LokiLeaf

You giggle gently when Din pushes you back, his bare fingers grabbing your waist like it's the only place they have ever belonged.

"You're not gonna back out, are you?" you whisper once he has trapped you between his broad body and the wall of the razor crest. At this point, the need to press your lips against his, to touch his face and trace the mouth you have no idea what it looks like becomes unbearable. Like always when you are with him.

"No. Are you?"

That makes you burst into laughter, though you are not sure why.

You feel drunk. Drunk on him, drunk on his muscular body, drunk on the charged air that hangs heavily around you like dense fog.

"No. Why would I?" you murmur and trail your thumb along the visor of his helmet.

You have grown to love and resent it at the same time. You hate it because it is the only thing separating Din and you, it has taken so much from you and keeps taking more, but then again, it's him. It's part of his identity, whether you like it or not, so you would probably forever glare at that visor and feel like you're staring straight into his soul because you simply have to make your peace with what you have.

"I love you," you mutter, softly biting down on your bottom lip as you feel his grasp tighten on your waist.

"I love you too."

Sometimes, it's strange to let the curtains fall and give him so much while his expression and the depth of his eyes are hidden by his helmet. You doubt that you will ever get used to it, although tonight might change that experience.

His touch is feather light as he slides his hands up your sides, gently caressing the side of your breasts.

"I can't wait to feel you," you breathe, your eyes following the motions of his fingers. In response, one of Din's hands reaches up to cup your face, tilting it up a little. You wait for him to say something because you feel that the gesture has solely served the purpose of looking at you before speaking, but he doesn't, which makes you a tad nervous. After his thumb has tenderly swiped over the corner of your mouth, Din sighs heavily and grabs your wrist with his free hand.

"I… I'm ready. I think." He presses your hand against his heart, which allows you to feel his thundering pulse. You have always loved to rest your head on his chest, listening to his heart until you have fallen asleep and carrying the steady rhythm across the edge into the dreamlands.

"Okay," you smile, then take two large strides toward the door. You close it without a word but turn toward him while your finger hovers above the light switch.

Your grin is genuine, yet a little uncertain and vulnerable. Why wouldn't it be? What you are about to do requires trust and love, which you share for one another in unbelievable ways. This is just the last manifestation of that love, you feel.

After you have switched off the lights, the room is swallowed in darkness. There is not even the digital display of a clock or any red flashing lights that are somehow connected to the cockpit. No, Din and you have successfully removed any lamps or other sources of illumination from the sleeping place so that the two of you could carry out your plan exactly as you came up with it a few days ago.

"Follow my voice, sweetheart," you hear Din say, his voice still distorted from the helmet. Good. You have told him that you wish to be the one to take it off when the time comes.

Then, you stand in front of him all of a sudden, or at least you can feel the warmth his body radiates prickle on your skin. Your hands come up to rest on the side of his helmet while he places his palms on the small of your back.

"I'm nervous," Din admits quietly. The vocoder makes his voice sound even softer and more intimate, causing a shudder to ripple down your spine.

"So am I," you smile into the dark, standing on your tiptoes to gently kiss the side of his helmet. "But it's gonna be alright."

"I know it is," he murmurs, then drops his hands to the waistband of his pants. "Do you wanna do it? Or – "

You don't even let him finish with that and immediately begin undoing his pants and quickly yanking them to his knees. It's strange to do it blindly, but fortunately, your hands seem to be magically attracted by his heat and always know where to pull. After he has toed off his shoes and kicked off the piece of clothing, his shirt is next in line. You struggle a lot more with all the countless buttons and buttonholes, which draws a low chuckle from Din after a while.

"Do you need some help, darling?"

"I can do it," you protest and bite down on your lip in concentration, ignoring his teasing tone.

"I know that you can. I could make it faster though."

"Shut up," you scoff and finally slide his shirt off his shoulders, letting it drop on the ground next to him. It's not needed anymore. In fact, you wish it would never be needed again and this moment would never end. The lights would forever be turned off, his body in its purest form forever pressed against yours.

The next thing you feel is Din running a hand from your hip up to your shoulder.

"Can I?" he asks like the gentleman that he is, tracing soothing circles over your skin.

"Yes… Unless you need my help, of course."

He only reacts with a quiet snort and then starts the same process you have just finished with your clothes. You stay still, your lips curved while you feel his hands all over your body, at your waist, your chest, your hips and thighs. Obviously, he does way more than he has to and slides his palms over your flesh long after your skin is already exposed. You don't mind it, of course, even though you can't wait to finally take off that last remaining thing on his body. Well, you have waited for years, which means you can also wait another few minutes. Especially when waiting feels so good with him…

When Din feels like he's done, he brushes your hair over your shoulder, making it fall down your back.

"You're really pretty… So pretty, it just – drives me insane." His voice is hoarse and raspy, and now that the air around you is dark, you're so much more aware of every little noise he produces. All your other senses work better that way, which prompts you to pay more attention to Din's unmistakable scent of peppermint and parchment. Both fresh and grounding.

"Thank you," you whisper and feel your heart rate pick up as your boyfriend leads you to your shared bed, which is just a mat on the floor of the Razor Crest, but over time the two of you have made it a very cozy corner with all those blankets and pillows.

Din sits down with his back against the wall, like the two of you have discussed it. You feel a tad dramatic thinking about how you have gone through every little step even though the two of you have slept together so many times before. Still… it's different tonight.

"It's weird," he laughs gently while you lower yourself to climb in his lap as elegantly as possible in the dark. "Not seeing you."

"Yeah, well… Now you know what it's like for me every time," you grin, relaxing the second Din has you securely in his hold and manhandles you on top of him. Your knees are on either side of his hips and your hands are on his helmet at once, lovingly gliding them along the metal. When it's one of the only things of him that is accessible to you, you learn to appreciate it regardless of what a burden it poses in your everyday life. It's him, after all. Even though the material is so much colder and sleeker than his skin.

"I don't know how I would do it. If it was the other way around." Din rubs your naked lower back while his head dips lower, resting against your chest. "I don't know how I could stand not seeing you."

"I don't have a choice, do I?" you murmur and hope he doesn't notice the tremor in your tone.

Tears well in your eyes at his words, not because you're mad at him or disappointed in him but because he has hit a nerve. You don't know how to stand it most nights as well, and these feelings are so complex, you're not sure you are capable of understanding them yourself. How could you possibly try to explain them to him? You love him so much, it hurts not to be able to look into his eyes. And you hate that you can't see him without his helmet, but what is possibly even harder is accepting that there is no one you can channel your anger to. It's not his fault, so all you can do when he apologizes to you is kiss the top of his helmet, tell him that you're not mad at him and mean it. Because you do.

"Thank you," he growls and slides his hands up your spine, pressing you against his frame with so much force, you gasp quietly. "Thank you for – for doing all this shit. For – giving me the choice to love. I never – I never believed it would be an option. So what you're doing to me is the greatest gift I could ever imagine."

You don't answer at once because you fear you might burst into tears if you do. Instead, you bury your hand in the nape of his neck and rub his warm flesh, just feeling and savoring his presence. It's Din, it's the person you love regardless of any night you spend awake, staring at the ceiling and craving things you know you'll never have. It's the man you would sacrifice anything for, the man you quite literally travel through space for. Just to be with him.

"Can I… Can I do it?" you ask after a while, straightening up to make out his helmet in the dark.

"Yeah, sweetheart. Whenever you feel ready."

The truth is, you have felt ready for months, yet you take another beat, exhaling heavily before your trembling fingers drop to his neck.

"I'm really nervous," you chuckle and swallow hard while you start lifting his helmet.

"So am I… You don't know how much…"

The helmet is weightier than you have expected it, but it grounds you in some strange way. When you're done, you place it on the floor next to you, careful not to give it a scratch. Everything that follows once you sit upright is more overwhelming and more breathtaking than you could have ever anticipated. It's just a helmet, that's all. It's absolutely ridiculous to be so taken aback just by the fact that he is sitting in front of you without that single item, but you can't help it. Your heart is thumping in your chest, your hands trembling even harder as you put them on his chest.

"Hey." Your voice is breathy and weak, which is no surprise considering you're shaking like a leaf.

"Hey…" Din sounds different, though it is still undoubtedly him. Just… a lot clearer and closer than before. Maybe a little deeper as well.

"I… Can you say my name, Din?"

He does, and it causes a tear to roll down your face, catching on your upper lip. After that, you draw a deep breath and snivel faintly, which prompts him to cup your cheek with his hands and wipe the single drop away.

"Can I touch you?" you ask next, feeling grateful that he doesn't try to comfort you in your tears. It's simply what you need right now, and it feels too good to blink the wetness away. You don't know if his voice attempting to calm your demeanor would cause your tears to dry or only make you cry harder, but you don't want to find out, really. For now, everything is fine, even in spite of the overwhelming emotions you go through, the ups and downs and the helplessness spreading through your system.

"Yes. Wherever you want, darling."

You start at the base of his neck because it feels right to make your way up slowly. Meanwhile, Din's hands settle on your sides, tracing slow patterns but leaving you in control of the pace, the passion of the moment and everything else, which you appreciate. You can take all the time in the world, touch and explore his skin for as long as you want to, and you have a feeling in your gut that it is going to take a long time until you're done.

"Din?" you murmur after a few minutes, your hands lingering just below his chin now.

"Yes."

"Can you – describe it again?"

"Yes… Of course, sweetheart," he whispers and knows precisely what you want without you having to spell it out.

"I have hair on my face. Not a lot, not very thick hair… But some on my chin. And on my cheeks. And above my mouth."

You nod slowly, not minding that he can't see it.

"And your eyes are brown."

"Yes. They are. So are my eyebrows."

"And your nose?" You shift on his lap a little, moving closer to his chest.

"I don't – I have no idea how to describe noses, sweetheart."

The two of you laugh in unison, which causes a few tears to drip onto your own wrists. Then, your hands wander up further, and for the first time, you feel his chin beneath your fingers. Obviously, it's impossible to determine what he might look like just from feeling his bones and skin and hair, but you don't care about that right now. As he has told you, there is stiff hair that pokes into your fingertips when you trail your fingers over his beard. When you move them along his jaw, you can detect the end of it close to his ear.

"Careful, darling," Din whispers and squeezes your waist. "Don't hurt yourself. They can sting."

"I don't mind. I like it. That you have hair on your face."

Truthfully, you haven't met many people with beards before. Most people in the small town you grew up in were clean-shaven. You don't know why that is, but there is one thing you know for sure: you really adore what Din's face feels like beneath your touch.

While your boyfriend's palms travel up your thighs, you work your way up his face until you find his nose, which seems broad with a small curve in the bridge. You trace it with your fingertip, then move along his nostrils.

"I like it," you smile broadly, shifting yet another inch closer until your chest is flush with him.

"You like my nose, baby?"

"Yes… I think it's very beautiful."

After you're done with his eyebrows and forehead as well, you lean in and kiss his chin. It's strange to feel his beard tingle against the skin around your mouth, but most importantly, your body is flooded with joy and relief. You can't count how many times you have wished you could cover his face with kisses, his mouth, his cheeks, his chin, nose and forehead, and now, you finally get to do it.

"Din," you whisper, more tears falling from your waterline.

"I know, baby… I know." The charged air stirs as he speaks. You can't help it anymore, you lean in, close the distance and press your lips against his. You have experienced many vast and touching moments in your life, but this one definitely counts as one of the grandest of them all. At first, you forget how to breathe, your lungs forgetting how to work, as though petrified, just like the rest of you.

"Breathe, darling…" Din calms you, noticing your quick, uneven breathing. All you can do is whimper softly, your lips hovering inches above his soft mouth. Everything about him is so incredibly warm and mellow, even the sharp hairs on his chin, if that makes any sense.

"I want – " you start but don't finish the sentence because you don't know how to express the needs and wants you feel so deep in your stomach.

"I know… I know, darling. I got you. Do you wanna lay down?"

You nod since you feel that it might be best to give up some control for Din to take the reins. You feel exhausted just from the simple act of holding yourself up in his lap, and your body is still shaking so hard, you wish to just be covered by his wide, muscular shoulders. But there is one thing you demand, one thing you definitely can't go without yet.

"Please kiss me," you mumble while Din carefully flips you over, a knee pressed between your thighs and his body caging you in.

"Whatever you want, sweetheart…"

He is so unbelievably cautious and tender with you, it makes you think of yourself as a breakable vase or a glass sculpture. Every single gesture, his hand tucking a strand of hair behind your ear, his fingers teasing the swell of your breast as well as his deep, vibrating voice when his mouth hovers close to your ear. He kisses you everywhere, on your chin, on the tip of your nose, on your brow, your hairline, your ear and even your eyelids. That last part makes you giggle so hard, Din joins you, and for a while he just rests on top of you, his face squeezed against your brow as the two of you calm down from your outburst.

"I wanted to do this so badly… Kissing you. Kissing every part of you, my love. I don't – I don't even know how I made it so long without it. You're so beautiful, so perfect and I just – I need to show it to you." He has growled that last sentence against your temple.

Meanwhile, you bury your fingers in the back of his head, twisting the strands around your digits. Dark brown, as you know. At least that is what Din has told you. When you asked him about whether they were curly or straight, he wasn't able to give you a straight answer and said that they were flat after a long day of wearing the helmet but curly right after a shower.

"Please, Din," you beg him and sling your legs around his waist, trapping him against you.

"Do you want me to show you?"

"Yes. Yes, please." You have no clue what he has in mind for you, but it doesn't matter as long as it's him doing it. You would prefer it if it involved his face since this is the one time he has taken off his helmet, but regardless, you're not going to complain. Din shifts on top of you again, kissing you on your mouth and sliding his hand down your front.

"Are you gonna let me kiss you there? Between your legs?"

Your breath hitches at the proposition, your teeth instinctively grazing your bottom lip. He has touched you there before, made you unravel with his skilled hands, but his helmet has made it impossible to do that so far. You don't hesitate for obvious reasons and instead nod over and over again, so rapidly that you're positive Din senses the movement despite the darkness engulfing the two of you.

"Yeah?" he says, the grin tangible in his tone.

"Yes. I would love that."

"I've always wondered what you taste like, love… You look so pretty down there, and you're… so soft." He talks like he's already dreaming about putting his mouth on you, though he is still at your lower belly, pressing open-mouthed kisses across your skin which leave wet patches.

"Are you gonna hold my hand, Din?" you whisper before he can dive in, blindly reaching down, but you can only grab air.

"Of course, sweetheart." You feel it, his fingers finding the tips of yours and then tangling them with his.

"Anything you want… I just wanna make you happy."

"I am already," you laugh quietly, parting your thighs wider as you feel him settle between them, his face on the same level as your wet cunt.

"Well, then I want you to be even happier."

"I don't deserve you," you mutter under your breath, gripping the pillow next to you with your unoccupied hand to brace yourself for whatever his lips on your pussy is going to feel like.

"You're saying you don't deserve me… You and me both know that's not true. You're a goddess. And all I can do is make an effort every single day and hope to at least be worthy of you one day."

"Shut up," you chuckle, lightly squeezing his hand while you feel heat rise in your cheeks.

"I'm just telling the truth, darling…"

You want to reply to him, but whatever you would have come up with catches in your throat as Din encloses your pulsing clit with his lips in that moment.

"Huh. Fuck…" you groan and throw your head back, digging your nails in his flesh in a way that must surely be painful for him. But you just can't help it with the small electronic waves undulating in your system, your heartbeat quickening. You need something to hold onto and bury your claws into when the tension becomes overbearing.

"Din," you whimper, rocking your hips forward to show him how much you enjoy his treatment. He has his lips around your bundle of nerves, kissing and sucking it into his mouth while his index finger drags through your folds to play with your wetness. He doesn't push in yet, he just toys with you, keeps you on the edge of your seat, offers additional sensation to the swipes across your clit.

The experience is so new and familiar at the same time. It's like you can feel Din through and through with every single fiber of your being, and it's so unmistakably him, but then again, it has never been like this before. It's good, though. That much you can tell already.

"You taste perfect… So sweet and warm… Even better than I imagined." His voice sounds a little muffled with his head trapped between your thighs, but you can still understand him clearly.

"Feels – very good."

"Yeah? You like this more than just my fingers?"

You think about his words for a moment, remembering what it feels like to have his thumb press gentle circles into your clit.

"You don't have to decide, princess," Din chuckles deeply and hollows his cheek to apply pressure, then lets the little nub go with a plop.

"I like both. Equally."

"How about this then?" he whispers and begins feeding you two of his digits, his index and middle finger. Since you're properly drenched, it doesn't take a lot of work for him to work them inside, and you only feel a slight sting while your walls opening up welcomingly for him, which Din rewards with a low growl bubbling in the back of his throat.

"Oh," you gasp, eyes rolling to the back of your head at the way he uses his teeth to carefully nibble at your clit. You don't even know which part to pay attention to, everything is so good, you wish you could preserve the thrill, store it in the back of your mind and come back to it whenever you feel the wish to. It's overwhelming and messy, still you wouldn't want it any other way.

"I wish I could see you…" he mutters after a while during a brief break to catch his breath. The fingers thrusting and curling inside you don't come to a stop, though, which continuously causes sweat to gather on your forehead.

"I wish I could see you too, Din," you whine into the darkness, gripping his hand so tightly, you fear you're cutting off his blood flow.

"Fuck… The way you sound, baby. How you say my name… Just keep saying my name, love, okay?" He dives back in, which doesn't allow you to respond. You can't, given the way your head immediately starts spinning as he draws circles around your clit with his tongue, his spit smeared all over your pussy. You love when he plays with you for so long, there is wetness everywhere, on your thighs, on your lower belly and on his hand and wrist. Now, with his tongue swirling around your clit, he can add even more lubrication by trickling his spit onto you, which you find beyond endearing.

"Din," you squeal, rolling your hips into his face, which he praises with a dark grunt.

"That's it, sweetheart… Just like that. I just want you to feel good, I want you to take anything from me. You're so fucking pretty, so good for me. You taste like honey, darling… So perfect." His sweet talk, but above all his husky tone, causes you to turn even more feral. Soon, you scratch the back of his hand like a rabid animal, panting heavily while stars dance across your vision.

"Oh fuck. Din, I – " You want to tell him that you're close, that it might only take one last swipe to push you over the edge, but it takes you another two attempts until you can spill it out.

Din doesn't rush you. He acts like he's willing to spend another two hours between your legs, and that feeling stretches even after you have come down from your thrilling high which has left you gasping for air greedily. By now, your limbs are sprawled out and even your hand still grasped by Din is lifeless and limp.

"Fuck…" you sigh and lift your head only to remember that it isn't just your sight that's black but the room is actually darkened.

"How are you feeling, my love?" he murmurs and glides his hand up your thigh without attempting to change his position. He's ready to go for a second round, but for now, you have different wishes.

"Din…" you whimper, threading through his silky hair.

"Yes… Is everything okay? Do you need something?"

"Yes," you groan and gently tug at his strands. "Please… Come here, I – I want you to fuck me."

Yes… that's it. His weight on top of you, his lips all over your face like before, his cock driving in and out of you. You can't come up with anything more appealing than this imagination.

"You want me to fuck you? Is that right?" he chuckles but follows your request by crawling up to you. The mat tangibly dips under his weight and you feel your skin burn where he touches you instantly. And shit, he touches you everywhere. Your chests are flush against each other, his hips seem to fit against yours perfectly and now his lips are on the curve of your neck where he inhales deeply as if to savor your scent.

"Yes… Please. I need you to be inside me. Deep. I want – "

You stop again because you feel frustrated all of a sudden. Fuck, you don't know what you want, you just want him in every way there is, you want every version of him, you want him always and all the time and – most importantly, you don't want him to ever put that mask on again. You know that you're being selfish and insensitive for thinking that way, but this is just your mind, and it's the one place you can allow yourself to feel everything. It's the truth. You wish Din wouldn't touch the helmet again and let you see him from now on. Obviously, you would never ask it of him, you wouldn't even say that thought out loud, but it's how you feel deep inside.

"What is it, sweetheart?" Din asks, sensing the panic resonating in your voice.

"I just – want you. Please."

"I'm right here, baby…" He brings his mouth to yours again, parting his lips to show you just how present he was.

