t screw the guy ‘til I meet him.”

You couldn’t even get a word in before Steve was already rushing out the door, the bell jingling after him.

“Yeah. Okay, Dad.”

After paying for brunch, you drove home feeling giddy.

Turning the corner onto your street, you spotted Bucky right outside his house, mowing the lawn. This time, he was shirtless.

You purposefully slowed down to get a good look at him, but the moment he looked up and spotted your car pulling into the driveway, he smiled—aiming it right at you through your fishbowl wagon on wheels.

Parked in the driveway, you took a quick look at yourself in the pull down mirror, checking to make sure there weren’t any crumbs on your face or a stray strand of hair sticking out. Smoothing down your top and adjusting your shorts, you stepped out of the car—aiming for casual. But with the way your heart was beating, you were anything but.

Bucky had killed the mower engine and was wiping a bead of sweat from his forehead. He looked hypnotizing, his chest and stomach glistening in the afternoon sun.

“Eventful day, I take it?” He nodded towards your car. “Noticed your wagon was missing from the driveway this morning.”

He had noticed you were gone? You tried your best not to smile.

“Oh, yeah,” you leaned against trunk nonchalantly. “I went to have brunch with a friend.”

Bucky crossed his arms over his chest—a move that did very interesting things to his biceps that were hard to ignore—and leaned his weight back on one leg.

“Let me guess,” he said, his eyes narrowing slightly. “Steve?”

After Steve’s comment about Bucky being jealous, you couldn’t help but bask in confidence. You quirked a brow, a teasing smile playing on your lips. “Are you jealous?”

Bucky tilted his head, pretending to contemplate the question as he looked you up and down.

“Only a little,” he admitted with that handsome smile of his.

You grinned. “Well, there’s no need to be jealous, I assure you,” you explained, pushing yourself off the car.

Taking a step back, you gestured vaguely to his yard. “I’ll let you get back to it, though. You look pretty busy,” you said, despite how much you actually wanted to pull up a folding chair and just stare.

You turned to head towards your front door, but you didn’t get far before his voice stopped you.

“You know,” Bucky called out as he began crossing the street. “Your car is looking a little dirty.”

You stopped and turned back, your breath catching as you watched him make his way onto your driveway. Shirtless and confident, he looked even more imposing standing on your property than he had the other day. He came to a halt beside the green wagon, glancing at the circle of bird poop sitting right on the roof.

Then, he looked back at you with a smile—as if he already knew you wouldn’t say no.

“Need some help cleaning?”

“I…” Your eyes trailed to his bare chest slicked with sweat. You didn’t know how you were going to control yourself, but despite it all, you swallowed hard and said, “Yes.”

Minutes later, you found yourself grabbing all the supplies needed to get the car cleaned. Bucky stood by the bucket, holding the hose as the water filled the plastic. It took everything in you not to stare at the way the sun was shining down on his tanned skin, sweat and water glistening down the hard lines of his stomach.

His jeans sat dangerously low on his hips, the hem of his briefs peeking out over the top. He hadn’t even started cleaning the car yet, but he already looked hotter just standing there than you ever felt trying to look appealing while washing the wagon.

When the bucket was full, he lifted it by the handle without much struggle. You watched as his biceps and forearms flexed against the weight of it. His eyes caught yours, and you swallowed hard, quickly forcing your gaze away.

Bucky stepped to the passenger side, opposite where you were standing. He didn’t seem bothered by your staring.

Actually, he seemed to be feeding off the attention, especially after catching you several times.

“This is a nice car,” he commented, dunking a sponge into the soapy water. “Vintage. I’m surprised she’s still kicking around.”

While Bucky scrubbed down the passenger side, you kept trying to sneak glances through the untinted windows. From where you stood, you had a perfect view of his chest muscles and his stomach pressing against the glass as he worked.

“Uh—yeah,” you cleared your throat, forcing your focus back. “It’s from the sixties. It’s my dad’s, actually. Steve just helps me fix it up.”

“Your friend Steve,” Bucky mused, peeking at you over the roof. “He a mechanic?”

“Yup,” you nodded. “So if you hear loud car noises coming from across the street tomorrow when he fixes it, you can blame him.”

“This Steve guy sounds like a total catch,” Bucky said with a light laugh. “You sure you’re not dating him?”

You weren’t sure why Bucky was so insistent on you having a secret relationship with Steve. You had your fair share of insecure men who were jealous of you hanging around with someone like Steve Rogers, and you figured that habit died out once men hit the age of twenty five. But with Bucky standing across from you, poking at your relationship with Steve, you were starting to think that wasn’t the case.

“I swear, I’m not dating Steve.” You raised a pinky so he could see it over the roof. “Besides, he’s like an older brother to me.”

Bucky blew a raspberry.

“Poor kid,” he chuckled. “But really, I’m surprised he hasn’t made a move on you.” He bent down to clean the rim right above the tire, letting his eyes trail over your body through the window. “If I had a pretty girl like you in my life... we wouldn’t have been friends for long.”

You felt your heart stutter.

What did that even mean?

Did he mean he would make you his girlfriend?

You wanted to hear him say it—to blurt out the answer himself.

You dumped your sponge in your bucket, letting yourself get damp with the soapy water.

“Is that so?” you challenged, trying your best to play it cool. “And what would we be then?”

He stood up with a low groan, looking at you over the roof. He began making his way towards your side of the car, moving purposefully slow as he dragged his sponge across the hood—hardly even pretending to clean it anymore.

“After watching you wash this car—looking like a woman straight out of my dreams? We’d be a lot of things,” he said smoothly, locking eyes with you as he reached the corner of the bumper. “But ‘friends’ sure as hell isn’t one of them.”

You grinned, allowing him to be the one to approach you as you continued scrubbing.

“So,” you kept your voice playful, a little teasing. “You’ve been watching me?”

Bucky didn’t bother denying it.

He stopped just inches away from you. He let his tongue run slowly over his bottom lip, his eyes traveling shamelessly down your body. He was mesmerized with the path of the soap bubble trickling down your collarbone, sliding between the curve of your breasts before disappearing into the thin fabric of your tank top, where your perky nipples were poking right through.

It was hard for him to ignore. They were practically begging to be licked.

“Hard not to,” he rasped, stepping closer until he was standing directly behind you. He propped one strong arm against the roof of the wagon, locking you in. “Especially when you’re giving me a view like that from across the street.”

You let out a shaky breath—one that you hoped he didn’t catch, but he did. You stared at him through the reflection of the window, and his eyes were on you—tracing your face, leaning in to smell you.

It was this very moment that made you remember the age gap, because he was moving and talking so smoothly, like it was all natural to him. As if he had been swooning women like you for years.

But you weren’t going to let that shake you up.

You pushed your hips back subtly, letting your damp ass press against his hips. You tried not to gasp at the straining bulge that was waiting for you between his legs.

“Well, I’m right here,” you said quietly, staring at him in the reflection. “So, what then?”

Bucky looked around, his gaze sweeping across the street to make sure no one else was near.

With one hand still propped against the car, the other found your hip, giving it a firm squeeze to keep you right where you were with your ass pressed tight against his cock.

“Do you want to know what I love most about being in this neighborhood, aside from the fact that I have a super attractive neighbor living across from me?”

He rocked his hips forward, letting his hard bulge nestle perfectly between the curve of your bottom. His cock was fighting the restraint of his jeans, and just from that small movement alone, you could feel how big he was.

Bucky pressed his lips against your ear, murmuring low and tickling your skin with his warm breath. “I love how quiet it is. There’s rarely anyone outside, or even driving by... so when I touch you like this...” His hand slid up from your hip to cup your breast through your tank top. “No one will even notice.”

You gasped as he fondled your tits, his rough fingers flicking the sensitive peak of your nipple. As he dampened your shirt with his wet hands, the water seeped through the thin fabric, making every bit of friction feel even more sensitive than the last.

“Oh my god,” you gasped, your eyes fluttering shut.

“Oh,” he let out a low, rough breath. “You’re so reactive. I’m going to have so much fun with you.”

Bucky’s hand left the roof of the car to wrap around your eyes, pulling you even closer against him. He rocked his hips—back and forth, in a steady rhythm—dry humping you right there against the green wagon in your driveway where anyone could see.

The friction of his denim against your damp, thin shorts made a warm heat pool in your lower belly. Every grind of his hips was met with a hard twitch in his jeans, making your body ache for more.

His hands were everywhere. One hand gripped your hip, tickling the skin beneath the fabric as he gave your flesh a possessive squeeze.

The other continued to fondle your tits, tickling your nipple through the wet cotton. His thumb and forefinger would catch your nipple, rolling it until you were arching your back and whimpering his name.

“Cute noises coming out of you,” he murmured against the crook of your neck, his teeth grazing your skin. “I wonder what kind of noises you’ll make if someone were to drive by and see what I’m doing to you?”

You shuddered as his hands roamed lower, his fingers playing with the hem of your shorts. He undid the button with just one hand, letting his fingers trace the skin of your mound, grazing low until he found your clit—lightly rubbing the nub of his finger against it.

A moan left your lips as you arched your back deeper against him. He groaned as your ass rubbed against his throbbing cock.

While Bucky’s fingers toyed with your clit—rubbing in deep, circular motions—he rocked his hips, seeking pleasure of his own. You were moaning, breathing hard as you stared down at him playing with you.

“Bucky… I… mph—” you moaned, your voice pitched high. You ground your hips against his hand, fucking yourself onto his fingers.

With Bucky standing right behind you, he looked down at the soapy water trickling over your chest, his cock growing harder by the second.

He wasn’t lying when he said you looked like a woman straight out of a dream. He wanted nothing more than to tear your clothes apart—which he could do easily—and fuck you right on the hood of the car he’d been watching you parade yourself on for the past few days.

He was so horny, he needed to sink into you—fast.

But first, he needed to see how much of him you were willing to take, starting with his fingers.

“Gotta test you, baby,” Bucky rasped against your ear. “See how much your little pussy can take.”

His hand traced down from your clit to your folds. He groaned once his fingers made contact with your slick heat. You were so wet, so easily riled up, and so ripe for the taking, yet he wanted to make this last.

Bucky glanced around one more time—the coast was clear. He shoved your shorts down, exposing your ass to the cool air, and pushed your lace panties to the side. He probed his middle finger against your entrance, dancing his digit in a curling motion to prepare you.

“So wet,” he murmured, grinning at your little gasps and mewls. “Could easily slide my finger right in.”

His middle finger slowly eased into your pussy, the warm flesh of your entrance accommodating him smoothly. There was a bit of a stretch, sure, but he could easily finger fuck you right now with no struggle at all.

“How many can you take?” he asked.

You felt your face warm at his question. “… Two.”

He hummed against your ear. “Two, huh?”

Without warning, his ring finger took a quick drag against your entrance—already stuffed by his middle finger—and slid in slowly. Your mouth dropped as a broken gasp tore from your throat. The stretch was burning. His fingers were long and thick, and having two of them inside was enough to fill you completely.

“Fuck—Bucky!”

Bucky didn’t give you a chance to fully adjust to his two fingers before he started moving—thrusting in and out, curling deep inside you as he searched for every sensitive spot. With his free hand still clamped onto your hip, he humped you from behind, groaning as his denim jeans grew even tighter around his throbbing cock.

He was so hard it was painful.

His need to sink himself inside you was spiraling out of control as he felt his pre-cum soaking into his waistband. He gritted his teeth, his jaw clenching as he watched the way your ass bounced against his hand, swallowing his fingers with every move.

“Christ,” he hissed against your neck. He slowed his hand just enough to hook a third finger against your entrance, probing the tight and overtaxed muscle. “You’re squeezing my fingers so tight, baby.”

He looked at you through the reflection of the window, and you stared back, caught in his dark gaze. “It feels good, doesn’t it?”

You nodded with a whimper.

Bucky hummed in satisfaction, and without warning, he pressed the tip of his pointer finger against your stretched entrance.

Your eyes flew wide at the sensation as he slowly began sinking that third finger in, forcing you to press your tits and hands into the glass window for support.

“Bucky,” you gasped. “What are you—!”

“Think you can take three?”

He couldn’t even sink his third finger in all the way, your body simply wouldn’t allow it.

The stretch was a dizzying mix of burn and pleasure, your hips going stiff as you struggled to take him in. He was breathing hard against your ear, and you could feel every heavy throb of his cock right behind you.

“Oh my—fuck, Bucky! It’s too much, I can’t—”

He continued rutting his hips against yours, silently encouraging you to accommodate all three fingers. You could tell he was trying to hold back. His fingers stayed there, unmoving, while his hips did all the work.

“Shit,” Bucky cursed, his hand stilling completely inside you. “Three’s a little tight, huh? Come on, baby. Try for me. If you can take three, then you can take my cock with no problem.”

You let out a shaky breath, trying to relax the muscles that were fighting him.

Slowly, you began to push back, easing yourself onto those three thick fingers and sinking down until you felt the base of his hand press against your folds.

Bucky groaned, his head dropping onto your shoulder as he felt your tight cunt finally give way to accommodate him. He was hard as hell, his balls growing heavier and his cock thickening against your lower back with every heavy breath he took.

“Fuck. That’s a good fucking slut,” he hissed, his hips rutting in an uneven motion. “Taking all three fingers—God, you’re being so good for me.”

His teeth traced the column of your neck, biting gently to make you gasp. His lips closed against your skin, sucking and marking you as he murmured filth in your ear.

“So fucking tight,” he whispered. “Been watching you for days, thinking you were going to be untouchable—just eye candy for a man like me living across the street.” He curled his fingers, hitting your sensitive spot and making you cry out his name. “Who knew I’d have you right here, pinned against your daddy’s car, being stretched out in broad daylight.”

You watched him through the reflection, your pussy clenching around his fingers at the dark way he was staring at you.

“Oh, you’re such a little slut for your neighbor, aren’t you?”

Your cunt fluttered around him, his fingers fucking you so thoroughly you felt like you could cum.

“Bucky,” you whined, your hips twitching as you tried to clench your legs together. “I’m—I’m gonna—”

“No,” he grunted, his voice deep and rough. “Not yet.”

If he had fucked you for even a second longer, you would have cried out in pleasure and came right there in your driveway.

But instead, he abruptly yanked his fingers out, the vulgar squelch sound following after. You let out a cry of frustration, your body slumping against the window as he left you feeling cold and aching.

Behind you, Bucky’s eyes locked onto yours in the window’s reflection as he slowly licked your juices off his fingers. The act was so unapologetically filthy that your face burned with embarrassment.

“You even taste sweet, too,” he murmured.

He took a step back, his hands fumbling with the zipper of his jeans. He gave himself a quick squeeze through the denim before finally freeing himself.

You couldn’t help it. You looked over your shoulder and your breath hitched.

Now, you understood exactly why he wanted you to take three fingers first.

His cock was massive, thick and pulsing for you. He stepped back into the space between your legs and slapped his cock against your lower back. It was hot, hard, heavy, and already wet at the tip where he leaked pre-cum. His breathing was labored as he grabbed his shaft, rubbing the tip against your bare ass—smearing his slickness and marking you from behind.

Bucky moaned at the sight of his pre-cum glistening on your soft skin.

“What a pretty, pretty whore,” he cooed. He leaned over you, his thick arm hooking around your waist to bend you over while your hands pressed against the window.

He couldn’t wait any longer. He slapped his cock against your wet pussy, making you wince as your body hummed with anticipation.

“Your pussy’s all stretched out now, ready to take me.” He grabbed his shaft, positioning the head right at your entrance.

The tip of his cock nestled perfectly between your wet, aching folds. Just the sensation of it alone was enough to make him groan in pleasure.

It felt as if your entrance was giving him warm, wet kisses, welcoming him home.

“So, it should just slide right in,” he rasped, slowly drawing his hips forward and beginning to sink into you. “Fuck.”

He couldn’t even make it past the head because of how tight you were squeezing him. His face scrunched in a twist of pleasure and pain, his arm wrapping you tight as he fought for control. You mewled and whined so sweetly—the sound of it should have made him feel bad, but it only made him want to tear you apart more.

“Fuck—how the hell are you still so tight, even after everything?”

Every time he tried to draw his hips forward, your body buckled and clamped down, refusing to give an inch more than the head of him.

“God,” he hissed, forehead dropping to the back of your neck as he struggled to breathe. “What a tight pussy fuck.”

He tried to rock into you again—slow and agonizing. He was gritting his teeth until his jaw ached, his cock pulsing as your cunt fluttered around him, desperate to stretch around his size.

“F—fuck, Bucky, I’m trying—” you whimpered.

“Come on, baby,” he rasped, rocking his hips and trying to find pleasure from what little was already inside you. “I already stretched you out. I know you can take me. You’re just so fucking small.”

You looked at him over your shoulder, and your breath caught. His face was twisted. He looked almost angry—snarling from how difficult this was for him.

You tried pushing your hips back, wincing from the delicious stretch.

“Is this hurting you, Bucky?” you asked, your voice coming out more timid than you’d like. “Are you hurting because I’m so tight?”

A raspy, deep groan tore straight from his throat. You were asking out of genuine concern, but he took it as a challenge.

“God—you fucking—are you trying to test me?”

Bucky kicked your legs wider, his hands clamping down on your waist. He hauled your body back into his, then completely sheathed his cock into your tight pussy.

The air left your lungs the minute your ass pressed against his pelvis. His dark curls were hot against your skin as he finally, finally buried himself all the way inside you. He was in to the very hilt, but you were still so tight that moving was nearly impossible.

He stayed perfectly still for a moment, his forehead resting against your shoulder as he let the sensation of your tightness settle.

In the window’s reflection, it looked as filthy as it felt—a large, shirtless, and sweaty man mounting and rutting into you from behind like an animal, his broad shoulders swallowing your frame as his heavy arms circled you, keeping you pinned close and tight.

“Fuck,” he choked out. “There it is. There you are.”

After a moment of adjustment, he began to rock his hips. He drew in and out slowly, fucking you with deep, hard strokes that made the car creak.

“Christ, look at you,” he hissed, his eyes fixed on your reflection over your shoulder. “Stretched wide open—fucked like a whore for the whole neighborhood to see. You’re taking every goddamn inch of me, aren’t you, baby?”

Your face twisted in pleasure, your bottom lip hanging open as you moaned a litany of words. “Don’t stop... Please, Bucky, please.”

“This was why you were putting your body on display for me, huh? Hoping I’d finally cross the street one day and fuck you.” He fought for his breath as his hips increased the pace, his cock sliding in and out of you, relentlessly making you his. “You’re a smart cookie, too. Made sure your parents were out of town so you could act like a total slut.”

You moaned, eyes rolling back at his filthy words as your body clenched in reaction. “Yes! Yes, Bucky! I’m a slut for you!”

He groaned as he tilted his hips, forcing himself even deeper into your abused pussy.

“Squeezing me so tight... I can only imagine how you’d react if your parents were to drive down the street right now. Imagine them seeing their precious daughter getting split open by her older neighbor—a man they haven’t even met yet.”

He felt your body begin to tremor, your walls fluttering around his pulsing cock. He leaned in even closer, his hot, raspy breath dancing against the shell of your ear.

“Now, what would happen if your poor best friend—Steve, was it?—drove down here expecting to fix your car, only to find you with your tits pushed against the glass, stuffed full of my cock? How would you react then?”

Your knees wobbled and your eyes rolled back at the image. Your body convulsed, your pussy squeezing him impossibly tight at the filthy thought of it.

“Oh, my god—S-steve...!”

Bucky huffed a disbelieving laugh, followed immediately by a deep, guttural groan at the sensation of you clenching around him. He didn’t even care that you moaned another man’s name when he had you stuffed.

“Fuck, so goddamn tight,” he rasped, his arms wrapping around you tighter as you shook. “Shit, you like it, don’t you? The idea of getting caught by your best friend? Fuck—what a goddamn nasty whore you are.”

His hips began to blur against yours as he fucked you harder, the car creaking and groaning with every thrust.

“Bet he doesn’t even know how you’re clenching around me just at the thought of him. Bet he’d ask to join in, wouldn’t he? Would you let him?” He leaned over, biting your shoulder to stifle his own grunt. “Would you let your best friend watch me split you open like this?”

You nodded frantically, sweat beading at your temple from being used so thoroughly. The talk—the idea of it was filthy, a dream that you would’ve never considered doing, but Bucky was fucking you so good that anything he said at this point was hypnotic.

“Yes, yes, Bucky, please! You both can take turns using me!”

“Nasty little slut,” Bucky hissed, his teeth biting gently at your skin again. “Fuck. I’m getting close.”

You nodded hard again, your knees nearly giving out if it weren’t for his big hands holding you back. “Me—me too, shit—!”

Bucky’s grip on your body tightened, pulling you close against his bare and sweaty chest.

After three hard thrusts that bottomed out against your womb, he let out a deep grunt against your neck, his body going stiff as he finally came.

His cock pulsed as cum began to spill out of his tip, pumping you full of his seed and staying completely stuffed inside you until you were filled to the brim. Your head tossed back as a cry left your throat, your overworked pussy clamping down on him and pulsing in a way that milked every last drop out of him.

He held you tight, breathing deep into your back as you both fought for air. “Fuck—you’re draining my balls dry, sweetheart.”

You both started to laugh—deep, tired, and rumbling laughs at everything that had just transpired out in the open, right in your very driveway.

Bucky looked down, pulling out slightly and watching with blown out pupils as his cum trickled out of you and onto the concrete, where it mixed with the soapy water.

“Dirty, dirty girl.”

You spent the following afternoon in your room, going through lectures, though you were hardly paying attention to them. With your cheek resting on your palm, your eyes kept drifting to the open window that gave you a perfect, convenient view of the house right across the street.

Bucky’s house.

The driveway was empty, and the lights inside were off. The blinds were pulled open though, and you could see Alpine—the little cat he mentioned—loafing on the windowsill and staring back at you.

In that moment, the two of you were exactly the same.

Just waiting for Bucky to come home.

The silence of your bedroom was overtaken by the rumble of a truck engine. Sitting up and peeking out the window, you recognized Steve’s battered pickup truck turning into the driveway before the engine cut out.

Steve climbed out of the driver’s seat, looking as exhausted as ever, but he had still shown up for you.

You smiled, racing down the stairs to meet him outside. In the driveway, it was clear that his shift at Hydra’s mechanic shop had done a number on him. His navy blue collared shirt was stained with sweat and motor oil, with dark streaks smeared across his jaw and down the length of his thick forearms.

“Steve,” you breathed with a smile. “Thought you forgot about me.”

Steve shut the door, the truck shaking from the force. “Could never forget about you. Work was just running me late.” He reached for his tools in the flatbed with a tired groan. “How’s your car holding up? Been using it since we had lunch yesterday?”

Your face warmed at the question.

Using it wouldn’t be the right term for it, you thought.

“Not really,” you said, trying to hide the bashful expression on your face.

“Still making that weird creaking noise?” he asked, walking over to the front and popping the hood.

You bit your lip and nodded. “Yep.”

Steve stood over the engine, glancing at wires and mechanical parts that were completely foreign to you.

“How’s it looking?” you asked, hovering over his shoulder.

He didn’t look back as he lifted a straining wire with his pointer finger, examining it closely. “Looks like she’s been through it.”

You had to bite back a snort. You would’ve complimented him on his sense of humor—if only he had known any better.

“Thanks for doing this, Steve,” you said, giving him a pat on his sweaty back. “My dad’s going to be real grateful.”

Steve nodded. “How are you and that neighbor doing?” He still kept his focus on the wires, his voice casual and unassuming. “You two didn’t screw each other after my warning yesterday, right?”

You were so glad he was focused on the engine—the face you made would’ve given it all away.

“What kind of girl do you think I am?” you scoffed playfully, crossing your arms defensively.

Steve glanced up at you with a chuckle. “A good one, I hope.” He brought his tools to the edge of the car, rummaging through the kit. “You two exchanged numbers yet?”

“Do I have to?” you shrugged. “He lives right across the street.”

Steve tilted his head, agreeing. “You make a good point.” He looked back at the engine. “When are you going to introduce me to the guy?”

You leaned against the car with a roll of your eyes. “Steve, you’re sounding an awful lot like my dad. And why are you in such a rush to meet him, anyway?”

Steve shrugged, pulling a wire stripper out of his toolbox before setting it back down on the ground. “I’m your best friend, alright? It’d give any man peace of mind to know what kind of person you’re talking to. Hand me a wrench, would you?”

Crouching, you dug into his toolbox until you found something that resembled a wrench. You handed it to him.

“Thanks,” he mumbled, taking the tool from your hand. His brows furrowed as he wrestled with a stubborn bolt, the muscles in his forearms and biceps flexed hard, giving you an up close and personal view of a working man.

After the filthy things Bucky hissed in your ear yesterday, you couldn’t help but stare. Bet he’d ask to join in, wouldn’t he? Would you let him? Even worse was the memory of what you cried out in response. You both can take turns using me!

You wanted to slap yourself for the secondhand embarrassment you were giving yourself.

You wouldn’t consider it—no, you couldn’t. Steve was the person you grew up with, the one who fended off your bullies in kindergarten. Steve was the one who drove you to school every morning in high school. Steve was the one who took you to prom when no one else did.

Steve was family.

But as he stood there, covered in motor oil and sweat, you finally understood why a man like Bucky would be jealous over you hanging out with a man like Steve Rogers.

The wrench slipped, clattering against the frame of the car before hitting the driveway with a noise that made you flinch.

“Shit,” he cursed under his breath. He bent down to pick it up. He stood up straight—reminding you all over again of just how big he was compared to you—and wiped the sweat from his forehead with the back of his hand.

While you were having filthy thoughts about your best friend, he was standing there in an increasingly sour mood. Between the long shift at Hydra’s and the oppressive heat of the bright afternoon sun, he looked completely spent.

You didn’t know the first thing about wire strippers or engine blocks, and you felt useless just hovering over his shoulder.

“I’m going to go make you a lemonade,” you said, giving his shoulder another supportive pat. “I’ll be back, okay?”

Steve didn’t say anything. He just gave a single, firm nod to let you know he heard you.

As you retreated inside, a car that Steve didn’t recognize pulled up to Bucky’s driveway.

It was a sleek, black convertible sports car. Steve couldn’t help but clench his jaw at the sight of it. Of course Bucky drove a sports car.

He stood no chance against his rundown pickup.

Bucky stepped out of the vehicle, running a hand through his hair. As he turned to glance at your driveway, expecting to see you, his blue eyes landed on Steve instead.

For all that talk about wanting to meet him, Steve really only cared to do it if you were there, bridging the gap. So for now, until you returned with his lemonade—which he was sure would make Bucky jealous—Steve tried to keep himself too occupied to notice him.

But he kept catching movement in his peripheral vision. Then another. Then another. A stupid, persistent movement that wouldn’t go away, like a goddamn fly.

Steve finally lifted his head and saw Bucky still in his driveway, waving.

Waving?

At what?

Steve turned around, expecting to see you standing right behind him with the lemonade, but you weren’t. The porch remained empty—meaning Bucky was waving at him.

“Need any help there?” Bucky called out from across the street, resting his hands on his hips.

Steve pressed his lips into a thin line and shook his head. “I’m good!” he called back. Short, straight to the point, and friendly enough.

He looked back down at the engine, but it didn’t take long before a bright spark jumped from the terminal with a loud popping sound. Steve jolted back with a hiss, snapping his hand away from the burn. “Shit!”

Across the street, Bucky was already making his way over with a smug grin that Steve caught—and one he especially wanted to wipe off.

Jesus. Where were you?

“Here,” Bucky finally reached him, occupying the small space between the car’s engine and where Steve was standing. “Let me help you with that.”

Before Steve could fight for his spot, Bucky was leaning over the hood, adjusting the wires in a way that made Steve—the man wearing an actual mechanic’s uniform—feel like a fool.

Steve stepped up to the hood, propping his arm against it as he looked the man over. “So, you’re the new neighbor that moved in not too long ago, right?” He already knew the answer, but this was at least him trying for short conversation.

Bucky looked up at Steve, his eyes slowly tracing over his uniform. Steve felt his eyebrow twitch.

Was Bucky silently insulting him?

“Yup,” Bucky drawled with the pop of the p. “And you must be my pretty neighbor’s best friend. The one she always talks about.”

It was getting harder by the second for Steve to go along with this. Bucky acted like the very frat boys at Jensen that Steve had warned you to avoid at all costs—and this man was in his mid-thirties, for crying out loud.

“Yeah. That’s me,” Steve mumbled.

Bucky stood up straight, extending his hand for a shake. “Bucky.”

Steve was wary, his eyes narrowing slightly as he looked at the offered hand before finally reaching out to take it.

“Steve,” he replied with a firm grip.

Bucky stared at Steve for a moment longer—as if studying him—before looking back down at the engine with a huff of laughter. “You know, for a guy who works at a mechanic shop, you’re struggling pretty bad with a simple alternator issue.” He bent over the engine again, examining it. “Are you trying to actually fix the car, or just trying to impress your lady friend?”

Steve let out a dry laugh as he pulled a rag from his back pocket to wipe his hands. “It’s been a long day, alright? I’ve been dealing with different cars all day, the sun is giving me a headache, and now I’ve got my best friend’s neighbor to worry about—”

He stopped himself before he could spill too much, but Bucky caught it anyway. He chuckled, the corners of his eyes wrinkling as he looked up at Steve from where he was bent over. “You’re worrying about me?”

Steve swallowed hard, trying to play it off. “I mean, I’m just looking out for her. New guy in the neighborhood, it’s just a habit.”

Bucky hummed, a small, knowing grin resting on his lips as he turned back to the engine block.

He leaned further under the hood of the old sixties station wagon, his fingers moving towards the distributor cap and the fraying ignition wire Steve had been struggling with. Bucky repositioned the stubborn ceramic boot, adjusting the distributor to ensure the connection wouldn’t spark again.

He wiped his hands on his thighs as he stood up straight.

“Since it’s an older model, you’re going to need to buy a specific point and condenser set for a sixties Ford wagon. But this should hold her over for now.” Bucky looked over at Steve. “You got a piece of paper so I can write down the part number you need?”

Steve blinked, surprised and undeniably impressed by how easily Bucky had handled it.

“Oh. Y-yeah, hold on—” He dug into his back pocket and pulled out a small, worn notepad and a pen, handing them over.

Bucky took them, resting the pad against the car’s fender as he scribbled down the specifications. Steve glanced up, watching you through the kitchen window where you were completely oblivious, still focused on making the lemonade.

Surprisingly, he actually liked the guy. Despite the age difference, he could see potential in Bucky. He was handsome, owned his own house, drove a nice car, and was clearly respectful and handy. He was exactly the type of man your parents wouldn’t pass out at the sight of.

He was a good man for you—regrettably so.

Bucky finished writing, flipping the notepad shut and handing it back to Steve along with the pen. “Here you go.”

Steve smiled, and this time it was polite and genuine.

“Thanks,” he muttered. “It was nice meeting you, Bucky.” He held up the notepad with a slight nod. “She’ll appreciate this. I’ll tell her you said hi.”

Bucky’s smile widened just slightly. He glanced over his shoulder, catching your silhouette through the kitchen window where you were still occupied with the lemons. His gaze lingered on you for a split second before he looked back at Steve, his expression unreadable.

“Don’t mention it,” Bucky said smoothly, giving Steve a reassuring pat on the shoulder. “Remember, I’m right across the street if you ever need help.”

He gave a parting nod before turning on his heel, brushing past Steve to head back to his side of the street.

Steve watched Bucky disappear past his front door. By the time the door clicked shut, you had finally stepped out onto the porch with two glasses of lemonade in your hands. Perfect timing.

“Sorry I took so long,” you said breathlessly, walking down the steps and handing him a glass. “It’s been a minute since I last made it from scratch, so…”

“You just missed him.”

You raised a brow in confusion. “Sorry?”

Steve brought the cold glass to his lips, taking a long sip of the tart drink before nodding towards the house across the road.

“Bucky.” He let out a satisfied exhale, wiping his mouth with the back of his arm. “He was just here—helping me with your car, actually.”

Your eyes went wide, your head snapping towards Bucky’s house—though he was nowhere to be found. You reached up, trying to smooth down your hair.

“He was? Is he coming back?” You asked, sounding too excited for your own good.

Steve shrugged, taking another sip. “Probably not. Seemed like he had other things to do.”

You looked at Steve, your eyes narrowing skeptically.

Steve caught your look and let out a soft laugh, adjusting the cold glass against his palm. “What?”

“So…” you teased, swaying back and forth subtly. “I assume you two talked for a bit then? How was he? What do you think of him?”

Steve shrugged again, a genuine smile breaking through the tired expression he had on before. “Alright, alright. You know what? He’s not a bad guy. He actually helped me fix your car. I like him.” He handed you back the empty glass, flipping through the crumpled pages to find the note Bucky had left. “He even told me what part we needed to order to get this thing fixed up and working again—”

He froze in the middle of his sentence. His eyes went wide, staring at the page as his words got lost in his mind.

You raised a brow, confused with Steve’s sudden change in demeanor. “Well? What part is it? Is it expensive?”

When he didn’t answer, you took it upon yourself to step closer and peek your head over his arm to look at the notepad. What you saw made your breath hitch, and your own eyes went wide.

There was no part number.

Written in bold handwriting, on the paper was a phone number, Bucky’s phone number, followed by a little message in black ink.

you’re gonna have to call me if you want that part number. xoxo, buck.

Your jaw hung so loose, a fly could’ve flown in at any moment. Steve didn’t know what to say either—if anything, he was standing there frozen, waiting for you to say something first.

“Oh my god,” was all that managed to leave your mouth. You looked up at Steve, your wide eyes meeting his. “Is Bucky…?”

Steve, poor Steve, who remained completely oblivious to the fact that you and Bucky had fucked just yesterday on this very driveway, only felt confusion and secondhand guilt.

He glanced across the street at the sleek, clean Mazda resting in Bucky's driveway, specifically staring at the custom vanity license plate on the back that read ‘BIGBUCK.’

Steve swallowed hard, his cheeks flushing with a rosy shade of pink. Though, he could easily excuse it for the sun.

“Of course,” he mumbled to himself. “He drives a Miata.”

if you were curious to know why a mazda miata specifically, you can thank r/askgaybros for that when i was conducting my research.

if you've made it this far, as always thank you so much for taking the time to read my work. interactions are always appreciated, I love reading every bit of them!

The crowd murmurs as you pass by. A recent regular to the club as a server. You carry drinks through the crowd, swaying your hips, and you know your time here is limited but you like it. It’s lively and the people tip well. You see the Mandalorian saddled up against the bar despite not ordering a drink and you swallow. The beskar always intrigues you. You walk over to him, wanting to speak to him and you tilt your head, “how you doing, Mando? You want a drink?” You ask and Mando turns his head to look at you. “No. I’m good.”

Underneath the helmet, he scans you up and down, the only indication of that the slight tilt of his head. Eyes hidden behind the darkness of his visor and he watches as you blatantly do the same to him. “Anything you’re looking for?” You are sexy, your tits pushed up in a top designed to reveal more than hold back and he’s sure it helps earn more credits. “Blowing off steam.” He says, glancing around the room again. “Any suggestions?”

You smirk, adjusting the tray in your hands, “plenty of options. It’s up to you. What’s your flavor, Mando?” You drag your eyes along the armor again, “there are back rooms if you want more than a drink.” It’s a seedy planet. There’s a lot to offer. Drinks. Drugs. Sex. Whatever you want. Mando bites his lip under his helmet and you don’t see it, don’t see the way he eyes you. You’re exactly what he wants. “I like your tattoo.” He says, gesturing to the tattoo under your ear.

Your brow lifts and you smirk as you let your eyes slide up and down his body again. “I bet you have tattoos underneath that beskar.” You hum and he recognizes the look in your eyes as pure lust. Plenty of people are attracted to him simply because they can’t see him. It works because most of them never expect him to remove his helmet. He chuckles quietly. “Perhaps.”

“What’s a girl gotta do to find out?” You smirk, shifting the tray to place it under your arm. Mando tilts his helmet down and your stomach twists at the intensity. You can’t even see his eyes but you know he’s fucking you with his eyes. “Show me to a private room.” He demands quietly, knowing that there’s eyes on him and he refuses to continue this flirtation in public.

You spin on your heels and your ass sways as you stride away from him. He pushes off the bar and follows you, moving easily through the crowd as if he was stalking his prey. He smirks under his helmet, cock already starting to harden under his flight suit.

Eyes follow you but no one says a word as the band continues to play. It’s impossible to ignore the Mandalorian but no one dares to approach as you make your way towards the door that leads to seedier hallways. “Right this way.” You smirk, pushing it open and Din follows you, the door shutting behind him. His boots echo as he strides down the hall, fingers flexing over his blaster as a reflex, and when you open a private room, he doesn’t step in first. “What a gentleman.” You tease, setting your tray down and Din kicks the door shut. “I don’t usually do-” You don’t get to finish your sentence as Din slaps cuffs on your wrists.

