Pee Paw Miller Lifestyle Blog

To begin, i’ll give a list of a few Mando’a words related to food and eating (via mandocreator.com):

“Kai : food”

“Skraan: food, *scran* (generic slang for a meal)”

“Kai’tome : meal (lit. food together)”

“Gett : a nut (generic food) (pl. gett’se)”

“Gaid : plate - for armor or food use; armor was often used to heat food over open fires in the field”

“Draluram : vivid - used only of food, to indicate strong, distinct flavour (lit. *bright mouth* - one of the four essentials of Mandalorian cooking)”

“Hetikleyc : spicy, as in makes the sinuses burn (a sensation like eating horseradish or wasabi)”

“Heturam : "mouthburn" - a sought-after state of intense burning in the mouth brought about by very spicy food - see also hetikleyc”

“Ori’skraan : A delicacy, a real treat in terms of food; A blow-out meal, a feast (slang), *big eats*”

“Pirijanad : hot sauce”

“Skraan'ikase : assorted small snacks like meze or tapas - *small eats* - a celebratory meal for Mandos because it can take hours to eat, and the dishes are often fiddly, a contrast to the easy-to-eat, quick meals necessary in the field”

“Yai’yai : *richly nourishing* - peculiarly Mandalorian description of dense, high-calorie food, of great importance to people dependent on highly portable field rations”

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Canon & Legends Mandalorian Foods (via wookiepedia, mandocreator, and…cook books…?):

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Pog Soup:

This one needs no real introduction. Bo-Katan famously touts Pog Soup as a mandalorian staple. Disney/Lucasfilm released an official recipe for pog soup, it is essentially a thai coconut curry.

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Tiingilar:

an extremely spicy mandalorian stew. Tiingilar means “eat at your own risk.”

Actually available in Disneyland as a stew of shrimp, sausage, and pasta

There is a cookbook that has a full recipe for Tiingilar, which is essentially a curry (like pog soup). In the interest of playing it excessively safe, I will quote the excerpt from the book and give a description of the ingredients. If you’d like to make it yourself, there definitely aren’t PDFs of the cook book floating around. Wink wink.

“Mandalorians were proud warriors with a real reputation for toughness. If somethin' didn't pose a challenge, it wasn't worth their time. Apparently, that point of view carried over into suppertime as well, as evidenced by this traditional stew that's so blazin' hot it'll burn the hair right outta your nostrils. This old Mandalorian gem is known in their native tongue as tingilar—| ain't fluent in Mando'a, but I assume it roughly translates to "eat at your own risk." Combinin' a hearty blend of meat and veg with a scorchin' seasonin' mix, this concoction would make even the hardiest Mandalorian sweat themselves right outta that crazy armor of theirs.” - Strono Tuggs; Star Wars: Galaxy's Edge: The Official Black Spire Outpost Cookbook

notable ingredients include onion, garlic, ginger, chicken, apple, carrots, potatoes, garam masala, curry powder, tomato paste, broth, and couscous.

Considering the discrepancies between the two recipes, I fully wholeheartedly believe Tiingilar eventually became a general name for an extremely spicy stew. The only hard requirements is that it is blisteringly spicy, contains meat, a starch, and some kind of vegetable. I imagine that different regions and tribes have wildly different variations and recipes, and it makes sense that one mando would have a very, very different idea of what good tiingilar is than another mando.

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Cassius Tea:

a tea brewed from cassius tree florets, believed to bring good health (via wookiepedia)

Chamomile, Chrysanthemum, Hibiscus, Jasmine, Rose, Honeysuckle, Osmanthus, and Lavender are all examples of floral teas-- I like to think the flavor profile of Cassius tea is similar to jasmine or lavender tea.

the flowers come from the Cassius tree. This is unconfrimed, but I assume the tree is named after Cassus Fett- AKA Mandalore the Ultimate.

There is a real-life Cassia tree (Cassia fistula), which may be the alternative point of inspiration. The seeds, as well as other parts of the tree, are considered toxic. Please do not try to make any teas, cookies, or tinctures from any parts of this tree. The Cassia tree is used in traditional herbalism, but it is strongly discouraged to attempt to use the plant parts to self-medicate-- a common medicinal use is as a potent laxative. The appearance of the tree is gorgeous, and I mention the tree because its stunning appearance may be a point of inspiration in writing for Cassius tea and Cassius tea cookies.

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Cassius Tea Cookies :

Another recipe from one of Strono Tuggs' cookbooks; the recipe is for a sugar cookie with black sesame seeds. It's intended to be cookies created using Cassius Tea seeds; much like earl-grey tea & earl-grey cookies.

"This tea biscuit made with the cassius flower's tiny black seeds. I s'pose you could enjoy a steaming mug of cassius tea with out one, but if you're hopin' to experience the true taste of Mandalore, this is the way." - Strono Tuggs ; Star Wars: The Ultimate Cookbook

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Uj’alayi:

Mandalorian fruit cake-- made from ground nuts and dried fruits, soaked in spiced syrup.

I imagine this cake is ideal for field conditions-- the dense cakes would keep well in ration packs, the spiced syrup can be made in-field and added later, and it's cute to imagine a group of Mandos passing around hunks of sweet, syrupy cake. It also sounds very high-nutrition-- dried fruits provide vitamins, nuts provide essential fats and proteins, and sugar is essential to energy and morale. A definite staple.

Looks like a dense brown cake, packed with chopped almonds and soaked in syrup. The ingredients for the cake include "walnuts, hazelnuts, almonds, candied peel, golden raisins, dried figs, dried currants, dried cherries, flour, candied ginger, cinnamon, mace, pepper, curry powder and salt. The syrup includes honey, pomegranate/date molasses, and butter."

The recipe (and listed ingredients) for this is included in Strono Tuggs' cookbook:

"The sweet, sticky cake known as uj'alayi is a traditional Mandalorian dessert, the secret recipe for which was handed down through the generations."―Strono Tuggs; Star Wars: The Official Black Spire Outpost Cookbook

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Ne’tra gal :

“black ale - sweet, almost spicy black beer similar to milk stout” (via mandocreator)

Milk Stout is an ale brewed with lactose-- these milk sugars are not fermented with the rest of the stout, making the beer rich, slightly sweet, and slightly creamy. Visually similar to Guinness-- dark and opaque.

A spicy-sweet dark ale sounds fucking fantastic and I'm upset I can't drink any right now-- some real-life variations of spiced milk stout are made to taste like chai! Jealous.

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Kri’gee :

a bitter mandalorian ale with a high alcohol content. Viewed as a challenge not only for its taste, but for the severe hangover it can cause. (via wookiepedia)

a comparable real-life ale would be bitter pale-ale-- usually translucent and golden, like traditional beer.

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Tihaar :

“a strong, clear liquor made from fruit— similar to eau de vie” (via mandocreator)

eau de vie is a distilled spirit similar to brandy made from fruit, and the flavor of the fruit is concentrated in the drink. Its used to make cocktails, enjoyed on its own, or as a digestif— I can see big celebratory Mandalorian dinners having these in stock, particularly for a Skraan’ikase, where the foods are meant to be savored and enjoyed slowly.

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Speculations, Suggestions, Et Cetera:

A collection of my own ideas and speculation, largely based on the information above.

Mandalorian cuisine is absolutely broad-reaching due to the highly diverse melting-pot culture! There is no real wrong answer when writing the foods your mandos are eating. The galaxy is an unfathomably massive place and mandalorians have been found all-over at some point or another-- get creative, take liberties. There are no wrong answers.

Off-Field Meals:

"Finnicky" foods are often shared on special occasions or holidays (see Skraan'ikase above.) Real-life foods that are meant to be shared, or require some form of intensive manual preparation/assembly, could serve as points of inspiration-- to include charcuterie, tapas, mezedes, sushi, crab legs, deviled eggs, kebab, cooked artichoke, hard-shelled nuts, korean hotpot, crawfish, shrimp cocktail, raw fruits and vegetables, etc etc! If it wouldn't be seen in a ready-to-eat ration pack, it's fair game for a skraan'ikase.

Home-cooked meals would be seen as delicacies in their own right, especially to traditionalist or nomadic mandalorians. Offering any mando a warm, home-cooked meal and a safe place to rest is no small thing.

Mandalorian food would likely be rich in beans/legumes. They're complete proteins, versatile, and easily stored long-term. Even if most prepared rations include them as a rule, it's likely that beans are a staple in mandalorian home-cooked meals.

On-the-Field Meals:

Again-- beans. Dried beans are found on any ship. I guarantee you that Din Djarin keeps a bag of dried legumes stashed in his rations for emergencies.

Ration packs in greater Star Wars lore include nutrient-dense bars and pastes, but may include dried soups, stews, and jerky. Real-life MREs are a good example-- add water, heat, eat.

I like to imagine that fresh fruits and vegetables are exchanged like currency on the field. Make a point of offering any mandalorians you see some fresh fruits and vegetables; their eyes will light up so bright you'll see it through their T-visors.

He’s tall, broad, graying, and stern. His dark brown eyes apprise every counselor in front of him as the group gathers on the camp’s front lawn two weeks before opening day. He goes over the rules and expectations of all staff members. You pay attention even though it’s the same old drill: no fucking around during working hours, make sure the campers are safe at all times, please report injuries and have them sent to the nurses station, et cetera. You could recite the rules by heart.

Only one thing has you concerned.

You raise your hand to speak. Joel glances over at you but continues talking, stressing the importance of keeping away from drugs and alcohol during the next two weeks, especially once the campers come on opening day. You know all that. Still, you wait with your hand raised until Joel sighs, giving you time to speak.

“What happened to Frankie?”

Joel tries really hard not to roll his eyes. “Francisco Morales won’t be here to help us set up. He’ll be here on the camp’s opening day.” He snorts, arms crossed as he eyes you up and down. “What, is he your boyfriend or somethin’?”

“No..” you reply, unable to stop the embarrassment from creeping up your spine. Of course you and Frankie hadn’t set any firm definitions about what you are, but the past two years you’ve spent here have also been spent by fucking him in the woods during early morning hikes, blowing him in the storage shed, and sneaking him into your cabin to have him go down on you all night.

You have his number, but there’s been no answer when you’ve called before driving up to the campsite. You wonder what’s keeping him from being here.

Piper, the girl you’ve hated since you’ve been counselors together these past few years, shoots a smug look your way as the meeting is adjourned, and she walks off with Joel’s arm around her waist. She glances over her shoulder at you, giving you the finger.

She’s just jealous because Frankie chose you over her two years ago. She hasn’t let you alone in peace since.

Joel is a hard task master. At dawn he has the counselors up and jogging through the trail in the woods and chopping firewood before breakfast. Swim safety is in the afternoon when the heat is at its worst, the air humid with the scent of sunblock and stagnant lake water. At the very least you’re given some time to lay out in the sun afterward, drying off on the warm boards of the dock.

Back at the cabins only two people are unaccounted for – Piper and Joel. The other counselors make crude guesses as to where they are and what they’re doing. You’re elected to go and find them before it gets dark. Piper has dinner duty and Maya refuses to do all the cooking alone.

Slipping on your jean shorts, your towel slung over your shoulders to catch the water droplets from your still-damp hair, you set out in search of Joel and Piper.

The sun is just starting to set when you find them in a thick copse of trees near the edge of the forest, Piper pressed against a tree as Joel’s fingering her, his hand down the front of her red bikini bottom as he plunges inside her, head bent close to her ear, muttering dirty things. You stop, half-hidden by the trees as you watch them, your own pussy growing wet just bearing witness. You know you should turn and leave, forget you ever saw this, just tell the others that Piper and Joel are coming back soon.

But you’re frozen to the spot, watching them in the secrecy of the woods, your own hand ghosting over your clothed clit, imagining what Joel’s thick, rough fingers must feel like.

There’s a sharp snap of a twig that echoes in the air, causing Piper and Joel to quickly part. You’re already hurrying down the path, shame and lust heating your cheeks.

Everyone is split up in pairs, the counselor bunks only small enough to house two comfortably, and unfortunately Joel assigns you and Piper together. You tell yourself it’ll just be a couple months and most days will be too busy for you to have to deal with her very much.

Piper grabs the top bunk before you have a chance to claim it. But once you’re settled in the bottom, she makes you switch back after she finds a spiderweb too close to the ceiling.

But even your nights can’t be peaceful. Joel sneaks in after lights out, and you have to endure the soft giggles and moans coming from the bunk below you. The entire bed frame rocks with Joel’s thrusts as he fucks your bunkmate.

Great, just great.

They make no effort to hide whatever’s going on between them. His hand is permanently on her ass, barely clothed in the camp counselor uniform shorts, his entire paw covering her ass cheek. The others don’t notice or don’t care, too caught up in their own romantic entanglements.

It only makes you miss Frankie more. Out here in the woods you have no way of contacting him except through the main office line, but Joel stands right in front of anyone who wants to call home, dials the number on the rotary phone, and waits with arms crossed as the call is made. Nobody does personal calls while he’s in charge.

You try to keep yourself busy with helping get the camp ready. The grass near the cabins is maintained, repairs are made to the buildings themselves (which Joel oversees, and you can’t help but to check him out a little while he’s fixing the sign above the infirmary – he looks too good with a hammer), checking that the generators are working properly, and that the electrical system and water pressure are good.

There’s so much to do that by the time you climb up into your bunk you fall asleep as soon as your head hits the pillow.

The only thing that could possibly wake you is Joel fucking Piper in the bunk below yours.

Joel’s grunts and groans, paired with Piper’s moaning and gasping, keep you awake. You lose count of how many rounds they go, the entire bed bunk frame shaking with their movements. And at one point you can’t help it as your fingers travel beneath your sleep shorts, finding your wet pussy and tracing your slit. Two fingers fit inside you easily as you lift your legs to get comfortable. Closing your eyes you start fucking yourself on your hand, imagining Joel’s fingers inside of you instead of yours.

You’re trying desperately to keep your whimpering to a minimum but you doubt they’ll hear you over their own sounds. Your fingers match the pace of Joel’s thrusts, though you imagine his cock is a lot bigger than your two fingers combined. And the way he’s been fucking Piper for almost an hour solidifies the fact that his stamina is good.

Your fingers glide over your clit, circling and swiping, your hips arching up as you chase the friction you so desperately need for your release as you listen to Piper’s moans and Joel’s increasing grunts. Eyes squeezed tight you plunge your fingers as deep as you can, timing it just right with Piper’s final, momentous scream. You try to keep as quiet as possible as your release coats your hand, clit throbbing, legs quaking.

Joel corners you after breakfast the next morning, barring you from following the others to the field where a soccer match was planned. Instead he drags you to the boat shed. You hate it there. It’s dusty and cramped and there are cobwebs in the corners.

“What’s wrong?” you ask, your heart in your throat as Joel peers down at you, something unreadable in his deep brown eyes.

“What’s wrong?” he mimics you. “You think I don’t know you were gettin’ yourself off to me and Piper last night?”

The blood drains from your face, leaving you cold. “Wh-what?”

“Stop actin’ innocent. You weren’t exactly quiet. Piper was laughin’ at you, sayin’ you’re a lonely little virgin.”

“I’m not a virgin,” you tell him tersely.

“Really?” Joel’s voice is full of derision. “Prove it.”

The blood drains from your face. “H-how?”

“You’re a smart girl. You know how.” But just to be mean he explains it in detail. “How about you bend over–” he slaps the hull of a nearby canoe and puts his hand on your lower back, pressuring you towards it. “--pull those pretty little short-shorts down and let me check for myself.”

“You’re not serious,” you sputter.

“You afraid or somethin’?” he smirks.

You’re not afraid per se. But you’re definitely wet enough so that he’ll tease you if he finds out. “Of course not,” you stand up to him boldly.

He looks amused by this, and the way he cups his bulge in his own shorts shows he’s more than a little turned on. Your eyes drop down to where his thick cock is hardening under the skin-tight fabric.

With determination in your eyes, you’re certain of yourself when you reach up and grab Joel by the nape of his neck, kissing him. His eyes go wide at the initial shock of surprise, but then they close, a deep and satisfied growl in his chest as he kisses you back, his tongue slipping past your lips. Your gasp turns into a soft moan as his large paw on your lower back presses you closer to him, rubbing his hard-on against you.

“I bet this pussy’s already soaked,” he mutters, finally breaking from the kiss to nip at your neck. “But first..” he pulls away, a devilish look in his eye. “Lift up that shirt, honey, and lemme see those pretty titties.”

You scoff despite the fact that you are indeed soaked, but you’re already this far in. You might as well go all the way. You lift up your shirt, your white lacy bra on full display. Joel’s big meaty hands pull down the cups, palming your tits with his rough bare hands, bouncing them in his palms. “Look at these.. you gonna lemme suck ‘em?”

Fuck. This isn’t going how you expected but you can’t complain. You nod and he immediately pulls you close, picking you up and pinning you against the canoe as he takes your nipple in his mouth, groaning, using his free hand to pinch your other nipple. “So sweet,” he groans, releasing off you with a wet pop before sucking on the other.

“Joel!” you gasp, a fresh wave of wetness seeping through your underwear.

“Don’t worry, I’m gettin’ there,” he mumbles, helping you shimmy out of your shorts and pressing you forward against the boat. He lands a quick spank across your ass cheek, chuckling at the way your flesh jiggles and the sound of your yelp. Then he spreads your cheeks wide. “Look at that.. pretty as the mornin’ dew..” He kneels down and laps at your honey, making you moan. Almost too late you catch yourself, muffling your own sounds with your palm.

His large, rough hand trails down your spine, keeping you in place as the thick head of his cock slides through your folds, collecting your wetness and teasing you as he slides between your cheeks. You mewl in protest as he chuckles. “Maybe you’re right, maybe you’re not a virgin. Not the way you’re actin’ so greedy for my cock. Well darlin’, take it..”

He eases into you, using shallow thrusts and you can’t help but exhale, the rush of breath leaving you in surprise before he angles you down, sliding in to the hilt. “You’re full of me now,” he grunts out, holding steady to your hips. “God damn, tighter than a nun’s asshole.”

Your walls flutter around him with each stroke, your hands bracing you against the smooth wood of the upturned canoe. You whimper in time with each smooth thrust. Each time Joel bottoms out you feel it deep in your belly, probably deeper than anyone’s ever gone.

“Wish you could see how you’re soakin’ me,” Joel grunts, giving a few quick thrusts to let you hear the sound of your sloppy pussy. “How do you like it, darlin’? You want me to make a mess of you inside, or do you need me to pull out and shove this cock down your throat so you can swallow my load?”

“I-inside,” you pant. “I have an IUD.”

“That’s a relief,” Joel mutters, speeding up, one big hand wrapping around your front to tickle your clit. “C’mon, baby, need you to come on my cock before I bust inside you..”

He slows down just enough for you to work your way up to it, the heat building in your belly and your core, moaning at the way he lifts your hips to meet each thrust, sweat gathering at your temples. “Joel,” you whine, thinking of nothing but the way he’s fucking and filling and stretching your cunt. With an expertly angled thrust home you fall apart, moaning his name as you squeeze around him, and he picks up the pace, slamming into you until he swells inside you, his hot cum painting your walls. His cock is still twitching in the aftershocks when he finally releases his grip on your hips and pulls out of you. You quickly shove your underwear and shorts back on to catch his leavings already starting to leak out.

“Smart girl, bein’ on birth control,” Joel mutters, stuffing himself back into his own shorts. “I wish Piper was responsible like that.”

You school your features into nonchalance after you pull your shirt back down. There’s a little stab of guilt when you realize you’ve just fucked your bunkmate’s boyfriend.. even if she is a bitch. “What do you mean?” you ask innocently.

He reddens, as if he shouldn’t have spoken. “You’re sworn to secrecy, alright? Piper’s pregnant.”

“What?” Joel immediately clamps his hand over your mouth. He still smells like sex.

“Shut. Up,” he warns. “If I find out you told anyone else you’re packin’ your bags and goin’ home. Understand?”

You nod and whisper “Yes,” when he removes his hand. “It’s yours?”