"You feel that, darling? You feel me? That's me burning for you."

At first, you're unsure whether he's talking about his hungry lips, but then you feel a bulge grinding against your thigh. He's rock hard with want.

"Do you want it inside?"

The question is unnecessary in your head, but you know that Din likes to edge you and make you wait just a little longer when you need it the most. It's the only time you think of him as mean, maybe except for when he had a long day and is a little snappier than normal.

"Yes. I want it, Din. I wanna feel you in my belly."

"Naughty girl…" he chuckles roughly but guides his tip to your slit as if it has been a command. "I want you to breathe with me, love. Do you hear me breathing?"

He stays silent so that you can listen to him drawing in his heavy breaths.

"Yes."

"Good… I want you to breathe with me. And relax… I'm right here, baby. Right here on top of you, and I'm not going anywhere. I'm yours, darling. And I will be forever. I don't even have a choice, because I'm gonna love you for the rest of my life."

Naturally, his words make you tear up, your throat bulging as you swallow.

"I love you."

At his last word, he starts pushing inside you, sliding in effortlessly due to the extensive procedure of preparing you for him. It probably also has to do with the fact that your body is completely at ease as it rarely is. You can't see his face in the dark, but right now, you feel like you do. The contours, at least. But it doesn't matter really because what the two of you have is greater than the dark or that helmet or the distortion of his voice when he speaks to you.

"Din," you whimper, closing your lids as you feel him fill you with his length. He's massive, thick enough to stretch your walls beautifully and long enough to reach deep inside you, right there where you're particularly sensitive.

And he knows. He knows where you need it, where to press firmly and where to treat you with cautious care. He can play your body like an instrument, which is why you pant like a dog minutes after he has started fucking you. His hips crash into yours, his thumb attached to your clit like there's not a single more attractive place to him and his lips showering you with kisses, just as he promised.

"So g-good," you stutter and move your hands over his cheeks, drinking in the feel of him because you know it's something you can't do often. The coarse hair, the wrinkles you trace on his brow, the sweaty temples.

"You feel incredible, princess. So good for me. Feels like your body was only made for me… To be filled by me."

"Mhm… yes," you shriek. At this point, Din has found a steady rhythm, causing your body to jolt up on the mat and your head to be pushed into the cushion below, which you don't mind in the slightest. You're comfortable with the blankets and pillows around you, but most importantly, Din is on top of you, and fuck, he is really set on making you feel wonderful tonight. At one point, he stops while deeply buried inside you, just to give you a moment to experience the fullness.

"Do you like that, baby?" he whispers in your ear, then kisses the corner of your mouth.

"Yes. Yes, Din, so much… Please."

"Please what?" he asks, sounding genuinely interested to hear what you crave so badly in order to give it to you.

"I want you to cum inside me," you whisper and arch your hips to get closer to him.

You know that Din is going to pump you full of his seed if you ask him. He nearly always does when you demand it, even though both of you know that it isn't the right thing to do. The right thing would be for Din to pull out before he orgasmed and for you to stop putting such ideas out into the open. But sometimes, bad things feel too pleasant to do the right thing, and tonight of all nights, you can't bring up the strength to be tough.

"Anything you want, love," he utters, and you haven't expected anything else. "But first, I want you to cum again. You think you can do that?"

His finger lightly ghosts over your cheekbone before his mouth falls onto yours once more, stealing away your breath and ability to speak. Part of you wonders why he even asks you that if he's going to silence you with his lips anyway, but a larger part just melts into his touch like butter under the sun. You reach your apex moments after that, which takes you by surprise. Like so often, your body betrays you and unravels at an unexpected time, just because Din is making you feel so incredibly good, pressing his thumb into your blazing clit, his cock sliding in and out of you slowly but forcefully.

"Fuck…" you whine out, limbs stretching away, which surely must create a rather unnatural and strange view if anyone could have seen it. Something within you explodes for the second time tonight, coating your vision white for a brief second before warmth floods through your veins. A beat after your body and soul have come back together again and you blink away the heaviness on your lids, you realize that Din is a split second away from orgasming as well, which prompts you to drape your arms around his neck and yank him closer to you. Without a word, you kiss him, but you hope he still knows all the things you haven't said from the way you devour him.

"I'm gonna cum, darling… fuck. Gonna – fill you up – Oh shit. Oh shit, oh – "

His head crashes into your face, his brow resting against your cheek while you feel his warm release overflow your spent pussy. This moment, the skin of his face and yours connected, is so remarkable and special to you, you already know that you're going to hold it close to your heart. Forever. Sure, you hope that this hasn't been the first and last time Din and you turn the lights down in the bedroom so that he can take his helmet off, but this night, the first time he makes love to you with his face revealed, is exceptional.

"Fuck…" Din groans, his nose scrunched against the side of your face. "Fuck, the way you took my cum, baby… So perfect. Made for me, like I said earlier. You see how perfectly we fit together? How perfectly your pussy takes me every single time?"

His voice is quiet, so intimate and close that you feel it vibrate on your skin as well as in your chest and stomach and even your thighs.

"Yes… So good – Din."

By now, you can barely hold your eyes open, which Din hasn't noticed earlier for obvious reasons. But now, given that you are babbling like you are drunk, he exhales gently, which resembles amused laughter.

"Are you sleepy, princess?"

"Yes. So sleepy, Din."

The darkness doesn't help in the slightest, no, it rather makes you feel like you're already in the lands of dreams. Your muscles are languid and heavy, your mind drowsy and your pussy just a little bit sore. Not enough to feel genuinely uncomfortable but enough to wish to spend the rest of the night in Din's arms while he holds you against his chest.

"That's okay… That's okay, love," he coos and rolls off you to tug you closer to his collarbone. "It was a lot today… But you did so wonderfully. I'm so proud of you. And I'm – I'm sorry."

The next day, when you try to remember what he has said to you a moment before you have dozed off, you're not sure whether he has actually apologized or if it has happened in your mind.

The part that throws you off is that apologizing didn't quite fit into the conversation because what would he be sorry for? For the staggering orgasm he has just given you? Well, you don't know if he has truly said it, but what you know is that you have been granted heavenly rest after that night.

“You’re… giving this to me,” you ask, dragging the question out.

The Mandalorian stands at your doorstep. Unreadable beneath hard shiny metal and illuminated only by the entry light of your home above your door. The chilly night air bites your cheeks but he stands unfazed.

“As a thank you,” he explains. “You were a big help to my kid and this was the only thing I had that seemed like something you’d enjoy.”

All you did was give his little green kid some medicine. It’s not like it was even your first interaction with the infamous hunter. He’s stopped by your apothecary a couple times. Passing by so swiftly you hardly even knew he was there if it wasn’t for the lingering stares from other customers. If you recall correctly, he only ever picks up supplies to replenish a med pack or bacta spray for wounds.

Until you suddenly found him at your doorstep the other night with his adorable little green baby in his arms. The poor little guy was running a fever, coughing up a storm, and had even refused food for over a day. Any parent would be frantic. And so you didn’t even think twice to let them inside.

Luckily your small shop is attached below your home, so you were quick to find the right tinctures for his illness. The Mandalorian paced circles in your kitchen as you administered the medicine and blotted his kid’s little forehead with a cool damp cloth. It took some time and a lot of reassurance to a very nervous father, but after a few hours the fever broke.

You sent them home with some herbal tinctures and even some homemade hard medicinal candies for stubborn coughs and that was it. Hardly any words were exchanged between you that night that didn’t pertain to the child. Only a heartfelt thank you, goodnight, and a promise to pay you back somehow. You assured him that it really wasn’t necessary, that you were glad to help.

You’ve admittedly always been curious about the man. With his stoic demeanor and a reputation that preceded him like lightening preceded thunder. He’s somewhat of a local legend, menace, and hero all wrapped up in one. And now he’s at your door. With booze. Definitely a man of his word, this guy.

“You’re giving this,” you repeat with astonishment. “This whole bottle, to me?”

“Yes,” he answers again. “Is it a special one or something?”

“This is Andoan wine,” you emphasize, holding out the clear glass bottle. “You can only find these on Coruscant now. Very delicious, very rare, very expensive.”

“Is it,” he asks nonchalantly. “I’ve never tried it before. But I hope you enjoy it.”

“You really don’t have to,” you tell him.

“I insist. I didn’t know the first thing to do so I appreciate your help.”

You chuckle. With your limited interactions, you’re starting to see that he’s short and to the point with his words. Almost like he’s not entirely used to speaking with people.

“I…” You nearly argue it again but decide against it. He really didn’t have to give you such a lavish gift for something any good person would do in a situation like that. It was only natural. But at this point, refusing him might come off as rude so…

“Thank you very much.”

The Mandalorian acknowledges your gratitude with a tilt of his helmet, then turns on his heels to leave without another word. And for some reason, you linger at the door. You watch him go down one step, then another, then-

“H-hey, Mando?”

Your sudden call stops him in his tracks on the stair case and he turns to look back over his shoulder. The dim light gleaming over his steel.

“Yes?”

“I…. w-well…”

You’re stammering. Just come out and say it.

“If you’ve never tried it… would you like to share it with me?”

He stands there silently looking at you and the awkwardness crawls your skin.

“I’m not busy at the moment and it’s not really in my culture to drink alone.”

Culture your ass. You just want to drink with him. It’s unclear why in particular but… you’re curious about him. Other than the company of his kid, he seems alone. You wonder if he prefers it that way or if it’s for another reason entirely. Either way, the offer was worth a shot.

There’s more silence and the only noise in the air comes from the gentle chirp of some lava crickets and the breeze brushing the trees in the street. And it’s in that moment that regret starts to burn in your stomach

He’s gonna say no. A pause like that doesn’t necessarily mean yes. But it would be rude not to offer, right? A bottle this nice doesn’t come by these parts and it’d be a shame to drink it alone. It’s reasonable to offer the gesture. After all, he went out of his way to come here from across town. It’s the least you can do to show your appreciation in return.

“Alright.”

The word that falls out of him so effortlessly hits you like a punch to the chest. Are you nervous? Absolutely. But how many people can say they shared a drink with the Mandalorian?

A few minutes later, you find yourself standing on your tip toes, grabbing a couple earthenware ceramic cups in your kitchenette cabinet while Mando stands in your living room. His helmet follows the various potted plants, momentos and knick knacks from your travels littered around your home. Even tracing his gloved fingers over some of them.

“You have a nice home,” he says. “I didn’t notice before. Very lived in.”

“Lots of junk,” you joke. “You can say it Mando, I won’t mind.”

“My place is still new. Doesn’t feel like a home just yet.”

“That’ll change over time,” you assure him. “After a while, your home becomes a collection of memories.”

His attention gets drawn to a particular item on your wall. It’s an old worn down canvas satchel bag that hangs on the wall. At one point it was a life line. Now it serves as a reminder that no matter how hard life gets, showing a little kindness can go a long way for someone.

“What’s this memory?”

“That? That memory is what got me here.” You smile to yourself as you wipe down the cups with a clean kitchen rag.

“A few years ago, I was on Pantora with just some spare change and the clothes on my back. I was desperate to leave so I ended up hitching a ride on a freight ship. I worked on the ship in exchange for a ride to Corellia. Their language was difficult to learn and I had a rough time getting things done because for some reason everything was written in the native language and not aurebesh. On a stop to Tattooine, I accidentally labeled a pallet of coaxium as a pallet of scrap metal. That “scrap” was sold to some Jawas and by the time everyone realized my mistake we were already halfway to the next planet.”

“Was that before you came the Nevarro?”

“That was the reason I came to Nevarro,” you clarify. “It was their next stop so they dropped me here.”

“Ouch.”

“Yeah, ouch,” you laugh. “Anyway, I guess one of the workers felt sorry for me and left me that satchel with a couple credits and some ration bars inside. Buuut my mistake turned out to be a blessing in disguise. Nevarro turned itself around. I have my own little business. I’m even able to save a little bit of money now. For the time being, things are comfortable. I’ve hopped around the system a lot as you can see. But… this is a place I can always come back to.”

“Something reliable,” he adds.

“Exactly,” you say softly, smiling at the sentiment.

You look up at him. And you didn’t notice as you were cleaning those cups that he’s now completely facing towards you. His visor is trained on you. And it’s then that you realize how small your home really is. Because Mando is broad.

His crossed arms accentuate his wide shoulders. His chest plate follows the lines of his trim torso. Even those plates of beskar armor can barely hide the bulk of his biceps. Your eyes briefly, briefly take a tour at his waist line before you realize how incredibly rude you’re being.

He’s a guest. And a customer. Don’t. Check. Him. Out.

Heat starts to rise in your cheeks. Focusing back on the cups, you round the kitchen counter and walk over to him.

“I’m sorry. All this talking suddenly got deeper and I feel like I haven’t really introduced myself. We’ve only ever passed by each other before,” you chuckle, shaking away the nerves.

In hindsight you should’ve just introduced yourself the other night, but truthfully you were in care-taker-mode and it didn’t occur to you at the time. Plus you didn’t think you’d have an encounter with the man again other than seeing him briefly in your shop every so often. But he seems like a nice enough person with the limited knowledge you do have with him. And after tonight you’re bound to cross paths again. So you happily extend your hand out and give him his cup along with your full name.

There’s a couple beats of silence and you’re starting to see that’s his default. But it doesn’t stop you from second guessing your words as if you’re crossing an unknown boundary. There’s a slight tilt downward with his helmet and he responds with a regretful “I’m sorry, but-“

“You don’t have to tell me your name,” you immediately add. “I know there’s… principles you must have. I just wanted you to know me. That’s all.”

Another beat passes before he finally reaches out to take the cup in his hand. He repeats your name and the way it comes out of his voice holds a whole new flavor. Soft and curious even through the warble of his vocoder. It’s almost like he’s seeing how it tastes.

You like it. You like it a lot.

“It’s nice to meet you.” The voice wears the vocoder like a veil but you still catch a hint of a smile by his relaxed tone. No real logical way to know for certain, just a gut feeling.

“Likewise,” you smile back.

“So,” he exhales. “You want to know how two Mandalorians drink?”

“Sure. Sounds educational,” you joke.

With a tilt of his helmet, Mando steps further into the living room area and you follow behind, cup and bottle in hand. Walking over to the couch, his gloved hand reaches for the small round pillow resting there. His smokey grey cape flows over his shoulder and for a moment you’re mesmerized by the movement. As he turns on his heel, his fingers release the pillow. Letting it fall to the thin rug with a muted poof.

“Right here.” Mando gestures to the floor and you waltz over to take a seat on the cushion, crossing your legs. It doesn’t escape your notice how he doesn’t grab the only pillow for himself. Opting for your comfort over his own.

He takes a minute to look around the room. Probably checking for anything reflective. Then with a swish of his cape to the side, Mando settles in the floor behind you. When his back presses against yours, you expect a wall of cold hard metal beneath the cape. But instead there’s warmth. Strong and firm, but still warm and giving.

“It’s customary to sit on the floor when drinking with a war band. Usually outside around a fire. When it’s just two, it’s back to back.”

“Aaah,” you drawl. “Very practical. I like it.”

The top of the bottle comes off with a pop and the rich scent caresses your nose like a hug. After pouring about two fingers worth into Mando’s cup you pour one for yourself and settle in.

“Are we drinking to anything tonight ,” you ask him.

“Not sure. How about…,” he pauses for a moment before deciding. “To that Pantoran who gave you the satchel.”

That makes you laugh out loud. But you can’t help but feel a little pleased at that. If it wasn’t for him, you wouldn’t be on Nevarro, wouldn’t have a home. And you definitely wouldn’t be drinking with Mando tonight. For that you’re especially grateful.

“You know what, yeah,” you chuckle. “To the Pantoran.”

Mando extends his arm back to reach your cups and you meet him halfway. Letting them touch with a soft clack.

“Cheers.”

“Cheers.”

There’s an unclicking sound and you sense that he’s probably tilting his helmet back to drink. You ignore the small tinge of disappointment that he didn’t take it completely off. But it’s understandable. He doesn’t know you well. Even drinking like this with an outsider is probably a big deal for people of his creed. His back presses a little further against yours as he takes his first sip and you take yours.

The wine is rich and dry, and a bit smokey. But the underlying taste of tangy fruit blends well with the flavor. Going by the color, it has to have been bottled for a decades. The alcohol runs warmly down your throat and settles like smoldering ember in your stomach. It’s like no other alcohol you’ve ever tried before. Not even close.

“Hoooh,” he hisses after that sharp bite of alcohol.

“Yeah,” you agree knowingly. Already sensing that this bottle is getting finished tonight.

The conversations flow pretty easily after the first drink. He tells you about how his boy came into his life and how he suddenly found himself being his father. You tell him that you can only dream of having a parent like him because you never got to know yours. You half expected he would cut the interaction short and only accept one drink. But when you offer a refill, he gladly accepted which warmed you from the inside.

Admittedly you ask a few curious questions about his creed and he indulges you a bit. And he asks about how you got into medicine making. But for the most part you both stick to easier topics like current events on Nevarro, work, and food. Eventually two drinks turn into three and somehow you’ve both dipped into topics like past relationships. Which is dangerous territory after drink number three.

“It was baaad, Mando. I’m telling you. I mean, really! Who gives two shits who makes more money than who? Or am I in the wrong here?”

“Nah, definitely not,” he replies. His speech now more relaxed but a little raspy from the alcohol. “Honestly, he sounds like a little bitch if that was his main concern.”

“Yeah! Like, what is it with these men and needing to feel superior in such bullshit, inconsequential ways?”

“You seem strong willed. Weak men are intimidated by that.”

“Yeah well, then every man I’ve met in this galaxy was weak,” you groan. “I mean, c’mon. Am I that intimidating? Is it the yapping? It’s probably the yapping.”

“I think someone who’d be deterred by something that trivial doesn’t sound worth a damn anyway.”

With that, you let out a deep sigh and slump against the man behind your back.

“Eh, you’re probably right,” you exhale. You toss back the last little sip in your ceramic cup, savoring the flavor.

“You know what, it’s fine. I’m fine. I’ll just be that shop girl around the corner who throws herself into her work, makes her little remedies, and stays happily independent. I think I can live with that.”

A pause streches between you.

“You don’t sound too convincing, Shop Girl,” he teases.

“Shit,” you tsk.

You both wheeze with laughter, your bodies rumbling against one another and it’s so… relaxing. He’s surprisingly easy to talk to. Perhaps it’s because he doesn’t say much. Or that what little he does say is said with a sincerity you’re not used to. Or you’re drunk. It could very well be that.

But in a galaxy full of deceit and unknown dangers, it’s refreshing to talk with someone as honest as him. He’s authentic, unapologetically so.

“Hey so… can I ask you something?”

“You’ve been asking things this whole time,” he teases.

“I know, but… it’s technically a helmet question. And you can tell me to fuck off if it’s too much.”

Mando hums and the rumble reverberates through your body, nesting warmly in your chest. He’s settled comfortably against you and it makes you feel close enough to ask what you want to ask. After thinking it over he gives you permission.

“Can’t wait to hear this,” he sighs with a little amusement.

You smile. To your surprise, he actually has a good sense of humor. A dry, blunt one . But humor nonetheless. You run a finger over the rim of your cup, finding a little more courage.

“Mando… Have you ever kissed anyone before?”

It’s a simple enough question, right? It’s within the ballpark of the topics you’ve been discussing. And you’re both adults. It’s not like it’s inappropriate…Right?

Oh god, you really are drunk…

Regret rises with each passing second and you wonder why you even brought it up. It’s probably some kind of insult to his creed to ask something like that. 

“Too much,” you broach gently.

“No,” he says softly. “You’re not exactly the first person to ask that. Doubt you’ll be the last.”

He pauses for a moment to find the right words. Then with a heavy exhale he gives you an answer to your insanely intrusive question.

“I was pretty young when I took the creed,” he states. “Ten, twelve maybe? Too young to be interested in those kinds of things. Never looked back since. To be completely honest, it’s not even something I really think about in adulthood. Never understood the hype.”

“Sooo, I’ll take that as a no.”

“No,” he breathes. “Never kissed anyone.”

