The Dumbest Star

The line on a Saturday was long, winding around the corner, and you debated whether this really was the place to go to. But Boba had asked you for your favourite coffee spot and you had a feeling he didn’t enjoy being lied to. This was not a man used to white lies but rather than intimidate you, his honesty made your heart feel lighter.

Boba Fett was a man who expected honesty but who offered it in return. Deep down, you knew you could trust what he was saying. He was respected by the team and nearly every single person in the admin department and whenever he gave post-game interviews he did not hold back about any mistakes he might have made. It was something you admired about him when he first started and it was something you were sure you would never quite stop being in awe of.

You had just secured your spot at the end of the line when you spotted him rounding the corner. He was wearing jeans that fit a little too well around his thighs and a dark green winter jacket that made you want to curl up into him.

“Hi there, pretty omega,” he flashed you a smile that had your panties melting and you swallowed nervously. How were you supposed to greet him? A handshake was too formal. A hug seemed too familiar but then again you had kissed, so maybe a hug wasn’t familiar enough? But what if you kissed him and he didn’t want to be kissed? What if the purpose of this meeting was for him to let you down gently? Maybe the best option would just to awkwardly wave at him and keep your distance?

Boba answered your inner turmoil by cupping your cheek and pressing a soft kiss to the other. His warm breath washed over your face and the smell of coffee settled your nerves almost completely. Just almost.

“Hi,” you smiled at him, relieved that you were still able to form words.

“So, this is the favourite coffee shop of someone who doesn’t drink coffee,” Boba looked around, “You have good taste, omega, it seems many people share your opinion.”

Oh stars, he didn’t like the line. He didn’t enjoy having to wait outside and who could blame him? You had made the wrong choice and this was his way of letting you know. Your face fell and the panic surged up in your chest again. Stars, you were a mess.

“Hey,” his hand reached out, taking hold of yours and gently squeezing. You could feel the callouses on his thumb as it drew a pattern over the scent gland on your wrist, “That was not a complaint, omega. The longer the line, the more time I get to spend with you.”

For a moment, you tried to believe him, you really did. Hell, hadn’t you just thought about how honest this alpha was? But there was something about someone wanting to spend time with you that just felt wrong. Like it could just be a product of your imagination that this handsome man enjoyed your company.

If living in the Coruscant elite circle had taught you one thing, it was that everybody lied.

“It’s okay, you don’t have to flatter me,” you shrugged shyly, “I already know how its gonna go.”

The coffee scent turned bitter and you looked at a couple that passed you with their to-go cups. Maybe someone had burnt a charge? “Enlighten me then, princess,” he nodded at you, his brows furrowed, “How is it gonna go?”

“Well, it’s pretty clear that you are fascinated with me because of a few different factors,” you revealed the thought process that was constantly running on your mind, “I am a younger omega and you are an alpha of a certain age, so maybe there is a – a midlife crises aspect at play where you are interested to see if you are still popular with the younger, uh, generation. I am also your boss’s daughter so it’s an opportunity for you to make a lasting good impression and use the job you have been degraded to, to strengthen your position here. And then there is the obvious sexual tension, so I am sure there is some part of you that wants to explore that dynamic before my internship is over and you can pretend like you didn’t fuck that shy intern.”

“Who said anything about leaving?”

“What?”

“I am just here flirting with the too pretty for her own good omega and all she thinks about is why I could not be interested in her and that I am already planning on leaving. You know what that tells me? Tells me I have to work harder to make you see what I see when I look at you.”

He had been flirting with you?

You stood stock still and your heart started racing in a panic as you tried to relive every interaction you ever had.

Boba just smirked, approaching you when the line moved forward and you still could not move. “Let me tell you something, little one, you can tease me about my age all you want and search for reasons why I would not be interested in you. But I was raised to follow rules and I made few for myself. And the first one is that if I have you in my bed and in my life, there is no way I am the one who leaves first, understood?”

You swallowed thickly, your brain working hard to process his words. He was so open and so charming, you wondered what it was like to go through life and just be brave enough to say what you thought all the time. His fingers gripped your chin, tilting your face up so you met his eyes. It felt way too intimate to be appropriate for a coffee shop line.

“I asked if you understood?” His eyes were dark, looking at you so intently it made you shiver even with your thick jacket on.

“I understand, alpha,” the title slipped from your tongue without thought. Shame made your ears burn at having exposed yourself this way. Calling him alpha … it was clear that it wasn’t the first time you had thought about using the title. But Boba just growled, a sound that shot straight to you pussy.

“Good ‘mega, learning to trust me,” his thumb tugged on your bottom lip, “Now, tell me your go to order, it’s on me today.”

Five minutes later, you were strolling through a nearby park, warm cups in hand and a raspberry croissant that Boba had seen you look at in a bag.

“Will you tell me why you are so nervous?”

“What – What do you mean?”

Brown eyes looked at you and he didn’t need to say anything more. You could hear it yourself, how your voice had gone up to an unnaturally high pitch.

“Tell me about your parents,” he said, instead of insisting on his original question, “How come nobody knew you were the daughter or our new owner until he showed up?”

There were ducks sleeping by the pond, their little head tucked under their wings to keep them warm. You considered whether you really wanted to go there. After all, you hadn’t opened up to Maudii, your closest friend in Mandalore, until you had to. Was this really the moment to open up about your family history to a man you were trying to impress?

Then again, Maudii would probably tell you that if he didn’t want to see you based on your family, he didn’t deserve to see you in the first place.

Also, if he was going to leave you anyway, it might be nice to get some things off your chest.

“I’m … My father bought the Minotaurs because of me,” you started, “I kind of distanced myself from my parents for and I moved here because I knew they would never leave Coruscant if they had a choice. And it worked for a while, I finished my degree with my own money and I got to try out different job opportunities without being the daughter of, you know? I … have trouble standing up to them so living here on my own and actually managing was a pretty big deal.”

“Then he bought us,” Boba nodded, “I was surprised by the sudden takeover. Seems he offered an amount that no one in their right mind could refuse.”

You winced. That sounded exactly like your parents.

“They’re used to money getting them everything.”

“And you’re not?”

From anyone else the question might have sounded judgmental but there was genuine curiosity in his voice and when you glanced at him, his face was open and friendly.

“I won’t lie and say that it’s not more comfortable to have money,” you shrugged, “But I learned from a very young age that having their money comes at a price and it’s not necessarily one I’m willing to pay.”

“I am sorry to hear that,” he said and you took another sip of your hot chocolate. “Parents should be the ones supporting us in where we want to go, not hold us back.”

You smiled sadly, “Well, that’s just how it is. I know they mean well by trying to get me back to Coruscant. But my internship runs for a few more months and I hope once my mother sees how happy I am here, she will put in a good word with my dad. She … He always had a soft spot for her.”

The hot chocolate warmed your chest or maybe it was the fact that Boba did not offer any advice. That was always the worst part. When you opened up to someone and they suggested things like you hadn’t ever considered to “Just talk to your parents” or “Just never talk to your parents again”. He had just listened and you didn’t even know if he knew how much that meant to you.

Suddenly feeling like you had taken up way too much space in this conversation, you cleared your throat, trying to get rid of the warm feeling this man awakened in you. It was time to switch topics.

“How, uh, how do you like being coach?”

Boba did not answer for a while. You watched him take a sip of his coffee, allowing your eyes to roam over the lines of his strong profile. What wouldn’t you give to trace your fingers over the bridge of his nose, over his jaw, the wrinkles by his eyes. You could just see yourself sitting in his lap, all wrapped up in him, and spend the entire night looking at the marvel that was this man.

Girl calm down, you’re literally just going out of a coffee.

“Way more than I thought I would,” was what he finally settled on and at the sight of your tilted head, he elaborated, “When I was a player, I thought I could never not be a player, you know? That if I wasn’t on the ice, I wouldn’t be in the room at all. But when I retired,” he tapped his left leg. You knew that he’d had an injury at some point, one that that contributed to his decision to retire. But you could not quite remember what it was. Were you supposed to research it? Was that weird, researching a man you were romantically interested in?

“I realized the joy wasn’t necessarily being on the ice, it was being part of a team.” He looked at you and your heart skipped a beat. “I enjoy being part of this team.”

“They really like you,” you found yourself saying, “Every time the players go for pre-game interviews, I never … I never hear a bad word about you. That’s rare. They really admire you.”

He sent you a blinding smile that had you struggling to breathe, your chest felt so tight. You did that. You made him smile. And for a minute, you were convinced it was your greatest achievement to date.

Boba took the empty paper cup out of your hand and threw it in the trash with his. With your hands unoccupied, you felt a little unsure of what to do. But before your anxiety had time to thrive, he took your hand in his, interlocking your fingers, and tucking your joined hands into the fur lined pocket of his coat.

“Let’s go for a walk, ‘mega,” he rumbled, “And you can tell me what your favourite interview was so far.”

*

It did not take long for your mother to show up in Mandalore. Four days, to be exact.

Which meant that the next hockey game you attended wasn’t because someone from press needed to be there, it was because your mother tricked you into going to brunch with her only to clap her hands and go “Oh darling why don’t you join me for a game? Your father told me your duties end before a game.”

You wondered if your father really knew that or if he had just gone along with whatever idea your mother had had. Going to a game together would be kind of sweet but you couldn’t help but think about what kind of impression it would make on your co-workers. You would immediately be branded as the owner’s daughter. There was no way you could avoid conversations about it then.

“Mom, I don’t think –“

“None of that now,” her voice left no room for questions, “It has been ages since I’ve seen you, honey. The least you can do is go to a hockey game with your old mother.”

You knew she meant well, you really did. This was her way of showing you she was hurt that you hadn’t reached out and you knew that, sooner or later, if you wanted to build a relationship with your parents that worked for you, you would have to spend time with her. You just weren’t sure if now was the right time for it. Stars, you had googled the expiration date of pesto this morning before you had met her for a Michelin star brunch.

Then again, if you were to go to the game, you would get to cheer on not only the Mandalorian Minotaurs but also their coach … and wasn’t that just what you needed right now? A look at that handsome older alpha would surely keep you in a better mood than if you went out for a meal with her.

Hours later, you were sitting in the owner’s box right next to your mother. The team was on a roll and you watched as Djarin held goal after goal, causing the crowd to go insane. But you only had eyes for the alpha standing by the side of the rink, looking focussed and dashing in his suit.

“Your father said that he is very happy with how the team is progressing.”

You bit your tongue to keep from commenting that their success had nothing to do with your fathers’ acquisition of them but you were not ready to have that discussion today. One battle at a time.

“This coach is really doing wonders,” your mother continued, oblivious to the thoughts that were raging in your mind, “He must be very good.”

Now that was something you could agree on.

“He really is,” you nodded, not taking your eyes off him. You were so high up he wouldn’t be able to see you and it was not like he would be looking for you in the first place. “He is doing a really good job with the team as well, the players really like and respect him. He did a self-led practice once, trying to see what the players required that he was missing.”

“Speaking of players,” your mother started, “I heard that this Berenson player is single.”

“Who? Joe Berenson?” you frowned, your eyes still on Boba who was currently whispering to some of the assistant coaches. You wondered if he would switch Din out for the new goalie. They were far ahead enough to try out some riskier stuff …

“- and your father went golfing with his father just a few years ago, isn’t that such a coincidence?”

It took you a moment to realize that she was still going on about Joe Berenson and not admiring Boba’s jaw line like you were doing.

“I am not sure Berenson and I could connect over golfing,” you muttered, your eyes following his form on the ice. You were pretty sure you had seen him out and about with that omega that Paz Vizsla continued to eye like the last brownie on the plate.

“But you could connect,” she shot you a meaningful look, “Maybe over dinner?”

The coin dropped. The curtain fell. And suddenly everything made a lot more sense.

“Mom,” you swallowed back the frustration that threatened to rise to the surface, “Did you come to the game with me to set me up with someone?”

“Setting up is such an ugly word,” she huffed, “I prefer the term matchmaking.”

You preferred the term meddling. But that was neither here nor there.

Remaining silent seemed like the best option as you tried to gather your options. You enjoyed spending time with your mother and you didn’t want to ruin the mood by causing a fight. But you also did not want to let her think that it was okay for her to meddle like this. She knew your weakest point was not wanting to disappoint her and your father.

The buzzer sounded and you both clapped as the game was won. Your mother turned to you, her face serious, “Just try it out. Who knows, maybe he turns out to be your true mate?”

“Aren’t you supposed to recognize them the first time you smell them?”

Faint notes of coffee filled your nose and you turned your head, trying to spot a familiar alpha. But he couldn’t be up here, the game had just ended, he would most likely be in the locker room or at the post-game interviews.

“You haven’t had your scent for a few years now, darling,” your mother unnecessarily reminded you, “It is safe to assume that once you meet them, it might take a little longer for you to realize it.”

“Now I feel great, thank you,” you smiled sarcastically, your heart. You knew your scent was weak, it was something you had noticed early on, when all your peers gained their presentations, their own individual scents came in.

After your first heat, there was still nothing. Your parents had done their best to assure you that there was nothing wrong with you and gotten all the expert medical opinions. But nothing changed the fact that you didn’t smell of anything to most people.

“I am sorry,” her hand touched your upper arm as you exited the owner’s box, “I just think it is important to keep in mind that you will find happiness out there. And you cannot find it if you don’t go out there.”

“If I promise to go out with Berenson, will you leave me alone with any more matchmaking?”

Her eyes twinkled, lighting up her entire face. “You won’t regret it,” she smiled, “I have made a reservation for you in the best restaurant in town, none of that take-out you depend upon here.”

The argument that you didn’t depend on takeout and that your cooking skills had significantly improved since your move, was on the tip of your tongue. Just this morning, you had bookmarked a recipe for a salad you wanted to try and meal prep for next week.

By now, you had made your ways downstairs, the mass of people leaving the arena while you continued down to the lower levels. It was busy, the hallways crowded with staff, players, people from the press and the occasional colleague from admin.

“I will go find your father,” your mother squeezed your arm, “Will you meet us for dinner tonight? We have a table at that fusion place by the opera.”