He scoffs. “She says so. Still– not a peep. Got it?”

Piper becomes grumpy when Joel’s visits make an abrupt stop. But she’s no bitchier than usual, likely trying to get back into Joel’s good graces. Little does she know he’s only stopped coming to her because he’s taken up fucking you instead – in the storage shed, in the empty cots in the infirmary, the walk-in pantry in the kitchen. He maintains the position that he doesn’t like you very much while you’re in front of the others, sometimes giving you tasks you have to complete on your own – with the sole purpose of finding you to hook up.

The last night before the campers are due, everyone lets loose. Couples sneak off into the woods with sleeping bags and sinful intentions, some stay on the pier by the lake, drinking and laughing.

You’re the only one who’s made it to your bunk at an appropriate hour, wanting a full night’s rest before the big day. But your sleep is interrupted when Joel and Piper come in, slamming the door behind them, all over each other, kissing and giggling. With a silent groan you put your pillow over your head, already expecting to drown out the noises they’re about to make, which are going to keep you up all night.

They’re in the bottom bunk, a little quieter now that their mouths are busy. But soon there’s that familiar rocking rhythm and the sound of Piper’s moans and squeals, coming to a crescendo. Once again Joel’s stamina is off the charts. You’re in the middle of pleasuring yourself, two fingers shoved as deep as you can go, when everything stops and you hear Joel murmuring. There’s a creak as he gets out of the bunk, and Piper giggles as he positions her facing away. Now Joel’s eye level with your bunk and you gasp as you come face to face with him. He winks at you.

“What do you think you’re doing?” you whisper as quietly as you can.

“She caught up with me. I couldn’t shake her,” he explains just as softly. “Don’t leave me hangin’, sweetheart. Bring that pretty pussy to my face.”

Without hesitating you lift up your nightdress, scooting to the edge of the bed, thighs spread around Joel’s face as he fucks into Piper – oblivious to everything going on – in the bottom bunk. He’s got his dick buried in her while he’s eating you out. You’ve never experienced anything hotter.

You hear Piper’s staccato cries as Joel pounds into her from behind, his own moans humming through your flesh, heightening your arousal, your clit standing at attention between Joel’s lips, his mustache tickling your soft skin. You already know you’re going to come when your legs start shaking, toes curling at the waves of pressure building up in your very core.

“Joel!” you try to whisper as softly as possible. “Joel!.. I’m gonna come!”

He only smacks harder into Piper, her own cries louder than yours. “Come for me,” he whispers back, the tip of his tongue giving one teasing swirl around your pearl before he dives back in. Your back arches off the bed, lightning shooting through your veins as your cunt pulses, drenching Joel’s mouth as you come. He groans, licking up every drop, watching you through his lashes. “Good girl,” he whispers, backing off when you become too sensitive, his lips warm on your inner thigh, stubble scratching at your soft skin as he pulls off of Piper, turning her around so she’s sucking him off.

You hear her moaning and sighing, gagging on his cock. Meanwhile Joel lazily fingers you, scissoring his digits inside your sloppy pussy, his eyes black and glossy while Piper deep-throats him. Your fingers card through his hair as you ignore the softening of your heart in seeing him so tame and vulnerable.

Your name is on his lips but he moans Piper just in the nick of time, his breaths growing unsteady as he comes close to the end, getting ready to bust in Piper’s mouth. You take his head in your cupped hands. “Come, Joel.. give her what she wants,” you whisper. He groans, his thrusts getting sloppy as he fucks his girlfriend’s throat, stilling at last, his features tensing then relaxing as Piper gasps softly, swallowing his thick load.

The next day Joel treats you the same as he always has. Everyone’s minds are on the Opening Day festivities ahead, even if some of the counselors look like they’ve only had a couple hours’ sleep. You’re bright-eyed and bushy-tailed, not just because of last night, but because you’re genuinely excited for summer camp to officially begin.

The campers hurry out of the stuffy buses and onto the rolling green grass, toting duffel bags, wearing the gold and blue camp tees and ball caps, eager for their summer to begin. Everyone is assigned to a counselor, and as soon as your group is ready you start to lead them to their cabin. You have a full day ahead: a quick icebreaker so everyone can become acquainted, a scavenger hunt that will enable the kids to work as a team, then a game of capture the flag, then lunch. You have your day cut out for you, and in the back of your mind you wonder if you’ll cross paths with Joel again..

Your thoughts are interrupted by someone shouting back at the buses. All the counselors turn to look, surprise written on their faces as they find one more latecomer to Camp Happy Trail.

Frankie Morales, adjusting the Standard Oil cap on his head, dark curls already sticking to the sweat on his neck, hurries off the last bus. His royal blue camp tee clings to his torso like sin, accentuating his broad frame. You’re speechless when he reaches you, putting his arms around you and lifting you off the ground before landing a big kiss on your lips. The campers are grossed out, giggling and making faces.

When he pulls away, cupping your face in his hands, you can feel everyone’s eyes on you, just as shocked as you are to see him finally arrive. “I missed you, babe,” he says, planting one more kiss on your forehead. “So what have I missed?”

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You don’t know how you get through dinner; you must have gone on some kind of small talk auto-pilot because if Mark knew just how much your mind was preoccupied by another man while he was being nothing but genuine and engaging, he probably would have thrown a glass of wine in your face.

Outside of the restaurant, Mark gives you a shy look and asks if you want to get ice cream for second dessert.  Oh man, he really is good guy.

“Oh Mark, I really cannot believe I’m turning down ice cream, but I have something to confess to you,” you look apologetic and hope he’ll let you say what you think he deserves to hear.

“Honestly, Mark – you’re a dream date.  You’re smart and funny and Jen was so right, you’re a fucking catch.  I can’t tell you how guilty I’ve been feeling because I don’t think I’ve been reciprocating the energy and effort that you deserve.  I don’t know if Jen told you, but I got out of a relationship a while ago and I thought I was ready to date again – but being with you tonight… I realize I’m completely out of my element.  I don’t have any business going out with a great guy like you – not right now anyways.  I’m so sorry.”

Mark looks surprised, but his tone is understanding, “Oh!  Wow.  Jen did say something about that – I’m sorry about your last relationship.  It sounds like it really did a number on you.  If it makes you feel better – I had a great time.  I didn’t in anyway feel like I was carrying the date or anything.  And if tonight was you not feeling like you’re up to dating again, then I can’t quite imagine what it would be like to date you when it’s something you’re ready to put your all into.  Thanks for being honest.  When you feel like you’re ready to give dating another shot – think of me?”

It’s a generous and gentlemanly response; you really couldn’t ask for anything more.  The two of you part ways with a light hug outside the restaurant; Mark offers to call you a cab, but you let him know you’ll be fine, and wave appreciatively as he drives away in the car the valet brings him. 

Sighing a heavy sigh, you’re just thinking it might be best if you send Jen a message to let her know how the date went before Mark does when you hear a crash coming from the alleyway next to the restaurant.

Curiosity getting the best of you, you walk over to the side of the building and peek around the corner; there in the alley is the occupier of all your current thoughts, Din, kicking garbage cans in frustration.  When you see him punch the brick wall of the building and shake out his fist, your legs carry you to him as if on instinct – unable to see Din hurt without the urge rising to comfort and soothe him.

Din has both of his palms up against the wall when you close in on him, leaning his weight against his hands with his eyes closed, breathing heavy.

“Din?  Are you okay?” you ask softly, not wanting to startle him.

He looks up, surprised at your appearance – eyes stormy, the rich browns of his irises full of emotion, “I’m okay, pretty bird.”

Pretty bird.  Your heart swells at the familiar term of endearment that you thought you’d never hear again.  It’s like music to your ears.

“This doesn’t look okay,” you gently pull the hand that you saw him shake in pain away from the wall, turning it over and cradling it in your hands - gasping a little when you see his knuckles scraped and bleeding.  Din watches your pretty face cloud with concern as you take a handkerchief from your purse and delicately wrap it around his wounded hand; tying it snugly against his palm before turning his hand over and bringing his knuckles to your lips, pressing a tender kiss against the makeshift bandage.

“Thank you, baby.”

You’re looking at him with such a sweet expression that Din’s heart starts to ache again; he has to remind himself that your concern isn’t really for him particularly – it’s just your kind nature, “Where’s your date?  Did he go and get the car or something?”

You shrug good naturedly, “I sent him home.  Would you mind putting me in a cab, Din?”

“Of course.” As Din walks with you back towards the street, his injured hand rests protectively on your lower back and the gesture causes a chill to run up your spine.

It’s not in uncomfortable silence that the two of you wait on the curb, but Din is afraid that if he doesn’t engage you in some type of conversation, you and this moment will disappear before his mind registers it as being real, “Why did you send your date home?  Did he try something?” His eyes darken.

You shake your head lightly; Din’s protective nature is exactly as you remember - you’ve missed it, “No, nothing like that.  He was fine, really.”  You can’t deny it any longer, you’ve missed him, “He just wasn’t… you.”  With this admission you look up at Din and search his eyes – does he miss you too?

“Oh, pretty bird,” Din manages to breathe out before he descends on your mouth, kissing you fully and so full of longing and desperation he’s afraid he might actually break you.  Your arms fly up of their own accord and wrap around Din’s neck, pulling him closer, closer, closer; your fingers thread and tug at the loose curls at the nape of his neck and you long to run your hands through his hair again - you refrain, not wanting to mess up his hairstyle.  He’s yours and you’re his again in this kiss – every brush of your lips, every step in the dance of your tongues a testament to how much you’ve missed each other.

You’re melting.  Melting into Din’s strong arms and the safety of his hold, reveling in the warmth of his affections.  It’s like you’ve never left, his body molds to yours, fitting so right – pressed flushed against Din, you dare anything to try and get between the two of you right now.

Parting reluctantly when you hear the slow crunch of tires coming to a stop next to you, Din kisses your forehead gently before seeing you into the backseat of the cab.  When you see him open the passenger side door and speak to the driver, you recall with a surge of affection that cab ride after Katie’s birthday when you and Din reconnected after your brief separation.  Once again, Din tells the driver your address and emphasizes the importance of getting you home safely, punctuating his point with an overly generous tip.  Your heart swells at the memory – the déjà vu driving home how everything about your relationship had been real.

When Din comes back to see you in the backseat, your eyes are bright and full of feeling – he’s here, the sweet man who always takes care of everyone, who only every wanted to take care of you; he’s right here in front of you again.  Bringing your hand up to Din’s cheek, your heart soars when he leans into your palm with a smile; the soft feel and weight of his face familiar and comforting.

“Din, I know you didn’t sleep with Vanessa,” you say simply with no room for argument – a simple fact.  Now that you’ve said it out loud, it seems so fucking obvious.  How could you have ever believed that this man could have been capable of such a betrayal?

Simplicity and truth are all that Din can afford as well, “Of course not.  How could I ever want anyone else when I had you?  The perfect woman.  You’re the love of my life, pretty bird.  Would never cheat on you.”

The sincerity of his words brings tears to your eyes, “Then why, Din?  Why would you want me to think that you had?”

You look so confused and sad; for the billionth time, Din chastises his past self for his dumb decisions, “Needed you to hate me, pretty bird.  Needed you to stay away from me.  It’s the only way to keep you safe.”

Though this answer is vague, your response is relayed with certainty; hands cupping Din’s face, “I’m safest with you, Din.”

The kiss that Din presses to your lips at this declaration is achingly desperate, as if he’s trying to brush away all his past mistakes and wipe clean the hurt he’s caused.  He loves you.  You can feel it in every stroke of his tongue over yours, and in the way his teeth nip and nibble at your lower lip.

You’ve missed his mouth, his touch, and everything Din – and judging by the way his hands cradle your face and the deep emotions swirling in the richness of brown eyes, Din’s missed you just as much.  The two of you hold each other, foreheads pressed together for closeness, breathing in the other’s air as you soak in this togetherness that neither of you ever thought you’d experience again.

Finally, remembering what that last cab ride led to, you whisper, “Din, will you come over tonight?”

There’s a pause as Din’s brows furrow and his eyes squeeze shut.  This moment of tenderness with you, one where you don’t hate him, has been more than he deserves.  But it’s a fantasy, a mirage – the reports of escalating violence he listened to during tonight’s meeting still fresh in his mind, Din shakes his head in frustration.  Based on what had been disclosed in the meeting, he can’t help but think that it’s working – everything he’s done to remove the target on your back is working; he can’t throw away your safety just so he can have this feeling again.  That would be too risky.  Selfish.

“Pretty bird, I can’t do that.  I’m sorry.”

“I don’t understand, Din,” your voice breaks at his latest rejection and the sound tears Din in two.

He lifts your chin with his fingers so that you’ll look at him though the tears that are already starting to form in your beautiful eyes, “Baby, please understand.  We can’t.  We can’t be together – you deserve better than this, than me.  Being with me puts you in unnecessary danger.  My deepest fear is that you get hurt and I can’t… I won’t let that happen.”

“You’re hurting me right now, Din,” your voice small, sad.

Din knows he is, but he has to stay strong and resolved for your sake, even if this short respite from the dull ache of his everyday existence has been a heaven beyond his imagination, “I’m sorry, pretty bird.  I really am.  I love you, I love you.  But you deserve better.”

You say nothing but the few tears that roll down your cheeks speak volumes.  With great difficulty, Din says a wordless goodbye with kisses to your hair, then both of your hands before letting them and you go.  He knocks on the top of the cab to let the driver know he can leave; as the taxi drives away, he sees your hurt face looking back at him and it nearly brings him to his knees. 

Pressing the heels of his palm to his eyes, Din lets out a loud growl of frustration.  Taking several deep breaths before going back in to rejoin the Family meeting, he repeats to himself a mantra that he has to believe – This is the right thing.  The most important thing is that she’s safe.  Staying away from her keeps her safe.

---

Din’s resolve lasts exactly two days.

---

It takes you only the duration of the cab ride home to get over the sting of Din’s rejection.  Yes, the emotional whiplash of having him tell you that he loves you only for him say that it doesn’t change anything between the two of you hurt, but by the time you’ve taken Al out and finished getting ready for bed, your hurt feelings have been replaced by fresh purpose and determination. 

You finally have some answers.  Somehow Din has convinced himself that being apart from him is for your benefit and he’s willing to sacrifice his own happiness for it.  The problem for you is that he’s also willing to sacrifice yours. 

There’s a part of you that is livid about this, but you’re keeping this particular emotion at bay for the present moment with your newfound conviction to get to the bottom of what’s going on; you’ll get the answers you seek before you decide how you’re going to feel about it all.

You spend most of the weekend turning over the events of the last five months in your head, looking at them with a new perspective after the revelations from the past four days; mentally preparing a list of things that Din owes you explanations for and talking yourself in and out of how you’ll demand them of him. 

By some twist of fate, your regular Sunday brunch has been cancelled for the first time in forever, with several of your friends unable to make it – you can’t decide if this is in your favour or not.

On one hand, you could really use their opinions and a sounding board for your rollercoaster of thoughts and emotions; on the other hand, you suspect that Din is currently not your friends’ favourite person and you could probably do without the barrage of insults that would inevitably be thrown about as a reaction to his and Vanessa’s confessions from this past week.  Not that Din didn’t deserve them, but rather they wouldn’t help you work out what you need to do next.

By Sunday afternoon you’re sure of a few things:

Din loves you.

He has always loved you and he never stopped.

You love him, too.

He truly believed that being with him put you in danger.

What you didn’t know:

How could it be that he loved you so deeply but could so readily leave you?  Not just initially five months ago, but again, not two days earlier?

What gave him the right to decide what was best for you? 

Did he really think it acceptable to keep you in the dark about things that he clearly believed impacted your life so significantly?

The details of what prompted Din to act the way he did don’t interest you as much as why it led him to behave so unsympathetically for the past five months.  The more you think about it, the harder it is for you sit still and wait out the indetermined amount of time needed before you get your answers.

On Sunday night, you make the decision to head down to Mando’s yourself after work one day this week.  Feeling confident in your decided course of action, you’re as satisfied as you can be with the situation when you hear a knock on your door.

---

This is too easy.

Din mutters to himself as he walks through the parking garage beneath your apartment building undetected.  It was entirely too easy for him to gain entry into the garage and avoid the security cameras on his way to the internal stairwell.  He makes a mental note to talk to Paz about this gap in security as he’s taking the stairs two at a time up to your floor. 

He had tried to stay away, he really had.  But just as Din had always known, without the deterrent of you hating him and the surety that you would push him away, he had only his own self control to keep him from seeking you out, and that had crumbled under your loving touch outside the restaurant on Friday.

It had been too long since Din had gone without the feel of your soft lips pressed to his or basked in the warmth of your soft gaze and he had positively melted from both when he saw you after your date.  Like an addict in recovery, the high from his relapse was too intense to ignore; he simply could not be kept from you any longer.

He barely recalls what happened after going back into the restaurant on Friday and finishing the Family meeting.  Or how he got through Saturday at the gym, trying to slog through this month’s invoicing and attempting (unsuccessfully) to concentrate on Jimmy’s training.  Don’t even ask him what he did today.  All he knows is that after nightfall, his body drove his truck over to your neighbourhood and his feet carried him straight to your door.

Unsure of what type of reception he’ll receive if you open the door, Din doesn’t even know what he expects, only what he wants: you.

Your door opens with you already ready for bed, blinking at him with an unreadable expression.  Din thinks he should speak first and lets Al buy him some time when he noses out, nuzzling his snoot into Din’s large hands.  After giving your happy pup a few head rubs to show him how much he’s been missed, Din straightens up to look at you again; he opens his mouth to say something, though he doesn’t know what - and he never finds out because you kiss him.

You hadn’t expected to see Din before your planned confrontation, and you certainly didn’t think you’d see him at your door looking so soft and vulnerable.  After he had dispensed some love to Al, the expression in Din’s eyes when he raised himself back up to his impressive height was that of a much smaller man.  One who was unsure, ashamed.

To see Din like this takes all the wind out of the proverbial sails you had hoisted high over the last two days, the ones you had readied in anticipation of the fight you were bringing to his doorstep this week.  And just like before, when faced with seeing Din in distress, your mind, heart and body ache to soothe and calm him - so you do what comes naturally and press your lips to his.

Din’s lips never leave yours.  Not when you walk him inside your apartment and close the door, and not when he familiarly navigates the layout of your living room to sit on the couch and pull you down onto his lap.  He won’t stop brushing his desperate mouth against your perfectly plush pout, the one he dreams about regularly, even as he murmurs the only two phrases he needs to know you understand:

I’m sorry, baby.

I love you, pretty bird.

You match Din kiss for kiss, “I know.  I know, Din” as you undress first yourself, then the man whose touch you’ve been yearning for for nearly half a year and whose weight you long to be under again.  Your body cries out, remembering the feel of the corded muscles of his strong arms and the comfort of his hard chest; your hands molds to Din’s body as they roam and explore, afraid if you release him he’ll be ripped away from you again.  On Din’s part, even as his mouth becomes more insistent, his touch on your body remains gentle, reverent – where you’re urgent and possessive, he is worshipful.  And still, he recites:

I’m sorry, baby.

I love you, pretty bird.

With Din owning your mouth, your moans of I know, I know, I know are swallowed and vibrate down into his chest - setting his heart on fire and quickening his pulse even as he kisses deeper and steals all your air.

Feeling him lick into your mouth, you whimper ‘Din, please’ and the sound of his name once again on your lips makes Din’s dick jump.  He grabs you tight around the waist, holding you to him to continue fully exploring the open, moaning cavern of your mouth, conveying his devotion with each caress and massage of his tongue.  How could he have ever let you go?  You show Din that you don’t want him to do so ever again by meeting his every touch, every kiss, every guttural needy noise with a hungrier one of your own.

It’s been too long and your hearts and bodies have missed each other too much; Din is already hard and throbbing against where you’re wet and wanting.  Everything is hurried, messy, and inelegant.  You need each other and that’s all there is to it.

Overcome with your own greediness, you murmur, “Need you inside, baby.”

