Hello there

Your blood boiled, fizzled, and cracked under the strength of your annoyance, and without giving it much thought, you marched right over to the garbage can and shoved everything in, vowing silently to put it out of your mind. 

Three days passed before the second, bigger bouquet arrived at your door—more roses, bigger and somehow more lush than the first bouquet. 

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it. Please talk to me. ♥️♥️♥️”

They went into the trash with a roll of your eyes, ignoring the slight flicker of guilt at the waste of such beautiful flowers. Still, the memory of his words came back into the forefront of your mind, compounding the sentiment that they had no place amongst your things. 

Two days later, another gorgeous arrangement sat on your kitchen counter, this time an array of different colours and textures; a work of art. 

“Nothing in this world feels like you. Let’s kiss.♥️”

Your eyes close, and you can feel him, feel the way his mouth moved against yours, how he’d kiss you until you dripped for him. How sweetly his tongue moved against yours, against your nipple, between your legs. The flowers were on the receiving end of the daggers in your eyes for him, but they stayed on the counter. 

The fourth bouquet was the epitome of excess. 

It was massive, almost too heavy, and it was only with sheer determination that you managed to heave it onto the counter. A storm of white blooms contained within a surprisingly tasteful black vessel. Orchids, roses–peonies that were almost fluffy, a baby’s breath halo. 

“I miss how wet your pussy gets for me.♥️” 

A gasp. A widening of your eyes and more memories of the times he pulled you apart in your bedroom, in his. 

Your fingers fly across the keys on your phone. 

[you] Dieter, enough. 

[D] I knew that last note would get you.

[you] Stop sending me fucking flowers.

[D] Forgive me. I miss you, and I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it.

You chewed on your lip, anger burning white hot in your gut that he managed to get you speaking to him once again. It was in you to turn off your phone and head out, grab a drink with some friends, or indulge in some retail therapy, but you didn’t. You wouldn’t. Truth was, you missed him too, missed whatever arrangement you’d both somehow found yourselves in after one too many flirty comments, one too many lonely nights. 

[you] it seemed like you did. You really hurt my feelings, and I don’t want to deal with it if that’s how it’s going to be. 

You stared at your phone, wondering whether you truly preferred cutting all ties. 

[D] I know, I really am sorry–let me come over. We can talk about it, and I can apologize in person. 

You hesitated, knowing full well what would happen if you let him in. 

[you] just to talk…? 

[D] Yes, just to talk…be there in 20 mins?

[you] Fine. 

[D] see you soon xo

You rushed to your bathroom, ignoring the excitement and arousal burning in your belly as you jumped into the shower. 

All too soon, there’s a knock at the door, and it’s almost irritating how fast you move to answer it.

“Hi, babe.” He’s leaning against the doorframe with a cheeky little smile, and you long to smack it off his face; he must see it because the smile vanishes and is replaced with a boyish frown. 

A cat caught with the canary. 

“Don’t ‘babe’ me, Dieter.” You move to let him in, and the smell of his body wash makes you salivate.

You ignore it.

“Look, I know it was a stupid thing to say. I don’t even know why I said it. I didn’t mean it at all—can we please just forget it happened?” His voice is velvet, his shoulders are so broad, and it’s not lost on you that he’s wearing a baggy pair of sweats with an even baggier sweatshirt. The outline of his cock a calculated taunt.

You cross your arms and turn away. 

“It was mean. So fucking mean, and it made me feel horrible.” Your voice comes out smaller than you mean it to, a true glimpse into how hurt you were. You feel his broadness behind you. 

“I know, it was so stupid, I’m stupid sometimes—I regretted it as I was saying it. I didn’t mean it at all.” His big hands skate across your shoulders, slowly turning you to face him. “Can you forgive me?” He’s staring at your mouth, and you almost pant. He’s so close, he smells so fucking good, and every molecule of your being screams at you to just give in. 

He senses it.

His hands slide down your sides, grabbing onto your hips softly as he pulls you ever closer. His head dips, and he plants a soft kiss on your neck. The sigh you let out fills the dwindling space between you, involuntary. Just like the way your head moves almost imperceptibly to the side to give him more access, he doesn’t disappoint.

“Forgive me?” He kisses your jaw, moving up towards your ear. “I missed you so much.” He bites your earlobe while his hands move to grab at your ass. “Did you miss me?” He moves to the other side, repeating the same circuit before he looks you in the eye.

Your slightly parted lips and glazed-over expression are all the confirmation he needs to know he’s been forgiven. 

He presses his lips to yours softly, so soft it almost tickles, and he swallows the small whimper it pulls out from your throat. 

He presses himself closer still, the wall of his chest pressed up against you tight. His kiss turns from something soft to all-consuming, something breathless.

“I thought-“ he moves to kiss your neck again. “-you only came to talk.” Your hands move without your permission, fingers threading through the wild locks of his hair. 

“We did talk.” His tongue is in your mouth now, and it tastes like the gum he always chews, minty and sweet. “I wanna kiss now.” He devours you again as his hand creeps up your shirt, and now the cup of your bra is being pulled down. His tongue moves against yours while his fingers pluck at your nipple.

You moan, and it spurs him on, his cock hard against your hip, and suddenly you're herded towards the bedroom, only stopping every so often en route for him to press you against a wall or door. His hands are always moving, always grabbing and palming. 

You land in your bed with a soft gasp, but he doesn’t let you land alone; he’s right there with you. The look of triumph shining out through his dark eyes, lidded with the same passion that presses against your core when he slots his hips in the cradle of your thighs. A soft hum from him, a panted breath from you, and the whisper of skin moving against the now-rumpled sheets of your bed are the soundtrack to your reunion. 

He pulls away, and you chase his mouth, any anger left overtaken by lust. He laughs low, not unkindly, moving to kneel between your legs as you stretch out before him. His eyes follow the movement of your body, plotting how he’ll devour you.

He smiles as he divests you of your layers, unwrapping you like a present, and as they come off, your arousal burns brighter, pools at your opening like a spring just for him. 

“Admit it-you missed me.” He’s almost breathless, his fingers curl around the waistband of your panties. 

“Obviously.” You grit out the word, raising your hips to help him, and he lets out a bark of laughter. “I don’t need your smugness, mister.” You reach up to pull his shirt up and off, and he lets you. The broadness of his shoulders, and the golden skin on display, almost makes you sigh.

“I like that you missed me-“ he lifts your leg by your knee and the flash of his rings catches your eye before he places a soft kiss on your calf. “-makes me hard as a fucking rock.” He wasn’t lying; you could see the proof of it tenting the front of his sweats.

“Show me how much you like it.” You match his tone, reaching up to run your fingers down his belly, through the little patch of hair, and further down until you tease at his waistband.

“Pull me out.” His words send a thrill through you, and you rush to comply, relishing the look on his face when you finally wrap your hand around the heft of him. His low moan goes straight to your cunt when you rub your thumb through the pearl of his own arousal, giving him a quick stroke before he pulls his sweats down and off. 

His cock bobs in front, resting against your wet center when he gets back into position, hot and heavy, and by the way your heart is pounding, he can surely feel it even there-all for him. He spreads your legs open and up, bending them at the knees and holding them tight to your chest with his big hands on your shins. 

“God, you’re so fucking wet. I bet I could just slip right in, wouldn’t even need my hands.” He rocks himself back and forth slowly, coating himself in your liquid heat, his eyes glued to your cunt. You writhe, whining with frustration. He lets out a tsk, drunk on his ability to get you into this state. One of his hands moves, and then his thumb is circling your perky little clit, dizzying circles, while his cock rests just at the mouth of your pussy, the thickness of him opening you up like a flower. He leans forward slightly, letting his spit drip down where his thumb is, and it’s like you're drowning in him. 

Your hands pluck at your nipples as the circling of his thumb pushes you closer and closer towards nirvana.

“God, yes, play with your tits.” He swirls his thumb faster, the glide of it just right—and then you’re floating, gifting him with a filthy moan as your cunt clenches, all but pulling him inside. He doesn’t wait until your orgasm passes; he feeds himself into your fluttering entrance, and his earlier musing was correct-he slides right in. 

“Fuck.” His voice is low, the bravado gone, lost in the proverbial sauce as he coats himself in you. He speeds up quickly, unable—or unwilling to pace himself. His eyes are glazed over when he looks up at you, a gorgeous flush creeping up his chest, lighting up his cheeks and his ears. His panting breath, the wet sounds of your joining, and your gasping moans all come together to make the song that always plays whenever he’s with you. 

“I’m gonna fucking come-“ he sounds wrecked, and he is- his hips snapping faster now, the wet clutch of your cunt casts its spell on him, and within a handful of thrusts, he’s groaning, his hand leaves your shin and moves to hold himself as he comes. The first spurt of it is inside, but he pulls out and finishes on the lips of your sex, and you know this is his favourite part. 

“Oh fuckkk, there it is-“ He groans out the words, and his voice is somehow more vulgar than the act, mesmerized by the sight of your pussy covered in his come. “God, I fucking missed that.” He hisses, enduring the discomfort of overstimulation just to rub himself in his own mess. 

“I missed it too.” You’re sated, basking in the afterglow, loving the mess just as much as he does. He smiles up at you, and you ignore the way your heart pounds for him.

“I know you did.” He’s not cocky when he says it, and it makes ignoring the pounding harder than it should. His fingers collect some of his fluids and push it back in, as deep as his thick fingers can get, before popping them into his mouth, pulling an involuntary moan. “Give me a few, and then I’ll fuck you on your knees how you like.” He leans forward to lay between your legs, kissing his way up from your sternum to plant one of those toe-curling kisses on your mouth once more.

“What a gentleman.” You wrap your arms and legs around him, relishing his dimpled smile. 

“You should know-“ he frowns now, eyes darting, and you know what he’s thinking, wondering if maybe there’s a pounding he’s ignoring. 

“You’re forgiven, Dieter, it’s okay. Just stop sending me flowers.” You run your fingers through his hair; nothing else needs to be said on the matter, and for the rest of the night-there isn’t.

--------------------

There’s never a dull moment working with the Mandalorian, his daily life is mayhem, more so in the last several weeks since his workload has been busier than usual and seeing that you’ve already adapted to the chaos around treating the sick and wounded, especially on war-torn planets, you quickly adopted his chaotic lifestyle as well.

There wasn’t much difference truthfully, only that you were treating one patient instead of several a day, and rather than coming to you for medical treatment, Mando offered you to move into his ship as an alternative. You didn’t oppose the idea and accepted his offer, not only because the pay is better, but the company is welcome too.

As well as this, you didn’t mind moving into Mando’s ship because he used to visit you regularly for medical attention back on Nevarro. That's where The Bounty Hunter’s Guild is situated, it’s their home base, and although you only stayed in the city for seven months, you didn’t particularly enjoy your time on the volcanic planet. It’s a world of black sand, rocky terrain, and rivers flowing with lava instead of water.  

While it was beautiful to gaze upon at night, it was also deadly as the Reptavion's used the darkness to their advantage, hunting anything it could carry before taking flight. Nevarro provided work opportunities and credits, but it wasn’t a place to call home.

However, the volcanic planet is where you met Mando for the very first time. During the months you were staying in the city, you were working in a small medical clinic, and there were plenty more suitable facilities for the man to visit, but he chose your place of work instead.

At first, you assumed it was for discretion as the clinic's unspoken rule was ‘ask no question, hear no lies’, but sometimes he would come to see you with minor injuries that could be treated by his own hands, thus leading you to believe that he was interested in more than just your help. Besides, you enjoyed the man's company when he would come to visit you. He wasn’t much of a talker back then, but as time passed, he gradually opened up.

Moving into the man's ship brought you closer to each other. You became his partner more than his employee, and you love your job because it simply doesn’t feel like a job. It feels like you're working with a trusted friend, sharing the riches and helping each other out.

Whether or not he was actually in need of your service back on Nevarro doesn’t matter. What matters is that he saw an opportunity with your skills and presented a deal to make your working life better - which it has.

Ever since you moved in with him, your life has become better in so many ways; you now have a place to call home, and you have a friend you can rely on without the niggling doubt of betrayal in the back of your mind. 

Since you were always on the move before, you adopted a cautious nature with everyone regarding every little detail in your life. You never did fully trust people, but you do with Mando. Things are different with him, and one of the many reasons why it's different with him is because you know the man underneath the beskar. 

Many people have heard of Mando. They’ve heard the stories about his reputation in the Bounty Hunters Guild, about how he is the best in the parsec, but his past and identity remain a mystery. Even to you, to some extent, but you’ve heard the stories too, heard ‘warrior’ in the whispers and it’s true. He is a fine warrior, one that fights with grace and loyalty to the cause. His cause; his culture and his religion - the way of Mandalore. 

While many call him Mando, or the Mandalorian in the Guild, you know him as Din D’jarin. You have not yet had the pleasure to see his identity, but hopefully one day you will have that pleasure and the honour. These are just some of the many reasons why you love your job, but to put it simply; it’s because of Din. 

Since there aren’t a lot of things that surprise you anymore in your line of work and partnership with the man, that doesn’t mean there’s nothing that surprises you. Take these last few days for example, it started off with the same regular chaos, but eventually became something you’re not familiar with. 

The loading bay of the Razor Crest is almost packed full of quarries, frozen solid in the carbonite blocks with one more space remaining for the Mythrol. You helped Din as far as your abilities could, and since the tracking fob for the Mythrol led him to a public house on the icy planet, Pagadon, you stayed back on the ship and waited for his return. 

And of course, it came as no shock when Din returned with the Mythrol, thankfully without any injuries, but the blue-skinned man tried to pull a fast one. However, it wasn’t fast enough as the Mandalorian was two steps ahead of the trickery. He always is.

Still, just like the normalities in the bounty hunting life, you made your way back to Nevarro and met with Greef Karga in the cantina to offload the carbonite blocks, receive your payments and gather more tracking fobs leading to more quarries.

The surprise began when the words ‘off the books’ were uttered by Greef himself and from the moment Din took his next job, you had mixed feelings. There was no chain code on the quarry, all you had was their age. Then, Din wouldn’t allow you to accompany him when meeting the client and the very fact he was protective of you in that sense, made you worry about their business. 

In the Guild, it’s common knowledge that you don’t ask questions about the criminals you hunt. You just get the job done and let the proper authorities serve justice, but something was gnawing at your gut. As the day went on and the chaos continued, the doubts slowly began to fade as you settled back into normality. 

The tracking fob led you to a desert planet, Arvala-7, where you met with a kind man named Kuiil working on a moisture farm. It was especially fun watching Din trying to mount the Blurrg and learn to ride them, but you, too, had to learn in order to join his travels to the Nikto Hideout - where the quarry was. 

By the afternoon, you and Din had mastered the art of riding the creatures and you set off to capture the quarry. Just like any other day in the bounty hunting life, there was nothing surprising or out of the ordinary. You worked together like you always do and after leaving you at a safe distance away from the hideout, Din moved forward on his own. 

As battle ensued, you watched from afar and used comms to help the man out. He fought magnificently. More often than not, his skills leave you awestruck. Mesmerized. You prepared yourself and stocked up on the medical supplies before leaving the moisture farm earlier, but remained hopeful that there wasn’t a need for them. 

When the fight was over, the enemy threats were eliminated and Din was unharmed, you made your way to him and entered the hideout together to find the quarry, but when you first laid your eyes on the target, that unsettled feeling returned to your gut. It was an infant baby, a little green baby with big ears and the cutest eyes you’ve ever seen. 

Although you remembered that you don’t ask questions in the Guild about the quarries, you couldn’t help wondering, and worrying, about what the client wants with the child. It couldn’t be anything good if Din didn’t want you present in the meeting with them on Nevarro.

You had many doubts and suspicions, so many that you couldn’t find a single rational explanation as to why a baby had a bounty on its head. Naturally, you asked Din all of the questions you had, but he didn’t have any answers.

Now, as you both make your way back to the Razor Crest with the baby through the mountainous canyons of Arvala-7, you still can’t shake off the nerves around this whole ordeal. Din is many things; a fine warrior in battle, a man of few words, emotionally shielded and well guarded, cold and merciless to those who threaten his safety, or yours, but careless? No, never.

The man isn’t careless. He cares greatly, and deeply, and he, too, knows that something is off about this job. You’ve known Din D’jarin for the last two years and you can sense when the man is nervous. He’s quiet, too quiet, and you don’t like when his mind is on overdrive because if he is worried about this job, then you should be fearful. 

“Alright. What is it?” You finally break the silence to ask, eager to make sense of his sudden edgy state of mind. Halting your walk and turning to face him, you perch both hands to your hips and tilt your head to the side in question, adding emphasis to your desire for answers. 

The baby situated in his floating pod remains close by, right between you and Din as a matter of fact, and he looks up at you both with curiosity. You fight the urge to look at him, to avoid his influence on you as a woman with maternal instincts. The little guy's presence has undoubtedly caused a heavy bout of uncertainty over your heads, a little rift between you and Mando. Not something of the bad kind, but something unfamiliar and foreign. He’s a child, just an innocent baby, so it’s a confusing and an extremely foreign feeling for you both to be transporting him like he’s just another quarry when he isn’t like any other quarry you’ve ever transported before. 

“Din, talk to me,” You shake your head now, frustration evident in your tone, “What is it? What’s got you nervous?” You ask again, although the answer is obvious. It’s because of the baby and all the questions he has for the client, but you want to hear him say it. 

To hear Din himself say that something isn’t right will validate your reasons to be worried, but you were met with silence yet again. The man wasn’t even paying attention to you, he was too focused on the little lizards scurrying across the sand. “Mando.” Stepping forward and calling him the name that everyone else uses, that usually gets his attention, you open your mouth to speak but the words didn’t even make it past your lips as he shoved you back. 

You fell down and watched as he turned swiftly, gun in hand at the ready to shoot, but a blade whacked it out of his grasp, a blade wielded by a Trandoshan. You and Din both lock onto the tracking fob on his hip, the flashing red dot and audible beep familiar, before he then shoves the floating pod away, keeping the baby out of harm's reach. There’s more than one tracking fob, therefore there’s more bounty hunters looking for the child. Bounty Hunters who are careless and don’t ask questions. 

Neither one of you can allow the baby to leave your sight or allow him to fall into the wrong hands, thus causing your legs to act before your mind can think. You quickly rise from the floor and move in to help Din wherever you can. He smites the Trandoshan and they tumble to the floor. Then, he takes the blade from him, before turning around to throw it toward you.

“Stay with the baby.” He orders firmly, and you listen to his instructions. Trusting his fighting skills better than your own, you take a few steps back and give him the space he needs to wield his weapons without hurting you. 

However, another Trandoshan jumps out of cover. “Behind you!” You yell, giving Din a heads up just in time to evade the direction of a blade coming down in his path. The fight continues, and you take a few more steps back to look up, checking the surroundings to ensure there aren’t any more hunters hiding in the shadows. But there was. “Another one, on your left.” You call out. Again just in time as another Trandoshan jumps down from a ledge. 

With one enemy on the floor, but recovering quickly, the odds weren’t in Din’s favour. It wasn’t a fair fight, even though you’re pretty sure he can handle himself, you worry for his safety nonetheless. And although you're not a fighter, you’ll be damned if you don’t try to help even out the odds against him. 

After checking that the baby was safe in his pod, you move toward the closest Trandoshan and raise your weapon. His back was turned, giving you the upper hand to land a blow without deadly consequence. Using the blunt side of the blade, you struck the back of his legs, causing him to stumble forward just at the right time for Din to throw his arms out and punch him in the face, knocking him unconscious as he fell to the floor. 

Now that the odds were evened out, you watched Din’s movements with laser-like focus and only intervened when you saw the right moment. You were sure he could handle himself, and you were right, but the element of surprise was the only advantage the Trandoshans had over him in the beginning. He fought the remaining two easily, eventually leaving all three unconscious and regretful for ever trying to take on a skilled Mandalorian. 

He turns to you, nodding appreciatively. “Good moves there, mesh’la - thank you.” 

“Don’t mention it,” You shake your head, “You did all the heavy lifting. I was just lending a hand.” You mumble with a sheepish grin on your lips. 

“But I know how you don’t like to fight,” He argues gently with a slight chuckle in his modulated voice. “You fought with me. Accept my gratitude, sweet girl.” 

“Ok, ok - you’re welcome, Din.” Your smile deepens with flattery as he stands before you with what you can only describe as pride. It was the way he looked at you; his helmet slightly tilted to the side, displaying the reflection of your own face, and his hands resting on his hips with a puffed out chest. 

Since you can’t see the man's facial expression, all you’re left with his body language and tone of voice to understand how he feels. And right now, you not only feel a sense of pride from him, but a flicker of attraction too. It’s in the air. The chemistry, the spark, it’s surrounding you both, and it’s something you feel quite often, but never have the courage to act on. 