“Hey, what the fuck?” You huff, pulling on the binders but they won’t unlock. “What kind of kinky ass-“ you stop as Din pulls a transmitter off his hip and turns it on. The beeping rapid and zeroed in on you as he says your name and identification code. “I can bring you in warm…” he puffs out steadily, voice low and hard. “Or I can bring you in cold.”

Your eyes widen as you realize what he is. A bounty hunter. “Fuck.” You whisper, looking up from the cuffs to his helmet. “Please. You don’t understand. I didn’t do anything.” You promise and Din scoffs, “I’ve heard it all before, mesh’la. I don’t care if it wasn’t your fault. I need to take you in.”

“You bastard!” He’s been called every name you can think of, but it doesn’t change the fact that you will be taken in. He doesn’t say anything and you bite your lip and huff silently. “I thought you really wanted to fuck me.” You pout and he chuckles softly. “I didn’t say that I didn’t want to fuck you.” He reminds you. “Believe me, I do.”

“Then do it. And let me go.” You bargain, “I’ll let you fuck me and then I go free.” Din snorts, “trust me, I’ve been offered sex many times in exchange for freedom. I haven’t accepted it.” He confesses and you huff. “I’ll do anything. Just don’t take me in.”

He puts the tracker away and reaches for the cuffs to grab them and you pull away. “It won’t do any good.” He growls through his modulator. “You are going back.”

You try to drag your feet, struggling but he growls again in annoyance. "Dank Farrik." He hisses, grabbing you to fling you over his shoulder. "You are going back." He says with finality and carries you out of the room. He doesn't care as he carries you through the club, ignoring the cheers and claps of approval. "Yeah, Mando. Get some!" A Twi'lek whoops and Din ignores them as he carries you despite you kicking your legs.

Your bound hands beat on the back plate of his armor and once he’s outside the club, his free hand comes up and slaps your ass sharply. “Stop struggling,” he growls, approving when you stiffen up and stop moving. He almost spanks you again, but his cock is already tenting the front of his flight suit. The only thing keeping it from being too noticeable is his belt. He carries you towards the docking bays, knowing you have a ship there and he will use that to take you back rather than the star fighter. “Bay 35.” He grunts as he gets to the door.

You wiggle, trying to get him to drop you, and he doesn’t. His grip is like beskar as he carries you to bay 35. “You have a Razor Crest.” He says in surprise and you smirk, “you like that, Mando?” You ask and he huffs, “used to have one. Before it got destroyed.”

Seeing the Razor Crest is like finding a long lost friend. His hand runs over the panel before pressing the button to open it. You don’t have the modifications that he had, but walking into the cargo bay is like coming home. He drops you to your feet and looks around. “I’ll make you a deal.” He says, offering something he’s never done before. “I’ll let you go if you give me your ship.”

You are disoriented from being carried and you look at the Mandalorian who is caressing your ship. “At least get a girl a drink before you start feeling up her ship.” You tease and he doesn’t react, at least not in a way you can see it. “That ship is my home. I can’t just give it to you.” You protest despite knowing you’re booking your ticket to carbonite. “What if I-” You slowly say then decide to try and run for it, spinning on your feet to run in the opposite direction of the Mandalorian who sighs and lets you go for a moment until he throws his line from his wrist to wrap it around your ankles.

“You shouldn’t have done that.” He huffs in exasperation and you twist around from your stomach and glare at him. “Kiss my ass.” You hiss and he chuckles as he walks slowly towards you, pulling the line tighter so you can’t wiggle away. “Can’t kiss it.” He reminds you, tapping his helmet. “But if you don’t quit, I’ll spank it again.” He had enjoyed the way your ass felt against his hand and he would do it again if it made you behave.

You huff, knowing that escaping the Mandalorian is a fruitless effort. “What if…what if I offer you something else? Instead of my ship…you can fuck me? As much as you want for 24 hours?” You arch your back as much as you can to entice him.

His cock twitches in his pants as he stares at your ass. “No deal.” He decides after a moment, even though he is pent up and would love to fuck you. “I could throw you in carbonite and go back to the bar to fuck someone.”

“Yeah? But you wouldn’t get that hard for anyone else in there.” You smirk, letting your gaze fix on the bulge in his flight suit. “Is that a blaster in your pants or are you happy to see me?” You tease, shifting onto your knees, “what do you want? To let me go.” You clarify and Din strides over to you, keeping you tied up in his line. “Your ship.” He says and you pout, “and you.” He adds after a moment.

“Fuck off!” You hiss, trying to yank your legs away but you can’t because the wire is tight to his cuff. You look ridiculous with your hands cuffed and your feet bound, like a worm trying to inch away. He chuckles to himself, expecting that answer as he bends down to untie the wire and hauls you to your feet. “Then I’ll just take it after I’ve turned you in.” He tells you mildly, pushing you against a wall and activating the magnetic locks to keep you there. You can’t pull the cuffs free of the bulkhead. “Just for the hassle.” You huff but he turns towards the ladder and starts up towards the cockpit. “Stay there.” He taunts, knowing you aren’t going anywhere while he takes off.

You refuse to cry but tears sting from frustration. This asshole is going to turn you in and then you’ll lose the ship you worked so hard for. You huff and tilt your head back, listening to him as he makes himself comfortable in the pilot seat. “Has anyone told you you’re a dick?” You call out as he starts the engine.

He doesn’t answer, but he’s got a small smirk on his face under the helmet. admiring your attitude and enjoying your sharp tongue. The engine purrs and he groans happily as he lifts the ship off the ground. The star fighter was nice, but this- this is what he loves flying.

Your hands are stuck to the metal of the ship and you huff, wondering how the hell you fucked up. You should’ve guessed he was a bounty hunter but noooo, your attraction to a man wearing a helmet blinded you. The ship goes into hyperspace and Din checks the autopilot before he makes his way down the ladder. “Have you calmed down?” He asks and you scoff, “you should never ask a woman if she’s calmed down.” He snorts and tilts his head, “I’ll take that as a no. I was going to release you but your bratty attitude is not gonna let that happen.”

You scoff, offended that he is calling you bratty when he’s literally kidnapped you and told you he’s going to steal your ship. “That’s rich coming from a big metal bully.” You huff. “I can’t believe that I let myself get turned on by the biggest asshole in the galaxy.” He chuckles, tucking his thumbs into the loops of his belt and leaning against the wall, watching you pout. “You seemed pretty eager for my cock earlier.” He reminds you. “Shaking your ass and begging for it.”

You scoff, “I was in a cloud of spice from the club.” You lie and he crosses one boot over the other, “and now?” He asks, tilting his helmet and you roll your eyes, “clear headed. I promise, asshole.” You try to tug on your cuffs but it doesn’t work. He smirks and chuckles, “so you wouldn’t want my cock anymore, huh?”

You roll your eyes and turn away from him, ignoring what he said, so he just waits. Waiting is what works most of the time. “Well, get comfortable, it’s going to be a long trip back to collect your bounty.”

"Are you - you're gonna leave me like this?" You whine, tugging on the cuffs but you are stuck to the metal. "You think I'm gonna let you go? I'm not an idiot." Din scoffs and you bite your lip, "you really don't want your cock sucked in exchange for my freedom? I've been told I am the best in the galaxy by my exes."

Din snorts and blows out a bored sigh. “I’m sure they told you that when they were with you. But I don’t think you understand how many credits I’ll collect for you.” He snorts. “A blow job is worth being released here on the ship, but I can always jerk off.”

“You are such a dick!” You stomp your foot and he chuckles, shaking his head. “You are a brat. You deserve to be treated like one.” He strides over to grip your chin, “you wanna stay cuffed?” He asks and you narrow your eyes at the smirk you can hear in his voice. “I want to be let go and have my ship back.” You declare and he rubs his gloved thumb over your lower lip. You can’t help but bite it, tasting the blaster residue on the material and you hate how it makes your pussy clench around nothing.

He watches your eyes dilate, sees the want in them and he chuckles roughly. “You’re getting wet.” He declares, smirking under his helmet. “You don’t want to be turned on, it pisses you off, but you are.” He rubs his thumb over your lips again and this time your lips part slightly but you don’t bite him. “Pussy is wet, isn’t it? Starting to ache with need. Wishing that I would fuck you right now,” his head tilts down to where you are cuffed to the wall. “Just like this.”

“The bulge in your pants says you also want to fuck me like this. I doubt jerking off would scratch the itch. You sure you don’t want some relief in a wet cunt, Mando?” You ask breathlessly, fluttering your eyelashes as you look at him. “You look tense. Like you need a good release…of tension.”

He knows what you are trying to do and it’s tempting. Still, he has a reputation and you are a job. “I’d fuck you.” He admits it easily. “Hard and deep, hard enough that your legs wouldn’t hold you up anymore and your throat will be raw from screaming in pleasure.”

His words make your mouth go dry and you stare at him for a moment. You shake your head, almost attempting to clear your thoughts. You lick your lips, “big words for a man who is too scared to show his face.” You taunt him, “maybe you are a gungun under that armor?”

“Meesa thinks not.” He jokes, making you snort and try to hide your smile, but he sees it. “I’m too pretty to show my face. Too many people would want to fuck me. I’d be exhausted.”

“Maker, you are either being serious and you really are handsome as fuck under that helmet or you are cocky as hell and ugly, hence why you wear the helmet. Either way, I don’t think I’m ever gonna find out.” The Mandalorian nods in response to your summary. “Tell me what you want.” You demand, knowing you need to be on the same page as him, even if you don’t like the answer.’

“Be a good girl and I’ll let you out of the binders.” Din tells you, watching you swallow harshly as his voice dips lower. “The trip back doesn’t have to be hard.”

“Well, harder.” You chuckle shakily, eyes drifting down to the bulge he’s sporting. “What do you consider a good girl, Mando?” You ask breathily, parting your lips to look at him with wide eyes, acting like you don’t know what he wants. What you both want

His cock twitches but he decides to play along. Hands resting on your sides, fingertips barely brushing the undersides of your breasts as he leans in. Crowds you as he presses against the curve of your body. “A good girl listens to me.” He growls out quietly as his hands start to slowly slide down your body to your hips. “Takes everything I give her.” His cock twitches against your ass.

You can’t stop the whimper that escapes your lips when he presses against you. “What happens if I’m not a good girl?” You test, grinding back against him and he’s all beskar - solid like a wall behind you. Fuck, that turns you on more. “Do you want to find out?” Din asks and you shake your head, “n-no. I - I can be a good girl.”

He hums in approval, squeezing your hips tight. “Good.” He growls and presses harder into your body. “Tell me what you want, good girl.” He murmurs. “Tell me what you want me to do to you.”

You tilt your head back, closing your eyes as his words wash over you, making your pulse race. “I want you to fuck me. Hard.” You confess, “want you to use me. Take what you need from me.” You finish with a gasp when his hands slide up to squeeze your tits through your shirt.

“It’s been a long time.” He warns, thinking that it’s only fair that he lets you know what you are in for when he touches you. You moan again, pushing back against his crotch. “Good.” You whimper, making him growl as he yanks down the top you’re wearing, breast band and all so he can cup your tits fully in his gloved hands. His foot hooks around your right and he kicks it farther out, making you yelp in surprise as he positions you.

You gasp as he maneuvers you into the position he wants you in. His gloves are smooth and cold as he pinches your nipples. You clench around nothing at the roughness, loving how he’s taking what he wants. You haven’t experienced that in so long. “Mando. Please.” You beg, not above it now that you know he’s going to give you what you want.

You’re magnetized to the bulkhead of the ship you are being taken in for bounty collection, your ship, tits in his hands and begging to take his cock. He pinches your responsive nipples one more time before he is reaching for your pants, dragging them down your thighs and pulling your ass farther back as he reaches down to pull his cock out of his flight suit. There’s precum leaking from the head and he knows you are wet. That’s all the lube you’re going to get as he shuffles closer and without another word, slams his cock deep into your pussy with a groan of pleasure.

Your cry echoes off the body of the ship, reverberating back to you, and he stretches you out in a way no other man has. “Maker!” You squeal, hands immobile and his grip on your hips ensures you are staying in this position.

There’s a split second where he gives you to adjust. Just one. Making sure that the cry was one of pleasured pain and not rejection before he is pulling his hips back with a feral growl. “Dank ferik, you are so fucking tight.” He groans, surging back into you just as harshly. His hands are the only things keeping your body from slamming into the wall of the ship as he hammers into you. “Gonna enjoy this.”

His words aren’t wrong as he starts to fuck you, really fuck you. You cry out with every slam of his cock inside you. The cold beskar hits your flesh as he works himself into your cunt with brutal stamina. “Ma-Mando.” You pant, unable to do anything but stand there and take what he gives you.

This is just what he needed. He grunts and pants under his helmet as he fucks you. Squeezing your hips before moving up to cup your tits again. “You wanted it hard.” He reminds you, enjoying the little whimpers and the way you try to stretch up onto your toes when he pushes deep. Trying to soften how you take him but you are already stretched out. He can tell you love it, your pussy is squirting every time he pushes against your cervix. “Gonna fuck you so hard that you’re ruined.”

His words, modulated and sharp, make you clench around him, and you squeal when he slaps your tits with his gloved hand. “Maker. Fuck!” You would collapse but your restrained hands keep you upright. “You’ve already ruined me.”

He chuckles and slaps your tit again, loving how you just take everything he gives you and wants more. It’s been a long time since he’s been with someone who enjoys it as rough as he sometimes wants. Needing to work out the stress and tension of his life. You moan and he slides one hand down to your clit, orange leather covered fingers expertly swiping through your folds before rubbing tight circles on the sensitive flesh. “Good, Mesh’la.” He rasps out. “Good girl.”

“Fuck.” You pant, loving how he knows exactly how to touch you. “Keep - just like that.” Your head drops between your shoulders and you look down at his hand between your thighs. “Maker, that’s hot.” You gasp, clenching around him, and it doesn’t take more than a few swipes of his fingers to fall apart around him.

He grunts when your pussy squeezes him tight, having to rock his hips harder to fuck you. “That’s it, Fuck, you get wet.” He hisses, cock twitching deep inside you and making you moan. He wants to cum, but he wants to feel you fall apart again. Even though he’s pent up, he’s got control, he won’t cum until he makes himself. “Good girl, good fucking girl.”

His words make your eyes roll into the back of your head and he fucks you through your pleasure. “Mando. I can’t - it’s too much.” You gasp when he continues rubbing your clit and he growls, “you can. You fucking can.” You shake your head and whine, thighs shaking as he pushes you through your orgasm onto another one.

His hips are slapping against your ass and he is holding you tight, loving how you respond to him. “Soak me.” He pants out and groans when he feels another rush of wet heat coat his cock. You whimper and he feels your entire body shake so he decides to pull out of you abruptly, cock dripping with your juices as he lets go of you and presses a button on his vambrace to release the magnetic hold on your cuffs.

You’re confused even as your body rides your high and you frown, looking at him over your shoulder. “What?” Your wrists are in front of you and you nearly fall forward from the release but his arm wraps around your waist.

“On your back.” He orders roughly as he grabs a blanket you have tossed over a crate and throws it down. He wants to watch you this time, wants to see your face even though you can’t see his. Although you like the blank expression of his visor. When you drop down, he drags a boot off one foot and yanks your pants leg off one leg so he can spread you open and see your pussy glisten and quiver. The metal edge of his armor clinks against the floor as he drops downs and reaches up to push your arms over your head and bind them to the floor.

The movements make you dizzy and you can’t stop the whine of arousal that escapes your lips. Your arms ache a little from being held high and you watch him press on your thighs to push them further apart. “Oh my - fuck!” You squeal when he starts to push into you again.

“Fuck.” His echoed words are deeper, less surprised and more relieved. Like he had been aching to slide back inside you again. The angle is different, the leverage better as he braces himself over you and houses his weight to press into you. “Perfect.” He grunts. “Made for my cock.” You whine as he grinds his hips slowly, teasing you.

His helmet is tilted down so he can watch his cock disappear inside you. Part of you wishes you could see all of him but you look down at the girth and your eyelashes flutter. “Mando. You - shit - didn’t know you were packing that much.” You chuckle breathlessly and he smirks under the helmet but you don’t see.

“You feel it though.” He’s cocky about that for a reason, knowing his cock is impressive enough to satisfy anyone and he’s willing to spend hours fucking when he gets the chance. “Aren’t you glad you decided to be a good girl?” His hands caress your thighs before shifting them to rest on his pauldrons.

“I won’t be - be good all the time.” You respond, shaking your head and you gasp when his hand wraps around your neck. “You’re gonna be my good girl.” He decides and your jaw slacks as he hits just right inside you. “I will.” You promise, eyes fluttering closed.

He doesn’t squeeze, but his grip is firm, feeling your heart pounding against his hand. “Dirty.” He growls through the modulator, delighted that you enjoy this. “Want you to cum again.” He decides as he starts to rock his hips faster again.

You have never been this responsive to any one. He seems to bring something out of you that has you moaning out, thighs starting to shake as he works you up until finally, you fall apart. Your cry is loud, nails digging into your palms as you soak him. Your eyes roll into the back of your head and that’s when it all goes dark.

****

You come to with a gasp, lurching up and the first thing you realize is that your hands are free. Twisting around and disoriented until you figure out that you are laying in your own cot, in the tiny sleeping alcove on the ship. Completely redressed too, except both of your boots are off. You would think that it had all been a dream, except for the hum of the engines and ache in your pussy that is always present after sex.

You wince as you shift from your cot, the door whooshing as it lifts, and you stand on shaky legs. The metal is cold beneath your bare feet but you ignore that as you search for the Mandalorian. You gingerly climb the ladder to the cockpit, seeing the bounty hunter in the pilot seat. "Taking me to get your reward?"

Din doesn’t answer, just calmly adjusting the course of the ship. He’s changed his heading after depositing you into your bunk, trying to justify it as he maneuvers the ship. After you had passed out, he had been worried. Concerned for a moment until he realized you had just passed out while cumming. It had been ironic as he had pulled out of you gently to tuck his hard cock away. He had promised to use you and he was the one left unsatisfied.

You frown when he doesn't answer but you look out at the stars, almost dizzy again from the speed you're passing them, and you walk closer to the man who was inside you. "What happened? Did - did you, uh, finish?" You ask, unconsciously rubbing your wrists.

He grunts, hands pausing on the controllers before he flicks a switch. “You passed out.” He tells you quietly. “So I dressed you and put you in your bunk.” He can sense you frowning, even though his back is to you. “If you aren’t conscious, I’m not fucking you.” He explains. “We didn’t have prior agreement to that.”

You are surprised by that. Most men would've continued until they came. You move closer, "you are confusing, Mando." You observe and he snorts. Your eyes drop to his crotch and you see the bulge in his flight suit. "You're still hard." You murmur and he hums, "yep." You want to show him how much you like his reaction - the way he respected you. You shift to kneel on the floor, hard metal beneath you and you trail your hand along his inner thigh under his armor. "I want to - to make you cum."

He tenses for a moment, but then forces himself to relax. It’s rare that someone touches him with no intent to harm. His helmet tips down watching you as you look up and try to find his eyes underneath the visor. “You want to show me that mouth that your former lovers have been bragging about?” He asks, reaching down and stroking your cheek and humming when he rubs your mouth with his thumb and you open up to suck on it. His cock twitches and you are aware of it by the smirk you manage to give him, even while sucking on the leather of his gloves.

"I told you I got high praise." You brag when you release his thumb, and he chuckles. You work on the belt of his flight suit, "Maker, how much do you wear? What do you do when you need to piss?" You ask curiously as you fumble to pull him free of his suit. "Holy - you are blessed by the Maker." You gasp when you finally see his length, "can I-?" You ask, leaning closer as you squeeze him.

“I take it out.” Din chuckles before cutting off the sound with a groan. “Told you I wasn’t a Gungan.” He jokes. “Suck it if you want to. Your jaw can be as sore as your pussy.”

You don't need to be told twice. You eagerly surge forward to wrap your lips around the head of his cock. Pre-cum hitting your tongue and you moan at the salty taste while you stretch your jaw to accommodate him.

He had cleaned up in the ‘fresher after checking the ship for weapons but he wishes that he had kept your juices on his cock for you to clean off. “Mesh’la.” He groans, head tipping back slightly as he enjoys the feeling of your mouth on him. “Harder.”

You hum, taking him deeper and you start to bob your head, wanting to make him fall apart. He groans and you look up, seeing your reflection in his helmet and it is surprisingly hot to watch yourself in his visor.

It’s been a long time since he’s had a blowjob. Even longer since it’s been so eagerly given. He groans again, twitching in your mouth when you swallow around him and your hum vibrates along the shaft. “You can take it all, can’t you?” He rasps out.

You want to. You want to make him fall apart. You hum around his length, taking him deeper until you choke. You gasp as you pull back and Mano chuckles, “best blowjob, huh?” He mocks you, reaching down to cup your cheek and you narrow your eyes, knowing you need to push yourself. You take him back into your mouth, inhaling through your nose as you push him down your throat.

He smirks under his helmet, giving you a small grunt of pleasure as your lips touch the base. He feels the hinge of your jaw work, your throat close around him. “That’s it.” He praises, “just like that. Do you like sucking my cock?” He asks. “Are you getting wet again?”

Moaning around him, you are getting wet from having the weight of his cock in your mouth. You brace yourself on his knees, using only your mouth to pleasure him. You breathe heavily through your nose and your eyes water but you don’t stop.

“Yeah, you are.” He chuckles breathlessly through the modulator and groans when you pull him just a bit deeper. “Fuck, good girl.” His fingers tighten around your jaw and his other curls into a fist on the arm of the pilot’s chair. “Do you want me to cum down your throat? Or in your aching pussy?”

You hate to do it but you pull off his cock to look up at him, “cum down my throat.” You demand, knowing your pussy is too sore to take him right now and you desperately want to hear him fall apart even if you cannot see it.

He nods once, sure that would be the answer you gave him. He’s positive that you are sore but he can help with that later on. You take him back into your mouth and he hisses in pleasure, thighs tensing and his body poised to fall apart.

He’s about to fall apart. You can tell by the way he twitches in your mouth and you moan around him, lifting your gaze to his visor again so he can look into your eyes as he cums.

His eyes meet yours, although you don’t know it. “Mesh’la.” He groans, watching as you pull your cheeks taunt and the pressure against his cock pushes him over the edge.

His cum hits the back of your throat and you whimper, swallowing hard to make sure you don’t let a drop escape but it’s impossible. He seems pent up and a few drops of cum drip down your chin.

You don’t stop sucking until every drop of his cum has been in your mouth. Din pants under his helmet, body melting into the seat even as he caresses your cheek gently. “Dank ferik.” He hisses. “I needed that.”

You lean back to look up at him, a smirk on your lips as you wipe your chin with the back of your hand. “Good, huh?” You tease, wanting him to be pleased with you.

“It was good.” He nods as he reaches down to tuck his softening cock away. He chuckles. “Do you want me to grade it or just say it was good?” His tone is light as he reaches out to wipe off a drop of cum that you missed.

You huff playfully, tilting your head as you look at him, “you can just say it was good.” You promise and he snorts, nodding his head, “it was good.” You grab his hand to lick the drop of cum from the leather.

He stares at you for a moment before he moves to flip a switch. “We will have to land soon.” He grunts. “You didn’t have much fuel.”

You shift to stand up, your knees aching, and you look at the Mandalorian. “I didn’t exactly expect to be taking a long trip through space.” You snort, shaking your head as you watch him pilot your ship.

He can tell. He can also tell that you didn’t have much in the way of provisions on the ship. “We’ll stop in Navarro.” He grunts, knowing that it’s taking you out of the way, but he would prefer a planet he knows.

You shift to sit in the copilot seat, watching him pilot has you biting your lip. He’s sexy and you don’t think he even realizes it. “So, Mando, can I know your name or are we not on those terms yet?”

He considers not telling you for a moment, but then he changes his mind. Beyond being a bounty and slightly bratty, you aren’t a threat to him. You aren’t a danger to his safety. Many people know his name. “Din.” He doesn’t look at you as he tells you his name. “Din Djarin.” He flips the autopilot off and takes the controls fully, enjoying the way the Crest feels.

“Din Djarin.” You repeat and smile softly, “it suits you. Even though I can’t see your face.” You chuckles and tilt your head towards him, “you hungry? I do have some rations left over before we get to Navarro.” You walk towards the ladder, needing to use the fresher and you are hungry.

“Make sure you eat.” He glances over his shoulder before he turns back out to state into hyper space. The view always centers him. “You will need your strength. Next time I’m going to fuck you until I cum.”

“Yes sir.” You tease as you lower yourself and your legs ache but you already want him again. You suppose that’s from being without sex since you left your shitty ex - he never made you orgasm anyway - and you work on cleaning yourself up. You’re surprised but happy he didn’t cuff you again, even if it was hot during sex. You heat your meal and sit down, wondering if you’ll ever see Din’s face.

In the cockpit, Din watches the stars streak by in a constant stream through the viewport and thinks about you. He pulls the puck out from his belt and opens it, revealing a hologram picture of you and your name, chain code and the reason for the bounty. Debt was the reason he was after you, credits you defaulted on. He doesn’t see any lavish spending, nothing to suggest it on the crest after he had searched it. He wonders what your story is and why he cares.

You finish eating just as he makes his way down the ladder. You look up and tilt your head, “do you not need to sleep?” You ask, curious about how he lives and what he wants. He’s a mystery and you find that extremely attractive and dangerous.

“Why are you going to try to take the ship while I’m asleep?” He asks, knowing that you wouldn’t. He’s already figured out that you aren’t a threat. You had one blaster on the ship and the tools were worn and obviously scavenged. You huff and he chuckles. “I’m human.” He reminds you. “I eat, sleep….fuck.”

You snort, nodding in response, "I won't take the ship. You can sleep." You reassure him, knowing that he will need to rest but you have no idea what his plan is for you. Perhaps he will let you go once you are on Navarro.

“I’m fine.” He motions to the ship. “Where did you get her?” He asks, leaning against the wall that your sleeping alcove is in. “They are rare now. Smugglers mostly have them for quick runs.”

"I, uh, stole it." You confess, "from my ex. He's the one who - he's the reason why there's a puck with my name on it. He used my name to buy this, went out gambling, took out loans in my name and I had no idea. It was - it was a lot of credits and he couldn't pay it back. The creditors came after me so I ran. Stole the ship and tried to hide."

He hums quietly, jaw rocking slightly under his helmet at the shitty ex that had put you in this mess. “How many credits are you in for?” He asks and when you tell him, his stomach lurches as he whistles. “Dank ferik.”

Sighing, you rub your hands on your thighs, "yeah. He really fucked me." You snort, "which is ironic because he never did a good job at that." Tapping your fingers, you tilt your head at the Mandalorian, "that's why I'm sure my bounty is a tempting amount.

He doesn’t say anything, just watches you. Seeing the fatigue that you try to hide, the worry that simmers under the surface of your skin. You need some rest. “Sleep.” He orders after a moment. “I’ll let you know when we get to Nevarro.” He watches as you glance around the ship and he tilts his head. “Do you need to be fucked unconscious again to sleep?” He teases.

You giggle at his offer and smirk as you look at him, “you ready to go again, Mando?” You tease, shifting to stand up from your seat, walking over to him. “I want to - I want to feel all of you. Can we?” You ask, dragging your finger along his beskar.

He considers saying no for a moment. He would be vulnerable and there’s a chance something could happen. “You would have to be blindfolded.” He tells you, tilting his head down to watch your fingers as they trail over the curves of his armor.

You nod, “you can cuff me too, if you’re more comfortable.” You promise. You just want to feel all of him, kiss him. There’s something about him that makes your head spin and you can’t seem to get enough.

“Maybe later.” Din’s cock twitches under his flight suit. “Are you too sore?” He asks seriously. “I was rough on you.” While he doesn’t mind rough sex, he doesn’t want to hurt you, regardless of you being his bounty.

You shake your head, “ache a little but I can take it. I can take you.” You promise, knowing your limits. “Maybe not so rough this time, huh?” You ask, sliding your hand up towards his helmet. He flinches and you stop, “I’m not gonna take your helmet off.” You promise and he relaxes a little. You reach up to caress the metal of his helmet like you're caressing his cheek.

“I won’t be rough.” He promises as he leans into your touch. He can’t feel it, but it’s the gesture that makes his stomach twisted. “Strip down and get into your bunk.” He orders softly. “I’ll make sure we are on course and power down the lights.” He doesn’t know why he trusts you, but he does. He wants to strip down and feel every inch of your body against his.

“I’ll wait for you.” You reassure him, sliding your hand down his chest plate before you stride into the fresher to strip down and wait for him in the hull. He immediately dims the lights and you shiver in anticipation as you stand naked in the hull after he makes his way to the cockpit to check the navigation.

Din doesn’t rush as he checks and rechecks the calculations on fuel and there’s enough to orbit the planet when the ship arrives. He doesn’t like landing on autopilot. He would rather be able to react if there’s a complication and he’s never landed this ship before. When he’s satisfied, he slowly shuts down the lights on the entire ship from the control panel. They cannot be turned back on unless it’s from here, so it’s perfect.

You shiver at the cold air that hits your bare skin from the vents and you push the button to your bunk, exposing it. You shift to sit down, heart fluttering in anticipation of feeling every inch of the Mandalorian who kidnapped you.

He hears the door to your bunk slide closed right as his boots hit the ground at the bottom of the ladder. Waiting for a moment before he starts to slowly unlatch his armor from the magnetic plates holding it to his flight suit. Feeling the cold air of the Crest as takes off his gloves. Stripping down just as thoroughly as you had and stepping into the ‘fresher to clean up for you since he had been in his suit all day.

You are anxious, twisting your sheets in your fingers as you lay down and wait for Din. The lights go out moments later and you inhale deeply as the door to your bunk opens but you can’t see a thing. “Din?” You gasp, heart pounding at the thought of him touching you.

He says your name, quiet and clear without the modulator distorting his voice. It’s quiet except for the hum of the engines and sharp intake of your breath when you realize that he has removed his helmet. “I’ve- never done this before.” He confesses even as he reaches for your ankle and wraps his hands around it.

His voice is softer, not as harsh when he has the modulator on. You gasp at his touch but relax when you hear him kneel on your bunk. “I’m honoured to be your first.” You tease breathing as he caresses your calf.

He chuckles quietly, shivering slightly as his hand slides over your skin. He can feel so much more without his gloves on. Without the barrier that holds him apart from the rest of the galaxy. “Gonna show me the ropes?” He jokes as he shifts between your legs and slides his hands up to your knees and they fall open even more.

It’s impossible to not giggle, almost high from his touch. Knowing you’re the first person he’s touched like this is intoxicating. “Yes sir.” You tease, trying to guess where he is since it’s dark and you gasp when you feel him press his form against you. “Oh Maker.” You moan, already wet from just feeling his body against yours. “Can I- can I touch you?” You ask and he grunts, “yes.” Your hands fumble in the dark but eventually your fingers caress his biceps.

He shudders and groans, making you snatch your fingers away but he shakes his head and grabs your hand to bring it back. “It’s- it’s good.” He promises, voice cracking roughly. “I- let me-“ he sighs when your fingers brush against his skin again. “I want to kiss you?” He asks. “Is that okay?”

"Please." You beg breathlessly, wanting to feel his lips on yours. You caress up to his shoulders, feeling the muscles under his skin, and you are confused until you feel his breath puff over your chin. You tilt your head, searching for his lips in the darkness and when they meet yours, you can't stop the moan in your throat.

He had watched kissing in the halo vids, wondering how it felt. He had almost let his helmet be taken off to kiss Omera, but his honor hadn’t allowed it. He would have never left that little planet if he had. No one else had tempted him, until now. It’s like nothing he had ever imagined and he groans as he clumsily kisses you.

He doesn't seem to know what he's doing but you don't care. You tangle your fingers in his hair - it's short but not too short - and you eagerly show him how to kiss. Your tongue slides into his mouth and his answering groan makes you clench around nothing.

He could spend the entire trip to Nevarro kissing you. His arms slide under your back to pull you close. Following your lead and slowly becoming more confident. He’s always been a quick learner and this is no different. Your breath mingles with his as you pant into his mouth and he feels himself start to harden against your stomach

It's easy to tell he likes kissing and you are happy to show him, sliding your tongue against his, and you caress his neck as he starts to grind against you.

After long minutes, Din pulls back, kissing your lips again and again before he speaks. “I want- can I?” He shifts down slightly and he bites his lip. “I’ve never done it, but I want to use my mouth on you.”

You are surprised but you won't deny him what he wants. "Are you - if you want." You promise, "you don't have to if you don't want to." You murmur and he chuckles, nudging his nose against yours. "I want to." You smile even though he can't see it. "Go ahead, Mando."

He can’t see you but he can feel you. Kisses scattered down your body and he twitches when you moan as his tongue runs across your tits. He’s given pleasure with his fingers, his cock, but never his mouth and he wants to see what it’s like. Loving how your whimpers encourage him on until he is hovering right in front of your pussy.

His hot breath already has you squirming and he notices, grabbing your thighs. You moan when you hear him inhale deeply. “Maker. You really haven’t done this before.” You comment and then realize that might make him self conscious, “doesn’t matter. I want you to explore. Enjoy yourself.” Your words spur him on and the first swipe of his tongue makes you cry out in pleasure

This had been another favorite of his when watching holo vids in his need to release. The taste of your pussy is incredible. Hot, fragrant, tangy. He’s never thought it could be so good. He’s tasted someone’s juices off the leather of his gloves after an encounter, but it can’t compare to the source. He moans and his fingers bite into your thighs as he holds them open. Sliding his tongue through your folds again feeling the way your hips spasm in pleasure when it flicks across your clit. “Right there?” He asks, but there’s a smugness to his tone, as if he already knows and is just showing off.

You gasp when he repeats the action. He may have never done this before but he seems to know what he’s doing. You whimper when he slides his tongue through your folds, his nose pressing into your clit, and you blindly reach down to run your fingers through his hair. “You sure you haven’t done this before?” You ask breathlessly.

He chuckles as he pulls back. “Favorite holo vid to watch when I’m jerking off.” He confesses shamelessly before diving back into your cunt. His cock is throbbing but he would have to have a blaster pointed at his head to stop right now.

That makes you gush hearing that this seems to be his fantasy and you’re fulfilling it. You moan and rock your hips but he flings his arm over your stomach to keep you still. “Oh fuck. That’s - like that.” You moan when he pushes his tongue into your cunt, nose pressed against your clit.

He had always wondered if a tongue felt as good as a cock inside but he can tell you aren’t faking. He groans into your folds and loves how your juices coat his mouth and chin. Spurred on by your moans and whimpers of pleasure in the dark, your fingers tight in his hair.

Your thighs shake as he works you higher and higher. He’s eager and hungry and fuck, it makes you cry out when he slides his tongue up to suck on your clit. “Din. That - oh fuck!” You squeal, thighs closing around his head as you fall apart on his mouth.

Din moans as he feels you start to shake. The flood of heat and sweetness is the best treat that he could ever get. He laps at your quivering hole and enjoys the way you whimper and whine as you thrash in your bunk until you are begging him to quit. “Mando- please- I need-“ he pulls away with a smack of his lips and grins. “That was better than a holo vid.”

You giggle, breathless from the orgasm, and you collapse back into your bunk. Blinking into the darkness, you feel like everything is heightened by not being able to see. “That was - wow.” You mutter in disbelief.

“Do you want more?” He asks, crawling up your body and pressing his lips to yours. He loves the way you immediately kiss him back.

You cup the back of his neck, loving how his breath puffs over your mouth, and you hum, “of course I do.” You reach down blindly until your fingers wrap around his length. “I want you to cum inside me now.”

He growls softly, cock twitching in your grip as you guide him to your pussy. Both of you have the implant, he felt the impression in your hip and his own is current and functioning. Still, he notches himself at your entrance and groans. “Gonna fill you so full it takes.” He murmurs. “Fill you with my ad.”

You moan at the thought even though you assume ad means baby in Mando. You whimper when he starts to push into you and he pauses. “Don’t you dare stop.” You demand, caressing his shoulders and you feel bumps of scars from battles won.

His chuckle is filthy, rocking his hips deep and only pulling back an inch before surging deep once more. “Not gonna stop until you are full.” He grunts. “So full you’ll drip my cum for days and then I’ll fuck more into you.”

“Fuck.” You choke at his words, shocked that the stoic Mandalorian is saying these things to you. “Yesss. Keep me full of you.” You whine, grabbing the back of his neck to bring his lips to yours once more, tangling your tongue with his.

His thrusts are slower, less harsh than before but no less devastating. Maybe they are more so because he can feel everything. Your thighs tighten around his body, wrapped around him and his skin is pressed to yours. Slick with sweat as he moves. He groans because there aren’t any words right now and he can’t talk and kiss you at the same time. Almost overwhelmed by the sensations.