As Din’s entire body melts into a puddle at your words, every muscle in his broad frame relaxes and all his power and control evaporate in the face of his one and only fantasy coming to life; only snapped out of his euphoric state by the sensation of you smearing his leaking precum over his length with your soft hands - Din thinks he might come from this alone.  He’s craved your touch every moment since that fateful night outside his apartment, but he holds back for the heaven he knows is to come when you line him up to your entrance and slowly sink down.

It’s really has been too long – Din’s too big and you’re too tight and there hasn’t been enough prep; it hurts.  But somehow it’s welcomed - both of you needing it to hurt, wanting it to hurt, so you know it’s real.

“Nggghhhh – fuck, Din, so big,” you whine as he stretches you out - he’s bigger than you remember.  He feels better than you remember.

“I know, pretty bird.  But it’ll fit,” Din hums, “because you’re made for me.”

His sweet words belie the sting to your tight channel, but the joy that overflows from your heart straight to you core soon drowns out the pain; this is how it was always meant to be: you trusting your body to Din, and Din taking care of you.  Slowly, slowly, your sheath yourself onto Din’s cock – fitted so close that you feel every thick vein and groove along your warm walls. 

Din’s kisses are gentler now, tender and reassuring like his words, “Doing so good for me, pretty girl,” “You feel so perfect around me,” “Love this tight cunt, missed her so much.”

His praise causes your pussy to gush and your hands card through his soft curls appreciatively.  Gazing into Din’s eyes lovingly, you coo back your own song, “Feels so good, daddy,” “God, I’m so full,” “Noone wrecks this pussy like you, baby.”

When you’re finally fully seated, with Din bottomed out inside you, his balls nestled perfectly under your ass, the two of you simply just rest.  Countless minutes go by so you can relearn to breathe and Din thanks his lucky stars for the privilege of praying at your altar once more.

Fully blissed out and body trembling upon remembering its rightful place on Din’s cock, you whisper, “Din, please move.” And move he does.

Slowly and with the restraint of a saint, Din thrusts up to meet your tentative downward movements, dragging his cock deliciously in and out of your tight cunt, letting her suck him back in of her own volition.  You wrap your arms around his neck and feel Din’s sensual kisses on your lips, down your neck, and at the hollows of your throat; the wet trail his mouth leaves behind causes an electric chill to run throughout your entire body, your hips bucking a little harder, a little more ambitious in response.

There’s no rush, the two of you have all the time in the world to enjoy your reunion, and yet there’s an urgency - a hunger to devour as much of one another as you can, both starved from your time apart.  The need to make up for lost time takes over; every kiss of skin on skin is an apology and a promise, your declarations of love becoming louder and more unabashed, movements more fervent, frantic.

Din groans into your skin, “Pretty bird, not going to last.  Missed you too much,” as he starts to punch up with an impressive force, driving his cock deeper into your cunt and reaching that spot that only he’s ever been able to find.

“Give it to me, daddy,” you mewl, barrelling towards to your own orgasm faster than you had expected, “Need it.  Need you.  I love you, I love you, I love you.”  This is the first time you’ve said it back tonight, and the only time Din’s heard these sweet words in the musical lilt of your voice in last five mouths – this alone sends him on the fast track to the edge.

He snakes one hand between your bodies to find your already pulsating clit and starts to pen a long overdue love letter with his thumb.  Din’s other arm pulls your body as close to his as possible, so you’re now pressed flushed against his warm chest, moving with him as one.

I’m sorry, baby.  I love you, pretty bird.  I love you.

I love you, Din.  Missed you so much.  I love you.

You come - teary eyes locked onto Din’s as he signs over his fate with an elegant signature on your clit.  Your slippery nub kisses his thumb back just as hard, crying and begging for relief as you clench down from the onslaught of pleasure that only Din can give you.  Din spills deep into you as your pussy chokes him, milking the euphoria of his release for all it’s worth.  He’s in heaven.  You’re his heaven.

Wordlessly, you and Din exchange soft smiles and besotted looks as you clean-up after; a string of never-ending tender kisses lead the two of you back to the couch where you lay down in Din’s arms, sated and pliant, soaking in the strength and sureness with which he holds you, “Din, we need to talk.”

“I know, pretty bird,” he’s ready to tell you everything, lay it all bare for you. 

Propping yourself up on your elbow so you can look Din in the eye, you implore him to be honest with you, “You said you needed me to hate you.  That it was the only way to keep me safe.  What were you talking about?”

Din tells you about the photos that the Family received which had been received as threats and the various confrontations and incidents of harassment in the months following that confirmed them as such.  He tells you how scared he’s been for you, and how guilty and sorry he is that you were ever caught up in his world in this terrifying way.

Forcing himself not to look away from your pretty face when he sees it line with fear, Din tells you that he never wanted you to feel frightened or for your life to be interrupted, “You’re safe, pretty bird, I promise.  You’re well protected - the entire Fett Family is looking out for you.  They love you as much as I do.  The Family would never abandon you.”

“Just you then?” It wasn’t meant as a sarcastic or passive aggressive comment, but you just honestly can’t see what this had to do with why Din left you.  If anything, wouldn’t it have made more sense for him to stay by your side?

Regardless of your meaning, Din looks pained at your question and averts his eyes in shame.

“I understand that you were afraid for me because of the threats, but if the Family was willing to protect me, I still don’t understand why you would need me to hate you to be safe?”

“You should never have been in danger at all, baby.  The reason you’re a target is because of me.  Whoever issued the threats only targeted you because… because, they knew how much you mean to me.  How much I love you.  It wasn’t enough just to protect you from the threat, I didn’t want you to be under threat at all.  That’s the only way to guarantee you would be safe.”

You stroke Din’s face with your hand, and he leans in to your comforting touch and closes his eyes.

“If you hated me, then you would no longer be a worthy target.  The person they really want to hurt is me, and if we weren’t together anymore, they can’t do that through you.”  Din sighs, “But I’m so sorry, pretty bird.  The way I went out about it was all wrong - hurting you like I did is inexcusable and it shattered my heart to do so.  You didn’t deserve to think I cheated on you.”

Your heart softens and you lean in to lay gentle, sympathetic kisses to Din’s soft lips.  Finally, finally you understand.  Though you don’t excuse the hurt he caused, you can understand Din’s fallacious reasoning; in an odd way, it’s a relief to see him so unchanged – his actions ever consistent with his self-sacrificing nature and his conviction to take care of those he loves, to keep them safe.  The only thing is, his was not the only heart he had sacrificed.

“I thought you never loved me,” you say in a small voice, “when I thought you had cheated on me, it made me question our entire relationship.”

“Oh, fuck, baby,” Din’s shame and self-anger triple upon hearing your words.  He had expected you to be angry, to hate him for the lie he had you believe, but he never considered that you would have doubted what he felt for you prior to that horrible night.  Secure in the depth of his own devotion and the truth of just how in love with you he was, Din had thought what was unshakeable to him would be the same for you; but of course, now that you’ve said it, it makes complete sense and he adds this egregious transgression against you to his long list of regrets, “I’m so fucking sorry.  I never thought- oh, fuck.  It never crossed my mind that you might ever doubt how so completely in love with you I’ve always been.  From the moment I met you it was over for me, baby – you became the single most important person in my life.  I live for you, pretty bird.  I’m so sorry I ever made you feel any differently.”

Din looks at you with so much sincerity and desperation, you heart is unable to do anything but believe him.  You know without a shadow of a doubt that Din loves you and moreover, that everything he’s done has been in the name of that love.  And though you trust in his pure intentions, they’re misguided in a way that you have to make him understand.  If the two of you are to have a chance again, you need honesty and openness, and Din has to have faith in that same love when things get tough.

You’re lightly scratching Din’s facial scruff the way you know he loves, wanting to just enjoy this affectionate moment a little longer before you dive into the more serious things you need to talk about when you both hear Din’s phone start to buzz incessantly. 

Din reaches his long arm off the couch and easily finds his discarded pants and pulls out his phone, frowning when he sees the multiple notifications on his lock screen.

His entire body tenses as he reads Paz’s messages.

Hutt movement three blocks away from Lil’ Lady’s.

Woves confirms the group is growing.

Mods say traffic cams show more on the way. 

Din feels a stab of fear tear through his chest before the horror of what he’s done settles like a boulder in his stomach.

For the five months that Din had left you alone, there hadn’t even been a hint of suspicious activity anywhere near you.  No appearance of shady characters or any incidents of malfeasance, not a single one.  You had been safe.

What had changed tonight?  What could have possibly happened to incite a flurry of rival gang activity so close to your home when it had never previously been an issue?

It was him.  What had changed is he had been weak.  He had given in to his need for you, selfishly putting you in harm’s way.  Din realizes he had been right: staying away from you had been keeping you safe.  He gets up suddenly, the need to rectify his mistake overwhelming.

“Din?”

Din’s hurrying putting on his clothes and doesn’t answer you.  He doesn’t hear you get up from the couch after him and grab a house cardigan from the back of one of the dining room chairs to throw over yourself, watching as he carries on to leave without saying a word.

“STOP!!”

You hardly ever yell.  And you never slam your hand down on your dining table so hard and loud it hurts, but you need to get Din’s attention somehow.  It works - Din’s shocked out of his automated movements and turns to face you.

“What are you doing, Din?” you look distressed, confused, but most of all, frightened by what you think you already know is happening.

“This was a mistake, pretty bird.”

His words cause you to recoil; your voice comes out tight, bordering on bitter, “What was a mistake, Din?  Telling me you loved me, that you lived for me?  Or sleeping with me?  Tell me, which mistake do you mean?” 

Din rushes forward; he’s fucking up all over, he can tell, and hurting you again is the very last thing he ever wanted to do, “No, baby – none of that was a mistake.  Being with you tonight has been a happiness I never thought I’d feel again.  Honestly, I didn’t think I deserved it and still don’t think I do.  The mistake was me somehow thinking that everything was behind us.  That I wouldn’t be putting your safety at risk by coming over here.”

He can’t possibly be doing this again, you’re incredulous, “You’re doing this again?  You’re going to leave?  And I don’t get a say in it?”

“Pretty bird, you don’t understand.”

“Make me understand, Din.”

“There’s something happening right now, a danger that’s closer to you than should ever be allowed.  And it’s because I’m here.  This is proof that I’m no good for you baby.”

“Din, how can you say that?  I love you.”

“And I have to keep you safe because I love you, too.”

“What you’re doing is breaking my heart, Din. This isn’t the only way - you have to trust me.”

“This isn’t about trust, pretty bird, it’s about your safety.”

“Of course it’s about trust, Din!  You don’t trust me to be able to handle some of the things in your life – things that you think I’m too delicate or ‘good’ for, whatever the fuck that means.  You don’t trust me so you don’t tell me anything or let me make any decisions, and that’s really fucking condescending and hurtful.  You have to trust me, Din!  You have to trust that you can show me parts of yourself and your world that maybe aren’t perfect or you aren’t that proud of and that I’m not going to leave!  You have to trust that I love you enough!”

The silence between the two of you is punctuated only by your shallow breathing from finishing your speech and the electric tension that now hums in the air.  Something in Din’s brain is awakening, yelling at him that there’s a truth in your words that he hasn’t had the courage to face – that other than your safety, he’s been worried that bringing you fully into his world and telling you everything, sharing in all the fears and dark parts, would scare you away.  That he’s been afraid that you would walk away, so he did it first.

Din doesn’t know if he’s ready to face this realization or its implications out loud, not when you’re looking at him with so much disappointment and anger.  Not when the phone in his pocket continues to buzz non-stop.

You’re at your wit’s end and throw out ludicrously, “So, what?  We stay apart until you deem it safe again?  Then what, we’re allowed to date until the next time you think it’s safer for me if you leave?  And then we just repeat this pattern forever?”

Din’s exasperated too, frustrated with the unexpected turn this evening has taken – at himself.  He throws his hands up in the air, “I don’t know, okay?  I just know it’s not safe for you to be my girl right now.  And as for later?  May not then either?  Maybe you just don’t wait for me.”

You freeze, the retort on the tip of your tongue that you’re supposed to be a team and that Din doesn’t get to choose for the both of you, dissipates from your shock at his last words, “Wait. What do you mean ‘don’t wait for you’?”

Din doesn’t immediately clarify so you press on, “You would be okay with that?  If I moved on with someone else? Is that what you want?”

Din wants to reassure you; it’s not what he meant, of course.  His heart would shatter if you were with someone else; he had only meant that he knew it was terribly unfair for you to have to wait for this situation to resolve itself, and he didn’t want to force you to be or assume that you were okay with it – but it had come out wrong.  He stops himself from explaining though; realizing with a punch to the gut that he could use this to give you a clean slate, a clean break from him.  You would hate him again – but it would remove the temptation to come see you in secret like tonight, endangering your safety every time he was too weak to stay away from you.  So, he says nothing.

You take his silence the way he intends, as confirmation that Din doesn’t want you anymore and your tears come fast and threaten to overflow.   You’re angry, confused, and hurt.  Again. 

The barrier you had put up earlier when you so logically decided to figure out your feelings once you figured out the truth comes crashing down and you think you’re going to drown in the tidal wave of emotions that swell and rise with being so casually tossed away again.  You feel like a fool, letting Din toy with your feelings (and your body) over and over.

“Din.  Is that what you want?  Do you just want us to be over?” you choke out.

Din’s expression is unreadable and he won’t make eye contact with you - but when he sighs, it’s the most devasting sound you’ve ever heard in your life. 

Your cheeks are wet and you feel yourself shaking.  The words that are blabbering out now hardly make sense and you don’t think you even mean half of them, but you aren’t thinking straight - you just know these words will sting and make Din feel as bad as you do right now, “Why did you come tonight, Din? For an easy fuck?  You knew you would find guaranteed pussy here, didn’t you?  I can’t blame you, I guess. I mean, if you know you always have a desperate slut you can use, someone who’s stupid enough to buy whatever lies you tell her to get her to give it up, why not, right?”

Suddenly aware of how exposed you are, you pull your cardigan tighter over your body and shrink away from Din.

Din reaches for you - this, he cannot have.  He cannot have you reducing yourself to just a worthless fuck when you’re his sun.  He loves you more than anything, would hang the moon for you; you’re the most incredible and precious thing in his life, “No, no… that’s not it.  Please, pretty bird, don’t…”

You pull away from his outreaching hand and say in a flat, dead tone, “I’m not your pretty bird anymore.” 

Even Din can see that he’s hit your limit - hurt you beyond repair and now you’ve shut down.  Shut him out.  Fighting ever fibre in his body to go to you, soothe you and try to  reassure you of his love, he hangs his head, “No. You’re right… you’re not.”

The two of you stand in silence, facing each other but worlds apart, for what is probably only a minute but feels like forever.  Finally, Din turns to the front door to leave; pausing just after turning the handle, he whispers, “I’m sorry”, before exiting your apartment and closing the door behind him.

Once in the hallway, Din hears the lock turn immediately, followed by the most devastating sound he’s ever heard.  You’re sobbing, loud enough that he can hear it through the door and he wants more than anything to kick down the door and sweep you into his arms, take it all back - comfort you with kisses and lightly chastise you for even considering for a moment that he could ever stop loving you. 

But he doesn’t.  It’s better this way, Din tells himself. 

The sound of your sobs follows Din as he races down the stairs, towards the danger that lurks too closer for comfort.  He’s more than ready to take out his distress on the bastards who had deigned to look upon you as someone to threaten, to hurt - or just some unfortunate Hutts who found themselves in the wrong neighbourhood tonight.  Din doesn’t much care.  Blinking back his tears and steeling his resolve with clenched fists, all Din knows is you won’t be the only person he hurts tonight – you’re just the only one who doesn’t deserve it.

Exactly one week later, you storm into brunch still angry, exhausted and hurt from your altercation with Din the Sunday before; hot tears brim along your lash line from the humiliation of having slept with Din only for him to leave you again, and your frustration at his dismissal of any attempt to talk out your issues.  The only sure-fire thing you’ve decided is that there will be no more secrets - no more half truths, no more protecting people from hard and ugly realities.  Sure, you would have much preferred if this was the road upon which you and Din were embarking, but in lieu of that, you decide that you can come clean with your friends.  You tell them about the Fett Family and Din’s old role, and what he seems to still do for the Family.  You tell your friends about Poe, Boba, Cass, the Hutts and the Pykes, and the Mandos and the Mods.  You tell them about all the security incidents from earlier in the year and the threats you only just learned of and about Din’s and your place in it all.  You tell them about your run-in with Vanessa and how your date with Mark went and about sleeping with Din last week.  You tell them everything that’s yours to tell and even somethings that aren’t because you’re done with pretending that these secrets are worth keeping and somehow worth your happiness.

Your friends are speechless; all the food, and shockingly the drinks, are untouched as you talk and only after you indicate you’re done with your recollection of how Din left you crying in your foyer, do they descend on you to offer their kind supportive words and loving hugs.  Once everyone is settled back in their seats and people’s emotions have leveled out a bit, Rory asks,

“Do you still love him?”

It’s not the question you expected from her, or from any of your friends really, and it truly deflates you as you lean back in your chair to contemplate your response.  The last week saw you primarily cataloguing Din’s transgressions against your heart; it’s a long list and it had kept your mind and heart fairly preoccupied.  You’re furious at him… but did his foolhardy actions change the man you believed he was?  The man you had loved?  You answer only what you’re sure of,

“It doesn’t matter.  It doesn’t seem to matter to him what I think or feel.  Din just does what he thinks is best.”

Your friends nod sympathetically, understanding you’re already fighting a seemingly endless battle between your head and your heart.  They thoughtfully put forth their opinions in between bites of their now cold dishes:

“No matter what his reasoning is, it doesn’t give him the right to jerk you around in the name of ‘your safety’.”

“Does he have a point though?  Is it dangerous to be with him? Are you scared?”

“Won’t the Family protect you?  Why is he acting like he’s the only one who cares about you?”

“I don’t like that he hurt you on purpose with that Vanessa nonsense.  That lie was so elaborate.”

“How many times does he think he can do this to you?”

“You deserve someone who is honest with you.  Someone who will treat you like an equal partner in everything.”

“He loves you so much.  It’s always been clear to us that you’re his whole world, babe.”

You agree with it all – these same thoughts have been running laps in your mind since the night Din closed your door behind him.  Din’s martyr-like approach to your safety did not sit well with you, especially when it sacrificed the wellbeing of your heart without so much as a consultation of your feelings; it’s crystal clear to you now that entirely too many lies and secrets had been justified and tolerated in the last several months and even your relationship prior.  Yes, you know how you feel about what Din did.

But how do you feel about him?  To a certain degree, you know you still love Din, but things just aren’t that simple anymore.  Given everything that’s happened, how can you feel about him?  You don’t know.

6 months ATN

Waiting until there’s a break in the traffic, you cross the street quickly, heading straight for the bookstore across from your office building.  Right away, you spot the display you’re looking for: the centre table for “Current Hot Reads” with Bea’s book right in the middle - you can’t help but grin widely.  Picking up four copies, you busy yourself for a few minutes straightening up the display - strategically stacking and propping up copies of your friend’s book so it stands out in a pleasing manner amongst the other titles.  When you stand back, satisfied, to review your work, a kind voice behind you says, “Are you the author, dear?” You turn to see an older woman in a delightfully ostentatious fur coat smiling at you.

Unable to keep the pride out of your voice, you beam, “Ha ha ha!  No, one of my best friends is!  I’m actually buying these as gifts to give out to our mutual girlfriends at dinner tonight!”

“Oh, that’s so lovely dear!  What a good friend you are!” the lady smiles, “What is the book about?”

“It’s a modern romance, childhood best friends turned lovers.  The first in her series!” you gush, ready to talk Bea up to the high heavens.

“Oh lovely!  My granddaughter loves romance novels, maybe I should get it for her?”