Once again torn between the desire to spend time with your parents and the knowledge that said time wouldn’t pass without them wanting to convince you to return to Coruscant, you could only smile tightly at her. “I’ll think about it, okay?”

The disappointment on her face was clear and broke your heart. But your mother only smiled at you, a knowing look in her eyes. “Take your time, darling,” she said, “We will be there.”

Watching her leave, made your chest feel tight and you looked around, relieved when you immediately spotted the bathroom. Maybe you would have been better served by at least pretending that was not where you were rushing. But as soon as you saw the door, you knew you had to get a few minutes alone.

But you weren’t alone.

“Is this our bathroom now?” you joked as the man besides you washed his hands.

“I like the sound of that,” Boba laughed, his gaze meeting yours in the mirror. You watched his strong hands move as he dried them with a paper towel. They were strong and thick, much thicker than your own, and you wondered what they would feel like inside you.

“That … that was a good game,” you swallowed back the sudden dryness in your throat, “Congratulations on the win.”

“You watched?”

“Yeah, my mother asked me to join her,” you trailed off, remembering how she set you up with someone who was not him, “She, uh, she wants me to go out with Berenson. On a date.”

Boba hummed and you carefully scanned his face for any trace of displeasure. He looked carefully neutral, though, and that disappointed you. You weren’t sure what this was between you, whether you would be exclusive or if he even wanted to be exclusive. What you were sure of was that you didn’t really want to be going out with anyone that wasn’t him. And you wanted him to want that do.

“What, uh, what do you say to that?”

“I say you go on that date,” he shrugged, a little smile on his lips, “And spend it thinking about how much better it would be if you went out with me instead.”

“Are – are you asking me out?”

“What if I am?”

Then I would be pretty fucking happy.

Your teeth dug into your bottom lip. “I … I don’t think I’ve been asked out before.”

“Many things you haven’t done before.”

“How do you know?”

“How do I know you haven’t been taken care of properly?” he asked you back, taking a few casual steps towards you. You watched in the mirror as he stood at your back and shivers ran down your body when you felt him behind you. “Maybe it’s because I can smell how needy you are every time we’re in a room together,“ his nose brushed over your throat and you tilted your head to give him more space, “Or how I can still hear your little gasp when you saw me stroke my cock, thinking of that pretty ‘mega that kept bringing me the names,” his hand landed on your hips and you arched your back, feeling him hard and heavy behind you. The fabric of your panties felt damp and you squeezed your legs together, trying to focus on his words and not the fact that you would let him do anything to you right now.

“Or maybe,” he continued, his lips moving against the sensitive skin of your neck, “It’s because every time I pay you a compliment, you look at me like the world just completely turned on its head.”

You let your head fall back against his shoulder, the view of you two together in the mirror too much. “Maybe I am just not used to someone complimenting me?”

“Which is a crime in and of itself,” his knuckles brushed over your cheek and you turned your face to look at him. He was warm and you could see the exhaustion in his face from the game. But you could also see the warm glow there that made your heart skip a beat. Before you could question yourself, you pressed your mouth to his in a gentle kiss.

A kiss that Boba reciprocated, the knuckles on your cheeks turning to fingers on your jaw. The noise in your head quieted down until all you could hear and feel was your heart beat – slow and steady. His mouth moved against yours completely unrushed, tasting you, feeling you, coaxing you open when you sighed against him.

“C’mere, princess,” he said, turning your whole body around until you were facing him, trapped between the cool porcelain of the sink and the heat you could feel through his suit. “Tell me what you dream about.”

“Wh-What?”

“Tell me what you want,” he murmured against you, his brown eyes staring into your very soul, “I know you’re holding back, little omega. Tell me what’s on your mind that you want to explore, hm? What do you want to do?”

“I,” you swallowed nervously, “I want to not worry about my job. Or my parents. I want to … not have to think about anything at all. And I want to go out for dinner with you and wear a pretty dress and for you to take what you want and – and I want you to want me, alpha.”

It was interesting what voicing your deepest, darkest desires could do with you. You felt proud of yourself, opening up to someone about what you wanted from them. You were also scared shitless because what if you had everything completely wrong? What if he hadn’t kissed you because he was interested in your but for some other completely platonic reason that you could not think of right now?

“Believe me,” he growled, both hands pulling you back against him, “If I were to take what I want right now, you would be around that corner, your pussy clenching around my knot.”

Your walls clenched around nothing and your hips bucked against him. “I would take you out all over the city, wherever you want to go, you just name it, princess,” he continued, “I would have you wear the prettiest dresses so I can just pull them up and eat you out whenever I want to. Or sit you on my cock when I have to watch the training tapes. You ever been knotted before, little one? Just imagine how much fun that would be, hm?”

His simple question already had you on edge. You shook your head quickly, turning your face so you could bury your nose in his neck, breathing in the scent of coffee. “No, I … never. But I want to – with you.”

The feeling of his hands running down your back to cup your ass had your pulse racing. The air between you was hot and heavy and you wanted him to take you right here. Right in this bathroom with all these people outside, you wanted him to touch you and fuck you and knot you and stars, maybe you could re-enact that scene in the shower and you could finally do what you wanted to do back then.

“I bet you want many things,” he whispered hotly against you, “And I want to make them come true for you, pretty omega, okay?”

“Okay,” you nodded, your noses brushing, “Okay, alpha.”

“And don’t worry about your date,” he winked at you, “I got it handled.”

*

If he had to listen Vizsla ask Djarin about that omega one more time, Boba would make them skate suicides.

A glance at his watch told him that practice was almost over and he thanked his ancestors that he had managed to keep it together today. There were few things worse than an alpha in love and one of them was an alpha who was in denial about being in love. Paz Vizsla was neck-deep in denial but there was no mistaking how his scent spiked every time he saw or even spoke of a certain omega. If this would go on for much longer, he might have to ask Djarin to initiate an intervention.

Thank the stars that could never be him.

At the thought of you, with your shy yet sweet smile and the faint scent of vanilla, his shoulders relaxed.

He realized the moment he first spotted you coming into his office, bravely asking him for Djarin and Berenson on interview duty, that you were special. He hadn’t been quite able to determine why yet but ever since then, you had not left his thoughts.

And then when you had caught him under the shower, with his hand wrapped around his cock, his mind on you, he had smelled you. That sweet, faint vanilla scent that made the world seem like a puzzle that suddenly fell into place.

There was no denying that you were Boba Fett’s true mate and he was pretty sure that he was yours. He was also sure that you were terrified out of your mind and not used to being pursued the way he wanted to pursue you. There was this cloud of anxiety around you that he knew would take time to get through, especially if your parents decided to put stones in your (and subsequently his) path to happiness.

Another look at his clipboard and he decided everyone was done for the day. Except for one.

“Berenson,” he called to the young player that was about to follow the others back to the locker room, “Stay back for a minute.”

The blonde man grinned at him and he had to force himself to remain civil.

“Is this what about what I think it is?”

“If you mean that fact that you are taking the owner’s daughter out for dinner tomorrow night, yes it is,” he confirmed, his fingers twitching around the board in his hand, “Because I hope you are aware of the responsibility you carry, Berenson, so you better listen to what I am going to say to you.”

You had worked a long time to fight against the constant feeling of unease and had managed to suppress it for the last few months, ever since you had started your paid internship in the press/marketing department of the local ice hockey team.

Still chewing, your friend pointed to the headline on the newspaper she had brought with you. “We got a new owner. Some private investments company or something.”

Maudii continued to talk but you did not continue to listen. Mandalorian Minotaurs Taken Over By Media Giant!!! Was printed in large letters, right there on the paper. It wasn’t that headline in particular that had your heart stopping but the fact that it was your last name staring back at you from the title page.

Or, to be more accurate, your father’s last name.

“I have to go,” you stood up, feeling faint, “To … the bathroom.”

And off you went.

At least you weren’t lying. You were going to the bathroom. Just not the closest one.

The Minotaur headquarters were situated in their own arena. A large building in the middle of the city, its insides resembled more a maze than anything else but it had become familiar to you in the last few months. Ever since you had finally managed to finish your postgraduate degree – without dipping into your trust fund – you had sought out job opportunities that would put you as far away as possible from the family business on the east coast. A hockey team in a random city on the other side of the country had seemed like a safe bet.

Now all you had ended up doing was losing the one little corner where your parents had left you in peace.

Practice was done for today already, so you allowed yourself to venture into the lower levels, hurrying down the stairs until your legs were burning and the hardwood floors switched into durable light grey vinyl flooring. Passing through the metal door in the stairway, you ended up in a hallway that was painted a stark white.

Team photos from the past few decades accompanied you on your way down the hall. By now, your heart was pounding so hard in your chest, it was all you could do not to sink to your knees in plain sight. The wall was interrupted by a door and yeah, your sight might have been blurry, but you would recognize the little white stick figure anywhere.

Sanctuary.

Deep breaths, you tried to encourage yourself, deep breaths. In an out. In. And out. All will be well.

The door swung closed behind you and you rested your hand against the tiled wall. It was cool to the touch and you bent over, trying to regulate your breathing to no avail. Maybe some water would help?

Giant mirrors covered the wall over the sinks. The aesthetic of this room could be best described as 1980’s high school locker room chic, some of the tiles were chipped and you could see rust on the fittings. It wasn’t the best maintained room which is why it had quickly become your escape when you needed a place to breathe way from everyone else. Knowing that this secret space existed, just waiting for you to seek it out, had done wonders for staving off any panic attacks during your first few weeks here.

Although you had grown more confident in your position, it did not change the fact that – right now – you could not stand to look at yourself. Facing yourself would mean facing a lot of truths and fears you had run away from the past few years and it would not help that you looked like a mess. And felt like one, too.

With ignoring the sinks seeming like the better option, you rounded the corner to the showers. Either the quiet, tiled space would make you feel calm and settled or like you were in an 80’s horror flick version of an insane asylum.

Only, the space wasn’t quiet.

Your eyes followed the puddle of water and landed on two bare feet.

How odd, that would mean that somebody was standing –

Somebody way standing there.

Naked.

There was water coming out of the fixed showerhead, steam filling the room and your eyes widened in panic. How had you not noticed that? How had your head been so preoccupied with your approaching panic attack that you hadn’t noticed that you were not alone?

And not just alone with anybody. You would recognize that scent – woodsy with a hint of coffee – anywhere and even if you didn’t, the shape of his broad shoulders would betray him. Boba fucking Fett was standing with his back to you. Retired hockey legend and recently announced coach for the Mandalorian Minotaurs.

One forearm was braced against the tiles, his other arm was covered by his body but you could see it moving, almost as if –

Fuck.

Your cheeks blazed with heat at the realization that Boba Fett, national treasure and former captain of the Tuskan Raiders, was jerking off. This was probably the moment where normal people would (1) quietly disappear or (2) apologize loudly and then disappear.

You did neither.

No, you just stood there, your eyes raking over his form, taking in the sight of him. And what a sight it was. He was all muscles and fat and breadth. Thick. Sturdy. A man who no longer had to keep up with his physique for his career but who was still strong as fuck. There was a tattoo on his shoulder blade that seemed to wrap towards his chest too, his ass was exquisite and his thighs were trunks and –

Stars, you needed to leave right now.

He groaned and the deep sound reverberated through your entire body. You could feel a gush of wetness between your thighs, the arousal covering your panic for just a moment. You liked men who were vocal during sex, there was just something about it that made your blood thrum. Maybe because you were always quiet? A ying to your yang?

Your last boyfriend, Dreks, back in college, had just rolled his eyes at your quiet comment that it made you feel good to hear him. “Why do you wanna hear me if you barely get your mouth open, hm?” he had asked and closed that part of the conversation for the rest of your relationship. Somehow, you had the feeling that this problem would not occur with Boba Fett.

As if he could sense you thinking about him, his face turned. Brown eyes found yours immediately and you could see them widen in surprise for just a moment. But the water didn’t stop beating down his back and his hand didn’t stop stroking .

His eyes fixed you where you stood. You had never felt more like caged prey, being eyed by a predator. Although prey usually wanted to escape. You didn’t know what you wanted. Maybe you wanted to step closer, actually.

“Came for a show?” he asked, his mouth forming an amused smile. One that you were sure would haunt you in your dreams.

You swallowed thickly, desperately trying to find words to answer him. You needed to do something. You needed to apologize. You needed to leave. You needed to quit your job and hope your parents would not find you where you escaped to next.

Instead, your feet remained rooted to the floor. The sound of water hitting the tiles echoed in the room, it was almost loud enough to cover your heavy breathing and racing heartbeat. The steam wasn’t enough to cover his scent, though, or yours. Maybe it even emphasized it like some kind of diffuser. All you could smell was him.

Boba Fett was unfairly handsome for a man his age. For a man of any age, really. Now that you thought about it, you didn’t even know how old he was. Probably too old for you, although when had that ever stopped your brain from conjuring up the filthiest fantasies with a man old enough to be your father?

And then, as if you had not suffered enough, he fully turned around to face you.

It was as if the universe was giving you another chance to do what was right. To turn around. Avert your eyes. Apologize for the misunderstanding (whatever that was) and leave.

Instead you opted for the inappropriate option. His arms flexed with muscles, strength hidden under a layer of softness that made you want to touch him. Water was running down his chest, soaking the hairy trail leading to where he was squeezing his thick girth. How in the world could a cock be beautiful? He was long, thick – thicker than anything you had seen before – and the mushroom tip had a little drop of precome on it that made you want to sink to your knees.

His fingers squeezed his base and you could see the hint of his knot forming. He was close. He was so close and you were just a step away. Fuck, would it be an option to just ask him nicely if you could join him?

You wanted nothing more than to wash away the panic and anxiety and the racing thoughts and focus on something pleasant. Something warm. Like another body. Another pair of hands. Another pair of lips that would whisper sweet and filthy nothings into your ear until you were no longer the failed daughter of a media giant but instead the desired omega who did such a good job taking this big co-

Spooked by your own thoughts, you suddenly realized what you were doing. You were standing in a team bathroom – a room where you had no business being in the first place – and had walked in on the coach, naked. And instead of leaving him in peace, you were looking at his cock like your mouth was begging to have him between your lips. That was at least 25 HR violations.