He’s intense but you love it. He seems to overtake your body as he thrusts into you. It’s heightened by your lack of sight. You can smell him, feel him, and hear him and it pushes you higher to your pleasure. “Shit. Din. I-” You pant into his mouth. “Please.” He begs and you nod even though he can’t see you, pushed over the edge to spiral into your orgasm, clamping down onto his cock with a cry of his name.

Your fingers are brushing up and down his back, making him shiver as he tries to thrust, working you through it. Except he’s too worked up, too excited to hold out. He rocks his hips two more times before he buries his cock deep and groans your name as he presses his face into your neck.

You moan when he twitches deep inside you. You whimper and caress his back, letting him work himself through his high as he fills you up for the first time. “Din.” You sigh, relaxing beneath him as he hovers above you and you seek out his mouth in the darkness until you can kiss him.

He hums against your lips, body relaxing and he shifts to roll you onto your side in the small alcove. “Sleep.” He murmurs when you break away from the kiss. His head tilts up and he kisses your forehead. “Instead of passing out this time.” His cock is still buried inside you, but he doesn’t pull out.

You giggle, lifting your leg over his hip as you snuggle into his chest. You’re warm and satisfied and you inhale his scent as you close your eyes, falling asleep within moments in the arms of the Mandalorian.

You don’t even stir when the alarm goes off. The proximity alarm means that the ship has arrived at Nevarro and has entered an orbiting pattern until he changes the command. He slips out of the bunk, redressing in the dark and making his way back up to the cockpit and turns on the lights again. The alcove is still dark, so you don’t wake while he brings the ship into the atmosphere and flies towards the landing site.

You blink when the soft lights come on in your bunk and you open your eyes. You gasp after a moment, knowing that Din doesn’t want you to see him, so you quickly close your eyes. “Din?” You call out and you don’t hear him. You hesitate before opening one eyes, not seeing the Mandalorian so you make your way into the hull. His cum is sticky on your thighs and you call out his name again. “In the cockpit.” His voice comes over the intercoms and you sigh in relief, making your way to the fresher to clean up. Once you’re dressed, you walk out to find the Mandalorian standing there. “Hi.” You smile softly and he tilts his helmet, “we are in Navarro.” You nod and sigh, “are you - is this where you turn me in?”

“No.” Din shakes his head once and his hand hovers over the button to lower the ramp. He had landed and the ship is powered down. “We’ll refuel and get provisions.” He tells you, watching the relief wash over your face. “You need to be taken back to Hoth for collection of the bounty.” He doesn’t care for Hoth, but he doesn’t argue specifics.

Your face falls at his words. He’s taking you in. You swallow as tears sting in your eyes. You thought last night meant that he wouldn’t take you in. “Let’s, uh, let’s go then.” You choke, walking down the ramp and you will have to think of something. Even if it means leaving your ship behind.

Din frowns under his helmet. He has assumed you would be happy that you don’t have to face your debtors right away. He follows you, not putting the binders back on. Karga runs a respectful planet now and he doesn’t want to draw attention to your situation.

You are contemplating how to make your escape and you glance around as you make your way into the town. It’s busy but not busy enough for you to escape from the Mandalorian. You thought last night meant something to him but evidently now when he’s ready to cash you in. He walks towards the cantina and your stomach grumbles with hunger that makes him turn his helmet to look at you.

He sees the hurt in your eyes and guilt twists in his stomach. “Let’s get you something to eat.” He says as he motions to the cantina. “I don’t have any credits.” You shake your head but he cuts your elbow to bring you forward. “I’ll pay.” He promises quietly, leaning in towards you. “You need your strength.” You huff and stiffen but you don’t pull away and he wonders why you are upset with him.

Following him to the cantina, you glance around as people either look at him in awe or scurry away from him. It’s interesting to watch and when you walk into the cantina, he strides over to an empty table. “Sit. Order what you want.” He demands as he takes a seat opposite you.

You sit down and he glances around the cantina as a server comes over to the table. “What do you want?” She’s a bored looking Torgruta, her blue lekku complimenting the pale pink skin and darker blue eyes. She glances from you to Mando, waiting for someone to speak. Din gestures towards you, “she’s eating.” He answers when you don’t. “Whatever your best meal is.”

You nod, watching her stride off and you sigh, tapping your fingers on the table. “Do you ever eat?” You ask, curious about a man who seems to neglect his bodily functions more than anyone you’ve ever known.

“I eat.” He tells you. “I ate before you woke up.” He had grabbed a ration bar, your last ration bar, when he had gone up to the cockpit. “I prefer to eat alone because…” he reaches up and taps his helmet. “It’s a pain in the ass to lift my helmet and take a bite every time.”

You tilt your head in understanding and then you ask, “why do you wear the helmet all the time? I have never talked to Mandalorian before. Is it part of your religion?” You inquire, curious and respectful despite him turning you in soon.

“It is.” He confirms. “We do not show our faces to the galaxy. It is a part of our Creed.” He thinks about how he had taken his helmet off for Grogu and now he needs to redeem himself. “Our strength is in our anonymity.” He leans forward. “Why did you let your ex saddle you with debt?” He asks.

You suppose it’s fair that he asks you a question so you huff, “I didn’t. He got my identification card and started taking out loans in my name. Once he had the loans, he gambled and lost it all. Couldn’t repay it and guess who they came calling to?” You scoff, “he tried to steal the Crest too but I managed to get away before it was claimed by some asshole he owed credits to.”

He nods slowly and then tilts his head. “So why do you have so few provisions? No fuel?” He asks, although he feels like he knows the answer. You had just enough fuel in the ship to run the systems for a month. Using it as a place to sleep. No real food stores. “You must earn good credits at that club?” You sigh softly and look away. “I was trying to pay off the debt.” You confess. “But it’s too much and they sent you to collect me.” You sound defeated and tired as you glance back at him. “When will you turn me in?” You ask, as the waitress sets your meal down in front of you. “Eat.” He orders, ignoring your question. “After that, we will get provisions.”

Watching him as he crosses his arm, you pick up the spoon to eat your meal. It’s good, better than anything you’ve eaten since you ran away and you moan at the taste. He shifts slightly and you smile softly, “so there’s no Mrs. Djarin?” You assume not since he fucked you but you find men have no morals.

Din tilts his head. “No.” He says after a moment. “I do not have a riduur. If I did, I would not have touched you.” He believes in the vows you take with a partner. Watching you eat, he realizes that you probably have not been eating well since you went on the run. The server comes back and he offers more credits. “Another meal to go and another drink.” He nods towards the gamoran ale you had nearly finished. “She’s thirsty.”

He’s unlike anyone you’ve ever met. You swallow harshly and tilt your head at him after you set your drink down. “Are you always so accommodating with your bounties?” You smirk and lean back in your seat.

“Most of my bounties don’t cooperate.” He reminds you, a smirk you can’t see under his helmet but you can hear it in his voice. He leans back as well and watches your eyes darken slightly as they drift over his body. “You decided to be a good girl for me.”

You smirk, “you do give good incentives, Mando.” You wink and glance around the cantina. “I guess it was all for nothing though, huh?” You snort and he sighs, shaking his head.

He knows you expect him to just let you go, but he can’t do that. He’s expected to bring you back. They bring the extra meal, packaged up and your drink. “Drink up.” He tells you as he stands and takes the package. “We have a few more stops to make.”

“Okay.” You murmur, pulling back from him since he seems set on cashing you in. You sigh and drink the ale, slamming the cup down on the table. “Let’s go.” You huff, standing up with a shake of your head

The trip to the market is made in uncomfortable silence. Din doesn’t say anything and you are pouting. He buys enough provisions for two people for at least a month. Ignoring the questioning glances as he hands over credits and carries packages. “Back to the ship.” He tells you. “I’ve got one more errand but he’s coming to me.”

You sigh, knowing your fate is closer as you make your way back to the Crest with the supplies. He carries them easily and you hate how that turns you on to watch him as he shows his strength. You’ve felt those muscles in the dark and when he turns his visor towards you, you look away.

“Mando!” The booming voice comes from outside the ship and he smiles under his helmet as the impressive robes that Karga has taken to wearing appears before the man himself does. “You found yourself another Razor Crest!” Greeting him like a friend, Karga comes up the ramp with his arms extended. “The last time I was on a ship with you, the Beskar saved me.” He reminds Din with a hearty laugh, even though at the time, they had been adversaries. “What brings you to Nevarro? Have you seen the changes? We are thriving, I tell you.” Din chuckles. “Business.” He admits, although he had said as much on the holo he had sent Karga before landing. He turns his helmet towards you and introduces you. “This is Governor Karga.” He tells you. “Former head of the Bounty Hunter’s Guild on Nevarro.”

Your eyes widen and you reach out to shake the hand of the Governor. “Nice to meet you.” You say and then glance at Din, wondering what this is all about. You’re confused and concerned - wondering what this has to do with him dropping you off for your bounty.

Karga’s smile turns knowing and he bends over your hand and kisses the back of it. “What a beautiful lady!” He coos. “We are delighted you visited our planet.” Din huffs slightly, annoyed that the other man is flirting with you, although Karga always fancied himself as a ladies man. “Do you have it?” He interrupts, making Karga turn his attention back to him. “I do.” He lets go of your hand to reach for a large pouch from one of the pockets of his voluminous robes. “This is quite the-“ Din reaches for the pouch, “thank you.” He tells the governor, cutting him off because he doesn’t want the comments. Karga seems off kilter for a moment and then glances back at you. “Of course.” He nods. “Remember my offer.” He tells Mando. “We would love to have you right here, calling Navarro home.” Mando nods once and reaches out to shake Karga’s hand. “Thanks, but I have a bounty to complete.”

Even more confused, you look between the two men and frown, nodding when Karga bids you goodbye. “May the force be with you.” He says and you watch him walk off. “Din-” You start but he shakes his head, “don’t. Let’s go.” You swallow harshly and nod, knowing you have to accept your mistakes

It takes a few minutes to store everything he had bought and soon he’s up in the cockpit with you in the seat behind him. The Crest is full of fuel and he hums as he starts the engines. “This machine is perfect.” He mutters to himself as he lifts off.

You sit there, biting your lip as you watch him punch in the coordinates. You wonder if you could change his mind about turning you in so you stand up, walking over to him, and you straddle his lap. “What-” You fumble to reach down for his belt. “Let me - I want to show you why you should keep me around.” You demand and Din reaches down to stop your hands. “Stop.” He demands and you shake your head, “I can be good. I promise. I can show you.” You try to move your hands again but he growls, “stop.” He grabs your wrists and you cry, managing to release your wrists from his hold. You fall off his lap, stumbling as you make your way to the ladder as tears steam down your cheeks. “You’re a bastard, Djarin.” You choke, climbing down the ladder so you can throw yourself in your bunk.

Din sighs, knowing that you hate him right now, but he doesn’t follow you. Instead he checks the coordinates and watches as the ship jumps into hyperspace. Hoth will be in the viewscreen in just an hour and he can take care of his business and get off the frozen planet.

You curl into your sheets, realizing this could be your last moments of freedom so you inhale deeply and try to catch your breath after sobbing. You feel betrayed and a little used but you know deep down you knew what you were getting into by fucking the Mandalorian. You wanted him and you like him. That’s what makes this so painful.

He hears your crying and it tugs at his heart. Making him clench his fists to prevent himself from getting up and going down to your bunk. He needs to do this. He can’t let you distract him. He sighs again as he leans back and thinks about the kid. Wondering if he would like you. He feels like he would.

You’re not sure how much time passes. You pass out from exhausting yourself from your cries and you aren’t sure when but you feel the ship land. You start to panic, wiping your eyes, and you wonder if you can outrun the Mandalorian. You shuffle from your bunk, waiting until you hear the Crest land, and as soon as you can, you press the button to open the ramp. You bounce from one foot to the other as it lowers until you can finally run down it, glancing around and you shiver at the freezing temperature.

“Dank ferik!” Din sees you run across the ice an he’s quickly throwing switches to shut the engines down before racing down the ladder and off the ship after you. Shouting your name is useless as the wind howls around him and he can see that you are already slowing down because of how cold it is. However, that’s not what worries him, the last time he was here, he had encountered a huge creature under the ice and he doesn’t have his rifle this time. Instead of running, Mando activates the jet pack on his back and launches himself into the air, shooting out across the distance between you faster than he could run. His heart is hammering in his chest, hoping that you don’t call the creature to you by the vibration of your feet over the ice. The roar of the jet pack is not even heard over the wind, so he knows you don’t hear him coming when you look back and don’t see him running behind you, because he’s already dropping down in front of you to grab you when you run into him.

You scream when you bump into him, the wind whipping your face. “Let go of me, you bastard!” You cry when his arm wraps around you and you struggle against him. “I’m sorry!” He shouts over the wind and you bang on his chest plate until you slump against him. Defeated. You sob and he wastes no time wrapping his arm around your legs, lifting you over his shoulder. You hang limping over his form, resigned to your fate.

He doesn’t land and walk to the cluster of buildings that look like alien pods on the frozen landscape. You are shivering over his shoulder so he speeds up slightly, wanting to get you inside. It was stupid for you to run, but he doesn’t blame you. This is the only way this will be resolved and you won’t have anyone else coming for you. When he lands, you whimper as he sets you on your feet but you don’t resist as he clinks the binder cuffs around your wrists again. “You bastard.” You murmur and he ignores it as he guides you towards the door where the client is waiting.

You are shivering as he escorts you into the cantina, your hands cuffed together as he holds you by the upper arm. “Ah, Mando. I knew you’d be able to find her.” The man stands up to greet Din and you curl your lip, “you know I didn’t owe you the money. It was my asshole ex.” You hiss, knowing that this is the moment your heart gets broken by the Mandalorian.

“Doesn’t matter.” His greedy eyes slide over you with a lecherous look in them as the client smirks. “The debt is under your chain code, belongs to you in every way.” He licks his lips as he chuckles. “But maybe we can work out a way for you to work off the debt for me.” Mando tenses for a moment, angry at the implication, before he pulls out the large pouch and tosses it to the other man. The portly human is startled and fumbles, nearly dropping the pouch as he frowns. “What’s this?” He asks, “I’m supposed to pay you for bringing her to me .” Mando grunts, “her debt.” He tells the client stiffly. “She had the credits on her when I found her.” He lies. “I brought her in like you wanted, but she’s paying you.” The man huffs and starts to sputter out an excuse to not honor the payment, but Mando’s hand moves to rest on his blaster, his intention clear. “Her debt is paid.” The bounty hunter tells him bluntly. “Erase the bounty and the alert on her chain code. You have your credits, she goes free.” It’s not a suggestion, it’s a demand with a threat underneath. You are free from being hunted by anyone else or he will kill the bastard right here.

Your eyes are wide at his actions. He just paid off your debt. You gasp and glance between him and the other man. Din’s fingers flex on his blaster and you almost collapse in relief when the man spits out “fine” when he knows he cannot fight a Mandalorian. “Erase it. Now.” Din demands, not willing to leave until the job is completed. The man fumbles, pulling out his comm to delete the bounty and clear your name. “It’s done.” He promises and Din tilts his helmet to confirm. “Good. Oh and give her your cape.” He orders and the man frowns, “my cape? Now you’re just being ridiculous.” He scoffs and Din grips his blaster. “Fine. Fine. Take it.” He demands, shrugging it off and tosses it at you. You wrap it around yourself and Din nods, “let’s go cyar’ika.” You are pissed at him for not telling you what his plan was but you follow him out into the cold.

He stops along the walkway, feeling your eyes on him but he doesn’t explain. A droid ferry stops and Din tosses him a credit, telling him where the Crest is located and he holds his hand out to help you into the hovercraft. You stare at him for a second until the droid beeps that he won’t wait forever and you climb in. Din hops in after you and settles back against the seat as the taxi shoots out across the ice.

You stare out across the ice, the wind is bitter on your face and you pull the cape tighter around you. Din seems to notice and unclips his own cape, putting it over your shoulders. “Thank you.” You murmur and tears sting in your eyes as it smells like him when you nudge your face into it.

The rest of the ride is silent until the droid pulls to a stop in front of the ship. Din hops out and reaches for your hand but you ignore it as you climb out of the speeder awkwardly. He sighs but doesn’t say anything, just nodding to the droid before turning and walking up the ramp into the ship behind you. He notices you immediately go to your bunk and sighs again as he closes the hatch and wonders if you will ever talk to him again. It shouldn’t matter, but it does and your silence hurts worse than he had imagined as he climbs the ladder into the cockpit and quickly fires up the engines to leave Hoth.

You aren’t sure what happens next but as you depart Hoth you try to make sense of it all. He had omitted telling you what his plan was, letting you think he was turning you in. You sigh and after too long with your thoughts, you make your way up to the cockpit where he is. “Why’d you do it? Why didn’t you turn me in and take the credits?” You question with his back turned to you as he looks into hyperspace.

“Because the only thing that you are guilty of is trusting the wrong person.” Din admits but he didn’t turn around to face you. You huff quietly and he chuckles dryly. “You wonder why I didn’t tell you what I was going to do.” He guesses, but he knows that’s what’s on your mind. “I’ve never not turned in a bounty.” He tells you. “He needed to believe that you believed that you were being turned in. Otherwise, he would have never accepted the credits.”

You frown, “that’s - that’s ridiculous. Are you saying I couldn’t act? Fuck you, Djarin. You made me think - I thought after the time in the bunk that we - I thought you trusted me enough - apparently not. You didn’t trust me enough to not let me think you were turning me in and the sex between us meant nothing. Did it mean nothing to you?” You ask, wondering now if he didn’t turn you in because he felt guilty for sleeping with you.

Din slowly turns the chair around to face you. Watching you as your chest heaves and he thinks you’re beautiful when you’re angry. “It meant something.” He admits, voice low but he knows you hear him when your face softens just slightly. He doesn’t say anything else, just waits to see what you will say, or do.

Shaking your head, you shift from one foot to the other for a moment until you stride forward, he turns to face you, surprised. You straddle him, cupping his helmet and his hands come up to grip your wrists. “I’m not going to - I just-” You lean forward to press your forehead to his helmet, your eyes level with his visor. “You’re insane, Djarin and I - I cannot thank you enough. You saved me. Thank you.” You declare, staring at your reflection in the visor.

“He wasn’t going to touch you.” He promises, his voice dipping down into a dangerous register. One that makes you smirk as you lean back in his lap. Din slowly lets go of your wrists and puts his hands on the arms of the chair. “You’re free to do what you want.”

It’s impossible to not want him now that you know he’s saved you and grind down onto him. “I am now. Thanks to you.” You murmur, sliding your hands down to his chest plate. “I wish I could see your face.” You say, lost in thought.

Guilt over breaking his creed is mixed with the knowledge that he is already dar’manda. Removing it once more is not any different than when he removed his helmet for the kid. He grunts as you grind down on him, cock twitching as he starts to harden. “So take it off.” He tells you quietly, ignoring the way his stomach churns with fear, with anxiety. You deserve this. .

You pause for a moment, needing to know that he's serious, and he takes your hands to place them on the latches of his helmet. You inhale shakily, slowly unlocking them until you lift it. You gasp when the helmet is off his head and you see his face. "Maker." You murmur, tracing every feature, and he averts his eyes like he's self conscious. "You're gorgeous."

He doubts that, his eyes sliding back to your face to see it without the visor between you. He swallows, feeling more vulnerable than when he had been in your bunk with you, but he doesn’t reach for the helmet again. Letting you look like you had wanted to. The air has shifted and he doesn’t know what you will do next.

You lower the helmet to your lap, letting it balance between you, and you reach up to cup his cheeks, "I mean it." You lean in, eyes open until your lips press against his.

Din groans against your lips and his arms wrap around you. Not dragging you closer but just holding you as your tongue slides against his. His own eyes stay open, watching you as he kisses you back.

You moan, tangling your fingers in his hair, and you whimper when he groans in response. He's pressing into your core and you grind down, wanting to hear him groan again.

Din grabs the helmet and sets it aside so he can pull you closer. Groaning your name into your mouth while he rocks his hardening cock up. Loving how you are writhing on his lap. You break off the kiss to moan and he leans in to kiss your throat. “Forgive me for not telling you yet?” He asks, hands squeezing your ass.

You look into his dark eyes, seeing the raw emotion there. It’s obvious he’s never learned to conceal how he feels behind the visor. You nod, “I forgive you. You saved me.” You murmur, leaning in to press your lips to his again, pressing your entire form against him now that there’s nothing holding you back.

He kisses you back fiercely, his tongue tangling with yours and there’s a hunger that is unmatched. Running his hands over your body like he can’t touch enough of you. “Fuck.” He pants. “I want you.” It’s a request, you can turn him down, you can deny him, but he wants you. He wants you now that you know you owe him nothing or that you’re not trying to bargain your freedom with your body.

“I need you.” You respond, kissing his jaw and he groans at the contact. “Now.” You peck his lips and shift off his lap, working on your pants to push them down to your ankles so you can straddle him again. Your fingers work on undoing his flight suit until you reach in and wrap your fingers around his hardening cock.

Din groans and twitches against your palm. “Dank ferik.” He hisses, leaning in and biting down on your shoulder through your shirt. “Take it.” He grunts, loving how you immediately shift to put him in position.

You shift to nudge him against your entrance, slowly sinking down onto his cock with a low moan, and once your thighs meet his, you surge forward to press your lips to his.

He loves how hot your pussy is. How tight you grip him as you settle down on his lap. He pulls back and caresses your cheek. “Mesh’la.” He murmurs. “Ride me. I want to see you without my helmet on.”

It’s impossible to deny his request so you start to rock your hip, riding his cock that stretches you out. “Fuck.” You gasp, pressing your lips to his again while you tangle your fingers in his hair to keep him close as you grind against him.

It’s not rushed but he can’t say that is the slow rhythmic pace that had been set in your bunk in the dark. This is something a little more free, needy. “Maker.” He hisses, eyes rolling back when you clench around him.

You feel free and you want to celebrate that as you rock on top of him, “shit. Din. You feel - you feel so good inside me.” You moan, rocking down onto him and you press your forehead against his, rocking a little faster against him.

He groans in agreement and grips your hips tightly. He doesn’t want to take over, wants you to be in control over this. To fuck him. “You- you look so good on my cock.” He pants out, opening his eyes and looking down to watch you ride him.

You smirk, “I love seeing your face. Your expressions are so free.” You confess, “you look - you look like you are enjoying every second.” You slide your hands along his chest plate even though he can’t feel you.

“What’s not to enjoy?” He grunts, ignoring the way he wants to hide his face again. Guilty for once again breaking his creed. “You are amazing.”

You chuckle breathlessly, “so are you, baby.” You smirk and lean in to kiss along his jaw, “Maker.” You hiss when you find the right angle, so close to falling apart. You rock on his lap, your clit pressing just right against his beskar. “Din. I’m gonna-” You choke and he growls, “do it, mesh’la.” You whine and rock your hips, falling apart within moments with a squeal.

Now he takes over. You collapse against his chest plate, your lips against his. Din rocks his hips up, thrusting up into your spasming walls as he holds you close. “Fuck, you feel so good.” He grunts. “So wet, so tight.” He hisses when you clench down hard around him again.

You gasp, biting down on his ear as you lean in closer, “cum for me, baby.” You plead, needing to feel it and you are trying to grind down onto him but he’s gripping you so tight.

Din groans your name, shuddering as he feels your hand on his face. He thrusts up into you once, twice more before he is throbbing inside you.

You press kisses to his face as he pulses inside you, filling you up, and you rest your forehead against his when he relaxes and his grip turns into caresses. “So good.” You murmur, pecking his lips, “I don’t - it’s never been like this before.”

He hums softly. “You’ve never been with me.” He teases, although he knows what you mean. “I’ve set a course back for the planet I found you on.” He admits and you pull back to shoot him a confused frown. “My ship is there.” He explains.

“Oh.” You relax a little, “are you planning to make your own way?” You ask, curious and hesitant that he’s going to leave you there and continue on his journey.

He can see the questions in your eyes and he tilts his head slightly, the same way he would have if he had his helmet on. “That depends on you.” He murmurs quietly. “You were bargaining for your freedom and you have that now.” He points out. “If you want to go somewhere else, I need my ship.”

“I wanted my freedom from the bounty. From my ex’s mistakes. I don’t want - I don’t want to be free of you. I’d be happy to follow you if you want me to.” You murmur, caressing his cheek and waiting anxiously for his answer.

His cock is still buried inside you, warm and cozy and you are offering him more. Time with you, space outside a star fighter. You. That’s the part that he’s really interested in. Someone beside him, the hole the kid left can’t be filled but he doesn’t want to be alone anymore. “I have a dangerous life.” He warns you, wanting to be fair to you. “I have to go to Mandalore. To redeem myself.”

You frown, “redeem yourself? Why?” You question, cupping his jaw, and he sighs. “I am dar'manda.” He reveals and you tilt your head in question. “Shunned.” He clarifies and you scoff, “Maker, why-?” He grips your wrists to lower them from his face, “I shouldn’t reveal my face. It’s against my creed.” He declares and your jaw drops, “but you - right now. Did I - have I made this worse?”

“No.” He shakes his head. “I had already removed it.” He murmurs softly. “My- the kid.” You don’t understand and he sighs. “I had another bounty. A kid. Little monster.” His eyes are sad and still light up at the thought of him. “I turned him in too. But I went back for him. The Empire was hunting him because he’s-“ he swallows. “He’s a Jedi.” Your eyes widen and he nods. “He left to be with his people and I- I couldn’t let him go without-“

You nod in understanding, “so you’ll go to Mandalore and redeem yourself then you will not remove the helmet again?” You inquire and he nods, “I won’t.” You pout, “that really is sad for the galaxy. Hiding that gorgeous face behind a helmet.” You smirk and tap his nose, “but I understand. It’s your religion. You need to do it.”

“Still want to come along?” He asks seriously, knowing that he would be hurt if you said no. But he had paid your debt knowing you could walk away. He hadn’t done it to keep you a prisoner. Or to get your ship. He had done it because, like the kid, he had felt something for you.

You smirk, “I’d be a fool not to, baby.” You slide your hands down to press your palms on his chest. “I’ve always liked adventure. I was escaping my bounty, not my life. I want to follow you.” You promise, knowing he could tell you not to follow him but you want to.

“We would have to use your ship.” He warns and you grin at him. “You do want my ship.” You tease and he snorts. “Of course I do. The things I can do with this ship are amazing.” His smirk is a little cocky and a lot of confidence. “Just need to install a weapons locker and improve the ground security.”

You playfully roll your eyes, “already trying to change my ship?” You tease, slapping his chest and he grabs your hand, lifting it to kiss your palm. “And in the meantime, we could have lots of helmetless sex. You know, since technically you haven’t redeemed yourself yet.” You trail off, “unless you no longer wish to do that?” You don’t want to push him if he regrets showing you his face.

Din chuckles, bringing your hand to his face and closes his eyes as he feels your fingers brush over his skin. “I don’t think I would want to put my helmet back on with you.” He knows he has to, but he didn’t want to. “Not right now. When I redeem myself, yes, but not now.”

You nod in understanding, “whatever makes you comfortable.” You promise, knowing his creed is so important to him. “We have some time. We can take advantage of your status until then.” You smirk and you feel him start to harden inside you. “Like now.” You giggle, squealing when he leans in to kiss you. 

**** 

You watch as Din walks into the waters, your heart pounding as he finally redeems himself. He kissed you before he put his helmet back on and you are grieving seeing his face but you know this is what he wants. To redeem himself and his creed. You respect that and you watch him eagerly.

Din takes another step forward and drops down into the abyss. “Din!” Your scream echoes off the stone and Bo Katan waits just another moment before she is diving into the water to save him. Submerged and without his Rising Phoenix, the weight of his Beskar is dragging him down further. He struggles but a part of him wonders if this is fate judging him. Right before his vision goes dark, a watery gargle of your name comes out of his mouth.

You fall to your knees, tears in your eyes as you worry he’s gone forever. Your hand on your chest as your heart pounds until moments later when you see Din and Bo Katan break free of the water. “Oh Maker.” You choke in relief.

He’s unconscious when Bo lays him down and her own chest heaves as she waits for him to sputter up water. It would be horribly ironic to have to remove his helmet again to save his life. After a long, tense moment, Din chokes up water, making you cry out in surprise as he coughs while you rush over to his side.

You want to pull his helmet off but you can’t, caressing the beskar, you look down at him and when he surges forward to sit up, you cry out. “Din. Oh Maker.” You choke, wrapping your arms around him, “are you okay?”

One wet, gloved hand reaches for your arm, squeezing it tight. “Witness.” Din isn’t speaking to you, but to Bo Katan. She’s removed her helmet and her eyes widen in understanding. “Witness.” He demands again through a cough and she nods. “What-“ you start to pull away but Din doesn’t let you pull back far enough. “The last thing that I thought about before I blacked out was that I wanted to see your face one more time without the visor between us.” He rasps out, his voice rough from choking and coughing. “If you are my riduur, my wife, I can remove my helmet with you in private.” He murmurs softly. “I would still be following my creed because we would be one.”

Your eyes widen at the confession and you frown, "you want me to - to be your wife?" You ask and he nods, "I do." You glance at Bo Katan who stares at you until you fix your focus back on Din. "Yes." You blurt out, "I want - I want to be yours. I want to marry you." A grin appears on your lips and you nod.

Din nods once and a few moments later, he is on his feet. Soaked to the bone and barely recovered from nearly drowning, but he takes your hand. “Mandalorian vows are simple.” He tells you. “Mhi solus tome, mhi solus dar'tome, mhi me'dinui an, mhi ba'juri verde.” He says softly. "We are one when together, we are one when parted, we will share all, we will raise warriors."

You frown as you fumble through the words in Mando’a with help from him until you repeat them in basic. You are now his and you grin, reaching for his wet hands to squeeze him. “I love you, Din.” You promise, knowing this journey has been a rollercoaster but you know you are where you belong.

“I love you, Mesh’la.” Bo smirks slightly at his affection since she’s only known him as stoic and slightly grumpy. He leans in and presses his helmet against your forehead. “Later, when we are alone, I can reveal my face again.”

“You’re… giving this to me,” you ask, dragging the question out.

The Mandalorian stands at your doorstep. Unreadable beneath hard shiny metal and illuminated only by the entry light of your home above your door. The chilly night air bites your cheeks but he stands unfazed.

“As a thank you,” he explains. “You were a big help to my kid and this was the only thing I had that seemed like something you’d enjoy.”

All you did was give his little green kid some medicine. It’s not like it was even your first interaction with the infamous hunter. He’s stopped by your apothecary a couple times. Passing by so swiftly you hardly even knew he was there if it wasn’t for the lingering stares from other customers. If you recall correctly, he only ever picks up supplies to replenish a med pack or bacta spray for wounds.

Until you suddenly found him at your doorstep the other night with his adorable little green baby in his arms. The poor little guy was running a fever, coughing up a storm, and had even refused food for over a day. Any parent would be frantic. And so you didn’t even think twice to let them inside.

Luckily your small shop is attached below your home, so you were quick to find the right tinctures for his illness. The Mandalorian paced circles in your kitchen as you administered the medicine and blotted his kid’s little forehead with a cool damp cloth. It took some time and a lot of reassurance to a very nervous father, but after a few hours the fever broke.

You sent them home with some herbal tinctures and even some homemade hard medicinal candies for stubborn coughs and that was it. Hardly any words were exchanged between you that night that didn’t pertain to the child. Only a heartfelt thank you, goodnight, and a promise to pay you back somehow. You assured him that it really wasn’t necessary, that you were glad to help.

You’ve admittedly always been curious about the man. With his stoic demeanor and a reputation that preceded him like lightening preceded thunder. He’s somewhat of a local legend, menace, and hero all wrapped up in one. And now he’s at your door. With booze. Definitely a man of his word, this guy.

“You’re giving this,” you repeat with astonishment. “This whole bottle, to me?”

“Yes,” he answers again. “Is it a special one or something?”

“This is Andoan wine,” you emphasize, holding out the clear glass bottle. “You can only find these on Coruscant now. Very delicious, very rare, very expensive.”

“Is it,” he asks nonchalantly. “I’ve never tried it before. But I hope you enjoy it.”

“You really don’t have to,” you tell him.

“I insist. I didn’t know the first thing to do so I appreciate your help.”

You chuckle. With your limited interactions, you’re starting to see that he’s short and to the point with his words. Almost like he’s not entirely used to speaking with people.

“I…” You nearly argue it again but decide against it. He really didn’t have to give you such a lavish gift for something any good person would do in a situation like that. It was only natural. But at this point, refusing him might come off as rude so…

“Thank you very much.”

The Mandalorian acknowledges your gratitude with a tilt of his helmet, then turns on his heels to leave without another word. And for some reason, you linger at the door. You watch him go down one step, then another, then-

“H-hey, Mando?”

Your sudden call stops him in his tracks on the stair case and he turns to look back over his shoulder. The dim light gleaming over his steel.

“Yes?”

“I…. w-well…”

You’re stammering. Just come out and say it.

“If you’ve never tried it… would you like to share it with me?”

He stands there silently looking at you and the awkwardness crawls your skin.

“I’m not busy at the moment and it’s not really in my culture to drink alone.”

Culture your ass. You just want to drink with him. It’s unclear why in particular but… you’re curious about him. Other than the company of his kid, he seems alone. You wonder if he prefers it that way or if it’s for another reason entirely. Either way, the offer was worth a shot.

There’s more silence and the only noise in the air comes from the gentle chirp of some lava crickets and the breeze brushing the trees in the street. And it’s in that moment that regret starts to burn in your stomach

He’s gonna say no. A pause like that doesn’t necessarily mean yes. But it would be rude not to offer, right? A bottle this nice doesn’t come by these parts and it’d be a shame to drink it alone. It’s reasonable to offer the gesture. After all, he went out of his way to come here from across town. It’s the least you can do to show your appreciation in return.

“Alright.”

The word that falls out of him so effortlessly hits you like a punch to the chest. Are you nervous? Absolutely. But how many people can say they shared a drink with the Mandalorian?

A few minutes later, you find yourself standing on your tip toes, grabbing a couple earthenware ceramic cups in your kitchenette cabinet while Mando stands in your living room. His helmet follows the various potted plants, momentos and knick knacks from your travels littered around your home. Even tracing his gloved fingers over some of them.

“You have a nice home,” he says. “I didn’t notice before. Very lived in.”

“Lots of junk,” you joke. “You can say it Mando, I won’t mind.”

“My place is still new. Doesn’t feel like a home just yet.”

“That’ll change over time,” you assure him. “After a while, your home becomes a collection of memories.”

His attention gets drawn to a particular item on your wall. It’s an old worn down canvas satchel bag that hangs on the wall. At one point it was a life line. Now it serves as a reminder that no matter how hard life gets, showing a little kindness can go a long way for someone.

“What’s this memory?”

“That? That memory is what got me here.” You smile to yourself as you wipe down the cups with a clean kitchen rag.

“A few years ago, I was on Pantora with just some spare change and the clothes on my back. I was desperate to leave so I ended up hitching a ride on a freight ship. I worked on the ship in exchange for a ride to Corellia. Their language was difficult to learn and I had a rough time getting things done because for some reason everything was written in the native language and not aurebesh. On a stop to Tattooine, I accidentally labeled a pallet of coaxium as a pallet of scrap metal. That “scrap” was sold to some Jawas and by the time everyone realized my mistake we were already halfway to the next planet.”

“Was that before you came the Nevarro?”

“That was the reason I came to Nevarro,” you clarify. “It was their next stop so they dropped me here.”

“Ouch.”

“Yeah, ouch,” you laugh. “Anyway, I guess one of the workers felt sorry for me and left me that satchel with a couple credits and some ration bars inside. Buuut my mistake turned out to be a blessing in disguise. Nevarro turned itself around. I have my own little business. I’m even able to save a little bit of money now. For the time being, things are comfortable. I’ve hopped around the system a lot as you can see. But… this is a place I can always come back to.”

“Something reliable,” he adds.

“Exactly,” you say softly, smiling at the sentiment.

You look up at him. And you didn’t notice as you were cleaning those cups that he’s now completely facing towards you. His visor is trained on you. And it’s then that you realize how small your home really is. Because Mando is broad.

His crossed arms accentuate his wide shoulders. His chest plate follows the lines of his trim torso. Even those plates of beskar armor can barely hide the bulk of his biceps. Your eyes briefly, briefly take a tour at his waist line before you realize how incredibly rude you’re being.

He’s a guest. And a customer. Don’t. Check. Him. Out.

Heat starts to rise in your cheeks. Focusing back on the cups, you round the kitchen counter and walk over to him.

“I’m sorry. All this talking suddenly got deeper and I feel like I haven’t really introduced myself. We’ve only ever passed by each other before,” you chuckle, shaking away the nerves.