For a moment you simply imagine what the granddaughter might think when reading the smut her sweet nana bought her and you do your best to hold in your chuckle, “Tell you what.  I’m going to buy an extra copy and leave it at the cashier for you.  If you decide you don’t want it or prefer to buy a copy, just tell the cashier to pass it on to the next person who’s interested.”

“Oh dear, you don’t have to do that!”

“I know!  But I want to!  I can’t tell you how much it delights me to support my friend.  Please ask your granddaughter to help spread the word about the book and the author.  I know she’ll love it, it really is just that good,” you enthuse.

The older woman squeezes your hand in thanks as you pick up a fifth copy of Bea’s book; leaving her to read the jacket summary as you head to the cashier.  After giving the cashier the instructions for the last copy, you give the display another quick once over before leaving the bookstore, heading directly to dinner with a spring in your step.

---

Din sees you the moment you walk in.  For some reason, maybe a sixth sense, he had looked up at the bookstore front door before it opened, and there you were.  He hasn’t seen you since the night he left you crying in your apartment, the same night he sent half of the Hutt enforcements to the hospital; when he accepted this surveillance post for the day, he had half hoped he would see you.  You’re just as stunning and bright as the you he keeps in his memories, if not more so.

He had also seen the display of Bea’s books when he walked in and already picked up a copy to buy in support; he figured he would give it to Lisa.  Din watches you rearrange the display from behind the shelves, trying not to be a creep but unable to take his eyes off of you – wistfully, he recalls seeing you do the same thing on the day you first met; it’s no less charming now than it was then.  Listening with a smile as you talk excitedly to the older lady about Bea’s book, Din’s heart swells when he hears you offer to buy her granddaughter a copy.  You’re still you.  Sweet, generous, unassuming, and unflinchingly kind.

God, he misses you.

He’s been trying to put you out of his mind, of course; positive that he’s eradicated not only any goodwill or affectionate feeling you may have held for him a few months ago, but also any chance he had of ever being with you again.  Whereas before he kept away for your safety and his own self punishment, he does so now out of self preservation.  To steel himself for his future without you.

Din does, however, allow himself one photo of you.  It’s one that Paz took the night of the fight with Rotta Hutt.  Taken right after he’s scooped you up ringside, the shot shows only the back of Din’s head, but your face is on full display, filled with joy and adoration.  He looks at it everyday; trying not to long for you more than he already does, Din comes to regard it as motivation of sorts – this is what makes all his misery worth it, he thinks to himself.  You.  Happy.

And while he can’t bring himself to delete his photos of you off his phone, or even erase your old messages, Din never looks at them either.  He doesn’t deserve to.  Especially not the dirty texts and photos; he doesn’t have a right to see you that way anymore - as much as he misses you, Din won’t violate your privacy.  But on the days when the pressure, stress and Din’s own loneliness lead him to release his frustration while in the shower, he imagines a soft hand touching him and knows it’s yours.  The voice that he hears telling him how good it feels, he knows is yours.  The moans that ring in his ears as he furiously fucks his fist can only be yours.  And when he comes, choking out broken pants of I love you, I love you, I fucking loving you so much, those words are for you and you only.

Seven months ATN

Opening your guest room closet, you sigh to yourself. 

It’s time. 

You’ve been avoiding doing this, but not only is it long overdue, you’re also embarrassed at how anxious you’ve been to attempt this task.  It’s been two months since Din left you crying on your knees in the front foyer of your apartment and seven since you fled his apartment after believing he had cheated on you.  In that hazy first week, you had gone around the apartment grabbing anything that belonged to him and stuffed it into what ended up being an overflowing bin that you then shoved into the back of the guest room closet.  Out of sight, out of mind.

But you have guests coming to stay next week, and moreover, it bothers you how rude it is to have kept these belongings that aren’t yours.  It was one thing when Din had been a lying cheating bastard; but now that you know he hadn’t had any ill intent and was as much of a victim of his poor decisions as you are, it doesn’t feel right to hang on to these items.  Bringing home some flat packing boxes from the work mailroom, you assemble them first, trying to prolong actually having to go through your ex’s things.

Stop being a chicken shit, you chide yourself, it’s been months.  Get over it and get it over with. You pull the bin out of the closet and his smell, Din’s smell, immediately hits you when you when you start to take out the clothes.  You close your eyes and let yourself breathe in the familiar scent.  It’s as inviting as you remember and immediately brings his handsome visage to your mind.  When you open your eyes, they’re filled with tears.  Dammit.

You force yourself to work through your tears.  Fighting it at first but eventually allowing yourself to recall memories associated with Din’s items, you feel and expunge all the emotions you had hidden away like you had these belongings.  It’s cathartic and freeing, and once you’ve shed the tears you need, you make quick work of the task.  When you’ve filled the last box, you write a short note apologizing how long it’s taken to return these items and quickly tape up the boxes so that the contents are once again out of your sight.

---

The following weekend, you and Katie take a cab with the boxes to Din’s neighbourhood.  You don’t think you’re ready to see Din in person, but you think you can handle dropping off the boxes… at Peli’s.  Katie helps you carry the boxes from the taxi into the drycleaner’s and you ring the little bell Peli leaves out when she’s in the back working with the machines.  You see her bushy crown of curls before you do her inviting face, the smile she smiles when she sees you is brighter than the sun.  You feel warmed just seeing her again.

“Well, look who it is,” Peli grins, eyes full of genuine cheer and relief, “long time no see.”

Nodding, your heart feels a tug with how much you’ve missed Peli and all the other friends you made through Din who you haven’t seen in months, “Too long, Peli!”

“Glad you can admit you missed me,” she teases, holding absolutely nothing against you, “what can I do for you?  Don’t tell me those boxes are full of drycleaning?”

“Oh… no.  Could I ask you for a favour?” sheepish that the very first time you see Peli after such a long absence, you’re asking something her.

Peli’s good nature isn’t phased for even a second, “Of course!  Anything for you, love.”

Then as if some higher being heard your request before you had a chance to speak it, Paz walks through the front door of the drycleaners.  He’s just as surprised to see you as you are him, but readily leans in to give you and Katie welcoming hugs.

“Hi Lil’ Lady.  Whatcha doing here?”

You gesture to the boxes and look between Peli and Paz, “Just wanted to drop off Din’s things but…  I didn’t feel up to going to Mando’s.  Do you think I could trouble you to get these boxes to him?”

Peli looks shocked, and for a moment you wonder if it’s possible that she didn’t know that you and Din haven’t been together for over half a year now.  Paz saves you from the potentially long and awkward explanation by nodding with some sympathy, “No problem, I’ll carry them over.”

“Thank you, Paz.”

“No problem, Lil’ Lady,” Paz gives you a smile that looks regretful, maybe even sad.

You turn to go, but suddenly feel compelled to make one last request, “Please don’t tell Din you saw me?  I don’t want him thinking about me anymore.”  You say this without any malice or bitterness, though you’re not convinced it comes out that way.

When going through Din’s belongings, you were initially hard hit by the waves of sadness and grief from the loss of your relationship; but after letting the ache of your heart dull, you had surprising found comfort in a barrage of happy memories:

Din’s favourite basketball team shirt you slept in.  You had teased him mercilessly for how often he wore it, but showered him in compliments at how good he looked in those loud team colours every time.  When you explained to him what Pima cotton was and delighted in a sports shirt feeling so luxuriously soft, you noticed that Din started leaving it for you to wear for sleep – first only at his apartment, but before long, he “allowed” the shirt to migrate to your place.

That lime green sweater he wore the first time he was invited to girl’s Sunday brunch.  Bea had wanted to introduce the new guy she was dating and thought that having another boy at the table might make it less intimidating.  Din had gone and immediately clocked Gideon to be an asshole, but somehow managed to convey a polite, yet protective vibe throughout the meal.  When Bea broke up with that odious man a few weeks later, Din, invited back to brunch and coincidentally wearing the same sweater had been so supportive (“You deserve better than that self-absorbed blow hard”), even offering to “take care of him” for her.  You had quickly refused on Bea’s behalf, knowing what “take care” might actually mean, but it had cheered her up so much nonetheless.

His cozy oversized patterned jacquard cardigan that Din wore whenever it was nippier out than usual.  Large enough that it could envelope you while being worn, Din took every opportunity to do so - pressing you against his hard chest while wrapping the front around you to keep the chill away when you were out at the farmers’ market, waiting for the subway, or just standing on the sidewalk while Al finished sniffing his favourite spots.

And more – all the clothes and items you packed away had at least one memory associated with Din where he had made you feel warm, cared for, cherished.

How grateful and lucky you were that Din had loved you the way he did.

Yes, he had broken your heart, but you know that he himself didn’t get away unscathed – Din had also been destroyed by your breakup.  Having long since recognized the immature and empty things said during your last fight as your own emotional lashing out, you saw with more clarity how your own hurt and pain had sliced through Din’s already battle damage armour.  To be honest, you regret your words and how you left things with Din; though the way he did it was all wrong, Din had only ever loved you, cared for you and put you first in the way that he believed matter the most.  And he did so without fanfare, pomp or circumstance - expecting neither accolades nor acknowledgment, or even a hint of self satisfaction.

Your heart truly goes out to Din.  He so willingly carries the weight of the responsibility to take care of others, to put their well being over his own wants and desires; he sees it only as his duty and a mark of his honour to put himself last.  Din never gives himself leave to be selfish, despite being the most deserving for exactly that reason; as long as others are well taken care of, you know that Din would never complain or wish for more for himself.  And while your heart has done its share of mourning for yourself, it also breaks for Din – you know with certainty that he’s as devastated as you are, and yet, he also bears the guilt of having been the cause of your respective heartbreak; likely believing himself undeserving of any sympathy or comfort.

You remember what Boba had once said of Din, that he’s a caretaker through and through.  He attends to the needs of those around him and always has – thinking of the betterment of others, sometimes, and possibly even often, at the expense of his own.  But Din’s always done so happily - it was his duty and he performed it consistently, admirably.  And you remember that you had promised Boba that you would take care of Din right back.

Refusing to add to Din’s already heavy burden when it came to your breakup, you don’t want him to think about you more than he has to when he gets his belongings back; you know he will only spiral into more self blame wondering if you’re still mad or how much you hate him.  He will undoubtedly think about how you might be hurting, and then feel regret and guilt, disappointment or whatever else that eats at him.

So, you make Paz promise not to tell Din that he saw you, to say that Peli had called him over to get the boxes and you were already gone when he arrived.  The fierce look in your eyes tells Paz that you won’t relent and he acquiesces – you were prepared to fight him if necessary, the urge to protect Din where you still can burning brightly within your heart.

Quiet and heartfelt goodbyes are said and longer than needed hugs are dispensed before you and Katie leave Peli’s, arms now empty.  As the cab pulls away, you wave what you sadly think might be your last goodbye to two people you’ve also come to love and will miss terribly.

9 months ATN

Seeing Peli and Paz at the drycleaner’s is the last contact you have with Din’s world.

After nearly the better part of a year, it no longer feels strange that there are facets of a life you had come to embrace, that are no longer familiar - like bringing baked goods down to Mando’s, or being part of the celebratory group when a Mando’s boxer wins a title.  Making a normal portion size of garlic knots is once again the norm.

Periodically, it might feel unsettling when you remember that you are or were, at least at one time, under threat, and that there are unseen eyes on you, both friendly and unfriendly.  But you never see anyone or any actual evidence of this so there’s not much you can dwell on.  Who’s to say the circumstances of the situation haven’t changed or if you’re even on anyone’s radar anymore?  It’s likely you’ve been forgotten by now and you leave these thoughts at that.

With time, you go from thinking of Din constantly, to less frequently, and now only periodically.  You don’t think you’ll ever quite forget Din.  He had loved you fiercely, of that you were certain, and in turn, you had loved him back just as hard.  He was undoubtedly, a great love of your life.  You don’t think that type of connection is easy to find, nor would you attempt to try and do so again – the way Din had seen you so completely and how you had felt being his was not a feeling you think you’ll let go of any time soon. 

But the price for that type of love was one that you hadn’t been prepared to pay – adherence to some creed or code of honour that was willing to sacrifice your heart wasn’t something you could open yourself up to again.  Not even for that kind of love.  But it didn’t mean you couldn’t look back on it with fondness and remember Din as a man you admired adamantly and would continue to hold up as one of the best men you’ve ever known.

He was kind.  Protective.  Caring and loyal. 

The strength of his character and his generous nature live on in your grateful heart.

Some of your happiest memories will always be ones that you shared with Din.  He had, as was his highest priority, made you feel safe and cherished; despite how it all ended, you knew his motivations and the intentions of his heart to be pure - he had only ever wanted the best for you.  Din’s easy way of making you laugh, supporting you in all your endeavors and of lightening your mental and physical load, all while making you feel like the most special person in any room, were not easily forgotten.  Nor his integrity, considerate nature and the gentleness of his touch.  A lover and a fighter – Din was a rare combo indeed.

You think you’ll love Din until your dying day, but you can’t pine for him anymore.

Had you forgiven him?  Hardly.  But forgiveness wasn’t necessary. 

Forgiveness implied that you needed something to change, to be acknowledged, in order to move forward, and that just simply wasn’t the case.  You neither forgave him or were looking to forgive Din; you didn’t expect there to be a continuation of your story and so, as far as you were concerned, neither of you owed anything further to the other, including forgiveness.  You’re at peace with where the pages of your love story have permanently fallen open; having reread those finally passages a million times, you’ve worked through your grief of having to put Din and your relationship behind you - what remains is only a nostalgic sort of affection and maybe wistfulness.

Your life has gone on without him, but it had always been full before you met Din and it remains so after him: full of friends, hobbies, Alfredo, accomplishment and pride in your work, and everything else your undoubtedly privileged life has to offer.  That’s probably the best word to describe it.  These days, when you do think of Din, it can be without bitterness or disappointment, because you do so only with genuine gratitude; not everyone will have the good fortune of being loved so wholly, so generously and so fearsomely, albeit it had only been for a little while.  Yes, it takes no great effort to admit: it had been a privilege to be loved by Din Djarin.

It’s been a good day.  Great even.  All your meetings finish on time (!), and no one on your team, yourself included, had extra work assigned at the last minute – you’re all able to leave ON TIME.

Stepping out of your office building, you can’t quite believe it – you haven’t seen this side of 5:30 since… you were a junior?  No, that’s an exaggeration, but it’s been a long time for sure.

You and your colleagues exchange excited hugs, marveling at your luck; a few even joke that you should all prepare to pay for this tomorrow before laughing and each going in your separate directions.

Pausing for a moment where you stand, you contemplate maybe popping into the bookstore across the street before heading home when your eyes are drawn to a hulking figure that sits on one of the courtyard benches directly facing your office.  Despite his size and striking profile, the man’s presence isn’t terribly imposing, but it is a wonder that you hadn’t notice him until now.

You lock eyes with the man, not ready to believe he’s really there, when he gives you a tentative smile along with a small wave of the bouquet of peonies that he holds in his hand.

Din.

Thanks so much again to anyone who has read this far in the series with me - I love you all so much! Your kind words and encouragement really motivated me to finish this chapter a bit earlier than I had anticipated! I'm still on the cruise, so I'm just posting this when the ship's wifi is strong 🤣 so adding a few tags for those who have expressed an interest in the story (if you don't want to be tagged, please tell me!):

@tuquoquebrute @furiousmushroom @cheekychaos28 @72scsuze @nerdieforpedro

@toobsessedsstuff @whirlwindrider29 @inept-the-magnificent @mellymbee @that1nerd-20

@hipabbster23 @bitccchmood @bigbutchenergee @rainbowcat164 @the-strawberrythief

@johnssherlock221 @misstokyo7love @vivian-pascal @florxdexcerezo @fanficlover1414

@rarachelchel @heartbrokenlilbitch-nef @jeewrites @sunnytuliptime @kulekehe

This is the wildest emotional journey I’ve been on reading a fic in a long time.

I’m going to have to politely request a sequel even tho I know I haven’t finished this yet.

I’m ready for more emotional damage.

Fluorescent lights buzzed overhead, highlighting the last fifty years of grime on the once-white linoleum, caked over with layers of floor wax in an effort to get it to shine. Posters for the upcoming Student Council elections littered the blue-hued brick walls, each one with a different set of false promises in an effort to garner a single vote. A sea of parents walked the hallways, clutching their children’s schedules, dazed and lost, as they attempted to navigate the maze that was Back to School night. 

It was the typical chaos every year. One that Ben had grown to appreciate, allowing the chance to speak with parents about his expectations both as a group and in brief one-on-one conversations. What he had not expected, however, was a familiar set of eyes staring back at him. Eyes that had haunted him for the last 15 years. 

Ben abruptly stopped speaking, pausing his rehearsed speech on late work for his third period geometry class. He could hear his heartbeat in his ears, the pounding making it extremely difficult to continue his train of thought. 

He was transported back to the tiny studio apartment with the peeling wallpaper and creaky shower that you shared with him just after grad school. The apartment where he gave eight years of his life to you. The apartment where you got up and walked out of his life, leaving him feeling anxious and desolate as he replayed the countless arguments you had about the future of your relationship. His dreams of bedtime stories and crayon drawings on the fridge never outweighing your fear of being swallowed whole by motherhood. “I can’t. I can’t give you that, Ben,”  you said to him somberly.

Ben shakes his head, forcing down every painful memory that’s bubbling at the surface. He’s able to continue, mindlessly covering his syllabus like he did for the last three groups of parents that visited his classroom, while his thoughts wander. 

You’re here. In his classroom – and if you’re in his classroom, that means you have a kid. 

You have a kid. 

A freshman. Meaning, if he was doing his math right – and he always did his math right – that you got pregnant within a year of leaving him. 

Ben’s heart cracked violently in his chest, shattering what was already fragile. You were the one who got away. His first love. The one who had broken his heart and left him feeling hollow and inadequate and less than. And now the proof was in the theoretical pudding, because he was right all along. It wasn’t that you didn’t want to have kids, it was that you didn’t want to have kids with him.

“I just want to talk about it,” he pleaded, his voice cracking. "Why can’t we talk about having kids without you shutting down?” You sigh, frustrated by the thought of having this conversation again. Your fingers curl where they grip the edge of the kitchen counter, your face turned away from the man you’ve been with for the past eight years.  “Because you’re not listening to me, Ben. I don’t want that life.”

Ben’s eyes sting with unshed tears, biting his lip to keep from trembling. He tries to keep the anxiety-driven thoughts away but fails. Miserably. “But you want me…” he starts, voice tentative and laced with fear. “Right?” 

You answered him with silence. Seconds go by which turn into minutes which feel like hours. Ben can feel his thoughts start to spiral. She doesn’t want me. It’s over. You pushed her too far. You weren’t good enough.

“I can’t be someone’s mother, Ben,” you whispered, your voice breaking through his turmoil but not providing the answer he wanted. “We’re living on your student teacher salary and are just barely scraping by.” 

Ben swallowed hard, “But–”

“But nothing, Ben,” you interrupted. “I don’t want kids.” 

This wasn’t new information but the way you said it felt like you had physically struck him. He fought back the nausea climbing his throat, threatening to come back up as he shakily asked,  “So, where does that leave us?”

“I don’t know.”

Ben didn’t know what to do except to excuse himself. His breathing had picked up and he felt like he was on the edge of a panic attack. He went into the bedroom, shut the door, and laid flat on the bed while thoughts of life without you taunted him. He stared up at the ceiling, feeling as if the weight of your conversation was crushing his chest. 

Slowly, the door opened and you looked at Ben – his eyes red-rimmed and fists clenching and unclenching in the duvet. You moved quietly to join him, sitting at the corner of the unmade bed and he moved to sit up. “You deserve someone who wants the same things, Ben.” 

“I love you,” he begged, his chest aching as if already knowing that wasn’t enough. That he was never going to be enough. 

The bell rings, a signal to parents that they are to move to their student’s fourth period classrooms. Ben gives his closing remarks, stating that he hopes this will be an exciting year and thanks everyone for their time. 