Oh, you were so fired.

“Sorry, alpha,” you squeaked out and then finally your body moved, turning around and hurrying out of the bathroom, down the hallway, out of the arena, and straight to your apartment.

*

“So how big is he?”

“I am sorry I just told you my father is the CEO of one of the biggest companies in the country and most likely bought this team just to spite me and you ask about the coach’s dick?”

“Well yes,” Maudii shrugged, picking up another piece of pasta from her plate. You had needed to sniff the pesto to see whether it was still good but both of you had determined that the sauce was still edible. “Because you also told me you saw the Boba Fett naked and jerking off. So forgive a girl for focussing on the really important things.”

You had focussed on them more than you’d like to admit but you didn’t tell her that.

“He was … adequate.”

“Adequate?” she raised her eyebrows, “I don’t believe a word you say. You have a crush on that man ever since he was introduced this season. Hell, you’re even the one who volunteered to discuss which player we send to the press before each home game. A job so hated, they usually pull straws for it!”

“I don’t have a crush,” you mumbled, your fork scraping over your plate, “And he is not that bad. Just …. Strict. Focussed, I guess. And today I was just … surprised.”

“You didn’t even tell me why you were down there in the first place.”

You shifted on the loveseat you were currently sharing. One day maybe you were in a position to get a bigger couch or squeeze an armchair into your cramped living room. “It’s my … safe space.”

“From what?”

“Everything,” you shrugged, feeling the all familiar-shame rise up in you, “Sometimes, things get a bit too much and I need to go somewhere quiet. That bathroom is usually empty.”

“And this time it was too much because ….“

You rolled your eyes, unable to keep your mouth from quirking up. Maudii was the kind of friend who would never let you lie to yourself. In another time, she would have made for a great therapist.

“Because I spent the last four years trying to distance myself from my parents and pay for my own way. And I thought I managed to do that until I found out my dad bought the sports team which means they won’t leave me to my own devices.”

She nodded, washing down her bite of pasta with a sip of soda. “And then you fled to your safe space where you saw your crush buck naked and jerking off and yet all you say about him is that he was” – she drew bunny ears in the air – “adequate …. but okay. I will let you keep your secrets. Now, what are we gonna do about your dad?”

Now that was a question you didn’t have an answer to.

*

Turns out, it didn’t even matter what your answer to that question would have been. Because, like it had happened so often before, your father had already made his move.

The sun was just starting to rise above the city skyline when you set your stuff down on your desk. Your mental to do list was already figured out and your fingers were itching to write it down on a sticky note and make your way through the day, one task at a time.

But as soon as your computer booted up, you were hit with an appointment reminder.

Meeting, Small Conference Room

That was all you needed to see to know that your father had found you. And it was all you needed to see for your day to completely derail. How could you focus on interview prompts and photoshoot schedules when you would meet your father in less than an hour and most likely would have to defend every life choice you ever made?

Before you knew it, you were crossing the threshold to the meeting that had your heart racing. The small conference room wasn’t really that small. It was just smaller but with only two people in it, one of them often described as the land’s most influential man, it felt gigantic. Like an ocean was parting you from one of the people who had known you the longest. Only that the ocean was a long, long table.

“Hi dad.”

“Hi darling,” he pressed a kiss to your cheek, “Long time, no see. Sit.”

You sat down opposite him. It was clear where had set up his office, there were papers strewn across the surface and a few to go coffee cups. You wondered where his assistant, Briggs, had wandered off to. Probably to get more coffee.

“Yeah, I’ve been … busy, you know.”

He just hummed, not really acknowledging what you said. “Your mother worries. You could’ve called.”

“I did,” you reminded him, “Last Christmas. And for your birthdays. And mine.”

“Four phone calls are nothing.”

You weren’t brave enough to point out that they could have called you, too. Sitting opposite him, you felt like you were eight years old again, gathering the courage to tell him that you didn’t care for the riding lessons, you’d much rather join the swimming club. The only difference was that eight-year-old you hadn’t known yet that it didn’t matter what you wanted.

“You knew where I was the entire time, I told you you were welcome to visit me,” you swallowed, “I, uh, I graduated last summer, like I told you.”

They had not showed up for your graduation. A fact that you had spent months preparing yourself for. When the seats you had reserved for them up to the last minute were still empty by the time you received your certificate, your heart still cracked.

“And now we are here,” he sighed like he was already tired of his stint in Mandalore, “What is it you do here anyway?”

This was it. This was your moment to shine. To show him what you had been up to ever since you had left Coruscant behind. To show off the purpose of your work and the happiness your life here brought you.

“I work in the administrative branch of the team,” you explained, your heart swelling with pride, “I am currently doing an internship in the press –“

“Internship,” he scoffed, “You could have had a managing position already with all the bells and whistles that you want.”

“I told you I don’t want –“

“Your refusal to take advantage of the family business is admirable,” he interrupted you again and your jaw clenched, “But you and I both know that the sports world is no place for an omega like yourself. What would our friends think, seeing you working for some mediocre sports team? You’re throwing your life away for some quest for independence that won’t matter in ten years.”

“That’s not true,” you protested quietly, your hands clenching, “We could win the cup this season and I have a lot of fun here and – and I do a good job. My boss told me there is a good chance they will be hiring when my internship is over and –“

“I am the one who decides when and who they will be hiring,” your father snapped. His eyes were hard and you shrunk into your seat. “Your mother is worried, sweetheart, and the sooner you realize that all we want is to see you succeed, the better prepared you will be to return to the capital.”

Tears stung in your eyes. The most frustrating part was that you knew he meant well. Both your parents did everything out of love for you, you knew that, even if that was oftentimes hard to recognize. Yet. it did not take away from the fact that they had no clue what it was you wanted in life. Their definition of success was just that: theirs.

You had spent years of your life coming to that conclusion, would it take just as long for you to finally free yourself from the weight of their judgement?

Pondering just that (and trying to keep the tears at bay), you didn’t notice the door cracking open and another person joining you. Only when the scent of woods and coffee grounds drifted through the air, did you realize that it was none other than –

“This is Coach Fett,” your father smiled like he had not just destroyed your confidence and future plans in one sentence, “I have asked him to join us. Come in, Boba. This is my daughter, I am sure you’ve met.”

Boba Fett was dressed a bit more casual than usual, wearing dark grey slacks and a white button down that glowed bright under the fluorescent lights. His sleeves were rolled up, revealing veiny forearms and you tried to focus on whether or not you could see his tattoo through the fabric of his shirt.

(The answer, sadly, was no.)

“I believe so,” he approached you confidently, a twinkle in his eyes when he held out his large hand for you to shake, “Still, it’s a pleasure to meet you.”

You felt small in his grip, drawing comfort from the warm, solid contact, before he sat down at the head of the table. Right between you and your father.

The universe was laughing at you, you were sure of it.

“So … why am I here?” Boba asked, completely light hearted, “Kept me from putting on a show for the boys downstairs.”

You knew it was meant as a joke. He was talking about the team and practice and hockey, not about the show he had offered to put on for you last week. Stars, had it really only been a week since then? You felt like you had aged at least three years in that time.

He probably hardly remembered. He didn’t spend his sleepless nights thinking about it like you did.

“My daughter is of the opinion that an internship in this team is the best use of her time,” your father’s voice snapped you out of your thoughts. He was looking at the coach intently, almost like they were both in on the same joke. The joke being you.

Boba’s face hardened and you watched as he shifted in his seat, straightening his back. “Why wouldn’t it be?” he asked back, “We’re the most successful team on the West Coast, we have good chances at the Cup this season and the press department has been an excellent starting board for a few sports journalist.”

Silence.

That was all that followed.

You couldn’t remember the last time someone had openly opposed your dad and gotten away with it. Judging from the sour expression on his face, neither did he. But Boba Fett also wasn’t the kind of man you could speak down to like your father spoke to you. They were roughly (maybe?) the same age, successful in their own right and you knew one of the most important things to consider after a takeover was not to antagonize the staff.

“Be that as it may,” your father cleared his throat, “Her time here is short with her internship ending soon.” Your heart started to race again and you looked around, trying to see if there was a glass of water standing around anywhere. “And her mother and I want to make sure that she doesn’t embarrass our good name –“

“I am sure she won’t.”

“– so I would be very grateful if you could keep an eye on her when we can’t.”

You should be used enough to your parents’ antics that nothing should surprise you anymore.

But hiring the Boba Fett to keep an eye on you. That was a new low.

Worse than that was the incredulous expression on his face. He didn’t seem enthusiastic about it at all. And who could possibly blame him? Not only had your father basically degraded him to the job of babysitter, it also implied that you weren’t good at your job.

“Consider it done.”

The words had your shoulders falling and you stared at the woodgrain on the table. You didn’t know what felt worse: That your parents were meddling again, that they involved Boba in it or that Boba seemed to believe them.

Your dad clapped his hands together once, a sign you knew meant that you were dismissed. “That sounds good. Thanks, Fett. Now I will let you both do what it is that you do.”

As you stood up, Boba caught your gaze and your cheeks flushed, feeling completely embarrassed and undermined.

“Goodbye, sweetheart.”

“Bye, dad,” you bent down to press a kiss to his cheek.

“Don’t forget to call.”

“I won’t.”

And with that you and Boba were out in the hallway like you had just been sent out by the principal. It was barely ten in the morning and this was already the worst day of the week. Hell, the worst day of the entire month.

When the alpha next to you didn’t move away but remained standing next to you, you allowed yourself two things. One, to breathe in his scent and let it calm down your racing heart. Maybe you should invest in a coffee scented candle if it helped with your anxiety this much? Two, to actually speak to him.

“I’m – I’m sorry about that,” you started, “My father has a way of getting into people’s business without really meaning to.”

“Well, I meant I wasn’t expecting to get showered with praise,” he winked at you, “But I’ll be thankful that I have an excuse to talk to you more, pretty omega.”

Your eyes widened with realization when he walked away from you. He definitely remembered.

*

The coach’s office was by some considered a small room but compared to your cubicle upstairs it was as spacious as the ice rink itself. With Boba Fett standing in the room, though, it felt like there was no place to stand in which you weren’t in danger of touching him.

Which was bad, if you wanted to be mad at him.

“Okay, this needs to stop.”

“What needs to stop?” He crossed his arms over his chest, leaning back against the edge of his desk. If you weren’t so furious you might have appreciated the way the fabric stretched over his broad chest or how the silver watch on his wrist made his hands look even thicker. His entire game day outfit belonged in the trash, or on the floor. Anywhere but on his body, really.

“You cannot just keep teasing me every time we see each other. This has been going on for weeks now, you making comment about getting or putting on a show or showers or … or anything really!” You threw your hands up, your pulse racing, “This is my place of work and I am tired of people not taking me seriously, including you. Yes, okay, I saw you in the shower and I had no business being there anyway and sure, I might have looked way more than I should have and interrupted you doing something very … intimate. But isn’t it enough that I can barely meet your eyes as is? Do you have to remind of it every single time we see each other? My father ordered you to look out for which I am still very sorry, by the way, but I am trying my best and I cannot do my best if I am constantly reminded of your … your, uh …”

You trailed off, heat rising into your cheeks because why could you not stop thinking about his cock?

Sensing a new opportunity to fluster you, Boba leant forward, his eyes twinkling with amusement. “My what?” he asked, “Go on, say it, pretty ‘mega. Gives me something to think about at night.”

“That! That is what I mean!” you accused him, your finger meeting his chest and he laughed. Your chest rose and fell with strenuous breaths and you felt winded, like a balloon that had been popped. You were just … here. Boba, on the other hand, was still the epitome of smugness.

“That everything, princess?”

You huffed, moving to cross your arms over your chest but he stopped you. As if in slow motion, you watched as one large hand landed on yours, keeping it on his chest. Your fingers flattened and you could feel his heat … and his strong heartbeat.

“What is that supposed to mean?” you glared up at him.

Boba leant back again, still holding you, and you followed until you were standing right between his legs, cradled in by him. Close enough to smell the mix of his aftershave and the coffee scent that haunted your dreams.

“Just wanted to let you get it all out before I bend you over this table.”

You did not know whether to be angry at him or ashamed at the images that immediately flooded your mind at his words. Your body decided on the not-so-secret third option and focussed on the arousal that spread through you, gathering between your legs. “And what in the world would ever make you think that I would let you, Coach Fett?”

Boba rose to his full height, then. Breadth, too. He was a large man and sometimes people forgot about that when they talked about the giants of the team like Paz Vizsla. But right here, right now, it was Boba Fett who just took up every one of your senses. He was all you could see, all you could smell, stars, even all you could taste. You wondered if his taste would be stronger if you were to put your mouth on the scent gland on his neck …

No damnit, you were supposed to be mad at him!

And, in a way, you were mad. Just not about the things you were talking about. You were mad that he looked through you so easily. You were mad that even when you tried to intimidate him, he did not shy away from pulling you closer. You were mad that his proximity, the one he so casually coaxed out of you, made you feel safer and more seen than ever before. And you were mad that you did not even have to tell him that. He already knew.

With one infuriatingly smooth move, he turned you both around. His grip on you tightened and your breath hitched when you felt the edge of the table digging into the back of your thighs.

“Because I can smell you dripping right through those little panties you've got on, sweetheart.”

You bit your lip and watched Boba’s eyes darken at the move. Something flashed in your mind, an idea, a desire, so strong, it would have knocked you off your feet if it had not been for the hand on yours. This was the worst – or possibly best – idea you ever had.

“Who says I am wearing panties?”

“I do, princess.”

“Oh?”

He hummed, the sound reminding you of the groan he had let out in the shower, and suddenly your skin felt too tight for your body. It got even worse when his face got so close, his nose touched yours. “Because if you’re telling me right now that you’re not wearing any panties under that pretty dress of yours, there is no way you’ll leave this office without my come dripping down your thighs.”

Your breath hitched at the image. Was that a promise? Why did you want it to be a promise? Stars, this was game day. His team was outside. You needed to leave, you needed to distance yourself from this man who had snuck his way into your filthiest daydreams. You needed to not ask him any more questions.