In hindsight you should’ve just introduced yourself the other night, but truthfully you were in care-taker-mode and it didn’t occur to you at the time. Plus you didn’t think you’d have an encounter with the man again other than seeing him briefly in your shop every so often. But he seems like a nice enough person with the limited knowledge you do have with him. And after tonight you’re bound to cross paths again. So you happily extend your hand out and give him his cup along with your full name.

There’s a couple beats of silence and you’re starting to see that’s his default. But it doesn’t stop you from second guessing your words as if you’re crossing an unknown boundary. There’s a slight tilt downward with his helmet and he responds with a regretful “I’m sorry, but-“

“You don’t have to tell me your name,” you immediately add. “I know there’s… principles you must have. I just wanted you to know me. That’s all.”

Another beat passes before he finally reaches out to take the cup in his hand. He repeats your name and the way it comes out of his voice holds a whole new flavor. Soft and curious even through the warble of his vocoder. It’s almost like he’s seeing how it tastes.

You like it. You like it a lot.

“It’s nice to meet you.” The voice wears the vocoder like a veil but you still catch a hint of a smile by his relaxed tone. No real logical way to know for certain, just a gut feeling.

“Likewise,” you smile back.

“So,” he exhales. “You want to know how two Mandalorians drink?”

“Sure. Sounds educational,” you joke.

With a tilt of his helmet, Mando steps further into the living room area and you follow behind, cup and bottle in hand. Walking over to the couch, his gloved hand reaches for the small round pillow resting there. His smokey grey cape flows over his shoulder and for a moment you’re mesmerized by the movement. As he turns on his heel, his fingers release the pillow. Letting it fall to the thin rug with a muted poof.

“Right here.” Mando gestures to the floor and you waltz over to take a seat on the cushion, crossing your legs. It doesn’t escape your notice how he doesn’t grab the only pillow for himself. Opting for your comfort over his own.

He takes a minute to look around the room. Probably checking for anything reflective. Then with a swish of his cape to the side, Mando settles in the floor behind you. When his back presses against yours, you expect a wall of cold hard metal beneath the cape. But instead there’s warmth. Strong and firm, but still warm and giving.

“It’s customary to sit on the floor when drinking with a war band. Usually outside around a fire. When it’s just two, it’s back to back.”

“Aaah,” you drawl. “Very practical. I like it.”

The top of the bottle comes off with a pop and the rich scent caresses your nose like a hug. After pouring about two fingers worth into Mando’s cup you pour one for yourself and settle in.

“Are we drinking to anything tonight ,” you ask him.

“Not sure. How about…,” he pauses for a moment before deciding. “To that Pantoran who gave you the satchel.”

That makes you laugh out loud. But you can’t help but feel a little pleased at that. If it wasn’t for him, you wouldn’t be on Nevarro, wouldn’t have a home. And you definitely wouldn’t be drinking with Mando tonight. For that you’re especially grateful.

“You know what, yeah,” you chuckle. “To the Pantoran.”

Mando extends his arm back to reach your cups and you meet him halfway. Letting them touch with a soft clack.

“Cheers.”

“Cheers.”

There’s an unclicking sound and you sense that he’s probably tilting his helmet back to drink. You ignore the small tinge of disappointment that he didn’t take it completely off. But it’s understandable. He doesn’t know you well. Even drinking like this with an outsider is probably a big deal for people of his creed. His back presses a little further against yours as he takes his first sip and you take yours.

The wine is rich and dry, and a bit smokey. But the underlying taste of tangy fruit blends well with the flavor. Going by the color, it has to have been bottled for a decades. The alcohol runs warmly down your throat and settles like smoldering ember in your stomach. It’s like no other alcohol you’ve ever tried before. Not even close.

“Hoooh,” he hisses after that sharp bite of alcohol.

“Yeah,” you agree knowingly. Already sensing that this bottle is getting finished tonight.

The conversations flow pretty easily after the first drink. He tells you about how his boy came into his life and how he suddenly found himself being his father. You tell him that you can only dream of having a parent like him because you never got to know yours. You half expected he would cut the interaction short and only accept one drink. But when you offer a refill, he gladly accepted which warmed you from the inside.

Admittedly you ask a few curious questions about his creed and he indulges you a bit. And he asks about how you got into medicine making. But for the most part you both stick to easier topics like current events on Nevarro, work, and food. Eventually two drinks turn into three and somehow you’ve both dipped into topics like past relationships. Which is dangerous territory after drink number three.

“It was baaad, Mando. I’m telling you. I mean, really! Who gives two shits who makes more money than who? Or am I in the wrong here?”

“Nah, definitely not,” he replies. His speech now more relaxed but a little raspy from the alcohol. “Honestly, he sounds like a little bitch if that was his main concern.”

“Yeah! Like, what is it with these men and needing to feel superior in such bullshit, inconsequential ways?”

“You seem strong willed. Weak men are intimidated by that.”

“Yeah well, then every man I’ve met in this galaxy was weak,” you groan. “I mean, c’mon. Am I that intimidating? Is it the yapping? It’s probably the yapping.”

“I think someone who’d be deterred by something that trivial doesn’t sound worth a damn anyway.”

With that, you let out a deep sigh and slump against the man behind your back.

“Eh, you’re probably right,” you exhale. You toss back the last little sip in your ceramic cup, savoring the flavor.

“You know what, it’s fine. I’m fine. I’ll just be that shop girl around the corner who throws herself into her work, makes her little remedies, and stays happily independent. I think I can live with that.”

A pause streches between you.

“You don’t sound too convincing, Shop Girl,” he teases.

“Shit,” you tsk.

You both wheeze with laughter, your bodies rumbling against one another and it’s so… relaxing. He’s surprisingly easy to talk to. Perhaps it’s because he doesn’t say much. Or that what little he does say is said with a sincerity you’re not used to. Or you’re drunk. It could very well be that.

But in a galaxy full of deceit and unknown dangers, it’s refreshing to talk with someone as honest as him. He’s authentic, unapologetically so.

“Hey so… can I ask you something?”

“You’ve been asking things this whole time,” he teases.

“I know, but… it’s technically a helmet question. And you can tell me to fuck off if it’s too much.”

Mando hums and the rumble reverberates through your body, nesting warmly in your chest. He’s settled comfortably against you and it makes you feel close enough to ask what you want to ask. After thinking it over he gives you permission.

“Can’t wait to hear this,” he sighs with a little amusement.

You smile. To your surprise, he actually has a good sense of humor. A dry, blunt one . But humor nonetheless. You run a finger over the rim of your cup, finding a little more courage.

“Mando… Have you ever kissed anyone before?”

It’s a simple enough question, right? It’s within the ballpark of the topics you’ve been discussing. And you’re both adults. It’s not like it’s inappropriate…Right?

Oh god, you really are drunk…

Regret rises with each passing second and you wonder why you even brought it up. It’s probably some kind of insult to his creed to ask something like that. 

“Too much,” you broach gently.

“No,” he says softly. “You’re not exactly the first person to ask that. Doubt you’ll be the last.”

He pauses for a moment to find the right words. Then with a heavy exhale he gives you an answer to your insanely intrusive question.

“I was pretty young when I took the creed,” he states. “Ten, twelve maybe? Too young to be interested in those kinds of things. Never looked back since. To be completely honest, it’s not even something I really think about in adulthood. Never understood the hype.”

“Sooo, I’ll take that as a no.”

“No,” he breathes. “Never kissed anyone.”

Never kissed anyone? Never felt a person’s soft lips against his own or graze his skin? Does that mean he hasn’t gotten to experience more than kissing? Licking? Biting? Or…

Do not finish that thought…

“Huh… Well, that’s a shame,” you say without thinking, quickly adding “-but at the same time, I completely understand it too! I mean, it shows a lot of self discipline, you know? To resist that kind of… temptation. Most people don’t have any reason to be disciplined enough to stay chaste. I can admire tha-"

“I said I’ve never kissed anyone, I didn’t say I never fucked.”

Thank… the Maker… you’re not face to face. Because the way your eyes bulged just now would’ve been downright embarrassing had it been caught. He didn’t just say sex or even screwing. The Mandalorian fucks. The alcohol in your blood seems to conjure a brief glimpse of what that might look like before you find enough coherence to shew it away.

“…oh,” you breathe out, effectively stopping your rambling. “I-I guess I just assumed…”

A deep exhale blows out of his nose. He hums, seemingly entertained by the foot you’ve put in your mouth. But also making the air light between you.

“Well, you assumed wrong.”

The humor in his voice settles your nerves a bit. Thankfully there isn’t an awkward air at the sudden change to such a topic despite hardly knowing each other. And oddly enough, it feels easy to talk about it for that very reason.

“You’re rather chatty when you drink, Mandalorian. I feel like I’m learning all sorts of things about you tonight.”

“You’re right,” he breathes. “I spoke without thinking, I apologize.”

“No, It’s fine. I don’t mind at all. It’s a relief to know there’s a man under all that armor and not solid metal.”

He hums again and the noise stirs something in your chest.

“Well, even so… It’s late… Probably best if I stop drinking.”

You look into your empty cup. Then glance over to the bottle with barely a drop left inside. Something inside you wilts. There’s nothing to keep him here any longer…

“Yeah… Me too.”

You’re not sure if you wait for him to move first or if he’s waiting for you. But both of you remain still for nearly a whole minute. Silent and hesitant to end the night. As comfortable as it is, you feel Mando’s back lean away from yours and you miss the warmth. You turn on the floor to find him standing up as he adjusts his helmet clasp and places his empty cup on the table.

“You were right. It tasted better shared,” he admits. A satisfied smile curls your lips.

“If you learned anything about me tonight, Mando, it’s that I am always right when it comes to liquor.”

“I appreciate the hospitality.”

“I appreciate the company.”

You place a hand on the table as an anchor in an attempt to stand up and follow him to the door. But as you try to stand straight, the room spins and your knees buckle.

Nope. Not doing that.

You sit your ass right back down on that cushion before you make an even bigger fool of yourself. Quick to respond, Mando catches your free arm. Making sure you land back down safely.

“You ok,” he asks, concerned but with a hint of humor.

“Pfft. Yeah, I’m good. I think I’ll just stay down here for a minute,” you chuckle, running a hand through your hair and closing your eyes for a moment.

For sure you’ll have a hangover tomorrow. Shit. You work tomorrow. There’s a couple things you’re running low on, too. You’ll have to request an order through the trading guild. That’ll cost credits. Maybe if you get that Chiss man again you can manage a trade and he can throw in those dried flower buds for that tea that keeps getting sold out.

You know you’re already a bit dizzy. But behind closed eyes you feel like your head is swaying. Or rather… that it’s being moved. Something warm and firm holds your jaw up and when your eyes flutter open again you’re met face to face with dark silver.

The Mandalorian stands barely a foot in front of you. Visor fixed down on your face. Maybe the wine has made your brain slow but it’s only when you follow the path from his shoulder and down his outstretched arm that you realize what’s holding your jaw… is his hand.

With a subtle pass of his thumb along your cheek you can feel warmth starting to pool in your face. Awareness pricks the hairs on the back of your neck when you realize your position. Sitting on your knees, face barely level to his waist as a wall of steel and muscle towers over you.

“Your cheeks get flushed when you drink,” he mutters.

When I drink. Suuuure.

“Now you know,” you mumble without thinking. It grants you a satisfied hum from his helmet and you feel it travel through your ears and under your skin.

“Now I know…,” he repeats.

There’s no movement, no words. But there’s something thick in the air. It’s heavy and enticing. It’d be so easy to get wrapped up in it with any sudden movement. You look up at him through half lidded eyes and you get a gut feeling that they’re meeting his. You’re not sure what his are giving away. But yours have to be hinting something you’ve been trying to hide all night.

With a sharp intake of air, Mando steps back and releases your face. Your head drops a little at the loss of support and it follows his direction as he walks towards the front door with quick, heavy steps. With a press of a button on the wall panel, the door panels slide open and just before he steps outside… he stops. Not looking back, just standing there at the edge of your home with his stand still resting on the doorway.

“Don’t invite me in again.”

And then he’s gone. The door panels shut swiftly, leaving you alone and more confused than when he showed up at your door.

…what?

•

Din wishes he could say that the first thing he thinks about when he got home that night was his sleeping kid safe in the crib. Or at the very least about how incredible that wine tasted. But after he undressed and collapsed down onto his bed half drunk, the only thought he couldn’t stop thinking about as he stared at the ceiling was…

Damn… it’s been a while.

For the past few years, Din’s life has flipped around a number of times. Between barely scraping by as a bounty hunter, saving an orphan kid from an imperial psychopath, losing said kid, then having him return and be by his side to reclaim the Mandalorian home-world, there’s not much time to indulge those kinds of needs. But just because Din found himself being a busy father later in life doesn’t make certain things dead.

No. Everything felt very much alive and kicking by the end of that bottle.

Behind closed eyes, his room feels like it swirls. After that wine, his body feels loose and relaxed. Something he rarely gets to experience these days. Images dance across his closed lids. Delicate, slender hands around a handmade cup. A pink flush on smooth skin. Plump tinted lips between his fingers, softly parted and begging to be touched. The intrusive impulse to dip a finger between those lips was so strong he could feel his hand move into the action before he could even think to do so.

All thanks to that one question. That simple, innocent question activated a deep part of his brain that lay dormant. And then he decided to shatter the care free atmosphere by with a crass remark about sex.

Never in his life has he regretted saying something so fast. You barely even know each other. Admittedly, Din isn’t exactly a refined person, far from it actually. But after his third glass, any semblance of manners flew right out the window. His mouth did the walking with little thinking involved.

Yet, you didn’t get uncomfortable. You handled the slip up with humor instead of getting offended or something just as bad. Using humor to make the air light again. It surprised him how easily you did it. How easy the conversation was all night, really. It’s not everyday he’s able to let his guard down with another person.

Once he was aware of that, he became aware of everything. How late the hour was, how drunk you both were, and how your bed was right behind where you both sat. Only separated by a simple room divider. Even when he tipped up his helmet, there was a heady herbal scent from you that kept swimming in his nose and it was just as intoxicating as the wine. He couldn’t trust himself to stay any longer. And now, in the safety of his own home, he finds himself preoccupied with a mountain of questions.

What kind of person are you? What’s your daily life like? What other places have you seen? What troubles you? You seem to be rooted here in Nevarro for the time being. But from what you’ve mentioned about your past, you have a kind of nomadic life. What happens if he… if the kid gets attached and you decide to move on to another planet? But then again, it’s not like he’s not one to talk though is he?

Loyalty. Solidarity. These are things that have been etched to his core since childhood. But giving those things to something that could be fleeting? That’s a risk he’s avoided for most of his life. Those kinds of wounds never heal.

But as much as he tries to distance himself, it’s not always in his control.

Three weeks go by and they couldn’t end soon enough. When he offered to work with Teva (or Blue as he usually calls him) on a case-by-case basis, he figured they’d be more involved than the bounty hunting trade. He’s spent up to a month off planet at times in order to capture a quarry so it’s not exactly new to him.

But that was when he had the Razor Crest. With a cot to rest in, a weapons locker, and supplies readily at hand. In that regard, the N-1 leaves much to be desired. Plus Din’s back isn’t what it used to be and long rides in that ship are killer. And to add insult to injury, this last case with Zeb was especially complicated to resolve. It left him and the kid completely drained.

After finally landing back in Nevarro with fresh credits, there is absolutely nothing Din wants more than to just go home, bathe, and sleep for at least a day. But he’s got a very hungry green mouth to feed and there’s no way Din is fixing up any dinner tonight.

Street food it is.

“Alright, we’re making this quick. In and out. I’ll get you as much food as you want and you can pick out one sweet. Not five. One. Got that?” Grogu tilts his head at Din curiously from where he follows behind on the cobblestone street and he’ll just take that as a yes.

Dozens of food stalls are gathered at the main square in town as he approaches. Adorned with all sorts of neon signs, string lights and colorful banners. It’s a busy atmosphere filled with people laughing, vendors calling out for customers to stop by, and sounds of clanking and sizzling as they cook.

Din gravitates towards the skewers stand. He knows Grogu is going to down ten of them by himself so he opts for something easy, filling, and cheap. He catches sight of those spicy chunks of fatty meat searing over lava coals and his mouth waters.

“Okay, which onesss-“

Din reaches down to pick up his son only to find the street bricks.

“-Sssshhhhit,” he hisses under his breath, glancing around. This fucking kid. He knows better than to run off.

The crowd is thick and it’s getting dark. He scans through the sea of people and vendors but doesn’t find that familiar pale green.

Shit. Shit. Shit.

With a tap of his helmet side panel he switches to the tracking beacon screen. After enough scares like these he’s learned to have a tracker sewn into his clothes at this point.

Blinking red arrows come into his view and he follows the path. Not caring whose shoulders he budges or what food he knocks out of someone’s grip to get through. The red arrows turn yellow. He’s getting close but there’s still no visual of the kid and he’s starting to panic. He pushes through, scanning side to side and calling out his name in an orchestra of noises without reply.

Yellow turns to green and he’s still out of sight. He’s tiny and easy to miss. Grogu could be anywhere, he could be in any one of these stalls. What if he’s taken? What if someone else is tracking him? He could be picked up by a total stranger and taken away again.

Just as that thought crosses his mind, there’s a small separation in the crowd. Big floppy ears come into view and he’s definitely been picked up. But it’s no stranger that holds him.

“And here comes dad~” A voice soft as silk rings inside his helmet.

Relief floods his body as well as caution when he taps his screen clear. Only him. Situations like this only happen to him. It could’ve been Karga. It could’ve been anybody. But it had to be you that found him.

It was barely two minutes. But within those two minutes Din’s head flooded with every worst case scenario possible. And here he is. Happily babbling in your arms like he didn’t just give his dad a fucking heart attack.

“I know, I know,” you assure him like you can already tell where his head’s at, trying to speak over all the noise. “Don’t be too hard on the little guy. I already gave him a bit of a lecture for running around at night.”

Din wants to. It’s honestly his first reaction. But a cooler head prevails and he decides against it after a second thought. He reminds himself (once again) that Grogu is still young and that getting angry would only make things worse. What matters is that he’s safe and that he managed to find you.

“At least he won’t have to hear it twice,” he exhales, pushing out the stress sitting in his lungs. “Sorry about him.”

“No, no sorry needed. He’s smarter than he lets on. At least he ran to someone he knew. I’m glad I was around.”

Din opens his mouth to speak but ends up falling short with his words. Now that some of the stress has left his body, his eyes take you in at a second glance. Unclouded by the adrenaline.

Your hair is tied up with a pin with a few loose pieces falling at the nape of your neck and around your face. With the heat persisting into the night, you decided to wear a thin strap tank top that hangs low on your chest. It exposes miles of smooth skin, from your shoulders all the way down the arms wrapped around his kid. A dusty blue apron wraps around your waist over some baggy cargo pants so you must’ve came here right after work. There’s a glow from all the neon lights that adorns you and he has to will his mouth to move before he gets caught staring.

“Here.” He extends his hands to you. “I can take him back. Thank you for catching him. C’mon, bud. Let her get back to shopping.”

“It’s no problem,” you assure him with a smile. Your hands hooks under Grogus tiny arms and start to pull him off your torso. “Back to dad you go.”

But the moment he’s barely lifted, he cries out in protest with a shrill whine. Refusing to leave your side. You pull him back in instantly and run a soothing hand on his back.

“Oh! Okay, okay. You can stay with me for a minute,” you giggle in a sugary voice to Grogu. Bouncing him on your hip.

You both exchange a look of surprise (as much as his visor can give off anyway). What kind of person are you that Grogu prefers your embrace over his own father? He doesn’t know whether to be jealous or impressed.

But it’s getting late, they need to eat and get home and you probably need to get back to your own errands. Din’s hands extends again to take Grogu but you shake your head with a little smile. Letting him know it’s not an inconvenience to you.

“Here, wanna help me pick out some sweets?”

Grogu coos at your request, toying with the glittering silver chain pendant on your neck. You rest his kid on your hip effortlessly and the motion of it pinches something deep in Din’s chest. Turning to the assorted trays of sugared fruits on skewers, you list the various kinds for Grogu to pick out. Talking back with him like you can actually understand his little babbles. You answer him with “ooh, that’s a good choice” and “these are my favorites”. 

Din just stands aside, watching the way you both interact and it’s admittedly a bit pleasing to see how natural you are with him. Most people think he’s a pet at first glance. Karga treats him like a newborn. Talking gibberish and doting on him despite him handling a 50 year old. You, on the other hand, just treat him like a regular kid. And it’s refreshing to see.

His son’s head spins back at his father with the biggest set of sparkling inky eyes and Din can see the pleading question in them. He tilts his helmet at him and reminds him “one”. Those large ears deflate a little and you giggle at the interaction. Din offers to pay for your skewer along with Grogu’s as another thank you for looking after his son (again). The vendor gathers the treats in paper wrappers to take to go.

You turn to ask Din something, but it’s covered by the noise of yelling and cooking. He tilts his head a bit lower to try and catch what you’re saying. Then, without hesitation, your hand finds purchase on the pauldron on his shoulder. Prompting him to lean in closer to you so you can speak within earshot.

“It’s been a minute since I saw you last,” you remark with a raised voice. “Everything good?”

Shit.

For a second he freezes. Partly at the lack of distance between you, but mostly because the last time he saw you he stormed out of your place like it was on fire without so much as a goodnight. You’re probably wondering what the hell that was about and he honestly can’t answer that himself. Although your expression seems more cheerful than troubled. He crouches closer to your ears and replies with caution, hoping to avoid the direction of that conversation.

“Yeah, we’ve been um… traveling a lot lately. I get contracted by the new republic pretty often these days. Leaving him behind with someone whenever I’m off planet for too long doesn’t seem fair to him so he’s always by my side no matter what.”

“Ah, that makes sense. You usually stop by for medkit supplies so when I didn’t see you last week I figured you were away.”

Din mentally smacks his forehead. Right. Of course you meant the shop. Because what else would you be implying to a fucking customer? You’re just making small talk. Something he has never really gotten the hang of. Seems pretty damn easy when he’s drinking though…

“We actually just got back. Too tired to fix something up so I figured I’d grab us something quick and easy before heading home.”

“Ugh. I feel that. When I get home I’m crashing on the first soft surface I see,” you groan, still bouncing Grogu on the curve of your hip. Those hips…

No. Stop it.

“Busy day,” he asks and your eyes roll upwards.

“Busy week,” you exclaim. “I swear I think about quitting at least once a day. But I like it too much. Plus it’s the only thing I’m any good at. Otherwise I’d probably be some kind of criminal.” You pause then laugh at the thought before adding, “then you’d probably have to hunt me down, huh?”

That… is a scenario that he already knows is going to stick in his brain for a while. It’s such an enticing thought that he doesn’t bother to tell you he’s not in that business anymore. A tiny part of him would much rather have you think he’d chase you. Obviously you’re not serious, but he can’t help but lean into the joke.

“I don’t know,” he says unconvinced. “Might be pretty easy to find you. All I have to do is look wherever there’s street food.”

A laugh bubbles out of you and there’s a strange feeling that radiates in his chest at being able to make you laugh. Pride maybe? No, more like… satisfaction.

“Don’t underestimate me, Mando. I know my way around the outer rim. I’d make you work for it,” you say. Taunting him with a knowing smirk.

A smile tugs higher on his hidden face. The thought of you making him work for anything will no doubt be food for thought later. And instinct tells him that might’ve been your intention. But two can play at this game.

You’re already nearly face to face but he inches even closer, almost close enough for metal to meet skin. Ensuring you catch every word right into your ear.

“I’d like to see you try, Shop Girl.”

Your eyes grow a little wider at the sound of your nickname and he takes pleasure at just how effective it is. It’s another reminder of that night. A name that was spoken within an intimate atmosphere that only the two of you occupied. And by your expression, that same thought crosses your mind too.

You bite your bottom lip in a smile. The same lips that were between his hands. The only lips he can’t seem to forget. The shape, the color, and how fucking edible they look. He’s even noticed how they pout a little when you’re concentrated on a task. More questions surface.

What do they feel like? What do they taste like? What makes a kiss so good that everyone can recall their first?

The bubble created is suddenly burst by the outside world. The stall vendor gleefully hands over the candied fruit over the counter in their wrappers and you take them with your free hand. Handing the mixed one to Grogu because he couldn’t decide on just one flavor. Reality returns to Din’s head and his thoughts immediately sober up.

What the hell is he doing?

He tears his eyes away. Even if you can’t tell, looking at you like that for too long feels wrong. You’re a good person, you’re trying to live a normal life, and what you’ve told him you’re not looking to get involved in any drama. He has to keep reminding himself of those things.

That same instinct to leave hits him again. Because that urge to do something he can’t take back flares up again and it’s best to not give that feeling any more energy. For both your sakes. He gestures his hand in a hand-him-over motion, signaling to you and Grogu that it’s time to go.

“Alright, time to go kid. Say goodnight.”

Grogu whines with a mouthful of sweets and a face covered in sugar and it makes him chuckle to himself. Din would normally find the defiance a little cute, if it wasn’t for the stunt he pulled earlier. You carefully hand him over with both arms leaning in close and again he feels another pinch in his chest at how carefully you exchange him.

Your bare arms graze against his clothed ones and he pulls away the second he has hold of his kid. He ignores the small current of electricity from the contact and maneuvers Grogu into the crossbody bag to his hip. Which, of course, makes him protest.

“Nope. You had your chance. Now you get the bag.”

“Aw c’mon,” you scold “He was just playing around. Now he’s in bag jail?”

First the kid and now you? He can tell his son no, but it might be a little harder to tell you that.

“Yeah, yeah. Maybe next time he’ll think twice about running off in a crowd,” he groans.

Once the kid is settled in the bag, you follow him down. Crouching down, you sit face to face with Grogu as he stuffs his face with the candied fruit. Resting your free hand on his fuzzy head as the other holds your own skewered treat.

“Kay, little rebel. Go stuff your face with some good food. And take it easy on your poor dad, alright? He’s not built for that kinda stress.”

“What’s that supposed to mean,” he asks, kind of amused by your ribbing. He can count on one hand the people who are undaunted enough to make playful jabs at him.

Your lips twist and your eyes take a tour up to your brows as you think of your reply.

“Hmm… just the way you get a little impatient sometimes. You were like that when you brought him over and paced my living room for an hour,” you chuckle. “You seem like the kind of man who gets antsy when something’s not in your control.”

A smile threatens to crawl his face. Pretty presumptuous. But he can’t deny how true that statement rings. Especially nowadays when it’s not just himself he has to worry about.

“Maybe so,” he replies with a hint of humor in his voice. “Patience isn’t really my strong suit. Although this one seems to enjoy testing it.”

“Patience is bitter,” you muse as you rub the top of Grogu’s head with your thumb. He coos with delight and the softest gaze glows on your face. Then from your crouched position, your eyes glance back up at Din and add, “…But the fruit is sweet.”

His jaw flexes beneath his helmet, and heat now courses through his veins.

That can’t be a good sign. He already enjoys your banter too much as it is. But that look just now was dangerous. It dredges up thoughts he shouldn’t have about you. Thoughts like kissing someone he barely knows. Feeling skin on skin. Showing you what a man like him can do to you compared to the boys of your past.

He saw it all over your pretty face when he held it in his hand. That flush on your cheeks, your dilated pupils. Hell, he even saw your heat signature rising in his helmet screen for fuck sake. There’s an attraction and that’s fine (and not completely unreciprocated) but it can’t be anything more than that.

You and him live completely different lives. There’s no need to uproot your peace and get involved in his complicated affairs. Even if something happened, it wouldn’t be long before the allure of the suit and mystery people usually perceive of Mandalorians would turn into repulsion.

That’s how it’s gone before. That’s the way it is.

•

You’re a bad person. A horrible human being and a shameless lowlife. Downright beyond saving.

I’d like to see you try, Shop Girl.

The damn sentence won’t stop replaying in your head. It’s not just a nickname. It’s a nickname he gave you. One that’s covered in underlying context and memories that only the two of you share. One that peppers your skin with goosebumps when it comes out of that raspy modulated voice. It’s even worse when your brain starts intrusively placing it in all sorts of sentences.

That’s it, Shop Girl…

You’re doing so well, Shop Girl…

Bend over for me, Shop Girl…

That last one has crawled into your dreams more often than you’d care to admit lately.

You need to get a grip. It’s just an attraction. You’ve been alone for too long and you’re getting all wound up over a smidge of attention. He’s just a regular decent person with a kid to take care of who also just happens to have an amazingly muscular body and a voice of sin. Simple as that.

Right. Simple.

After that night at the food stalls, the Mandalorian and Grogu have been visiting your humble Clinic Shop on a more frequently. Usually you'll see them a couple times a week if they're not on one of their long haul trips. Missions? Jobs?

It's not like Mando has any reason to let you know ahead of time. But when a week or so passes with no sign of silver or green, you can't help but feel a little down. You've come to look forward to seeing your regulars. But they grown to being your favorite customers.

And if you're being honest, theres a growing part of you that feels tied to the man in silver beskar. When he's here, the part blossoms. And when he's gone, it feels... wilted. It's unexpected and confusing to say the least. The closest feeling you could label it is homesickness. And truthfully, you're not really sure if you want to feel such a heavy thing towards anybody right now.

There's a lull in the store this hot muggy afternoon. You've already finished your prescription orders, restocked your shelves, even watered all the potted plants outside the entrance. Since you finally have some down time, you figured you might as well get to making some of your popular tea mixes.

On the back counter, you have a variety of dried herbs, flower buds, tea leaves, and a few large mixing bowls. The scent in the shop is incredible right now. Swirling around on the wind propelled by the metal fans around the shop. Spiced and aromatic with a hint of fruitiness. You let the smell fill your lungs and relax your body as you place measured scoops of the mix into small paper bags. A bead of sweat tracks down the back of your neck. Even with pinning your hair up and the strapless wrap you chose to wear today, the heat of the day still clings to your damp skin.

A cool glass of that Andoan wine would be so good right about now...

Maybe it was instinct, or maybe there really is some kind of invisible tie. But something makes your head tilt to the side and glance at the open entrance. And it's then that a glint of sliver light reflects on the stucco walls. A flutter of anticipation strikes through your chest and your eyes are locked at the entrance. Then, that familiar Silver T-visor and a pair of floppy green ears peek around the corner.

The smile that spreads across your cheeks is so big it almost hurts.

"Hey," you exclaim from the back of the store. You leave your station and excitedly make your way across the store to the pair as they step inside.

“It’s been a whi-“

“Ah ah, sorry," you cut Mando off mid greeting, halting him with your pointer finger. "Grogu gets first dibs.”

Mando shakes his head but you can tell he's humored. Turning his hip to the side and giving you access to the canvas crossbody where Grogu resides.

“Even though I'm a regular customer," Mando retorts.

If you didn’t know any better, you’d think that sounded a teensy bit like jealousy. You smirk, giving eyes only to the little green baby.

“Not when you’re as cute as him.” You say, placing Grogu on your hip and giving him little scritches on his wrinkled head.

“Isn’t that right, Kid. Mando wishes he could be half as cute as you.” The child coos at you and Mando shakes his head. But you can tell by his body language that he's at least a little amused.

You walk back to the back counter with the kid in your arms and Mando in tow behind you. And the feeling you have in this moment is oddly... domestic? You're not entirely sure if that's the right word. In your life you've never experienced domesticity. But you figure it's similar to that homesick feeling you get.

You place Grogu on top of your station and pull out an herbal lollipop from your apron for him. You like to keep a few handy for kids and they also help with coughs. The kids inky eyes gleam as he babbles and plunges the sugary candy in his mouth. 

"Any chance that delivery for those new Pharmakits arrived yet," Mando asks, leaning a hand on the counter next to you.

"They did," you nod. "Any chance you're planning on taking on an army on your next trip?"

He shrugs, tilting his helmet to the side in that way he does when he's being aloof.

"Doesn't hurt to keep one on hand. You never know."

You hum in acknowledgment but inside a pit forms in your stomach. The danger he faces whenever he goes on these "jobs" isn't lost on you. Lately, it's been on the back of your mind more often than not. On his last visit, when he asked about ordering stronger meds and triage supplies, it hit you just how much his long absences affect you. And just the thought of never seeing him or his little boy again stirs up something vile inside.

“You seem to be busy today,” he remarks, pointing out all the open jars and mixing bowls with various dried leaves and herbs.

His remark takes you out of your thoughts. You must've been silent a second too long for him to change the subject like that. With a deep inhale and slight embarrassment you shrug off the negative thoughts and ground yourself back to reality.

“Yes and no. I’ve been restocking while it’s dead to keep busy.”

He leans in a bit to get a closer look at the contents of the bowl. Close enough for you to catch the scent of smoke and musk on his clothes.

“You’re mixing… tea?”

You hum a yes and nod.

“Tea can be used for lots of medicinal purposes. Many people prefer natural remedies to pharmaceutical ones. I try to have a mix of both.”

“So this is medicine?” You sway your head to the side, trying to think of the best way to explain the purpose of the tea.

“Kiiind of. You could say it’s preventative.”

“What does it prevent?”

“Pregnancy.”

A clearing of his throat follows your answer. You turn toward him with a smirk and a raised brow but his visor has now turned away your face.

Most fearsome bounty hunter in the outer rim, everybody.

“You asked, man,” you chuckle with a shrug.

“Guess that’s on me,” he says.

“This is actually one of my best sellers,” you tell him. You grab the wooden scoop and raise up the floral mix, letting the various petals and herbs rain back down into the bowl. The motion makes the sweet scent drive up in the air. “I have customers tell me they don’t leave the house before their daily brew.”

“I’m glad business is going well for you,” he deflects, making you fold your smile in your teeth. And suddenly your brain sees a prime opportunity.

“You know, Mando…,” you drawl as you mix the petals. “If you’re ever in a pinch and you need some, I could give you a sample.” The way his helmet jerks to face you almost breaks your nonchalant smile.

“That’s um… very generous but it’d be wasted on me.” His body straightens stiffly and you can tell the topic makes him a bit uneasy. But you press on anyway.

“You sure? You can never be too safe. I’m sure any visitors would appreciate it.” He sighs deeply and turns away, shaking his head in annoyance.

God, this is too much fun. Teasing him is so easy. If it wasn’t for the helmet you bet he’s sweating right now. He might look cool and collected. But after drinking with him, you know there’s in fact a man under all that metal.

“I’m sure,” Mando confirms. “I'm not seeing anyone at the moment.”

And there’s the answer you’re looking for.

Was it a bit sneaky? Yeah. Yeah, it was sneaky. But it rules out the theory that reason he told you not to invite home again was because he’s currently taken. It’s still an enigma as to why. But honestly there’s still the gut feeling that you did something to make him uncomfortable that night.

Maybe you crossed a line with one of your questions. You tend to ask a lot of questions. Your filter also isn’t everybody’s flavor. Even so, you had a great time talking, even joking around with him. You’ve come to cherish that night in your memory. And the thought that you obliviously might’ve said something to offend Mando in any way makes your chest ache.

But if that was the case then why has he been stopping by your store more frequently since then? He always says he’s restocking his med kit but you get the feeling there’s more to it than that. Almost as if he’s checking up on you. Making sure you’re doing ok. And above all, that’s what scares you.

It’s scares you how good that thought makes you feel.

“Picking up an order!” An unfriendly voice bellows from the entrance where a Trandoshan man in fine robes stands waiting. “Name’s Samir T’ar.”

It takes a second to snap back into action. But you slap on your best customer service smile and leave your task for later. Rounding the corner past Mando and the kid and walking to the Medicine Cabinet. Wiping the non-existent dust on your hands on your waist apron.

“Hi, yes! I’ll grab that for you right now.”

The Trandoshan stands waiting at the counter as you sort through the assorted orders in the glass case. Looking for the right name tag and plucking the tied linen bag. You dont turn your eyes toward him, but Mando’s pressance is all your body is aware of. You can tell he’s miandering through the shop, looking at various items on the shelves. Which, to you, is a bit funny since hes been here plenty of times by now.

Is he playing the curious customer right now because there’s someone here?

You rest the tied bag next to the register as you run the total. All while the Trandoshan taps his clawed fingers impatiently on the check out counter.

“‘Kay with the compounded medicine and the herbal soak salts, that puts you at… fifteen credits today.”

“It was twelve the last time.”

“Yyyeesss, some of the ingredients for the meds were hard to come by this time around. Outer rim shipping routes, and all that,” you smile, trying to humorously reason with the man.

“And that’s supposed to be my fault? Just make it the same price as before and I’ll be on my way already.”

Ugh, great. One of those.

“I understand where you’re coming from, really. But fifteen is pretty fair considering the initial cost of acquiring ingredients of this high quality. Can’t beat the price compared to those New Republic clinics-"

“Nonononono," he waves with both hands in disapproval. “I’m not paying a single credit more for something I can make myself.”