Never kissed anyone? Never felt a person’s soft lips against his own or graze his skin? Does that mean he hasn’t gotten to experience more than kissing? Licking? Biting? Or…

Do not finish that thought…

“Huh… Well, that’s a shame,” you say without thinking, quickly adding “-but at the same time, I completely understand it too! I mean, it shows a lot of self discipline, you know? To resist that kind of… temptation. Most people don’t have any reason to be disciplined enough to stay chaste. I can admire tha-"

“I said I’ve never kissed anyone, I didn’t say I never fucked.”

Thank… the Maker… you’re not face to face. Because the way your eyes bulged just now would’ve been downright embarrassing had it been caught. He didn’t just say sex or even screwing. The Mandalorian fucks. The alcohol in your blood seems to conjure a brief glimpse of what that might look like before you find enough coherence to shew it away.

“…oh,” you breathe out, effectively stopping your rambling. “I-I guess I just assumed…”

A deep exhale blows out of his nose. He hums, seemingly entertained by the foot you’ve put in your mouth. But also making the air light between you.

“Well, you assumed wrong.”

The humor in his voice settles your nerves a bit. Thankfully there isn’t an awkward air at the sudden change to such a topic despite hardly knowing each other. And oddly enough, it feels easy to talk about it for that very reason.

“You’re rather chatty when you drink, Mandalorian. I feel like I’m learning all sorts of things about you tonight.”

“You’re right,” he breathes. “I spoke without thinking, I apologize.”

“No, It’s fine. I don’t mind at all. It’s a relief to know there’s a man under all that armor and not solid metal.”

He hums again and the noise stirs something in your chest.

“Well, even so… It’s late… Probably best if I stop drinking.”

You look into your empty cup. Then glance over to the bottle with barely a drop left inside. Something inside you wilts. There’s nothing to keep him here any longer…

“Yeah… Me too.”

You’re not sure if you wait for him to move first or if he’s waiting for you. But both of you remain still for nearly a whole minute. Silent and hesitant to end the night. As comfortable as it is, you feel Mando’s back lean away from yours and you miss the warmth. You turn on the floor to find him standing up as he adjusts his helmet clasp and places his empty cup on the table.

“You were right. It tasted better shared,” he admits. A satisfied smile curls your lips.

“If you learned anything about me tonight, Mando, it’s that I am always right when it comes to liquor.”

“I appreciate the hospitality.”

“I appreciate the company.”

You place a hand on the table as an anchor in an attempt to stand up and follow him to the door. But as you try to stand straight, the room spins and your knees buckle.

Nope. Not doing that.

You sit your ass right back down on that cushion before you make an even bigger fool of yourself. Quick to respond, Mando catches your free arm. Making sure you land back down safely.

“You ok,” he asks, concerned but with a hint of humor.

“Pfft. Yeah, I’m good. I think I’ll just stay down here for a minute,” you chuckle, running a hand through your hair and closing your eyes for a moment.

For sure you’ll have a hangover tomorrow. Shit. You work tomorrow. There’s a couple things you’re running low on, too. You’ll have to request an order through the trading guild. That’ll cost credits. Maybe if you get that Chiss man again you can manage a trade and he can throw in those dried flower buds for that tea that keeps getting sold out.

You know you’re already a bit dizzy. But behind closed eyes you feel like your head is swaying. Or rather… that it’s being moved. Something warm and firm holds your jaw up and when your eyes flutter open again you’re met face to face with dark silver.

The Mandalorian stands barely a foot in front of you. Visor fixed down on your face. Maybe the wine has made your brain slow but it’s only when you follow the path from his shoulder and down his outstretched arm that you realize what’s holding your jaw… is his hand.

With a subtle pass of his thumb along your cheek you can feel warmth starting to pool in your face. Awareness pricks the hairs on the back of your neck when you realize your position. Sitting on your knees, face barely level to his waist as a wall of steel and muscle towers over you.

“Your cheeks get flushed when you drink,” he mutters.

When I drink. Suuuure.

“Now you know,” you mumble without thinking. It grants you a satisfied hum from his helmet and you feel it travel through your ears and under your skin.

“Now I know…,” he repeats.

There’s no movement, no words. But there’s something thick in the air. It’s heavy and enticing. It’d be so easy to get wrapped up in it with any sudden movement. You look up at him through half lidded eyes and you get a gut feeling that they’re meeting his. You’re not sure what his are giving away. But yours have to be hinting something you’ve been trying to hide all night.

With a sharp intake of air, Mando steps back and releases your face. Your head drops a little at the loss of support and it follows his direction as he walks towards the front door with quick, heavy steps. With a press of a button on the wall panel, the door panels slide open and just before he steps outside… he stops. Not looking back, just standing there at the edge of your home with his stand still resting on the doorway.

“Don’t invite me in again.”

And then he’s gone. The door panels shut swiftly, leaving you alone and more confused than when he showed up at your door.

…what?

•

Din wishes he could say that the first thing he thinks about when he got home that night was his sleeping kid safe in the crib. Or at the very least about how incredible that wine tasted. But after he undressed and collapsed down onto his bed half drunk, the only thought he couldn’t stop thinking about as he stared at the ceiling was…

Damn… it’s been a while.

For the past few years, Din’s life has flipped around a number of times. Between barely scraping by as a bounty hunter, saving an orphan kid from an imperial psychopath, losing said kid, then having him return and be by his side to reclaim the Mandalorian home-world, there’s not much time to indulge those kinds of needs. But just because Din found himself being a busy father later in life doesn’t make certain things dead.

No. Everything felt very much alive and kicking by the end of that bottle.

Behind closed eyes, his room feels like it swirls. After that wine, his body feels loose and relaxed. Something he rarely gets to experience these days. Images dance across his closed lids. Delicate, slender hands around a handmade cup. A pink flush on smooth skin. Plump tinted lips between his fingers, softly parted and begging to be touched. The intrusive impulse to dip a finger between those lips was so strong he could feel his hand move into the action before he could even think to do so.

All thanks to that one question. That simple, innocent question activated a deep part of his brain that lay dormant. And then he decided to shatter the care free atmosphere by with a crass remark about sex.

Never in his life has he regretted saying something so fast. You barely even know each other. Admittedly, Din isn’t exactly a refined person, far from it actually. But after his third glass, any semblance of manners flew right out the window. His mouth did the walking with little thinking involved.

Yet, you didn’t get uncomfortable. You handled the slip up with humor instead of getting offended or something just as bad. Using humor to make the air light again. It surprised him how easily you did it. How easy the conversation was all night, really. It’s not everyday he’s able to let his guard down with another person.

Once he was aware of that, he became aware of everything. How late the hour was, how drunk you both were, and how your bed was right behind where you both sat. Only separated by a simple room divider. Even when he tipped up his helmet, there was a heady herbal scent from you that kept swimming in his nose and it was just as intoxicating as the wine. He couldn’t trust himself to stay any longer. And now, in the safety of his own home, he finds himself preoccupied with a mountain of questions.

What kind of person are you? What’s your daily life like? What other places have you seen? What troubles you? You seem to be rooted here in Nevarro for the time being. But from what you’ve mentioned about your past, you have a kind of nomadic life. What happens if he… if the kid gets attached and you decide to move on to another planet? But then again, it’s not like he’s not one to talk though is he?

Loyalty. Solidarity. These are things that have been etched to his core since childhood. But giving those things to something that could be fleeting? That’s a risk he’s avoided for most of his life. Those kinds of wounds never heal.

But as much as he tries to distance himself, it’s not always in his control.

Three weeks go by and they couldn’t end soon enough. When he offered to work with Teva (or Blue as he usually calls him) on a case-by-case basis, he figured they’d be more involved than the bounty hunting trade. He’s spent up to a month off planet at times in order to capture a quarry so it’s not exactly new to him.

But that was when he had the Razor Crest. With a cot to rest in, a weapons locker, and supplies readily at hand. In that regard, the N-1 leaves much to be desired. Plus Din’s back isn’t what it used to be and long rides in that ship are killer. And to add insult to injury, this last case with Zeb was especially complicated to resolve. It left him and the kid completely drained.

After finally landing back in Nevarro with fresh credits, there is absolutely nothing Din wants more than to just go home, bathe, and sleep for at least a day. But he’s got a very hungry green mouth to feed and there’s no way Din is fixing up any dinner tonight.

Street food it is.

“Alright, we’re making this quick. In and out. I’ll get you as much food as you want and you can pick out one sweet. Not five. One. Got that?” Grogu tilts his head at Din curiously from where he follows behind on the cobblestone street and he’ll just take that as a yes.

Dozens of food stalls are gathered at the main square in town as he approaches. Adorned with all sorts of neon signs, string lights and colorful banners. It’s a busy atmosphere filled with people laughing, vendors calling out for customers to stop by, and sounds of clanking and sizzling as they cook.

Din gravitates towards the skewers stand. He knows Grogu is going to down ten of them by himself so he opts for something easy, filling, and cheap. He catches sight of those spicy chunks of fatty meat searing over lava coals and his mouth waters.

“Okay, which onesss-“

Din reaches down to pick up his son only to find the street bricks.

“-Sssshhhhit,” he hisses under his breath, glancing around. This fucking kid. He knows better than to run off.

The crowd is thick and it’s getting dark. He scans through the sea of people and vendors but doesn’t find that familiar pale green.

Shit. Shit. Shit.

With a tap of his helmet side panel he switches to the tracking beacon screen. After enough scares like these he’s learned to have a tracker sewn into his clothes at this point.

Blinking red arrows come into his view and he follows the path. Not caring whose shoulders he budges or what food he knocks out of someone’s grip to get through. The red arrows turn yellow. He’s getting close but there’s still no visual of the kid and he’s starting to panic. He pushes through, scanning side to side and calling out his name in an orchestra of noises without reply.

Yellow turns to green and he’s still out of sight. He’s tiny and easy to miss. Grogu could be anywhere, he could be in any one of these stalls. What if he’s taken? What if someone else is tracking him? He could be picked up by a total stranger and taken away again.

Just as that thought crosses his mind, there’s a small separation in the crowd. Big floppy ears come into view and he’s definitely been picked up. But it’s no stranger that holds him.

“And here comes dad~” A voice soft as silk rings inside his helmet.

Relief floods his body as well as caution when he taps his screen clear. Only him. Situations like this only happen to him. It could’ve been Karga. It could’ve been anybody. But it had to be you that found him.

It was barely two minutes. But within those two minutes Din’s head flooded with every worst case scenario possible. And here he is. Happily babbling in your arms like he didn’t just give his dad a fucking heart attack.

“I know, I know,” you assure him like you can already tell where his head’s at, trying to speak over all the noise. “Don’t be too hard on the little guy. I already gave him a bit of a lecture for running around at night.”

Din wants to. It’s honestly his first reaction. But a cooler head prevails and he decides against it after a second thought. He reminds himself (once again) that Grogu is still young and that getting angry would only make things worse. What matters is that he’s safe and that he managed to find you.

“At least he won’t have to hear it twice,” he exhales, pushing out the stress sitting in his lungs. “Sorry about him.”

“No, no sorry needed. He’s smarter than he lets on. At least he ran to someone he knew. I’m glad I was around.”

Din opens his mouth to speak but ends up falling short with his words. Now that some of the stress has left his body, his eyes take you in at a second glance. Unclouded by the adrenaline.

Your hair is tied up with a pin with a few loose pieces falling at the nape of your neck and around your face. With the heat persisting into the night, you decided to wear a thin strap tank top that hangs low on your chest. It exposes miles of smooth skin, from your shoulders all the way down the arms wrapped around his kid. A dusty blue apron wraps around your waist over some baggy cargo pants so you must’ve came here right after work. There’s a glow from all the neon lights that adorns you and he has to will his mouth to move before he gets caught staring.

“Here.” He extends his hands to you. “I can take him back. Thank you for catching him. C’mon, bud. Let her get back to shopping.”

“It’s no problem,” you assure him with a smile. Your hands hooks under Grogus tiny arms and start to pull him off your torso. “Back to dad you go.”

But the moment he’s barely lifted, he cries out in protest with a shrill whine. Refusing to leave your side. You pull him back in instantly and run a soothing hand on his back.

“Oh! Okay, okay. You can stay with me for a minute,” you giggle in a sugary voice to Grogu. Bouncing him on your hip.

You both exchange a look of surprise (as much as his visor can give off anyway). What kind of person are you that Grogu prefers your embrace over his own father? He doesn’t know whether to be jealous or impressed.

But it’s getting late, they need to eat and get home and you probably need to get back to your own errands. Din’s hands extends again to take Grogu but you shake your head with a little smile. Letting him know it’s not an inconvenience to you.

“Here, wanna help me pick out some sweets?”

Grogu coos at your request, toying with the glittering silver chain pendant on your neck. You rest his kid on your hip effortlessly and the motion of it pinches something deep in Din’s chest. Turning to the assorted trays of sugared fruits on skewers, you list the various kinds for Grogu to pick out. Talking back with him like you can actually understand his little babbles. You answer him with “ooh, that’s a good choice” and “these are my favorites”. 

Din just stands aside, watching the way you both interact and it’s admittedly a bit pleasing to see how natural you are with him. Most people think he’s a pet at first glance. Karga treats him like a newborn. Talking gibberish and doting on him despite him handling a 50 year old. You, on the other hand, just treat him like a regular kid. And it’s refreshing to see.

His son’s head spins back at his father with the biggest set of sparkling inky eyes and Din can see the pleading question in them. He tilts his helmet at him and reminds him “one”. Those large ears deflate a little and you giggle at the interaction. Din offers to pay for your skewer along with Grogu’s as another thank you for looking after his son (again). The vendor gathers the treats in paper wrappers to take to go.

You turn to ask Din something, but it’s covered by the noise of yelling and cooking. He tilts his head a bit lower to try and catch what you’re saying. Then, without hesitation, your hand finds purchase on the pauldron on his shoulder. Prompting him to lean in closer to you so you can speak within earshot.

“It’s been a minute since I saw you last,” you remark with a raised voice. “Everything good?”

Shit.

For a second he freezes. Partly at the lack of distance between you, but mostly because the last time he saw you he stormed out of your place like it was on fire without so much as a goodnight. You’re probably wondering what the hell that was about and he honestly can’t answer that himself. Although your expression seems more cheerful than troubled. He crouches closer to your ears and replies with caution, hoping to avoid the direction of that conversation.

“Yeah, we’ve been um… traveling a lot lately. I get contracted by the new republic pretty often these days. Leaving him behind with someone whenever I’m off planet for too long doesn’t seem fair to him so he’s always by my side no matter what.”

“Ah, that makes sense. You usually stop by for medkit supplies so when I didn’t see you last week I figured you were away.”

Din mentally smacks his forehead. Right. Of course you meant the shop. Because what else would you be implying to a fucking customer? You’re just making small talk. Something he has never really gotten the hang of. Seems pretty damn easy when he’s drinking though…

“We actually just got back. Too tired to fix something up so I figured I’d grab us something quick and easy before heading home.”

“Ugh. I feel that. When I get home I’m crashing on the first soft surface I see,” you groan, still bouncing Grogu on the curve of your hip. Those hips…

No. Stop it.

“Busy day,” he asks and your eyes roll upwards.

“Busy week,” you exclaim. “I swear I think about quitting at least once a day. But I like it too much. Plus it’s the only thing I’m any good at. Otherwise I’d probably be some kind of criminal.” You pause then laugh at the thought before adding, “then you’d probably have to hunt me down, huh?”

That… is a scenario that he already knows is going to stick in his brain for a while. It’s such an enticing thought that he doesn’t bother to tell you he’s not in that business anymore. A tiny part of him would much rather have you think he’d chase you. Obviously you’re not serious, but he can’t help but lean into the joke.

“I don’t know,” he says unconvinced. “Might be pretty easy to find you. All I have to do is look wherever there’s street food.”

A laugh bubbles out of you and there’s a strange feeling that radiates in his chest at being able to make you laugh. Pride maybe? No, more like… satisfaction.

“Don’t underestimate me, Mando. I know my way around the outer rim. I’d make you work for it,” you say. Taunting him with a knowing smirk.

A smile tugs higher on his hidden face. The thought of you making him work for anything will no doubt be food for thought later. And instinct tells him that might’ve been your intention. But two can play at this game.

You’re already nearly face to face but he inches even closer, almost close enough for metal to meet skin. Ensuring you catch every word right into your ear.

“I’d like to see you try, Shop Girl.”

Your eyes grow a little wider at the sound of your nickname and he takes pleasure at just how effective it is. It’s another reminder of that night. A name that was spoken within an intimate atmosphere that only the two of you occupied. And by your expression, that same thought crosses your mind too.

You bite your bottom lip in a smile. The same lips that were between his hands. The only lips he can’t seem to forget. The shape, the color, and how fucking edible they look. He’s even noticed how they pout a little when you’re concentrated on a task. More questions surface.

What do they feel like? What do they taste like? What makes a kiss so good that everyone can recall their first?

The bubble created is suddenly burst by the outside world. The stall vendor gleefully hands over the candied fruit over the counter in their wrappers and you take them with your free hand. Handing the mixed one to Grogu because he couldn’t decide on just one flavor. Reality returns to Din’s head and his thoughts immediately sober up.

What the hell is he doing?

He tears his eyes away. Even if you can’t tell, looking at you like that for too long feels wrong. You’re a good person, you’re trying to live a normal life, and what you’ve told him you’re not looking to get involved in any drama. He has to keep reminding himself of those things.

That same instinct to leave hits him again. Because that urge to do something he can’t take back flares up again and it’s best to not give that feeling any more energy. For both your sakes. He gestures his hand in a hand-him-over motion, signaling to you and Grogu that it’s time to go.

“Alright, time to go kid. Say goodnight.”

Grogu whines with a mouthful of sweets and a face covered in sugar and it makes him chuckle to himself. Din would normally find the defiance a little cute, if it wasn’t for the stunt he pulled earlier. You carefully hand him over with both arms leaning in close and again he feels another pinch in his chest at how carefully you exchange him.

Your bare arms graze against his clothed ones and he pulls away the second he has hold of his kid. He ignores the small current of electricity from the contact and maneuvers Grogu into the crossbody bag to his hip. Which, of course, makes him protest.

“Nope. You had your chance. Now you get the bag.”

“Aw c’mon,” you scold “He was just playing around. Now he’s in bag jail?”

First the kid and now you? He can tell his son no, but it might be a little harder to tell you that.

“Yeah, yeah. Maybe next time he’ll think twice about running off in a crowd,” he groans.

Once the kid is settled in the bag, you follow him down. Crouching down, you sit face to face with Grogu as he stuffs his face with the candied fruit. Resting your free hand on his fuzzy head as the other holds your own skewered treat.

“Kay, little rebel. Go stuff your face with some good food. And take it easy on your poor dad, alright? He’s not built for that kinda stress.”

“What’s that supposed to mean,” he asks, kind of amused by your ribbing. He can count on one hand the people who are undaunted enough to make playful jabs at him.

Your lips twist and your eyes take a tour up to your brows as you think of your reply.

“Hmm… just the way you get a little impatient sometimes. You were like that when you brought him over and paced my living room for an hour,” you chuckle. “You seem like the kind of man who gets antsy when something’s not in your control.”

A smile threatens to crawl his face. Pretty presumptuous. But he can’t deny how true that statement rings. Especially nowadays when it’s not just himself he has to worry about.

“Maybe so,” he replies with a hint of humor in his voice. “Patience isn’t really my strong suit. Although this one seems to enjoy testing it.”

“Patience is bitter,” you muse as you rub the top of Grogu’s head with your thumb. He coos with delight and the softest gaze glows on your face. Then from your crouched position, your eyes glance back up at Din and add, “…But the fruit is sweet.”

His jaw flexes beneath his helmet, and heat now courses through his veins.

That can’t be a good sign. He already enjoys your banter too much as it is. But that look just now was dangerous. It dredges up thoughts he shouldn’t have about you. Thoughts like kissing someone he barely knows. Feeling skin on skin. Showing you what a man like him can do to you compared to the boys of your past.

He saw it all over your pretty face when he held it in his hand. That flush on your cheeks, your dilated pupils. Hell, he even saw your heat signature rising in his helmet screen for fuck sake. There’s an attraction and that’s fine (and not completely unreciprocated) but it can’t be anything more than that.