You’re almost certain that the friendship between you and Din means something more, or at least, it’s heading towards something more. But the intimate moments you share with each other, brief moments like this, make you wonder why he doesn’t make a move.

You don’t even have to see the man's face to know that he’s eyeing you up and down. Upon feeling him lean in, something you’ve felt him do many times before, you muster up the courage to lean in as well.

However, the confidence escapes him at the last second and he pulls back, clearing his throat awkwardly. “We should leave now, mesh’la,” He says, breaking the silence and just like that, the moment is over. “ We need to get back on track and complete the job.”

What? You ask yourself as your mouth falls open and your eyes widen, exhibiting your shock and disbelief. After everything that has happened today, especially after a brawl against three Trandoshans, you're shocked that he is still going to hand the baby over to the client. Din picked up on your reaction instantly and straightened his back, as if preparing himself for a dispute. 

“Excuse me?” You scoff, your cheeks burning up again for an entirely different reason now. It wasn’t flattery, or attraction, it was anger. “Din, you can’t be serious. We can’t hand the baby over to the client. Especially now that we know other hunters are after him too-” You walk over to one of the Trandoshans laying on the ground and retrieve their tracking fob before presenting it to him, “-The client gave you the job, but handed out more fobs? It doesn't feel right and you know it.” 

“Cyar’ika, please don’t do this.” He sighs while running his gloved hand over the scruff of his neck, the pleadings in his voice for you to not argue about this falling on deaf ears. You are most certainly going to argue about this with him. You cross your arms and shake your head, like you had already settled the argument without even uttering another word. But, the dispute was nowhere near settled. “Need I remind you of the code in the Guild?” He asks with a bite to his tone of voice, “If you don’t like this job, I’ll finish this one on my own.” 

“On your own?” You laugh humourlessly while waving the tracking fob. “Good luck with that when the whole Guild could have these! What happens if you get hurt? What then?” Biting back with your own set of questions, you watch as the man huffs a short breath and turns away from you, evidently maddened with your bickering.  “Don’t turn away. Answer me -” You give him a second to answer, but grow impatient as you're met with a lengthy silence once again. “- What happens if you get hurt, Mando? You can’t do this alone.” 

Din turns to you now and stands close, his voice raised to a level that hurts. “I was doing just fine on my own two years ago, Y/N.” Turning away again, as if he couldn’t stand another second looking at you or spend any more time arguing, it didn’t matter anyways as you had ultimately lost the dispute. You give him another second, another chance to make things right and take back what he said, but he doesn’t turn around or mutter a single word. 

“Okay then,” You mumble, lowering your head, “Am I just the medic? Is that all I am to you?” You ask, and still, the man doesn’t turn to face you or answer your question. The silence spoke for him and that was all you needed to know before turning around to walk away. You gave him plenty of chances to fix his mistake, but only until your back was turned did he try. 

“Cyar'ika.” He calls out for you, finally coming to his senses, but it wasn’t quick enough as you didn’t respond to him. You made your way towards the baby and the sound of your muffled cries made his head hang low with shame. No matter how quiet you tried to be, your cries were audible to his ears, enhanced by the mechanics in his helmet. 

Although you were quite visibly sad, he watched you put on a fake smile and talk to the baby like nothing was wrong. The warmness of your soul shone through the misery, causing the little guy to beam and babble baby nonsense. It was a sight so beautiful to witness, so beautiful that it was distracting. 

Din can’t allow himself to get too wrapped up in the emotions that the child brings. It’s conflicting, confusing and…  foreign. He’s never felt this way before. Never felt this way before with any woman around a child, but it’s different with you and it clouds his mind, throws him off balance and disrupts his focus so much that he doesn’t pay attention to what’s most important right now. Like the danger lingering in the immediate surroundings. 

“Y/N!” The man calls to you again, his voice was laden with urgency. “Behind you! Y/N - behind you.” Sprinting toward your position while swinging the strap of his amban rifle around his chest, Din takes aim at another Trandoshan and fires, obliterating the reptilian humanoid to a thousand dust particles. 

You fall down, your knees hitting the sandy terrain below as your pained cries penetrate the sound of his beating heart deafening his ears. You took a hit from the Trandoshan, his blade had cut through your clothes and marked your skin before he was blasted into organic matter. 

“Mesh’la.” He choked. Rushing over and kneeling on the ground behind you, he reaches out to hold your arms. The injury you sustained was across your back, diagonally, at least three inches long and almost half an inch deep. A clean cut, but angry red and weeping with blood. “Easy now, sweet girl. You’re bleeding, just take it easy.” He reassures you with a slight tremble in his tone, his worry for your well-being perceivable. 

“The disinfectant,” You hissed in reply whilst shaking your head, “Get the disinfectant. It’s in my satchel, Mando.” Gently removing your satchel over your shoulder, he places the bag onto the floor and opens it up to search through your medical supplies. Supplies that are normally used for him. There’s irony in the fact you became a medic to treat others, not yourself, and the man despises that his involvement in the bounty hunting business has caused you harm. 

And although he is helping to the best of his knowledge, you’re directing him on what to do. “Open the cap and pour a generous amount over the wound.” You explain, then grab his hand on your hip to hold onto for comfort. He begins to ask if you’re sure, but couldn’t even finish his sentence as your sobbing plea cut him off. “Yes-yes! Just get it over with. Please, Din.” 

Listening to your instructions, he held his breath and prepared himself as he began dousing your back with disinfectant. You bawled with agony, your back arching away from him naturally with the instinct to stop the pain, but to his regret, he pulled you towards him and continued to pour. He clenches his jaw as you cry, his fingers almost turning blue from the force of your grip on his hand. “I’m sorry.” He apologizes, to which you don’t accept and stutter in reply. “This isn’t y-your fault.” 

Releasing your hand to place his thumb and forefinger on your chin, he tilts your head to look at him before leaning in. “I’m sorry, Y/N - for this, for yelling at you, for saying that I was doing just fine two years ago and… and you’re not just a medic.”  He rests his helmet against your head and whispers, though his voice breaks with remorse. “You’re so much more than that, mesh’la. You mean so much to me.” 

“Din, I-” You open your mouth to object, but he cuts you off by holding his thumb over your lips while shushing you. “Don’t speak and conserve your energy, we’ll talk about it later. Just let me take care of you first.” He says. 

“No, Din…” You sigh, eyes blinking slowly while slurring your words. “I was going… going to say that I… I can’t keep my eyes… I don't feel good…”  Your body becomes limp as you fall into his arms. Your vision darkens quickly, and the last thing you saw before everything went black was the baby's eyes looking at you as he peaks over the pod.

The next time you awoke, it was a brief moment of consciousness. The familiar sound of Din’s amban rifle could be heard as he fired off multiple rounds and your eyes glimmered open to see his legs, the bandolier of cartridges wrapped around his calf. You saw his gloved hand reaching for ammunition to load into his weapon and worried as to why he needed them. 

“It’s ok. Everything is ok,” he says upon noticing you were awake and were fighting to keep your eyes open. “We’re safe here. Go back to sleep, cyar’ika.” 

Eyes closing once again, you couldn’t keep them open no matter how hard you tried to, and his voice soon faded as you slipped into a deep slumber. The silence took over and, oddly, it felt comforting. Although it only felt like minutes had passed, you knew it must have been longer as your surroundings were different. 

There was no longer a warm breeze, but the cold presence of steel pressing into your side, and beneath you, it felt spongy and soft, thus indicating you were laying on a bed. The unmistakable sound of Kuiil’s voice could be heard in the distance as he makes the baby laugh and you open your eyes to confirm your assumptions on your whereabouts, but are met with locks of brown hair instead. 

It’s Din. He’s the cold presence of steel pressing into your side as he sat on the edge of the bed and it’s his hair that you were currently staring at with wide eyes. His back was turned, but you could still see the back of his head and instantly shut your eyes, fearing that if you spent one more second looking, you wouldn’t be able to turn away. 

“Mando,” You whisper immediately, panicking, then feel him moving around. “Mando, why don’t you have your helmet on? Stars! I could have seen your face.”

You begin to shift your position to turn away from him, but are reminded of the wound on your back. The pain struck you suddenly and harshly, causing Din’s hands to dart out to cover your eyes just in time as you opened them with instinct. He was gentle but quick. “It’s ok, mesh’la. You can’t see, it’s ok.” He reassures you through the strained whimpers slipping past your lips. 

“Where is your helmet?” You ask, getting your teeth. You close your eyes again once the surge of pain passes over and the soothing properties of bacta gel takes over. You can feel the substance on your back, feel the stuff working to heal your injury. “My eyes are closed now. It’s safe but… Shit, Din. I saw your hair.” You say apologetically. 

“It’s fine, sweet girl.” He chuckles softly, the sound making your mouth fall open with shock as you retort. “It’s not funny. I’m not allowed to see you - or your hair! What… W-what happens now?” You ask, to which he laughs again and startles you unintentionally when reaching out to cup your cheek. You weren’t expecting to feel his gloved fingers on your skin, but you quickly leaned into his touch as his gesture brought consolation. 

“Look at me,” He requests, “It's safe to look, I promise.” 

Rolling your eyes behind closed lids, you make a surprised sound when he caresses your cheek with his thumb. Again, you weren’t expecting the comforting gesture, but deeply appreciated it. And whether or not it was the bacta gel or Din easing the discomfort in your back, you chose to believe it was the latter.

A short moment passes before you finally open your eyes and find relief in the T shape of his helmet. Although you would love nothing more than to see his identity, the face of his helmet is what you know, it’s home. Your face softens as you relax into the palm of his hand, but the importance and worry around your question still lingers, thus causing you to ask again. “What happens now? I thought I wasn’t allowed to see you without the helmet, doesn’t that also mean I can’t see your hair?” 

“You didn’t see my face, nor did you remove my helmet, mesh’la,” He shakes his head, his voice soft like honey, “It’s okay and besides-” He turns his head, displaying the brown locks of his hair at the base of his neck, “-You can see my hair with the helmet on.” 

“Oh,” You whisper with intrigue, “Surprised I didn’t notice sooner, but your hair is…” Lifting your hand with a desire to touch his hair, you back out at the last second and retract your arm, but Din felt your movements and quickly assured. “Go ahead. I trust you.” 

You reach out again and caress the base of his neck, your fingertips massaging his scalp which draws out the heaviest sounding exhale you’ve ever heard from him; a sigh of relief, filled with endearment and relaxation. It was a gratifying feeling, seeing and hearing the man lean into your touch without fear of betrayal in this moment of vulnerability. Din is vulnerable at this moment, his guard is down and just the mere thought of removing his helmet sickens you. It never crosses your mind. 

“Your hair is beautiful, Din.” You murmur sweetly, a smile on your lips displaying your satisfaction and joy from something so simple. The action of touching his hair which you’d love to do again, to feel him melt in your arms like soft putty and feel a sense of home from your touch, like you feel a sense of home when looking into the T-shape of his visor. 

You gently squeeze the base of his neck, a way of reassuring him, before pulling your hand back, however, it was apparent that he wanted more as he sharply held your wrist and directed your hand back to his hair. “Please?” He asks in a whispered breath, hopeful and optimistic, desperate. “Keep playing with my hair, ner cyar’ika.” 

You laugh, a mixture of surprise and confusion obvious in your tone. The difference in his pet name for you was confusing, and his request for you to continue playing with his hair was surprising. Though, you granted his request gladly and began playing with his hair. “What does cyar’ika mean anyway?” You ask, tilting your head with interest while wondering what faces he was making under the helmet from your massaging movements. “Is there a difference when you say ner cyar’ika?”

“Yes.” He groans in reply, the sound drawing out another laugh from your lips as your smile deepens. You open your mouth to ask another question, until he turns his head to face you and leans across your body. The pause in his manoeuvre speaks of hesitancy, unsure on whether or not you were comfortable with what was about to do. 

The question you had vanishes from your mind as you nod to the man, nodding with confirmation for him to lay down and rest his head in your arms. The bed in which you lay on didn’t feel small until Mando lay on it with you. Not that you minded anyway, but it really detailed the size and stature of the man, especially the broad expanse of his chest and back. 

He raised both hands to his helmet, and before he could even ask, you closed your eyes with baited breath as he removed it to optimize the comfiest position. The position he chose however, was burying his face between your neck and shoulder. You didn't release the breath you were holding, it was snatched from your lungs.

Somewhere in the back of your mind, you thought this day would come, but doubt is what kept it at the back of your mind. You never entertained the idea of laying in bed with Mando too much as it felt like a pipe dream to have the man in your arms like this, and now that you do, it feels better than you ever could have imagined.

The pain in your back is practically non-existent now, almost as if you never even sustained an injury, and that’s because of his presence, his proximity and his comfort. It wasn’t a struggle to keep your eyes closed as you basked in the sensation of him carefully laying his weight over you like this.

Something else you’ve also thought about in the past, but tried not to think about too much, is Din laying over you for an entirely different reason. And perhaps it’s because of the level of intimacy in this position that brings those thoughts back to the surface, or maybe it was the electrifying feeling of his lips pressed against your skin. 

The man wasn’t exactly kissing you per se, but the bare contact of his lips placed against your neck like this felt like a kiss. Besides, the vest shirt that you wore left a lot of skin on your chest on display, thus providing Din, and yourself, to relish in skin-to-skin contact.

You could feel his beard, it was a light amount of hair, grazing against you with every little movement of his head. Soon, though, all of those little movements from Din became obvious that he was uncomfortable, as if he kept moving slightly to adjust his comfort.

“Want me to stop?” You ask, wondering if he has had enough of you playing with his hair, but to your delight, he shook his head as he inhaled deeply. He smiles against your skin, thus piquing your interest. “What? What is it?” You laugh bashfully. 

“You smell good, ner cyar’ika.” He replies, nestling his nose into your neck to inhale the natural scent of you. The smile on your face is yet to fade, his actions are what keeps your lips turned upwards, that was until you felt something wet dart onto your skin. It was brief, too brief, but you felt it nonetheless.

It was Din’s tongue, and your smile disappears as you bite your lip, leaving a hankering desire to feel it again. Your skin heats up beneath him as you entertain those thoughts about him lying over you like this for a different reason. You think about how you’ve yearned for his gloved fingers to touch other areas of your body, and as well as wondering about his identity, you’ve also wondered what he looks like nude. A mind is an imaginative place, and you’ve imagined him naked more than once. You sigh softly with the ache between your legs, wishing Din to be the one who eases it. 

“Mesh’la,” He mumbles, grabbing your attention, and when you hum in reply to him, he asks: “Is everything ok? Your heart is racing -” Your eyes spring open with worry, feeling like he could see your dirty thoughts, thus causing your heart to pound harder,  “- Hey, hey, relax. I can move, am I making you uncomfortable?” He asks, blaming himself for your panic. Although he is to blame, it’s not for the reason he thinks. 

“No, it’s just…” You falter with finding the right words, but the patience to wait for him any longer escapes you. “It’s just that I felt your tongue on my neck and if… Stars, this is going to be embarrassing if I’m wrong… and if you did it purposely, then I want to feel it again, but…” You gulp, gathering your courage to admit your feelings, “...But if it was just a mistake, then I think that we should maybe stop what we’re doing because I’m attracted to you Din.” 

“You are?” He asks, to which you reply firmly. “Yes. Yes, I am.” 

“So…” He smiles, “You like this?” He asks before placing an open mouthed kiss to your neck, his tongue darting out onto your skin again, thus eliciting you to sigh breathily. “Y-yes. Yes, I like that.” Your eyes close naturally as he plants another kiss on your skin, still with a smile on his lips, as he begins to pant. “I’m attracted to you too. Have been for a long time, ner cyar’ika.” 

“Oh, Din.” You moan. With arousal and relief, his admission makes you moan, the sound acting as a catalyst as he moves down your body, his head disappearing under the covers eagerly to hear you moan again. “Are you able to lay on your back?” You hear him ask, though his voice was muffled, you heard him clearly and nod frantically with excitement.

Shifting your position to accommodate him, you couldn’t feel the pain in your back anymore and slipped your hands beneath the covers, your fingers finding his hair with ease. “It’s ok, I’m comfortable lying like this.” You say while focusing on his every move with anticipation. You could feel his breath fanning across your lower stomach, his fingers hooked inside the waistband of your pants as he leans in to place another kiss on your skin. 

You lift your hips up with a silent request, one that he understood without a need for words, and begins pulling your pants down, along with your underwear. He leans in and presses his lips to your inner thigh, nipping a path toward your sex. You unintentionally begin gripping his hair by the handfuls, evidently desperate to feel his tongue delve into your slick folds. The man doesn’t waste time and gives in to his own desperation. 

“Din!” You whine upon feeling the tip of his tongue meet your clit. He teases you at first, moving his tongue in a circular motion with a feather-light touch, the action making your hips lift off the bed to search for more. You feel him smiling against your inner thigh, clearly satisfied with your reactions, before he closes his lips around your sensitive bud and sucks gently.

You let go of his hair to hold the back of your palm over your mouth, quieting your mewls of pleasure to a respectable level. Considering all the noises Din himself is making was driving you feral, it was a struggle to try and keep quiet. He sounded hungry, like a man starved for a taste of your sweetness right from the source, as if he had dreamed of this moment and was making the most of it now that it’s a reality.

Your hands abandoned his hair to grip handfuls of the bed sheets instead, your back arching as you tilt your head to the side and bury your face into the pillow. Your orgasm crept up on you, started off with a happy cramp in your stomach but quickly became bliss as he eased a finger inside your entrance, soothing the ache in your velvety walls. Din grunted heavily, needily, as he drank your desire.

He continued to flick his tongue against your clit while angling his finger into a come hither motion, caressing that sweet spot deep inside. The stars behind your eyes and the goosebumps rippling across your body never felt so good before, especially from the simple act of receiving oral. It’s been a while, a long while, since you’ve last felt the pleasurable touch of your own hands, let alone a man's pair of hands.

You needed this, needed to release all your pent up sexual energy, though it only made you insatiable for more. “Din,” You call to him, calling on his help to your frustrations, “Din, I need you.” 

Suddenly, his hand emerges from the quilt, “Here,” he says, handing you a blindfold. “Put this on for me, sweet girl.” He asks, to which you oblige and pull the item over your eyes hastily. “Ready - now get up here, I need to feel you.” 

Moving up your body without having to tell him twice, he travels slowly and plants kisses on your skin along the way, his smile never fading as he takes in the sight of you beneath him. “Gar’re bid mesh’la… (you’re so beautiful).” He growls wantonly, “...Bid, bid mesh’la (so, so beautiful).”

“I’m not sure what that means,” You giggle, the smile on your lips as wide as ever, “But I like the way you say it.” You reach out carefully in search of his face, to which he helps by directing your hands, and once you feel him, you gasp. “Stars! You’re so beautiful,” you whisper in awe as you trace the outline of his facial features, “Your lips… your cheekbones… nose… jawline… everything about you is beautiful, Din.” 

“Thank you, sweet girl.” He breathes, eyes closing to relish in the soft touch of your palms cupping his cheeks. “I’ll teach you Mando’a and soon you will understand everything I say, but I said you were beautiful too. So beautiful.” He explains, causing your cheeks to burn once again with flattery as you pull him closer. His lips press against yours with a bruising kiss, and you couldn’t help but moan because of the raw passion and loving desire to finally feel what you’ve yearned for. 

Although there was a hint of desperation in his bid to remove your clothes, Din was gentle with his movements, gentle and respectful. You helped remove his clothes too, and with each inch of skin revealed, you marvelled at the bare touch of him pressing against you. You’ve seen areas of the man's skin before when taking care of his injuries, but never fully seen him naked. 

Using your sense of touch to see, you feel his body and drag your fingers along his chest, feeling the brute strength that he holds. The strength of a warrior. Between your legs, you feel his member pressing against your cunt and it was an impressive size. Aching to be buried in your warm. His breath bellowing across your face, hot and heavy, laden with the same sound of relief from earlier when you played with his hair as you admire his body now. 

“Cyar’ika.” He groans. Placing his hands beside your head, you feel his body shudder with need, his hips rolling forward ever so slightly to ease the throb that burdens his cock. You slip your hands around the base of his neck, pulling him in to close the gap and kissing his lips whilst parting your legs. As he lines himself up at your entrance, your hands fall to his biceps, holding him tightly as you prepare from the breach. 

“Nngh,” you break off to moan, deeply and satisfyingly, “Fuck, Din! Keep going.” You lift your head off the pillow to kiss him again, letting him swallow all the little pretty noises you were making as he carefully buried himself to the hilt. Your walls opened up with ease, stretching to accommodate his size. “It’s ok,” You say, pleading for him to move. “I’m ok.” 