As people start to exit, Ben makes a silent prayer for mercy. He prays that you won’t approach him. Whatever deity there is in the universe hates him, because luck was not on his side. He watches as your son – your son – scrambles from his seat and grabs your hand, excitedly pulling you forward. He notices the reluctance on your face as your eyebrows knit together in apology.

Ben braces himself, flattening his palms against the edge of the desk as you stumble in front of him. He immediately is hit with the familiar smell of your perfume, the same notes of jasmine and vanilla that you always favored. “Mr. Ben,” your son calls out with enthusiasm. “I just want you to meet my mom.” In any other circumstances, this would have been normal – endearing even – but Ben’s heart strings felt like they were being plucked out of tune. “Mom, Mr. Ben is the best. He’s everyone’s favorite teacher.”

“Hi Ben,” you say, your voice soft enough that Ben almost doubts it happened.

Oblivious to the absurdity of the situation, your son spots one of his classmates and makes his way over to them, leaving you both to flounder for cordial conversation.

Ben doesn’t trust his own voice as he shifts nervously on his feet. “Hi,” he states simply. 

“It’s…been a long time,” you recall. “Fifteen years,” Ben replies almost instantaneously, unable to stop himself. He quickly realizes how embarrassing his comment was. As if he had been counting. 

A pang of guilt flickers behind your eyes and you glance over your shoulder towards your son, deep in conversation with a cluster of other freshmen. 

“So,” he forces out, attempting to keep his tone neutral. “Your son’s in my third period.”

You nod. “Yeah. You have him weirdly excited about geometry.” Your expression softens with relief, the kind only a parent would experience or understand. 

Ben allows the ghost of a proud smile, but underneath the sharp, twisting, gut-wrenching pain is making him bleed. “He’s a good kid. Smart.” He starts calculating in his head, silently debating asking the question that he had already discounted earlier. “He’s…fourteen?”

You tense visibly, wincing as if he had taken a jab at you. “He’ll be fifteen in December.”

Ben nods, slow and mechanical as he does the math, even though the answer is obvious. You left him in February. He remembered because winter had never felt longer. “So, he’s not mine.” You flinch and god, he wants to take the words back out the second he sees your face crumble. 

“Ben,” you laughed, tugging playfully at his hair. “Focus.”

You were on your back on that lumpy mattress he always swore he’d replace someday, your legs hooked loosely around his waist. His glasses were abandoned on the nightstand, because you kept bumping your nose into them when you kissed.

“I am focused,” he insisted, attempting to hide his laugh in your neck, his breath warm against your skin. He leaned up to kiss you again, his knee slipping on the sheets, making him tumble – half-falling, half-collapsing onto you with a dramatic oof.

You burst into giggles, cupping his cheek and tilting his face up to meet his gaze. “Very smooth,” you mumbled. Ben smiled, leaning in to kiss you as if he had all the time in the world. His warm, brown eyes shining, glinting in the morning sun, relishing in this special moment with you. 

“You’re distracting me,” he murmured. “In a good way. The very best way.” He kissed you slowly, his movements soft yet eager. Your tongues tangled in the warm, wet heat between your mouths, making your heart flip in your chest. 

Ben brushed your hair back from your forehead, tucking a stray piece behind your ear like you were the most precious thing he’d ever touched. You tugged him back down, your legs tightening around his middle as your lips searched for his in a rush of want. 

Everything inside him melted.  

Ben’s hips shifted, gently rolling up into you, pressing you right against him in the most delicious way. You inhaled sharply, fingers curving around the back of his neck as you guided him closer, gasping in his ear. “Ben–”

Ben pulled back just far enough to look at you, breathing hard and so earnest it made your chest ache. “You okay?” he asked.

You nodded, smiling softly. “More than okay. C’mon.”

You reached between your bodies, finding his cock, already hard and throbbing with anticipation, guiding him slowly into you.

Ben’s breath caught in a quiet gasp at the feeling of you opening around him, not unfamiliar but still overwhelming. He re-positioned himself, hooking his arm around your leg to allow himself to sink into you even deeper, encouraging your body to take him in. The stretch made your mouth fall open, a small moan escaping before you could swallow it down. 

“Hi,” he whispered when he had finally bottomed out, like it was the only word he could manage without making a total and complete fool of himself.

You smiled against his lips. “Hi.”

Ben started moving, shallow thrusts that built up to something steady and sweet. His forehead rested against yours, noses brushing, both of you breathing the same breath. You dragged your hands down his back, feeling each flex of muscle as his hips rocked into you. 

He gave an embarrassed yet delighted groan and kissed you again, hips speeding up as he lost himself in you. His hand slid down your thigh, lifting it a little higher around his waist, and the new angle made both of you gasp in sync.

“Yeah?” he asked, eyes bright, hopeful. “That good?”

“Ben,” you whimpered, fingers curling into his hair, “don’t stop.”

The tension built so fast it stole your breath, heat coiling low, his name tumbling from your lips without thought. “Come with me,” he said, voice cracking adorably.

You nodded and after one more perfectly placed thrust, you did. Your body clenched around him, mouth falling open as you cried out his name. Ben followed in a heartbeat, a warm, gasping rush inside you as he held you tightly, chest pressed to chest, like you were the air he needed most.

He stayed inside you, breath fluttering against your shoulder while his fingers drew nonsense shapes on your thigh. The fan rattled overhead, the city hummed outside, but all he heard was the sound of your quiet laugh as he tried to catch his breath.

You don’t answer and Ben can’t tell if it’s purposeful or if you’re just plain hurt. Either way, the quiet that follows is like a twist to a knife that he hadn’t realized was still very much planted in his body. 

Ben laughs, a single, humorless exhale. “Right. Well. Good. I mean… I didn’t think—” He shakes his head because the sentence tastes like bile. He can’t imagine that you could ever be so cruel to have not told him about a child. Of course your son isn’t his. “Doesn’t matter.”

There’s a brief moment where Ben thinks you’re about to speak, but it is quickly broken by the sound of the warning bell, indicating five minutes left before the next session starts. 

“You look happy,” he says, hating how small and unconvincing his voice sounds. Your eyes flash with something far more complicated than sadness. Regret, maybe. Or love that’s been buried alive and clawing for air. 

“I’m trying,” you answer, your voice shaking. He nods once, the way he does when a student gives an excuse that isn’t quite bullshit – a half-truth.

Parents shuffle past, breaking the bubble around you. Your son calls your name,  impatient and unaware of the history standing between his mother and his teacher. “It was good to see you, Ben,” you say.

“Yeah.” Ben forces a smile. “You too.” 

You turn, joining your son, ruffling his hair as he groans in embarrassment. He leans into your side and Ben watches you slip down the hallway with the life you’ve built — the one you swore you didn’t want. 

He tells himself to breathe. He tells himself that fifteen years is enough time to get over someone. He tells himself that this shouldn’t feel like the day you left all over again.

You whimper when your boyfriend tightens his grip on you, a sound that mimics fear, but it’s really born out of pain. Your ribs are cracked, you just know it. Every breath is a struggle and it’s only because Jenson doesn’t want to mess you so that no one can tell what a mean bastard he is behind closed doors. You hate him with every fiber of your being and yet you haven’t left. Can’t leave. Tied to him in some kind of sick, twisted way that leaves you putting up with his fits of rage and abuse when things don’t go his way. Which is pretty fucking often. “Don’t hurt him.” You gasp out, knowing that when he heals, he will just take it out on you like it’s your fault instead of his own gambling addictions that have led to this moment.

Clint scoffs, unable to believe you’re defending the asshole. “I appreciate the concern, Princess, but he’s gotta pay his debts. Otherwise I’ll be back. And if he still doesn’t pay…well, I can’t guarantee his safety. So maybe you wanna let go of the girl and face me like a goddamn man.” He says as his gaze flicks from you to Jenson.

You shiver, the dark look in the enforcers eyes is something akin to disgust, but it’s for Jenson. Something that screams that he thinks the man that torments you is pathetic. Your boyfriend growls, pissed to have his manhood challenged and he squeezes you harder, making you cry out in pain.

Clint clenches his jaw at yo[‘]ur cry of pain. You’re hurt. The asshole must’ve hurt you. He huffs and shakes his head, “you got thirty fucking seconds.” He warns and your boyfriend growls, shoving you forward and down to the floor. You cry out, bracing yourself with your hands, “take her. She’s gotta be worth something. Take that whore.” Jenson orders and Clint scoffs, unable to believe he’s giving you away like you’re a used car.

Your eyes widen as you look up at the man in front of you. Horrified that Jenson would suggest something like that. That he would just sell you. “No.” You gasp out, but Jenson growls, “shut the fuck up.” He kicks at you, but you manage to scramble out of his way. “Jenson, you can’t-“

“Shut the fuck up!” Jenson yells at you, his fist raised and Clint barely refrains from swinging the bat at the asshole. “I’ll take her but you get her back when you bring the money you owe.” He decides, knowing his boss will have his ass if he leaves empty handed and honestly, he wants to get you away from this asshole. “Go pack your shit, Princess.” He orders, “you’re coming with me.”

You want to protest, but the angry look on Jenson’s face makes you snap your mouth shut. If you stayed, he would beat you. Stumbling to your feet, you shrink down as you inch past the man, nearly crying as you rush down the hall to grab your things. You have no idea what will happen to you, going with him - but it might be better.

Clint swings the bat in his hand casually like he’s waiting for the bus, and Jenson eyes him, unsure if he’s going to swing. “You giving up your girl to pay your gambling debts?” Clint scoffs, “you’re a piece of shit.” He says and Jenson chuckles, “she’s a whore that I keep around for fun. She used to talk back. Doesn’t anymore.” He smirks proudly and Clint’s upper lip curls. When you appear with your bag, he doesn’t hesitate to swing the bat, taking your boyfriend’s knee out. “Fuck!” Jenson screams and Clint looks at you, “come on princess. You can have her back when you pay.” He reminds Jenson and makes his way towards the front door.

You have no choice but to follow him, eyeing Jenson as he writhes on the floor clutching his knee. Spitting curses and not even worrying about you. Outside, you see a dark car in the driveway and he is opening the passenger door for you apparently, “what is your name?” You ask, stopping in front of the door and nervous about what you are getting into.

He doesn’t respond, “get in.” He orders and you shake your head, “not until you tell me your name.” You order and he huffs, “Clint.” You nod and slide into his passenger seat before he shuts the door behind you. He tosses the bat into the back seat and slides in, turning on the engine. “Gotta take you to the boss.” He says and pulls away from the curb.

You curl in on yourself, huddling near the door as you start to cry. Your ribs ache and it hurts to know that Jenson didn’t care about you at all. You had managed to convince yourself that he just let his anger get the best of him, but you can’t excuse this. You’re scared of what this boss might do to you, what Clint might do.

Clint pulls up outside the house, cutting the engine and he looks at you, how terrified you look. “He’s not gonna hurt you. I won’t let him.” He promises, “and we gotta get you checked out. Get those ribs looked at.” He’s had enough broken ribs to recognize them.

That makes you stop crying. “How did you-“ he snorts, rolling his eyes as he looks over at you. Your hesitant gaze, fearful and heartbroken kills him, but he’s gotta report you to the boss. “You don’t bust as many ribs as I have and not know the signs.” That makes you shrink back, worried that he might be worse than Jenson despite his talk earlier. You’ve learned first hand how someone can be two faced.

Clint sees your fear and that makes his stomach twist. He steps back and shakes his head, “I’m not gonna hurt you.” He promises, “I know my words don’t mean shit but I don’t touch women.” He tries to reassure you, “you won’t be hurt while I’m here.” He vows, “but we gotta go see my boss otherwise I’m gonna get the shit kicked out of me.”

You crawl out of the open door, your bag clutched in your grip as he holds it for you. Probably afraid that you would try to run off. There’s a scar on his cheek, evidence of prior violence and you bite your lip. “Wouldn’t want that.” You mumble softly.

Clint snorts, guiding you into the house and it’s loud, men drinking and playing cards. The TV playing some basketball game. You flinch and Clint moves a little closer to you until he approaches his boss sitting at the table. “What the fuck is this? Did someone order a whore?” He asks the men and you start to shake. “She’s not a whore.” Clint immediately says, “she’s collateral from Jenson. Prick didn’t have any money so I took his girl until he has it.” Clint says and some of the men wolf whistle, others chuckle. “And what the fuck am I supposed to do until then? Fuck her for payment?” His boss asks and you whimper, terrified. Clint huffs, “no. She’s - I didn’t know - he’s beating her up. She needed somewhere safe to go.” Clint explains and his boss snorts, “she ain’t staying here. Looks like she’s moving in with you. You keep her until that asshole has the funds to pay for his girl.” Clint clenches his jaw but knew that would be the case. He nods, “fine. She’s coming home with me.” The men all smirk knowingly but Clint doesn’t want you like that. “Looks like you got yourself a babysitter finally.” The boss declares as Clint guides you outside to his car.

“You don’t have to-“ you start but Clint shakes his head. “Boss will expect me to keep an eye on you.” He tells you but you just shake your head. “He won’t pay you.” You admit, knowing he will be angry when you hang around too long.

““Doesn’t matter. You need help and I need - shit, I need help too.” He confesses, opening the car door for you. “I can’t let you go yet. If he doesn’t pay…I’ll let you go. If he doesn’t pay within a few weeks.” He promises, “I’ll take you wherever you wanna go.

That, combined with naked honesty in his eyes is what makes you get back in the car. Curious why this man needs help. You had heard the joke about babysitting, but you can’t imagine this man having kids.

He gets back in and turns on the engine, pulling away from the raucous house to make his way back to the small house he lives in. The radio is softly playing but Clint keeps looking over at you. You aren’t shaking anymore but your eyes look so hollowed, like you haven’t been sleeping. When he pulls up in his driveway, he gets out and opens your door. You step out, surprised at the quiet, picturesque suburb he’s driven to you. Not the grungy apartment you expected. He walks up to his front door, opening it, and you follow behind, wondering what awaits you in his perfect looking house. “Look! Daddy’s home!” You hear and a little baby, no more than a year old, waddles towards Clint. He picks her up, immediately pressing kisses to her head as she clings to his shirt. “Hey, baby girl. You been good for Jenny?” He coos, looking over at the teenager. “Thanks so much for watching her, Jenny.” Clint thanks the daughter of his neighbor. She’s seventeen and ready to head out to college. “Lemme get you some cash.” He says, reaching for his wallet while balancing his daughter on his hip.

You’re confused, frowning slightly as you watch him pull out money and pay the girl with a smile. “Tomorrow?” She asks, shoving the cash in her pockets but Clint shakes his head. “I’ll give you a call when I need you.” He promises and Jenny smiles before shooting you a curious look but she doesn’t ask any questions as she gathers her bag and waves bye the to the baby Clint is holding. You don’t move, standing awkwardly with your bag as the door clicks closed behind.

The baby in his arms looks at you when Clint turns to face you, “this, uh, this is my daughter.” He reveals, “my wife…she, uh, she was killed the day she was born.” He explains as his heart aches. “So, uh, yeah. Let’s get you settled. I have another bedroom.” He says, reminded of the moment his wife insisted he buy a three bedroom house instead of a two because she wanted more kids. His heart aches at the thought. He was ready to retire, pay off the mortgage with his last job, and enjoy his family but that didn’t happen.

Oh god, your heart clinches at the news that his wife died in childbirth. You relax slightly and you nod. “What’s her name?” You ask softly, smiling at the baby as she looks at you.

"Nancy." Clint's heart aches at the memory of his wife asking for that movie before she was shot. Even if the movie wasn't exactly romantic, he wanted to honor her in any way he can. The baby starts to cry and he shushes her, rocking her in his arms, "I know, baby girl. It's your bedtime." He coos, smiling at her until he looks over at you, "lemme show you to the guest room. You can put your stuff in there. I'm gonna put her in her crib."

“Okay.” You are wary, but a little more relaxed because of the baby. Surely a man who has such obvious affection and love for his baby girl can’t be all bad. He shows you a modestly furnished, yet comfortable looking bedroom. And the best part is that you don’t have to share it with a man who abuses you and then expects sex. Unless Clint wants to take advantage of you being here.

Clint watches you as you inspect the room, it’s obvious you’re nervous, and he wants you to know he’s not gonna hurt you but only time will establish that. “Settle in. Bathroom is next door. There’s leftover pizza in the fridge. Beer if you want it. Whatever you want, just take it. You’re our guest.”

“Unwanted guest.” You murmur softly after he leaves the bedroom with the baby. You wince as you sit down on the bed, and you press your hand to your side gingerly. You can’t believe this has happened to you, you are staying with complete stranger, being held as collateral for a fucking debt your boyfriend incurred. You sigh as you lean back slowly, hissing when your broken ribs protest and you start to cry. This might be rock bottom for you, 

Clint coos to Nancy as he lays her in her crib after changing her and giving her a bottle. “Goodnight, baby girl.” He whispers as she snuggles down, completely unaware of the horrors of the world. He fully intends to keep her that way. Clint leaves her room, the baby monitor in hand, and he makes his way into the living room but he hears your cries of pain. Frowning, he makes his way into the hallway, “you okay, princess?” He asks, calling through the door.

You don’t answer, don’t know if you can answer. Your eyes are closer but you hear the door slowly open. “Princess?” He sounds concerned, not annoyed, but you can’t look at him. Your body hurts too badly.

He frowns when he sees you laid out on the bed, tears on your cheeks, and you look like you’re in agony. “Shit. What did he do to you?” He asks softly, taking a step closer. “Let me help you.”

“He- it was my fault.” You gasp out, eyes pinched shut as you try to breath through the pain. “I - I burned dinner and he just lost control. I shouldn’t have made him mad.” You heard it every time he ‘apologized’ for the slap or the beating.

Clint scoffs, “it's not your fault. Never your fault. He - fuck - I can’t believe he did this to you. I should - fuck - I should’ve smashed his goddamn ribs in.” He growls and sees your eyes widen, “I’m sorry. I- shit. Lemme get you some ice and I have some painkillers.”

“No you don’t have to-“ you start to protest but Clint just rolls his eyes and tuts. “You’re hurt.” He reminds you, as if you’ve forgotten. “I might hurt people for a living but I’m not going to hurt you.” He murmurs softly. “And it’s not like I enjoy hurting people.” He admits after a moment. “Let me help you.” Your eyes open and you see his eyes, expressive and not holding anything back. He looks completely different from the man who had broken into your house to threaten Jenson. Biting your lip, you nod. “Okay.”

He watches you, seeing how skittish you are, and he’s tempted to drive back and teach Jenson what it’s like to have broken ribs. “There’s not much we can do. You’re gonna have to ice and take some painkillers, let them heal. Can I - can I see?” He asks, wanting to see the damage.

“I don’t know if you can see much.” You tell him, but you reach for the hem of your shirt. Lifting it up to show him your stomach right below your bra.

He frowns, seeing the scratches and scraps that cover your skin, “can I touch you?” He asks, wanting you to be comfortable. You nod and he gently presses his fingers to your skin. You hiss and his nostrils flare, trying to keep his anger under control. “I’m sorry, Princess.” He murmurs, “he’s - did he hit you anywhere else?” He asks, pulling his hand away.

Shaking your head, you huff slightly. “No, it was always here.” You admit. “He slapped me once, but the swollen cheek was noticeable.” Now that you are away, you can admit things that you would try to ignore. Even if he pays his debt, which you know he won’t, you aren’t going back to him.

Clint clenches his jaw, unable to believe that anyone would treat a woman like this. He shakes his head, pulling his hand away, "let's get you some ice and some painkillers." He murmurs, "you're safe here. I promise." He steps back, turning to find his well stocked first aid kit.

You believe him, you actually believe him, that’s the thing that amazes you. You watch him walk out and you wonder how he managed to beat people up for a career when he is obviously better than any other man you know. His kid is cute and you’ve always kind of liked kids, although you haven’t been around too many of them.

He tries to keep his fury under control. Clint is a violent man but only to assholes who deserve it. He’s never touched a woman in his life. If he was ever asked he’d rather get beaten up himself. He can’t believe that bastard has hurt you. He controls his temper and comes back into the bedroom with a first aid kit and some ice packs. “This should help but I have some pain meds that will keep you comfortable.”

