The Musings of A Madwoman

At first upon landing, you'd thought that the planet was adorned with extremely tall mineral stalagmites of some sort, the huge pointed formations reminding you of the caves your family just recently visited. Din explains that the formations are actually the petrified tree trunks of very ancient trees which the locals refer to as spires. The largest of the spires is the size of a small building with at least ten floors, and your mind marvels at the concept of a tree that big. Unlike the rest of them, it's rocky surface is so dark it appears to be black.

Which, is how the town Din has brought you to got the name of Black Spire. It's a decently large outpost settlement, filled with buildings and inhabitants of various shapes and sizes. It's got all of the usual trappings that a town needs to thrive, and it does appear to be a very thriving community. Businesses and markets make up the main town square, with a large number of houses sprawling out to the dense forest surrounding the city limits.

"This place is lovely, Din," you say pleasantly to your Mandalorian as he walks beside you with Grogu in his arms.

"Mm," Din hums in agreement, "It's grown more beautiful since the last time I was here. I was young then, back when The Empire was running rampant across the Galaxy. This was a common enough outpost for scoundrels to lay low in those days. Batuu is one of the last stops on the outer rim before wild space, and often people come here when they do not wish to be found."

"Makes sense why Cas would come here then," you say idly, eyeing him for a reaction. "If he's even really here, that is."

Din nods, "He was always fond of this planet. If he is here, I'm not surprised."

"How are you doing about that?" You ask, stroking the wispy hairs on Grogu's head as the boy coos at you from Din's arms.

"I'm fine," Din says a little curtly, beskar glinting as he shrugs and stiffens a little.

"Just checking," you ask. He doesn't feel fine, but you know it's not the right time to press him.

The three of you wander around for a long time, looking at shops here and there. Eventually your group stumbles upon a street stand for the chocolate covered surabat grain Din mentioned to you, and he stops to buy a container of it for you and Grogu to try.

"This is fucking wild," you say with a laugh, looking down at the somehow familiar looking food nestled in a dark red box as he presents it to you. "This stuff just looks like popcorn."

"What the hell is pup-corn?" Din asks, moving over to where a bench is situated under a decent sized tree which provides the perfect amount of shade. He sits down and places Grogu on the seat beside him, handing a few kernels to the hungry child.

"Da!" Grogu says, thanking his dad as he nearly inhales the sweet food with little gurgles and chomps, a content look on his youthful face.

You take a seat to Grogu's other side, reaching a thumb and forefinger into the container on Din's lap to pluck out a single piece. It really does just seem like regular old chocolate covered popcorn. "I said, 'pop-corn,'" you pronounce the "p" prominently, grinning. "That's the buttery snack I told you I would eat at the movies."

"Oh. Well, see if it's similar at all," Din encourages, shaking the container at you. He then reaches his leather clad fingers in to pinch a single piece for himself, and pokes the kernel up under the base of his beskar helmet before you hear a soft crunch. "Tastes pretty good to me," he declares, shrugging his pauldrons again.

So, you pop your own little kernel into your mouth and let it sit on your tongue for a moment before slowly rolling it over to to your right set of molars. You bite down, eyes closing as you try to decipher the intriguing flavor. You'd half expected the Ratatouille flashback moment to happen and suck your mind back into the first movie theater seat you ever sat in, but instead you just chuckle and chew. It's good, just not what you were expecting.

"Verdict?" Din asks, voice light as he shoves another piece up under the rim of his helmet. Then another. He's being quite brazen about eating in public, which surprises you, but you don't address it.

Laughing, you pop another piece into your mouth as Grogu devours more handfuls. "Okay, so this definitely doesn't taste like chocolate from Earth. The texture of this grain is also nothing like popcorn… but I really like this! It's just close enough to the thing from my home world. Thank you for this, Din. It was a very sweet gesture, no pun intended."

"You're welcome," Din replies fondly as he takes another piece.

Feeling braver, you inquire, "But, I have to ask, is a snack run the real reason we came all this way to the literal outskirts of the galaxy?"

Din sighs, shoulder pauldrons dipping slightly as he shakes his silver head. "No. It's not. But I will always take any excuse I can to make you happy."

Your heart flutters at that. "I love it when you talk that way. I hope you know that you make me happy every day just by being yourself."

"Mm," Din hums pleasantly. He turns his attention down to the child seated between you, asking him, "What about you, Grogu? Do I make you happy every day?"

"Da!" Grogu cries cheerfully, hands and mouth starting to smear with melted chocolate.

"I'll take that as a 'yes,' son," Din chuckles, wiping the kid's mouth with the disposable cloth which the snack stand provided.

His energy towards Grogu is so light in spite of the deeper emotions crashing against his presence in the Force, like waves crashing against a ship caught in a rough storm. Your heart boils over with fondness for your man, and you hope to hell that this impromptu search for his ex-mentor isn't going to hurt him too much. It's obvious to you that he's not even entirely sure what he hopes to gain from this experience, but it's something he clearly needs deep down in his soul.

Catharsis, as the Armorer put it. We all need that from time to time. Now just seems to be one of Din's times, and you hope your support as his partner is enough to help him get through it. Castyl may not even be here anymore, but if he is and Din manages to find him, you're mentally preparing for an emotionally challenging couple of days ahead.

"I hope that Grogu and I make you happy, too," you say earnestly, willing him to feel your support through your tone and soft expression.

Din's head dips in a nod, voice very fond, "I think I had forgotten what real happiness felt like until I met you two."

Once the not-popcorn is finished, mostly by Grogu, the three of you carry on with your exploration of the city with a slew of mixed emotions.

A clothing store catches your attention shortly after, and you find yourself stopping in front of a window displaying a very beautiful plum colored dress on a female mannequin. It's fabric seems light and airy, almost sheer in certain places with random lines of shimmering silver embroidered down the floor length skirt. The garment is sleeveless, with an intricately woven black leather design creating the shape of the halter neck and bodice. It starts at the waist with a belt of three form fitting strips to compliment the natural shape of a woman's curved hips, then another set of three strips covering the breasts. A third set of leather strips create the choker-like neckline. All connected by a single line of leather leading from the waist belt up to the cuff around the neck. The purple fabric and black leather are such contrasting materials, but end up complimenting them so well.

"You would look lovely in that," Din remarks from behind you, his silver reflection appearing in the window's glossy surface.

"Thank you, ner Verd," you say kindly, turning to face him with a sigh. "I'm sure it costs an arm and a leg."

"Do you want to go in and look?" He asks.

You shake your head, "It's probably too much, Din."

Din keeps pressing anyway, "You said you wanted something more feminine to wear."

Glancing at the dress, then back at Din, you shake your head more fervently. "Yeah, but that looks like it's for a very formal occasion."

Din shrugs, "They may have more modest choices inside. And, besides, you wanted to let Grogu look at clothes too, didn't you?"

"Ma!" Grogu coos, reaching for you. Din passes him over to you as he says it again and again while snuggling into your embrace. "Mama!" He shouts, pointing at the shop with a single claw.

Laughing, you feel nothing but deep love for this child. "Alright, alright, I get it. You really want to go look at clothes, don't you, sweetie?"

The kid nods happily, and you find yourself feeling quite excited at the prospect of doing something so… Earthly. Taking your son to shop for new clothes feels like a silly turn of events for such a serious trip to Batuu. It also sounds incredibly nice.

"Okay, I guess we'll go check out this store then," you say with a small laugh.

Din places a glove over the beskar protecting his stomach, the blue triangle on the back of his leather clad hand hovering right over where his bellybutton hides beneath his thick clothes. "Snacking made me realize that I'm very hungry all of the sudden. Would you mind if I leave you both here while I go find a private place to eat a quick lunch? We can get the two of you a real meal after."

Smiling, you confirm with a nod. "Sure. We'll just poke around here until you get back."

Din graces you and Grogu each with a quick keldabe kiss, and then it's just you and the green bean in your arms as your cosmic companion walks off. You can't help but watch his ass for a moment as he departs. With his cape slung over his jet pack off to one side, his finely toned derrière is visible for once, flexing with each step just under the plate of beskar protecting his lower back.

How is he so perfect?

Shaking your head of the impure thoughts that man seems to cause just by existing, you focus your attention on Grogu. "Alright, kiddo. You heard your dad. Let's go see if we like any of the options in here while we wait for him to come back," you say down to your son, making your way into the small retail establishment.

As you enter through a doorway made of the most gorgeous multicolored beaded curtains, your nose takes in the pleasant, spicy aroma of musky incense. Immediately, you're pulled into memories form Earth of smoky boutiques run by whimsical hippies selling their bohemian wears. And honestly? This shop isn't really that far off, just a little bit more sci-fi than the ones you're remembering.

Beautiful textiles cover the place from floor to ceiling, colors and textures assaulting your senses from every direction. It's chaotic, yet somehow not off putting. Unlike the shops you're used to from Earth, you don't see more than one of the same outfit or garment no matter which way you look. Each finished piece on display seems to be entirely unique from the rest, which leads you to believe that this boutique consists of wares hand made either by the proprietor or a tailor on site. This is only solidified for you when you realize that one corner of the shop has what looks like some sort of loom set up with an unfinished length of lovely sunflower yellow fabric. That being said, you immediately know how unlikely it is that you can afford anything in this seemingly boujee place.

Grogu coos and reaches for things he wants to grab, saying, "Ma," as he does so. A little "patu" sneaks out of his lips as well.

"Yeah, sweetie? What do you think? These fabrics are so pretty, aren't they?" You ask lovingly, gently moving him away from an expensive looking top he doesn't need to touch.

A crisp accented male voice appears from thin air, startling you as you hear someone say, "May I help you, miss?"

You whip around to see a gorgeous older black man with striking amber eyes standing directly behind you, muscular arms filled with a stack of what looks like folded pants of various colors. He seems to be in his mid to late fifties, gray streaks finding their way into his long head of braids and well barbered beard, accenting the handsome lines on his face.

The man is good-looking enough that it throws you off for a good fifteen seconds, and you only remember that you're supposed to respond when Grogu makes a loud noise in your arms.

"Oh, um, I'm not actually sure. My son and I are just browsing," you offer lamely, blinking.

"Well, if you're looking for something to wear you are in the right place," the man chuckles, moving to sit the stack of clothing on a counter. "Welcome in."

"Thank you. These clothes are all so beautiful and unique," you say, moving to look at a blue shirt that looks to be about Grogu's size hanging on a rack. The beadwork is otherworldly, and it sort of reminds you of a Tang suit jacket. "Are they all hand made?"

The man smiles broadly, nodding, "By yours truly, no less. May I ask where you're from? Your accent is very strange."

If only you knew the half of it, you think wryly, smiling a little to yourself. "My planet isn't well known in these parts," you say, sounding not unlike your friend Cobb Vanth from Tatooine. "My family and I are travelers. We don't really live in any one place, at least for the time being."

"Ah, a lifestyle I used to know well," he says fondly, golden eyes lost in a memory for a moment. Then he looks you up and down, seemingly sizing you up. "Anything in particular you're looking for?"

With a shake of the head, you tell him, "Honestly, we probably can't afford anything you sell right now. But my son is in need of something new to wear more than I am. All he has is this one garment. I'd love for him to feel like he can express himself."

The man eyeballs Grogu for a long moment, nodding. "Well you've come to the right place if you wish to express yourself, little one." The he looks at you with a raised eyebrow, a smirk riding his words, "And what of you, my dear? Are you in need of something new to express yourself? The frock in the window perhaps?"

Cheeks flushing, you shake your head. How the hell did he clock that?

"Oh, that dress is beautiful but I'm sure it's far too extravagant for me. Not a lot of reasons to dress like that on a spaceship," you give an awkward chuckle.

The shopkeeper nods thoughtfully, smirk growing even wider. "Well, you see, this is not your average clothing boutique. You can't just come in here and buy anything. My pieces choose their wearer, and I do believe that dress is calling out for you to try it on."

The clothes choose their wearer? What the hell? This guy is either the best salesman you've ever met, or the most arrogant. Which one, you're not sure yet.

Before you have a chance to argue with him about it and make a quick exit, another gorgeous man steps out from the back of the shop. This man seems a little older than the one you've been talking to, with the sun-kissed dark tan skin of a person in their early sixties who spends a great deal of time outdoors. His curly hair was clearly once very dark, but now holds a great deal of white throughout, both on his head and on his chin.

This man seems unbothered by your presence, making a bee line for the younger of the two with a deep look of love in his brown eyes. In his hands he carries a woven brown basket covered with a green cloth. A profound love surges between these two within the force, so vibrantly that it reminds you of how Din's emotions feel around you sometimes.

"Cyar'ika, my love, I brought your lunch," he says with a thick exotic accent, moving to place a quick kiss on his apparent lover's cheek.

Hearing the name Din uses for you being said by someone else, to someone else, causes your head to spin. No fucking way. It can't have been that easy, could it have?

The first man that you encountered leans into this new man's touch. "Mm, thank you. What did you make for me?"

"Your favorite, of course. And a salad with ingredients fresh picked from this morning's harvest." The second man says, finally taking notice of you and Grogu. "Apologies for the interruption, miss. My husband would never remember to eat if I didn't bring him his lunch every day."

Your mouth simply hangs open, dumbfounded as you look between the handsome men and put two and two together.

The first man smiles, pretending to roll his eyes. "He just wants an excuse to see me while I'm working. I'm perfectly capable of feeding myself."

After a slack-jawed coupled of seconds you pull yourself together. "Um, excuse me, but are you Castyl Vanda and Daro Tane?" You ask in a timid voice, eyes searching both men's handsome faces for a reaction.

Both of them look completely shocked, mouths also falling open in surprise.

"Do we know you?" The one you believe to be Daro asks, immediately putting his guard up a little as the whimsical shop keep persona melts away.

"No, you don't. But I believe you know my companion," you say softly, just as Grogu looks over your shoulder and his huge eyes light up with happiness.

"Dada!" The green child shouts, the weight of his entire body bouncing against your collarbone as he reaches behind you.

Din chooses this very moment to walk into the shop, and suddenly you're feeling so many emotions swirling around your own that you feel as if you need to sit down, bracing yourself on the rack of shirts with the arm that isn't holding Grogu.

"Well, this certainly wasn't in my star chart for this morning," Daro says with a bit of an attitude and a sneer, brow cocked. "A Mandalorian? In my shop? I don't sell beskar here, you know."

"Daro, enough. I know you want to protect my feelings, but it's okay. I haven't seen anyone wearing beskar in a very long time," Castyl practically whispers, brow furrowing as he looks right past you at Din. "It is a welcome sight, I think."

You turn to face your cosmic companion, expression sheepish as you awkwardly say, "I think I found them."

Din walks up beside you, taking Grogu into his arms as the child scrambles out of your grasp and into his. "Hey, buddy," Din says lovingly to his son, looking between Grogu and yourself while seemingly ignoring the two men who stand before you. "You okay, adika? And you, Cyar'ika?"

Grogu nods, snuggling into his dad, and you feel worn leather against your flesh as Din reaches for your hand with his gloved fingers, latching onto your own bare digits with his free hand. The touch of his family is clearly steadying the cyclone of emotions you feel whirling within him.

You squeeze hard, letting him know you're there with him and you're not going anywhere.

"Maker… I know that voice. Though, it was higher pitched the last time I heard it." Castyl's breath audibly hitches in his throat, accent thick as he says, "It can't be… Din? Din Djarin?" The way that he says the name carries so much weight. Weight that you could never possibly begin to understand. Castyl's voice is so soft and vulnerable as he asks, "Is that really you?"

Din's visor fixes on the older man, shoulders squaring. "Hello, Cas," he says evenly.

*****

After an awkward set of introductions, Castyl and Daro make quick work of closing up the boutique and offer their hospitality back on the small farm they share. Din's guard is up the entire time he's relocating the Razor Crest to their property with Castyl up in the cockpit directing him on where to go.

He flies out to the designated location far on the outskirts of town where their home is situated on a decently sized plot of land about five miles from any other home or structure. On foot the trip would feel much further, and thusly the men use speeder bikes to get back and fourth to town each day. Speeder bikes which are down on the first floor with you, Grogu, and Daro.

Jupiter disappeared the moment strangers came aboard the ship, and Din half wishes he could have joined her. Now that this is really happening, he's ready to scamper off and hide too. Having both of them on his ship certainly has Din's hackles rasied, but luckily the trip is a short one.

Surrounded by spires and jungle, there lies an open field filled with various crops of plant-life growing in long rows. A small, cozy looking house is situated on top of a grassy knoll on the edge of the meadow, and beside that is an animal pen filled up with alien livestock.

Din's able to land the ship on a flat area just behind the house, and he feels like he can't get everyone off the ship fast enough as he spins in the pilot seat.

"Your flying has improved," Castyl offers awkwardly as he lifts up from the seat you usually sit in.

Din grits his teeth beneath his helmet, huffing, "Well, it has been two decades since the last time you saw me fly. I was bound to improve at some point."

Castyl's face falls a little, a certain sadness finding his eyes that Din tries desperately to ignore as the older man says, "I know. I just remember how terrible you were at landing back then. It's nice to see how much you've grown, that's all." Cas chuckles, and the sound of it forced and awkward.

Din simply grunts and moves past him to head down the ladder. He needs the presence of you and Grogu to remind him that he's in control of his own life, and he made the choice to come here for, hopefully, a good reason.

Once the bikes and the uncomfortable passengers are unloaded from the Crest, Din locks her up and their hosts begin the tour of their home. They take Din's family on a walk along the farmland, which Cas tends to daily while Daro works in his shop back in town. Apparently the clothing store is purely an artistic venture for the younger of the two men, given that they are able to fully survive off of the sustenance provided by the plants and animals on the farm.

They seem to live a peaceful life here, in the little cottage by the woods. The house itself is small, but certainly big enough for the two of them to live very comfortably. With artistic, colorful decor Din knows must be all Daro's doing, it appears to be a well lived in home full of love.

Admittedly, Din feels a little jealous as Cas and Daro show the three of you around. Everything they have is something Din can envision for himself in the future. He just has no idea how to get there, and it frustrates him a little.

Never mind the suit of Mandalorian armor on display in the main living space, which causes Din's heart to sting as he moves past it. Cas quickly explains that the armor is there to remind him of who he is, and that he still puts it on when trouble arises and the occasion calls for it, before uncomfortably ushering everyone onto the backyard patio.

Daro, who has been kind to you and Grogu but openly snarky to Din, provides some entertainment while Castyl moves back into the house to begin preparing a meal, and soon nightfall finds the little farm to the tune of Daro's quadjitar strings. With a backup band of natural nighttime sounds, the sound of it is admittedly quite lovely. Din had forgotten how much music was a part of what made these two men grow close when Cas first brought Daro to live aboard their ship, and it causes his heart to swell when he thinks of the correlation between himself and you with your Earth music.

You're just like him…, Din's mind thinks, hating how much he finds Daro's instrument to be pleasing to the ear now that he's a grown man. Back then he hated the sound of it, knowing deep down that each strum was pulling Cas further and further away from him.

Cas eventually provides his guests with a meal which may be one of the best things Din's had to eat in a very long time, flavorful textures filling his mouth and brain with unexpected nostalgic joy. He'd forgotten how well Castyl could cook.

The older man respectfully sets up a private space for Din to eat in Cas' personal den, which Daro has something rude to mumble about under his breath. Din ignores it and takes his meal into the private space. While he has the freedom to look around the room without any beskar upon his head, Din finds himself snooping as he enjoys the hearty bowl of stew.

The room is filled with nothing but evidence of the full life Cas has been living with Daro since parting ways with the younger Din Djarin, and the grown Din Djarin genuinely doesn't know how to feel. Hurt, yes. But also… happy. Happy for the life Castyl Vanda has built with Daro Tane. Happy they found the sort of peace Din has only dreamt of.

When Din comes back out to join the group, face once again obscured by beskar, a bonfire has been lit in the backyard and he hears the distinct sound of David Bowie's voice echoing loudly through the valley.

"So you mean to tell me your planet is on the other side of the universe and this beautiful man has to be kept so far away from us? This is the most unique sound I've ever heard in my life. I can't get enough!" Daro marvels excitedly to you as Din walks up.

"Well, he's also dead. So luckily we're not missing out on anything new," you reply with a curt laugh, and then you frown as your eyes widen comically. "Morbid as that may sound."

"Life on Mars?" Din asks, coming up to wrap an arm around your waist from behind.

"Hi, Chrome Dome," you say lovingly as you lean your weight into him. You've got a glass of purple liquid in your hand, and Din notices immediately how you're obviously feeling loosened up. "How come you didn't tell me that you learned to cook from Cas? No wonder you're so good at it! His food was sooo good. He ferments his own wine, too. You should try some."

Din can't help but laugh at your slight intoxication, "Perhaps later, love. I'm glad to see you're having a good time."

Your relaxed face grows serious, voice dropping in volume, "I hope that's okay. Are you having a good time?"

Din looks over to where Cas is sipping his own glass of wine, staring into the fire with a deep look of contemplation on his furrowed brow. "I'm figuring that out," he answers honestly. Then he looks down to where Grogu is sitting on a cushion a few feet away from the fire munching on what looks like dessert. "You good, Grogu?"

Grogu looks up at Din, ears bouncing as he nods, shouting, "Da!", with a sticky looking thumbs up.

Din chuckles, tapping his forehead to your temple before he dislodges from you. "You should play The Man Who Sold the World," Din suggests, "or Ashes to Ashes. Oh, and China Girl. Daro would probably like that one."

You smile broadly up at him, "Do you know how special it is to me that you have favorite David Bowie songs?"

"Very, I would assume," Din agrees, a broad smile of his own hidden from your gorgeous eyes that he, now more than ever, wishes he could look into directly. "I'm going to let you have your fun, Cyare. Enjoy yourself."

You follow the gaze of Din's visor over to Cas, a look of understanding washing over your soft features. "Good luck, ner Verd. Remember how strong you are."

Din nods once at you, and then he moves over to the other side of the fire to sit directly next to Cas. It's going to take a few more songs before he feels comfortable saying anything to him, though.

Din simply watches you dancing with Grogu and Daro around the fire pit, his heart so full of love he's not sure how it still fits inside his ribcage anymore. He lets out a loud, almost dreamy sigh as he realizes that this is truly the happiest he's ever been despite how much he's actively making himself suffer.

"One kiss is all it takes," Castyl breaks the silence between them knowingly, eying Din with an amused look. "Then suddenly that damn creed doesn't seem so appealing anymore, does it?"

Din's head whips to him sharply, breath hitching. The older man has the audacity to laugh at Din's reaction, and Din feels his eyes narrow just as sharply, tongue matching his movements with a certain sharpness as well. "What the hell did you just say to me?"

Cas takes a sip from his glass, smirking against the rim as he leans back into his seat, nodding in your direction. "I have a feeling you know exactly what I'm talking about. I know you've kissed her, Din. You may still keep the beskar upon your face but I know you well. You've kissed her."

"You haven't known me in twenty three cycles," Din replies bitterly, frowning as his head turns to look over at you again. You pick up Grogu and dip him dramatically, then practically throw him into the air as the child shrieks with laughter and you do a spin. Din's frown twitches, aching to become a smile again.

Cas shakes his head, "Din, I raised you for eight cycles as my own. I know you. I may not know the man you've grown into, and I'd like to get to know him if you'll allow me the opportunity, but it doesn't change the fact that I know you, my boy."

Din glares daggers from behind his visor, disliking the phrase Cas used to describe him. "You know nothing about me, old man."

Castyl smirks again, "Then tell me you haven't kissed her. Tell me I'm wrong, and I swear to you I'll leave it alone."

There's a long pause between the two Mandalorians, each looking at one another expectantly. Then the trance is broken by the sound of the child's giggles and uproarious laughter of the two slightly tipsy adults. Both men look across the bonfire at their respective partners, and Din feels his heart swell again at the sight of you and his son dancing along to your beloved Earth music. He takes in the motherly visage he loves so dearly, watching you nuzzle your nose into the tiny one at the center of Grogu's little face. It steadies Din, reminding him of why he's even here on Batuu in the first place.

"She's never seen my face," Din says evenly, still glaring a little from behind his shield, though he feels the intensity of it waning as his will to be angry slowly ebbs away.

Castyl shrugs, making an exaggerated face as he does so. Even now, after all this time, Din feels incredibly strange watching the man he used to know so well from behind beskar emote in plain sight.

"Now that," Cas says cheekily, "I do believe. But she doesn't have to see your face to kiss you, Din. I know that better than you may think. It took me several months to work up the courage to show Daro my face, but he knew the touch of my lips well before he ever saw what they look like."

Din doesn't say anything, feeling a tad uncomfortable at the mental images plaguing his poor mind, and Castyl looks a little too pleased with himself.

"As I said; One kiss is all it takes. After that you’re addicted to it like raw spice, right? You tell yourself that you won’t let it happen all the time, because deep down you know it’s ‘wrong’,” Cas says this part sarcastically with finger quotations. “But then it happens again the very next day. And the day after that. It happens frequently enough that you’re not sure why you put that thing back on half the time, but you still do it because you feel obligated to.”

Din sits there for a moment, multiple emotions attacking his senses all at once. He's pissed off that, even with the barrier of beskar in the way, Castyl is able to easily read him like the adventure novel on Grogu's reader pad. After all these years with no contact, no less.

Din is also… relieved? Yes, relieved. Relieved to have someone here who can understand how much he's been struggling with this. How much it's been tearing him apart deep down. Someone who knows how specific this particular pain feels to a Mandalorian who lives so strictly by the creed. Or used to, at least.

"I hate that I don't hate you," Din finally says after a long moment.

Castyl's eyebrows raise in surprise, clearly not expecting that statement from his ex-ward. Then his face morphs into a remorseful look, accented voice wavering, "It's alright if you do hate me, Din. I made peace with that a long time ago. I know I didn't handle the falling out with you well. I…," the older man sighs deeply, regret riding the sound of it, "I should have been a real father to you when you needed one. But I just simply couldn't be the kind of father you needed me to be. My heart was being pulled in two different directions at once and, at the time, I didn't know how to grapple with that."

Din shakes his head, clarifying, "You don't understand. I did hate you. For a long time. I let that hate fester inside of me for most of my life." Din points an orange tipped finger at his loved ones, "And until that child and that woman walked into it and showed me what real love looks like, that hate kept me from letting anyone get close to me. Because of them, I believe I finally understand you. I want to hate you more than anything, Cas. But I can't. Not anymore."

Castyl chuckles, tipping his glass towards Din's family before imbibing more of his drink. "I should thank them, then. For knocking some sense into that thick helmet of yours."

"How did you know?" Din inquires quietly, hearing the trepidation in his own voice.

Cas cocks an eyebrow, "Know what?"

With a deep breath, Din asks, "That you needed Daro to know all of you… That you were ready to give up living by the creed for him."

The older man seems to take in this question with reverence, brow furrowing slightly as he nods and thinks to himself for a moment. Castyl's dark eyes then lock right onto Din's visor, penetrating through the barrier straight to Din's own dark brown eyes. The eyes Din's ex-mentor has never made true eye contact with, ever.

The man speaks plainly, "When I realized how incredibly lacking my life had been before I met him. And I may have removed my helmet, but I never gave up living by the creed, Din. At least, not in my heart. Not in the ways that truly matter. I may have failed you, but I still consider myself to be a Mandalorian, and I try to live every day by the same values I taught you as a boy."

Din needs more than that, pressing further. "What do you mean when you say your life had been lacking before Daro?"

Castyl looks over at his husband with a fond smile, then back at Din as he leans back and settles in for a long explanation. "Before I met Daro, I thought my life made sense. I thought that if I had my creed and my armor and my mission to train you, then that was all I ever needed to fully live. But there was something missing deep down in my soul, and I couldn't see that until Daro stumbled onto our ship that fateful day. At first I tried so hard to fight my affection for him, and the treason against The Tribe he constantly made me feel."

Cas interrupts himself with a chuckle, clearly experiencing a meaningful memory. "The first time he truly made me laugh, I felt very disappointed that he could not see me laughing with him. To see the joy he stirred in my heart written so plainly on my face. That disappointment scared me, Din. It scared me a lot. But only at first. As time went on, I simply stopped fighting what was growing between Daro and I because I knew it was no use. It felt natural to be with him in a way I had never known with any other. To love him completely. To know him, as our culture would put it. When I first told him that I loved him in the tongue of our people, I knew I needed him to look me in the eyes as I said it. I needed him to know the human man that I had chosen to hide away inside that suit of armor so long ago."

Din's heart wrenches as he takes in Castyl's words, realizing how eerily similar the older man's experience with Daro had been to Din's own experience meeting you. Realizing how jarring the parallels are in this moment makes Din's entire world feel as if it's being turned upside down.

"Why couldn't you be honest with me about your relationship with him?" Din asks, voice small as he feels like the sixteen year old version of himself again. The version of himself that had been so desperate for answers, yet far too stubborn and hurt at the time to ask for them. But he's here now, and he's finally able to push through his pain to ask for the clarity he needs. His voice shrinks even more as he asks the true question layered underneath his first, "Why did you abandon me?"

Castyl seems to give this inquiry genuine consideration before answering, "Because you told me to, Din. You told me to leave your life, so I did. I was ready to give up the creed and start a new life of my own and, though it pained me, I knew you couldn't be a part of that life. You had just started down your own path and I didn't feel comfortable deciding your fate for you. The creed meant so much to you back then. I chose to leave so that I wouldn't get in the way of the future you so desperately wanted for yourself. And, admittedly," Cas chuckles somewhat bitterly, "I was incredibly selfish back then. All I wanted was Daro, and I was blind to anything else. As much as I loved you like my own son, I simply couldn't be the father you needed. My path through the stars was set on a different course than yours. It may not be the answer you've been searching for, but it's the only one I have to offer."

Din lets this information soak into his mind for a moment, and he finds himself looking at Grogu while he contemplates his response. "I believe I understand," he says quietly.

Cas follows Din's gaze, and a small smile forms on his lips beneath his graying beard. "I was certainly never as good of a father as you are to that foundling. You're doing well with him. It makes an old Mandalorian proud."

"Grogu means everything to me," Din says honestly. "He has from the moment I saved him. He is my son, and I would do anything for him. He's already had to face so much pain at such a young age. I want to give him a good, happy life."

Castyl smiles fondly. "In only one day I've seen how abundantly clear that is. You've grown into a better man than I could have hoped for, Din. I really am so proud of you. I want you to know that."

Din feels himself get choked up at that, unaware of how much he needed to hear those words from this specific man, even if it is two decades too late. "Thank you," he says softly as his eyes mist over.

With a tip of his glass in your direction, Castyl then asks, "And your woman? What does she mean to you?"

Din takes a deep breath, exhaling slowly as he prepares himself to admit the thing he's been keeping hidden underneath his armor plated heart for far too long. "She is to me what Daro is to you, Cas. She means more to me than any creed. They both do. And it scares the kriffing hell out of me."

Castyl nods thoughtfully. Then Cas rises from his seat, moving to place a firm hand on Din's left shoulder as he looks down at his ex-foundling with nothing but love in his dark eyes. "Then you know what you need to do, my boy. Live the life you want to live, not the one you've been told you should live. The reality is that no one is forcing you to do anything other than yourself, and that fact alone is going to slowly kill you if you let it. Stop holding back simply because you think you must. Your heart has been missing something since the day I found you hiding under the rubble of Aq Vetina, Din. If you finally found the thing that fills that void, hang on to it with every bit of strength you have left. There are only so many chances at true happiness in this galaxy."

Cas' eyes bore into Din's through the visor with so much intensity, Din feels as if he cannot breathe while more words flow from the man he once trusted above any other. Words which shake Din down to his very core.

"Creed or no creed. Helmet or no helmet. You are a Mandalorian warrior, Din Djarin. No one can take that away from you. The Tribe may never be able to understand this concept, and that's something you have to make peace with. Continue to live with honor and loyalty in your heart, and you'll always make yourself and that family of yours over there proud. Perhaps that can be enough."

*****

The following morning, after another scrumptious meal à la Castyl Vanda, Daro declares that he'd like to take you and Grogu back into town to try on some of his wares free of charge. Castyl similarly declares that he has some things to attend to around the farm. So, after enjoying his private serving of the satisfyingly hearty breakfast, Din is left to his own devices while everyone is off doing their own thing.

Soon after you and Grogu are gone, the Mandalorian finds himself pacing around the first floor of the Razor Crest, knowing once and for all that his entire universe has shifted in a way that it will absolutely never go back to how it was before. And would he ever even want things to go back to the way they were before? Looking around his home and the presence of his family's life taking up every inch of it, he decides that, no, he would never want things to go back to the way they were before. He's known that since Tatooine.

It’s simply just too much for him to bear anymore. All of it.

Between finally understanding what it's like to have a true family, the stinging words Bo-Katan said about Din being raised in a religious cult, and the meaningful conversation he had with Castyl the night before, the Mandalorian is questioning everything that he’s ever believed in. The questioning physically hurts, deep down within his soul where there has been an ongoing, bothersome ache he hasn't been able to quell for months.

Two sides of himself are at war, and Din is incredibly at the end of his rope. He's ready to surrender to whichever side is going to win at this point, as un-Mandalorian as the concept of surrender may be.

He's so tired. Tired of running across the galaxy. Tired of fighting. Tired of having danger at his heels. Tired of uncertainty at every turn. Tired of keeping himself hidden from the ones he loves most.

Din wants stability, as much as a thing like that can exist in such an uncertain galaxy. A life full of love and happiness, rather than loneliness and violence. One where he can wake up in a bed and not a bunk. Where he may openly kiss his wife without a blindfold shielding her eyes from him, and let his son see the love in his own eyes when Din shares his vast knowledge of the universe with his boy.

He's wanted that for longer than he'd care to admit, long before Corvus or anything else which has led to this turning point. He's wanted it from the moment you'd laid in bed with him and tried to guess what he looks like.

But a Mandalorian’s sense of duty is so strong, so vibrant. How can he truly question what he’s come to know for thirty years? The thing he felt so sure of as a young man? The creed he’s built his entire life around? The confusion he feels towards his very way of life at this moment is causing the walls of the Razor Crest to feel as if they are closing in on him. He’s starting to feel as if he cannot breathe. Everything feels so fucking tight that it makes him need to tear all of the beskar from his person.

So he does. He begins ripping the armor from his torso, his arms, his thighs. The pieces of beskar which used to be more precious to him than anything are now clanking thunderously to the ground. Din simply leaves everything strewn about the ship as he unconsciously makes his way towards the cockpit.

Then a wildly scary thought, nothing more than a whisper really, dances lightly at the back of his mind. This isn't the first time this particular thought has crossed his mind recently, but the voice of his internal monologue is suddenly sounding both like himself and like someone else entirely. Din feels as if he may throw up when the severity of the thought hits him, along with more of that strange sense of relief flowing past the initial fear of it.

Show them. Show them. Show them.

The helmet drops unceremoniously to the ground with a loud clunk, reverberating eerily throughout the empty ship.

*****

Daro is so cool despite how bitchy he was to Din at first, which you gently confronted him about on the speeder bike ride into town. After a heated at first, but eventually friendly conversation, you discovered that Daro Tane had a rough childhood just like the rest of you, and because of this he has a lot of hard feelings that he tries to cover up with humor and snark. He loves Castyl very fiercely, and according to Daro the paternal separation from Din had been incredibly hard on the older Mandalorian.

"He cried for nearly two days straight after we dropped Din off on Concordia. Nothing I said or did helped. He wouldn't eat. He just cried and said he was a failure. I hated Din for that. I hated him for not seeing our love as a good thing, and for shaming my husband's choice to be with me over the creed. It took Castyl a long time to move on from that. So, I'm sorry for being hard on your beloved, but he kind of deserves it." Daro told you blatantly as he sped through the path between tall, green trees with you and Grogu on his back.

"Well, Din's a different person now. He was just a kid when that happened," you readily defended your man, "But I understand why you feel defensive on Cas' behalf. Because, I'll admit, I was ready to hate Castyl on Din's behalf. Both of you, really. From my perspective, you guys traumatized Din when he was too young to process that on his own. Din may have hurt your husband, but your husband was a grown man who could have explained himself to his foundling. I'm not trying to argue with you, though. You've been gracious hosts and I think that all of this is very complicated. Plus, you guys are a cute couple. You seem to really be in love. You get points from me for that at least."

After that, realizing that the both of you love your men so much that you're both willing to defend them until the bitter end, getting along with Daro was incredibly easy.

His clothing truly does feel as if it's supernaturally special. As far as you know, Daro doesn't seem to be Force sensitive, just incredibly talented. Each piece is a work of art not meant to be worn for anything other than pure aesthetic pleasure. Pieces meant for luxury, not for life in space.

Had the garments "chosen" you and Grogu as Daro put it? That, you're not sure of. All you do know, is that you and Grogu have each brought home something new that makes both of you feel absolutely like your best selves. On impulse, you've brought something home for Din as well. You hope to hell said impulse to get him something goes over well with your man.

Now you're back home at the Razor Crest, excited to show Din the fancy new clothes you and your son now own thanks to Din's not-really-but-sort-of stepdad.

"Hey, Din! We're back, ner Verd!", you call up the ramp as you hastily ascend its incline.

Grogu makes a little noise of concern from his perch in the leather satchel on your right hip, and that's when you see the glinting silver scattered about the room as the ramp is closing back up behind you.

"Da," Grogu says, frowning as he looks up at you with a tiny furrowed brow, clawed hand gripping for your arm with worry.

"It's okay, Green Bean. I'm sure there's a good explanation for this," you say, voice wavering as the panic is already beginning to rise up your throat like bile.

Pieces of Din's armor and the top layer of his clothing are strewn haphazardly around the ship. It worries you, but stomach truly drops down to your feet when you realize his helmet is laying uncaring on its side, right by the ladder leading up to the second floor.

Mortified, you begin to really panic.

Where is he? What could possibly be going on to leave him armor-less in such a way? Did Cas do something to him? Has your family been in the den of an enemy this whole time and you didn't even know it?

Thinking of Ranik and the night the horrible brain eating alien ambushed your family in this very room, you quickly throw down the sack full of clothing and move to the weapons locker, slamming a frantic hand on the controls.

The compartment swishes open and you grab your blaster from its rightful place, ensuring that the safety is off. You'd only taken a small dagger with you into town, and you know that is not enough if there is real danger afoot. With Grogu still cradled protectively in the satchel to your side, you raise the gun-like weapon with both hands and begin to scan the scene with the tactical eyes Din's been training you to use.

"Din?! Are you here?!" You call out assertively, making your presence known to any intruder as you inch your way towards the ladder leading up to the cockpit.

"Cyar'ika! Grogu!" Din's unmodulated voice breaks through the silence, coming from the hole in the ceiling. He sounds... fine? Good? Great, even?

You cannot see him, but fear suddenly rips through you that you may see him by accident. Then a dark brown boot appears on the first rung from the top and you nearly scream. So you drop the blaster as quickly as you can, covering Grogu's eyes with your right hand while your left covers your own.

The kid makes little frustrated noises of argument and claws at your fingers, but you ignore him for the sake of how dire this situation has suddenly become to you.

What is going on?!

"Din what in the actual hell are you doing?! Have you gone crazy?!" You ask wildly as you hear him descend the rest of the rungs, boots making contact on the ground with soft thuds.

"Honestly? I do not know." You hear him clearly, no speakers filtering his handsome, calm voice.

He sounds like he's only a few feet away from you, and his energy feels like a strange combination of the most serene you've ever felt him, and deeply nervous at the same time.

"But what I do know is that I am very tired, ner Cyare," he adds, the tone of his voice soft.

"Please, Din. Put the helmet back on," you urge, "so I can let Grogu down and we can talk properly about whatever it is you're feeling."

"That's the thing," Din's voice is barely a whisper, so full of vulnerability and raw emotion which ripples so vividly to you in The Force, "I don't think that I want to put it back on."

Your own emotions feel frayed, confusion rising in you as your heartbeat speeds up. Even though he admitted to you that he's been struggling with this and you're certain it's why you're even on Batuu in the first place, it still feels so sudden. The suddenness of it is making you shake a bit with anxiety. Underneath that anxiety, though, is an excitement you're not willing to play into just yet. "W-what are you saying, Din?"

You hear him let out a long breath before declaring, "I'm saying I want you to look at me. The real me." He sounds even closer now, maybe arms length away. Grogu is now fighting fervently against your hand, but you won't let up. Not yet.

"I-," you falter, face getting hot, "I don't know what to say."

"You don't have to say anything. Just look at me, Cyar'ika. Please," Din sounds desperate as he pleads with you, physical presence moving in closer.

You shake your head against your own grip, "But this is crossing the line we agreed to never cross. There's no going back from this, Din."

Your breath catches in your throat when you feel a bare hand come to gently tug at your fingers. A bare hand you know the touch of very well. You do not relent your own hand, though.

"Please, Cyar'ika," he pleads again, voice so soft as he gently pulls on your hand, "see me."

"I'm scared to, Din," you whisper, "what if this changes everything?"

"That's kind of the point," his voice takes on a playful tone, and a little sob threatens to erupt from your chest. Because all you’d have to do is open your eyes and then you could also see the playful look on his face. 

He's serious about this, and the gravity of that feels unlike anything you can compare it to. No one has ever made you feel the way Din Djarin makes you feel, and now he's trying to do the one thing you fear he may regret for the rest of his life and eventually hate you for. If this changes the relationship negatively, everything would come crashing down around you in ways you know you'd never truly recover from. He's helped you learn to be a warrior over the past year, but what if you're still not strong enough to handle this?

The grown up part of you wants to just take the plunge and open your eyes. The scared little girl who's been blamed for the poor decisions of others and hurt by nearly everyone in her life will still not allow it. There is a third part of you at work as well, the part that feels deep empathy for the man you love and wants to always respect his unique way of life.

Shaking your head again, you argue, "But what if you decide that this is a mistake? I don't think I can live with myself if you eventually resent me or Grogu for this. This is your creed, Din. The thing that you care about more than anything."

Din sighs, his hand dropping from yours. A fuzzy tingle of loss is left behind from the touch. His voice sounds almost hurt, and that makes you even more anxious. Hurting him is the last thing you want, even through the fear of your own pain.

He speaks honestly, "My creed used to be the most important thing in my life, but I do not believe that it is anymore. I don’t believe that has been true for a long time. My family is the thing that I care about more than anything now. You and Grogu mean far more to me than a a beskar helmet and the ancient words of a dead planet I'm not even from. My life was empty before I had the two of you, regardless of the creed."

The truth flows from your lips freely, "I'm really scared that you will regret this and blame me or Grogu for what is ultimately your choice. I don't want to ruin what we have, and I won’t let you do that to our son.”

His voice turns very serious, "I promise you that this is my choice and mine alone. I would never do that to you or to Grogu. It is cruel and without honor. I may be ready to give up living by the creed but I am not prepared to stop living by my values. I have the heart of a Mandalorian, and I do not intend to let that heart stop beating to the tune of their drum. I do not intend to stop being the warrior you fell in love with. Ni gar Verd, ner Cyare. Ratiin."

"I just don't know, Din. I’m so scared," you murmur softly, those final three words barely audible.

You feel a kiss being placed to the fingers over your eyes, a mustache tickling your skin. Then the soft, unmodulated voice of your cosmic companion becomes playful again, "Come on, you're the one who swears I must be handsome. Don't you want to see for yourself?"

You feel him pulling at your hand again, and this time you let him lift it away from you. You're still shielding Grogu with the other hand, and your eyes themselves remain closed. He brings it to his own face, placing a kiss in the palm before cupping it softly to his scruffy cheek. Then he says something that makes your eyes snap open whether you're ready to allow them to or not, and your entire universe changes in that very instant.

"I want you to look into my eyes when I ask you to be my wife."

Gasping, your stomach somersaults inside of your body as your jaw lands nearly on the floor.

After knowing him for well over an entire year, knowing him better than you’ve ever known another living being, your brain cannot even comprehend that you’re actually seeing the man you love. Gazing at what had been hidden from you all this time.

You've imagined Din’s features countless instances, trying to guess what his face looked like from the sound of his voice alone. It was an impossible task, you knew, but even your wildest fantasy hadn’t prepared you for the handsome cut of his jaw, the long line of his broad nose, the scruff of facial hair on his cheeks. His lovely curly hair, dark brown and mussed, like he had run his hands through it after removing the helmet.

His beautiful deep brown eyes are so kind, so loving, so intense, that you can't hold eye contact for very long. It simply feels too overwhelming. He seems to also feel very awkward about it, only able to hold eye contact of his own for a moment or two at a time.

So your eyes move on to the mustache nestled above his naturally pouty, plump lips. God, those fucking lips. That's what those look like? 

"Hi," he says, so shyly that it nearly breaks you in two. Watching those lips move congruently with the voice you love more than any other sound causes a little sob to escape your throat.

"Hi," you say back, voice shaky.

Another sob escapes from your own lips, and the hand holding Grogu's eyes finally releases the poor kid so that he may look at Din as well. The child makes little noises of excitement from your hip, reaching for him while crying out, "Dada! Dada!"

Din laughs a little, a spark of relief in the sound although his eyes still hold the nervousness you sense him experiencing with your ability. Watching him laugh, though, having a visual to put with the melody you adore more than any song on the iPad, is more beautiful than you could have ever thought it to be. Your eyes well with tears at the reality of it.

Then Din reaches for Grogu, lifting the boy out of the satchel and right up to his exposed face. The kid looks at Din with wonderment for a long moment, then he squeals with delight, tiny clawed hands grabbing at the neatly trimmed beard of his father figure for the very first time. Din's beautiful brown eyes slip closed as if experiencing a moment of untapped fatherly contentment from his son's touch.

When they snap open again, he asks, "What do you think, buddy?" As Din speaks to the little green baby, he bounces him in the air and adds, "I'm not too ugly, am I?"

There's a trace of fear in the question, and you realize that it's somewhat directed at you as well. He glances at you nervously, the vision of it causing your chest to swell almost painfully.

"You're the most beautiful man I've ever laid eyes on, Din," you confess honestly.

He seemingly has to look away from you after that. So bashful, so scared of what you think of him. Not something you would have expected from your fierce warrior after how close you've grown. "I am sure that's not true, but I appreciate the compliment all the same," he says timidly.

You give a curt shake of the head, frowning a little. "No. Don't do that. You asked me to look at you, so I am looking. And I like what I see. A lot, Din. You're gorgeous. I cannot believe how much you exceeded my expectations, or how lucky I am. I know you feel self conscious, but I promise you don't need to. "

He bows his head in thanks, flushing. Good lord he blushes well too, the rouge tinge turning his naturally tan cheeks such a lovely shade. It nestles into his flesh just above his scruff, looking like a sunset plunging down into to the treeline of a forest.

"You are too kind," he says, glancing away once more.

"I am in love," you say plainly.

Finally feeling brave enough to touch him, you reach out to run a finger along his neatly trimmed hairy chin. There's a taste of gray nestled among the dark, which you hadn't really expected, but only serves to make him more desirable to you.

"I mean," you clarify, "I loved you before. I was willing to love that beskar face for the rest of my life. You know that. But this really does change everything."

"Like I said," he smiles a little, plump bottom lip parted slightly from it's brother, "that was kind of the point."

Oh fucking hell, this man's smile is going to be a new thing to break you entirely.

"God, you're a bit too much for me right now," you say, looking away for a moment. A wide smile of your own creeps onto your mouth. A giddy one, similar to the night when the two of you consummated the relationship and your facial muscles felt sore the next day from how much you'd grinned. "Your mouth is so lovely to me, Din. Your smile is so handsome."

He chuckles, batting his eyes shyly, "I take it that's a good thing?"

You nod, "Yes, just overwhelming. All of it is overwhelming. I certainly didn't wake up today thinking I'd get to see your face."

Din moves in closer, bringing the three of you into a small family huddle. "I'm overwhelmed too, Cyar'ika. I didn't plan for this either. But it was time."

"So does this mean you're not a Mandalorian anymore?" You ask softly as you meet his dark brown eyes only inches away, weary of upsetting him with the question but needing to understand where he stands with all of this.

"It means I am no longer a part of The Tribe. I'm still figuring out the Mandalorian part. I do not wish to stop living my life like one. We've met others who choose to wear the armor as they so please. Perhaps I can decide what the balance is without compromising that part of me entirely. All I know is that I could no longer compromise this part of me. The part of me that needs this family more than I need that helmet." He finishes by gesturing to the forgotten thing on the floor.

You breathe a small sigh of relief, thankful that this is how he views the decision. "I will support you in any way that I can while you figure yourself out. I hope you know that, Din. I will always support you."

Din smiles, more broadly this time, nodding. "I do know that. And that is why I needed to do this-wait, hang on." Din sits Grogu down on the ground as his eyes light up with excitement. It makes him look almost boyish for a moment.

Din moves to the weapons locker, still open from when you thought a threat was on the horizon. Watching his face as he moves around, concentrating on what he's looking for, is mesmerizing. He comes back over to you with items in each hand. One is obscured by a closed fist, and the other is too large to do so but wrapped up in a scrap of dark fabric.

He unwraps the large item to reveal a dagger, similar in size to the one you usually use but with a larger hilt and curved, wide blade. The hilt is actually wrapped in an intricately braided dark purple material. The blade itself is adorned with an engraving of your first name written in the Mando'a alphabet along its dull edge, starting at the tip. Under your first name, the surname of Djarin is etched in place of the one you brought with you from Earth. Under that, just above the hilt, is an engraving of a mudhorn skull similar to the one on your beskar. You look down at the weapon and then up at Din, stunned and confused. 

He then opens his closed palm, revealing two metal rings. One is larger than the other, but both rings are identical in design; dark silver much like his armor with a single gold line in the center of each band. Your eyes begin to water as your breath catches in your throat.

Din dives into an explanation, the vibrancy in his eyes causing you to swoon. "In Mandalorian culture we give a weapon as a gift of betrothal. I made this dagger a few months ago, with the help of your grandfather when we were staying on Tatooine. It is a vibro-dagger, and it's more powerful than the one you've been borrowing from my personal collection. There is an energy cell within the hilt which creates vibrations within the blade, making it easier to slice open a difficult target."

He then lifts the smaller of the two rings, holding it between his thumb and index finger. "I also made these, using a broken scrap of hull from the Razor Crest. A piece of our home to always keep with us. Your grandfather helped me with that too, and Peli helped me to figure out what size it should be. Richard explained the significance of wedding rings on Earth. He also told me I should do this on one knee," Din says as he drops down to that very same position right in front of you.

"Din," you breathe, already feeling the hot tears ready to run freely down your face. Your whole body lights up as you realize what is happening.

He says your name, and watching it dance upon his lips and snake from his tongue with such intensity in his deep brown eyes leaves you weak in the knees. "Please do me the honor of becoming my wife, if you'll have me as your husband."

"Yes!" Flying into his arms, you knock him backwards on his ass as you kiss his gorgeous face all over, agreeing to marry him over and over again between pecks. "Yes, yes, yes!"

Din grunts when his ass hits the floor and, though you hate to ever hurt him, even the pained expression he makes fills you with so much joy. Every expression is probably going to do that to you for the foreseeable future.

The kid waddles over to join his two grown ups, and Din sits the two of you back up to look down at him seriously. You watch as two pairs of beautiful brown eyes meet, seeing the love held there in both sets as they really get to look at one another. Din's begin to mist over. You see it clear as day, and your own become so wet that Grogu looks blurry until you blink the tears away. 

"I have something for you as well, Grogu," Din says in an emotional voice, the fatherly smile he graces the child with causing you to swoon. He pulls a piece of silver from his pocket. The thing appears to be another dagger, only teeny tiny in comparison, with a similar mini engraving of the mudhorn skull etched into the blade as well.

Din smiles at his son, leaning his bare forehead to press into the child's, tan flesh in contrast to green while somehow also complimenting each other perfectly. "I made this with the intention of giving it to you if you were going to leave with Ahsoka on Corvus. I wanted you have a way to protect yourself without me around to do it for you, and something to always keep you connected to your mom and I. But, now that you're here to stay, I want you to have this as a gift of adoption. What do you say, pal? Would you like to officially become Grogu Djarin of Clan Mudhorn? I can add your name to this just like on your mom's."

Grogu responds with a happy little "Dada!", before using his power to launch himself into Din's welcoming arms for a hug. Din, careful not to let the boy cut himself on the new blade, nuzzles the top of the kid's head with his broad nose, inhaling the scent of his child without any beskar in the way. He's smiling so widely you wonder if his cheeks can take the force of it.

As if sensing that she was missing out on something, Jupiter appears from one of her many hiding spots and comes to rub her head into your thigh. She purrs loudly as you scoop her up into your arms, nuzzling your own nose into the orange fur atop her head. If she's noticed or cares that Din has removed his helmet, she makes no show of it as cats are want to do. You wonder idly if she's seen his face before, being the sneaky little thing that she is. Perhaps his creed has been broken this whole time, unbeknownst to anyone. How rich would that be?

The ship settles into silence for a long while, Din's dark eyes meeting yours every now and again. You're both starting to be able to hold contact for a little longer each time, but an awkward timidness is still at the surface of every silent interaction.

It's so interesting to see him like this, causing you to wonder how much of this behavior had been hidden from you all this time. How many glances had become awkward or shy? How many different expressions had he held for you when the two of you were first spending those long bursts of time in hyperspace getting to know one another? 

There was that one night, shortly before the incident on Smuggler's Moon, when the kid had gone to bed and the two of you stayed up nearly all night talking. At the time it had been the longest bout of hanging out yet, lasting just over five hours.

With fondness making a nest in the warm den of your heart, you remember just how handsome his modulated, sleepy voice sounded when he'd yawned and realized how late it was getting. You’re able to hear it in your brain as if it happened yesterday, because it’s a night you think about often. In all honesty, it may have been the first moment you really started to feel actual love for the then faceless and nameless Mandalorian. Before you ever knew him as the man Din Djarin who sits before you now. 

Your friendship with him blossomed into something real that night, when you'd realized that you were getting to know him well enough that the barrier of beskar between you was feeling less and less like a barrier with each passing day. If anything, the helmet had grown oddly legible to you just as much as it had been strangely alluring. Sure, perhaps your then unknown force sensitivity played a role in all of that, but you still feel it in your bones that you were getting to know him regardless of otherworldly factors.

Mando’s baritone struck a nerve in your core that night when he’d laughed so heartily, saying in a laid back tone you would soon become intimately familiar with, “You know, by the time we go to sleep the kid will probably be waking up. Why did we do this to ourselves?”

“Because you love talking to me and I’m amazing company and we’re like thiiiiis close to becoming best friends,” you'd replied, smiling broadly at him as you pinched a thumb and forefinger close together, drawing out the letter "i" in "this" with a genuine lightheartedness riding your words.

A handsome chuckle, one you remember causing your core to heat several degrees, had hissed out from the helmet’s modulator. Mando’s amusement dripped heavily on his tone as he leaned forward to say, “Honestly, I think we both know that I just carried that five hour conversation and you’re the one who loves talking to me.” He’d even gone so far as to say your name in a tone which caused a deep blush, his surely triumphant smirk nearly audible from behind the beskar.

“You didn’t deny the best friend thing, though,” you bit back playfully, moving your bare foot to daringly shove at his armor plated thigh in a blatant flirtatious gesture. 

The Razor Crest's cockpit is small, and the two of you were always sitting much closer than you'd ever realized. Your leg stretched over to him easily, so shove at him you had. But, at the time you hadn’t bore witness to very many of Din’s Mandalorian skills yet, so you hadn't anticipated his gloved hand to catch your foot with practiced agility. You certainly hadn't expected his surprisingly nimble fingers to start massaging into the sole of said foot while he chose to continue on with his story and not mention his scandalous touch whatsoever.

It’d been so hard to pull yourselves away from each other after that. You remember so clearly how certain you were of your feelings for him in that moment, and how you hoped deep down in your gut that he was feeling the same way. His lingering presence in front of the cot, the way he’d tucked a strand of your once long hair behind your ear and leaned down as if he wanted to kiss you. His silver face had hovered inches from your fleshy one, and the tone of vulnerability he’d used to tell you goodnight had been legendary. You’d fixated over its hidden meaning for days after that. 

Butterflies fill your belly with the memories of your budding romance, and to think that things have evolved enough now that he's shown you his face.

Images of those gorgeous deep brown eyes smoldering into yours unbeknownst to you fill your mind. How much longing had been blazing there when he first touched your naked form in that shower on Nevarro? How much need the first time he entered you a few weeks later? It had been ever present in his voice, but to see it in his eyes? It’s enough to make you dizzy.  

Seeing his face now, the magnificence of it, you're suddenly dying to know how he must have looked that night with his hands on your foot and your name riding the yearning lacing the tone of his voice. All those months ago, when everything felt so uncertain and new. It's an expression you wager you'll eventually know like the back of your hand, but to understand just which one it must have been is impossible. That was a private moment for him. But now everything is out in the open, and you're free to learn this side of him which has been blocked from you for so long.

Tentatively, you softly call out his name in the silence, "Din?"

His head snaps to you, so different than it would have looked with the helmet on. The kindness in his smile reaches all the way to his eyes, and he leans over to place a kiss in your hair. "What is it, ner Cyare?"

"I don't want to wait. How soon can we be married and do the adoption? And how do we even go about it? On Earth you have to get permission from the government and pay for the legal documents. They make you jump through a bunch of hoops. How does it work here with only rituals and words?" You hadn't thought about that before, but how does something like this work when the two of you don't belong to any one planet's government?

Din regards you softly, a hopeful glint in his mesmerizing dark eyes. "Well, if you are alright with doing this the Mandalorian way, then all we have to do is recite the vows to one another. It's the same with adopting Grogu. We just say the words, but with true intention in our hearts. The ritual is intended to be private and can be done anywhere. There are no legal documents, only the bond we share as a family."

"Seriously? That's it?" You ask with a laugh, and Din looks hurt for a moment. Shit, how many times has that happened in the past? "Oh, Din, I'm sorry. I wasn't laughing at the ritual. I was laughing because on Earth getting married has become a ridiculous spectacle. Some couples invite over a hundred guests to watch them exchange vows and spend insane amounts of money on things like decorations, food, and drink.”

Din makes a scrunched face of disapproval, and your heart soars at the sight of it. It’s like you’re getting to fall for him all over again. 

"But,” he says earnestly, “marriage is a sacred thing between two people. It is not meant to be a spectacle. Some Mandalorians will have a celebration afterwards with their loved ones, but the ritual itself is to be performed in complete seclusion."

You laugh again, pressing a kiss to his exposed, gorgeous lips. “See? I was laughing because I have never agreed with the Earth customs. Sure, I always wanted a pretty dress and maybe some cake, but I never wanted all that other stuff. I always felt like marriage was supposed to be about the couple, and the couple alone.”

“Mm," Din hums pleasantly, Adams apple bobbing slightly, "I am glad to be in agreement.”

“Me too,” you say with a content little hum. A plan comes to mind then, so you ask your cosmic companion and soon to be husband, "How does this evening sound?"

*****

Next Chapter

Previous Chapter

Masterlist

*****

"Yes, what is it?" Din asks, voice similarly weak as he sits with his helmeted head in his gloved hands, elbows resting on his knees. He's sitting at the makeshift table made of crates and scrap material by the galley.

Upstairs, Grogu shrieks with laughter as Klo shouts something about a droid attack, making blaster noises while David Bowie is belting out "Let's Dance" in the background.

Klo screams the phrase, "Get those separatist scum!", and Grogu babbles loudly back in return.

They've been playing something Klo calls "The Clone Wars," and Grogu seems to love it for some odd reason. Din says that Grogu would have been alive during that war, but very young. Perhaps it makes the child nostalgic in some strange way.

"Can we agree that two kids is too many?" You ask with a soft chuckle, moving about the ship to get things ready for breakfast. "Thank God we're not having another."

Din's head lifts, and you get the distinct sensation that he's peering at you through the black visor at the center of his beskar face with mixed emotions.

"Yeah, I suppose two kids is too many." he agrees solemnly.

More solemnly than you would have expected him to sound. It doesn't come off like he's simply just tired from what little sleep the two of you have gotten all week. Whatever this is feels deeper than that.

Grogu has been a restless, hyper little menace ever since leaving the covert. Having another child on board the ship has your own kid completely jacked up. He's only been able to truly sleep when he's physically worn out. It's as if he thinks if he sleeps he'll miss out on something.

You frown. You didn't mean anything by what you said. You were simply trying to commiserate about the week being chaotic and challenging.

"Hey," you say, sitting that God awful cup of swill off to the side as you come to crouch in front of your man. "Did I strike a nerve?"

"No, not really," Din says, looking away.

"That's not what it feels like to me in The Force, Chrome Dome," you tease with a sly grin.

"Sometimes I hate it when you do that," Din groans, beskar shifting as he shakes his head.

"I'm just letting you know that you can't hide much from me," you say, smiling.

"I never could, evidently," Din agrees, and the sensation you feel from him is warm.

"Did my joke about the kids really bother you?" You ask, changing the tone of the conversation with your expression and voice.

He sighs, "I might as well be honest. Yes. It bothered me a little."

Your brow shoots up in surprise. "Oh. I'm sorry, I wasn't trying to be insensitive. I kind of assumed we were on the same page about that."

"It's okay," Din says softly, "I remember on Nar Shaddaa you told me that you do not like the idea of going through pregnancy."

You blink, searching your memory. "Oh, yeah. I remember that conversation. I suppose I just assumed that, because of Grogu and the creed, you don't care about having a biological kid either. Did I misread you?"

He shrugs. "I don't. Not really. You know my culture values the adoption of foundlings over biological offspring. Before Grogu, I truly didn't think I wanted a child at all."

"Has something changed?" You ask.

He shakes his head confidently. "I don't believe so. I enjoy our life with Grogu, and he is truly enough for me. Another child would change everything. Besides, I would never ask you to go through that if you truly can't stand the thought of it."

"I mean, I don't have to get pregnant. We could always adopt another kid one day if this is really important to you," you offer, though the idea of a second child doesn't sit right with you. Not at this point in your life, at least.

You just became Grogu's mom. You want to focus on life with your boy as much as humanly possible, and you're not sure how you'd be able to do that with another living being also vying for your attention.

"I know," Din says, voice falling into a low growl. Then he shifts in his seat, legs spreading. He places a bare hand on each knee, leaning back as he tilts his head to the side. "But maybe I would want you to get pregnant if we had another."

You glance at his crotch, unable to help yourself, gasping as your eyes bulge just about as big as the tent in his soft gray sleeping pants. "Din!" you whisper-yell, scandalized.

The kids are still loudly playing upstairs, so you know they cannot hear you. But Klo being on board the ship has made things feel, well, cramped. It feels like there's been a kid around every corner for a week straight. One easily could pop up at any moment.

His voice is filled with lust as he beckons you forward with one hand, commanding, "Come here and sit on my lap."

You glance up at the ceiling nervously, then back to him. You practically gulp like a cartoon character, an oversized lump passing down your throat. What's gotten into this crazy Mandalorian?

He sees this, and chuckles, "Don't worry, I'm not insane. We're not going to do anything. I just have something very important to say and I need to make sure you can hear this, because they definitely cannot hear this."

Complying, you quietly climb onto his strong thighs with a hand on each of his muscular shoulders, trying your best not to whimper when you feel his thick length beneath you. You haven't fucked him once since Klo boarded the ship, and your body surely needs it. You and Din are a multiple times a week kind of couple, and that hasn't really died down at all save for the time you were both too sad about possibly giving up Grogu. At this point you're fully addicted to him, and the withdrawal is noticeable.

Din presses you down onto his clothed cock with a hand on either hip, causing a gasp to escape your parted lips as his thumbs dig into you almost painfully. Then his hands slide from that position, one moving to the small of your back while the the other snakes up into your hair, cradling the back of your head. It's long enough to (sort of) put up again, so his bare fingers really get lost in the locks as he's pressing his helmet into the side of your head.

His speaker is right up against your ear, the hiss of his modulated voice causing you to shiver and writhe as he holds you in place. "Can you hear me, cyar'ika?"

"Uh-huh," you say dumbly, nodding against the grip of his hand.

As his strong fingers increase pressure, his hips jerk into you, cock pressing into your clothed entrance. His voice is a low, grumbling whisper meant only for you. "Feel me. Feel what you do to me. I cannot help it, cyar'ika. No one in this galaxy has ever done this to me. Perhaps that is why you had to be brought here from somewhere else. I needed a special woman, not just anyone."

"Shit," you mumble, your own fingers gripping at his black undershirt for dear life. "You have no idea how good that makes me feel, Din. Even if you're just saying it." That last part bubbles up and out from the part of you that’s still the self conscious girl from Earth. She still shows up from time to time, much as you try to keep her hidden away.

"One does not speak unless one knows," Din says seriously. His emotions flare a little as he says it. "That is an integral part of the creed. I do not say things unless I mean them. So listen to me as I tell you what I need to say."

He rocks his hips into you once, twice, three times more, and you swear you cum a little bit just from the friction of it. Maybe that's exaggerating, but a teeny little convulsion rocks your core, causing you to cry out. It sure felt like a tiny orgasm, and you feel as if you'll have to change your underwear after this. Din quickly covers your mouth with the hand that was in your hair, applying pressure.

"Shh," he shushes, laughing. "You're hopeless, you know that? One of these days you're going to get us caught with that slutty fucking mouth of yours."

You grunt against his palm, eyes narrowing playfully as you lick his hand incessantly.

"Ew," he says eventually, yanking his hand back to wipe it on his pants. "That felt weird."

"Yeah, well, your hand was salty," you say, pretending to spit off to the side with a grin.

"Cyar'ika," he says, voice low once again and full of lust. "I need you to be serious with me for a moment. I need to say this. Please."

"Alright, ner verd. Ni sushir." You tell him you're listening in Mando'a just to get the point across that you're in serious mode.

"Vor'e," Din thanks you lovingly, helmet once again pressed to your ear as he cradles your head. The he says something which rocks your entire being, momentarily tilting you off axis.

"I know we could adopt as many children as we want, and I mean it when I say that I would never ask you to go through pregnancy if you truly don't want to. But I would be lying if I said that this hard-on didn't come from envisioning myself filling your sweet cunt with my seed, knowing I put a child in your womb. Maker, the thought of it nearly sends me over the edge every time I think about it. Imagining what it would be like to watch your body change, to see your breasts swell with milk and your belly grow with my offspring inside you. Fuck, cyar'ika. It does something to me I cannot truly express."

The heat this causes in you is incandescent.

"Jesus Christ, Din," you pant, surprised and turned on by this sudden turn of events. What a revelation. "Where is this coming from?"

He shrugs against you. "Me. It's always been here. It's been here from the first moment I ever sank myself into your heat. Every time I've fucked you, it's taken all of my willpower not to fill you up with my cum and hold you down while I watch it leak out of you. What I wouldn't give to see that. Then I'd fuck it back into you and give you another load just to make sure it sticks."

"Fuck," you breathe, body twitching, "That's really hot, Din."

He squeezes you, pulling your hair a little. "But, I respect the fact that it's your body. And that it would make things more complicated than they already are. It's a nice fantasy, and that's all it ever has to be."

"I," you pause, unsure of how to respond, distracted by the whirlpool in your core. If only the kids were anywhere else right now. How are you going to survive the severe drought for the rest of this trip to Rodia?

Today's the last day, but still. This is torture.

"You don't have to say anything, love," Din says bashfully, moving some of the two-toned hair from your face as he lifts up to look at you.

"I want to speak," you say gently. "It's just that, I don't know what to say. You've got me feeling a lot of mixed emotions here, Djarin."

"Well, what are you feeling?" Din gently encourages, though he sounds nervous.

Here goes nothing, you think, feeling nervous yourself as you admit, "Until recently, the idea of ever getting pregnant used to make me feel physically ill with anxiety. But after hearing you say this… I don't know. I don't think you've necessarily changed my mind, but I feel something… different. Good different."