“What makes you think I would let you?” you breathed out, searching his eyes for … something. For confirmation, maybe, that this affected him just as much as it affected you.

“Because I think you are used to being in a room where people overlook you,” he rumbled, his scent washing over you, “But I do not overlook you. Nor do I underestimate you. I see you, omega, and I don’t know if you need someone to challenge or pamper you. This is me finding out.”

The raw honesty surprised you. Brain running through option of what you could say without exposing yourself.

Pamper me! Your brain screamed. Take care of me, please!

“We shouldn’t be doing this,” you swallowed heavily, “Somebody – somebody could see.”

“Let them,” he replied easily, his mouth brushing over yours in the lightest of kisses. “Because I think, omega, we absolutely should be doing this.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.” And then he kissed you.

His mouth was on yours and your eyes fluttered shut. Everything in you was tense, a string pulled taut and the only thing that could release you was his touch. You could not remember the last time a kiss had taken you up so completely.

Boba let go off your hand but you still kept in on his chest, feeling his heartbeat speed up under your touch. His hands framed your face, his thumbs brushing over your cheeks so gently, you felt like the most precious thing in the world. When his tongue brushed over your mouth, you opened up for him, letting your tongues meet and revelling in the delicious feeling of his stubbled chin against yours.

The urge to get closer grew stronger and you lifted your hand to the back of his neck, trying to pull him to you.

But Boba Fett was not a man easily moved. If anything, he moved you.

“Up,” he ordered against your mouth, his hips grinding against yours. A shot of electricity ran down your spine when you felt him heard and heavy between your legs. Arching your back, you wiggled up onto his desk and spread your legs.

“Good girl,” he praised you, “Opening her legs for me without having to ask.”

Never in your life did you think a compliment – a filthy one at that – would have your panties wet. Yet here you were, feeling positive that if he were to look now, there was no way he wouldn’t notice the wet patch on the grey fabric.

His hand landed on your thigh, gently pushing it to the side, spreading you even more and you kissed him again. You could spend all day just like this, being touched by this man, kissed by him, thinking of nothing else but how good he felt against you.

A knock on the door made you flinch and Boba pulled away.

“Coach, are you there?” That was Berenson. “Vizsla and I had a question about that play you wanted us to try out.”

“Be there in a minute!” he called out, his voice rough.

Your lips felt swollen and your nipples were aching, rubbing against the inside of your bra and not his chest hair. Had that really happened? Had you really just kissed him?

“Give me your phone,” he said quietly. He took a step away from you and your legs immediately snapped shut. To hide yourself from his gaze or try and get some pressure on your clit, you did not know. What you did know was that you handed him your phone without question and that when your fingers brushed against his, there still was that spark that ran over your skin.

“What are you doing?” you asked,

“Putting my number in,” he explained, his large fingers deftly moving over the screen, “And when this game is won, I want you to text me your favourite coffee place.”

“Why?”

“So that we can meet for coffee,” he said as if it was the most natural thing in the world. Your phone landed back in your hand and your eyes slid to the prominent bulge in his pants. He was hard. You had made him hard. Stars, would he spend the whole game just like that? “And so that I can pamper you the way you need. Because that’s what you need, isn’t it? You need someone on your side, princess, and to take care of you the way you need.”

Blinking, you looked up at him in surprise. How had he –

“See?” he winked at you, “We definitely should be doing this.”

And blood they had seen when he threw some punches and pulled opposed players away from his teammates. Sure, he had gotten to assist in one goal, too, which was nice. But that was not why people wanted to see him, usually.

He was the big bad alpha that cleaned up the field. That made sure his teammates were free to dominate the game without the opposing teams trying to tackle them to the ground. He was the enforcer, the bodyguard. The fighting guy.

Now he was sitting in the locker room, legs spread, elbows resting on his knees, his heart pounding in his chest as he tried to calm down. His fingers flexed, itching to rub the chain on his neck between his fingers. He usually kept it under his clothes, trying to keep the metal as close to him as possible but today he was restless.

And it did not help that his coach spoke in riddles he could not understand.

“What’re you talking about?” he asked his old idol-turned-coach.

Boba Fett just grinned. Dressed in a suit for each game, the last hours had him shed his jacket and roll up the sleeves of his white button down. It was still difficult to reconcile the image of his Coach Boba Fett with Fett #64, one of the most successful players for the Tuskan Raiders. Stars, he had had a poster of this man in his bedroom when he was small.

“You know exactly who I am talking about considering you kept watching her whenever you were on the bench,” the older man replied easily, clearly amused by him, “And who could blame you? You’ve got yourself a pretty one, Vizsla.”

His fists clenched. It was obvious that Boba was trying to taunt him, to get him out of his shell. So why, if he could already sense that this was a test, did Paz still have the desire to punch his boss for talking about you like this?

For a moment, he thought himself to be saved when Din plopped down next to him, freshly showered and gathering his belongings in a bag. “You’ve been besotted with her ever since Chants introduced you,” his friend nudged his shoulder, “I can’t believe you still pretend you’re not in love with her.”

Love.

The word made Paz stiffen just as your face flashed in his mind. It was true that he had looked at you a few times during the game. The rowdy energy made you nervous, even though you did your best to cheer for the team. But with everyone on edge today, he had wanted to make sure that you were okay. That you did not get swept up in some of the fights that sometimes broke out between fans.

Thank the stars that had not happened today. He still was not sure what he would have done in that case. Interrupting the game and jumping into the fight to get you out of there safe and sound was the most likely answer. One that he tried very hard to ignore.

But love? Love was a big word. Love was something he couldn’t offer without serious repercussions. Love would never be in the cards for someone like him.

“That’s not true.”

“Yeah, it is and you know it,” Din was unimpressed, “The only omega you ever talk about is her and I don’t know if you noticed but you talk about her a lot, Paz. I don’t know why you refuse to acknowledge it. Stars, you had me text Chants mid-game to get her some painkillers because you could feel her pain across the ice.”

The memory burned in his chest. That day had been rough. He had hardly slept the night before and when he had spotted you in the stands, he was angry at Chants for not noticing how obviously in pain you were. He had steered the game to the zone behind the net more times than he could count to be closer to you, to check up on you, until Fett had pulled him aside during a break and told him to knock it off.

Getting the painkillers to you was the least he could do and even then, there was no stopping the worry for you. It had started the second he had first put eyes on you and he would carry it with him to his deathbed, of that he was sure.

“You know why I have to keep away from her,” Paz muttered, running his hand over his stubble.

“I know why you think you have to keep away from her,” his friend scoffed, shouldering his bag as he made to leave, “I also know why what you think is bullshit. Face the facts, Vizsla, you cannot outrun your own feelings without hurting her in the process. And I know for a fact that hurting her is the last thing you want to do.”

*

“You’re hurt,” Paz said, his teeth clenching so hard he was sure he would give himself a tension migraine within the minute.

You were sitting in front of him, right on the ice, as people skated all around you.

When Din had mentioned in passing that you and Chants would join the Open Rink Tuesday today, Paz’s plan of lying on the couch after a gruesome practice had evaporated into thin air. Instead, he had found himself joining his friend on the drive to the local ice rink that had been set up in the park for the winter season.

Not wanting to pull too much attention to himself, he had stayed away from the crowd, just doing a few laps here and there. Most of the time, he had been busy watching you from afar anyway.

You had gotten a little better, a little braver, and he could not help the smile on his face when you had waved Chants off and instead started to skate all on your own. True, it was at a snail’s pace but you stuck to the empty spots and you looked so proud, so happy, it was like his heart could not help but reciprocate.

That is, until some idiot skated past you way too close, causing you to lose your balance and falling before he could race to catch you. The sound of you landing on the ice echoed in his head even now.

Now he was kneeling in front of you, trying to control the rage that simmered in his chest.

You were hurt. And it had happened on his watch.

He wanted to punch himself as much as the guy who had continued skating without a care in the world. People had rushed in to help you but the glare on his face must have been as menacing as he felt because they disappeared without a word.

A soft hand landed on his and he snapped out of his thoughts.

“I am fine,” you assured him, “I just took a tumble.”

Just a tumble.

He wanted to argue that it was not just a tumble. That you could have bruised your tailbone and that it hurt like hell or that you were lucky that you had not hit your head or that he could only get his chest to loosen up if he carried you to his own bed and let you build a nest right there.

Don’t think of her in your bed, idiot, you’re making it worse.

Stars, he really was making it so much worse. You probably didn’t even want him here. You were a grown adult, you could take care of yourself, you didn’t need a massive alpha fussing over you when he couldn’t even make sure you were protected.

“Sorry,” he muttered, standing back up, “Don’t want to scare you.”

“You scare me more when you leave.”

His step froze. What did you just say?

“You – It scares me when you leave me alone,” your voice was quiet but not quiet enough for him to mishear anything you were saying, “I know it’s silly but – could you stay?”

“Course mega,” he sank to his knees without question. His hand gently closed around your ankle, the one who had buckled first, and expertly pressed it, gauging your reaction.

“What did you mean by that?” you asked instead, “That you don’t want to scare me?

“Have you seen me, sweetheart?” he muttered, relieved when nothing seemed to bring an immediate reaction of pain, “I am a big motherfucker and when I get angry, it’s worse. Scaring others is good on the ice but I know not everyone signed up for that. You certainly didn’t sign up for that.”

“You seem to forget that I’ve seen you up close,” you reminded him gently, wincing when he slowly rotated your foot to the right. It was definitely swollen. But not broken. Thank the stars or else he would have to hunt that guy down. “I had your hands on me before.”

Nothing in the world would ever make him forget the seven minutes he got to spend in that closet with you. He would forever remember the heat in your eyes, your scent in his nostrils and how soft your skin had been under his touch. Still –

“That was different.”

“How?”

“Because it didn’t mean anything,” he said, looking up, searching your eyes for the same despair he felt whenever you were near him, “Right? That’s what you said.”

“Right,” you whispered. Your gaze dropped to where his hand was still on your ankle. “Will you help me up?”

He did so with a tug of his hand and no one would ever get him to admit that he held your hand for just a moment longer than strictly necessary. You did not seem to mind, though. In fact, your hand even squeezed his and before he knew it, he squeezed it right back.

The shy smile on your face made his heart stutter. “You might be big, Paz Vizsla,” you said, “But you are not scary. Not to me.”

And that was exactly what he was afraid of.

*

“You know the rule, boys,” Boba’s voice called through the locker room, “No partner visits before a game. And there is no exception for fiancées.”

Djarin rolled his eyes and made no move to step away from Chants who had snuck in for a good luck kiss.

“You just had that pretty Omega intern in your office, Coach,” Berenson called from his place on the bench, already half-dressed, “Don’t the rules apply to you?”

The look Boba threw his teammate was positively menacing and Paz was surprised that Berenson did not fall dead on the spot.

“She is not my partner,” the older man corrected them, his grip tight on the clipboard, “Now get dressed and get on the ice before I make you skate suicides and bench you for the rest of the game.”

“And sneaking around with the owner’s daughter probably doesn’t bring good luck either,” Chants whispered conspiratorially and Paz bit back his laugh. Din grabbed his fiancée by the back of his neck and pulled him in for a kiss.

Silence covered the entire room as everyone got ready for the game. Paz focussed on tying his skates, pondering if he would get a chance to see you today. If Chants was here, chances were good that he wasn’t here alone. And if he wasn’t here alone, chances were even better that you were with him.

“Are you coming to the awards ceremony, too?” Chants turned to ask him just as he was about to leave, “It’s in two weeks and I think Din would enjoy it much more with a friend there.”

“He is getting an award,” Din interjected, throwing him a look, “Of course, he’ll be there.”

This was it. This was his chance.

“Is, uh, is your friend bringing a date?”

Chants eyed him, completely unimpressed. “She is not. You should ask her out if you want to.”

Paz cursed himself immediately. There was no way he was going to do that. But knowing that you weren’t going out with Berenson again (or anyone else, for that matter) let peace wash over him even if just for a moment.

He tried to channel that peace while he finished getting ready. While he made his way to the ice, the roaring of the crowd in his ears. He even tried to channel it during warm-ups.

His peace lasted all of five minutes because that’s when he spotted you. Cheering in the front row, you were standing next to Chants and, more importantly, you were wearing a dark blue jersey. For a moment, he imagined it was his jersey you were wearing and his blood roared in his ears.

Switching his stick from left to right, he skated past you, making sure you saw him when he tapped his helmet in greeting. The moment you recognized him was marked by the blinding smile on your face that felt like a punch to his chest. You were happy to see him. And he was happy to see you, always happy to see you, he realized.

Something in his chest gave away, probably one of the walls he’d erected the moment he heard some devastating words years ago. And now he could allow himself to be happy now that you were happy.

Suddenly, he wanted to win more than anything.

He also wanted his name and number on the jersey you were wearing.

And his bite mark on your neck.

But all of that was a problem for future Paz. The moment the whistle marked the beginning of the game, he could focus on what he could control. He would bring a win home tonight. For you.

The game was a shit show. The Tuskan Raiders hadn’t come to lose and he had to get into a fight more than once, ripping opposing players off his team mates or slamming into them in the fight for the puck.

Gazos (#15 of the Tuskan Raiders) rammed into him when Paz interjected a pass. The plexiglass wobbled and he could hear the crowd cheer in excitement. The helmet kept him from getting his cheek squished against the glass but he still didn’t like it. Until he spotted you. You were standing right in front of him, your eyes wide with fear and shock.

Paz could not help himself. He winked at you. And the flustered look on your face was totally worth the pain when his opponent pushed him harder against the wall.

Gazos must have noticed the interaction because he leant in close. “Don’t think the puck bunny will be interested when she sees how pathetic you are when you lose. But don’t worry, I will take good care of her if she needs to come on a victorious knot tonight.”

He did not know what ticked him off more. That Gazos wanted to sleep with you and implied that you were a puck bunny in the same sentence. Or the worry on your face for him.