“Are you sure, mesh’la?” He asks, to which you nod in reply. “Waited so long for this,” pulling his hips back slowly, he grabs onto your thigh for leverage before burying himself into your cunt again. “Dank Farrik!” He grunts across your face, “So warm and tight. Better than I imagined, sweet girl.” 

The sound of his filthy words made you mewl, having never heard the man speak this way before, you were surprised, yet growing more aroused and confident to be honest with him. “I used to think… Shit!” You stutter as he grinds into you, drawing out a moan from your lips, “...I used to think about this. In the night, while you were sleeping in your bunk, I’d think about you making love to me.” You admit. 

“Oh fuck.” Din gasps. Picking up his pace while resting his forehead against yours, his moans broken and breathless, his cock reaches a new depth inside your cunt, hitting that sweet spot inside over and over again. “I’m so relieved to hear you say that,” he says, “I took myself in hand many nights thinking about you."  

“Fuck, fuck, fuck!” You quickly warn upon feeling the peak of your climax racing toward you. “I’m close. Stars! I’m so close. Keep talking to me.” You cry, feeling yourself on the verge of tearing up from the intensity of your pleasure, but the sound of his voice keeps you tethered to the moment, preventing you from floating up to cloud nine. 

“I would dream about you often,” He groans while holding the base of your neck, his thumbs dragging across your skin reassuringly, “Wet dreams, mesh’la. I felt so ashamed, but… Fuck, they felt so good. Dreaming about you in my sleep felt so good.” 

“More… Tell me more.” You hiss. Wrapping your legs around his back and locking your ankles together, you feel his hips falter as he moans through gritted teeth. “Your pussy, nngh! I’d dream about your pussy wrapped around me, taking my load, mesh’la. Again and again until you couldn’t hold any more and it dripped out of you. Fuck! I’m gonna… Shit, Y/N, I’m coming-” He cuts himself off with a needy whine, throwing his head back with bliss as he feels you clenching around him. 

“I-Inside,” You begged him, “Please, Din. Come inside of me.” The man couldn’t stop himself even if he tried to. You felt him reach climax, the warmth of his release spreading inside of you, coating your velvety walls as they pulsed around him, as if milking him of everything he could give. “Mando. Fuuck, Mando!” You mewled directly into his ear, your eyes screwed shut behind the blindfold as his orgasm pushed you over the edge. 

White static casted over your eyes as your ears ring loudly, your heart thrums in your chest as nothing but pleasure courses through your veins. You unintentionally dig your nails into his back, clawing at his skin as he reverts to a slow grind into your cunt, the movements pleasuring your clit and prolonging the ecstasy of your high. “That’s it, sweet girl. There you go.” He praises you through it as he comes down from his orgasm, the sound of his voice overstimulating. 

Resting your head back against the pillow as you come down, breathing heavily, he plants loving kisses along your jawline and neck. “So pretty like this.” He whispers sweetly, his voice heavy with satisfaction as your hands find his face again. “Are you okay?” He asks. 

“How…” Your voice croaks, “How do you say happy in Mando’a?” 

“Briikase,” He chuckles, to which you reply with a smile. “Well, I’m briikase right now. Really briikase.” 

“Me too, cyar’ika-” He pauses to brush the hair away from your face, correcting himself. “Ner cyar’ika baar’ur.” You open your mouth to ask another question, to ask what difference in his pet names mean, but he leans in to catch your lips in a fervent kiss instead. 

Din pulls back, looking to where your eyes would be behind the blindfold while caressing your cheek. “Ner cyar’ika baar’ur... my darling medic. Ni’m ori briikase as pirusti bal ni kar'taylir darasuum gar, mesh’la... I’m very happy as well and I love you, beautiful.” 

You make a surprised sound when hearing some familiar words in his language and learning what they mean, that he has said them before in the past. “I love you too, Din.” You say earnestly, the tears staining the fabric of his blindfold, which you now just realized that he’s kept in his pocket in hopes to use with you one day, like today. You not only became Din D’jarin’s medic, but you became his - his darling medic. 

There aren’t a lot of things that surprise you these days as a trained medic, but that doesn’t mean nothing surprises you anymore. These last few days have been adventurous and emotional, foreign and unfamiliar, life-threatening and dangerous. It’s been life-changing for you and the Mandalorian, and it’s all because of a baby. The little guys presence not only sparked your maternal instincts, but the protective fatherly instincts within Din too. 

And, although neither of you know it now, the baby is only just the beginning of your treacherous journey across the stars in search of reuniting him with his people.

Tagging:

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Up until that afternoon, your relationship with Javier Peña had been purely professional. You were a researcher of sorts for his department. The leads came in and it was your job to check their validity. You didn't see or speak to him outside of the office and you preferred it that way. After all, on your first day, you were warned about the Bogota Bachelor.

"You're pretty... He'll eat you right up." Said one of the CIA guys one morning as you poured your morning coffee.

You'd blushed at his comment. You had not been called pretty by anyone other than your parents and your high school bestie. So to be told by a complete stranger that you'd be desirable to the most desired man in the office gave you a real ego boost.

Only, he never made a move.

You were a little disappointed initially. You'd developed somewhat of a crush on the man but after two years of purely professional words shared, you managed to shake those feelings. He was nice enough to you. Would give you a sweet smile and bring you a coffee every now and then but that was as far as things ever went.

Fast forward to the present day and all that was about to change.

...

Steve panted as he stopped momentarily to catch his breath. He couldn't stop long, the guy was getting away so as he sprang back into action, he looked to his left and saw Javier sprinting along the adjoining rooftop. This had become a theme for them. Chasing Sicarios across rooftops. This time though, they'd both made the sensible decision to wear a vest. One too many times in recent months, they had almost taken a bullet.

They were closing in now and the guy knew it. The house ahead was a dead end. The only way out was down.

Steve leapt to the roof after the guy, his eye catching Javier doing the same and then he was stuck. Guns pointing at him from his front and rear.

"Manos arriba hijo de puta." (Hands up son of a bitch.) Javier growled but the man didn't move.

His shoulders sunk and rose with each heavy breath he took and for one painfully slow moment, everything was silent. Then in the blink of an eye, he pointed his weapon and fired. Time slowed as Steve watched Javier get knocked from his feet and fall from view. Steve's momentary lapse of attention was all the man needed to leap from view, down a fire escape and to safety.

"JAVI." Steve yelled upon realising their quarry had disappeared. He sprinted to the edge Peña had fallen from and saw the agent laying unconscious on a balcony below.

Steve didn't even think about leaping down onto the table that sat near Javier's prone form, the distance a lot less dangerous than what Javi had fallen. He then jumped down and fell to Javier's side. Worried hands fumbled about as he attempted to decern what his partner's injuries were.

"Javi... Javi, can you hear me?"

The agent didn't stir and Steve started to panic. He was careful not to move his partner too much. He was no medical expert but he knew that it was bad to move someone who'd fallen from a great height and looking up at the roof, Javier had fallen at least 7 feet straight onto his back. Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed a small pool of blood starting to develop under his partner's head. Steve knew that wasn't good.

...

You were watching the clock, eagerly waiting for twelve to come around so that you could take lunch. It had been a slow morning. Two sets of agents had been out in the field this morning and you were their port of call for any emergencies. It was only a small aspect of your job but it was the one you hated the most. Not because it was boring but because you dreaded someone calling in to tell you an agent was down but you knew that these things happened. These were dangerous times in a dangerous country.

"This is agent Murphy." His southern drawl came through the speaker, crackly but still clear and your stomach dropped as you picked up the headphones to answer.

"I hear you, Agent Murphy." You said, your name flowing down the waves as you fought to keep your voice steady.

"Agent down." Steve stated and you felt sick "Agent Peña has taken a gunshot to his vest." He continued and you breathed a sigh of relief "Fallen from a roof onto a hotel balcony. Sustained a serious head injury. I need medical assistance." He finished before rattling off the address.

The breath you'd managed to capture was ripped away from you again as you noted down everything that Steve told you. You were immediately on the phone after, calling for a medical evac and praying they got to them both quickly.

"Medical help is en route to you Agent." You stated, amazed that you had managed not to lose it completely.

Your relief came into the room a few minutes later and you were quick to dash to the bathroom and throw up the contents of your stomach. Perhaps you weren't cut out for this.

...

Steve balled his shirt up and pressed it hard onto the wound to the back of his partner's head. His hands were shaking so much. He couldn't believe that they were in this situation yet he also wasn't all that surprised. Since Escobar had escaped, the two of them had become desperate. Connie had left and Steve had grown more reckless so Javier had taken it upon himself to make sure the man was taking some sort of care of himself. Steve knew it was his time to return the favour. He needed to make sure that Javier made it out alive.

"You're gonna be okay brother." He muttered to his unconscious partner "You're gonna be fine." He promised and he hoped he was right.

He hated making promises he couldn't keep.

...

You'd been worried when your boss had called you into her office. You had wracked your brains for what you might have done wrong. You prided yourself in your work. You put your heart and soul into it, knowing you were helping to make a difference in Colombia. You wondered if it was because of the other day. When Simons had come to relieve you and you hadn't briefed him before leaving. He hadn't said anything to you but you didn't know him well enough to know whether he would have.

You knocked on the door and waited for a tick before being called in. You then stepped into Messina's office gingerly, taking the seat she motioned to and wringing your hands in your lap.

"So you're probably wondering why I called you in here." She started and you gave her a nervous nod "Well, I understand that you were a nurse for a few years before leaving to join the DEA as a Research Specialist."

"Yes, Ma'am." You replied "Turns out I didn't have the stomach for it." You joked and she gave you a small chuckle "What does that have to do with why you wanted to speak to me?" You asked and she gave you a small sigh as she sat back in her chair.

"We, as you know, Agent Peña was injured in action a few days ago." She started and you nodded "He sustained a nasty head injury that has left him temporarily blind."

"Blind?" You blanced and Messina nodded grimly.

"The doctors have assured us that his sight will return as the swelling goes down however he needs someone that we can trust to live with him for a few weeks whilst he recovers."

"Why me?" You asked, your stomach twisting a little as you awaited her response.

"Honestly?" She asked and you nodded "Between you and me, I need someone that he hasn't screwed and left high and dry." She chuckled and you swallowed thickly "I know you have a good working relationship with Peña and Murphy and we need someone that we can trust."

"Right." You replied, nodding grimly.

"You can say no." She stated, taking you by surprise "This isn't an order. Agent Murphy has offered to help him but we need him here and not babysitting Javier Peña."

"It's fine Boss." You replied, holding your hand up to stop her "I will be happy to help him." She gave you a nod and you took a shaky breath "What about my work?"

"Simons can pick up your workload for the time being." She replied plainly "Lord knows it's about time he pulled his weight around here." You snorted at that before looking at your boss in horror at your sudden outburst. Her response was a rambunctious laugh that brought a smile to your face.

"Did they say how long it would take for his sight to return?" You asked and Messina shrugged.

"The doctors said it's hard to say. Could return tomorrow, and could return next week. He's got a pretty nasty concussion. Suffering with dizziness, broke his arm and dislocated his shoulder also." She stated and you sucked in a breath "He was lucky really. Could have been a lot worse."

You nodded grimly and she gave you a reassuring smile.

"So he's going to need assistance with cooking meals, his medications, etc?" You asked and Messina nodded.

"I'm hoping we won't be without you for too long but I really appreciate your support."

You gave her a nod before getting to your feet. You weren't sure how this was going to go but you knew that you wanted to help. It was your tip that had sent Javier and Steve out into the field that day. You felt responsible for what had happened.

...

"I don't need a babysitter." Javier growled as he crossed his arms like a petulant child, only to wince at the pain that movement brought.

"Why isn't your arm strapped up as it should be?" Admonished Steve and Javier rolled his eyes.

"He's right Javier." You interjected "You should have it strapped to help it heal. Won't be much use to the DEA if you have a gammy arm."

"I'll be no use to them if I can't see" Javier grumbled and your brows drew together as you sat down beside him.

"Javier, your sight loss is temporary." You said softly and the man scoffed "You just need to have a little faith."

"Easy for you to say." He grumbled and you threw your hands up.

"Whatever, act like a child." You growled, taking both Javier and Steve by surprise "I am here to help you get better. You will let me strap your arm up. You will take your medication and you will do as you're told because I am here at the request of Messina and I will not let you make me look incapable."

"Yes ma'am." Replied the agents in unison and you smiled to yourself as you gave yourself a small nod.

You proceeded to strap Javier's arm up, give him his pills and cook him dinner. The agent grumbled here and there but otherwise, he remained quiet for the rest of the evening. He was silently grateful you were there. When he'd been released from the hospital, he'd worried about how he was going to get around. Waking up blind had been the most terrifying thing he'd ever experienced. The hardest part of this was when it came to getting ready for bed. You sat him on the edge of his bed before grabbing him a fresh t-shirt and some sweats for him to sleep in. You blushed when you pulled down the ones he'd been wearing, averting your eyes and desperately searching for a distraction from the fact he wasn't wearing underwear. The situation was no less embarrassing for Javier. Usually, he was confident around women but with you, he was shy and unsure.

He'd had a crush on you from day one. Something Steve had teased him about almost daily. For that reason, he had chosen to keep things professional between the two of you. He didn't want to taint you with his reputation. You were too good for that. So to now be stuck relying on you for everything had those feelings rushing back tenfold.

He allowed you to manoeuvre him how you needed. You slipped his legs into his sweats before lifting them up and letting him pull them over his hips. You helped him out of his sling, into the fresh t-shirt and back into his sling again. Giving his arm a gentle squeeze when you were done to let him know he could lay down.

"Thank you." He said softly as you made your way out of his room, stopping you in your tracks "I know I was acting like a jerk earlier but I really do appreciate your help."

"It's fine Javier." You replied, giving him a weak smile "Sleep." You finished before making your way out of his room.

...

You and Javier slipped into a routine with ease. His sight had yet to return but his other symptoms had eased off. He wasn't suffering from as many dizzy spells and the headaches had receded to dull intermittent pangs every now and then.

Despite the routine, Javier had grown more irritable the longer he was blind. You could understand why. He was completely reliant on you and that must have been hard for him. Javier Peńa hadn't needed to rely on anyone for years. Now all of a sudden he was rendered useless and vulnerable and he hated it.

"You didn't have to bring dinner, Steve." You said as you helped the blond dish up.

"Nonsense." Steve said as he waved you off "You've been babysitting Peña all day, least I can do. Heck, you deserve a night off."

"I may be blind but I'm not deaf," Javier grumbled as he felt his way to the kitchen table.

"Javier, I told you to wait and I'd come and get you." You scolded and he growled.

"You're not my fucking girlfriend." He snapped and you winced at his statement.

No, you weren't. You weren't pretty enough to earn that title.

"Don't be an asshole Javi." Steve warned, "She's just trying to help you."

"Yeah well, I don't need her fucking help." He snapped and that was it.

"Fine, you don't need my help... Serve yourself." You scoffed, grabbing your plate of food and heading for the table.

Javier was rendered speechless. Truth was, he did need your help. He needed it more than he cared to admit but he was tired of being unable to do things for himself. He blindly felt his way to where Steve was standing and cursed when he stuck his hand in his food. Steve smirked but otherwise remained silent as he watched his partner feel around for the cloth hanging by the sink. When he found it, he wiped his hands and then carefully felt for the edge of the plate. Grabbing it and lifting it carefully he blindly headed in the direction he believed his table was.

"Gonna eat that in the lobby Javi or?..." Steve trailed off and Javier stopped, hanging his head before turning back and giving both you and Steve a pleading look. You didn't budge but Steve did. He guided his partner to the table and helped him put his food down before grabbing his own and sitting beside him.

"Sorry," Javier grumbled before digging into the food that Steve had brought and you shared a look with Murphy before digging into your own meal.

The next few evenings followed a similar pattern. Javier was grumpy, you and Steve told him off and then he ate his dinner in silence as he sulked. You couldn't help but feel sorry for the man though. He was trapped inside his own head, unable to do anything but listen to you and Steve drone on about work or how he was getting on. You'd heard him sobbing one night when you had gotten up to use the bathroom. You could see that the longer he went without regaining his vision, the more he lost faith that he'd ever get it back.

The days merged into a week. You drove Javier to his check-up and sat patiently for him in the waiting room. You hoped for his sake that the doctor gave him some good news because he was growing more and more irritable as the days went by. He thanked you for your help but he was still short and snappy with you and Steve. Your patience was starting to wear thin and you weren't sure how much longer you could take it.

Your attention was grabbed by a nurse helping him walk back to you. You grabbed his arm and thanked her before steering him from the building and back towards the truck. He was silent the whole way back. You decided not to push a conversation and when you made it home, you helped him to the couch and proceeded to make him a coffee, knowing he'd want one.

Steve arriving later that afternoon would finally give you the answers you wanted.

"How'd the appointment go?" He asked as he opened a beer and handed it to his partner.

"Doc said the swellings going down and that my sight should return soon." Javier replied and both you and Steve shared a look before he asked what you were both wondering.

"So why are you so fucking miserable?" He asked and Javier growled.

"I'm not." He grumbled and you rolled your eyes.

"You've not said a word to me since we got back." You argued and Peña groaned.

"Don't have to talk to you." He snapped and that was the final straw.

"I'm done with this." You snarled before making your way to his spare room and grabbing your suitcase.

"Hey." Called out Steve as he sprinted after you "What are you doing?"

"I don't have to put up with this." You grumbled "I offered to help because I felt guilty for what happened to him. It was my tip that got him into this mess but I don't deserve to be treated like shit for it."

"This ain't your fault sweetheart." Steve stated as he grabbed your hand "I know he's being a miserable bastard but he needs you."

"He doesn't need me." You scoffed "Said so himself."

"You know he didn't mean that." Steve urged but you scoffed.

"Sure he did."

In the other room, Javier could hear your conversation and his guilt started to swallow him up. He knew that he had been a bit of an asshole lately but he hadn't realised that he'd been hurting you. He pushed himself to his feet. He had to talk to you and tell you he was sorry but as he straightened up, he suddenly felt off. This wasn't one of those dizzy spells he'd been suffering from or even head rush. No, this was something completely different.

"Please, don't do this." Steve pleaded "I can talk to him, get him to-"

Steve was stopped in his tracks by a thump and you rolled your eyes at him.

"Peña's obviously trying to prove he doesn't need me." You uttered as you shoved a few more items unceremoniously into your bag.

Steve let out a sigh before he jogged into the lounge, ready to berate Javier for getting himself into trouble again but what greeted him made his blood go cold. Javier was on the floor, eyes rolled back into his skull as his body writhed on the floor. Blood trickled from his mouth and from his temple and Steve screamed your name before dropping to his partner's side.

You were out in a flash and you choked on a breath when you were greeted by Javier seizing on the living room floor. You were at his side in a heartbeat, supporting his head as the seizure started to subside.

"Steve, call an ambulance and grab me a cloth." You ordered as you stroked Javier's hair.

The agent did what you asked, tossing you a cloth from the kitchen as he spoke to the operator on the phone. Javier was completely out of it. His already unseeing eyes darted around the room and you pulled him into your arms and held him as you pressed the cloth to his head wound, hoping it brought him some semblance of comfort.

"You're okay Javi." You said softly "You're going to be just fine." You repeated as you kissed the crown of his head and rocked him gently.

The ambulance arrived a short while later. You went with Javier and Steve followed in his truck and then you both waited together for news on his condition. Your stomach twisting into knots. You knew as you waited, that you couldn't leave him. Not now.

Next

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You’ve slept more deeply ever since moving into his place. Then again, you’ve always slept better at Frankie’s side. It’s something about his presence—warm and solid at your back, inevitably tangled up with you come morning—that just leaves you feeling at peace. Safe. Free to slip into that dreamless sleep.

Even if he can’t be beside you when it’s time to fall asleep, his lingering presence in your now shared home brings you comfort, your mind filled with sweet thoughts while you wait for him to slip into bed beside you.

You barely even wake when he comes home. Even in sleep, you recognize the cadence of his footsteps, the familiar pattern of sounds that signal his return: the dull thud of the garage door, the squeak of the hallway closet, his keys landing in the bowl, a creak from that floorboard just outside your closed bedroom door.

It isn’t until there’s a presence looming right over top of you that you finally turn over with a hum.

“Mmm, hi amor,” you mumble, sprawling out on your back as the dim room slowly comes into focus.

“Hola, bonita,” he grins above you as your sleepy eyes find his.