"I feel as if I've started a conversation far too serious to be had before breakfast," Din says, deflecting. He shifts his gaze, head shifting along with it.

He's downright terrified to talk about this all of the sudden. You feel it clear as day.

Well too bad, Chrome Dome. You started it, You think with a wry smile, amused by both yourself and this strange morning encounter.

You move his head back to center and press your forehead to his beskar. "No, it's okay. Really. I think this is a good conversation. And a little sexy," you add with a wink.

His tone is less playful, taking on a serious cadence. "I just don't want to make you uncomfortable. It's your body. You're the one who would have to suffer through growing a child for nine months. And then to give birth at the end of it," Din shudders, "I understand why it doesn't sound appealing. All I would have to do is fuck you. The trade off doesn't exactly seem fair."

You grow a little more serious as well. "I mean, it's not. Which is one of the reasons the concept has always bothered me. But you're not making me uncomfortable, Din. I've actually thought about this quite a bit too, you know."

"You have?" His voice sounds surprised. And is that a hint of hope you detect?

"Duh, Chrome Dome. First off all, I have to worry about it every time we have sex," you tell him with a laugh.

"Has this dampened your enjoyment of our intimacy?" Din asks, clearly worried.

You shake your head and squeeze his arms. "Never. I have a great time, every time. That is just part of the routine for me. My body never did well with birth control on Earth, and I don't even want to know what the options are out here. So I just always make sure I know where you're cumming, if you get what I mean. It's not that big of a deal. I'm used to it."

"Mm," Din hums thoughtfully. "What's the 'second of all' part of this?"

Bracing yourself, you tell him, "Second of all… I don't know. You know my parents hated each other because they felt forced into having me. I guess I was always so afraid of getting pregnant when I was younger because, aside from the blatant body horror aspect, I never felt confident that I'd find anyone to be the right kind of partner I would need to help me through it. Miracle of life and joy of motherhood aside, it seems like a traumatic, life altering experience. Some women have a really hard time with it. My mom certainly did and, legend has it, my dad was either never around or awful to her when he was. I'd need a truly good, strong person by my side if I was going to have a baby. And I didn't know what kind of a person that was until I met you, Din."

"Cyar'ika," Din breathes, voice hitching.

You notice that his hard-on has gone down a little, but his emotions are so intertwined with yours in this moment. A new, less naughty feeling of love stirs within him.

Looking right into the visor, you decide to be brave and tell him something that you didn't realize was kind of a big deal until now. "While we are being honest about this, I'd like to tell you that we've had two scares since we started sleeping together and I never told you about it. I wasn't consciously keeping anything from you. It just wasn't something I felt like needed sharing at the time."

He sounds confused, "What do you mean?"

Shyly, you explain, "Twice now I've gotten my period a few days later than I expected to. The first time was immediately after we, well, consummated things. I spent two whole days convincing myself that I was pregnant. Two days making myself sick with worry over what to do, and then I started bleeding on the third day and everything was fine so I just moved on and never told you about it."

"When was the second time?" Din asks.

"Two periods ago," you say, more shyness taking over as you prepare to admit the thing to him that you told yourself you were crazy for feeling. The thing you wrote off as a hormonal overload thanks to recently becoming a real mom and having so many emotional ups and downs in your life all at once.

"What happened that time?"

You breathe deeply through your nose, exhaling loudly. "The same thing, but only at first. My period was nearly four days late that time. I panicked about it for a few hours but then I relaxed. By the second day, I started to feel less scared about the physical part and more nervous about how you and Grogu would react if it really was a baby and not just my body playing tricks on me. On the third day, before I ended up bleeding that night, I spent most of the day giving very serious thought to what I would do if it really was a pregnancy."

Din sounds vulnerable, asking quietly, "What conclusion did you come to, if any?"

Looking into his visor once more, you melt your body into his as much as possible, fingers playing with the little bit of hair you feel at the back of his neck under the helmet.

In a sultry voice, you smile sweetly and tell him, "I came to the conclusion that I would be really fucking scared, but I would also be really fucking honored to carry our child. On Earth, without you, I would have it terminated. But that's not how I feel anymore. If we do ever manage to accidentally put a kid in me one day, I'm confident I'd want to keep it."

Din let's out a breath. One you can't help but feel he'd been holding it in, bracing for your response.

"Cyare," he intones lovingly, squeezing you hard. "If only you knew what this does to me."

"I think I have a little bit of an idea," you say cheekily, wiggling your hips.

He growls in response, grinding his own hips into yours even though the bulge is nearly gone now.

With soft little moan, you go on, "When my period finally started, I remember feeling a weird pang of disappointment for most of the following day. I figured my hormones were making me think crazy thoughts. I couldn't quite believe it, honestly. When we first met, I never would have thought that my mind could change about this. I'm still not really saying I want to get pregnant, or that I've changed my mind completely."

"I don't need you to change your mind," Din says seriously. "Our family is enough."

"I know," you smile, "And I'm not. But if it ever happens by accident, I think it would be a happy accident. After the initial mental breakdown, of course."

"Cyar'ika," Din mutters softly, "you amaze me every single day. If that ever happens to us, I would be by your side every moment. I would make sure that you and our child are wanting for nothing."

"Your husband side is showing, darling," you laugh, rubbing your nose into his beskar.

"Mm," Din hums, "I'd need to make you my wife for that to be true. Soon. I promise."

"I'm not rushing you," you say awkwardly, worried you've come off too strong. After he started the baby conversation? Give yourself a break, you think.

Din sounds so handsome to you, "I never thought you were. I'm saying I'm ready for us to truly be riduurs. But let me ask for your hand when the time is right."

"Din," you breathe, leaning in towards him.

Upstairs, Grogu makes a crazy sounding noise, and the entire ship shakes violently as the lights flash. Jupiter gives a feline yowl of disapproval from where ever she may be, you gasp, and Din groans with frustration.

"And right now is not the right time. We'll talk more after we drop off our house guest," Din says, moving you off of him as he stands and walks over to the ladder. As he begins the climb upward, he shouts in his authoritative dad voice, "Boys! What the hell is going on up there?!"

"Sorry, Mr. Djarin!" Klo shouts down, voice full a child's mischief.

You can't help but grin, stomach stirring with the strange uncertainty of emotions you don't yet understand as you contemplate the morning's wild conversation. You place a hand over your belly, thinking for a fraction of a nanosecond that pregnancy may not sound so bad after all, and then you shake your head profusely.

"What has gotten into you, woman?" You wonder out loud, downing the rest of the terrible, and now ice cold, caf with a grimace.

Din Djarin and his magical Mandalorian space penis have made you go insane, that's what.

*****

Klo's a nice enough boy, but by the time they reach Rodia, Din's very ready to drop him off with his extended family. Din needs things for his own family to go somewhat back to normal. He knows things are never truly the same after big new life experiences, but he gets the sense that things will be normal enough.

For one thing, Grogu's behavior has been terrible. He truly does thrive on consistency in his routine, and you've been at your whits end with him for days. Din's been more lenient on the kid, mostly because he knows it's not really Grogu's fault that things feel disrupted and the boy is not mature enough to process it.

Klo is also a bit of a bad influence in all honesty. He's Ragnar's best friend, after all. The two of them must have caused plenty of mischief together, in their old lives before the virus took their families.

For another thing, if Din can't sink himself into your cunt soon, he's liable to detonate like the charges in his utility belt. He needs to drag you up into the cockpit by the hair and make up for a weeks worth of lost time, to fuck you mercilessly until you cry out from the sensitivity and beg for him to stop.

Fuck, Din thinks, trying desperately not to let another hard-on form. This is not the time to have his body betray him. He really should have taken care of himself in the fresher after the impromptu pregnancy conversation, but he never found the right moment to slip away.

You and the kids are seated behind him up in the cockpit, and he's got to get this bucket of bolts he loves so dearly safely into Rodia's humid atmosphere after he gets cleared for landing. He needs to focus.

"Arg! Need me to sail the ship into port for ye, Capt'n?" You ask in one of your silly Earth voices from his back left side, "Yer first matey here thinks ye be a bit, errr, distracted down in the depths of Davy Jones' locker if ye catch my meaning."

Off to the right side, Klo whispers to Grogu, "Your mom is really weird."

To which Grogu chirps in response and yells, "Ma!"

Din sighs, shifting uncomfortably in his seat. Of course, you must be able to feel his arousal with your ability and are choosing a terrible moment, and method, to let him know.

He doesn't turn to look at you, saying your name in a low voice with a commanding, "Stop."

"Alright, fine. I won't tease you," you say with a giggle. "At least not until later."

"Just remember that I'll remember this, love. Don't be a brat," Din says with a playfully warning tone.

Before anything else can be said in the banter between you, a voice over the Crest's radio interrupts, asking in basic for the ship's credentials and their reason for travel. Din gives the needed information, and the Razor Crest gets cleared.

Once on the stiflingly stuffy green jungle planet, in the capitol city of Iskaayuma, the group is quickly met in the public landing bay, as planned, by an older female Rodian leading another female, younger than Klo it would seem, by the hand. Each is a slightly different shade of green than the other, both darker than Klo slightly.

The alien woman is indeed Klo's aunt, with the little one being Klo's cousin. Din's been in communication with her ever since they reached this solar system and Klo was able to provide enough information for the alien woman to be contacted. After thanking Din and his family for getting the boy back to the planet safely, Grogu and Klo exchange their children's goodbyes, and the kid goes off with his own kind, walking down a path which no longer intertwines with that of the Mandalorian or his unlikely family.

As he watches the boy walk off with his loved ones, Din thinks about the fact that this could have easily been how things ended with Grogu. If he and his boy hadn't become so attached to one another, Din may have watched Grogu be carried off by Ahsoka that day. He would be living a nearly empty life right now without his son by his side.

Din had been so prepared on that day to feel his heart shatter with every dissipating crunch of the Jedi's boots on the forest ground, to be so unsure as to what direction his life was to go in after such a great loss.

But, that's not how things went with Grogu. He's here, floating beside Din in the pram, he calls Din "Da" nowadays, and Din knows exactly what direction he wants his life to go in after having gained so much.

Right then and a there, Din feels the truth in his heart that if Ahsoka had taken Grogu that day on Corvus, he would have shown Grogu his face. He wouldn't have been able to live the rest of his life knowing that the kid never got a chance to see him. To know him.

But what does that mean, then? If Grogu is now a permanent part of Din's life, and Din is aware that he doesn't want that life to pass him by without his son ever knowing his face, then what does that actually mean?

Do you even want to be a Mandalorian anymore? He asks himself, mind full of murky turmoil as his stomach twists fiercely inside his body.

"You feel very complicated right now, ner verd," you say softly beside him, taking his gloved hand.

"I do feel very complicated, cyar'ika," he replies, unsure of himself as he strokes Grogu's head lovingly with his free hand.

"And that's okay," you smile up at him, setting him straight once again with that same kind look in your eyes that first grabbed his attention over a cycle ago on Nevarro. Din feels himself balanced once more as you add, "You don't have to feel any certain way, Din. I just hope you're alright. But you do need to show us this new planet and find us something to eat. I'm starving, and you know Grogu is always ready for another meal."

Chuckling, Din pulls you into him for a keldabe kiss. Whispering, he keeps his voice low, "I know what meal I desire. I'm ready to devour you."

"Din," you breathe, eyes widening comically. "You're incorrigible!"

"And you're irresistible when I've been kept from your body for far too many nights." Din intones huskily.

In the pram, Grogu grunts up at his parents with disapproval. "Da!" He yells at Din, eyes narrowed.

You laugh, "I think he's mad that you're not more worried about real food, Din."

"I'd starve for a century if it meant I still got to taste you every night," Din says quietly in your ear, making sure that Grogu still cannot hear him.

He's pleased by the shade of crimson you turn, smiling to himself as he says at normal volume, "But you're right. Let's get him some food and resume this conversation later."

*****

Later couldn't come fast enough, and apparently neither can Din. Once the Razor Crest is back in open space and the one and only child aboard the ship has been put to bed for the night, Din finds himself up in the cockpit on the verge of ejaculating prematurely.

Being ridden like a blurrg in the pilots seat, Din's ready to cum and you two just got started. He's been so pent up over the last few days, and the feeling of you sinking your hot, soaking cunt onto his aching cock while your tits bounce in his helmeted face is nearly too much for him.

"Fuck," he grunts, pushing you off of him, "stop."

"What's wrong?" You ask, voice filled with self-conscious worry as you lift off of him. "Is it me? Did I do something?"

The breeze to his dick sobers him up a little, and he chuckles huskily, moving the damp hair from your face, wishing he had the freedom to kiss you. "Yes, it was you. Your pussy felt like a dream come true, cyar'ika. I just don't want to finish too soon and end our time together too quickly. We've waited days for this opportunity."

Realizing that you were the problem, but in a good way, you visibly relax. Din's pleased to see that side of you ebb away, glad that his warrior is back with him.

Then a cheeky smirk finds your lips, and Din wants to slap the haughty look off of your face with his cock before making you choke on it. He can always tell when you're about to cause mischief. You do this thing with your mouth where you purse your lips awkwardly like you're trying so hard not to smirk, and it never works. The impish grin always bursts through.

With a hand on either armrest, you lean over Din's naked form with your own, breasts once again in his covered face. Without thinking, Din's hands find their way home, groping at the soft weight of your chest as he looks right into your eyes through the visor.

In a low voice you say, "You know, if you finish too soon you might not pull out in time. If you're not careful, you could knock me up. We wouldn't want that. Would we, Daddy?"

Din's dick throbs.

Your grin for him is so mischievous. "Oh, so you do like that, don't you? I knew I felt sexually charged emotion from you when I called you that the other day. Well, Daddy, try not to cum too soon. You think you can do that for me?"

"Cyar'ika," he warns, applying pressure to the flesh he's holding. Then the thumb and forefinger of each hand move to tweak at the peaked nipples being presented to him. When you cry out from the sensation, he licks his lips. "You need to watch yourself. I can't be held responsible for what I'll do to you if you send me over the edge."

"What would you do to me if you did go over the edge, handsome?" You ask, voice sickly sweet.

Din leans forward as his hands move, and one grips your hair hard as the other moves to palm your cunt. He smirks when he easily hooks three fingers into your moisture and pulls you a few inches towards him using your own vagina, impressed by his own spontaneous move.

You let out a sharp gasp, eyes going wide as he does this to you. A gasp which instantly lets him know you like it.

Din growls, "Remember when I told you that I'd hold you down and watch my cum leak out of you?"

You nod dumbly, mouth hanging open a little, "Uh-huh."

"Words, cyar'ika. I want words," Din commands lightly, smirk morphing into a full blown smile. He loves it when things take a dominant turn like this. "I know I make it hard to think sometimes, but I need you to try for me. Now I'll ask you again; Remember when I told you that I'd hold you down and watch my cum leak out of you?"

You nod, wide-eyed and whimpering as he pumps and wiggles the fingers lodged inside of you, adding the motion of his thumb against your clit.

Din wishes you could see the absolute wickedness of his grin. "Words, love. I'm losing my patience. You really don't want that to happen. Trust me."

Your entire body twitches as you blurt, "I remember, Din! Is that what you would do to me?"

Din nods, suddenly removing his hand from your pussy, presenting his three glistening digits to your parted lips. Without being prompted, you lean forward and hungrily take them into your mouth, suckling him clean of your own juices as you whine.

"That's a good girl," Din praises, knowing how much you thrive on the concept. Then he tells you, "And I wouldn't just fuck one more load into you, cyar'ika. I'm so stocked up tonight, I'd pump a third into you. Maybe a fourth. And I'd go to bed hoping that the next time your period is late, it doesn't come at all."

You moan against his fingers, convulsing as if you've cum from his words alone. Din's hand leaves your mouth, guiding you up straight as he rises from his seat. He towers over you as the two of you stand naked in the center of the small cockpit. Din slips a hand to the back of your neck and turns you, moving you over to your seat as you willingly allow him to manipulate your body, all the while wearing the most gorgeous smile meant only for him. He bends you over, hinging you at the waist as he moves either of your hands to rest on the seat itself, propping you up.

"Alright," Din begins, slapping your ass on either cheek. "I"m going to blindfold you, cyar'ika. Then the fun can really begin."

"God, yes, please," you murmur, unmoving from the position he's left you in.

Din leans over you as he pulls the pink fabric down from the headrest, pressing his cock into the crack of your ass as he does so, enjoying the way it makes you wriggle and moan. Once he's got the scarf in either hand, he ensures it's folded properly before lowering it in front of your face. Dutifully, you do not turn around to look at him and continue facing forward.

"Do you trust me, cyare?"

"Always, ner verd. For the rest of my life."

Din gently places the fabric over your eyes, making sure to be careful tying the knot behind your head now that your hair is longer. Once he's sure it's secure, he asks as much but in Mando'a. "Megin liser gar haa'taylir?"

"Naas," you reply instantly.

Din's love for you surges, proud of how well you've taken to speaking Mando'a. He's proud of how well you've taken to just about everything in your new life here, in this dangerous galaxy with him and the child you both already share.

Slowly, he lifts the helmet from his head, sitting it gently in his pilots seat. When his face is finally free of beskar he breathes a small sigh of relief, raking both hands through his hair to get it out of the flattened position it's been stuck in all day. He always hates how it gets pressed down to his scalp. Helmet hair, as the other Mandos call it. He shakes his head, and the wavy locks fall back into place, but fluffed out a little more.

When he looks at you, he's pleased to see you haven't moved a muscle, and the way your glistening pussy pulses as you tremble with anticipation causes the blood to begin flowing into his cock once more. He strokes himself a few times just to help keep it aroused, then drops down to one knee in front of your bent body and spreads your cheeks, pressing his tongue to your exposed ass without warning.

You jerk forward, squealing with surprise, "Din!"

"Shh," he coos between licks, lapping at your sensitive ring as his arms come to wrap around your thighs and hold you in place. Then he slips the slick muscle down and into your cunt, fucking you with his tongue for a few pumps before moving on to give some attention to your clit.

"Ner verd," you moan wantonly, and not long after you're grinding your entire crotch hard into his face as you cum all over him.

"Good girl," Din praises, wiping his wet face onto your trembling thigh. His mustache must tickle you, because you laugh and try to move away. "You're not getting off that easy," he grunts, pulling himself up so that he can position himself at your entrance. "It's my turn, cyar'ika."

Din watches with joy, happy to have this sight be seen purely through his own eyes and not a Mandalorian display screen, as the dark swollen head of his cock pushes out of his foreskin and slowly into the slick opening of his lover's cunt. The wet sound it makes is exquisite, and that little bit of initial natural resistance to intrusion from your body causes him to moan hoarsely. You squeeze him hard, and he sinks into you all the way, bending over to lay his bare face on your upper back while he enjoys the pleasure of your bodies being connected at such an angle. And, frankly, to not have any beskar in his way.

"Your body feels so good," he remarks out loud, kissing up and down your spine while his hands reach under to grip tenderly at your breasts again.

"So does yours," you moan, "I love you."

"I love you too," he agrees, grinning against your flesh.

After that Din begins truly fucking you. Bucking into your hips hard, bottoming out in each thrust. His balls slap loudly into your clit, and Din sees how hard your fingers are gripping the seat in response, indenting into the dark red leather while indistinguishable noises of pleasure leave your gaping mouth.

He pounds into you with everything he's got, until you ask him suddenly in a small voice, "You're not really going to cum in me, are you?"

Din stops moving, grip loosening on your hips as he frowns. "Cyar'ika, no. Never without your permission. I thought we were playing."

"We are, I just got nervous for second," you say bashfully, burying your blindfolded head into the chair, presumably to hide your face even though half of it is already covered. "Sorry," you mutter, the sound muffled.

"Don't ever apologize while I'm inside you," Din reprimands lightly, wishing you could see his kind smile as his lips tug back upwards. "You have every right to worry about your body."

"Always the respectful Mandalorian. I should never doubt you." You begin backing up onto him, grinding yourself on his cock, muscles squeezing.

Din moans, beginning the motion of sex once more as he grips your body again. "You really shouldn't," he agrees playfully.

"Harder," you command, grunting and groaning with the top of your head pressed into the center of the backrest.

Din complies, pumping vigorously for several minutes. He bites, licks, squeezes, pinches, and tickles whatever parts of you he can reach, with whatever parts of himself he's able to use. He even presses the pad of his thumb into your ass a few times, teasing you and hoping you'll wonder if he's on to that hole next now that it's on the table. All the while you writhe and cry out in ecstasy, and it's music to his uncovered ears.

As he's moving his hands up and down your back, digging his nails in slightly, he's shocked to hear you suddenly cry out, "Oh, God, Din! Some crazy part of me actually wants you to just fucking do it."

He stops again, brows raised in surprise as he looks your body over. "Really?"

You turn to "look" at him despite the blindfold keeping you from actually doing so. "Yeah, it really turns me on. Is that fucked up?"

"Of course not," Din muses.

He pulls out of you, moving your body from the chair down to lay on your back across the blanket you laid out earlier. He parts your legs, your hands reaching for him as he climbs on top of you and gets repositioned at your opening. As he slides back into you with one smooth motion, he asks, "What about it turns you on?"

"Everything you said earlier," you say, grunting and smiling as you wiggle your hips to get adjusted to him at this angle. As you usually do when blindfolded, you begin feeling his face all over with your soft fingertips. "Plus," you continue, "Getting pregnant really still scares the shit out of me. I think the fact that it's scary is what turns me on, though."

"That sounds normal to me," Din says fondly, pumping into you slowly, affectionately. "Sometimes fear can be a nice thrill as well."

You make a face then, and even with your eyes obscured from him Din knows you wanted to say something and stopped yourself. The way you scrunch your mouth to the side is a dead give away.

"What?"

"I didn't say anything, Chrome Dome." You lift up to kiss him, clearly deflecting.

"You wanted to, though," Din says playfully after pecking you once, not playing into it. "What was it?"

Shaking your head, you wrap your legs around his waist and and your hands grab his biceps. Din feels you use the leverage to push his cock the littlest bit deeper as your walls clench him. "I don't want to offend you or anything, Din. It's just a silly thought, that's all."

Whining at first from the sensations you're causing, Din pinches one of your nipples and pulls out his commanding voice once more. "Tell me the thought, cyar'ika."

Giggling, you seem to enjoy that from him. Then you let out a breath, saying, "Just… I had a thought after our conversation today that if we did have a biological kid, it could kind of be my own way of knowing what you look like."

Din is gutted by your statement. He halts his hips for a moment, though he doesn't pull out. So many things assault his mind all at once, so many racing thoughts.

You frown, propping yourself up on your forearms. "Dammit, I'm sorry. I just killed the mood, didn't I? Fuck. Your emotions feel like a wild animal in a cage, Din. I'm really sorry."

Din's heart is thundering in his chest, and for a split second his hand begins reaching for your blindfold, ready to snatch it from your head and let you see him once and for all. He's so tired of this subject dominating his mind.

But his hand instead moves to cup your cheek, and he touches his nose to yours as he swipes an arm under your lifted back, holding you to him while his other arm stays propped.

"What did I just say about apologizing while I'm inside you?" Din tries to say playfully, trying to force himself back into the mindset from a moment ago.

He doesn't want you to worry that you've ruined this experience, which he knows you're actively doing. So he's kissing you hard, tongue darting into your mouth as he picks up the pace with you once more.

"Oh!" You yelp with surprise after Din breaks the kiss, clinging to him as he lays your upper back down and lifts your hips off the ground instead, pounding into you. "Won't happen again," you say, panting.

Din smirks, panting as well and feeling more like himself as he says, "That's edging on an apology. Maybe you just need to stop talking for a little bit."

His hand covers your mouth, a move he's used on you many times and a move which usually makes your eyes roll back into your head as you clench him even harder. He's not sure about your eyes, but when it comes to the clenching you deliver tenfold, and he feels himself on the verge of orgasm from the pressure you create with your beautiful body.

As his pleasure steadily builds, he moves to lick your neck, thrusting and saying, "You can nod for yes or no, but am I putting this cum in you or not, cyar'ika? It's your choice, but you better decide fucking fast."

You make a wild noise behind his palm, breath leaving your nostrils rapidly. After a moment, to Din's jaw-dropping shock, you nod.

"Oh, fuck," Din groans, nearly climaxing from your permission alone. But he holds out for a few seconds longer to ask, "And you're one hundred percent sure?"

You nod against his hand once again, this time vigorously, and Din loses all will power to hold back as he pumps into you maybe the hardest he ever has. You squeal beneath him, just as he's emptying himself into your inviting cunt for the very first time. He cradles you to him as he fills you completely, crying out at the sensations overtaking his body. This feels so much better than your mouth, or jerking off onto your breasts.

When he's spent, he lays you back down beneath him as if you're made of the most fragile materials, guiding your legs so that you're hugging your knees to your chest as he slowly pulls his softening cock from your twitching pussy. He removes his hand from your mouth enjoying your whimpers as you open and close your lips, breath heaving in your chest.

Din kisses both of your thighs. He watches your vagina contract, smiling broadly as a little glob of his sperm begins to surface from your pulsing depths, creamy fluid a contrast to the swollen pink flesh. He reaches an index finger to dip into you, playing with it. "You should hear yourself. Such slutty noises for me. How do you feel, knowing my cum is inside you?"

Whining, you answer, "Dirty. Good dirty, but fucking dirty. Like a crazy slut for letting a man do that to me, taking such a huge risk just for such a quick turn on. Fuck, and I am so fucking turned on right now, Din."

"If only you could see it," Din muses. "You look gorgeous with my cum in you, cyar'ika." She'd look even better without that blindfold, his treasonous mind thinks, and he shoves the thought away.

To distract himself, Din leans down to lick the up some of his seed, enjoying his taste mixed with yours as he traces the line of your slit.

Bucking into him, you squeak, "Are you eating it out of me?"

"Do you need a taste too? We taste good together, love." He says adoringly against your cunt, dipping his finger in deeper to collect more of himself. Then hes moving his hand up to your mouth, and you eagerly take in the covered appendage.

"You're right," you say after releasing his finger with a pop, smiling all the while. "Yum."

"I don't think I have more in me tonight, cyar'ika. That was, mostly, all talk. But I think you have more to give," Din says wickedly, moving down between your legs once more.

As he tries to ignore the turmoil within him by bringing you to another uproarious orgasm, he focuses on the pleasurable taste of himself leaking from inside your body during every possible moment of the experience. All the while, deep in the back of his mind, he's so very conflicted over the choice to show you his face or not.

*****

The information the armorer gave you as to Castyl Vanda's whereabouts has been eating away at you for the better part of nearly two weeks. Worse even more when you consider what a good mood Din has been in lately. Although he's clearly still feeling mixed emotions about the confession he made regarding his helmet, Din's energy is so light and full of life most of the time. Which has made it hard for you to find the right moment to tell him. At first you were waiting for Klo to get dropped off, but now it's been a few days since he left and you're feeling like this information needs to be surgically removed from your chest.

So when Din happily spins around in his pilots seat with a vast star field as the backdrop to his gorgeous silver image, your stomach lurches as he asks you where you think Clan Mudhorn should go next.

"Tatooine to visit Peli and Richard? Nevarro to see what awaits us there? Someplace you haven't seen yet? Now that Klo's been dropped off, we have no obligations to anyone. No mission, just our life together as a clan of three." His body seems visibly relaxed as he throws out options.

Jupiter meows up at him from her napping perch on his plated thighs, and with a chuckle Din adds, "Four, actually."

As much as the moment between Din and your cat makes your heart swell You start to speak and stop yourself. He notices.

He shifts his head, sitting up a little. Feels like there's suddenly a frown under that helmet, too. "What is it, cyare? You know I can tell when you're not saying something."

A jolt of fear strikes your heart then. Old, ancient fear leftover from your abusive childhood. When being your truest self never felt like an option. When everything you did was either too much or not enough for your ex-grandmother. When your parents made you feel solely responsible for their hard feelings, or blamed you when things didn't go right. When, even fully grown, you felt incredibly small, and sharing difficult information that you knew would affect another person felt impossible because it immediately put you in the line of fire. Back then, your emotional security was more important to you than healthy relationships.

But that was what feels like a lifetime ago, in a galaxy far far away from this one you now call home. That was when you didn't realize you had the heart of Mandalorian beating in your chest all along, before you learned that your value is far greater than what the people back on Earth were able to see. Value that is seen so vividly by the Mandalorian you now love, and the child you now call your own.

With a deep breath to steady yourself, you choose to trust him. Trusting him has gotten you this far, hasn't it? "I'm worried you'll be a little pissed off at me for not telling you this sooner, but the Armorer gave me some information before we left the covert and I've been trying to find the right time to tell you."

Dins shoulders square every so slightly, head tilting. "When have I ever truly been pissed off at you?"

You can't help but smile at that. "True. Which is why I'm trusting that you won't. You do have every right to get upset with me about things, I'd just like to avoid it when I can. Or talk it through if you do. Anyway, I just didn't think it was a good idea to tell you this particular thing while we had Klo on board the ship and a moment hadn't presented itself until now. It's a pretty big deal, Din."

"What information did the Armorer give you?" He asks evenly.

Here goes nothing, you think. "She told me Castyl's last known whereabouts. He's on Batuu, last she heard."

Din doesn't respond. He sits there for a moment, looking right at you as his silver head slowly bobs in a nod of understanding and contemplation. Then, wordlessly, he spins the pilot seat sound and starts punching things you can't really see into the control panel. Coordinates, maybe?

The ship begins to shift. Okay, so, coordinates.

"Thank you for telling me," Din says kindly, ending his sentence with your name as he looks over his shoulder at you. You feel the love flowing through him as he says it.

Confused about his lack of negative feelings, you ask, "Din? You good?"

"I am," he says calmly.

"Where are we going?"

"Batuu," he replies.

Feeling your brow lift, you ask, "To look for Castyl?"

He spins the chair back around to face you, visor making "eye" contact. His voice is surprisingly light, "That… I don't know yet. But my mesh'la girl is still craving chocolate, isn't she?"

*****

Next Chapter

Previous Chapter

Masterlist

*****

The Mando lady Teckla asks one of the kids wearing a helmet if he knows why the creatures give off the natural illumination.

Grogu only half-listens to the child, Tarke, give an explanation of something called bioluminescence, all the while his true concentration focusing on a particularly juicy looking bug sticking out of the wall just above his head. After a moment the creature springs free, floating through the air and into Grogu's open, waiting mouth of sharp little teeth.

Out of all the bugs he's had to eat in his time, this one is… just okay. Disappointing, because it looks much more delicious than it tastes. That's not going to stop him from trying one more, though. With the help of the Force, he pulls another from the wall, slurping it up as it enters his mouth. He lets out a small belch after that one. Alright, the second one was tastier than the first. Maybe just one more to be sure…

"Grogu ate one!" Ragnar yells, pointing at the smaller boy accusingly as he interrupts the lesson.

Grogu grunts out a noise of irritation, eyes narrowing slightly at the other child as his hand drops, power waning.

"Grogu leave them be," Teckla chides lightly, tongue clicking. "We want to be able to see our way back, don't we?"

Grogu chirps, nodding. Ragnar makes a scoffing noise, and the party continues on forward.

The underground waterfall and the small body of water surrounding it are one of the most beautiful things Grogu has seen in his young life. It's as if the water itself is glowing just as the tasty treats back in the corridor, steam rising from the light blue radiant liquid. The water streaming down into the lake seems to be coming from a small hole in a rocky outcropping on the far wall, up near the cave ceiling. It doesn't seem to be glowing until it actually hits the lake, though.

Ragnar and the kids without helmets start running for the glowing waters with cheers, and Teckla begins barking orders for them to remain calm and listen to her. The twins and Naeya halt ankle-deep, turning to look at the adult in charge with embarrassment.

Ragnar keeps going until he's waist-deep, turning to look back at everyone as he says, "Oh, whoops."

The two teenagers wearing helmets stand at the water's edge, arms crossed as each shakes their beskar clad head. Grogu feels their judgment and frowns, moving to stand beside Teckla's black boots. He'd like to avoid those two as much as possible.

Teckla instructs the teen boys to teach Ragnar how to handle his armor in the water, and how to work the underwater functions of his helmet.

As he enters the cool liquid, Grogu adjusts the dart gun on his arm and the new beskar plate over his robe with the leather strap holding it in place, remembering how his dad told him to always check his armor just before he left this morning.

"It's gotta fit snug so it doesn't slide, but not so tight that it restricts your movement."

Hearing his dad's voice in his head makes the green child miss him, a soft, "Da," escaping his lips.

Grogu smiles at the sound of his own voice. He loves his dad so much. And his mama.

Grogu feels a little uncomfortable without his parents here, but also feels happy and proud that they trusted him to go off without them. Especially after yesterday. He knows that using his powers in the heat of the moment is wrong, particularly when it's done out of anger.

He still doesn't know if he can trust Ragnar, but he trusts in how much the creed his dad is always talking about means to their people. Hopefully, Ragnar's words earlier were as heartfelt as they sounded.

The human child is a little bit of a trouble maker though, souring this outing with his naughty behavior. Dad says the boy acts this way because he's angry, and he's angry because of his loss. Grogu understands this deeply, but he also knows first hand how dangerous an emotion like anger can be.

"Ragnar, you and the twins need to quit your orbak-play! I told you to watch Harak and Tarke, and do as they do!" Teckla demands angrily, then she looks down at Grogu, who has been faithfully by her side and following her instructions the entire time they've been in the water thus far.

Of course he is, though. How else is he supposed to make his parents proud?

"Thank you for listening, little ones," she says to both him and Naeya kindly, giving the girl an affectionate, but wet, pat on her blonde head with a black gloved hand.

Naeya, who has taken to the water like a Mon Calamari and is listening surprisingly well, says, "You’re welcome!" Just before she dives under the light blue water again.

"Come on, Grogu! Swim with me!" Naeya demands with fits of giggles when she surfaces and floats around.

Grogu's little arms and legs propel him forward in the water as much as they can, giggles of his own bubbling into the cool blue liquid each time his head bobs up and down. When Naeya ripples past him, aided by her longer limbs, he gives himself a little boost using the Force to catch up with her.

Harak and Tarke, the other two children wearing helmets besides Ragnar, are trying their best to wrangle the other kids across the pool where they're swimming in the deeper section.

"Ragnar, if you're not going to take this seriously then you don't deserve to wear that helmet," Tarke bites at the younger child angrily, fed up mood surpassing far beyond his yellow beskar barrier. "Perhaps you really were too young to take the creed. You aren't ready."

The younger Mandalorian cries petulantly, splashing at the older Mandos. "Hey, you can't talk to me like that! My dad says I'm ready!"

"Tarke outranks you. He most certainly can talk to you like that. And he's right," Harak says, the frustration coming from the oldest of the teens evident in his voice, and within his energy. "When you act selfish and childish you put the entire covert at risk! Mandalorians must put their brethren and the creed first. Always. This is The Way."

Ragnar begins to angrily argue, the furious heat in him flaring dangerously hot.

The Force is suddenly overwhelmed with highly intense feelings coming from several directions, and Grogu makes a noise of distress. This feels like it isn't going to end well.

Teckla seems to notice, looking down at the boy before back to the other bickering kids. "Dammit, children! Stop this at once!"

Ragnar suddenly lets out a cry of rage, launches himself at Harak, and the three helmeted boys begin physically fighting, bodies thrashing about in the water as each tries to throw a punch or a kick.

Grogu's ears cast downward at the sight of it, and he whines with worry. Naeya begins crying at Grogu's side.

Teckla moves through the water to separate the boys, and just as she makes her way over to them, Ragnar jerks out a great splashing kick. A kick which accidentally hits one of thermal detonators strapped to Teckla's hip, activating the charge with a beep and a blinking red light.

"Shit, shit, shit," Teckla curses, fear rising with the cadence of her voice as she haphazardly throws the charge as far away as possible. "Kids, get under the water! NOW!"

Everything happens so quickly after that. It's a chaotic cacophony of yelling, splashing, and, eventually, an ear ringing explosion.

Even under the water, the power of the blast is enough to let Grogu know that he and his friends are suddenly in a grave amount of danger.

Sharp rocks begin falling into the water all around his small body, and just before one is about to land on him, he uses his power to block it, allowing it to gently float down to the bottom of the glowing lake as he swims swiftly out of the way.

He surfaces again, and the scene before him fills the small child with much dread.

The entrance into the tunnel which led them here is completely caved in. Around him, the children are all moving around frantically. Some of them cry, and some of them mutter, or scream.

Teckla appears to be pinned with her legs under a significantly large boulder, most of her body under water. Naeya is beside her, sobbing and clutching the woman's beskar covered arm.

The adult's moans of pain are audible from Grogu's vantage point, relief flooding the boy's system as he realizes her energy still has a heartbeat within The Force, meaning she still has a heartbeat within her body as well.

The oldest and smallest child looks around the natural room, noting that the twins and Ragnar appear to be unharmed, but terrified. Ragnar keeps repeating the phrase, "I'm sorry," over and over again.

Tarke, on the other hand, is unconscious up on the rocky shore with Harak sitting anxiously by his side. His heartbeat in the force is fainter than Teckla's, and there's a dent in his chest plate.

"I think he needs to be resuscitated, but I'd have to remove our helmets. I don't know what to do," the older child suddenly sounds munch younger than he has all day, fear making his voice small as his green armor trembles.

Grogu swims over to the boulder pinning Teckla down, lifting his clawed hands to begin using his power to move it, thinking logically that saving the adult first so she can save everyone else is the option which makes the most sense. The boulder shifts only a fraction of a nanometer.

He stops, scared, as Teckla shrieks for him to cease his efforts.

The woman holds up a gloved hand as Naeya cries beside her. "No, Grogu! If you move this now, it could cause more serious injuries. It can't be moved until someone can get here with a med-kit. I'll need a bacta spray at least. So will Tarke from the looks of it. My beskar will keep me from getting completely crushed, at least for a little while, but I know one of my legs is broken."

Grogu nods, waiting for more instruction as the Mandalorian woman surveys the room as best she can from her stuck position.

"Ragnar, stop repeating yourself and breathe. Is the way out completely blocked?" she asks, voice growing hoarse with pain as she grunts.

"Yes, Ma'am," Ragnar confirms, attempting to pull himself together. Grogu feels his remorse for this disaster. "Is there no other way out?"

"No," Teckla shakes her head, cursing as she looks up at the ceiling with her visor pointed towards the heavens. "Unless…"

After a moment the woman tells the children to gather round. Harak refuses to leave Tarke's side, and Teckla doesn't fight him on it. She addresses the rest of the group with a tone of authority.

Teckla gives her orders, wincing between every few words, "Twins, Naeya. I want the three of you to try, very carefully, removing as many rocks blockading our exit as you can. Ragnar and Grogu. The two of you are to climb up to the waterfall's brink and make your way out of the caverns by following the stream to the outside. The opening should be big enough for each of you to fit. From there, I need you to bring help immediately. Make sure you have them bring medical supplies. You two will need to work together. Remember you are Mandalorian foundlings, and this is your duty to your people. Now go, boys. Go!"

The boys move without argument, following their orders with the knowledge that this situation is serious, and that the fate of their friends is in their hands.

With bravery in their hearts, Grogu and Ragnar begin the dangerous climb up to the top of the waterfall. Slipping here, working together there. Grogu's claws and body type make the climb a much easier task for him than for his human partner. Eventually, though it's not an easy task, they make it up to the top.

When Ragnar's boots slip on the smooth, slimy wet surface and he nearly goes falling to his death on the jagged rock face below, Grogu uses his power to hold the boy in place and pull him in to safety.

"Thanks, Grogu. I owe you one," Ragnar says, patting Grogu's head as they move carefully forward, towards the sunlight peeking through a small hole up ahead.

Just as they make their way to the blissful exit to what was once a nice place, a creature bearing fangs and a vicious growl jumps out at the boys, trampling through the shallow water towards them. Ragnar quickly shoots two of his darts into the creature's one and only big eye, and the thing whimpers, taking off back in the direction from which it came as it blindly stumbles and cries.

With a laugh, while surveying the opening into safety and fresh air, Ragnar says, "Well, I guess we're even already. Come on, lets go get our parents. Looks like a tight fit for me but I think I can make it through. You go first."

Grogu takes a deep breath and begins climbing through the hole, ready to find his parents and get the help the others so desperately need. For the second day on a row leaving them to play with the other kids has ended poorly.

Next time, Grogu is definitely going to stay home with mom and dad.

*****

Later on into the morning, going on mid-day really, you and Din emerge from the Razor Crest with the weight of a several months-long secret having finally been lifted. It feels as though the two of you set foot onto the sand with a greater understanding of one another, making the sandy ground beneath your black boots feel like those chocolate bars filled with tiny pockets of air from back on Earth.

Ugh. Chocolate. How I long for you. You think with a small smile to yourself, enjoying the feel of Din's gloved thumb tracing tiny shapes on the back of your hand as you try to push images of the rich candy from your mind. Lest your mouth begin to water and the cravings become unbearable. When you look at him, though, his head looks briefly like a Hershey kiss and a loud snort escapes your nose.

Though his energy is still anxious and confused deep down, your cosmic companion feels lighter to you than he has in days. His laugh brings so much love to your heart as he asks, "What are you thinking about?"

With a dreamy sigh, you tell him, "Chocolate, Din. I'm thinking about how much I miss chocolate. It was a favorite treat of mine back on Earth. It's an available option for like any kind of dessert you can think of. It comes from these things called cocoa beans and they usually add milk and sugar to make it the kind of chocolate I'm referring to. It's tends to be some shade of brown, and has a very distinct taste even though no two brands ever taste the same."

Din stops walking, bends with his hands on his beskar thigh plates, and he laughs, silver head glinting in the bright sun as he shakes his head to and fro. "Cyar'ika," he grunts between guffaws, "I know what chocolate is."

"What?!" You shriek, jaw dropping. "No fucking way."

"Yes fucking way," Din laughs more, the sound of it eventually tapering off as he stands up to his full height. "It's rare, but I've had it a handful of times. Have you not come across any since you came to this galaxy?"

Laughing yourself, you shove at the Mandalorian before moving to interlock your fingers with this once more. "Din, why in a million fucking years would I ever think that you guys have chocolate in this galaxy?"

He shrugs, "I do think it's a little odd, but if human life exists in both this galaxy and yours, it would make sense that there are only so many digestible things in the universe for humans to eat. Some things must just exist in both. Perhaps this is just one of those great mystical mysteries of your all-knowing magical Force."

You also give a shrug, rolling your eyes, "I guess, but I've yet to see a single thing in this galaxy that comes even close to any food from Earth. No offense, though. You always make our family delicious food. It's just all so different from what I grew up eating. If I can ever eat a vegan mushroom cheeseburger again I'll call it my lucky day." Saying the final bit, you elbow at his side playfully. "And it's not my Force. It's everyone's, butthead."

"You and these burger-things," Din chuckles, enjoying the banter between you as he grabs your jabbing arm to stop you. "I want you to have one again simply so I can stop hearing about it."

"Hey!" You giggle, kicking sand at his ankles with the toe of your boot. "You'll be sorry when you try it and you can't stop craving one either."

Din kicks some sand back in retaliation. "I don't know about that. But as far as this craving for chocolate goes, perhaps we can make a stop on Batuu one of these days. It's a beautiful planet, and the last time I was there I recall having chocolate covered surabat grain that was quite good. I've heard that there are even some places in the galaxy where they make warm, drinkable chocolate, but I've never seen it for myself."

Shaking your head, you're full of disbelief. "I still feel like you're fucking with me and chocolate does not exist here."

"Listening to you explain it to me was very cute, cyare," Din says fondly.

You huff, but smile at him broadly. "Ugh. So embarrassing."

"You never have to feel embarrassed with me," Din intones seriously.

Heat finds your cheeks, and you simply nod in understanding as you lay your head on his shoulder with a content sigh. The two of you resume your walk up to the cave entrance, and not a moment later five Mandalorians wiz by overhead on their jet packs.

"Looks like they're practicing flying in a formation today," Din muses, visor tilted towards the sky.

"It's so interesting to see this up close and personal," you say idly. "I love getting a deeper glimpse into your Mando life. It's almost what I would assume living on a military base must be like."

"Yes and no," Din says earnestly. "At least, we are nothing like the Empire was, which is what comes to mind when you say military base. The Imps didn't care about their people from my understanding. Storm Troopers existed just to be expendable. No one in our tribe is expendable. We may train our bodies for battle, but we live like a community. We help each other learn and grow. It's not about who can take out the most bad guys, or fighting for some political cause. We fight to remain a living part of this galaxy. We fight to avoid extinction."

"I guess it make sense why you feel so bad about steering from the path," You say gently and quietly, squeezing his hand.

"It certainly doesn't help," Din agrees solemnly.

"Well, Din Djarin," you say, puffing out your chest a little as you speak with bravado, "you've got me and you've got a tiny Mandalorian foundling who need to learn the ways of your people so we can help keep the culture going strong. I want to help your way of life to live on."

"Cyar'ika," Din's voice grows serious as his feet cease walking once more. "I don't need you to take the creed to be with me. You know that, right?"

Smiling, you nod. "I don't want to take the creed, Din. I even told the Armorer as much and she respected me for my reasons. As I told her: I can uphold Mandalorian values without a helmet on my head. I also never want us to pressure Grogu into taking the creed. If he wants to when he's grown enough to decide, I truly want it to be his choice. But, hey, we both got armor anyway, didn't we? I'd say that makes me and our little guy pretty damn close to the real thing."

As you say this, you proudly raise the shoulder with your silver pauldron, adoring the way the weight of it feels and how the sunlight bounces off of it brightly. But then you frown, adding, "I can't help but feel like the rest of me his horribly exposed now, though."

"Mm," Din hums thoughtfully, resuming the walk. "We can work on getting you some pieces that aren't necessarily beskar, but would still give you some decent protection. I used to have a lot of durasteel armor scrapped from old imperial trooper suits. I couldn't afford a full set of pure beskar until the job I did for the bounty on the kid. You know it is not easy to come by. I'm thankful that I was able to provide the steel for the pauldron you earned, otherwise the Armorer would have probably never gone along with it."

"Thank you for that," you intone fondly. Just as you say this, the Mandalorians in flight training wiz past again, this time in the opposite direction while flying in a v formation. Squinting up at them, you sigh dreamily. "If only I were able to earn one of those one day. And maybe get over my fear of heights."

Din sounds surprised, "You're scared of heights?"

With a nod, you shudder. "I mean, if you count fear of falling from a great height and splattering to my death like rotten fruit, then yes. I'm not bothered by it when we're in the Space RV, but the idea of being all the way up there without the protection of a ship around me seems terrifying."

For a third time Din stops walking, and he puts a hand on either of your shoulders. "Fly with me, Cyar'ika. I know how brave you can be. I'll help you get over your fears."

"Like right now? Hell no! We are not doing a Lois and Superman thing, romantic as that may be," you say with frantic shake of the head, hands up in defense.

"I'm going to just ignore that reference," Din says, moving to start scooping you up bridal style.

"Hey! What are you doing?!" You shriek, clinging to his neck for dear life as he lifts your feet from the sandy ground. "Din, put me down! You can't be serious!"

"Trust me, love?" He asks with fond amusement.

Shaking your head frantically, you cry, "Not right now I don't!"

"Come on, please trust me. I'd never let anything happen to you." Din says softly in your ear, the hiss of his modulator causing a shiver to make its way up your back.

"Alright, alright. Just a quick ride though, okay? Baby steps, please," you plea, burying your face into the fabric of his cape where it bunches together just above his chest plate.

"Baby steps," Din agrees, and then he's starting the jet pack and taking off into the sky with you screeching all the while.

*****

"Okay," you laugh as you and Din enter the covert's caves, feet on the ground once more. "After I stopped feeling like I was going to throw up, that was actually pretty fun."

"Told you," Din says fondly. "Thank you for being brave."

You blush. "Thank you for encouraging my bravery."

"Mr. and Mrs. Djarin?" A small voice politely interrupts as you walk into the torch-lit common area.

Your heart swells at the sound of such a title being used, and it becomes abundantly clear to you just how ready you are to become this Mandalorian's riduur. To be his wife in every sense of each word, in each of the ways your respective cultures intend for it to be used.

Turning, you see Klo standing off to the side. The boy is ringing his green hands nervously, large eyes cast down at the sandy orange ground.

Eyes flicking to Din with concern, you break from him and move to kneel down in front of the alien child. Din comes to stand beside you with a hand on your shoulder. You feel the encouragement from him, and fix Klo with a soft expression. One you've used often over the last year with Grogu.

"Hey, Klo. Is everything okay?" you ask the boy gently. "I see you didn't go swimming with the other kids."

He shakes his dark green head of scales. "I didn't want to go with them."

"I understand. Can we help you with something?" You ask, feeling the kid's trepidation.

The child nods, antenna bobbing. "I am sorry for being rude to Grogu yesterday."

Smiling warmly, you reassure him, "Oh, hun, that's okay. Thank you for apologizing. Grogu forgave Ragnar and I'm sure he'll be ready to forgive you as well when you see him."

The boy still wont look at either of you. "I didn't want to be mean to him, but I was afraid that Ragnar would stop being my friend if I didn't go along with it."

Din pipes up, moving down to one knee beside you. "Why do you think that would make Ragnar not want to be your friend?"

"He's a Mandalorian now. He's not the same as he was before." Klo says anxiously.

You frown a little, understanding what the boy is getting at as your empathy takes over. "And that scares you, doesn't it?"

Klo nods, sniffling. He finally makes eye contact with you, huffing as he says, "I don't want to become a Mandalorian."

"That's okay. You don't have to do anything you don't want to," you assure the boy.

Klo frowns, "But I know he wants me to. He wants me to be just like him."

Nodding, you try to understand. "He's probably scared to let go of his old life, and he may think that if you join him he won't have to. But the only person who knows that for sure is Ragnar."

The kid's voice grows desperate, needing to be understood. "But if I don't become a Mandalorian, then I will have to leave. I won't see Ragnar ever again."

Din disagrees, "That's not necessarily true. You may have chances to visit each other in the future. It'll be much easier when you're both grown."

Klo looks at Din, the worry evident on his alien brow. "But what if he doesn't want to see me? I'm afraid to tell him because I don't want him to hate me."

"Klo, if Ragnar hates you for that then he's not a great friend to begin with," you say firmly, adding, "Friends should want each other to be happy."

Din gestures towards you. "She's not Mandalorian and she's my best friend. She told me just today that she doesn't want to take the creed. I could never hate her for that, because I could never hate her for anything. If your friendship with Ragnar is strong, it will survive this."

You look at Din with so much raw affection that it nearly makes your head spin. "What he said," you offer lamely.

"Are you sure?" Klo asks, incredibly uncertain.

Din nods at the boy. "All you can do is trust your friend with your feelings and hope for the best."

In agreement, you add, "It's not easy, but it's also what makes the friendships that last some of the most meaningful relationships we can have in life."

"I will tell him today, then," Klo declares bravely, body straightening a little as he stands tall. "I thought that they would have been back by now," he says, looking around.

Standing to your full height, you offer Din your hand to help him up. "You know, it has been a while since they left. Do you think we should be worried, Din?"

A feeling of dread washes over you then, and in that instant you realize that you most certainly should be worried.

As if on cue, Paz Vizsla approaches the three of you after rounding a corner. "I've lost communications with Teckla. I haven't heard back from her since they left."

Din's head whips to you, and then to Paz. "Shit," he curses. "We need to go. Now. Show us to the lake," he demands, tone and body language instantly ready for a fight.

But just as the three adults start to take off running, you hear your son's tiny voice yelling, "Da!" in a desperate and scared tone, calling desperately for his dad.

*****

"Da!" Grogu's small voice rings into the quiet of the covert's common area as he and Ragnar round the corner into the room, soaking wet and looking worse for wear.

Din's heart swells at hearing his son call out for him, but worry over kid's well bearing and the safety the others overpowers that feeling temporarily. "Grogu? What happened, buddy?"

"Dad!" Ragnar screams, barrelling into his adoptive father. "We have to go now! We have to help them!"

"Son, slow down. What happened?" Paz says, taking the boy by the shoulders and holding him out enough to look visor to visor with him.

"It was all my fault. I fought with Harak and when Teckla tried to stop us, one of her charges detonated. She and Tarke are hurt, Dad. People are hurt and it's my fault," at this, Ragnar begins to audibly cry under his helmet.

Din's heart goes out to the kid. Mistakes this big feel like shit.

Paz remains calm, saying, "You can atone for this by helping us fix it."

Ragnar nods, sniffing, "Teckla needs a med-kit. She said at least one bacta spray for each of them. She's pinned under a huge rock and she said if we moved it, she would be more hurt than she is now. She said we can't move it until she has the med-kit."

Paz nods, clearly in tactical mode, "We have a few med-kits. I'll get what we have, but it sounds like we need to hurry."

As they move, Ragnar quickly explains how he and Grogu climbed up and out of the cavern using the waterfall. He explains how he and Grogu helped to keep each other safe, and that Teckla gave all of the kids strict instructions to follow. The others are back in the cave, attempting to clear a path back into the caved-in tunnel.

Once equipped, the three adults, the kids, and a few extra sets of hands make their way down the corridor leading to the lake. It's pitch black, and Ragnar remarks that the explosion must have scared off "the bugs," whatever that means.

Grogu coos in some form of agreement from his perch on Din's shoulder, and the man can't help but smile despite the dire circumstances. This day has been filled with so much pride for his boy.

Saying his first word was one thing. Helping to save his fellow foundlings is another thing all together. It's the most Mandalorian thing the kid could have done. His bravery and dedication to others causes Din's heart to swell hard within his armor covered body.

Din realizes then that maybe that's all being a Mandalorian really is at the end of the day. Maybe what's in one's heart is truly more important than what is or isn't hidden under a helmet. Maybe not every noble cause has to have some great sacrifice attached to it. This realization rocks his entire being.

Now is certainly not the time to be altering his perspective on everything he's ever known for over thirty cycles.

When the group finally hits the newly-made dead end, Din hears the unmistakable cries of children calling for help on the other side of it.

There's one tiny sliver of light bleeding through where the kids have made a small dent in the precarious rock pile.

Paz surveys the dead end, thinking out loud, "I don't want to set another charge and risk making this worse. But how can we move this quickly? They are running out of time."

"Grogu," Din says gently but expectantly, feeling the child slide down his cape and land on his bare feet in the sand. Din looks down at him and then nods to the rocks. "You know what to do, buddy."

"Hang on, sweetie. Let me warn the others," you say down to Grogu, squatting with both hands on either side of the thin opening. Leaning with your face only inches from it, you yell through the crack, advising the children inside to all move back away from the entrance as far as possible. Then you turn back to Grogu, throwing him a broad smile the thumbs up you've been using with him more frequently to communicate. "Alright, kiddo. Do your thing."

Din watches you stand and back up, switching spots with the child you both love so dearly. As you come to stand beside Din, you grab for his hand and bring the appendage up to your lips, kissing the leather covering his fingers. Seeemingly, without a single care about the handful of onlookers.

Din feels incredibly in love with you in that moment, stomach stirring with affection and need. When all of this is through, Din is going to be very ready to get the Crest back on the road. He's ready to find his place with you and settle down once and for all. In his bones he knows it to be true.

Maker, what a time to be thinking like this.

Grogu lifts his arms, and after a moment the rocks begin to dislodge from each other and float away. He makes a big enough gap for the adults to fit through, and the rescue party makes their way into the watery cavern.

The team makes quick work of getting the situation under control. You and a female Mando move to get Naeya and the twins out to safety. Paz, Ragnar, and a male Mando Din also doesn't know move to help Tarke and Harak with one of the med-kits. Din and Grogu move to help Teckla with the other.

"Alright, buddy. I know you're probably getting really tired. I'm sorry, but I need you to use your powers just one more time for me today. Can you do that?" Din asks his son gently, hating the idea that the boy would ever feel like he's being exploited for his abilities. He also hates the idea of deliberately pushing the child past his limits.

Grogu nods bravely, tiny chin pointed out. He puffs in a big breath and lifts his hands as his eyes slip closed. After a moment of shaking, the boulder pinning Teckla in place lifts up about a foot in the air. Then Grogu carefully moves it off to the side where it can't hurt anyone anymore.

Din swiftly administers bacta to the moaning patient, confident that the Mandalorian woman will survive this accident.

Without prompting, Grogu waddles over to the woman weakly. He places a hand on one of her crushed legs, eyes closing again for a long moment as he tunes into The Force. When his big brown eyes open once more, they blink a few times. Grogu's vision goes a little blurry, and then he hears dad shouting his name with worry in his human voice as the boy feels himself wobble and topple over.

*****

"Din, he's awake," you say softly to your worried cosmic companion. The Mandalorian hasn't stopped pacing the first floor of the Razor Crest since you crawled into the cot with your passed out child nearly forty minutes ago. You're surprised the floor doesn't have a massive dent forming in the hull.

It's been easy to ignore him, though. All of your focus has been on trying to feel Grogu's energy in The Force. Making sure he is still there, still with you even if he's completely worn down.

Grogu stirs against the black pillow, ears flicking up and down as he blinks and takes in his surroundings. When he makes eye contact with you, his bottom lip begins to quiver, and he whimpers out a little cry.

"Shh," you soothe, pulling the child into your arms, "I know, sweetheart. You had a really big day, didn't you?"

Grogu clutches at your dark shirt, moaning little noises of distress.

Din appears at the foot of the cot, squatting, with his left forearm resting above his head on the top part of the opening.

How dare he look so good at a time like this?

Thankfully, you're pulled immediately from your improper thoughts by his soft voice as he speaks lovingly to Grogu.

"Hey, buddy," Din says, "I bet today was really scary, wasn't it? It's okay, though. 'Cause you were so brave and you did such a great job."

"Da!" Grogu shouts when he sees Din, immediately crawling across the cot to get to his father. Once at the edge, he launches himself into Din's arms, nearly knocking the man backwards.

Din laughs heartily, cradling the boy to his silver plated chest. Then his voice takes on an earnest tone which makes your heart swell as you listen to him. "You were a true Mandalorian warrior today, Grogu, and I couldn't be more proud. You put your differences with Ragnar aside to help your friends out of a bind. You stayed calm in the face of danger. You problem solved, and saved lives. You did such a good job, kid."

Grogu yawns, smiling. You feel his pride wade strongly through his thick, murky exhaustion. Though the exhaustion is certainly the thing dominating his energy at the moment. He used a ton of his power today. Both physically and mentally. He probably needs to eat something and go right back to sleep.

Din seems to be just as in tune with Grogu as you are, fatherly intuition in place of your maternal Force sensitivity. A fond smile crosses your tired features as he whispers to the boy, "It's okay to rest. You're home with us, my son. You're safe."

Grogu snuggles into Din, cooing. You crawl to the edge of the cot and simply watch your boys interact without feeling the need to interject yourself.

Din's energy feels more at peace than it has the entire time your family has been with the Tribe, and you smile broadly when you realize he's humming one of your favorite Bowie songs to Grogu.

You're so thankful for this little family detour when you really give yourself a moment think about it.

You and Grogu have been given the chance to not only prove yourselves to Din and his people, but on a personal level as well. Din's been able to work through some deeply old pain. You and your son received your very own pieces of beskar. So much has come to light, and yet nothing has really changed within the sanctity of your home enough for it to scare you. Not truly.

That's the best part of all, knowing at the end of the day the love binding your family together is stronger than the obstacles any of you may face.

Din's humming tapers off, and the Mandalorian moves to place his beskar forehead lightly to the green flesh of his child's. His mood grows even more emotional, voice growing more vulnerable along with it. "I mean it when I call you my son, Grogu. You are ner ad. You are my boy. I promise that we will properly adopt you when the time is right, and I will not wait too long. The ritual is just saying words which will solidify the strong bond we already share. I want things to feel just right when we do it."

Grogu coos, nodding in understanding as he says, "Da."

It's then that your stomach growls, and you find yourself asking if the boys want dinner before officially going to bed.

It's then that Grogu looks over at you and wriggles around in Din's grasp, repositioning himself so that he can reach for you with grabby claws as he says, "Ma!"

In that moment your heart swells, and being Grogu's mom feels like the thing you were literally born to do. Like everything that ever happened in your weird life really was being orchestrated by The Force, all so you could eventually be right here right now with this little alien boy calling you his mom.

You've never once in your life considered yourself to be religious, or that things are preordained, but for a crazy moment you think maybe this particular kid is so important in the grand scheme of things, that The Force needed him to have the perfect mom and dad to raise him. Were you and Din hand-picked by the universe to ensure that this child will grow up to be a genuinely good person and not fall victim to this dark side Ahsoka was so afraid of?

Scoffing internally, you want to call yourself a narcissist for thinking in such a way. But as soon as you take Grogu into your arms, some eerie thing in the back of your mind tells you that you may not be so crazy after all.

*****

The following morning, you and your family make your way back into the covert's caves for a meeting being called by The Armorer. Just as the day you first came to meet this tribe, every Mandalorian is gathered in the common area awaiting her presence. Soon after you and your boys get settled in a far corner, the great horned leader of your lover's people comes to stand in the center of the room.

Din rubs his pauldron gently into yours, the beskar clinking as he whispers a soft, "I love you," while grabbing for your fingers in the sand.

"I love you too, chrome dome," you whisper back fondly, squeezing him in return as you send him a loving look.

Grogu looks up at the two of you from his spot between you, chirping his own noises of affection. "Ma! Da!"

The Armorer finally addresses the tribe, giving a brief explanation of the events which transpired in the underground lake. She then goes on to say that Teckla and Tarke are both on their way to recovery and will be fit to leave the medical sector by the following day or the next. Then she calls for Ragnar and Grogu to step forward.

"These foundlings showed exemplary brotherhood in the face of adversity and danger. Ragnar and Grogu went into that cavern as opposites, but came out as equal members of this covert. Ragnar has earned the next piece of his armor. This is The Way!"

"This is The Way!" The covert shouts in return, and this time you hear Din shout it loudly and proudly.

"This is The Way," you say softly to him, leaning over to kiss the side of his helmet.

"Mm," Din hums, pulling you to him so that you are sitting hip to hip, bodies pressed tightly. His voice drops to a low, husky tone. "I'm going to need to hear you say that again, but in the privacy of our home. After Grogu's gone to bed."

"Din Djarin!" You hiss as quietly as possible, burying your face in his shoulder with embarrassment. "You're acting like a horny senior at a high school assembly. Calm yourself. Down, boy."

"I have no idea what any of that means, cyar'ika," Din chuckles.

The Mandalorian in orange armor a few feet in front of you turns around and actually shushes you guys, disdain leaking from his person. He shakes his beskar head with a huff before turning around.

"Oh, God!" You mutter, hiding your face once more. How mortifying.

Din chuckles even harder, and considering where his head was at this time yesterday regarding the creed, you wonder idly if hes gone mad.

Your attention is piqued when the Armorer announces that Naeya is to be adopted by Teckla once the woman is recovered, and that that twins have been chosen for adoption by Clan Dystra. The two Mandalorians who helped out in the cavern yesterday approach the Armorer with bowed helmets. The twins approach as well, and you watch with a full heart as the two children happily cling to each adoptive parent. The Mando couple radiates affection.

"Let it be written in song that these foundlings will be adopted into Clan Dystra. This is The Way. I have one final announcement to make," she pauses for a long moment, and then she asks that you and Din step forward.

"What?!" Din whispers beside you, dread washing over his energy as his visor searches your face.

In an instant you understand. He's absolutely terrified that shes about to out him in front of the entire tribe, to call him an apostate and exile him. If only he knew that is not the vibe she's giving off whatsoever.

As the two of you rise and move forward, Grogu joining at your feet, Klo comes to stand beside the Armorer. All at once it makes sense, but you allow the tribe elder to explain.

"Klo has decided not to remain among us. His home world of Rodia is not far from here, in the Tyrius system. He believes he has an aunt there who would be willing to take him in. Clan Mudhorn is the only clan in this covert with a ship that could easily make the journey. Do you accept the task of returning this child to his family?"

Din lets out an audible sigh of relief next to you, and the two of you lock eye to visor. After a moment of silent agreement, you nod at one another. Then you both look down at Grogu.

"Well, buddy? What do you think?" Din asks, "Do we help our friend in need?"

Grogu nods, giving his thumbs up, and you look up at the Armorer with a nod of your own. "We accept."

*****

As your family prepares to leave the Tribe until who knows when, you and Din patiently wait for the children to all say their goodbyes to one another. Luckily for Klo, it would seem that Ragnar does not hate him after all, and is very enthusiastic about trying to visit him in the future.

You watch Naeya and Grogu play chase, smiling fondly at your boy getting to simply act like a child for a moment. Not a Jedi or a Mandalorian, just a little kid with his fun and games.

Teckla appears then, and you greet the woman with surprise. "I figured you would have been down for the count still."

The woman winces below her helmet, limping as she walks up. "I am, mostly. But I couldn't let Klo leave without saying goodbye."

"Congratulations about Naeya. I hope you enjoy being a mom," you say earnestly.

"Thank you," Teckla says with a nod. "You've done well with yours. I owe him my life."

"Thank you," you reply, smiling. "I appreciate that. Though, the moving stuff with his mind thing was not something he learned from us," you laugh.

"He's growing a good strong heart thanks to you. That's all I'm saying," Teckla shrugs, moving into the room to talk to the kids. She looks over her shoulder at the last minute to tell you, "Oh, the Armorer would like to see you by the way."

*****

"You wanted to see me?" You say, entering the Armorer's forge by yourself. A nerve-racking thing to be sure.

"Ah, yes. I wanted to give you some information that may help you on your journeys," the Armorer says, gesturing for you to sit.

You do, asking, "To get Klo home? Shouldn't Din be here for this?"

"No. I am certain that journey will not cost you more than a weeks time. Din knows his way to that system very well," she says confidently. You wonder briefly if she's taken him there herself.

Brow knitted in confusion, you seek clarification from the Mandalorian, consciously trying to remain polite sounding. "May I ask what you are referring to, then?"

The tribe elder nods, "Sometimes in life, one needs catharsis. Even if one does not truly know it. Some wounds we heal on our own, with our own strength. Some wounds require aid to heal. This is true of both the body and the mind. Some wounds, if left to fester, can alter the trajectory of our future with infection. If we do not heal and let these things go, we eventually sour from them."

The Armorer waits for you to say something, and you're sure you look dumbfounded as you blurt, "I understand. I think. This is about Din?"

She nods, "In some cases, learning to understand those who caused the wound in the first place can be the only course of action for catharsis to be achieved."

What a confusing way to say that Din needs closure… That is what she's saying, right?

"Ma'am, I mean, Armorer," you fumble, wincing, "May I ask for more clarification? Are you referring to Din's wound with Castyl?"

The woman looks at you dead on, and you feel like squirming under her visor's gaze. Not the good squirming you get to do when it's your love's visor fixed upon you. Her helmet has an entirely different effect. This is worse than that one time you got sent to the principal's office and subsequently detention.

"A few cycles ago, I received word of a man in Mandalorian armor and his husband living on Batuu," the Armorer declares. "Do with this information what you will."

*****

Next Chapter

Previous Chapter

Masterlist

*****

Taglist:

Din feels the droid holding him in place lift the beskar from his head, and his eyes instantly lock with yours from across the room. 

After years of being careful, years of life together without his creed ever having been broken, you’re finally seeing his face for the first time. Unfortunately, it is against his will. Held captive by an enemy. 

While the two Hutt twins taunt him in their language, all Din can focus on is the anguish and confusion in your face as tears stream down your plump, flushed cheeks. You mouth the phrase, “I’m so sorry,” and Din’s heart breaks at the sight of it. If only you knew that this was his deepest darkest desire. Even now in this dangerous situation he feels relieved to have you finally see him, no matter how wrong it may be.