Both were unacceptable, he decided, and threw his head back, turning so he could push Gazos away from him. Fists were soon flying and before long, the whistle blew and he was sent off to the penalty box. Paz did not mind, though. Not when Boba nodded at him in understanding and certainly not when your eyes did not leave him for one second, staring at him from across the field.

Your gaze on him felt like a warm blanket. Reassuring, comforting and something he wanted to keep at all costs.

He played the game knowing you were watching him and he won the game knowing you were watching him. Even on his way from the ice, after some rough hugs with his team mates, he passed you, sending you another wink that you returned with a little wave.

The wave made his heart feel fuller than the three points they had scored combined.

His heart was still full by the time he left the shower and found Chants and you standing in front of the locker room.

“Good game, babe,” Chants kissed his fiancée, “We were cheering you on the entire time.”

“I saw you. Love that cap you wear by the way, is that my name?”

“It is, do you like it?”

Paz always marvelled at the fact that Din seemed to forget anything and everything around him whenever Chants was in the room. Even now, he was standing next to his best friend and he only had eyes for his event planning fiancée.

Then again, he couldn’t even join their conversation if he wanted to because he kept noticing that you were shifting from one foot to the other. You were clearly nervous about something.

“You, uh, are you okay?” you asked, pointing to your own chin, “That Gazos guy punched you hard. I could see the blood flying from my seat.”

“Tis just a scratch,” he pointed to the stitch on his jaw, trying to prove to you that he was fine, but you still winced. The odd thought occurred to him that maybe you were worried for him, not like a friend of your friend’s fiancée but as something more. He shook this thought away as quickly as he could. A sweet omega like you would never worry for him, especially not after the way he had treated you. He didn’t know where he had gotten that idea from.

“Okay,” you replied, your brows still pulled together in a frown, “That … that was a good game.”

“We had good people rooting for us,” he returned, “I like your jersey.”

Your hand laded on the hem of the standard merch jersey, carefully pulling it away from you. “Really?” you asked, unsure, “Chants gave it to me, I wasn’t sure if it’d be too much or …”

“Not too much,” he interrupted you gently, “You … you look great.”

He could smell your scent getting stronger. The spring flowers bloomed in his nose and in his chest and he fought very hard not to close his eyes and run his nose over your hairline. It was the most beautiful thing to witness, you smiling at him.

“C’mon, lovebirds!” Din called, “Let’s get these aftergame drinks I promised Chants.”

Paz did not have it in him to correct his friend. But he also did not have it in him to tease you, to mock you, to push you away. He might be the weakest man in the room, falling victim to your sweet smile and flower-y scent, but he did not mind when it meant getting to see you happy up close.

He watched as you jogged to catch up with Din and Chants. And at the door, you glanced at him over your shoulder, eyes open and warm. His hand rose of its own accord and he waved goodbye. When you waved back, his fate was more than sealed.

He was fucked.

*

Two weeks later, Paz Vizsla was convinced that Berenson had been put on this earth just to annoy him. Because why else would the young alpha arrive just at the same time as him, slapping his back like they were old friends and say “Stars, I hope Chants brought his friend, I need some pussy tonight.”

Rage and jealousy blinded him. “Say that again,” he muttered, “And I will kill you right here. Understood, Berenson?”

His young colleague laughed, throwing his hands up in mock surrender. He didn’t know the danger he was in, clearly, and Paz prayed to any gods that might listen that he could control his rage. He had not even seen you yet and he was already too on edge to keep it together tonight.

The gala was already underway. He recognized some of the sport journalists, other players, retired players and even some of the owners. Even the new owner of the Mandalorian Minotaurs was here, talking to Boba Fett about something or other.

Relief filled him when he spotted Din and Chants, both impeccably dressed in tuxedos that quite matched his own. A waiter passed him and he took one of the drinks before making his way to his friends.

“Ah there he is,” Din greeted him with a smile, “The man of the hour, are you ready for your moment in the spotlight?”

He shook his head, a curl of his hair falling in his face. What good was combing his hair back with products if there would always be that one curl defying rhyme and reason? “I am just here to collect the trophy and then disappear.”

“Off to find some booze and women, you mean?” Din teased him.

More like taking a much-needed shower, throwing on some sweats and trying not to think about a certain omega. There was no way he would admit that, so instead he just grunted. His tuxedo itched and it felt a little too tight across his back. Maybe he should have gone to that tailor down the street again.

“So where is,” my omega, “your friend, Chants?”

“Oh, she went to check out the bar,” Chants waved to the back portion of the ballroom, “They have the specialty mocktails there, you should go check it out!”

That was all he needed to hear before he made his way to you. Sure, maybe he could have pretended he was interested in some small talk for a few minutes longer. But as soon as he knew where you were, he knew he needed to be there too.

“ – thank you. As I said, I am here waiting for someone.”

He knew that voice instinctively and hearing you had him perk up, looking over the sea of people in order to pinpoint him.

“What, like a boyfriend?”

“Exactly like a boyfriend,” your voice again, this time sounding tight and annoyed. Paz looked around before spotting you. You were standing with your back to him but there was no mistaking the curve of your neck or your scent wafting over to him.

He allowed himself one deep breath to roam his eyes over your form. You were wearing something black and satiny, the fabric draping over your body in a way that made him want to drag it off you and reveal the smooth skin below.

“I am sure he won’t mind me keeping you company until he returns,” the sleazebag’s leery grin made Paz’s fist itch to hit something. Preferably his face. He would also settle on grabbing him by the collar and ripping the guy out of your personal space.

Your body tightened up and yes, that was fear in your scent.

Before he could think better of it, Paz had stepped right behind you. The strange man’s eyes immediately drifted to him and he pushed his shoulders back, straightened his spine and rose to his full height. This guy would get the full Paz Vizsla experience he usually reserved for people on the ice.

“Actually, her boyfriend would mind,” he rumbled, the fabric of your dress soft under his touch.

He expected you to tense up in surprise at his sudden appearance. Maybe even to shy away from his touch. What he had not expected was the way you melted into his hand on your waist until you were completely tucked into his side. No piece of paper could have fit between you two and it did not bother him in the slightest.

Quite the opposite, actually, it encouraged him to turn his head towards you and run his nose along your hairline.

“Sorry to keep you waiting, sweetheart.”

You smelled like spring rain, flowers and his future. His heart tightened at that realization and his fingers twitched against you.

“It’s alright,” you smiled up at him, genuinely. Could anyone blame him that he wanted you to always look at him like that?

“You?” the guy echoed, “You are her boyfriend?!”

He did not sound afraid enough for his liking so his glare got even stronger. “Yes, I am and you better believe it,” his pulled you closer, breathing in deep to keep the aggression at bay, “Because I could swear you were ignoring my woman’s No before I showed up. Now isn’t that interesting, not respecting a woman’s wishes?”

Dark satisfaction filled him when the stranger blanched and scrambled away without another word. The crowd closed ranks behind him and a second later, it was just the two of you, standing together like … like a couple.

“You okay?”

“Yeah,” you were silent for a bit, “Thank you.”

“Sure thing, sweetheart,” he winked and took a step away from you. He needed to get away from this warm feeling in his chest or else he would lose all control and do something he might regret. Like claim you for everyone to see, scent you until your eyes rolled back in your head and sit you on his knot until he could be sure you were carrying his kid. “There can only be one man who annoys you.”

“Oh, so you are back to annoying me then?”

“Never stopped, sweetheart.”

“So, what will it be today?” you asked, the teasing edge of your voice replaced with something more serious, “Will you tease me about my scent? Or that I spend my days in front of a computer, working a boring 9 to 5? Or the fact that I am so very uptight? Or that I don’t know how to skate? Or that –“

“Whoa there,” his hands landed on your shoulder, his thumbs brushing towards your neck. The dress you were wearing was strapless and he got to see your chest rise and fall rapidly. He frowned. “I never teased you about not being able to skate. And the day I mock your scent will never come, omega, you understand? Never.”

Your shoulders fell and a sigh so heavy left you, he worried that someone else had made you unhappy. He would not be able to accept the award if he had to track that person down and threaten them into apologizing to you.

“Sorry,” you mumbled, “Just had a bad day.”

“You wanna talk about it?”

“Not really.”

“Okay.”

Neither one of you moved. His hands were still on your bare shoulders and when his rough thumb grazed the very edge of your scent gland, he could feel the sparks flying in his chest. There was no way he could stop touching you now that he knew what you felt like. There was no way he could leave you now and even remotely enjoy the evening when he knew you were just a few steps away from him.

“Dance with me.”

“Hm?”

“Dance with me,” he repeated himself, nodding to the packed dancefloor where some couples were slow dancing under mirror ball lights, “Gets you some time to think and I don’t have to talk to any of the reporters.”

It was a lame excuse and also not really true, but that did not matter when it got you to spend time with him. 

“Oh right,” you said, “You’re getting your award today.”

With your hand in his, he led you to the dancefloor. He ignored any surprised looks of the people you passed. Under no circumstanced did he want to get interrupted on his way to get more time with you alone and close to him. Your hand felt heavy in his and whenever he snuck through, your hand squeezed his tighter, as if you did not want to lose him.

Once he had found an acceptable empty spot on the dance floor, he turned around and pulled you closer. One hand on your waist, the other holding yours, just like his grandparents had taught him before his first school dance. He had ended up not needing it then but he was more than happy now, being able to lead you over the dance floor with slow, determined steps.

Just like you had said, you weren’t in the mood to talk and he was more than happy to, for once, not fight with you. The longer he kept his mouth shut, the longer you would stay around him and right now, that was all he needed. Song after song played in the background as you swayed across the floor and neither of you made any move to pull away.

“I didn’t want to come,” you murmured, your cheek by now resting on his chest. He hoped you wouldn’t be able to feel his heart racing but, then again, maybe that was how he could show you just what you did to him without having to say it out loud. “Chants said this might the best spot to find a date for the wedding but I am,” you interrupted yourself with a sigh and his hold on you tightened, pressing you closer against him, “I am so tired of putting energy in for people who are not interested in me. Maybe I am just meant to be alone. The only single omega at a wedding.”

He hated the sadness in your voice, the defeat. And he hated even more that he had caused some of it. The heartbroken look on your face the first time you had met flashed across his mind and his fingers dug into the soft fabric of your dress. “Sometimes the people we love are so happily in love, they want us to have that happiness too,” he rumbled, his hand on your back lifting until he cupped the back of your neck, his thumb brushing over your scent gland. The touch sent shivers down his back, the good kind, and he swore he could feel you shiver, too. “And then they kind of forget how lonely it can be to be confronted with your singleness”

You turned your face, resting your chin on his broad chest so you could look up at him with warm eyes. “That almost sounds like Paz Vizsla is tired of being single,” you teased him, though there was no bite in your voice, “And here I was thinking that your life consisted of … what was it again? Ah yes, desperate omegas hoping to get a sniff.”

Heat crept up his neck. “You took that out of context.”

“You said it right after we were introduced to each other!”

“I couldn’t let Berenson know that –“

“That what?”

That you already meant something to me.

The music stopped and the chandeliers lit up, bathing even the intimate dance floor in bright golden light. People around you clapped, shifting the attention to the stage but Paz was still holding on to you, blinking against the jarring feeling of being pulled out of the bubble he had created with you.

Everyone clapped as the hosts for the night climbed the sage and Paz followed suit, trying to get his head into the game. You did the same but you were standing tight in front of him, no, against him. You were leaning against him, your back against his chest and he stopped clapping, letting his hands fall to your hips.

“It is our great pleasure to present the award for Community Impact to none other than Player #87 of the Mandalorian Minotaurs – Paz Vizsla!”

Whoops and hollers and cheers erupted around the room and he spotted Din putting his fingers in his mouth for a loud whistle. All he could look at was you, smiling at him over your shoulder. “Go on, alpha,” you whispered, “Accept your award.”

“Will you be here when I come back?”

“Maybe if you hurry.”

Your laughter rang in his ears for the entirety of his (very rushed) acceptance speech.

And blood they had seen when he threw some punches and pulled opposed players away from his teammates. Sure, he had gotten to assist in one goal, too, which was nice. But that was not why people wanted to see him, usually.

He was the big bad alpha that cleaned up the field. That made sure his teammates were free to dominate the game without the opposing teams trying to tackle them to the ground. He was the enforcer, the bodyguard. The fighting guy.

Now he was sitting in the locker room, legs spread, elbows resting on his knees, his heart pounding in his chest as he tried to calm down. His fingers flexed, itching to rub the chain on his neck between his fingers. He usually kept it under his clothes, trying to keep the metal as close to him as possible but today he was restless.

And it did not help that his coach spoke in riddles he could not understand.

“What’re you talking about?” he asked his old idol-turned-coach.

Boba Fett just grinned. Dressed in a suit for each game, the last hours had him shed his jacket and roll up the sleeves of his white button down. It was still difficult to reconcile the image of his Coach Boba Fett with Fett #64, one of the most successful players for the Tuskan Raiders. Stars, he had had a poster of this man in his bedroom when he was small.

“You know exactly who I am talking about considering you kept watching her whenever you were on the bench,” the older man replied easily, clearly amused by him, “And who could blame you? You’ve got yourself a pretty one, Vizsla.”

His fists clenched. It was obvious that Boba was trying to taunt him, to get him out of his shell. So why, if he could already sense that this was a test, did Paz still have the desire to punch his boss for talking about you like this?

For a moment, he thought himself to be saved when Din plopped down next to him, freshly showered and gathering his belongings in a bag. “You’ve been besotted with her ever since Chants introduced you,” his friend nudged his shoulder, “I can’t believe you still pretend you’re not in love with her.”

Love.

The word made Paz stiffen just as your face flashed in his mind. It was true that he had looked at you a few times during the game. The rowdy energy made you nervous, even though you did your best to cheer for the team. But with everyone on edge today, he had wanted to make sure that you were okay. That you did not get swept up in some of the fights that sometimes broke out between fans.

Thank the stars that had not happened today. He still was not sure what he would have done in that case. Interrupting the game and jumping into the fight to get you out of there safe and sound was the most likely answer. One that he tried very hard to ignore.