That’s kind of the point of it buying here, right? To save yourself the trouble of making it?

“Sorry. Price is firm," you say confidently but kindly. "Buuut, how about if I throw in a couple sample heating pain patches. Free of charge,” you chirp, unfazed by his condescension.

Work with me, guy. There’s a man packing heat in the back…

“How about I give you ten for the order and leave? I don’t need you to peddle your-“

It’s a hand that shuts him up. Not yours, as much as it twitches to swipe that bag and toss in it the trash. No. This hand is big. Leather clad. And planted firmly on the counter between you and the customer.

“You can pay the fifteen or you can leave. But what you won’t do,” Mando leans in towards the Trandoshan for effect. “-is talk to her like that again. Make your choice.”

With his chest pressed to the back of your shoulder, you struggle to not squirm. You can feel his heat on your body. His frame eclipses yours from behind. The smell of gun smoke and musk caresses your nose and you die a little inside. But it’s his words that make you want to melt into a puddle.

He didn’t just ask, he demanded for you to be treated with respect. Not that you can’t hold your own when it comes to defending yourself against snarky customers. But the way Mando didn’t even hesitate to intervene on your behalf. It stirs up all sorts of thoughts.

Oh maker, you really are a shitty person. The man stands up for you and all you can think about is how hot he sounded.

The Trandoshan swallows hard. Mando might as well a knife to the guy’s throat with the look of silent terror on his reptilian face. Without even breaking eye contact with Mando, he stuffs his clawed hand in his pockets, and pulls about 20 credit chips without counting. Letting them clatter on the counter as he tosses them.

“H-here,” he stutters. “Fifteen is fair.” With that he snatches his order from the countertop and makes a hasty exit.

“Have a nice day~,” you sing-song as he scurries out onto the street.

You shift your eyes up to Mando, his palm still pressed flat against the counter with his other hand thumbing his belt. His visor follows the customer as he leaves and you can tell that his body language doesn’t relax until the he’s completely out of sight.

“Fucker…,” he mutters under his breath. When he finally turns his visor to you, he finds a knowing little smirk on your face.

“What?”

“You know, if you really wanted to scare him, you could’ve just pulled out your blaster.”

His visor turns away and he takes a step back as if he’s been caught doing something out of character. And if it wasn’t for his confident stance, you’d almost say he got a little flustered just now.

“I didn’t like the way he spoke you,” he grumbles. Which only makes you giggle.

“You’re right,” you agree with a serious tone. Slamming your palms on the counter. “That’s the last straw! I’ll have to close and resort to a life of crime after all!”

Although you can’t read his face, his body language says it all. He tilts his head to the side in a way that can only mean “are you fucking kidding me” and it only makes you smile harder.

“C’mooon, it’s funny,” you say. But he’s still not charmed.

“Does he always treat you like that,” he asks like he needs to know for certain.

You fold your lips between your teeth to hide your smile. He’s concerned for you and you can’t help but bathe in it. At least for a little bit.

“And if I said yes?”

“I’m being serious.”

“It’s fine, Mando. It’s really not a big deal for me. Look, if I let every snippy customer get to me, I wouldn’t have a business. I’m a big girl. I can fight for my honor all on my own, don’t you worry.”

“That’s not the point.”

“Yeah? What is your point then?”

He steps in closer. Forcing you crane your neck to face him. Your backside unconsciously presses against the back of the counter and you’re pinned. He’s impossibly close. Close enough to see your eyes reflected on the inky black screen. Knowing he’s captured your full attention, he hits you with a bombshell that devastates you.

“I wouldn’t let anyone disrespect you when I can do something about it,” he says crystal clear, lowering  his voice. “If someone gives you trouble, they’ll deal with me before they mess with you... Understand?”

That shuts you right up. Your playful expression falls, now replaced with silent astonishment. He keeps saying things that reach deep inside you, making your chest tight. Words like that make it hard to breathe.

You feel utterly captured and it’s no wonder he was the best hunter in the outer rim. Because even though he’ll defend your honor and call you sweet nicknames… all he has to do is stand his ground in front of you to make you feel like prey. And fuck, do you wanna be caught…

“Ok,” you breathe when you find the courage. “I understand now.”

“Good…”

Silence streches between you and it feels as though you’re both waiting for something to happen. Something that feels like it’s been teetering on the edge since the night you drank together. It’s connected and deep in a way you’ve never experienced before. You can tell it’s something he’s afraid to say out loud.

What you’re both afraid to say out loud.

He doesn’t move. Doesn’t add anything to his statement. He’s got you locked in his gaze with no escape. And for a moment you wonder if he’ll take hold of your jaw again. Goosebumps rise to your skin because it wants so badly to close the gap.

Suddenly, a call rings from the vambrace on Mando’s forearm, abruptly breaking the tension. At first he hesitates to address it, still locked onto you. But after the second ring he lets out an aggravated sigh and steps away to check the incoming call.

You walk back to your work table and mixing bowl of tea to give yourself something to do while your breathing returns to normal. Scooping a measured cup from a large jar of dried leaves before adding it in.

Grogu sits with his little feet dangling over the table, now finished with the lollipop and looking at the candy-less stick with droopy ears. And before Mando turns to look, you sneak his son another herbal lollipop from your apron.

"Don't tell your dad," you whisper, pressing your index finger over your lips. Which earns you a happy little "Batu" in understanding.

Mando is pacing around now. Conversing with a gruff sounding Lasat. You don’t eavesdrop per se, but words like “new lead”, “investigation”, and “high-risk” get your ears to perk up.

“Shit,” he sighs deeply once the call is done. Planting his hands on his hips.

“Work call?”

“They like to keep me busy, that’s for sure. Best not keep them waiting.”

“R-right! The pharmakits."

You walk towards side of your shop in the back closet where your new inventory sits in their delivery crates. Grabbing one case but then after a second thought grabbing another before turning back and handing them to Mando. When you return Grogu is already back in his father's tote still nursing his treat.

“Couple things," you disclaim, handing the cases to him. "Keep these in a dark cool place if you can. Heat can spoil some of the medicine. And if you ever find yourself needing the epibacta, I’d advise you to take in a safe place. This dose will knock you out cold for a while. Emergencies only.”

He takes the cases by the handles and gives you a nod of understanding.

“I appreciate it. I’ll try to avoid needing it.”

“Just… be safe.”

“I will…”

Another beat of silence. At this point it's starting to feel like you're waiting on the other person to break the ice. But after a moment, he clears his throat.

“Well... Until next time, Shop Girl.”

“Until next time,” you repeat.

He really should stop calling you that. But you just can’t bring yourself to stop him. What do even tell him if he asks why?

You turn to the holopad on the front counter and check the inventory list to give your hands something to do. Chewing your bottom lip as walks towards the exit. One step, then another…

“And thank you,” you quickly add before he steps out. His foot stalls just before reaching the street and you tap on the screen pretending not to notice. Your eyes glance up to him, catching his helmet peer at you over his shoulder “…for stepping in.”

“Anytime,” he says softly. He step out into the street and you exhale a breath you didn’t know you were holding. You lean on the counter with your chin propped in your palm, now free to watch them go without notice.

Grogu turns back to look at you one last time, his tiny arm fighting against the fabric of his bag before popping out and waving at you. The adorable gesture makes you giggle. The little guy must know exactly how stinking cute he is. You wiggle your fingers back at him from behind the counter. Mando takes notice of his kid, turns his head back, and finds your gaze.

For a moment, everything’s frozen. People cross and mix in the street between you. Life seemingly goes on like any other day for everyone in town. But in your eyes, there’s only him. Only bright silver fills your vision. After a moment, Mando raises a hand for a final farewell, and in the next, he’s gone. Blended into the crowd.

An ache spreads in your chest, and that confirms it. You can’t deny that what you’ve been pushing down for months isn’t just an attraction. Strangers can be attracted to each other but he feels like anything but.

You like him. You like how you feel when he’s around and how safe his presence feels. You like that little skipped beat you get when something you said earns even the smallest chuckle from him. You like that he trusts you around his kid.

And you love that he keeps coming back.

You’ve tried to rationalize as just a simple customer acquaintance. But you can’t keep kidding yourself. Its always felt more than that. And you want to know more about him.

At the end of the day, you roll down the metal doors of your humble apothecary and walk the same 15 steps up to your home as you do everyday. You bathe, put on your most comfy shirt and sleep shorts, make yourself a simple meal, and wind down for the night. It’s been your routine everyday since you made this place your home.

Only tonight, despite all your trinkets, all your memories, and all your comforts, tonight your home feels a bit empty. Like something important has been removed and you can’t place what it was. With your dinner bowl in hand, you almost take your seat on the couch before thinking twice on it and choosing the floor of your living room instead tonight.

You actually find it to be pretty comfortable. More grounding. You only wish you had something warm to lean back on.

•

Din thought Guild Master Greef Karga had an inflated ego. But High Magistrate Greef Karga makes that Karga look like a Jedi monk.

He finds himself sitting on a leather chase with his legs propped on the window ledge in Karga’s high tower office. He watches him spread and maneuver a 3D hologram model of Nevarro and the town. His voice filled with ambition as he explains all his new projects for the upcoming year.

“We’ll put the lodges here, here, and here. They’ll have access to the hot springs in the crawling canyons and docks will be built around the water edges. I’ve spoken with that lovely Twi’lek bathhouse owner and she’s spending her best architects to Nevarro as a personal favor to me. It’s going to be the jewel of the rim I tell you!”

Much of the dialog goes over Dins head. Mostly because he’s dead tired and currently operating on less than four hours of sleep. They only landed a couple hours ago from another grueling mission. He partly listens to Karga’s plans, partly watches Grogu quietly sit on the hologram table as he stuffs his mouth with blue cookies his “uncle” has given him. But mostly, Din gazes out one of the many windows in his 360 degree office. Watching the sun set over the canyons and turn the sky a dusty pink.

The shiny bronze protocol droid shuffles around the office with a silver tray with two crystal glasses of spotchka. He offers a glowing glass to Karga who gladly takes it. Then the droid starts to approach Din with the platter, offering him a glass as well.

“Uh no no, he doesn’t drink,” Karga quickly corrects, taking a momentary pause from his plans. The shiny droid fumbles a bit, flustered, then offers an apology before scuttling away with the tray.

Mando doesn’t even bother to correct them. Too much energy. It’s true, he’s never accepted alcohol in front of Karga. Especially in those early guild days when trust was low. But even to this day, Din doesn’t drink around people.

Well… most people, that is.

An image of last time Din saw you pops into his head. That thick, slightly mussed hair tied up with a hair stick. Dewy skin. All smiles and laughter. You wore a deep blue torso wrap that time, His eyes kept following the lines of your collar bones and all that exposed skin seemed to glow in the reflected sunlight in the shop.

And those lips. Those goddamn pink tinted lips that he can’t get out of his head. If that’s not the definition of beauty he doesn’t know what is.

Your teasing is something he’s growing used to. But that day you pushed too far. You weren’t taking him seriously and you shouldn’t be the only one who gets to tease, right? When he cornered you against the counter, he made it known just how serious he was about defending you. That flush came back to your cheeks and your breathing had picked up. You had no idea, but your eyes had found his and it made heat pool in his lower abdomen as he got lost in the color of them.

In that moment, Din wrestled back the impulse to lift you up on that countertop, spread those perfect legs and-

“-Right, Mando?” Karga’s voice interrupts just as that train of thought was getting good. Din turns his visor over to him.

“Hmm?”

“You just agreed to let the kid spend the night here.”

“Right. Yeah,” Din scoffs. “Was that before or after I sold my ship to the Jawas,” he replies in a gruff tone. Karga doesn’t find the sarcasm amusing.

“Alright, alright.”

“Maybe I’ll sell them my armor while I’m at it.”

“I get it,” he exclaims. “You weren’t even listening! I was talking about the space port proposal and I can’t even tell where you clocked out. That's not like you, Mando.”

“I’m tired. I just got back from a long trip.” Kargas eyes glance between Din and the window he's been looking out from.

“I wouldn’t say tired. More like… Distracted.”

He says the word with an insinuation Din would rather do without.

“It’s nothing,” he deflects.

“Hey, you know me, Mando. I’m not one to judge,” Karga says, throwing his hands in the air. “If there’s anything on your mind I’m all ears. Money, politics, work, women-“

“There’s nothing to discuss. I’m fine," Din deadpans.

Kargas covers Grogus ears, who is too preoccupied by his munching to mind.

“Sounds like you need to get laid.”

Maker...

“You’re sordid,” he grumbles, shaking his head and turning back to the window. Karga just laughs. Amusement written all over his wrinkled face.

The arguments were one of the main things that changed between them over the last few years. Now they bicker like two old friends instead of two business associates. But one thing that has never changed is the way Karga tries to pressure him into revealing things out of him. Imperfectly human things.

He’d offer Din all sorts of things like spice or Twi’lek bathhouses just to see if he was capable of being tempted. And right now… there’s only one other person Din can think of capable of doing that.

“You know what I think? I think you’re starting to outgrow this lone wolf lifestyle of yours,” he speculates. “You’re a father now. Don’t you think the little one needs a mother?”

Dins helmet swivels back to Karga.

“Don’t you think you should stick to governing your town?”

“I was just getting to that," Karga exclaims excitedly. "You know we really should consider moving a few of the-“

“Here we go…,” Din sighs to himself.

What should’ve been a quick visit has turned into a one sided yap session. It’s been a couple weeks since he left and he’s eager to re-supply for his next run with Zeb. He’ll need to head to the square at some point as well. His home is in desperate need of a re-stock. And of course, a visit to the clinic probably wouldn’t be a bad idea if he’s already in the area.

Even from up here, your store can be seen at the far corner of the plaza. And every couple minutes, he can see you. Popping in and out of the small store and rearranging some of the potted plants outside. People greet you from the street and you turn to wave back.

It’s getting harder and harder to find excuses to go there that sound necessary. Last time he was there he picked up two new pharmakits, even though another two regular medkits sit unopened in his home. He’s been buying that energy tea you make, despite him being a kaf drinker his whole life. He keeps going back for shit he really doesn’t need. But if he was pressed to give a better reason, it’s mostly because he feels a need to check on you.

True, Nevarro has become significantly safer, but that doesn’t make it safe. Especially for a woman living completely on her own. You’re a kind hearted, giving person in a galaxy that does nothing but take. And someone like that should be protected. He’s looked the other way too many times in the past and he doesn’t want to be that person anymore. And plus the kid enjoys the visits.

Sure, the kid. Keep telling yourself that, Din…

A chiss man with a floating pallet of goods approaches your shop entrance and your attention turns from watering the plants to greet the vendor with a bright smile. You speak animately. And it would normally be endearing, if it wasn't directed towards another man. In the privacy of his helmet, Din grimmaces.

He shouldn’t be surprised. You’re well traveled, knowledgeable. It’s no wonder you’re able to buy products from so many places. But this particular vendor is getting a bit too close for Din’s comfort.

As usual, you talk with much enthusiasm. Sparking a conversation with the man. It’s clear you’re familiar with each other by the body language you both give off. And he’s not sure if it’s because you regularly get inventory from the man, or something beyond that.

You turn around on the balls of your feet to dip back inside the shop and as you do you’re completely oblivious to the way the Chiss’s head tilts to the side so his crimson eyes can roam your backside. And the only reason Din caught it was because the binocs in his visor seem to have unconsciously been turned on by his finger on his vambrace.

You return to with a small wooded box and open the lid to show him mineral salts, the kind he’s seen you make herbal soaks with. The vendor offers a large lidded glass jar of some kind of dried purple flower buds from his cart. With the added exchange of some credit chips, there’s more talking and smiling. Something he said makes you laugh as you sign his holopad and Din has to flex his fingers to stop them from clenching into a fist.

Enough. Stop watching.

The mental check forces Dins attention to shift back to whatever Karga keeps droning on about. You can associate with whoever you damn well please. It’s none of his concern who you do business with or what your personal life is like. Din nearly turns his visor away. But out of the furthest corner of his eye, he catches something he can’t tear away from.

The distance between the Chiss and you has suddenly shrunk. The moment unfolds in slow motion as his eyes chew on every second. The Chiss steps closer to lean down then…

Din’s arms uncross when the Chiss leans in close to your face. And before he knows it, the fucker plants a quick peck on your cheek. And you return it! The whole exchange lasts less than a second before you wave each other goodbye and he goes his separate way. You return inside with the product like nothing and Din sits there, completely rattled.

What… the fuck?

Was it a casual kiss? Did you even know that he was checking you out? If you did, was that a friendly goodbye gesture or was it flirtatious? That son of a bitch gets to walk around with bliss on his cheek all day now. Oddly enough, that’s what puts Din over the edge. A complete fucking stranger knows how your lips feel and he doesn’t.

Never in his life has he harbored thoughts like these. It’s downright pathetic. He feels corrupted.

“Fuck it,” he growls to himself beneath his breath.

“-Anyway, back to my point. I was considering having a port built for- hey!”

Before Karga has a chance to monologue further, Din has picked up his son from the edge of the desk—grubby hands still clinging to the bag of cookies—and has placed him right into Karga arms.

“I need you to watch over him for the night. I’ll come back for him in the morning.”

“Okay then? Fine by-.” Din doesn’t bother to listen because there’s no ending to that sentence that matters to him in this moment. He makes his exit, the slide doors opening as he nears them.

“Hey! Where do you think you’re going all puffed up like that?”

“I need to settle something,” he tosses back before letting the doors shut behind him.

The sun is getting low and a few other vendors are starting to take down their signs and close their doors. You’re probably getting ready to close up for the day yourself. Hopefully he’s able to catch you before then.

Each step on the cobblestone is heavy with purpose. And it's not unoticed the way several people on the street see an armor clad Mandalorian and scurry out of his way with a petrified look on their faces. But right now he doesn't particularly care. Right now everything in his head is clouded with the exception of one objective.

From a couple stores away, you catch him approaching from your peripheray. And he's not sure how to describe it, but it's like something in your body language softens when you see him. Your shoulders become less tense, your eyes gleam, and you cast him that bright toothy smile that could stop any man's heart.

“Ah! Hey! It’s been a while, Mando! How’s-“

“I need to have a word with you.”

Both your expression and your hand freeze momentarily in place, minus a suspicious quirk in your brow.

“Okaaay, you have my attention,” you chuckle, but there’s a nervous tone riding on it. “What can I do for you today?

“I need to speak with you," you tells you bluntly. "Privately.”

Confusion paints across your face and your smile falls a bit. Understanding how serious his request is.

“Like, right now,” you ask hesitantly.

“Preferably, yes,” he answers.

“Ok, yeah sure. Um… I’m just about to close up and we can head upstairs in a minute.” You start to turn away but then quickly turn back to him and immediately add “or we can go somewhere you’re more comfort-“

”It’s fine,” Din quickly interjects, stopping that train of thought. “This won’t take long anyway.”

You blink at him a couple times and give him a quiet “ok then” before turning around and preparing your shop to close.

Seems that Din’s command from his last visit was taken seriously. Regret over those words washes over him. If he’s being honest, being inside your home again sets off several red lights in his head. But he’s already on the verge of blurting out something teetering on the edge of his brain. Better to wait until he’s behind closed doors and away from any prying eyes. Or flirtatious vendors. This shouldn’t be complicated. He’ll make it quick.

He decides to wait around the corner of the shop where the stone steps meet your front door. He leans against the wall with his arms crossed and his finger nervously tapping his arm brace. After a few minutes you round the corner with your bag over your shoulder and lead the way into your home. Instinctively, he looks around for any eyes before entering and closing the door behind him.

“So where’s your boy,” you ask, tossing your bag on the couch and walking towards the kitchen. “I have to say I’m kind of surprised not to see him on your hip. You seem inseparable.”

Your voice is chipper but he can tell by your stiff body and lack of eye contact that you’re not entirely comfortable. For a moment Din reconsiders this encounter. But no. The sooner he this bug out of his system the better.

“He’s… spending the night with a friend,” he answers. Grabbing one of those ceramic cups from the cabinet, you fill it with water from the sink and he’s starting to think that you’re only doing that to keep your hands busy.

“Aaww, a sleepover? Is it his first-”

“If you don’t mind,” he cuts off. “I’d like to get to my point.”

“Oh… Y-yes, I'm sorry. I’m rambling,” you say sheepishly. “I’m just…,” you take a deep breath, rest the cup of water on the counter, and lean back against it. Eyes fixed to the floor.

“…it’s just what you said the last time you were here. And the way you approached me earlier, you seemed kinda… I don’t know, upset? I know you don’t wanna be here so I’m wondering what I did to upset you that you’d come here.”

Damn it… He’s such an asshole.

He should’ve never said that. You've been thinking this entire time that you’re at fault for his shitty social skills. Truthfully, with the way that wine had his head so deliciously foggy, he had to leave before his body did something it was aching to do, begging him to do. But how does he even begin to explain that?

“You didn’t do anything,” he answers immediately. But thinks on it once more. “Well… technically you did. But I’m not upset with you.”

“You’re not,” you ask him sheepishly.

“I’m not,” he assures.

A beat passes in silence as you chew over his words.

“Okaaay,” you say with a smirk, “now you really got my attention.”

That mischievous tone travels through Din’s helmet, in his ears, and settles warmly in the pit of his stomach. Something about the combination of your sweet voice and relaxed shift in your body language makes this whole interaction even more nerve wracking.

“Sooo, you wanted to talk to me about something I did?”

“Right.”

“Okay, sooo...” He feels you urging him to continue but now Din finds himself more cautious of his words now. If you’ve been silently worried about offending him the last thing he needs is for this to come off wrong way.

“It’s… a bit hard to explain,” he exhales. If he could pinch his brow right now he would. “To put it plainly, the night we drank together, you said something that’s been… stuck in my head.”

“Was it the thing about the name?”

“N-no.”

“Was it the Pantora story?

“No.”

“Was it the comment about knowing my liquor? Because I like a drink from time to time but I don’t have like a problem or anything-“

“No- Can I finish,” he asks impatiently.

“Okay, okay. Sorry. Go ahead.”

“When we were drinking, and talking… we said a lot of things and got into some deep conversations. And at one point, you asked me if I ever kissed anyone before. I said no back then because… I've never given it any thought in the past. But now it’s got me… curious.”

Your quirk your brow at him.

“Curious how?”

“I want to know what it’s like,” he answers plainly.

“… Sorry, what?”

“I need this… curiosity out of my head. It’s driving me crazy and I need it out of my system. So I figured… since you’re the one who mentioned it in the first place, you can help me kill it.”

“You’re… Okay so, hold on…,” you say with a shaky breath. “Are you… asking me to kiss you?”

“That’s… an oversimplification. But yeah.”

“You’re asking me to be your first kiss? Am I understanding you right?”

Maker, you ask a lot of questions. Are you always like this? You did the same exact thing when he gave you the wine. On any other day it would’ve been endearing but he didn’t anticipate the conversation lasting longer than a minute. Now his request sounds more and more lecherous with each passing second.

“I won’t bother you again after this. You have my word. It’s completely casual. Just killing a curiosity.”

“There’s a preeetty common phrase about curiosity and loth cats that goes differently.” A giggle tumbles out of your mouth on the tail end of that sentence and humility crawls under his skin.

“Sorry to waste your time.” He starts to turn towards the nearest exit when you step in to stop him. Placing a hand briefly on his arm in the space between his armor and the contact sends a current of electricity up his spine.

“No wait, don’t be like that,” you toy with him.

“I’m not laughing,” he spits. But you still have the nerve to giggle.

“It’s okay, Mando,” you laugh assuredly.

“No, it’s not. It’s ridiculous. I hate it. I hate that you put this in my head.”

You fold your lips between your teeth to try to hide your amusement. But you still can’t help but crack a smile a little at his frustration. He basically just confessed to having this obsession for months and he can tell by your smug expression that you’re enjoying how incredibly uncomfortable he is about this.

“You’re right. I’m… sorry,” you say under your breath. Trying to fix your face.

There’s a beat of silence. Stepping in closer, he tilts his head down to you. Locking you in his gaze. He takes pleasure in being nearly a full head taller and the way your breathing picks up before he says in a low gruff voice…

“No, you’re not.”

You smile behind your hand as your eyes dance across his visor, unknowingly locking eyes with the man beneath. You know you’re not sorry, just like he knows he’s not particularly sorry either. It’s not just this moment. It goes back to every interaction you’ve had together. The banter, the nicknames, the visits. He’s as much to blame as you are. And then… you slowly you shake your head, agreeing with him and confirming his suspicion.

Fuck, you’re cute. He hates that he loves how cute you are. He hates himself for not being stronger.

“Ok,” you nearly whisper. Looking up at him with the sweetest eyes. “I’ll help you.”

•

“Is all this really necessary?”

Din currently sits on the floor of your living room. The same spot as last time in fact. Your were the one that insisted on it and honestly he couldn't bring himself to tell you no. Since he sat down in the soft carpet, you've been flitting around your home turning off lamps, closing blinds, and covering any reflective items. Which, admittedly, he's greatful for. But the more time he spends here, alone with you, the more he's not going to want to leave.

“It’s not everyday you get your first kiss, Mando. I wanna make sure it’s a good one. I wish I could re-do mine.”

Gloves fingers flex and stretch restlessly on his knees as you approach the last lamp sitting on a side table in the living room and pause.

“Are you sure about this?”

Fuck no he’s not. But the sooner he does this, the sooner he can find some normalcy in his head again.

“Flip the switch," he says in a low modulated voice.

You fold in a growing smile before taking a deep breath and flicking the switch. Bathing the entire home in inky darkness. The silhouette of you through turns to hues of thermal green and red, carefully maneuvering through your living room by memory before finding your seat in the floor in front of him. And with slight hesitation, Din reaches up to remove the last barrier he has.

“Can you see anything?”

“Not a bit,” you answer.

With that confirmation, he unclasps the chin strap and slowly lifts the helmet up and off. He blinks several times to adjust his vision before finding the outline of the table and placing his helmet there. On the return, his head bumps into your outstretched hand. Not knowing that you had moved.

“Agh.”

“Sorry sorry,” you pull away. “Give me a moment, I’ll find you.”

Your hands search in the dark for him. He can’t see much but he can tell your hands land on nothing by the way the air between you moves and he doesn’t feel any contact on his person. So he reaches out, bumping into your arms and taking hold of them. Following the line of your forearm until he reaches your hands.

“Here,"  he murmurs. Gloved hands wrap around your wrists and gently lift them up. He guides your hands forward until…

You let out a small gasp when your hands find the warmth of his bare face. Soft and giving as opposed to the cold, unyielding beskar. Their movements are slow and explorative. Running your thumbs over his stubble. Surprisingly his hands don’t release their grasp. His leather clad digits press against the racing pulse in your wrist as his thumbs run over the back of your palm.

“This help?”

“Yes, thank you,” you whisper.

From sound of rustling on the rug, Din can sense your body leaning in. Your breath brushes over his skin for a moment before something warm presses against his chin and it takes a second to register that it’s your mouth. You ease him into the build up and he’s greatfull for it. Jaw. Then cheek. Then just grazing the furthest corner of his mouth.

And then… contact.

At first it doesn’t feel like much. Just something soft and warm pressing against his mouth. What most people refer to as a peck, he assumes. But it’s when you barely pull back and return for another that a shiver wracks his skin. Your lips lock in the return, molding together in perfect unison. And it’s fucking electric.

Just by feel alone, he senses that your lips are slightly open. So he mimics you. Giving his jaw just enough slack to respond as you go in again. The sensations have his mind in a thick fog. The soft flesh, the sweet taste, the faint suction. His skin feels like there’s live wires going off underneath. Giving in completely, he finally returns the kiss. Pressing into it with more confidence.

You hum against his mouth, and he dies a little inside.

That’s when the real hunger builds. There’s a slow simmering heat rising between you now. Without thinking, his hands grip your wrists a little harder. Pulling you in closer. The kiss grows a bit stronger with each return back into each other with no loss of contact. Lingering longer and breathing against one another.

He feels your head tilt more to the side and again he mimics your movement. The break only lasts a fraction of a moment. But in the re-entry, the tip of your soft tongue happens to brush his mouth. Sweet wetness coats his bottom lip and it’s in that instant Din feels all restraint leave his body.

Taking your face in his hand, he kisses you open mouthed, inviting you in. Your tongues slowly graze one another and if he fucking died in this moment he’d be ok with it knowing that he got to know how you taste.

The hunger becomes unbearable. Soon enough the breathing becomes heavier and the air becomes hot. Your arms end up wrapping over his shoulders, pulling him deeper and he’s more than happy to dive further. Another small noise escapes your throat and the vibration travels through his entire body.

He needs to feel you. To taste you. Devour you. He needs you.

A break for air is the only thing that throws him back into semi-consciousness as you pull away. The heat built up between you makes him dazed. Hot breaths fill the small space between your lips as you lean your forehead against his.

“Mando?”

“Yes,” he responds in a raspy whisper. A few moments pass as you collect your words and catch your breath.

“Is this really just about curiosity…?”

Your words lean more towards a statement than a question. There’s no point in denying it now. As much as he tried to convince himself or rationalize his strange request, he does feel a pull towards you. Much more complicated than just attraction. The more he sees you, learns about you, and talks with you, the more… inevitable you feel to him. There’s a gravity to you that he can’t escape from. Nor does he want to.

“Yes and no.”

“What does that mean?” The breath of your question brushes the heated skin of his cheek. And right now, he can't think of any answer that wouldn't give him up.

So he lets it fly.

“It’s not just the kiss I’m curious about.”

The silence in the air is thick. The only thing between you are the sounds of both of you catching your breath. It’s possible he might have ruined everything with that one sentence. But it’s the truth. It had nothing to do with the kiss and everything to do with you. Your kindness, your banter, your hospitality. All of it.

There’s no way of telling what you’re thinking at the right now. It’s in this moment that he wishes the lights weren’t out so he can at least read your expression. But then after what seems like an eternity, your forehead nudges against his and you blow a deep sigh of relief. Arms still draped over his shoulders.

“Oh good… I thought it was only me,” you confess with a skittish laugh.

And that tightly pulled restraint finally snaps inside him when he hears that.

Without any hesitation, he dives back in. Kissing you like a man starved. Just like that night, he feels drunk. Only this time it’s on the taste of you and the feeling of your hands finally on him. It’s that thought that drives him to rip off his leather gloves and toss them aside without breaking contact once. His bare hands find your waist and the strip of bare skin between your shirt and linen pants.

“Is this what you meant,” you pant. “When you told me not to invite you in again.”

“Yeah... it is.” He pants the confession as his mouth trails down the line of your jaw and finding your neck in the dark.

“That’s a relief,” you chuckle. “I was worried I offended you.”

“The only thing that’s offensive is that I can’t see that pretty pink flush on your face right now.”

“Should I get a blindfold,” you tease.

What a fucking woman. The mental image of you in a blindfold, only a blindfold, pours fuel on an already blazing fire. But for now, he’s more than ok feeling his way around tonight.

“Next time.”

It comes out of his mouth confidently and without hesitation. Because you both know there will be a next time. He’s bitten into the forbidden fruit and now he’s addicted to the taste.

With a simple shift, his hands dip beneath the thin fabric of your shirt and find the delicious heat of your soft belly.

"Lay down for me."

With your arms draped over his shoulders, you eagerly comply. Slowly dragging him down with you. He careful not to press all his weight on you—being crushed by beskar would definitely kill the mood—but it doesn't stop you from pulling tighter. Craving connection. All while Din rains wet kisses and soft bites upon your pulse.

So this is what your skin tastes like. Slightly salty, sweet, and smooth between his teeth. He might eat you whole if he’s not careful. He nips at the skin of your exposed collar bone and you writhe. Arching to press your chest to his. So he decides to give it some attention.

“Take it off," you pant with an neediness that drives him pull the damn shirt off in one swift motion.

His bare hand crawls up your sternum. Exploring the valley of soft skin free of any restricting fabric. The moment his fingers find the stiff peak of your bare breast he pinches eagerly. Earning the sweetest little whimpers from you as his mouth works on the other nipple. Biting and sucking the soft point. He can’t see a thing in the dark, but what’s lacking in sight is made up by sound with the delicious breathy moans you let out for him.

“Mando…”

Fuck, does he love the way you call out for him. Every touch, kiss, and  suck he gives elicites the most gorgeous sounds out of that perfect mouth. The sounds to straight to his cock, now painfully stiff. It's tempting to just dive into you right now. But he's waited this long. So why not take his sweet time with you. With his face still burried between your breasts and you fingers raking through his hair, Din feels a press of your hips against his armor. And he needs more.

“Shop Girl…”

The nickname doesn’t catch your attention. You’re either too lost in the moment or too breathless to answer. It’s only when he uses your given name that your body perks up and you give him a raspy “yeah?”.

“Do you want this," he asks.

His right hand has found its way to the waist band of your work pants. Ready and waiting for your answer. You try to grind against his hips but he presses your hips down firmly. He knows damn well neither of you want to stop. But he needs to hear it. There's no going back after this.

"Is this ok?"

He doesn't know if you're unsure. Or if maybe your trying to meet his eyes through the darkness. But there's a long pause. Only the sounds of heavy breaths and the pulse beating hard in his ears. And every second that passes has him hanging on the edge of madness.

"Yes...," you finally breathe. "I need you."

She needs me.

The words leave him winded. Months of questions and pining suddenly feel well worth the wait just to hear those words. They not only affirm going further, but the bond that's been steadily growing between you. Not a single ounce of hesitation survives after he hears that. And with one hand, Din loosens the tie of your pants and dives in beneath the fabric of your underwear.

By feel alone, Din manages to pull your pants down to your thighs and you kick them off your feet. His hands roam over all the smooth exposed skin and he can only imagine how perfect you must look if you feel this good. The tips of his fingers finds the dampness between your legs, running along the seam, and he slowly pushes inside until his knuckles meet your entrance.

You release a soft gasp and he swallows it with a deep kiss. You both sigh into each other's mouth. As if you need the other to even breathe. Din's lips never leaves yours as he does an experimental curl against the fleshy part of your walls and you arch your body against his.

“This where you need me," he huffs against your lips. "Right here?”

“Right there... Perfect..."

"I wanna taste you." The confession comes out before he can even think about it.

"Then taste me, Mando."

He can hear the smile in your voice. The taunt. And he's more than happy to reciprocate it.

He rises above you and you whine from the lack of contact. But the loss doesn't last long. Because before you even can register what he's doing, his head has already lowered between your legs.

"What are you- ah."

That gasp you let out when his mouth envelops your pussy is downright tortured. Good too know you were just as desperate as he was.

"Fuck! I thought you meant... You were gonna... Shit..."

No fucking way would he be satisfied tasting you on just his fingers.  The sweet tangy flavor explodes over his tongue and he groans. Fucking hell, you taste good. He doesn’t even know what the hell he’s doing but that’s sure as shit not stopping him. He drowns in you. Lapping and sucking on your swollen little bud and loving the way it makes you cry out. Two thick fingers pump into your wet heat as you melt in his mouth. Such a fucking treat.

You writhe beneath him. Squirming and clawing at anything to hold on to as he works you up. Eventually your hands finds his hair again. Taking a fistful and pressing his face further against your cunt. The sting on his scalp makes his cock twitch in his flight suit and he groans.

“You want me to make you come, Shop Girl," he mumbles against you.

“Yes.”

“Say it.”

“Make me come, Mando... Please…”

He doesn't break pace, doesn't falter, doesn't change a damn thing what he's doing because he can feel close to the edge you are. You tighten around his digits as the pump in and out. And with a firm suck on your clit you let out a strangled gasp.

"Oh Fuck! Fuck! Mando!"

Your breathing becomes short and shallow. Panting so hard right before holding your breath and tipping over the edge with a strangled cry. You come long and hard. Trembling so much he has to hold you steady by the hips.

Through the waves of your climax, Din continues to eat you. Lapping at your perfect pussy like it's wine and he doesn't waste a single drop of you. Even sucking and licking his fingers clean as you lay breathless before him. They come out of his mouth with a wet pop and he can’t help but let out a small breathy laugh.

“I’ve always wanted to try that…” he confesses.

You let out your own exhausted little laugh and he can already tell he wants more. More laughter, more of those pretty sounds, more of you.

It's with that in mind that Din starts pulling his cape off.

Piece by peace, he silently removes his armor. And after a few moments, a second pair of hands joins in. You fumble in the dark with his chest piece first. Helping him out of his armor one section at a time. They fall to the carpet with a soft thud along with the crumbling pieces of the restraint he’s built since that first night.

There’s no signs of stopping. You keep giving him more. More heat. More yearning. More questions.

What makes you laugh? What gives you pleasure? What makes you feel good and whole and satisfied? He needs to know.

And now that he’s gotten a taste, there’s no way he’s leaving here tonight until you’ve both had your fill.