“You don’t have to do this.” You are a little embarrassed by how much of a fuss he’s making. He huffs and looks at you before he gently starts to place the ice packs on your stomach. You hiss slightly, but the ice helps the ache. “You are very nice to me.” You murmur in awe of that fact.

He snorts, “just being a decent human being.” He clarifies, “and you deserve more.” He insists, “and you’ll be looked after for as long as you stay here. No one will hurt you.” He reaches for the pill bottle, “take two of these.” He orders, handing you a bottle of water.

You take the pills from him without question and pop them into your mouth to wash down with a sip of water. “Thank you.” You murmur softly, leaning back against the bed and watching him with a renewed sense of curiosity. “What made you do this?” You ask. “Beat people up?”

He can’t help it, he snorts. “I didn’t really plan to get into this. Kinda happened. When I was a kid, I would get into fights. I got too damn good at fighting and well, my dad owed this guy money. He heard about me and I - I ended up working for him to pay off my dad’s debt. I wasn’t really planning on making it a career but I was angry at the world and needed money after I paid off the old man’s debt. Kinda stayed in the job until my wife got pregnant then I decided I was gonna quit.”

You bite your lip, feeling kind of sad that he basically had fallen into a life that is obvious that he wouldn’t have chosen for himself. “And then she died in childbirth.” You murmur. “I’m sorry, I hate that you had to lose her.”

He sighs, thinking for a moment, until his eyes meet yours. Glistening with tears that won’t fall, “she got shot when we - I was doing one last job and she was in the car. Some kid - he was the kid of a guy I was paid to beat the shit out of years ago. He came over and pointed the gun at me. My wife - she was brave - she shot him before he could hurt me but his gun went off, hit her and she - fuck - she died. They didn’t think the baby would make it.” He confesses, his voice now near a whisper at the memory.

“Oh my god.” Your eyes widen in horror, making you reach out for him instinctively but you hiss in pain and pull away. “I am so sorry.” You whisper after a moment. “That- that’s horrible. I am - I hate that you had to go through that.”

Clint nods, glancing across the room to the doorway, and he is reminded of his wife poking her head in to check on him when he was painting the nursery. Her soft smile and bright eyes. His throat tightens and he looks back at you, “thanks. She - I miss her every day. Nancy looks just like her.”

“Then she was beautiful.” You can see how much he loves his wife and it makes you wish that one day you can find someone that would love you like that. To miss you when you were gone. “Your daughter is a beautiful little baby.”

“She’s my world.” Clint confesses, “that’s why I got back into the job. I wanted to make enough money for her future before I give up the job for good. I’m nearly done. I wanna give her the world. She deserves it after losing her momma.”

“She already has her world.” You remind him softly. “If something happens to you…..” you don’t finish that thought, don’t want to upset him.

“I’m not gonna leave her. That’s why I’m gonna finish these last jobs and get out.” He clarifies, “but I- I need help.” He confesses, “I have no family here. I need someone to watch her while I finish my business.”

“And that’s why you volunteered to take me in.” You hum, knowing that it’s not exactly self-sacrificing, but no one ever is. “You would trust me to watch her? I’m a stranger.”

He shakes his head, “no. No. At first, it was to make him pay up but then I saw you wince in pain and I just wanted to get you out of there. Now I’m thinking maybe you could help me out until we get you established and away from Jenson.” He offers, “and you seem like you’re a good girl. You just had a shitty situation.”

You can’t help the tears that fill up your eyes. Never having someone who just wanted to help before throws you off. Lifting a hand to wipe away the wetness before he can get annoyed. “I’m sorry.” You mumble. “I’ve- I normally never cry.” You always pretended like Jenson didn’t hurt you, hiding tears and putting on a brave face. Now, you’ve cried like three times in front of Clint.

“It’s okay. Cry if you want. I’m no stranger to tears. My wife was pretty hormonal when she was pregnant. Would cry if she ran out of ice cream.” He chuckles fondly, “I’m never gonna think differently if you decide to cry or laugh or scream. It’s your goddamn emotions.” He says and swallows harshly, realizing he’s said too much.

You stare at him for a moment. “Are you sure you’re real?” You ask after a moment, your voice in a whisper. “I think I might be dreaming you. A handsome, kind man who doesn’t get upset at everything?” You snort. “Must be dreaming.”

He scoffs, shaking his head and looking over at the doorway, “I’m no hero, princess. I am fucked up but I’m trying to be better for my baby girl. And you deserve better than some asshole who hits you because you don’t do what he wants. Let’s get you healed and then I’ll figure out how to get you settled somewhere else where Jenson can’t find you.”

You believe him. And that scares you for a lot of reasons, but you will just have to hope and trust that he means what he says. “Thank you.” You murmur softly. “I think- I should be able to watch her tomorrow if you need?” You know you will still hurt, but it’s always a lot better the next day.

He nods, “I’d appreciate that. I have to go to the store. She needs diapers and I need to do a job.” He confesses, “I don’t - the boss is gonna let me go soon.” He murmurs, unsure if he buys that but he’s gonna try.

“Okay.” You bite your lip. “Just so you know…uh, I don’t have a lot of experience with kids. Babies, I mean.” You admit, wanting to be completely honest. “So you might have to make a list for me or something.”

Clint snorts, “I didn’t know either but you learn fast. Main things are diapers and formula.” He promises, “and making sure she doesn’t bash her head.” He offers you a reassuring smile, “if I can do it, I’m sure you can.”

“You are putting a lot of faith in me.” You joke, the painkillers he’s given you are actually taking the pain away and making you a little sleepy. You wonder what he gave you, but it doesn’t really matter. “Thank you.” You murmur softly.

He smiles, nodding gently. “That’s alright. Now, get some sleep. I’m gonna head to bed. Nancy will be waking me up before I know it.” He shifts to stand up, “if you need anything, wake me up.” He orders and you nod, “I will.” Clint grunts, grabbing the baby monitor, “goodnight, Princess.” He offers, stepping back before he closes your door.

Alone in your bed, you close your eyes and sigh softly. Clint might have broken into your house, threatened Jenson and basically kidnapped you but you think he might have been saving you in reality. “Goodnight Clint.” You murmur before you fall asleep.

****

“Shhhh baby girl. It’s okay. Daddy’s here.” Clint murmurs to Nancy as he picks her up. She’s woken in the middle of the night, crying, and he cradles her in his arms. “Let’s change your diaper and get you some milk, sweetheart.” He coos, kissing her head, “and let’s not wake up our guest.”

You are awake, your ribs hurting, but it’s not as sharp as it was before. Listening to Clint as he murmurs to his daughter through the wall next door. It’s a comforting sound, his voice low and soothing. Making you get up and crack the door open just a bit to see him walk down the hall, the dim glow from the kitchen lighting his path. You see the broad expanse of his back, bare and scared from the life he has led. Watching as he walks with bare feet and a pair of tighty-whities that makes you stifle a giggle as you close the door again. He doesn’t seem so intimidating now.

****

Clint hears you moving around as he lets Nancy hold her bottle, her eyes fluttering as she relaxes, “sounds like our guest is up, baby girl.” He murmurs, watching the door open and you appear moments later. “Morning, Princess.” He greets you, now dressed and coffee brewed, he’s anxious to start the day. “You sleep okay? Hope Nancy didn’t wake you up.”

“I slept well.” You are dressed in a fresh set of clothes, but you know at some point you will need to shower. The painkillers and rest helped and you are feeling better although you will need to be cautious for awhile.  “It’s okay that she did. Wake me up, I mean.” You watch the little girl eat and you look around. “Can I make you breakfast?” You offer.

Clint is shocked by the question and he shakes his head, “you don’t have to cook for me. If you want eggs, there’s eggs in the fridge. Coffee brewed and there’s bread in the bin.” He offers, “this one has been fed.” He smiles at Nancy.

You nod and wipe your hands on the shorts you are wearing, “Will you show me how to change her diaper?” You ask. “And tell me how to make her bottles? Does she eat anything else?” You had thought of a million questions to ask. “Does she nap? I think babies nap.”

He nods, happy to have help after so many months of caring for his daughter alone while grieving his wife. “Sure. She has soft foods right now. She’s slowly having chicken and she has a lot of fruit. It has to be cut up so she doesn’t choke. I can show you. She naps every day for a couple of hours. You’ll know when she’s ready because she gets goddamn grumpy.”

You giggle, his frown almost fierce and he sounds just as grumpy as she must be when she’s needing a nap. “Okay. When she cries and doesn’t want to play she wants a nap.” You agree with a nod. “Cut up her fruit into small bites. Soft foods.”

He nods, “yep. Oh, it’s time to teach you how to change a diaper.” He chuckles, feeling the weight of her bottom and he sets the empty bottle down. “Come on princess.” He walks into her nursery, laying her down on the mat, and undoes her onesie. “First step. Get the diaper out. Second step, unbutton the bottom only. She doesn’t need to be naked for a new diaper. Then you’ll want to remove the diaper, roll it up and put it in the diaper bin.” He says as he shows you the steps. Grab the wipes. Wipe her clean. See if she’s chafing and put some diaper cream on her skin. After that, lift her to put the new diaper on andddd, button her back up. There you go, baby girl. All clean.” He coos, lifting her up from the changing mat.

He makes it look so easy and it’s such a paradox. Such a rough looking man, being so gentle with his little girl. You’ve seen the violence he can bring, but he is cooing and smiling at her. It makes you melt for this man who has managed to take you away from your life of abuse and treat you just as gently as he does her. “That looks easy.”

He nods, “takes practice. Girls are easier. Boys will piss on you.” He says, remembering how he learned that from the baby books. “Now, let’s show you how to make up her bottle.” He smiles, “I, uh, really appreciate you helping me look after her.”

You smile, almost a teasing grin. “It’s almost like that’s what I was brought here for.” Clint frowns slightly and you reach out to touch his arm. “Thank you.” You murmur softly. “I wouldn’t have left, even though I know I needed to.” You admit. “You took me away from that. I didn’t have anywhere to go and you’ve given me a place to be. A purpose for now.”

He stares at you for a moment until his eyes drop to your hand on his arm. His stomach twists with something unknown and he nods, “no woman deserves to be abused. Most men would’ve done the same. I- I would’ve done more to him but my boss told me to just hurt him enough so he could pay up.” He scoffs, “I bet he won’t pay up so I’ll be back there to see him.”

You snort. “He’s not gonna pay.” You tell him confidently. “He’s bragging about not paying. He’s such a dumbass.”

Clint snorts, “sure thing, princess. He hasn’t seen me get nasty.” He chuckles, “he has no clue who he’s fucking with. He will pay.” He promises, “and you - tell me if you wanna go. I can help you out. Get you settled somewhere.”

“You don’t owe me anything.” You remind him softly. “I’ll help you. You need help just like I do. We can help each other.” It sounds like a good thing to you. You need a safe space, time to heal emotionally and physically. What better place to heal than with the last person your ex wants to see.

He nods in understanding, “just tell me if you have second thoughts or something bothers you. I don’t leave the toilet seat up, my wife always slapped me for that.” He teases and he sees you flinch, “shit. Sorry. I meant she told me to stop that shit. She didn’t - I would never - you’re safe here.” He promises, not wanting to trigger you.

You nod, understanding that he would think nothing of a little joke like slapping someone in jest. You used to do the same thing, before Jenson. “It’s okay.” You want to soothe him, and that surprises you. “I understand what you meant. I- I’ll be okay.”

He’s not buying it but he doesn’t push you. You need time, you need to heal, and he will give you all the time you need. “I, uh, I’m gonna get some groceries. Do you wanna come with? Pick out what you like?” He offers, “and I wanna take Nancy to the park.”

It sounds like a nice little outing, almost like a family spending the day together. “Sure.” You nod. “If that’s okay, I mean.” You bite your lip. “I need to uh, get some, uh-“ you sigh. “I need some tampons. Jenson always waited until I ran out to buy more. And I know I’m gonna start in a few days.”

Clint huffs, “what a winner.” He rolls his eyes, “you can get what you need…what you want.” He promises, “when you need it.” He assures you, “take your time to heal and figure out what you want next.” He reminds you just as Nancy wiggles in his arms. “Okay, sweetheart.” He snorts, carrying her to her playpen so she can crawl around. “I got some bills to pay then we will head out.”

“Okay.” You nod. “I’m just- I’ll be here. So you do what you need to do.” You are a little nervous, but you know you need to take care of the baby. The house is neat, but it’s obvious it’s been some time since it’s been really cleaned and you can take care of that for him too.

Clint goes to sit down at the kitchen table, grabbing the stack of bills he has to pay. He’s a little behind where he wants to be, that’s why he took the job to get your boyfriend to pay. He sighs, grabbing his checkbook, and he looks up to watch you try to find a cup for the coffee. “Next cupboard over.” He says, reaching for his pen.

“Thank you.” You open the cupboard to find surprisingly feminine cups. Floral patterns on them and you wonder if they were his wife’s. It would make sense. Picking one, you close the cupboard quietly and pour up a cup. Taking a sip and sighing softly at the rich and bold flavor.

He can already see you’re more relaxed and he goes back to his bills, mentally figuring out what he has to pay out and how much he’s made. He sighs, rubbing his forehead, and he is reminded of why he’s taking these jobs. He wants to focus on Nancy and not worry about money.

You watch him for a moment, always finding it telling the way a man worries. Clint is contained, sighing as he rubs his head. Nancy squawks from the living room and you set your cup down and rush in there to see if she needs you.

He looks up, watching you as you come back into the kitchen with his baby girl in your arms. His heart aches for a moment, knowing it should’ve been his wife standing there. It should’ve been her holding her daughter. He inhales deeply and taps his pen on the table, listening to you talk to her. “I, uh, I’m gonna use the bathroom then we can go.” He says, chair scraping as he abandons the bills and heads to the bathroom.

You watch him walk away, wondering if you did something wrong. He looked upset as he rushed out of the room. “What did I do?” You ask Nancy softly, but she just gurgles at you happily and reaches for your face. You flinch slightly but the baby can’t hurt you, not like a man’s fist. “Do you need stuff to go out?” You ask, like she would answer you.

After washing his hands and then his face, Clint steps out of the bathroom and finds you still holding Nancy. “Gotta check her diaper bag.” He tells you, grabbing the backpack, it’s pink and you smirk at the thought of him carrying that around. Clint doesn’t care because his wife bought this backpack and he checks it, adding some diapers and a bottle before he zips it up. “You ready to go?” He asks and you nod, “just gotta get my shoes.” Clint steps forward to take Nancy, watching you as you disappear into the bedroom.

You actually are looking forward to going out. It’s been a long time since you’ve not been jumpy and nervous about going out. Afraid of somehow upsetting your ex and hearing about it when you get back. You put your shoes on and grab your purse, putting a little of the money you had taken in your wallet for yourself. Not expecting Clint to pay for your necessities. You come back out and smile when you see Nancy cuddled on Clint’s chest, her thumb in her mouth. “I’m ready.” You tell him quietly. “Is she sleepy already?”

“Nah, she’s fine. Maybe in a little bit. She might fall asleep in the car.” He says and carries her to her carrier. She moans at being put in there but settles down after a moment and he looks at you, “you ready?” You nod and he guides you outside to his car. You slide into the passenger side while he settles Nancy in the backseat. “Alright. Let’s go.” He says, tapping his fingers on the steering wheel before backing out of the driveway.

You are quiet on the drive, watching the neighborhood and the houses go by. There is a quiet charm to the area, the type of place where you don’t see so many fights, the cops aren’t called out every weekend. It’s peaceful, “you have a nice place.” You tell him honestly.

He looks over at you, “thanks. I, uh, beat up a lot of people to get it.” He snorts out a confession, “but I wanted to give my wife the best - what she wanted. Just so it was all worth it.” He confesses, pulling onto the main road.

“Your daughter will grow up in a good home.” You tell him, watching the cars go by before you twist around in the seat to look at Nancy. Frowning when you can’t see her because the seat is facing the back of the car. “Why does she sit like this?”

“Because she’d get hurt if we were in a crash and she was the other way round.” He explains, “I - shit - I have a mirror that attaches but I left it at home.” He clicks his tongue, “she will lemme know if she’s know if she’s not happy.”

You laugh. “I think she has no problem making sure you know she’s not happy.” You have heard babies cry, they make sure their displeasure is noted at top volume. “But you’re a good girl, aren’t you?” You coo playfully as you twist your arm around to let her play with your hand.

Clint smiles, adjusting his grip on the steering wheel, and he glances over at you. His heart aches a little for the missing piece of his wife but you aren’t taking her place. She’s still there, in Nancy, in his heart. He pulls into the supermarket parking lot. “Come on, princess. Let’s get some snacks.” He smiles, knowing he usually struggles balancing Nancy with the weekly shop so he’s glad to have an extra pair of hands.

You struggle slightly with getting Nancy out of the car seat, but you insist on doing it. While it’s not like you’re gonna take her anywhere, you need to know how. Nancy watches you with curious eyes and giggles when you pick her up. It takes a little maneuvering to get her out of the car without bashing her head, but you manage and look proud of yourself while you out her on your hip. “Ready.” You promise, smiling at him holding the diaper bag.

He watches you carry the baby, his heart aching a little but he pushes that aside to watch you. “Here, lemme take the bag.” He offers, and you hand it off to him. He nods when you thank him and you both enter the supermarket. “Did that prick let you eat?” He asks, knowing his type would be the kind to not allow food.

Your eyes widen at the question and you shrug slightly, feeling embarrassed. “As long as there was enough.” You admit. “He always had people coming over and it would be rude to not serve them.” You snort as you repeat his words to Clint.

Clint scoffs, “asshole.” He mutters, “that won’t be happening. You pick what you want and you eat when you want to eat. None of his bullshit.” He orders. “And I’m paying.” He says, not allowing room for argument.

“I can-“ he turns and his look is serious. Dark. You would think that he’s angry with you, but you can see that it’s not for you. “Okay.” You nod. “But I’ll make sure that you come home to dinner.” You tell him. “That’s the least I can do. You’ve been living off sandwiches and canned soup, haven’t you?” You ask, having seen the contents of his fridge and cabinets.

He snorts, nodding and he’s a little ashamed, “and fast food.” He confesses, “my wife did all the cooking and when she - I didn’t - it was her happy place. She would bake and cook and - and she’d make this chocolate cake when she was pregnant with Nancy.” He chuckles at the memory, “but you can have control of the kitchen. Whatever you want.”

“That’s different from what I’m used to.” You admit. “Jenson was so particular about food. He only wanted a few things, made over and over again.” You shake your head. “He just keeps sounding more and more like a winner, huh?”

Clint nods, pissed off but he doesn’t let it show. “It’s okay, Princess. Let’s go get groceries.” He says, placing Nancy in the shopping cart and swinging the grocery bag over the handles. “Pick what you want.”

****

Humming to yourself, you swipe a finger through the icing and smile at the rich and sweet taste. The kitchen smells like a bakery and hopefully it’s the perfect finishing touch to dinner tonight. Nancy is in her playpen, dragged into the kitchen because you are paranoid, playing with her blocks and squealing every time something makes her happy or frustrated or sad. You’ve learned over the last week to interpret the sounds and you grin over at her. “Need something, pretty girl?”

She blinks at you until she offers you a smile, making your heart flutter. Clint sighs as he opens the front door. You’ve been in his home for the past two weeks and it’s like you’ve been there forever. He sees your shoes at the front door when he takes his own off, watching you as you learned to care for his daughter. His heart aches with missing his wife but he also is happy to have some life back in the house. He’s working hard to finish up the jobs, wanting to get enough money to retire fully and fulfil his promise to his wife. It’s always “one last job” but this time, he means it. “Something smells good.” He murmurs, stepping into the kitchen and his heart shutters at the sight of you standing there with frosting on your face just like his pregnant wife.