His enemy seems to notice that he hasn't been paying attention to them, and the male Hutt laughs evilly.

"You wear your weaknesses on your face, Mandalorian," the male slug chides, "How shameful this must be for you."

The female Hutt laughs wickedly, "How does it feel for your beloved wife to finally see your face, only moments before you die."

The thick chain attached to the metal cuff around your neck suddenly pulls taught, and Din glares viciously at the Hutts as the sister-slug yanks you up onto her gigantic body. She begins fondling you all over, much to Din's dismay. You look as if you’re going to gag. 

He’s heard about the slaves of various species that the Hutts like to keep around for pleasure, but he never once would have imagined you in such a position. They have you dressed scantily with your arms and ankles shackled, and a thick metal collar around your neck.

Under entirely different circumstances, Din would be ready to tear what little fabric there is from your body and take you right then and there. Under these circumstances, however, he's ready to kill these creatures and bathe in their blood for doing this to you. To his family.

The Hutts finally get Din's attention when the male adds, "Yes, how does it feel to know you failed her, just like you failed our nephew?" He gestures off to the side of the chamber, where another Hutt is bound and unconscious.

Din angrily seethes the word, "Monsters." 

The male Hutt, the uncle, then proceeds to threaten Grogu's well being. Grogu, who as far as Din knows, is still back home on Nevarro and probably scared out of his mind without his two parents. 

A blind rage pushes Din to rise, the warrior in him ready for another round of combat even after the horridly long day he's had. But then the ground beneath his feet gives way, and he’s falling to some unknown fate in the murky waters below as the Hutts laugh and you scream.

Yet, instead of hitting water, his body hits… the cot?

*****

You’ve been awake for the last few minutes, but you haven’t moved to get up yet. Instead, you’ve been feeling Din twitch and writhe against you, listening with mild concern as he whimpers and moans inside his helmet behind your head. His energy is swirling around yours fearfully within The Force, and you're certain that's what woke you in the first place.

You jump with surprise as his entire body suddenly jerks violently and he shrieks himself awake. He starts grabbing for you so hard you’re worried he’ll leave finger-shaped bruises behind.

“Jesus, Din. Are you alright?” You ask, turning your body as much as you can to face him in the cramped sleeping cabin. You flick the overhead control and the lights come on, but only very dimly. With a hand to the side of his trembling beskar, you proclaim, "you must have been having a nightmare, darling. It's alright. You're here with me in our bed. You're safe on the Crest."

Din nods, deep breaths heaving in his chest. "Shit, that felt so real." He pants your name, and the broken sound nearly breaks you.

You shush him, and soothingly run your hands over his shoulders, down his arms and back, trying to show him through your touch that this is reality.

"You're here. We're here. We're safe," you tell him, assertively.

"Where's Grogu?" he croaks, looking around and above himself.

The child in question peeks his little head over the side of his hammock at the sound of his name. He looks so cute dangling a few feet above your laid out bodies in the cot, making his signature little “patu” noise. The kid then proceeds to hop down and land on his bottom, right smack dab on the chest of his father. Luckily, Din’s been in the habit of sleeping without his armor on for months now, so the child lands safely on Din’s actual chest with a thud. Jupiter follows suit and lands gracefully on your thighs.

“Umph,” Din grunts, chuckling happily as an arm encircles the kid. “Love you so much, kiddo. I’m glad you’re safe, too.”

"That must have been a really awful dream," you say, hand grazing Grogu's head as you look at Din with worry in your heart. "I could feel your dread."

Your cosmic companion nods, sitting up a little. Grogu shifts, sliding down onto his father's belly, and you can't help but smile fondly at the domestic sight of it as Din responds. “It was so vivid, like I was really there living it.”

“Would you like to tell me about it?” You ask tentatively, knowing full-well that the subject could be entirely too sensitive to share. For a moment, you brace yourself for him to tell you it was a dream about his ex-mentor, a subject which you're still kicking yourself for bringing up after his intense reaction to it the other day.

Din nods once, and then begins, “It started with you and I being captured and taken to Nal Hutta by a bounty hunter hired by the Hutts. Grogu was fine, I think, but they…" Din pauses and you see him swallow before continuing, "they took us away from him. They were angry at me for saving their nephew instead of turning him in for the bounty they hired me for. I'm not sure why I was working for them, though. That part was unclear. All I know is I made the call to set the kid free and they punished us for it. They removed my helmet in front of you to shame me. They had you chained up and dressed as a pleasure slave. I believe they were going to force you to watch me die before they had their way with you."

Your eyes go wide and your hands struggle to cover Grogu's ears. "Oh, my god! Din!"

Grogu whines and shakes his head, batting at your hands with his tiny claws.

"Okay, okay, sorry! Here," you shift and set Jupiter in front of the child. "Play with Jupiter and maybe don't listen to this part."

Din chuckles, and you are slightly relieved that he can make light of the horror his mind had shown him now. You shoot him a narrow look and mouth the words, "Pleasure slave?!"

Din nods, shrugging. "Unfortunately, not uncommon on the outer rim."

You shudder. "That certainly sounds like a nightmare."

Din agrees, sighing as he leans his helmeted head against the wall. It makes the tiniest of clunking noises, and you don't fight the little tug at the corner of your mouth.

"I mean," you say, playfully, "I'm all for the kinky stuff, but only in the right scenario."

The black T you know so well tilts to look right at you then, and the air around him shifts. He huffs a little laugh through the speaker and he says, in a low tone, "The outfit they had you in was pretty good, I have to admit. With the chains and the collar, too." He grunts and your face flushes.

Laughing, you shove at him and try to ignore the little flare of heat he's caused to stir within your core. "That's it, I'm putting a pin in this conversation for when we are not surrounded by our pointy eared children!"

"Fair," Din agrees wit a hearty laugh.

With a shake of the head and a grin you move to pay more attention to your son and your cat, stroking Jupiter's fur coat as you ask your child, "Never mind dad's silly nightmare. What did you dream about, Green Bean?"

Grogu coos up at you, and in a moment you could have never in a million years thought was about to happen, he points right at Din and says, "Da," with a huge smile on his tiny face.

Din's head whips down to look at Grogu with a sharp intake of breath. All at once your heart swells so hard in your chest that it nearly knocks you backwards.

Slack jawed and voice full of wonder, you look at the boy with such affection flowing through your feelings into his in The Force. "Grogu did you just speak?"

Grogu nods, confirming this, as he looks at Din with open and closing grabby hands. "Da!"

Din scoops the boy up immediately, holding Grogu to his chest. "I… are you really saying 'dad,' buddy?"

"Think he is, Din. It feels that way to me," you confirm, noting the hard swell of emotions suddenly pouring from your partner.

"Why not my name, though?" He wonders out loud, visor looking to you.

Smiling, you reach over to rub Grogu's upper back. "Because he knows you as 'dad' now, Din. That is your name to him."

Again Grogu blatantly nods, and you feel his pride ripple through the Force with more strength than anything you've felt from him before. "Da!"

Din's heart swells, the feeling of it nearly palpable to you as he asks the boy, "Were you dreaming about me, buddy? Is that really the answer to your mom's question?"

Grogu nods enthusiastically, shouting, "Da!"

"Who's that holding you, sweetheart? Your Daddy?"

"Da! Da!" Grogu yells happily, snuggling hard into Din.

"Great job, Grogu. I'm so proud of you," Din chokes, audibly emotional under his helmet. "I can't believe it, cyar'ika."

In the bizarre plane of existence known as The Force, the feeling of pride surrounding your family is unmistakable. Grogu is so proud of himself, and Din's so full of pride for his foundling you're not sure how his beskar can contain it all. The pride of a father hearing his son truly speak for the first time envelopes your own similarly maternal pride, and in this instant you know that the strange thing binding your family's fate together has you right where you need to be.

"I can't believe it either, Din," you breathe, tears of joy threatening to fall.

*****

Din's heart swells with delight every single time he hears Grogu say "Da", which ends up being a lot once the kid really gets going. Well into the morning he's still saying it happily, and Din cannot get enough. You, on the other hand, are trying very poorly to hide the fact that it's getting on your nerves.

"What about 'Ma,' dude? Come on, say my name too," you're pleading, bouncing Grogu as Din makes the three of you breakfast.

All the while Grogu repeats the fatherly title over and over again, and Din's grin beneath his helmet only grows fonder.

"Say 'Mama'," you request, tone riding the edge of desperation.

"Don't get too jealous, cyare," Din teases. He looks over his shoulder at you with a hidden smirk.

Throwing him a sheepish smile, you laugh and shrug. "Hey, I'm just trying to expand his vocabulary, that's all."

Din's own laugh feels like a pleasant rumble of soft, distant thunder in his chest. All at once he thinks of the thunderstorms during the rainy season on Nevarro, and his heart aches with longing for the lava planet. Had that not been the initial setting of his dream?

A house just outside the city limits. A pen of blurrgs and a lush garden with a small pond. The Razor Crest parked just outside the home on a stormy night.

Just as he's about to suggest that his family make their way back to Nevarro soon, there comes the sound of someone banging a fist into the outer hull of the Razor Crest from outside.

"Who could that be?" You ask, eyebrows raising in Din's direction.

The knocks come again and a very muffled voice faintly makes its way through the barrier of metal, yelling, "It is Paz Vizsla!"

Din groans in the most Earthly way he ever has, knowing full well that he sounds just like you while practically slamming the spatula down in the pan. "Ugh, what could he possibly want?"

You seem taken aback by Din's tonal shift. "What's got you in a bad mood suddenly?"

"Nothing," Din hears himself snip. "I was just enjoying our morning, that's all. I'd rather him not see me without the rest of my armor on. Do you mind seeing what he wants while I finish up in here and get dressed?"

"Sure, darling," you say supportively. With a hand to his chest you lift up on your tip toes to kiss his beskar cheek and make your way over to open the ramp with Grogu in your arms.

*****

"What can I do for you, Paz?" You ask as the ramp begins to lower and you descend along with it. When your boots hit the sand, you squint at the Mandalorian man expectantly.

"Ragnar has something to say to Grogu," Paz nods down at you respectfully. Then he nods to Grogu in your arms.

The child in question comes out from behind his dad, having been hiding there the whole time. Paz is stockier than most of the other Mandos in the tribe, and a small smile of fondness graces your features at the realization that Ragnar must use this to his advantage a lot. He did it the other day, you're sure of it.

Nodding to the boy, you say, "I'm glad you're here, Ragnar. Grogu would like to say something to you as well. With my help, of course."

Grogu frowns when Ragnar approaches, the facial gesture not going unnoticed by you. "It's okay, sweetie," you tell your boy gently. "He feels sorry about yesterday. I sense it."

"I do," Ragnar says sincerely, human face hidden behind his new beskar one. As he approaches the two of you, the child turns back to look at Paz for a moment.

"Go on, son. Remember what we talked about," Paz says with a genuine tone of encouragement you're a little surprised by.

Ragnar nods, taking a deep breath to steel himself as the visor looks right at Grogu. The determination you feel from him is tangible, causing your heart to go out to the kid.

"Grogu, I'm very sorry for excluding you yesterday. And for insulting you. As Mandalorian foundlings, we must look out for one another. I vow to treat you with respect from now on. This is The Way," Ragnar finishes with a fist over his heart and a bow of his head.

Nodding, you lift Grogu up slightly and look into his big eyes as you explain your son's feelings to the younger child. "Thank you, Ragnar. We forgive you. Grogu cannot say this himself, but I have a special way of communicating with him. I know he is sorry for what happened yesterday too, and he is sorry for any physical harm he may have caused."

"I forgive you," Ragnar says to your son with a nod.

Grogu babbles happily in your arms, and when you hear the unmistakable sounds of Din's boots clanking down the ramp behind you, the boy's big brown eyes light up brighter than Tatooine's twin suns.

"Da!" Grogu shouts.

"Hey kiddo," Din says down to the boy as he comes up beside you, a gloved hand stroking one of the child's great ears. He's back in full armor.

God, he looks fucking good.

"Paz. Ragnar," Din greets with a nod which both Mandalorians return in suit. Then he looks down at you, and you know that the look hidden behind that T is one full of affection. "Breakfast is ready. I already took care of myself, so what's left is for you and Grogu."

"Thanks, baby," you grin, throwing him a wink for good measure. It sounds so fucking weird to call him that, but ever since he brought it up you've been making a point to tease him.

At first you think he's ignoring you, but then he comes to stand beside you and you feel a hard pinch to your ass. It takes all of your willpower not to react.

"When Grogu's finished eating can he come play with us?" Ragnar asks, and when Paz shoots him a look through his own T shaped visor, the child's back straightens as he quickly changes his phrasing to, "Train. Can Grogu come train with us? Teckla is going to show us how to fight in the water."

"Water? After what happened to me the other day? I don't think so." Your eyes flick wearily to the crashing waves way down on the beach.

"Not in the ocean," Paz interjects. "There is a path in the caves which leads to a small underground lake. Runoff from the cliffs have created a natural waterfall within the confines of our temporary home. We've been using the water there for bathing and training for several weeks. It should be safe, so long as your little one can swim."

Grogu nods in the affirmative, and you feel his wanting. He reaches out towards Ragnar, and you look up at Din with a shrug. "What do you think, Daddio?"

"If it's safe, I'm fine with it," Din says with a shrug of his own.

"Should I come along just in case Teckla needs the help?" You ask, anxious at the idea of trusting these strangers with your child again after the incident the day prior.

Paz gives a shake of the head. "If you like, but I think she can handle it. It's mostly a swimming lesson for Naeya. Some of the older kids will be learning how to move around in water while welding weapons."

"I always enjoyed those lessons," Din muses fondly from beside you. "Learning to swim with full beskar armor and a rifle strapped to your back is certainly not the same as swimming for leisure. I think this will be good for him, cyar'ika."

"If you think so," you agree, looking down at Grogu. "What do you think, buddy? Would you like to tag along with the others?"

Grogu nods, giving a little thumbs up for 'yes' just like you've taught him.

*****

"So… what was this about a pleasure slave outfit?" You ask, voice full of amusement as you look Din over with lusty eyes. Paz and Ragnar only just left with Grogu a few minutes ago. It's just the two of you and Jupiter on the ship for the time being, each of you taking on a chore to clean up from breakfast.

Din sees a flash in his mind of your barely clothed body being led on all fours by a chain, and the blood rush to his cock is nearly instantaneous.

"Cyar'ika," Din warns, his voice a low growl. His hands cease the act of drying the plate he's holding.

"What?" You ask not-so innocently, pretending to wipe down the small galley counter top with a knowing smirk. "The kid is gone for a few hours. I figured it was as good a time as any to hear about the rest of that dream. Did you get a chance to kill those big bad slugs and save me? Was it really hot? Like we banged right then and there with me all chained up? Or did you fail and those Hutt things did something to me? Did they make you watch? Were you helpless to stop it?"

"You're fucking asking for it. You know that, right?" Din asks evenly, licking his lips as the pressure in his pants begins to feel uncomfortable. He loves where this is going.

Smirking, you bat your eyes at him. "I don't know what you're talking about."

Din growls again, voice growing huskier with each word. "Would you like to know exactly what I would do to you if I had you in chains for me? If you were my pleasure slave, you'd be treated like the queen of Mandalore. Right up until the moment I decide you're going to be treated like a whore."

"Honestly I feel like that's our dynamic already," you say with a cheeky tone, poking your tongue out at him.

Din's gloved hand comes to, very gently, grip your face. His beskar nearly touches your nose as he pulls you towards him and declares, "Cyar'ika, I can assure you that you have no fucking idea of what that dynamic would look like."

With a whimper that causes Din's already throbbing dick to swell even more, you're slipping into that needy little voice you use only for him. "Din, I'm going to need you to go get that blindfold right now because that was the hottest you've ever sounded. I need your mouth on me, ner verd. Please," you breathe, writhing against his grip.

All at once Din's anxiety finds his heart and grabs hold, causing a panicked noise to rise within his throat. In that instant he's able to understand that the dream from last night was clearly a manifestation of his desire to show you his face, and the immense amount of pressure and guilt centered around the subject. He's suddenly pushing you back and away from him, and you look utterly hurt by it.

"Fuck," he blurts, wishing he could rake a hand through his hair in exasperation. "Fuck!"

"Whoa, hey," Hearing his change in tone, you clearly understand that the mood has shifted. Brows knitted and lips parted, you reach out to place a hand on his right pauldron. "Din? What's going on?"

"Nothing," he says, turning his head to avoid the scrutiny of your gaze as he shoulders your hand off of him.

"Not nothing, Chrome Dome," you argue defensively, frowning.

The use of his favorite nickname certainly grabs his attention, but he doesn't falter. "Yes, nothing."

Your tone is teetering on angry, clearly frustrated with him. "You've been acting weird for days. I've been trying to use my ability to make sense of you but you're so all over the place I haven't been able to get a read on you."

Din sighs, looking away from you.

With a deep breath and look of determination, you place a hand to the base of his helmet and force him to look at you again. In a much gentler voice, you tell him, "We don't shut each other out. Remember? Out with it."

"I can't," he gasps, shaking his head. Not right now. This can't be the moment he admits this to you. He's not ready.

Frowning, you continue to press. "What can't you do? Is it the blindfold thing? We don't have to do it today, Din. But I thought you said it was fine."

"It was. It is. I-I just. Fuck. I can't," He says the word 'can't' again as if he's being burned from the inside out, hearing the desperation in his own voice.

"Please tell me why you're freaking out about this all of the sudden," you plead, face anguished. "I'm scared that I've done something wrong, Din."

"I lied! Dank farrik! The Armorer asked me if I've taken my helmet off for you and I lied," Din hisses, not willing to raise his voice any further as he admits this great blasphemy to you.

Dumbfounded, your mouth hangs open as you say, "What?!"

He looks away. "You heard me. Don't pretend you didn't."

You move so that he still has to look at you, head moving right in front of the visor. "Yes, I heard you. But I don't understand. I didn't think we were breaking the rules? Have you been lying to me this whole time too?"

Din is scandalized by the notion. "What?! No! Absolutely not. To me, we've never broken the creed. But we came close the other day, and I fear I should have never let things get this far in the first place."

After a moment of contemplation, you look at him dead on. "So let me get this straight. To you, as long as I truly never see your face and you uphold your Mandalorian morals, the blindfold thing doesn't count. But were the Armorer to find out, you fear she could never understand it from your perspective. Am I following?"

"Yes," Din breathes, nodding. Suddenly his armor feels utterly constricting.

With closed eyes you take another deep breath, and as you exhale you fix Din with a very serious expression. "I'm going to ask you something and I assume that it's not going to be received well. But I have to ask it. Does any of what you're going through have to do with Castyl Vanda?"

Din's head snaps to you so hard he's sure his neck cracked. "How do you know that name?"

"The Armorer told me about him. Not much, but enough. She told me he left you and the tribe to become an apostate when you were still in training."

Din's own eyes slip closed beneath the beskar. "That is what happened, yes."

"Is any of what you're feeling fear that you're going to become just like him? Fear that I've forced you to stray from the creed? You know I would never do that."

His dark eyes snap back open at that, looking at you seriously in the hopes that you're able to sense how serious he is in The Force. "You haven't forced me to do anything. I've acted entirely of my own free will this entire time."

You frown deeply, "Do you feel as if what we do privately is bending the rules of the creed?"

Din falters, "I… I never thought that it was. Not truly. Not until the Armorer asked me that question. Now I am not sure what I believe."

"Please be honest with me, Din," you ask, voice small and full of insecurity. "If what we do is bending the rules, do you regret bending the rules to be with me?"

He shakes his head adamantly. "Never, cyar'ika. Never. I only fear that I cannot have both. My only regret is that I cannot show you all of me."

Your mouth falls open, the shock evident on your face. "Holy shit, Din," you breathe.

"Yeah. Holy shit," Din agrees, a humorless chuckle lodged in his throat. He cannot truly fathom that he's said it out loud to you. After months of feeling this way, it's finally out in the open.

"What does this mean for you, Din?"

The question comes with so much fear and uncertainty attached to it, and Din feels the urge to laugh humorlessly again. If only you knew how much he's been asking himself the very same thing for weeks. What could any of this possibly mean for a Mandalorian such as he?

"I do not know, but I do fear I have become more like Castyl Vanda than I realized." He says honestly.

"Are you willing to tell me about him? I'd like to understand what happened between you."

Din sighs, and resigns himself to relive one of his least favorite memories.

*****

"Cas! Cas, look at this!" Din's young, youthful voice shouts through the dense jungle-forest surrounding him. The somewhat newly established Mandalorian apprentice uses his helmet's technology to analyze the footprint of a great beast he's been tracking for two days. He's now able to pinpoint how recently this print was made using heat signatures in his visor and the physical skills he's been learning from his teacher. Din feels so proud of himself, but the moment is soured. He desperately wants to share this moment with his mentor, but Castyl is nowhere to be found.

Din knows his mentor should be hovering more, even though a year ago Cas' hovering drove the boy insane. Din used to hate feeling as if his every move were being scrutinized. But that was when he was more insecure in his new life as a Mandalorian. Now, he's had his helmet upon his head and his creed in his heart for two whole cycles. He wants to succeed as a Mandalorian warrior. He wants to know he's doing right by his teacher. Din wants Cas to be watching his tracking skills very carefully, looking to see if Din is following his instructions correctly, or if the young apprentice needs any help with a detail he may have missed. Din wants Castyl to hover, because Din wants to feel the same pride from the man that he felt the day he took the Creed and officially became a member of the tribe.

But, he's not hovering. In fact, he's been completely distant for most of the day. Just like he has been for the last several weeks. Din may as well be training himself at this point.

Ever since they started traveling with Cas' new rebel friend, Daro Tane, a few months back, the Mandalorian man has paid less and less attention to Din and his lessons. Cas' friend has also seemingly cared less and less about this great "rebellion" he used to go on and on about to a tiresome degree. Din can't remember the last time the man even mentioned The Empire. Lately they just seem to be completely consumed with one another. It makes little sense to a young boy like Din, who was quite happy when he had Cas' attentions all to himself.

A boy who lost everything in a single afternoon, literally half of his young life ago. A boy whose young life was saved that day by a great warrior. A warrior who that boy would go on to idolize, and eventually love as a father. A warrior who, Din once thought, loved him as a son.

That hasn't felt true in a while.

He waits for about as long as any impatient sixteen year old can wait, and then frustration and a little bit of hurt find their way into his heart. The boy grits his teeth, stomping angrily over to where he last saw Cas and Daro. He's ready to give the man a piece of his mind. He's ready to stand up for himself.

But then that bravado dies in his throat as he rounds the corner and sees the face of a man he does not recognize. A man wearing Cas' teal armor, but not his helmet, which is laid forgotten in the soil. A man with his tongue buried deep in the mouth of his companion.

"Cas? Is that you?" Din asks, voice suddenly small.

Both men freeze, and an eerie silence befalls the jungle-like surroundings despite the abundance of wildlife all around.

The man Din does not recognize unfreezes after a moment, his at-first closed eyes snapping open as wide as humanly possible. The "stranger" springs backwards from his companion as if being burned.

"Din! This is not what it looks like," the man begins to explain, approaching the teen. That's Cas' voice alright, but it looks wrong coming out of this person's mouth rather than a modulated speaker.

The man Din does recognize snorts out an unceremonious laugh, shaking his head of long dark braids. His skin is darker than Cas' by several shades, and his eyes hold a deep golden hue which always makes Din feel as if the man can see more than just what's in front of him. Daro Tane is a man that wears his emotions on his sleeves, yet Din can never quite get an accurate read on him or his intentions. That fact alone has bothered the boy from the moment he met the odd man.

Even now, Din has no idea what to think as the man rolls his eyes and smacks Cas playfully on the left pauldron. "Castyl Vanda that was the worst possible thing you could have said. Of course this is exactly what it looks like. You've already lied to the poor boy enough. Don't make me sit here and watch you fumble your way though this mess you've gotten yourself into. Din, I'm sorry your dad here is a horrible fool."

"He's not my dad," Din seethes beneath his beskar, the hiss of it radiating from his helmet's speaker. "My dad is dead."

Cas exchanges a pained look with Daro, and the expressiveness of his exposed face only makes Din clench his fists harder.

"Din, you know I love you like my own," Cas patiently says.

"Not enough to actually adopt me, apparently." Din bites back and the look of anguish on Cas' face makes Din feel so uncomfortable that he wants to throw up.

How can this man who has preached this creed for eight years of Din's life, two of which Din has lived with a helmet upon his young head at the encouragement of said man, be standing here with his face fully exposed? How can such a significant part of Din's life be a complete and utter lie?

"Do you even believe in the creed? Do you believe in anything you've taught me?" Din whispers, hands coming to the sides of his head as he shakes it back and forth. "How can you expect me to trust you ever again?"

Its as if he wants to hold his own helmet in place, in fear that Cas will try to convince him to take it off and ruin all of the hard work he's put into the last two years of his life. Two years of life changing adventures across the galaxy. Two years of learning to be the kind of Mandalorian he always aspired to be after Aq Vetina. Two years of learning who he could be on the other side of his pain from that horrific day.

What fresh hell this new pain is.

Cas looks at Din, and though at first Din wants to look away, he finds himself analyzing the face in front of him. Tan skin, dark eyes, dark curly hair. Hell, if Din didn't know any better he'd think they could actually be related by blood. Who knew this entire time that this man really could pass for Din's father?

"Din, please let me explain myself," Cas pleads, accented voice desperate.

Anger bubbles up Din's throat along with his words. "Explain what? That you're an apostate? What could I possibly want to hear from you? You are an outsider! You're not Mandalorian."

Cas steps forward to place a hand on Din's shoulder, but the boy shoves it off. With a sigh, Cas explains, "Din, I am just as much a Mandalorian today as I was the day I saved your life and you became the foundling in my care. The only thing that has changed is that I've found love. Daro is ner cyare, Din. I wanted him to know me, and that included all of me. It was not my intention for you to find out this way."

"So you are willing to give up on everything for him?" Give up on me? The boy thinks, but is too scared to say out loud. Din glares at Daro then, who merely smiles awkwardly and waves in return. Din hates him in that moment. "He's not even a Mandalorian."

"He doesn't have to be. You know that our culture does not require it."

Daro chooses to interject finally, "But your culture does require that he hide that gorgeous face from me, and that I just simply could not abide. He's too pretty to keep himself under all that beskar."

Cas shoots Daro a look, eyes narrowing. "You're not helping right now, my love."

Daro shrugs, "I know. This sort of interpersonal drama makes me wildly uncomfortable, so I just wanted to lighten the mood."

"Again, not helping." Cas pinches the bridge of his nose, a sight that bothers Din more than any other he's seen thus far.

Din glares at both of them, declaring, "Take me back to the tribe. I want nothing to do with you."

Cas tries to plead once more, "Din, please. Give me a chance to explain myself. I would like for you to understand why the creed no longer means to me what it did before. I'm still a Mandalorian in my heart. This is still how I was raised. These are the values I plan to uphold for the rest of my life. I just also want the man I love to know my face. I want you to understand how meaningful my connection with him is to me. Just like my connection to you is meaningful. You are my family, Din. But so is Daro. You both mean more to me than I could ever truly describe."

For a moment Din considers these words, but only for a moment. The betrayal is settling in his heart like a stone, weighing him down with anger and hatred. His first father died against Din's will. His second father is now dead to Din as well, and this time it's entirely his choice.

Poetically, the dark clouds which had been swirling above all morning finally give way to an uproarious thunderclap. Lightning flashes and the thunder shakes the ground beneath his feet. Little dings and bongs of rain drops hitting Din's helmet create a metallic rhythm which steadies him, reminding him of who he is and who he wants to grow up to be.

"Take me back to the tribe, apostate. I will continue my training with a real Mandalorian," Din demands icily, turning on his heel to start back towards the ship and away from this man who's broken his heart completely in half.

Cas calls after him, and Din lets his tears fall freely under the sanctity of his helmet.

*****

"Din, you're nothing like him," you say confidently after Din's story is finished.

Din scoffs, "How can you say I am nothing like him when I have clearly caught the same affliction? That's the worst part of all of this. After all these years, now that I have you in my life, I finally understand why he did what he did. I even hate him a little less for it. That scares me, cyar'ika. It scares the hell out of me."

With a snort, you reply, "Oh, so now being in love with me is an affliction?"

"You know that is not what I mean," Din says evenly.

"I'm teasing you," you soothe, bare hand reaching for his gloved one. "You're nothing like him because you would have never chosen me over Grogu and we both know that for a fact. Creed or no creed, Cas chose not to be a father to you when you clearly needed one. You've been nothing but a father to Grogu since the day you met him. You didn't start blatantly ignoring Grogu's needs the moment I came into your life, and it sounds like that's exactly what Cas did to you when he met Daro. You fell in love with me without it being at the expense of your relationship with Grogu. I think that speaks volumes about your character."

Din shakes his silver head, shame seeping from the pores of his very being. "But I have not adopted Grogu. In that regard I am no better."

Frowning, you argue, "You said yourself that we are your family regardless of the rituals."

"But what if the rituals really do mean something? What if Grogu needs that gesture of security from us now more than ever?" Din's voice is so full of worry.

You heart breaks a little for him then, realizing just how much Din needed a similar gesture of security when he was young. A gesture he ultimately never received. You know all too well what it feels like to hardly ever receive the sort of love from a parent that you desperately needed growing up.

Tone shifting to a much softer one, you say, "Then we should perform the ritual with Grogu and make things official. I think that would be really great, but make sure you do it for Grogu and nothing else. Please don't do it simply because you're scared you're going to end up like Cas. And I'm sorry about him, by the way. It sounds like that was pretty traumatizing. I'm sure it was hard for you to trust people after that."

"It was incredibly hard," Din agrees. Then he sighs anxiously, looking at you with the tiniest of shivers in his broad shoulders. "What of my helmet? What should I do about the Armorer?"

Thinking on it for a moment, you inhale and ask, "I mean, what was her reaction when you lied?"

He shrugs. "I got the impression she did not believe me."

"And she didn't say anything?"

"No, she simply forged yours and Grogu's armor."

After a moment of thought, you giggle.

Din sounds downright aghast at the sound of it. "What could possibly be funny?"

"Din, babe. I think you're fine."

"You do?"

"Think about it," you say, "Why would she let us stay here and give Grogu and I armor if she was going to kick you out for being an apostate?"

He sakes his head, still confused as ever sounding. "I've been asking myself that for two days."

Smiling, you squeeze his gloved hand. "Well, in my opinion, I think you're safe. I didn't feel anything untoward from her when I was in her forge. If anything I think she's a huge softie for you and that's why Paz hates your guts. I mean, come on. You show up with not one but two outsiders, and shes not only totally cool with it but she goes on to make both outsiders a piece of armor?"

"You make a fair point now that I think about it…" Din trails off, voice already sounding much lighter and more like himself.

Frowning, though, you take on a serious tone as you squeeze his fingers even harder. "I do think it's wise to evaluate your feelings surrounding the creed. If it doesn't mean as much to you as it once did, that's okay. I just want you to be happy. You said your only regret is that you cannot show me all of you, and if that's true I just want you to know that I will never regret what we have or wish for anything to be different on my end. I love you, and I love any parts of you that you are able to share with me just as much as I love the parts you can't show me. We all have parts we choose to share and parts we keep to ourselves. It's up to us what we give to the world. That has nothing to do with being Mandalorian or a creed. That's just being human."

"Human," Din repeats, voice dreamy.

*****

Next Chapter

Previous Chapter

Materlist

*****

His nose nuzzles into the flesh just above your jawline, mustache tickling your chin. “Take all of me, cyar’ika. I know you can do it, love.” Then he’s grunting, “Fuck, so fucking tight. It’s never felt like this before. Maker, aalar bid jate, cyare,” he trails off in Mando’a. 

Words aren’t really an option in your current state, so you only whine helplessly in response to Din’s wanton ramblings. He’s so lost in the heat of his own passion, talking you through this new sexual experience like your own horny personal trainer and loving every second of it. It’s clear as day in his tone.

“You’re already doing so well, cyar’ika. Just a little more.” His tongue traces the edge of your earlobe for a moment before he nibbles on it, and your core flares dangerously hot in response to the new sensations he’s causing. “Almost there, fuck." 

Every inch of your body is aflame in a way you’re not used to as he presses every inch of his cock into your ass, which up until about ten minutes ago was pretty much the last major thing the two of you had yet to try in the, for lack of a better word, bedroom.

It’s always like this when he’s got you blindfolded, yet somehow this time it’s all brand new. Normal touch always feels so intense with the blindfold on, but now it’s like you’ve taken a dose of ecstasy and you’re in the middle of a hard wave of it. Only there’s no drug, and tonight things have been dialed up to fifteen. Maybe even twenty.

Your hands are cuffed behind your back, your knees are practically touching your ears in the position he's got you pinned in, and Din’s thumb is shoved deep into your mouth to silence your moans as he drives into you with his damp forehead pressed to yours. As you suckle, whimpering all the while, he’s pressing the pad of his opposable digit ever so slightly against your tongue. The loss of one of your senses, along with the loss of control over your own arms and mouth, have you spiraling into a submissive mindset. Din’s here, he’s the only person in the universe you would ever trust to have you in this vulnerable of a position, and you’re loving every delicious moment of it. 

The sensations taking over your body are unlike anything you’ve experienced before, even though you’ve tried anal play a few times in the past. But that was a long time ago, when you were naive and insecure. It had been another life with an ex boyfriend back on Earth you barely remember. Whoever he was certainly hadn’t been as proficient in the act of fucking you as Din Djarin is now, in this new life you wouldn’t trade for anything. With Din your entire body is always aflame in the best possible way, and right now the deliciousness of it is nearly too much for your overwhelmed senses. 

“Fuck, cyar’ika. Your body feels so fucking good,” he breathes desperately in your ear, and then Din’s thumb is replaced by his tongue as he kisses you deeply. 

The rough, intense neediness of it is dripping all over your essence and you know in an instant that The Force is helping you to feel every bit of his passion for you. His hands come to cup your face and it’s as if he’s willing you to feel his emotions. And perhaps he is. Wave after wave of intense feelings swirl through the either to co-mingle with your own, causing your eyes to roll back behind the pink fabric shielding them from the unknown visage of your exposed lover.

Nope, no drugs. Just the man you hope to call your husband one day with his cock buried all the way to the hilt in your ass for the first time. 

He moves an index finger to softly circle your clit. Every inch of his sweaty flesh is all over yours, and it’s as if he finally found some sort of angle to make your bodies lock together more than they ever had before. It’s bliss in the purest form of the word. 

“Din, fuck,” you’re whining, feeling the edge of your orgasm beginning to build. “Ner verd, ni linibar bic. Aalar bid jate!” 

Din chuckles handsomely, slowing his thrusts. Both things only serve to drive you mad with need. “Speaking Mando’a while I take your ass? You really are a good girl for me, aren’t you, cyar’ika?”

“Oh, god,” you whine, “please don’t stop, Din. Please, I’m begging you.”

His voice is just above your face, the lilt in it full of humor. “Begging me, huh? Begging me for what?” 

His finger halts its ministrations, and you groan deeply in frustration as the budding orgasm quickly fades.

“You know what, goddammit,” you grunt, body suddenly unsure as to whether or not it’s growing tired of the intrusion now that he’s slowed his gyrations down nearly to a stop. It really only feels good when there’s movement.

Then a nipple is captured lightly between a set of teeth, which bare down for a fraction of a second, and a sharp cry erupts from your throat. He chuckles again, “I’m sorry, but I only respond to polite requests, cyar’ika.”

“Since when?” You bite back in a bratty tone, and unsurprisingly receive another real but soft bite to the other nipple in response. You can’t help but grin, despite wanting to play along that he’s holding some sort of power over you.

Between heavy breaths you plead, “Alright, alright! I get it. I’m sorry for being a brat. Please, Din. I need to cum so fucking bad. And I wanna feel you fill me up with yours. We never get to do that. Just the thought of it has me close. Please keep going.”

A finger finds your clit again for a moment, and then you feel the thick digit enter your neglected cunt. The gasp you let out morphs into a deep wanton moan as that finger is followed shortly by two of its brothers. Suddenly you’re fuller than you’ve ever been in your life, and Din begins thrusting into your stretched ass once more. Gently at first, then he’s bucking into you with an intensity that nearly makes you forget your own name. His fingers find your g-spot, his thumb your clit. This time when the orgasm begins to build a slew of curses and unintelligible things begin to fall from your mouth in a voice you’re not even sure is your own. 

“I want to hear you beg for it in Mando’a, ner cyare,” Din demands lovingly in your ear.

Without a second thought, what is surely becoming your second language begins pouring from you, “Gedet'ye, Din! Gedet'ye! Gotal'ur ni olaror! Gedet'ye, ner verd! Ni linibar bic, gedet'ye!” 

“Good fucking girl,” Din sighs happily into your neck, and drives home both his fingers and his cock until the two of you crest over the peak of ecstasy one right after the other.

*****

Your eyes flutter open suddenly, and nothing in the universe could have ever prepared you for what you see when the dust in your eyes settles. Shock ripples through your aching body when you are briefly greeted with a soft looking mess of brown curly hair mere inches from your nose. Immediately, you squeeze your eyes shut again with a sharp but quiet gasp, and all at once you know that you’re in deep shit.

The last thing you remember is laying there with your blindfolded head on his chest, so the two of you must have fallen asleep holding one another in the aftermath of your passions. Thankfully, Din is still asleep with his back to you so you haven’t seen his face whatsoever. But Jesus fucking Christ you saw the back of his head. You’re not sure it was even real, but it has to be.

Like a fool, you pry one eye open again, just to check reality, and that same brown hair is right there in front of your face. If your eye could actually slam shut, the noise would have probably woken him. 

Holy fucking shit. It wasn’t your imagination. For a fraction of a moment you actually saw the back of Din’s head, and you’re not sure if you can handle what it’s doing to you. The taste of a tan ear’s soft upper slope, a sprinkle of gray mixed in with the dark brown mess of locks. It was unmistakably him while also being so foreign to you that it’s actively breaking your brain. It could have been anybody, but it was him.

It makes you both crave to see the rest of him and feel like you’ve completely betrayed him all at once. 

The fucking blindfold, you think. You still feel it tied to your head, but the knot must have come loose and the thing slipped up onto your forehead as you slept. How could the two of you have been so reckless? All at once you’re losing it, and tears begin falling freely as you cling to his back.

“Cyar’ika?” Din’s sleepy voice stirs along with his body. “Is something wrong?”

“Don’t move, hang on,” you say sharply, moving to slide the fabric back down over your eyes. “Okay, you’re good to roll over.”

“Are you in pain? I know we were careful but I still hurt you, didn’t I? Shit, this was a bad idea, wasn’t it?” Din’s voice is laced with worry as he turns back over to face you. His hands are already roaming your body, looking for the source of whatever ails you.

You grab for his hands to halt him. “No, I’m okay. I’m not in pain, not really.” 

He sounds sleepily confused, which under different circumstances would probably sound adorable. “Then what is it? I thought I heard you sniffle as if you were crying.”

Voice wavering, you shakily tell him the truth, “The blindfold, Din. It must have moved when we fell asleep. I-I opened my eyes and… fuck, I-I almost saw you. I almost broke your creed because I was careless. I feel so horrible for this, Din. I’m so sorry.” For a moment you wanted to debate not telling him, but that moment didn’t last very long. In your heart you know that the guilt of not telling him would eat away at you.

He’s quiet for a moment, and then you feel him move forward and cup your cheek in one hand. His thumb rubs soothing lines into your soft skin. “What did you see?” He asks, voice soft.

You’re surprised by how calm he sounds, and the tears begin flowing freely from your eyes again, soaking the pink fabric of your blindfold. “I saw your hair. And a little bit of your ear, Din. Oh god, I am so fucking sorry.” 

“Please stop apologizing,” he says quietly. “Nothing happened, and you’re not to blame. Nor are you careless.”

“But I could have ruined everything for you,” you whisper in reply, terrified.

“You didn’t, though.” Din says simply. So simply that you truly do not know how to feel about his calm tones. “I am not upset with you over something that didn’t happen, and the responsibility lies on both of our shoulders. I should have put the helmet back on, but laying with you felt good and I didn’t want to just yet. That’s on me. We can use this experience as a reminder to be more careful in the future, but I promise that I’m not mad and you do not need to be afraid that you’ve done something wrong.”

Din’s words sink into your being for a moment and you allow them time to really resonate with you. Instead of spiraling about this, you consciously choose to trust him. “Alright, then. If you’re confident that we haven’t completely screwed up, I will let this go. I just never want to be the reason that you break the creed, even if it’s an accident. I don’t know if I could live with myself if that happened.”

“I know, and I love you for how much you care about this,” Din says earnestly, the loving tone ever present in his voice. He kisses you once more, and from the way he cradles you like a precious artifact you can tell that this is the last kiss you’ll get for the time being. 

Once he lifts up, you breathe, “I love you too. Ni kar'taylir darasuum.”

His lips find your forehead for a moment and then they are gone just as quickly. “Ni kar'taylir darasuum. If Greef Karga had told me a year ago on this night that I would one day declare true love for you in the tongue of my people, I would have scoffed in the man’s face.”

Your heart swells at the realization of what his words mean, a grin spreading across your half covered face. “Wait a second, is that today?!”

With the sound of a hiss, Din’s voice is suddenly modulated once again. “Indeed it is, love. One year. An entire cycle of life together. A year of friendship. The Razor Crest is all the better for it.” 

He lifts the blindfold from you, and the sight of his helmet clad head upon his naked body is a sight for sore eyes. As much as you plan to secretly cherish that little sliver of the human man underneath forever, his beskar face is the one you fell in love with after all. 

“Well that explains why you wanted to try something different tonight,” you chuckle, feeling the effects of such intense sex throughout your body as you look him over. 

Your cosmic companion shrugs, a chuckle escaping through the crackle of his speakers. “I thought it might make things feel special.”

He gets up and offers you his hands, the two of you standing stark naked in the cockpit of the Razor Crest once he helps pull you to your feet. It would surely be a sight to behold if a rogue ship were to fly by. 

You can’t help but grin. “Oh, I feel special alright. And grimy. I think we could both use a good shower before we go to bed.”

“Too bad it’s not big enough for us to shower together.”

“Too bad it’s not a jacuzzi. I could really use a good soak and some jets right about now.”

“What the hell is a jacuzzi?!”

*****

Later, as Din lays pressed between the wall of the cot and your freshly cleaned, ample body, he finds himself unable to sleep while he contemplates what just transpired up in the cockpit. After an entire year of being incredibly careful, this is the closest call the two of you have ever had when it comes to his face. And honestly? Din’s really not that upset. You took the situation far more gravely than he did. 

“I just never want to be the reason that you break the creed…”

Your words filter through his mind, his chest tightening in response. If there was ever a reason for Din to break his creed, you and Grogu are surely it for him. Can’t you see that? 

And why are you so adamant about it not being you? 

Din has a feeling he knows you well enough to understand. If he had to guess, he’d say that you’ve been blamed for things your entire life. Blamed for things that were never your responsibility to begin with. As much as he’s watched you grow in the last year, that one is clearly a wound that still runs deep. 

Of course the idea of Din breaking his creed because of you would terrify you. But you haven’t stopped to consider that it wouldn’t be for anyone other than Din himself. Yes, you are ultimately a major part of why he’s been able to think about this subject positively in the first place. But so is Grogu. So are a lot of things, and he damns himself every single day.

A year ago Din thought he had everything he needed in life. He had his armor, his creed, his ship, and his mission to help the kid. Then you came aboard the Razor Crest on that fateful Nevarro evening, fundamentally and forever shifting his perspective on life in much less than a single year. 

Not even three months into the arrangement, Din already knew that his existence had been incredibly lacking and incredibly lonely before you and Grogu. Stagnated in the act of endless bounty hunting and loving no one in the process. His life had been simple and repetitive, and until the two of you he thought that was all he needed to get by. But Din Djarin no longer wants to repeat himself. Din no longer wants to just get by. He wants a wife and a child. He wants a house that stays in one place. 

He wants to cultivate a happy life in said house for the three of you. One without blaster fire and danger around every corner. One with a garden, a fully stocked kitchen, and a real bedroom for Grogu like you’ve talked about. A place where the two of you could raise him peacefully and without much worry. 

When Din fantasizes about a life like this, often he envisions himself without his helmet upon his head. He envisions gazing directly into your eyes after waking up on a lazy, sunny morning in a huge bed. He thinks about what it would be like to see you blush up at him from his lusty facial expressions, or to make eye contact while he sends you over the edge of pleasure. Din imagines how it would feel to make Grogu laugh with silly faces, and for the two of you to truly see the love Din holds for each of you both in his dark eyes. 

Din has lived most of his life as a Mandalorian, but isn’t he simply human first and foremost? What would it be like to live life as one of those for a change? 

But what if you were to dislike what he has to offer? What if you saw his true face and felt as if you no longer wanted him? He can’t imagine that would be true, but there’s that little bit of human insecurity flooding his mind. Just because he thinks himself to be handsome doesn’t necessarily mean that you would agree. 

Lately, when he’s alone in the fresher examining himself, he’s had the same ridiculously human questions bouncing around his exposed head. 

Would you find him as attractive as he hopes he is? Is he foolish for even thinking this way? Surely the love you have for him would surpass any dislikes you may have, right?

The last time someone saw his face, he had been a child. Not a single living thing has seen the face of the man he’s become. He hopes the face of that man is one you could love, and he feels he’s an even better man today than the one who met you a year ago. 

In his heart Din believes that he is a better man thanks to you and Grogu, and not-so deep down he wants the two of you to know that man completely. Face and all. The blasphemy and hypocrisy of this alone should be eating away at him, but his insecurities are doing the job far more than worry over the creed.

If anything, the blasphemous part of him is disappointed that you only saw the back of his head. What if you had seen him completely and everything was just different now whether Din is ready for it to be or not? Would that honestly be so bad? To lay here with his head on a pillow for once? To have his nose buried in your hair? 

A soft moan suddenly escapes your lips as you shift around a little in your sleep, the sound of it both bringing Din back to reality and feeling even more blasphemous than he ever has before. 

Involuntarily, Din’s lips purse and he moves to kiss you as if he has the freedom to do so. When the reality sinks in that he doesn’t, in fact, have the freedom to do so at all, Din’s heart plunges so deeply into his gut that he nearly moans out loud from the sting of it. Hot tears fill his eyes, and his arms tighten around you as he damns himself again for wishing his helmet was nowhere to be seen.

*****

As Grogu peers curiously around the busy streets of the little seaport town Din’s family seems to have found itself in, loud chirping noises of excitement flutter from the child. The child has always had a certain boldness about him, but ever since the agreement was made that he was to remain with Clan Mudhorn, the little boy’s voice has become noticeably louder. It’s almost as if the certainty of his future has given new life to the child.

He reaches for things and squirms around in Din’s grasp, causing a soft chuckle to hiss from the Mandalorian’s modulator.

“Easy, kiddo,” Din says gently to the kid. “We’re gonna see all there is to see. Don’t get too ahead of yourself just yet.”

Din’s been so preoccupied by his son’s squirming that he hadn’t noticed the lascivious look you’ve been throwing his way for the last moment or so. When he looks over to catch you undressing him with your eyes, however, his eyebrows shoot up towards his hairline beneath the beskar.

He can’t help but smile, asking, “What’s on your mind, cyar’ika?” 

An embarrassed expression crosses your features the moment you realize you’ve been figured out. With a sheepish grin and a shrug you reply, “Whoops, you caught me. You just look really sexy right now, that’s all.”

“Mm,” Din hums in response, heart straining. He’s momentarily unsure of what else to say as confusion riddles his person. He adores the compliment just as much as he damns it. 

As if his lack of a response makes you feel obligated to explain further, you keep going on about it. “It's the lighting, I think. The sun is at just the right angle, so the way it’s hitting your armor is giving you an almost golden hue. God, you really are gorgeous to me, Din. I hope you know how much I mean that.”

His heart downright stings after that last remark. If only she were saying that about my true face, he thinks. But perhaps it is for the best that you cannot see how saddened he is by what you’ve said. 

“I love you,” is the only thing he feels is appropriate to say, voice cracking as he says it. 

“I love you too.” You smile up at him, seemingly unaware of his emotional state.

That fact alone unsettles him. Surely if you’ve been feeling how fraught he’s been lately you’d tell him, right? Or perhaps this compliment was your way of trying to lift him up because you feel how fraught he’s been?

Either way, you’ve remained oblivious to his feelings the few times this sort of thing has surfaced in recent memory. Perhaps, when it comes to the subject of his face, he’s been unconsciously trying to cloud his emotions from you with some amount of success. If you do sense him at all, you’re not letting on about it. 

Instead of paying Din any mind, you redirect your attention down to Grogu. “And I love you, my little Green Bean,” you say, lightly booping his nose with an index finger. 

For a moment Din feels a strange sort of panic begin to set in, but when you lift up your eyes and meet Din’s through the visor, his heart settles a little. 

Neither of you says much after that, quietly continuing on with the exploration of this new town for a while. The three of you stroll further down the city street towards the public beaches and the closer the party gets to the water, the more each shop seems to stand out as a tourist trap. 

Din’s head is full of inner turmoil for most of the walk, until something unrelated clearly catches your eye and blissful distraction finds his overactive brain. 

“What do you think about getting Grogu some new clothes?” Your voice cuts through the noise in his head. 

Din looks down at the child in his arms, then over at you, puzzled behind the beskar. “What do you mean?”

“I don’t know,” you shrug, gesturing to a display of expensive looking children’s beachwear in a storefront window as the three of you pass by. “I feel bad that he wears that same tan robe all the time. I get that he’s a baby, but he deserves to pick out some clothes that make him feel like the best version of himself. I think he would enjoy that.”

Din considers this, thinking about the fact that his child does have fifty years, more than you or Din himself, of life under his tiny belt already. Grogu probably does think about things like that, even if he cannot outwardly express it. “I think that’s a great idea, cyar’ika. The next time we have the extra credits for it, let’s take him to a shop like that and ask him what he would like to wear. Perhaps your connection through The Force can aid us in helping him choose a garment.”

You eye Din almost skeptically, which leaves him even more puzzled for a moment before you explain yourself and he understands why. “Anything he wants? Even something you would consider to be feminine? I want him to know that he has that choice if he wants and he’ll be loved either way. That’s important to me as a parent, Din.”

Din stops walking and looks at you, skeptical in his own way beneath his helmet. “Where is that question coming from?”

“It’s just that some people back on Earth-,” you start, but are cut off by Din’s loud scoff.

He gives a disapproving shake of the head, laughing heartily as your jaw drops in surprise. “Your planet is far too concerned with trivial things like that. The mark of a backwards society if you ask me. No, I will not care if he chooses clothing that one would consider to be feminine.”

“Hey!” You smack a beskar free spot on his arm, a playful smile creeping up your lips. “Only I can talk trash about my home world, thank you very much. You better watch yourself, bucko.”

Din can’t help but roll his eyes, laughing more. “Oh, as if you haven’t said so yourself. Every other fact you tell me about Earth is negative.”

You frown then, looking at him seriously. “Yeah… but, still. I’m not backwards when it comes to that. I was trying to say I’m the opposite. Very open to all that stuff. We’ve never really talked about it and I wanted to make sure we are going to raise Grogu on the same page.” 

Din nods, “I understand. And I never implied that you are backwards, love. Simply that Earth has a lot of catching up to do if they ever hope to become a larger part of the universe.”

You shrug, seeming to agree. “I mean, at least I’m bi. Not one hundred percent vanilla.”

“I do not understand what you mean,” Din says, pleased when you go right into an explanation. 

“Bi-sexual. It means that I find both male and females attractive. Sorry if that’s weird for you at all. Have we never talked about this?” You sound worried, and Din feels that familiar old thing from when you first met and you were so nervous about being a bother to him. Another sign of how much you’ve grown in the last year. He hasn’t heard that sort of nervousness in your voice in a long time.

Din simply blinks at you, unsure as to why this information would be uncomfortable for him. “Oh. Well, I suppose you can call me that as well.”

Your eyes widen comically. “Wait a second, what?! When you spoke of your ex or whatever she was to you, I figured that was it.”

Din counters, “You said ‘find attractive', you did not specify that I needed to have had a physical experience for it to count. Have you slept with a woman?”

“This is a wild revelation,” you seem to marvel for a moment. Then you realize he asked you a question with a shake of the head. “And, no. No physical experience for me either. Not a requirement. I’ve kissed a few women in my time but that’s about it.”

“Then why is this information about me so shocking?”

“I guess I just really had you type cast as straight.”

“I do not understand ‘type cast’,” Din chuckles, “or straight.”

“‘Straight’ just means you’re into the old school male/female relationships. Type cast is a phrase from the movie business that means one actor keeps getting cast in the same sorts of roles in every movie they are in. Like always playing the bad guy or something like that. But obviously I used it in the context of what we’re talking about to say I just assumed the straight thing about you. Which clearly I shouldn’t have. I’m impressed.”

“Mm, well I don’t know if I could ever see myself in a relationship with another man, but I think that has more to do with the fact that I can’t see myself in a relationship with anyone other than you.” Din says honestly. 

It’s not lost on Din that his words cause a reaction in you. The flesh on your cheeks turns crimson and you seemingly have to look away from him for a moment to compose yourself. All the while Grogu continues to babble in Din’s arms, and Din wonders how much of this the boy understands. He likes to think that his blatant open mindedness is not lost on Grogu, but hopes sincerely that the sexual connotation of the conversation is most certainly lost on him. 

When you look at him again, the affection in your eyes is unmistakable. “I feel the same way about you. The ship of other people has sailed for me. Unless we ever decide to get really wild one day, but that’s not really on my mind at this point in our lives.”

“Really wild?” He repeats, confused. After the night the two of you just had? He searches your expression for an answer and soon thinks he’s found it. Ah. Do you mean having a group experience? That’s certainly something Din’s heard of, and perhaps felt intrigued by the idea of. 

His eyebrows raise once again, and he hums out a simple, “Mm,” in response. “I believe I understand. Perhaps one day we shall, but that’s not something on my mind either.”

“Mm,” you hum back, smirking at him. “It’s a nice fantasy, though.”

“Indeed,” Din agrees with a smirk of his own, trying desperately not to imagine your face buried between the legs of another woman. Thinking like that on a family outing feels wrong for a number of reasons.

You sigh then, almost dreamily, and Din wonders out loud what’s caused it. “What is it, cyar’ika?”

Gesturing to the next window display, this one full of various beauty products, you remark, “Sometimes I miss feeling like a girl.”

Confused, Din asks for more clarification. “What do you mean? You’re quite feminine in my eyes.”

“I know that,” you agree, “but sometimes I wish I had a reason to wear a pretty dress and doll myself up, you know?”

“Doll yourself up?”

“Do my hair and makeup, wear something pretty, make myself look and feel fancy.”

“Ah, I believe I understand. Do you need a reason?”

You shrug, “No, but life in space makes it hard to justify flimsy clothing made purely for aesthetics. Doesn’t help that I impulsively chopped all my hair off, either. Sure, I know it’s like halfway grown back out at this point, but sometimes I worry that it was a mistake. I go back and forth with thinking that it makes me look less girly than I used to. But that was sort of the point. I’ve never said it to you like this, but part of why I cut my hair on Nar Shaddaa was that I wanted to rebel against what I was told was appropriately feminine my whole life. My family always held me to old fashioned Earth standards of beauty. Even after I moved out I was still terrified to truly be myself. I would look at other women who were not afraid to wear their differences on the outside and I would wish for that sort of courage. Being here with you felt like the perfect opportunity to finally be free, plus I loved the idea of having a look that my family would hate.”

Din takes in this information, nodding along with you as you explain. “I’ve never once found your shorter hair to make you seem less feminine. At times you’ve looked more so. I think it has suited you. Truly.”

“I do miss being able to do more with it. I may keep letting it grow back out. I may not. I guess I can do whatever I want, can’t I?.”

“If that would make you feel good, then I support you. But I fear there is little you can do that would make you less beautiful in my eyes.” Din says sincerely.

You squeeze his hand. “Thank you for saying that. Maybe when we get Grogu some clothes I could find myself a dress or something as well.”

“It is true that I’ve never seen you in classically feminine attire. It would certainly be different.” Din’s chest warms at the thought of it, imagining you in gowns of karlini silk.

You grin up at him. “One day you will, chrome dome. One day you will.” 

*****

Once on the beach your party walks about two miles down the faintly orange shoreline to find a less crowded area where Grogu can play in the creamsicle colored sand away from any onlookers. You’re so far away from the rest of the public area that you can’t see or hear anyone anymore, having taken the natural curve in the beach around what is essentially a corner of rocks and odd looking palm trees. 

You can’t help but grin, looking over at Din as he sits the child down while he surveys the group’s surroundings. This is the first time you’ve been to a proper beach in years, and that was just a crappy boardwalk on the Atlantic. This beach is pretty darn close to the more tropical ones on Earth, aside from the small cosmetic differences in environment. Places you longed for but were too scared to travel to by yourself, and never had the right person in your life to be your travel partner. Gratefulness for this opportunity washes over you in this moment. 

“Any sign of your tribe yet?” You ask your cosmic companion gently. He’s been a little weird about this whole thing, and his emotions feel all over the place. It’s been nearly impossible to get a read on him since the tribe’s beacon first appeared, save for when he was inside you the night before and the tribe was clearly the furthest thing from his mind.    

Din shakes his silver head, bright sunlight bouncing off it in certain places. “I didn’t see anything to indicate their whereabouts in town, but I can’t imagine they are far off. They usually keep somewhat close to towns or cities for the resources, but far enough away to stay out of trouble. Let Grogu play for a while, then we will keep looking.” 

So play you do. You teach Grogu the age-old art of making sandcastles as best you can without any equipment. Then you bury him waist deep, which you regret the moment you realize the bottom half of him is covered in sand as a result. You carry him over to the cool teal waters to rinse him off a little, and a gorgeous shiny opal shell catches your eye as the foamy liquid ebbs and flows over it. 

Looking down at Grogu, you get the urge to explain a little more of your culture to him. “On my home world it was always a tradition to pick one shell from the beach to take home. Something to remember the place where your heart felt full of wonder. I think we should take this one home, what do you say?” 

Carefully, you pluck the spiraled thing from the sand, only to realize that the shell is much bigger and heavier than you’d anticipated. After a moment the mystery of its weight is revealed when a palm sized mustard yellow hermit-crab-like creature falls from the shell’s hole and lands on the sand with a tiny thump. The thing looks up at you with irritation in his beady little eye stalks, and you swear it even shakes a claw at you in anger before it burrows down into the grains of sand and disappears from view entirely. 

“Whoops, sorry little fella,” you laugh, eyebrows jumping up in surprise. 

Grogu watches the creature vanish, and just as soon as the last orange grains settle back into place the child’s big eyes are swooping up to meet yours with an open mouthed expression, ears pointed downward. You feel a little mixture of astonishment, worry, and amusement flowing from him. Only a taste but enough for you to name each of the feelings with some certainty. 

With a shrug and a soft giggle, your response to Grogu is one you hope comes off both like it’s not a big deal and that he is right for taking the hermit crab’s loss of a shelter seriously. And, that sometimes these things can be funny as long as we understand when the line is too far. Odds are that crab-thing will find a new shell to live in before the day is through. In the off chance you’re wrong and he just became some bigger creature’s food, then hopefully the circle of life can be enough to ease any guilt over the small animal’s fate.

Sending a smile his way, you reassure your child as best you can. “I guess that’s a good lesson for you, Grogu. Always check these things for animals first. If I had looked inside I would have seen him. We don’t wanna uproot too many critters from their homes just because we think a shell is pretty. That doesn’t always mean it’s ours to take, but I think it’s okay if we take this one. That crab-thing should be okay. We compromised his security so I don’t think he would want this one back. Animals have natural instincts to keep themselves safe just like we do. If I had to guess, he’ll already have a new shell by nightfall. And it’s okay to laugh a little bit when something you don’t expect happens, we just want to make sure we’re still treating our mistakes with respect. If I had really hurt the crab, even by accident, it wouldn’t have been very funny. I hope all of this makes sense.”

A pang of something sad flows through your being then. You’re not quite sure if it’s coming from you, one of the boys, or all three of you. But the realization hits you that all three of you are here on this beach together because each of you had been uprooted from your homes at one time or another. Not one of you has had a secure home since losing your first. Grogu, long before you and Din were even born, in a war you could never begin to understand. Din, when his home world was destroyed. And you, when your ex-grandmother used a legal loophole to steal your beloved house. 

Sure, the Razor Crest is the next best thing. But you’re suddenly wishing for a real home on a plot of land you can call your own. Somewhere that stays in one place, where one can cultivate their garden of life the way it’s intended to be nurtured.

A question works its way up your throat as you hand the boy the shell, and suddenly you find yourself asking your son out loud, “How would you like it if we had a real house one day, buddy? Kind of like this shell, but big enough for you, me, your dad, and Jupiter? You could have your own room one day, full of toys and anything else you may want.”

Grogu looks up at you with wonderment in his big eyes, and you can tell the question fills him with a distinct kind of warmth you don’t feel from him too often. Perhaps having a real home is just as important to the boy as it is to you. This child hasn’t had a stable home in decades, so it would make sense. How many of his fifty years have been spent on the run? How long has it been since his birth parents first gave him to the Jedi? Tears fill your eyes at the thought of it, knowing in your soul you could never give Grogu up now that he’s yours. No matter what greater good it may serve.

“I would like it,” Din says softly from right behind you. It startles you enough to make you jump.

Squinting up at him through the sun, you bring a hand to your forehead and throw him a half hearted shrug. “I guess I shouldn’t be asking him things like that when I haven’t even talked to you about it. I don’t mean anytime soon. But one day we will be too old to live in space twenty four seven. And Grogu deserves a real childhood. With a bedroom, school, and friends.”

Din squats down to be at level with you, nodding his silver head as it glints in the harsh light. “I think on this subject you and I are in agreement. I’ve thought about this quite a bit myself. A home that stays in one place certainly sounds appealing these days. I’ve lived in space for a long time. Without bounty hunting or a mission to keep me steady, the lifestyle of constant travel is beginning to make less and less sense to me."

“Well I don’t mean to put any undue pressure on you. I have no idea how we would make that work. It’s not like either of us has a real job right now and I know we’re running out of money.”

“Work is easy enough to find. Perhaps I could take Greef up on filling Cara’s position if it hasn't already been filled. He’s always telling us we have a home on Nevarro if we want it.”

“I could work at the school again,” you offer hopefully. 

Din nods, humming, “Mm. And Grogu could go with you. He could get to live the life of a real child once and for all.”

“I think he needs that, Din. And I think you and I need to enjoy our time with him. We all need rest.”

“We will, cyar’ika. We will find our place in this galaxy and we will build a life there. But until then, I love the life we have on our ship.”

“I do too. I love our Space R-,” suddenly your words morph into a hideous shriek, “VEEEEEEEEEE! DIIIIIIN!”

*****

Din screams your name and watches in stunned horror as your body gets dragged through the sand and into the turquoise waters faster than he can blink. Beside him Grogu begins to cry, and just as Din is about to get to his feet he notices a blue-gray tentacle inches away from snatching the child as well. 

“Grogu!” Din shouts, launching himself forward and grabbing the boy just in the nick of time. He rolls across the sand with the child in his arms, and the tentacle angrily rises from the water, pointing itself at Din almost accusingly. Din scrambles to fire a blaster from where he lay sprawled and the offending appendage retracts under the cool surface. 

A large creature covered in eyes and teeth begins to rise up out of the deeper waters several yards away, along with it the tentacle holding you around the waist. Din hauls himself to his feet as he hears you sputter and cough, screaming for help. 

“Oh, thank maker she’s alive,” Din says to himself, moving quickly to sit Grogu on a far away rock and ready himself for battle with this thing to get you back. 

Only, by the time he’s turning around with weapons raised, it would appear that a small group of Mandalorians are already beating him to it. 

*****

You only half-register the feeling of the tentacle wrapping itself around your ankle, and by the time you fully understand what is happening to you, it’s too late. You’ve got a face full of sand and you’re already starting to drown as the thing pulls you fully into the water. It begins snaking itself up and around your waist. The thing then squeezes you so hard that any air you’d managed to hold onto gets ripped violently from your lungs. You start to fade, but then suddenly it’s yanking you above the surface and you can breathe again, spitting and sputtering in terror.

You see Din and Grogu several yards away on the beach, and then the thing is yanking your body under the water once more.

Everything that happens in the next few minutes is a blur of being ping ponged in and out of the water. Moments of blissful silence but zero air, to pockets of air you can barely catch a taste of and the sounds of chaotic violence accosting your ears.

Then you’re under the water for a long time. Long enough that you’re really starting to get scared in a way you weren’t before. Long enough for your vision to fade.

But something changes just before you begin to pass out. The grip of the tentacle around your waist loosens, and a strong pair of human arms are there to replace it in an instant.

Then there’s air. Beautiful, glorious air which you suck in as hard as possible once you’ve coughed up the salty water in your throat. The darkness at the edges of your vision is replaced with blinding light. You feel your body floating midair until it’s suddenly being placed on the uneven sandy ground.

Above you, a Mandalorian helmet hovers in the sun.

“Din, thank God,” you murmur, reaching for him.

“I’m afraid not, my dear,” a female voice responds. The accent sounds almost British. 

Shock rocks your system as your eyes fully adjust to the light and you realize that the helmet above you is one painted a bronzy gold, with a tiara of spikes decorating its forehead. 

Looking around, you sit up in the sand to see that you are surrounded by five Mandalorians of various shapes and sizes.

“Cyar’ika?” Din’s voice is behind you, sounding scared shitless and relieved all at once.

Relief floods your own system as you turn to see your love and your child, sighing heavily as you lay all the way back down in the sand. A laugh bubbles up your throat, and though you are surrounded by strangers you say what you're thinking regardless. If nothing else, just so that Grogu knows you're okay. The fear coming from the boy is palpable inside your brain, and even in this state easing his worry is the only worry of your own.

“Never a dull moment to be had in this galaxy, huh boys?”

*****

“Din Djarin has returned to us,” says the female Mandalorian with spikes upon her beskar clad head. She’s the one who saved you, and who you rightly guessed to be the Armorer shortly after. The room is quiet as she announces your cosmic companion to the Mandalorians of varying ages scattered around the room. Some stand, some sit. Some are alone and some are clearly with a partner or family. All of them have distinctly different armor, giving a wide variety of looks in a room full of beskar faces. Most of which are pointed in your direction.

The Armorer's voice projects inside of the vast cave you now find yourself in, echoing slightly whenever she pauses. You and your family are in what you would consider to be the main room in a large network of clay caves. There’s an orange glow to the space from the various fires and torches being used for light, enhancing the natural color of the walls. Its entrance turned out to be only a few miles from the beach where you nearly became fish food, at the base of a deadly looking cliff that most of the locals actively avoid. 

The gaze of the woman’s visor falls upon you, looking you up and down. “And he has brought an outsider into our midst, as we see,” she says skeptically in your direction before addressing Din again. “You do know we will have to relocate again now that she has seen us, don’t you? Or have you spent so much time away that you have forgotten our ways?” 

You’re still half soaked, battered, and very much traumatized after having nearly been drowned and eaten by some sort of nasty fucking space-kraken not even forty-five minutes ago. But you’re alive, your son is in your arms, and the man you love is by your side. Right now? You’re truly thankful to be alive with these two people. 

You could give or take the room of two and a half dozen Mandalorians all glaring daggers at you under their helmets, though. You don’t need a connection to The Force to know that much is true. For the first time in the year you’ve known Din, you almost wish for a helmet of your own. Having your face be exposed in front of these people is wildly uncomfortable. It’s a far cry from your experience with Bo and her crew, and they’d made you uncomfortable for a whole different slew of reasons.