You and him live completely different lives. There’s no need to uproot your peace and get involved in his complicated affairs. Even if something happened, it wouldn’t be long before the allure of the suit and mystery people usually perceive of Mandalorians would turn into repulsion.

That’s how it’s gone before. That’s the way it is.

•

You’re a bad person. A horrible human being and a shameless lowlife. Downright beyond saving.

I’d like to see you try, Shop Girl.

The damn sentence won’t stop replaying in your head. It’s not just a nickname. It’s a nickname he gave you. One that’s covered in underlying context and memories that only the two of you share. One that peppers your skin with goosebumps when it comes out of that raspy modulated voice. It’s even worse when your brain starts intrusively placing it in all sorts of sentences.

That’s it, Shop Girl…

You’re doing so well, Shop Girl…

Bend over for me, Shop Girl…

That last one has crawled into your dreams more often than you’d care to admit lately.

You need to get a grip. It’s just an attraction. You’ve been alone for too long and you’re getting all wound up over a smidge of attention. He’s just a regular decent person with a kid to take care of who also just happens to have an amazingly muscular body and a voice of sin. Simple as that.

Right. Simple.

After that night at the food stalls, the Mandalorian and Grogu have been visiting your humble Clinic Shop on a more frequently. Usually you'll see them a couple times a week if they're not on one of their long haul trips. Missions? Jobs?

It's not like Mando has any reason to let you know ahead of time. But when a week or so passes with no sign of silver or green, you can't help but feel a little down. You've come to look forward to seeing your regulars. But they grown to being your favorite customers.

And if you're being honest, theres a growing part of you that feels tied to the man in silver beskar. When he's here, the part blossoms. And when he's gone, it feels... wilted. It's unexpected and confusing to say the least. The closest feeling you could label it is homesickness. And truthfully, you're not really sure if you want to feel such a heavy thing towards anybody right now.

There's a lull in the store this hot muggy afternoon. You've already finished your prescription orders, restocked your shelves, even watered all the potted plants outside the entrance. Since you finally have some down time, you figured you might as well get to making some of your popular tea mixes.

On the back counter, you have a variety of dried herbs, flower buds, tea leaves, and a few large mixing bowls. The scent in the shop is incredible right now. Swirling around on the wind propelled by the metal fans around the shop. Spiced and aromatic with a hint of fruitiness. You let the smell fill your lungs and relax your body as you place measured scoops of the mix into small paper bags. A bead of sweat tracks down the back of your neck. Even with pinning your hair up and the strapless wrap you chose to wear today, the heat of the day still clings to your damp skin.

A cool glass of that Andoan wine would be so good right about now...

Maybe it was instinct, or maybe there really is some kind of invisible tie. But something makes your head tilt to the side and glance at the open entrance. And it's then that a glint of sliver light reflects on the stucco walls. A flutter of anticipation strikes through your chest and your eyes are locked at the entrance. Then, that familiar Silver T-visor and a pair of floppy green ears peek around the corner.

The smile that spreads across your cheeks is so big it almost hurts.

"Hey," you exclaim from the back of the store. You leave your station and excitedly make your way across the store to the pair as they step inside.

“It’s been a whi-“

“Ah ah, sorry," you cut Mando off mid greeting, halting him with your pointer finger. "Grogu gets first dibs.”

Mando shakes his head but you can tell he's humored. Turning his hip to the side and giving you access to the canvas crossbody where Grogu resides.

“Even though I'm a regular customer," Mando retorts.

If you didn’t know any better, you’d think that sounded a teensy bit like jealousy. You smirk, giving eyes only to the little green baby.

“Not when you’re as cute as him.” You say, placing Grogu on your hip and giving him little scritches on his wrinkled head.

“Isn’t that right, Kid. Mando wishes he could be half as cute as you.” The child coos at you and Mando shakes his head. But you can tell by his body language that he's at least a little amused.

You walk back to the back counter with the kid in your arms and Mando in tow behind you. And the feeling you have in this moment is oddly... domestic? You're not entirely sure if that's the right word. In your life you've never experienced domesticity. But you figure it's similar to that homesick feeling you get.

You place Grogu on top of your station and pull out an herbal lollipop from your apron for him. You like to keep a few handy for kids and they also help with coughs. The kids inky eyes gleam as he babbles and plunges the sugary candy in his mouth. 

"Any chance that delivery for those new Pharmakits arrived yet," Mando asks, leaning a hand on the counter next to you.

"They did," you nod. "Any chance you're planning on taking on an army on your next trip?"

He shrugs, tilting his helmet to the side in that way he does when he's being aloof.

"Doesn't hurt to keep one on hand. You never know."

You hum in acknowledgment but inside a pit forms in your stomach. The danger he faces whenever he goes on these "jobs" isn't lost on you. Lately, it's been on the back of your mind more often than not. On his last visit, when he asked about ordering stronger meds and triage supplies, it hit you just how much his long absences affect you. And just the thought of never seeing him or his little boy again stirs up something vile inside.

“You seem to be busy today,” he remarks, pointing out all the open jars and mixing bowls with various dried leaves and herbs.

His remark takes you out of your thoughts. You must've been silent a second too long for him to change the subject like that. With a deep inhale and slight embarrassment you shrug off the negative thoughts and ground yourself back to reality.

“Yes and no. I’ve been restocking while it’s dead to keep busy.”

He leans in a bit to get a closer look at the contents of the bowl. Close enough for you to catch the scent of smoke and musk on his clothes.

“You’re mixing… tea?”

You hum a yes and nod.

“Tea can be used for lots of medicinal purposes. Many people prefer natural remedies to pharmaceutical ones. I try to have a mix of both.”

“So this is medicine?” You sway your head to the side, trying to think of the best way to explain the purpose of the tea.

“Kiiind of. You could say it’s preventative.”

“What does it prevent?”

“Pregnancy.”

A clearing of his throat follows your answer. You turn toward him with a smirk and a raised brow but his visor has now turned away your face.

Most fearsome bounty hunter in the outer rim, everybody.

“You asked, man,” you chuckle with a shrug.

“Guess that’s on me,” he says.

“This is actually one of my best sellers,” you tell him. You grab the wooden scoop and raise up the floral mix, letting the various petals and herbs rain back down into the bowl. The motion makes the sweet scent drive up in the air. “I have customers tell me they don’t leave the house before their daily brew.”

“I’m glad business is going well for you,” he deflects, making you fold your smile in your teeth. And suddenly your brain sees a prime opportunity.

“You know, Mando…,” you drawl as you mix the petals. “If you’re ever in a pinch and you need some, I could give you a sample.” The way his helmet jerks to face you almost breaks your nonchalant smile.

“That’s um… very generous but it’d be wasted on me.” His body straightens stiffly and you can tell the topic makes him a bit uneasy. But you press on anyway.

“You sure? You can never be too safe. I’m sure any visitors would appreciate it.” He sighs deeply and turns away, shaking his head in annoyance.

God, this is too much fun. Teasing him is so easy. If it wasn’t for the helmet you bet he’s sweating right now. He might look cool and collected. But after drinking with him, you know there’s in fact a man under all that metal.

“I’m sure,” Mando confirms. “I'm not seeing anyone at the moment.”

And there’s the answer you’re looking for.

Was it a bit sneaky? Yeah. Yeah, it was sneaky. But it rules out the theory that reason he told you not to invite home again was because he’s currently taken. It’s still an enigma as to why. But honestly there’s still the gut feeling that you did something to make him uncomfortable that night.

Maybe you crossed a line with one of your questions. You tend to ask a lot of questions. Your filter also isn’t everybody’s flavor. Even so, you had a great time talking, even joking around with him. You’ve come to cherish that night in your memory. And the thought that you obliviously might’ve said something to offend Mando in any way makes your chest ache.

But if that was the case then why has he been stopping by your store more frequently since then? He always says he’s restocking his med kit but you get the feeling there’s more to it than that. Almost as if he’s checking up on you. Making sure you’re doing ok. And above all, that’s what scares you.

It’s scares you how good that thought makes you feel.

“Picking up an order!” An unfriendly voice bellows from the entrance where a Trandoshan man in fine robes stands waiting. “Name’s Samir T’ar.”

It takes a second to snap back into action. But you slap on your best customer service smile and leave your task for later. Rounding the corner past Mando and the kid and walking to the Medicine Cabinet. Wiping the non-existent dust on your hands on your waist apron.

“Hi, yes! I’ll grab that for you right now.”

The Trandoshan stands waiting at the counter as you sort through the assorted orders in the glass case. Looking for the right name tag and plucking the tied linen bag. You dont turn your eyes toward him, but Mando’s pressance is all your body is aware of. You can tell he’s miandering through the shop, looking at various items on the shelves. Which, to you, is a bit funny since hes been here plenty of times by now.

Is he playing the curious customer right now because there’s someone here?

You rest the tied bag next to the register as you run the total. All while the Trandoshan taps his clawed fingers impatiently on the check out counter.

“‘Kay with the compounded medicine and the herbal soak salts, that puts you at… fifteen credits today.”

“It was twelve the last time.”

“Yyyeesss, some of the ingredients for the meds were hard to come by this time around. Outer rim shipping routes, and all that,” you smile, trying to humorously reason with the man.

“And that’s supposed to be my fault? Just make it the same price as before and I’ll be on my way already.”

Ugh, great. One of those.

“I understand where you’re coming from, really. But fifteen is pretty fair considering the initial cost of acquiring ingredients of this high quality. Can’t beat the price compared to those New Republic clinics-"

“Nonononono," he waves with both hands in disapproval. “I’m not paying a single credit more for something I can make myself.”

That’s kind of the point of it buying here, right? To save yourself the trouble of making it?

“Sorry. Price is firm," you say confidently but kindly. "Buuut, how about if I throw in a couple sample heating pain patches. Free of charge,” you chirp, unfazed by his condescension.

Work with me, guy. There’s a man packing heat in the back…

“How about I give you ten for the order and leave? I don’t need you to peddle your-“

It’s a hand that shuts him up. Not yours, as much as it twitches to swipe that bag and toss in it the trash. No. This hand is big. Leather clad. And planted firmly on the counter between you and the customer.

“You can pay the fifteen or you can leave. But what you won’t do,” Mando leans in towards the Trandoshan for effect. “-is talk to her like that again. Make your choice.”

With his chest pressed to the back of your shoulder, you struggle to not squirm. You can feel his heat on your body. His frame eclipses yours from behind. The smell of gun smoke and musk caresses your nose and you die a little inside. But it’s his words that make you want to melt into a puddle.

He didn’t just ask, he demanded for you to be treated with respect. Not that you can’t hold your own when it comes to defending yourself against snarky customers. But the way Mando didn’t even hesitate to intervene on your behalf. It stirs up all sorts of thoughts.

Oh maker, you really are a shitty person. The man stands up for you and all you can think about is how hot he sounded.

The Trandoshan swallows hard. Mando might as well a knife to the guy’s throat with the look of silent terror on his reptilian face. Without even breaking eye contact with Mando, he stuffs his clawed hand in his pockets, and pulls about 20 credit chips without counting. Letting them clatter on the counter as he tosses them.

“H-here,” he stutters. “Fifteen is fair.” With that he snatches his order from the countertop and makes a hasty exit.

“Have a nice day~,” you sing-song as he scurries out onto the street.

You shift your eyes up to Mando, his palm still pressed flat against the counter with his other hand thumbing his belt. His visor follows the customer as he leaves and you can tell that his body language doesn’t relax until the he’s completely out of sight.

“Fucker…,” he mutters under his breath. When he finally turns his visor to you, he finds a knowing little smirk on your face.

“What?”

“You know, if you really wanted to scare him, you could’ve just pulled out your blaster.”

His visor turns away and he takes a step back as if he’s been caught doing something out of character. And if it wasn’t for his confident stance, you’d almost say he got a little flustered just now.

“I didn’t like the way he spoke you,” he grumbles. Which only makes you giggle.

“You’re right,” you agree with a serious tone. Slamming your palms on the counter. “That’s the last straw! I’ll have to close and resort to a life of crime after all!”

Although you can’t read his face, his body language says it all. He tilts his head to the side in a way that can only mean “are you fucking kidding me” and it only makes you smile harder.

“C’mooon, it’s funny,” you say. But he’s still not charmed.

“Does he always treat you like that,” he asks like he needs to know for certain.

You fold your lips between your teeth to hide your smile. He’s concerned for you and you can’t help but bathe in it. At least for a little bit.

“And if I said yes?”

“I’m being serious.”

“It’s fine, Mando. It’s really not a big deal for me. Look, if I let every snippy customer get to me, I wouldn’t have a business. I’m a big girl. I can fight for my honor all on my own, don’t you worry.”

“That’s not the point.”

“Yeah? What is your point then?”

He steps in closer. Forcing you crane your neck to face him. Your backside unconsciously presses against the back of the counter and you’re pinned. He’s impossibly close. Close enough to see your eyes reflected on the inky black screen. Knowing he’s captured your full attention, he hits you with a bombshell that devastates you.

“I wouldn’t let anyone disrespect you when I can do something about it,” he says crystal clear, lowering  his voice. “If someone gives you trouble, they’ll deal with me before they mess with you... Understand?”

That shuts you right up. Your playful expression falls, now replaced with silent astonishment. He keeps saying things that reach deep inside you, making your chest tight. Words like that make it hard to breathe.

You feel utterly captured and it’s no wonder he was the best hunter in the outer rim. Because even though he’ll defend your honor and call you sweet nicknames… all he has to do is stand his ground in front of you to make you feel like prey. And fuck, do you wanna be caught…

“Ok,” you breathe when you find the courage. “I understand now.”

“Good…”

Silence streches between you and it feels as though you’re both waiting for something to happen. Something that feels like it’s been teetering on the edge since the night you drank together. It’s connected and deep in a way you’ve never experienced before. You can tell it’s something he’s afraid to say out loud.

What you’re both afraid to say out loud.

He doesn’t move. Doesn’t add anything to his statement. He’s got you locked in his gaze with no escape. And for a moment you wonder if he’ll take hold of your jaw again. Goosebumps rise to your skin because it wants so badly to close the gap.

Suddenly, a call rings from the vambrace on Mando’s forearm, abruptly breaking the tension. At first he hesitates to address it, still locked onto you. But after the second ring he lets out an aggravated sigh and steps away to check the incoming call.

You walk back to your work table and mixing bowl of tea to give yourself something to do while your breathing returns to normal. Scooping a measured cup from a large jar of dried leaves before adding it in.

Grogu sits with his little feet dangling over the table, now finished with the lollipop and looking at the candy-less stick with droopy ears. And before Mando turns to look, you sneak his son another herbal lollipop from your apron.

"Don't tell your dad," you whisper, pressing your index finger over your lips. Which earns you a happy little "Batu" in understanding.

Mando is pacing around now. Conversing with a gruff sounding Lasat. You don’t eavesdrop per se, but words like “new lead”, “investigation”, and “high-risk” get your ears to perk up.

“Shit,” he sighs deeply once the call is done. Planting his hands on his hips.

“Work call?”

“They like to keep me busy, that’s for sure. Best not keep them waiting.”

“R-right! The pharmakits."

You walk towards side of your shop in the back closet where your new inventory sits in their delivery crates. Grabbing one case but then after a second thought grabbing another before turning back and handing them to Mando. When you return Grogu is already back in his father's tote still nursing his treat.

“Couple things," you disclaim, handing the cases to him. "Keep these in a dark cool place if you can. Heat can spoil some of the medicine. And if you ever find yourself needing the epibacta, I’d advise you to take in a safe place. This dose will knock you out cold for a while. Emergencies only.”

He takes the cases by the handles and gives you a nod of understanding.

“I appreciate it. I’ll try to avoid needing it.”

“Just… be safe.”

“I will…”

Another beat of silence. At this point it's starting to feel like you're waiting on the other person to break the ice. But after a moment, he clears his throat.

“Well... Until next time, Shop Girl.”

“Until next time,” you repeat.

He really should stop calling you that. But you just can’t bring yourself to stop him. What do even tell him if he asks why?

You turn to the holopad on the front counter and check the inventory list to give your hands something to do. Chewing your bottom lip as walks towards the exit. One step, then another…

“And thank you,” you quickly add before he steps out. His foot stalls just before reaching the street and you tap on the screen pretending not to notice. Your eyes glance up to him, catching his helmet peer at you over his shoulder “…for stepping in.”

“Anytime,” he says softly. He step out into the street and you exhale a breath you didn’t know you were holding. You lean on the counter with your chin propped in your palm, now free to watch them go without notice.

Grogu turns back to look at you one last time, his tiny arm fighting against the fabric of his bag before popping out and waving at you. The adorable gesture makes you giggle. The little guy must know exactly how stinking cute he is. You wiggle your fingers back at him from behind the counter. Mando takes notice of his kid, turns his head back, and finds your gaze.

For a moment, everything’s frozen. People cross and mix in the street between you. Life seemingly goes on like any other day for everyone in town. But in your eyes, there’s only him. Only bright silver fills your vision. After a moment, Mando raises a hand for a final farewell, and in the next, he’s gone. Blended into the crowd.

An ache spreads in your chest, and that confirms it. You can’t deny that what you’ve been pushing down for months isn’t just an attraction. Strangers can be attracted to each other but he feels like anything but.

You like him. You like how you feel when he’s around and how safe his presence feels. You like that little skipped beat you get when something you said earns even the smallest chuckle from him. You like that he trusts you around his kid.

And you love that he keeps coming back.

You’ve tried to rationalize as just a simple customer acquaintance. But you can’t keep kidding yourself. Its always felt more than that. And you want to know more about him.

At the end of the day, you roll down the metal doors of your humble apothecary and walk the same 15 steps up to your home as you do everyday. You bathe, put on your most comfy shirt and sleep shorts, make yourself a simple meal, and wind down for the night. It’s been your routine everyday since you made this place your home.

Only tonight, despite all your trinkets, all your memories, and all your comforts, tonight your home feels a bit empty. Like something important has been removed and you can’t place what it was. With your dinner bowl in hand, you almost take your seat on the couch before thinking twice on it and choosing the floor of your living room instead tonight.

You actually find it to be pretty comfortable. More grounding. You only wish you had something warm to lean back on.

•

Din thought Guild Master Greef Karga had an inflated ego. But High Magistrate Greef Karga makes that Karga look like a Jedi monk.

He finds himself sitting on a leather chase with his legs propped on the window ledge in Karga’s high tower office. He watches him spread and maneuver a 3D hologram model of Nevarro and the town. His voice filled with ambition as he explains all his new projects for the upcoming year.

“We’ll put the lodges here, here, and here. They’ll have access to the hot springs in the crawling canyons and docks will be built around the water edges. I’ve spoken with that lovely Twi’lek bathhouse owner and she’s spending her best architects to Nevarro as a personal favor to me. It’s going to be the jewel of the rim I tell you!”

Much of the dialog goes over Dins head. Mostly because he’s dead tired and currently operating on less than four hours of sleep. They only landed a couple hours ago from another grueling mission. He partly listens to Karga’s plans, partly watches Grogu quietly sit on the hologram table as he stuffs his mouth with blue cookies his “uncle” has given him. But mostly, Din gazes out one of the many windows in his 360 degree office. Watching the sun set over the canyons and turn the sky a dusty pink.

The shiny bronze protocol droid shuffles around the office with a silver tray with two crystal glasses of spotchka. He offers a glowing glass to Karga who gladly takes it. Then the droid starts to approach Din with the platter, offering him a glass as well.

“Uh no no, he doesn’t drink,” Karga quickly corrects, taking a momentary pause from his plans. The shiny droid fumbles a bit, flustered, then offers an apology before scuttling away with the tray.

Mando doesn’t even bother to correct them. Too much energy. It’s true, he’s never accepted alcohol in front of Karga. Especially in those early guild days when trust was low. But even to this day, Din doesn’t drink around people.

Well… most people, that is.

An image of last time Din saw you pops into his head. That thick, slightly mussed hair tied up with a hair stick. Dewy skin. All smiles and laughter. You wore a deep blue torso wrap that time, His eyes kept following the lines of your collar bones and all that exposed skin seemed to glow in the reflected sunlight in the shop.