But love? Love was a big word. Love was something he couldn’t offer without serious repercussions. Love would never be in the cards for someone like him.

“That’s not true.”

“Yeah, it is and you know it,” Din was unimpressed, “The only omega you ever talk about is her and I don’t know if you noticed but you talk about her a lot, Paz. I don’t know why you refuse to acknowledge it. Stars, you had me text Chants mid-game to get her some painkillers because you could feel her pain across the ice.”

The memory burned in his chest. That day had been rough. He had hardly slept the night before and when he had spotted you in the stands, he was angry at Chants for not noticing how obviously in pain you were. He had steered the game to the zone behind the net more times than he could count to be closer to you, to check up on you, until Fett had pulled him aside during a break and told him to knock it off.

Getting the painkillers to you was the least he could do and even then, there was no stopping the worry for you. It had started the second he had first put eyes on you and he would carry it with him to his deathbed, of that he was sure.

“You know why I have to keep away from her,” Paz muttered, running his hand over his stubble.

“I know why you think you have to keep away from her,” his friend scoffed, shouldering his bag as he made to leave, “I also know why what you think is bullshit. Face the facts, Vizsla, you cannot outrun your own feelings without hurting her in the process. And I know for a fact that hurting her is the last thing you want to do.”

*

“You’re hurt,” Paz said, his teeth clenching so hard he was sure he would give himself a tension migraine within the minute.

You were sitting in front of him, right on the ice, as people skated all around you.

When Din had mentioned in passing that you and Chants would join the Open Rink Tuesday today, Paz’s plan of lying on the couch after a gruesome practice had evaporated into thin air. Instead, he had found himself joining his friend on the drive to the local ice rink that had been set up in the park for the winter season.

Not wanting to pull too much attention to himself, he had stayed away from the crowd, just doing a few laps here and there. Most of the time, he had been busy watching you from afar anyway.

You had gotten a little better, a little braver, and he could not help the smile on his face when you had waved Chants off and instead started to skate all on your own. True, it was at a snail’s pace but you stuck to the empty spots and you looked so proud, so happy, it was like his heart could not help but reciprocate.

That is, until some idiot skated past you way too close, causing you to lose your balance and falling before he could race to catch you. The sound of you landing on the ice echoed in his head even now.

Now he was kneeling in front of you, trying to control the rage that simmered in his chest.

You were hurt. And it had happened on his watch.

He wanted to punch himself as much as the guy who had continued skating without a care in the world. People had rushed in to help you but the glare on his face must have been as menacing as he felt because they disappeared without a word.

A soft hand landed on his and he snapped out of his thoughts.

“I am fine,” you assured him, “I just took a tumble.”

Just a tumble.

He wanted to argue that it was not just a tumble. That you could have bruised your tailbone and that it hurt like hell or that you were lucky that you had not hit your head or that he could only get his chest to loosen up if he carried you to his own bed and let you build a nest right there.

Don’t think of her in your bed, idiot, you’re making it worse.

Stars, he really was making it so much worse. You probably didn’t even want him here. You were a grown adult, you could take care of yourself, you didn’t need a massive alpha fussing over you when he couldn’t even make sure you were protected.

“Sorry,” he muttered, standing back up, “Don’t want to scare you.”

“You scare me more when you leave.”

His step froze. What did you just say?

“You – It scares me when you leave me alone,” your voice was quiet but not quiet enough for him to mishear anything you were saying, “I know it’s silly but – could you stay?”

“Course mega,” he sank to his knees without question. His hand gently closed around your ankle, the one who had buckled first, and expertly pressed it, gauging your reaction.

“What did you mean by that?” you asked instead, “That you don’t want to scare me?

“Have you seen me, sweetheart?” he muttered, relieved when nothing seemed to bring an immediate reaction of pain, “I am a big motherfucker and when I get angry, it’s worse. Scaring others is good on the ice but I know not everyone signed up for that. You certainly didn’t sign up for that.”

“You seem to forget that I’ve seen you up close,” you reminded him gently, wincing when he slowly rotated your foot to the right. It was definitely swollen. But not broken. Thank the stars or else he would have to hunt that guy down. “I had your hands on me before.”

Nothing in the world would ever make him forget the seven minutes he got to spend in that closet with you. He would forever remember the heat in your eyes, your scent in his nostrils and how soft your skin had been under his touch. Still –

“That was different.”

“How?”

“Because it didn’t mean anything,” he said, looking up, searching your eyes for the same despair he felt whenever you were near him, “Right? That’s what you said.”

“Right,” you whispered. Your gaze dropped to where his hand was still on your ankle. “Will you help me up?”

He did so with a tug of his hand and no one would ever get him to admit that he held your hand for just a moment longer than strictly necessary. You did not seem to mind, though. In fact, your hand even squeezed his and before he knew it, he squeezed it right back.

The shy smile on your face made his heart stutter. “You might be big, Paz Vizsla,” you said, “But you are not scary. Not to me.”

And that was exactly what he was afraid of.

*

“You know the rule, boys,” Boba’s voice called through the locker room, “No partner visits before a game. And there is no exception for fiancées.”

Djarin rolled his eyes and made no move to step away from Chants who had snuck in for a good luck kiss.

“You just had that pretty Omega intern in your office, Coach,” Berenson called from his place on the bench, already half-dressed, “Don’t the rules apply to you?”

The look Boba threw his teammate was positively menacing and Paz was surprised that Berenson did not fall dead on the spot.

“She is not my partner,” the older man corrected them, his grip tight on the clipboard, “Now get dressed and get on the ice before I make you skate suicides and bench you for the rest of the game.”

“And sneaking around with the owner’s daughter probably doesn’t bring good luck either,” Chants whispered conspiratorially and Paz bit back his laugh. Din grabbed his fiancée by the back of his neck and pulled him in for a kiss.

Silence covered the entire room as everyone got ready for the game. Paz focussed on tying his skates, pondering if he would get a chance to see you today. If Chants was here, chances were good that he wasn’t here alone. And if he wasn’t here alone, chances were even better that you were with him.

“Are you coming to the awards ceremony, too?” Chants turned to ask him just as he was about to leave, “It’s in two weeks and I think Din would enjoy it much more with a friend there.”

“He is getting an award,” Din interjected, throwing him a look, “Of course, he’ll be there.”

This was it. This was his chance.

“Is, uh, is your friend bringing a date?”

Chants eyed him, completely unimpressed. “She is not. You should ask her out if you want to.”

Paz cursed himself immediately. There was no way he was going to do that. But knowing that you weren’t going out with Berenson again (or anyone else, for that matter) let peace wash over him even if just for a moment.

He tried to channel that peace while he finished getting ready. While he made his way to the ice, the roaring of the crowd in his ears. He even tried to channel it during warm-ups.

His peace lasted all of five minutes because that’s when he spotted you. Cheering in the front row, you were standing next to Chants and, more importantly, you were wearing a dark blue jersey. For a moment, he imagined it was his jersey you were wearing and his blood roared in his ears.

Switching his stick from left to right, he skated past you, making sure you saw him when he tapped his helmet in greeting. The moment you recognized him was marked by the blinding smile on your face that felt like a punch to his chest. You were happy to see him. And he was happy to see you, always happy to see you, he realized.

Something in his chest gave away, probably one of the walls he’d erected the moment he heard some devastating words years ago. And now he could allow himself to be happy now that you were happy.

Suddenly, he wanted to win more than anything.

He also wanted his name and number on the jersey you were wearing.

And his bite mark on your neck.

But all of that was a problem for future Paz. The moment the whistle marked the beginning of the game, he could focus on what he could control. He would bring a win home tonight. For you.

The game was a shit show. The Tuskan Raiders hadn’t come to lose and he had to get into a fight more than once, ripping opposing players off his team mates or slamming into them in the fight for the puck.

Gazos (#15 of the Tuskan Raiders) rammed into him when Paz interjected a pass. The plexiglass wobbled and he could hear the crowd cheer in excitement. The helmet kept him from getting his cheek squished against the glass but he still didn’t like it. Until he spotted you. You were standing right in front of him, your eyes wide with fear and shock.

Paz could not help himself. He winked at you. And the flustered look on your face was totally worth the pain when his opponent pushed him harder against the wall.

Gazos must have noticed the interaction because he leant in close. “Don’t think the puck bunny will be interested when she sees how pathetic you are when you lose. But don’t worry, I will take good care of her if she needs to come on a victorious knot tonight.”

He did not know what ticked him off more. That Gazos wanted to sleep with you and implied that you were a puck bunny in the same sentence. Or the worry on your face for him.

Both were unacceptable, he decided, and threw his head back, turning so he could push Gazos away from him. Fists were soon flying and before long, the whistle blew and he was sent off to the penalty box. Paz did not mind, though. Not when Boba nodded at him in understanding and certainly not when your eyes did not leave him for one second, staring at him from across the field.

Your gaze on him felt like a warm blanket. Reassuring, comforting and something he wanted to keep at all costs.

He played the game knowing you were watching him and he won the game knowing you were watching him. Even on his way from the ice, after some rough hugs with his team mates, he passed you, sending you another wink that you returned with a little wave.

The wave made his heart feel fuller than the three points they had scored combined.

His heart was still full by the time he left the shower and found Chants and you standing in front of the locker room.

“Good game, babe,” Chants kissed his fiancée, “We were cheering you on the entire time.”

“I saw you. Love that cap you wear by the way, is that my name?”

“It is, do you like it?”

Paz always marvelled at the fact that Din seemed to forget anything and everything around him whenever Chants was in the room. Even now, he was standing next to his best friend and he only had eyes for his event planning fiancée.

Then again, he couldn’t even join their conversation if he wanted to because he kept noticing that you were shifting from one foot to the other. You were clearly nervous about something.

“You, uh, are you okay?” you asked, pointing to your own chin, “That Gazos guy punched you hard. I could see the blood flying from my seat.”

“Tis just a scratch,” he pointed to the stitch on his jaw, trying to prove to you that he was fine, but you still winced. The odd thought occurred to him that maybe you were worried for him, not like a friend of your friend’s fiancée but as something more. He shook this thought away as quickly as he could. A sweet omega like you would never worry for him, especially not after the way he had treated you. He didn’t know where he had gotten that idea from.

“Okay,” you replied, your brows still pulled together in a frown, “That … that was a good game.”

“We had good people rooting for us,” he returned, “I like your jersey.”

Your hand laded on the hem of the standard merch jersey, carefully pulling it away from you. “Really?” you asked, unsure, “Chants gave it to me, I wasn’t sure if it’d be too much or …”

“Not too much,” he interrupted you gently, “You … you look great.”

He could smell your scent getting stronger. The spring flowers bloomed in his nose and in his chest and he fought very hard not to close his eyes and run his nose over your hairline. It was the most beautiful thing to witness, you smiling at him.

“C’mon, lovebirds!” Din called, “Let’s get these aftergame drinks I promised Chants.”

Paz did not have it in him to correct his friend. But he also did not have it in him to tease you, to mock you, to push you away. He might be the weakest man in the room, falling victim to your sweet smile and flower-y scent, but he did not mind when it meant getting to see you happy up close.

He watched as you jogged to catch up with Din and Chants. And at the door, you glanced at him over your shoulder, eyes open and warm. His hand rose of its own accord and he waved goodbye. When you waved back, his fate was more than sealed.

He was fucked.

*

Two weeks later, Paz Vizsla was convinced that Berenson had been put on this earth just to annoy him. Because why else would the young alpha arrive just at the same time as him, slapping his back like they were old friends and say “Stars, I hope Chants brought his friend, I need some pussy tonight.”

Rage and jealousy blinded him. “Say that again,” he muttered, “And I will kill you right here. Understood, Berenson?”

His young colleague laughed, throwing his hands up in mock surrender. He didn’t know the danger he was in, clearly, and Paz prayed to any gods that might listen that he could control his rage. He had not even seen you yet and he was already too on edge to keep it together tonight.

The gala was already underway. He recognized some of the sport journalists, other players, retired players and even some of the owners. Even the new owner of the Mandalorian Minotaurs was here, talking to Boba Fett about something or other.

Relief filled him when he spotted Din and Chants, both impeccably dressed in tuxedos that quite matched his own. A waiter passed him and he took one of the drinks before making his way to his friends.

“Ah there he is,” Din greeted him with a smile, “The man of the hour, are you ready for your moment in the spotlight?”

He shook his head, a curl of his hair falling in his face. What good was combing his hair back with products if there would always be that one curl defying rhyme and reason? “I am just here to collect the trophy and then disappear.”

“Off to find some booze and women, you mean?” Din teased him.

More like taking a much-needed shower, throwing on some sweats and trying not to think about a certain omega. There was no way he would admit that, so instead he just grunted. His tuxedo itched and it felt a little too tight across his back. Maybe he should have gone to that tailor down the street again.

“So where is,” my omega, “your friend, Chants?”

“Oh, she went to check out the bar,” Chants waved to the back portion of the ballroom, “They have the specialty mocktails there, you should go check it out!”

That was all he needed to hear before he made his way to you. Sure, maybe he could have pretended he was interested in some small talk for a few minutes longer. But as soon as he knew where you were, he knew he needed to be there too.

“ – thank you. As I said, I am here waiting for someone.”

He knew that voice instinctively and hearing you had him perk up, looking over the sea of people in order to pinpoint him.

“What, like a boyfriend?”

“Exactly like a boyfriend,” your voice again, this time sounding tight and annoyed. Paz looked around before spotting you. You were standing with your back to him but there was no mistaking the curve of your neck or your scent wafting over to him.

He allowed himself one deep breath to roam his eyes over your form. You were wearing something black and satiny, the fabric draping over your body in a way that made him want to drag it off you and reveal the smooth skin below.

“I am sure he won’t mind me keeping you company until he returns,” the sleazebag’s leery grin made Paz’s fist itch to hit something. Preferably his face. He would also settle on grabbing him by the collar and ripping the guy out of your personal space.

Your body tightened up and yes, that was fear in your scent.

Before he could think better of it, Paz had stepped right behind you. The strange man’s eyes immediately drifted to him and he pushed his shoulders back, straightened his spine and rose to his full height. This guy would get the full Paz Vizsla experience he usually reserved for people on the ice.