Din steps forward, bowing respectfully. He tells the Armorer your name. “She is my companion. She does not wish to take the creed at this time, but I have been teaching her the ways of our people. Please allow her entry as one of my own. She will keep this place a secret just as I have taught her. I do not bring an outsider with me lightly.”

“But she is not your riduur?” The Armorer interrogates. Your eyebrows raise at that, knowing she just used the word for spouse. Mando’a doesn’t have separate words for husband and wife. It’s all the same word, because Mandalorians see themselves as equal partners in a marriage. 

“No, not presently,” Din says after a quick glance at you. He’s aware that you know the word’s definition. It was in a recent ‘test’ as he likes to call them. You squint at him briefly, hoping he gets a hint of the ‘we’re going to talk about this later’ behind your eyes as you will him to feel it.

The Armorer presses on, “Are there plans to take the vow of riduurok?” 

The vow of marriage. Another word you know. Din glances at you again, and you reach over to squeeze his gloved hand.

Din squeezes your fingers back as he says, “She is the one I spoke of when you and I met on Nevarro.”

“You told her about me?” You ask, forgetting yourself as a smile creeps up your lips.

The intimidating female Mandalorian again directs her attention to you briefly. “Indeed he did. From how he spoke of you, I would think the ritual would have been performed by now.” Her head snaps back to Din. “And what of the child in her arms? Are you still on your quest?”

Your cosmic companion shakes his head, and Grogu coos. 

“I am not,” Din explains, “We completed my quest. I found a Jedi on the forest planet of Corvus named Ahsoka Tano. She and Grogu communicated using The Force, and Grogu has chosen to stay with us and learn the ways of our people. The Jedi are not his kin anymore. He has chosen us to be his parents.”

“Grogu?” The Armorer asks, voice lighter than it has been as she says it in a questioning tone. The baby coos at the sound of his name being said by a stranger, wiggling in your grasp.

“That is his name,” Din says, his voice sounding the slightest bit defensive. 

The woman nods. “If Grogu has chosen to remain with you, have you begun his teachings as well?”

Din shakes his head. “Yes, but he is clearly too young to take the creed.”

After a moment of consideration, the Armorer agrees. “Then he will remain your ward until you see fit to adopt him as your own.”

“How do we adopt him?” You ask, feeling like a novice as soon as you say it. 

“You must perform the ritual, of course,” Paz Vizsla, as Din pointed out to you, says this from his vantage point to the right. Pointedly, the man places a gloved hand on the left shoulder of a young boy with chin length brown hair and a bit of a sneer on his young face. Not sure what else to think, you assume from context clues that the boy must be Paz's own adopted son. 

You hadn’t noticed another human face in the crowd until now, and find yourself wondering idly if the boy had been hiding behind Paz. The child, helmet-less, smirks at you as if you’re the dumbest person he’s ever seen. It’s all you can do not to glare in return. 

Din sounds rather fed up with all of this questioning, stepping forward as he, in your opinion, speaks from his chest. “Armorer, please. I am aware of the severity of my actions. I know that it was a risk to bring her and the child here. But she is ner cyare. She and the child both. They mean more to me than you can know, and though I have not made it official, I consider them both to be a part of my clan. These two are ner aliit. Clan Mudhorn is a clan of three, rituals or not. We only just completed the mission recently, and we haven’t stopped our travels much since. I have not had the proper respite to clear my head or consider what our next steps will be. The rituals should be performed with clarity and mindfulness, should they not?”

Your heart nearly leaps from his chest at hearing him speak about you in such a way, and about Grogu. In front of his entire tribe, no less. In front of an elder he respects the opinion of. Reaching over, you squeeze his hand again and kiss Grogu on the back of the head. Lips tugging upward, a satisfied grin spreads across your face.

The Armorer stays silent for a while, looking at the three of you as she considers this information. After what feels like twenty minutes, she finally nods in the affirmative. Clearly she liked Din’s answer. 

“Let it be said, the child Grogu and the woman,” she says your name, “are members of Clan Mudhorn. They are Din Djarin’s aliit. We will treat them as such, in return they will keep our home here a secret. When it is time, their connection will be written in song. This is The Way.”

Every single Mando in the room, including Din, repeats almost in unison, “This is The Way!”

You lamely try to get it out as they say it, but the phrase dies awkwardly on your tongue. It felt right when you said it to Din the night before Grogu officially became yours. Saying it now in this room full of Din’s militant brethren makes you feel like a poser and a half. 

People begin to disperse after that. Din sighs deeply with irritation beside you, and before you even notice his presence walking up, you know a sigh like that can only be reserved for someone like Paz Vizsla.

“Djarin,” Paz says with a nod.

“Vizsla,” Din says, nodding in return. 

The bigger man gestures to the boy at his side. The kid seems to be around twelve if you had to guess. “This is my son, Ragnar. He joined my clan recently, after we saved him and a small group of children from an abandoned space station before we settled here. Tomorrow he will take the creed. This planet was home to a well known underground beskar dealer. I retrieved the beskar for his helmet myself.” Paz finishes this last part with obvious pride. 

“Congratulations, young one,” Din says respectfully to the child. Then to Paz, “What of the other foundlings?”

“We have them set up in a nursery of sorts. Some of them are too young to take the creed, much like yours. Some do not know if this is the path they wish to take. None of the adults have stepped forward to take any of them on yet besides me.” Paz says this last part almost judgmentally, and you realize that most of the things that come out of his mouth must sound judgmental. No wonder Din has issues with this guy. He comes on strong right from the get go. 

“I’m the oldest,” Ragnar interjects, clearly needing some attention. It’s quickly apparent how much the kid’s trauma affects him, and though he seems like a bit of a brat your heart goes out to him. “When the adults all died I was our leader. I kept us alive until my new dad saved us. That’s why I’m gonna take the creed and become a real Mandalorian like him. I learned how important it is to take care of one’s own. Loyalty and solidarity are The Way.”

“That’s very noble of you,” you say to the child, noticing how he and Grogu seem to be preoccupied with each other. “Would you like to meet my son? This is Grogu. He joined our clan recently too. So did I, I suppose. He loves to play if you’re looking for a new friend. And I’m sure he’d love to meet the other kids too.” You tell Ragnar, heart swelling at how confident you sound and feel calling Grogu your son to this boy.

“Hi, Grogu,” Ragnar says, tentatively reaching a finger up to one of Grogu’s outstretched hands. 

Grogu coos and chirps in response. For a moment you see the stony resolve slip away and Ragnar just looks like a normal kid to you. It makes you sad, and it makes you wonder how similar this boy is to how Din was when he was a child. Din’s said himself that he was an angry kid after his parents died. It sounds like this boy Ragnar not only had to witness his parents die but was immediately thrust into a position of responsibility he never asked to be in right after.

“What happened to the adults on your space station?” You ask tentatively.

Paz answers this, “A virus. It wiped out the entire adult population. Children who have not yet progressed into their teens are immune, and carry the antibodies in their blood.”

“You are a brave one, Ragnar,” Din says softly beside you.

A chill runs up your spine at that. If you’re not mistaken that sounds like the plot to an actual horror movie you saw at the theater when you were a teen yourself. This child lived through that? Okay maybe he gets a bit of a pass for being a brat. But his dad has no excuse as far as you know. 

“I see the numbers have regrown since Nevarro,” Din says, obviously trying to make idle conversation while he has to, but trying to gear towards ending it. 

“Grown enough, yes,” Paz agrees. “We found more of our kind scattered in hiding than we thought we would.” Then he looks right at you and says, “but we always need more.” 

Ugh. Alright, then. Maybe Paz is just not worth the time of day. The energy he gives off is fairly cultish, and you really don’t want Bo-Katan to be right about that.

When the two of them go off to their respective places, you turn to Din with a question flowing from your lips, “Is the Mandalorian who adopted you here?”

Din’s head whips to you sharply, his tone sharp as well, “What?”

“Is that not how it works? I guess I just assumed that any Mandalorian who saves a child becomes their parent. Like you with Grogu or Paz with Ragnar. You’ve mentioned having a mentor, but nothing else about him really.”

“He never adopted me,” Din replies evenly. His emotions flare within him, several all at once. Anger, hurt, betrayal, guilt, confusion. 

Shit. 

“Oh, crap. Din, I’m sorry I didn’t mean to bring up something painful. We’ve never had a conversation about this and now’s definitely not the time.” Your stomach sinks as the words leave your lips. You’ve never felt this specific pain from him before. 

His voice is stony, “It’s fine. He left our tribe a long time ago. I didn’t know him for more than a handful of years.”

“But, still. I shouldn’t have assumed. That was wrong of me.” You reach for him, and he pulls his arm away, turning to walk out the way your party came in. 

Coldness radiates from him. “Really, it’s fine. Don’t worry about it. Come on, let’s go get the Crest.”

Oh, but you most certainly will worry about it. What the fuck did you just do? What can of worms was meant to be left alone? 

*****

The Razor Crest gets relocated to a secluded spot close to the Tribe’s caves, and it’s decided that Din’s clan may remain for as long as is needed. It’s after this that Din and his family return from the ship with the beskar spear gifted by Ahsoka Tano. Din takes it straight to the Armorer’s workshop while you and Grogu go off with Ragnar to find the group of foundlings from the space station.

“What is this?” The Armorer asks, voice laced with disapproval as she looks at the weapon. 

Din holds the spear out to her with two hands, head bowed slightly. “It was the gift of a Jedi. The one who helped us with Grogu. It can block a lightsaber. It could prove useful.”

The Mandalorian elder clicks her tongue. “It can also pierce beskar armor. Its mere existence puts Mandalorians at risk. Mandalorian steel is meant for armor, not weapons.”

Din holds the spear out to her even more. “Then forge it into armor, please.”

The Armorer takes it from him, moving to place the tip of it on the great flames of her forge. The beskar begins to glow red within moments. Din takes a seat nearby, feeling the urge to press his most trusted elder about some of the information he’s learned over the last few months.

“Have you ever heard of Bo-Katan Kryze?” Din asks, curious as to how this is going to go.

The Armorer turns to him, nodding. “Bo-Katan is a cautionary tale. She once laid claim to rule Mandalore based purely on blood and a weapon known as the darksaber. But it was gifted to her and not won by Creed as it was supposed to be. Bo-Katan Kryze was born of a mighty house, but they lost sight of The Way. Her rule ended in tragedy. They lost their way, and we lost our world. Had our sect not been cloistered on the moon of Concordia, we would have not survived the Great Purge. Those born of Mandalore strayed away from the path. Eventually, the Imperial interlopers destroyed all that we knew and loved in the Night of a Thousand Tears. Only those that walked the way escaped the curse prophesied in the Creed. Though our numbers were scattered to the winds, our adherence to The Way has preserved our legacy for the generations until we may someday return to our home world.”

Din takes a deep breath before telling her of his discovery, nervous to bring up such a subject but desperate for answers. “I met her on my travels. She helped me to secure Grogu’s safety from the Empire and find the Jedi who gave me that spear.”

“And what did you learn?”

“Her people show their faces. At first I did not want to trust her because of this, and I’m not entirely sure that I fully do, but she fought alongside me with honor. She is now leading a crusade to reclaim our home world, and she believes that uniting all the clans regardless of their beliefs is the only way to truly make that happen.”

“A fool’s errand,” The Armorer retorts, shaking her bronze head as she pushes the spear further into the flames. “They do not walk The Way. Coexistence is impossible.”

“But does that make them any less Mandalorian than we are? They speak the same language. They wear the same armor. I am starting to wonder why there has to be only one Way. Perhaps coexistence is the way to preserve the future of our people. This lifestyle of shadows and caves cannot be sustainable forever.”

“Something has changed in you, Din Djarin,” she declares, not looking up from her work. Then she asks him the question he’s been both expecting and dreading this entire time. The question which makes his heart both speed up and sink to his feet all at once. “Has your woman seen your face? Have you removed your helmet for her?”

“She has not seen my face,” Din replies evenly, hoping to any deity listening that she will leave it at that.

She does not. Repeating slowly, “Have you removed your helmet for her?”

Fuck, he thinks, using the term like you do in his head. You can do this. It's one tiny syllable. Din licks his suddenly dry lips, forcing himself to utter a soft, “No.”

The Armorer doesn’t respond at first. She merely melts down the rest of the spear, leaving Din to sit there in a pool of his own sweat for a few moments. The longest few moments of his life, practically.

Then she turns to him and his breath hitches in his throat. They stare at each other for what feels like a full minute, and then she casually asks him, “What shall I forge for you, Din Djarin?”

Din feels like the mudhorn sitting on his chest just got lifted midair by his Force-wielding son, trying desperately not to be too loud as he exhales with relief. 

Should he hate himself for lying to the Armorer? Probably. Does he? Not really. The bond Din has with you means more to him than anything else at this point. If he has to take what the two of you do in private with a cloth over your eyes to his grave then so be it. 

“Not for me,” Din finally replies. “Something for a foundling.”

“This is the way,” she responds.

“For a specific foundling. Grogu.” Din adds, just in case it wasn’t clear that he was referring to his foundling. “And if there is enough left after that, I have another request.”

*****

While Din conducts his business with the Armorer, Ragnar and Paz show you to the room where the orphans from the space station are being watched over. It's not far down the corridors from where that huge meeting took place earlier, and like every part of the caves it's well lit with torches in every wall.

Inside the room are five makeshift bunks, one of which Ragnar proudly announces as his own. He then announces you and Grogu to the four other children playing in the open area.

Upon entry, a female Mandalorian with intense armor painted in a black and red design looks up from playing with the youngest child, and you instantly feel skepticism dripping from the woman's energy.

"Paz," she greets Ragnar's father with a single nod. Then her head shifts so that her visor is pointed at you. "And Djarin's woman," her thickly accented voice is laced with animosity. She vaguely sounds eastern European, while not at the same time.

"I have a name, thank you," you bite back, stating as much. "What's yours?"

The woman shrugs you off, and Paz chuckles beside you. "Teckla is one of the few who have volunteered to help with the children until they are taken on for adoption or apprenticeship."

"The pleasure all is mine, I'm sure," you mutter, pleased with yourself as you whip out one of your favorite Earth phrases. Never mind that it's lost on these moody Mandos.

Grogu squirms in your grasp, unperturbed by the adults as he chirps and grabs air.

"Ragnar, can Grogu please meet your friends?" You ask the brown haired boy, ignoring the other two grown ups.

You sit Grogu down on the rough ground, watching as he pads forward towards the group of kids.

There are five of them all together including Ragnar. The one playing with Teckla seems to be the youngest at around four or five, a blonde girl with pale skin and big sad eyes holding a stiffed bantha. Two of the kids are identical twins a few years older than the first girl, with dark skin and two very different haircuts to help tell them apart. The final child is not human.

A child about the same height as Ragnar steps forward, holding up a green hand to wave down at Grogu. You're intrigued to note that the tips of his fingers appear to be suction cups. This child is of a species you have yet to encounter until now, being both obviously humanoid and very unique all the same. His skin is comprised of greenish-blue scales, with pointed fin-like ears and a thin ridge of spines leading up the back of his head to where two antenna protrude from his forehead. His dark eyes are much larger than a human's and in lieu of a nose the boy has a snout.

"This is Klo, my best friend," Ragnar introduces the alien boy proudly.

"Nice to meet you," Klo says politely with a nod.

"Who's that?!" The little girl asks loudly, pointing right at Grogu.

"This is Grogu," you say, moving forward to squat down behind your boy. "My son."

"He doesn't look like you," she says, mouth scrunching to one side in thought as her nose wrinkles.

With a soft chuckle, you explain, "That's because he's a different species than me, but he's still my son regardless. What's your name?"

"Nayea," she says, smiling as she bounces on the balls of her feet. "Can Grogu play with me?"

"Sure, as long as you ask him nicely and say please."

The twin with the long hair tied into an intricate braid moves forward to get a good look at Grogu, announcing them-self to be Shari, and their twin sibling with a cropped haircut as Nix. You notice that the child never uses male or female pronouns to describe them-self or their sibling, and both seem to be in androgynous dress.

Pocketing this information for the future, you allow the children to become aquatinted with your own child by standing back up to join Paz where he has been quietly observing. Teckla stands to join the adults as well, coming to your side with her arms crossed in a standoffish stance.

"Will these children really all become Mandalorians?" You ask, voice lowered so that the kids themselves cannot hear you.

"Some, probably not the entire group," Teckla says confidently.

"What if no one takes them on?"

"Then one of us must take on the responsibility of returning them to their own kind," Paz answers.

"Like Din and Grogu," you murmur, intrigued by the notion of this happening to orphaned children all across the galaxy.

"Most children choose to stay once they form a bond with one of us," Teckla adds, her black helmet with red accents giving her an intimidating presence as she explains their culture to you as if you're dumb.

"Like Din and Grogu," you repeat as if she's the dumb one, rolling your eyes slightly. "Are you planning to take one on?"

She nods, "Nayea has become very attached to me. She's too young to truly begin her training, though. A couple who recently took the vow of riduurok will likely take on the twins. Klo has not decided if he wishes to stay or return to his home world of Rodia."

"It's so sad that so many young ones had to experience this loss at such a young age," you muse, lips twitching from a sad frown to a grin as Nayea makes Grogu laugh. "But how fortunate that they get a chance for a new life here."

"This is The Way," both Paz and Teckla say in unison.

*****

The following day you find yourself standing in the mid-morning sun on the rocky beach just outside of the covert's caves with the entire group gathered once again. This time even the children from the space station are in attendance with that woman Teckla keeping them all from acting up.

Everyone is gathered round the Armorer as she addresses her tribe with the same vigor she used the day before.

"We gather here today to witness Ragnar Vizsla take the creed. Step forward, child."

The crowd reminds quiet as the boy steps forward, squinting in the harsh sun up at the Armorer.

"Repeat after me," The Armorer commands in her accented, booming voice, "I swear on my name and the names of the ancestors..."

"I swear on my name and the names of the ancestors..."

"That I shall walk the Way of the Mand'alor..."

"That I shall walk the Way of the Mand'alor..."

"And the words of the Creed shall be forever forged in my heart."

"And the words of the Creed shall be forever forged in my heart."

The Armorer slips the child's new helmet, a similar blue color to that of his father's, upon his small head. You hear that same hiss you hear from Din's sometimes as she secures it on the child's head and both of them say in unison, "This is the Way."

"This is the Way!" The crowd repeats.

That's that. The kid can never take that thing off again. What a wild thing to really realize, and to witness. Is this what it had been like for your cosmic companion all those years ago?

Next to you, you note that Din either mumbled the Mandalorian catch phrase so quietly that you could not hear him, or he did not say it at all. Something is going on with him and you're determined to get to the bottom of it, but you're starting to think that here with the tribe is a terrible place to do so.

After a moment of respectful silence, you whisper over to him, "That's it?"

"Not entirely," Din says, nodding forward to redirect your attention.

"Now you must choose your first challenger," the Mandalorian elder tells the boy.

Ragnar's visor scans the beach, until he lands directly on you. Or rather, the child in your arms. Oh hell no, this kid is not about to choose Grogu.

Thankfully, his attention moves to another child wearing a green helmet standing somewhere behind you. "Harak," Ragnar announces.

And then you have to awkwardly stand there watching two adolescents spar on the sand, waiting patiently until Ragnar overpowers Harak and shoots him three times in the belly with the Mandalorian vambrace equivalent to a paintball gun.

Paz cheers for his boy, congratulating him and hoisting him up on one of his huge shoulders. It's then that you assume you're good to disperse, and it's then that you are very wrong.

The Armorer calls your name and asks you to step forward. "Bring the child with you," she demands.

Din follows close behind as you tentatively approach the intimidating woman. Next to her booted feet in the orange sand lay two spears and a small, lidded crate. She squats down to lift the lid, visor looking at you all the while.

"Din Djarin claims that he has been teaching the two of you our ways. I would like to put this to the test. Grogu will spar with Ragnar." The elder announces coolly.

She pulls out a tiny little version of that same wrist shooter Ragnar used against his opponent, holding it out to Din.

Din takes the weapon and nods to you, strapping the mini vambrace onto Grogu's little arm while you hold him. "Don't worry, buddy. You'll be fine. You know what you're doing. I've seen what you can do, now it's time to show them."

"I don't think he does know what he's doing, Din. Don't you think he's too little for this?" You gently argue with a forced smile, aware of the fact that strangers are watching you.

"I do think he's a bit young, but we both know how capable he is," Din pushes back. Then he whispers, "Trust me, cyar'ika. Please." The genuineness to his tone is hard to ignore, so you cave rather quickly after that.

"I don't know what any of this is about, but I'll trust you," you whisper back with a shake of the head.

Watching Grogu tentatively approach Ragnar with his arm raised, you listen as the Armorer explains the rules of this challenge. The first to land three hits to his opponent wins. Din squats down to reassure the child once more with a pat on the head, and you find yourself shaking your own once more in disbelief.

Ragnar lands the first two hits, which instantly annoys you because now Grogu's robe will have to be washed, but it upsets you even more when your son looks back at you as if he wants to cry. Oh hell no. We're not doing that. Soccer mom is coming out.

A voice you're not use to using finds its way out of you, waving your arms and shouting supportively, "Come on, Grogu! You got this, buddy! Dad's right, show these Mandos what you're made of! Woo-hoo!"

That's when a feeling of courage flutters through The Force, and you watch with delight as your son dodges Ragnar's next attack by flipping over the shot, then quickly raising his arm to rapid fire three shots into the older boy's chest.

"Hell yeah, Grogu!" you and Din shout together triumphantly.

Waves of pride flow through Grogu's being in The Force, but off to the side you feel a mix of embarrassment and shame from the tribe's newest member. Whoops. This was probably not how Ragnar envisioned his special day would go.

You look over to see the child burry his helmeted face in his adoptive father's stomach, and you realize in this moment how interesting it is to be a parent. To feel such pride for your son's achievement, but for that achievement to come at the cost of another child's feelings. The notion of it pulls at your heart.

"Grogu has proven his skill. He is well on track to apprenticeship. Now," the Armorer says your name, causing your head to whip up and mouth to drop open in surprise as she announces, "you shall spar with Teckla."

"What?" you hiss, grabbing for Din's shoulder as you whisper fiercely, "What the fuck, Din?"

"You're great at sparring, cyar'ika," Din replies simply.

"With you, not with a scary stranger!"

"Think of this as an opportunity to make yourself proud. Don't worry about me or the others. Prove to yourself that you're as strong as I've always known you are. Remember your warrior's heart. You're ner verd too, you know." Din's voice is so sincere, and the love flowing from him feels like a calming weighted blanket wrapping itself around your energy in The Force.

How can you say no to that?

"Damn you, Djarin. That was a good speech," you mutter, conceding to your fate.

"I know it was," your love replies, voice cheeky as he moves to bump his forehead into yours.

You step forward, smiling down at Grogu as you pass by him even though inside you're freaking out. Teckla, who seems to hate your guts simply for showing your face, is already standing beside the armorer with her arms crossed over her beskar chest plate. From her stance you like to think she's raising an expectant eyebrow or wielding a crazed grin under her black helmet.

As you approach, the Armorer kneels down to retrieve the spears from the sand. She hands one to each of you as she stands.

"The first one to get their opponent to yield wins," she states simply, backing up. "You may begin."

Before you can really register what's going on or think about getting ready, Teckla is charging you with her spear raised and a modulated war cry in her throat.

"Fuck," you blurt, squatting low to dodge her attack. You've only practiced with a staff one or two times at best and that was months ago training with Cara on Nevarro. Din doesn't use one in his own daily life and the razor crest is just too cramped for it. Any other weapon would have been preferable to this long obstructive thing in your hands.

"The best thing a Mandalorian can do in the face of battle is be adaptable," Din's voice rings through your mind just as Teckla whips around to send another swiping attack your way. You roll across the sand, moving back up into a squat as you face her with the pointed end of your spear raised in warning.

Okay, be adaptable, you think. And then you and Teckla are clashing weapons head on. The scrapes and clanks create a strange beat with the waves crashing in the background of it all. She swipes and you dodge. You jab forward and she jumps back.

"Come on, outsider," the woman taunts, accent thick. "This really the best you got? That kid of yours had better moves than this. Djarin," she calls to Din, "you can't teach worth shit!"

Din and Grogu watch from the sidelines, and you know that they heard that. You know that this woman is trying to make you look foolish in front of your family. You know that this woman is trying to make you feel small. Well guess what? You left every single person who could make you feel small back on Earth, and this person has no power over you. Anger flares within you, and while she takes a moment to laugh at her own insult you take a powerful step to launch yourself forward.

You're not sure where this move even comes from, but suddenly you're stabbing the spear hard into the sand, using the leverage it to lift your legs and vault yourself forward towards your opponent. With enough momentum you manage to gain some air, both of your boots making contact hard with the beskar chest plate protecting her heart.

Teckla goes flying backwards with a startled cry, and within seconds you're kneeling on her gut with one knee. The tip of your spear points at her exposed throat just below the base of her helmet.

Between panting breaths you defiantly ask, "Do you yield?"

Teckla doesn't answer at first, hands coming to grip your spear as if she will fight back. You press harder into both her stomach and her neck.

"I said, do you yield?!" You repeat.

"I yield!" Teckla finally submits, practically throwing you off of herself once you let up some.

It's quiet for a long moment, and at first you think that you're about to be shunned publicly. Then suddenly the crowd of Mandalorians all cheer triumphantly and your worries subside.

"Great job, cyar'ika!" Din says proudly, coming up to you with Grogu in his arms. "Tell your mom she did a good job, buddy."

Grogu coos at you, and you know that he's telling you as much in his own way.

Your heart swells with pride for yourself, and for your family. "Thank you, boys."

"Impressive," the Armorer says. "I would like to see you and Grogu in my forge."

*****

When you take a seat before the Armorer and her great flaming forge, you realize why sitting in her presence feels so important to Din and his people. Sitting in her forge feels a bit like what you assume sitting in a confessional both must feel like. To have one on one time with the most revered elder, to feel as if whatever this person is about to say it must be important in the grand scheme of your own life.

Din is waiting for you somewhere in the common area of the caves, having stated that this experience is one he feels you and Grogu should experience on your own. The child in question is seated beside you, with a tiny hand resting on your thigh. He seems in awe of everything happening, the light from the forge's flames dancing in his big dark eyes.

When the Armorer turns to face you both, she is holding up what looks like a small t-shirt made of chain mail. She presents the shirt to Grogu with a bow of the head.

"Din Djarin requested that I forge this garment of protection for you, Grogu. The steel from Ahsoka Tano's beskar spear aided in it's creation." She lays the garment in front of the boy, and then turns back to her forge once more. She picks up a small silver disc and begins tinkering with the hardware on the inside of it with some sort of sci-fi screwdriver.

"It is tradition in our culture for each to donate a small portion of what they earn to the foundlings. It is with these scraps of beskar that I forged the next piece of your armor." The tribe elder comes to kneel before your son, presenting him with a round shield-like piece the size of his torso. What really gets you is the mudhorn skull carved into the steel. It's identical to Din's. "Mandalorian steel with keep you safe as you grow stronger. You will grow into this rondel as you grow into your station, foundling Grogu."

Grogu coos at the Armorer, more pride flowing through him.

"Grogu's shirt was not the only request your companion made." The Armorer speaks to you now, standing to return to her forge. With her back to you she adds, "Din Djarin asked that I make something else should there be enough steel left from the spear. I was not convinced that he was just in asking for this until I saw proof of your skills on the beach today. It is true that you impressed me. But being able to fight is one thing. What of loyalty?"

Thoughts swirl in your mind, unsure as to how you should answer such a question. Eventually you settle on, "I have proven my loyalty to Din and Grogu countless times. I took a life for the first time in order to protect them from harm. It was not easy for me to kill another living being. But if it meant keeping those dear to me safe then I would do it again without hesitation."

"Yes, the Anzati foe you killed on Smuggler's Moon. Djarin told me of this."

"Then you know I am serious."

"What of your own death? If it came down to you or this child, what would you do?"

"I would forfeit my own life for the sake of his."

The two of you look at each other for a long moment, and then the Armorer nods and begins working with her tools once more. She says nothing as she works on something, presumably for you from the way she was talking. A piece of beskar all your own? That certainly wasn't what you'd been expecting out of this. No wonder Din was being weird about encouraging the fight on the beach. It had clearly been a test, and had you been prepared you probably wouldn't haven't proven yourself under pressure.

Sounds of hammering fill the dimly lit room. The only true light source is coming from the flames of her forge. Torches light the room's entrance, but that's about it. Beside you Grogu hold his little chest plate up with wonder in his big eyes, and looking at him gets you to thinking about his relationship with Din. Which leads you to thinking about Din's relationship with his own Mandalorian mentor.

"May I ask a question?"

The hammering stops briefly. "You may."

"Where is the Mandalorian who Din was an apprentice to? The one who saved him on Aq Ventina?" You ask the question that's been burning in your mind for twenty-four hours.

"Din Djarin has not told you of this?" She asks, voice weary.

"He has not," you reply evenly. "And when I brought it up the pain he gave off was very concerning, but he would not talk to me about it. Did this man hurt Din in some way?"

The Armorer continues her work as she explains, "Only in the sense that he hurt all of us. Castyl Vanda is an apostate. He removed his helmet for an outsider and left us when Djarin was still in training. Every Mandalorian master must take his or her apprentice on their journeys throughout the galaxy. It is how we learn about life, and how to survive. When your companion was sixteen and off on his journeys, Castyl suddenly dropped him off with us one day and simply never returned. I continued with Din's training myself, but the wound it left in him was one that did not heal for many years."

Shit. This makes total sense now that you understand the context.

"Why did his master choose to become an apostate?" you ask.

"Love, so it would seem," the Armorer replies evenly. The disappointment in her tone is evident.

Jesus. No wonder he was nervous to bring you here.

"Well, I want you to now that I've told Din many times how much I respect his way of life. I would never ask him to give this up for me. I am content to only know the beskar face he displays."

"And yet you do not wish to take the oath yourself?"

With a sigh, you tell her honestly, "I came to this galaxy from a place that was not very kind to me. I was never really allowed to be myself on my home world. When I came here it was like I finally met myself, and I liked who I met. But I'm sill learning who she is. I'm not ready to sacrifice any of her freedoms just yet. I can appreciate your culture and uphold its values without a buy'ce on my head." Hopefully that little hint of Mando'a earns you a brownie point.

The Armorer takes in your response with a nod, "A wise response."

"Really?" You're shocked by her reaction.

"The Mandalorian creed should only be taken when one feels sure. It's not something to be taken lightly. But Din Djarin was right when he said your have the heart of a Mandalorian. And that is why you have earned this pauldron," the woman says as she turns to face you with another silver piece in her gloved hands.

Your heart skips a beat at the sight of it. Almost identical to the pauldron on Din's right shoulder but a little daintier in size and shape. A mudhorn skull is engraved in the steel just like Din and Grogu's. The Armorer helps to fasten it to your shoulder, and an odd feeling of accomplishment rolls through your person.

*****

“Is Paz getting a tattoo?” You ask, shocked to see such an Earthly thing occurring in this cave filled with Mandalorians on a planet billions of light years away from the place. Across the common area, Teckla is using some sort of a laser device to carve out some sort of design on Paz's exposed forearm.

“Tattoos are commonplace in our culture," Din replies with a shrug.

Looking him up and down, you're almost certain that he's bare of any ink. “How come you don’t have any? Unless you have one on your face you never mentioned?”

He chuckles handsomely. “I do not. Never had anything important enough to put on my skin like that. Most of us use it as a way to commemorate our clans.

Ragnar's little voice appears out of nowhere to your right. "He's getting my name!" The child declares proudly. "And our clan signet. We are a clan of two."

"Huh," you marvel, glancing down at your shoulder where the unfamiliar weight of your beskar armor sits. Your beskar armor. Din just about passed out when he saw you coming towards him wearing it. Confusing as all of this Mando stuff is, the feeling of pride that strikes within your heart is unmeasured.

"What if we got mudhorns?" You ask him seriously.

"You mean like on our armor?" He asks, voice light with the question.

Our armor. Christ the butterflies in your stomach are going to start flying up your throat if your let them.

You grin. "Yes, just a thought. I always wanted a tattoo on Earth but I also never had anything that I felt like getting permanently. But now that I have you and Grogu, I feel like I do."

"Mm," Din hums in response. "I do like the sound of it. We can talk."

Ragnar interrupts the adults to ask, "Can Grogu come play with us?"

You look at the child in your arms, brain accessing that part of it in touch with The Force. "Do you want to play with your new friends, sweetheart?"

*****

“Why is it that you never call me ‘baby?'” Din asks, breaking you from your train of thought. He's got you cleaning weapons and polishing armor while the kids play.

With a soft laugh, you inquire, “I’ve actually got an answer for this. Why do you ask?”

He shrugs. “It seems like that’s a popular, what did you call it? Pet name? It seems like a popular Earth pet name for the one you love. It’s in every other song.”

“I didn’t realize how much you’ve picked up on that. Does it bother you that I don’t?”

“No, I suppose not. I’m just curious.”

“Well, to me, you’re so far removed from Earth. Calling you an Earth pet name like that has never felt right to me. I call you ner verd when I feel the need to call you something. You’re my warrior.” 

“Mm,” Din hums thoughtfully. “I don’t know why, but I like 'baby'. The way it’s used in the songs about love and romance creates an oddly warm sensation in my abdomen. I realize that your people are using it differently than the word's true definition, which is certainly very odd. Baby Be Mine, for example. That song makes me think of you, not of Grogu."

Before you can remark on how adorable Din sounds, something stops you. The grin which had been about halfway across your face falls instantly. That now familiar fuzzy feeling in the back of your mind flares up suddenly, and this time there’s so much intensity to it that it causes you to audibly gasp and drop the blade you’ve been cleaning in the sand. 

“What is it, cyar’ika?” Din asks, voice concerned as his head turns sharply to look at you. 

“Something’s wrong with Grogu,” you say, worried. You’re getting onto your feet, already moving for him before the sentence has left your lips. 

Din quickly follows, asking, “Is it The Force? Do you feel him?”

“Yes, and he’s upset. More upset than he usually gets. This feels different for some reason, Din.” The foreboding way in which that came out of your mouth was unintentional. It doesn’t feel as if he’s in mortal peril, but Din doesn’t know that. 

In your mind, an intense pang of fear flares from your cosmic companion just as his silver head whips forward and he’s rushing past you. 

When you round the corner up ahead just after he does, you’re met with a sight you weren’t ready to see. 

Grogu is standing there, angrily sobbing with both shaking little hands raised up. One of the children he’d gone off to play with is on the ground about fifteen feet away from Grogu, groaning in pain as he rolls around in the sand. It's Ragnar, to be specific. 

The rest of the children are huddled around each other, looking confused and nervous. 

“What is going on here, children?” Din asks sternly, using his father voice in full force.

Two of the children, the twins, both look at each other with worried expressions. They seem to have some sort of silent sibling communication for a moment before Shari nods to their sibling, and Nix takes a deep breath before looking up at Din. 

“Grogu wanted to play in our game but Klo and Ragnar didn’t want him to. Klo said he was too small and he wasn’t going to get it. I think that made Grogu sad, but then when Ragnar called him a tiny cry baby Grogu got mad.” Nix explains. 

“I can see that,” you say with a worried frown. Then you look the offending boy up and down for a moment before asking, “Are you okay, Ragnar?” 

The child nods, helmet glinting. He’s definitely about to cry. You can hear the sniffles clear as day, and you can feel how fraught his energy is in The Force. Whether he’s about to cry from pain or embarrassment, it’s hard to hell. 

Din seems to be less concerned with Ragnar’s feelings, stating firmly to him that, “Mandalorians should never exclude each other. Our people are already scattered across the galaxy. There aren’t many of us left. We must build a community around those we do have and remember to respect one another. Grogu may be small, but he’s just as capable as the rest of you.”

“But he’s not part of the covert!” Ragnar shouts, voice filled with angry confusion as his fists ball up at his sides in the orange sand. “He’s an outsider! My dad says all of you are! Even you!” The helmeted child angrily points at Din. Strange that just a day ago the boy's face had been on full display.

“Your dad and I grew up in this tribe together. He just doesn’t like me,” Din begins to correct the child with a chuckle. “He never has.”

"Then how come you spend so much time in space? Why not live here with us?" The angry child bites back.

Din explains, “I am a part of this covert, and Grogu is my son. By creed, he is a part of this covert too. We may not live here all the time, but our people are here regardless.”

“I think Grogu has cool powers!” The very little girl shouts, interjecting with her own opinion. Afterwards her shyness returns to her, and she burrows her face in the stuffed bantha she never seems to put down. Her name is Nayea, if you remember correctly. 

“I think he does too. And he must learn to never use them in the midst of hard feelings,” you tell the girl gently, thinking back to what Ahsoka said about the Jedi and their emotions.

But Grogu isn’t a Jedi. Like Din just said, Grogu is your son, and you have another opportunity to teach him something valuable about life. Moments like this feel completely terrifying, but it’s also a thrill to realize that this is exactly what being a parent is all about. 

He looks so scared of you when you walk up to him, and the very notion of that breaks your heart. You don’t need to feel that fear pressing against your mind. It’s clear as day on his tiny face. He understands how serious this is, and he’s so scared that he’s going to get punished harshly for it. 

“Hey, my sweet little boy,” you say to him, smiling down to try and reassure him that you’re not angry. He looks relieved, and you try your best to push that feeling toward him in The Force as you kneel down before him. 

After a moment his lip begins to quiver, and you reach a tentative hand out to him. He lets you touch him with ease, so you move to rub soothing circles into his upper back. “We need to have a conversation about this with your daddy, sweetheart. But we’re going to go do that in private, okay?”

Grogu nods, looking ashamed of himself as he dips his gaze away. You move a finger under his chin to gently make him look at you. With misty eyes, you’re smiling at him so genuinely as you say, “I’m not angry with you. This is something you need to learn from, but that doesn’t mean I’m angry. Okay? Please trust me, Grogu. I love you very much.”

“She’s right, Grogu. I’m not angry either,” Din says from behind you. He must be looking down at the kid from his full height, because Grogu has to really tilt his head to look up at the beskar clad father figure. “But we need to have a serious talk about when it’s appropriate to use your powers on another person.”

The two of you make sure the other children are fine to be left alone, Ragnar being the main one you’re worried about. It’s less that you care about the little bully, more that you want to make sure something like this isn’t going to happen again. 

But, he’s a bully because he’s been through serious trauma. And that speaks to you on a personal level. It occurs to you in this moment that the Mandalorians of Din’s covert are all trauma bonded in a way. All of them are there because they’d been orphaned at one point or another. It makes you look at Ragnar more kindly, and gives another opportunity to explain the concept of this to Grogu. 

Din, Grogu, and yourself make your way out of the network of caves and over to the shore of the beach, far enough away from the Covert that there’s a true sense of privacy and far enough from the water to avoid another sea creature incident. Din sits Grogu down on a Rock, and then the two of you sit down in the sand in front of him. All three of you are at about eye, or visor, level with each other. 

You look over to Din, and he nods once at you. Taking that as a silent encouragement to speak first, you nod back and then look right at your child. 

“We want to start by saying that we are so proud of you for defending yourself. That being said, there is a time and place for you to use your powers like that and this was not one of those times.”

Din adds, “When you feel that your life or the life of someone you love is in danger, that is when it is okay to use your powers on another person.”

You nod, “And occasionally when it’s for something fun or silly that’s okay too. As long as you mean it in a nice way.”

Din seems to agree, then continues with, “The battle you fought today is the type of battle that can be won with words. I know you cannot talk yet, but sometimes actions speak louder than words do anyway. Your body may be small for now but when you live up to your own values then you can be the biggest person in the room. Act like the bigger person even when it feels hard to do so. Do not let your anger rule you. And if that doesn’t work, we can speak. We are your protectors while you are too young to defend yourself. Instead of relying on the power of the force, rely on the power of your family. Next time, come and get one of us and we’ll make sure you’re safe.” 

“It’s okay to feel your anger and process it, it's not okay to take it out on people. I’m sorry that kid hurt your feelings, though,” you add. “Anytime you need to feel hard feelings, your mom and dad will try to help you through it. That’s what we’re here for.” 

“Ragnar owes you an apology, but it’s easy to understand where his behavior comes from. He’s just an angry little boy who doesn’t know what to do with such big feelings, and he took it out on you.” Din seems to be speaking from the heart, and you can feel that coming from him. “I was like him once. He’ll learn his lessons in due time. All you can do is ignore him and keep your own head up.”

Grogu looks at Din with understanding and determination behind his dark eyes, nodding up at his father. 

You decide to add one more thing, drawing from a line in a movie which always stuck with you. “Life is going to always have moments like this. Some kids will be nice to you, and some kids will be mean. It’s up to you to react in a way you can feel proud of later. Besides, I think he was jealous that you beat him this morning. Remember that it's more about how he feels about himself than it is about you.

“Mom’s right on this one, buddy,” Din says, and you can hear the smile in his voice, love radiating off of his energy in The Force. 

“I love you boys so much,” you blurt out, eyes suddenly filling with tears. “We really do make a good family, don’t we?”

“We do,” Din agrees, voice choked.

*****

Next Chapter

Previous Chapter

Masterlist

*****

Taglist:

It all started when you got up to start your day and realized that you'd also started your period. You noticed the pain immediately, then you felt the distinct warm wetness between your legs and cursed. Sure enough, when you ran to the fresher to check there was a small, crimson stain on the crotch of your new favorite pair of comfortable sleep pants. A pair you’d recently received as a gift from Din, actually. 

There’d been no occasion for it, he’d simply just come home from a trip to a market with what you would equate to the closest thing you’ve found to sweatpants in this galaxy. You’re not sure of the material, but they stretch and they are far warmer than your thin and frankly worn yoga pants from Earth. Wearing the same few outfits for nearly a year straight means that the flimsier fabrics of Earth are already starting to fail you. You’ve been patching holes and making due where you can, but a new wardrobe is something you daydream about at least once a day. 

Din must have noticed how cold you were the night before and simply took care of the problem. Din took care of you in the way that a husband would, and the warmth of the garment was nothing compared to the warmth which spread through your chest at that moment. 

He even bought the pants in a color he knew you would enjoy, a lighter shade of purple. Light enough that it made the spot of blood that much more frustrating to deal with as you unsuccessfully tried to hide it from him. Logically, you knew Din wouldn’t care about the stain, but you still felt the need to sneak around like an embarrassed teen having a period for the first time. The anxiety of it was far too much to handle first thing in the morning, and irritability slowly began to infiltrate your steadily dysregulating nervous system.

Needless to say, what a miserable way to start your day. This is certainly a morning you hadn't planned for upon waking. In fact, you'd been hoping to take Grogu on a hike today. The planet you're currently stopped on for a few days rest is full of lush jungles and, according to Din, there's a waterfall about a mile's hike north from where the crest is parked. The plan had been to get started right after breakfast.

Well, that plan died along with the egg lost somewhere in your uterine lining. All you want to do now is curl up in the cot and cease to exist for a few hours.

Usually your monthly cycle is something you feel fairly confident in predicting, but the one your body is being burdened with this month is already proving to be something you have zero control over. It completely snuck up on you this time around, leaving you without your usual coping mechanisms as you try to make it through the morning routine with little success. 

You try to do your morning yoga, but peter out with fatigue fairly quickly into it. Soon afterwards, the cramps begin to really take hold and the pain is already way too intense to deal with.

Din himself seems to have also woken in a bit of a mood, which he confirms when he informs you that he feels a bad headache coming on and he, only half-kindly, says that he needs the ship to be quiet until he's got some caffeine and some bacta pills in him.

Then you both find out the hard way that the caf maker is finally done for, having needed to be replaced weeks ago. It'd been hanging on by the threads of Din's tinkering for months, but after some thick black slime comes out of it instead of the normal deep brown liquid adjacent to Earth coffee, the two of you begrudgingly decide it best to throw the thing out and look for a new one the next time a chance arises.

But without the caf, it's clear that Din's headache is only worsening. His mood eventually begins to suffer for it, which you can only somewhat sense through the storm of your own heightened emotions swirling through The Force.

Now it’s further along into the morning and the pain in your abdomen and thighs feels so awful that your mood is beginning to suffer along with your body. It’s bad enough that you catch yourself needing to brace against the wall in order to keep steady through the hardest bouts of it.

Worst of all, as much as you hate to ever admit such a blasphemous thing, Grogu is currently being fucking annoying. Extremely annoying, in fact. You love him dearly, but at a time like this when your patience is already worn thin, a needy little boy doing naughty things to get the attention of his down-for-the-count parents is getting under your skin like a bad rash.

The amount of times you've found yourself saying “Grogu, stop,” this morning is driving you fucking crazy. Grogu's been known to drive one a little crazy before, but today he's sending you over the edge.

When he manages to sneak past you during a bad cramp right after breakfast, he gets into the food storage to steal more snacks to eat despite what you know has to be a full belly. You’re so distracted by the pain that you don’t notice him at all when he slips past you. Eventually Jupiter alerts you to the missing child’s whereabouts, but by then it’s too late. Once you’ve found him he's already made a huge mess. 

“Grogu, stop. We just ate, my dude,” you try to say gently, picking him up and moving him over to where a moaning and groaning Din is laying in the cot. A useless Din, who barely watches him as you clean up. The medicine Din took should kick in soon, but his headache has rendered him kaput as far as Dad Duty seems to go.

Din's lack of help only sort of pisses you off. That is, until a sharp cramp rocks through you and, despite your own pain, you continue to dutifully chase after the increasingly rambunctious little boy squirting paint all over the floor of the ship. 

An attempt at distracting the green child with art has never gone more awry in the history of your time with him. When you find him this time, he hasn't spilled a few crumbs in the galley only fifteen minutes prior. No, that mess was a joy to clean up compared to the orange rendition of Jupiter on the wall and the globs of the stuff all over the floor. A Grogu finger painting mural would normally make your heart soar, but you’ve momentarily lost the ability to access the maternal part of you.

Through gritted teeth, you look down at his mischievous little smile and plead with your boy for mercy. “Grogu, sweetie, please stop. I'm begging you to stop. I don't know what's gotten into you today but please give your poor mama here a break. Dad’s no good to us right now and I’m running out of steam fast.”

For about twenty blissful minutes it feels as if your pleas got through to him; that Grogu has chosen the path of logic and reason.

Any semblance of motherly patience you have left in you leaves your body when Grogu suddenly starts yanking at Jupiter's tail from where it dangles off the end of the cot. Groaning, you say, a little harsher than before, “Grogu, stop it.”

He doesn't. Instead he yanks harder, giggling as Jupiter angrily whips her tail back and swipes a threatening set of claws at him over the cot's edge. She didn't make contact with the child, but you're willing to bet that the next paw will.

“That's the only warning you're going to get, Grogu,” you advise, both about his fate with Jupiter should he yank at her tail again and his fate with you should he continue to ignore you. Discipline doesn't come up very often on the Razor Crest, but occasionally time-outs are a necessity. This situation feels like it's teetering very close to the edge of ending in a time-out. 

Then you watch as three fingers move to wrap around the stripes of your cat’s nimble tail, green flesh nestling into orange fur. He yanks the hardest yet and Jupiter howls in either pain or annoyance, likely both, as she lunges for him. The angry cat hisses in his face with another claws-out swipe at the brown fabric of his robes and Grogu falls backwards looking both scared and hurt. 

Clearly having already learned the lesson he was meant to learn about testing Jupiter's limits, Grogu begins to sniffle with the beginnings of a cry.

But your own limits have been pushed to the brink. So before you can stop, you find yourself angrily shouting, “Grogu, I told you to stop it, god dammit!”

The moment that you snap at Grogu, everything shifts. You've never yelled at him before, not like that. He suddenly looks like he doesn’t even know you, and you sense not only fear coming from the tiny child but also betrayal.

That? That’s something you simply can’t handle.

It’s almost as if Grogu suddenly morphs into a young version of you right before your eyes. You’re looking into a mirror of the past, and you’re watching yourself learn that your own family, the ones who were supposed to love you unconditionally, were not to be trusted with your hardest feelings nor with your heart.

Is Grogu learning that lesson about you right now? The very thought of it makes you feel sick. All thoughts of your physical discomfort have left you, replaced only with frantic ones of shame and guilt. 

“Oh, no. Oh, Grogu, sweetie, I didn’t mean to do that,” you say softly, tentatively reaching for him, “I’m so sorry.”

Grogu recoils, flinging himself into Din’s boots to hide his face from you. Din hasn't said anything, but you know he heard you yell at the kid. He's been in the room this whole time, and he came over to presumably step in only moments before your outburst.

That’s when you feel a crack begin to form at the edge of your heart, and instead of facing this feeling of deep shame head on, you flee like a complete coward. All you can think is that you need to get off of this ship and get away from Grogu before you hurt him even more.

You take off for the ramp and slam on the controls, trying to ignore the sound of Din’s voice as he calls your name and the wail of Grogu’s great sobs as you descend the ship’s opening door.

*****

Din is shocked, not angry, that you yelled at Grogu.

He is very angry, however, that you ran from the Razor Crest not a moment later. 

That behavior is completely uncalled for to the Mandalorian, and he’s not going to rest until this is resolved.

Din doesn’t let you get very far, chasing after you without a second thought. You’re running fast, but Din’s legs are longer and he’s able to catch up with you easily. With an upset Grogu riding on his shoulder, Din quickly comes up behind you. He wants to handle whatever just happened, and though he's very frustrated with you, he knows not to approach it like that if he wants to get through to you. If there’s one thing he knows about you, it’s that humor is a usually a good way to grab your attention. 

“Don’t make me tackle you, my love,” he warns, a bit of a joke in his panting voice to let you know he’s not so upset with you that the two of you can’t bounce back from this. “You’re running from the Outer Rim’s best ex-bounty hunter, after all.”

Letting out a horrible cry, you’re suddenly dropping down to the ground, hands and knees in the dirt as you begin to sob uncontrollably. Din halts in his tracks, heart wrenching at the pained sounds coming out of you. The way it echoes through the jungle causes a deep frown to form under his helmet.

Okay... so maybe humor doesn’t always work.

Grogu gurgles unhappily next to Din's hidden left ear, and the aforementioned ex-bounty hunter frowns even deeper.

“Cyare,” Din starts, moving slowly to kneel down beside you. Firmly, he uses his favorite name for you, “Cyar'ika, please come back to the ship. We need to talk this through as a family.”

“I don’t deserve this family,” you say darkly, wet face still pointed towards the ground. Little blots of wetness have started to form in the soil between your hands. 

He sees your grimace, even if it’s only half of it, and all of the frustration he felt a moment ago leaves him when he sees just how miserable you look. Now he's merely worried.

“That’s ridiculous,” Din says matter-of-factly. “Come home. Now, please.”

You're shaking your head furiously, ignoring his urging to head back to the ship. “Is it ridiculous? I just spoke to Grogu the way my mother used to speak to me. I’m going to end up ruining him, Din. Ruined and broken, just like me.”

“You’re not ruined, love. Far from it,” Din's reply comes low and soft. His heart aches for you so bad at this moment. He feels that familiarly strange mix of both sadness for a younger version of you and anger towards those who gave you such a false sense of self worth. This isn’t the first time he’s seen the residual pain from your past worm it’s way into your present, and he damns those who couldn’t love you. Since the moment Din first realized that he loved you it’s all he's ever wanted to show you. How anyone could be so cruel to such a good person is beyond him.

“You’re biased because for some odd reason you love me,” you bite back, eyeing him out of your peripheral vision. 

It's clear to Din that your attempt at being snippy is meant to be some sort of challenge. One he doesn't intend to take.

“For some odd reason,” Din repeats sharply, rolling his eyes hard behind the beskar. “You can't be serious with that, cyar’ika.”

A little hiccup emerges from your parted lips, and your voice grows very small as you begin to sit up. “Sometimes I truly don’t understand why either of you love me. Not at times like this. I wouldn’t blame you if you two decided to leave me here. You’d make a hot single dad. I’m sure you’d do well for yourself.” As you say this Din can see that you’re finally ready for humor, trying to joke at the worst time as a way to pull yourself from what you’re feeling. 

Normally he lets these moments slide, but not this time. Not when what you just said gutted him the way that it has.

“Enough!” Din barks sternly, hating himself a little when you flinch at the intensity of it. His tone quickly softens as sighs and he addresses his reaction, “Sorry. I just… I do not want to hear you talk like that, okay? You can feel pain and you can feel remorse for your actions but do not immediately jump to those negative consequences or joke about leaving this family. That’s not funny. I would think you have more respect for us than that.”

Another pained hiccupping noise escapes you, and your eyes cast away from him back to the ground as you very softly whisper, “I only do that because I think it’ll hurt less if it ever turns out to be how this ends.”

“You’re the one threatening to leave. And that would hurt just as bad regardless of your coping mechanisms,” Din says pointedly, brown eyes narrowing only slightly. 

With a growl, you’re slamming a fist into the ground. “I know, dammit! Fuck, I shouldn’t have said that. I just feel scared. I've never yelled at him like that before, Din. What if I'm going to be just like my parents in the long run? What if I am not meant to be a mom?”

“I know you're afraid of that, but it is not going to be the case,” Din says softly, moving to place a hand on your back. “It’s okay, love. We're new parents, not your parents. Mistakes are bound to happen. It’s about how you recover from the mistakes, that’s what makes you a good mother. And you are a good mother, cyar’ika. We’re still learning how to do this. These things take time, and some things are just inevitable.”

Once he touches you and says those words, the floodgates seem to open and you’re crying again. Even harder, this time. He lets you sob for a good moment, rubbing circles into the small of your back as you heave and convulse.

As you do, Grogu climbs down from Din’s back. He can feel the tiny body using the cape of his cloak to slide down onto the ground, and the feeling of it fills Din’s chest with warmth for his boy. He smiles, watching as the child walks up to you with a brave look on his little face.

When the child places a tiny clawed hand on your arm, Din hears the breath hitch in your throat as you move up to sit up more on your knees.

Still weepy, though you’re attempting to calm yourself down as you wipe at your wet face with your sleeve, you look at Din for a moment then back down at Grogu.

“Hey, Green Bean,” you say softly, hiccupping every few seconds or so. As your mood dies down, you breathe a little more evenly. Din takes that as a good sign.

Grogu looks a little bit worried as he looks back at Din, so Din gives an encouraging smile under the beskar in the hopes that Grogu can feel it. Then he gives a nod, a physical gesture to show that same encouragement. 

“Go on, Grogu,” Din soothes, “Your mom didn’t mean to hurt your feelings. She was having a bad day and I know she regrets how she spoke to you. It happens to all of us. I’ve done it too, long before she came into our lives. Remember? And you forgave me back then. Right, buddy? You’ll do this too one day if you have a little one of your own. It’s an inevitable part of life. You’ll get overwhelmed and act in ways you’re not proud of. We all accidentally hurt our loved ones sometimes. But like I told your mom a minute ago, it’s about how we recover from these moments that defines who we want to be. As Mandalorians we have certain values we uphold, but there are also the values all living beings should live by. Respect is universal.”

You look at Din with a facial expression he’s not sure he’s ever seen on you. It’s a mix of so many things. Admiration, love, desire, but something else he cannot place. As if you are somehow seeing him for the first time.

In that split second, Din nearly considers ripping the helmet off of his head so that you really can see him for the first time. That impulse feels so close to the surface compared to the recent times he's wanted you to see him. So close to the surface that he's sure he's lost his kriffing mind. But it’s not all selfish. Din also wants you to feel secure in your dual roles as his romantic partner and co-parent to Grogu. Din wants to truly show you what you mean to him.

“Grogu,” you say the child's name softly, pulling Din back to the present as you reach a hand out to the child. Palm facing up, you allow the kid to come to you rather than moving for him.

The kid waddles forward and places three clawed fingers in the palm of your hand. Grogu's big brown eyes shine as he looks up at you. Din watches as your slender fingers enclose around the tiny hand in your fist and you shut your eyes for a long moment. The Mandalorian assumes that you're trying to use your connection to Grogu through The Force to convey what you feel before you speak it out loud.

With a deep breath and eyes open once more, you speak more calmly to Grogu, “I'm so sorry for snapping at you. I am not angry with you and I never was. Not truly angry. Please know that I was only ever frustrated because you wouldn't listen to me, but that doesn't mean I was very angry or that I should have yelled. Yelling at you was wrong and disrespectful. I regret letting my emotions get the better of me. You were just being a kid. I love you so much, Grogu, and I never want you to feel scared of me. Okay?”

Grogu nods, seeming to understand. You seem utterly relieved. 

“We also never want you to feel scared to be a kid,” Din adds, frowning as a memory from their early days when it was just the two of them flares through his mind. He gently rubs the kid's head between the ears, his frown fading away when Grogu chirps lovingly in response. “I know I was a little stern with you back when we first met, but one of the very best parts of you is your curiosity. I should have told you that a long time ago, adika. It's important that you listen to us, but it's also important that you stay curious. You just have to learn that when we want you to listen it's for a good reason. For your wellbeing. Jupiter could have really hurt you, buddy. And you love her, so you wouldn't want to hurt her either, right?”

Grogu nods again, then looks back over to his mother with his arms raised up.

“Your dad is right, but I still shouldn't have lost my temper. Can you please forgive me?” You ask the child sincerely after letting Din finish. 

Grogu climbs up into your arms and when you sigh with relief by pressing your forehead gently to the child’s, Din Djarin feels as if his world has been tilted back on its proper axis once more.

*****

Back on the Crest, it's clear to both you and Din that the culprits of this morning's shenanigans also need to address this incident head on. You see this as an opportunity to teach Grogu an important lesson about boundaries, and Din wholeheartedly agrees. 

So you go and find Jupiter in one of her favorite spots; over in the now unused and disabled carbonite cargo hold. Shortly after your grandfather’s run in with the stuff, Din went ahead and disconnected it completely. You’d voiced fears of the machine's capabilities and the cat's habit of turning on machinery when she shouldn't. Naturally, Din took it upon himself to take care of it. 

You bring her over to the main area of the first floor and sit her on the metal ground, squatting to hold her in place. Din squats down across from you and sits the kid on the ground right in front of the cat, and the two of you share what you understand to be a glance searching for silent confirmation. Each of you gives a single nod to the other, and your heart swells at the level of communication between yourself and your cosmic companion. Oh, how far we’ve come, your mind-voice whispers fondly to yourself.

“Grogu,” Din says, voice deep and full of a newfound fatherly bravado, “apologize to Jupiter.”

You can't help it, smiling broadly at the sound of your love's voice speaking in such a way. He sounds so damn cute it nearly makes you forget the task at hand.

Grogu babbles, saying a few things out loud that only he can truly understand, reaching for the cat.

Jupiter hisses fiercely in response and squirms around in your grasp. With a hand on either side of her you manage to hold the pissed off feline steady, but she's clearly still mad at the child and won’t hesitate to bite or scratch. 

“Oh, come on, Jup. You know he was just playing,” you plead down to the cat. Then you look down into Grogu's big brown eyes and remember that you're his mom for a reason. Because he wanted you to be. He chose you. That's because you'd been doing a pretty good job up until twenty minutes ago. 

So you follow your instincts. Saying, “See, Grogu, this is why boundaries and consent are important. Respect is how we learn to trust the ones we love. If Jupiter doesn't want to play or be touched, then you have to respect that. And when we cross the boundaries of a loved one, we apologize for hurting their feelings like I did with you.”

Din nods, the dim overhead light bouncing off of his silver head. “Mom's right on this one. It's the only way to earn Jupiter's trust back. Believe me. I’ve been where you are, ner ad.”

Grogu looks up at Din, then into your eyes for a long moment, and finally into Jupiter's tawny orbs as a look of determination washes over his young, yet wrinkled, face. Then his own eyes close, and his right hand lifts up towards the cat. A strange sensation flows through your being, and in an instant you somehow know that you just sensed Grogu's power flowing through The Force. A moment after that, Jupiter's body relaxes in your hands, and she gently frees herself to move towards the child. 

Din tenses, which you also feel. How will you ever get used to this? Even after a few months that shit is enough to give you goosebumps. Ignoring how strange the sensation is, you’re quickly throwing a hand up to stop him and then touching an index finger to your lips. You sense that the malice in Jupiter has left her, replaced only with calm. Din nods once, visually trusting you, and you both look back down to watch the display unfolding between the two adults.

Jupiter moves gracefully forward on four paws, stopping just in front of Grogu as her tail waves behind her. The two of them are usually at about eye level, so Jupiter very easily lifts up to nuzzle her forehead into Grogu's. At first you think she's going to rub on him in that way that cats do, but as she purrs loudly for her child companion and his hands lift up to hold her face just below the whiskers, it's obvious that they are sharing a moment of deeper understanding. Then she rubs into him in that way that cats do after all, and the child giggles merrily at the feeling of her fur against his skin.

“Good job, guys,” Din says happily down to the pair, holding a hand out to help you stand as he lifts up from his own squat. “And good job us, I'd say.”

“That went better than we could have hoped for,” you agree, moving into Din's arms as the strong limbs encircle you. With your hands at the back of his warm neck just below the cool metal, you pull his head down to meet yours in a keldabe kiss of your own. “Thank you, Din Djarin. You are such a good man, and you are a really good father.”

“Mm,” Din hums pleasantly, “And I meant what I said outside. You are a good mother. Together, I think we're doing pretty well.”

Warmth floods your system, and you lay your head on your Mandalorian's shoulder as he sways you both back and forth a little. Jupiter and Grogu are already back to being friends down by your feet, playing a game that only they know the rules of. With your perfect little found family surrounding you, it occurs to you that bad days can end up being not so bad after all. Not when you have the right people in your life.

*****

About a week later, Din can't believe it when a Mandalorian encrypted beacon is received up in the cockpit of the Razor Crest. It's coming from the nearby ocean planet, only having enough range to reach just a few clicks away. He knows this beacon very well, as it's how his people have alerted other Mandalorians to their covert for many decades. The code can only be decrypted with Mandalorian technology, and therefore outsiders very rarely find these beacons and even know what they are. If they do, then the covert must relocate. 

It's definitely his covert, the one he was raised in. Din would know these codes anywhere, decrypting them easily. The cockpit door swooshes to life behind him and he knows it's your presence he can feel entering the room. Din greets you with a simple hello, but you must have heard the wavering in his voice.

“What is it, chrome dome?” You ask, coming up behind him with a cup of tea in your hand. You lower it down to him, leaning forward as Din watches you squint at the Mando'a displayed across the holographic display screen.

“My tribe is on this planet,” he answers honestly, gesturing towards the blue-green and orange mass up ahead as he takes the steaming drink from you.

Your eyes light up at that, grinning widely at him, “Seriously?! Can we visit?”

Din stiffens a little at the suggestion, anxiety building within his core. “I'm not sure if that's a good idea,” he says wearily.

You frown at him then, and Din feels like squirming under the scrutiny of it. “Why not?” you ask.

“I feel I have a lot to explain for myself,” he says, eyeing you carefully from behind his beskar. 

“Grogu and I, you mean?”

“Yes,” he lies. That's not it at all, but maker help him, Din cannot voice the truth to you. Not yet. 

“You carried out the mission, Din,” you say gently, adding, “and I thought you said that The Armorer would like me.”

Din nods in agreement, “I believe she would, yes. It's Paz Vizsla and any others like him I worry about. He's a bit of an extremist when it comes to closely following the creed. He's been a thorn in my side for years, and I get the impression that he kind of hates me.”

“'Cause you're way sexier and way cooler than he is?” You say with a laugh, nudging into his shoulder. 

Din chuckles, helmet rubbing into your hand as it grazes the beskar. He wants to kiss your palm so bad, lips pursing slightly at the thought of it. “Something like that, I suppose. I do feel he's always been weirdly jealous of me.”

“Who wouldn't be?” You ask, kissing his covered cheek. It doesn’t seem like you’re joking, or just trying to lift him up. 

Din’s chest flutters at that. “Showing up with an outsider by my side is sure to ruffle his feathers,” he veers off awkwardly. 

A gasp escapes you then, looking down at him with a comical wide-eyed expression. “Wait, does this Pez guy actually have feathers?”

It's a valid question, considering all you've seen and have yet to see, but Din can't help the loud snort which escapes him, followed by a hearty laugh with a hand to his chest. “It's Paz, and I do not believe he has feathers, no.”

“Darn, that would have been cool to see. A bird-person Mandalorian would be kind of crazy,” you giggle, your tongue poking out from the left side of your mouth as you bend forward to confidently type a few things into the computer and the specs for the planet up ahead appear on the display. Din's impressed to realize how competent you've become around the ship, and by how firmly toned your ass has become given that it’s now right in his beskar covered face. If only he could rip the helmet from his head and burry himself into it. 

“Hmm, looks like this planet is just over 79% ocean. That's more than Earth! Oh, Din, please can we go? Even if I don't get to meet your tribe, I'd love a trip to the beach. Swim in the ocean a little, maybe lay out in the sun? Drink from a coconut with a crazy straw?”

Din thinks about it for less than a minute, mulling over his options. When you look at him with those big pleading eyes, he finds he really doesn't even have the urge to say no. 

“If it will make you happy,” Din chuckles, knowing he'll do just about anything at this point to make your happiness a reality. “And perhaps bringing you and Grogu to meet my covert will prove to be useful. Though, I do not think they will have whatever a coke-a-nut is.”

“Coconut. And, I want to know where you come from,” you agree, “It'll at least be useful for me. I have a feeling it'll give me a better perspective of your lifestyle.”

“Perhaps you are right,” he says, laughing again with a shake of his helmeted head when you say to him that you usually are. 

“I'll let you drink that tea while it's still warm. Let me know when it's safe to come back up.” With another kiss to his helmet, you're leaving the cockpit just as quickly as you came, yelling downstairs to the kid, “Grogu! Grab your trunks and your boogie board, kiddo! We're going to the beach!” 

He smiles, watching you start down the ladder as the door shuts behind you, and then Din lifts the helmet from his head. As he takes a long sip from his tea he feels a small pang of guilt for not being completely honest with you. Din's trepidation about visiting the covert doesn't come from a place of fear about how his new family will be received. Din's fear comes from the fact that he's thought about showing you his face every single day since Corvus.

*****

Next Chapter

Previous Chapter

Masterlist

*****

Taglist:

These people actually like Halloween, and it shows. Harry hadn’t been full of it when he said you and Peter would get along. 

Harry looks exactly like you’d pictured, with his hair styled in a vintage side part. He’s wearing the black and gray striped dress shirt and high waisted pleated slacks just as you requested. Your man looks every bit the dashing vintage movie star. 

The two of you pose as if slow dancing, like Price and the Skeleton in your picture back at home, and Harry tries his best to make the same far away look as the man he’s cosplaying. That was the accurate shot. Vanessa also takes a few of the two of you posing like a normal couple, smiling with your arms around each other, and then Harry grabs you and kisses you, and Vanessa also gets a picture of that. 

“My makeup!” You shriek, swatting him away.

“You said when you got your picture and you were a little drunk.” Harry shrugs innocently, lips smeared with a bit of black. He’s also tipsy, seemingly more so than you, and the two of you have been sneaking puffs from your trusty dab pen since the party started. 

You roll your eyes, though you can’t help the smile creeping onto your lips. “I’m tipsy, not drunk. Yet.” 

Harry groans into your neck. “Well I couldn’t wait any longer. I have been deprived of you for far too long this month. And it’s not going to get much better after tonight. I’m afraid I was right when I told you that I’ll be dealing with this work shit until Thanksgiving. We won’t have much time together for the next few weeks but I’m going to try my best.” 