He’s still in a flannel and those work jeans you love on him, still smelling of sawdust and fresh air as he bends lower to press a gentle kiss to your lips. When he pulls away for just a moment, you whine at the loss before he captures your mouth in earnest—tinged with a desperation that you aren’t awake enough to keep up with.

You don’t quite catch what he says as he sits back up. His voice isn’t as soft as it normally is, a rough edge forcing some alertness into your still-sleepy mind.

When you open your eyes again, his brow quirks up at your confused gaze.

“Hm?”

“I said,” he grins, “did you miss me this much?”

He lifts the hand that isn’t currently planted on the other side of you, your eyes darting to the object grasped in it before finally realizing what has him so entertained.

You can hardly be blamed. He’d been gone for half the day, off helping Santi finish the deck he’d started building, even though you both know he won’t use it until the weather warms. Having run out of chores and things to do, you crawled into bed hours early out of sheer boredom. Benny had been sending pictures of their progress as they worked, somehow managing to catch Frankie in each photo. For hours, you’d been receiving photos of those broad shoulders you adored, the cuffs of his t-shirt tight around the arms you love clinging onto, neck strained as he helped keep a large plank aloft.

No, you certainly can’t be blamed for fishing your vibrator out of your nightstand in desperation.

All the same, seeing it clutched in his hand has a flood of heat rushing to your face. You must have forgotten to put it away after you finished cursing the damn thing.

The way Frankie chuckles is near predatory as he leans over you to pepper a slow trail of kisses along your jaw.

“Was it good?” he murmurs against the shell of your ear, ignoring your whines of embarrassment.

“No.”

“No?”

You huff out a breath and turn your head away. “I didn’t even get to finish. Stupid thing died and my hands don’t feel the same so I gave up.”

“Pobrecita,” Frankie whispers against your cheek, pressing another kiss there before pushing himself back up. Something in the way he stares down at you—eyes dark and watchful—has you wiggling to get out of the sleep-warm sheets. Heat pools between your legs as his hand finds your waist under the duvet, pinning you in place. “You needed my hands, hm?”

“Yes.”

Frankie shifts his weight, flipping the duvet straight off the bed. The air is a cold against your heated skin, especially since you’d gone to sleep in one of his t-shirts and nothing else.

“T-shirt stealer,” he teases as he kneels up on the bed.

“You love it. Don’t deny it,” you answer, pulling the hem up your body until it lay just above your rib cage, the swell of your breasts just barely peeking out as you smile and spread your legs for him

“Fuck, baby,” he groans, “You just needed me to stretch that perfect little pussy out on my fingers? On my cock? Is that what you need?”

“Yes,” you breathe, canting your hips up until the thin threads of light pooling into the room catch the slick shine still clinging to your inner thighs. “Please, Frankie.”

The way you mewl and plead is almost pathetic, but you truly can’t bring yourself to care as you watch him strip his t-shirt off, eyes roving over his broad chest as he leans over you to help you do the same.

Your mouths collide, kisses bruising and desperate as his body sinks down to cover yours, your arms wrapping around his neck to pull his closer. A whine of protest quickly becomes a whimper when he pulls away to slide down your body, his beard tickling the curve of your shoulder before his lips wrap around your nipple, pebbling it under his tongue.

He works his way down, down, down, until he’s laying between your legs, mouthing at each hip bone as he ruts into the mattress.

“Can I?” he begs, breathless. He doesn’t have to say anything more for you to know what he wants. As you always do, you give your permission with a nod and a tilt of your hips.

Frankie wastes no time in burying his tongue between your folds, groaning deep as he presses his mouth against you like a man starved, lapping at you without a shred of shame.

You used to be embarrassed by his eagerness—used to throw your head back and cover your eyes, worries and insecurities overwhelming everything thought—but he broke you of that habit long ago as he learned and explored every part of you. Some days, it truly feels like he knows your body better than you do, because you swear it’s only been a moment when that familiar knot in your stomach begins to tighten, threatening to snap and tear you apart in the process. One arm moves to lay heavily over your hips, locking them into place as you buck and squirm.

“That’s it, cariño,” he murmurs when he can bear to pull himself away to breathe. “Cum for me.”

Just as soon as the words leave his lips, he’s wrapping them around your clit, suckling gently as you cry out. One swipe of his tongue over the sensitive bud is all it takes before you’re falling apart—heat rippling through your body until it all feels endless. Frankie works you through each aftershock of pleasure, murmuring muffled praises against you.

“Jesus, f-fuck,” you gasp, pushing weakly at his arm when even the gentle lathe of his tongue over your core is too much.

When you manage to lift you head, you find he isn’t looking at you like normal, but instead is staring down in reverence.

“It always gets so puffy after I eat you out,” he marvels quietly, making you choke on your breath when he presses a featherlight kiss to your clit before pushing himself up onto one elbow. He barely allows you to catch your breath, the pads of his fingers dragging slow, lazy circles around the bundle of nerves at the apex of your sex.

“Frankie,” you whine, grasping at his arm to try and pull him up to you. “Fuck me, please. I wanna feel you.”

Shaking his head, he ducks down for a moment to press a kiss to your knee.

“I want you to cum on my fingers first,” he instructs, his smile growing as you whine impatiently.

“Please?” you pout, trying to hook your other leg around his hips “¿Por favor, amor?”

“Mm-mm,” he shakes his head, catching onto the game you’re playing. It’s rare for him to deny you anything, especially when you start begging in Spanish. “I know what you need, cariño,” Frankie murmurs as he lays down by your hip, head propped up on one hand as he tucks your folded leg upward, trapping it between his body and your own. “Just lay there and take it.”

“‘s no fair,” you whimper, words choked off by a guttural moan as he slips a finger into you. Even after a year together, the stretch always shocks you—one of his fingers feels like almost two of your own—but he knows how to work you up so beautifully that within seconds, he’s already slipping another finger into you.

Your orgasm builds a little slower this time. With each little whine that escapes your lips, he doubles down on his efforts, his fingers curling expertly against that spot you can’t reach quite as easily on your own. Every moan that slips from your mouth, each clench of your walls around his fingers is met with quiet praise, a kiss dropped on your hipbone every so often until he finally sits up.

“You look so fucking beautiful, baby,” he groans as he seats himself between your legs, one hand caressing up and down your thigh as your hips buck.

This is how you die. His hand moves across your stomach, back and forth between your hipbones, but never where you want it.

“Frankie, please,” you whimper, your voice much smaller than you would normally allow it to be. “I-I-“

“You can say it,” he encourages, laying his palm down just above where you need him. “I know you can.”

Words are hard to find as he slips a third finger into you, the stretch tearing a sob from your throat.

“P-please, I need you to touch me more,” is all your pleasure-soaked mind comes up with, though it seems to be enough for Frankie as the heavy press of his thumb right against your clit pushes you ungracefully over the edge.

“That’s it, cariño. Such a good girl, cumming on my fingers,” he praises, watching the way your thighs tremble as each wave of pleasure crests bright and warm along your nerve endings. “Christ, I love the way you clench down on my fingers. Can barely fucking move them.”

Even as you tremble against each little aftershock, he keeps rolling his thumb over that little bud—never content to leave it alone until you start trying to pull back from the overstimulation.

Feeling limp and already exhausted, you lay a hand over your heaving chest to just watch him as he gets up off the bed, working his belt and jeans off in record time. His black boxer briefs are kicked somewhere to the side before he’s crawling onto the bed with you, cock bobbing between his legs—flushed and already leaking—as he sits back on his heels. With a wolffish grin, he pops his still-slick fingers into his mouth.

“It’s like you’re trying to kill me,” you laugh breathlessly as he hums in self-satisfaction, pulling his fingers from his mouth with a quiet pop.

“I suppose they call it a little death for a reason.”

Frankie groans quietly as he crawls up your body, planting his forearms on either side of your head as he comes to rest in the cradle of your hips. “I have to make up for how good you make me feel somehow,” he whispers, nudging your nose lightly with his own before pressing his lips to yours. The kiss is softer, sweeter than the rest, and you nearly melt under him until the moment he shifts his hips. The feeling of precum smearing on your skin has you chasing his movements, a frustrated whine tearing from the back of your throat. It honestly feels like you might cry as you arch and squirm, trying to make the thick head of his cock catch at your entrance.

“It’s okay. I’m always gonna give you what you need,” he rasps, stilling you with a hand on your waist before reaching down to take himself in hand. “Always.”

In one calculated movement, he slides forward, moving inch by inch as your cunt stretches to take him. It always feels like a dance, this part. A delicate game of stop and go as he watches you with care and you stare breathless up at him. He always stops before that final inch, ducking his head down to swallow each sweet sound that tears from your throat as he finally bottoms out.

“Oh, fuck,” he gasps, his forehead resting against yours. “This was all I was thinking about the whole damn time I was at Will’s place. Just wanted to be done with that stupid deck, finish my goddamn beer and come home to you,” he rambles as you take a minute to adjust. “Sink my cock into your perfect little pussy and listen to all the beautiful sounds you make.”

“Funny,” you laugh quietly as soon as you gain enough composure to think again, “this is all I was thinking about while I was waiting for you to come home.”

It’s true. This is the moment you always think about. That first slow rock of his hips, his cock hot and heavy inside you, the way it makes you gasp on each breath as he begins to quicken his pace. It isn’t long before your begging, hooking your legs around his waist to pull him deeper.

Each snap of his hips punches the air from your lungs, your body buzzing from the sheer way he overwhelms you.

“F-fra-ahh—“ you sob as he hits something devastating, the shock of it running white-hot up your spine as your core pulls tighter, tighter.

“I know, baby, I know,” he murmurs, driving deeper into you until he feels lost in the feeling, your cunt fluttering around his cock. “Fuck, I’m not gonna last long like this. I need you to cum, cariño. Cum all over my cock. Need to—shit—need to feel you.”

Before you can even react, he’s sitting up to pull your legs higher. He knows exactly what he’s doing when he angles his hips just so—knows exactly what will happen if he keeps pounding into that soft, spongy spot—and his gaze turns desperate as each thrust of his cock forces a sob from your lungs.

“I want you to soak me,” he begs, one hand on your cheek as tears begin to roll down your temples. “I know you can—I can feel it.”

You can too. There’s an overwhelming ache and pressure that builds in your core until you swear you can’t take any more—only able to moan incoherently as it borders on too much and not enough all at the same time. You shy away from this feeling every time, afraid to drown in it, but Frankie is always there to keep your head above water. He’s always there to work you through it, to soothe you when the pressure finally breaks you.

With a loud, pitiful sob, you gush around him—soaking his thighs and his stomach and the bed beneath you. He’s sitting up in a split second, leaning back as a hand splays wide over your hip to hold you down so he can roll your clit with the thumb of his other hand, watching the little rush of wetness that he forces out of you each time he sinks his cock back into your dripping cunt. You think he must be talking, but the sounds of your own whimpers ring too loud in your ears for you to register his praises.

By the time Frankie finally lowers himself back onto his forearms, you’re shaking under him, each gentle roll of his hips making you gasp for breath.

“Good girl. My good girl,” he whispers against your shoulder, caging your body with his own until all you see—all you feel—is his presence. Warm. Safe. Loved.

“You okay?” he asks.

“Mm-hm,” you nod, your hands wrapped around his arms a you try to pull him closer. “Cum for me, Frankie. Need to feel you.”

Lacing one hand with yours, the other moves to cradle your cheek as Frankie snaps his hips into you with renewed energy—the lewd wet slap of skin on skin filling the room as he steadily loses rhythm.

The noise that claws from his chest is ragged—broken and consumed—as he buries himself in you as deep as he can, his own end burning white hot in his belly. You feel each twitch of his cock as he fills you to the brim, some of it spilling over and dripping onto the damp sheets below you as he presses his lips to yours with a deep groan.

It’s a long while before either of you move, too content to lay there entwined—connected—until you’re forced to leave the bed. Frankie seems to recover first, pressing kisses to any patch of skin he can reach until you’re smiling and laughing quietly.

“I got groceries on my way back,” he murmurs as he props himself up on one arm again, the fingers of his other hand trailing up and down your side. “How about a quick snack and then you and I jump in the shower so we can get all clean before we get all dirty again.”

Your laugh is a breathy sound, still fucked-out and satisfied as you grin up at him.

“Sounds like the Saturday night of my dreams,” you sigh, moaning quietly as he gently slides out of you and stands beside the bed. Watching in content silence as he disappears to the bathroom for a washcloth, you’re unable to stop yourself from laughing at the little furrow in his brow when he returns to search beside the bed for a moment.

“What are you looking for?”

“Your vibrator. Could have sworn I—ah, here.” From somewhere within the folds of the duvet he’d tossed off the bed, he plucks up the little pink piece of silicone and walks over to your nightstand to find the charger. “What!” he laughs, spotting the incredulous look on your face. “We’ll have to strip the bed anyway. Might as well make it worth our while.”

He only laughs harder when you try to swat at his thigh, easily batting your hand away to gently swipe the warm washcloth through your folds.

It’s a slow maneuver, one done with precaution and preparation. In the dead of night is when he’s decided to strike, when it’s easiest to cover his movements. And while he did plan this, it wasn’t exactly a difficult endeavor for him. He’s performed much more strenuous tasks in the past. David was a calculated man, but there were certain things inside him, though, that made his resolve snap. There was something inside him just waiting to be released, waiting to be embraced, this beast residing mere inches beneath the surface of his skin. 

Something David never found inside his cunning mind during these missions was the consideration of his family. He never thought about his wife or kids when carrying out these acts, never wonders what their opinions would be. But on this particular assignment, he does think about someone. He thinks about you, his mind occupied only by your beautiful soul as it swirls around the anger consuming him. He will make you proud by doing this; he knows you’ll be happy, satisfied, even. 

Smiling to himself, he walks up to the house, taking a glance over his shoulder before walking up the side driveway. Making his way to the back of the property, he keeps his flashlight off, and his phone on silent. Every window is dark, and they should be; it’s well past three in the morning. 

Before going into the house to complete this process, he crouches down by a bush, taking out his phone to send you a text. 

Now turning it off, he shoves it into his front left pocket, returning to the task at hand. 

Dave had scouted this building for about a week before committing to any action. He knows the layout of the home, knows where each man’s room is and knows the schedules in which they work. They’re all here tonight, and not expected to be anywhere for at least two days. Every detail of this night has been planned down to the minute. This will be easy for him. 

You’re the softest, purest thing to have ever come into his life. Aside from his kids, you’re Dave’s entire world. If he wasn’t with you, he was with them. If he wasn’t with them, he was with you. Of course, they didn’t know that. Who would expect their dad to fall in love with the babysitter? 

He has to remind himself that he’s on a mission, shaking his head sharply as he returns himself to the present. But he almost can’t help it; thinking about you is a constant for him. 

Reaching into his pocket, he retrieves the lock pick he’d grabbed before setting out into the night. Using the small piece of metal, he inserts the hooked end, leading it forward to manipulate each of the pins inside the lock until it opens for him. Step one, done, and in record time, he might add. Once stepping into the home, he closes the door quietly behind him. He already knew there wouldn’t be a security alarm to worry about, making this all the more easy for him. 

There are only two levels to this house, all of the bedrooms being upstairs. Sliding his gun out of his holster and attaching the silencer, he decides the first man will have an easy death. Once everything is in place, he holds the gun with both hands, keeping it low as he begins his approach. And as he climbs the stairs, he thinks back to what this first man said. 

“Do you live around here?” He’d asked. “Let me take you home.”

This man had inquired about your personal information, and the knowledge of this sent David into a fit of rage. How dare he become curious of your whereabouts? How dare he wonder where to find you? Your kind, sweet voice, your angelic, pretty face, it was trusting - you are trusting. And easy to manipulate. Had David not been around to teach you better, you would’ve ended up giving this man your address and phone number. But Dave was around, he has been since the day you met. And he’s kept you safe. 

The first time the two of you met was a completely unexpected event. Carol had hired you to care for their two daughters without his knowledge, so when he came home, she had to introduce the two of you. 

“Hi Mr. York,” You smiled brightly at him, your beautiful expression taking him off guard. “It’s nice to meet you! You have a wonderful home.”

Extending your hand, you offered it to him, and after a moment of hesitation… he took it. You were warm and soft, friendly with a sweet voice. Immediately, he thought you’d be a good fit for the girls, they needed someone who could be patient and kind. 

“Thank you,” David’s rough voice sent a shockwave through you. He was handsome, sure, but something about the way he spoke to you truly moved you. Something about the way his bare skin felt on your hand…

The way you looked at him was as if he had hung the moon. You didn’t know it yet, but you were already expressing to him just how much you adored him. Carol had spoken about her husband for nearly an hour before he got home that night, and when you finally had the chance to meet him, you were thrilled. He sounded so loving and generous, towards both her and their children. Little did you know he would soon extend those traits to you. 

There were never any large cracks in the foundation of Dave and Carol’s marriage, just small ones here and there. Nothing too big, but at the same time, nothing too exciting, either. There was never any passion, never any genuine love or desire. But with you, all of that came to the surface. David claims that the first time he saw you was the first time he truly fell in love. And that melted you. 

That same night Carol was heading out to her book club, the girls at their grandparents’ for the weekend. So, before you left for the night, he found you, immediately pulling you into his bedroom. He laid you down on the mattress, the very same one he shared with Carol, so that he could touch you. And you let him, willingly and excitedly, you let him. He explored your body to the fullest extent, mouthing at your curves, licking and biting you. He’d made you cum with his fingers and mouth, taking you on his cock shortly thereafter. The passion between the two of you burned bright. After that night, he formed an attachment to you that couldn’t be broken. You were his, you’d always be his. 

“D - David,”

“Sh…” Came his immediate response, shushing you with his voice before returning his mouth to you. 

There was no need for either of you to be quiet during that moment, no one else was home. But he wanted to silence you anyway; he liked telling you what to do. And you liked being compliant for him. 

Dave remembers the first time he entered your home, a place this man apparently wanted to visit. It was the second time he’d claimed you, taking you for himself as many times as his body could handle and sleeping beside you in your bed after exhausting himself. It was the first time you were allowed to be as vocal as you wanted, the first time you didn’t have to hide your passion. And he reveled in it.

“Take me,” He grunted into your ear, kissing the back of your neck. “Take all of me. Yeah…”

“Ngh!” Fisting the sheets, your jaw dropped open, letting him shove the side of your face down into your bed. 

He put you on your stomach, making you cross your ankles so it made you even tighter when he slid inside. With a fist in your hair he maneuvered you however he liked, yanking your head back at times so he could suck on your throat. His pelvis repeatedly smacked against your ass, pistoning himself down into your center. 

“You’re so fucking warm,”

“David,” He grins when he feels you writhe beneath his weight. “Please.”

“I know, baby.” Dave huffs out above you; he feels like he already knows you. “You like it, don’t you?”

“Yes!”

David felt amazing inside you, thick and hot and heavy. He was so much bigger than you and even though you’d just met, it was like he already knew you; knew what you liked, knew how to take care of you. 

“Sh…” Instantly, he returned. Leaning down, he mouthed at your neck, kissing you gently while he fucked into you without abandon. “I know, I know…”  

He caressed your hair, brushed his hand over your head. When his palms found your hips he’d rest his forehead on the back of your neck, grinding his hips into you. 

“Oh,” He moaned, hot breaths warming you. “You’re a good girl, aren’t you?” 

Dave was sweet with you, he loved you. Would this man have said those things to you? Would he have been that sweet with you?

A whirlwind of fury washes through him all over again, imagining this man having the nerve to praise you. With this, he’s shaken back into the darkness of his mind, the place you do not inhabit. 

Reaching the top of the stairs, he approaches the first bedroom, twisting the knob and entering quietly. Leaving the door cracked allows him to see the layout of the room, not that he didn’t already know. The bed is in the far left corner, a desk straight ahead. Directly to his left is a dresser, to his right, a closet door. The face of this man is visible as he sleeps soundly beneath his sheets, but David kicking the closest of the four legs wakes him easily. 

“Fuck!” Jolting up, he’s already panting. “Who, who the fuck are you?!”

“Be quiet.” David seethes, already pointing the gun at his shirtless frame. 

Walking forward, his steps slow and calculated, he keeps the barrel trained on the young man’s head. Pathetically, tears well in his eyes, widening slightly as the drops begin to fall. His lower lip quivers slightly, his chest constricting as he holds his breath. 

“Please, I, I… what do you want?” Looking side to side, he searches for something to barter with. “You can have whatever you want.” 

David scoffs, leaning down beside his bed. “I don’t want your material possessions.” 

Gulping, the young adult holds David’s gaze, his eyes darker than night and colder than a winter’s wind. Revealing his intense focus is the smallest crinkle in his forehead, the tight line of his lips firm as his expression remains grim. 

“Why did you want to know?”