“Actually, her boyfriend would mind,” he rumbled, the fabric of your dress soft under his touch.

He expected you to tense up in surprise at his sudden appearance. Maybe even to shy away from his touch. What he had not expected was the way you melted into his hand on your waist until you were completely tucked into his side. No piece of paper could have fit between you two and it did not bother him in the slightest.

Quite the opposite, actually, it encouraged him to turn his head towards you and run his nose along your hairline.

“Sorry to keep you waiting, sweetheart.”

You smelled like spring rain, flowers and his future. His heart tightened at that realization and his fingers twitched against you.

“It’s alright,” you smiled up at him, genuinely. Could anyone blame him that he wanted you to always look at him like that?

“You?” the guy echoed, “You are her boyfriend?!”

He did not sound afraid enough for his liking so his glare got even stronger. “Yes, I am and you better believe it,” his pulled you closer, breathing in deep to keep the aggression at bay, “Because I could swear you were ignoring my woman’s No before I showed up. Now isn’t that interesting, not respecting a woman’s wishes?”

Dark satisfaction filled him when the stranger blanched and scrambled away without another word. The crowd closed ranks behind him and a second later, it was just the two of you, standing together like … like a couple.

“You okay?”

“Yeah,” you were silent for a bit, “Thank you.”

“Sure thing, sweetheart,” he winked and took a step away from you. He needed to get away from this warm feeling in his chest or else he would lose all control and do something he might regret. Like claim you for everyone to see, scent you until your eyes rolled back in your head and sit you on his knot until he could be sure you were carrying his kid. “There can only be one man who annoys you.”

“Oh, so you are back to annoying me then?”

“Never stopped, sweetheart.”

“So, what will it be today?” you asked, the teasing edge of your voice replaced with something more serious, “Will you tease me about my scent? Or that I spend my days in front of a computer, working a boring 9 to 5? Or the fact that I am so very uptight? Or that I don’t know how to skate? Or that –“

“Whoa there,” his hands landed on your shoulder, his thumbs brushing towards your neck. The dress you were wearing was strapless and he got to see your chest rise and fall rapidly. He frowned. “I never teased you about not being able to skate. And the day I mock your scent will never come, omega, you understand? Never.”

Your shoulders fell and a sigh so heavy left you, he worried that someone else had made you unhappy. He would not be able to accept the award if he had to track that person down and threaten them into apologizing to you.

“Sorry,” you mumbled, “Just had a bad day.”

“You wanna talk about it?”

“Not really.”

“Okay.”

Neither one of you moved. His hands were still on your bare shoulders and when his rough thumb grazed the very edge of your scent gland, he could feel the sparks flying in his chest. There was no way he could stop touching you now that he knew what you felt like. There was no way he could leave you now and even remotely enjoy the evening when he knew you were just a few steps away from him.

“Dance with me.”

“Hm?”

“Dance with me,” he repeated himself, nodding to the packed dancefloor where some couples were slow dancing under mirror ball lights, “Gets you some time to think and I don’t have to talk to any of the reporters.”

It was a lame excuse and also not really true, but that did not matter when it got you to spend time with him. 

“Oh right,” you said, “You’re getting your award today.”

With your hand in his, he led you to the dancefloor. He ignored any surprised looks of the people you passed. Under no circumstanced did he want to get interrupted on his way to get more time with you alone and close to him. Your hand felt heavy in his and whenever he snuck through, your hand squeezed his tighter, as if you did not want to lose him.

Once he had found an acceptable empty spot on the dance floor, he turned around and pulled you closer. One hand on your waist, the other holding yours, just like his grandparents had taught him before his first school dance. He had ended up not needing it then but he was more than happy now, being able to lead you over the dance floor with slow, determined steps.

Just like you had said, you weren’t in the mood to talk and he was more than happy to, for once, not fight with you. The longer he kept his mouth shut, the longer you would stay around him and right now, that was all he needed. Song after song played in the background as you swayed across the floor and neither of you made any move to pull away.

“I didn’t want to come,” you murmured, your cheek by now resting on his chest. He hoped you wouldn’t be able to feel his heart racing but, then again, maybe that was how he could show you just what you did to him without having to say it out loud. “Chants said this might the best spot to find a date for the wedding but I am,” you interrupted yourself with a sigh and his hold on you tightened, pressing you closer against him, “I am so tired of putting energy in for people who are not interested in me. Maybe I am just meant to be alone. The only single omega at a wedding.”

He hated the sadness in your voice, the defeat. And he hated even more that he had caused some of it. The heartbroken look on your face the first time you had met flashed across his mind and his fingers dug into the soft fabric of your dress. “Sometimes the people we love are so happily in love, they want us to have that happiness too,” he rumbled, his hand on your back lifting until he cupped the back of your neck, his thumb brushing over your scent gland. The touch sent shivers down his back, the good kind, and he swore he could feel you shiver, too. “And then they kind of forget how lonely it can be to be confronted with your singleness”

You turned your face, resting your chin on his broad chest so you could look up at him with warm eyes. “That almost sounds like Paz Vizsla is tired of being single,” you teased him, though there was no bite in your voice, “And here I was thinking that your life consisted of … what was it again? Ah yes, desperate omegas hoping to get a sniff.”

Heat crept up his neck. “You took that out of context.”

“You said it right after we were introduced to each other!”

“I couldn’t let Berenson know that –“

“That what?”

That you already meant something to me.

The music stopped and the chandeliers lit up, bathing even the intimate dance floor in bright golden light. People around you clapped, shifting the attention to the stage but Paz was still holding on to you, blinking against the jarring feeling of being pulled out of the bubble he had created with you.

Everyone clapped as the hosts for the night climbed the sage and Paz followed suit, trying to get his head into the game. You did the same but you were standing tight in front of him, no, against him. You were leaning against him, your back against his chest and he stopped clapping, letting his hands fall to your hips.

“It is our great pleasure to present the award for Community Impact to none other than Player #87 of the Mandalorian Minotaurs – Paz Vizsla!”

Whoops and hollers and cheers erupted around the room and he spotted Din putting his fingers in his mouth for a loud whistle. All he could look at was you, smiling at him over your shoulder. “Go on, alpha,” you whispered, “Accept your award.”

“Will you be here when I come back?”

“Maybe if you hurry.”

Your laughter rang in his ears for the entirety of his (very rushed) acceptance speech.

Oh, you had no trouble believing that. What you still couldn’t believe was that your friend was dating one of them but you bit your tongue. The day Chants had come home, grinning from ear to ear and waving a scrap of paper with a scrawled number on it, you had not expected it to lead you here, five months later. Right into an empty hallway of the ice hockey rink.

It was time to officially meet Din Djarin, the man your friend called his boyfriend. Secretly, you had questioned whether immediately after a home game was the right moment to be introduced to a strange alpha. Then again, you were pretty sure there was never a “right” moment to meet a strange alpha, especially not one who regularly got into brawls on the ice. But Chants was so happy and despite your TK, you wanted to support your friend.

Besides, you had never been to an ice hockey game before and it was a very fun experience. You had to google most of the rules of the game while it was happening and you had lost sight of the puck more than a few times but the crowd around you was full of energy and you loved to see Chants’ proud smile whenever his boyfriend held the goal.

It had almost let you forget your anxiety about meeting some new people.  

“You know when we get married, we are going to many more games,” Chants commented just as you were fiddling with the tiny jewellery bags in your hands.

Oh my stars what?

“I found a ring in his pocket,” he laughed at the shock on your face, “And I think he is getting ready to pop the question.”

Before you could say anything else (such as “Are you sure it’s the right decision to get engaged after five months of dating?”) the door to the locker rooms opened and you were hit with a wave of alpha scents so strong, your eyes started to water. It was not like you had never met an alpha before but you had curated your life to include many good and wonderful friends and sometimes a boyfriend. And none of them happened to an arrogant prick of an alpha who disturbed your peaceful bubble with hope of finding your true mate.

One after another, different hockey players filtered out of the room, freshly showered and wearing some very comfortable looking sweats. They acknowledged you and your friend with a nod but none of them stopped to chat with you and none of them seemed to be the ones you were waiting for. You knew what Din looked like from Chants’ many Instagram posts and you had seen the headshot of player #87 (Vizsla) on the ice today. Yet, as time passed, you grew more and more nervous.

This was important to your friend and if things were progressing as Chants expected, you soon would spend much more time with Din and his friends. So you needed to get off to a good start with both these men and make a good first impression. It did not help that you were a nervous wreck and that you were sure your anxiety was already colouring your scent but you were sure you could put on a nice smile and keep your hands from shaking. That had to be enough-

The door opened again and Din Djarin stepped out. The man was just as handsome as Chants had described him, his dark hair wet from a fresh shower and a serene smile on his face as he spotted his boyfriend.

“Hi, babe.”

Chants practically melted next to you and you could not blame him.

A kiss later, Din’s attention shifted to you and you introduced yourself with a steady voice and a strong smile (you would count this was one of your greater achievements this week). “I, uh, Chants mentioned you liked the chain I gifted him for his birthday so I got a similar one for you.”

You handed him the pouch. “That is very kind, thank you,” he said, the gold jewellery falling into his wide palm. The lady from the small jewellery store around the corner had been overjoyed when you had returned to re-buy the gift you had gotten Chants and you could not wait to tell her that the other two recipients had liked her work as well.

“I got one for your friend, too,” you tacked on, “Chants mentioned that it is some kind of good luck thing for you two?”

“Really? That is awesome. Vizsla, you hear that?”

A tall man – taller than anyone you had ever seen – turned around from where he was talking to another group of players and your breath caught in your throat. This man was nothing compared to the little picture they had shown on the video cube.

Player #87, Paz Vizsla, approached you and it was like your body experienced a glitch. Not only was he incredibly tall. He was broad, too. Would he even fit through a normal doorway? How did he hold his entire body on just some thin skates? That should not be possible.

Words got stuck in your throat as your eyes roamed over his frame. He was wearing grey sweatpants that made your cheeks heat and his black t-shirt was not loose enough to hide how it was straining over his shoulders and there was a shadow of stubble on his jaw and his hair was curling at the ends, still wet from his shower and –

The scent of pinewood slammed into you suddenly, your heart stopped for a second. And then another. And another. In fact, your heart stood still for so long, panic began to creep in that you were having a heart attack. Was that what it felt like? Weren’t you too young to experience a cardiac event like this? It would be so embarrassing to die the moment you were introduced to the new people in Chants’ life.

And then, as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened, your heart started beating again and everything had realigned to be focussed on just him.

Your fingers felt numb. Could it be … was this what your parents had always talked about when they told you about their first meeting? True mates were rarer these days but not unheard of and maybe he had felt it, too, this shift and fuck, was this your alpha?

It certainly felt like it.

Paz Vizsla came to stand in front of you, his face betraying nothing while you could not hide your excitement and nervousness. You wondered whether he had felt it, too, this shifting of the universe and whether your scent was just as tantalizing to him as his was to you. This time, there was no stopping the tremor in your hand as you waved at him.

“Hi,” you smiled shyly, “I am, um, I’m Chant’s friend.”

“You’re my,” he frowned, the slight shake of his head brought drops of water to the strands of his hair, one of them landing on his cheek, “You’re an omega.”

You had never heard someone sound so hostile and your smile froze on your face. “Uh, yeah?” you held oud the little pouch, “I got you the same chain as Din. Chants mentioned it is a superstitious thing?”

The chain tumbled into his large and you caught a glimpse of his tattooed hands. Of course, he had tattooed hands. Of course. His frown deepened as he eyed the simple gold chain. “I only wear silver.”

You hated that your heart cracked a bit at his obvious rejection. “Oh, um, okay. It’s just a gift, you don’t have to wear it, of course. It’s just –“

You were very much aware that you were rambling. But you weren’t prepared for the fact that he would simply turn around mid-sentence and leave you without another word. Shame burned through you and you did not know how to deal with someone so … insultingly hot and rude at the same time.

At this point, the best thing would probably have been to turn around as well and join Din and Chants even though they looked like they were in their own little bubble. But apparently you were a glutton for punishment because you watched Paz Vizsla re-join the group of players.

“Who was that?” another player eyed you, obviously interested, “Your stress relief for the night?”

“Nah,” Vizsla growled, “Just another desperate omega trying to get a sniff. Mind your business, Berenson.”

Your fists clenched and you tried to ignore the burning in your eyes and chest. Never before had you felt this humiliated and it had taken Paz Vizsla just three sentences to make you feel like the stupidest person in the whole wide world.

Shifting your focus to your friend, who seemed ready to leave, you walked away from the alpha and spared him no glance and no more thoughts.

Paz Vizsla was a jackass and you would happily live your life without ever having to talk to him again.

*

Alcohol made you do stupid things.

Like that time you had almost booked one-way tickets to the other end of the world because you and Chants thought you could totally make a life for yourself there.

Or like agreeing to a juvenile game of seven minutes in heaven at a house party of some of Chants’ hockey friends and landing in a small, enclosed space with none other than Paz fucking Vizsla.

The latter being slightly more recent than the former. Like currently happening recent.

You had done a good job avoiding the tall alpha until now and you were pretty sure it was because he put just as much effort in it as you did. But the empty bottle Din had spun to the cheers of what felt like everyone in the house had picked the two of you because, clearly, the universe wanted to test you.

Which was how you found yourself pinned to the wall of the empty closet by none other than Paz Vizsla. His hand was at the base of your throat and there was tension thrumming between the two of you that you really could not explain. The loud bass from outside made your ears hurt and the short hem of your dress itched against your thighs.

“Aw, little omega,” the alpha rumbled and you hated how it made your stomach flutter. How had a simple heated exchange led to this already? “Did you miss me?”

“Never,” you bit out through gritted teeth. Your palms were flat against the wall behind you. Because you liked the cold of the wall, not because you wanted to keep yourself from touching him (or ripping the shirt off his body so you could finally find out whether the tattoos on his knuckles had any companions).

“Tell that to your pussy,” he teased you, the tip of his nose running over your cheek “She’s wet as a fountain. I can smell her from here, omega.”