You frown, leaning into him. “You’re gonna make me wait that long to tell you the thing I need to tell you? I was hoping the party would loosen you up and we could talk this weekend.”

He’s definitely more than tipsy, leaning his weight into you as well, swaying a little. “I just don’t have much in the tank to give right now, sweetheart. You deserve me at full steam if it’s as important as you say it is. Let’s just have fun tonight and then I promise you I will make space for you as soon as I’m able to.”

“Alright, baby. Let’s just have fun,” you reluctantly agree, knowing right now is definitely not the time or place anyway. “Thank you for inviting me to this, I’m really happy that I finally got to meet your brother. Do you think he and Charlotte liked me?”

“Oh yeah, definitely.” Harry nods, moving the two of you over to get more drinks. “I can tell when Peter dislikes someone. And Charlotte warmed up to you pretty quickly after you complimented their costumes.”

Smiling, you take a generous sip of your refilled punch. This stuff is dangerous, and Harry has had a few more than you have. “They are certainly around my age if they are doing Juno and Michael Cera as a pregnancy costume. Lots of points for that in my book. That movie was all anyone talked about for a minute in high school.”

“I’m glad you knew what that was supposed to be because I had no idea.” Harry says with a shake of the head, laughing. 

Vanessa and Charles come over to refill their own drinks, and Vanessa elbows you with a scrunched nose pointed across the room. “Oh man, that’s funny. There's a guy dressed as Captain America over there. I thought Marvel was out these days?”

You and Harry follow her gaze to a guy who is, indeed, dressed as Captain America. Minus the cowl, so you can fully see his handsome face. The date on his arm isn’t wearing anything that seems to match with this superhero, though. Instead the thin woman he’s with is wearing a hooded black gown covered in a beaded spiderweb design, accessorized with silver spider jewelry. She’s undeniably beautiful, and Captain America is actually pretty fucking hot. 

Harry’s eyes bulge at the sight of that same couple entering the room. Then he looks mortified as they start to head towards the drink table and straight for the both of you.

“That’s my ex,” he’s whispering in your ear, “and her husband.”

“Are you okay?” You ask, worried suddenly that this is the one who got away or something.

“Oh yeah I’m fine. We were never going to work. I’m just shocked that they’re here and I’m not in the mood for small talk. Charlotte must have invited her.” 

An eyebrow cocks, eyes drifting back to the webbed woman. “Is that the matchmaker girl?”

He nods, “Lucy, yeah.”

Just as he’s saying her name, the woman in question gracefully moves in beside him wearing a kind smile. 

“Hi, Harry. I was wondering if we were going to see you here. You remember my husband, John?” She gestures to Cap, and then her eyes land on you. She looks you up and down and smiles. Genuinely. It’s not catty, as you’d been gearing up for it to be. “I like your costume. Cute makeup.”

Relieved, you tell her, “I love yours. That dress is killer.” 

The men exchange greetings and you can’t help but think that the husband, John, looks incredibly pleased with himself as he shakes Harry's hand. It’s not necessarily a mean spirited face of smugness, more of a prideful ‘I won’ sort of look. If only John knew that Harry, as he once told you, later felt relieved after Lucy broke up with him. He was rushing into things with her because he was scared his time was running out to find someone. 

“Congratulations on getting married by the way. This is my girlfriend,” Harry proudly introduces you, giving your name as his brown eyes meet yours fondly. “Her roommate, Vanessa, and Vanessa’s boyfriend Charles.” 

After pleasantries and a round of drinks, Lucy fills Harry in that she took over a senior position at her job and John’s dipping his toe into other areas of the theater business with some minor success. Apparently he was once a failing actor too. At the mention of the theater business, John and Vanessa immediately get to talking. Eventually John brings up the new play he’s going to try his hand at directing, which is currently casting, and he tells Vanessa that she’d be great for the lead part. Charles is ever the supportive beau, and John gives Vanessa his info to set up an audition. 

Luckily, Vanessa’s excitement about the offer is enough of a distraction that no one bothers to ask you what you do for a living. You’ve managed to skirt around the question all night, but it’s getting to be exhausting to keep avoiding answering it. 

When Harry leaves to go to the bathroom and speak to Peter for a moment, you’re suddenly left talking to Lucy by yourself while the others grab some finger food. Some of it is even shaped like actual fingers. 

Lucy seems like a nice enough girl around your age. When she initially walked over, you had the misplaced impression that she was going to be a bitch. But, she’s not. It actually makes you feel good to know that one of Harry’s exes is a decent enough person, and her husband seems like a good guy too.

Lucy smiles at you genuinely again and says, "Congratulations are in order for you as well, I think." 

You choke a little on your drink, eyeing her. “Congratulations? For what?”

She just smiles even more, letting the striped black and orange straw of her drink stay briefly nestled in her white teeth. “For you and Harry. You’re who he’s been waiting for. I can see it.” 

You’re cautious as you ask, “What do you mean by that?”

Shrugging as if it’s the most simple explanation in the world, Lucy tells you, “When Harry and I dated last year, all he wanted to do was fall in love. I couldn’t be that for him. But just seeing the two of you a little bit here tonight, it’s quite obvious that you’re the one for him. He loves you, even if he can’t see it yet.”

You’re so taken aback by that, and the substances in your system allow you to blurt out the truth to this stranger. Something about her aura is very inviting. “He warned me when we started dating that he thinks he's incapable of feeling love.”

Lucy chuckles, shaking her head. “He said that to me too. I told him he was wrong. I’m a professional matchmaker and I’ve married the love of my life. I like to think that I know what I’m talking about when it comes to love. He just needs to realize that’s what he’s feeling. And you need to let go of whatever it is that’s holding you back.”

“I-,” you’re stunned. How does she know something is holding you back? 

Damn this observant woman for blindsiding you, just as Harry is coming back to wrap his arm around your waist and nuzzle his broad nose into your neck. 

“Mm, I missed you, sweetheart,” he says, voice loose. “So glad you’re here with me tonight, baby.”

Lucy just sends you another knowing glance, before moving to slide up next to her superhero husband with a delicate hand on his forearm. John looks down at his wife with so much raw emotion, like when he looks at her it still takes his breath away every single time. You’re not sure you’ve ever seen someone make that kind of a face in real life. Maybe Lucy does know a thing or two about love. 

“Someone’s drunk,” you murmur, nuzzling Harry back a little. More of the skeleton makeup has to have rubbed off on him by now, and you could care less. 

He shakes his head against you, warm body pressing into you from behind. “You caught me, I’m a little drunk. But I’m being serious. The shit going on at work is miserable. I can’t have you around too much because you’re a distraction. When you’re around I just want to give the practice over to Peter and never think about work again. But just know, I think about you every time I have a moment to spare and I want things to go back to how they were when we started dating as soon as these fuckers are satisfied.”

You can’t help but think that once you tell him your secret and, as Lucy said, let go of what’s been holding you back, that things will never go back to the way they were again. All you can do is hope for the inevitable change to be a positive one. 

*****

Later, late enough in the night for it to actually be November 1st, you’re seated on one of the big leather couches in the sitting room. Your body is exhausted from dancing, drinking, and eating far too much, and you’re very much ready to go to sleep. You ripped the space buns out an hour ago, so your hair is fluffed out and wild from a drunken Harry constantly having his thick fingers tangled in it. 

Vanessa and Charles are on the verge of passing out on the loveseat to the left, and Peter and Charlotte are seated on the other couch directly across from you. Most of the guests have gone home for the night, and the only truly sober person left in the house is the pregnant woman. She's not long for the waking world though, clearly falling asleep against the armrest as her husband rubs her bare, swollen feet. She’s still dressed like a teenager from 2007 and her husband, wired from some sort of extra curricular stimulant he’s clearly on, still looks like he’s on the track team. It’s strange how you can see the resemblance, but he also looks nothing like Harry to you.

Similarly, you’re sitting up against one armrest of the couch you’re on and Harry is laying stretched out across the rest of it. His head is in your lap, and the man is fast asleep while you stroke his forehead with delicate fingertips. He got far more intoxicated than you did tonight, most likely because he’s been so stressed. He passed out shortly after his head hit your thighs. 

“He really cares about you,” Peter says quietly but alertly, looking at Harry for a long moment and then he’s looking at you. “I can honestly tell you that I’ve never seen him like this before. Ever since he met you he's been like a different man. I mean that in a good way.”

Your chest swells, feeling comfortable enough in your loosened inhibitions to be honest with the younger Castillo. Should the older one wake up and hear you, then let him hear what your heart has to say. It’s likely he won’t be remembering this part of the night anyway. “He’s been really good for me. I like who I am when I’m with your brother. I know we haven’t been together long, but I care about him a lot too.”

“I can see that,” Peter smiles, glancing down at his dozing wife for a moment. “I knew I loved Charlotte after that first date through the matchmaking service. It took time to figure out how to navigate that, though. Just be patient with him when he’s stubborn. I know he thinks he’s destined to never be in love or some shit, but I also know he’s a fool for that.” 

Christ, twice in one night a virtual stranger has filled your head with the notion that Harry might actually love you back. You’ve got to tell Harry about being a camgirl soon or you’re going to fall apart. Keeping up the charade isn’t working anymore, especially if the possibility for real love with Harry is on the line. 

No, Peter. I’m the fool, you think bitterly. 

“Just so long as he can be patient with me too,” you say, feeling your old friend guilt rear its ugly head once more. “I can be stubborn, and I’m definitely not perfect.”

Laughing, Peter shakes his head as if remembering a moment of Harry in the past. “Neither is he, trust me. But he’s always been a good big brother, even when I was a little shithead. When he cares about someone he’s all in. Good and bad.”

“All in,” you repeat softly, looking down at the man of your dreams, hoping to fuck that you can save this relationship from disaster. He looks so gorgeous when he sleeps, relaxed and soft, and you suddenly know in your heart that you would watch him sleep for the rest of your life if he’d let you. 

“Peter, please take me to bed. I am so ready to be out of these clothes,” Charlotte mumbles sleepily, nestling further into the couch.

“Anything for you, M’lady,” Peter agrees, then he looks over at Mr. and Mrs. Frankenstein on the loveseat, then back at you. “I take it you guys need to crash here?”

“He was supposed to have a driver come get us, but I don’t even know if I can get him off this sofa,” you chuckle, brushing Harry’s dark hair with your fingers. It’s still a little hard from all the gel you used earlier.

Harry mumbles something incoherent in response and snuggles his head into your thighs with a little smile. You bend forward to kiss him, and then you look over at Vanessa and Charles who are very quickly fading with drooping heads. 

“How am I as sober as I am?” you marvel, shaking your head. The dab pen is certainly calling.

Peter nods, moving to rise from his seat and help his very pregnant wife to sit back up. “We have plenty of space for all of you. Two guest rooms, one of which is on this floor. If you want I can help you get him into bed at least. The rest of it is on you.”

“Harry, baby,” you gently soothe, touching his face, “would you like to go to bed?”

“Not horny right now,” Harry mumbles, eyes still closed as he frowns. 

Blushing, you’re ignoring Peter’s laugh from across the room. Vanessa, half coherent herself, also giggles and you just roll your eyes in response to her as you address your drunk boyfriend. “I’m not trying to sleep with you. I’m trying to go to sleep with you. Two totally different things.” 

“Oh. Yeah, sleep ,” Harry says, adding, “that sounds nice.” He attempts to sit up, fails, and then he frowns deeply as he flops back onto your lap. Those brown eyes are still closed, until one suddenly pries open a little to look at you. “I don’t feel so good,” he whines, drawing out your name at the end of it.

You can’t help but smile. “I bet you don’t. I need you to drink some water for me before we get settled." As you say this, you are slowly coaxing him to sit up and this time he’s able to with your gentle assistance. All of his weight is leaning into you, and he starts nuzzling his face into your hair as his arms encircle you. Then he takes a huge sniff, and you realize that he’s inhaling your scent.

“Mm, love you, sweetheart,” Harry slurs, and in that instant everyone in the room freezes. “So pretty and perfect and you always smell so good. I love you.”

Hearing those words fall from his lips, twice in one sitting, makes your entire being fired up. “Harry,” you breathe, eyes misting over with tears. 

Charlotte, standing now with her hands over her large belly, is suddenly wide awake. “Oh my god! He said it! Peter, did you hear that?!”

“He’s drunk,” you immediately deflect, shaking your head. “He’s probably just feeling it a lot.”

Harry frowns, leaning into you and slurring, “I am feeling it a lot. I looove you.”

“Harry, come on man let’s get you to bed,” Peter says, moving over to help his older brother up off the couch. 

Between the two of you, you manage to get Harry down the hall and into the queen sized bed waiting for him in the guest room. It’s just as elegantly decorated as the rest of the lavish house, with a dark green and gold color scheme which you appreciate. Once Harry is securely on the mattress, Peter salutes you and bids you good luck. 

For a few minutes you take a chance on leaving Harry alone, heading to wipe the remaining makeup off in the attached bathroom and then down the hall to the kitchen to grab a glass of water for your poor inebriated man.

Drunk or not, the man who fears he cannot feel love just said that he loves you three times. That’s got your stomach doing acrobatics inside your body.  

By the time you get back to the room Harry’s pants and dress shirt are off and he’s laying face down on the bed, groaning into the mattress in a pair of tight fitted black boxer briefs and a cream colored undershirt. 

“Your butt looks good,” you remark, coming to sit down beside him with one leg tucked under you. Running the fingers of your free hand through his dark hair, you add, “ I can’t believe you got undressed by yourself in this state. Do you think you can drink some water for me?” 

“Do I have to?” He whines, voice muffled. 

Shaking your head, you chuckle softly. “No, but I’d like you to hydrate so you don't get sick in the morning.”

“Already sick,” he groans, turning his head so that he can breathe properly again if you had to guess. “I threw up when you were in the kitchen.”

You lay a hand on his forehead, feeling how damp his face is. He also looks pale, so he definitely threw up. “That’s good, then. That means you needed to. Did it help?”

“A little. Room is kind of spinning now, though. Fuck, why did I do this to myself?”

“You had a good time, right? That’s all that matters.” The glass clinks against a ceramic coaster as you set it down. “Here, I’m putting it on the nightstand. It’s right there if you want to take a sip. I’ll let you sleep.” 

Harry struggles, rolling his head over to face you. “I’m glad you’re here.”

Smiling, you lean down to kiss his temple. “I’m glad I’m here too. I wonder if you’re going to remember any of this in the morning.”

His eyes widen comically. “Why? Did I do something embarrassing?"

“Nothing bad, no. If you meant what you said it’s a good thing. We’ll need to talk in the morning. I know you wanted to wait until that client was out of your hair, but what I need to tell you can’t wait any longer. Not now, though. You’re drunk and I’m exhausted. We can go to your place or something and talk when you’re feeling better.”

“Okay,” he mumbles, eyes squeezing shut. “When will the spinning stoooop , ugh.”

“When you sleep. Sleep, baby.” Kissing his temple once more, you move to get up from the bed and throw open the window. A chill immediately enters the room, but it feels good on your flared body as the dark curtains billow around you. 

Harry makes a happy little noise in the bed, mumbling, “that feels nice,” as he curls himself up and pulls a blanket over his bottom half.

A smile creeps up your lips, even though there's a pit in your stomach. This is either going to go very well or very bad. It’s hard to imagine an in-between. All you know is that it’s time, and that in itself feels good in a scary ‘uncertain of the future’ kind of way. Maybe this can be the catalyst for something really great between you. An elevated understanding of each other, and of the relationship. 

Pulling the dab pen out from your bra, which you subsequently remove from your torso entirely, you take a generous couple of puffs and blow them out of the window. Some of the vapor still gets trapped inside, but you’re pretty sure that at one point Peter was smoking a blunt out on the patio on top of whatever else he was taking for the festivities. If he and Charlotte notice, they probably won’t care. After getting high enough to feel relaxed, you close the window back up and turn off all the lights. 

Climbing into bed next to Harry, you pull the covers over yourself and spoon up behind him. He’s breathing like he’s asleep, and as you close your eyes feeling truly stoned, you hear yourself whispering into the darkness, “I love you too, Harry. But I’m not an author and you deserve to finally know the truth.”

*****

The next morning, you awake to the sounds of Harry vomiting in the bathroom. Silently, you get up from the comfortable bed wishing to Satan himself that you had something besides this silly body suit to wear. The sun is up, and according to the digital clock on the night stand it’s nearly eleven in the morning. On bare feet you pad across the cool wooden floor over to the attached washroom, and just as you push the door open you see Harry’s left hand flush the toilet while his body droops down onto the white and black checkered tiles. 

Kneeling down to touch his shoulder gently, you greet him, “Good morning. I’m sorry you’re not feeling well. Can I get you anything?”

He nods, eyes closed with a pained expression on his face. “Water.”

Moving to grab the glass from the night before, you’re entering the bathroom again as he’s sitting up. “Here,” you say with a supportive smile, handing it to him. 

“I’m a little embarrassed,” Harry says as he takes a small sip, avoiding your eyes for a moment. 

“Don’t be,” you assure him, sitting down on the tiles in front of him. “You were a very cute drunk. We had fun dancing and getting high. It was reminiscent of the night we met, just a little more intoxicated.”

Shaking his head, he glances at you bashfully. “I haven’t gotten that drunk since Peter’s bachelor party trip.”

Smiling warmly, you say, “See, your brother is just a bad influence. You are absolved of all blame, darling.”

Harry looks you up and down, frowning. “I’m convinced that I embarrassed myself.” 

You dissuade him, “I promise you did not. Do you remember anything?” 

He avoids your gaze again. “I think I do, actually. Did I tell you that I love you? Or was that a dream?”

Your breath hitches, “You did.”

Then his face falls a little. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have gotten drunk enough to do that.”

“Why?” You ask, frowning.

“Because I’m still not sure if I am feeling it or not.”

Your heart sinks. “Oh. So you didn’t mean it?”

Harry reaches out to grab your hand. “That’s not what I’m saying. I’m worried that I don’t even know what love truly is. I’ve been thinking about whether or not I feel it with you for weeks. It’s been driving me crazy.”

You squeeze his fingers, hoping. “Well you sounded like you meant it last night. But you were drunk, and I know it could have just been you feeling things in the moment.” 

“I’d certainly like to say it sober next time the urge arises.” He agrees. 

A silence befalls you both, and as Harry sips his water your own urge arises. An urge to spill the beans once and for all.

“Harry, when you’re feeling better I want to talk to you. I know work has you stressed but this can’t wait any longer. Can we go to your apartment later and will you please give me some of your time today?”

Harry nods. He seems to think for a long moment, and then a look of realization falls across his face. “Wait a second, I’m remembering something else. Did you say that you’re not an author last night? I have a very fuzzy memory of you saying that. Everything was dark but I could still hear your voice.”

The thing that used to be your stomach is now a decent sized rock, and it hurts . “Like I said, we can talk when you’re feeling better.”

His face darkens a little, and a deep frown creases his features. He says your name, and the sound of it sends a chill through you. “I need to know what that was about. Why did you say that?”

Why are you so very very very stupid? “Fuck . I shouldn’t have said that last night, okay? I thought you were asleep and I was just affirming out loud that I was ready to talk to you. But this is not the place or time. You’re hungover and we’re on the floor in your brother’s guest bathroom. Someone can probably hear us.”

Harry scowls, which makes your blood run cold. His voice raises, but you wouldn’t call it yelling. “I don’t give a fuck where we are, or if anyone can hear, or if my head is pounding. Which it is, by the way. What the fuck does that mean? Are you a fucking author or not?”

Although you feel you have no right to really, you become a little defensive against the tone he’s using with you. You’re the one that lied. He should be allowed to sound pissed, but it scares you nonetheless. “It means I’m not an author, Harry. At least not in the sense that it makes me any money. I also told you that I loved you back last night, did you hear me say that?”

Harry just glosses over that last part completely, which edges the chisel closer to your heart. His voice goes from sounding big and angry, to very small and scared all in an instant. “Have you… Have you seriously been lying to me?”

His brown eyes look so hurt that you cannot hold contact with them, so your own eyes land on the tiled floor for a second before you force yourself to look at him again. You’ve got to be strong. You promised yourself that you would be strong. He was always going to get upset about this, it’s a matter of how you both recover now. “I have, but I promise you that I can explain myself. Will you allow me to do that in a better setting than this?”

He shakes his head, holding fingers to his temples, “No. I need to know what the fuck is going on. Fuck , my head really is pounding.” 

“Harry, I really don’t want to do this here. Or while you’re hungover.”

Just then there’s a knock at the bathroom door which connects to the hallway, and you can hear Vanessa’s voice. “Hey, just checking in. Charlotte said it sounded like someone was yelling. Are you guys okay in there?”

“Yeah, we’re fine! Privacy, please!” You shout, pinching the bridge of your nose. Then you lower your voice to Harry. “This is what I’m talking about. We cannot do this here.”

He shakes his head, getting louder almost to spite you. As if he truly doesn’t care who hears. “Fuck that, dammit! Please tell me what the fuck is going on! I feel so fucking betrayed. Why did you lie to me?”

Head hanging in shame, you give him your only and lamest excuse, “When we met I assumed we would be a one night stand. I never expected things to go this far.”

Harry scoffs, “So why didn’t you tell the truth once it was more than a one night stand? You spent that entire weekend at my house. There were so many opportunities to tell me. But, no, it seems like you just used me. Is that all this is to you? Are you using me?”

Your emotions start to bubble over, voice finally raising a little too. Vanessa is surely outside of the room listening, if not all of them. But Harry doesn’t seem to care, so neither will you. “I didn’t tell you because of this! Because I was terrified that you would look at me or treat me differently. You rightly assumed that I was nouveau riche, and I felt like I needed to come up with something on the spot that night. I was afraid that if I told you how I earn my money then you wouldn’t like me anymore and we wouldn’t have ended up spending that beautiful weekend together. After that weekend I couldn’t face telling you because I didn’t want to lose you.” 

His face goes even whiter, withering almost. “Jesus Christ… are you a hooker or something?”

You sigh, frustration and hurt filling you. “I’m not a prostitute, Harry. Not that there’s anything wrong with that.” You’re starting to get up after hearing him say that, feeling like you’re the one who needs to vomit. Moving into the bedroom, you throw a hand up. “Hang on, I feel like I’m going to be sick. I wasn’t trying to do this right now, Harry. Fuck I had this whole thing planned where I was going to have you stand in the kitchen at your place. I was going to pull my laptop out on the island and show you everything.”

Harry’s getting to his feet as well, wobbling as he shakes his head in disbelief. “There is no fucking way that this is happening. Are you a porn actress, then?”

You move to the bed, sitting on the edge of it as you look up at him. “I am a sex worker, but I don’t fuck anybody. We’ve been exclusive this whole time. I’m an online escort, Harry. So it’s like a porn actress but I perform by myself, and I perform live. My clients can request things that they want to see me do. I was going to show you my site and my persona. I wanted to gently explain everything to you. I have some notes taken down back at my apartment with specific points I wanted to make.”

He looms over you, brow furrowed in frustration. It hurts so bad to see him look at you like that. “What points? That you’re a liar and a deceiver? I need you to be fucking honest with me if you are capable of honesty. Are you dating me because you eventually want to marry me for my money? Do you fucking care about me at all?” After asking that, he begins pacing frantically in front of you.

Hot tears instantly fill your eyes, falling freely. “Wow. You know, I was expecting the worst thing you might do when I told you this is call me a whore. And I’ve been dreading that moment for two months. But, no, you accusing me of being in this relationship for the money feels ten times worse than being called a whore. I might actually prefer that.”

His brow unfurrows slightly, rising in surprise. His feet stop moving. “So this has nothing to do with how much money I make?”

Now you’re simply just sobbing, feeling completely foolish and ashamed for letting things get to this point. 

“No, god dammit! And it never once has! I am independently well off. I do not need, nor do I want a man simply because he has the money to take care of me. I’m not looking for a sugar daddy to save me from my fucked up life of endless bad choices. My job was not a bad choice, it was my choice. Believe it or not, I actually love my job. It’s fun, it makes me feel good about myself, and I make a ridiculous amount of money doing it. When I started my cam site, it was because I was broke and I was sick and tired of being turned away from acting jobs just because my ass is three sizes bigger than Vanessa’s. Three sizes! No one wanted me for anything other than frumpy background roles. Most of the time the rejection was a mean sounding comment about not fitting the ‘physical criteria.’ Do you know how soul crushing that was after years of it?”

You pause for a moment, and Harry seems to be considering something internally. But he doesn’t say anything, so you continue, “Then one month when the bar I used to work at was slow and I was desperate for rent money, a friend of mine suggested I try being a camgirl.”

“Was it Vanessa?” Harry asks. 

You give a single shake of the head. “No, but she knows about this and she’s very supportive. Of the cam site, not of me lying to you. She’s been getting on to me about how wrong that was from the very beginning. Vanessa is on your side, Harry.”

He nods thoughtfully. “I don’t appreciate knowing that she was aware of this the whole time, but knowing she was in my corner actually makes me feel a little better.”

“She thinks you’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me and scolds me constantly about how I’m actively fucking this up,” you tell him somewhat bitterly, adding, “and I should have listened to her instead of being a coward.”

Harry doesn’t speak for a long moment, looking out at the little courtyard behind the house through the open window. Your gaze follows his, and you can’t help but think that November already looks gray and chilly. Hopefully it’s not a sign of bleak days ahead. Hopefully you can still save this before the day is through.

His voice is low, calmer than before. “What happened when you tried the cam site for the first time?”

You take a shaky breath and let everything go. Everything you’ve been trying to find the words to explain for two months just comes pouring out of you. “I made three hundred dollars in one sitting. Just to pretend a little bit and make some lonely person feel good about themselves for an hour. All I ever remember from that first session was the client telling me over and over and over that I had the perfect body. The kind of body people want to fuck.”

You stop for a moment, giving a laugh laced with cynicism. “Imagine how good that felt after years of working out and eating right and stressing about my weight before an audition that I knew I was never going to land anyway. After years of feeling self conscious, I could suddenly just be myself and make more money than I knew how to spend. Imagine how I felt to have finally found an acting gig that involved my clients telling me that my body was the most perfect thing in the world. Paying hundreds of dollars to see my body do things just for them, anything within reason, instead of getting rejected for not having an ideal body type for the general public. Being a camgirl taught me how to value my appearance as is. It makes me feel powerful and sexy, and it allows for me to finally be the materialistic boujee bitch I’ve always wanted to be. Do you know how good it feels to buy myself designer clothes and not have to worry how I’ll make rent? And to have the confidence to buy the kind of form fitting, stylish clothing that used to intimidate me? Being able to do that independently is the best feeling in the world.” 

Harry’s looking at you so seriously now, his wet brown eyes boring into yours. He never interrupts, and so you keep going. 

“So, no, I am not dating you because I want your money. I am dating you because you’re everything I’ve ever wanted in a partner. You make me laugh and you know how to dance to good music. You’ve got excellent taste in everything. But you’re also so smart that it’s intimidating. It still shocks me every day that I’m with someone who can run an entire company like you do. You’re also more down to Earth than one would expect. You’re sweet and kind, and sex with you is literally the best I’ve ever had. I act for my clients. I don’t act for you. What we share physically and emotionally is one hundred percent real, and it always has been. For me at least.” 

His shoulders surprisingly soften after your long speech. Harry sits down beside you on the bed, still looking miserably hungover and hurt, but he sits next to you. That feels like a step in the right direction. His own eyes are welling with tears, and once he blinks they begin to fall. “I just can’t believe you’ve been lying to me for two months. That really hurts. It hurts more than I think I can really describe. I want to see it for myself, but I don’t think that your career bothers me. It’s certainly shocking, but lying is what I have a real problem with. It makes me worried that I could never trust you again after this.”

Nodding, you can only speak from the heart. “And that’s valid. But I never intended to hurt you. I love you, Harry. I think you could be the love of my life, honestly.” 

He looks pained as he says, “People aren’t supposed to lie to the love of their life. Partners don’t lie to each other.” 

You wince. “I promise you that everything else I’ve ever told you is completely true. Will you please allow me to try and explain myself? Explain why it felt like I couldn’t be honest with you at first?”

“Yes,” Harry breathes deeply, clearly trying not to cry. To your surprise, he reaches over and grabs your hand. “Please try to help me understand.”

“You told me that you wanted to earn my trust and, honestly, I did need to trust you before you could know about any of this. I know I lied and I know that was wrong, which means I’ve compromised your trust in me . I have been making myself sick over that fact for weeks. But what I once said to you about my profession being a private part of me was true. Do you expect me to tell every person I meet that I show my body online for money? Would you, if you were in my position?" 

“I honestly don’t know how to answer that,” Harry says, his body language and tone much calmer than before. “But I want to understand.”

You’re taking a deep breath, steading yourself for another long rant. “When we met you felt like a dream come true and I let fear of rejection cause me to behave shamefully. I should have always been honest with you from the start. That first night together should have been when I told you this, when you first asked me what I do for a living. Out on the terrace when we were smoking together and catching our spark. But we were strangers that night, and the camgirl thing has actually scared a few potential lovers off in the past. I didn’t know you and you didn’t know me, and you’re not just some guy I met at a bar. You are Harry fucking Castillo. You’re an entirely different breed of man. I couldn’t bring myself to tell the truth to a very upper class millionaire who for some odd reason felt interested in me. Was I supposed to tell you that I paid for those Jimmy Choos with what I earned doing some extra kinky bondage stuff in a session? Immediately after we just met? I was terrified, and I’ve asked myself time and time again if you would have still spent that weekend with me if you had known what I really do for a living.”

Harry seems to consider this for a long moment. “I want to say that I would have because you seemed worth the risk, but I can’t speak for something that didn't actually happen.”

That stings a little but you press on, “The only lie I ever told you was that I was a smut author, which isn’t a complete lie. I have a few short stories published in some fetish magazines. I’d let you read those if you’re interested. I still work in the field of sexual fantasy, just in a different format than you were led to believe. Whenever I told you I was working, you just assumed that meant writing and I never corrected you. My private office in the apartment is actually my soundproof studio where I record my sessions. For the sake of transparency, I would like to show it to you if you’ll let me share this part of myself with you. If you can find a way to forgive me for this, that is.”

Harry thinks, and then a look of realization washes over his features. Some of the normal color has returned to his face. “When you got me off on FaceTime last week, was that similar to what you do?”

You smile, hopeful. “Yes, and I wasn’t faking anything for you like I do for my clients. That was the real me. You always get the real me.” 

Harry seems to mull this over for a long time, and then he stands, holding his hand out to you. Tentatively, you take it and he pulls you up into a hug. After a moment’s hesitation you’re wrapping your arms around him. Part of you is worried that he’ll turn on you any moment, but you’ve got to continue trusting him.

Harry sighs into you before pulling apart enough to look you right in the eyes. “I’m not going to tell you this didn’t shock me or hurt me. But I believe I can forgive you for this if you give me time to process everything. I also ask that you forgive me for not being completely honest with you as well. If we’re going to make this work I want us to be honest from here on out. I’m not perfect. I’ve been hiding things from you too.”

Lurching, your stomach drops. “What are you talking about? What have you been keeping from me, Harry? Are you fucking married or something?”

He shakes his head profusely, looking mortified. “No! I’m not married!”

Relieved, your body relaxes. “What have you been hiding, then?”

Harry points down to the scars on his legs, the ones he told you were from a childhood bicycle accident. “I’ve been lying to you about these scars.” 

Your eyes widen, brow rising. “What about them?”

Harry is suddenly so embarrassed sounding. “Everything you know about me is true except for one thing. You have no idea how much I relate to you about feeling rejected for your natural body. I think I can understand why what you do makes you feel good about yourself. Powerful, you said? My true height isn’t supposed to be six feet.” 

Now you’re just confused, and Harry is clearly having a hard time holding your gaze. You stay silent, so he keeps going. 

“My natural height is actually five foot six. I had an expensive, painful form of plastic surgery to gain six inches to my height when I was a young man. They broke my legs and forced the bones to heal in a way which forces them to gradually grow longer. It was intense and awful, but my life changed forever after that. Men suddenly respected me and women finally wanted me. So believe me, I do at least partially understand you. I feel powerful at this height. At five six I felt insignificant and small. It was the best two hundred thousand I’ve ever spent.”

“Holy fuck, Harry,” you exclaim, mouth dropping open.

“I know. Embarrassing, right?” He asks shyly.

You laugh, relieved. “No, it’s not embarrassing at all. And I forgive you for not telling me. I just think we are both so fucked up that we might actually be perfect for each other.” 

Harry laughs too, “I still need time to process this, and tylenol, but I think you might actually be right about that.”

“So you really think you could forgive me?”

“I’d like to try. You’re worth the attempt, at least.”

*****

After a greasy fast food breakfast sandwich to set Harry’s stomach straight, which Charlotte had the foresight to order both to satiate her pregnancy cravings and for the poor hungover souls who would surely need them, the elder Castillo finally feels slightly more alive. After a puff off of your dab pen, he feels somewhat like a person again. The events of the morning seem like a hangover fever dream, but he knows that all of it really happened. 

It’s very obvious that everyone who’d been awake at Peter’s house, which was thankfully only just Vanessa and Charlotte at the time, are painfully aware of every word which was just said in the downstairs guest room. 

Upon exiting said room, you’d noted to him that Vanessa had been hiding around the corner and darted away looking awkward after getting caught. When the two of you came around that same corner, Charlotte was sitting at the kitchen table pretending to look at her phone and Vanessa was beside her pretending to thumb through the newspaper. Both women did a piss poor job of making it look convincing. 

You asked to speak to Vanessa privately, so the two girls went to stand out in the small courtyard and speak over coffee. You’ve been out there talking for quite awhile, so all Harry can do is wait and try not to eavesdrop. It’s obvious enough what it’s about. 

Harry watches the steam rise from your cup, and the cloud of breath leaving your mouth every few seconds as you frantically speak and occasionally cry a little. Even still, you look so beautiful to him. Even for that split second where learning you’d lied to him felt like being burned from the inside out, you still looked so beautiful to him. It’s like he simply can’t help it.

As your cheeks gradually grow redder from the cold, or from the emotional turmoil, Harry can’t help but think that the two of you just had your own version of Lucy and John’s infamous fight in the street. Sure, it’d been behind closed doors, but he knows that he hadn’t been keeping his voice down and he knows that he wouldn’t have given a damn if the entire island of Manhattan heard him. Harry Castillo’s passion for you is far too strong for any sense of propriety to matter anymore. 

And that’s when it hits him, flooding his system all at once. He loves you. Harry Castillo fucking loves you, and he actually feels it. He feels it coursing through him like the very blood in his veins. 

Charlotte chooses that moment to pipe up, looking outside at you for a long moment before her eyes land back on her brother-in-law. “Are you planning to forgive her? I won’t tell Peter, or your parents. But I heard everything. This house is old and the walls are thin. If you want my opinion, which I know you didn’t ask for, I think she deserves a second chance. I probably would have done anything to win Peter over when we first met. You Castillo boys are intimidating. Even if you are secretly short kings. And, yes, I know about that. All of your secrets are safe with me, but you owe me one, bro .” She says that last part in the exact same way Peter usually says it, and then she grins at Harry. 

“Charlotte,” Harry says, sipping on his coffee with a small smile, “I’m glad you’re a part of this family.”

*****

“Okay. Are you ready?” 

“As ready as I’ll ever be.”

“Okay. Fuck. This is terrifying.” 

Both of you showered and rejuvenated, Harry watches as you use one of the keys on the keyring he’s seen you with a dozen times, turning the knob and throwing open the door to the mysterious third bedroom in your apartment. Vanessa graciously agreed to give the two of you the evening alone to sort this out. 

Moving aside to allow him entry, you’re having trouble making eye contact with him for a moment. “Go ahead, you can take a look around and I’ll answer any questions you may have.”

Slowly, Harry sets one foot down into the room. Then the other. Suddenly he’s inside the space, and it’s nothing like what he was expecting. In the center of the room pushed long ways up against the wall, there’s a small four post canopy bed adorned with a sheer black fabric and orange string lights to give the space a gothic fairytale look. The bed itself is made up with a black satin comforter set, various sexually explicit throw pillows strategically placed up against the wall. 

On either side of the bed, the dark purple walls are lined with shelving or hooks to store and display any sort of sex toy or bdsm tool imaginable. You’ve got everything, and you’ve got it sorted by kink or by what hole each device is meant for. He’s a little shocked to see some of the sizes of what’s on the shelf of anal plugs, and he’s also incredibly turned on by it. 

“Fuck, sweetheart,” Harry says, shaking his head. He looks around the room more, taking in the recording equipment across from the bed. “What name do you go by when you do this?”

You cringe a little, shrugging. “Raven Crowley. Corny, I know, but a goth girl named Raven sells. Every goth kid’s introduction to spooky shit is Edgar Allen Poe, whether they realize it or not. Crowley gains me extra points with the occult nerds. Or the Supernatural nerds. Those are mostly female clients, though.”

Harry nods thoughtfully, a smile creeping onto his lips. “Makes sense to me. You said you wear disguises when you do this?”

You nod, throwing open the closet. There Harry sees a small collection of high quality wigs, either various forms of colorful alternative hair styles or simple, elegant black hairstyles of varying lengths. The wigs are on display across the top storage shelf. Below that hangs a row of color coordinated, sensual and skimpy looking outfits in various fabrics. Under that sits a shoe rack filled with high heels he could never imagine you wearing. Huge chunky platforms, boots with lots of leather and straps. Hanging on the back of the closet door is a jewelry rack, filled with spiked chokers and various other items he doesn’t normally see you wear. All of it is such a contrast to your tasteful and sophisticated wardrobe in the closet of your real bedroom. 

But Harry doesn’t dislike it, and that’s his biggest take away.

“Would it be weird to ask you if I can see you dressed like this?”

You shake your head, smiling. “I was kind of hoping you would want to see. Do you have a preference?”

“Whichever is your favorite,” he says, hoping he sounds supportive. Suddenly, he’s no longer freaked out by any of this, and all at once he does understand why a secret this big was way too intense to share with someone you only just met. This is something one can only share with a person they trust wholeheartedly, and now Harry Castillo just feels honored that he was able to earn that from you in such a short amount of time. 

You coax him out of the room and shut the door, so Harry makes himself comfortable on the couch, taking in the apartment once again. Everything looks the same, and yet he feels like he’s seeing it in a new light. As his eyes scan over your belongings he imagines them commingling with his own belongings back at his place, and Harry comes to the conclusion that he is going to ask you to move in with him when Vanessa moves out. Plans in the back of his mind are already being set in motion.

Realizing that he loves you is it for him. Part of him realizes it’s what he’s been feeling all long, but now that he truly understands it everything is different. There are no questions of if this is going to work. He’s going to make it work, come hell or high water. No matter what happens when you open that door again, he loves you and he’s willing to try to understand anything you throw at him.

No sooner does he think that, and the door to your studio opens. Harry’s up off the couch in an instant. The overhead lights have been dimmed save for the orange string lights, and a purple led streaming up the wall from behind the bed. It gives the room an eerie glow, but he can still see just fine.

“Enter if you dare,” you’re saying in a spooky voice, and Harry realizes that you’re laid out across the bed on your side, head propped up in one hand. Your other arm is draped over your hip. When he gets a good look at you, his breath hitches in his throat.

With dramatic dark eye makeup and black lipstick, you look so different. The wig you chose is jet black, with a short 1920s flapper look to it. On your torso you’re wearing a black latex corset, with a matching miniskirt which barely covers your exposed ass or pussy from view. The material is so tight and shiny. With thigh high stockings and a pair of those chunky black platform heels, it’s almost like it’s not even you. But it is you. It’s hard for him to wrap his head around it. The black choker around your neck looks tight, and watching the leather dig into your neck is making him a little hard. 

“Jesus Christ, sweetheart,” Harry says, shaking his head in disbelief. “You look so different. Like a dominatrix or something."

You seem so worried, face faltering. “Is that a good thing or a bad thing?”

“It’s a good thing. Just getting accustomed to it.” Harry comes to the bed, sitting down on the edge of it. When he looks across the room at the camera set up he feels odd, though. “You’re not filming this, right?”

“Of course not!” You seem almost offended, but then you frown. “I guess that’s a fair question though.” 

Harry looks at you, and then he’s taking your hand in his and bringing your knuckles to meet his lips. “You’re gorgeous in anything.”

“You’re just saying that,” you deflect, clearly worried that he’s trying to spare your feelings.

“I love you,” Harry says, meaning every single syllable as it slowly dances off the end of his tongue. 

“You mean it this time?” You ask, eyes welling with tears for the second time today.

“I meant it last night too, I just didn’t know it yet. But I do. I love you. I finally understand how this feels,” he laughs, and his entire body is at ease. Saying it feels so good. “Maybe I’m just a late bloomer.”

“Maybe you needed a girl who matched your freak,” you say, moving as if you’re lifting up to kiss him. Then you stop just before his lips, and Harry’s wildly disappointed. 

“What’s wrong?”

“I don’t want to get this ridiculous lipstick all over you.” 

Harry kisses you anyway, and his body slowly melts into yours. When he lifts up you laugh, wiping at his lips with your thumb. He’s laughing too, “What? No good?”

“Just odd,” you remark, smiling. 

Harry looks at the wall of handcuffs and various switches. “So are you actually into this stuff or is it all a performance?”

“Which part?”

“Bondage? Being tied up and spanked? How do you perform with handcuffs on if this is something you do by yourself?”

“Vanessa usually helps with my more complicated bondage sessions. Off camera, of course. To answer your other question: I kind of like a little bit of everything. So doing whatever the client wants is fun because I can mix things up for myself. I do enjoy being tied up, but I also enjoy being the one to do the tying. I’m not as serious about kinks as some people are. Sex is just fun for me in all its forms.”

Something in Harry’s belly flares wildly at that, and his cock twitches. The slight hard on he’s been getting is now a full erection inside his sweatpants. His mouth feels dry as he tries to speak. “Um, would you be interested in tying me up?”

Your eyes light up at the suggestion, but then your brow furrows. “Are you absolutely sure? I don’t want you to try any of this because you want to impress me. I love our sex life and I don’t need any of this to be a part of it unless it’s really what you want. I love you just as you are, Harry.”

He kisses you again, and then he gets up from the bed and moves over to the items hanging from hooks on the wall. He picks out two pairs of handcuffs, normal metal ones, and then he picks out a length of black rope. For a split second he almost doesn’t grab it, worried he’s being too brazen, but then he’s pulling a ball gag down from the wall as well. The classic looking model with black leather straps and a red rubber ball in the center. 

“I love you too, and I would like for you to tie me up, please.”

*****

“Hey Van, how’s jolly old England treating you?” You’re talking into the phone, looking down at your best friend through a poorly connected video call. Harry comes up behind you, arms encircling your waist as he rests his chin on your shoulder to also look into the phone. 

You’re in the living room of Harry’s apartment, backlit by the soft warm glow of the real pine tree the two of you picked out at a lot and decorated two weeks ago. Soft, jazzy instrumental versions of classic holiday songs are playing in the background.  

“Merry Christmas, Vanessa,” Harry says, his handsome voice rumbling in your ear. “Where’s Charles?”

“Right here, mate,” the younger man says, head dipping into view for a moment, waving. “Guess what?” Vanessa asks, grinning like a lunatic.

Uh-oh. You smile innocently, acting none the wiser. “What, Van?” Get ready for it, here it comes.  

“I’m getting MARRIED!” She shrieks, and when she tries to move her hand into the camera’s view, the screen freezes. 

You shake the phone, as if that will help the connection somehow. “I can’t see the ring, babe. You’re gonna have to send me pics. But I love you and I am so happy for you both!”

“Congratulations,” Harry says, the side of his head nuzzling into yours. 

Vanessa, still frozen, says, “You’re the maid of honor, obviously! And Charles wants me to move in with him. We’ll have to talk about the apartment when I get back, but I’ll text you! I love you! Bye!” 

The call ends, and you set your phone down on the bar to replace the item in your hand with the glass of a sweet, cinnamony drink Harry made you earlier. He calls it Christmas in a glass. It's certainly delicious, whatever it is. And strong. 

“Are you okay?” Harry asks, squeezing you from behind. Your free hand lifts up to cup his cheek.

Nodding, you take a sip. “Yeah, I’m fine. I’ve had over a month to mentally prepare for that. I’ll worry about the apartment shit after Christmas. I’m more worried about meeting your parents tomorrow. I really want them to like me. Especially your mom. Moms of sons are the hardest women to impress.”

Harry chuckles, spinning you around to face him. “If I could manage to get your dad to like me at Thanksgiving, then I think you’ll be just fine with my mom. We’ve been working on your Spanish, so that’ll help.”

The laugh which escapes you is more like a bark. “Are you kidding me? The second my mother googled your estimated net worth, my parents fell madly in love with you. I have to sell myself to your mom the old fashioned way. With charm and wit.”

“Both of which you have in abundance, sweetheart,” Harry grins, kissing you deeply for a moment. Then he breaks the kiss, resting his forehead against yours as he sways you to the music. It’s White Christmas and, ironically, it looks to be snowing outside.

After Halloween, after everything was finally out in the open between you and Harry, everything about the relationship changed for the better. The two of you have been inseparable from that moment on, evolved as both partners and lovers. 

Harry had to leave New York for a few days in order to smooth things over with that needy client out in New Mexico, and while he was gone you had a new client of your own request a session with you. It didn’t occur to you that the username Señor _Castle78 could possibly be your boyfriend’s attempt to be clever until you started the session and his beautiful face appeared on the screen. You remember how his voice worked you over, saying, “I bet you miss having that sweet little pussy dripping with my cum, don’t you, sweetheart? I bet that you’re completely empty without me there to fill you up. I know all those toys you have are nothing compared to me.”

That is the first and only time you’ve ever had an orgasm on camera for real.

Once he was home from that trip and his job was finally back to normal, Harry then accompanied you to your hometown for Thanksgiving. Introducing him to your parents and sister only made things between you that much more serious. He fucked you quietly in your old bedroom, which still has your band and horror posters from high school all over the walls because your mom can’t let go of the past. What a time machine that felt like, getting felt up like a teenager in the room where you had once been one. You even had to do it on the floor, given that the creaking old mattress was the same one from back then too.

Now you’re getting ready to meet his parents in the morning, and everything feels like it’s headed in the right direction. Ever since you told the truth, you’ve known nothing but peace.

Harry lifts up when the song ends, smiling down at you with so much affection in his soft eyes. He looks so good in a dark green sweater and casual black pants, thick gray socks protecting his feet from the cold wood floors. Your heart swells for him, and then suddenly he's pulling you down the hallway by the hand. 

“What are you doing, baby?” You laugh, letting him pull you easily.

“I’m giving you your Christmas present early,” Harry declares, stopping in front of the door to the spare bedroom. You honestly forgot that this room is even here. He pulls a key out of his pocket, and then he’s unlocking the door. “Hold out your hand,” he commands lightly. 

You comply, and he drops the key into your palm. It’s small and gold, and looks brand new. “I already have a key to the apartment. What is this for?”

He grins, “Open the door and see.” 

You turn the knob and push, and your chest swells as you step inside. “Harry,” you breathe, turning to face him. “I can’t believe you did this.”

Harry looks bashful, hands ringing in front of him. “Do you like it? Did I do a good job matching your aesthetic? I wanted it to look like you picked it all out yourself.”

Spinning around again, you take in the sight before your misty eyes. 

It’s your camgirl studio, but wildly upgraded in several ways. The bed seems to be a true bdsm bed, with sturdy iron bars and places to tie ropes or hook chains. It’s backdropped with an elegant, blood red curtain of velvety fabric. The wall of toys next to the bed puts the one you have at home to shame. There’s even a brand new camera set up, and the closet space is twice as big. 

He left the act of filling the closet up to you, but it doesn’t go unnoticed that inside of it hangs a single red lace one piece with an open crotch and a satin ribbon bow covering the breasts. It’s clearly meant to be unwrapped, leaving your pierced nipples that he loves so much as a little gift to himself. You’re sure you’ll be wearing it before the night is through, along with the red heels on the ground just below it. 

Harry steps in beside you, reaching out to grab for your hand as he looks you in the eyes. “I want you to move in with me. Finish out your lease with Vanessa, but after that please move in. I set this up so you can feel free to carry on with your career for as long as you want to. Make your money and feel independent all you want, but I don’t expect you to pay rent or anything like that. Let me take care of you. Let me make this our home. Let me provide a home for you.”

Tears welling in your eyes, a little sob escapes your throat. “I was kind of secretly hoping that you would ask me to move in when the lease is up, but I wasn’t expecting this. The studio is beautiful.”

He grins devilishly. “Let me say that some of the things in here I did selfishly pick out hoping that we’d also get some personal use out of this room. Not quite like in Fifty Shades of Grey, but our own little place of debauchery. Whatever mood strikes us, whenever.” 

“I mean, this bed seems a little too amazing to just be for sessions,” you say slyly, eyeing him. “I’d be disappointed if we didn’t get any personal use out of it… Maybe even tonight? Or right now?”

“Santa’s still out for the night, there’s still plenty of time to make it onto the naughty list,” Harry agrees, grinning as he moves in to pounce on you. 

*****

Later, when you’re out cold in the normal bed after getting a few hours use out of the ‘fun bed’ as you now call it, Harry leans over and kisses your temple while you sleep. He’s too wired to sleep himself, too excited about the prospect of his future. In a few hours he’ll be introducing you to his parents. He’ll also be surprising you with another Christmas present besides the studio and the offer to move in. Two plane tickets to Paris for New Years Eve. 

He moves gently out of the bed, padding over to his dresser across the dark room. There he slides open the second drawer down where he keeps his socks and underwear. Lifting a folded stack of identical black briefs, he smiles down at the little velvet box which was hidden underneath. He even surrounded it with a few pairs of socks for extra protection. 

Harry sits the boxers on top of the dresser. He doesn’t dare pull the box out of the drawer at the risk of you waking to see him with it. But he reaches in and opens it just a crack, getting a sparkling glimpse of the oval onyx stone elegantly surrounded by smaller diamonds on a band of rose gold. A choice he agonized over for two weeks before he came up with a design which he feels best fits your personality. 

Knowing how girls are, Harry knew better than to propose to you on the same day that your best friend was due to get engaged. So Christmas was off the table. He realized what he wanted to do shortly after Halloween, when the two of you watched When Harry Met Sally at his request one date night. You were curled up to him, bawling your eyes out as Billy Crystal declared his love for Meg Ryan on New Years Eve. That was when it clicked, and he knew in an instant that he was going to propose to you on the very same holiday. 

At the stroke of midnight, in the most romantic city on Earth, Harry Castillo plans to get down on one knee and tell you, “I know this seems soon, but when you realize you want to spend the rest of your life with somebody, you want the rest of your life to start as soon as possible.”

The End

*****

Previous

Masterlist

*****

Fast as it may seem to some, you’ve always been prone to falling quickly. Unlike Harry, you’ve definitely felt love for the few serious partners you’ve had over the years, even if that love was ultimately fleeting in the end. It always happens fairly early on in the relationship, but you’re also certain you’ve never been in love in that way the movies or books make you think you’re supposed to feel. If you had, you probably wouldn’t have been single the night you met Harry. You’d have been off somewhere married to some past beau. 

Being in love like that is what you want out of life more than anything, but you’ve never actually had that with someone, and so you’ve been stubbornly holding out for it. You’ve been the one to end things when that fiery passion just wasn’t there for you anymore. Or when an ex showed you a side of themselves you didn’t care to see, which changed your perspective of them as a person. You’ve also ended things when you realized that you didn’t like the person you’d become in the relationship. No one has ever pulled that movie sort of love out of you, and so no one has ever been the one as far as you’re concerned.

Life isn’t a movie, sure, but that sort of intense passion between lovers has to stem from some truth doesn’t it? We as humans wouldn’t feel the need to tell these stories and share the elation of finding our soulmates since the dawn of storytelling if none of it had any veracity behind it would we? Or is this concept a mythical thing that no one has really ever truly experienced, but we all claw at it endlessly in the hopes that it’s real? Is it similar to mankind clamoring to understand life after death even though it’s an impossible task? These are the questions you’ve been asking yourself for the better part of ten years, agonizing over them in the middle of the night when loneliness grips your heart and fear that it will never be held by the heart of another causes your mind to race. 

But then one beautiful man bumps into your shoulder at a charity event and in the blink of an eye your entire life changes as you know it, for better or for worse. 

As you predicted to Vanessa, Harry Castillo made the act of not loving him incredibly difficult. One month was all it took. One stupidly wonderful, perfect fucking month. A month of extravagantly romantic dates and gestures from the both of you. A month of beautiful fucking. A month of late night conversations, keeping each other awake well past the time when Harry should be getting to bed for work the next day. Your self made schedule with the cam site allows for you to stay up as late as you wish, but Harry has an entire company to run every morning. Monday through Friday, and some weekend days too when there’s a needy client or a big project which requires his oversight. 

A man like him should normally be thinking about work more than anything else, but not when he’s around you it would seem. His almost rebellious attitude towards getting up in the morning reminds you of sneaking around with the first boy you ever loved back in high school. 

He was a goth boy who taught you everything you know about black lipstick and heavy metal. You parents hated him for getting you into that style, but little did they know you’d been changing into all black and wearing spiked chokers to school for about a month before you and your goth boy started dating. He asked you out in the middle of the cemetery with a black rose. You said yes as he wrapped you in his leather trenchcoat on a chilly October day, and the rest was history. You’d sneak out of your bedroom window nearly every night to meet him, staying out getting high and having sex in his van until the sun was about to come up. Then you’d crawl back into your room, sleep for one hour or two, and make yourself get up for school the next day. How you managed to make it through an entire school day, go to play rehearsals, and not fail all of your classes was a testament to both teenage resilience and what falling in love does to a person. 

Which is why Harry’s warning about his lack of ability to feel it makes very little sense to you when he seems just like you did back then, wanting desperately to find any excuse to spend time together, even if just over the phone. Even at the detriment to his health the next day.

One night the two of you were on the phone until three in the morning, even though he had an early meeting with a client the following day. You eventually had to force him to hang up and go to sleep. He’d been halfway there anyway, and in his half-conscious state he’d mumbled sleepily into the receiver, “Should’a made Peter take that meeting. But if you were in this bed with me right now this wouldn’t be a problem. Hate sleeping without you. Bed’s too empty. Need your body next to mine. Voice is nice but it isn’t enough. Need all of you.” 

The way your heart fluttered with emotion for him was overwhelming, wondering if he even was awake enough to really know what he was saying or how laced with emotion of his own it sounded. While, subsequently, that guilt slowly chipping away at your heart was ever present. 

You’ve become so smitten with him that you’ll take any time he’s willing and able to give, but the more you and Harry get to know each other the worse that guilt is getting. When you’re with him, it’s so easy to push the feeling away and forget all about that stupid little seedling of a lie. A seedling which has now blossomed into a full fledged, tangled bush of treacherous thorns. Its bloody roses are a farce for the awful mangled roots which lie below the enticing red petals. When his presence is not there, it feels as if the thorny vines of the dark plant you’ve spawned have you wrapped in a chokehold, and the thorns are piercing your entire being. 

Waiting to tell him the truth, or your first excuse for it at least, stemmed from Vanessa’s suggestion to date him for a few weeks and see if you even really feel something for him. Vanessa later argued that she had not said it like that at all and she wanted you to come clean from the start. 

Your second excuse for not telling Harry the truth was his confession to you about his fears regarding love. Twice now you’ve started to make yourself do it, only to ask yourself the question, “Is telling him worth it if he may never love me?”

The only real explanation for why you still haven’t told him that you are not an erotica author but, in fact, an online escort, is that you simply and selfishly can’t face a rejection from Harry Castillo. You like him so much and you want him so bad. You want him more than you’ve ever wanted anyone. One would think this would make you wish to build things on a foundation of trust from the start, but your fear of his rejection is driving you mad with anguish over the whole thing. Thinking logically doesn’t feel possible. 

It has you feeling just like the Beatles song, I want you (She’s So Heavy) . Repetitive, heavy, droning, and with a foreboding sense of teetering back and forth on the edge of some sort of precipice from which there’s no climbing out of. You once read, during a brief Beatles phase in eighth grade, that the song was written by John Lennon about his intense feelings for Yoko. A quote from Rolling Stone about the song stated Lennon as saying, "When you're drowning, you don't say, 'I would be incredibly pleased if someone would have the foresight to notice me drowning and come and help me.' You just scream."

And so every day that you let the lie progress further, the further you sink into the water and the more you scream. All the while Harry Castillo has a hand reaching for you just above the rippling surface, close enough to see his blurry fingers, but always just a little too far from your own struggling wet grasp.

*****

It really is on that last Friday of September that the realization of how far you have fallen for this man hits you. 

You got up early to do a cam session for one of your regular clients in another part of the world, and something just felt off from the start. Bloated and swollen, you unenthusiastically squeezed yourself into one of the tight outfits this client prefers and begrudgingly got on with it. When things got started and you began fucking yourself with the client’s favorite green tenacle dildo (not your preferred shape but most clients love it), you realized that the silicone was coming out covered in a crimson mixture of blood, natural arousal, and lube. 

Some clients are not big fans of periods and may have ended things early despite having paid for the hour upfront (add-ons get paid for after), but luckily this one noticed that you were bleeding and ran wild with it. It took more effort as an actress on your part, but you pushed yourself through the difficult hour to get the hefty deposit into your secret bank account on the other side. Once the funds clear, then they get transferred into your normal bank account. Another layer of security to protect yourself. 

You hadn’t even felt like cumming afterwards like you normally do, feeling none of the sexual gusto that comes from getting your clients off. Usually your cam sessions make you feel powerful and sexy, but today you just simply feel like crap.

Bleeding in front of a client isn’t the issue. You’ve done it before, and it’s easy to charge extra for your services if your period is going to play a role, but your cramps and mood are far too extreme for you to feel any enthusiasm for what you just did. Or anything, for that matter. 

So after cleaning and locking up the studio you shower, unceremoniously shove a tampon in, throw on comfortable clothes, and crawl into bed. Which is where you stay for the remainder of the afternoon. 

Around 3pm your phone buzzes on the pillow next to yours, pulling your attention from the horror movie playing on the small television propped up on the black dresser. It’s not a flat screen smart TV riddled with glitches and shitty streaming services, it’s a real honest-to-god television. Equipped with a VCR and DVD Player. No wifi, just you and your beloved movies. 

Reaching over for the more modern device, a smile spreads across your flushing face and your chest swells a little at the new notification. It’s Harry. 

He must be taking a break from work, and given that it’s Friday you’re sure he’s going to ask if you’ll let him take you out. That’s always how he phrases these things; let him . Harry’s a man who won’t do anything without permission first, and you adore letting him do all sorts of things, but today you just don’t have a night out of the house in you. 

Harry Castillo: Hey, sweetheart. Thinking about you. How’s your day going?

Anxiety spikes in you for a moment, unsure of how to answer. He probably thinks you’ve been working on writing all day. Something's got to give with this sooner or later, but then you would have to grow a pair. Since that isn’t happening today of all days, you once again shove the guilt far far down and start up a conversation with him. He must really be on a break from work, because he responds to you immediately each time you respond to him.

You: Hi, handsome. Been thinking about you today too. I accomplished a pretty big goal this morning, but I started my period. I feel pretty awful. :(

Harry Castillo: Poor thing. I’m sorry to hear you’re not feeling well. Are you taking care of yourself?

You: Trying to take it easy. I’m laying in bed watching a movie. 

Harry Castillo: Good, you should rest. I was reaching out to see if you wanted to get dinner, but I’m guessing that’s a no?

You: Yeah, I don’t have that in me tonight. Thank you for offering though. How’s work?

Harry Castillo: Boring, but productive. Peter and I are working on inventory reports for the end of the month. Mind numbing stuff. Might call it for the day and head to the gym, though. Ready to start my weekend. What movie are you watching?

You: Carrie. I figured I should watch something in-theme with my misery. It’s almost over, she’s already dancing with Tommy Ross at the prom. Glad work’s productive, but boooo to it being boring. Are you really gonna leave early?

Harry Castillo: I remember that one. Good movie. Got another lined up for after? 

Harry Castillo: I think I will leave early. I am the boss after all, I can come and go as I please. ;) Besides, we’re nearly done with the report. Peter can finish up here.

You: Yessss abuse your powerrrr. Sexy as hell. lol. ;) And yeah, I was thinking Scream next. A comfort movie from my youth to soothe me. 

Harry Castillo: You know, I’ve never seen that. 

You: WHAT?! Weren’t you the perfect age to see that in theaters when it came out? What a squandered opportunity. 

Harry Castillo: Those kinds of movies were always more Peter’s thing. I like an eerie atmosphere in a film, not needless gore.

You: “Those kinds.” Smh. There’s way more to it than gore. It’s a classique. You gotta see it. Changed the genre as we know it. 

Harry starts typing, then he stops. This happens a few times, and you chew your lip in anticipation.

Harry Castillo: lol I believe you. You’re very cute when you’re passionate. If I left work now would you wait for me to get over there to start it? I’ll skip the gym, I think. I’d rather come take care of you tonight, if you’ll let me. 

Your heart nearly leaps from your chest. Harry Castillo? In your apartment? He’s dropped you off several times in the month you’ve been dating but he hasn’t come in yet. Usually the two of you spend all of your time together out or at his place, mostly to have privacy. Being at your place means there’s always a fifty fifty chance that Vanessa could come home if she’s not staying with Charles, and at this point the idea of fucking Harry quietly doesn’t seem possible. Or fun. 

You: If you come over you cannot judge the state of my apartment. It’s clean but it’s nothing like yours.

Harry Castillo: You know I don’t care if your apartment is like mine. I want to see your home, your life. And you cannot judge the shitty sweatpants from my gym bag that I plan to change into. Ready to be out of this suit for the day. 

You: Ew, I hope you plan to throw them in the wash first…

Harry Castillo: Ha Ha, very funny. I’ll see you soon, sweetheart.

An hour and some change later, the buzzer for the building front door is going off. A few minutes after that, Harry Castillo is at the threshold of your apartment struggling to hold a bouquet of cheap drug store roses, a box of chocolates, a brand new heating pad, a pack of tampons, and a bottle of Tylenol. He’s also got an expensive looking black duffle bag slung over his shoulder. He’s still dressed in his hand tailored navy blue suit, one of the ones you know he wears to work on regular rotation, and he looks the very picture of a dashing gentleman coming to court his lady. The fact that you are that lady is still a wild concept to you, and you suddenly feel as if you don’t deserve him at all. Especially not when you’re harboring a secret from him.

“Hi,” you say, smiling through your inner turmoil.

“Hey,” he smiles back. “I wasn’t sure if you needed any of this stuff, but I figured why not. A girl on her period deserves to be pampered,” Harry says, shrugging almost bashfully in the doorway. The movement is awkward with all of the items he’s juggling. “Sorry the roses are from Walgreens, though. Didn’t want to make more than one stop.”

Moving to the side to allow him entry, you take the offered flowers, bringing them to your nose. “Roses are roses, Harry. They’re lovely, thank you. I’d take flowers you found on the side of the road so long as they made you think of me.”

Harry slowly enters the small three bedroom apartment, looking around curiously, seeming to take in the decor and furniture. “It’s very clear what items belong to you and what items belong to Vanessa,” he muses, smiling. 

With a small grin, you ask him, “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Harry chuckles, shrugging, “Most of the things in here are either an item from Mexico or they are various shades of pink and look like they came from a department store. The other half of the decor looks like dark academia, and I couldn’t tell you where you bought any of it.”

“Actually, a lot of it I made myself, back when I was poor. Thrift store upgrades,” you admit, moving over to the kitchen to find a vase for the flowers. “And some of my stuff is also from a department store, just at their Halloween sales.”

Harry follows you, humming, “Mm, a crafty and witchy woman. You know, for someone who regularly refers to herself as an ex-goth, I don’t really think the ex part is necessary. I think you’re just goth, sweetheart.”

You set the flowers up in some water on the tiny dining room table, turning to face Harry again with a shrug. “I just feel like I’m more than that though. If anything I like to think of it as a grown-up goth. Sophisticated and sexy goth. I think the word itself has a very juvenile connotation associated with it. I’m in my 30s, and I don’t go to metal night clubs in all leather anymore. I listen to all kinds of music nowadays and I no longer strictly watch horror movies. Sometimes I even wear color. I just still enjoy dark things. A lot.”

He moves further into the apartment, slowly turning his head from side to side. Then his eyes land on the framed black and white photograph on the wall adjacent from his head. Harry squints at the photo for a moment while a look of confusion washes over his face. “Why do you have a framed photo of a man dancing with a plastic skeleton? Is this a relative?”

You laugh, “That’s Vincent Price. It’s my favorite picture of him, from the set of House on Haunted Hill. I love that weird man.” You sigh dreamily, “Did you know he had a cooking show? He could do it all!” 

“Such a unique woman,” he marvels, sounding so in awe for a moment. With the other items Harry brought you set out on the kitchen counter and his duffle bag on the floor, Harry is moving to you with his arms outstretched and a charming smile gracing his handsome features. “But you know I like that about you. How are you feeling?”

You slide into his embrace easily. “Still shitty. Better now that you’re here, though. Thank you for coming over. Vanessa should be gone for the night and truthfully I didn’t want to be alone. What did you tell Peter when you left early?”

Harry kisses the side of your head, pressing his own into you as he whispers in your ear, “I told him that my girlfriend wasn’t feeling well and she needed me.”

Inside your body, your heart and stomach are competing in a triathlon all at once. Running, biking, swimming. It’s overwhelming, and you cling to him even harder. Harry hasn’t referred to you as his girlfriend before now. Up until this moment, the two of you would just refer to things between you as ‘dating’ or ‘seeing each other’. Exclusive and with intention, yes, but still just dating as far as you were aware. You and Harry have spent the last four weeks in the ‘getting to know each other’ stage of things. The title of ‘girlfriend’ has suddenly thrusted this situation one step further into real relationship territory. 

“So you’re my boyfriend, Harry?” You whisper into his ear, terrified.

“If you’ll let me be,” he responds hopefully.

Your brain is screaming at you to tell him. To go unlock the studio and sit him down to explain yourself in as much detail as you can to try and save this before you let it get any worse than you already have. 

But your tongue twists itself into a tight knot, and instead it prevents you from saying anything at all. You tell yourself maybe it’s for the best, that telling him while feeling vulnerable on your period is a terrible idea. 

Harry breaks from the hug to bore into your eyes with his own, and you can’t stop yourself from lifting up on your bare tiptoes to kiss him. His lips spread into a wide grin against yours, and his body seems to release some of the tension it had been storing. 

You give him a small tour of the place, explaining that your office is off limits for the time being. Until you’re ready to share that part of yourself with him. Harry luckily takes that explanation well, telling you that he understands. He doesn’t question your ‘creative agency’ as you so ridiculously put it, and instead heads into the bathroom to change and freshen up. 

He emerges again about ten minutes later, hair damp and body smelling of expensive men’s body wash. Wearing a simple gray t-shirt and black sweats combo, he smiles at you graciously and thanks you for the use of your shower. 

That is the exact moment when the love you feel for this overwhelmingly handsome man hits you like a bus. Here he is, one of New York’s most elite businessmen and a man cut of a much finer cloth than your own, standing barefoot in your crappy little outdated apartment looking like a normal person. Someone down on your level. Someone you could see yourself with for a long time. Someone you’re actively fucking lying to. 

All at once you know you love him, and you hate yourself for it. Your heart somehow both swells and sinks, eyes filling with tears. Suddenly it’s all too much.

He notices. 

“What’s wrong? Are you in pain?” Harry asks, concerned.

“Everything hurts, Harry. Can we go get in bed?” Not a lie. If only you had the courage to keep going. 