•

If this is what happens when you invite the Mandalorian into your home, let your door never close.

Getting to your bed was easier than you thought it’d be in pitch black darkness. The only thing keeping your ‘bedroom’ separate from the rest of the home is a wooden lattice divider from the ceiling to the floor.

He lays you down on the soft futon on the floor and you open for him like a flower. Two strong palms drag and paw all over your body as his mouth works magic on yours and it makes you dizzy with desire.

Maker, he’s so good with his hands.

His body separates from you only to remove his flight suit and you whine at the loss of contact. Naked and panting for him. Within seconds he’s back on top of you and the feeling of his bare skin against yours makes your head spin. With everything so dark you wonder if this is even real. Maybe this is all a fever dream.

“Are you gonna show me how Mandalorians fuck this time,” you tease against his lips. Calling back to when he showed you how they drink. With your bare legs around his hips, you tease his resolve by running your inner thighs over his sides and you’re rewarded with a low hum. The hand supporting your neck slowly drags forward to find the base of your throat.

“You don’t need to know how Mandalorians fuck.” His wide grip gently squeezes the sides of your throat, just enough for you to feel the power in those hands. “Just how I fuck.”

Holy shit. You thought him gripping your jaw was hot. But this? This might’ve awakened something you didn’t even knew you wanted.

A whimper escapes you only to be muted by his mouth again. His tongue swirls with yours with a hunger you’ve never knew was there these past months and it’s such a relief to know that you weren’t the only one pining.

Mando’s mouth travels to your cheek, then jaw, finally finding purchase on your neck. Biting and sucking as his body presses into yours. He’s insatiable right now. There's no doubt that you'll find yourself covered in marks when the lights come back on.

You’re so lost in the moment that you almost don’t notice when something hard and warm presses against your inner thigh. Out of nowhere, a thought you haven’t even considered before decides to pop into your head at the very last minute.

“H-hold on!”

Your hands find his shoulders, urging him to pause. His lips unlatch themselves from your neck the second you blurt it out. Instantly propping himself above you with his hands on either side of your head.

“You want me to stop?,” he pants.

“No… Hell no. It’s just…”

How do you even begin to ask this?

“Um… I know I probably should’ve asked earlier but… you’re human, right?”

Mando blows out a low chuckle, understanding your underlying meaning. He feels human, from what your hands can tell anyway. He could be like his kid for all you know. It’s not that you’re not willing to go Inter-species, but your experience is mainly human. Plus with the lights off it’d be pretty difficult to figure out fitting things.

Taking your hand from his shoulder, he presses it against his chest where you can feel a dusting of hair. His skin is hot, damp with a thin layer of sweat and his breathing is heavy. He continues to lead your hand further down his torso so you can feel every hill and valley of his muscles. Eventually your hand hits a trail of hair down the middle and then…

Oh shit.

His hand guides you along the length of his cock. Encouraging you to explore every ridge from the thick base all the way up to the damp tip. He’s stiff and hot in your palm. When you give him a firm squeeze he groans and twitches in your grip.

Oh shit.

“Does that answer your question?”

The human part, definitely. Fitting is still debatable.

He lets you handle him. Giving you free rein to tug and tease as he bucks into your hand. He groans with pleasure and the power trip you feel knowing exactly how you affect this fiercely disciplined man makes the pulse between your legs throb harder. After a minute, his hand snatches yours to a halt, making your grip around his cock tighter.

“Show me where you want it,” he demands in a gruff breath. And you do just that. Pressing the damp tip against your clit. The contact sending a jolt of pleasure up your spine.

“Inside,” you plead. “I need you inside me.”

With an impatient huff, his hand comes down to take hold of your leg behind the bend of your knee. Spreading you wide and teasing your entrance before pushing himself inside. You gasp at the initial stretch, digging your nails into his shoulders. Mando curses under his breath and as he pushes you worry for a moment if there’s an end to him.

It’s slow, deliberate. Feeding his cock into your tight cunt until he’s pressing the limits of your walls. You shudder together when he’s completely sheathed and his hands grip your hips so hard his fingers dig into your flesh.

“Mando…” You throw your head back. Arching your whole body, waiting it to adjust to him. “Fuck!”

“I knew it,” he pants. “Fucking knew you’d feel good…”

He splits you in half and before you’re even ready the first hard thrust hits you. You whimper from impact and he thrusts again. Pinning you down by your hips to keep you at the perfect angle. Soon he sets a steady pace as he fucks you into delirium. It’s too much, he’s too much. Yet you moan and whine for more like each thrust might be the last. He feels incredible and you can only claw at his trim waist as it moves for you.

“That’s it… Good girl… Taking me so well… I wanted this… I want you to know every part of me.”

His words plunge into your chest like a dagger. Laced with a meaning that goes far beyond sex. Because you feel it too. You wanted him to be closer. You wanted him to know your name, know you. Even if it took this long to get here.

You feel one hand find your leg. Hiking it up so the back of your thigh lays flat against his chest. His hand drags up and down, caressing the soft flesh without losing a beat with his thrusts. A kiss presses on your calf and your head feels like it’s spinning. One moment he’s rearranging your insides and the next he’s giving your body sweet affection.

Tension builds in your core. Growing tighter and tighter with each hard thrust. Usually the second orgasm is more elusive to chase on your own. But this man is about to push you right into the next one not five minutes after the first one.

“Don’t… Stop…,” you pant. “Don’t stop, I’m so close, Mando…”

“Come for me... Let me feel you."

Then it comes. Tensing your entire body before coming down like a crashing wave. It’s spreads through every inch of your body, making you pulse and shake beneath his frame. You cry out in the midst of the euphoria, clinging to his shoulders, and everything feels so right. He moans along with you, feeling every tight pulse around his cock and letting you ride out the remaining waves.

“That’s two now, Shop Girl. You gonna give me a third?”

You let out a breathy laugh, still coming down from the clouds.

"I... I'm not sure I can," you chuckle.

"Yeah, you will," he pants. Amusement lacing his raspy voice.

Without out warning, Mando takes both your legs. Placing your calves over his shoulders as his leans forward. Folding you in half. And with one hard thrust, his cock drives back into you at a deeper angle. Your back bows and you swear you see stars in the blackness of the room. His lips land on the corner of your mouth and kiss their way to your lips. Offering a soft apology after the roughness. His strong arms are propped around you and you feel eclipsed under his broad body.

Soon his rhythm picks up. Becoming more desperate as he chases his own release. The room fills with the sound of your bodies meeting and you don't think you've ever heard anything more perfect. His panting picks up, his moans become louder, and the quivering breaths he makes when he finds a particularly deep spot will no doubt live in your mind rent free forever.

“You wanted me bare, didn’t you,” he huffs, pressing his damp forehead to yours.. “When you offered me that tea? You thought about me coming inside this perfect cunt, didn’t you.”

Caught red handed. Sure, you wanted to know if he had a partner as well. But the thought did cross your mind when he cornered you against the counter. You wanted to know how he felt bare, with nothing between you. Even dreamt a few times about it.

“Yes… Fuck, yes! Please! I want it!”

“You gonna come with me, Shop Girl? Hmm?”

“Maker, Mando! I’m right fucking there, please! I… I’m… ah-“

His firm hand grips your jaw. Whipping your face back to him so he can cover your mouth his. He kisses you deep, open and messy. No technique, just raw desire as he eats you alive. You moan and whimper against his mouth with each debilitating thrust he makes. He drives into you faster, harder. Relentlessly pushing you closer to the edge.

When it arrives, the orgasm hits you at full force. Wracking your whole body in convulsions as you scream, actually scream against his mouth. Your toes curl, your nails dig into his back and your cunt squeezes on to him for dear life like he’s never allowed to leave again.

Mando hisses through his teeth and he's right there with you. Ramming into you with relentless force as he chases his own release. His face dives into the crook of your shoulder and his arms scramble to take hold of you and he loses control. Letting out a sharp groan as he comes.

“Fuck.. Fuck,” he shudders in your ear. “Agh!”

His hips jerk against your body, driving himself as deep as you can take him. You feel his cock throb as he pumps into you again and again. Filling you to the point of spilling out and it’s... everything. Connected in such a profound way you’ve never felt before. In this moment, it’s hard to tell your bodies apart. You’ve melted and mixed and you never want to separate.

You ride it together, mold together, lose control together because you both knew it’d come to this. In the end this was inevitable. And in a galaxy filled with unknowns, in this you can be certain. A connection like this is few and far between. It’s real and raw and rare. Resisting that feeling was never an option, so why try?

Even in the climb down he doesn’t stop. Those hard demanding thrusts slow to a gentle drags as if he doesn’t want to finish yet. Hands glide all over each other’s bodies, soothing the other. All along his tense shoulders, you pepper soft kisses to his skin. Easing you both down from the clouds. He hums in the decent and it lulls you into an exhausted bliss.

Everything feels hazy and soft. You’re not sure how long you stay melted together like this. Minutes? Hours? But it’s needed. After a while, the breathing becomes steady and a soft, drowsy satisfaction settles between you.

“That’s the first time someone's come inside me,” you quietly confess. For a moment, Mando absorbs what you just said. Then you feel him prop himself in his elbows above you.

“Really?”

“Yeah…,” you breathe. Running your hands up the sides of his neck and resting them on his stubbled face.

“You know… since we’re sharing firsts tonight.”

He smiles and this time you’re able to know for certain by the feel of it in your hands. Leaning down, his forehead finds yours in the dark and you don’t think you’ve ever felt so whole before.

“I’m your first, huh,” he breathes. “I like that.”

There’s so many layers to this man. Quiet and withdrawn. Rough and demanding. Soft and caring. Each one is a trait you’ve come to cherish. You’re not sure if you love this man. But you’re definitely starting to fall for him. You can explore that treasure box later though. For now, you’ll take tonight for tonight and let whatever comes next between you arrive in its own good time.

“Me too, Mando...”

•

•

•

💕 THANK YOU FOR READING 💕

He’s out on a mission so you don’t bother locking your laptop, leaving it open while you hop into the shower. 

Bucky dropped his bags by the door, toeing his boots off, stretching at his made his way to the bedroom, happy to be home early. He smiles when he hears the water running; he loved how pretty and perfect you looked right after a shower, nothing but a towel covering you up. He flops onto the bed waiting for you, having already cleaned off on the way over. 

He notices your laptop open and his curiosity gets the better of him, its not like its a diary so it’s not like he’s going to see anything he’s not supposed to....

His eyes grow wide when he opens a tab and it’s your tumblr page, a draft still opened because you were in the middle of your newest piece. Bucky didn’t know much about tumblr or how the website worked but the more he read, the more clear it was it was 100% your page. 100 % your work. 

His heart is beating out of his chest, skimming over the words.

Gonna fill this pretty little pussy up doll, get you nice and full of me

Look at my cum dripping out of you doll, fuck making me so hard again, gonna let me get you pregnant baby? Put a baby in your belly, keep you full of my cum

Take my cum babygirl, wanna give you my kids-fuck-have my babies princess

M’gonna cum so hard in this pussy, keep you nice and pregnant all the time baby, 

Before he can stop himself, his hand slips down his sweats, grasping his cock, pulling it out, stroking himself. 

You’re mine baby, mine to fuck, mine to cum in, mine to breed 

So much cum in my cock baby, m’so full-fuck, wanna just paint this tight little pussy princess

Don’t let it drip out doll, maybe it’ll be twins hm? Wanna see your belly swollen with my babies in you

His breaths grow heavier, he doesn’t know what’s getting him more off, the story itself, the fact that you wrote this or the fact that you hid your dirty fantasies that were as filthy as his. He had the biggest breeding kink, always keeping it to himself because he didn’t want to spring it on you, he couldn’t taint his sweet little doll like that. 

You were clearly as desperate as him. 

He bit his lip, trying to keep his moans down, one hand tugging his cock, the other holding the band of his sweats down. He could have came on the spot, panting and whimpering as he kept reading, starving off his orgasm because each sentence was filthier than the last. 

He hears the water stop, pushing the laptop away and stuffing his hard cock back into his pants. His sweet pretty doll with all these filthy thoughts in her innocent head and he didn’t want to give in just yet. He wanted to pump you full of his cum on the spot but why do that when he could tease it out of you until you were desperate. 

You squeaked seeing Bucky laying on your bed, his hands tucked under his head, innocently gazing at you while you clutched your towel, your hair still dripping from the shower. Your laptop was still opened but in the exact place you left it...

“Hey babydoll” He smiled sweetly at you, biting his lip watching your flustered form, getting up and striding to you, his arms wrapping around your waist. “I missed you” Your hands trailed onto his chest, melting into his touch, his lips pressing against yours, nipping them teasingly before pulling away. 

“When did you get back?” You looked at him with your doe eyes and he nearly groaned, how did a sweet thing like you be the same one who wrote about wanting to be pumped full of cum until you were bred like a little cock hungry whore. 

“Just now” His nose nudged against yours, kissing you again. He could feel your body shake in his hold, your eyes dating to your laptop wondering if he read anything. You wiggled out of his hold, darting to the bed, closing your laptop before giving him grabby hands, hoping he wouldn’t ask any questions. 

Bucky smirked at you, poor needy babydoll. 

He flopped on top of you, tossing your towel off, spending the next few hours making the sweetest love to you, biting his tongue from telling you how badly he wanted to fill you up, give you all his cum, how badly he wanted you to be his baby mama, his doll carrying his babies. 

You came apart for him over and over again as he toyed with your body. You bit down onto his shoulder and begged him to stuff his fingers in your mouth, shutting yourself up before you pleaded with him to spill his load into you, knocking you up. You wanted to feel his warmth paint your walls, feel his cock sweet and throb in you, stuffing your face into your pillow, crying out for him while holding back your needs. 

It was a very long night. 

A few days later

Bucky wanted to tease you more but he couldn’t take it anymore. Every time you brushed by him, bent over, or cuddled up with him, his mind went back to your filthy salacious words. He’d managed to pull up your page on his phone, smirking every time you posted something new; each fic was dirtier than the last. 

The final straw that broke his composure was when he found you splayed on the bed wearing nothing but his Henley, he could smell your arousal as your thighs squeezed together, your eyes so focused on your work you didn’t notice him come in. You laid on your stomach, your shirt ridden up just below your ass, giving him a glimpse of your bare pussy. 

“You wanna tell me what’s been keeping you so busy baby” He carefully crawled onto the bed, pinning you under him as you gasped, unable to escape anywhere, his lips by your ear. You felt a shiver feeling his hard length pressed onto you, teasingly rocking his hips onto your ass. 

“Nothing” You shook your head, your body heating up, slick further pooling between your legs. “Reading...”

“Sounded like you were working on something y/n” He smirked, pulling your hand away from the keyboard, humming at the words on the screen. “So this is what you’ve been working so hard on?” 

He scrolled through your page while you whined and whimpered under him, burying your face against the mattress, your body on fire as he read through your stories. 

“Don’t be shy princess, you worked so hard on these, hm? Why did you keep it a secret baby?” 

You refused to look up, keeping your face hidden as he closed the laptop, placing it off to the side before crawling off and rolling you over, lying on top of you, his face inches from yours. His thighs parted your legs, letting his erection press against your soaked core, rubbing himself on you while stroking your hair. 

“Is this what you want doll? For me to stuff you with my babies?” You bit your lip, silently nodding, not trusting yourself to speak. He loved you like this, flustered, needy, sweet and so slutty, your thighs involuntarily squeezing around his waist. 

“Because its what I’ve wanted” He groaned, your eyes growing wide at his confession. “It’s what I’ve been craving baby, from the day you were mine, I wanted to claim you so bad. Pump my load in you, get you pregnant” 

“Bucky please” You moaned, your arms desperately clinging onto him as his lips smashed onto yours. You let his tongue tease your mouth, nipping and tasting your lips. He wasted no time ripping you clothes off before tossing his aside, groaning as he rubbed his fingers through your soaked folds, you were dripping onto the sheets. 

“You’re so fucking wet baby” He curled his fingers inside you, pumping them in and out of you, the sounds of your slick echoing through room as he moved his hand faster. “Such a needy little pussy” 

“Wan more, please Bucky, more” Your eyes were glassy, desperate to be filled by him, you’d gone far too long holding back your needs and you couldn't take any teasing, not tonight. 

“You need my cock, huh baby, you need my cum?” You nodded, clawing onto him, spreading your legs further feeling the blunt tip of his cock rub through your folds. He nudged against your entrance, moaning at the way you were already clenching and he hadn’t even filled you yet. 

“Fuck-put your cock in me Bucky” Your pleas went right to his dick, spurts of precum decorating your pussy. He let his body drop of you as he pushed his cock in, moaning loudly at the way your body practically sucked in him, your pussy wrapped around him with a vice like grip. 

He didn’t give you any time to adjust, pounding you into the mattress, the sweet sounds of your cries making him groan. 

“Why-why did you keep this from me baby, fuck- you know how badly I’ve been wanting to fill you up? How long I’ve wanted to cum load after load in you?” He started to fuck you harder, sweat beading at his forehead, his cock throbbing as you fluttered around him. 

“B-Bucky!” you couldn’t formulate  a full sentence, clawing at his back, your legs wrapped tightly around him, your mind blank, only focused on the feeling of his cock slamming in and out of you. He sucked onto your neck, marking and claiming you, willing himself to keep himself from cumming but you made it so hard. 

You had no idea how badly he wanted to breed you but he was desperate to let you know exactly what you did to him. 

“You know how often I have to stroke my cock thinking about how pretty you’d look with a nice round belly, so full of me? Do you have any idea how much I cum when I think about that?”

His cum would cover his stomach and chest, dripping down his body, he’d have the biggest loads thinking about getting you pregnant. 

“Or how hard it is-shit-how fucking hard it is not to moan? Touching myself in the shower or in a safe house? Have to-have to jerk off so you won’t hear, making a mess on myself when I could make a mess in your cunt instead?” 

You clenched around him, the coil in your belly tightening, ready to snap with each of his words, fuck you needed him to fill you. 

“You know how hard it makes me when I think about making you a mommy? My cock starts to leak baby-oh god- I get so fucking hard mama, just wanna pump you nice, be your baby daddy so bad” 

“Daddy...” You whimpered out, not registering what you just called him. Bucky’s eyes rolled back, his hips snapping against you harder, growling at the name. 

“Say it again” He snarled against your neck, his balls getting heavy, his orgasm at the tip of his cock ready to give you his load. “Say it, say it baby” 

“Daddy!” You cried out, your falls fluttering around him, your arousal gushing out of you as he pounded you as hard as he could, his forehead resting on yours, lips brushing against you “Daddy daddy daddy!” 

“You’re gonna make me a daddy, m’gonna make you a mommy” His balls pulled tight to his body, body pulled taut, both of you panting, desperate for each other. “Take my cum baby, take it, gonna fill you with my babies” 

“FUCK Y/N” He spilled his load into you, endless ropes of cum filling you. He moaned, clinging onto your body, his pace sloppy as he thrusted himself into your soaked pussy, his cum dripping out of you. “Fuck its so much baby, I can’t stop” 

“Daddyyyy” You nearly sobbed, your puffy abused cunt sensitive as he continued to rut himself into you, his cock still hard. 

“Y/n, I can’t stop baby, fuck” He practically whined, his cock still leaking, the tip of his cock swollen and sensitive, “Gonna get you so fucking pregnant baby, gonna put twins in you” 

“Please baby” You cupped his face, needy for him, your ankles locked around his waist, keeping him close to you, “Get me pregnant daddy”

“Gonna put all my babies in you sweetheart, never pulling out of you, my pretty baby mama” He pressed sloppy kisses all over your face, giving you slow shallow thrusts, his cock finally softening. You both laid in bed in pure bliss, the smell of sex filling the room. He kept you cuddled against him, peppering you with kisses, his hand coming down to skim over your lower belly, tracing shapes onto your skin. 

“Can’t wait for this to grow, see you barefoot and pregnant baby”

You giggled snuggling into him while Bucky rolled over, pulling his phone out, scrolling through it. You looked at him curiously while he smirked. 

“What are you looking at Bucky”

“That was just one story baby, you have a whole list we have to recreate” 

Tags:

Logan Howlett:

Logan likes to pretend like he isn’t the jealous type, despite him being the most possessive man alive. You’re his, and only his, and he’ll make damn well sure everyone knows it. His scent is definitely all over you.

If anyone is getting a little too close to you for his liking—making you laugh too much, maybe getting a little touchy—Logan is on his feet in an instant, coming up behind you to wrap his arms around your waist. 

Maybe gets a little too handsy, hands travelling lower to cup your butt, canines grazing the side of your neck. He won’t say anything, he’ll just loom there so incredibly ominously until whoever was with you gets the message and leaves.

“Logan,” you warn.

He just grunts, “you’re mine, you know that?”

And you sigh, suddenly weak in the knees, and nod along to his words. He keeps you extra close afterwards, usually sitting you in his lap and looking sideways at anyone who so much as glances your way.

Wade Wilson:

Wade is absolutely the jealous type but it takes a lot to actually get him going, and when he does, he hides his insecurity behind humour and substances. Still, it gets the best of him sometimes and he just can’t help it.

If someone’s flirting with you, he’s inserting himself into the situation immediately. He’ll sidle up next to you, prop an arm on your shoulder and grin at whoever you’re talking to.

“Excuse us for a moment.”

He won’t even give you a chance before he’s pulling you in for a bruising kiss, tongue swiping along the backs of your teeth. His hands roam your sides, maybe cheekily pinching your butt. 

You pull away gasping, hands on his chest. “Wade!”

“What?” He grins goofily, “I couldn’t help it, you look so fuckable.”

Kurt Wagner:

Kurt’s not really the jealous type, and when he is jealous, he just gets sad. He’ll watch someone else hit on you and wonder if he’s enough, if you would prefer someone less blue.

He’ll go quiet for a while, maybe get a little distant while he thinks it over. He does his best to reassure himself, remind himself that you love him and you don’t want anyone else, but it only gets him so far.

Finally, he’ll cave and come to you, dropping to his knees and pressing his face into your stomach. You rest a hand on the back of his head, tilting yours to the side, “Kurt, baby, is everything alright?”

He sighs, words muffled by the fabric of your shirt. His words all come out in one big jumble, each one mumbled and bleeding into the next. Still, you get the gist of it: he’s feeling insecure, and he wants to know if you’d be happier with someone else.

You blink, stunned. “Of course not,” you frown. 

“Really?” He pulls away, looking up at you with wide eyes.

“Yes, really.” You reach for his hands, helping him to his feet, “c’mere, silly.”

And Kurt sighs, letting you pull him in for a kiss.

Scott Summers:

Scott either gets really quiet or really arrogant when he’s jealous.

He’s analyzing the situation, watching you talk with a friend. He’s focused on the way they get a little too close, the subtle contact they make on your arm, the way your smile changes ever so slightly.

When he can’t take it anymore, he’s sidling up to you and throwing an arm around your shoulders. “Hey, doll.”

He’ll plant a sloppy kiss to your lips, lingering just a little too long until whoever’s talking to you gets the message. If he’s feeling extra devious, he’s making a snide comment.

You smack his bicep once they’re out of earshot. “Really?”

“What?” He smiles, feigning innocence, “I just missed you.”

Remy LeBeau:

Remy is so clingy when he’s in love with you so it’s only natural he’d be jealous too. But not the angry jealous type, no, Remy gets sad when he’s jealous.

Someone comes up to flirt with you while you’re at the bar and he’s sitting in the corner pouting, nursing his drink and watching. Someone calls you cute right in front of him and he’s not letting it go for the rest of the day.

“Oh that’s cute of you.” “Mhm, yeah, très mignon.”

However, if someone gets handsy with you, Remy’s on his feet in an instant, cards in hand. Is it too far? Maybe, but he doesn’t care.

“This guy bothering you, amour?”

You take a step back into Remy, letting him wrap an arm around you. “Yes,” you say quietly.

That’s all he needs to hear before he’s sizing him up and sending him on the way, hand clenched around the desk of cards in his palm.

Warren Worthington III:

Warren’s jealousy is a lot more low key, but it’s definitely there. He shrugs it off and pretends like he doesn’t care but inside, he’s in shambles. The minute someone else tries to flirt with you, he’s at your side, wrapping an arm around you and leaning his head on your shoulder. 

He smiles but there’s no humour behind it as he stares down whoever’s coming onto you.

Sometimes, if he’s been drinking a little or you’re in a safe space for mutants, he’ll even go as far as to wrap his wings around you, creating a shield between you and the other person. You roll your eyes, turning to face him in the trap of wings he’s created for you.

“Baby?”

“Hm?” His jaw is clenched but his eyes are soft when they find yours.

“Can you let me go?”

He tilts his head down, wings ushering you closer to him for a slow and soft kiss. “No.”

Piotr Rasputin:

He’s not really a jealous person to begin with. He knows you’re his and he trusts you enough to believe you’d never do anything behind your back. The rare times he does get jealous is when someone is doing something for you that he could do.

Someone else holds the door? His brows are knitting together. Someone lifts something heavy for you? He’s frowning for the next hour and a half. He’s your partner, he should be the one doing all that for you. He’ll spend the next few hours trying to show off, flexing his muscles and doing everything for you. 

He gets a little sad when he’s jealous, too. Is he not enough for you, would you rather be with someone like that? As secure as he likes to think he is, that all melts away in the face of jealousy.

Finally, he’ll come to you, tail between his legs. “Do I make you feel loved?”

You blink, looking up from your book. “Of course you do.”

“Really?”

You dogear the page altogether, putting it down to look at him properly. His lips are pursed in a frown, eyes big and wide with emotions. You rise to your feet, placing your hands on either bicep.

“What’s this about, Petey?”

He sighs and admits to his jealousy, head hung low in shame. It’s only when you cup his cheek and force him to look at you, planting a soft kiss to his lips, that he starts to feel like himself again.

marvel masterlist | navigation

When Dieter opens the door, he’s shocked to see a woman standing there holding a baby. “Can I help you?” He asks, rubbing his eyes, and she snorts.

“You don’t remember me, do you?” She asks and Dieter squints, “am I supposed to?” 

She laughs humorlessly, “I shouldn’t be surprised, you could barely remember my name that night. I was just amazed that a big actor wanted to fuck me. Remember me? That cocktail waitress from the club you took home about ten months ago?” She says and Dieter scratches his neck. 

“Listen lady, I sleep with a lot of people. It’s hard to remember them all.” He admits with zero qualms. 

“Wow. You’re a fucking asshole. Anyway, I guess the condom broke because congrats, you’re a daddy. It’s a girl. Her name is Rosie. Her birth certificate is in the bag.” She holds the baby out towards him and his eyes widen, looking down at the baby bag in the ground.

”What? I- what the fuck?” He looks bewildered before he starts to laugh. “Good one. Real funny. What do you want? Money?” He scoffs and she shakes her head, tears in her eyes. 

“No. No. I need you to take her. I can’t afford her and I- I didn’t want her. When I found out - I was fucking eight months pregnant so it was too late to get rid of her and I can’t work so I can’t pay for my place. I can’t keep her. You gotta take her. She will be better off with you.” She says and pushes the baby into Dieter’s arms. 

He scrambles to hold the baby, not wanting to drop her and the woman immediately sprints off towards her car. “Hey! Wait! You can’t just- I don’t know how to look after a baby! I need you to - hey. Where the fuck- get back here!” He yells as she squeals off of his driveway and he curses himself for not fixing the gate yet. “Shit.” He hisses. He didn’t even get her name. Looking down at the baby, he sighs and knows he has to find her mom. He can’t be a daddy. He can barely look after himself. 

No, first thing is a damn DNA test and then he’s gonna find that bitch and give her back her baby. He’s gotta call the police after he cleans up his counters from the coke powder. “Fuckkkkk.” He groans, knowing his quiet day just got a whole lot busier.

****

“If we take her, Mr. Bravo, she’s just going to go into a state home. An orphanage.” Dieter frowns and wraps his arms around his chest, nervous for having the fucking cops in his house. Paranoid they were going to find the baggie of Coke he just remembered was in the little box next to his car keys. “You are listed on the birth certificate.” 

Snatching the paper from the officer he squints at it. “How the fuck is that legal?” He demands. “That means anyone could put me down as the father of their kid.” 

The officer shuffles, clearly uncomfortable and slightly in awe of being in the actor’s presence. “That’s for the courts to decide. Look,” he lowers his voice and looks around. “I don’t think you understand how bad the system is for babies.” He tells Dieter seriously. “Just- keep the baby with you, at least until the DNA tests come back. That way you don’t have to fight to get her back when she is yours. You already said you might have slept with this woman. Stranger things have happened.” 

Dieter huffs, upset by the idea of the tiny little human being in an orphanage. Even if she doesn’t look anything like him. He had found diapers and a can of formula in the bag that the mother had left with him but that’s it. He has nothing to take care of a child. “What am I supposed to do? I don’t know shit about kids.” He demands, making the officer chuckle. 

“Hire a nanny.” The officer suggests, smirking. “Isn’t that what you Hollywood types do?”

Dieter knows he can’t just ship the kid off. She’s so tiny and vulnerable. He can’t do it, even he’s not that big of an asshole. He will call his assistant to get a nanny in today. “Listen, do you, uh, know how much formula to use?” He asks the cop who nods and walks over to the counter to show Dieter. 

“One scoop for every two ounces of water. Get baby water but bottled will have to work for today. So four ounces, two scoops. And shake. After she is finished, shift her to your shoulder and gently pat her back to get her to burp.” He says and Dieter nods. 

“How much does she need?” Dieter asks and the cop chuckles, “she’s gonna be hungry a lot. I remember mine at that age. Endless bottles. Be sure to wash them thoroughly.” He says and pats Dieter on the shoulder and makes his way towards the front door of the Sherman Oaks mansion.

“Fuck.” Dieter groans, rubbing his cheek when the police leave and the baby starts to cry. He knows she must be hungry so he fumbles to open the container, grabbing the bottle to fill it with bottled water and putting two scoops in. “I’m coming.” He says, struggling to do the bottle up, and he curses again as he walks over to carefully scoop the baby up. “How do I-?” He struggles to get her to suck on the bottle and sighs in relief when she stops wailing and gulps down the milk.

Dieter holds the baby awkwardly, trying to remember how from that role a few years ago. The baby had been a prop doll, but they had shown him how to hold it. “Your name’s Rosie, huh?” He asks, looking down at the infant. According to the birth certificate, she’s only two months old. “I’m Dieter, but you don’t talk so why am I telling you that?” He huffs, but the baby gurgles around the nipple of the bottle and it makes him grin. “Did you like that?” He asks, lifting a brow. Apparently he’s a natural with kids. 

The baby grunts and the grin immediately slides into a frown. “What’s that?” He asks, feeling something moving. “What are you doing?” Instead of sucking down the milk, the baby is grunting and straining and Dieter stares in horror as the smell starts to reach his nose. “Oh shit! You shit!” He groans in disgust.

The baby starts to cry, unhappy with a full diaper, and Dieter is reaching for his phone. 

“Hello?” His assistant answers and Dieter is panicking. 

“I need you here right now. I need help.” 

Johan, his assistant, frowns, “is that- is that a baby?” He asks and Dieter groans, “get here now. And call a nanny service!” He demands and hangs up. “What do I do?” He asks the baby, shifting to lay her down on a towel so she doesn’t get shit on his expensive rug. “I- shit. You - fuck. That’s disgusting.” He groans and pulls his phone out. “YouTube! I’ll try YouTube.” He looks up ‘how to change a diaper’ and grabs the baby bag.

Dieter watches the video, studying it intently as he keeps a hand on the baby’s stomach. “Looks easy.” He frowns at the squirming baby. “But the doll wasn’t moving.” He sets the phone down beside the bag so he can see it and bites his lip as he tries to figure out the snaps on the onesie she’s in. “Holy shit.” He huffs, amazed at how easy it unsnaps. “I need this in a fucking adult version.” Wrinkling his nose when the smell gets even worse, he groans. “Wheeeeew, God you stink.” He nearly gags and pulls his shirt up over his nose. “What did you eat?”

Trying to plug his nose, he follows the YouTube video, wiping the poop off of her skin after rolling up the dirty diaper and putting it in the diaper bag. Anyone watching would think Dieter is dealing with a bomb. He gags when he pushes the wipes into the bag after cleaning her up and he grabs the rash cream, placing some on her bottom where the video details he should. He curses the new diaper, trying to figure out what way is the front until he sees it says “back” on it and he pulls it tight on her tiny body before he clips her onesies back into place. “Shit. That - that wasn’t too bad.” He murmurs, breathing in the fresh air and she hiccups, looking up at him with wide eyes.

“You’re kind of cute.” Dieter murmurs. “In a weird, ‘you don’t look like me’ kind of way.” He frowns when she grins at him, kicking her feet. “You’re weird.” He huffs, but she just waves her arms at him and squeals. Is she his? After all this time, did he finally fuck up and procreate? His mind spins and he wishes he remembers what the woman looks like better than he does but it had been early (for him) and he had just woken up. “We will have to find you someone who knows what they are doing kiddo.”

**** 

“What did you do?” Johan accuses Dieter who shakes his head, holding the baby in his arms and he looks at her, unable to deny that she looks a little like Dieter. 

“I don’t know man. Some woman, I- Jesus. She said I fucked her and don’t even remember her. I’m waiting for the nurse to come for the DNA test.” Dieter confesses, knowing he has to be sure before he does anything.

“Oh my God, Dieter.” She rolls her eyes and immediately steps closer to the baby, unable to resist seeing her up close. “This is why you said you needed a nanny?” 

Dieter nods and rocks his body as the baby’s eyes start to drift closed. “I don’t know what the fuck I’m doing.” He huff, looking around the house that is definitely not baby proof. “I don’t have anything. I need-” He shakes his head. “I don’t know what the fuck I need. More diapers? That formula?” He nods towards the diaper bag. “She didn’t leave me shit for this baby.” He growls, pissed off at the poor planning of that woman. Who just abandons their baby with someone they didn’t know? 

“Let me make a list and we can get what we need for her.” Johan says, knowing Dieter will not know anything that he will need. 

“I need help. And stuff. Like now.” Dieter says, feeling the need to use but he can’t since he’s responsible for a fucking baby now.

Johan nods and bites his lip. “I’ve got a call into a nanny service. They are going to send someone over today.” He knows Dieter will be relieved. “Maybe she can help us with what we need.”

“Let’s get her. I need help. I- shit. I don’t even have a crib or anything. I need you to go out. Take my card and get all the baby shit from the best store there is in town.” He orders, wanting the baby to have the best even if she isn’t his. She’s cute and she deserves a good start in this world. “I need - shit - I have no idea what I’m doing. Please help me.” Dieter begs, the baby falling asleep against his chest and he looks down at her, her lips pouting as she sucks on the pacifier he found in the bag.

Johan grimaces and nods, aware that he has even less experience with babies than Dieter does. “I’ll be back.” The other man promises, quickly making his way towards the door and out of the house. He had no clue what the hell to do for his boss, he’s gotten himself in a mess this time. As much as he wants to claim he doesn’t know that baby is his, it is. Dieter Bravo is a father.

****

“It’s nice to meet you. I’ve always been such a fan of your work.” The woman gushes. Dieter can barely remember her name. Violet, Vivian, or something like that. She seems nice enough and her qualifications from the service are good. He doesn’t really know what he’s looking for in a nanny except he desperately needs help. He’s waiting on the DNA results to come in but the little baby is cute and she listens to him rambling without complaints.

Viola looks around the house and wonders how the hell Dieter Bravo became an overnight father. “You must attend parenting classes.” She insists after Dieter finally runs out of steam and shuts up. “There is one I can sign you up for. It’s for new parents and you qualify.” She chuckles, shaking her head. “They have a meeting in two days, I can see about getting you halfway set up.

“What? No. I don’t need a parenting group.” Dieter scoffs and Viola raises her eyebrows. 

“Respectful sir, I think you do.” She offers him a wry smile when the baby starts to cry in his arms. 

“I’m hopeless, aren’t I?” He sighs, trying to rock Rosie and he is struggling to calm her. 

“Here. Can I-?” Viola asks and Dieter practically shoves the baby into her arms. 

“You’re hired.” He declares when Rosie calms down and the crying stops. He can’t do this alone.

“Mr. Bravo,” Viola frowns and shakes her head. “I’m sorry if you misunderstood. I am here temporarily.” She explains. “I have already signed a contract with another family. I came today because it was an emergency.” She wonders if he had heard anything she had said when she arrived, he had looked frazzled but she thought she had been clear. 

“What? No! You seem like such a nice lady and Rosie likes you. Please. I’ll pay more. I’ll do anything to get you to stay.” He pleads, “name your price. I’ll fucking pay it. Please!” He pouts, eyes wide and pleading. 

Viola shakes her head, “I’m so sorry. I can’t get out of the contract. I’ll help you as much as I can. Johan said you need help learning the basics so I’ll show you the basics and take care of Rosie while I can but you’re going to have to learn what to do.” She says, knowing it’s going to be tough.