Other, more mature people, might admit that the grin on his face made him look softer, more handsome, than before. You could only think that he looked evil. Positively menacing.

Which didn’t explain why your pussy clenched at his proximity.

“I despised you the moment I saw you,” you hissed up at him, “And I will never ever grow to like you, Paz Vizsla. Of that you can be sure.”

His eyes blazed and you swallowed heavily. If you did not know any better, you would have said there was reluctance in his movements away from you. That his forehead gently touched yours for a moment before he pulled away. That his fingers brushed over your scent gland and down your chest briefly before his touch left you. That his eyes softened when he took in your heaving chest.

It was all just alcohol-induced imagination, though.

“Good,” he rumbled, “Because if you know what’s best for you, omega, you better stay far away from me.”

*

You told yourself that you didn’t listen to him out of spite and not because some pathetic needy part in you craved his proximity like you weren’t the first omega in history to be rejected by their true mate.

It was like you could neither live with or without him. With wasn’t an option, clearly, with how he glared at you every time he spotted you in the ranks. Without wasn’t an option either because if you went a few days without seeing him, something ached in your chest so strong, you went to the doctors the first few times it had happened.

When the realization sunk in that it was heartache, the humiliation had followed soon after and now you were like an addict, getting your fill of Paz Vizsla every few days even though you knew it was wrong and would only make his rejection hurt more in the long run.

Chants had made it his personal mission to merge his and Din’s social circles and that meant that Paz Vizsla saw you way more often than he wanted to. And he let you know that every time (until Din pulled him away at one dinner and had some very strict words with him from the looks of it) until your heartache was accompanied by a pit of anxiety each game you attended. Your best friend had even started carrying your go-to headache medication "just in case”.

You wanted to say you hated Paz. You wanted to hate him for the glares he sent your way or how he teased you about your “boringly safe” desk job more than once. But the truth was you hated how you could not bring yourself to hate him.

You hated how he never made any attempts to talk to you or how he blocked yours but then grumbled at the waiters when they got your order wrong and you were too shy to say anything. You hated how he mocked you when Chants mentioned you hadn’t expected the ice rink to actually be cold but then a dark blue and white scarf was delivered to the seat you usually occupied.

You hated how when Chants walked into the café you met at for brunch with a raised left hand, showing off his engagement ring, your first thought was that you would get to see more the infuriatingly hot alpha. The other women around you (WAGS, you had learned, wives and (girl)friends) started to squeal excitedly and the other guests looked at the giant group hug that refused to let go off each other.

“Congratulations!” you laughed, sitting back down, everyone’s eyes on him.

“It was the most romantic proposal,” Chants gushed, taking a sip from his mimosa, “He took me out to the restaurant we went to for our first date and I thought for sure that would be the spot.”

“It wasn’t?”

“No! He took me to a museum and I thought at this hour? But turns out he booked the whole thing just for us!”

“Paz told me all about it,” Katrina, a beautiful redheaded figure skater, nodded, “Din kept brainstorming the perfect place for a proposal and Paz suggested the museum, it makes for the best pictures, doesn’t it?”

Do not focus on the pretty woman who is dating your alpha. Do not focus on –

“Hey,” a hand on yours snapped you out of your thoughts and blinked at Chants, “You with me?”

“Uh sorry, what was that?”

“He asked you if you want to be his maid of honour, silly,” Katrina laughed.

Forgotten was the heartbreak and the jealousy and the anxiety. It was all replaced by pure joy at the hopeful look on your best friend’s face and the knowledge that you could help him make the most important day in his life a reality.

“Of course,” you said, feeling tears stinging the back of your eyes, swallowing back the lump in your throat, “Of course I want to, Chants. Thank you for asking me.”

Your friend squeezed your hand, his eyes filled with the love that you felt for him. Everyone around you aww’ed and you could hear Katrina order another round of mimosas. “Here’s to our newest member!”

“Thank you, everyone,” Chants looked around, “Din and I are so happy to share this moment with you. We booked the ice rink for our unofficial engagement party next weekend and I hope you can all make it. We got a few food and drink stands, too, so even you can’t skate, there’s something to do.”

“Can you imagine living in Mandalore and not knowing how to skate?” Katrina threw her head back and laughed, “That would be so embarrassing.”

“Yeah,” you cringed, “So embarrassing.”

*

If there was one thing Chants knew how to do, it was how to throw a party. Your friend worked in event planning, after all, so there was no way that is own wedding festivities would be anything short of amazing. Starting with the engagement party.

Titled as a “lowkey get-together”, your friend and his fiancé had rented out the ice rink of the Mandalorian Minotaurs because of course they had. And to top it all off, it had been transformed into a cosy winter wonderland with lights strung across the ceilings and a little stand that offered hot beverages while music played from the speakers.

It was undoubtedly the most romantic event you had ever been to.

When Joe Berenson, one of Din’s teammates, had asked you out on a date for this exact event, you really could not believe your luck. Sure, he was not really your type and you were pretty sure that you were not his. But he was kind and funny and kept you from having to show up alone when a certain player brought a famous figure skater as his date.

Really, at this point, you were just fighting to not humiliate yourself.

Which might also be the reason why you were not on the ice, but instead on the bench, watching all the couples skate round after round, holding hands and laughing at some of the silly music choices. You could see Din twirling Chants and you smiled. Your friend deserved nothing but happiness and you were so happy to finally see him get it.

Ice flew in front of your face and you flinched as the unmistakable figure of Paz Vizsla came to a stop in front of you. He was wearing dark jeans and a green hoodie that complimented his dark hair. It should be illegal, the way his hair was a bit tousled from how fast he was skating. You wanted to do nothing more than to run your fingers through it.

“What’re you doing here?” he grinned, “Sulking cause I didn’t ask you to be my date?”

This question deserved nothing but an eyeroll. “I don’t care about your pretty ice-skating friend,” you denied, “Not everything in life is about you. Why are you even here anyway?”

“Oh, c’mon now. You can’t blame me for wanting to check on the lonely omega sitting all by herself. My date might think me an unempathetic piece of shit otherwise.”

“You are an unempathetic piece of shit.”

His eyes twinkled and you turned your head away. You didn’t want to see him in a good mood, it made your insides feel all funny despite knowing he hated you.

Praying that he might leave you in peace if you told him the truth, you took a deep breath. “I can’t skate.”

“What?”

You swallowed back the shame and focussed your eyes on his skates. You could not look up and face the obvious judgement that awaited you. Paz Vizsla was not a forgiving man and you had just given him another thing to tease you about. And yet, you repeated your confession. “I can’t skate.”

“Does Berenson know?”

“Course he knows,” you huffed, “That’s why he let me sit here in peace.”

Paz just grunted and when you chanced a glance up at him, his face was unreadable. You tried your hardest not to pay too much attention, to read too much into it, to try to decipher what he was thinking now. Because chances were high that he was thinking something unfavourable and you really were not in the mood to face your own failure.

But all he said was, “Okay then.”

And then he skated off.

You did not know why that left a worse feeling in your stomach than before. Clearly, Paz Vizsla had something that made you dizzy and flustered and warm and shiver-y and –

Shaking your head, you took a sip of your hot chocolate and did your best to forget that whole interaction. Din and Chants skated past you, hand in hand, and you smiled at the happy couple.

For a quick moment, you wondered if maybe you should try to make your way onto the ice but the thought disappeared as soon as it had occurred to you. Everyone was having so much fun and you didn’t want to bother them to get you to teach you how to skate.

Besides, so many people were constantly taking breaks and if they did, they came to join you on the bench for a quick chat. So, it wasn’t as if you were really lonely.

A pair of skates landed in front of your feet and you frowned, looking up at the alpha who had clearly thrown them for you. “What are you doing?”

“Teaching you how to skate, what’s it look like?”

“I don’t need to know how to skate.”

“Maybe you don’t need to but you should know. Part of an ice hockey friend group and not knowing how to skate?” Paz shook his head solemnly, “It’s embarrassing.”

Heat filled your cheeks. It was almost exactly what Katrina had said a few days ago but there was no way he could know that. “Okay,” you muttered, “but don’t laugh at me.”

“Never, sweetheart.”

You did not believe him.

Putting the skates on was embarrassing enough, it felt foreign and the strings were worn with use. It got even worse when Paz fucking Vizsla knelt down on one knee, his hands shooing away yours. “Let me,” he asked, his voice way too gentle for how rough he usually was. You watched silently as he tied the knots for you, checking that they would hold up, before tucking them inside the skate. “Gotta have them out of the way,” he explained, “I don’t want you to fall.”

Oddly enough, there was pure honesty in his voice and when you stood up on shaky legs, he did not shy away when you gripped his forearm. No, his hand even cupped your elbow, supporting your journey to the ice. You took a few steps towards the edge but just as you were about to step on it, Paz stopped you.

“Right foot first.”

You tilted your head. Was this really the right technique to get on the ice? Was there a right technique? Your brows furrowed and you pressed your lips together. You knew you were about to embarrass yourself but you didn’t know you could already do things wrong.

Sensing your confusion, Paz’s hand rubbed the back of his neck. “It’s, uh, it’s for good luck.”

The knowledge that Paz Vizsla had superstitions made your heart flutter. How could a grown alpha like him become cute, all of a sudden?

Before you could ponder whether your face betrayed the affection you felt for him despite knowing better, you were on the ice. Immediately, your legs wobbled and you gripped the edge of the rink tightly. Some might say you were refusing to move. You would like to think you were refusing to fall. Not falling would be the baseline of success today.

But apparently not in Paz’s book.

“One foot after another. C’mon, omega,” he ran his hand through his dark curls, “What are you so terrified off, hm?”

“I am afraid of falling,” you hissed, “I – I don’t want to hit my head. I have seen enough clips of blood all over the ice, I don’t need that to happen to me today of all days, thank you very much.”

That had him silent again. Maybe this was your ticket to finally getting where you could bear his presence without the rejection burning deep in your belly – disarming honesty. If you were already aware of your flaws, it would be harder for him to make fun of you.

Clearly, that was what he was pondering at the moment. The frown on his face could not mean anything other than annoyance at your sudden ability to deal with him. He had not shaved this morning because his stubble was a bit thicker and you wondered if he ever grew it out long enough for it to be soft.

(For it to leave burns on the inside of your thighs.)

Done with whatever he was thinking about, he stretched his arm out. With his palm facing up, you could see that there was a small scar on the side and you bit back the question where he had gotten it from. You could wait out his stretch routine without trying to find out more about this stoic man.

When he did not move, not even to switch arms, you grew restless. People skated past you and he just kept looking at you. Almost as if he wasn’t stretching at all but holding out his hand. To you.

Before you could question your sanity, you reached out and grabbed it. His fingers entwined with yours instantly and you took a deep breath. You could feel the rough callouses on his palm, how his skin was dry and warm and he held on to you so securely, you almost trusted him not to let you fall.

Almost only because as soon as he started to move (and pull you with him) you gripped his hand with both of yours like your life depended on it.

“I got you, ‘mega,” he murmured, his voice warm “Slow and steady, okay?”

That was easier said than done.

But Paz Vizsla was surprisingly patient as he placed himself in front of you, holding both of your hands as he carefully skated backwards. People eyed you in passing but he did not pay them any mind and so you found yourself doing the same.

If Paz Vizsla acted like nothing out of the ordinary was happening, it probably was because nothing out of the ordinary was happening.

Even when he smiled at you encouragingly as you started to mimic the movements the others made around you. Even as his thumb brushed over your scent gland, sending shivers down your spine. Even as you passed Katrina, who looked more offended than anyone, and he did not spare her a single glance.

“I won’t let you fall,” he assured you as you rounded the first corner, his eyes never leaving yours, “Trust me. I will keep you safe.”

I will keep you safe.

Why did that sound like much more than a promise?

“Chants told me you helped with the engagement,” you decided to change the topic and navigate the conversation back to neutral territory, “He was very happy. Thank you.”

“Thanking me for something? Today must be my lucky day.”

You rolled your eyes, an easy smile playing on your lips. By now, you had picked up in speed, though you were still no match to the other guests gliding across the ice with ease. But your amusement at his joke had pulled your focus away from what your feet were doing and before you knew it, you were struggling to keep yourself upright. Your skates were slipping beneath you and your arms flailed in an attempt to catch yourself on the ice.

Strong arms wrapped around your waist like a vice and you came to a standstill right against his chest. Paz Vizsla had pulled you to him, his chest pressed against yours and you could feel the heat of him even through the layers of clothes.

Stars, you hoped he couldn’t feel how fast your heart was beating from shock and from him.

“I got you,” dark eyes jumped all over your face, as if to check you for injuries, “I got you, omega. You’re okay. Breathe for me.”

It was only his instruction that alerted you to the fact that your breath had, in fact, caught in your throat. Your chest expanded as you filled your lungs with air, pressing closer to him, and your nose twitched at his familiar scent.

Being so close to him was dangerous for your heart even if your head knew he couldn’t stand you one bit.

“Good girl,” he rumbled, his hands on your waist tight, “Breathe. You’re okay. You did it, a full lap around the rink and you didn’t fall once.”

His words sunk in with a bit of a delay but when you spotted your abandoned mug of hot chocolate on the bench, you knew he was right. You had done a full round around the rink.

“I did it,” you smiled to yourself and wrapped your arms around him in a hug. Just to thank him, of course, and not because it brought your nose closer to his scent gland. And certainly not because it felt nice to have his arms wrap around you tighter, his face buried in the crook of your neck.

“Hey, alpha,” a smooth voice had you flinch away from him and your cheeks blazed in embarrassment as you spotted his beautiful date for the day, “Can you show me that slapshot thing you did the other game? You promised you’d teach me.”

There was a sexy pout on her face and your embarrassment morphed into something uglier at the pit of your stomach.

“Uh, yeah,” Paz’s voice sounded hoarse and his eyes were still on you, slightly hooded, “Of course.”

She took his hand like it was the most natural thing in the world and your heart cracked a bit again.

“Bye, ‘mega,” he waved at you, looking back even as he was skating away from you.

Bye alpha.