You’re already heading for the bedroom, weak and confused, and Harry’s behind you with the chocolates and the heating pad. It occurs to you as you enter your bedroom, a tasteful and somewhat witchy vibe of green, black, and purple, that perhaps a movie about a girl’s boyfriend lying to her for a whole year and then trying to kill her and all of her friends is not a good choice for a movie after all. Your eyes dart around the bookcase filled with films. What’s a safer choice? Action? Superheroes? Secret identities... Probably not a good choice either. Fuck. Okay, no movies.

You whip around to face him, an almost new kind of shyness taking over now that your feelings have so drastically shifted in your heart. Looking at him is almost too intense, so you start to move onto the bed. “I know you came over here to watch that movie, but I think I’m over television for the time being. Maybe we could listen to some music instead?” 

Harry shakes his head and his eyes hold a genuineness for you as he speaks, “I didn’t come rushing over here to watch a movie. I wanted you to know you can rely on me when you need someone to rely on. Even if that just means quietly spending time with you when you aren’t feeling well.”

Hearing him say that just makes you feel like a big piece of shit, and you bury your face into the blankets to briefly hide your shame before laying spread eagle on your back with a little groan.

*****

Harry takes a long moment to really let the room sink in, that same dark academia sort of aesthetic he pointed out before even more present than out in the communal space. He watches as you lay out on a queen sized bed trimmed with eggplant purple, marveling at how good your body looks in your yoga pants and cropped burnt orange t-shirt. Assuming that as a woman on her cycle you probably feel the opposite of good-looking right now, Harry can’t believe that women’s hormones play such tricks on them.

How wrong you are if you do feel that way. Harry Castillo finds you to be the picture of beauty. No makeup. Hair clean, but not styled. You just look like you, no fancy clothes or accessories. You’re in your own private bedroom, your sacred space filled with the things that comfort you most. You are a beautiful woman in her natural habitat, and Harry’s overwhelmed by it. He’s still not so sure that what he feels when he’s around you is love, but he knows that you make him feel things that are completely new for him and that seems like a step enough in the right direction. 

Then Harry notices the stuffed bat from the zoo is nestled between the two purple pillows propped up against the elegant wrought iron headboard, and his chest swells almost painfully. Definitely a step in the right direction.

His mouth stretches open with a toothy grin. “Do you sleep with him?”

You follow his gaze over to the bat, grabbing it and holding it to your chest before moving its velvety wings up in front of your face to hide the bashful look worn there. “Sir Battington? Are you gonna make fun of me if I do?”

“No, I think that’s sweet. Does he remind you of me?” He can’t help but feel this vain sense of pride at the notion. 

You bite your lip a little, humming in the affirmative as you nod. “Mhm. I don’t like the nights without you either, Harry. But we both need space sometimes, it’s healthy.”

“I agree, but right now is not one of those times.” And with that, Harry is climbing onto the bed with you, pulling your body into him as the little spoon. With his long legs scooping up your shorter ones, he's burying his nose into your soft hair, reveling in the clean scent of it. “I was originally planning to take you to dinner tonight and tell you, but I took the liberty of signing us up for a salsa lesson next week. Just the one to see if we like it. A private lesson, with one of the finest instructors in the city. I finally feel like I have the right partner to do that with.” He says that last part with such honesty behind his words. 

“Wow, thank you. That sounds lovely, Harry,” you say, voice distracted. Harry’s heart begins to sink, but a moment later you shudder in his arms and a little moan escapes your lips. “Ugh, I’m so sorry that I’m not more enthusiastic. These cramps are killing me. Salsa lessons really do sound great, though.”

He frowns, hating that you’re in pain. “It’s okay. Anything I can do to help?”

“Not unless you wanna make me cum despite the blood situation. A good orgasm usually dulls the pain for a bit. I wasn’t in the mood earlier but around you I think I’m always in the mood.”

Harry pauses, thinking that prospect over. Intrigued by how turned on the idea suddenly has him feeling. Curious . 

He finds himself wondering if this would have ever sounded appealing with one of his past partners, and ultimately decides that it would not. It’s not typically something a girl asks for, but once again he realizes just how unlike other girls he’s dated you are. You seem to bring some sort of virility out of him that he’s not sure he’s experienced before. Being here in your apartment, surrounded by the essence of you, he feels like a younger man all of the sudden.

You sound embarrassed, “I was mostly kidding, I know that’s kinda gross. Can I just have the heating pad you brought me?”

He’s shaking his head into you. “I don’t think it’s gross, sweetheart. I was thinking about the fact that I’ve never done that before and now I kind of think I want to try it. What's the slang term for it? Red wings?”

You laugh, full of disbelief, “Yeah, when you do it for the first time it’s called earning them.”

“I think I’ll try to earn my red wings tonight, then.” Harry says, and he’s pouncing on you in an instant. 

Thank goodness the roommate is not home, because Harry’s wild, animalistic growls and your squeals of delight as he rips off your pants would have surely alerted her to the goings on in her best friend’s bedroom. 

“Harry! What’s gotten into you?!”

“Caught a whiff of blood, sweetheart. And I’m a carnivore through and through. Need to devour you while you’re medium rare.”

“Jesus Christ, you’re a madman,” you’re laughing, kissing him. “Let me go take this out and get a little cleaned up first.”

Harry smacks your ass as he tells you to hurry, and then when you make it back to the bed, he puts everything he’s got into earning his wings and then some.

*****

October was supposed to be the month of honesty, or so you told Vanessa. You promised both her and yourself that you were going to finally tell Harry the truth about your secret life as a camgirl. After dating Harry for one month and catching real feelings for him, you knew that it had to happen before this good opportunity ends in disaster. 

And so you tried. All month long. This wasn’t like last month when you scared yourself out of doing it each time. No, in October you were readily prepared to say your piece and hope that your blossoming relationship with Harry would be strong enough to withstand any of the damage telling the truth is sure to cause. Your favorite month has been fraught this year, and you felt determined to have things under control by Halloween. For some reason, your bad karma for lying if you really believed in that sort of thing, the odds were so wildly not in your favor. 

After the salsa lessons he booked, which were wonderful, you’d wanted to take a long walk in the park and talk to him about it. But dancing made the both of you so feral for each other that the plan went right out of the window when he finger fucked you in in the back of his car, right there in the parking garage. He’d said he couldn’t possibly make it all the way home first without hearing you moan his name as you came on his hand. After that the only thing on your mind was your insatiable sexual appetite. 

The next attempt was your closest, about a week after that. You’d been sitting on Harry’s couch with him sharing a drink, feeling loose enough to speak more freely but not tipsy enough to forget what you needed to say. Perhaps liquid courage was the key. 

But right as you started to tell Harry that you had something important to talk to him about, a frantic phone call from his brother about work immediately pulled his attention from you. After the call Harry seemed on edge for the rest of the night. No sex was had, and he even ended up going into work the following day despite it being Sunday. That project, whatever it was, started to soak up every waking moment of Harry’s life for the rest of that week and well into the next one. 

You still haven’t seen him in person, but he’s at least been checking in with calls and texts where he can spare the time or brainpower. The problem is, it’s now only a few days before Halloween. With your self made deadline around the corner, you’re feeling like the walls are closing in. 

It’s while you are on the couch eating a bowl of oatmeal later into the morning that one of these check in calls comes in. Facetime, the time around. 

When you open the call, Harry’s handsome but extra line riddled face greets you. He’s in his office, and he looks as if he’s been frowning every second since the last time you kissed him goodbye. Vanessa isn’t home, so you speak freely.

“Hey, baby,” you say, leaning into the pet name more even though you know you probably shouldn’t until you tell him. It just feels so natural to address him as such. 

His face seems to soften a little at the sound of your voice. “Hey, sweetheart. This client is fucking killing me. Peter and I might be working on this account until Thanksgiving.”

“Yeah?” You’ve taken on a bit of a flirty tone, noting how much you really have missed your man’s absence. “Need me to come rough ‘em up for ya? No one is killing my Harry while I’m around.”

Harry shakes his head despairingly, “I wish you could come here and rough me up. I miss that fucking body. I haven’t even had time to jerk off since any of this bullshit started.” 

“Oh my poor baby, so you’re all pent up then, huh? Have you been saving all that cum just for me? You know how much my pussy likes being filled up with you, right baby?” You’re suddenly wildly horny yourself, and you’ve caught yourself slipping into your work voice. You never use that voice with Harry, but something about being on a video call suddenly makes this feel like one of your sessions. This feels wildly wrong and wildly fun at the same time. Surely you’re headed straight to hell. 

Harry looks like he’s going to choke, eyes flicking around the room. Is that a bead of sweat on his brow? “Christ, sweetheart, you sound like a fucking phone sex operator when you talk like that. Fuck , that was enough to make me a little hard.”

“Wow, baby, you really are all pent up for me. Knowing that’s already got me wet for you. I wish you were here right now.” As you say that, an idea strikes you, so you run with it.

“Actually, no, I wish I was there in your office with you. Under your desk, giving you the blowjob of a lifetime while your entire company is none the wiser. Can you imagine? Look down between your legs right now and imagine my face between them, mouth open and tongue hanging out like a panting dog in anticipation for your cock. I know you’re getting so hard that it’s starting to hurt being stuffed in those uncomfortable dress pants. Why don’t you take him out for me, baby?”

Harry whines your name, straining with need, and that sends everything past the point of no return. Harry Castillo is certainly your boyfriend, but right now he also feels like one of our clients, and this feels like one of the more fucked up choices you could have made. 

But things kind of naturally progressed to this, hadn’t they? You’re at least telling yourself that as you allow the both of you to go further down the rabbit hole.

He’s speaking in hushed tones, “Let me make sure the door is locked and the blinds are down. I’m also turning on the white noise machine I use for confidential meetings. We’re fucking crazy for this. I’ve never jerked off at the office.”

You grin wickedly, “We are just so full of firsts together, aren’t we? And you like that we’re crazy. Now where was I?”

Harry’s back in his seat, grabbing tissues from the dispenser on his desk with three swift flicks of the wrist. Swoosh. Swoosh Swoosh. “You were under the desk, getting ready to go down on me.”

“That’s right, baby. I was about to unzip those uncomfortable pants and let you free.”

A zipper moves, fabric jostles. He’s looking right into your eyes. “Then what?”

“Then I take you into my hands, pull back your foreskin, and I slowly run my tongue along your tip. Your precum always tastes so good, doesn’t it, baby?”

He’s propped you up on the desk and scooted back a bit, his right hand reaching down between his legs where you can finally see some of him. The camera is still pointed at his flushed face and clothed torso, but now the top half of his beautiful cock is in view. He’s clearly trying to sit in a way that still keeps it hidden under the desk should anyone be able to see. 

Harry looks you right in the eyes as he spits into his hand. That makes you wet . Then his right shoulder starts to move slowly up and down as he begins to stroke himself. 

“What happens next?” He asks, voice breathy. 

You smirk. “I take you into my mouth, and your hands come to grip at my hair, pulling it a little bit. Always gotta remind me who’s the boss when you’re at work, right Mr. Castillo?” 

“So we’ve done this before?”

“Yeah, maybe I come see you every time you’ve got a client who’s really stressing you out. Maybe I’m the only one who can help Mr. Castillo relax and everyone in the office whispers about it.”

“You are the only one,” he breathes, and he sounds like he truly means it. It’s not part of this game you’ve started. That nearly breaks you, and then he’s asking, “Let me see your tits, please?”

You comply, lifting up your shirt to reveal yourself to him in the shot. Now you’ve propped your own phone up on the coffee table, using both hands to cup your breasts. One hand eventually starts to venture below the waistband of your athletic shorts while the other plays with a nipple piercing.

“There’s a knock at the door while you’ve got your cock shoved completely down my throat. I’m gagging and drooling, making an awful mess. What are you gonna do?”

“I’m gonna tell whoever’s at the door to fuck off and tell you to keep fucking going.”

“That’s it, baby, keep fucking my throat. Feel me moan and vibrate around your cock. See that? My eyes are watering from how good you’re facefucking me, baby. It’s so wrong to do this in your office but it feels so good, doesn’t it? Doesn't it make it taste that much sweeter? Doesn’t it make you feel powerful? Cum for me, baby. You deserve it after all your hard work. Let it all go for me, baby.”

After a few more pumps of his hand, Harry is surging everything that had been stored away into the tissues with a strangled moan, and then he's panting heavily on the other end of the phone. His facial muscles already seem ten times more relaxed, and a laugh filled with disbelief falls from his parted lips. “Fuck, that was faster than I was expecting. Which is a good thing because I actually have to go soon. Jesus I really was pent up. Sorry you didn’t get to have your fun, though.”

You shake your head, grinning at him. “Harry, that was more fun for me than you can know. I’ll cum later.”

“As long as you're satisfied,” he says, frowning a little with worry.

“I’m very satisfied,” you confirm, and you mean it.  

“That was wonderfully unexpected. I was just trying to say hello when I called you, sweetheart. Thank you for helping me with that. I feel so much better. Fuuuuck .” Harry throws his head back as he draws out the word.

You blow him a kiss and send a wink his way when he looks back down at you. “You’re very welcome, babe. Glad I could help you relieve some tension. I hate seeing you so stressed.”

Harry’s smirking at you now, a mischievous air about him. “I have to ask you, though. Was any of that similar to what your writing is like? You were so creative coming up with all of that on a whim. It was so good, sweetheart. You’re very talented.”

Your heart sinks into your feet, throat drying up. You know that your face must be betraying you, showing the terror in your eyes. His face instantly changes to one of concern. 

“Uh, about that, Harry. I actually want to talk to you when you have the space for it. I feel ready to share something important with you.” 

Just as Harry’s brow raises curiously and he’s about to say something in response, there is a frantic knock at the door to Harry’s office. This one is not part of a fantasy this time, though. That stressed look instantly returns to his face, much to your disappointment. 

Fuck, you almost had it.

“What?!” Harry’s barking, eyes narrowing at the door. All of those frown lines are back too, not that it hinders his handsome face at all. “It better be good, Peter!”

“I need you to run over these numbers with me one more time,” the faint voice of his brother is saying. At least, you assume that’s him, given that you’ve never spoken to the younger Castillo. According to Harry, Peter went through a punk phase growing up and because of this Harry is convinced that the two of you will get along. You’ve tried to explain that goths and punks are two totally different vibes, but your boyfriend is an Ivy League prep at heart and doesn’t understand.

“I’ll be there in ten minutes,” Harry yells, rolling backwards while leaning forward with his elbows on his knees, fingers pressing into his temples on either side of his hanging head. Then he looks up and into the phone apologetically, and you get a good view of his now soft cock still unconfined between his legs. “I’m so sorry. I know you’ve been wanting to tell me something, but out of respect for you I want to be able to give you my full attention and I just can’t do that right now. Please, try to be patient with me until this account is handled. After it’s all said and done I promise I’ll happily listen to whatever it is you have to say. Okay? That’s the best I can offer right now.” He looks self conscious as he adds, “And maybe a gold bracelet as a consolation prize for putting up with me.”

Your chest heaves, frustrated that once again you’re unable to say what you need to say to this man, but you nod at him and smile supportively. The last thing you need to do is risk sending him over the edge while this account is a thorn in his side.  “Of course, Harry. I completely understand. Just promise me we will talk when we can, okay? It’s really important. Not life or death, but important. And you know I don’t need you to buy me stuff.”

“Maybe I just enjoy the act of pampering. Let me pamper you.” As Harry begins tucking himself away and readjusting his trousers, he smiles down at you through the video call. “But I do promise we will talk, I just can’t promise when. I’m sorry I can’t be more available right now, but I can assure you that when this is over I will be. Are we still on for your favorite night of the year, though? I want us to forget everything else and have a nice Halloween together.” 

You nod, “Please. You are not allowed to cancel on me. Is your brother still trying to throw a party even though you’re both stressed and his wife is seven months pregnant?”

Harry rolls his eyes playfully, smiling. “He is. He says that this is his last chance to go wild before the baby comes. Supposedly she’s going to let him do drugs so he can relive his rave days. Are you still willing to meet Peter and Charlotte? I know we’re not quite at ‘meet the parents’ yet, but I feel ready for you to meet my brother.”

“Totally, I am tired of hearing about this guy without really knowing him. I’m a little nervous to step further into your world but I think it’ll be nice. And I’m still welcome to bring Vanessa and Charles so I have people to talk to besides you, correct?” 

He nods confidently, “Yes. I still think you’re going to fit in just fine with my brother. His wife I’m not so sure about. Nice girl, just not the type I see you being friends with. Did you get costumes figured out for us?”

Your eyes glance over to that photo of Vincent Price on the wall, and you smirk down at him. “Just you wait. Be here at 6 and I’ll instruct you on what clothes to bring. Make sure your facial hair is short and your mustache is on point. Trust me.”

His eyes are shining for you, even through a six inch screen. “Looking forward to seeing you in your element, sweetheart. I’ve got to go, though. Thank you again for helping me relax.” 

“You’re welcome. Bye, Harry.” 

Harry Castillo lets out a long sigh, as if hanging up the phone is the last thing he wants to do. “Talk to you later.” 

Then he’s gone, and you feel a little empty without his presence.

It’s not lost on you that what you just did with Harry, considering the fact that you have to go get ready for a session, was very inappropriate. Therefore, you should be a little ashamed of yourself. 

It's also not lost on you, though, that a huge part of you enjoyed that so much more than you should have. Not playing around the lines of your deception, no. That feels terrible no matter what, and you're so ready for things to be out in the open with him. What you enjoyed was getting to share a little of this secret side of yourself with him. That part felt really good. It makes you feel like there's a chance Harry’s reaction to the truth won’t be as bad as you fear. 

*****

The night of Peter’s Halloween party, October 31st and the final Friday of the month,  Harry’s nerves are all over the place on his way to your apartment. He’s not sure why, really. 

Well, he has an idea as to why but he’s not sure if he’s ready to admit any of that to himself. So maybe it’s the fucked up account that he and Peter are stuck dealing with. Maybe it’s the fact that he’s always been mildly superstitious despite being a logical man and Halloween is an inherently spooky night. Or, more accurately, he’s nervous because his feelings for you are growing stronger by the day and you meeting his brother is one of the litmus tests for if the relationship is headed in the right direction. He’s still not ready to call it love. Not yet. He needs to be one hundred percent sure, not that he would have any idea how any of this is supposed to feel in the first place. Lucy said that he would just know when he feels it. That there’s no rhyme or reason; it just suddenly exists within a person. 

“We can’t help it. It just walks into our lives sometimes.”

You certainly just walked into his life, and since that moment Harry Castillo hasn’t stopped thinking about you. Even after two months of going steady, he still wants to hear from you all day long. He still wants you to sleep over every weekend even though he wants to be good about giving each other space. He still wants to know everything about your life. He still looks at the photos of you on his phone, a handful in the collection now, every time he gets frustrated that you’re not nearby. 

Harry is borderline obsessed with you at this point, but he’s not willing to say it’s love.

Perhaps he just needs to remember that this is still a new relationship, so it feels fun and exciting. But have any of his past relationships felt this fun and exciting? That’s a question he’s asked himself several times over the last few days. Being forced to limit time with you because of work hasn’t helped either, so maybe the absence of you has made whatever he’s experiencing feel more intense. 

The worst part of the situation with this needy client is that they’ve soaked up the latter half of his October and he’d been looking forward to spending it with you. You’re clearly a girl who lives for this time of year, and it’s been a shame to miss out on it. Maybe next year, if the two of you are still going strong, he’ll plan a trip to Salem or some other eerie place. He went there once on a field trip for high school, a lifetime ago it feels like, and Harry can picture you clear as day standing in front of the big black witch house that’s on all the tours. He can see you wearing one of your stylish outfits and those bat earrings from the night you met. 

Thinking about the future like that, with you still beside him and maybe even a diamond ring on your finger, makes Harry’s soul feel peaceful for a moment. Deciding to propose to Lucy never made him feel like that. Picking out a ring for her was the equivalent of picking out milk at the grocery store. Thinking about doing it for you, though… That feels warm, deep in his belly. He’s not sure what to make of that, new relationship or not. 

Then he’s at your building and you’re buzzing him in. Up three flights of stairs and he’s at your door, and then the Bride of Frankenstein herself is letting him into your apartment. His eyes immediately land on the glowing jack-o-lanterns on the kitchen counter, clearly recently carved by the girls. One has a nice face, and one has a scary face. It’s a toss up which one is who’s, but he’s willing to bet that yours is the scary face. 

“Happy Halloween!” Vanessa says, smiling at him through elaborate and dramatic eye makeup. She’s wearing a sparkly white dress and the classic beehive wig with the shocks of white stripes on each side. She’s also painted stitches into her neck to give the illusion of being sewn together. 

Harry leans in to kiss her cheek in a friendly manner. “Happy Halloween, Vanessa. You look gorgeous. Where’s my spooky lady?” 

“Your spooky lady is right here,” you say, emerging from the bathroom looking so sexy that Harry might actually keel over. Leaning with your forearm up against the doorframe, your other hand is on your hip. “And dare I say she’s extra spooky on this special night of All Hallows Eve?”

You’re wearing a skintight black bodysuit adorned with white bones to make you look like a skeleton, and the tight fabric is hugging the curves of your thick body so well that it’s already driving him mad. The bodysuit has a zipper right down the center, and you’ve got it unzipped enough to show an insane amount of cleavage. On your feet you’ve got on a pair of strappy black heels, and the nails of both your toes and hands are painted white to match the bones. Your hair is up in a pair of space buns, with little bone clips sticking out of each. Though you’ve chosen to keep your foundation color natural, your face is painted with that of a skeleton’s ghoulish grin. Dark lines to make up the teeth along your lips and cheeks, and black smudge to make your eyes and nose seem cavernous. Upon closer inspection the eye makeup is sparkly and quite beautiful, almost like an over the top smokey eye. 

“Wow, you look incredible,” Harry breathes, moving forward to take you into his arms. 

“No kisses!” You hiss, hands up to halt him. “I just finished this makeup and it took me forever. Don’t you dare mess it up with those beautiful lips.”

“No kisses, just a hug,” Harry agrees, his own hands out in surrender for a moment before his arms are encircling you. “So if you’re a skeleton then what am I going to be? You told me this was a couples costume. I brought the clothes you told me to bring and I shaved this morning.” 

You examine his face, squinting. It looks quite adorable with the skull makeup, and his chest swells with emotion for you. “Good, good. You look great. I just need to style your hair and maybe give you a little eyeliner. Is that okay?” 

Harry’s nodding as you’re pulling him into the bathroom, and just as he’s about to shut the door the Frankenstein Monster is loudly stalking through the apartment’s entrance with his arms outstretched like in the movies. Charles, if he couldn’t guess. The green face paint and the bolts are a nice touch, but the flat topped wig really sends the look home. Vanessa squeals as he makes ridiculous groaning noises, throwing herself into his arms.

“They’re cute,” Harry remarks, shutting the door and facing you. He's worried when you suddenly frown. “What’s wrong?”

You shake your head, shrugging as you turn the overhead fan on, speaking to him in hushed tones. He can tell you’re trying to play off a bigger emotion like it’s not a big deal. “Yeah, they are cute and I’m very happy for them. But Charles came to me yesterday and showed me the ring he just bought for her, so I guess I’m going to be losing my roommate when the lease is up in February. He’s going to do it on Christmas Eve when they go to London so she can meet his family. I can’t believe I predicted that, by the way. I guarantee he’s going to ask her to move into his place right away. I promise I am so happy for her, she deserves to be happy.” Suddenly your eyes well with tears, and you look horrified. “Fuck, I cannot cry. This mascara isn’t water proof.”

Harry’s brow furrows, wanting to do anything to keep you from feeling bad. “I’m sorry that blindsided you, sweetheart. I’m sure that didn’t feel good. Is there anything I can do?”

Shaking your head, you smile at him gratefully. “Not really, thank you. I’m just a little stressed out. We’ve lived in this apartment for eight years. This has been my home for most of my time in New York. Yesterday when I woke up I assumed I had at least another year in this place, and by the time I went to bed I realized this chapter was closing. I’m sad, but maybe it’s going to be good for things to change. I may have money but that doesn’t mean I want to pay the rent for an outdated and overpriced apartment by myself. Maybe I could buy a small townhome or something.” 

“I know you said this was only yesterday. So this isn't what you wanted to talk to me about, right? I just want to clarify.” He assumes that the other thing has to do with your tight-lipped writing career, but in an effort to gain your trust about that he’s been trying not to guess or pry. Whatever it is, he can tell it’s been weighing on you. Which is why he knows he needs to be done with the shit going on at work before he can give all of himself to you. 

You confirm his suspicion, “You’re right. That’s something else. And I really do need your full attention for that, so I’ve conceded to waiting until things calm down for you at work. The Vanessa thing is just another layer to my stress. I’m going to have to figure out what to do about moving, but I don’t wanna worry about any of this tonight. It’s Halloween and I’ve got a hot date with Vincent Price.” As you change the subject with that last part, you’re sliding up to him wearing a huge grin, showing the real teeth beneath the fake.

Harry grins in return, realization dawning on him. “Ohhhh, and you’re the skeleton from the picture? It all makes sense now.” 

In the back of his mind, though, Harry is taking note of your upcoming roommate debacle. His immediate thought is that he should just ask you to move into his place when you’re eventually in need of a new home, but then he realizes that he’s only been seeing you for two months and Harry hasn’t lived with another person since college. The thought had been immediate, though. A no brainer, even. What does that mean?

Nodding, you motion for him to sit down on the closed toilet lid as you grab a spray bottle and a comb. “I thought it might be cute to re-create the photo at some point tonight. I could hang it up next to the original.”

Harry feels warm all over as you come to stand in front of him, and he wraps his arms around your hips for a momentary embrace. “I can’t believe I’m dressing up for Halloween. I haven’t done this since I was a kid. This stuff was always more Peter’s thing.”

“That’s why Vincent Price was a perfect choice for you. It requires little dressing up. I knew you would already have the clothes we needed.” Your fingers are in his hair. “What was your costume the last time you dressed up?” 

Harry smiles fondly at the memory. “Batman, the Michael Keaton version. Halloween, 1989.”

Giggling, you’re starting to move his wavy locks around. “I bet your parents got you a good costume too since they could afford it. Not one of those Ben Coopers from the drug store.”

Harry’s mind is momentarily flooded with nostalgia and he knows exactly what you’re talking about. “Those horrible plastic masks with the ugly little smocks? What a blast from the past. I always pitied those kids.”

“Harry Castillo, the fanciest Batman on the block. How old were you?”

Harry smiles, remembering how important everything felt back then. “I was eleven, and I had made up my mind that it was my last year to go trick or treating. Twelve is practically a man at that age, you know, so I felt like I couldn’t do childish things anymore.” He’s saying that last bit sarcastically, shaking his head. How silly he’d been for that way of thinking. 

You laugh, shaking your head too as you begin to style his hair. “I got away with trick or treating until I was twenty-two. I was short enough to pass for an older kid if I wore a mask and went with my younger sister. Once she stopped needing me to babysit her and she was old enough to run around with her friends, my time for free candy from strangers was at an end.”

“Why doesn’t any of that surprise me?” He asks, chuckling.

“Because I’m quirky and fun,” you remark, poking your tongue out at him. 

You make quick work of doing his hair, combing it, spraying it with water to make it pliable, and then keeping the hairstyle you’ve chosen in place with a little gel. Then you take what you tell him is eyebrow gel to his mustache and shape it a little, leaning your own face close to his. Harry’s trying so hard to let you work in peace, but the scrunched look of concentration on your skeletal features is so adorable.

“So I really can’t kiss you while you’ve got the makeup on?” He asks. 

“Quit moving your lips!” 

“I just want to know how much I’ll have to suffer tonight.”

You huff, “You can kiss me after we’ve taken our photo and I’m a little drunk. By then I won't care if the makeup is ruined.”

Harry grins, “Deal, sweetheart.”

*****

Final Installment

Previous

Masterlist

*****

Shortly after you both agreed to get food together, you declared that you needed to use the restroom and grab your things from the employee area in the back. You explained how you and Vanessa were able to get into the event in the first place with the help of that guy, Charles was it? The venue’s owner, evidently. Apparently Vanessa is usually at these events as an employee, which is in all honesty not much of a surprise. It all makes sense. As he stands there thinking about it, the puzzle pieces of how his evening ended up going in this direction have started clicking together. You’re not from this walk of life and you certainly would have never attended this event without the promise of the musical guest. Harry was only able to meet you due to some wild stroke of fate. Or luck. He’s not sure which. 

Harry himself doesn’t care, but your lack of status makes things even more scandalous when he really thinks about it. He knows that his brow must be riddled with worry as you’re approaching him once again, looking much more casual than you had when you walked away. When he really sees you, though, the worry in him fades away. 

 You’ve lost about three inches to the tasteful black Jimmy Choos you’d been wearing, which you’ve now replaced with short ankle-high black socks and a pair of black and white checkered Vans. The classic slip ons, a shoe Harry hasn’t noticed anyone wearing in a long while. He supposes that they are still popular if you’re wearing them, but most of the people he interacts with on a regular basis would not go for skateboarding shoes even in the most dire of circumstances. It’s an intriguing choice, much like the rest of you.

Your hair is back to being drawn up from your neck and shoulders, though the look is much messier than the bun Harry had ruined in the heat of the moment. You’ve got a black sweater slung over your forearm, and the straps of the heels are looped through your index and middle fingers on that same hand. Your free hand comes to rest on his arm as you move in beside him. Somehow being shorter makes you even more adorable to Harry, and he’s once again thanking himself for taking the plunge to enhance his own appearance. Your height difference is exactly what he imagined for himself when the surgery was possibly just a disastrous idea. At his true height the two of you would be nearly eye to eye.

“There you are,” you say with a little grin. “I bid farewell to the lovers back there so I’m good to go when you are. Van says you better not murder me or kidnap me, or she’s gonna come after you. I told her I’d be fine with the latter and she better not try to save me and ruin our good time.”

Harry nearly chokes at the suggestion, the very notion of it shocking, but your giggle at his reaction is enough to calm him. “You really aren’t like other girls,” he says, at a loss for more to say than that. 

“The highest compliment a girl can receive,” you agree, leaning into him slightly.

Harry looks around the room, noticing a few eyes on them, and he’s suddenly wildly ready to leave. His driver should be pulling up any minute, but he hasn’t heard the ding of a text or felt the vibration of a notification in his pocket yet. His eyes narrow a little as he regards you seriously.

“Listen, I want you to know that I don’t normally behave like that when I’ve only just met someone. I don’t know if I’ve ever behaved like that, actually. I apologize if I came on too strong on dancing with you, or singing those crass lyrics.” Harry says this with a self conscious little pit in his stomach. 

A moment ago he felt very confident that dancing with you in such an erotic way had been the right call, but suddenly he’s not so sure. It’s not enough to throw him off his game completely, but thinking back on how sultry the last hour and a half of his life has been, in a very public place, a wave of true embarrassment surges through him. People like Harry aren’t supposed to act like that, at a charity event no less. He finishes the water in another large gulp, mostly as a way to avoid looking at you directly while you respond. He could really use the next liquid he consumes to have an alcohol content. 

The look you send him is clearly one of gratitude. “Harry, you were great. You are great. I appreciate your concern for me, but I truly had the time of my life with you out there. I wouldn’t be standing here right now if you made me uncomfortable. No apology needed.”

What a relief washes over him. “As long as you felt safe and respected,” Harry adds, nodding once.

You’re nodding in return, smiling unfalteringly. “I felt very safe and very respected. A little worshiped, even. Singing those lyrics was absolutely the right call and at your handsiest you were still very respectful. Thank you for being a gentleman. That’s rarer than you may think these days.”

“Mhm, I’m aware that men in general suck,” he agrees, looking around the room nervously again. 

Now that his integrity has been cleared up with you, he’s not so sure it will be for anyone else who was paying attention to him tonight. As Harry glances around, he catches the gaze of a haughty looking blonde woman whom he knows he went out with once, but can’t possibly recall the name of. Cynthia? Cheryl? Something with a C? Harry remembers thinking it was a fitting letter because she’d certainly been a bit of a cunt, the way she’d spoken down to their waitress being enough evidence of that. Someone like her is the antithesis of what Harry wants in a life long partner. 

The unpleasant woman notices Harry looking and frowns deeply at him, clearly still scorned by his rejection. Then she sees you, how closely you’re pressed to him, and she gives you a once over which suggests exactly what she thinks of you. Her eyes land on your worn pair of streetwear shoes for a long moment, and her upper lip curls in an ugly sneer. 

“Some women suck too, though,” he says with distaste, frowning a little. “Wait, that sounds sexist. What I mean to say is: I think most people suck.”

“Sucking as a person encompasses all genders,” you agree.

Your gaze follows his to the woman across the room, and Harry watches your brow raise, but then to his great surprise you blow the woman a kiss and lean into Harry even more as you lift up on your tiptoes to place a chaste peck to his neatly trimmed jaw. He’s certain it was one of his gray patches, and his chest swells a little. Normally he’d be horrified that you just did that, but seeing the other woman huff and walk off strikes a chord within him and that warmth he felt spreading through him earlier on in the evening comes back. 

What a curious feeling. 

Once you’ve clearly had your fun you ignore the woman completely, looking back at Harry with a sugary sweet smile on your lips as you rub your bare shoulder into his upper arm. “I may have some money compared to most but I’m not one of these stuffy broads. Maybe I’m wrong with this read, but I don’t think you would be hanging out with me if I was.”

“You’re not wrong,” Harry breathes, pleased to know that you’re actually seeing him. That feels new for some reason. “I have a feeling that people like her are going to talk, because we definitely gave them something to talk about…” he trails off, a smile creeping onto his lips as he remembers how your body fit against his so well. 

“See, that’s the spirit! We had fun, so fuck those other people. And your reputation is safe with me. I’m not going to run off and tell the ‘who’s who’ that Harry Castillo is an incredibly sexy dancer. Or that his hands were all over me and it was the most amazing I've felt in another’s company since I can’t remember when. Or that his lips are addictive. I won’t even say that he’s quite handsome. Very bite-able.” 

As you say that last bit, you’re leaning over to gently nibble at his shoulder through the white dress shirt. Harry could care less that you probably just stained it red with rouge. He’s never met a girl who wants to openly gnaw on him before, and his stomach flutters in response to it. 

Harry’s shaking his head, wanting to reassure you that he wasn’t thinking about you like that. “It’s not you I’m worried about when it comes to my reputation, it’s the rest of these sharks. I’m sure at least one of them caught a whiff of blood in the water.”

You grin widely, laughing. “Yeah, well, my favorite character in Jaws is Captain Quint, so let the bastards try and take a chomp at you while I’m around.”

His left brow raises curiously. “Doesn’t the captain get eaten by the shark at the end of that movie?”

“That’s neither here nor there, but if it would make you feel better I’ll change my favorite to Sheriff Brody,” you giggle, then you change the subject. “Is our ride here yet?”

At that moment, Harry feels a vibration against his right thigh a barely audible ding goes off. “Actually, I think it is.”

*****

Harry links arms with you as the two of you descend the stairs leading down to the sidewalk, and the feeling of guilt slowly eating away at your gut gets a little worse. You really like this guy, and starting things out with a lie feels like it’s suddenly a huge mistake. But what if you come clean and he ends the night before you’re ready for it to end? Isn’t it best to see the rest of this night through and then see where things go with him after that? There’s still a good chance that he’ll disappear from your life after tonight and then you will have embarrassed yourself for no reason. And, again, it’s not that you’re embarrassed about your profession, but you’re starting to feel embarrassed for being a liar and a coward. That stings a lot, especially when the spark you’re experiencing with Harry feels like it's not nothing. 

Apparently you got so lost feeling guilty and anxious just now, that you completely missed the fact that you and Harry have made it down to the crowded curb. As well as the fact that your favorite musician is no less than twenty feet away as he gets ready to climb into his limo, surely off to some club or afterparty. You also hadn’t realized that you've been staring directly at the handsome celebrity, or that you’re wearing a displeased look on your face, until Harry looks at you with an expression of worry on his own.

What Harry doesn’t realize is that you’re deeply displeased with yourself at this moment, but he must think it has something to do with him. He seems a little self conscious as he looks over at the famous man climbing into the white stretch, frowning as his chocolate eyes meet yours once more. “You know, I can probably find out what party he’s going to.”

Your eyes widen, shocked that he thinks you’re worried about that . “I didn’t even notice him, Harry. I was distracted by something else.” 

“What is it? You seem upset all of the sudden.”

This is it. Your chance to tell the truth. Do it, do it, do i-

“The heels killed my feet,” you lie, adding a wince for effect, though your feet really do ache.

  Apparently lying is just your fucking thing now, you think, shame filling you for a moment. Coward.

“ Oh ,” he looks utterly relieved, and you can’t help but wonder how he can be so confident at one moment and almost vulnerable at the next. It makes you wonder if he’s been a little deprived of certain things emotionally in his life, thinking that makes two of you if it’s an accurate read. 

Just then a sleek black car pulls up behind the leaving limo, and Harry’s opening the door to the back seat for you. “Let’s keep those feet off the ground, then”

“Are you planning to sweep me off of them, Harry?” You flirt effortlessly, feeling a sense of calm wash over you again when he grins handsomely in response, fingers slipping in between yours. That’s it, just get your groove back.

“If you’ll let me,” Harry says, the air of if completely honest. 

As he guides you down into the leather seat, your hands remain joined. He leans down to kiss your knuckles once before letting your hand fall down into your lap. Then the door shuts, and a moment later the door on the other side opens. You’re grinning at him as he slides in beside you. Literally right beside you, not just in the other seat. He’s even using that weird middle seatbelt that no one likes, body pressed closely to yours as you buckle yourself in too. 

*****

Soon the two of you are instead seated across from one another in a twenty-four seven diner splitting a whole cheesesteak and a couple of cheap beers. Both of you remark that neither of you really eats food like this anymore, and that you’ll both regret it when you feel like shit the next day. But damn does it taste amazing. It also helps that you both took some generous hits on the dab pen again before entering the restaurant, making the greasy subs all the more alluring. 

You’re grinning at him between bites and sips, practically moaning. “I’m so glad that they put cheese wiz on this the real Philly way. Fuck, I’m in heaven.”

He nods in agreement, chewing a hefty chomp of his own. “This is very delicious, which means it could definitely kill me. Are you from the Philadelphia area, then?”

“No, the Baltimore area. A dinky town outside of the city. Close enough to Philly, though. I still know a good cheesesteak when I taste one. I just know a good crabcake better.”

“I knew your accent was from one of the two. Philly didn’t feel right though.” 

You smirk, “It’s the weird ‘o’ thing we do, isn’t it? I’ve never been able to shake that.”

Harry shrugs into another bite of his sandwich. “I think it’s cute.”

Downing the rest of your beer, you’re blushing as you tell him, “Well I like your voice a lot. It’s handsome and smooth, like rich caramel in my ears.”

Harry snorts into his own beer, shaking his head with a cartoonish grimace. “Caramel in your ears doesn’t sound pleasant. Come on, Miss author . Is that the sexiest thing you could come up with?” 

“It sounded like a good phrase in my head,” you’re forcing yourself to laugh, ignoring the sick jolt of anxiety he just caused. There are a few bites of cheesesteak left on your plate, but your appetite is long gone.

Harry seems to notice how fake it sounds, frowning. “You know what? I’m going to quit teasing you about that. We don’t have to talk about your writing unless you bring it up. That was rude of me. Shit . I’m not doing a very good job of earning that trust we talked about, am I?”

Deflect, deflect, deflect. Be fucking cool about it. “It’s okay. I’m not that upset. I’ll admit that wasn’t one of my better turns of phrase, but I can’t help it that amber is the color of your energy, Harry.” Joking as an attempt to re-lighten the mood, you’re grinning when he makes a scrunched face at the reference. But then that lovely face of his morphs into a relieved smile, and your anxiety settles.

“You’re too funny,” he chuckles. “I like your sense of humor. It’s refreshing.”

With a fake scoff, you’re feigning surprise. “You mean to tell me that blondie from the venue back there wasn’t a funny person? I never would have guessed.”

“Shocking, I know,” he agrees, grin handsome as ever. 

A wave of emotion rolls over you when you take a moment to really look at his face, at how beautiful he is and how lucky you feel to be here with him in this moment. The need to speak from the heart strikes you, and you let yourself go a little. “I’m having a really good time with you tonight, Harry. I can’t believe I’m saying this, but I think meeting you is the thing I’ll cherish more than the actual concert.”

“I feel similarly,” Harry says, reaching a hand across the table for you. You slip yours into his easily, and he gives a gentle squeeze. “Do you want me to take you home to your place after this?” Harry asks, eyes darkening a little as he waits for your answer. He looks both nervous and hopeful.

You reply honestly, “If I say no, that I’d like to go home with you instead, will you think I’m an easy slut? I don’t make a habit of going home with strange men, usually.”

Harry shakes his head fervently, laughing. “If anything I’m worried that you think I’m an easy slut. I typically go on a couple of dates before I bring someone home. I’m not twenty-five anymore.”

“Me neither. I can’t explain it, but this feels different for me. You feel different. You keep saying I’m not like most girls, but you’re not like most guys. Do things feel different for you tonight, Harry?”

He nods, “They do. You’re more than welcome to come home with me, if it’s truly what you want.”

“It’s what I want,” you say honestly, scared of what telling the truth in this regard means considering how much you’ve lied about everything else. Every time you’ve had the opportunity to come clean before it’s too late, fear has halted your mouth. Nothing’s stopping your wicked, traitorous tongue this time around, though.

“I like you a lot, Harry.” Confessing this with real emotion behind your words, you’re willingly making this more complicated. It’s as if you’re suddenly uncaring of the consequences you may eventually face for it, stepping blindly into a situation that simply can’t end well because you have to see where it goes regardless. You desperately need Harry Castillo to know exactly what he does to you, and for you to understand what you do to him. You need it more than you need to breathe. 

“I like you too,” Harry agrees, smiling at you genuinely as he wipes his hands and discards with his napkin on the empty plate. He downs the rest of his beer, eyes darkening as the slice of lime slides down the neck of the bottle with the final drops of golden liquid. The way he looks at you feels almost predatory for a moment, like he’s deciding when to pounce. 

“Now, tell me,” he says your name, letting it melt ever so slowly on his stupidly alluring tongue, “if this were one of your stories, what would happen next when we finally establish that the two main characters like each other?"

*****

Harry’s tongue is buried so deeply in your cunt that the end of his broad nose is simultaneously and unceremoniously kneading into the sensitive, swollen nub begging for attention just above your wanting slit. It occurs to you that you very well could get off from his nose if he keeps this up any longer but just when you think that, his appendages disappear, and the airy chill on your soaked mound is enough to sober you up a little. You’ve half a mind to complain that he stopped, beginning to prop yourself up on your elbows to look down at him. 

But then there’s a swift, nonpainful swat to your inner left thigh.

“Lay back down,” Harry commands, growling in a voice dripping with a dominating tone that could send you off to the other side if you let it. “Nowhere near done tasting you yet.” 

 You’re on the kitchen island in Harry’s insanely lavish apartment, the skirt of your red dress pushed up over your waist to expose the lower half of you. Your black thong is hanging from the faucet on the kitchen sink, where it landed perfectly when Harry threw it behind his head without looking. You’d wanted to laugh at the bullseye, but Harry’s determination to get between your legs stopped you from being silly. Instead, you let him spread you, wailing and moaning as he proceeded to eat you out better than you’ve ever had it in your entire life. That you can confidently say, and you’ve had a handful of mouths bring pleasure to your body over the years.

Harry’s a pro beyond pros, knowing every little nuance to a woman’s most sacred of needs. 

He proves that when you follow his orders, laying back down to give him full access. His tongue runs from the base of your slit slowly up to your aching clit, stopping to swirl around it a few times before suckling lightly. Then he stops abruptly, repeating the entire pattern all over again. Each time he shows extra attention to your engorged nub, your body heats up even more and the cries of elation spewing from your wanton mouth echo through the apartment’s high ceilings.

Harry Castillo is secretly a madman, you’re sure of it, and his sexual vigor is right up your alley. The man is still fully dressed. You have no idea what his dick looks like, or the rest of that surely inviting body, and he hasn’t even seen your tits yet. They are still firmly secured in the bodice of your dress. 

Upon entering the apartment, Harry told you that if he didn’t get a taste of your pussy before the two of you did anything else, then he was liable to explode. 

Hearing him say that as he effortlessly lifted your ass up onto the gorgeously finished wood countertop? That made you start to fall for Harry Castillo before he ever put his mouth to your flesh. 

“Been thinking about this all night, sweetheart. Ever since we danced,” Harry says into your folds, hot breath and facial hair causing your back to arch in anticipation. He’s practically nuzzling your vagina with his entire face, spreading your wetness and his own saliva all over himself. You keep yourself neatly trimmed and waxed at all times thanks to your secret profession, and Harry seems to appreciate this immensely. “It’s even better than I imagined. So pretty and soft and wet for me, aren’t you?”

“All for you,” you breathe, pushing your hips forward to try and coax his mouth back onto you. “ Please , Harry,” you’re begging, voice husky and needy, “I was about to cum before you stopped.”

The chuckle Harry lets out is low and handsome, nearly sending you over the edge with the very sound of it. You feel his hands grip your thighs, spreading them even more. Then his tongue starts trailing each of your labia majora, one after the other. 

“I’m well aware of that, sweetheart. I just wasn’t ready for you to cum yet.” A kiss to your inner thigh. “Soon, though, I promise. Just be patient for a little longer.” A kiss to the opposite thigh. “Let me take care of you how you deserve to be taken care of.”

Then, without warning, two of his thick fingers enter you at once. They wiggle about a few times, getting fully coated in your fluids, and then he’s pumping slowly.

Wide-eyed, your head tilts up so you can look to where he’s seated between your legs on the footstool he’d pulled up when this encounter began. “ Harry ,” you breathe.

“Yes?” He asks, grinning devilishly up at you.

“You’re amazing,” you say dreamily, grinning widely to yourself as your head lay back down. 

Soon your orgasm is steadily building again, core tingling from the combination of his fingers curling sharply into your g-spot, and the darting flicks from left to right of Harry’s expert tongue. This time he doesn’t deny you, boring into your clit with more intensity as a third finger finds your entrance.

“Let go for me, sweetheart. Show me what you can do,” Harry coos lasciviously, then digs into his meal with a ferocity which finally tips you all the way over the edge.

Grunting and shaking, your body convulses with your hands braced against the countertop. It’s as if you’re trying to push all of yourself into Harry as the orgasm rocks through you, and then suddenly everything feels too sensitive and you’re hissing at him to lay off a little bit. 

He does, and as you breathe heavily in the aftermath of your bliss, he trails kisses all over your stomach before laying his head down on your belly button. Hands shakily prying themselves from the wood, you snake them into Harry’s soft brown hair and begin to comb your fingers through it. 

“You were so lovely,” he remarks, voice almost dreamy. “You came so beautifully for me, sweetheart.”

Your own voice sounds throaty, almost foreign to yourself. This isn’t like the fake voice you put on for work, this is real sexual tranquility. “Thank you, Harry. That might be my best orgasm to date. Not joking. I’ve received oral from a handful of people and I’ve never felt anything remotely close to what you just did."

“Well I will always try to ensure that your next one is still your best to date, then.” 

Fuck. He’s talking like this isn’t going to be a one night thing. And after the tonguing of a lifetime, you know you don’t want it to be either. You’re so royally fucked, and he hasn’t even actually fucked you yet.

Realizing this, you begin to sit up a little, causing Harry to lift up from your belly and look at you curiously. So you quickly explain, “I need you, Harry. All of you.” 

Harry stands, lifting you to sit up more with your ass sliding off the edge of the counter. He’ll have to clean that massive wet spot in the morning, but you pay that little mind as your bare feet touch the cool ground. Your knees begin to give out as your skirt falls to rest below them. Harry catches you easily as you wobble into him with a soft moan, and then without a word he’s sweeping you up into his arms bridal style. You’re a little nervous, given that you’re a few jean sizes up from someone like Vanessa, but he’s kissing you on the forehead as he easily carries you from the kitchen to the master bedroom with little strain.

There he lays you down on a bed of white satin, a bed so ridiculously huge that you can’t help but giggle at how tiny you feel laying in the center of it. 

Harry’s unbuttoning his shirt, smiling down at you fondly. “What’s funny?”

You’re shaking your head, laughing. “This bed is ginormous, Harry, and I haven’t called something ginormous since I was a kid. But it’s an appropriate adjective, this thing is cartoonishly big.”

“Is that such a bad thing?” He asks, smirking. His shirt is gone, now his undershirt. The body hidden beneath is one well maintained with diet and exercise, defined lean muscle tone showing you as much. Naturally tan, with dark body hair and an appendix scar, he looks so utterly beautiful to you. His hands are going for his belt, and suddenly you’re up on your knees, scooting forward towards the edge of the mattress. “Wait, please let me,” you ask sweetly, hands already reaching for the black leather strap and silver buckle as Harry’s hands instead move to find the zipper leading down the right side of your red dress. 

As you unbuckle him and slide the belt from its loops, discarding the thing to the side, Harry is simultaneously unzipping you. He lifts the fabric, tugging upwards, and your arms lift to accommodate the rising garment as it’s peeled from your body. Harry, aware of how nice the dress is, gently hangs it over the back of the stylish black accent chair across the room. As he turns to really take in your fully nude appearance, a warm smile so sweet crosses his features. There’s lust in the expression, sure, but his eyes wash over you several times and each time it looks as if he’s almost overwhelmed by what he sees. 

“I’ve never seen pierced nipples in real life before,” he remarks, mesmerized by them as he leans forward to cup both breasts in his hands. The pad of each thumb runs gently over the black barbells, stimulating the raised nubs of flesh nestled between. 

For a moment you’re self-conscious about them, frowning a little. “Are they too much? Ex-goth girl, remember? They’re a relic of the past, but I loved them too much to get rid of them. The lip and the eyebrow had to go, though.”

Shaking his head, Harry frowns a little too. “Please don’t be embarrassed. I love them. It’s just a little new for me, that’s all. Will I hurt you if I play with them?”

Relieved, you smile at him with a shake of the head. “No, as long as you’re careful not to yank too hard, obviously.”

Harry takes that as permission to dive in, and both his hands and his mouth spend a good few moments ravishing your ample breasts. Squeezing, pinching, licking, biting. 

“You’re so lovely,” Harry says your name, “what a prize you are. Though, I don’t entirely know what I did to win.” 

“As if you’re not a prize too,” you say, rolling your eyes a little as finally he moves his crotch back within reach. You make quick work of undoing his trousers, and then he helps you yank them down his legs, stepping out of them. Gripping the elastic waistband of his black boxer briefs, your movements are slow and deliberate as you pull down and forward. The trail of dark hair below his belly button is growing wider and thicker by the inch, trimmed neatly but still prominent. Slowly the base of him becomes visible, and then in one swift move his erection is springing free. 

A little gasp escapes your lips at the sight of him, not only pleased to see his foreskin still intact but truly shocked by his size. You’re not entirely sure how long he is, certainly long enough, but the massive girth of him is really what makes your mouth water. The anticipation of that thing stretching your walls is enough to make your core heat up again, ready for round two. 

“You like him?” Harry asks, smiling down at you as one of his hands strokes your hair. 

“I love him,” you agree, licking your lips as you lean forward to take him into your hand. Harry moans, hips bucking slightly. Having worked with an uncircumcised cock before, you know how to grip him and gently pull downwards, unveiling his swollen head and the delicious little bud of precum waiting for you. “Now this is a prize. You even get to unwrap it,” you say with a flirtatious giggle, adding, “and dare I say it's ginormous . There I go using that word twice in one night.”

When your tongue flicks out to lick that offered drop, Harry’s whole being seems to melt into you a little. Grinning, you widen and slowly take him into your mouth. Adding a little bit of pressure and suction, you slowly begin to work him in and out as the hand gripping him continues its rhythmic pumping. The little whimpers he’s making for you are music to your ears. 

“Oh shit , sweetheart, you’re doing great, keep going,” Harry’s encouraging, both hands in your hair now as his eyes slip closed and he throws his head back a little. “ Fuck .”

You’re gagging, trying your best to fit all of him down your throat as a bit of drool dribbles down your chin, when suddenly he’s stopping you. He’s pulled out and he’s trying to push you to lay down. He even leans down to lick at one of your pierced nipples, his hand resting between your breasts as he pushes. 

“Wait, I wasn’t done yet,” you pout, reaching for him again. 

Harry growls, a primal noise from a refined man such as he, and he’s urging you backwards onto the white bed more. As you lay out below him and the gorgeous man is crawling between your legs, they instinctively bend and come to wrap around his hips a little. Your hands come to rest in the middle of his back, fingers gripping in anticipation of what’s to come. Then you feel the tip of his cock pressing into your entrance and, still slick from Harry’s treatment of you in the kitchen, your cunt welcomes him into your body easily. 

A great cry escapes you as the width of his cock stretches you out considerably, the line of pain and pleasure blurred as your walls clench and squeeze, half trying to accommodate him and half trying to expel the painful intrusion. 

Three slow, gentle pumps are all it takes for Harry to enter you all the way to the hilt, and when his tip presses painfully into your cervix, the moan you let out is quite guttural. 

Then his lips are on yours, and your legs are hooking behind him at the ankles as he really begins to pound into you. His hands come to your ass, sliding below each cheek. With the leverage this gives him, Harry lifts your hips from the mattress completely. Thrust after thrust he’s relentless, and another orgasm is already starting to build deep within your needy core. 

“You’re going to make me cum again,” you whine between heavy breaths. Head lifting up to bite into his bicep, the need to cling to him for dear life has taken over completely. The only thing you have left to grab him with is your teeth, and so you do.

“That’s it, sweetheart,” Harry’s mouth is against your ear saying, “taking me so well like a good girl. I was right when I sang that to you earlier; Little pussy fits my dick so perfectly.” He pulls your ear lobe into his mouth, nibbling on the soft flesh as you writhe and whine for him. “You’re going to cum again, this time with my cock buried all the way inside you, sweetheart. Need to feel you contract around me. Then, if you’ll let me, I’m going to fill you up with mine.” 

Fearful, you practically start to push him off of you, terrified of the consequences if he were to cum in you. “I’m not on the pill! Or anything!” 

He stops thrusting for a moment, looking down at you seriously as he brushes hair from your eyes and kisses your forehead. “I had a vasectomy a few years ago. It was my forty-fifth birthday present to myself when I decided I definitely don’t want kids.” After he says that, he begins to slowly gyrate his hips into yours again, and you’re lifting to meet his movements in tandem. 

Then you kiss him with everything you’ve got. 

“ Fuck, Harry ,” you moan, “I think you might actually be fucking perfect for me.”

And with that, he fucks you until you’re practically braindead, completely stupified by his cock. You ride him a little, and then he’s on his knees taking you from behind off the edge of the bed. For a moment he migrates things to the bathroom, where he props you up on the sink and pounds into you standing up. 

Then it's back to the bed with your legs straight up his body, crossed ankles resting on his right shoulder. He’s holding them in place with his right hand, and his left is gripping into your thigh so hard you’re sure to have five small bruises where his fingers are indented into your smooth, damp skin. Harry’s done an expert job of edging you once more, changing positions each time you start to get close, his own stamina and restraint a marvel. It’s starting up again, though, and this time he’s not stopping to switch things around. 

“Close again, Harry,” you spout out through thick moans, a small part of you wanting him to prolong this more even though the rest of you is screaming in agony for release. 

“Go ahead,” he says sweetly, smiling as he kisses your calf and looks you right in the eyes. “Let me see that face while you cum for me. You look so beautiful stuffed with my cock, sweetheart. Show me .” 

Then he bites down on the same spot he just kissed, and your second orgasm overcomes you. Your muscles clench around him so hard, clinging to the very thing causing them to do so. Harry lets out a gorgeous sounding moan, leaning more of his weight into your legs as the pleasure of it seems to take hold of him. 

He’s parting your legs as you come down, twitching against him as he readjusts into a more basic missionary position. Your arms come to wrap around his neck, just as your legs move to wrap around his waist. Shortly after that, Harry’s own grunting cries of culminating ecstasy are ringing throughout the high ceilings of the bedroom. He’s convulsing against you and you’re instinctively cradling his head, peppering his cheeks and forehead with little kisses to guide him through it. A few more gentle pumps and he’s eventually sliding out of you with a great sigh. There’s almost instantly a distinct leaking sensation running down the crack of your ass. 

He’s kissing your forehead, then looking right into your eyes as he gets comfortable beside you. “You okay?”

“I’m great. How are you?

“I’m perfect, sweetheart. Just perfect.”

“Your body felt so good, Harry,” you’re sputtering out, grunting as your own body is again twitching in a brief aftershock of sexual bliss. “Everything felt so good.” 

Harry is nodding in agreement, looking up at the ceiling with this handsome little grin playing at the corner of his mouth. Shaking his head, his eyes are filled with wonder as if looking up at a star splattered night sky. He looks so youthful to you at that moment, de-aged ten years for a split second. “I haven’t had sex that great in- Fuck . I don’t know if I’ve ever had sex that great, and I thought I was having great sex pretty regularly. You’ve single handedly and irrevocably changed my life tonight. I hope you know that.”

You’re also looking up at the ceiling, deep breaths causing your breasts to rise and fall. What Harry just said is so true that it almost hurts to realize it. Things have changed, feeling suddenly like so much more than the one night stand you’d been anticipating. It doesn’t seem like the high endorphins is making you think this way, though. You’re well aware of what that feels like. Something about this night with Harry Castillo feels real. More real than anything you’ve ever felt with another. “Same goes for you, handsome. Ruined all other men for me in a single night together. It’s practically criminal.”

As you look over at Harry, his hair mussed and face flushed, a blush creeps into your cheeks at the notion that the wetness you feel running down you is actually him . Allowing him to finish inside was a genuinely new experience for you, and the thrill if it is so unlike what you were expecting. If anything you assumed it was going to feel gross. Cum always equalled babies in your book, so you never thought it would ever feel this amazing to know some of it is buried deep inside you and the rest of it is dripping onto the bed below. To know it’s the cum of this man in particular? That adds an extra layer to the feeling. 

It felt so different to embrace your lover in the heat of his orgasm, being so used to the empty, cold sensation of a pull-out and the inevitable warm spray to some other part of your body. There’s always been this sudden disconnect right before the moment of a man’s climax, but with Harry you got to ride it out with him, completely connected all the way up until the end. Connected in a way you never have been before, not even with a female partner. The notion of this stirs something deep within you, and your heart swells for the man placing kisses to your shoulder while he’s catching his breath. 

The most satisfying peacefulness washes over you as you tell him, “I’ve never let anyone cum inside me before.”

His brown eyes darken slightly, and Harry looks both surprised and a little pleased with himself. “Really?”

“Really,” you’re grinning, “I don’t want kids, so that shit was always very off limits. I’m not sure how to explain it in a way that you would understand, but that was very special for me. Thank you, Harry.” 

He leans over, grinning like a madman before kissing you passionately. “It was an honor to fill you up, sweetheart. I’d do that every single day if you’d let me.” 

*****

You and Harry ended up spending the entire weekend together against your better judgement. The longer time you spent in his company, the more the stupid fucking lie was hanging over your head. But your weekend with Harry proved to be downright magical, and the more the two of you got to know each other, the less easy it started to feel to come clean. You thought about doing it so many times, and each time your anxiety would stop you. What if he truly hates you after he learns the truth? He might not, you never know. But even after so many long talks and lovely sex and shared laughter, the truth is inevitably going to change the way he looks at you. The very thought of that sends your nervous system into an overload, and strikes a deep crack through your already straining heart.

Harry Castillo makes you feel the way the romantic novels that you most certainly do not write make you feel, and your greedy ass wasn’t about to go and fuck up what was turning out to be the best seventy-two hours of your life thus far. Morally gray as it may be, Harry could know the truth after your beautiful weekend together. You felt that you deserved at least that before you light the fuse that will blow this situation to hell whether you want it to or not. 

It’s as if you’re using your budding feelings for Harry to bargain with yourself for victory, but either way you’re liable to lose and deep down you know that.

The charity concert was on a Friday, so when the two of you woke up late into the morning on Saturday, Harry asked you if you wanted to stay for a while. He’d already taken the liberty of having his assistant drive over with a few different outfit options for you, and one swimsuit. All correct sizes, and all something you would have picked out for yourself, which gained Harry even more points in your book.  

‘A while’ started with french pressed coffee and a hearty breakfast of scrambled eggs and avocado toast, all made by Harry himself. Then ‘a while’ progressed into having sex again, this time on the living room couch, then once more on top of his washing machine after he’d started a load of laundry. You’d joked about how you could use another load too, and Harry ran with it. He ate his own cum out you while the machine whirled to life under your body, just before filling you up with even more of him. 

After that, the two of you went down to the lavish pool in Harry’s building. An over the top extravagant amenity with a gorgeous view of the city, and probably the nicest pool you’ve ever had the pleasure of swimming in. Once the two of you started to horseplay, however, things very quickly took a turn for the sexual once again. Harry’s finger had slipped inside of your tastefully high-waisted bathing suit under the water, and when his hidden erection pressed up against your bare leg, the pool was a thing of the past. 

That time he fucked you in his shower, bent over at the waist as hot water cascaded around your already enflamed body. When you begged him to take your ass in lue of your pussy, the man in question had moaned into your shoulder, “you’re a dream come true, sweetheart,” and he delivered what you asked for beautifully.

His assistant also brought you a small handful of basic beauty products to choose from. As you were later lathering on a serum nicer than any brand you’ve ever bought, even with your recently raised standards, it dawned on you that Harry probably spent at least five or six hundred dollars, if not more, on all of these things for you. That kind of casual spending, on you no less, made your head spin a little. 

You may pamper yourself all the time, but it’s wildly different when a man like Harry Castillo is the one doing the pampering.

In the evening Harry ordered takeout from his favorite place in Chinatown, and given that the both of you didn’t have a single bodily fluid left to give, the night was filled with conversation, snuggles, and soft touches. He let you pick out a movie, and the two of you fell asleep spooning on his couch (also ginormous, by the way) halfway through Bram Stoker’s Dracula from 1993.

On Sunday, after breakfast and one more go around in the oversized bed, Harry took you to the Central Park Zoo. His almost boyish energy around all of the animals was so endearing to you, especially when he lit up for you around the bats. Given that the winged animals played an integral role in the events which led to your dalliance with Harry, he felt the need to commemorate the weekend by purchasing you a stuffed one from the gift shop. You never even saw him go for the register, preoccupied by a rack of silly t-shirts. So when he presented it to you upon exiting, you’d thrown your arms around his neck and kissed him right there in the middle of central park. All the while your mind was screaming at you to tell him the truth, but you listened to your body instead. 

From there he took you to a ridiculously nice Italian restaurant, where he confessed to you over pasta that he’s never been in love and he’s scared that he never will be. That confession had shocked you, even more so when he quickly followed it up with a warning that if you said yes to what he was about to ask, then you were taking on the risk that he’s incapable of the feeling all together. The notion of him being incapable seemed silly, considering how affectionate he’d been with you thus far, but you kept that thought to yourself. 

Then Harry reached across the table, and the next confession came pouring out of him. He told you that he wanted to try to feel love, and he felt something with you that he honestly hadn’t before. Not love, not when you barely know each other, but that spark that they talk about in the movies. One little spark, but enough to grab his attention and hold it fast. 

After making your head spin with his honesty, he proceeded to say that the last couple of days truly meant a lot to him and, with the deepest sincerity in his chocolate eyes, Harry Castillo asked if you would let him see you again. Seriously, and exclusively. 

Your answer was the easiest one to give in the world, and yet instead of shining bright like the sun as it should have been, your heart suddenly felt much more like the moon hanging ominously over the city. While the front facing side of your heart swelled a bright, glorious red for the possibility of a relationship with this man, the side cast in shadow was already starting to shrivel and turn gray with guilt. 

*****

As you finish frantically pacing the floor and vividly telling a couch faring Vanessa everything about your weekend with Harry, sparing her the gorier sexual details, your stomach lurches and your heart sinks. While you’ve been wildly wrapping up the story, a great, ugly scowl has been slowly encompassing her normally beautiful features. There’s no hiding from your best friend, that’s just a fact. 

“Listen, I know what you’re going to say,” you try to diffuse, hands up.

“Listen my ass ,” she says your name sharply, stabbing you right where she wants to. 

You wince .

“I’m glad that got your attention, bitch.” With that, Vanessa pats the cushion beside her. “Sit down, your energy is stressing me the fuck out .”

“Sorry,” you say, complying.

“We are both grown-ups here, so I’m going to speak plainly.” Vanessa bores into you with her dark eyes, making your throat seize up. “You know what you need to do, or you’re going to fuck up what is potentially the best thing that’s ever happened to you.”

“I know,” you breathe, frowning. “I’m going to have to finish one of my novels and get it published."

Vanessa groans ferociously, hands clawing over her face. Then she whacks you in the head with a pink throw pillow. “No, you stupid slut! Tell him the fucking truth! If you let this go on too long the damage will be too severe to repair.”

“Yeah, I know that,” you say, hanging your head. You’re going to have to hit the bong several times in order to sleep tonight, the horrid pit in your stomach will make sure of that. “Fuck, Van. I really am stupid aren’t I?”

“You are. But I love you, and maybe if you handle this situation correctly then Daddy Warbucks will love you too,” she says, grinning a little as she uses the silly nickname. You can already tell she’s going to drive that into the grave with over-use. 

Her change in mood warms you, and the anxiety melts away a little. Feeling more like yourself, you send her one of your signature, Vanessa exclusive eyerolls. “Are we really going to call him that?”

“If you’re really going to date him I am,” Vanessa giggles. 

“What if he really can’t feel love, Van?” You ask her, frowning. 

Vanessa shrugs. “If that’s even a real thing. Sounds to me like he just hasn’t been in real love yet, not that he simply can’t feel it. But if it is true, then at least he was an interesting chapter of your life and a good lay. Date him for a few weeks before you worry about that, anyway. What if you’re the one who doesn’t end up loving him?”

As she says this, your phone buzzes against the coffee table. Reaching over to grab it, your eyes bulge a little at the name associated with the text notification. He just dropped you off a few hours ago, surely you’d assumed it would be a few days before you heard from him again. But here he is, making your heart flutter from the other side of the city. 

Harry Castillo: Two nights with you beside me and I’m spoiled rotten. You were right. This bed is ginormous. Sleep well, sweetheart. 

“I think he’s going to make not loving him incredibly difficult, Vanessa.”

*****

Monday morning Harry’s seated in his office doing the complete opposite of working. He’s on his phone, which makes him a hypocrite considering he recently instructed the management team to start cracking down on that with the associate employees. 

He simply can’t help it. You’re literally all he can think about, to the point that he’s a little worried that something is wrong with him. You’d responded to his text last night, but you haven’t said anything to him since and he’s fixating on whether or not it’s appropriate to text you again so soon if you haven’t texted him first.

Fucking cellphones, Harry thinks bitterly, chiding himself for behaving like a teenager as he sits the phone face down on the glass top protecting his cherry desk. He looks at his computer, opens an email, reads the first three words of the subject line, and then he’s picking up his phone again to check it despite the fact that he knows it hasn't gone off.

Nothing. He groans, feeling like an idiot as he reaches for a sip of coffee. He doesn’t put the phone back down, though, instead he pulls up his camera roll and the couple of photos of you he snuck over the weekend. 

The first is of you, in nothing but one of his black t-shirts and a lacy black thong, your back mostly to the camera as you sip on a mug of creamy coffee. You’re looking contently at the view from Harry’s kitchen window, sunlight streaming all over you. He loves your profile in that one, and the way the light accentuates your features. 

The next is a photo of your naked silhouette in the frosted glass of his shower. 