“I can’t do this.” Dieter wails, knowing life as he knows it is over. Without someone here, he going to fuck it up. “Please, please, you have to stay.” He begs, making Viola shake her head. 

“I am here for one week, Mr. Bravo. Then it will be up to you to find someone to help you care for Rosie. Now, let me show you how to bathe your daughter.”

****

“She’s yours.” Dieter exhales shakily as Johan announces the DNA results. 

“Shit. I- I have a daughter.” He shakes his head and looks over at Rosie who is asleep in her bassinet. “What am I gonna do?” Dieter asks as reality sets in. He has a child that he’s responsible for and Viola is only here for two more days. “She’s - she’s so tiny and I’m gonna fuck it up. She’s gonna get fucked up because of me.” He starts to panic now that reality has hit.

“You are going to go to the parenting class tonight and we are going to continue to look for a nanny.” Johan tells Dieter practically. He’s been surprised that Dieter hasn’t done as many drugs as he normally does, even smoking weed outside because of the baby. “So far all the services I’ve called don’t have anyone available until next year.” He shakes his head. “Apparently it was baby season this year.”

Dieter groans, covering his face with his hands and dragging them down his cheeks. “I have pre-production for the movie coming up in a few weeks. I can’t take her with me to a table read.” He whines and Rosie shifts in her sleep, making Dieter’s heart melt when the movement catches his attention and he looks over. “Fine. I’ll go to the parenting class. Maybe…maybe someone can help me find a nanny there.” He says, determined to find help. 

****

Dieter walks into the church hall, surprised he hasn’t burst into flames. He hasn’t been to church since he was a kid. His mama used to drag him on a Sunday and when he became famous at ten years old, he managed to bail on church because he was working. He sits down in a seat, noticing how all the other attendees are women. Rosie is asleep in her carrier for now and he has the diaper bag at his feet. “Welcome ladies and - oh. Hi, we have a new member.” An older woman smiles at Dieter, “welcome to the single mom support group.”

“Oh, uh, I thought it was-“ Dieter falters for a moment, panicking about being kicked out of the group. “I thought this was a single parent support group.” He explains, shuffling. “I just- uh, the mother of the child- my child- I just got the DNA test back, dropped her off on my door with no warning.” He rambles, trying to explain why he needs to stay. “I don’t know what the fuck I’m doing.” He confesses, nearly sounding defeated.

“It’s okay. It’s okay. You can stay.” A few of the moms recognize Dieter and he looks exhausted. Rosie had kept him up half of the night since Viola has been weaning him off of her help, and he glances around. 

“I’m sorry to - shit. I can go.” He says and you are sitting next to him. 

“No, stay. It’s okay. We are all here to help each other.” Your own son, three months old, is whining and you sigh, pulling your tank top down and unclipping your bra to breastfeed him.

Dieter’s eyes widen at the sight of your breast and he can’t deny his cock twitches a little at the idea of drinking down some milk. Shit, when did that kink happen? “I appreciate it. I have no clue what I’m doing.” He admits again and all the women laugh, “none of us do. It’s instinct and a lot of books.” One giggles, “and Google.”

“I didn’t even know.” Dieter moans, shaking his head. “It was- it was a one night stand.” He feels bad about that, not even able to tell Rosie about his relationship with her mom when she gets older. “I’m trying to hire a nanny but all of them are booked up.” He shakes his head. “I don’t want to fuck her up. She’s so tiny. Two months old.”

“What’s her name?” You ask him, looking at the little girl asleep in her carrier. 

“Rosie.” He says with a soft smile, it’s hard to not love the little girl now that he knows she’s his. He wants the best for her, even if she’s stuck with a manic mess like him. “This is Oliver.” You gesture to the baby now asleep on your breast.

Dieter smiles and tries not to notice the grunting sounds the kid is making. Feeling guilty because he knows that he would be making the exact same sounds the kid is if he was sucking down milk from your tit. “That’s nice.” He offers. 

“So what is your name?” The woman in charge smiles fondly at him and he’s surprised no one recognizes him. 

“Uh, Dieter.” He offers, curling his shoulders slightly. “Dieter Bravo.”

“Welcome Dieter.” Several of the women say to him with a smile. 

“So do you have any questions?” Julia, the group leader asks. 

“Where the fuck do I begin?” He replies dramatically, making all the women chuckle. 

“Well, we are here to help each other so might as well start.”

“So my first question. So is their shit always gonna be that black color?” Dieter shakes his head, making a face as he remembers the last diaper he had changed. 

All the women laugh. “No that won’t last for much longer since she’s three months old.” 

Dieter rolls his eyes gratefully. “Oh thank God.” He chuckles. Looking over at you again. “You said your son is two months old? Is he sleeping all night? Is that something that she has to get used to?”

You shake your head, “he isn’t sleeping through the night yet. I breastfeed so he wakes me up every couple of hours. It takes a while for them to sleep through the night. Like six months or so. Have you read any baby books?” You ask and he shakes his head. “Oh you must read - you know what. I’ll send you a list. What’s your number?” You ask and the women all giggle, making you fluster. “I mean, to help. We have babies close in age. It’s good to have help.”

“Do you need a job?” Dieter blurts out, wondering why he hadn’t thought of it before. “I mean- if your husband doesn’t mind.” He corrects himself, forgetting it was a single mother’s group. “I'm just- I’ve got to start pre-production on the next movie and it’s going to be crazy and you seem like you’re perfect. You handle your baby so easily.” His eyes are wide and pleading, begging you to say yes.

Your eyes widen, "I- um, oh wow. A job?" 

The other women all nod, telling Dieter about your history as a teacher and how you know CPR. You fluster, knowing you need a job. Your maternity leave ended two weeks ago and instead of letting you come back to work, your job had fired you. Between losing your job and your landlord chasing you up on rent, you know this is too good to turn down. "I'm not married and um, what job do you have in mind?"

“Nanny.” He jumps immediately on your question. Knowing that it’s not a ‘no’. “I’ll pay you really well and you can- can you live there? I mean, I can have odd hours and you can stay at my place. You and Oliver.” He makes sure to include your son. “I have a big house. In Sherman Oaks.” As if that would sweeten the deal. “Help me with Rosie and teach me how to be a dad. How to look after her. I don’t expect you to do it all.” He clarifies, having already gotten used to the idea of being a ‘girl dad’. He’s watched a few Tik Toks about it and it looks cool.

You know it sounds too good to be true. A job and a place to live with your son. “I think we need to sit down and talk this through properly. You don’t even know me. Don’t you wanna do a background check?” You ask, knowing you’d be doing that if you were hiring someone to live in your house. “We have a lot to discuss.” You bite your lip and look around the room to see the other moms nodding to encourage you.

“Yeah. Yeah.” Dieter nods seriously. “My agent will have that done. Plus the NDA you would have to sign.” He’s grateful you are even thinking about it. “But don’t worry. Most of the tabloid stuff is bullshit. I’m not that bad.” He promises with a quick, charming grin. “We can hammer out the details after this, right?”

“Uh, sure.” You nod and Dieter winks at you before turning back to the women, their own babies in their arms and you know this is too good an opportunity to turn down. “You wanna go get a coffee?” You ask Dieter after Oliver is in his stroller and you look at Rosie who is still asleep, unaware of her father trying to hire her a new nanny. 

“As long as it’s quiet.” He says and you frown, “uh, sure. You said you are going into pre-production so does that mean you are an actor?” You ask, unaware of if he’s famous.

Dieter stares at you for a moment, wondering if you are just trying to play coy but you are just looking at him curiously. “Yeah, uh, I am.” He admits, finding it refreshing that someone on this planet doesn’t know who he is or have any expectations of him. “I normally do two or three movies a year, depending on how long they take to film or whatever.” He struggles with the carrier and the door, holding it open for you on the other side. “Gotta get one of those.” He tells himself, eyeing your stroller.

“We can make a list of what you’ll need. I’m guessing you have the basics but there’s so much stuff.” You sigh, knowing it’s not always been in your reach but someone like him could buy it all. 

“A list sounds good. Coffee?” He suggests, gesturing to the small coffee shop down the street and you nod. 

“Sounds good. I desperately need one. He kept me up all night. He was hungry last night and wouldn’t settle unless he was against my breast.”

Dieter keeps his dirty thoughts to himself, but he doesn’t blame the kid. He would love to sleep with a nipple in his mouth too. “We will make sure to get you an extra shot of espresso.” He promises, carrying the car seat and diaper bag as he walks alongside you. “I’m being serious. About the job, I mean.” He tells you. “I have tried every nanny service in the greater L.A. area with no luck, although I’m on their waitlist.” He sighs and shuffles the carrier when his arm gets tired in one position. “I have an in-law suite you and Oliver can use, if you want a little more privacy than just sleeping upstairs.” He knows he sounds desperate, because he is desperate. Johan knows less than he does about babies and has zero interest in watching the kid while he is busy.

“Let’s sit down with the babies and then we can order.” You suggest and he nods, guiding you over to a table in the back. Rosie is waking up and he panics when she starts to cry. “Oh hello gorgeous.” You murmur, leaning down to look at his daughter and Dieter is fumbling to get the bottle from the bag to make her formula. You sigh, sensing he needs help and you unbuckle the baby, Oliver asleep as you cradle Rosie, her cries settling a little and you stand up, rocking her and you reach for the formula Dieter has, a whole damn container, and work fast on a bottle. “My sister has kids. I used to babysit them.” You explain and work fast with one hand to prepare a bottle and bring it to her lips. “Here you go sweet pea.” You coo as she starts to gulp down the milk.

“You’re really good at this.” Dieter says in awe, watching you handle things so smoothly. “I’m just-I don’t know.” He sighs, feeling bad that he’s not good at this. 

“Babies sense the emotions around them.” You tell him quietly. “You panic, she’s going to become more frantic. Just talk to her while you are getting her bottle ready. Or have one already mixed up, ready to go.” You think about all the formulas that are already bottled and just need a nipple slapped on them. “We can find a routine that works for you.”

Dieter nods, “yes. Yes. God, please take the job. I need you.” He pleads and you shift Rosie into his arms, transferring the bottle to him. 

“I’ll take the job. On one condition.” You say, sitting back down and you rock Oliver’s stroller. 

“Anything.” Dieter vows. 

“You learn too. I don’t want you to just shove her into my arms at the first sign of difficulty. She’s your daughter. You need to know how to care for her, to bond with her. You can’t just hand her off and expect me to do it all. She needs to know her daddy.”

Dieter nods, knowing that he would do that if given the opportunity. “Okay.” He agrees. “I want you to help me become better at taking care of her.” He bites his lip and looks at you. “What do you want for pay?” He asks, listing off a number that the nanny services had given him. “Does that sound okay? Plus, you’ll have full use of the house. And a card for expenses. I don’t expect you to buy the diapers or wipes or any of that shit.”

Your eyes widen, it’s way more than you were making at your old job. Your landlord has been threatening you with eviction since you’re struggling to pay, and this almost seems like fate. “Wow. I- are you sure?” You ask him and he nods, “I’m absolutely sure.” 

You swallow and offer him a soft smile, “then I’m your new nanny.” He grins and your heart thumps in your chest at how handsome he is. “There’s something you gotta know though.” You sigh and Dieter nods, waiting for you to go on. “Oliver’s father. He - he died.” You feel yourself tearing up, “we - I was only a few months pregnant when we got into the car accident.  I didn’t even know I was pregnant at the time but Ollie- he- he died. We were- we were friends, friends with benefits and we got pregnant and he- he never got to meet his son.” You choke, the grief that’s consumed you threatens to take you again. He didn’t have any family left alive so Oliver would’ve been his only family.

“I’m sorry.” Dieter frowns, unsure of how to comfort someone about a death that meaningful but he feels like he should say something. “That is rough. Hopefully- hopefully this will turn into a good arrangement.” He offers with a small shrug, realizing that things could be worse. He can’t imagine what it would be like going through this alone. “After our coffee, do you want to come over? See the house?” He asks. “I can call my agent to draw up any kind of paperwork you want.”

You nod, sniffing to stop yourself from crying about Ollie. You loved him, he was your friend, but you were never in love with him. He had his problems and you had yours. It would’ve never worked. Oliver is here now and you have to be strong for him, to keep Ollie’s memory alive. “Yes. I- this is a lot but I want to change my life. I need a change. I want to work for you.” You say as the barista takes pity on you with the babies and comes over to take your order. “I’ll have a vanilla latte please.” You order and Dieter adds, “with an extra shot of espresso.”

After taking your orders, Rosie finishes her bottle and Dieter shifts to put her up on his shoulder to burp. “Hang on, you need a spit rag.” You insist, digging in your own diaper bag to produce one. 

“Huh,” Dieter huffs, “I just thought I was supposed to wear her puke until she stopped doing that.” He jokes, the stains on his shirt only partly from his daughter. 

“No, you always carry multiple burp clothes and changes of clothes, for both of you.” You tell him with a smile.

He nods, mentally taking notes. He has so much to learn from you to make sure his daughter is well looked after. He doesn’t want to fail at being a father. He wants her to know he did everything he could to be a good daddy. He knows you will be good for Rosie, for him too. He sips his coffee and watches you with Oliver, rocking his stroller, and he can see you’re a good mom. He feels comfortable with you. “Do you wanna come back to my place?” Dieter asks, realizing that’s the first time he’s asked that question without it being for sex or drugs

You bite your lip and look up at the frazzled, yet handsome man who is offering you a dream situation. A place to live and the ability to stay at home with your son while still earning money. You don’t know if you would ever get a better offer. “Yes.” You agree. “I’ll follow you? Maybe you can text me the address in case we get separated?” You want to look it up really quickly, just to make sure it’s a real place.

He nods, taking your number to text you his address. He is anxious for you to see the house, hoping you love it and it helps to get you to take the job. You strap Oliver into his car seat while Dieter does the same to Rosie and soon enough, you’re driving to his house.

“I, uh, I’ll ask the housekeeper to come in more than once a week.” Dieter offers, climbing out of his car as you do the same. He doesn’t want you to think that it’s all going to fall on you. “Oh, Johan told me about a diaper delivery service. All natural diapers? That’s better, right?” He asks, anxious about doing the right thing. He had read about the chemicals used in the nappies he currently has.

You smile at his anxiety, wanting the best for Rosie, and you know he’s going to be a good daddy once he gets his feet under him. “Johan?” You ask and Dieter nods, “my assistant. He’s - he is my lifeline.” Dieter confesses and you nod, understanding he lives a completely different life to you. He needs an assistant to manage his schedule. You take Oliver out of the car in his carrier and follow Dieter into the house, your eyes wide at the gorgeous home he owns. “This is - wow.” You exhale as you enter the grand property.

“Thank you.” Dieter shows you the bottom floor and opens the door to his study. “I have all this shit I don’t know what it’s for.” The room is filled with boxes of toys and jumpers, cribs and carriers. Johan had gone overboard but Dieter had wanted to make sure that he had everything he needed. Your eyes widen and he blushes, “I was trying my best.” 

You nod, understating he has struggled since Rosie was dropped on his doorstep. “We can get everything set up. Does she have a nursery?” You ask and he shakes his head, “she’s been in my room. I- I haven’t really slept. I’ve been trying to watch her sleep in case, you know.” 

You understand, knowing you stay awake watching Oliver breathing. It’s a lot of anxiety being a first time parent. “We will get her nursery set up and then you can keep her in your room if you want but then she has somewhere to nap and call her own.” You smile and rub his shoulder after you set Oliver down in his carrier, he’s asleep. “It’s gonna be fine.” You promise him, glancing around the beautiful living room. “It’s gonna need some baby proofing and, uh, that needs to go.” You gesture to the powder packet on the counter.

“Oh, I, uh-“ Dieter rushes forward and grabs the packet to sweep it off the counter and into his pocket. “I haven’t- that’ll be put away.” He promises, cursing himself for leaving it out. He hadn’t taken any lately, not since Rosie arrived because he’s too fucking scared of something happening to her while he’s bombed. “Sorry.” He hopes you don’t decide to leave him high and dry because of that. “Do you want to see the rooms you and Oliver could have?” He asks desperately.

You stop him, “I- I am taking the job but you won’t do drugs in this house with the babies. If something happened or they got hold of it - I couldn’t - no drugs in this house. Period. You wanna go get high somewhere else? Fine. But your daughter comes first, you understand?” You ask him, knowing you won’t risk your own son around that kind of bullshit.

Immediately nodding, Dieter understands what you are saying. “I haven’t- not since she’s arrived.” He confesses. “I’ve been too scared to even try in case something happens.” He’s not stupid enough to think he won’t do drugs anymore but he does want to be there for his daughter.

You nod, knowing it’s not ideal but it will have to do. As long as they aren’t kept in the house and he doesn’t do them around the children, it’s his business. You are just his employee. “Okay.” You pat his shoulder and he guides you to the guest suite. “Dieter…this is…wow.” You gasp at the massive room, “this is - this is a lot. Are you sure - there’s no other room you want me to have?” You ask, knowing this room is the size of your apartment.

“You need room for you and Oliver.” He shrugs, not wanting to say that he doesn’t have guests unless it was someone from a party. And he doubts he’s having those here anymore. “This way you have privacy and your own bathroom.” He knows that is important and figured this would be perfect. “And using another room for Oliver is okay too.” He doesn’t want to suggest the nursery can be shared, but he wouldn’t mind. “Will this work?”

You smile, reaching out to pat his arm, “this is more than enough, Dieter. It’s perfect.” You promise and he grins, pleased that you are happy. He sighs when Rosie starts to cry and Oliver follows suit, both babies waking up. “Come on daddy, let’s go feed the babies.”

He feels more confident with you beside him. Even if it’s just your presence reminding him that he should test the bottle on the inside of his wrist before popping the nipple in Rosie’s mouth while Oliver is greedily suckling at your breast for his own meal. “That wasn’t too bad.” He grins down at his daughter, eyes wide but slowly starting to close as she gulps down the bottle. “How often do you have to feed Oliver?” He asks, trying to keep his eyes on your face respectfully. You aren’t giving him a show.

“About every one and a half to two hours. Depends on when he’s hungry. He lets me know.” You chuckle and watch your son as his gulps turn into suckles which lead to him falling asleep against your breast. “It’s - it’s exhausting but he’s worth it.” You smile at Dieter who is rocking Rosie. “You’re getting better already. We will make a list of everything we need for you and, um, I guess I better go and pack.” You smile bashfully, knowing this is a big move but it’s what’s best for you and Oliver.

“Why don’t we hire someone to pack you?” Dieter asks with a frown. You have your hands full and he knows that it will take a lot to take care of your son and try to pack. “I’ll pay for it. I don’t mind. That way we can get the nursery set up.”

“Are you sure? I- I don’t know if you’re gonna find someone so late notice. I don’t have much. And I will need Oliver’s crib and -” 

You don’t get to finish because Dieter is pulling out his phone to call Johan and arrange for your things to be moved today. “Whatever it costs.” Dieter says and you swallow, knowing Dieter has more money than you could imagine if he can waste it like that. 

“Thank you.” You tell him, cradling Oliver who is fast asleep.

“It’s nothing.” Dieter waves away the thanks and looks down at Rosie as she finishes the last of her bottle. “Okay little girl, let’s get you to burp, and then maybe a nap?” He asks, grinning. “She has the manliest burps.” He brags, astounded that something so small could make such a racket. “I have the other cradle thingy if you want to lay your son down.”

“The bassinet?” You smirk and he shrugs one shoulder, “I’m still learning.” You nod and let him guide you to the bassinet and you carefully lay Oliver down before adjusting your shirt after clipping your nursing bra. Rosie burps and you giggle softly, liking how proud Dieter is of her and you watch him lay her down in the cradle next to Oliver. “Maybe they will be best friends.” You whisper, leaning closer to him.

“That would be cool.” Dieter imagines it, his own childhood lonely and isolated. There were times he had wished desperately for a built-in friend. “Let’s get out of here before we wake them up.” He has learned that Rosie is cranky if she gets woken up before she’s ready and he doesn’t blame her, he’s the same way. Maybe she got it from him. “So, uh, since there’s two kids….just, um, we’re gonna need that double stroller thingy, right?” Dieter asks as he walks down the hall with you. “And can you show me that carrier thing? The one you have the baby wrapped to your body? That looks cool. Oh, and uh, the diapers. The service, when we get that set up, use it for Oliver too.” He adds. “No need to have two different types of diapers, right?”

You nod, realizing it’s best not to argue. “Let’s leave them to sleep and we can work on getting the nursery set up. I- I really appreciate this opportunity, Dieter.” You tell him and lean in to kiss his cheek. He blushes as you set your phone up as a makeshift baby monitor, calling his phone, and you leave the babies to sleep. Dieter follows you, his eyes dropping down to your ass, and he curses internally when he realizes he finds you hot. 

****

“Dieter!” You call out, trying to find your boss. Oliver and Rosie are having tummy time on the play mat and you need your breast pump. It’s been a couple of months since you moved in with Dieter to become his full time nanny and it’s been surprisingly nice. Rosie is a good girl and you’ve grown to fall in love with her, making sure her and Oliver get equal treatment. “Can you get my pump?” You ask when he doesn’t respond.

“Yeah!” Dieter reluctantly lets go of his cock and tucks it away in his dress slacks. He had been trying to tug one out before he had to go to court, formally getting custody of his daughter. Nervous and not able to get high, jerking off had become even more of a habit than before now he had started thinking about you while he was doing it. You’re so fucking pretty and kind. Looking like an angel as you take care of his daughter. Dieter knows that he’s falling in love with you but he can’t do anything about it. Not willing to risk you leaving and denying Rosie the best nanny in the world. Washing his hands quickly, he rushes to the kitchen to grab the pump where you had cleaned it last night while he sterilized bottles. “Here it is.”

You thank him, breasts aching and you attach the suction, not thinking about Dieter as you sigh in relief at the milk finally being pumped. “Shit. That feels good.” You groan, the whooshing of the machine pumping and you have been pumping enough for Rosie to have milk too. It’s been a lot but you love the babies. “What time do you have to leave?” You ask Dieter, catching him staring at your tits and you hate that it thrills you. He’s so sexy, unintentionally so, and goofy as hell. He’s good with his daughter and you’ve grown close, raising the babies together, and you know it’s getting harder and harder to deny how you feel every day.

“Oh, uh, I gotta leave in twenty minutes.” His cock is still hard in his trousers and he twitches at the groan you make. Every day you pump, having no modesty around him now and you shouldn’t - it’s natural but Dieter still thinks it’s sexy. “I’m nervous.” He admits, glancing over at Rosie as she squeals and waves her arms on her tummy. “I know that my lawyer said it’s a formality, but what if the judge doesn’t like me? What if he takes Rosie from me?”

You shake your head and reach for his hand, squeezing it. “I promise you, it’s gonna be fine, D. You’re a good daddy and that will be shown. I know your past hasn’t been ideal but you got this. You’re a good man, Rosie is lucky to have you. We all are. It’s gonna be fine. I promise you.” You offer him a soft smile and squeeze his hand again.

“I’m more nervous than the night I won my Oscar.” Dieter confesses with a nervous chuckle. He doesn’t tell you that he was high, sure that you could guess that, although he has done anything more than hit his weed pen since you’ve moved in. Rosie is surprisingly therapeutic, although he’s glad she doesn’t understand what he talks about during the nights he gets up with her. The movie is almost halfway done shooting and he’s going to make sure that once he’s done, you get a week off so you can veg for more than a night. He looks down at your joined hands and smiles. “I’ll call you when I get out, okay?” He asks, and you nod, letting go of him. “And eat that kale and beet salad in the fridge”, he throws over his shoulder as he rushes towards the door. “It’s supposed to help the milk supply.”

You roll your eyes playfully, looking back at the babies. “Daddy is silly, isn’t he?” You talk to Rosie and look at Oliver, saddened that he isn’t going to know his father. You wonder what Ollie would think of Dieter. They are similar in a lot of ways but Ollie was always practical, making sure you weren’t in a relationship because of his strenuous job as a firefighter. He didn’t want you to be one of those women sitting around waiting for him. You sigh and wonder what you are going to do about Dieter. It’s too comfortable with him. 

****

“Dinner’s ready!” You call out. The babies are now six and seven months old. Sitting in their baby bouncers, watching you setting the dinner out for Dieter. He’s finished filming and you want to celebrate. The nice bottle of wine on the table alongside his favorite pasta.

“Oh my god, you spoil me.” Dieter groans as he comes into the dining room, freshly showered and in comfortable clothes. Rosie squeals happily and so does Oliver, both of them in their high chairs. Dieter grins leaning in and blowing a raspberry on his daughter’s cheek and then on your son’s. He never thought he was a kid type of person, but his playfulness extends to your son. He’s a good kid and it would not be right when you are so good with Rosie if he ignored the little guy. It makes him imagine that the four of you are a family, a real one and he was coming home from work to all of you. “You didn’t have to do this.”

You shake your head, enjoying the way his hand finds your waist as you reach for the parmesan on the counter. You turn to face him, cupping his cheek, “you just finished filming. You deserve a treat.” You smile, caressing his cheek and your eyes dip down to his lips for a second. He stares at you and you clear your throat, lowering your hand, “let’s eat. You must be starving.” You set the cheese down and glance over at the babies, you fed them while dinner was cooking so now you and Dieter can enjoy your meal.

“How was your day?” He’s finding that this, fatherhood and responsibility, is grounding for him. Not just concentrating on his whims and trolling through boredom. Every day is different and challenging with kids, especially when he’s trying to make sure that none of his own parents' mistakes affect Rosie. “The kids were okay?” He asks, pouring more wine into each of your glasses. You hum in protest but Dieter shakes his head. “Just pump and dump. You deserve more than one glass.” He huffs.

You sigh but let him pour some more wine, it’s been stressful with the babies today. “Rosie decided to throw up all over Oliver and herself so both of them needed a bath and then Oliver managed to get his diaper off in his onesie so he needed another bath and then Rosie wouldn’t stop crying because Oliver wasn’t next to her. It’s been - it’s been a day.” You sigh and Dieter nods, reaching for your hand. It feels so normal, like you’re complaining to your husband about your hectic day over wine and you look up at Dieter, “I love them both so much but today was…it was a lot.”

“I can imagine.” Dieter squeezes your hand gently and once again thinks that it’s odd that you don’t feel like his employee. You feel like his wife, although he’s never kissed you, or touched you like he’s imagined. “Let me take both the kids tonight.” He offers. “I’ve got the next week off before I have to do all the press bullshit for the other movie coming out in two weeks. Why don’t you take a little vacation? A spa or something?” His parenting skills have improved drastically and there have been times where he’s watched Oliver for you. Like when you had to go for another postpartum checkup.

You groan, letting go of his hand so you can continue eating. “I won’t lie…a massage sounds good. My back has been killing me.” You confess, twirling the pasta around your fork and you bite your lip, wondering what a massage from him would be like with his hands. “I wouldn’t mind going to the mall. I need some new clothes that aren't leggings.” You chuckle, “and I need some new underwear.” You sigh before you chew on the pasta.

Dieter’s cock twitches at the thought of your underwear. Not that he sees them. You’ve taken over doing the laundry even though he offered to have someone come in. Or he could help. Insisting that it was no problem. Johan had even commented that you made his house seem like a real home, and Dieter couldn’t deny that. “You could do all that.” He promises. “I’ll watch the kids. I want to spend some time with R and O.”

You feel guilty leaving the kids behind but you trust Dieter, something you never thought you’d say, but he has proven himself to be an amazing father. You smile, “thanks baby.” You tell him and he swallows the wine down. It’s getting harder to deny how you feel. After finishing eating, Dieter helps you clean up while you have the babies in the play pen. “Bedtime for the bubbies.” You coo, picking up Rosie and kissing her hair. “Daddy is gonna change you, baby girl.” You slide her into Dieter’s arms and pick up Oliver.

“Why don’t you go take your own bath?” Dieter offers, grinning down at Rosie. “You’ve had them all day and you said it’s been rough. Go take a bubble bath. I can get them ready for bed.” He’s made huge strides as a father, as a caretaker and now that he’s more confident, he finds he likes it. Kids are fun. And easy to learn how to please. “I can rock them both and get them settled.”

“Are you sure?” You ask, trusting him but you want him to be comfortable. 

“I am for this.” He promises and you nod, “you got this. I- I can feed O before they get to sleep.” You say and he shakes his head. 

“No. I got it.” He promises, knowing he can warm up your milk. 

You lean in to kiss the babies’ heads, “goodnight my loves. I love you so much.” You say to them and you look up at Dieter, offering him a grateful smile. You make your way into the bathroom, sighing in relief when you sink into the tub.

Dieter hums to the babies as he warms up their last bottles of the night. Changed and in clean onesies, they are ready for that last bottle. Smirking to himself as he tests the breast milk on his wrist and barely resists licking it. He wants to try it, but he feels like that might be crossing a line. Getting both of the babies settled in each arm and they can hold their own bottle now with a little help. “You two are like twins, you know that?” He coos at both of them, settling in the rocker on the nursery while they eat. Watching their eyes grow heavier as they suck. You had both decided to keep them in the same nursery, letting them bond and it has worked out so much better than he had ever hoped. He loves Oliver like Rosie and when they fall asleep at the same time, he’s grinning as he holds them for a little longer before shifting to put them to sleep in the same crib. They cried if they were separated, curling up together during the night as if they were twins.

You sigh, relaxing in the hot water until you decide to get out and say goodnight to the babies. You shrug your robe on, tying it as you make your way to the nursery as Dieter leans over the crib. “They asleep?” You whisper and he nods. You caress their heads, loving how they are asleep together, keeping each other safe. Sometimes you see them holding hands in the night. It’s adorable. You rest your head on Dieter’s shoulder as you watch them for another moment and he turns his head to kiss your hair. It makes your heart pound and you pull away, letting the babies sleep with the white noise machine running.

Dieter’s hands seem to be twitchy as you walk out of the nursery in front of him. He knows that you are only dressed in a robe and he wants nothing more than to strip you out of it and touch you. Make you shake in pleasure. “Do you want to have a drink?” Dieter asks. “Or are you calling it a night?”

“A drink sounds good. Relax after a long day.” You smile, walking into the kitchen to open the second bottle of wine you’d bought earlier. You work fast to open it, pouring a glass and handing it to him before you settle on the sofa. “You wanna continue watching that show on HBO?” You ask, knowing he hates it when you watch an episode without him.

“Yes!” Dieter lights up and he narrows his eyes at you playfully. “You better not have already watched it.” He threatens playfully, handing you the remote. He likes when you relax and loves that you feel completely at home here. It is your home. He leans towards you and takes a sip of the wine. “What do you think is gonna happen, this episode? The previews looked good.”

You nod, shifting closer towards him. “I promise you. I haven’t seen it yet.” You assure him and have another sip of your wine. You love and hate how relaxed you are, how easy this is. How real it feels. Like you’re a proper family. The baby monitor is on the coffee table and you rest your head on Dieter’s shoulder as he presses play. You barely watch the show, too focused on the way Dieter feels pressed against you.

About halfway through the show Dieter shuffles, throwing his arm around the backside of the couch and around you. Letting you slide down against him more. You pull the throw blanket over your legs and he smiles, wondering how you are always cold but it’s a cute quirk he’s noticed.

You snuggle into his side, hand finding his chest and you caress the skin under the shirt he always has half buttoned. He sighs and you breathe him in, pleased to feel his heart thumping under your touch. This intimacy, it’s what keeps you satisfied when you yearn for more but you can’t risk it. Your job. Your home. Your life is connected to his and you can’t afford to mess it up. 

“Marry me.” Dieter says and you think you misheard him. 

“What?” You ask, not moving. 

“Marry me.” He repeats and you jerk back from his side so you can look him in the eyes. 

“What- did you just ask me to marry you?”

“I did.” Dieter nods, turning towards you and reaching for your hand. “I love you. I love how you make this house feel like a home. I love how you care for Rosie and I love Oliver.” He adds. “I love coming home to you and I want this-“ he motions around the house and between the two of you. “To be real. I want to touch you, kiss you. Make love to you.” Dieter isn’t a man who talks in terms like ‘making love’ but that’s exactly what it would be. “I think you love me too, don’t you? I know you do.”

You shake your head, wanting to tell him you love him. He’s crazy, he leaves his socks everywhere and he has so many holes in his shirts but he’s kind and whacky and so damn funny. You love him, you’re in love with him, but to marry him would be a bad idea. You can’t risk this life you’ve created together. “Dieter.” You sigh, pulling your hand out of his. “We can’t. We can’t risk the babies. We - if it all went wrong, then I’d be moving out with Oliver and Rosie loses him and vice versa. If it all went wrong, I’d be homeless and I wouldn’t have anything. I can’t risk that for my son. I can’t. I’m sorry.”

His heart breaks but he’s determined to convince you this is a good thing. Latching onto what you said about being homeless, his eyes widen. “I’ll buy you a house.” He bursts out. “In your name alone. It’ll be yours. Completely.” He nods to himself, grinning like an idiot and picks up your hand again. “It won’t go wrong, you’re perfect and I love you. I want to be with you and our babies all the time and fuck, I want another baby when you’re ready.” He missed everything about Rosie’s birth and he wants to see your stomach large with a baby, his baby. “But if it did-“ he stresses the word ‘if’, “-you would have a house for you and Oliver. And you could rent it out right now. The money would be yours. Totally yours.”

Your eyes widen and you shake your head, “I can’t - that’s too much. A house here is insane. That’s a crazy amount to put into this. That - a whole damn house? That’s what you want to do?” You ask incredulously and he nods. 

“All I know is that I can’t stop thinking about you. I need you. I love you.” He promises and you swallow harshly, tears stinging in your eyes. 

Your heart yearns for him yet your head tells you it’s too much of a risk. “Dieter…” You trail off and he frowns, pulling away slightly, sensing your rejection. “I love you.” Your eyes water and a sob escapes your lips as you start to cry. No one has ever been so kind to you. To know he loves you enough to buy a house so you feel secure in case something goes wrong. It has you sobbing.

He lunges forward, crushing you to him in a comforting hug. “Don’t cry baby, please don’t cry. I never want you to cry.” He pleads, sure that he’s messed up somehow. “I’m sorry, I just can’t stop wanting you. Seeing you with our babies, I think- I wish they were ours. Our twins and we had them together.” He rubs your back and pets your hair as you sob into his chest and he tries to think of how he could make you feel better.

You sob into his chest at his words, wishing they were true but it’s not and that’s okay. The babies brought you together and you know you and Dieter would’ve never met if it weren’t for that single moms group. “I - I love you.” You offer him a watery smile as you pull back and he reaches out to gently wipe your tears away. “I love you and I want you to be mine. I want to be yours. I love you Dieter.” You confess, cupping his cheeks.

Dieter’s smile is slow, soft and he can’t believe that you are saying yes. He leans in and presses his lips to yours softly. Loving how you immediately open for him to slide his tongue against yours with a groan. Pulling you close against him again, this time shamelessly pressing his body against yours. “I love you.” He promises, kissing down your jaw line. “Do you want to have sex with me? Or do you want to wait?” He wants you in his bed, but if you wanted to wait until the deed to the house was in your hands, he would understand that. He would go out tomorrow and buy you the best house he could find.

You know you’ve spent far too much time thinking about him, having him inside of you, pressing against you, and you know you should slow down but you can’t. “I want you. I don’t want to wait. I want you now.” You tell him breathlessly and you press your lips to his, cupping his cheek while you slide your tongue against his.

Groaning, Dieter pulls you closer and starts to lean you back against the sofa, knowing that he needs to take you to bed but right now, he needs to feel you under him. “So beautiful.” He praises, kissing your chin and nips your skin with his teeth.

You sigh, loving how it feels to have him touch you. His hand sliding along your thigh and you whimper, “Dieter. Please. I want you to touch me.” You plead, guiding his hand to the tie of your robe while your hands caress his chest under his ratty t-shirt.

He hums, twitching against your hip and he leans back and grins at you, “I’m going to, baby. I’m going to make sure you know exactly what you are getting from me.” He pulls your robe open and groans at the sight of your tits. Looking back up at you. “Can I taste?” He asks. “I’ve dreamed of tasting your milk.”

Your cunt clenches around nothing at the thought. “You’ve imagined it?” You ask breathlessly and he nods so you move fast to straddle him, his cock hard against your thigh, and you lean in towards him to kiss him as you shrug your robe off of your shoulders. “You can have a taste.”

He knows your tits are tender, hearing you complain and watching as you sometimes have to massage them. He cups them in his hands, groaning at how full they are, grinning. “Fuck, I can drink it all since you were going to dump it.” He realizes as he leans forward to wrap his lips around one nipple.”