And those lips. Those goddamn pink tinted lips that he can’t get out of his head. If that’s not the definition of beauty he doesn’t know what is.

Your teasing is something he’s growing used to. But that day you pushed too far. You weren’t taking him seriously and you shouldn’t be the only one who gets to tease, right? When he cornered you against the counter, he made it known just how serious he was about defending you. That flush came back to your cheeks and your breathing had picked up. You had no idea, but your eyes had found his and it made heat pool in his lower abdomen as he got lost in the color of them.

In that moment, Din wrestled back the impulse to lift you up on that countertop, spread those perfect legs and-

“-Right, Mando?” Karga’s voice interrupts just as that train of thought was getting good. Din turns his visor over to him.

“Hmm?”

“You just agreed to let the kid spend the night here.”

“Right. Yeah,” Din scoffs. “Was that before or after I sold my ship to the Jawas,” he replies in a gruff tone. Karga doesn’t find the sarcasm amusing.

“Alright, alright.”

“Maybe I’ll sell them my armor while I’m at it.”

“I get it,” he exclaims. “You weren’t even listening! I was talking about the space port proposal and I can’t even tell where you clocked out. That's not like you, Mando.”

“I’m tired. I just got back from a long trip.” Kargas eyes glance between Din and the window he's been looking out from.

“I wouldn’t say tired. More like… Distracted.”

He says the word with an insinuation Din would rather do without.

“It’s nothing,” he deflects.

“Hey, you know me, Mando. I’m not one to judge,” Karga says, throwing his hands in the air. “If there’s anything on your mind I’m all ears. Money, politics, work, women-“

“There’s nothing to discuss. I’m fine," Din deadpans.

Kargas covers Grogus ears, who is too preoccupied by his munching to mind.

“Sounds like you need to get laid.”

Maker...

“You’re sordid,” he grumbles, shaking his head and turning back to the window. Karga just laughs. Amusement written all over his wrinkled face.

The arguments were one of the main things that changed between them over the last few years. Now they bicker like two old friends instead of two business associates. But one thing that has never changed is the way Karga tries to pressure him into revealing things out of him. Imperfectly human things.

He’d offer Din all sorts of things like spice or Twi’lek bathhouses just to see if he was capable of being tempted. And right now… there’s only one other person Din can think of capable of doing that.

“You know what I think? I think you’re starting to outgrow this lone wolf lifestyle of yours,” he speculates. “You’re a father now. Don’t you think the little one needs a mother?”

Dins helmet swivels back to Karga.

“Don’t you think you should stick to governing your town?”

“I was just getting to that," Karga exclaims excitedly. "You know we really should consider moving a few of the-“

“Here we go…,” Din sighs to himself.

What should’ve been a quick visit has turned into a one sided yap session. It’s been a couple weeks since he left and he’s eager to re-supply for his next run with Zeb. He’ll need to head to the square at some point as well. His home is in desperate need of a re-stock. And of course, a visit to the clinic probably wouldn’t be a bad idea if he’s already in the area.

Even from up here, your store can be seen at the far corner of the plaza. And every couple minutes, he can see you. Popping in and out of the small store and rearranging some of the potted plants outside. People greet you from the street and you turn to wave back.

It’s getting harder and harder to find excuses to go there that sound necessary. Last time he was there he picked up two new pharmakits, even though another two regular medkits sit unopened in his home. He’s been buying that energy tea you make, despite him being a kaf drinker his whole life. He keeps going back for shit he really doesn’t need. But if he was pressed to give a better reason, it’s mostly because he feels a need to check on you.

True, Nevarro has become significantly safer, but that doesn’t make it safe. Especially for a woman living completely on her own. You’re a kind hearted, giving person in a galaxy that does nothing but take. And someone like that should be protected. He’s looked the other way too many times in the past and he doesn’t want to be that person anymore. And plus the kid enjoys the visits.

Sure, the kid. Keep telling yourself that, Din…

A chiss man with a floating pallet of goods approaches your shop entrance and your attention turns from watering the plants to greet the vendor with a bright smile. You speak animately. And it would normally be endearing, if it wasn't directed towards another man. In the privacy of his helmet, Din grimmaces.

He shouldn’t be surprised. You’re well traveled, knowledgeable. It’s no wonder you’re able to buy products from so many places. But this particular vendor is getting a bit too close for Din’s comfort.

As usual, you talk with much enthusiasm. Sparking a conversation with the man. It’s clear you’re familiar with each other by the body language you both give off. And he’s not sure if it’s because you regularly get inventory from the man, or something beyond that.

You turn around on the balls of your feet to dip back inside the shop and as you do you’re completely oblivious to the way the Chiss’s head tilts to the side so his crimson eyes can roam your backside. And the only reason Din caught it was because the binocs in his visor seem to have unconsciously been turned on by his finger on his vambrace.

You return to with a small wooded box and open the lid to show him mineral salts, the kind he’s seen you make herbal soaks with. The vendor offers a large lidded glass jar of some kind of dried purple flower buds from his cart. With the added exchange of some credit chips, there’s more talking and smiling. Something he said makes you laugh as you sign his holopad and Din has to flex his fingers to stop them from clenching into a fist.

Enough. Stop watching.

The mental check forces Dins attention to shift back to whatever Karga keeps droning on about. You can associate with whoever you damn well please. It’s none of his concern who you do business with or what your personal life is like. Din nearly turns his visor away. But out of the furthest corner of his eye, he catches something he can’t tear away from.

The distance between the Chiss and you has suddenly shrunk. The moment unfolds in slow motion as his eyes chew on every second. The Chiss steps closer to lean down then…

Din’s arms uncross when the Chiss leans in close to your face. And before he knows it, the fucker plants a quick peck on your cheek. And you return it! The whole exchange lasts less than a second before you wave each other goodbye and he goes his separate way. You return inside with the product like nothing and Din sits there, completely rattled.

What… the fuck?

Was it a casual kiss? Did you even know that he was checking you out? If you did, was that a friendly goodbye gesture or was it flirtatious? That son of a bitch gets to walk around with bliss on his cheek all day now. Oddly enough, that’s what puts Din over the edge. A complete fucking stranger knows how your lips feel and he doesn’t.

Never in his life has he harbored thoughts like these. It’s downright pathetic. He feels corrupted.

“Fuck it,” he growls to himself beneath his breath.

“-Anyway, back to my point. I was considering having a port built for- hey!”

Before Karga has a chance to monologue further, Din has picked up his son from the edge of the desk—grubby hands still clinging to the bag of cookies—and has placed him right into Karga arms.

“I need you to watch over him for the night. I’ll come back for him in the morning.”

“Okay then? Fine by-.” Din doesn’t bother to listen because there’s no ending to that sentence that matters to him in this moment. He makes his exit, the slide doors opening as he nears them.

“Hey! Where do you think you’re going all puffed up like that?”

“I need to settle something,” he tosses back before letting the doors shut behind him.

The sun is getting low and a few other vendors are starting to take down their signs and close their doors. You’re probably getting ready to close up for the day yourself. Hopefully he’s able to catch you before then.

Each step on the cobblestone is heavy with purpose. And it's not unoticed the way several people on the street see an armor clad Mandalorian and scurry out of his way with a petrified look on their faces. But right now he doesn't particularly care. Right now everything in his head is clouded with the exception of one objective.

From a couple stores away, you catch him approaching from your peripheray. And he's not sure how to describe it, but it's like something in your body language softens when you see him. Your shoulders become less tense, your eyes gleam, and you cast him that bright toothy smile that could stop any man's heart.

“Ah! Hey! It’s been a while, Mando! How’s-“

“I need to have a word with you.”

Both your expression and your hand freeze momentarily in place, minus a suspicious quirk in your brow.

“Okaaay, you have my attention,” you chuckle, but there’s a nervous tone riding on it. “What can I do for you today?

“I need to speak with you," you tells you bluntly. "Privately.”

Confusion paints across your face and your smile falls a bit. Understanding how serious his request is.

“Like, right now,” you ask hesitantly.

“Preferably, yes,” he answers.

“Ok, yeah sure. Um… I’m just about to close up and we can head upstairs in a minute.” You start to turn away but then quickly turn back to him and immediately add “or we can go somewhere you’re more comfort-“

”It’s fine,” Din quickly interjects, stopping that train of thought. “This won’t take long anyway.”

You blink at him a couple times and give him a quiet “ok then” before turning around and preparing your shop to close.

Seems that Din’s command from his last visit was taken seriously. Regret over those words washes over him. If he’s being honest, being inside your home again sets off several red lights in his head. But he’s already on the verge of blurting out something teetering on the edge of his brain. Better to wait until he’s behind closed doors and away from any prying eyes. Or flirtatious vendors. This shouldn’t be complicated. He’ll make it quick.

He decides to wait around the corner of the shop where the stone steps meet your front door. He leans against the wall with his arms crossed and his finger nervously tapping his arm brace. After a few minutes you round the corner with your bag over your shoulder and lead the way into your home. Instinctively, he looks around for any eyes before entering and closing the door behind him.

“So where’s your boy,” you ask, tossing your bag on the couch and walking towards the kitchen. “I have to say I’m kind of surprised not to see him on your hip. You seem inseparable.”

Your voice is chipper but he can tell by your stiff body and lack of eye contact that you’re not entirely comfortable. For a moment Din reconsiders this encounter. But no. The sooner he this bug out of his system the better.

“He’s… spending the night with a friend,” he answers. Grabbing one of those ceramic cups from the cabinet, you fill it with water from the sink and he’s starting to think that you’re only doing that to keep your hands busy.

“Aaww, a sleepover? Is it his first-”

“If you don’t mind,” he cuts off. “I’d like to get to my point.”

“Oh… Y-yes, I'm sorry. I’m rambling,” you say sheepishly. “I’m just…,” you take a deep breath, rest the cup of water on the counter, and lean back against it. Eyes fixed to the floor.

“…it’s just what you said the last time you were here. And the way you approached me earlier, you seemed kinda… I don’t know, upset? I know you don’t wanna be here so I’m wondering what I did to upset you that you’d come here.”

Damn it… He’s such an asshole.

He should’ve never said that. You've been thinking this entire time that you’re at fault for his shitty social skills. Truthfully, with the way that wine had his head so deliciously foggy, he had to leave before his body did something it was aching to do, begging him to do. But how does he even begin to explain that?

“You didn’t do anything,” he answers immediately. But thinks on it once more. “Well… technically you did. But I’m not upset with you.”

“You’re not,” you ask him sheepishly.

“I’m not,” he assures.

A beat passes in silence as you chew over his words.

“Okaaay,” you say with a smirk, “now you really got my attention.”

That mischievous tone travels through Din’s helmet, in his ears, and settles warmly in the pit of his stomach. Something about the combination of your sweet voice and relaxed shift in your body language makes this whole interaction even more nerve wracking.

“Sooo, you wanted to talk to me about something I did?”

“Right.”

“Okay, sooo...” He feels you urging him to continue but now Din finds himself more cautious of his words now. If you’ve been silently worried about offending him the last thing he needs is for this to come off wrong way.

“It’s… a bit hard to explain,” he exhales. If he could pinch his brow right now he would. “To put it plainly, the night we drank together, you said something that’s been… stuck in my head.”

“Was it the thing about the name?”

“N-no.”

“Was it the Pantora story?

“No.”

“Was it the comment about knowing my liquor? Because I like a drink from time to time but I don’t have like a problem or anything-“

“No- Can I finish,” he asks impatiently.

“Okay, okay. Sorry. Go ahead.”

“When we were drinking, and talking… we said a lot of things and got into some deep conversations. And at one point, you asked me if I ever kissed anyone before. I said no back then because… I've never given it any thought in the past. But now it’s got me… curious.”

Your quirk your brow at him.

“Curious how?”

“I want to know what it’s like,” he answers plainly.

“… Sorry, what?”

“I need this… curiosity out of my head. It’s driving me crazy and I need it out of my system. So I figured… since you’re the one who mentioned it in the first place, you can help me kill it.”

“You’re… Okay so, hold on…,” you say with a shaky breath. “Are you… asking me to kiss you?”

“That’s… an oversimplification. But yeah.”

“You’re asking me to be your first kiss? Am I understanding you right?”

Maker, you ask a lot of questions. Are you always like this? You did the same exact thing when he gave you the wine. On any other day it would’ve been endearing but he didn’t anticipate the conversation lasting longer than a minute. Now his request sounds more and more lecherous with each passing second.

“I won’t bother you again after this. You have my word. It’s completely casual. Just killing a curiosity.”

“There’s a preeetty common phrase about curiosity and loth cats that goes differently.” A giggle tumbles out of your mouth on the tail end of that sentence and humility crawls under his skin.

“Sorry to waste your time.” He starts to turn towards the nearest exit when you step in to stop him. Placing a hand briefly on his arm in the space between his armor and the contact sends a current of electricity up his spine.

“No wait, don’t be like that,” you toy with him.

“I’m not laughing,” he spits. But you still have the nerve to giggle.

“It’s okay, Mando,” you laugh assuredly.

“No, it’s not. It’s ridiculous. I hate it. I hate that you put this in my head.”

You fold your lips between your teeth to try to hide your amusement. But you still can’t help but crack a smile a little at his frustration. He basically just confessed to having this obsession for months and he can tell by your smug expression that you’re enjoying how incredibly uncomfortable he is about this.

“You’re right. I’m… sorry,” you say under your breath. Trying to fix your face.

There’s a beat of silence. Stepping in closer, he tilts his head down to you. Locking you in his gaze. He takes pleasure in being nearly a full head taller and the way your breathing picks up before he says in a low gruff voice…

“No, you’re not.”

You smile behind your hand as your eyes dance across his visor, unknowingly locking eyes with the man beneath. You know you’re not sorry, just like he knows he’s not particularly sorry either. It’s not just this moment. It goes back to every interaction you’ve had together. The banter, the nicknames, the visits. He’s as much to blame as you are. And then… you slowly you shake your head, agreeing with him and confirming his suspicion.

Fuck, you’re cute. He hates that he loves how cute you are. He hates himself for not being stronger.

“Ok,” you nearly whisper. Looking up at him with the sweetest eyes. “I’ll help you.”

•

“Is all this really necessary?”

Din currently sits on the floor of your living room. The same spot as last time in fact. Your were the one that insisted on it and honestly he couldn't bring himself to tell you no. Since he sat down in the soft carpet, you've been flitting around your home turning off lamps, closing blinds, and covering any reflective items. Which, admittedly, he's greatful for. But the more time he spends here, alone with you, the more he's not going to want to leave.

“It’s not everyday you get your first kiss, Mando. I wanna make sure it’s a good one. I wish I could re-do mine.”

Gloves fingers flex and stretch restlessly on his knees as you approach the last lamp sitting on a side table in the living room and pause.

“Are you sure about this?”

Fuck no he’s not. But the sooner he does this, the sooner he can find some normalcy in his head again.

“Flip the switch," he says in a low modulated voice.

You fold in a growing smile before taking a deep breath and flicking the switch. Bathing the entire home in inky darkness. The silhouette of you through turns to hues of thermal green and red, carefully maneuvering through your living room by memory before finding your seat in the floor in front of him. And with slight hesitation, Din reaches up to remove the last barrier he has.

“Can you see anything?”

“Not a bit,” you answer.

With that confirmation, he unclasps the chin strap and slowly lifts the helmet up and off. He blinks several times to adjust his vision before finding the outline of the table and placing his helmet there. On the return, his head bumps into your outstretched hand. Not knowing that you had moved.

“Agh.”

“Sorry sorry,” you pull away. “Give me a moment, I’ll find you.”

Your hands search in the dark for him. He can’t see much but he can tell your hands land on nothing by the way the air between you moves and he doesn’t feel any contact on his person. So he reaches out, bumping into your arms and taking hold of them. Following the line of your forearm until he reaches your hands.

“Here,"  he murmurs. Gloved hands wrap around your wrists and gently lift them up. He guides your hands forward until…

You let out a small gasp when your hands find the warmth of his bare face. Soft and giving as opposed to the cold, unyielding beskar. Their movements are slow and explorative. Running your thumbs over his stubble. Surprisingly his hands don’t release their grasp. His leather clad digits press against the racing pulse in your wrist as his thumbs run over the back of your palm.

“This help?”

“Yes, thank you,” you whisper.

From sound of rustling on the rug, Din can sense your body leaning in. Your breath brushes over his skin for a moment before something warm presses against his chin and it takes a second to register that it’s your mouth. You ease him into the build up and he’s greatfull for it. Jaw. Then cheek. Then just grazing the furthest corner of his mouth.

And then… contact.

At first it doesn’t feel like much. Just something soft and warm pressing against his mouth. What most people refer to as a peck, he assumes. But it’s when you barely pull back and return for another that a shiver wracks his skin. Your lips lock in the return, molding together in perfect unison. And it’s fucking electric.

Just by feel alone, he senses that your lips are slightly open. So he mimics you. Giving his jaw just enough slack to respond as you go in again. The sensations have his mind in a thick fog. The soft flesh, the sweet taste, the faint suction. His skin feels like there’s live wires going off underneath. Giving in completely, he finally returns the kiss. Pressing into it with more confidence.

You hum against his mouth, and he dies a little inside.

That’s when the real hunger builds. There’s a slow simmering heat rising between you now. Without thinking, his hands grip your wrists a little harder. Pulling you in closer. The kiss grows a bit stronger with each return back into each other with no loss of contact. Lingering longer and breathing against one another.

He feels your head tilt more to the side and again he mimics your movement. The break only lasts a fraction of a moment. But in the re-entry, the tip of your soft tongue happens to brush his mouth. Sweet wetness coats his bottom lip and it’s in that instant Din feels all restraint leave his body.

Taking your face in his hand, he kisses you open mouthed, inviting you in. Your tongues slowly graze one another and if he fucking died in this moment he’d be ok with it knowing that he got to know how you taste.

The hunger becomes unbearable. Soon enough the breathing becomes heavier and the air becomes hot. Your arms end up wrapping over his shoulders, pulling him deeper and he’s more than happy to dive further. Another small noise escapes your throat and the vibration travels through his entire body.

He needs to feel you. To taste you. Devour you. He needs you.

A break for air is the only thing that throws him back into semi-consciousness as you pull away. The heat built up between you makes him dazed. Hot breaths fill the small space between your lips as you lean your forehead against his.

“Mando?”

“Yes,” he responds in a raspy whisper. A few moments pass as you collect your words and catch your breath.

“Is this really just about curiosity…?”

Your words lean more towards a statement than a question. There’s no point in denying it now. As much as he tried to convince himself or rationalize his strange request, he does feel a pull towards you. Much more complicated than just attraction. The more he sees you, learns about you, and talks with you, the more… inevitable you feel to him. There’s a gravity to you that he can’t escape from. Nor does he want to.

“Yes and no.”

“What does that mean?” The breath of your question brushes the heated skin of his cheek. And right now, he can't think of any answer that wouldn't give him up.

So he lets it fly.

“It’s not just the kiss I’m curious about.”

The silence in the air is thick. The only thing between you are the sounds of both of you catching your breath. It’s possible he might have ruined everything with that one sentence. But it’s the truth. It had nothing to do with the kiss and everything to do with you. Your kindness, your banter, your hospitality. All of it.

There’s no way of telling what you’re thinking at the right now. It’s in this moment that he wishes the lights weren’t out so he can at least read your expression. But then after what seems like an eternity, your forehead nudges against his and you blow a deep sigh of relief. Arms still draped over his shoulders.

“Oh good… I thought it was only me,” you confess with a skittish laugh.

And that tightly pulled restraint finally snaps inside him when he hears that.

Without any hesitation, he dives back in. Kissing you like a man starved. Just like that night, he feels drunk. Only this time it’s on the taste of you and the feeling of your hands finally on him. It’s that thought that drives him to rip off his leather gloves and toss them aside without breaking contact once. His bare hands find your waist and the strip of bare skin between your shirt and linen pants.

“Is this what you meant,” you pant. “When you told me not to invite you in again.”

“Yeah... it is.” He pants the confession as his mouth trails down the line of your jaw and finding your neck in the dark.

“That’s a relief,” you chuckle. “I was worried I offended you.”