“K-Know?” He stutters out in response. “Know what?”

David bares his teeth briefly in anger; he must know what he’s talking about, who he’s talking about. The man flinches as Dave darts forward, now barely an inch away from his face. “Did you want to follow her home?”

Searching his mind, the young man comes across the vision of you; beautiful, graceful, gentle, you. Who else could he possibly be talking about? You’re the only woman he spoke to since coming to this school. 

And he did. He did want to follow you home.

“I… liked her.”

“That’s not what I asked you.” David growls, shoving the barrel of the silencer to the temple of the man’s head. He doesn’t move his face away, either, allowing him to see every bead of sweat dripping down the side of this kid’s head. “You were going to follow her, weren’t you?”

“I, I didn’t,” Closing his eyes, this stranger takes a small gulp, a steadying breath. “I wasn’t really going to.”

Reaching forward to snatch the man’s throat into his predatory grasp, David seethes, “You won’t ever see her home.” His eyes instantly widen, both hands flying up to grasp David’s forearm as he keeps a tight grip on his throat. Body struggling slightly on the bed, Dave ignores this, continuing on instead. “You won’t ever see her again.”

Immediately afterward, the trigger is pulled, the silencer protecting the secret of David invading this home. And that build-up of rage, that intense growth of wrath unraveling inside his chest, a piece of it fizzles away. Now that this is done, a small bout of happiness develops inside him. He pictures your angelic face, the beautiful curves that grace your body. He’ll touch you when he’s done here tonight, claim you for himself all over again. He’ll claim you. You.

He needs to avenge you.

That uplifting cloud of delight perishes, falling back into the raging storm clouds swirling inside his mind. Within seconds, his thoughts return to the task at hand, only partly finished. 

Standing, he sighs, inhaling a deep breath as he looks down at this man’s body, now laying lifeless in his bed. It’s better this way. He won’t be able to turn anyone ever again. With a breath of determination, he turns, leaving the room and closing the door, paying mind to wind down both sides of the handle, too.

The second man, the one he’s intent on finding now, targeted your appearance. According to your account, he’d been eyeing you for most of the night. You felt safe enough to down a few drinks that night, feeling comfortable with the bar you’d picked out this time. But you shouldn’t have been so trusting. David always told you to keep your guard up, especially around men. 

“You have such a nice body.”

And honestly, he was right. You do. You have the sexiest frame Dave has ever seen. The way you’re built absolutely mesmerizes him. From the first time he laid his eyes on you, he knew he had to have you. 

Before taking you in his bedroom, David had played with you. He explored every inch of your body with his fingers, hands, and mouth. He’d kissed you thoroughly, even marked you, sucking on your neck and chest, your stomach and hips, until he finally reached the delicate space of your sex. 

“Y-Yes,” Shakily, you answered him.

“Yeah?” He returned, grinning. 

“Yes.” With quick nods, you repeated yourself, feeling his pointer finger slide into your warmth. 

Pumping them steadily, he brought his mouth back up to you. His lips danced across your own, claiming you in the gentlest ways he could. Sliding his tongue inside, he caressed your own with it, allowing you to taste him, his spit. 

"Yeah... you like this, baby. I can see it all over your face."

“You know I do.” Passionately, your hands found either side of his head, bringing him back to your mouth while your hips chased his finger’s movements. 

Being careful not to hurt you, a second finger joined his first after you’d lubricated his pointer digit enough. But when you did stretch for him, it made him so feral that he bit into your lip. David had a gentle side, sure, but he was looking forward to when he could show you his more voracious side. 

“Can I taste you?” He whispered breathily, his voice low and tantalizing. While looking into your eyes he removed his fingers, lifting them to his mouth and laying them out over his tongue. It made you gasp, but his expression remained unchanged, aside from his eyes shutting slowly while he released a deep moan. 

“I know you want to.” Nodding, you licked your lower lip. 

Immediately, he tilted his head downward, shuffling his body over your own. “I know you want me to.”

After sliding down your body he parted your naked thighs, sighing when you lifted them onto his shoulders. Broad and muscular, they made you wet just from coming in contact, David’s mouth quick to clean your mess. He remembers it like it was yesterday, the taste of you hitting his tongue for the first time in his life. It was incredible to him, an entirely new experience for him. Your gentle moans, your pretty face contorting in bliss, your soft thighs, gorgeous fucking thighs on either side of his head… 

“David,” Fingers running through his thick locks, you threw your head back into the bed. Little did you know, the sheets you were writhing on, the pillows you were cuddling into, were all of Carol’s side of the bed. 

In one motion his tongue made a quick, firm swipe up your center, sliding through your lips and up to your clit. He let you bring your feet up, placing the soles of them on the sheets of his and Carol’s marital bed. Your thighs closed around his head, thick fingers digging into your soft flesh. 

You were tangy and sweet, your skin delicate and supple. The way you squirmed in his arms made him mad, made his mind spin and his insides twist. You shoved your hips up against his face, welcoming the repeated dive of his tongue as it explored your inner warmth. He mouthed at you, sucking on your pink lips and licking you raw, fucking you with his mouth until you were overstimulated and sensitive.

“David, David, David!” 

And he’d moan your name, too, returning your beautiful cries with his intense grunts, the syllables of your name falling freely from his lips. He’d repeat it like a prayer that would save his life, a mantra that would change his ways, a song that would forever lace every syllable to cross his mind. 

But nothing could change this part of him. He was too far gone, too deep into his love for this. It was thrilling, something that gave his life meaning before you did. Doing things like this, operating like this, made him the one in control. This way of life made him the dictator he always wanted to be. 

He almost doesn’t know how he made it to this man’s room; he must have been too busy thinking about you. Because all at once, he’s here, hand on the doorknob with his gun in its holster. This man won’t have such an easy death.

The second room he enters is similar to the first in both shape and size, the set up different in only one way, that being the bed is center-stage. It’s resting against the back wall and is directly ahead of the door. He also notices that the window is open, so the first thing he does is march across the room to shut up. He’s not as quiet this time around, knowing he doesn’t have any many men left. 

After locking the window and wiping it down, he walks over to the side of this man’s bed. He’s quite the sound sleeper, his eyes still shut completely. He hasn’t moved a muscle since David’s entry. For a moment he watches him sleep, smiling. 

“Uh-ugh,” Fingers grasping for David’s thick hand, the man opens his eyes to see his attacker smiling. 

Sneering, David leans over the man’s body to press both broad hands around his throat. Confused and terrified, the man thrashes around on the bed, wide eyes staring up at David. But to stop him from making such movement and noise, Dave releases his hold on the man’s throat, clenching a fist and punching him square in the face. And the painful cry he releases is muffled by the return of David’s hands. 

“That woman?” David finally asks, his whisper low and gritty. He’s grinding his teeth, jaw flexing as he steadies himself above this man. He can see the uncertainty and fear lacing his eyes. “The one with the beautiful body?” 

Twisting his face slightly, the man answers with a hesitant and airy, “I… remember her.” 

“You fucking better.” David snaps, tightening his fingers. “That’s my girl,” And then he laughs a growling chuckle. “And you frightened her.” 

Desperately clawing at David’s fingers, this younger man tries to speak, tries to defend himself. “I’m, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, I never…” He’s choking, gasping beneath the pressure. “I never meant to, man. And I didn’t know she had a boyfriend, and -”

“I don’t care, I don’t fucking care.” David shakes his head, now pressing his entire body weight over his hands. “That’s mine.” 

Applying more and more force, Dave sucks in a deep breath, steadying his lungs as he finishes this second job. Instead of waiting for this man to suffocate to death, he crushes the hyoid bone beneath his hands, the snap an incredibly prominent sensation against his skin. This effectively kills the man, wiping away another crumb on Dave’s plate. He forces out a choking breath at the realization, a wide smile covering his open-mouth. Removing his hands with a heavy sigh, he stands to his full height. While staring down at the man, he reaches into his back pocket, pulling out a small pack of wet wipes. Using it briefly on his hands, he then leans down, wiping off the skin on the dead man’s neck. And when he’s done, he puts it back into his pocket, turning around to leave the room, and continue on. He doesn’t stay and stare, doesn’t sit in this sensation of satisfying pride. He won’t allow himself rest or true happiness until this is done. 

The last man, the one bold enough to be crude with you, will be the most fun for him. His door is at the very end of the hall, this door with a lock on it. This makes him think… is he hiding? Though, he was aware of this little detail, of course, easily whipping out the lock pick once again. 

This time, when he finally enters this room, the man will likely be awake and expecting him. Picking the lock was a quiet maneuver, but any normal person would surely be woken by the combination of this and the doorknob turning. David was trained in stealth and secrecy, but sometimes, not even he could complete a plan perfectly. 

As the last lock is manipulated, he reaches back with his free hand, grabbing the knife he has hooked along his belt. This will be a struggle, but one he plans to win. And to keep this goal in mind, to keep the reason behind all of this carnage in his head, he reminds himself of what this last man said…

“I bet I could just bend you over,” Chuckling, he walked over to you, smiling when you avoided his gaze. “And you wouldn’t even tell me to stop.” 

“Please! Please,” 

“Fuck.”

“D-Don’t, don’t stop!” 

The first time he ever visited your home was an amazing night for you both. From the second you stepped past the threshold, you fell into each other’s arms. Fervent kisses and roaming hands, hurried breaths and tangled limbs. 

“David, harder… please.”

Taking you from behind was by far his favorite position with you. Your ass is an incredibly beautiful thing, gorgeous curves and soft skin he could bite and grab. He’d grip the fat of your ass, baring his teeth while pounding into you. Your headboard thwacked against the wall repeatedly, the sound booming throughout your room. It was only the second time he’d taken you but Jesus Christ, was it an entirely different experience than the first. It was different because you were in a new place, a place where no one knew David’s name. A place where you could be passionate, a place where you could be as vocal as you wanted to be.

Fisting your hair once again he yanks your head back, bending down over your supple body while whispering, “Say my name.” Licking a single stripe up the cuff of your ear, he then demanded, “Cry out for me.”

“Oh my god, yes!” After that he dropped your head, delivering a harsh smack on your upper and outer thigh. “David!”

“Are you going to let anyone else touch you?” He asked through thick and hurried breaths. “Will you let anyone put a hand on you while you’re mine?”

“No,” Gulping, you shook your head, burying it into your own pillows at the top of your bed. “No, daddy. No, of course not.” 

That little word, those two syllables, they made his entire body quiver with dominance and desire. You knew he owned you, in every sense of the goddamn word, you were his. And he belonged to you, too. The connection you felt was unlike anything else in this life. And still, he needs to hear it come from your lips. 

“Say it.” It was immediate, this demand. “Say I belong to you, David.” 

“I belong to you, David.” Crumbling to your forearms, you released a wanton breath, a shrill and feminine cry. But he didn’t stop, he never did when he got like this. “I belong to you.”

Such a precious and willing thing, you were. And all for him. You’re such a special treat, like a present for him to unwrap every day. For each time he saw your smiling face, it seemed to wash all his deadly sins away. 

“That’s so good, baby.” Breathlessly, he leaned down, kissing your back obsessively. “That’s so good, so good for me.” 

You felt weightless beneath him, like a fragile thing he could break merely with a harsh breath. But still, he held you in the palm of his hand, bending you just to the brink of breaking, only to bring you back again. You were his to toy with, his to explore, his to have and to hold till death do you part. Love, that’s what overcame him when he was with you.

He’s hard just thinking about you, about the wonderful sounds you make. And to think a man would expect you to be silent for him, to just let them do whatever they want to you… that’s not their place. You are for him. 

With the knife held tightly in his hand, the lock clicking open before him, he turns the knob and kicks the door open. Standing to his full height, he stays at the doorway, letting his eyes adjust. The hallway light shines into the pitch-black room, the figure sitting up on the bed now easy to see. 

Standing quickly, he turns to his side, scrambling for something on his nightstand. Likely a gun, Dave thinks. Great, he brought a knife to a gun fight. But honestly, it doesn’t really matter; he knows he still has the upper hand. All he needs to do is make sure the gun doesn’t go off, he doesn’t want anyone else to know what’s going on in this house tonight. 

Taking a swift step forward, Dave reaches out, catching the kid off guard. With the back of his hand he knocks the gun out of the younger man’s fingers, delivering a quick blow to his face shortly afterwards. Staggering back, the man tries to gain his bearings, now leaping at Dave. But he’s quicker, blocking his attack. Grabbing the fist that was thrown at him, David flings it to the side, swiping his leg to kick the man’s feet out from under him. A loud thud smacks against the floor as he lands, David now towering above him. In the blink of an eye, Dave’s shoe is on the kid’s neck, applying pressure while speaking your name into existence only once.

“What?” The man is choking slightly, huffing out barely-there breaths while reaching up to hold onto David’s calf. 

Leaving down slightly, he applies more pressure onto the man’s neck, uttering your name once again.

“What… what about her?” 

Bending down, Dave lifts the knife to his face, turning his head to look at it. Shiny glimmers of light dance on its edges, the moonlight allowing it to shine bright. The blinds are open only partly, allowing the weapon to appear beautifully. 

“She likes this knife.” Dave finally says. “Has seen me do a lot with it.”

The man continues to struggle beneath his shoe, body squirming on the floor as he tries to hoist himself up. With every ounce of effort in his body, he tries to knock Dave’s balance off, trying to push him aside so he can take a chance and run. But it doesn’t do anything. Dave doesn’t budge, doesn’t move a single muscle. 

Sighing, David shakes his head, still admiring the sharp metal’s beauty. And then, while keeping his voice low, he speaks, almost as if he’s talking to himself. “Cutting off her clothes, sliding it across her body…” Releasing another breath, he smiles a bit wider as thoughts of you float through his head. “She’ll be so thrilled to know I used it on you.” 

“That fucking b-bitch.”

“What the fuck did you say?” Dave hisses in response, the look of the devil leaking into his face. His head turns sharply once this man’s words pierce the air, his fingers tightening on the handle of the knife. 

“I didn’t do a-anything to her. She fucking, got fucking scared off.” 

“What a waste of fucking space.” Glaring at the man beneath his shoe, David thinks the positioning is fitting. 

He wonders what you’ll want to do after he tells you about tonight. Will you lick the knife? He’ll have to clean it, of course, but after that, he’d be more than willing to use it on you. You loved knife play, loved the excitement and rush of it. You were always such a perfect pet, you knew he’d never harm you. 

Inside his own head, he imagines you on your knees for him, sticking out your tongue so he can run the flat edge of the knife across it. He’d look down, smiling at you, his fingers wrapped loosely around your throat. Jesus, you were perfect for him, in every sense of the word; you were fucking made for him.

Interrupting his happy thoughts are multiple surges of pain as they fill his guts, adrenaline spiking through his veins and shocking his brain. He can’t help the turmoil ruling his mind, the unrelenting anger he feels toward these men. How could they do this to you? How could they scare you? Harm you? But more importantly, how could David do this to you? He let you be affected by these men. He let this happen.

Never again.

Without allowing himself nor this man to say another word, he takes the knife, eyes raking across his naked chest as he analyzes the best placement for it. Pointing the tip of the knife over the left side of the man’s chest, David lifts his head to meet his gaze once again.

Slowly, he digs the knife in, watching the man beneath his shoe attempt to scream from the pain. The pressure he applies to his windpipe is far too much for him to even breathe, let alone squeal. This is perfect for him, perfect planning, perfect positioning. Keeping him pinned to the floor, David stares into the man’s eyes, deadly black orbs unwavering in their gaze. He’s focused, zeroing in on his pupils as the life starts to drain slowly from his eyes. The further the knife goes in, the quicker that light seems to go out. Kicking and scratching and now even punching at David’s leg, this man does everything he can to fight. He’s gritting his teeth beneath the pressure of David’s shoe, his free hand plummeting down to his nose to knock a little more consciousness from him. 

But satisfaction can only be drawn out for so long. When the knife punctures his heart, it’s done, it’s over. He writhes no more, his body falling limp beneath the pressure of it all. Blood streaming from the wound pours from his chest and over his sides, pooling on the floor beneath him. It stains David’s shoe, running through the lines in the sole’s pattern as well as the cracks along the floor. 

Standing, David yanks the dagger out of his chest. Once back in his pocket, he retrieves the pack of wet wipes once again, running a piece of the damp cloths along his hand. While looking down on the desecrated body of this man, he thinks about his friends and where they’re lying, too. And he thinks justice has been served. The fury, the utter wrath inside of him has been tamed; for now. 

Leaving the home just as he came in, David strolls down the street, never to be seen again by those three men. And with his hood up in the darkness, he smiles, knowing they can never hurt you again. 

The truth of the matter is those men never even touched you. The words they said to you were just that, words. They never got your number, they never followed you home, never forced themselves onto you or hurt you. They went to the same school as you, and last weekend, found themselves at the same bar as you. The only thing they did wrong, was they got too close, too interested, too curious about what is his. His to protect, his to love, his to touch and just be with. Truly, when he heard about what these men had said, he couldn’t help himself; it was endless, his mind torturing him with those thoughts… thoughts of what could have been.

Pulling out his phone and turning it on, he’s met with multiple texts and missed calls from you.

Smiling down at your worried tone, he picks up his phone, dialing your number and holding it to his ear. Gently, raindrops begin to fall around him, tenderly tapping his shoulders and the top of his head. While listening to the dial on the phone, he lift his hood, covering himself with it. 

“David?”

“Hi, angel.”

“Baby, oh my gosh, where have you been?”

“Calm down, sweetheart. It’s okay; I’m okay.” 

“Where are you?”

“Don’t worry about that.” Looking up as he strides down the sidewalk, his grin is immovable from those plush and talented lips. “I’ll be home soon.” 

“Baby,”

“Yeah, honey?”

“I love you,” He can tell how worried you are on the other end of the line. 

During your time together, you’d stumbled upon his hidden life, the world where he became a different man. Had Carol done it, he might’ve finally divorced her, put her in witness protection. But with you? Well, this just made him feel even closer to you. Especially when you didn’t run. You weren’t scared by this side of him. No, you liked it. 

“I love you, angel.” Before you have the chance to say anything else, he adds, “I fixed something for you.” 

“What do you mean?” Raising a brow, you continue. “David, what did you do?” 

“Remember those guys at the bar? The ones you told me about the other day?”

“Yeah…”

“You won’t have to worry about them anymore, sweetie.”

“Really?”

You’re married.

I trusted you.

I fell in love with you.

The words echo through Dave’s mind, bouncing off the corners of his brain like ricocheting bullets. It wasn’t supposed to be like this.

He hadn’t lied — not technically. He and Carol were separated, had been for some time now. The night he met you had been the tail-end of trying to make it work, feeling more like a victim than he ever thought he’d allow himself, drowning himself in a glass of whiskey when you’d sidled up, gave him that kilowatt smile that made him think, oh, there she is. 

You were the one to take him home that night.

Carol was vicious. He hadn’t cheated, not while they were still living together, trying to keep civil for the kids, but she had. Somehow, that made him the villain, and she turned on him. Where are you going? Who are you seeing? When will you be home? The litany was endless, like he was an untrustworthy teenager once more, not a grown man who had done nothing but provide for her since the day they’d met.

It was the day after his night with you that he called his lawyer, asked her to file the appropriate paperwork. It would take time, he knew. He had to cross all the t’s and dot all the i’s and do this right. Give himself the fresh start he could see so plainly that he needed. He would still be there for his girls, there was no denying that. He knew Carol would try and take them from him, but that was a battle he was willing to face.

And somehow, the thought of being able to come home to you in the aftermath made him feel that much more brave.

He moved out a few days after she was served the papers. The girls were upset, but their eyes brightened when he told them his new place in the city had a pool and that he’d take them for ice cream when they came to stay with him. It felt like a farce, a sham of an apology for ripping their lives apart, but Dave knew he had to do this. He couldn’t stay with her.

In light of the separation, he attached himself to you.

Dave nearly drowned himself in you. He flew you everywhere to be with him, took you to all the fancy restaurants Carol had turned up her nose at. The tennis bracelet was the first of many gifts he gave; diamond earrings to match, purses from your favourite designers, shopping trips to your favoured boutiques.

There was another gift, too. One he’d been planning to give to you in London. One that had his heart racing in his chest at the mere thought.

A key to his apartment.

In fact, the box is still sitting in his briefcase, tied with a red bow. Pressed against his finalized divorce papers.

You’re married.

Not anymore.

I trusted you.

The ring doesn’t make sense. He never would have brought it with him. He hasn’t worn it for months, had actually given it back to Carol the last time he’d been at the house. So, how did it end up on the bathroom floor?

I fell in love with you.

He wasn’t lying. He fell in love with you too.

Anger rising in his chest, Dave stalks towards the bathroom. He has to make sense of it.