“Hey.” You grin at him as you lean over to pick Nancy up. She’s abandoned her toys the second she heard his voice and is standing at the edge of the playpen. “I hope you don’t mind. I made cake for dessert tonight.” You tell him. “Strawberry.” You hadn’t wanted to make chocolate since he said his late wife made it all the time. You don’t want him to think you were trying to overstep.

He steps closer and bends down to pick up Nancy. “Hey, baby girl.” He coos, kissing her head, “you been a good girl?” He asks and looks at you as he cuddles his daughter. “Strawberry sounds amazing.” He nods, his stomach growling with hunger. “I can grill up some steaks after we get this one in bed.”

“I actually already made dinner.” You admit, motioning to the stove top. “I hope pork chops are okay? I know it’s not steaks.”

He nods, shocked, “yeah. Yeah of course.” He murmurs, “that’s - damn. I’m impressed.” He offers, pleased that he doesn’t just have a quarter pounder and cold fries to eat with his beer tonight.

For the last couple of weeks, he had been insisting that you not cook. That you needed to settle in and recover, but you are all but healed now. Nancy has settled into a routine with you and you want to help out beyond watching the baby and doing a little laundry. “It’s just pork chops, scalloped potatoes, green beans and some rolls.” You shrug. “Nothing too fancy.”

He snorts, “not too fancy? Princess, that’s like Thanksgiving to me.” He chuckles and nods, “thank you. Lemme get her in bed and we can eat.” He says, knowing Nancy had dinner by the dishes in the sink.

“She’s had her bath, but let me get her bottle.” She still likes some milk as she goes to sleep, so you get out the bottle you had made about five minutes before. “Still warm.”

He looks at you in surprise and hopes you don’t see the way his expression softens. It is uncanny how easily you seem to have slipped into his life. “You’re the best, princess.” He murmurs and takes the bottle from your hand, his fingers brushing yours.

You can feel your cheeks heat up from his compliment. Still so unused to nice things being said to you instead of insults and abuse. “I’ll plate up dinner while you put her down.” Even though you could do it, Clint still wants to spend as much time with his daughter as he can. He gets up with her at night for that bonding time since you are with her all day.

He nods, “thanks, sweetheart.” He carries Nancy into her room, getting her ready for bed before giving her the bottle. “She’s good to you, huh?” He murmurs, watching his daughter hold her bottle. His late wife has missed so much. It breaks his heart but Nancy is lucky to have you. You’ve taken like a duck to water being her caregiver. “Good to us.” He adds a moment later, “we are lucky to have her.” He murmurs, imagining life once you have moved on and it makes him frown. He tries to not read too much into it but he sighs, focusing on his daughter and not your pretty smile, the one that’s appeared since you have felt safe in his home.

You plate up the foot and set two settings at the table. A beer in front of Clint’s food, since you’ve noticed he likes to unwind with one. He doesn’t get sloppy though, something you appreciate. One of the many things you’ve come to appreciate about the enforcer that brought you home to hold for ransom. He’s become even more attractive to you now that you’ve seen how kind he can be. Soft and playful with his daughter, considerate of you. You think about how you could help him sometimes, late at night with your hand between your thighs as you imagine being on your knees for him.

He walks back into the kitchen with the baby monitor in hand, and his stomach twists with emotion when he sees you sitting at his kitchen table. For a moment, his mind reminds him of a similar scene with his late wife but she’s gone and you’re here. He can’t compare you, that’s not fair. He will always love his wife but he has to learn to live without her. “This looks fucking delicious.” He compliments you, looking at the dinner you prepared and the smile you offer him has him smiling back.

****

“Daddy’s home!” You let go of Nancy to let her start her unsteady, wobbly walk towards her father after he opens the door. Her first unaided steps had been just the week before and she loves being more mobile. Thank goodness Clint had been there to see it, he had almost cried when she had done it, scooping her up and heaping praises on the giggling little girl. “Say hi, daddy!”

Clint scoops her up, a smile on his face. Nancy makes everything better. Just seeing her. He kisses her cheek and she clings to him. You smile and Clint meets your gaze. “Hey princess. Was she a good girl today?” He asks, his heart fluttering at the sight of you.

“She was a little cranky.” You admit with a laugh. “We played outside and your lovely neighbor mentioned that she might be cutting teeth.” You move to start picking up her toys. “I froze one of the little chew toys she has and she loved it, so I think that might be it.”

He can’t believe how easily you’ve taken to caring to his daughter, the little things you do to help her, and it melts his heart. “She’s been waking up a lot at night. Thanks for thinking of that. I should probably read more baby books.” He sighs, caressing Nancy’s back. “What are you cooking?” He sniffs the air and groans, “smells delicious.”

“Lasagna.” You love how he appreciates everything you do. Especially cooking. You had hated cooking for Jenson because he was so critical and wanted the same things over and over again. Clint just ate what you fixed and praised it. “Garlic bread and a salad to finish it out.” You reach out and smooth Nancy’s hair. “We should probably give her some baby Tylenol tonight, she's running a slight fever from the teething.”

He nods, “that’s a great idea. God, I’m starving.” He groans, “that sounds amazing. Let’s get her settled and we can eat.” He offers, hungry after beating a guy up today who wouldn’t pay up. His knuckles are bruised and your eyes flick to them, making him flex them and hiss. “I’ll get you some ice.” You offer too, and he nods, “thanks, Princess.”

You try not to think about what he does too often, aware that you don’t like it. You have to remind yourself that Clint never even gets frustrated at Nancy when she’s fussy and can’t be soothed. Going into the kitchen, you get a ziploc bag and bust some ice cubes out of the tray to fill it up, wrapping it in a kitchen towel to make it a little more gentle on his hands. The timer for the lasagna goes off and you slide it out of the oven to rest and put the garlic bread in. “Five, maybe ten minutes.” You tell him when you bring him the ice. “Sit with her and I’ll fix her nighttime bottle and get her medicine.”

“You’re too good to us, Princess.” He smiles softly, watching you as you move around his home like you belong here. He sits down at the table with Nancy, her hands gripping his shirt, and he murmurs to her, “you had a good day? You been standing up? Walking around? My big girl. You’re growing up so fast.” He sighs, wishing time would slow down a little so he could appreciate his daughter but life happens and he wants to finish up working like he has so she has a good life.

You listen to him as he talks to her, really talks to her. You noticed when people see a baby, they immediately change their voice. Clint doesn’t. You like that. Nancy loves the sound of his voice. She always listens to him. Making up the bottle, you come back out to the dining room. “Want me to put her down?” You offer softly. “While you ice your hand?”

He shakes his head, “thank you, sweetheart but I like to put her to bed. I haven’t been here all day so lemme say goodnight to her.” He says and you smile, “of course.” He sets the ice down, picking up the bottle with his bruised hand, and he stands up. “Say goodnight, baby girl.” He orders and Nancy babbles at you. “Goodnight, sweetheart.” You coo and Clint carries her to her room, telling her a little about his day - censored of course - while he gets her ready for bed.

You can hear the low murmur of his voice. The baby monitor is off, to give him some privacy with his daughter. You smile as you set the table, setting out his beer and bringing the lasagna over to the table before you grab the premade salad out of the fridge. The timer goes off and you slide the tray of garlic bread out of the oven and groan at the delicious smell. With his hand hurt, you decide that you’ll go ahead and plate up a square of lasagna.

Clint gently shuts the door, making his way back down the hall to the kitchen where his dinner is served. So different from the months of fast food and sandwiches he’d struggle to put together at night after Nancy was asleep. “That looks delicious, thank you Princess.” He murmurs, taking a seat at the kitchen table.

“You’re welcome.” You have your own glass of wine in front of you. Clint had insisted that you should have something to unwind and relax, but you don’t care for beer. “It was no problem at all and I love that you eat my food so hungrily.”

He sips his beer, “because you’re such a good cook. Honestly, there isn’t one bad thing you’ve made me.” He confesses, “you are - you’ve been - I can’t thank you enough for all the help you’ve given me and Nancy.”

You can’t help but laugh. “You literally saved my life, Clint.” You tell him after a moment. “Watching Nancy, helping you, it’s the least I could do.” You’ve had a lot of time to think about what you put up with, and what you had ignored. Realizing what an idiot you had been. “I- I love watching her. I love her. She’s such a sweetheart and….” You shrug, not wanting to say that you love taking care of him too. “I’m grateful you’ve put up with me.”

He nods, watching you for a moment, and his heart flutters, no longer lost to the ache of losing his wife. He feels hopeful and that takes him by surprise. He sips his beer and watches you as you pick up your knife and fork. “I’m happy you’re here. I want - I want to help you. However I can. If you’re ready to go, tell me, but you are welcome to stay as long as you want.” He doesn’t add “or forever” which pops into his mind.

“You still need help with Nancy.” You immediately protest before you realize how pushy that sounds. “I mean- um, I’m- I’m happy to stay and help.” You admit, pushing your salad around with your fork. “I-uh, I like being here with you. And Nancy.” You add quickly. Your crush on Clint has grown from one of slight hero worship for saving you, to full fledged fantasies when you go to bed. It’s a little concerning how sexy you think he is, protective and dangerous, yet so gentle and kind. He’s the kind of man you’ve always wanted and he’s out of reach for you.

Clint is relieved to hear you say that but he’s also scared to pigeonhole you into his home. He doesn’t want you to resent him for keeping you here, being his housekeeper and babysitter. “Well, you’re welcome to stay but if you want to leave, you tell me and I’ll help you. You’ve got some money now so if you wanna go, you won’t hurt my feelings.” He promises despite knowing his heart would be broken to let you go. He dreads coming home to a cold home again. He’s also given you cash weekly for everything you’ve done for him, wanting you to feel like you have the freedom to leave or do what you want.

“I- I’d like to stay.” You admit softly, wondering if he’s tired of you being in his home. “Jenson still hasn’t paid.” You remind him, even though you both know that he won’t. You take a sip of your wine. “Unless you’re tired of me being here.”

His eyes widen a little, his grip on his fork tightening, “no. No. Absolutely not. I just - I never want you to feel like you don’t have a choice.” He clarifies and his stomach twists when your eyes soften, “I know.” He nods, happy that you don’t think he’s keeping you here because of the payment, “you can leave whenever you want. I’ll deal with Jenson.”

Your excuse backfired and you start to eat quietly, a little embarrassed. You can’t tell this man that you want to stay with him because you’re falling in love with him. He’s grieving his wife, his true love. He doesn’t need your emotional baggage. “Nancy needs some more diapers.” You remind him. “She’s gonna need to go up a size.”

He nods, “I’ll get her some more tomorrow.” He cuts into the lasagna and groans when the flavors hit his tongue. “Damn good.” He gestures to the plate, “you’re such a good cook. Can’t believe that asshole didn’t appreciate you.”

You fluster slightly. “You are just tired of eating sandwiches.” You snort as you take a bite of your own meal. It’s good, he’s right about that, and you are happy it turned out. Clint huffs, shaking his head at you. “No, it’s more than that.” He promises and you smile softly.

His heart flutters when you smile at him and he doesn’t know how to stop it. He knows you’re going to want to leave and he doesn’t know how he will let you go. He can’t be selfish. He has to let you go if you want. He won’t be like Jenson and keep you against your will.

After dinner, you make Clint go ice his hand again, insisting that you can clean up from dinner. He normally helps, but his hand is swollen. You’re sure he’s broken something, but you turn on the radio to start washing up, humming to yourself softly.

"I didn't think you'd end up being his house bitch. You never made me fucking lasagna." You freeze, dropping the plate in the water, and Jenson steps closer. "Don't scream otherwise I'll fucking kill the baby after I'm done with you." He promises, "I can take that asshole when he doesn't have a goddamn bat." He chuckles, stepping closer and he shows you the knife he has in his hand. "Don't scream or do anything stupid." He orders, stepping closer until he can wrap his arm around your waist, "fuck, I missed you baby."

Oh God. You whimper quietly, nodding as your breath hitches. He’s in the house, how did he find you? Why is he here? “I- are you going to pay?” You ask shakily, hoping that he will just pay the money and want to leave. You don’t want Nancy to get hurt. His chuckle is dark, low. Making your stomach twist in fear.

"Pay? Fuck no. I want you back though and my fucking money. You're gonna come back with me, not a goddamn sound. You are gonna step back with me and we are gonna walk out the back door." He demands and you whimper, the knife pressed against your neck.

“My stuff.” You remind him but he just squeezes you hard enough to make you gasp out. “Doesn’t fucking matter I’ll get it when that bastard is out looking for you.” Jenson growls. You know that if he gets you out the door, you are in serious trouble. The knife at your throat scares you but your foot kicks the trash can, making it fall over with a loud clang since it’s metal.

Clint frowns when he hears the clang of the metal, wondering if you dropped something, standing up from his bed to walk down the hall, iced hand aching, and he enters the kitchen, “everyone okay, princess?” He asks as he walks in until his eyes widen at the sight of Jenson. The surprise wears off immediately and he huffs, narrowing his eyes when he sees the knife pressed against your neck. “What the fuck are you doing?” He asks your ex.

“You bitch, you did that on purpose, didn’t you?” Jenson hisses, pressing the knife into your skin harder and making you cry out. It cuts into your skin slightly and makes you aware of just how sharp it is. “No! No! It was an accident!” You promise, eyes on Clint, wide and terrified. “You know how clumsy I am. Just- don’t- I’ll go with you. Just don’t hurt the baby.” You beg him.

Clint clenches his jaw, pissed that this asshole has broken into his house. His eyes flick to you, seeing your fear, and the blood that drips down your neck rips a growl from his chest. “Take her then. I don’t give a fuck.” He orders, wanting the asshole to lower his guard.

Your heart drops, eyes filling with tears as you realize that you were just a means to an end for him. No one important if he could so casually toss you back to the hell he had plucked you from. “See?” You wilt slightly, relaxing in Jenson’s arms. “Let’s just go. We can just go.” You beg your ex, tears sliding down your cheeks.

Your ex takes the bait, lowering the knife from your skin, and Clint wastes no time pushing you aside so he can slam into the asshole. His fingers wrapping around the wrist with the knife in hand, controlling it. “Motherfucker.” He growls, “coming in my house.” He knees Jenson in the crotch, making him cry out and loosen his grip on the knife.

You scramble out of the way, wrapping your arms around your stomach and watching as Clint starts to beat Jenson. The knife is pushed away and you lunge for it, wanting to keep it away from your ex. Not wanting to give him a chance to hurt you again.

Clint’s hand is definitely broken now but he doesn’t care as he punches your ex who lunges for him again. He slams him into the back door which swings open and both men tumble to the ground. “She’s mine. I’m taking what belongs to me.” Jenson growls and Clint punches him again, “she doesn’t belong to you, asshole.” Your scream echoes and he hears Nancy crying but he sees red, punching your ex over and over.

The baby. You tear your eyes away from the brawl that has spilled into the backyard, shouting and cursing accompanying the thuds of punches landing to race back to the bedroom. Nancy is screaming, face turning dark as she howls, standing and jumping at the edge of her crib. “Shhhhhh shhhhhh it’s okay.” You promise shakily, even though you feel like crying as you snatch her up and race back to make sure something hasn’t happened to her father.

Clint grunts as Jenson gets a punch in, both men rolling on the ground until Clint straddles your ex. He punches him again, his head lolling as blood covers his face. Seconds later, sirens blast and yells are heard as police storm the house, guns aimed and yelling at you to get out of the way.

“No! Don’t shoot!” You yell, holding Nancy as you rush forward. “He broke in! He tried to kidnap me!” You point to Jenson underneath Clint.

The police keep their guns raised, “get the fuck up!” They order, and Clint growls, shoving Jenson away from him as he stands, hands raised. “He broke into my house. He broke into my fucking house with my daughter sleeping here and put a knife to her neck. What would you do?” He spits out, watching Jenson as he remains on the ground.

One officer looks at you, seeing the blood streaked down the side of your neck, “madam, the man on the ground broke in and threatened you?” He asks and you nod quickly. “He’s my ex. He used to - he beat me. Clint was protecting me.” You promise, not looking at Clint since he had told Jenson to take you. You still don’t understand why he would say that, unless he was trying to trick him. “He was protecting me.”

The officer looks at Clint who nods, “yeah. Yeah. He’s - he broke in. He used to beat her up. She’s been staying with me for safety.” He reveals and the officers nod, grabbing Jensen off the floor. “Let’s take him in.”

Clint’s heart pounds now that the threat is gone and he strides over to you, cupping your cheek while reaching for Nancy. “Are you okay? Did he hurt you apart from your neck? You need to get that checked out.” He rushes out, heart thumping at the thought of you getting hurt.

You let him take his daughter but you pull away. “I’m fine.” You promise, stepping back. “But I’ll- I’ll just go over and have them look at it.” You promise, turning and walking towards the ambulance that has pulled up.

Clint nods, cradling Nancy who has now calmed down and is almost asleep on his shoulder, and he watches you. Jenson is shoved in the back of the police cruiser, no concern given to his injuries and the officers come over so he can give a statement while you get checked out.

The paramedic treats you like you’re fragile, their gloved hands carefully turning your neck and it makes you break. Tears stream down your cheeks as you sob, the realization that he could have actually killed you washes over you. Somewhere in the back of your mind, you know that Clint had been trying to keep everyone safe, not giving Jenson any weakness to exploit, but it had been worse than when Jenson had given you over to him. The safety of the little bubble you had lived in for nearly three months had popped and now you were dealing with the aftermath.

Clint is impatient as he gives his statement, wanting to check on you, and Nancy is squirming in his arms. Picking up on his emotions, she is reaching for you when her eyes find you with the paramedics. “It’s okay, baby girl.” He murmurs, “you’re okay. She’s gonna be okay.” He almost tries to convince himself if he’s honest. He sees you crying and his heart aches, knowing you’re upset about Jenson finding you. “Thanks sir. We need her statement now and then you can see her.” Clint nods but he’s not happy.

You are wiping your eyes as the paramedics finish bandaging you up. The cuts are superficial, they tell you, but there is the chance of infection because they don’t know how clean the knife was. The police officer comes over to take your statement and you bite your lip, lowering your head as he asks you to tell him what happened. “I was washing dishes when he grabbed me. I had the radio on, I didn’t hear him come in.” Your voice shakes as you remember how it felt. “He told me to be quiet or he would kill the baby.” You choke out a sob. “I believed him. I couldn’t let him hurt her.”

He nods, his mouth downturned. “I understand. You lived with him before? Is he - did he hurt you when you lived with him?” He asks and you nod, “ye-yes. He would - for any reason. If I did something he thought was wrong, he’d hurt me. Broke my ribs.” You confess and the police officer frowns, knowing you didn’t call anyone for help. Most women don’t. “It’s okay. It’s okay.” He comforts you, “that asshole is going to jail.” He promises, “and he won’t bother you again.”

“He needs to.” He has a few more questions but soon enough you are being helped down out of the ambulance and left feeling like you’re all alone as you watch them leave.

As soon as you’re released, Clint watches you and immediately steps over towards you. “Are you okay, sweetheart?” He asks, needing to make sure you’re okay. “Did they check the cut?” He asks and you nod, “okay. Okay. Shit. Are you okay?” He can’t stop asking even though his knuckles are bloodied and bruised. The skin is broken. Jenson got a couple of hits in too so his eyebrow is cut.

“I’m- no.” You admit softly, shaking your head. “I’m- he could have hurt her.” Your eyes are filled with tears as you look at Nancy. She’s reaching for you, practically flinging herself out of Clint’s arms in order to go to you. You take her in your arms and hold her close, terrified of what might have happened.

She grips your neck, burying her face in your chest to cuddle you close and you start to cry. Clint inhales shakily, imagining losing you after losing his wife, and it has him stepping closer to both of you. He wraps his arms around you, pulling you and Nancy close while the police and paramedics start to leave. His neighbors are outside but head back inside when the police leave.

You inhale the scent of him, cologne worn off, slightly sweaty and the scent of blood mixing with his natural smell. He smells safe and dangerous all at the same time. “I should leave.” You murmur softly. “This is all my fault. Nancy could have been hurt.”