The third photo is of you at the zoo, happily captivated by the animals and paying no mind to the fact that Harry just had to capture how beautiful and carefree you looked in that moment. 

He’s never taken candid photos of a lover before, nor has he obsessed over receiving a text from one. He certainly never paid this much mind to when Lucy would or would not contact him, and he’d been prepared to marry the woman for Christ’s sake. 

Harry also never once called Lucy ‘sweetheart.’ Or any pet names, now that he thinks about it. Never a ‘baby,’ or a ‘honey.’ Not once. He would always greet her with a simple, somewhat awkward ‘hey you’, and he mostly just called her by her name. 

You come into his life and suddenly he’s throwing around the term of endearment like his life depends on it, and somehow not hearing from you yet is driving him mad with anxious energy. Harry Castillo is a man who is very rarely anxious. 

What is wrong with him? 

There were a lot of people at the charity event, and at the zoo. Maybe he’s coming down with something. Yes, surely he’s getting sick and that’s why his head’s not on straight.

Then the phone vibrates in his hands, and your name flashes just above the image of your grinning face. His heart leaps from his chest, breath hitching. He taps it before it can swoosh away with the rest of his notifications, and a feeling of calm washes over him as he reads the message.

You: Missing your avocado toast this morning. :(

It shows that you’re typing, and then a second message pops up. This one is a photo, however. In it, you’re wearing a black graphic t-shirt advertising what he’s certain is the band Type-O Negative . Your hair looks insane, adorably so, and you’re pouting cutely over a sad looking cup of yogurt.

Harry’s got half a mind to cancel his meeting and take you out for brunch, but before he can even think of a response to text you back with, his younger brother is barging into his office without knocking. He’s the only person besides their mother who can get away with that .

“What, Peter? I’m busy,” Harry says, not looking up from his phone. 

“You don’t seem very busy to me. Is that her you’re texting?” His brother’s voice is saying. 

Harry looks up sharply, glaring. Words aren’t necessary.

Peter grins, plopping himself into the chair across from Harry’s desk. He takes a long sip of his own black coffee, eyeing Harry the entire time. “I originally came in here to complain that I missed the surprise Bad Bunny show, which I’m very upset about. Charlotte being pregnant is ruining all my fun, but don’t you dare tell her I said that. Anyway, then I heard a rumor that you found yourself a new woman at the show, and that the two of you got to know each other very well on the dance floor. I just had to come hear all about it.”

Harry’s eyes narrow even more at his annoyance of a sibling. He loves him, but he could also strangle him at any given moment. “Get out of my office, Peter. I need to prep for the meeting at eleven.”

“Yeah cause you were doing that so dutifully before I walked in,” Peter laughs, taking another generous sip. “So is that her you’re texting, then? What’s she look like?”

Harry groans, “Yes, it’s her.” Then his eyes flick back down to the open text thread, and when they land on the adorable photo of you with your pathetic yogurt, the joyful little smile which creeps onto his lips simply can’t be helped. 

Peter’s jaw drops, “ Oh . Oh fuck , Harry. This is a wild development. I wasn’t expecting this today.”

Harry’s gaze moves back to his brother, eyebrow raising at the look on his face. “What on Earth are you talking about?”

Peter’s sharp laugh is one of disbelief. “She’s the one, man! I’m calling it. You’ve never looked like this before. Not once in my entire life have I seen that fucking look on your face. It’s the only explanation!”

“Bullshit, Peter,” Harry scoffs, looking away but not back down at your image. He has to consciously make himself not, knowing Peter would notice and use the impulse against him. “You know my opinion on that.”

“Whatever, big brother. Suit yourself. As the one of us who has fallen in love, I think I know what I’m talking about. But I’ll let you figure that shit out for yourself. Wait until Charlotte finds out, she’s going to go nuts.” As he says this, Peter is already getting up to leave. “See you in the conference room. Please actually prep for this though. I need you out there. Text her back and then think about her later. Trust me, it gets easier the more you get used to it. Love is fucking weird, man.”

“I am not in love with her,” Harry argues, shaking his head. If anything, what he’s feeling is infatuation more than anything else, right? 

“Keep telling yourself that, bro. And for the love of Christ, get your shit together for this meeting.” And with that, Peter is gone as quickly as he came. 

Harry looks around his large office, at his view of the city below, and wonders if there’s any validity to what his brother just said. Another vibration goes off in his hand, and the excitement he feels is like a jolt of caffeine straight to his heart. 

Only, it’s just his calendar reminder letting him know that his next meeting is in fifteen minutes. The deep disappointment he feels leads him to conclude that Peter doesn’t need to get Harry’s hopes up like that, but there’s a nonzero chance that his baby brother actually knows what he’s talking about for once.

*****

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Masterlist

*****

You’re both about to need a fourth drink by the looks of each nearly empty glass, but you’re not so sure if a fourth drink is a great idea. Harry seems to be holding his liquor just fine, but you’re a pot smoker at heart and you don’t normally drink this much. You know you’re tipsy, and you don’t want to take things too far and risk ruining the night for yourself. Vanessa never came back, and you’re not sure how she’ll react to know you’ve been getting semi drunk with a stranger. Then again, she’s been practically begging you to try and meet someone ever since she and Charles got together. Who knows, maybe she’ll be thrilled.

All you know is, you’ll be thanking her later when the two of you eventually make it back home. Harry Castillo is much better company than that silly vampire prince. 

You’re too lost in watching the skin around his eyes wrinkle with laughter at the dumb joke you just made a moment ago, and the beautiful dramatic curve of his broad nose when he turns his head to look briefly at the empty stage. He’s gorgeous from every angle, but that side profile of his is something else entirely. And his laugh? What a gift that sound is. 

“Are you listening?” The man you're mesmerized with asks as his chuckles fizzle out and he looks you up and down, brow lifting. “I asked you a question and you just stared at me.”

“Honestly, no. I wasn’t listening. You’re a little distracting when I’ve had three vodka sodas with generous pours. Have I told you that you’re handsome, Harry?” You’re unable to stop yourself as your hand lifts up and you run three manicured fingers through the hair just above his ear. You’re careful not to mess it up too much, and you revel in the softness of it.

Harry leans down, mouth hovering six or so inches from yours as his brown eyes bore into you. “Have I told you that you’re beautiful?”

Your chest swells and your stomach flutters at the question, lifting up towards him slightly. It would be so easy to kiss him, and it would also be utterly insane. Instead you force yourself not to. 

“Can we get some air? It suddenly feels like a million degrees. I guess I need to pace myself with these.” As you say that last sentence, you lift up your empty glass and send him an embarrassed little look while you shake it about and let the ice clink around. 

Harry’s eyes darken slightly with a vaguely lusty countenance, his free hand coming to rest on the wall right behind your head as he grins down at you. “I don’t think it's the booze heating things up in here. I could use to cool-off as well.”

With that, his hand slides from the wall and his fingers graze the side of your neck. A shiver runs up your spine as those fingers delicately run along the line of your jaw, before the tip of his index finger curls just under your chin. A small bit of pressure from him and you’re lifting up even more to meet him. You’re sure he’s going to kiss you for a moment, but then he simply shakes his head as if he cannot believe the sight before his eyes. 

“You really are beautiful.” 

Finger leaving your chin, his arm is suddenly weaving through yours, hooking at the elbow as he begins to pull you towards the huge glass doors of the terrace. Along the way you both discard your empty drinks, and then he’s leading you out into the warm summer night air. The two of you have the terrace all to yourselves, as everyone else seems to be inside anticipating the concert to begin at any moment.

“Do you smoke?” You ask him, squinting a little as you gauge his reaction. 

“I used to smoke cigarettes. Quit in my thirties.” Harry shrugs, eyeing you for a moment before looking out at the surrounding city. 

The view is pretty spectacular, and the night sky is as clear as it can be in a city this large. There’s a full moon peeking out from just behind the tallest building you can see at this angle. It’s picturesque, but none of that really matters right now in his presence. 

Pulling the thin little dab pen from your small black purse, you hold the sleek looking thing to your lips and take a long, satisfying drag. He looks back at you just as you decide to blow it out, so the vapor leaves your mouth through a sly grin as you hold the pen out to him. “What about weed?” 

Brows raising, he takes the pen from you and lets his warm fingers linger against yours for a long moment. That’s practically enough to make you dizzy. 

“Occasionally. Usually in more private settings and not at an event like this. It’s expected that I keep up appearances, you know.” Harry examines the thing, then he puts the mouthpiece to his plump lips and pulls a hefty drag of his own.           

God what you wouldn’t give to bite that bottom lip of his, body heating up as you watch the black plastic tip of the device rest indented against the pouty pink flesh there. A moment later he lets the vapor go with a sputtering, wide-eyed cough.

“Easy. Down, boy,” the phrase leaves your mouth along with a fit of giggles as you smack him lightly on the back.

“Jesus,” Harry blurts out between coughs, “you did that like a pro. I feel like a blundering novice.”

“I’m a seasoned veteran,” you say with a small bow, fully aware of the cleavage shot you’re gracing him with as you take the pen back.

“Apparently so,” Harry says with a chuckle, eyes lingering on your offered chest for a moment. “God, my throat burns.”

You frown a little, not wanting to have hurt him. “Yeah, sorry. Vapes are kind of awful. But they do nicely in a pinch, or when I’m out and about like this.” 

“So you go out often, then? Just not in the circles I run in, I suppose.”

“I can’t say that Van and I spend a lot of time with late forties businessmen, no.”

“I wish I didn’t. What kinds of circles do you run in, then?” As he asks this question, another more important question seems to dawn on him. A wild look of realization washes over his face. The dab pen certainly made him a bit more emotive, and you can’t help but find it endearing. “Oh! Do you have a boyfriend?”

A giddy little smirk finds your lips, happy to know that’s a concern of his. “No boyfriend. No girlfriend. No relationship. And, honestly, not that many circles. I have a handful of friends, but usually I enjoy doing things on my own most of the time. Reading, going to the movies, making food.”

Harry’s lovely brown eyes, red and squinting now, widen comically as a look of stoned pleasure takes over his handsome features. After that, his facial muscles relax considerably.  You know he’s feeling high when a warm hum escapes him as he says, “Mm, nice. I love movies. And books. And food.” Then his eyes grow even wider, as if he just remembered that food even exists. “Oh my god. I love food. We should get food after this. Something greasy?”

Harry’s enthusiasm sends you over with giggles, shaking your head at your handsome new friend. Clearly he doesn’t smoke as much as you do. “I’d get food with you, Harry. Who doesn’t love food?”

“Weirdos, I’m sure,” he chuckles confidently, smiling at you. “Do you speak Spanish?” He asks, suddenly changing the subject as he leans an elbow over the railing. “I got the impression that your roommate does.”

You nod, “She’s Mexican, so good call. It was her first language. I’m not fluent or anything but I’ve spent so much time with her that I can understand it much better than I can speak it. We watch a lot of Spanish language films together, and she’s influenced most of my current taste in music. But even still, I get so nervous that my accent is atrocious.”

“Say something in Spanish,” he softly commands, nodding once with more of that charming confidence of his. He’s going to send you over the edge just by existing, you just know it. There’s a gorgeous view of the city you love so much behind him, but he’s the only thing you can see right now.  

Stoned and nervous, you hide your face in your hands and say the first thing that comes to mind, “ Frijoles negros .” 

Harry barks with laughter and embarrassment immediately floods your system. You frown, looking down at the street below for a second. 

Harry seems to notice this, shaking his head and smiling at you fondly with reddened, squinting eyes. “Hey, no. I didn’t mean to laugh. Your accent is actually lovely. You should feel more confident in your Spanish. I just wasn’t expecting you to say black beans. ”

Shaking your head with a laugh, it’s a relief to know he wasn’t picking on you. You feel brave enough to shove him in the upper arm, deciding to use a term that Vanessa throws around a lot. “Yeah, well, you didn’t have to put me on the spot like that, cabrón. ”

He laughs even harder for a moment. Then a sudden look of realization washes over his face, and his brow furrows. “I just remembered. You never did tell me what you do for a living.”

There it is. He slipped it in so perfectly after your guard had fallen so far down.You nearly choke on the next hit of the dab pen, sputtering as you let the vapor leave your lungs and hand it over to Harry once more. 

Recovering, you try your best to smile and act as if that had simply been a cough. “Well,” you begin, prolonging the inevitable even more, “I’m a little embarrassed to admit that I’m a college dropout with no degree from a poor family. School wasn’t for me. Couldn’t afford it and didn’t apply myself so I stopped before I put myself in debt for no reason. After that I moved here to become an actress. That was a little over a decade ago. Acting didn’t work out, but that was never really my dream. This city was my true dream, and that part did work out eventually.”

He hits the pen twice more and hands it back, his handsome voice taking on a serious tone. “I don’t care if you have a college degree. Life is what teaches us how to live, not some expensive school. I was fortunate to have the money for that kind of an education, but ultimately my path was picked out for me regardless of my schooling. I learned how to do what I do by spending summers working as my mother’s assistant. Whatever you do, you don’t need to feel embarrassed about it.”

“Ha,” you scoff, looking away from him momentarily. “I usually don’t. In front of you, I do. You’re a little intimidating, Harry.”

Harry frowns, most likely at your continued reluctance to tell him. “Sorry, I don’t mean to pry so much. You really do intrigue me, that’s all.”

With a wave of the hand you try to brush that statement off. But inside you’re screaming with joy that a man of his caliber is saying things like that to you. “I’m really not that interesting.”

“Now that’s simply not true. Because girls like you don’t come to things like this. Your jewelry, for example.” Harry reaches his right hand towards the left side of your face, his thick index finger hooking behind your dangling earring. His eyes cast down at it for a long moment, and the most adorable little grin finds his lips. “I’ve never met a girl who wears bat earrings before. Especially not in the dead of summer, to an event like this. But it’s tasteful, and it fits your look very well.”

With a shrug, your left hand lifts to graze his wrist. “You can’t blame an ex-goth for hanging on to her old aesthetic a little bit, can you?”

Harry surprises you then by grabbing your fingers, bringing them up to meet his lips, kissing the matching ring. “That, I cannot.”

He nods thoughtfully, holding your hand close to his mouth. Close enough you can feel his warm breath. “You seem to have money despite your background. More so than your friend. The way you carry yourself suggests that this is a recent development in your life. I’m old money. New money is easy enough to sniff out when you’ve been stuck around these people your whole life. Maybe only a year or so for your financial success?”

“About two,” you blurt out, hand darting out of his grasp, flying to your lips. 

You stupid stupid bitch! Shut UP!

You’ve already said far too much to this man and if you’re not careful you could ruin what is turning out to be a beautiful evening. Normally you’re not shy about your profession. You’ve told plenty of the men and women you’ve casually dated over the last two years. You’re not ashamed of what you do when you’re talking to someone on your level, but you’ve never even been close to these kinds of people before tonight. 

To put it plainly, you simply enjoy expensive things because you had to grow up wanting for so much and having so little. Somehow you managed to find a job you genuinely enjoy, which allows for you to have the money to afford the life of casual luxury you always wished for. That doesn’t mean you look to surround yourself with other wealthy people. Most of your friends are still starving artists much like Vanessa. The fact that he called himself ‘old money’ just now is proof enough that he was born on a different plane of existence. 

Harry Castillo is so incredibly far above you on the food chain when it comes to New York City’s elite. He could chew you up and spit you out if you let him. Someone of his social stature could never know the truth about what you do and look at you the same way. You’re certain of it. 

If he knew that this time last night, instead of a designer dress, all you had on your body, or in your body rather, was a jeweled plug and a ring gag. If he knew there had been a weighted chain connected to both of your expertly hidden nipple piercings. If he knew that while you facefucked yourself with a pretty pink dildo, a much older and much less attractive man than Harry was fucking himself with a fleshlight to it on the other side of the video feed. If he knew that right after the session you used your wand to give yourself a quiet, grunting orgasm as your well earned treat after faking a big loud one for your client… If he knew any of that , Harry Castillo may not think you’re as beautiful and intriguing as he does right now. 

But he does think you’re beautiful and intriguing right now. He said so himself. And you haven’t said anything that could ruin your chances with him yet. So you scramble to think of something to say, and finally an idea comes to mind.

“I’m sorry I’m being so cagey about telling you. It’s just not something I like to discuss with someone I’ve only just met. I’m…,” your brain scrambles again, a split second of doubt stopping you from lying. But then the loosened inhibitions from the alcohol and smoke make you blurt out the only lie that makes any sense, and the decision is made. 

“An author!”

It’s not a total lie. While you haven’t completed anything novel-length yet, a handful of your short stories have been featured in a few fetish zines and smut compilations. Real, published ones. You never see any real money from those ventures, but it still counts. Your Ao3 account has about twenty-five contributions. All you ever read is smutty romance. This is a subject you know enough about to craft a believable fib around it. Guilty as that makes you feel, given that this is the most you’ve liked someone new in a hot minute. 

But, Harry Castillo comes off like a man you’ll never see again after tonight. So what’s a little white lie going to hurt in the grand scheme of things? The two of you are from completely different worlds. One night with a man like him is a blessing. Any more nights? That's asking for trouble.

His eyes light up at your not-true confession, lips spreading across his face in a wide, handsome grin. 

Oh no. Perhaps you’ve been in trouble from the very start.

Harry’s so enthusiastic as he exclaims, “You have to let me read your work!”

You’re blushing, and sweating a bit. “Oh, that’s kind of you but I’m sure what I write is not your speed whatsoever.”

Harry’s firm on this, shaking his head once. “I insist. I’m going to look you up as soon as I go home.”

Is this man fucking real? There’s no way he exists in this realm. 

“You won’t find me,” you say abruptly, quickly adding, “I use a pseudonym!”

He leans in, hovering close to your face as he pouts that damned lower lip ever so slightly. “Tell me your pseudonym? Please ?”

Your pulse quickens, palms moistening as you shake your head again. “I’d rather not, Harry.”

“Why? Do I make you nervous? I’m sure you’re a fine writer, and I’d like to see for myself.” Those big brown eyes are pleading with you, and it’s almost too much entirely. “At least tell me what genre you write in.”

“Uh, romance mostly,” you blurt out. “Like I said, not your speed.”

He shocks you when a bashful look crosses his features. “Actually, and please don’t out me for this, my guilty pleasure is romance. A night in with a bottle of wine and a steamy book or a sappy movie? Ideal. Please, let me read your work?”

Deflecting, you say, “My work is a little more intense than your mainstream romance. Steamy doesn’t even cut it.”

But Harry’s once again surprising you with his reaction. “Oh, really? You write erotica? Fascinating! Now I really must read something of yours.”

Your voice nearly waivers, but you hold fast. “ No , Harry.”

“Why not? Is it me?” Harry’s face falls, disappointment written all over him. A kind of shyness and vulnerability finds his voice, you’re certain of it.

You’re frowning, and for a split second you consider backtracking and telling him the truth. He really does seem to like you, and perhaps there’s a chance he would understand. But are you brave enough to take that chance? 

No, evidently you’re a coward. 

Fuck me, you think. And since you’d love for this night to end with Harry Castillo doing just that, you decide to speak from the heart as much as you can without revealing too much. The web of lies you’ve begun to weave is already starting to stress you out a little, so you take another decent puff on the dab pen and stick it back in your purse. 

“It is you, but not because I don’t like you. It’s because that is a very personal part of me,” you say. Not a complete lie. Okay, good. Keep going. “The smut I write comes from my real deepest darkest desires.” Worried that what you just said sounds sketchy, you quickly recover by adding, “Kinky, but nothing worrisome. My stories are not just about sex, they’re about the love between the characters. Those bonds are sacred, fictional representations of what I eventually want for myself with a real partner. Forgive me if I don’t feel comfortable sharing that with you when I don’t know you very well and I certainly don’t know if I can trust you. Perhaps if I got to know you better I would eventually let you read my work. But as of right now I reserve the right to deny you access. That part of my life is very private, and the small amount of success I see from it allows me to afford the lifestyle I want to live. So it’s important that my two worlds don’t collide. My parents don’t even know. Neither does my sister and she thinks I tell her everything. They all think I gave up acting to do clerical work for a law firm that happens to pay really well.”

Harry stares at you for a long time, but then his furrowed brow softens and he nods. A little smile creeps onto his lips, and the distance between you feels lessened all of the sudden. 

“You know,” he begins, a hand reaching up to move a curl from your eyes, the tips of his fingers finding your cheek, “that’s extremely fair. More than fair, actually. If you let me see you again after tonight I think I’ll make it my life’s work to earn that trust from you.”

Your breath hitches at such a forward statement, and you worry that you’re in much deeper shit than you meant to get yourself into. So much for never seeing him again after this.       

Attempting to deflect again, you tell him, “Just know that’s not an easy task. A lot of walls to break down and all that.” As you say this, he's leaning forward even more.

His lips are hovering just an inch or so above yours. “I have walls of my own, you know. Everyone does. Totally normal.”

Just as your lips graze his ever so lightly, a huge uproar from inside the venue causes you both to jump apart in surprise. Then some dramatic strings begin to play, followed by the beat of a hiphop style track.  

You shriek . Shrill and unforgiving. Harry winces at the sound of it. Without thinking, you grab Harry’s hand and begin yanking him towards the big glass doors you came out from. 

“Oh my god, oh my god, oh my god! Oh my fucking GOD! Vanessa wasn’t making this up!”

*****

“Is that the secret musical guest?” Harry asks, brow to his hairline in surprise as he lets you pull him easily. He can’t quite make out the song, but people seem to be going crazy inside for whoever it is. Then he squints, as if that will help him to hear better, and that’s when Harry realizes that your pen made him much higher than he usually gets when he partakes in the indulgence of marijuana. The three drinks, not including the one he had before he ran into you, aren’t assisting him to feel very sober now either. His senses are on a bit of an overload, but it feels good at the same time. Then a familiar set of music notes hits his eardrum, and a deep male voice sings the word dime in Spanish twice and his jaw drops a little. “Wait. Is that… Bad Bunny? ”

The wild look you throw back at Harry is absolutely adorable. This is clearly the reason you came to this event in the first place, and suddenly your presence here makes a little more sense to him.

“It IS! Holy fuck I am going to lose my MIND. Please come dance with me, Harry. I like you and I want to experience this with you,” you plead back at him with a soft and genuine expression that melts every single part of Harry Castillo into a helpless goo.

As if he was going to choose to be anywhere else tonight after meeting you. 

Your hand makes it to the doorknob, and as soon as you’ve pushed it open the cacophony from within is nearly too much. The screams from the crowd are more deafening than the music itself. The houselights have gone down and there’s a frenzy of new multicolored lights strobing Harry’s vision. It feels as if the two of you walked back inside to a completely separate event and Harry, for lack of a better term, feels high as balls. 

Harry has to really focus on raising his loud enough voice to tell you, “Wow, I can’t believe the guest is someone I actually listen to!” 

You turn to him, adorably wide-eyed as you yell back, “You like him too?!”

Harry nods, deciding that it’s time to be a gentleman and take the lead through the suddenly dense crowd. He switches things so that his hand is the one more in control of your now linked fingers, nodding down at you as he moves past and starts to lead you instead. “I do! One of my favorites!”

“I would have never guessed that in a million years!” You shout, expression dumbfounded. He frowns at you a little, mildly self conscious as he shouts back, “Why? Because I’m old?”

Harry feels relieved when that question seems to surprise you, and he loves the way you roll your eyes at him in a bratty sort of way, raising your voice to tell him, “You’re old-er, not old! And no, because you’re a fancy rich guy and this is not the kind of music fancy rich people listen to.”

“There’s more to me than meets the eye. And the pocketbook, for that matter,” Harry says, willing you to feel how true that statement is for him.

“Me too,” you concede, face softening.

The two of you lock eyes for a long moment, and Harry feels this swelling in his chest he’s never felt before. The pressure of it is nearly painful, but then it morphs into something else entirely as it unfurls through his being like a warm drink on a cold day spreading through his belly. He really must be more intoxicated than he realized.

What the hell was that?

*****

Harry leads you into the main room of the event space, and the crowd is literally losing their minds over the man sauntering across the stage with a microphone in his hand. As he spouts off lyrics in Spanish and the crowd joins in enthusiastically, a grin spreads across the musician’s handsome features. His stylish outfit is impeccable and his curly hair looks so soft, even at a distance. He’s more attractive in real life than you could have anticipated from pictures and music videos. But even still, he doesn’t hold a candle to the suave gentleman whose fingers are laced with yours. You’d thought Bad Bunny was going to be the one and only man holding your attention tonight, even back when it was still a huge possibility that Van was full of shit. 

You hadn’t accounted for meeting Harry Castillo. 

“Oh, fuck ,” you say to yourself, but loud enough for Harry to hear over all the noise. “I can’t believe it’s really Benito! This is not how I expected my day to go when I got up this morning!”

“Those are always the best days,” Harry responds, grinning as he yanks you forward more. “Do you want me to get you all the way down to the front? I’ll stay with you and keep you safe.”

“Please stay with me,” you agree, still marveling at the fact that there’s a man here who’s captivated your attention far more than the musician you came here to see. 

Harry nods once and tightens his grip on your hand, starting to strongly push his way through the crowd onto the main dance floor. It’s such a contrast to how this place looked an hour ago, and seeing all of these stuffy people in fine clothing bump and grind is a sight you didn’t think you’d ever see. The energy feels like that of the raves you used to attend as a younger woman. 

It takes a few moments, but eventually Harry’s able to shove his way through the various groups and couples and you’re right up in front of the small stage. A flash of familiar light pink to your right catches your attention, and you see Vanessa and Charles dancing together just beside you. Harry must have brought you to her on purpose. Good thing he’s tall enough to see over the crowd, because you never would have spotted her. 

When Vanessa notices you, she lets go of Charles and flings herself into your arms with a girly, high-pitched squeal of delight. 

“Thank you, bitch!” You scream to her, grinning like a madwoman.

“You’re welcome, bitch!” She screams back, and then, at no surprise to you at all, she presses her lips to yours in a quick but heated kiss. Her lips massage yours, uncaring if lipstick gets misplaced along the way. Just as your tongue flicks along the tip of hers, she breaks apart from you with a wink and a grin. You give her a disappointed little huff for ending that so quickly. 

When you both notice Harry and Charles staring at the two of you with slack-jawed expressions, you and Vanessa both burst out into laughter. It’s all barely audible over the concert. The men lock eyes for a moment and then share a quick shrug of confused comradery, and at that moment Vanessa flings herself back into Charles’ arms. She’s definitely drunk, because drunk Vanessa’s favorite thing in the world is kissing. And she’s already got her tongue buried so deeply in Charles’ mouth that you’re sure word of their confirmed relationship will have spread around to all of their coworkers by morning. So much for secrets. 

With a shake of the head you’re facing Harry again, and he’s looking down at you with lust in those inviting chocolate eyes of his. 

Slightly dilated pupils land on your lips for a moment, and his tongue darts out from between his teeth to wet his own a little as he lifts his hand to his own face. When his tongue appears again not a moment later, this time to run slowly over the pad of his thumb, a distinct and familiar throbbing heats up between your legs. All at once you’re desperate to feel that tongue run slowly over your aching, needy nub.

Harry’s palm finds your cheek, and he swabs his moist thumb just below the corner of your mouth. You just knew some of Van’s pink lipstick had smeared onto you, which is surely in contrast to your own dark red lip liner look. As he wipes it away, you can’t help but think that if you were in a different setting you’d have half a mind to draw the appendage between your lips and show him just exactly what your intentions are with a move far too sultry for a public place. 

You realize that you’re the one staring at his lips now, licking your own in anticipation. Once Harry’s finished ridding you of the unwanted lipstick, you nod at him in an attempt to give your silent approval if he truly wants to kiss you. A great thrill runs through you when he leans down and presses his lips to yours in response.

Finally , you think blissfully as your eyes close and your hands immediately find the lapel of his suit jacket, clinging to him for dear life. He tastes of whiskey and your dab pen, and his lips are so incredibly soft and inviting as you brazenly deepen the kiss with your own parting mouth. He lets you do it easily, and you’re so desperate to feel his warm tongue touch you anywhere if you can’t feel it touch you there .

His other hand flies to your waist, fingers gripping into the fabric of your dress. The two of you stay like that for a long moment, but then suddenly Harry is breaking the kiss, spinning you around to face forward towards the stage. His mouth is against your ear, “You came here to see him, so watch him. You can have plenty of me later. If you want me, of course.”

“I want you,” you breathe honestly, relishing in the truth of it. You feel his nose brush your bare shoulder, mustache tickling you before he presses a chaste kiss to the exposed flesh. 

Harry’s hips find yours from behind, and his hands find generous amounts of your body to hold on to as the music really starts to flow through both of you. Song after song you and Harry move in sync. 

Occasionally Vanessa comes back over and the two of you share a moment of joyful hip grinding, hands and lips briefly all over each other before she goes back to Charles. That only seems to rile your own dance partner up more.

Sometimes, much to your surprise when you first hear it, Harry dips his head in and you feel the rumble of him singing along to the lyrics as he presses into you. He hadn’t been full of shit when he said that this was music he actually listens to.

When Bad Bunny is halfway through HIBIKI , Harry has the audacity to sing the line “ b aby, te lo meto si me das permiso” which you know roughly translates to “baby, I'll give it to you if you give me permission.” The song itself is sexy sounding but angsty in content, and yet even still Harry is somehow masterfully using the promiscuous lyrics to his advantage. This man knows exactly what he’s doing. With his hot mouth up against your right lobe and what you’re sure is the beginnings of a hard on pressing just below the small of your back, you’re certain you’ve never wanted to fuck someone so bad in your entire life. 

Then a line later, you can feel him slip the hairpin holding your bun from your head, and your hair falls down over your shoulders in a cascade of waves.

Harry’s hand moves the tresses off your right shoulder and his voice is in your ear, singing, “Jalarte po' el pelo, despeinarte toda, después te doy chavo pal′ beauticion.” With that he very gently tugs on the locks once, before running his fingers up under your hair to massage the back of your head. As Harry sings the next line after that, his other hand slyly slinks around to bunch up the fabric of your skirt and you feel his warm hand grazing your inner thigh. “En ese totito cabe perfecto mi bicho.”

Pull your hair, mess it up, then I'll give you money for a beautician. That little pussy fits my dick perfectly.

Thank god the venue is so loud that you’re probably actively getting hearing damage, because otherwise the moan which escapes your mouth would have probably drawn attention to the increasingly inappropriate dancing going on between you and Harry Castillo. A quick glance around the pit suggests that nearly everyone seems to be dancing like that, some not holding back whatsoever, and so you suppose what you and Harry are doing probably looks tame. 

But it doesn’t feel tame. It feels like he’s tapped into that deeper part of you and you’re ready to let her out. 

Mercifully or tragically, you’re not sure which, the music switches over from hip-grinding hiphop to hip-swaying salsa, and Harry’s grip on you eases up. Your skirt drops back down just past your knees and the spot where his hand was feels empty. Wishing to see his face again, you spin around in his arms so that his hands are practically cupping your ass. 

You’re tired of shouting, so with hands on his broad shoulders you’re lifting up on your tiptoes to speak directly into his ear.

“Do you know how to salsa?” You ask.

He shakes his head, causing his earlobe to graze your lip. Then he’s brushing your hair to the side to speak in your ear again, “A little when I was a kid, but not really. I’d love to take lessons if I had a good dance partner.”

 “I would too,” you agree, looking over where Vanessa and Charles are doing the moves perfectly. “Those two make me so fucking jealous, but don’t tell her I said that.”

“So I don’t have to worry about her stealing you away tonight?”

“Nah, Van is a very lovey dovey drunk and I am her very willing and bisexual best friend. Usually we’re out at a club when she’s like that and I’d rather have her kiss me than some skeezey dude who might want to roofie her drink. That’s her boyfriend, Charles, she’s dancing with. So I’m off the hook tonight.”

“Mm, good,” Harry breathes, smirking as his eyes flick down to your lips. “More for me, then.”

*****

A few songs and an encore later, your favorite musician is gone as quickly as he appeared, and the surrealness of the last nearly hour and a half washes over you just as the houselights wash over the dissipating crowd. You’re covered in sweat and so horny you’re sure you’re going to burst. Harry hasn’t left your side since the moment the two of you locked eyes at the bar, and after feeling him grind into you like that for so long you’re determined not to leave his side until you’ve been satiated. This man has you so feral for him that you’re not even processing the fact that you just got to see your dream musical performance. 

He’s ditched his suit jacket, keeping it flung over one shoulder as he guides you away from the stage with a hand on your moist back. Vanessa and Charles are following close behind, attempting to keep their hands to themselves now that their coworkers can see them. You’re dying to tell her that ship has already sailed, but they can figure that out for themselves.

“I can’t believe that just happened,” you marvel, ears ringing in the quiet left behind from the show. 

Harry smiles at you fondly, “I’m glad I didn’t leave when I was going to. That was great, and I’m grateful I got to experience it with you.”

“Me too,” you agree, blushing a little from the genuineness of Harry’s tone. “So tell me how you got into him, because I am dying to know. You really knew your shit out there.”

Harry shrugs,  “My brother’s about your age and he’s obsessed. We did a week in Mexico for his bachelor party last year and he played Bad Bunny nonstop. After that I was hooked.”

“Mm, fair. Is your brother here?”

Harry grins wickedly, “No, he didn’t want to come. I cannot wait to rub it in his face when I head to the office on Monday.” Then he’s grabbing your hand to kiss the back of it. “Thank you for dancing with me.”

Seeing the older brother side of him for a moment strikes your heart with a little flare of something more than lust for this man. He’s wonderfully adorable. “You were an excellent partner, Harry. Did you enjoy being high for that?”

He nods, glancing at you almost knowingly. “It certainly enhanced things. It’s mostly worn off for me, though.”

A sly smile finds your lips. “I could use some more.” 

“You could use some water ,” Harry practically chides, though that smile he’s wearing for you doesn’t falter. “I’ll get you some, stay here.”

With that, he leaves you standing by a marble pillar as he slides up to the crowded bar. 

Vanessa moves in beside you, poking you in the cheek with a pink fingernail. Charles seems to have gone off to do his job. 

“Someone’s going to get laid for real tonight!”

“Shh! Keep your fucking voice down!” You hiss, mortified. What she said was vague enough that anyone within earshot would just assume you masturbate a lot or something, but that feeling of dread in your chest just sobered you up more than the dancing had.  “He doesn’t know about that.”

“Are you going to tell him?” She asks.

You shake your head grimly. “I told him I’m a smut author.”

Vanessa scoffs loudly. “Bitch your Ao3 does not fucking count.”

God, you could kill her just as much as you could kiss her sometimes. “It was the best I could come up with, Van. I’d like to see you come up with something better if you were in my position.”

She frowns, looking at you seriously. “If you see him again after tonight you need to come clean. He seems like a catch and he seems completely enamored with you. Maybe you can actually reel this one in.”

“He’s not a fish,” you say with an eye roll. 

“No, he’s a sexy rich man who’s exactly your type.”

“I don’t care that he’s rich, you know that.”

“But you do care that he’s devilishly handsome and older than you.” 

“Boy, do I,” you say dreamily as you watch him turn from the bar with three bottles of water. 

“He doesn’t have to be a sugar daddy to be a daddy.” Vanessa sends you her signature wink at that last statement. 

You shove her playfully. “That’s enough out of you. He’s on his way back. You and I will discuss this at home.”

“Aye aye, captain!” Vanessa says with a giggle and a salute, clearly still feeling her alcohol. Then her eyes widen as she looks over your shoulder and suddenly shouts, “But I’m going home with Charles, just so you know!”

Glaring sharply, you know exactly what she’s doing despite whisper-asking her, “What are you doing?!” 

“Getting him to take you home,” she whispers back. 

As if you needed help. 

“Did I hear that you need a ride?” Harry asks, handsome as ever as he looks down at you. He looks so good that it’s overwhelming, dark hair even darker now that it’s damp from dancing, the pink flush in his cheeks slowly starting to fade. His white dress shirt seems damp in a few places and he’s rolled his sleeves up to expose his toned forearms. Harry hands you and Vanessa a bottle of water before unscrewing the cap of his own and downing several gulps with his head turned slightly. There’s that beautiful side profile again.

Christ have mercy, how are you turned on by watching someone drink water? The way his lips are pursed against the bottle, the bob of his Adam's apple as the drink flows down his throat. The little flick of his tongue on the edge of the rim to catch that last stray drop. 

Fuck .

Vanessa elbows you, and you have to literally shake your head to dislodge from the stupor he just had you in. Words? What are those?

“Uh, yes, I was just going to grab a taxi,” you say, taking a generous sip of your own water while you recover. 

“I’ve already called for my driver to come pick me up. I’m happy to take you somewhere.” Harry offers generously.

You smirk. “I distinctly recall someone wanting to get greasy food after this.”

He grins. “I did say that, didn’t I?”

“You did.”

“I was really high, wasn’t I?”

“You were. But I liked it, and I’m craving a cheesesteak.”

“A cheesesteak it is, then.”

The two of you stand there, staring into each other’s eyes for a long moment, sharing a silent mutual agreement that the rest of the night is about to be shared in each other’s company. Though, as is the delicate dance between men and women, and despite how forward Harry had been with you on the dance floor, you’ll both still skirt around the subject until it actually happens. 

*****

Next

Previous

He'd wanted to propose to Lucy because she was the closest he's ever come to what he supposed the possibility of it feels like. Creeping up on 50 with his parents breathing down his neck about how he was far too old to be playing the debonair millionaire bachelor routine anymore felt like enough of a reason to wed her. He respected her, he felt like he could trust her, and he definitely enjoyed fucking her. But she'd been right when she said he didn't love her. He didn't, not in that way he felt so foolish for dreaming about. Something was missing with her, and he supposed that was it.   

Perhaps, had that final encounter in his kitchen ended differently, he could have eventually felt it with her. But he wasn't sure if that was even true or just more wishful thinking. So, disappointed as he was, Harry knew it was probably for the best not to allow Lucy to waste her life on wishful thinking. 

He's dated large handfuls of women and he's sure he's never once felt it. Women from good families and backgrounds, as well as some women with some not so great credentials. All shapes and sizes. Good choices and some not so good ones in his younger days.

But he's never felt that fluttering feeling that gets deep in his chest when he's all by himself indulging in his guiltiest of pleasures; a film with some good romance in it. When Billy Crystal is giving his big speech to Meg Ryan at the end of When Harry Met Sally , and Harry Castillo sits there drinking wine and fighting back tears, there's this swelling ache of wanting deep inside of him. No one's ever made him feel that .

Harry saw that feeling on Lucy's face when the ex-boyfriend interrupted them at the wedding, and again the night Harry accompanied her to her ex-boyfriend's play. Try as Lucy wanted to deny it to herself, the two of them were still very much in love. He heard they'd run to the courthouse and gotten married shortly after his and Lucy's breakup, and that was when he had his assistant return the engagement ring. 

A few dates with women from Adore were enough to turn him off of their services very quickly, and he canceled that account after only one month.

Matchmaking, surgeries, expensive dates? How much money was it going to cost him to find someone to share his life with? Poor people fall in love all the time. Constantly. In New York City it's everywhere. People are sickeningly sweet and publicly showing the world that they are it for each other even when they have nothing else. The public displays of emotion have always baffled him, much as he would like to know what compels a person to act like that without a care of who sees.

Perhaps that really is the key, and he's been looking at this all wrong. Lucy said that she was the type to fight in the middle of the street, and then she went and married the guy whom Harry assumes that little anecdote had been about. What does passion like that feel like with another person? 

Harry Castillo is a man who has everything in the world a man could ever want. But he doesn't have that. And until he met you, he was certain he never would. 

*****

“Stop everything and get your nicest fucking outfit together! Chop! Chop! We've got somewhere to be!” Vanessa, your roommate of eight years and your ride or die comes bursting into your bedroom as you lay across the bed with a book out in front of you. Her tan skin and dark hair are a contrast to the light pink silky dress she's wearing. The frock is far more elegant than things she usually wears to go out, similar to the dress Carrie wore to the prom. She's got her hair up in a tasteful bun with a few locks framing her face, and the nicest jewelry she owns. 

Eyes narrowing at your friend, you take in her appearance for a long moment knowing full well that she's once again up to no good. “What are you talking about? We definitely do not have plans. It's my night off and I was finally getting to the good smut in this romance novel. This and takeout sushi are the only things on my agenda for tonight, thank you very much.”

Vanessa scoffs, coming over to the bed to slam the book shut and read the title. She gives no fucks about making you lose your place or pinching your finger, and you glare at her as she giggles and looks back at you. “Do you want to lay in bed and fantasize about some vampire prince all night or do you want to come with me to a super fancy charity event for the Puerto Rican youth centers around the city?”

Eyebrows raising, your interest is certainly piqued. “What charity event? You're not charitable and usually you have to donate to these causes to get into these events.”

“This one is at work,” Vanessa clarifies. She works as a waitress at a prestigious restaurant and events venue. The kind of place you could have never afforded on your own before your career shift and you're certainly not well-to-do enough to get invited to kinds of high-end events that take place there. Vanessa has seen some of the most important people in New York at this job. 

Your line of work allows for a very comfortable lifestyle, but life in New York is still expensive and there are corners of this city not meant for people of your social stature. Vanessa's work is most certainly one of those places.

“If you picked up an extra shift, I'm not going to come work it with you if that's what you're asking. I'm doing just fine with money these days if you haven't noticed.” As you say this, you sit up finally and lean over to grab the bong and lighter off your nightstand. Flicking the green bic, you take a decent size pull and enjoy the sound of the water bubbling before blowing it out and sitting it back down. 

“Yes, yes. The little internet goth slut routine is finally paying off. Good for you,” Vanessa says with a roll of the eyes. She still hasn't given up on her dream of stage acting like you did a few years ago, but she would never truly shame you for your line of work. You know she’s kidding. 

You moved to New York after dropping out of college to chase your dreams. A few years of rejections and a crappy play here or there got old after a while. It slowly became apparent to you that you moved to New York not to chase some dream of being creative in the way that your friend did. You moved to New York to chase after the dream of a very specific high-end lifestyle. A lifestyle which allows for the nicest luxuries life has to offer, and that requires much more money than that of a bartender and struggling stage actress. Now you find that acting behind a camera is more your thing. 

Only you tend to do it with little to no clothes on... and most of the time with a toy stuffed in one or both of your holes as you act out whatever depravity your clients are paying you for. The more depraved the more they pay. 

You're an online sex worker, though very few people actually know this about you besides Vanessa. 

In order to hide your identity you've created a character and a look which, truthfully, doesn't betray who you really are all that much. The market for slightly chunky, vaguely goth girls in the world of online sex is very high. You were already both of those things to begin with, so with some wigs and some drastic makeup, you easily make yourself into someone else when the camera is rolling in the spare room you've turned into your studio. You pay more of the rent to use the extra room, and the investment proved to be well worth it in the end. You've got yourself a nice little empire going, and you're making more money than you've ever had in your life. So much money it's shocking every time you check your bank account.  

You used to think that the ultimate dream was to find yourself a rich husband, but learning to take what you want out of life without someone else giving it to you has changed your perspective on the matter entirely. If you meet a man you intend to marry, you want that marriage to be based solely on love. A rich husband wouldn't hurt, of course, but then again what little girl from a poor family in a shitty small town doesn't dream of a Cinderella story all her own? The love of your life could be on the verge of poverty or have the highest salary in Manhattan. So long as he loves you, respects you, and doesn't care that you made your fortune helping lonely, desperate men and women to achieve orgasm starting at $300 a session… Sometimes up to twenty five sessions a week.

And you are so hopelessly and desperately craving real love in the way that your clients crave real sex. It's the one thing you feel you don't have now that you find you aren't wanting for anything else. 

$400 haircut? No problem. $500 coat you just had to have and couldn't possibly live without? It's yours. And damn does it look good on you. A weekend trip to Italy just for pasta and wine? Why the hell not?

But the one thing you really crave in the middle of the night is to be held by someone who loves everything about you, good and bad. Someone you can't help but love back. 

“Dude, fuck off. I swear I'm going to just go without you since you're not even listening to me. High ass bitch,” Vanessa says with a disappointed huff, but just as she turns to leave your room she stops in the threshold and turns her head to throw a devilish smirk over her shoulder. “I guess I was wrong about you wanting to see our mutual favorite musician perform a super secret private charity concert. Oh well. I guess I'll have to let you know if he's really that hot in person since you're going to stay home and read .”

That pulls your attention from your stoned thoughts, and your eyes widen. “Wait, Van! What are you fucking saying? Are you fucking with me right now?”

“I dunno, are you going to listen to your best friend or not?”

“Yes, bitch! I'm sorry. Tell me!”

“Well you know I'm seeing Charles now,” Vanessa starts, and you can't help but roll your eyes. Charles is the only thing Vanessa has talked about for the last four months. He's British, he’s hot, and he owns the events venue side of the business. They've been seeing each other in secret, so as not to give the appearance of favoritism. If you had to guess, he'll be proposing by Christmas with how in love they seem to be. 

You're only a little jealous.

“How could I forget Charles ,” you say his name in a deep, sexy voice. One you use for work all the time. 

“ Ew , don't do that,” Vanessa cringes with a scrunched nose. Then she shakes her head, glaring at you playfully. “Anyway, jerk , Charles informed me this morning who the secret guest at the charity event is going to be. When I lost my mind and told him how much we love this person, Charles told me he would sneak me and you in if we promise to keep a low profile and behave ourselves. He made someone switch shifts with me just so we can do this! God, he really is the best boyfriend, isn't he?”

So much for the appearances of favoritism. He's definitely going to propose. But that's irrelevant, as you scramble to get up to your feet and move for your closet to find one of your best dresses. Ignoring Vanessa's gushing over Charles, you ask, “You can't be seriously talking about who I think you're talking about. Can you?! ”

*****

Harry Castillo finds himself bored to tears at yet another hoity-toity charity event. This one is for the Puerto Rican youth centers that are in dire need of renovations and staffing. Being the richest man in Manhattan with a Latin American family background, it's fairly expected that Harry both donate to and attend events like this when it is something that benefits the Hispanic community. The cause itself does mean something to him personally, but that doesn't mean he finds these kinds of events to be terribly interesting. It's always the same, and once one's been to twenty of these things it gets incredibly old. He’s been to countless of them since he was a young man. 

The only difference tonight is that the guests are speaking Spanish more than he would hear at this sort of event and the food is culturally influenced. Though it warms him a little to have things feel less stuffy in that way, Harry's still bored out of his mind. 

After rubbing elbows with uninteresting people he doesn't really care for and making enough of an appearance, Harry feels on the verge of leaving before the concert even starts. There have been rumors whispered throughout the elegant venue all evening about who is to perform, but even the anticipation of a surprise musical guest isn't enough to make Harry want to stay. 

No, not until he accidentally bumps into the shoulder of a woman in her mid thirties waiting to order a drink at the open bar. He was figuring one more before calling for his driver, and he hadn't seen you standing there a moment ago. 

“Excuse me, miss, that was my fault.” Harry apologizes, jaw dropping a little as you turn to look up at him through thick lashes. 

When your eyes really cast over his face, they widen in a comically cute look of shock. Harry's a little beside himself as he takes in your face. It's beautiful, strikingly so. You're a little thicker than the girl who stands behind you in a plain pink dress, filling out your own tight, form fitting wine-red dress with curves he could get lost in. The garment looks expensive, more so than the pink dress. The pink dress is silky, whereas Harry's certain that the red dress is the real thing. It's got spaghetti straps, and a scooped neckline showing off impressive cleavage. You've paired it with black jewelry and black heels. Perfect hair in a well styled bun, but with pieces falling in your face. Tastefully simple makeup to bring out your eyes, and an air about you that says you do well for yourself. The friend looks a little out of place at an event like this, pretty as the other girl is with similar hair and makeup. The beauty in red, though, you look like you're right where you belong. But he's sure he's never seen you around before. He'd remember that face.

“That's okay, you barely bumped into me.” You say to him with a sweet smile, bowing your head a little in thanks. You seem like a nice girl to him at that moment, and he briefly thinks back to when he told Lucy he just wants a nice girl, and that he didn't care about credentials on a checklist. If you're nice, that also means you definitely don't run with this crowd very often. Perhaps you aren't so stuck up as the rest of the women here. It certainly comes off that way when you smile so sweetly up at him like that. He’s much taller than you are. Thank Christ for that stupid fucking surgery. 

“I've never noticed you at one of these charity concerts before. I'm Harry,” he says, extending a hand. You look down at it briefly as if you haven't shaken a hand in a long while, eyebrows raising slightly as your rouged lips part. Again, your expression is so cute that Harry's a little beside himself, stomach lurching as you slowly slip a slender hand into his much larger one. He'd purposefully offered her his left hand so that he can see if you're wearing a wedding ring or not. There's a black ring on the middle finger... a bat? Oddly enough? He looks back at you and notices that your earrings also appear to be black bats, dangling upside down with their wings crossed in slumber. Interesting choices. 

You introduce herself, shaking his hand twice before letting it drop. Harry just lets it hang there dumbly for a moment as you add, “And you've never seen me at one of these because this is my first time at one. My friend Vanessa here dragged me.”

“She won't be acting like such a professional party pooper in a little bit.” The other girl, Vanessa, says confidently with a bit of an accent to her speech pattern. He's certain she's a Spanish speaker, but not the one he suddenly finds himself interested in. He can't place the origins of your accent quite yet. 

“Ohhh, so you're a professional party pooper? I was just about to ask what you do for a living.” Harry says, flashing his best teasing, but charming smile at you. He worries that he shouldn't have teased you so quickly after meeting you, though, when a look of mild panic washes over your face. 

*****

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. What the fuck do I say?

Your eyes meet the deep brown ones of the attractive man who suddenly approached you at this event that you originally didn't even want to come to, and nervousness floods your system for a brief moment. This man is painfully handsome. So much so that his face is enough to throw you off your game for a good couple of seconds. Then you feel Vanessa pinch your ass, and you sober up enough to quip back with something. 

“Oh I'm number one in the business.” You say with a little bit of a giggle, hoping to deflect back to him for a moment as you add, “What about you? What do you do for a living?”

“I run a financial firm my mother started. Nothing exciting.” 

“A woman-founded company! That is so exciting!”

“Yeah,” he fake sighs, shaking his head, “but unfortunately for her she had two sons. Her dream of a woman owned company was shattered when I had to take over.” 

You nod thoughtfully. “Oh, bummer . Like a reverse kingdom where the king wants sons. I'm sure that gave you a complex growing up.”

Harry grins, flashing perfect white teeth. Lord have mercy on your soul when he does that. “Oh most certainly,” he says, laughing, “but I just drink about it. Do you want one?”

Also grinning, you agree, “Sure, I'll take a vodka soda with a splash of grenadine and lime.”

“So you are sweet, then,” Harry says with a raised brow, grin morphing into a confident smirk. 

Your pulse quickens at the flirtation. “When I wanna be,” you flirt back, “I did only ask for a splash after all.”

“I'm gonna go find Charlie before the concert starts, can I leave you here?” Vanessa asks from somewhere behind you. You don't even turn around, nodding as you look up into the brown eyes that have a complete hold over you. She'll understand that you're not trying to be rude. This man is simply too beautiful to tear your gaze from him. 

“Yeah, I'll be fine,” you say, watching him as he nods a goodbye to Vanessa and then finishes making his way up to the bar. He slides in next to you and orders your drink, then a Manhattan for himself. As he leans against the bar, you're truly taking in his appearance. About six feet tall, clearly wealthy, and clearly at least ten years older than you. His hair is a wavy dark brown, likely curly when left natural. But tonight he styled it with what is surely an expensive product. There isn't much gray on his head, but there are little patches of it nestled in the neatly kept short facial hair on his chin. His dark mustache adds such an extra layer of sex appeal to his appearance. It's obvious that he works out and eats well. He's got beautiful tan skin, and his hands look big and strong sticking out of the sleeves of his finely tailored black suit. Ironically, his tie and pocket square match your dress almost perfectly. 

Thank Christ you went with this one. You truly feel your best in this thing. The first splurge for your closet after you started making serious money from your cam sessions. You'd never spent over two hundred dollars on a single piece of clothing before, and the feeling of trying it on at the high end boutique you bought it from and actually walking out with it was elating. There was no turning back after that. Vanessa had called you materialistic. You'd told her that life is too short not to be. 

What are you going to tell him when he asks about your job again?

Lie. That's what.

*****

Next

Fuck, I need him, you're suddenly thinking with warmth flooding your belly. For a second you're completely lost in thoughts too inappropriate to be thinking at a time like this, and something in you forces you to stop. That fuzzy tugging in the back of your mind pulls your attention back to Grogu again, and when you spin around from the caf maker to look down at him, you’re greeted by the sight of your son padding towards you with your iPad raised up in his tiny clawed hands. 

“Hey, buddy,” you grin down at him, squatting. “What have you got here? Want me to play some music for you?”

Glancing down at your beloved old Earth tech, your eyes widen when they graze over white date and time displayed across the top of the family photo you recently set as the wallpaper. The image still makes your chest flutter each time the lock screen lights up and you see the three of you happily captured in time.

It was actually Din’s idea, stating that he wanted an image of all three of you shortly after Corvus. He’d been looking at the gift you gave him and made a comment about wishing he was in the image with you and the kid. So you suggested taking a picture with the iPad and he readily agreed.

The photo is simple, but perfect. Din to the left, you to the right, and little Grogu in the middle. A star field in the background through the large cockpit windows. Even with Din’s face hidden behind his helmet, all three of you look so happy. So full of life. That's how things have felt since Corvus. Joyful and comfortable.

So yes, the lock screen makes your heart skip a beat just about every time you see it now. But when that date shows up today, your heart leaps from your chest all together.

A date so familiar to you. The first date you ever memorized, seared into your brain before you even started elementary school. The date you had to write down on every piece of paperwork you’ve ever had to fill out. A date you've either dreaded or looked forward to depending on the year.

Like all personal computers from Earth, the iPad’s internal clock and calendar are a separate mechanism from the actual computer itself and therefore it never ceased running. It still displays the date and time as if you’d never left Earth, which is how you’ve been able to gauge how much time has elapsed since your departure. Time is kind of a weird thing in space to begin with, and it’s been far too confusing for you to try and wrap your head around it in anything other than Earth terminology. Sure, there’s the general over-all Galactic calendar and clock system that most space travelers go off of. Din told you once that it was something that they came up with on Coruscant many decades ago in an attempt to make things less complicated when moving from planet to planet. Ultimately, though, it’s an imperfect system once you’re actually on a planet.

A year, or ‘cycle’ depending on who you speak to, on one planet can vary depending on the planet’s orbital path. Length of days are vastly different everywhere you go. So in order to stay sane, you’ve just kept yourself on Earth time. At first you were a little obsessive about keeping up with it. Making sure you knew how many days it had been, what month it was, if there was a special day happening back home.

After Smuggler’s Moon and that beautiful week on Nevarro, you kind of just stopped giving a shit about that. Suddenly you and Din were closer than ever and life for you finally started to make sense. The goings on back on Earth began to mean very little to you as the world around you became  vastly different than anything you’d ever known.

So yes, when you stop to think about it for a moment the timing of everything makes total sense. But that doesn’t prepare you for the shock of it when you see your own birthday displayed across the smooth back-lit glass.

“Holy crap!” You exclaim, a grin spreading across your face as your eyes meet Grogu’s.

At the sudden exclamation Grogu looks a little worried for a second, his own big eyes widening. But then when you grin lovingly at him he relaxes a little, smiling up in return.

Scooping him up in your arms, you kiss his little forehead with a great laugh, “I can’t believe it! Today is a very special day, Grogu. We’ve gotta find your dad and tell him all about it.”

“Tell his dad about what?” Din’s amused sounding voice says from behind you, causing you to whip around to face him with a start. Between hearing him so casually refer to himself as Grogu's father and how good he looks, you're a goner the moment you see him.

He’s standing there leaning against the frame of the entryway, arms crossed over his chest. The only armor he’s wearing is the helmet, the fitted black long sleeved shirt he wears under his flight suit making him look like an absolute snack. No, a snack is simply not enough for your gluttony. Din Djarin is a four course meal. You could devour him for the rest of your life if things really end up working out that way.

Beaming at him, you explain, “According to the calendar on the iPad, today is my birthday. I’m one year older.”

Din’s shoulders soften and he lifts up from the door frame, coming forward to brush the hair from your face and cup your cheek.

“And one year more mesh’la than the last.”

“Oh hush,” you blush, looking up at him through thick lashes. “Well what does one do for their birthday around here? On Earth it’s usually a day to do something special. Preferably with loved ones.”

“That custom is not unique to Earth. Most beings celebrate their day of birth in some way. What sort of thing would you have done if you were on Earth today?”

“I mean, that varies from year to year, what’s going on in life. Some years I went to the movies with friends and then got sick on booze and cake back at someone's house. Some years I went to a concert or some sort of big event in the city or took a trip.”

“Mm,” Din murmurs, mulling this over with a thoughtful hum.

A realization comes to mind then, and you squint at him like you’re inspecting some sort of mysterious creature. “When is your birthday, Din?”

He stiffens then, the lighthearted energy from him visibly ebbing away. “It actually passed already. When we were on Tatooine with Peli and your grandfather.”

You feel your jaw drop open at that, a pang of disappointment striking your heart. “What?! Why didn’t you tell me?”

He shrugs, “Didn’t seem relevant.”

Frowning, you shake your head, “You didn’t think that sharing with me that you were a year older was significant? You’ve been 39 for several weeks and I had no idea? Why would you want to keep that from me? That hurts my feelings, Din.”

His tone is defensive, “I wasn’t trying to purposefully keep things from you, nor was I trying to hurt you. It’s my information to provide and I simply chose not to provide it. That is my right.”

As he says this your chest begins to tighten, and anxiety begins to flood your system. This is one of those rare moments where Din’s behavior is hard to read and reminds you of people from your past. The fear of that feels so intense for a moment. “That makes me worry that you’re hiding things from me, or that you think I'm not worth telling.”

Din sighs with a swift negative shake of the head, moving forward to grasp at your upper arms with bare hands. The pad of his left thumb rubs soothing up and down lines into your skin. “Cyar'ika, please stop. I assure you, it’s not as nefarious as you are making it out to be.”

Frustrated and worried, you ask him, “Then can you please try to help me understand?”

“I…” Din begins, looking down at the floor, “I do not like to think about my day of birth very much. It reminds me too much of my parents and tends to be a painful day for me. The last time I celebrated my birthday was a few days before the attack on Aq Vetina. It was the last time I tasted my mother’s baking. The last time I heard my father sing. She made asteroid cakes from scratch for me every year and I haven’t had one since. In fact, if I remember correctly, I ate the last one for breakfast on the morning of the attack, and I remember feeling upset that I would have to wait an entire year for them again. Little did I know it would be the last one I would ever enjoy. I had just turned eight years old and suddenly my entire life was turned upside down forever. That wound still runs deep in me, love.”

“Jesus, Din. I’m so sorry. Shit, I shouldn’t have taken this so personally,” you're lamenting as remorse replaces the resentment you were just feeling. Your hands move to wrap around his waist, fingers finding the strong muscles of his back as you latch on.

“No, it’s okay,” Din says, pressing his cold beskar forehead to the warm flesh of yours. “I do understand that not telling you looks disrespectful from your perspective. But I promise you, I did not keep that from you because I didn’t want you to know. I didn’t want to deal with the pain of telling you.”

In only a handful of words your heart is breaking for him, and you can tell he'd meant it when he said the wound of his parent's loss still runs deep. In an effort to connect with him, you share your own experience. “I hated my birthdays at one point in my life. You know how my family was. I'm sure I don't have to spell it out for you. They made it a miserable thing instead of something I could look back on fondly. I learned to appreciate having a special day for myself once I was able to get away from them. It's your choice not to acknowledge it, I just wish I could have tried to do something nice for you to help it hurt less. On my world birthdays are a big deal and I would have liked to help you have a nice day if at all possible. Given you a gift or something.”

Din's voice is so tender, the warm smile evident in his tone, “But you already did that, just by being here. The day I spent with you and Grogu on Tatooine… I had a very good day that day. When we retired that night I recall thinking that it was the best day of birth I’d had in thirty-one cycles, and how I am grateful to have you in my life. The two of you are the only gifts I need.”

“Oh,” you say, mouth forming an actual ‘o’ shape as your eyebrows raise.

Din lifts up from the Mandalorian kiss, shrugging a little as he detaches from you. “If anything, I enjoy celebrating the day that I swore the Mandalorian creed. I don’t do much, but I usually try to acknowledge it in some personal way. That’s coming up in a few weeks.”

“Well I’d be glad to celebrate that with you if you choose to acknowledge it.”

“Thank you.”

“I feel a little embarrassed about my reaction,” you say, cheeks flaring suddenly. “You do have the right to only share things with me when you want to, and I hope you know that I know that. I just felt a little insulted for a moment when it felt like you were keeping something significant from me.”

He shakes his head, “You thought I was being uncaring. I understand.”

“Su burc’ya?”

“Su burc’ya. What would you like to do today?”

“I don't know, I just want to have a nice day with you and Grogu.”

Din sounds a little worried, saying, “I think that can be arranged. I'm sorry we aren't due to make any stops for a few more days, though. If I had known I would have found a nice planet to visit.”

A smile finds your lips as you regard your love with so much affection. “Honestly a day at home sounds better than anything.”

“You're sure there isn't anything special?” he asks.

“Well...” you trail off, a smile forming into a slightly mischievous grin, “there's something I've always wanted to do since I moved in with you. I kind of figured it would have happened by now but the movies all lied to me. We've never had some crazy disaster happen that disables the artificial gravity.”

Din's voice is laced with a grin of his own, “You want to know what zero grav feels like, don't you?”

“I mean, it's high up on the bucket list,” you say, giggling when he seems confused. “Earth phrase, ner verd.”

“I assumed,” Din chuckles. “Well, we can't keep it off for a long time because it'll be hard to adjust back into it when I have to turn the gravity back on. But is about fifteen minutes enough?”

“Any minutes are enough! I didn't think you'd agree to this.”

“It's certainly not what I was expecting, but who am I to deny you an experience?”

That is how you and your family find yourselves floating in midair around your beloved Razor Crest while music plays from Din's L0 device as it sails by.

Jupiter is not enjoying any bit of not being able to touch the ground, her cries of displeasure as she floats around aimlessly almost comical if you didn't feel bad for the poor girl.

Grogu is happy as a clam to essentially swim around the ship without the need for hundreds of gallons of water surrounding his small body, taking to the anti-gravity almost immediately after getting used to it. It makes you wonder how many times the kid has been in zero g.

You're also asking yourself that about Din. The Mandalorian doesn't seem to need warming up to the physical change like you and Grogu do. As soon as he's got the artificial gravity disabled on the ship's controls, he's effortlessly gliding his strong, lean body around the ship as if it is second nature. Using anything he can grab or kick against to propel his body forward, he chuckles joyfully as you struggle to move in the same way that he does. 

You attempt to follow him, but it feels like you're in a pool for the very first time and you've yet to learn how to swim. Your body's weightlessness reminds you of being submerged in water, but it's also not like that at all. Eventually the mechanics of it begin to make sense, and the feeling of elation within you spreads all throughout the lightness of your being.

Drifting over to Din as he and Grogu float around each other, you cling to his back at the first opportunity, wrapping your legs around his waist and your arms around his broad shoulders.

“Fly me around, Chrome Dome,” you demand into his covered ear, pressing your cheek to the beskar as the two of you begin to spin.

“If you insist, but I think it's going to be a bumpy ride,” he says cheekily, proceeding to move haphazardly around the ship's first floor.

“One day we may have to try this just the two of us, if you catch my meaning,” whispering into that same ear, you gasp when he flings you to the right a little and squeeze him tighter.

“Mm,” Din hums, “You know, I've never tried that.”

“Never?” 

“Never.”

“Adding that to the list of must-dos, then,” you reply with a laugh.

And so the three of you, and one disgruntled orange cat, enjoy the experience of zero gravity until Din declares that it's about time to turn it back on. You're disappointed at first. But when the familiar feeling of your body weight suddenly comes back to you and your feet again touch the ground, you find that oddly enough you're glad to have the sense of security back. To feel the weight of Grogu in your arms, or the press of Din's strong body against yours. 

You're even more glad to have the gravity back later that night, long after Grogu's been put to bed, when you're riding Din's cock as he sits in his pilot's chair. His naked body is a stark contrast to the silver beskar upon his head, warm and glistening with the dew of his sweat. 

You're glad for the gravity each time you lift up and feel yourself sink back down onto him, the girth of his lovely shaft massaging all the right places as his fingers dig into the skin of your hips. 

You're glad to have gravity when he grasps both your ass cheeks and stands up, never breaking the link between your bodies as he spins you around so that you're the one in the chair and he's the one sinking himself into you as hard as he possibly can.

You're glad for the gravity yet again, much later after that when you're fully spent, laying blindfolded with the weight of your head against his bare chest. Then the pressure of his wet lips presses into your temple, and the warm unmodulated baritone of his voice declares his love softly into your ear.

“Happy birthday, cyar'ika.”

*****

Next Chapter

Previous Chapter

Masterlist

*****

Taglist:

At this point you've ceased pestering him about coming to bed all together. The last few times the urge has bubbled up your throat you’ve shoved it back down, tired of that little pang of disappointment you feel each time he refuses. You're desperately missing the feeling of his strong body snugly flush with yours, wanting your own sense of comfort and security back at such a tough time like this.

Din does, however, make himself comfortable on the floor just outside the cot every night, listening as you read The Ruins of the Exiled to the kid. He hasn't missed a bedtime yet. It's the one genuinely nice and lighthearted part of the day for either of you. You'll be curled up in that poor excuse for a bed with the child in your lap, and your Mandalorian will be at the mouth with a bare hand reaching in to stroke your leg or caress your foot. It's comforting for you to have that touch from him in those moments. He's clearly using it as a way to communicate to you that he is trying his best to be present even if it's incredibly difficult for him to articulate that right now. Until this miserable trip is over and done with, it's the best you can hope to get from him.

It's after one of these reading sessions when you find yourself curled up in the cot thinking about possible outcomes for the future. Above you the child sleeps soundly in his hammock. Looking around the dimly lit sleeping cabin and trying to imagine how empty it will feel without the little one’s snores dangling over you, a sharp sting to your heart causes that thought to quickly dissipate. Instead, in an attempt to pull yourself from the pit of despair’s tempting edge, the image in your mind is replaced with a wildly contrasting scene. 

One of a child’s bedroom, decorated and filled with things only a child could want. The warmth of a real home, not a nook on a cold spaceship. Much as you love the Razor Crest, you're aware that it cannot sustain a full life. 

That image warms you for a moment, until everything around you is unexpectedly in disarray. Somewhere in the midst of all this contemplating the ship has suddenly dropped from hyperspace. Without warning, the world as you know it is violently lurching forward. With a frightful little squeal the kid comes falling out of his hammock and into your arms, and frightful noise of your own escapes your throat as the both of you tumble out of the cot all together. The pain in your right ass cheek feels like it's going to bruise from the way you land, but thankfully the kid is unscathed as you cradle protectively against your chest.

“Ugh, what the hell was that?” You ask yourself curiously before holding the child out to examine him, fingers brushing his forehead gently after he shakes his ears out like a dog drying its wet fur. “You okay, sweetie?”

The kid blinks up at you a few times, nodding and giving the 'thumbs up' gesture you've recently been teaching him for yes and no responses. Your heart soars a little at the sight of his two little fingers curling into a fist, noting that it's the first time he's flashed his 'thumb' without your prompting.

“What about our Mandalorian, I wonder?” A frown creases your facial features, asking the child this rhetorical question with worry in your tone. Then you move to get up, rushing over to the ladder. With your free hand cupped to the side of your mouth, you're calling up, “Din?! Is everything alright?!”