The bathroom looks the same as he’d left it in the morning, reluctantly showering the scent of your night together off his body. It’s the same, his toiletry bag on the counter, his toothbrush balanced on the edge of the sink. One of his shirts sits crumpled on the floor in the corner, a new addition, but you must have put it there.

Then he sees it.

A piece of white paper, folded in half, the corner poking out of the top of his toiletry bag. He’d been in a bit of a rush this morning, shaving quickly before stepping into the shower, letting the water run while he ran the razor over his skin. He’d fished it out haphazardly, forcing himself to stay in front of the mirror, resisting every urge to just say fuck it and crawl back into the king-sized bed with you.

It must have fallen out when he’d pulled out his aftershave. The water had been loud, the overhead fan even more so, he hadn’t heard the metallic clink of metal hitting tile.

Dave pulls out the paper, unfolding it, eyes scanning the words scrawled across.

I don’t want this back. Enjoy your new life. — C

He crumples the note in his fist. Of course. Of fucking course she would. Carol must have stashed it in his bag the last time he’d gone to the house, having spent the night with the girls so she could go out with friends. That was when he gave the ring back. They’d slept in separate rooms, and he’d left early in the morning, pointedly avoiding her.

He throws the note in the trash, pushes a hand through his hair. He has to fix this. With you.

The next day, after he’s finished what he came to London to do, checked out of the hotel and sent his bags to the airport, he takes a walk. Dave makes his way to the river, throws the ring into the water. He doesn’t watch to see where it lands, if it makes a splash. He’s already turned around, walking back to the hotel, asking them to call for a car to take him to the airport.

It’s early afternoon by the time he lands. His suitcase is sent back to his place, and he takes a cab to your apartment. When things had first become more solid with you, he’d asked you to share your location with him on your phone. He could easily have it tracked if he wanted, but he wanted you to give it willingly. Just in case. Call it paranoia, but he knew there was a certain amount of danger that came with his job, and he wanted to do his best to shield you from it.

As soon as he lands, he checks it, and he’s relieved to see you haven’t turned it off. It’s an olive branch, almost. Or, you haven’t realized it’s still on. He’ll take what he can get.

He gets lucky, walking into your building just as someone is coming out, and they hold the door open for him, so he doesn’t have to ring the buzzer. He’s not quite sure if you’d let him in.

The whole elevator ride has him antsy, double checking that the papers are still in his briefcase, reaching into his pocket to make sure your bracelet is still there. Thankfully there’s no stop between the lobby and your floor, and Dave strides out the doors as they open with purpose.

He has to fix this.

He can hear you moving around inside when he first knocks on the door, and his impatience gets the better of him, making him knock again. He hears your quiet I’m coming! and the door swings inward a moment later.

You’re definitely not expecting to see him. He can’t blame you. You look like hell, your hair piled on your head, still dressed in the same clothes you’d pulled back on in your harried decision to leave yesterday. Your eyes are bloodshot, sporting bags dark enough that he’s almost worried you’ve hurt yourself. “Dave.” It’s not a question.

He pushes his way past you, heading straight for your kitchen table, setting his briefcase on top. He hears you shut the door, feels you follow him, stand behind him, but you don’t say a word.

“I wasn’t lying to you,” he says, flicking open the briefcase, letting it fall open. “When we first met, I told you I was separated, that I was planning to divorce her.. I never said we were officially divorced.”

When he looks at you, you roll your eyes, crossing your arms over your chest. “Are you honestly trying to fix this on a technicality?”

“I haven’t worn this ring in over a year. The last time I wore it was at least four months before you and I even met. The day after I met you, I filed for divorce, officially.”

You swallow so hard your throat bobs; he can see it.

“She put it in my bag. I didn’t know. I gave it back to her, and instead of just handing it back like a normal person, she stashed it in my bag with some stupid note. I didn’t know it was in there.” He flips through the briefcase, pulls out the folder and drops it on the table. “The divorce was finalized on Friday. I wanted to tell you in London. I had this big plan, take you to dinner, tell you it was done, so we could talk about what happens next, for us.”

You blink up at him, your eyes shiny. “And then I walked out.”

Dave nods, leaning back against the table. “And then you walked out. With every right to, if I’m honest. I don’t blame you for thinking what you did, honey. I just wish you’d have given me a moment to explain, to think it through. I never meant for any of it to happen the way that it did.”

“You’re divorced,” you say, the words sounding foreign. He hasn’t even said it out loud yet. He’s divorced. “Officially.” You step closer, leaning over to inspect the papers, your eyes glancing over the page. “Completely.”

“Completely,” he agrees, and reaches out, running the backs of two fingers up your arm. “I’d never lie to you, honey. I hope you know that.”

You breathe out a sigh. “I do, I just…” You shake your head, toying with your bare wrist. He has to fix that too. “I saw the ring and I just lost it.”

“I know,” he says softly, and leans over, pressing a soft kiss to the top of your shoulder. You let him. “I should have told you sooner. I should have told you what was going on.” He watches your teeth sink into your bottom lip. “Baby, please, tell me you forgive me.”

You toy with your wrist again, fingers wrapping around your bare skin. You step a little closer, until your leg slides between his, until he can feel your breath on his neck. “You’re the one that needs to forgive me,” you say, your voice low, “for screaming at you like that, for throwing things. My brace—”

He doesn’t let you finish, pulling the thing out of his pocket, holding it between you.

“This?” he asks, a little grin tugging at his lips. “I hoped you would want it back.”

You hold out your hand, and he manoeuvres the bracelet back onto your wrist. Then he slides both hands up your arms, cupping your elbows, pulling you closer. He feels your fingers on his jaw a moment later, holding him in your hands, leaning in slow.

He meets you halfway, mouth claiming yours in such a way that you gasp, your body melting into his. Wrapping his arms around you, Dave pulls you close to his chest, tipping your upper half sideways so he can kiss you deeper. Your nails scratch at his cheeks, legs moving until you’re basically perched in his lap.

Then you pull back. “I forgive you,” you rasp out, nudging his nose with yours. “Do you forgive me?”

“I forgive you,” he echoes, and kisses you again.

On a sunny afternoon on Naboo, the wind blows gently and coolly for the group sprawled out on the grass, enjoying the sunshine. The four are a close-knitted bunch, some by blood, spending time together on a picnic. One which you are more than delighted to enjoy.

This time of year is always special as it brings life to so many things; the people, the earth, and harmony itself. There’s a sweet-tasting promise of a delightful time that is soon to come with the start of a lustrous spring.

Each springtime is spent in the lake district where you and your family currently relax on the nearby hills. Your cousin, Padmé, is a much-beloved lady not only in these parts but in each province that she visits. Her handmaiden, Sabé, is a devoted and cherished member of the family, though not related by birth. And your uncle, Ruwee Naberrie, is a respected man who has the sincerity of the Republic brigade.

But it is known by many that the wind can bring distasteful company and that of which is found out through a letter whom the messenger of Naboo runs into the hillside to tell, exasperated and quite spritely, too.

“I have a letter stating that Qui-Gon Jinn comes to Naboo this evening,” he says, eliciting happy responses from those serene on the grass.

Truthfully, this is a merry privilege to hear—especially with the ongoing war, which means he is seeking rest within the district—but with him come many others. His squadron, most definitely, and if odds were fortunate on their end, a certain officer is amongst them.

“What pleasant news,” Ruwee smiles, patting the messenger on his shoulder. “That he chooses our district in favor of others.”

The messenger nods, seemingly still catching his breath.

“He is very near. By the time I received the letter, he had arrived by port.”

Leave it to on-foot couriers to delay the arrival of messages. The war surely has an impact on that as well.

“How many men arrive with him?” Ruwee asks.

“All of his battalion.”

“That is good news. He is a very impressive Jedi Master to bring back the full of his soldiers.”

The whole of his battalion can only mean that you’ll be seeing the face of a man who, since you were a teenager, have sworn to loathe with every fiber of your being. He, in turn, has sworn just the same, which doesn’t thrill you in the slightest to meet with him.

Ruwee is clearly more content than you, speaking to the messenger with many intent questions.

“I hear that Qui-Gon Jinn has much favor toward a young Anakin Skywalker?”

“Yes, he has fought with bravery and endurance for his part.”

“I ask,” you pipe up, waving a finger for attention, “is the Grand Negotiator with the fleet?”

The messenger looks confused, furrowing his eyebrows. “I don’t know of anyone by that title.”

“My cousin means Jedi Obi-Wan Kenobi,” says Padmé, smiling with a shake of her head.

“Ah,” he chuckles. “Yes, he is with them and as pleasant as he ever was.”

“Pleasant, no,” you shake your head. “Though, he may say otherwise.”

Ruwee scoffs, wagging a finger at you in that humorous but protesting way all parents do.

“By faith, niece,” he says, “you mock Kenobi too much. Please, try to be civil when he arrives.”

“I’m not sure I can be amongst such a company, uncle.”

He sighs once more, rolling his eyes up at the sky. Most likely praying that you’ll end the torture for him alone since he’s been an audience to many sarcastic remarks over the years.

“Kenobi has done good service in this war, lady,” the messenger speaks, somewhat with a protruding chest.

A smile you show him, nodding in a way to tell him that you know of such service. There have been many reports of his legendary swordsmanship and force-sensitive power, bewitching the Grand Army of the Republic to promote his status onto the Jedi High Council.

The letter he had written to your uncle to tell of the news was very flamboyant and boastful. When word had reached you, now a few years ago, you had rolled your eyes.

“Yes,” you say. “It seems he has the stomach for it.”

“And a good soldier too, lady.”

“And a good soldier to a lady,” you grin, especially at the hand Padmé slaps against your arm. “But what is he to a master?”

“A general to a master,” he says, waving his hand in an elaborative gesture. “But he is a man of honorable virtues.”

“More so an honorable vexing.”

“Do not mistake my niece,” Ruwee intervenes. “There is a merry war between her and Kenobi. It’s been that way since they were children.”

“And still his taunts are childlike,” you say. “I hope he is not the same in the war.”

With a nudge to your shoulder from Padmé, you beam with delight at her chuckles along with Sabé who passes you a grape from the food laid out on the picnic cloth in an effort to stop your talking.

Before you take a bite, you point over at the messenger as if a new idea has sprung to mind.

“Who is his padawan now? He has a new sworn brother every month.”

“I see, lady, that the gentleman is not to your liking,” speaks the messenger.

“No, and he never will be. Yet, he has a way with the soldiers that they seem to adore him. So, which young man will follow with him to the Separatists?”

“He is most in the company of the young Skywalker.”

Though you had asked, the answer does not come as a surprise to you. He and Kenobi have been like brothers since they first met. It’s endearing, though you’d never say it aloud.

“Perhaps he has a favorite,” you grin. “It seems you cannot have one without the other; Kenobi and Skywalker. Pray his wits still be with him by his lengthy companionship.”

The messenger smiles. “I will stay friends with you, lady.”

“Oh, do,” you nod, throwing the grape in your hand to him, which he catches.

“Look!” Shouts Sabé, pointing off the hillside to where troop soldiers are walking toward the sanctuary. “Qui-Gon Jinn and his men!”

“We must go and greet them,” Ruwee says, gesturing for the picnic to be packed up.

You grin shortly at what you can see of Jinn’s troop, wondering if perhaps even at this distance you can make out who of them is Kenobi. Whichever man aggravates you to look at, that will be him.

“Come now,” Padmé grabs your arm. “I am sure he’s missed you.”

“As much as I have missed the target to aim my blows at,”

With another chuckle, Padmé tugs you along with her after packing the food back into the picnic basket. She runs with you down the hill, all the while laughing like the two of you are frolicking younglings. Sabé is close behind with your uncle, having sent the messenger off.

The château is quite large, extending around the hills, surrounded by grass and lake water. It’s the perfect hideaway when one needs rest, though you know not much resting will be done during the spring with the festival of Glad Arrival upcoming.

Seeing as Jinn and his men have arrived today, you’re sure your uncle will make arrangements for the festival to be undertaken as soon as possible.

It’s refreshing to know how high-spirited your family is. There is never room for a dull moment with them. Padmé especially as she’s a pleasant conversationalist who can bring out the fun in anyone, even those seemingly as stone-cold as a pillar.

Understandably, she’s eager to meet with Anakin. The pair have been lovebirds since before you can remember, though they think they’re rather good at hiding it. You know your cousin well enough to tell when she’s in love, so it’s never been a secret to you.

Being Jedi, Anakin and the others aren’t allowed to form attachments. From what you know of the Order, which is little, they’re allowed to fraternize and have their fun, but never to settle down. With the war ever-growing, the Republic cannot afford to lose any soldiers.

Padmé had wondered once if when the war ends, Anakin will ask for her hand. But you had told her that he’s never been one to follow the rules, so if his affections are true then she’s sure to be married within the year.

By the time you all reach the courtyard, the Republic troops have already made their way past the entrance and meet you in the middle; your family on one side and they on the other. For a moment, there is silence. Then Ruwee gestures for everyone to greet them, so you all do so with a bow.

“Good sir Naberrie, I apologize for troubling you on short notice.” Qui-Gon Jinn says, offering a gentle smile to you and your family.

“No trouble at all,” Ruwee replies. “We are most delighted to be in the pleasure of your company.”

Sir Jinn is very tall with square shoulders and hair that reaches past that point. It’s always been fascinating to think that he can fight with his hair down like that and, unquestionably, he is a truly handsome man. One who is also polite and charming, it’s a wonder why he’s not wooed a lady thus far.

You know it, much like others, that he can win the favor of a partner effortlessly. You do so enjoy receiving his letters.

Jinn glimpses at Padmé who smiles seven times her usual smile, stepping into Ruwee’s outstretched arm.

“It’s been far too long, my lady,” he steps forward, taking her hand in his and pressing his lips to her knuckles.

“Sir Jinn, it’s a pleasure to see you again.”

The last time he had been on Naboo, Padmé was only fourteen years old. Though you were older, it does feel like such a faraway time. Since then, the only correspondence you had with him and his battalion came in the form of letters.

Some of them were pleasant and others weren’t as much, only because of the man who had penned the words. Bickering through papers seems rather foolish, but you will silently admit that the fun never ceased in your ribbing with Kenobi. You still have a letter or two under your pillow.

“Do you not think she is charming?” Jinn asks, turning behind him.

It’s unclear which of his men he’s speaking to, but the man who replies is bearded with carelessly swept hair, though it’s evident it was at one point combed over, and whom you know extremely well.

“With every spring she indeed blossoms,” says Kenobi. “Say, sir Naberrie, how can you hide such a flower?”

“Believe me, she is not hidden,” Ruwee snickers. “Padmé travels more than any of us. Besides, you’ve known her since childhood.”

“A memory I do cherish.”

What a charmer. What a scoundrel. Obi-Wan Kenobi has always been a proud flirt. You should know as you were also part of that childhood. He first arrived with his master and though the intention of their stay was to protect your family, the two of you never got along.

He had flirted and you had rejected his advances, birthing an exceptional relationship of endless insults and teasings. No one speaks to you the way he does and you should behave the same, but you’ve always spoken your mind.

After so many years of not seeing him in the flesh, you wonder how this will go.

Ruwee is more focused on news, it seems.

“How goes the war?”

“As hematic as it first began, but easing its muscle. We’ve progressed further than we ever have. There is one tale of which we were settled on Tatooine, cornered by the Tusken Raiders, and seemingly no way out. Yet, I drew my saber with heroism—”

“Will your talking ever cease, Sir Kenobi?” You say with exasperation.

He turns to look at you like this is the first he’s ever seen you, acting surprised as if you have not been standing here the whole time. Without a doubt, he’s already acknowledged your presence as you had caught him eyeing you from behind his master.

“Ah, my dear Lady Disdain! Still as sprightly as I remember.”

“Trust me, my disdain is quite sprightly in your company.”

“Disdain me?” He slaps a theatrical hand to his chest. “Impossible. I am loved by all ladies, except you. Though by that I am not perturbed for in return I love none.”

“A dear happiness for women, or else they would be swaddled by your affections.”

More like inflictions, though you haven’t a way to phrase that properly enough to embarrass him. How he intrigues women, you’ll never know.

Kenobi grins. “And you, my lady?”

“I would rather hear a Reek growl than a man tell me he loves me.”

“We do hope that you keep that thinking, less we want a scratched face.”

“A scratch could not do it worse and with such a face as yours.”

Padmé and Sabé chuckle, covering their mouths. In turn, Qui-Gon Jinn and his men laugh, enjoying the battle of wits.

“Your voice is like a Pelikki,” Kenobi whines, showing that childlike demeanor that you know so well.

“Better a bird of my tongue than a beast of yours.”

“If only my Eopie had your wit,” he waves a hand in your direction, smiling along with the men who snicker at his comment. “With that, I am done.”

A small change in him, you find, with the way he ends the conversation there. When he was younger, much like you, he’d battle with you for hours. Maybe it’s true what they say about war changing a man, but in any case, he’s still the pesky Jedi who resolves to have the final word.

“He says such harsh words to you,” Sabé says, holding onto your shoulder and speaking into your ear.

Though you stare at Kenobi’s proud walking, you tell her, “He always ends with a quip. I know him of old.”

To you, he’ll always be that young boy trying so hard to impress his master and impress anyone he spoke with. On some occasions, you miss the padawan braid he once had. If anything because you miss tugging at it to annoy him.

Fortunately for you, all of his remarks you don’t take to heart. Maker knows he doesn’t have one. In fact, you believe the inside of his chest is hollow. Knock against it and you’ll hear an echo in reply.

“How long will you stay with us?” Ruwee asks.

Jinn, who for a moment is caught up in his whispers to Kenobi, respectfully brings his attention back to your uncle.

“A month, if we may?”

“That is perfectly acceptable.”

“Good. You remember my men?” Jinn turns around, directing a hand at the two behind him. “Anakin Skywalker and Maul.”

The first man, Anakin, is tall and blonde. Not as blonde as you remember, seeing as he also was a child when you first met. The other man, Maul, however, is a lean Dathomirian with striking features. He had joined Jinn’s troop a month after his last visit, so you’ve only known him through the letters Jinn writes to your uncle.

“Welcome, both of you,” Ruwee shakes their hand.

Maul, with a baritone voice, speaks, “Thank you for your hospitality. I am not a man of many words, but I thank you.”

“Well, come inside. We’ll arrange refreshments for you.”

As the troop walks on, led by Ruwee and his family, Anakin catches Obi-Wan by the arm, pulling him back so that the two of them remain in the courtyard privately.

“Padmé has grown, don’t you think?” He asks.

Obi-Wan sways his head. “Well, I won’t deny her appearance. Why do you ask?”

“I swear, she’s an angel. Even more beautiful than the last time I saw her.”

“An angel, I agree. If her cousin weren’t so aggravating, I could say the same, but you don’t intend on buying her, do you?”

“Can the world buy such a jewel?”

With Anakin’s dreamlike gaze at the clouds, Obi-Wan grabs him by the tunic, snapping him to attention.

“You have no intention of becoming a husband, I hope.”

“Well, if she would be my wife—”

“Oh, my pupil, I cannot believe this,” Obi-Wan cries. “You know as well as I do that Jedi don’t form attachments. Be with a lady, fine, but love a lady? Anakin, you are out of your mind.”

Smelting with the outburst, Qui-Gon Jinn returns, walking into the courtyard with both hands on his hips like a disapproving father.

“What’s going on here?” He asks. “Sir Naberrie has set out lunch for us. Don’t keep him waiting.”

“Master, I wish it were not true but he is in love,” Obi-Wan says, pointing a finger at Anakin who stands there sheepishly. “And with who? Sir Naberrie’s daughter, Padmé.”

“Is this true?” Jinn looks at Anakin.

He stands there rubbing his hands for a moment before seemingly caving into the question, nodding his head hurriedly as he approaches him.

“Yes, I love her, master,” he says. “I’ve known it from when we were children and seeing her now has only made me more sure.”

Obi-Wan scoffs, walking up beside the two men.

“It is pitiful,”

“I think not,” Jinn says, squeezing Anakin’s shoulder. “It is good that you love her.”

“What?” Obi-Wan shouts, spinning on his heel when his master doesn’t regard his outburst.

Admittedly, his master has never been a true stickler to the Code of the Jedi—instead behaving in a rather grey way—but to think that he can accept Anakin’s feelings so briskly heaps fiery coals upon his head.

Especially as his two comrades seem to ignore him, encouraging each other with enthusiastic words.

“Love is a beautiful thing, Anakin,” Jinn says. “There will be many wars, but time is better spent in the company of someone you love.”

“I cannot believe that I have your approval,” Anakin says with a smile, something which shines brighter than the twin suns of Tatooine.