“The only thing that’s offensive is that I can’t see that pretty pink flush on your face right now.”

“Should I get a blindfold,” you tease.

What a fucking woman. The mental image of you in a blindfold, only a blindfold, pours fuel on an already blazing fire. But for now, he’s more than ok feeling his way around tonight.

“Next time.”

It comes out of his mouth confidently and without hesitation. Because you both know there will be a next time. He’s bitten into the forbidden fruit and now he’s addicted to the taste.

With a simple shift, his hands dip beneath the thin fabric of your shirt and find the delicious heat of your soft belly.

"Lay down for me."

With your arms draped over his shoulders, you eagerly comply. Slowly dragging him down with you. He careful not to press all his weight on you—being crushed by beskar would definitely kill the mood—but it doesn't stop you from pulling tighter. Craving connection. All while Din rains wet kisses and soft bites upon your pulse.

So this is what your skin tastes like. Slightly salty, sweet, and smooth between his teeth. He might eat you whole if he’s not careful. He nips at the skin of your exposed collar bone and you writhe. Arching to press your chest to his. So he decides to give it some attention.

“Take it off," you pant with an neediness that drives him pull the damn shirt off in one swift motion.

His bare hand crawls up your sternum. Exploring the valley of soft skin free of any restricting fabric. The moment his fingers find the stiff peak of your bare breast he pinches eagerly. Earning the sweetest little whimpers from you as his mouth works on the other nipple. Biting and sucking the soft point. He can’t see a thing in the dark, but what’s lacking in sight is made up by sound with the delicious breathy moans you let out for him.

“Mando…”

Fuck, does he love the way you call out for him. Every touch, kiss, and  suck he gives elicites the most gorgeous sounds out of that perfect mouth. The sounds to straight to his cock, now painfully stiff. It's tempting to just dive into you right now. But he's waited this long. So why not take his sweet time with you. With his face still burried between your breasts and you fingers raking through his hair, Din feels a press of your hips against his armor. And he needs more.

“Shop Girl…”

The nickname doesn’t catch your attention. You’re either too lost in the moment or too breathless to answer. It’s only when he uses your given name that your body perks up and you give him a raspy “yeah?”.

“Do you want this," he asks.

His right hand has found its way to the waist band of your work pants. Ready and waiting for your answer. You try to grind against his hips but he presses your hips down firmly. He knows damn well neither of you want to stop. But he needs to hear it. There's no going back after this.

"Is this ok?"

He doesn't know if you're unsure. Or if maybe your trying to meet his eyes through the darkness. But there's a long pause. Only the sounds of heavy breaths and the pulse beating hard in his ears. And every second that passes has him hanging on the edge of madness.

"Yes...," you finally breathe. "I need you."

She needs me.

The words leave him winded. Months of questions and pining suddenly feel well worth the wait just to hear those words. They not only affirm going further, but the bond that's been steadily growing between you. Not a single ounce of hesitation survives after he hears that. And with one hand, Din loosens the tie of your pants and dives in beneath the fabric of your underwear.

By feel alone, Din manages to pull your pants down to your thighs and you kick them off your feet. His hands roam over all the smooth exposed skin and he can only imagine how perfect you must look if you feel this good. The tips of his fingers finds the dampness between your legs, running along the seam, and he slowly pushes inside until his knuckles meet your entrance.

You release a soft gasp and he swallows it with a deep kiss. You both sigh into each other's mouth. As if you need the other to even breathe. Din's lips never leaves yours as he does an experimental curl against the fleshy part of your walls and you arch your body against his.

“This where you need me," he huffs against your lips. "Right here?”

“Right there... Perfect..."

"I wanna taste you." The confession comes out before he can even think about it.

"Then taste me, Mando."

He can hear the smile in your voice. The taunt. And he's more than happy to reciprocate it.

He rises above you and you whine from the lack of contact. But the loss doesn't last long. Because before you even can register what he's doing, his head has already lowered between your legs.

"What are you- ah."

That gasp you let out when his mouth envelops your pussy is downright tortured. Good too know you were just as desperate as he was.

"Fuck! I thought you meant... You were gonna... Shit..."

No fucking way would he be satisfied tasting you on just his fingers.  The sweet tangy flavor explodes over his tongue and he groans. Fucking hell, you taste good. He doesn’t even know what the hell he’s doing but that’s sure as shit not stopping him. He drowns in you. Lapping and sucking on your swollen little bud and loving the way it makes you cry out. Two thick fingers pump into your wet heat as you melt in his mouth. Such a fucking treat.

You writhe beneath him. Squirming and clawing at anything to hold on to as he works you up. Eventually your hands finds his hair again. Taking a fistful and pressing his face further against your cunt. The sting on his scalp makes his cock twitch in his flight suit and he groans.

“You want me to make you come, Shop Girl," he mumbles against you.

“Yes.”

“Say it.”

“Make me come, Mando... Please…”

He doesn't break pace, doesn't falter, doesn't change a damn thing what he's doing because he can feel close to the edge you are. You tighten around his digits as the pump in and out. And with a firm suck on your clit you let out a strangled gasp.

"Oh Fuck! Fuck! Mando!"

Your breathing becomes short and shallow. Panting so hard right before holding your breath and tipping over the edge with a strangled cry. You come long and hard. Trembling so much he has to hold you steady by the hips.

Through the waves of your climax, Din continues to eat you. Lapping at your perfect pussy like it's wine and he doesn't waste a single drop of you. Even sucking and licking his fingers clean as you lay breathless before him. They come out of his mouth with a wet pop and he can’t help but let out a small breathy laugh.

“I’ve always wanted to try that…” he confesses.

You let out your own exhausted little laugh and he can already tell he wants more. More laughter, more of those pretty sounds, more of you.

It's with that in mind that Din starts pulling his cape off.

Piece by peace, he silently removes his armor. And after a few moments, a second pair of hands joins in. You fumble in the dark with his chest piece first. Helping him out of his armor one section at a time. They fall to the carpet with a soft thud along with the crumbling pieces of the restraint he’s built since that first night.

There’s no signs of stopping. You keep giving him more. More heat. More yearning. More questions.

What makes you laugh? What gives you pleasure? What makes you feel good and whole and satisfied? He needs to know.

And now that he’s gotten a taste, there’s no way he’s leaving here tonight until you’ve both had your fill.

•

If this is what happens when you invite the Mandalorian into your home, let your door never close.

Getting to your bed was easier than you thought it’d be in pitch black darkness. The only thing keeping your ‘bedroom’ separate from the rest of the home is a wooden lattice divider from the ceiling to the floor.

He lays you down on the soft futon on the floor and you open for him like a flower. Two strong palms drag and paw all over your body as his mouth works magic on yours and it makes you dizzy with desire.

Maker, he’s so good with his hands.

His body separates from you only to remove his flight suit and you whine at the loss of contact. Naked and panting for him. Within seconds he’s back on top of you and the feeling of his bare skin against yours makes your head spin. With everything so dark you wonder if this is even real. Maybe this is all a fever dream.

“Are you gonna show me how Mandalorians fuck this time,” you tease against his lips. Calling back to when he showed you how they drink. With your bare legs around his hips, you tease his resolve by running your inner thighs over his sides and you’re rewarded with a low hum. The hand supporting your neck slowly drags forward to find the base of your throat.

“You don’t need to know how Mandalorians fuck.” His wide grip gently squeezes the sides of your throat, just enough for you to feel the power in those hands. “Just how I fuck.”

Holy shit. You thought him gripping your jaw was hot. But this? This might’ve awakened something you didn’t even knew you wanted.

A whimper escapes you only to be muted by his mouth again. His tongue swirls with yours with a hunger you’ve never knew was there these past months and it’s such a relief to know that you weren’t the only one pining.

Mando’s mouth travels to your cheek, then jaw, finally finding purchase on your neck. Biting and sucking as his body presses into yours. He’s insatiable right now. There's no doubt that you'll find yourself covered in marks when the lights come back on.

You’re so lost in the moment that you almost don’t notice when something hard and warm presses against your inner thigh. Out of nowhere, a thought you haven’t even considered before decides to pop into your head at the very last minute.

“H-hold on!”

Your hands find his shoulders, urging him to pause. His lips unlatch themselves from your neck the second you blurt it out. Instantly propping himself above you with his hands on either side of your head.

“You want me to stop?,” he pants.

“No… Hell no. It’s just…”

How do you even begin to ask this?

“Um… I know I probably should’ve asked earlier but… you’re human, right?”

Mando blows out a low chuckle, understanding your underlying meaning. He feels human, from what your hands can tell anyway. He could be like his kid for all you know. It’s not that you’re not willing to go Inter-species, but your experience is mainly human. Plus with the lights off it’d be pretty difficult to figure out fitting things.

Taking your hand from his shoulder, he presses it against his chest where you can feel a dusting of hair. His skin is hot, damp with a thin layer of sweat and his breathing is heavy. He continues to lead your hand further down his torso so you can feel every hill and valley of his muscles. Eventually your hand hits a trail of hair down the middle and then…

Oh shit.

His hand guides you along the length of his cock. Encouraging you to explore every ridge from the thick base all the way up to the damp tip. He’s stiff and hot in your palm. When you give him a firm squeeze he groans and twitches in your grip.

Oh shit.

“Does that answer your question?”

The human part, definitely. Fitting is still debatable.

He lets you handle him. Giving you free rein to tug and tease as he bucks into your hand. He groans with pleasure and the power trip you feel knowing exactly how you affect this fiercely disciplined man makes the pulse between your legs throb harder. After a minute, his hand snatches yours to a halt, making your grip around his cock tighter.

“Show me where you want it,” he demands in a gruff breath. And you do just that. Pressing the damp tip against your clit. The contact sending a jolt of pleasure up your spine.

“Inside,” you plead. “I need you inside me.”

With an impatient huff, his hand comes down to take hold of your leg behind the bend of your knee. Spreading you wide and teasing your entrance before pushing himself inside. You gasp at the initial stretch, digging your nails into his shoulders. Mando curses under his breath and as he pushes you worry for a moment if there’s an end to him.

It’s slow, deliberate. Feeding his cock into your tight cunt until he’s pressing the limits of your walls. You shudder together when he’s completely sheathed and his hands grip your hips so hard his fingers dig into your flesh.

“Mando…” You throw your head back. Arching your whole body, waiting it to adjust to him. “Fuck!”

“I knew it,” he pants. “Fucking knew you’d feel good…”

He splits you in half and before you’re even ready the first hard thrust hits you. You whimper from impact and he thrusts again. Pinning you down by your hips to keep you at the perfect angle. Soon he sets a steady pace as he fucks you into delirium. It’s too much, he’s too much. Yet you moan and whine for more like each thrust might be the last. He feels incredible and you can only claw at his trim waist as it moves for you.

“That’s it… Good girl… Taking me so well… I wanted this… I want you to know every part of me.”

His words plunge into your chest like a dagger. Laced with a meaning that goes far beyond sex. Because you feel it too. You wanted him to be closer. You wanted him to know your name, know you. Even if it took this long to get here.

You feel one hand find your leg. Hiking it up so the back of your thigh lays flat against his chest. His hand drags up and down, caressing the soft flesh without losing a beat with his thrusts. A kiss presses on your calf and your head feels like it’s spinning. One moment he’s rearranging your insides and the next he’s giving your body sweet affection.

Tension builds in your core. Growing tighter and tighter with each hard thrust. Usually the second orgasm is more elusive to chase on your own. But this man is about to push you right into the next one not five minutes after the first one.

“Don’t… Stop…,” you pant. “Don’t stop, I’m so close, Mando…”

“Come for me... Let me feel you."

Then it comes. Tensing your entire body before coming down like a crashing wave. It’s spreads through every inch of your body, making you pulse and shake beneath his frame. You cry out in the midst of the euphoria, clinging to his shoulders, and everything feels so right. He moans along with you, feeling every tight pulse around his cock and letting you ride out the remaining waves.

“That’s two now, Shop Girl. You gonna give me a third?”

You let out a breathy laugh, still coming down from the clouds.

"I... I'm not sure I can," you chuckle.

"Yeah, you will," he pants. Amusement lacing his raspy voice.

Without out warning, Mando takes both your legs. Placing your calves over his shoulders as his leans forward. Folding you in half. And with one hard thrust, his cock drives back into you at a deeper angle. Your back bows and you swear you see stars in the blackness of the room. His lips land on the corner of your mouth and kiss their way to your lips. Offering a soft apology after the roughness. His strong arms are propped around you and you feel eclipsed under his broad body.

Soon his rhythm picks up. Becoming more desperate as he chases his own release. The room fills with the sound of your bodies meeting and you don't think you've ever heard anything more perfect. His panting picks up, his moans become louder, and the quivering breaths he makes when he finds a particularly deep spot will no doubt live in your mind rent free forever.

“You wanted me bare, didn’t you,” he huffs, pressing his damp forehead to yours.. “When you offered me that tea? You thought about me coming inside this perfect cunt, didn’t you.”

Caught red handed. Sure, you wanted to know if he had a partner as well. But the thought did cross your mind when he cornered you against the counter. You wanted to know how he felt bare, with nothing between you. Even dreamt a few times about it.

“Yes… Fuck, yes! Please! I want it!”

“You gonna come with me, Shop Girl? Hmm?”

“Maker, Mando! I’m right fucking there, please! I… I’m… ah-“

His firm hand grips your jaw. Whipping your face back to him so he can cover your mouth his. He kisses you deep, open and messy. No technique, just raw desire as he eats you alive. You moan and whimper against his mouth with each debilitating thrust he makes. He drives into you faster, harder. Relentlessly pushing you closer to the edge.

When it arrives, the orgasm hits you at full force. Wracking your whole body in convulsions as you scream, actually scream against his mouth. Your toes curl, your nails dig into his back and your cunt squeezes on to him for dear life like he’s never allowed to leave again.

Mando hisses through his teeth and he's right there with you. Ramming into you with relentless force as he chases his own release. His face dives into the crook of your shoulder and his arms scramble to take hold of you and he loses control. Letting out a sharp groan as he comes.

“Fuck.. Fuck,” he shudders in your ear. “Agh!”

His hips jerk against your body, driving himself as deep as you can take him. You feel his cock throb as he pumps into you again and again. Filling you to the point of spilling out and it’s... everything. Connected in such a profound way you’ve never felt before. In this moment, it’s hard to tell your bodies apart. You’ve melted and mixed and you never want to separate.

You ride it together, mold together, lose control together because you both knew it’d come to this. In the end this was inevitable. And in a galaxy filled with unknowns, in this you can be certain. A connection like this is few and far between. It’s real and raw and rare. Resisting that feeling was never an option, so why try?

Even in the climb down he doesn’t stop. Those hard demanding thrusts slow to a gentle drags as if he doesn’t want to finish yet. Hands glide all over each other’s bodies, soothing the other. All along his tense shoulders, you pepper soft kisses to his skin. Easing you both down from the clouds. He hums in the decent and it lulls you into an exhausted bliss.

Everything feels hazy and soft. You’re not sure how long you stay melted together like this. Minutes? Hours? But it’s needed. After a while, the breathing becomes steady and a soft, drowsy satisfaction settles between you.

“That’s the first time someone's come inside me,” you quietly confess. For a moment, Mando absorbs what you just said. Then you feel him prop himself in his elbows above you.

“Really?”

“Yeah…,” you breathe. Running your hands up the sides of his neck and resting them on his stubbled face.

“You know… since we’re sharing firsts tonight.”

He smiles and this time you’re able to know for certain by the feel of it in your hands. Leaning down, his forehead finds yours in the dark and you don’t think you’ve ever felt so whole before.

“I’m your first, huh,” he breathes. “I like that.”

There’s so many layers to this man. Quiet and withdrawn. Rough and demanding. Soft and caring. Each one is a trait you’ve come to cherish. You’re not sure if you love this man. But you’re definitely starting to fall for him. You can explore that treasure box later though. For now, you’ll take tonight for tonight and let whatever comes next between you arrive in its own good time.

“Me too, Mando...”

•

•

•

💕 THANK YOU FOR READING 💕

He thought it would be sweet. That despite everything he was, all of his sharp edges and brute strength, he could make the memory of the first time he took you one that was untouched by pain and violence and all the other harsh things that came with being hunters.

But then this job had landed in their laps and they had been too damn quick following the first lead to the mark they got instead of doing some real digging on the guy like you usually insisted.

I don’t like surprises, you would usually tell him but this time exhaustion held your caution behind your teeth. The result of running on the fumes from too many hunts and barely any time to take breaks until all of that ragged bone-deep weariness had begun to creep in, leaving you itching to get this job out of the way so you could finally rest.

And of course, in the end, it bit you in the ass.

You had entered the club with only the knowledge that your mark frequented the place and it had all gone to shit almost ridiculously fast.

The drink that had been brought to your table, the server announcing cheerfully that first ones of the night are always on the house, had been laced. The effects taking hold of you the moment the last drop passed your lips.

And Din had watched, confused, as your eyes had become glazed. Lids heavy and gaze transfixed on the writhing bodies that crowded the glittering dancefloor.

He had asked you a question, 'any sign of the bounty?', and it was like you couldn’t hear him, like he was calling to you through water when he raised his voice to say your name.

Instead, you’d remained rooted in place at the edge of your seat– white-knuckling the smooth leather until he hesitantly placed his hand on your knee and then you had jerked. Snapping out of a trance like he’d burned you, a gasp caught in your throat and your chest heaving whilst you blinked at him.

“What–what is it?” You had demanded breathlessly and if he hadn’t been suspicious that something wasn’t right before, he certainly was then. There was a tremor to your voice he had never heard before and where his gloved hand still remained curved around your knee, heat seared through the worn leather and scorched his palm.

"Are you okay?" He'd asked, his gaze raking over you in a way he'd previously refused to allow himself.

You were wrapped in a silky little dress the colour of the midnight sky. The neckline dipping to reveal the swell of your breasts and the hemline short enough that the bare skin of your legs had seemed endless when you'd first sauntered towards him as he'd waited for you outside the crest.

Din hadn't been able to look at you for more than a few seconds at a time because he knew if he took any longer he wouldn't be able to think clearly.

He wouldn't have been able to concentrate on the job with the image of those legs wrapped around his waist blaring through his skull–that lipstick-stained mouth parted around a moan of his name as he imagined rutting into you.

But he let himself stare then– shoving down those thoughts so he could assess the situation properly. His heart dropping to his stomach as he took in the sweat that beaded at your hairline, the weak tremble of you hand as you lifted it to your forehead in an attempt to swipe the moisture away.

You glanced at him nervously as you did so, chewing your lip. “I don’t feel right, Mando.” You murmured. “Everything feels too tight, like I’m about to burst.”

He had scooted closer then, slid right along the plush seat of the booth to fit himself to your side as his thumb rubbed small circles over the flesh of your knee.

It was supposed to be a comfort, an unspoken gesture that he was there–that you were safe.

But instead you had groaned like he’d shoved his hand through your chest and gripped something vital, the sound of it nearly making him choke on his damn tongue as he thanked the maker that his helmet hid the way he’d had to sink his teeth into his lip to bite back a moan.

“Don’t stop please.” You begged, pressing your own hands over his when he went to remove it. “It hurts when you’re not touching me.”

His eyes had narrowed at that.

It sounded familiar– wisps of old tales floating around in his head before he remembered one about a poison that made you crave others, that made your blood boil beneath your skin until you found someone to offer the pleasure necessary to sate the all-encompassing need.

But how?

You hadn’t been out of his sight all day. You hadn’t ingested anything the two of you hadn’t personally made, except…

His gaze snapped to the glass you had recently drained, remnants of the shimmering liquid still clinging to the edges and he can smell it as he takes it in his hand to inspect it closer. That sickly-sweet smell, the strong blend of fruit and something synthetically syrupy.

He could suddenly feel eyes on him and when he looked up the server that gave you the drink is staring at him with wide, terrified eyes– face paling as Din’s suspicion brewed to a blinding fury that gathered around his head like a storm.

It had been intentional then. No doubt the bounty had caught wind that they were on his take and had taken measures to slow them down.

He would kill them for it–both of them. Would rip them apart and leave the mark of his violence behind in the mess of their insides as a warning should anyone else even think of coming for them in the future.