“Oh shit.” You gasp, groaning softly at the relief and arousal coursing through you. You love it. Tangling your fingers in his hair, you watch him gulp down your milk and you’re amazed that he enjoys it. “Oh God baby.” You pant, feeling the relief of your milk draining and the way he sucks on your nipple, biting it now and then.

“Shit.” He gasps, feeling his cock throbbing. “It’s better than I expected.” He moans, switching to your other breasts and he knows this will become a favorite thing for him now. One hand slides down between your thighs and he is so fucking happy to find you wet.

“Dieter. Please.” You beg, needing more from him. It’s been so long since someone touched you. Not since Ollie. You rock down onto his fingers, loving how he rubs your clit while his lips suckle on your other breast. “Oh fuck, D. So good.” You whimper, caressing his shoulders.

“What do you want, baby?” He pulls off your nipple with a pop. “You want me to eat your pussy?” He groans at the thought. “Want to sit on Dieter’s face? Smother me with your cunt?”

You giggle breathlessly, “that’s the only way to shut you up?” You tease and he nods, “one of the few ways.” 

You laugh and he moves fast to shift, laying down and he pulls you over to hover over his face. “Shit baby. So good to me.” You gasp when he drags you down on top of his face.

The first taste is always amazing. Sliding his tongue though your folds as he pulls your hips down onto his mouth. Holding you there as he licks and then sucks on your clit.

You whimper, “baby. Oh baby.” You moan, grinding down onto his face. “So good. So fucking good.” You moan, loving how enthusiastic he is and he squeezes your ass, encouraging you to move. You do, rocking your hips down even more.

He doesn’t care that you two are on the couch or that he is throbbing in his pants. All he cares about is making you moan his name. He knows he will slide inside you as soon as you cum for him. He moans against your clit, loving how you are smothering him just like he wanted you to. Using him for your pleasure.

“Fuck. Fuck. It’s so good, baby.” You pant, lost in the pleasure of his mouth on you. You rock on top of his mouth, his nose pressing against your clit as his tongue pushes deep. “Fuck baby. Yes. Yes. Yes. Keep - keep going.” You beg, moaning his name.

He can’t breathe, but he doesn’t care. Too busy licking into you to feel your walls start to convulse around his tongue. Moaning when the first rush if your juices hit his mouth and your moan of his name almost makes him cum in his pants. Digging his fingers into your hips, Dieter doubles down on making you shriek his name.

You throw your head back as he makes you cum, moaning his name as you clamp down around his tongue. “Fuck baby. Fuck. I- I love you.” You whine when he works you through it and you whimper, lifting off of him when it becomes too much.

Panting like he was the one who had cum, Dieter licks his lips, completely pussy drunk as he caresses your side. Enjoying the boneless way you collapse on top of him as you try to catch your breath. “I love you. Fuck, you’re my new favorite meal.”

You inhale deeply, shifting off of him and you waste no time in tugging his shirt off of him. “Baby. I want to see all of you.” You tell him, tossing the ragged shirt away and you pull his sweats down to expose his cock. “Holy - that’s what you got?” Your eyes are wide at the girth and you wrap your fingers around him.

Dieter groans, bucking his hips and biting his lip in pleasure. “Fuck, is that not enough?” He gasps out. Normally women have no issue with his size but maybe your Ollie was hung like a horse.

“Not enough? Dieter, baby, I’m gonna feel you tomorrow.” You assure him, “I’m gonna need - wow. You might have to get some lube.” You admit and you start to pump him, in awe that your fingers don’t touch. You know it’s been so long since you’ve had sex and he is thick. You’ve always preferred girth over length anyway. “You’re big.” You promise him, leaning in to flick your tongue over the leaking slit.

He preens at your praise, eyes rolling back in his head at the feel of your tongue. “I’ve got lube.” He promises, reaching down and cradling your jaw. “Use it all the time, jerking off thinking about you.” He’s not ashamed of masturbating while thinking of you. “Baby let's go to the bedroom. You can ride me if you want more control.”

You want to suck his cock but you know you’ll have plenty of time to do that later. Right now, you need him inside of you. Releasing his cock, you pick up the baby monitor and stand up, smirking as you make your way to his bedroom. He’s scrambling to get his sweatpants off and you disappear down the hall, throwing over your shoulder, “don’t keep me waiting, Bravo.”

“Shit.” He hisses, eager to chase after you. Noticing that you are headed to his bedroom and not your own. “I’m coming baby, fuck.” He watches your ass shake as you sway your hips. “Gonna buy you the biggest fucking house I can find.”

You giggle, setting the monitor down on the nightstand and you gasp when Dieter’s hands grab your hips, pulling you back into him. You quickly spin and wrap your arms around his neck, pressing your lips to his. “I love you.” You murmur against his mouth, his hard cock pressing into your stomach.

“I love you too.” Dieter moans softly, sliding his hands down and squeezing your ass. “Do you- do you need me to wear a condom?” He asks, sure that you aren’t wanting to get pregnant so soon after having your son. It wasn’t like you two had discussed birth control.

“No. I- I got an IUD put in. Figured they might as well do it while I was there and it wasn’t painful. I’m clean too. Not been with anyone since Ollie.” You promise and wonder if he’s clean. You don’t know when he slept with someone last. Maybe after you arrived. You don’t know. It’s not like it was your business when you were just his nanny.

He nods. “I uh, I haven’t been with anyone since Rosie has shown up. I’m clean.” He promises, eager to slide inside you and feel you without a barrier. “I didn’t want to do that kind to shit around her. Give her a good example. Don’t want her to be like me.”

You cup his cheeks, “you’re a good father and she’s gonna be just fine. You’re doing a good job.” You remind him, leaning in to kiss along his jaw. “Come on baby, you want me to ride you?” You ask and he nods. You let go of him and he walks over to his nightstand to grab the lube while you kneel on the bed. When he’s laying down, you grab the bottle and squirt some into your hand, wrapping your fingers around his cock to coat him before you swipe your fingers through your folds to make sure you’re slick enough. “Fuck, you’re gonna stretch me out.” You tell him as you straddle him.

“Want to see it.” Dieter pants, chest heaving as he watches you position his cock at your entrance. Moaning your name as you start to sink down on him, he can feel his entire body light up in pleasure at the hot clutch of your cunt. “I love you. I fucking love you.” Dieter cries, his fingers digging into your thighs as you slowly take him deeper, watching your mouth drop open and loving the way you moan his name.

Your eyes close as you slowly sink down onto him. He’s so thick, it stings, but you like that. It’s been so long since you had sex and this is the man you love. Your heart pounds in your chest as your thighs meet his, his cock fully inside of you, and his fingers sink into your flesh. “Shit. Shit. Shit.” He grunts and you giggle, leaning down to kiss along his jaw. “I fucking love you too.” You murmur, licking along his neck until you are biting his earlobe so you can give yourself a moment to adjust to him.

He whines, unable to stop himself from lurching up in pleasure. “Oh did you like that?” You giggle breathlessly, making him moan and turn his head so you can do it again. 

“More baby, fuck. Want you to mark me up.” He begs, so starved for attention that he needs to drown in it. His hand squeezes your ass again and it takes concentration to not urge you to move, your walls fluttering so deliciously around him.

You love how desperate he is for you. Biting down on his earlobe again and his cock twitches inside of you. You take pity, finally feeling comfortable, and you shift, rocking on his cock while you nibble on his ear, whispering “you’re mine. I’m gonna make sure everyone sees it.” You smirk as you kiss down his neck, sucking and biting on his skin.

“Fuck yes, I’m yours, I’m yours.” Dieter chants, rocking his hips up to chase your cunt when you lift off of him. Hating even the brief few seconds where he’s not buried inside your warmth. “All yours baby.” He groans, closing his eyes at the pure bliss of being able to touch you, to tell you what he’s thinking without worrying about offending you. “Gonna marry you. Give you everything.” He gasps out.

You moan, “I’m yours too. Been yours since I moved into this house. I’m gonna be your wife.” You promise and he groans, hands caressing your back. You kiss his collarbone and shift back, making his cock sink deeper and you grab his hands to help you balance as you ride his cock. “Fuck. Yes. God, so good. So good inside of me.” You ramble, squeezing his hands as you start to pick up the pace.

“God, fuck, your pussy is gold.” His toes curl and he loves how you start to bounce on his cock. Making your tits away heavily and he watches with them unabashed lust. “So fucking gorgeous.” He pants. “Can’t wait to see you pregnant, riding my cock.”

“One day.” You promise with a grin, breathless from how good this feels. You let go of his hands, leaning back to grab his knees, and you grind down onto his cock, hitting just the right spot to make you gasp. “Fuck, baby. Oh my - I’m - it’s gonna make me cum.” You confess, reaching down to rub your clit.

Dieter frowns and slaps your hand away, pouting up at you. “Let me.” He insists, pressing his thumb to your clit and rubbing a tight circle over the bundle of nerves while you bounce on his cock. “Fuck baby, cum, please cum. I’m gonna -“ he hisses. “Not gonna last. Too fucking tight.” Your walls clenching down around him every other bounce is getting to be too much and he grits his teeth, praying he lasts long enough for you to soak his cock.”

Your moans are getting breathier as you struggle to breathe from the pleasure. “Oh fuck. Oh fuck. Dieter. I’m gonna - oh!” You moan, clamping down on his cock and soaking him, his thumb still working your clit until your thighs are shaking. “Cum for me.” You beg breathlessly, wanting to feel it as you convulse on top of him from your orgasm.

You don’t have to say anything else. His entire body is aching to cum, gripping your hips harshly as he starts to thrust wildly up into your body. “Oh shit, oh shit, oh shiiiiiiiiiit.” Dieter whines, burying his cock half a dozen more times before his back is bowing and he is crying out your name, filling you with hot spurts of his seed.

You pant, collapsing onto his chest as his cock twitches inside of you, and you kiss along his neck. Unable to speak, you enjoy the aftermath of your orgasms. The connection you feel to Dieter has you on cloud nine. He’s a good father and a good man, despite what the paps print. He’s changed for his child and that makes you love him more. “Good?” You ask breathlessly, hoping he enjoyed it as much as you did.

“So fucking good.” Dieter’s eyes are closed and his expression is one of pure relaxation. Enjoying the way you feel on top of him. “God, you’re spending the night right here. Every night from now on.” He slides a hand up and down your back, enjoying the feeling of your slick skin under his palm. “Now we just need the kids to sleep through the night.”

“Soon. They are getting better. And you want another one to keep us awake?” You tease, giggling when his cock twitches inside of you. 

“I do.” He promises and you caress his cheek, leaning back to look into his eyes. “Me too. One day.” You lean in to softly kiss his lips, knowing you want this man to be your husband, to be everything. **** 

“Diet, babe. Can you get me that - shit.” You hiss after you feel the baby kick your ribcage. 

“Bad word mama.” Rosie points at you and you nod, “sorry, love. Mama needs to sit down.” You tell the three year old. Ollie comes over to sit down on the sofa next to you, his small hand on your belly as he leans in to talk to the baby in your belly. Rosie follows suit, wanting to do what her brother is doing. 

“Hello baby. It’s me. Your big brother-” 

“and sister.” Rosie adds as she leans in to press her ear to your stomach. You smile, tears in your eyes and look up to see Dieter walk into the living room. 

“You called baby?” He asks, paint splattered all over him from painting the new nursery. 

“Yeah. I’m sorry. Can you- can you get me some ice cream?” You bite your lip, knowing he’s been run ragged with your cravings.

Dieter grins, shoving his hand through his paint flecked hair, although he teases that the gray is because of you and the babies. “What kind of ice cream do you want, babe?” He strides over and rubs your bump before dropping a kiss on your lips. “Rocky road or are you wanting that cheesecake strawberry swirl?” He knows you will probably text him with more cravings, but he doesn’t mind. You are carrying his baby and you get what you want.

You smile at him, loving how flustered he looks when he has to go get your cravings, and you run your fingers over the kids’ heads before they look up at Dieter. 

“Can we have ice cream, daddy?” Rosie asks, that pout she definitely got from Dieter on her face. 

Oliver nods, “yes! Vanilla.” 

Rosie shakes her head, “chocolate!” 

You giggle and look at your husband, “I’ll have rocky road. Guess it’s an ice cream day.” You say and the kids cheer, excited to have ice cream.

“Vanilla, chocolate and rocky road.” Dieter nods, smiling down at the kids. He could never deny them much and while they would be considered spoiled, they were very well behaved. “Oh-“ he snaps his fingers. “Before I forget. The management agency called. They found another renter for the house and said that the repairs for the house were minimal, just paint to freshen up.” 

True to his word, he had bought you a house, deeded it in your name and hired a management company to handle the day to day issues and repairs. All of the profits were deposited into a bank account that was solely yours, even though you had access to everything of Dieter’s. “So that’s a weight off before the baby comes.”

The money going into that bank account is going to pay for the kids’ college. You won’t use it for yourself, not when you are happily married to Dieter. “Yes. Glad they managed to find another tenant.” You smile, reaching for his hand to kiss the back of it. 

“Daddy!” Oliver rushes over to him after shifting off of the sofa. 

“Yeah, buddy?” Dieter groans as he bends over to pick him up. 

“Can I come? To get ice cream?” He asks and Dieter nods, “of course.” You smile, loving how close Oliver and Dieter are. You adopted Rosie and he adopted Oliver not long after you were married. It felt natural and meant to be. Your little family, complicated but perfect. 

“We will be right back. Rosie, you wanna come?” Dieter asks and she shakes her head, climbing onto the sofa. 

“I wanna stay with mommy.” You pull her close, “we can watch our show while the boys are out.” You tell her in a playful whisper and she grins. 

“Don’t even think about it, man,” Tommy warns as he drops his toolbox into the bed of Joel's truck.

Joel squints over at his brother, the sun bright in his eyes. “Think about what?” 

“Don’t fuck her, Joel.”

"What the hell ya talking ‘bout?” he smirks, fully aware of Tommy's meaning.

“Saw the way you were looking at her just now. We don’t need any trouble, Joel. He's a good worker.”

“He’s a waste of space, that’s what he is," Joel bites. He never wanted to hire an apprentice; he didn't believe they needed one. But when Tommy brought this new guy, Nate, to work a few months ago, Joel's been taking every opportunity he gets to make the younger man's life hell in the hope he’ll quit. Still, Joel has to admit, having the apprentice around isn’t all bad, because every day at 12:30pm sharp, the younger man's girlfriend calls with lunch, and Joel has been finding himself transfixed by her. 

“You can’t just not like him Joel, you have no reason not to.”

“I do.”

“Really? Give me one.”

“His name. Typical asshole name.”

Tommy laughs. “Dude, come on, he might be young, but he knows his stuff, he could be a real help for us in expanding.”

“We don’t need him. We've been doing fine just us for all these years. Besides, the kid might know how to build, but he's the most self-absorbed person I've ever met. Spends more time checking on his fuckin’ hair.” Joel huffs, turning to lean back against the truck. “You heard the way he talks about her too? She could do so much better.”

“I think you're just hearing what you want to hear ‘cause you wanna get in her pants.” Tommy smirks.

“So what if I do? You can’t stop me.” Joel responds with a smug grin like he's ready to take on the challenge. One thing about Joel: if someone tells him not to do something, he's almost always going to find a way to do it.

“She’s like half your age.”

“Trust me, no one has ever complained about that before.”

Tommy scoffs. "You're disgusting.”

“So you settled down; now the rest of us aren't allowed to have any fun?”

“Not saying that, but she’s his girlfriend, please, brother, just keep clear.”

“Fine, relax. Won’t go near her.”

“Promise me.”

Joel holds a hand up in the air, an irritating grin spread across his face. “I promise, Tommy."

“God, you're so fuckin’ annoying.” Tommy slams the door of the trunk and goes around the other side to climb in. Joel’s never been one to break a promise, but when it comes to her, he thinks she might be the one who finally makes him crack.

“You wanna come for a drink?”

“Nah, the wife’s got dinner waiting.”

“Right.” Joel rolls his eyes. He’d never admit it, but he’s jealous of his brother. Tommy's settled down with another kid on the way. Joel might have Sarah, but she’s grown now, always out with her own friends enjoying herself, and he’s just left alone at home with nothing but his thoughts.

So, true to his usual post-work routine, he walks the few blocks to the dingy bar he likes. Slouching onto the stool as he orders a whiskey, he scans the room to see who's in tonight. He’s tired, he’s horny, and if he’s completely honest with himself, he’s really fucking lonely. So when his eyes catch on that familiar woman, alone in the booth right at the back of the room, he can't help himself. 

"Ohh, now the universe is just playing with me," he mutters under his breath as he takes his glass and walks through the darkened bar over towards her. “Drinking alone?”

"Sadly," she smiles, so innocently. 

“No Nate?"

“Not tonight.” 

He nods with a satisfied hum, trying his best not to let his eyes slip down to her cleavage.

“Mind if I sit?" 

“Not at all.”

He slides in opposite her, leaning back, thighs wide apart beneath the table as he rests his arm on the back of the seat. “So, we’ve never really spoken.”

She nods. “You don’t strike me as much of a talker.” 

Her eyes are mesmerizing; he’s never been close enough before to see them like this, and in the soft neon light, he finds himself getting lost in how they glisten. When she brings her glass up to take a sip, his eyes lock onto her mouth, watching as her tongue darts out to wet her lips, making his dick twitching at the sight. He can’t help but think what it would be like to kiss her, what she would taste like, and what it’d be like to shove his cock between those lips and make her choke on it.

She shifts in her seat, a delicate strand of hair falling gently down her neck, leading his eyes right to her chest, exactly where he was trying not to look.

“Like what you see?” she asks quietly so no one but him can hear. His eyes flick back up to hers, so she’s really not as innocent as he first thought.

His head tilts to the side slightly, weighing up his response. “Mmmh, but I’d like to see more.”

Her cheeks blush instantly, and she tries to hide it, looking away towards the loud crowd at the bar. “Not sure Nate would approve of that.”

"Well, that asshole shouldn’t have let you come here alone then.”

“You don’t like him?”

He doesn’t answer.

She rests her elbow on the table, her fingers tracing the edge of her glass. “He doesn’t know I’m here. Didn’t want him to tell him.”

“Why not?”

She looks down, unable to meet his gaze as she admits the truth. “Because I didn’t want him to know that I came here looking for you.”

“Looking for me, huh?” There’s an innocence to her, but he can tell she’s got that devilish side deep within her core that aches to be let out. He knows she’s looking for him to show her exactly how to cut herself loose.

“You think I bring food over every day just to please Nate like some good little housewife?” 

Her response amuses him, because that’s exactly what Nate wants her to be. “So why do you do it?”

“To see how long it’ll take for you to notice me.” 

“Well darlin', you’re in luck because I notice you, alright." He makes no attempt to hide the smugness radiating from him now. She’s fucking desperate for him, and she's not hiding it very well. “Notice how your flimsy little dresses have gotten steadily shorter over the weeks, slowly revealing even more of your skin that just aches to be traced by my touch. Notice how you sway your hips that little bit more only when you walk by me, like you’re trying to tease, and shit, it’s working…”

Her lips part, her mouth turning dry as she takes in every word.

“…Or how you do all that, yet never meet my eyes. You look away quickly whenever I glance over, pretending to be all innocent, but you ain’t, are ya?”

Her cheeks turn more red because she knows she’s been caught out. He sits forward. “Y’know, I’m under strict orders not to fuck you.”

She almost spits the last sip of her drink out as his words register. Her eyes widen, and she wipes her mouth with the back of her hand. Clearing her throat, she takes a breath. “By who?"

“My brother.”

“You always follow your brother's rules?” 

"No," he scoffs. “Don’t answer to anybody." 

“So you’d break the rules?”

He swallows and looks back over his shoulder to observe the other people minding their own business in the bar. When he turns back, she’s practically squirming as she awaits his reply, the intrigue clear in her eyes. 

“Depends if I think it was worth it.”

“You don’t think I’m worth it?”

He downs the remaining liquid in his drink and takes his time to look her up and down. “Are you?” 

She gives him that shy smile again. “How about we find out?” 

He taps a finger on the table, making her wait as he decides his next move. "Not tonight.”

"Oh." She sits back in her seat, and he’s sure he sees her trying to hide the disappointment. He wants to tease her, to make her wait so that when he finally does fuck her, she’s begging him for it. 

“Go home to your boyfriend.”

“Why?”

“Because I want him to find you fuckin’ soaked all 'cause of me.”

She bites her lip, her eyes wide, dark and hungry as the flush creeps up her neck.

“Let him fuck you. Let him try his best to fill ya whilst you wish like hell it was my cock instead.”

She starts absentmindedly twirling that goddamn strand of hair around her finger, and he can’t take it anymore. He’s got the upper hand right now, he has to keep it that way.

So he stands, adjusting his now incredibly tight crotch right in front of her eyes, and leaves her alone in the booth. That night, as the alcohol still buzzes through his system, he lies half naked in his bed, stroking himself as he thinks about her, releasing his load onto his stomach from the thought of all the ways he plans to take this woman. 

———

The following day, he waits for her to call by with lunch like she always does, but she doesn’t show, and she doesn’t come the day after or the one after that. He guesses it was the alcohol, the heat of the moment, or maybe she woke up the following morning and regretted the conversation. Still, he looks dead into the eyes of Nate every day with the secret knowledge that his girlfriend really wants the master, not the apprentice. 

By the time Friday night rolls around, he’s irritable. Nate went home hours ago, and Tommy left the site just before the sun finally set. But they had a deadline for tonight, so Joel offered to stick around and work until it was done, realizing if he went home, he’d only find himself grumpy and alone there too. 

As the stifling Texas heat still lingers despite the night sky and the ache in his back starts to pull, he secures the house and turns out the lights. Making his way from the backyard towards his truck, he sees her, walking down the driveway towards him.

"What ya doing 'ere? Boyfriend left ages ago.” He grunts, pretending like the sight of her doesn’t make him happy.

“I know; he’s at home eating junk food on the sofa.”

She’s wearing a short summery dress that stops an inch above her knees, the V-neck revealing too much of her skin. He notices the few beads of her sweat that glisten between her breasts from the humidity, and it makes him want nothing more than to push her up against his truck and taste it.

“Where does he think you are?”

“A friend's house." She steps forward slowly, closer to him. The familiar smell of her perfume reaches him now, the subtle yet divine scent that he remembers so well consuming his mind. “He told me you were staying late, so I came to see if you needed anything.”

“I don’t. Just heading out.” he brushes past her, his finger tracing the back of her hand as he does so. He drops his tools into the back of his truck before turning back to her, exhaling heavily. “You shouldn’t be turning up to random houses after dark like this, y’know.” 

“Why not?” 

“It’s not safe.” He reaches a finger to her chin, lifting her eyes to look directly into his. “Anything could happen."

“Like what?” Her voice is barely a whisper. 

He shakes his head. "Thought I’d scared you off, or maybe you’d changed your mind.”

“I just wanted to be careful.” 

“Is this being careful?” His eyes flick down her body, inches from him. “Did you do as I said? Did you think about me when he was inside you?”

She nods. 

“and only me?” 

She nods again. 

“Good girl.” He feels the blood is rushing south, but he can't do this; Tommy would kill him. “But you should really go."

“Why?”

“Because in a second I’m going to lose my fuckin’ mind and have my way with ya. You're better than this; I’ll only get ya into trouble.”

“What if I want trouble?”

He chuckles. “You don't. Go home.”

“I don’t want to.”

“Oh sweetheart, I'm really trying here." He drags a hand through his hair. He knows it's useless; his dick is in control now, but at least he can tell Tommy that he really, really tried not to, right?

“I want you.” She whispers.

"Why? You just need an older man to take care of ya? Is that it? Need someone who can give you exactly what you need, unlike that pathetic excuse of a boyfriend.”

She doesn’t respond, just stares into his eyes endlessly, like she’s starving to be taken care of. God, she’s beautiful. Tommy's pleas from a few days ago sound like a million miles away right now. He inches closer, moving his head down so that his lips hover over hers; the anticipation clouds his thoughts, and all he can think about is what it would be like to be buried between her legs. With a dirty grin, he tries to stop the inevitable one last time. “Last chance, Miss.”

“Kiss me.” 

Finally, with her permission, he pushes his tongue into her mouth; her desperate hums make his dick throb against the constraints of his jeans. He guides her back until she’s trapped between his body and the truck, breaking from her lips to lick down her neck, following the V of her dress as she sighs into him. He moves further south, the knot in his back merely a distant thought as he buries his head in the low of her tummy, breathing in her scent. “Fuck, you smell so good.” 

His hand snakes up her thigh, inching the fabric of her dress up to gain access between her legs. Brushing his fingers over her panties, he feels her desire already seeping through, the discovery making him groan into the night air. He teases her, rubbing her over the wet fabric as her head falls back against his truck.

Hooking a finger into the waistband, he peels the damp lace down her legs before bringing it to his nose, inhaling deeply, closing his eyes as he takes in the scent of her desire. “Fuuuuckk.” She watches him intently then as he stuffs her panties into his back pocket. “I’m keeping these.” 

As he stands up to tower above her, his fingers find her soaked folds again, dipping into her arousal as his thumb presses against her sensitive clit and her hips pushes forward into him. “Maybe you were right,” she breathes, “We shouldn't." Her protest is weak.

“So stop me.” He teases, knowing she won’t. “Go on, stop me, darlin'." She ignores him, whimpering louder as his fingers explore her entrance. “Can’t, can ya? It's written all over your face; you're fuckin’ desperate for me to give you what he can’t.”

Her mouth falls open as he slips a finger into her tight heat. The whimper that escapes her goes straight to his crotch. Despite the quiet secluded street, the low light, and the shelter of his truck, he feels her tense against him when they both hear a noise in the distance. “Joel, someone’s coming.” 

“Nah uh, eyes on me, darlin’.” His thumb flicks against her bundle of nerves faster as his free hand comes up to cover her mouth. He continues his movements, working her to her orgasm as the person on the opposite side of the street remains completely unaware of the scandal taking place beside this truck.

Her body shudders violently before it collapses weakly against him. He looks down, removing his hand from between her legs, his fingers glistening with her juices. “Shit.” He opens the passenger door and nods. “Get in the truck." 

He doesn’t know where to take her. Sarah will be home, and they obviously can’t go back to her place. He considers just doing it in the truck, but he needs more space to have her in the way he craves most. But he’s so fucking turned on right now, he just needs to get her to goddamn bed soon. So he speeds towards the edge of town where he knows of a gross little motel. It’s not ideal, certainly not romantic, but it’ll do the job. 

He walks into the reception as she follows close behind, keeping her head down. Like the world is against him right now, he finds the desk empty.

After what feels like an eternity of calling out for assistance, a small old lady appears from the back room and shuffles towards the desk, her eyes flicking between the two of them.

“Finally.” He mutters under his breath, but he knows the older woman heard him by the glare she offers up. “Need a room.”

The lady pauses, her eyebrows raising expectantly as she looks at Joel. 

“Please.” He adds.

“For both of ya?”

He grunts.

“We don’t do any of that funny business ‘ere y’know.” She warns.

Joel scoffs. “Excuse me?”

“This is a respectable establishment, sir.”

He looks around, silently disagreeing with her. “Hmm. If you say so.”

She clears her throat, a stern expression daring him to say more.

He smiles falsely. “Look, ma’am, it’s not like that. We just need a room… please.”

The old lady rolls her eyes, sitting down at the computer to aimlessly scan the screen to see what’s available. Joel taps a finger on the desk impatiently, his leg bouncing, his cock aching to be released from these tight fucking jeans, if only this woman would hurry the hell up.

“Got one?” He bites. 

“I do.” She sighs.

“Great. We’ll take it.” 

The lady’s eyes flick up, looking past him to her behind him. “Nothin’ like good old-fashioned manners, is there?" She chuckles, and her sarcasm pisses him off. 

“What’s that s’pposed to mean?” His eyes narrow.

The old lady ignores him, slowly plodding through to the back room in search of the key. He swears this lady is taking her sweet time on purpose just to fuck with him.

When she comes back, she slaps the keys onto the surface as he settles up. He’s desperate to make a comment about the ridiculous price, but considering his predicament down below, he pays it, and without another word, exits in search of the room.

It's small and dated, and there’s a fusty smell of cigarettes and sex, but what did he expect? He's here for the same thing. The second they’re inside, he pushes her back against the door, his mouth on her skin once again as she reaches down to palm him through his trousers, making his eyes roll to the back of his head.

"Sure ‘bout this?” He asks.

“Yeah.” 

He picks her up, her legs wrapping around his waist as he takes her over and drops her body gently down onto the bed. He stands there at the edge of the mattress looking down at the flawless woman before him. 

“Take it off.” He nods to her dress. “Let me see what’s mine.”

He watches her remove the material, eyes roaming all over her. She’s nervous, but she doesn’t need to be, she’s so effortlessly beautiful.

He removes his flannel, then his t-shirt, revealing his broad chest to her. He notices how her eyes rake down his entire form before focusing on his happy trail that leads her eyes to his belt buckle. 

“Like the view?” he smirks. She doesn’t speak, just bites her lip as her eyes flick back up to his. "Course you fuckin’ do. Go on then, unbuckle 'em." He nods towards where her eyes can’t stop looking. She hesitates for a second, before leaning up to slowly push his jeans and boxers down to finally release him.

The way her breath hitches as his cock springs free in front of her satisfies him. Her lips part as she observes him in all his glory. He’s not arrogant but he’s self-aware, and he knows he’s big. He’s thick and girthy, and the bob of her throat tells him she’s worried if he’ll even fit.

"Oh, he’s gonna fill you good, don’t you worry about that, sweetheart." He pushes her thighs apart, revealing her pussy to him. “Jesus Christ, look at ya, still fucking drippin’. Go on, touch yourself.”

“Joel.”

“Do it.”

She reaches between her legs, the rise and fall of her chest increasing as she pleasures herself. “Yeahhh that’s it, you look fuckin’ good, baby.” He takes his erection in hand, stroking slowly as he watches her.

After a few minutes, she sits up, her mouth so close to his dick as her eyes flick up to meet his, waiting for further instructions. “Open up.” 

She does as he says, her soft, warm mouth taking him in as he struggles to suppress a groan. He doesn’t push yet; he lets her guide her own movements as she gets used to the size of him.

When she releases him with a pop, her hand coming up to stroke him, she gets a little brave. “What do you think your brother would say about this?” 

“Please, don’t talk about my brother right now.” He sighs, his head falling back as she licks up the underside of his dick, all the way from his balls to the tip.

When she takes him back in her mouth again, she guides his hand to the back of her head, letting him know she’s ready for more. He thrusts his hips forward, his cock sliding further until it hits the back of her throat. He starts slow, testing her limits, but soon speeds up when he struggles to hold back. Her nails scratch sharply up his tummy, and she starts to gag around him. It's obscene and vulgar, and he can’t get enough. 

He senses she needs a second so he pulls out, letting her catch her breath, a string of her spit still connecting his cock to her lips. “Fuck that’s hot.” He sighs. “You good?”

She nods. He taps the head against her bottom lip a few times before pushing all the way back down her throat until her nose presses into the hairs at the base. “Fuuuckkk. Wish you could see yourself right now, such a good girl taking it like this.”

Like any older man, he wishes he could last as long as he did when he was younger, but those days are long gone, and if he doesn’t pull out right this second, it’ll all be over too soon. 

“Condom?” She asks. He nods, reaching down to his jeans on the floor and taking one from his pocket. She lies back on the bed, legs parted as she waits for him.

He hovers above her, tracing a hand down over her body, her hips lifting off the bed as his fingers tickle her skin, goosebumps appearing on every inch. “You're so beautiful, do you know that?” The look on her face tells him she doesn’t believe it.

“Joel…”

He spits into his hand, smearing it over his cock. Then he lines himself up with her drenched entrance, waiting as she wriggles desperately underneath him.

"This what you want?” He grins.

She nods, whimpering as she lifts her head to see him running his tip through her folds. 

“Say it."

“I want you, Joel. Need you inside me.”

“What else?”

Her head falls back down against the sheets, a frustrated moan escaping her lips, making him almost lose his composure as he pushes the head in further. 

“Please…”

Finally, he thrusts deep inside her. Mutual groans coming from deep within their bodies as they get lost in the feel of finally being connected. His head falls down into the curve of her neck, nibbling at the skin softly as he delights in the feeling of her tight, warm heat. She fits like a glove around him; so perfect, so goddamn addictive. 

“Jesus, you’re big.” She sighs, her back arching as he fills her. “It feels so good.” 

“Yeah? You like that?”

As he starts moving inside her, her legs come up to wrap around his waist, her heels digging into him to push him deeper. “He doesn't fill you like this, does he? Shit, he doesn't know how to work your body so it’s trembling like it is right now; only I can do that.” 

Their shared pants fill the room, and he reaches down between their bodies to circle her clit. Her moans please him and let him know she's already close. “If only he knew where you were right now. If only he knew my cock was so deep inside of this tight pussy.”

“Fuck, Joel. Please, don't stop.” She reaches up to pull his body down into hers, her nails scratching against his back, leaving trails of red as he feels her walls flutter around his dick. He feels her body tensing against the bed as he rides her through another high. Giving her little time to recover, she gasps as he pulls out. “Turn over.” 

She lies on her stomach before him; with his knee, he spreads her legs again and enters her from behind. He parts her ass cheeks and spits on her asshole, his thumb dipping down to smear it over the puckered rim. Slowly he teases her there, and as his thrusts speed up, he starts to push his thumb inside her tight hole as she grips the sheets at the intense sting. With his free hand, he slaps her ass making her yelp into the mattress.

He's in pure heaven. The sound of his hips slapping against her skin and the wet sounds of their shared desires mixing, paired with the sight of her holes filled up with him like this all while her boyfriend sits at home none the wiser, does something to him.

He leans down, kissing the top of her back. “Gimme another, sweetheart; I need to feel you come round this cock once more.”

“I can't, Joel," she pants, he knows she's overstimulated.

“You can, I got ya”

He withdraws, leaning back onto his knees, and he pulls her body up onto all fours. Entering her again, his thrusts turn ragged and messy as he pushes his thumb back into her ass even deeper than before, pushing the air from her lungs as her eyes screw shut.

She reaches back, gripping his wrist tightly as the new angle makes her clit hit just right against him. Just as he asked, she comes again; it's less intense this time, her body completely exhausted, but it’s enough for him to finally break. 

"fuuuckk, I'm gonna come, where’d ya want me?” 

“Let me taste you again.” She pants. 

He pulls out, and she turns, her mouth opening, waiting for his load. Pulling the condom off, he tugs his dick hard until he's spurting his thick seed onto her tongue, groaning loudly as his release rips violently through his entire body.

“Ohhh yeah, Jesus Christ.” He makes sure she catches every drop. “Swallow it, darlin’.”

She does, and that sight alone is going to stay with him for a long time. He falls down onto his back, his limbs sore, his tummy rising and falling rapidly as he attempts to recover. She lies down beside him, her head resting on his chest. “Good?” he questions with a grin. Like he even needs to ask.

After a moment, she lays a soft kiss on his sweaty chest before disappearing into the bathroom to clean up. When she comes back, she finds his flannel, wrapping it around her naked body. She sits on the edge of the bed, bringing a knee to her chest as she looks at him. “This wasn't a good idea.” She says softly, shaking her head, but the little smile apparent on her lips tells him something different.

He smirks, moving his arm up to rest behind his head. “I won’t tell if you don’t.” He watches her fiddling with the sleeve of his flannel. “You can keep that if you want; it looks better on you.” 

“You know I can't." She chuckles. 

“No?” He sits up, reaching forward for her hand. “Come ‘ere.” He pulls her across the bed until she straddles his lap. “You want me to take it off ya, then?”

His index finger runs up the soft material before gently pushing it aside to reveal her nipple. Leaning in, he sucks it into his mouth, her sweet soft whimpers pleasing him. Squeezing her ass cheeks with both hands, he pauses and lifts his head, placing a soft kiss against her lips.

“What?” She searches his eyes, her hand combing through his fluffy brown curls. 

"You ever need taking care of again, you know where I am.” 

———

Walking into Tommy's kitchen on Monday morning with his right eye black and swollen, Tommy's vigorous munching slows as he looks up and sees Joel’s face.

“Jesus Christ, Joel.” 

Joel smirks, unbothered. "You should see the other guy.” He sits down opposite with a groan, instantly digging into the breakfast waiting for him. 

“You’re unbelievable.” Tommy sighs, shaking his head. “Look at ya, not an ounce of guilt about it.”

“Guilt? She’s an adult, Tommy; she makes her own decisions, and I guess I was one of them."

“Fuck sake… so I need to find another apprentice?” 

“I told you before, we don't need one, but yeah... Nate isn't coming back.” 

“And her?” Tommy asks. Before Joel can reply, his phone buzzes in his back pocket. When he takes it out, Tommy watches a shit-eating grin spread across his brother's face. “That’s her, isn’t it?” 

He shrugs. “Oh, I’ll be seeing her again.”