“Neither can I!” Obi-Wan yaps, approaching them again. “Master, if Anakin marries Padmé then we will lose a soldier.”

“But not lose the war,” Jinn says. “Padmé is worthy of Anakin’s love.”

With a grumble, Obi-Wan buries his face in his hands. Having spent so much time in the war with Anakin and his master, he thought it would be the three of them for a long time, not that one of them would run off and play husband.

Never has he ever looked at a lady with that type of interest. Well, he did once but that was a long time ago and the rejection only proved to Kenobi that love is a foolhardy thing, not something you can devote your passions to.

His passions are better directed at the war, though he will admit that a fling every now and then is not always dismissed by him.

Anakin chuckles, watching the man in distress. “You’re a heretic, Obi-Wan.”

“The fact that I was conceived by a woman, I thank her,” he says. “But that I fall on my knees for a woman? You will never see the day.”

“With a man of your sentiments,” Jinn shakes his head. “I am sure I will see you fall in love one of these days.”

“Never. I would rather fall into a nest of Gundarks.”

“You’ve already done that, master.” Anakin chuckles.

Sighing something agitated, Obi-Wan walks out of the courtyard, waving a hand behind him. To feed his temper with lunch, most likely. Anakin watches him leave, smiling with glee over the apparent tantrum.

“With how he flirts with all women,” he says, “you’d think he’d want a companion.”

Jinn smiles at Anakin. “You love Padmé so much that you will ask for her hand?”

“Oh, if only I had the courage,”

“Fear not, my young padawan, I can speak on your behalf to her father. He has arranged for the springtime festival to begin tonight. There I will win Padmé’s hand for you.”

“Really, that will ease my agony. Thank you.”

Wrapping an arm around him, Jinn walks with Anakin out of the courtyard to join the rest for an afternoon meal, knowing that there is much to prepare for in the evening.

─────── ⋯ ───────

The festival of Glad Arrival spans many days, even weeks depending on the excitement. Hosted within the meadows, dancing and music and pageants are arranged for everyone’s enjoyment.

It’s what makes springtime a lovely season here on Naboo. The three months are joyful and glamorous, inviting many from different planets to join in on the festivities hosted by your uncle. It’s also a great legislative opportunity for the councils cooperating with the Jedi.

The longest festival you’ve attended was carried out for three weeks, but with the arrangement for Jinn and his men to stay a month, you have a feeling your uncle will keep the festivities going for as long as their stay.

Many are already dancing excitedly when you arrive with Padmé and Sabé attached to her arm, all looking out at the various people in their colorful attire and handmade masks. It looks like a sea of butterflies, bringing a wide smile to your cheeks.

Ruwee is the first to approach you three with the same number of masks in his hands. He shakes them in front of you all like he’s ridding them of dust.

“Take one!” He beams. “Rabé and the other handmaidens worked hard to make them.”

“They’re lovely,” Padmé smiles, choosing the red and gold mask with glitter beads.

Sabé takes the black and red mask with gold trimmings, leaving you with the purple and black mask with a gold rim. She’s soon swept away by Padmé who’s eager to join the dancing circle.

Truly, your favorite part of the festival is the dancing. You get to meet so many people this way and also know who can keep a rhythm and who can’t. Once, you had joked with your cousin that acquiring a husband for yourself can be done through dancing, as long as he leads you well. When she had asked if there were any suitors worthy, you had said you would die spouseless.

Before you can even attempt to put on your mask, someone taps you on the shoulder and you widen your eyes in wonderment at the person wearing the blue mask with a synthetic braid attached to its right side.

“I know you,” they say. “You’re the lady of ‘Hundred Merry Tales,’”

Furrowing your brows, you look at them oddly. “I don’t go by that title.”

“But the fellow told me you speak like a Pelikki and, sure enough, you sound it.”

What horrible words! If you hadn’t heard the same thing this afternoon, you would use your mask as a weapon to beat them with.

“Who told you this?” You ask, chin raised. “Which fellow?”

“No, I shouldn’t tell.”

“Then tell me who you are.”

“That I also cannot do.”

This conversation is as difficult as the person conducting it. They’re being awfully stubborn, especially after being so awfully rude.

“To say I sound like an aquatic bird, this must have been Kenobi.” You mutter, hitting your mask against your thigh as if you’ve come to a revelation.

“Who’s he?” The person asks.

For yet another time, you look at them strangely. Everyone in Naboo—and nearly everyone in the galaxy—knows of General Obi-Wan Kenobi. He’s feared and loved and you think that after he passes, his legacy will live on.

If you could get your hands on that legacy, you’d ruin it with mischievous glee.

“You don’t know Sir Kenobi?” You ask.

The person shakes their head. “I’ve never had the honor,”

“Oh, it’s not an honor to know him, I assure you. Rather a dishonor.”

“Really? Yet, I do not know him.”

“He’s Qui-Gon Jinn’s jester, a very dull fool. His only gift is in negotiations since he speaks without prompt much like a Gungan. Really, he is more horrible than words I could list.”

“Well,” the person rolls back their shoulders. “If I see him, I’ll be sure to tell him what you say.”

“Do,” you grin, eager to hear from him if word travels. “He’ll most likely compare me also.”

After such a short quarrel this afternoon, you’re left hungry for a better argument. Kenobi has it in him to be spirited, this you know from experience, and so as much as you would rather spend time in the company of anyone else, his scrutiny you are curious of.

If he can live up to the words he’s written you before, then you’re in for an exciting match. Though, honestly, you want to see if he came up with all those quips himself or if he had help.

With that, your name is called from the swell of dancing people and out pokes Padmé’s head. Her hand, too, which she waves at you eagerly.

“I am being summoned,” you chuckle. “Enjoy your evening.”

“And yours, too.” They reply.

When you run to meet your cousin for a dance, Obi-Wan rips off his blue mask and moans with annoyance.

“To think she cannot tell it’s me!” He complains, shaking his head. “And to say that I am my master’s jester… how insulting.”

Assaulted by fire, he has before; your fire, which blazes from your tongue in an agitated temperament. He has never heard a lady speak as you do, thinking that it is preposterous that maiden could ever be so devilish.

But he knows it well, as much as he knows your derisions, that you are exclusive to the nature of femininity. By faith, the only poor sap that could ever marry you will have to be both blind and deaf, and for him, he prays.

Too caught up in his own grumbling, he doesn’t notice the two men in masks approaching him until they catch his shoulder—one in a beige mask with golden specks and the other wearing a vibrant green mask with multiple dangling fringes.

“Why so sad, Sir Kenobi?” The beige masked man asks.

“Sad?” He scoffs. “This is not sadness. I am irate.”

“Whatever for?”

“An old thorn continues to prick me,”

Both figures give each other a glance before laughing aloud, causing Kenobi to look at them with furrowed brows.

“Oh, come now,” the green one says. “Enjoy the festival.”

“Yes—” the other dips to the side, grabbing a cup of wine from a passing server. “Drink up!”

Kenobi takes the cup without another warning, not needing to be told twice whilst in such a bothersome state, drinking at first a little of the wine before making a sound at how pungent it is. Naboo wine is known for its bitterness and astringent flavor and honestly, he’s never been a devoted fan.

Though, when he thinks about the teasing he underwent, he scowls the whole cup, wiping his beard with the back of his hand and seeks out another. He will leave this festival drowsy if it means he can enjoy some thought not infected by you.

As soon as he skulks away, the two figures lift up their masks and laugh once again at their dejected comrade.

“He is surely vexed,” Anakin chuckles.

“Yes, and we can assume by whom. But look—” Qui-Gon points at the crowd of dancing people, where two ladies exit. “There is Padmé and her handmaiden. I will speak with her now on your behalf.”

“Thank you, master,”

Jinn pats Anakin on the back, bringing down his green mask to cover his face as he makes his way over to Padmé, speaking words Anakin cannot hear but must be effective as they walk off alone, her handmaiden diving back into the dance.

If Anakin were not as intent on the hopeful prospect of his master’s proposition to Padmé, he would very well be dancing with the others. However, he sits at a distance and watches, holding his hands tightly in anxious anticipation.

The dancers have fun twirling and skipping to the epic Symponik melody performed earnestly by the Gungans commemorating the festival. It’s an honor that they have composed such a piece for this celebration and it is certain that it will never be forgotten.

Sabé knocks into your shoulder when she re-joins the crowd, but you merely laugh at it, taking her hand and spinning each other around with a flourish. Another hand slips into your free one and you see that it’s Ruwee who smiles brightly.

“Uncle,” you speak, “when are Jinn and his men joining us? I’ve not seen them tonight.”

“They’re already here,” he shakes his head, a gentle gesture.

“They are?”

“You’re deceived by their masks. Speaking of, why aren’t you wearing yours?”

With a playful roll of your eyes, you tie the mask around your head, covering your face. Ruwee seems pleased by this and ventures off, leaving you alone when you see that Sabé is dancing with a partner.

So, Kenobi is already here? You wonder what mask he’s wearing. You have a feeling it will be as pompous as his personality. Yet, it doesn’t seem to be the case when you watch him stumble into the circle of dancing people, clearly swayed by alcohol, and with no mask on his face.

He knocks into one person who thinks it fun and pushes him back, only for him to trip over his own footing and collide with you. Fortunately for him, you manage to catch him in your arms. Unfortunately for you, however, since you’d much rather see him fall.

“A drunk dancer is said to follow the rhythm unusually well,” you say, tugging him up so that he’s no longer bent over. “But it seems you prove that theory false,”

Kenobi grumbles. “I fight better than I dance.”

Really, you think the two activities would look very much the same by his hand. Even when you were children, he always had a horrible rhythm. How he even became a Jedi, you have no idea.

With his slurring words, you can only imagine how many cups he’s downed already. A factor you are impressed by is his mastery over liquor in comparison to some—yes, the reckless Skywalker is known for being a lightweight—as you had once, a long time ago, scowled back many Jawa Juices with Kenobi.

“Then you should move out of the circle,” you tell him.

He looks around for a moment, taking in how everyone dances around you both and seemingly registers precisely where he’s standing. But whatever he thinks, he makes up his mind rather quickly for someone who’s as drunk as him.

“Ah, come, lady, dance with me.”

You stare at him shell-shocked. “You want to dance with me?”

“Of course,” he smiles. “Though I cannot see your face, I can tell you are a rare beauty.”

It comes back to you now that you’re not wearing your mask and that the man in front of you has no clue who you are. Hearing him say such sweet things to you is enough to act as a purgative, but there’s a part of you that doesn’t dare turn down this offer, hoping you can gain some ammunition to fire at him tomorrow.

“Lead me well,” you tell him, offering your arm.

He smiles giddy with wine-stained lips, securing your arm in his and guiding you around the circle, though a bit bumpy as he’s nearly frolicking the entire way. In fact, you’re the one who ends up leading as he can’t direct even his own step.

What a night this is turning out to be.

Outside the circle, Anakin watches from afar how Qui-Gon speaks to Padmé. She’s smiling happily as he does his talking and Anakin can only pray to the former Jedi Masters that she will accept his proposal.

He’s always been a bashful romantic, even more so with the woman he’s known since he was young and younger than her, too. She’s always treated him sweetly and they would spend many times hidden away together before he became a Jedi General.

In those moments, so quiet and peaceful for only the two of them, he quickly fell in love with her. When the war grew intense and he was sent away with the Republic Army, it was the thought of her that helped him persevere.

Seeing her again and how beautiful she continues to become, he’s certain that his heart is made for her and her alone.

As he watches Jinn speak for him, in swoops Maul, a hand attacking Anakin’s shoulder as he steps beside him. The mask that hangs from his neck is not a good disguise at all as it’s painted black with aurelian markings.

“Why so intent on our master and Sir Nabriee’s daughter?” He asks.

Anakin curves his lips some, feeling embarrassed. He could speak about what his master is doing for him, but the mere thought of explaining and it failing makes him hesitant.

“It’s nothing,”

Maul goggles at his comrade, sitting down beside him with his hand still on Anakin’s shoulder.

“Don’t you think he’s awfully close with her?”

Turning his head to see them again, Anakin watches as Qui-Gon takes Padmé’s hand. Immediately, doubts begin to bubble in his stomach. She’s smiling and he’s merry, her mask dangling from her fingers. But this is all in his name… at least, that’s what was promised.

“See how he holds her hand?” Maul says. “If I were blind, I would say he’s being a gentleman, but my eyes tell me he’s doted upon her.”

“Are you sure?”

“When I passed by them, I heard him swear his affection.”

Anakin spins around. “Perhaps you misinterpreted his words?”

“I have no doubt. He swore he would marry her tonight.”

The sentence inflicts pain on Anakin like venom injected into his veins. It seems impossible and yet here Maul tells him that it’s true. To think that he would be allowed to love whilst being a Jedi seems a rather foolish thought now.

As Maul walks away, Anakin frowns at the scene of Qui-Gon raising his mask and kissing Padmé’s hand, and he feels filled with anger, eyes ablaze at watching his master betray him.

To think that he could trust him with something as delicate as his heart. Clearly, his master is only seeking out that of his own heart, since Padmé seems ever so eager when he’s revealed to her.

Throwing his mask to the dirt, he turns hotly on his heel and marches away.

Finishing his third and final dance of the night, Obi-Wan sways, chipper on wine and song, and kisses the knuckles of the lady he was dancing with, bidding her a good night. If he weren’t feeling so intoxicated, he would have invited her to his bed-chamber, but as much as he would never coax a drunken woman, he would never bed while under the influence.

As he stumbles away, slightly dizzy from all the spinning, he spots his padawan away from the festivity and approaches him.

“What are you doing over here?” He asks. “I thought you would have been swooning over Padmé,”

Anakin huffs, both hands on his hips. “It seems like Sir Jinn is the one swooning on Padmé,”

He waves a hand in the direction where the two of them stand, her smile still wide as he keeps a hold of her hand. Obi-Wan follows Anakin’s pointed finger to squint at the pair, examining the scene.

“She seems happy.”

“Master!” Anakin whines.

“What?” He shrugs his shoulders, unsure of why Anakin is so unhappy. “Did you not tell me this afternoon that he would get her goodwill?”

If anyone should be displeased by the plan in motion, it should be him. Yet, Obi-Wan talks with Anakin on the matter, trying to gain a grasp of his padawan’s emotions. Having drunk so much, his ability with the force is not as strong as it usually is, so he must rely on truths.

That is if Anakin will speak them. At the moment, he’s chatting vigorously, jumping from one matter to the next, and Obi-Wan cannot understand what is truly going on rather than there being some form of miscommunication but, Caraya’s Soul, will he not stop?

As they bicker, Qui-Gon approaches them both with Padmé beside him. Though they both appear content, there are acutely aware of the feud taking place. Even though Anakin closes his mouth shut as soon as they arrive.

“Anakin, why the solemn complexion?” Jinn asks.

“I am not sad, master,”

“Sick, then?”

“No, sir.”

“He is neither sad nor sick,” Obi-Wan says. “But bitter and jealous.”

“I think you’re right, Obi-Wan,” Jinn speaks, eyeing Skywalker.

The last time he looked this way, he was but a young child who wanted to fly a speeder he was forbidden to ride in. A funny thing to be upset over, especially at his age, but it was only the start of navigating his impulsive emotions.

This situation is one of those thoughtlessly driven suspicions, it seems.

“Anakin, come now. Don’t be foolish,” Jinn says. “Your thoughts betray you. I have wooed in your name and fair Padmé is won.”

There, that’s the truth of the matter. Obi-Wan looks over at Anakin as if to say, well there you have it, but Anakin is frozen at his spot, looking amazed and unbelieving.

“I have spoken with her father also,” Jinn continues, smiling at Ruwee who approaches them. “Name the day for marriage.”

When Anakin turns to look at Ruwee with a happy expression, he laughs. Slapping a hand down on Anakin’s shoulder, his posture straightens of a proud countenance.

“I give you my blessing,” he smiles.

Padmé mimics the happiness in her cheeks, approaching Anakin gently, who, after a short moment, breaks out into a blinding smile. He takes her hands in his, rubbing his thumbs against her skin in a tender way. They look at one another, happy, and he berates himself mentally for having assumed otherwise.

“Just as you are mine, Padmé, I am yours.” He whispers to her.

Obi-Wan hears the words his padawan speaks, though, and is still appalled by it despite this being the most elated he’s ever seen him.

There have been many missions where Anakin has acted spontaneously much to the chagrin of his master, yet he would be laughing cheerfully and Obi-Wan would never admit aloud that he was also having fun.

When he thinks about it, though, Anakin has always been a wild spirit, and he knows that he deserves this. After the tragedy of his mother, his home life, and the bravery he conducts in battle, Obi-Wan believes he can grant him this one liberty.

“All happiness to you, my young padawan,” he grumbles, sending him a smile when no one else is paying attention.

He begins to walk away, but Qui-Gon stops him before he makes even two steps in the outer direction.

“Obi-Wan, your dear lady made a complaint against you. She said the gentleman she danced with apparently had two left feet.”

Growing hot in the ears, though his cheeks burn just as harshly, Obi-Wan spins around quickly.

It was you! He had been so drowned in spirits that he hadn’t known that it was your face behind the mask nor that you would run off to tell his master such gossip. And to think he would have made a play on you if he were sober.

“She abuses me!” He practically shouts, stomping back to where he stood before. “She told me, not thinking that I had been myself, that I was your jester! That I am a dull fool and more horrible than a description she could fathom,”

With your tongue, you can spin many indelicate words. To not even bother with his depiction when you had thought you were speaking to a stranger somehow injures him more. Is he no longer worth your time?

The two of you sent more letters to each other during the war than any other soldier he knows of. Some were so pesky that he kept a hold of them, even tucking one into the folds of his robes, assuring himself that he will succeed in defeating you.

“Oh, I might as well have been chained to a post on Geonosis, attacked by an Acklay by her words,” he groans. “She is disrespectful and foul. Darkness follows her everywhere she goes.”

“Ah,” Jinn nods his head, holding back his smile. “Well, shall you tell her your opinion yourself? Here she comes now.”

As sure as his master says it, you’re approaching them from down the path, the mask still on your face which he groans at. Had he not been so drunk, he would have surely known it was you he had spoken such sweet words to. Now, his words are sharp.

When you reach them, your smile is half covered by the mask on your face, but he can see it like a light is shone directly onto it and it makes his skin crawl.

“Please, master,” Obi-Wan begs. “Send me off on a mission, any at all. I will do anything. I will spend a week with Jar Jar. I will go undercover to a death sticks storehouse. Rather than spend a single second more with this vixen!”

All Jinn can do is laugh, much like Padmé and Anakin. Obi-Wan can’t even think about if his words are offensive, especially in front of Ruwee, but he is so worked up that coming down from this level of frustration seems impossible.

“Really,” he sighs. “Do you have no task for me, master?”

“Only the delight of your good company.”

Deflating at his shoulders, Obi-Wan feels as if he crumbles to the ground. This is only the first night of their stay here, which lasts a month, and he is already at his breaking point with you. Not only that, though, as it seems he’s already broken.

“Know this now,” he starts, “I cannot endure my Lady Disdain!”

Off Obi-Wan stomps, billowing straight past you. So close that he could have knocked you over if he had touched you, yet he avoided even that. His swiftness sends a puff of air to your side and you merely take your mask off, watching him leave, and fiddle with it in your hands.

“He doesn’t mean a word of it,” Padmé sympathizes, reaching over to squeeze your arm.

No, you fear that he does. Every word that comes out of his mouth is from the heart—when he negotiates, when he threatens in battle, when he makes a promise, and when he speaks of you. He may be intoxicated, but he always says what he means.

Better to push the affliction to the side, especially knowing by the way your cousin is in her lover’s arms that he offered his binding and, with her glistening eyes, that she accepted.

“And what of Sir Skywalker?” You ask. “Does his heart speak true?”

“Yes, lady,” Anakin smiles. “And I am happy.”

“Good—” you step over to squeeze his arm and the arm of your cousin. “May the force be with you and grant you joy.”

Padmé beams, looking up at her soon-to-be husband. He’s just as jubilant, pressing his forehead against hers.

It’s a beautiful scene to watch and you find that your heart lurches in your chest at their delight, though it skips a beat in sorrow that you may never know the same joy. With a sigh, one which anyone can associate as blissful, you step away.

“My lady,” Jinn says, walking over to you. “You have lost the heart of Sir Kenobi.”

You grin, nodding at him, thinking back on his antics.

“Indeed,” you sigh. “When we were younger, he lent it to me. It was pleasant for a short time but in the end, he could not offer marriage and so we parted. So, you can very well say that I have lost his heart.”