No one touched her and lived.

His vision had seeped red. His blood spitting in his veins before it surged with panic as your hand flew to your stomach and your expression crumpled into something agonised.

“Fuck.” He hissed when you hunched over beside him with a sharp cry of pain. “I need to get you out of here, now.”

“What about the bounty?” You panted, looking up at him through the fringe of your lashes that were wet with unshed tears.

You had looked so small in that moment– a far cry from the ruthless hunter people would whisper about after you had swept through their town. It made his chest ache, briefly drowning out that insatiable temper of his as he gathered you to his chest and raised a hand to cup your cheek.

“What’s happening to me, Mando?”

“Your drink was laced with an aphrodisiac, he probably knew we were following him.” He said as gently as he could, thumb stroking the swell of your flushed cheek as alarm rippled across your features. “I don’t think it’s lethal but I need to get you back to the ship before the effects get any worse. Can you stand?”

Instead of an answer you fucking whimpered. The needy sound of it shooting heat straight through his gut as your eyes grew dark beneath the flutter of your lashes and your fingers curled tight into his cowl.

Was it his touch or his voice that had prompted such a reaction?

Whichever it was you suddenly looked like you wanted to devour him and Din had to swallow down the fierce sweep of desire that urged him to let you.

To drag you onto his lap and lay himself at your mercy, the words 'use me, take what you need, whatever you want it’s yours' clawing savagely up his throat whilst he grit his teeth and wrenched his face away from yours to scan their surroundings.

They would have to exit through the back. The club was too crowded, with too many bodies between them and the main entrance, all packed tight, and when Din had stood to get a better look, another sight had stopped him dead.

Guards at the door.

One’s that definitely hadn’t been there when you both entered and he’s almost certain are slyly watching every move he makes as he quickly tugged you to your feet and bundled you into his side.

He wanted desperately to believe it was paranoia.

That it was in no way related to the poison working its way through your systemn, that the two of you were going to get outside and be able to make your way to the ship without an issue.

He’d never wanted to believe something so much in his life.

**

It was a trap.

Deep down, Din had known it as they’d stumbled into the quiet of dark corridors– the lingering thump of the music pulsing beneath his boots.

He’d known it when your legs had buckled and he’d scooped you up in his arms, cradling you to his chest like a newborn babe before he’d broke out into a run and nearly kicked the door of its hinges as they’d reached it.

But he hadn’t truly allowed himself to acknowledge it until he’d come face to face with the steel fence chained shut and the sound of a dozen footsteps descending upon them.

When he'd heard the door shut, the decisive click of the lock, and his rage had soared. You were sick and though he was sure it wasn’t lethal he couldn’t shake the feeling like he was running out of time to get you help.

And they were stood in his way.

So he lowered you carefully to the ground, his lungs tightening when a weak groan rattled from your throat as you sank back against the fence and hugged your knees to your chest.

“Did you really think you could take me down in my own club, Mandalorian?”

He needed to swallow down all that burning anger and think, needed to focus on the best way he could take them all out without letting a single one near you.

But then the bounty had made the mistake of looking past the vengeful mass of him to where you were curled up on the ground and any thoughts of a quick and calculated fight were snatched right out of his head.

“Pretty partner you’ve got there.” He’d leered, dragging his tongue over his lip. “She must be dying for someone to fuck her right about now. Maybe after I've killed you, I'll keep her as my whore and fuck that pretty pussy right next to your corpse.”

A terrifying sound had followed–something dark and ragged, drenched in a murderous brand of fury, and then Din’s vision swam black.

Just as the saber ignited in his hand.

**

When he came to, he was panting.

And in the aftermath, there was a mass of bodies, slack mouths and bulging, glassy eyes caught in the horror of their final moments. The air stained with the stench of singed flesh and the metallic tang of blood.

He stared at the carnage he created in a daze until you croaked his name and his gaze shot to where you're sat, wide eyed and trembling, staring at him in disbelief.

Or maybe it was fear.

He had totally lost his head after all, had been absolutely unhinged in the way he took them apart, piece by piece– limb by limb.

Maybe you wouldn’t be able to look at him the same now that he’d discovered what he was truly capable of when it came to you, the darkness that lay in wait ready to gorge itself on violence and spilled blood.

He approached you slowly with hands splayed wide in front of him, hesitation etched in every rigid line of him, as if one wrong move would send you scurrying away. But then, to his utter surprise, your lips quirked–voice cracking with a rasping chuckle.

“I’m not scared of you, Din.”

When he knelt before you, you reached for him easily. Lacing your fingers through his and pressing his gloved hand to the dewy skin of your cheek. “I was scared for you. I've never felt so fucking useless but then you– you did that and I–fuck–”

His voice went low before he could stop it, thick honey over gravel, a wicked flare of heat licking through his belly as your eyes suddenly burned dark. The black of your pupils drowning out their colour. “You what? Tell me.”

There was a second where you simply stared at him, lip drawn between your teeth and the admission weighing on your tongue as the space between you began to crackle and spark.

But then you took a long, shuddering breath and–

“I couldn’t take my eyes off you.” You whispered. “Seeing the way you ripped them apart for me, I liked it.”

Fuck.

He clenched his jaw, his free hand, his entire goddamn body. Everything he could to remain from lunging at you and burying himself inside you right there. It had to be the drug talking– it had to be.

At least that's what he was painstakingly trying to convince himself.

Because there were still remnants of that hungered energy within him, desperate for somewhere to go, and there you were telling him you had liked it, that you enjoyed him killing for you, when he was trying his best to be fucking honourable.

He tried to say your name, tried to curl his tongue around the letters in a way that wasn’t dripping want, but then you’d gasped and your heated expression dissolved into something frighteningly pained, tears springing into your eyes as you folded in on yourself.

His arms were around you in a second, his tone bleeding panic as he frantically scooped you up “We need to get you to the ship now.”

“It’s too late.” You sobbed as your body convulsed, arching and bending until he had no choice but to set you on your feet. His body pinning yours to the fence and his hands clamped around the curves of your hips to hold you up. “It hurts so much– please, Din–"

"We can make it. Let me carry you–I'll run and we'll get you the help you need. Some medicine or something."

"No, I can't wait that long." You whimpered. "I can't–I need you–I need you to touch me."

There was something close to defeat in the way he held himself as your hands came to cup the cheeks of his helmet, the gentle touch pleading. He didn't want it to have to be this way but stars, he didn't think he could handle you being in pain much longer either.

He should have protected you better, moved faster, fought harder.

He should have got you back to the ship the moment he realised something wasn't right, and then maybe you wouldn't have had to beg a man you had no interest in to violate you.

“This isn’t what you want, sweet girl.” He sighed, guilt bitter in his chest. “Trust me, as soon as the effects fade you'll regret what you are asking of me.”

You frowned then, sweat-damp brow wrinkling in a way that made Din ache to smooth out with his thumb as you peered up at his visor. “You think this is just the drug?” You murmured. “That I don’t know my own mind? Stars, Din, I’ve wanted you to fuck me from the moment I saw you.”

His hands spasmed at that, clamping tight as a startled groan slipped from throat before he could choke it back. Were you trying to kill him? Did tou not have any idea how close his restraint felt to snapping from that confession alone.

“Fuck–you can’t just say something like that.”

But you were too far gone, pushing up against his armour and curling a hand around the nape of his neck to wrench him down so you can whisper in his ear.

“I think about it all the time, think about how good you’d feel.” Your fingers brushed over the fabric covering his swelling cock and he jolted. “Wondering how you’d fuck me, if you’d make me come on your cock over and over until I was ruined mess.”

Shit.

His brain had turned to liquid, he was sure of it.

He caught your wandering hand, grunting as you palmed at him before he could drag it away and pin it to the fence at the side of your head. Your breath hitched softly as his other hand drifted down, ghosting past the edge of your dress, the scrape of worn leather on your bare thighs making your hips jump against his hand.

He could fucking smell your arousal and it was driving him insane–his mouth watering as he parted your thighs with one of his own.

“Pretty little thing, is that what you want?” Din asked, voice hoarse. “You want me to ruin you?”

His fingers dared to slip further, dipping past the soaked material of your underwear and when he slid a knuckle through your folds, you gasped.

“Yes.”

**

It was all too overwhelming the moment he broke.

The second your simple yes cracked him open and his breath hitched before he was burying you further into the fence. His fingers grazing the peak of your clit whilst obscene noises burst from your throat, wild and desperate.

If felt so fucking good that you were almost blind with it. All that heat and need swirling to a central point in your belly that could explode at any moment, burning brighter with every rough stroke of Din's fingers and the low rasp of his voice in your ear.

"That's it, mesh’la– let me help you."

You didn't know any words after that– none other than his name at least and the gasping chant of don't stop don't stop don't stop.

When he snatched his hands away you thought you would actually cry, a devastated wail brewed from the depths of your lungs before he hushed you gently. The cold kiss of his beskar soothing against your sweat-slick face as he nuzzled you before a different sensation against your thighs startled you.

Skin. Calloused and warm and completely bare.

In the midst of your babbled pleading you had missed him tearing the gloves from his hands and if you had thought the contact had been electric before then this was something else entirely.

His skin against yours felt cataclysmic. The moan you made when he hitched your leg over his hip and sunk those thick fingers deep inside you, unhinged.

"I want to be able to feel you when you come for me." He told you lowly, purred it in your ear, and you choked as he pressed his thumb to your clit in the most maddeningly perfect circles until you spasmed. Soaking his hand as the tension in your lower stomach snapped violently.

You were lost then.

Boneless against him whilst he curved himself over you and continued stroking your pulsing walls so all of that swirling pleasure became flame again, burning hot and wild enough that it made you let loose a desperate sob. Burying your nails in his neck, the other hand fisted around his cloak as another climax slammed through the dying breaths of the first.

“Oh maker, Din.” You cried out, hips jerking into his hand, thighs trembling whilst he eased you through it. His touch gentler this time, sweet, like he could sense anything harsher would fray you apart at the seams.

There was the cool press of his helmet touching your temple, a calming gesture that clashed with the rapid rise and fall of both of your chests. “That's it,” he murmured, pride equal parts soft and heated on his tongue, “good girl.”

You could hear when he removed his fingers from inside you. The liquid slip that would have made your cheeks flame under normal circumstances but only made you burn for completely different reasons then.

Your own fingers darting out to circle his wrist before leading the slick digits to the tempting plush of your mouth.

He made a low, feral noise–the sound of your name rumbling from deep within his chest as you let the tips of his fingers rest against your lips. Waiting for him to take the next step which he did without hesitation, pressing down until your mouth parted for him and he slid his fingers into soft, wet heat.

You were still aching, still throbbing like a raw, open wound, but it was slightly more bearable now. The orgasms that Din drew from you taking the edge off just enough for you to have this indulgence. A hint of worship.

The slow lave of your tongue against his skin as he shivered. Hips rocking into the cradle of your pelvis, making you whine around his fingers when his clothed cock caught you just right.

He dragged his fingers from your mouth with a hissed curse, rubbing the spit-shine of your lip in a daze whilst the hand on your thigh flexed and tightened its grip.

“We shouldn’t, not here.” Din muttered, swearing under his breath when you deliberately rolled your hips. “You deserve better than this and it isn't safe.”

But you heard what he left unspoken.

We shouldn’t but I will if you want it. If you don't tell me to stop, I’ll fuck you right here– surrounded by the bodies I killed for you and regardless of who might come looking.

You would die before you asked him to stop.

Even if you weren’t beginning to tremble again, your heartbeat picking up to a gallop and cunt fluttering around nothing as each nudge of his cock against your sex swept a blistering need through your veins.

Even if the reminder of the lengths he was willing to go to keep you safe didn’t make you maddeningly desperate for him.

“I don’t care.” You breathed as your stomach clenched. “Please don’t make me wait that long, I need you inside me.”

He inhaled sharply then, his broad chest heaving whilst he cupped your chin and peered down at you. A split-second hesitation before he gave in yet again.

“You’re going to be the death of me begging like that,” He groaned and then his large hands were skimming over your belly. Stroking down until he reached your underwear and tore it from your body with a brutal yank before wrenching you against him as the remains fluttered to the ground.

You made a soft noise of surprise and he chuckled, rough and deep and utterly addictive. The sound of it making heat swell beneath your skin and between your thighs, your head going dizzy.

The desire you had for him was an unhinged thing. Even without the drug you knew that you would still feel like this, like he could unravel you completely with the simplest touch or glance. Your hands shaking as you fumbled with his belt whilst he watched intently.

He let you stroke him, once then twice. His length hot in your palm, throbbing beneath your fingers when the pad of your thumb dragged over the weeping head.

It stole a rough moan from somewhere deep in his chest and then he was on you. Hands wrapping around your thighs to lift you against the fence, thin metal biting into your back but any hint of pain drifts from your mind like smoke as his tip caught at your entrance.

He took it slow at first. Let you feel every inch of him stretching you open as he bit back a wrecked noise, your cunt gripping him like a hot, slick fist, until he sunk to the hilt and your eyes rolled back.

Oh. Oh fuck.

It was a lot.

It was so much that it felt like he’d reached something devastating. That when he drew his hips back to drive into you again, you screamed– back arching violently as your vision turned white.

You nearly bit through your tongue whilst he continued to move. Each bruising snap of his hips punching you further up the fence, fucking you into it, the shrill sound of metal ringing through the night air as it shook beneath Din's strength.

You had practically begged him to ruin you and he was without even trying.

You would feel him for days after this.

Maybe weeks.

You would feel him in the marks his nails would no doubt leave on your thighs from his unrelenting grip, the hard edges of his armour that were embedded in your softness as you wound yourself around him. The way he was carving you open with each frantic thrust, creating a space inside you that only he could ever fill.

The tendrils of pain that had began creeping through your system from the drug snapped to pleasure immediately. You could feel it coiling unbearably tight, growing molten, white hot sparks making your blood catch and your stomach twist in knots.

“Fuck.” You sobbed. Nails scraping down his back, desperately trying to find some kind of purchase as your head falls to his shoulder. “Din, I think–”

“I know, baby.” He grit, shifting slightly until the harsh spear of his cock suddenly hit something catastrophic over and over and over. Your breasts bouncing with every thrust and his body shuddering as your cunt tightened around him. “Come for me, that’s it. Shit–let me feel it.”

You fell apart with a ragged cry. Bursting hot and wet around him as his pace slowed to a hint of something less punishing so he could stare, dazed, at the place where you’re joined. His skin and his armour that was dripping with your release.

For a moment there was only the strained sound of his breathing through the vocoder and then he groaned. Low and filthy.

"You're so fucking perfect." He praised hoarsely, the rough scrape of his voice making you even more boneless as you trembled in his arms. "Maker. I want to taste you. After I'm done fucking you I'm going to carry you back to the ship and taste every inch of you, clean you up with my mouth, and then I'm going to fuck you again."

That scorched you. It made something in your belly stir again despite how sated you had felt only seconds ago, made you clench helplessly around him and Din choked at the feel of it. “Would you like that?” He asked, breathless. “Think you can give me another?”

His cock pulsed inside you and you found yourself wholly incapable of response, beyond words and thoughts and anything that wasn't trembling moans as his pace turned brutal. The wet squelch of your cunt taking him deep, almost embarrassingly loud in your ears.

He bore down on that place inside you that made stars burst behind your eyes with a savage focus and all too soon there was lightning snapping in your blood. The sensation of it flaring hot and sharp, gathering into something furious and terrifying as his name bubbled up past your lips in a weak chant.

“I can’t–fuck–Din, I need–”

He slid his helmet along your cheek, tipped his head down until his forehead rested on yours. The skin of his neck felt just as flushed as your own when you gripped it to hold him there against you. The dark curls that escaped his helmet tickling your fingers.

“Touch yourself, mesh’la. Come for me again and I’ll give you anything you want.”

You shakily dropped your hand between you, spreading your fingers around the place where his cock was punching up into you before your fingers slid up to brush over the crest of your sex.

Stars, you were soaked.

All swollen and slippery and the moment you circle your clit you snapped. Bursts of energy crashing through your body so violently that your head spun with it, your lungs squeezing achingly tight, and your nails sinking in his neck as you cried out.

It made Din go rigid–a wild noise tearing through his throat as you yanked him brutally into his own release. His vision faltering and hips stuttering before they fused against your own whilst he spilled deep inside you.

**

You were exhausted– beyond spent and over-stimulated as the burn of the drug died down enough that you could feel the ache of every muscle creeping in and the kind of sleepiness that would see you comatose for days.

Your eyes were in fact already beginning drooping when Din carefully set you back on your feet. His hands warm and clasped gently around your arms, holding you up so he could peer at you whilst you were trying your hardest to sway back into the comfort of his broad chest.

“Are you okay?” He murmured, concerned. “I didn’t go too hard did I?”

You blinked up at him stunned, silent for a beat as you recognised the flicker of nervousness in the way he spoke, the way he held himself.

You cradled his face then, or where the helmet sat above his cheeks, and pulled his forehead down to yours. “No, it was perfect.” You reassured him and he let out a soft breath before melting against you ever so slightly.

“There is a slight problem though.” You laughed quietly, thumbs absentmindedly stroking over smooth beskar as Din tilted his head.” We’re locked out here and there’s no way I can climb that fence. I can barely feel my legs.”

He chuckled then–the sound of it brushed smug as his fingers stroked down your arms. “Leave it to me, sweet girl.”

He rest you gently back against the fence and your eyes slipped closed almost immediately before popping back open when you heard a loud thrum followed by the short screech of tearing metal. Chains hitting the ground with a clinking thud.

Your breath stuttered as you watched him stalk back towards you, saber in his hand, gleaming beneath the haunting light of it.

It made him look even more powerful than he already was. And the memory of what he did for you with that weapon, the evidence of it still strewn across the dirt, slammed to the forefront of your mind and made your mouth run dry. A weak flutter stirring in your belly despite your exhaustion, that he in no way helped by pulling you into him and swinging you up in his arms.

You made a soft noise of surprise and it only encouraged him to hold you tighter. Sealing every inch of you against him that he could as he carried you back to the ship– his voice brimming with promise as he murmured,

He was your first. There have been others since, but they’ve never captured you like he did and still does even if it is true that you’ve never seen what lies beneath his helmet. The day he came through the village, you knew right then that there'd never be anyone else like him. Whilst your community was enthralled by the tiny yet powerful companion he brought with him, you were stuck on him. The way he walked, the way he held himself tall, strong, experienced, and you couldn't help but blush any time he lifted his head in your direction.

Din had one rule that you had tried so many times to understand; he'd give himself to you, but you could never see his face. Initially, even though you never showed it, it played on your mind that you were giving yourself to somebody so intimately, yet he never allowed you to see his true self, not without that goddamn barrier. But if you wanted him, and fuck, you definitely wanted him, that was the one small price you'd always have to pay, so you accepted it. 

It became a sort of routine. Whenever he felt like it, after good days and after worse days, he'd arrive at your hut in the dead of night when only you would be aware of his presence. Whilst your village slept cast under a peaceful darkness, you’d wait for him, hoping that you'd hear those familiar gentle creaks of the floorboards letting you know that he was here for you. 

Whenever he calls, you follow his instructions precisely. Standing facing the wall, you'll listen to the sound of his heavy armor approaching you from behind. He'll pull out the silver silk scarf from his suit and bring it over your head, over your eyes, until it's tied to block your vision. You always sense his silent hesitation before he reaches up to remove his helmet. Once he's naked, he'll undress you slowly, his large palms brushing against your skin, never failing to leave a trail of goosebumps everywhere he touches. Once he has you ready, he'll ask you to surrender your body to him in whatever way he desires: up against the wall, sprawled bare for him on the bed, in his lap, anyway he desires as long as that silver silk remains in place over your eyes.

He claims the blindfold heightens your senses, and he's right. But the more he calls, the more he worships every inch of your body under the darkness, the harder it’s becoming not to defy his rule and remove the barrier between you. The pull to cast your eyes over the man who consumes your entire body and all your thoughts every second of the day is starting to drive you insane.