When an answer does not immediately follow you look down at the kid with even more worry knitting your brow. “What do you think that was all about, buddy?”

The kid coos and shrugs in response. You make quick but careful work of climbing up just enough to shove the kid onto the ground up there so that you may safely climb the rest of the rungs yourself. Once on the Crest's second floor you're scooping the child into your arms again, pressing the button for the cockpit door to make your way inside.

Din is in his seat facing towards you but he does not look up when the door opens. He's hunched forward, elbows balanced on his plated thighs. The silver of his beskar helmet is encased with the brown leather of his gloves, the orange tips of his splayed fingers pressing into the visor and forehead.

You hear him cursing in Mando'a under his shallow breath. Barely audible, the hiss of the modulator every few words is giving him away more than anything. The stars sit eerily still behind him. It dawns on you then that the ship has not only dropped out of hyperspace but is also completely sedentary.

“Din? What the hell happened to the ship? Are we okay?”

Din doesn't move, nor does he answer you. The string of Mando'a curses and phrases you don't understand continues to spew from his hidden mouth, the very sound of it sending jolts of anxiety through you. He's really starting to freak you out, having never acted like this before. You’ve seen him on edge plenty of times but this feels worryingly different. This is fucking unnerving . Moisture begins to spread through your palms, and the knot in your belly is dangerously close to becoming a deep pit.

Voice wavering, you ask him, “More importantly, are you okay, ner verd? ” Using the pet name you’ve adopted for him recently, you're attempting to pull him from what seems to you like some new form of panic attack.

Din has his special, lovely names for you which you cherish so much. So naturally you'd been wanting something personal to call him in return. Going through most of the ones common on Earth, none of those ever felt right to you. It seems wrong to call a Mandalorian 'honey' or 'baby'. Just doesn't sit well on your tongue. Then one day when you were practicing Mando'a the word for warrior came up. That's when the light-bulb appeared above your head. Din Djarin is your warrior. What could be more fitting than calling him just that in the tongue of his people? Laying half naked with him on the cockpit floor one night, you let the name slip from your tongue and it stuck the landing, so ner verd he quickly became.

Mindlessly, you're reaching for your warrior now, the gesture innocent enough, without considering his possible sensitivity around personal space at a time like this. It's a force of habit to touch him when he's feeling emotional, as he usually welcomes the physical attention. Your once touch starved lover usually acts as if he needs to feel the touch of your flesh against his more than he needs food or water. 

Which is why you truly don’t expect Din's entire body to react to your oncoming fingers, jerking back against the dark red leather of the pilot's seat as he hisses, “ Don't touch me! ” He says it so sharply, almost as if he thinks that when you touch him one or both of you will burst into flame. Clutching the armrests of his seat, he shakes his helmeted head fiercely back and forth. “I am not worthy of that name. I am not worthy of anything . Di’kut! Di’kut! Di’kut! Ni di’kutla!”

The child's ears cast downwards and he makes a fluttering little noise of distress. You're flinching backwards too, putting a decent amount of distance between Din and the two of you. Moving over to the kid’s seat, you gently sit the foundling down with a kiss to the top of his head before turning back to face Din.

Hearing him say those things about himself, to call himself something like an idiot or a worthless waste of space in Mando’a, is completely discombobulating. 

It feels like you’re not even looking at the man you consider to be your warrior right now. He looks like someone else, body moving in frantic ways so alien that your heart fills to the brim with fear at the sight of it. This is the man you rely on, the man who both protects you and teaches you to protect yourself. The man who makes you laugh without even trying and makes you cum at the drop of a hat. The man you’re certain you want to spend the rest of your life with. Face or no face. Green Bean or no Green Bean. Up until this moment you were so fucking sure that Din Djarin is it for you. Is that surety faltering? 

No, certainly not. This may be the most he’s ever freaked you out, but that doesn't change the fact that you’d be lost without him. The only sure thing you see when you attempt to glimpse far enough in the future for your hair to be gray and your skin to have sagged is a beskar helmet by your side and a tan, wrinkled hand tangled in yours.

With a steadying breath, you remind yourself that Din Djarin is it for you. He’s the one and only. The person you intend to be with for as long as humanly possible. Din’s helped you through so many emotional ups and downs since the two of you met, and perhaps there have been times that he was just as frightened as you are now. Lord knows he’s seen you in similar states of distress.

Normally he’s the one who’s level headed, or has everything figured out. On the surface at least. It’s only really apparent to you at this moment that perhaps your warrior has only had things half figured out. He’s a natural leader, but that doesn’t mean he’s always in the headspace to lead. 

Feeling determined to show him the same amount of trust and respect he usually displays for you, some of that fearful urge to flee gets pushed to the side. 

Stepping forward slightly, careful not to get too close, you finally say to him, “Whatever happened to the ship sure scared the hell out of Green Bean and I. We got thrown out of the cot.”

His head finally snaps up at that, his voice tenderly asking, “Are either of you hurt?” The worry in his tone is so severe, causing your heart to surge with worry for him.

“No, we're fine. Shaken up if anything,” you reassure him evenly, “It’s you I’m concerned for.” Then your brow furrows, disquiet riding your tone, “Din, please talk to me. What's going on? Are we in danger or not?”

“We're not in danger. I-I dropped us from hyperspace on purpose,” he responds, visor clearly avoiding your gaze as he hesitates.

Springing from a furrowed position up towards your hairline, your brow continues to move along with your emotions. This time there's a surprised tone riding your voice, “I thought we still had like seven hours to Corvus?”

“We do. I... I don't know what came over me. I was sitting up here thinking about everything. Thinking about him ,” Din gestures towards the kid, and you notice his hand is trembling. Then he adds, “And then all the sudden hyperspace sounded so damn loud. Like a sharp painful dinging, as if the natural volume of the world increased out of nowhere. The noise of it made my chest hurt and my skin crawl. I needed it to stop. Needed everything to stop.”

 “So you stopped the ship cause you needed everything to stop?” you ask tentatively.

He nods, “Still do. Even my own voice sounds like it's screaming at me right now. Yours too, and those noises the kid's making. Shit. It hurts . I've never felt this before.”

“You’re very overwhelmed. Sounds like an anxiety attack,” you say quietly, “and a bad one at that.”

“I don’t know about that, but I do know that I am not fit to carry on. I can’t do this anymore, cyar’ika.” After that his breathing becomes shallow again and he barely sounds like himself as he frantically mutters, “ I can't do this. I am a poor example of a Mandalorian. My beskar should be melted down and donated to those in need. Those with more honor than myself.”

Your chest begins to seize up a little with a mini anxiety attack of your own, your already weakened sense of security beginning to crumble under the weight of this sudden shift in your surroundings. “Din, you’re scaring the shit out of me right now. You don’t sound like the man I know under that beskar. Nothing’s more terrifying to me than seeing you like this.”

“I don’t know who the man under this beskar is anymore. Maybe I never knew.” The way his head tilts up to look at you as he says that, shoulders as slumped as they ever have been, makes you feel both beaten down and desperate to get this situation under control.

“Listen to me,” with your hands out in defense, you murmur, “I'm not gonna touch you. Promise. Do you want me to go back downstairs and leave you alone for a little bit?”

With a sharp intake of breath he quickly shakes his silver head, “ No. I do not wish to be alone. I... I need you,” he says your name, the cadence of it strained.

Nodding, you ask, “Can I sit on the floor here in front of you, then?”

“Yes.”

“Do you need me to get you anything?”

“No.”

“Okay. I'm here for you. I’m freaked out and I’m worried about you but I’m here . I’m not going anywhere unless one of us needs space.”

“I'm sorry for snapping at you like that. I shouldn’t have yelled.”

Moving slowly so as not to upset him, you lower down and cross your legs in front of you, sitting with your back straight and your hands on your knees much like in yoga. Looking up at him, you gently pat the area on the dark metal ground in front of you, beckoning him down to your level. You’re determined to get your guy to come back to you, even if for but a moment.

Then your face muscles strain as you try to send him an understanding smile, hoping he can read your expression and feel safe as you address his apology, “I'm not worried about that right now but thank you for apologizing. I know you didn't mean it. Do you think you can try breathing with me to get your rhythm back to normal? That shallow breathing you're doing is actually making the anxiety worse. I learned about this in therapy. Your thinking brain needs all the oxygen it can get right now. One trick to snap out of it is to do some breathing exercises to relax your nervous system. The idea is to make your brain realize you're safe in order to stop using the fight or flight response. I’m anxious too, and I think we need to calm down enough to really talk.”

Wordlessly and unceremoniously, Din slides forward from the pilot's seat and lands with a dense thud on the floor, moving to get into the same seated position as you. After a moment his head tilts up so his visor can finally meet your eyes.

Slowly, in and out through your nose, you take a few deep breaths and he audibly begins to mimic you. Gently, you explain, “What I want you to do is inhale for a count of four, hold it in for a count of four, exhale for a count of four, and then hold for another count of four. Then you do it all over again. We will do this for as long as you need to, but after a few rounds your body should start to relax. Feel free to close your eyes.”

Din nods, and for the first time since the day you first met him, his stiff and stoic beskar face suddenly has you completely thrown off your game. At an emotionally critical moment like this, seeing his real facial expression would help in so many ways. Without it you're not sure if you know how to gauge when the anxiety attack is ebbing away or how bad he truly is feeling. You want to feel certain that it's pretty fucking bad, though you're not sure if trusting your intuition is enough in this situation. You've become fluent in the body language of Din Djarin but, as you told him, you've never seen him like this before. These are uncharted waters, and it would certainly be a bit of a life raft to be able to look at him right now.

But would actually seeing his anguish truly help? Or would that just unnerve you even more? Would seeing real pain in those mythical brown eyes you try to imagine from time to time break your heart in a brand new way? Is your heart strong enough to withstand what something like that might look like? 

Suddenly the barrier of beskar between the two of you feels like a brick wall, and you’re scared shitless when you look at him. 

Ignoring yourself, the very notion of that feeling like a betrayal, you begin breathing with the box technique and he soon follows along fairly in tandem. Eyes slipping closed, your own body begins to relax into the feeling of it despite this being the most unrelaxed you think you could possibly feel. 

After about eight or so rounds, Din's voice breaks through the uneasy silence which envelopes the cockpit, “That helped. Thank you. I feel a little more like myself now. Embarrassed, perhaps, but me again.”

Prying your eyes open, you see his body in a more relaxed position with his helmet's visor fixed right on you. You’re still feeling unnerved when you look at him, but you try your best to maintain the offered ‘eye contact’. “You're welcome. You sound a little more like yourself, but I’m still very worried about you right now, Din. I know you're not okay.”

He chuckles, the eerie sound of it devoid of any humor, “No, I am very much not.” Then his head shifts as his gaze moves to where the kid sits off to the side, and suddenly the low rumble below his chest plate is flooded with genuine humorous energy. “Look at our foundling, cyar'ika.”

Din’s sudden shift in mood has you on edge, hating the feeling of him reminding you of your past. One minute this to one minute that is what your home felt like growing up. Feeling that with Din now makes your heart sink a little, but logically you understand that though this may not be normal behavior for Din Djarin it is normal behavior for any human being going through something substantial. 

Calming yourself with that knowledge, your gaze follows his. Head turning to see the child sitting crisscrossed just like you and Din, you truly cannot fight the little smile tugging at your mouth. The kid looks so mellow, big eyelids closed with his little hands at his knees as his ears lay in a relaxed position. From the looks of it he's fallen into a deep meditation, which isn't something new for him. He does it from time to time, and you’ve always assumed it has something to do with his powers.

Chuckling along with your cosmic companion, you momentarily gush, “God, he's so cute. He's the cutest kid in the whole universe. Not a single human baby holds a candle to our little guy.”

Din makes a choked noise, his visor still fixed upon the child. “I love him,” he says your name after this statement, the cadence of it so desperate as it rides the saddened tone of his voice. Then the kid's eyes pry open and he looks right at Din, who says directly to the child, “Maker forgive me. I love you so much, pal.”

Tears well in your eyes at that, unable to hold back the little quiver of your lip. “I know you do. I could see how much you love him the moment I met you both on Nevarro. I mean, I called you his dad that evening because it just always felt true. You love him as you would a child of your own, and that's obvious to just about everybody you meet.”

Din responds with a shaky voice, looking back at you, “He's felt like my child from the moment I first laid eyes on him. I can't explain it. That pram opened and I just felt connected to him for some reason. I tried to fight that feeling off, explain it away. Tried to tell myself the kid was not my problem just because I was the one who found him. But I think we both know how good I am at ignoring my feelings,” he says this last part sarcastically, with another humorless chuckle.

The self-deprecating way he says that causes you to frown, groaning a little in frustration. “I’m so tired of watching you beat yourself up over loving someone. Have you ever stopped to think that trying to ignore these feelings doesn't work because it's not natural to push it all away? I understand why you were so cautious of getting emotions too wrapped up in this, but I think that ship sailed a long time ago. Long before I came along.”

Silver pauldrons drooping as his shoulders slump, Din sighs, “I suppose you're right.”

A moment of silence falls between you and then you speak up again, “Can I ask you something?”

“Yes, love,” he replies. 

Eyes narrowing slightly, you ask, “What was the plan for after you dropped out of hyperspace?”

He looks away, “I thought about changing our trajectory to somewhere else all together.”

With a surprised expression, you’re aware that you sound a little sarcastic, “Did you have a place in mind for this grand escape?”

“I don’t know. I do not know what I was thinking,” Din replies, then looks back at you for a long moment as he ‘eyes’ you up and down. “I am surprised that you're not encouraging me to do so anyway, though.”

With a raised eyebrow, you shoot him a very irritated look. “As the one who is strongly against this little trip to Corvus I do understand why you would say that, but I'm kind of offended that you assume I'd so readily encourage you to go against your creed.”

Din sighs, “I think a part of me is hoping you will convince me to.”

Now both of your eyebrows raise at that, a small amount of anger rising up your throat to meet your words. “ Wow . Is this why you called yourself a poor example of a Mandalorian?”

His head hangs, “Yes. I feel ashamed to wear this beskar for even thinking about going against the creed, so perhaps deep down the idea of you making that choice for me feels alluring.”

With a deep and pissed off frown, you find yourself doing one of the rarest things you’ve ever done to Din Djarin. You are scowling at the man, tongue razor sharp, “Are you fucking serious , Din? Do you know how fucking unfair that is? Making the choice for you is probably the craziest thing you’ve ever said to me.”

“I am not proud of the impulse,” he says defensively. 

“So?" you bite back, "It still makes me feel so frustrated with you! I thought that you were braver than that, Din Djarin. My warrior, ner verd , is not a coward. Not the Mandalorian I know.”

“What is it that you mean to imply?” Din’s own ice cold frustration is now lacing his tone, replacing the hopelessness that had been there a moment ago. 

“ I’m not implying anything. I’m just angry at you for putting that kind of weight on me when you know very damn well that I would have stopped this wild goose chase months ago given the chance. If I could have things my why we would have never left Nevarro after that beautiful week we spent together. Do you have any idea how much it hurts to hear you imply that you would just stop if I really tried to convince you? To imply that it would have been so easy this whole time? It feels like a betrayal of the trust I’ve extended to you when I have actively put your feelings about this above my own for months.”

Din’s voice waivers, anger still riding the tone of it despite the little falter you hear, “I never asked you to put my feelings above your own.”

Throwing your hands up in frustration, you're trying not to yell at him even though you want to. “You didn’t have to, dammit! I did that because I care about you. It’s wrong of you to hope I will suddenly become the selfish one so that you don’t have to be. I would never encourage you to make a decision that I think you would ultimately regret. If I acted on those feelings I would be acting against you .” As you pronounce that final syllable, the weight of it causes your eyes to mist over.

He sighs heavily, some of the tenseness ebbing away, “I can see that what I said was out of line. For that I apologize. But it’s how I feel, cyar’ika. It’s how I’ve been feeling for days.” 

With a heavy sigh of your own, you feel your nerves relax slightly. You’re upset, but fundamentally it's with this situation more than it is with him. Aside from snipping, which you’re also entirely guilty of when in distress, he hasn’t truly committed any wrongs against you. 

“I get that. I really do,” you eventually reply, “I was just taken aback. Even if I thought that begging you was an option, I would not humiliate myself by acting so childish about this. A person who acts on emotional impulses like that isn’t fit to be caring for a kid in the first place. I’m not going to say I feel like I can be a mother if I’m not actually mature enough to be one.”

Din sounds like he’s starting to truly feel embarrassed, "I shouldn’t have placed that pressure on you. I do not wish to disobey the creed, tempting as it may feel. It was a moment of weakness and I am not proud of it.”

Moving so that your legs are spread, you gesture for him to come sit so that you can hold him. Din scoots over, and the mass of him with all of his armor settles in between your knees before he's leaning back into you. He's laying with most of his body across the floor, but his upper back is against your stomach and his helmet rests against your breasts. With your arms coming to circle around his broad shoulders and hands resting on his chest plate, you lean in to place your right cheek against the cool beskar.

“Din Djarin, you do know that your dedication to your creed is one of the many reasons I admire you, right?”

“You've made comments as to that, yes,” he agrees, “but I still do not fully understand why.”

Settling in, you reply, “I wasn’t religious on Earth. My family tried to force their beliefs onto me as a kid but I never believed in their false values. You see, their religion’s message claims to be all about love thy neighbor and good will towards others, but then a lot of the people meant to be spreading these values are filled with so much hate. People like my grandmother, who claim to uphold their principles with grace and yet treat those who do not meet their expectations with a foul ugliness. You are the complete opposite of that to me. Even when you've had to kill because the nature of this lifestyle requires you to do so, I've never sensed real hatred or ugliness in you or your ideals. Ideals that, in all honesty, certainly line up very closely with my own. Loyalty, honor, family. For you, the creed is just about who you are as an individual, and if you're upholding your own values or not. You're not concerned with others' values unless it's someone close to you, and even then I don't mean that you're pushy about it. I just mean you're careful about who you let in.”

“Mm,” he hums in agreement, “that observation of me is sound.”

Hugging him tightly, your words flow freely, “The creed is so fascinating to me. Firstly, because it has nothing to do with worshiping a deity. Secondly, because you have never once tried to force anything you believe onto me. Thirdly, because watching you stay true to yourself even through all of this heartache has been both hard and beautiful. I wish you could see yourself from my perspective. You're a beautiful person, Din. You're strong, devoted, fucking hilarious, and the best partner I could ask for. I’ve never known anyone like you, and I mean that in the best way.”

“I appreciate that,” Din says quietly, “I appreciate everything you have to say.”

You're kissing the back of his helmeted head, breath from your nostrils fogging the cool surface as little warm lip marks pepper beskar. “You owe it to yourself, to the Mandalorian I know you are, to see this mission through to the end. I've come this far with you. I will go with you wherever we must go next. But we've gotten way too close to turn around now. Green Bean deserves to make his choice and you deserve to maintain your sense of honor. It breaks my heart every second of the day, but we have to carry on. We have to see this through as a family, even if we can’t be a permanent one.”

Din brings your hand up and presses it to where his lips are beneath the beskar, a kissing noise coming from within its confines as your flesh meets the cool glass-like material of the visor’s bottom half. “We will always be a family, even if we are not all together. Thank you for keeping me steady,” he says.

“Ratiin, ner burc'ya. Ni kar'taylir darasuum.”

“Ni kar'taylir darasuum. I fear I would be lost without you if I had to do this by myself.”

The two of you lay there for a long moment but when the kid rustles around and makes a chirping noise, you both begin to stir. Din gets up to his feet and offers you a hand. He uses it to help you up from the ground, pulling you into him for a proper hug once you're on your feet.

“I was waiting for the right occasion to give you something,” you say up to him cryptically, “and I think right now is the right occasion.”

“Mm?” Din hums curiously, tone much lighter than it had been when you first entered the cockpit.

Detaching yourself from Din, you move to lift up the child from his seat and dump him into Din's arms. Turning on your heel, you leave to climb back down to the first floor of the ship. “Stay up here for a sec,” you're calling after him as you run off through the open door.

*****

“You know what this is about, buddy?” Din asks the child in his arms, looking down into his large brown eyes. That fearful ache inside him from before is very much still present, just under control for the time being. He feels so grateful for your presence in his life right now, unsure of how he would be handling what just happened on his own. He's certainly felt anxiety before, but this ‘attack’ as you called it was frighteningly new for him. And an attack is very much how he would describe it if he had to. It came at him both from nowhere and everywhere, surrounding him. Besting him instantly.

It may be his most harrowing battle to date.

The child happily coos, and Din can't help but chuckle in spite of the heaviness within his chest, “Of course you do, don't you?” Brow furrowing beneath the beskar, Din adds, “I meant what I said, adika. I love you very much. It was wrong of me to consider abandoning this mission for selfish reasons. She's right, you deserve to choose your own fate.”

The kid nods, babbling his private little language up to Din as he makes a face Din cannot quite distinguish. The Mandalorian's heart both swells and breaks simultaneously.

Suddenly you’re rushing back into the cockpit looking delighted, and his curiosity is even more piqued. Din wasn’t sure what he’d expected when you’d run off, but he certainly wasn’t expecting you to place a tiny holoprojector into his gloved hand.

“What is this?” He asks curiously, turning the little black cube over a few times before looking at you. The thing seems like a very basic version of the same tech he's used in the past.

“A holoprojector,” you answer with excitement guiding your every movement, bouncing on the balls of your feet one foot at a time.

“I know that,” Din replies with a hidden smile, “I meant to ask what's on it. Usually these are round and a little bigger. Meant for sending and receiving images. I take it this thing lacks transmission capabilities and doesn't have a lot of space for much?”

“Just enough space for one hologram,” you agree, grabbing the device to turn it on before giving it back to him. “I bought this the same day I bought the reader pad. The kid and I wanted to give you a gift. You do so much for us. I thought it would be nice to show our appreciation. Some shop was offering what I, a mere Earthling, would describe as a photo shoot and this thing for a decent enough price. Green Bean and I love you so much, Din. No matter what happens on Corvus, we'd like you to always have a reminder of that to keep with you.”

Din's heart flutters when a grainy three-dimensional blue image of you posing with the child in your arms comes to life in his palm. The image is from the waist up. You look radiantly beautiful, giving your best smile. Your planet necklace from Smuggler's Moon is on display at the base of your throat, just above the loose round shirt collar. The kid looks so happy, dark eyes shining along with his wide grin and his ears pointed upwards. Both of your heads are titled in towards one another.

Chest swelling so greatly that he fears the chest plate of his armor may crack, Din feels himself swaying a little from the intensity of it. The kid squirms around in Din's grasp so that he's standing on Din's inner forearm, tiny arms splaying out as he puts all of his weight into gripping Din's upper chest in a big hug.

Cursing the fact that he's covered in so much beskar he cannot feel the pressure of the tiny foundling's embrace, Din sucks in a sharp breath. Almost knowingly, you move forward to gently take the holoprojector from him. At that moment Din has both arms around the child and he's tilting the helmet down to graze the foundling's wrinkled green head, silent tears flowing freely from his weary brown eyes.

*****

Corvus is gross. That's really the only way you can put it. According to Din, this planet was once beautiful. Industrial pollution and devastation have ruined most of the forest surrounding the small city of Calodan. The air is thick with a greenish smog which you can practically taste as soon as you're off the Razor Crest. Din landed the ship outside of the city limits far enough away for some privacy from the locals, so it's a short trek through desiccated woodlands to reach Calodan’s unwelcoming looking gates.

The city itself seems like a hell hole. Din keeps the kid somewhat hidden behind his cloak, the child riding in the satchel at Din's hip so you can both be on high alert. You're armed and ready, but for what you have no idea.

Upon getting let in by some sketchy looking mercenary named Lang, you and Din make your way through a city both in despair and disrepair. Its locals seem utterly petrified of everything, including Din when he tries to approach a family outside of their home. The reaction of the father is so intense, a lump forms in your throat after that.

You see why the citizens live in fear when the Magistrate's lackeys have you and Din dragged to her ridiculously lavish garden. On the way into her domain, you pass by a group of locals being kept like animals in the most inhumane electric cages you've ever seen. It's so horrifying to watch that you have to look away, and you can tell that the kid is equally disturbed at Din's hip. You would have preferred for him not to have seen that.

Once inside the obscenely contrast garden, you quickly realize that the woman Din is dealing with is pure evil. So you stay quiet and allow him to conduct his business with her. When she brings up needing help eliminating the Jedi who plagues her, your stomach drops. The vile lady brings Din a spear made of pure beskar, offering it to him as payment if he were to hunt and kill this Jedi for her.

Din wisely doesn't respond to this bargain, but leaves her unpleasant company in a way which suggests that he is going to take the job. You know Din well enough to know that he wants nothing to do with that woman, but he'd needed to get all of you out of there without making a fuss.

At the edge of the city, Lang looks down at the child on Din's hip with a curious sneer, “What is that thing anyway?”

The child glares at him and gurgles angrily.

“I keep it with me for good luck,” Din quips back, sounding both sarcastic and like he'd like to rip this obnoxious guy's head off.

You'd certainly like to do that yourself after hearing him refer to the kid as 'that thing'. The little glare the child sends up his way is definitely not lost on you, a smirk finding the corner of your mouth. Atta boy, kiddo.

As Din gestures for you to keep walking, the nasty little man shouts after your party, “You're gonna need it where you're headed!”

Trudging through the ruined wasteland of a forest, you're staying mostly quiet at Din's side while he navigates. For one thing, everything about being on this planet has you feeling miserable. Polluted, gray-green air. A woodland that must have once been beautiful is now infected by greed and capitalism. Innocent citizens being treated like meat in those awful cages. A Magistrate who clearly needs to meet her comeuppance sooner rather than later. That village is an awful feeling place and you hope to never have any reason to go back. Being there is like an exaggerated version of all the worst things about Earth.

On top of all of this, a Jedi seems to be just around the corner. Every step further into the forest feels like a step further away from your family, and that feeling has you completely cornered at the moment.

Din must notice your silence, because he looks over his shoulder at you in a gesture which you read as curious but with a splash of worry. “You're uncharacteristically quiet, love,” he observes.

“I just hate this planet,” you respond honestly, “being here is unpleasant for a multitude of reasons.”

“I relate to that senti-,” Din begins but is quickly cut off by an attack from above.

You can only watch in stunned horror as an alien woman suddenly appears out of thin air, two swords made of glowing beams of light striking directly into Din's armor. His beskar blocks the attack easily, but now a fight is abruptly breaking out between your cosmic companion and some stranger. A stranger you are willing to bet is the Jedi your party is reluctantly looking for. She's undeniably beautiful, and perhaps the most interesting alien species you've encountered thus far. Almost like a twi’lek in the sense that she has fleshy protuberances in lue of hair, but she’s also completely unique in every way.

Flamethrowers and whipchords are expertly used on her by your warrior, but the woman easily gets out of these attacks by moving her body with the same sort of ease and grace as Jupiter. The cat-like movements are certainly impressive, but worry for Din is your only concern right now. 

After flipping over a branch she draws her light-swords again, and Din suddenly stops fighting with his arms raised in the air.

“Ahsoka Tano!” Din shouts with a blaster in one hand, the other hand held out in a surrendering motion. At the sound of her own name, the woman halts. Din quickly adds, “Bo-Katan sent me! We need to talk.”

The Jedi woman's gaze finally moves past Din and lands upon the child in your arms. Slowly, she moves to a normal standing position and disables her swords. It looks as if the light gets sucked up into the hilt. She then tilts her fleshy head curiously, sounding almost delighted in a way, “I hope it's about him .”

*****

“Your pacing has me on edge,” your voice quietly slices through both the ambient night-sounds of the desiccated forest and the uneasy racing thoughts of an increasingly worried Din Djarin.

Din's feet stop moving for the first time in twenty minutes, and he looks down at you apologetically. “Sorry,” he says quietly, moving to sit down beside you on the long rock you've been perched on.

“No need to be sorry,” you say, shooting what he interprets to be an apologetic look in your own way. “I just needed you to stop for a second.”

So stop he does... until his left knee starts bouncing a mile a minute. Then he feels your right hand come to press into the area of his thigh not covered by beskar. Again, this seems to do the trick of grounding him for only but a moment.

“She hasn't said a word, yet they've been at this for nearly two hours,” Din remarks. “I feel like I'm going crazy .”

“I think she’s communicating with him using the Force,” you say, eyeing him for a moment before looking back over to the Jedi and the kid with an anxious expression. “Can they do that? Is that a Jedi thing?”

Din shrugs in response, at a loss.

You shake your head, “All I know is, I feel incredibly judged whenever she looks over at us like that.”

Din follows your gaze and the scene of the two of them, faces lit by the lantern's soft orange glow with a full moon backdrop behind them, sends a shiver up his spine. Just as you said, Ahsoka looks over at the two of you briefly and Din’s blood runs a little cold. Suddenly all of this feels more real than it did a moment ago, his chest tightening.

After a few more moments of silence, Ahsoka Tano rises from her seat and gathers the child in her arms. As she begins heading back over, Din shoots up from his seat to anxiously meet them halfway. You get up and follow close behind him.

Ahsoka sits the lantern down on a small rock, followed by the kid on a slightly bigger one. She takes a seat to the kid's left and looks up at the two of you patiently.

Then she and the kid eye one another for another long moment. A small smile creases her lips and forehead, the white patterns of skin surrounding her clay-tan face altering.

Din feels desperate to know what is going on, asking, “Is he speaking? Do you... understand him?”

Ahsoka looks down at the child, tucking her hands into the pockets of her thick gray poncho. “In a way,” she says evenly. Then she looks up at Din, adding, “Grogu and I can feel each other's thoughts.”

“Grogu?” Both foster parents say this in unison. Din hears you sound just as shocked as he does.

The kid's head whips up at the two of you as little noises erupt from his tiny mouth, big dark eyes crinkling happily.

“Yes,” the Jedi responds, “That is his name.”

Din feels the name out along his tongue once again, a warmth spreading through him as he pronounces the two syllables slowly, “Gro-gu.”

Again, the kid's ear's perk up and his head whips up to look at the person who said his name. His name . Not just 'the kid' anymore. Not Green Bean. Not adika. Grogu .

Din says it once again for good measure, chuckling a little at how happy it makes the child. “I like it. It sounds like you, kid.”

Agreeing from beside Din, you move to squat down and grab for one of the kid’s tiny hands with a loving smile gracing your lips. “I like it too. You have a wonderful name, Grogu. Very handsome and distinguished.”

“What else did you learn about him?” Din asks the Jedi woman.

She takes a controlled breath, that stoic energy of hers unfaltering as she relays the requested information. “He was raised in the Jedi Temple on Coruscant where he was trained by many Jedi Masters. After the Clone Wars, when the Empire rose to power, he was taken from the temple and hidden away. From there his memory becomes... dark. Filled with much fear. That fear only starts to subside when the two of you begin caring for him. Then the fear morphs into something else.” As she says this last sentence, her tone is laced with something Din cannot place.

“Have you met another of his species?” You inquire from Din's side.

“I have only known one other like him. A wise and powerful Jedi known as Grand Master Yoda,” Ahsoka replies, meeting the child's glance when a look of recognition washes over Grogu's face. Did the kid know this grand master?

From there she asks if the child can still wield the Force, to which Din replies to clarify that she indeed means the kid's powers. She explains that the power Din speaks of is being drawn from the Force, which she describes as an energy field created by all living things. The concept of it makes little sense to Din, but many things have made little sense to him ever since Grogu came into his life.

She tells the group that wielding the Force takes a tremendous amount of training and discipline.

Din responds by saying that his task was to bring Grogu to a Jedi.

“The Jedi Order fell a long time ago,” Ahsoka replies.

“So did the Empire yet it's still out there, working in secret. It must be the same for your people,” Din argues, gesturing to the kid as he feels himself getting frustrated. “He needs your help.”

*****

The kid's been looking very tired for the last couple of minutes or so, eyes slipping closed for longer than a blink here and there. When he and Ahsoka clearly share another moment of feeling each other's thoughts, she lets out a long sigh and shakes her head. The look comes off as if she doesn't like or agree with this situation one bit.

Join the club, sister , you can't help but think. Ahsoka's eyes flick to yours the moment the thought leaves your brain, unsettling you more than anything you've seen today. She looks at you as if she heard you think that.

After a moment, she looks away and declares that Grogu should sleep, and that she will test his abilities in the morning.

Din gets up and scoops the child into his arms, nodding down to Ahsoka, “Thank you for speaking with him. We've waited months to know anything about his past.”

“Especially his name,” you interject with a yawn as you stand to join them.

Looking you up and down for a long moment, Ahsoka regards you curiously. “May we speak before you retire?” The Jedi asks, surprising both you and Din as noises of shock manage to escape from you both simultaneously.

Nervously, you ask, “Why do you want to talk to me of all people?”

“A feeling,” she replies simply.

“A feeling about what?” Din asks, tone concerned.

Ahsoka ignores Din's question, continuing to look only at you. “What planet are you from? It is not of this galaxy, is it?”

“No, it's not. Did Grogu tell you that?”

“He didn't have to. I could sense it when we first met. I must ask you, are there force sensitive individuals on your planet?”

“Ha, they wish. Not that I am aware of. From what I understand no one on Earth has special abilities.”

“Not even you? Or someone close to you perhaps?”

“Absolutely no-,” you start to scoff. But a feeling of realization dawns on you, and suddenly you're remembering everything your grandfather told you back on Tatooine. “Actually there is someone. But I don't know if I believe that he's what you would describe as force sensitive.”

“Cyar'ika, do you mean Richard?” Din asks, and you nod at him with a small frown before looking back to Ahsoka.

“The reason I am in this galaxy is because my grandfather built a device which used the energy of a black hole to transport us here from Earth. I don't even truly know how far away we are, I just know it's far . My world does not have the technology for long term space travel like most do here. We are very behind when it comes to that sort of thing. What my grandfather built is completely unorthodox. He shouldn't have even been able to build it in the first place, let alone conceptualize it. But he told me that ever since he was a little boy he's had dreams of this galaxy. Vivid dreams as if he were really here himself. As he got older he began to feel like these were not dreams at all. When compared to how the other people around him dreamed, what was happening to him during sleep each night was not that whatsoever. He felt that he was seeing a window into another part of the universe. One that made more sense to him than the one we came from. Does any of this even make sense?”

“I am following. Please continue,” Ahsoka says kindly, gesturing with a bow of the head.

“He told me that he eventually began to journal every morning to create a faithful record of his nightly visits with as much fine detail as he could remember. Eventually he became a brilliant scientist and a talented engineer. It took decades of his life but he eventually figured out the formula for how to make his machine work using what he learned in his visions. After he came here he learned of the Force and felt that was the explanation for why he dreamed of this place. He feels he is connected to it somehow and it guided his way here, but that's all he's said about it. No powers from what I can tell.”

“And do you agree with this?” Ahsoka asks.

“I honestly didn't know what to think about it when he told me this, but it's just as good an explanation as any I suppose.”

“Have you ever experienced similar dreams?”

“I don't think so, but I don't remember every dream I've had either.”

Ahsoka regards you for a long moment, contemplating. “At the Jedi temple there was speculation of the Force stretching far beyond the reach of just this galaxy. The Force is a part of the entire universe, and therefore the Force is present in the entire universe. The Jedi merely believe that we are the first ones to learn to wield it. It is only logical that early stages of Force sensitivity are beginning to appear on worlds that have no knowledge yet of its existence.”

Din gestures to you as he asks Ahsoka, “So could her grandfather learn to do what you and Grogu can do? We've seen Grogu do things that we cannot explain.”

Ahsoka shakes her head, “One must train to wield the Force from a very young age. If this individual is old enough to be a grandfather then he is too old to learn. And I believe that whatever connection he may have with the Force is not the same as what Grogu or I experience. It may not even be the same as what you experience,” the woman says your name as she addresses you.

“I'm very certain that I have no connection to the Force at all,” you reply confidently.

“Then explain why I can sense you in the way I can sense Grogu,” Ahsoka bites back just as confidently. “I cannot sense your Mandalorian this way. He is there, but his presence in the force is not pulsating like yours is.”

“Pulsating?” With a scoff and a wave of the hand, you readily dismiss her claims, “I can't explain something that isn't true.”

Grogu makes a little noise as if he's hurt by what you're saying, and your head whips over to him in concern.

“Ah,” Ahsoka says with a knowing little smirk, her blue eyes shining, “ there it is.”

“There what is?” you reply defensively, thinking idly in the back of your head that you're starting to sound like Din.

“You could feel Grogu just now, couldn't you?” The Jedi asks, her expression knowing.

“When he got upset? I could tell, yes. I'm his caregiver and I have been for months. I can tell lots of things about him. It's not the Force. It's because I've gotten to know who he is as a developing person.” As you finish this you’re shaking your head.

Ahsoka is shaking her own head in the negative, “He got upset because he doesn't want you to dismiss this connection to the Force as it is also a part of your connection to him . You merely need to learn to understand it. Not to wield it, as I do not think it is like something to be wielded, but to fully understand it.”

“What are you saying?”

“Have you always been able to sense the feelings of others?”

“I... I don't know how to answer that.” Thinking back to your childhood, you could always tell when your parents were about to get into a big fight. Anytime their emotions were heightened it felt as if the house was crashing down around you from the pressure of it. You'd just grown to assume that their volatile relationship forced you to become very good at reading the room to avoid any second hand abuse. Perhaps this trait followed you into adulthood, but it's never been something you stopped to consider until now.

Ahsoka’s eyes narrow slightly, as if she’s trying to figure you out. “Do you feel it took you a long time to get to know Grogu? To understand his needs accurately?”

Shrugging, you answer, “I suppose not. He and I were on the same page almost immediately.”

Ahsoka turns her attention to Din, “Do you feel this observation is correct?”

He nods, looking back and forth between both women, “I recall being surprised by how quickly they bonded, but I equated it to her natural maternal instincts.”

“Yeah, I just always assumed it was because of that too,” you agree, brow furrowing as you consider the possibilities of what Ahsoka is implying. “Even with other kids I've watched I just felt like I always knew exactly what they needed from me. But with Green Bea-shoot, I mean Grogu , it definitely feels like our connection is stronger than any I've shared with another child.”

“Another indication,” Ahsoka says, “That name you called him when you had nothing else. Do you not agree that the cadence of it sounds similar? It even begins with the same sound.”

Now you're really scoffing at the Jedi woman, “Oh don't be ridiculous. I call him that because he's green and it was a cute little nickname.”

Grogu again seems distressed, and both women stop to look at him for a moment.

Ahsoka meets your eyes as she goes on, “Or perhaps it is subconsciously what your brain conjured when Grogu wanted to share his name with you? He showed me the memory. He was trying very hard to communicate with you that day, and he used a great deal of his power to try and make you feel his name.”

“I... Are you serious?” You're dumbfounded as you glance at the child again.

“Very,” she replies evenly. 

Looking at Grogu, mouth slightly agape, you cannot quite believe what you are being told. “Well I got close, sweetie,” you tell him with a shaky little laugh, halfhearted smile trying its best to reach your eyes. This revelation has you feeling exhausted suddenly.

“And what of you two?” Ahsoka is looking between you and Din with a curious expression.

“What do you mean to imply?” Din asks, voice on the edge of being defensive as he comes to stand closer to you.

Considering the possibilities of this, your body sinks back down onto a rock, facial muscles going slack with shock. “I think she means did any of this play a factor in how we ended up romantically entangled. I worry the answer is yes now that I really think about it.”

“Grogu told me that your Mandalorian will not remove his helmet in front of another living being, including you,” the Jedi says to you, and then to Din, “A Child of the Watch, I believe?”

Frowning, your voice drops a little, “And you feel that I have been able to sense his feelings this whole time and that is why we are close regardless of that factor?”

“It certainly couldn't have hurt,” Ahsoka replies knowingly, and you cannot help but sense that she is purposefully trying to get you to feel that knowing glance. Not to just see it and interpret it. The fact that you even understand that from her is a little mind boggling.

Could this truly be something that you've never known about yourself? Would this explain odd things from your past? Could this actually be real?

“This is a lot to take in,” you say, heavy waves of exhaustion flowing through you. Din's hand is on your shoulder giving it a comforting squeeze, so you reach up and touch the light tips of his gloved fingers.

“As I said, this is not so much an ability you can wield. Think of it as an extension of yourself you did not realize was there. But I understand that this is a bit daunting. We can discuss this further in the morning,” the Jedi says wisely, dipping her head in a kind nod.

*****

On the Razor Crest, the air is so thick with tension that it feels impossible to move through the space comfortably. Once the sleeping kid is tucked away in his little hammock, the two adults take to the second floor of the ship to speak without disturbing him.

Driven to tears, a sob escapes your throat as you throw yourself down in your seat. Drawing your feet up on the leather so that you can hug your knees, you take the opportunity to bury your cries into the meat of your thighs.

As Din makes sure everything looks good on the Crest's controls, he then flops down into the pilot's seat and spins around to face you.

“I'm sorry,” Din says lamely. “I know that this news of Force sensitivity is disconcerting. I want you to know that it makes no difference to me. You know me better than anyone, and if the Force helped that along then all I can do is thank it.”

“I appreciate you saying that, Din. But it's not just that. The Force thing I can deal with, if I even believe it. Which is something I'm still trying to figure out. It's Grogu , Din. I don't want to say goodbye to him tomorrow.” After you say this, another great sob escapes you and you're forced to muffle it in your thighs again, body quaking.

He sighs, “I feel responsible for this misery.”

“It is not your fault. I broke the number one rule in any caregiver job. I became too emotionally attached to my client. And my client's dad. Christ, Fran Drescher eat your heart out,” you say this last part with a cynical laugh as you wipe at your nose with your sleeve.

“I'm too tired to handle Earth references right now, cyar'ika,” Din croaks out weakly, slumping down in his seat.

“Humor is my coping mechanism,” you reply with a halfhearted shrug, waving him off. “Just ignore me.”

Din shakes his head fiercely, “Ignoring you would be cruel. I do not wish to be cruel to you when we're both this vulnerable. I already feel responsible enough for your pain and I do not intend to cause any more. I tried not to let things get this far, but admittedly I didn't try very hard. As much as I preached about not playing happy family... about not getting too attached... you know I was just as guilty of doing it myself. I am both weak to my desires and a hypocrite, as it would seem.”

Shaking your own head in the negative, a deep frown creasing your tear-stained face, you counter with, “I don't consider any of the last nine months, nearly ten now, to be 'playing family', Din. What I have with the two of you is the realest thing I've ever felt in my life.”

Din sighs, head dropping, “I misspoke. Perhaps I am the one who should be ignored.”

A sigh of your own falls from your lips, shoulders slumping, “Neither of us is going to be ignored tonight. I feel sensitive so I picked apart your words and that's not fair. For that I'm sorry. We need each other now more than ever.”

“You know that 'playing' is not how I see this. It's just hard to string thoughts together right now.” Then Din's voice waivers, and you can hear that he's fighting weeping when he speaks again. Or did you 'sense' that? “This is probably our last night with him, cyar'ika. The thought of it... I do not think I have felt a pain like this before.” As he says this he begins rubbing the chest plate over his heart.

“It hurts for me that way too. It's like this searing burn. Right here, right?” You point to the area right between your breasts. He nods, and you're really contemplating the possibility that what Ahsoka said about you is true. Are the two of you experiencing similar pain, or does your empathy truly run that deep? What a strange notion. Then you add, “And the pain is draining down into your stomach, making you feel almost nauseous?”

“Something like that, yeah.” Din makes an indistinguishable noise, the helmet looking at you with an energy you don't recognize. It comes off as so defeated, and that's something you cannot abide.

Getting up to move towards him, you're placing a hand on either arm rest as you lean over him a little. “We are strong . We both know how to lose people. But this is hard . Maybe one of the hardest things either of us has ever had to grapple with. It's not going to be easy, but I do think that together you and I can find our way out of how shitty this feels one day. Things can't feel shitty forever. You're worth every ounce of patience I have to give. I hope you'll show me the same in return.”

“I will,” he breathes, modulator hissing.

“I don't think I'll get much sleep tonight, but I say we go get in the cot and just be close to our boy while we still can.”

Din's hands find your waist, gripping slightly as his helmet tips upwards to allow for the visor to meet your eyes. “Before we retire, I need to thank you. I know you do not want any of this to happen, yet you've handled yourself with such grace. Your respect for my creed is, as always, appreciated more than you know. You may not walk the way but you are just as formidable as any Mandalorian woman I've come across, if not more. That warrior’s heart of yours is the strongest muscle in your body, ner cyare.”

Moving so that your forehead softly butts into his for a kiss, tears cannot help but re-form in your eyes as you softly utter the words, “This is The Way.”

The helmet's modulator hisses with the little gasp you hear hitch in his throat, his body reacting along with it. First there's the little flinch of surprise, then his arms swiftly move to envelope your hips and the firm metal of his helmet comes to rest against your abdomen. He squeezes you, and as your hands move to lay upon the silver beskar which clouds your only love's surely anguished face from you, his clearly anguished voice whispers, “This is The Way.”

*****

The next day Ahsoka Tano is waiting outside of the Razor Crest as the three would-be family members emerge. After a restless night, both adults are feeling completely miserable as they greet the Jedi from halfway down the ramp. Grogu seems to be in good enough spirits though, babbling at the Jedi woman as she greets him with a squeeze of the hand and a bow of her head.

“Good morning, Grogu,” she offers warmly to the child in Din's arms, a smile finding her intensely blue eyes. Then those eyes move to the two adults, nodding in greeting. “I trust neither of you slept well by the looks of it.”

“How could you guess?” You reply sarcastically from Din's side.

In a rare moment of understanding your need to lighten the mood, Din says to you in a sarcastic tone of his own, “It's obviously the bags under my eyes.”

At that, you snort loudly, letting out a short bark of a laugh, shoving at his shoulder a little. The kid giggles against Din's chest as the Force of the shove causes Din to rock backwards a bit. He finds himself grinning despite the misery in his heart, and for the first time he really does understand that with you by his side he will eventually overcome this loss. His life will not be without joy, even if it has to be without the child.

The white markings which frame Ahsoka's face alter shape slightly when her brow shoots up, an amused smile finding her lips as she observes the display. After a moment, she beckons the group to follow her deeper into the forest.

Soon back to the area they were in the night before, Ahsoka leads them over to the mossy rocks and fallen trees. Its bright green color is a stark contrast to the desolation surrounding it, making the patch of land feel oddly beautiful.

Ahsoka turns to face Din, though her attention is on Grogu the whole time as she says, “Now let's see what knowledge is lurking inside that little mind.” With a delicate finger to the kid's nose and then a hand resting on his chest for a moment, the way she smiles down at him indicates to Din that she's communicating with him again.

She separates herself, gesturing for Grogu to be sat down on a large rock. Din obliges, and when he squats to sit Grogu down he rubs his back in an encouraging little gesture of 'you got this, pal' without verbally saying it. Considering everything he learned about the Force the night before, Din feels confident that the kid understands.

Lifting up from the squat, Din comes to stand next to you a few feet away from them. When he reaches your side he notices your eyes are a little wet as you turn to look up at him. Din reaches for your hand, holding tightly once his gloved fingers find yours. Little do you know his eyes are just as wet beneath his helmet. Not only do you hold his hand in return, you adhere yourself to it. He squeezes it fervently, hoping that you can also feel his intention through the Force like Grogu.

With you by his side, Din watches Ahsoka pick up a small rock and hold it in the palm of her hand. She then flips her hand and holds it straight upright, the rock floating in midair as she pushes the thing towards Grogu. It slowly floats into his hands and he chirps.

“Now return the stone to me, Grogu,” she orders, hand out.

He looks down at the stone and frowns, looking back up to the adults with worry in his eyes.

Din also frowns, offering lamely, “He doesn't understand.”

“There's no way he doesn’t,” disagreeing with a shake of the head, you add, “we've seen him move stuff around with his mind plenty of times. Grogu, don't be shy sweetie, it's okay.”

Ahsoka's face is soft as she says, “It's okay. The stone, Grogu.”

Din looks at the kid and then nods sideways towards the Jedi woman encouragingly. Come on, kid. You got this.

Grogu suddenly makes a noise of frustration and drops the stone all together. You make a noise beside Din, eyes flicking to him before back to the child with worry. Ahsoka sighs and walks forward, each movement of her body so graceful as she squats down to hold Grogu's hand.

Eyes slipping closed, she remarks that she can sense much fear in the child. “He's had to hide his abilities to survive over the years. But the fear I sense in him comes from a different place... let's try something else. Come over here,” she commands.

The kid doesn't move, and Din motions for him to go over to Ahsoka with a nod of the head in her direction again. Still he doesn't move, looking down with a frown. “He's stubborn,” Din says, at a loss for why Grogu is suddenly being so shy about his powers.

“Not him,” Ahsoka replies, gaze turning to Din, “You. Both of you. I want to see if he will listen to you two.”

You meet Din's gaze through the visor, nodding to him as he leads the two of you to where the Jedi stands patiently waiting.

Handing him the stone, Ahsoka gives an encouraging nod.

Din holds his hand out, “Come on, kid. Lift the stone.”

“Grogu,” Ahsoka says into Din's beskar covered ear.

“Grogu,” Din repeats, and the little noise the kid makes is so sweet that Din wants to give this whole thing up and run back to the Crest with the child in his arms. To tell this Jedi lady never mind and high tail it the hell out of there. But instead he forces himself to say, “come on, Grogu. Lift the stone.”

The kid still refuses.

A deep frown creases your brow, shaking your head as your voice takes on a worried tone. “Yes, he's stubborn sometimes, but so is every child. This isn't like him, Din.”

“Connect with him,” Ahsoka interjects, “I have seen the way you two are with him. Be that way now.”

“Wait, I have an idea,” Din says, digging into the pocket of his utility belt for the silver ball from the cockpit. He'd found it earlier that morning and forgot that he'd shoved it in his pocket until now. “Grogu, you want this? Your favorite toy, buddy?”

Grogu's little green face perks up at that, ears lifting.

“Oh good idea! Come on, Grogu. Take it,” you're encouraging from Din's side with that kind, loving smile of yours directed at the foundling.

After a moment of hesitation, Grogu uses the Force to take the ball from Din's hand. Both adults cheer and hug one another before moving down on one knee to praise him, each telling the kid they knew he could do it with loving little pats on either tiny shoulder.

And that's when Ahsoka suddenly declares gravely, “I cannot train him.”

Both adults stand to attention.

“What?!” Din exclaims, mouth going slack under the helmet.

“But he just did the thing you wanted him to do,” you argue with a confused tone, brows knitting.

Ahsoka shakes her head, “He's formed a strong attachment to you two. His attachment makes him vulnerable to his fears. His anger .”

Din can't wrap his head around this at all. “All the more reason to train him.”

Ahsoka looks scandalized. “ No! I have seen first hand what these feelings can do to a fully trained Jedi Knight! To the best of us...”

As she lets this last bit trail off, Din can't help but feel that she's drawing from a deep well of private pain and he relates to that anguish in her face. It's only there for a moment, but it's heavy. He knows the searing pain of loss when he sees it.

Her voice returns to a more neutral tone as she shakes her head, stating firmly, “I will not start this child down that path.”

“Please help us to understand, then,” you plea in return, eyes flicking over to meet Din's helmeted gaze every now and again. He reads the worry in your furrowed brow, but in your eyes the gleam of hope is unmistakable.

Din's own hope is beginning to swell in his heart, but he tries his best to sound calm about it as he says, “My task was to return him to the Jedi. If you are going to refuse I need to know why.”

Ahsoka sighs, looking away from everyone for a moment as she turns her back to them. With her hands clasped at the small of her back, the Togruta woman's impressive striped lekku on display, she takes several deep and calming breaths. Then she turns to face Din and his family once again with a serious expression weighing on her striking features.

“Jedi must free themselves of possession and attachment. Attachment is antithetical to the Jedi way of life. When one becomes attached to something or someone, one begins to fear losing what they have found. Fear of that loss can lead to jealousy, greed, anger, negativity. Negative feelings are normal. All feelings are normal. As Jedi we learn to feel through our emotions and move on. We do not let them consume. When a Jedi becomes a slave to their feelings, it can lead them down the path to the dark side of the Force.” Ahsoka's face becomes grim as she ends her speech with a firm statement of, “I would not wish that fate upon any child.”

“What makes you think he would become a slave to these feelings?” Din asks defensively.

Ahsoka's blue eyes narrow in Din's direction. “Because, Mandalorian, he already is! You and her have corrupted this child with so much love and affection that he cannot bear to be separated from it! I told you I sense much fear in him. Grogu is absolutely terrified that I'm going to take him away from you two. Even though I have already assured him that I am not .”

The look on your face is so filled with relief that you seem suddenly younger almost, the life finding your eyes again as a smile slowly creeps up your lips. Din can hear the joyful surprise in your voice, asking the Jedi, “You're not? ”

Ahsoka's face softens as well, her own lips curving upward as she nods once towards you, “I am not.” Then to Din she says, “And I never was.”

Din's a little taken aback by that statement. “What do you mean?”

“Grogu showed me last night that he does not wish to resume his Jedi training. He feels that path is no longer the one the Force has set him on.”

Din looks at the kid, frowning under the beskar as he looks him over. The little guy looks almost scared, like he's worried about the reaction this news will receive. Gently, Din asks him, “Grogu? Is that true?”

Grogu looks away as if he's ashamed of himself for a moment, or embarrassed in some way. Din moves to crouch down in front of him and you're soon coming to squat down as well.

“Sweetie, it's okay,” you soothe the child, “no one is upset with you and you're not in trouble.”

The motherly voice you've taken on is not lost on Din whatsoever, his heart swelling at the sound of it. His own tone softens more as he assures the child, “Yeah, buddy. We are not mad at you. This choice was always yours to make. It was my job to get you here so you could choose.”

Grogu's little face looks relieved, and at that he begins reaching for the two of you with little babbles and coos.

When you both grab for one of his tiny hands, Ahsoka declares, “You are like parents to him. Grogu showed me these feelings last night in great detail. He allowed me to view a glimpse of the life he has lived with the two of you. This child hasn't felt this happy or safe in a very long time. In Grogu's eyes, you are his mother and father. With you he is home.”

Din's so overcome with love, eyes slipping closed for a moment as the information sinks in. The reality of it. His deepest wish, the thing he's secretly yearned for for months... is suddenly the true outcome of this long quest after all? Maker, his heart wasn't prepared.

Then he hears you asking, “If you never intended to train him, why the test of his abilities?”

Din's eyes open as Ahsoka is explaining, “It was necessary for me to see how much he can still wield the Force, as well as the validity of the attachment between all of you.”

“And your conclusion?” Din asks.

Her smile is genuine, “The three of you are a family. One I believe to be brought together by the workings of the Force. A unit not meant to be broken. At least, not for a very long time.”

“This is music to my ears,” you're happily saying to yourself, a hand to your chest.

“There is one other reason for the test,” Ahsoka addresses Din as she speaks, “Grogu wanted me to ensure that you upheld your oath. He showed me how important your Mandalorian creed is to you, and he did not want you to feel as if your mission was a failure.”

Chest swelling, Din looks right at the kid as he declares, “Nothing about this quest was a failure, Grogu.” Dank farrik , if only the kid could see the pure joy on Din's face right now.

“Thank you, Ahsoka,” you say genuinely.

She gives a single, graceful bow of the head. “I have delayed too long. I must return to the village.”

“The Magistrate hired me to kill you,” Din declares as she begins to turn to walk off. As those words leave his mouth, she stops in her tracks and turns to him with a raised brow. “Offered me a spear made of beskar as payment. I did not agree to anything. For your help with understanding the kid, with Grogu , I will help you eliminate her before we depart.”

*****

You have no interest in joining a fight right now, so when Din asks you if you'd be okay with taking Grogu home to the Razor Crest while he and Ahsoka take care of the awful Magistrate back in the city you're thrilled to agree. Imagining the beautiful Jedi facing off with the evil woman in her very Kill Bill Zen garden, with a lightsaber in place of a katana, a smile can't help but form on your lips at the grizzly mental image.

And so the two of them construct a plan while you lovingly cradle Grogu to your chest, humming one of his favorite Earth songs to him. Din eventually shares a meaningful embrace with each of you, and then both parties set out to go their separate ways.

As you and the kid are making your way back to the Space RV alone, a stray thought comes to mind. Are you really ready for this? Do you have what it takes to do right by this kid?

A weird moment of fear strikes your heart at that, enough to stop you in your tracks. Grogu makes a little noise at you from his perch in the satchel and when you look down at him it hits you that you really are going to be his mother now.

Ahsoka Tano, a real Jedi what-have-you, has declared it to be so herself. Grogu readily agrees, according to her testimony. You still can’t shake how strange it felt to watch her silently communicate with him. A small pang of jealousy surfaces at the memory of it, wanting to be able to listen to his coherent thoughts in the same way. Feel them , as she had put it. Perhaps it's a skill you can build with practice if what she claims about you is really true. 

From what you gather, you’ll never be able to ‘wield’ it like Grogu, but perhaps you can teach yourself to understand your connection to the Force and how it relates to your connections to others. Dramatic as it may sound, you’ve always felt like you can see the best and worst in people whether they try to hide it or not. But that’s not something you ever attributed to any sort of otherworldly ability. It always just felt like you would get a hunch about someone’s feelings or intentions and be right about it. Sometimes this works in your favor and other times it can cause complete chaos. Your accuracy record isn’t perfect by any stretch of the imagination, either. You’ve been wrong plenty of times, but you’ve also been correct enough to feel that perhaps Ahsoka’s observation of you is not false after all. Perhaps you do have some minor form of an ability.

It’s just so bizarre to think that there’s anything different about you at all. Back on Earth you idolized sci-fi stories and characters with special abilities, always pining for a life like that. To realize that in a little less than a year you’ve gotten the chance to live out what was once your heart’s deepest desire in nearly every aspect, that’s enough to make your head spin.

But your heart’s deepest desire has evolved just as much as you have in the last ten months. Now when you close your eyes to dream of a life you feel satisfied with, a Mandalorian and a green child stand by your side. That same green child who is perched at your hip as you walk towards home, the green child who thinks of you as his parent. 

The fear you felt a moment ago is what you assume most new parents feel on their first day. But this isn't your first day. You aren’t new at this. You’ve been with this kid for a long while. He’s felt like your son for the last couple of months now, so why the sudden trepidation? Is it because now it's actually real ? Ahsoka called the three of you a true family. Unlikely loved ones brought together by the mysterious ways of the Force. A unit that is not meant to be broken.

The intensity of what you feel now is unmeasured. After months of looking for a Jedi. After months of fearing the loss, the pain, and the suffering that would inevitably follow. After months of constantly worrying that this loss would drastically alter the dimensions of your relationship with Din. After months of trying to mentally prepare for unimaginable heartbreak... suddenly that heartbreak isn’t going to happen? 

The truth is… you hadn't really planned for this outcome. No matter how hard you may have wished for it.

Back on Earth you'd been starting to worry that a child was never going to make sense for you. It always seemed so far off in the future. A distant dream. As you told Din once, adopting a child was something you saw yourself doing if you had the right partner to raise one with. But between dead-end relationships and dead-end jobs, the idea of it seemed pretty impossible by the time you ended up in this galaxy.

Now you have this beautiful little boy in your life and he's asked to be your son, for you to love him as your child. As you've said many times in the recent past, you would become his mother in a heartbeat. Now that heartbeat of opportunity hits like a great thunderclap all around you, shaking the very ground beneath your feet. All at once you know it to be true in your bones, that this is the course you’re meant to be on.

So the question now is where do you all go from here? You and Din are going to need to have a very serious conversation about what the future holds, but none of that really matters in this singular moment. Not when the child at your hip has acknowledged that he loves you as a mother to him.

"Grogu?" You ask him tentatively, the name still feeling a bit foreign on your tongue. The way he whips his little head to smile up at you when you use his name causes your chest to swell. Removing him from the satchel, you gently place him down on a big mossy rock in order to squat at eye level with him. "So you really do want me to be your mom, huh kiddo?"

He makes one of his little 'patu' noises in response to you, bowing his head in a single nod.

Okay, then. If it's a mom he wants, it's a mom he's going to get. Time to pull on those metaphorical mom jeans and talk to him like he really is your child.

"Grogu, sweetie, I want you to know that I am aware of how hard all of this has been on you. Constantly moving around. Having to hear me and your dad argue about your future. Being in danger half the time. I'm sure it was really scary and confusing, buddy. It was scary and confusing for us too. But I think that before you met Din, you'd been even more scared and confused. For a long time it sounds like. I'm so sorry for that. I'm sorry that you had to ever be put in this situation in the first place. I'm sorry you've had to see so much ugliness in your young life." 

The way he looks at you with such understanding in his big eyes causes your own to water, but you soldier on through what you need to say.

"I just need you to know this: Now that you're officially staying with us, you never have to question where your home is ever again. Ever. I love you very much, and I promise that as long as I am alive you will have a place in my heart. I've wanted a child for a long time, but I am so lucky that it gets to be you, buddy. You will always have a home with me, Green Bean. Shoot, I hope it's okay if I still call you that sometimes. It'll be hard to break the habit."

The kid seems to soak in these words, little tears of his own forming in his large eyes as he quite literally flies forward and into your arms. His body is so tiny, so it surprises you with a squeak when the Force aiding him knocks you backwards onto your ass. You can't help but giggle as he snuggles into your chest, but the giggle quickly slips into a sob as he squeezes you for dear life. 

Grogu's little form shakes as he cries into your shirt, soaking the material with tears, snot, and saliva. You could care less about the mess of it, sitting in the dirt as you comfort your weeping child.

After a little bit, Grogu hiccups and his breathing evens out. He looks up at you with his huge brown eyes as he motions towards the Razor Crest in the distance.

"Ready to go home? Me too, buddy. Let's go see what Jupiter is up to. Hopefully your dad and Ahsoka make quick work of defeating that nasty Magistrate lady. I don't know about you but I am so ready to get off this polluted rock.” 

Looking around the ruined forest land, a shiver runs up your spine as you move to get back on your feet. “Place gives me the heebie-jeebies.”

*****

Din's impressed with Ahsoka's skill as a warrior. The entire ruse leading up to Din's dramatic jetpack entrance goes off without a hitch, and the Jedi's abilities are unmatched as she takes out several mercenaries. It is no wonder the Jedi were once so revered.

He doesn't have to see her fight the Magistrate to know she is winning, the sounds of their struggle echoing throughout the quiet city are all the indication he needs. Lightsaber colliding with beskar, the unmistakable grunts of physical exertion.

Lang's silly little standoff with Din doesn't phase the Mandalorian one bit, the natural high he's still riding on very much at its peak. After learning that Grogu has chosen to stay, Din's not sure if anything could phase him right now. His heart is completely filled to the brim, making him feel utterly unstoppable.

Din pretends to listen as the man spouts off, knowing a betrayal is just around the corner. The faster the scummy little man tries to pull one over on Din, the faster Din can be on with his life. The newfound joy he feels when he thinks of the future is fueling every action in him. 

Din shoots Lang down when the older man attempts to attack, and though he holds reverence for the act of taking a life, he's thrilled to be done with this ugliness so he can get back to what really matters to him.

With the city freed from the Magistrate's tyranny, the locals are soon celebrating out in the streets with flutes and dancing. Within an hour the place is already filled with so much life compared to when he arrived the day before. Din watches a family embrace with relief lacing the emotion of it, and he's suddenly desperately ready to get back to his family to share a similar moment of relief. It occurs to him that he hasn't really been able to process this life-altering news of Grogu's choice to stay, nor has he been able to discuss it with the one person he values most.

Ahsoka comes to Din at the city gates, where she gives him the beskar spear and insists that it belongs with his people. She asks him then if she may accompany him back to the ship so that she may say her goodbyes to Grogu, and Din gladly leads the way. The music fades out as they head into the forest, leaving Din slightly saddened to hear its pleasant tones dissipate. If only he could save music from every world on his device. 

When they reach the Razor Crest, Ahsoka respectfully remains outside to wait for Grogu. Inside the ship, speaking of music, he hears your voice as you sing along to one of those Bowie songs you’ve corrupted him with.

This song in particular is one you sing to the child often, given that the odd lyrics seem to be about a magical baby. You’ve tried to explain the movie of its origin to him several times, but he fears it is one he would have to see to understand. 

Following your voice and the surefire scent of food being cooked in the galley, Din finds you happily attending a meal with one hand as the other holds Grogu at your hip. As your body sways back and forth, your hips wiggle along with the music and your bare feet gracefully step in and out of position. When you use the tongs in your left hand as a handheld microphone, Din cannot keep himself from holding in the loud snort which escapes him. 

Jumping a little with a yelp of surprise, laughter soon follows as you lift Grogu to squeeze him tighter, nuzzling his head with your cheek. “Looks like our dance party is over, sweetie.”

The domestic sight of it flares his heart, especially when you turn to meet his gaze with a radiant smile. You look probably the most beautiful you’ve ever looked to him in this moment. 

His own smile is one that he fears may get stuck there forever, tone playful as he teases you, “Mm, making dinner without me I see?”

“Just some noodles. Nothing as good as your food, I assure you. Grogu and I were starving so we had to make due without you,” you say with an equally playful roll of the eyes as you stir the sizzling food. “Seems like you made it back just in time if you’re hungry.”

Din reaches out to stroke a thumb over Grogu's little hand, telling both you and the child, “I am starving as well, but it's time to say goodbye.” When an almost comical look of horror crosses your features for a moment, Din quickly squashes your worry, “To our new friend. Not each other. Ahsoka's business here is finished and so is ours. She asked to say goodbye to Grogu and I figured it was as good a time as any to get on the road. Without the Magistrate the town should start to rebuild. It was already an improvement when I left, but I don’t want to be here anymore. The more distance between us and Corvus the better.”

“Agreed. Where are we going to go next, though?” you ask, setting the utensil down to fully face him.

“I don't know, but we can figure that out as a family,” Din replies, and the truth of the statement leaves him feeling like his life is about to change in ways he can't begin to fathom just yet.

*****

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Next to you the child has also been stretching his little body out, adjusting to the morning as he rubs the sleep from his eyes with tiny fists. But at the mention of the pancakes, his ears quite literally perk up and he looks at Din with so much excitement that you cannot help but giggle.

“Damn, kid,” Din says with a chuckle of his own as the kid in question quickly climbs over your belly in order to fling himself into Din's arms. The Mandalorian gets knocked back a little, clearly feeling the force of the child's power. Laughing, Din cradles him to his chest and moves for the table. “Whoa! Alright, buddy, let me get you a plate, okay?”

“Oh great now there won't be any left for me,” you lament jokingly, “not when the dreaded bottomless pit gets his claws on them!”

“I purchased more than we probably needed, just in case,” Din says, glancing back at you with a smile riding the pleasant tone of his voice. Despite everything he has to deal with today, he seems to be in good spirits.

“I'm glad to see you in such a good mood, Din,” you can't help but point out as much as you climb from the bed, the chill of having to leave the blanket causing a shiver to run up your spine. Moving for one of the steaming cups of caf, you hold the warm thing in both hands and take a generous sip. Warmth spreads throughout your insides as the liquid hits your empty stomach.

Din looks at you and shrugs, sitting the kid down in a chair and moving to put a few pancakes on both of the plates he'd sat out on the little desk. “Calling it a good mood is a bit of a stretch. I just wanted to have a nice morning with the two of you before I have to take care of this unpleasant business.”

“That's fair,” you say, moving to sit in the seat opposite the kid. A frown finds your features as you look up at Din with worry in your heart. “I don't like that he and I have to stay behind.”

“Cyar'ika, you know it is for his safety.”

“I know, but your safety will be driving me nuts until you return to us.”