The two of you were young, you remind yourself, and so his infatuation could hardly have been heartfelt. Even from the start, you both challenged each other, so, really, it could never work.

Jinn shakes his head. “You have put him down.”

“I believe I have put him off,”

“For a woman of your quality, I think he is rather daft to oppose you.”

You push your shoulder against him, smiling. “My cousin is the hopeful kind and I wish her the greatest joy. If I am not satisfied with a proposal, then Maker blesses her life.”

“In faith, my lady, you have a merry heart,” Jinn smiles at you.

“Yes, the poor fool. I may sit in a corner and cry for a husband, but never have one.”

“Oh, I will get you one.”

“In the same manner that you got my cousin for young Anakin?” You shake your head. “No, I would much rather words were spoken to me.”

It is honorable that Sir Jinn would act for Anakin when he had not the courage, but when the day comes for you—though, you really think if it will come—then you want someone who will tell you personally, that way you can see the markings of love in him.

“You are a good man,” you continue. “Do you not have any brothers?”

“Only one, the eldest, Bil-Gan, but he is already married with children,” Jinn says.

“Ah, I am not fortunate, it seems.”

Someone like him would be perfect for you, you think. Humble, courteous, and handsome. Especially humble. That way there will be no room for another merry war.

“Will you have me, lady?” Jinn asks, his words barely above a whisper.

His proposal surprises you, them having been said so sincerely, and as if he had read your thoughts, though you were not sincere in them. At least, not fully.

In a different life, you can see yourself with someone akin to Sir Jinn, but the one you live in now is not heading in that direction.

“No, sir,” you say, not missing the frown between his brows. “You are too valuable for someone of my mind. I’m afraid I was born to speak all mirth and no matter.”

He nods, seeming unscathed at your refusal. “As it makes sense. I am sure you were born in a merry hour.”

You laugh. “Quite the opposite, my mother cried.”

When he laughs in return, you know that no damage is done. Truthfully, he deserves a better spouse and when that happens you will be more than happy for him.

“I bid you goodnight,” you say. “I am tired.”

Jinn smiles, taking your hand in his and kissing your knuckles softly.

“Goodnight, my lady.”

You walk away with a spring in your step, still chipper even after such a weighty conversation. Besides, your cousin will be a married woman soon and you would rather be frozen in carbonite if you do not share in her gladness.

As Qui-Gon watches you walk away, he thinks of how pleasant a presence you are. Anyone would be lucky to be your husband. If only Obi-Wan was not so against marriage, for the way you both speak, you would make a handsome couple.

With that, an idea springs to mind.

Jinn turns back to the group. “Anakin, what day will you marry?”

“Tomorrow,” he says confidently.

“Not until the weekend is over,” Ruwee says in a serious tone of voice, wagging a finger. “The festival will conclude by then and only then will you marry.”

“Then, in the meantime, I will try my best at winning another hand,” Jinn says.

“Who do you have in mind?”

“Your niece,” Jinn pauses, then smiles wide, “for Sir Kenobi.”

Everyone bursts into hilarity, looking both amused and astounded.

“My cousin and Obi-Wan?” Padmé laughs. “There is no way that can possibly work.”

“If they were but a week married, they would talk themselves to death.” Ruwee laughs.

Jinn shakes his head. “There is interest there, I am sure of it. Never have I been wrong, and if I could have your assistance in this then I am sure they will be affectionate with each other before Primeday.”

It’s not impossible, at least not for him. He knows the way Obi-Wan speaks of you and with the knowledge that he at one time had doted on you, there is no doubt in his mind that the feelings still remain. All he has to do is bring them to the surface.

Ruwee laughs again, slapping a hand against Jinn’s back. “You know I am for you, always.”

“And me as well,” Anakin says.

Pleased by the cooperation, Jinn raises a brow. “And what says you, Padmé?”

She shakes her head, though her smile is wide on her cheeks.

“I will do anything to help my cousin to a good husband.”

With the family and the comrades working together, this will go without a hitch.

“If we can do this,” Jinn says, tapping a finger to his chin, “then Cupid is no longer an archer.”

It will be done and it will be successful. He does not need the force to read the heart of others, all he needs is their word and, abundantly, he has trusty words from you two.

“Come with me,” Jinn waves his hand. “I will tell you my plan.”

An impossible feat must be made within two days and, Maker assures it, before the sun sets on the second day, you and Obi-Wan will be madly in love with each other.

You’ve seen that look more times than you care to admit, your own reaction caught between smacking it off his face or kissing it off.

Usually it’s the latter.

This has all turned into a clusterfuck faster than you can catch up. If you ever managed to hunt down the fucker who had hid a damn bear trap on the highway, you were gonna have some choice fucking words. The pain was already beyond anything you’d ever experienced, coupled with the fear that instantly took up residence in your chest and soaked your blood with adrenaline.

Joel had told you not to go, had grumbled at you that he “got a bad feelin’ about this girlie. Don’t think you should go.”

You’d prodded his chest and rolled your eyes. “I’m allowed to go on runs without you, Joel. We talked about this.”

His brows had raised. “You talked. I listened, mostly. I don’t want you to go.”

It wasn’t the first time he’d tried to stop you from going. Once you got back to Boston, Tess’s replacement had taken a quick shining to you, admired your skills, and had you put on the schedule for runs. Joel didn’t like that either, and usually tagged along even if his name wasn’t listed with yours. And Ellie, well, Ellie just went where she wanted. Usually, that meant with you.

You called him out. It got a bit ugly; you’re not proud of it. But you were speaking truth. He couldn’t keep handling you like a piece of glass just because you’d both finally given up on staying away from each other. Your being his didn’t change the fact that you were hardened, experienced, and could shoot like the best of them. He should know; he’s the one that taught you.

“I have to fend for myself too, Joel,” you’d thrown at him. “There’s no guarantee we’re always gonna be together.” If you’d learned anything from everything that had happened after you found him again, you knew that for sure: nothing in life was guaranteed anymore.

He’d just given you a long stare.

So yes, you going on a run without his blessing, so to speak, was a bit of rebellion. A bit of proof that yes, Joel, I can live without you. Just in case.

Now, of course, he has the gall to say the words aloud as he meets up with you and Ellie, taking your weight from the younger girl, telling her to take your gun while he points you in the direction of the medical building.

“I told you so, girlie.”

“Can you save the lecture?” you grumble at him, wincing as his pace staggers you, his steps much quicker than the slow pace you and Ellie had kept. “This hurts like hell, Joel.”

He doesn’t reply, stopping you suddenly. He sweeps an arm behind your knees, scooping you up into his arms. It makes you squeak, throwing your arms around his neck.

“Christ, Miller. Warn a girl.”

If looks could kill, you’d be dead on the pavement.

Joel ignores every voice that tells him to wait, pushing his way into one of the exam rooms and setting you on the table. He doesn’t say a word as he starts unlacing your boots, pulling them off carefully. He peels your socks off, then starts rifling through the shelves of medical supplies.

“Would you just wait for Doc?” you snap at him, wincing as you move yourself up the table some, propping up on your elbows. You catch a bottle of pills when he tosses them, not bothering to look at the label before you swallow one dry. “He’ll handle it.”

“Doc’s on the other side of the city,” Joel spits, turning back, his arms laden with supplies. Gauze, alcohol wipes, a roll of bandages, a pair of scissors. You swallow hard. “Got locked down, group of runners too close to the wall. He’s gonna be there for hours.” He reaches for the scissors. “I need to see it, girlie. Can’t risk you getting an infection.”

There it is. The fear that had already been pooling in your stomach. You can feel your heart thump against your ribs, your breathing coming faster. You curl your fingers around the edge of the table, the metal biting in. Joel notices — of course, he notices — and everything changes.

He stops, setting the scissors back down. “Hey, does it hurt?” he asks, the growl in his voice melting slightly. There are tears in your eyes, pooling on your lashes. “Girlie, what’re you—?”

Your voice grows hoarse. “I fucked up, Joel,” you whimper out, trying to wipe the tears before they fall completely. “I really fucked up.”

“Shh.” He shakes his head as he shushes you, reaches out and curls his hand around the back of your neck. He side-steps, getting closer to your head and pulling your upper half into his chest. Your curl your fingers in the fabric of his jacket, burying your face in his collar. “Hey, it’s okay. Talk to me, girlie. It really hurt that bad?”

You open your mouth to explain, but nothing comes out. Fear has your tongue tied in a knot, breathy sobs the only sound you’re able to make. Joel doesn’t ask you anything more, instead holding you against him, his cheek pressed to the top of your head.

“I’m gonna fix it,” he murmurs, rubbing a hand up your arm, squeezing at your shoulder. You sniffle, nodding almost frantically. He pinches your chin, tilts your head up and presses a soft kiss to your forehead. It’s gentleness, amid the madness in your mind. “It’s all right, you hear?”

You keep nodding, the tears leaving your cheeks wet as Joel moves back down to your leg, reaching for the scissors again. You can’t help the whimper as he cuts into the fabric of your jeans.

“Girlie?”

“I like these jeans.”

Joel actually smiles, lets out a soft chuckle. “We’ll find you new jeans.”

You’re both quiet as he works. He cuts the denim away, revealing your wound, and you don’t miss his sharp inhale. You chance a look down yourself, and the fear springs anew. It looks awful, all jagged flesh and torn skin. Blood paints your skin crimson, and the pain seems to react in kind to your fear, crawling up the back of your throat like nausea, turning your stomach to lead.

You have to be able to run. You have to. You’ve been out, beyond the walls. That dark spec of time between leaving Boston after Jason, before you found Joel and Ellie again. You know what it’s like. Kill or be killed. Humanity has shown it’s most ruthless side, and if you can’t run for your life, you don’t stand a chance. Not if the walls fall, like the rumours you’ve been hearing since you came back to Boston. Not if you get separated, not if you truly have to fend for yourself.

You have to be able to run.

Part of you knows it’s irrational, and maybe it’s a symptom of the blood loss. Ellie had done her best to wrap the wound in the bandages she’d had stashed in her back, rising the dirt from your skin with water from your canteen. You were both lucky that the trap was old enough that Ellie was able to pry it back open, and luckier still that the metal didn’t look rusty. Tetanus shots were a joke now. The thought almost made you laugh; survives zombie apocalypse only to be taken out by a fucking bear trap.

“You’re gonna need a few stitches,” Joel announces, and your gut rolls in a different way. You’re already a weepy mess, and this will only make matters worse. He turns back to the shelf of supplies and you whimper at his loss, grappling for his jacket again when he turns back with a needle and surgical thread in hand.

Joel reaches into his jacket and pulls out his flask, handing it to you without a word.

You unscrew the cap and tip it up to your lips, taking a long pull. When you lower it, Joel watches, and your eyes lock before you tip it back again, Joel giving you a curt nod. “Good girl.”

He sets himself up, wiping down your skin, cleaning his hands and the needle, threading it. You force yourself to look away, reaching one hand to curl in the side of his jacket, turning your body as much as physically possible.

It hurts.

Right from the first prick, your tears spring back, hot tracks down your face that drip off your collar and into the fabric of your shirt. You fist Joel’s jacket hard, gritting your teeth and growling out a sob against the pain. You have to be stronger than this.

“I know, darlin’,” Joel murmurs to you, pausing his work long enough to lean over to brush a kiss against your mouth. “Almost done, all right? Almost there, girlie.”

You nod, reaching for the flask again. You sink back on your elbows, laid flat on your back, and feel the tears slide down the sides of your head instead, rolling over your ears.

Joel can’t seem to stop his hushed reassurances now, rubbing at the bent knee of your good leg after he ties off a stitch. “Just a few more.”

It feels like it goes on for hours, but sure enough, the end arrives. Joel slathers your wounds with a sticky salve, layers his stitches and the shallower gouges with gauze, wraps the whole thing with the bandage.

There’s a set of crutches in the corner of the exam room, and he grabs them, holding one either side for you. The sight alone makes your lip wobble, and Joel sees, pinching your chin and lifting your face again. “You gotta stay off it for a few days at least, girlie,” he murmurs. “Won’t let you out of my sight until then, yeah? Now, c’mon, let’s get you home.”

You just nod, teeth sinking into your bottom lip as you reach for the crutches. True to his word, Joel sticks close to you, one hand pressed to the small of your back as you limp your way out of the exam room. You’re wobbly, your head still racing a million miles a minute. As you reach the exit, Ellie appears at the door, her eyes bright as she spots the two of you. “You found Doc?”

Joel shakes his head. “Did it myself.” She opens her mouth to say something further, but you interrupt, one of the crutches buckling awkwardly, toppling forward, nearly sending you with it as you’re thrown off-balance. Joel is quick, wrapping his arm around your waist and keeping you upright. He juts his chin at the crutches. “Grab those, El. She needs rest.”

You’re in his arms again a moment later, suddenly too tired to even squeak in protest. Your head lolls beneath Joel’s chin, and your eyes are only too happy to drop shut. You come to sometime later, and you’re home, safe in the apartment the three of you took over when you returned from beyond the wall. It’s dark outside, and Joel is a warm weight at your back, an arm slung over your waist keeping you close. There’s a half-empty glass of water on your table you don’t remember, the bottle of mystery pills Joel had given you at the med building sitting beside it.

As quietly as you can, you inch forward, still staying within Joel’s grip as you reach for the bottle. You shake two out this time, swallow them back along with the rest of the water. Beneath the blankets, you test your foot, not rotating your ankle at all, but wiggling your toes, testing for a shock of pain through your limb. There’s a dull throb beneath the bandages, but that’s normal, you think. You’re sure the skin around the wound itself is littered with bruises, from the impact of metal that didn’t quite bite in.

You adjust slightly, shuffling back against Joel, who grunts, nose brushing the back of your neck, lips against your spine. “What’re you doin’ awake, girlie?” he mumbles, his voice slurred with sleep. His hand flattens on your stomach, roaming slightly. You burrow back against him, ass pressed to his crotch. “Feelin’ okay?”

“Right as rain,” you murmur, catching his hand, bringing it to your mouth and kissing his knuckles. “Thank you, for fixing me up, Joel.”

He huffs, hot breath against the back of your neck. “Don’t have to thank me for that.”

“Sure, I do.”

A pause, and then you hear his breathing hitch, like he’s awake. Then, “You were really shook up earlier, girlie.” He pulls you closer against him, his chest flush with your back, and he’s got both arms around you, one hand still in your grip and the other wrapping around your ribs. “Talk to me.”

Silence settles for a moment, and your eyes wander up to the window on the wall. The hazy lights of the city bleed against the glass, fat white flecks floating around outside, and your heart climbs into your throat. Snow. Winter. Cold. Winters have yet to be kind to you in this new world, and starting off with a wounded foot isn’t exactly the best way to go.

“I have to be able to run, Joel,” you say, your voice less shaky than you’d been in the exam room, but it still wavers. “If I can’t run, then I…” You trail off, one hand gesturing in the air. “What use am I here, huh? I can’t go on runs, I can’t keep Ellie safe, I can’t help you with—”

“Hey,” Joel cuts you off, his voice a deep rasp in your ear. He squeezes his arms around you, pushing his face into the spot where your shoulder meets your neck. “You’re getting ahead of yourself with this.” He kisses your warm skin, leaving the spot burning. “It’s not broken; you didn’t get bit. The stitches will heal, the wounds will close. Sure, you’re gonna have one helluva scar, but you’ll be okay, girlie. I’ll make sure of it.”

“Joel, you can’t—”

“I can,” he says, his voice bordering on stern. “I didn’t ask you to stay with me so I could watch you die. Your leg will heal. We will be okay. I promise. I’m right here. I’m not going anywhere. And you’re never going on a run without me, understood?”

You nod, mumbling your acquiescence, dragging his hand back to your lips. You fall asleep with your cheek in his palm, and when you wake again a few hours later, Joel is grumbling into your skin. The sky outside is slightly darker, and the snow has stopped. Joel rolls his hips into your ass, the tell-tale hardness prodding the backs of your thighs.

You bite back a moan when he tightens his grip on you, the hand that had been holding your face moving lower to cup your breast instead. He swipes his thumb over your nipple, making it peak against the fabric of your sleep shirt — one of Joel’s t-shirts. “Girlie,” he rasps out, nibbling at your neck, sliding one thick thigh between your legs, knocking your knees apart. “Darlin’, are you awake?”

Nodding against the pillow, you groan out a yes as his hand dives lower, skirting down your stomach and right between your legs. He cups your cunt, middle finger pressing harder, stroking your clit through the cotton. “Joel,” you grind out, reaching a hand behind you to grab at the back of his neck, tangling your fingers in his hair.

“Tell me if anything hurts,” he mumbles into your skin, “you understand?”

More nodding, a breathy uh-huh, and Joel lifts your leg carefully, bending your hip back slightly until your thigh rests atop his own. Then he’s pushing his boxers down just enough, freeing his cock and reaching to hook your underwear to the side, giving him access. You angle your hips back when you feel the tip of him, stifling your moan when he pushes himself into you. 

“Need to feel you,” Joel murmurs in your ear, pulling back out nearly all the way before slamming back in. It’s riding the line between fast and slow, the pull back dripping like molasses but the push in making your breath catch. “Have to feel you.”

“So good,” you manage to slip out, still gripping the back of his neck. You can feel the pleasure rolling through you, washing into your every nook and cranny, crashing like tidal waves. It only doubles when Joel hooks your leg over his arm, fingers tracing over where he’s pushed into you, collecting your slick on the pads of his fingers and zeroing in on your clit. You keen into the touch as he rubs gentle circles, torturously slow. “Joel, please.”

It must be the crack in your voice that snaps him, because all hell breaks loose. The circles he delivers to your clit are unforgiving but perfect, nerves sparking along your spine with pleasure as he drives into you deeper, the head of his cock brushing against something delicious.

Your thigh shakes over the hook of his elbow as you cum, clapping your hand over your mouth to stifle your cry. Joel nips at your ear as he fucks you through it, and you can feel him getting close, the way his cock pulses within you, the way his hands flex and relax on your skin. He grunts into your shoulder, pulling out at the last moment and cumming against the small of your back.

He kisses the back of your head after he’s caught his breath, telling you to stay put as he gets up, not bothering with the light as he gets a wet cloth from the bathroom. Sleep threatens to drag you back under as he wipes at your skin, cleans his spend from your back, gently between your thighs. He inspects your bandage just for good measure, and only climbs back beneath the blankets with you when he’s satisfied there’s no blood blooming to the surface.

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Huffing, he throws the bed clothes off and goes to the sitting room. 

Pacing, he looks out the windows as he passes each one. At the front door he opens then closes it, his mustache bristling. 

His dark eyes fall on the large black telephone and his brows, knitted. He has seen you use it. You told him how in case he needed to call you at the mongery, but he has never wanted to tangle with it.

Of course he hates the thing… it is loud and diverts you from him. Sometimes having to leave, like tonight at supper.

Of course, Ezra cares very much for your family, and when Deirdre called and asked if you would help with your sick brother and father, he  completely understood. He just wished he had gone too. But it was a terrible fever going round, and they were trying to keep exposure down. 

Ezra stares at the fool contraption, with a hesitant hand he picks up the heavy receiver and puts it to his ear, as you had done. There was a tone, loud and unnatural. He does not like it. He looks at the paper beside the telephone your parent's exchange on it, and dials slowly. The rotary dial whirring.

There is a sound of ringing and suddenly a loud click-

"Hello, Brennan residence"

"Moonbeam," Ezra is unnecessarily loud. "It is you, on the other end of this monstrosity?"

He hears a quiet chuckle.

"Ezra, my love, here I am."

"No, you are there and I am, as you are aware, here. And I have to use this infernal doodad!"

"These doodads make it so we can speak to one another when parted."

Ezra knows, and is grateful- but not happy about it.

"I can not sleep without you here, moonbeam. The bed is too big. It goes on for absolute leagues!" 

You smile, you can hear his pout. After a moment,

"Everyone is asleep here. Why don't I wash up, and meet you outside."

"Yes, mo stór (mu store), yes!" 

You hear noises, boots maybe, the door, then the loud clunk and ring of the bells within the telephone- the base falling to the floor.

"We have to hang up, Ezra."

"Of course! Yes," Ezra says as he picks it up and puts it back on the table, you hear him mutter, diabolical machine, under his breath. "I am on my way to you, moonbeam!" 

Ezra hangs up the handset and flies out the door, sweater in hand. He pulls it on as he makes his way to the house behind the fishmongery. 

When he knocks, it is quiet but urgent. Thankful, he only waits a few moments before you open the door to him. 

Ezra pulls you out of the house and envelopes you in a hug. His face, hidden in the crook of your neck.

"Mo stóirín (mu store-een)," he says, like a sigh of relief. And then the nips and kisses begin…