Tonight should have been no different, except it was. He hadn’t shown for weeks, and the ache inside of you to be with him again was starting to mess with you. You were agitated and irritable, and you knew your friends had noticed. So when the creak of the floorboards came a few hours after the sun had dipped, it woke you from your light slumber, an excitement running through your being. The silhouette of his armor, the soft glimmer of it reflecting under the moonlight as he waited for you to notice him, made your tummy flip. He looks big in the doorway, and his size always has always intimidated you in the best possible way.

Following the pattern without a word exchanged, you stand, padding on bare feet towards the wall opposite him. You listen to his slow steps behind you as he steps inside your room. Like always, you wait for the silk blindfold, but it doesn't come. Instead, in the corner of your eye, you notice his helmet being placed down and hear the gentle clink of his suit as he undresses. His breathing deepens as he steps forward and slips the thin straps of your nightgown off your shoulders, letting the fabric slide down your body like a feather until it lands on the wood beneath you. With his palm snaking around your front, it rests low on your stomach as he pulls you back into him, his soft wet lips laying delicate kisses up your neck before they hover beside your ear. You push your naked ass back into his raging erection, aching to feel him again. God, how you've missed this. 

“Please.” You beg.

“Missed me, huh?” 

You nod with a bite of your lip. “You know I did. Didn’t know if you were coming back.” Your hands reach up to entangle in those curls you don’t even know the true color of. Fuck, how you wish you could turn and see the man who knows your body and your needs so well.

“Always coming back to you…” He murmurs, and for a moment you know he’s overthinking that comment; he has a frustrating habit of seizing up any time a glimmer of serious affection slips from his mouth.

“What about-”

“Be a good girl for me; promise you won't turn around.” 

You nod in agreement, but you're not sure if you can truly keep such a promise. 

“Get on the bed, want you on all fours, head down.” 

There’s a vulnerability that washes over you when he watches you do this, but every time it excites you, the anticipation, the curiosity of how exactly he’ll take you tonight. Sometimes he’s slow, gentle and caring. Sometimes he feels distant, the pain or sadness radiating from his body. Other times when he tells you he’s had a successful mission, he’s rougher, more daring, and more dominant because the confidence oozes from him as it courses through his veins. 

Sensing the dip of the bed behind you, your heart begins to race at the way you feel so exposed yet so fucking good bared open to him like this. As you wait, you notice the coldness of the night air softly blowing through the window landing on your skin. In contrast, his hot breath tickles against your ass makes your tummy flip as you anticipate his next move. The tip of his nose brushes against your lower back, trailing down slowly between the curves of your ass cheeks, his tongue instantly darting out as it reaches its destination to taste your pooling desire. Jolting forward from his actions as your breath hitches, his palms instantly grip onto your waist, holding you tightly in place as his mouth explores your drenched cunt, his hums of satisfaction making you even more horny.

“Always taste fucking divine, my love.” My love. You can't help but latch onto those words the second they escape him. He's never called you that; always a man of few words and you can’t help but wonder if he means it.

You can feel your juices coating his chin as he laps at your folds, his wet facial hair against your thighs. He gets lost in the sounds of your moans while he tastes you, his erection twitching at the sounds. When he stops, you whimper in protest, needing more. His hand smoothes up to the top of your back, pushing hard on your shoulders until your head rests down on the sheets beneath you, your ass still high in the air. 

“Please, I need you," you whisper, your ass wriggling, trying to move back into him, but he holds you tightly in place. He parts your ass cheeks with his hands looking down at your glistening folds.

"Shit, it’s been too long. I've missed this view, you all open for me like this, begging for it, baby. Don't think you know what it does to me, d’you?”

His hand comes to your mouth, inserting two fingers deep against your tongue. Pushing them further inside, he gently thrusts them, making you gag around his digits, the vulgar sound making his cock even harder. When he draws them out, the wet pop of your lips makes him groan deeply.

“Gonna kill me one day with the sounds you make. You’re fuckin’ perfect.” He takes himself in hand, his fingers wet with your spit now coating his rock-hard dick before he lines himself up with your soaked entrance. You push back, eager to have his veiny shaft fill you up once again. When he finally stops teasing, the sudden instruction of his thrust pushes your head further into the bed, making you gasp at how perfectly he stretches you. It's like your body forgets just how thick he is. 

"Fuuuuck," he groans, reaching down to grab a handful of your hair, “Always so tight for me.”

In the quietness of the night, there’s only the sound of his hips slapping against yours, his animalistic grunts as he drives into you over and over again, mixed with your desperate whimpers muffled in the sheets. You both know you should be quieter; if anyone found you, you know your dad would probably start a war with Din, but when he’s sheathed so deep inside of you like this, it’s hard to care about what anyone else would think. His free hand lightly scratches down your spine before curving underneath you to your tits. His thumb flicks over your hard nipple before he squeezes the flesh hard, maybe a little too hard, but you don't protest because you enjoy being completely at his mercy, willing to give him whatever he needs.

He pulls tightly, wrapping your hair around his fist as his thrusts start to turn ragged and messy. When he starts to feel your walls fluttering around his thick erection, he releases his grip on your hair, reaching underneath your body to pleasure your sensitive bud, desperate to send you racing over the edge before he spills his load. “Yeahhh fuck, that’s it, darling; almost there.”

As he works you, your body begins to shudder against the mattress as he fucks you even harder through your orgasm. “Just like that, let me feel you.”

Your nails dig into the sheets, desperate for grip as you ride out your high around him. When it passes, your body feels weightless as the energy drains from you. It’s only his strong grip on your waist that’s keeping you in place as he chases his own release, his thrusts getting harder each time. When his pants become too quick, he withdraws, releasing a loud, guttural groan into the darkness as he spurts his hot, thick cum onto your ass, breathing heavy like a feral animal. 

Utterly spent, he drops down onto you. Your damp, sticky bodies joined together as they recover from your mutual highs. He never stays long afterwards; once he’s sure you're okay, he pulls his armor back on too quickly, rushing away before he could be in any danger of being persuaded to stay, leaving you cold and lonely and wishing for more. But tonight it isn’t going unnoticed how he isn’t itching to flee your bed.

“Am I too heavy?” He hums against your hot skin.

“Hmm, but I like it.” Your voice is soft but tired.

“Need me to move?” 

“No, stay… a while longer.” You mumble into the pillow, never wanting to leave this very moment. 

You know you need to clean up, but this is the longest you’ve had him like this, thoroughly fucked, not wanting to leave your side, so you refuse to spoil this yet. For once you sense he’s relaxed, his guard down as he allows himself to get lost in the bliss of the intimate moment you just shared together.

As you lift your head slightly from the mattress, the thin slither of moonlight reflecting into your room allows you to see his body. The rise and fall of his bare chest is starting to slow. You watch as he pulls the sheet up over you both until it lies lows on his waist. He takes your hand, bringing it to his mouth to place a soft kiss on your palm before holding it against his chest. While you lie there not saying a word, getting lost in his soft breathing as he falls into a deep sleep, you don’t realize the time passing.

You still haven’t looked up, scared to lift your eyes, to move up his huge form beside you and land on the one thing you’ve never been allowed to see. But with him sleeping right next to you, the temptation, the desperation to flick your pupils up, becomes all too overwhelming. 

So when you do finally give in, you’re sure your heat skips a beat. His face is cast softly under the white moonlight, and you can’t help but admire the beauty of it. You’d created an image in your mind from his voice and what you’d felt against your skin over the time you’ve spent with him, and of course you knew he’d be striking, but it was nothing compared to the reality of seeing his face beside you now.

His skin looks a little aged, like his experiences as a bounty hunter are finally catching up with him. His brows are knitted ever so slightly as he dreams, revealing the lines across his forehead, and his eyelids flicker gently as he fights his demons within his sleep. You reach up to examine the soft curls on his head before your eyes drop slowly down over the outline of his face, moving over the patchy facial hair that has brushed against your neck and your thighs a hundred times before. He has a jaw so sharp and rigid, and you wonder how one man could possibly be so handsome, even in such low light. There's a flutter of butterflies building within your stomach as you analyze every single detail and scar on his face. You can tell he’s seen more than anyone should, and you can know he’s still holding onto so much hurt. Jesus, there's so much you would like to ask him; you almost wish you could climb inside his mind yourself to make all his pain disappear.

As you watch him, his head begins to move, left to right and back again. His breathing suddenly becomes faster and more desperate, and you feel his entire body beside you tense against the bed beneath you. Lifting your hand, you cup his face as you look down at him. 

You call for him. Nothing. As his nightmare worsens and his body starts to move more vigorously, you refuse to be scared, instead calling his name louder repeatedly until his eyes finally open, landing straight on yours, startled.

For the first time, you're finally looking directly into the eyes of the man you spend your days longing for, the only man you will ever want. In this very moment as you trace a finger along the outline of his face, it feels a thousand times more intimate than anything you’ve done together.

He whispers your name; the sound of it coming from his lips as he searches your eyes makes it sound different than any time before. All his barriers have vanished, if only for a second. He blinks, swallows, and speaks again, his voice louder and more serious. “What are you doing?”

“You were having a nightmare… you were thrashing-” 

“Don’t have nightmares.” He cuts you off.

"Din-" 

“Have to get back to the kid.” 

You shift, moving your head closer to his on the pillow as you stroke the far side of his face with your thumb. “Wait, please... let me in. You don’t have to hide from me.” you search his face, trying to take as much of him in before he inevitably runs away. He reaches up, taking your hand from his cheek with a gentle shake of his head. With a heavy sigh, he sits up looking away so his broad, scarred back hides the view of his face.

/

You’ve just gotten yourself another coffee. Sat back down behind your laptop.

“Wow.” Loki mutters flatly.

“Hm?” You prompt, only half paying attention to him, lips too busy pressed against your mug, eyes already running over the page again. You rack your brain for possible adjustments.

“Oh, nothing,” he brushes off your half-assed curiosity, “only starting to see your parents might’ve had a point.”

Loki sets the bait flawlessly, the corner of his lips tugging with barely contained amusement at what he’s just started. Of course, that comment gets your attention immediately. You set the beverage on the table, narrowing your eyes at him across the room.

“Excuse me?” You say sharply, straightening in your seat.

Ever the sensitive one. Loki didn’t even make his point yet, and your voice is already slipping into a warning tone, trying to intimidate him into backtracking.

He won’t. You should know better than that by now.

“You’ve practically emptied the whole cupboard of the mugs.” Loki props his head on his palm, remaining factual and strikingly calm as he observes your reaction from the couch.

He gives it a good two minutes before your temper comes out to play.

Despite Loki’s prediction, you dismiss him with a roll of your eyes, returning your attention to your keyboard as if the matter is hardly worth your time.

“Baby, I’m a writer, it’s what we do.” You mumble half-heartedly, backspacing on a sentence that just isn’t working anymore and cursing the editing process in your head. 

“Mmm, ah yes, writers… the species that dirties heaps of mugs.”

You slam your laptop closed. 

There she is, Loki thinks. You’re finally giving him the proper attention for the talk he’s trying to have. 

Domestic bliss is rarely natural and it sure can’t be maintained if this matter isn’t resolved soon. 

First you complain it’s unfair he gets to use magic to do chores, making him do it the mortal way. And then you start piling up dishes like there’s no tomorrow. Oh no. Loki is not playing this game with you.

Loki loves you dearly. He also loves not spending forever doing the dishes.

“Okay. What is your problem?” You scoff. You’ll never finish editing if he keeps interrupting your train of thought every few seconds. “You know I drink a lot of coffee.”

“And what exactly prevents you from doing so out of one mug?”

“If I was in a coffee shop they’d bring a clean mug each time.” You cross your arms. 

Petulant. Like a child. Such is your nature, and it amuses Loki.

When it’s not aimed at him.

“Well, you’re not. You’re at home, where you refuse to do the dishes, and your god has been suffering.” Loki complains. You narrow your eyes at his whining tinged tone. 

“Darling. I am tired of dishwasher duty. There’s two of us. The dishes say there’s at least seven people living here.” He deadpans.

“Ohmygoddddd, I’ll use one mug if it gets you to let me finish this in peace.” 

“That’s all I ask.” Loki says softly.

The tension between you dissipates. You bite your bottom lip.

“Love you,” you mumble, eyes searching his expression for reassurance. It’s not like this was a fight, but the whole thing put you somewhat on edge. 

Loki smiles, disappearing in front of your eyes and reappearing behind your seat. He leans down to press a kiss to your hair.

“I love you too,” he murmurs into it. 

“Remember. One mug.” Loki says before he’s gone, leaving behind empty air. You swat at it anyway. 

What a menace.

–

In theory the one mug thing goes great. You wash it out, reuse it… Except… Something about this method doesn’t quite work for your brain.

Particularly the memory part. As in memorizing exactly how much coffee you’ve had.

The next day Loki watches you as you bounce your leg while working. It’s not something you usually do. The god has observed you enough times where he knows your typical movements when you write; rubbing your face, pushing back your hair, readjusting your sitting position… But never this. 

You told him you were starting a new chapter, and Loki wonders if you’re anxious because you’re self imposing another ridiculous deadline, but your face doesn’t show any of its usual signs for nervousness. You look focused, like you don’t even notice what your leg’s doing.

Once Loki realizes he might not be able to pinpoint what exactly is going on, he decides to inquire about it.

“Darling?” He asks gingerly.

“Yes, baby?” Your head shoots in his direction with lightspeed. 

Loki grimaces as he quickly theorizes what’s going on with you, the fast reaction can only mean one thing – he suspects you went overboard with caffeine again. His theory is confirmed when he tunes in with his magic to listen to your heartbeat. 

Your poor heart is working overtime, pounding in your chest way faster than it has any business to.

“How much coffee have you had?” Loki narrows his eyes, frowning at the thought of you treating coffee as meals. Again.

“Uhmmm,” you look at your mug thoughtfully, mentally trying to run through each time you’ve gotten yourself your writer fuel that day, “you know… a few… Not a worrying amount.” Avoiding eye contact you add a quiet: “Probably.”

Your memory is blurring together. Was it two or three cups of coffee?

You had tea first and then switched over… Was it three with the tea? You think this is your second cup of coffee. A little voice in the back of your head wonders if it’s possible that it’s really the third and you’re completely blanking.

“Yes, but how many?” Loki cocks an eyebrow at you.  

“What are you, the coffee police?” You huff, refusing to look him in the eye and choosing to use the laptop between you two as a shield. 

“You don’t know, do you?” Loki sighs, starting to feel guilty because he knows your memory tends to be flaky. He more than likely caused this issue with yesterday’s complaint.

“What? Don’t be silly. That would be implying I can’t count.” You laugh nervously, avoiding admitting your memory troubles.

“If so, then give me the number.” He challenges.

You hesitate.

“You forgot, didn’t you?”

“It blurred together.” You groan, shoulders slumping in defeat.

“Perhaps one mug wasn’t such a bright idea.”

“Maybe not.” You shrug.

drabbles/headcannons/blurbs

coming soon

·༻𐫱༺··༻𐫱༺··༻𐫱༺··༻𐫱༺··༻𐫱༺··༻𐫱༺··༻𐫱༺··༻𐫱༺·

one shots

Everglow (one shot) @flowersforbucky

When I Look at Your (one shot) @raven-dor

It's Always Been You (one shot) @violetflowerswrites

Divine Depravity (one shot) @lostalioth

Sugar Sugar (one shot) @dumbfantasy

I'll Take Care of it (one shot) @lokileaf

To Touch (one shot) @hannibals-favourite-meal

Expecting Love (one shot) @theleavesofwesteros

The Finest Asgardian Ale (one shot) @lizmaximoff

·༻𐫱༺··༻𐫱༺··༻𐫱༺··༻𐫱༺··༻𐫱༺··༻𐫱༺··༻𐫱༺··༻𐫱༺·

multiple parts/series

/

You’ve been itching for an art project when the brilliant idea found you. 

Much of the pictures you and Loki took lived in your phone. Sure, there’d been the occasional times you happened to catch moments on film, but most of it was digital, much like everything in this day and age.

Well, no more. Strategically, you gathered all the supplies you might need and soon enough it was you, a pair of scissors, a glue stick, markers, stickers, washi tape and way too many containers of glitter, having the time of your life as you worked to make a little you-and-Loki themed scrapbook. 

It would be perfect. All this time, you’d been collecting memories in a box and now they’d get their home. Notes you’d exchanged with him at the beginning of your relationship, the receipt from your first date that you sneaked into your purse when he wasn’t looking, pressed flowers, movie theatre tickets, even wrappers of treats he’d shared with you, as ridiculous as it sounded. You’d kept it all.

You were gluing down a particularly silly picture of Loki. One of your favorites and one of the very first where you’d caught him so carefree in a photo. His grin was wide, making the corners of his eyes crinkle as he hunched over in laughter.

It was only a matter of time before Loki showed up to investigate what had you hiding out in your bedroom for so long. Your place had been so unusually quiet while he worked on cooking lunch, it struck him as strange.

You grinned as he stepped into your bedroom, pulling your headphones down to snuggly rest around your neck. “Hiiii!” You beamed at him from your spot on the floor, surrounded by complete chaos. 

Loki gasped, let out a breath, then planted his hands on his hips, giving you a stern look that bordered on amusement. “Tornado in our bedroom. I wasn’t invited?” He teased.

“It’s coming together very well, thanks for asking,” you rolled your eyes playfully, rebuking.

Loki’s hands shot up in defense. “No, no, I know. I should not be one to judge. But darling, whatever fandom got its claws into you this time, there’s still time to escape, I’m sure of it!” He dramatized in true Loki fashion.

You smoothed out the picture of him as you replied.

“No fandom. Just us.” 

Loki’s head tilted curiously as you said that. He didn’t rush over, not wanting to appear too eager but he very much needed to see this. He sat by you on the floor, frowning as he took in the picture of himself.

“That’s hardly flattering, darling.” 

“What are you talking about? It’s one of my favorites!”

Loki pressed his fist to his mouth in contemplation. You narrowed your eyes.

“I’m not joking.” You said finally, leaning over to pick up green glitter. Loki quickly took it out of your hands, shaking his head disapprovingly.

“What?”

“Not in here, unless you intend to vacuum.” Loki said flatly, making all the glitter disappear with his magic.

“Hey!” You complained. “Don’t be a damn glitter thief, you can use magic to clean it up.” You crossed your arms, grumbling at him.

“You can do it in Thor’s room.” Loki offered.

“We’re at our place.”

“I can teleport you.” 

“Don’t be ridiculous.”

“Too late.”

Things around you shifted and in a blink of an eye, you were surrounded by bright red walls instead of the soothing green of your own bedroom.

On your left was a shelf with boxes of poptarts, and under it a clothing rack full of poptarts merch. Hoodies upon hoodies and shirts upon shirts lined up in various shades of blue and some white.

“Your brother has poptarts merch?” You gasped.

“It’s his dirty little secret,” Loki grinned. “If you look in his dresser you might even discover he owns several pairs of poptarts socks and even hats. It's his leisure attire.” 

You slapped your hand to your mouth in a poor attempt to hold your laughter, Loki, however was already chuckling.

“Oh no, by all means, do laugh, it’s hilarious,” Loki’s eyes glinted, “I am positive that my brother is their number one fan and the sole reason why they stay in business. I would not be surprised to find he begs Stark to stock a warehouse with boxes of the stuff for ‘Avenger purposes’, just to inhale it all himself.”

“Loki! Don’t be mean.” 

“The truth can’t be helped.” Loki shrugged, easing off nonetheless.

Perhaps Thor could do with a few poptart plushies or a poptart phone case for Christmas. You were sure he’d appreciate it.

Looking around the room, you noticed Mjölnir laid on one side of the bed on an elaborately decorative pillow. You raised an eyebrow at it, pointing it out to Loki. He shook his head, lips pressed into a line, eyes betraying his amusement. “Best not to question it.” He said.

“Do you fancy raiding their fridge while we’re here? I’m starving.” Loki smirked slyly.

“You cooked lunch.” You reminded him pointedly. “You did cook lunch, right? It was your turn–”

“As I said; I’m starving,” Loki laughed, peeking out the door before sneaking his way to the kitchen.

Damn menace and his schemes.

You followed after him. After all, Loki was your way home, you would not walk.

So much for your scrapbook.

/