He shakes his head, "not your fault. Mine. I should've made sure he wouldn't bother you again. Shit. I- I'm so sorry, princess. It's my fault. You got hurt because of me." He murmurs into your head.

“No.” You pull back and look at him in confusion. “He came back for me. He - he could have hurt your daughter, because of me. I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry, Clint.”

He shakes his head, pulling back to cup your cheek, “don’t be stupid. He wanted you but he also wanted to hurt me. It wasn’t your fault. It - he needed to be gone for good. I should’ve finished the job when I took you away from him. I didn’t - what I said earlier in the kitchen. I didn’t mean it.” He confesses, “I never would’ve let him take you.”

You bite your lip and look up to his eye before looking back at Nancy. “Are you sure?” You ask. “It’s okay if - I mean, I understand. I’m not anyone to you. You don’t owe me anything.”

He scoffs, shaking his head as he caresses your cheek. “I owe you everything.” He confesses, “you - you brought life back to my house. You have been an incredible help with Nancy. You - I couldn’t imagine my home without you.” He confesses, “I couldn’t imagine my life without you.”

You frown slightly, searching his eyes. “I need to know what you mean.” You admit, your voice cracking slightly. “Because I’ve been trying to push down my feelings for you, I know that you love your wife and I’m not trying to replace her. I could never do that, but you are……amazing and I’m so far down the rabbit hole I don’t know what to do.”

Clint stares at you for a moment, his thumb brushing away a stray tear that drops from your eye. “I love my wife but she’s gone. She’s - I loved her but I can’t spend the rest of my life denying how I feel to be faithful to her. She wouldn’t want that. I have talked to her a lot. At night. Confessing how guilty I’ve felt because of my feelings for you. How I feel like I’ve betrayed her but I can’t stop myself from being in love with you. I think she’d want me to be happy.”

You stare at him, shocked that he just confessed to being in love with you. “You love me?” You ask, almost dumbfounded by the idea. “Not just for Nancy, but for me? To be with me?” You want to make sure that you aren’t misreading things. “Because I want - I want to sleep with you. Have sex.”

He chuckles, “oh trust me, baby. I’ve thought about that too. A lot. Felt guilty as hell because I didn’t know you wanted me.” He confesses, “had a lot of nights awake thinking about what to do. I want you. In every way a man wants a woman.”

You nod, a shiver of anticipation racing through you but Nancy demands your attention as she cuddles into your chest. “This little one needs to go down again.” You tell him. “I’m going to fix her another bottle and put her down. You need to take care of your hand.”

Clint nods, “come on princess. Let’s get you inside.” He says, placing his hand on your waist to guide you back into his home. When he’s inside, he is immediately locking all the doors and checking the windows to make sure the house is secure.

Nancy won’t let you out her down, she has to be held while you fix her bottle but you don’t mind. Everyone might need a little comfort tonight. When you are done, you carry her into her bedroom and sit down in the rocker, letting her hold her bottle while you pat her bottom and talk to her. “I’m so sorry you were scared sweetheart.” You murmur. “Your daddy wasn’t going to let anything happen to you. Neither was I. We love you and we are always gonna keep you safe. Your daddy is the best kind of man for that. He will always keep you safe.”

Nancy settles, her tiny body relaxing as she drinks her milk. You hum and her eyes start to flutter closed. Clint secures the house, his knuckles cleaned up and bandaged, and he leans against the door frame as he watches you with his daughter. “I’ll keep you both safe.” He vows, “until the day I die.” He failed to keep his wife safe and he will never make that mistake again.

You look up, smiling softly at him as your heart thumps in your chest. He looks fierce, determined to keep that vow. “I know.” You assure him. “She is very lucky. And so am I.” Looking down at the baby sleeping in your arms, you rock her for a few more moments before you slowly stand to transfer her into her crib.

He watches as you step closer to the crib and he walks over, stopping you before you put her into the crib. “Sleep tight, baby girl.” He murmurs, kissing her head. He watches you lay her down, her arms lifting above her head, and he wraps his arm around your waist as he watches her. He turns his head to kiss the side of yours, “come on, princess. Let’s let her sleep.” He whispers, guiding you to the hallway. You carefully shut the door behind you, the baby monitor still on the counter, and he pulls you into his chest. “You’re safe.” He murmurs, “I am not going to let anyone or anything hurt you.”

“I know.” You close your eyes and your arms slip around his waist. “It’s okay. He didn’t hurt me. Not really.” You promise. Jenson’s hold over you is truly over and now you will never see him again if your luck holds out. The police said that they wouldn’t need you to testify.

“He will never come near you again.” He vows, his hand coming up to cup your cheek, “I promise, I’ll protect you.” He leans in to nudge his nose against yours. “Did you mean it? Earlier? When you said you wanted me?” He asks, his voice gruff and lower than below. “Yes.” You whisper and he slowly brushes his lips against yours. When you whimper, his hand shifts to the back of your head and he tilts it so he can deepen the kiss.

Your hands slide up his back, feeling the muscles bunch under his t-shirt. He’s strong, hard in a lot of ways, but he’s also gentle. The way he touches you is proof. His tongue slides into your mouth and touches yours, making you moan softly. Eyes fluttering closed and your body warming instantly, turned on by the taste of him.

He groans, loving how you press yourself against him. He needs you now. Clint manages to pull back, his nose nudging yours, and he reaches for your hand. He doesn’t say a word as he guides you to his bedroom. A space you haven’t been in since you arrived but he wants to share it with you now.

“Are you sure?” You ask softly. You know this is where his wife slept. Where they shared a bed. You would understand if he couldn’t share this space with you. You didn’t even go into his room to put up his laundry. You just left it in a basket in the living room and he put it away.

He nods, “I need to have you here.” He confirms, “it’s - I’m ready.” He opens the door and you watch him as he enters, pulling you in behind him. He shuts the door behind you, setting the baby monitor on the dresser, and he turns towards you. You stare at him, chest heaving as your stomach twists, and he surges forward to press his lips to yours again.

It’s like the floodgates have been opened. Both of you are frantic for each other. Pulling and tugging at the clothes you are wearing. All while your tongues tangle together and you pass moans back and forth in your eagerness.

His hand aches but he’s determined to show you tonight how he feels. He grips the hem of your shirt, waiting a second for you to push him away, and he breaks the kiss so he can pull it over your head. “Goddamn.” He mutters at the sight of your bra. Simple but so fucking perfect. His hands immediately slide to find the clasp, needing to see more of you.

You hate pulling away from him, your hands under his shirt to touch the broadness of his back. But you let the straps of your bra slide down your arms and you toss it aside when he unhooks it. Standing in front of him to let him look. You know that he’s not been with anyone since his wife died. He’s not said it out loud, but you know. Honored that he would give himself like this to you, you want to make it perfect for him.

“Fuck. You’re so goddamn pretty.” He murmurs, his hand coming up to caress your collarbone until his hand slides down to cup your breast. “Imagined you so many times. You’re so beautiful.” He leans in to kiss you again, his injured hand cupping your other breast.

You know his hand is hurting, but he doesn’t take his focus off of you. The warm, calloused skin of his palms scraping against your sensitive flesh and making you whimper into his mouth. You’d let him do anything to you right now. You want him so much it hurts. Your fingers reach for his belt buckle, tugging his waist as you open it. Wanting to see him, to see if he’s as beautiful as you imagined.

He groans when your fingers brush the bulge in his jeans. “Fuck, you’re - better than I imagined.” He confesses, ducking his head so he can wrap his lips around your nipple. Your moan has his cock twitching under your palm and he gently bites down.

His mouth is greedy, suckling at your breast and biting down gently. It makes your cunt clench around nothing and you palm his cock harder. “Clint.” You whine.

He groans when you squeeze him through his pants, your hands fumbling to pull his belt free from the loops. He switches over to your other breast, enjoying the way you pant his name while he squeezes the breast he abandoned.

He doesn’t rush, he’s not trying to push your pants down. You, however, are ripping open his jeans and pushing your hand down into his underwear to wrap your fingers around his cock. Groaning at how thick he is. How hot he feels in your hand as you squeeze him. “Fuck.”

“Jesus Christ.” He groans when you squeeze him. Your hand is soft and smaller than his. He pants into your skin, loving how you react when he sucks on your nipple. His fingers trail down your stomach until he’s flicking open the button of your jeans, his fingers hovering over the zipper.

“Yes.” You moan softly. You start to pump his cock, although it’s awkward from the way you have to twist your wrist. “I need you naked.” You beg. “Let me see all of you.”

He grunts, stepping back, and he shoves his pants down, kicking them aside along with his boxers as he tugs his shirt over his head to expose his body to your needy eyes. He loves how you moan at the sight of his revealed flesh and he reaches back to start pulling your pants down your legs.

“God, you’re gorgeous.” You praise, looking at the broad shoulders, the slightly soft belly. There are scars that mar his skin, but it doesn’t detract from his appeal. It adds to it, if anything.

"You looking in the mirror, princess?" He smirks, helping you step out of your jeans. Your panties remain and he doesn't remove those yet. Instead, he grabs you to pull you close, his lips meeting yours as he walks you backwards towards the bed. "Lay down. I wanna taste you. Imagined it too many damn times."

Your eyes widen in surprise, unused to that kind of suggestion. Jenson always alluded to the idea that real men don’t perform oral and you had just accepted it. Although the asshole always wanted it. “Are you sure?” You ask, a little self conscious.

He frowns, “of course I’m sure.” He says, “unless you don’t like it?” He asks and you giggle, “I don’t know.” He scoffs, “lay down on the bed.” You nod, shifting to lay down and he groans at the sight of you on his bed. He watches you as you settle onto his pillow and his hands slide along your legs until he’s hooking his fingers in your panties.

You inhale deeply, your tits shaking as you watch him. He is exploring you, with his eyes and fingers. Your own hand drifts across his chest. “You can have me.” You promise him. “All of me.”

His heart pounds at your permission and he tosses your underwear over his shoulder, pushing your thighs apart with his hands. “Goddamn.” He mutters at the slick already gathered there. “You’re so fucking pretty.” He murmurs, shifts to lay on his belly and he presses kisses along your thighs until his nose nudges your mound.

You watch him, breath suspended as he smells you. Groaning in apparent approval at the scent and you can see his eyes get even darker. “Clint.” You moan, legs shifting slightly and he slides his hands up your legs to move them onto his shoulders. “I’ve got you.” He promises, right before he makes you cry out when his mouth engulfs your throbbing pussy.

He’s imagined this more than he’d ever admit so he decides to devour you. He groans, sliding his tongue through your folds until he is flicking the tip over your clit. His fingers dig into your thighs, keeping you spread for him. “Fuck, you taste good.” He mutters, pulling away for a moment until he dives back in, sucking on your clit.

All you can do is gasp and moan his name, fingers tangled into his hair as he sucks at you. “Clint!” Your hips buck up until he is throwing his arm over you, pinning you into place. “Oh my God. Don’t stop. Don’t ever stop.” You beg.

He never wants to stop and he certainly won’t now. His tongue sliding lower to push into your pussy, your tangy taste hitting his senses like a truck. It already has his head reeling and he slides his free hand up to squeeze your breast, needing more of you.

You whine when he pinches your nipple, your hand covering his and encouraging him to do it again. “Oh god, I can’t- it’s so good. So good baby.” You babble as he tongue fucks you. Your hips have started grinding down subtly. “Fuck.”

Your moans and cries spur him on, his mouth ravenous as he tries to devour you with his tongue. “So good. You gonna be good and cum for me, Princess?” He rushes out as a half plea, half demand, and he slides his hand from your breast until his thick digit is pressing into your pussy.

His fingers are large, his hand is large, but the way he curls his finger up inside you has you keening his name. It feels so good, pressed deep and giving you something to clench down on while he latches back onto your clit and suckles. He pumps it deep and presses it against the spongy part of your walls, making stars burst behind your lids as you shake apart with a loud wail.

He loves how you react to his touch, clamping down on his finger and his cock twitches at the thought of how you’ll squeeze his cock. Grinding against the bed, he works you through it, pressing kisses to your clit until he shifts to kiss your thighs, alternating each one for his affection.

“Oh my god.” You pant breathless, giggling as you press your hand to your chest. “I don’t think- I’ve never cum like that.” You admit, reaching out and stroking his shoulder. “How do you want to cum?” You ask. “I need to take care of you too.”

He huffs, “I don’t have to. I’m okay.” He promises despite his cock twitching. “Baby. Lemme take care of you.” You murmur, caressing his back, and he kisses your stomach as he comes back to your mouth. “However you want me. You want me to fuck you? Make you cum on my cock?” He asks, pulling back to look you in the eye.

You look up at him, the scar on his cheek and nose making him look fierce, but his eyes are soft. You know you could tell him no and he would respect that. “Yes.” You whisper. “I want to feel you inside me.”

He nods, shifting to kneel on the bed, “I think I have some condoms here. I - shit - we were gonna use them after Nancy was born.” He confesses and fumbles for the unopened box. “Sorry. I shouldn’t have - that’s weird.” He murmurs, knowing he shouldn’t mention his wife while trying to fuck you.

You reach out and stop him, sitting up to take the box from his hand. “It’s okay.” You promise him softly. “You had a life. A wife. Here in this house.” You open the box and fish a condom from the inside to open. “You can talk about her. I won’t be mad.” You shrug slightly. “As long as you remember I’m not her.”

His heart flutters and he can’t believe you understand how he feels. He decides to focus on you and only you. He reaches for the foil packet, opening it and rolling it down his cock. He groans when he squeezes his length and shuffles closer to your core. “You sure?” He asks and you nod, caressing his arms. “I’m sure. I love you.” His eyes soften and he slowly starts to push into you. “I love you too.” He murmurs, closing his eyes as he feels your velvet walls envelope him.

His jaw is tight, neck stretched out as he hovers over you. You can tell he’s trying to contain himself. He looks gorgeous. Making you marvel that this man wants you. He wants to keep you safe and love you. Your legs slide up onto his hips, letting him sink deeper into you as you both groan at how perfect it feels. “Fuck.” You whine. “Clint….its so good.”

He nods in agreement, moaning your name as he leans down to kiss your chin. “Feel so damn good.” He murmurs, pressing his lips to yours. You moan into the kiss and his tongue slides into your mouth, wanting to devour you as he starts to move his hips.

He starts slow, your hands holding onto his shoulders as he pulls sounds of you. Drinking them down as his cock scrubs your walls and he pulls out slowly to plunge back into you. It’s wonderful, maddening and completely overwhelming. You can’t think about anything else but the way he feels, warm and heavy, surrounding you.

He surrounds you and he loves it, wanting to protect you, needing to make sure you know that he’d never hurt you, or let anyone hurt you. You’re safe now. “Baby, baby. You feel so good.” He groans, kissing your jaw, his hot breath puffing against the damp skin. “You’re so goddamn beautiful.”

You hum softly, smiling as he rocks into you. “You’re beautiful.” You counter. “Protective, strong.” Your walls flutter around his length as you think about the lengths he went to in order to keep you and Nancy safe. “I love you.”

He groans, heart pounding at your confirmation of your feelings and he nudges his nose against yours. “I love you.” He promises, rocking into you a little harder. Clint shifts his weight to his elbow so he can grip your thigh, lifting it higher so he can push deeper inside of you.

The change in angle feels amazing, making you moan as he pushes deep again. “Oh fuck.” You whimper, your legs tightening around him. “You feel so perfect, like you were made for me.”

“I want you to cum for me.” He murmurs, “tell me what you need to get there.” He orders, wanting to make you feel good. “I ain’t gonna last, princess. You feel too damn good around me.”

You whimper at the dark tone, the urgency in his voice. You slide one hand done to your tits and pinch your nipple, walls clenching down around him. “Harder.” You beg. “Wreck me.”

He groans, loving how you beg him, and he grunts as he starts to fuck you harder. “That’s it, baby. You want it like that?” He asks, watching you pinch your nipple. His fingers dig into your thigh as he lifts your calf onto his shoulder, his nostrils flared in concentration as he fucks you harder and faster.

It’s exactly what you needed. The pace is perfect and he’s hitting that sweet spot inside you that makes your toes curl. “Yes! Yes!” You cry out, not ashamed of what you need. He groans your name again and you feel that burst of pleasure explode inside you. “Clint!” You cry out, eyes closing and your body bucking under his.

You squeeze him so tight, his vision blurs, and he pushes deep. “Fuck. Shit. I’m gonna - baby. Fuck.” He grunts, burying his cock deep inside of you, his cum spilling into the condom as the breath is knocked out of him.

You moan, stroking his back as he shudders and works himself through his pleasure. Watching him as he rides it out. Sure there might be a moment where he regrets this, it’s the first time since his wife, and you know that is a big deal. “Beautiful.” You murmur, in awe is how solid he is.

He inhales deeply, shifting to bury his face in your neck after he relaxes above you. “Fuck.” He murmurs, pressing a soft kiss to your thumping pulse. “That was - you know what I want to say.” He whispers, knowing you understand him better than he ever imagined.

“I do.” You promise, reaching up and running your fingers through his hair. “And if you need time, I understand.” You promise. Even if he wanted to send you back to your bedroom tonight, you would understand. “I’m here for you and Nancy.” You whisper. “You saved me, now it’s my turn to save you.”

“I don’t need time. I can’t - she would tell me to love you with everything I am and not feel guilty. I want you. I love you. I just - I need to not feel like - like you could disappear too. Like someone is gonna take you away from me. I wouldn’t survive another loss.” He confesses, pulling back to look at you.

“We could leave Oakland.” You suggest softly. “Move away, start somewhere new. Somewhere where you don’t have to be an enforcer.” You feel like he would want that, but you don’t know. It’s not like you’ve talked about that kind of thing before.

“I - I’d like that. Start over. Give Nancy a chance. Where would you wanna go?” He asks and you caress his cheek, “I always wanted to move to Florida.” He chuckles, “couldn’t get further away. It’s perfect. I’ll get the house figured out and then we will go. Start over somewhere new. Together.” He decides, not even hesitating. It’s his ticket to finally escaping the life he got tangled into. The life that got his wife killed. The life that will eventually destroy Nancy too. He has enough money to make it happen.

You bite your lip as he shifts off of you and you turn to curl into his side. The condom needs to be disposed of, and both of you clean up, but there is something you need to admit to first. “When we left that day.” You start softly. “Jenson lied. He had the money to pay you. To pay his debt.” You confess, looking up into Clint’s slightly confused face. “When you told me to pack, I took it.” You lick your lips. “It’s more than what he owed. But I took his money. It’s in the bag in my closet.”

“Jesus Christ. Is that why he - why he found you?” Clint asks, confused and frowning. When you nod, he swallows harshly, “baby. That’s - it’s a shit ton of money.” He caresses your arm as you lean into him. “I know. He’s gone now so it’s ours. Let’s use it for our new start?” You suggest and Clint surges forward to press his lips to yours. A new start. It sounds perfect.

****

You responded – he knows you did. He saw it in your eyes, felt in on your breath, recognised it in the way your body tried to move closer to his.

And your words – I feel something – couldn’t have been clearer if you’d yelled them in his face rather than whispered them on a breath of air.

He keeps his eyes closed and exhales raggedly, the hesitation in immediately returning to the warmth of the hall borne from the undeniable need to touch you again. He can still feel the heat of your cheek against his palm, feel it burn the way his finger burned from the night in the jeep, and he wants other parts of his body to burn the same way.

He knows it’s not gentlemanly to have such thoughts about a woman he barely knows, but he wants to feel you, pressed tightly against him, wants to feel the heat of your mouth, your hands, your thighs…

He said he would do what you asked because in the darkness, with the tears coming down your face there was nothing else he could say. The saying of any other thing would have been cruel and the last thing Frankie ever wants to be towards you is cruel.

So, he said he would do what you asked, but he hadn’t, in the small, honest part of him, meant it, and if he was any lesser a man he would go back through the door again and drag you into his arms.

Instead, he opens his eyes, straightens his shoulders and walks the length of the passage out into the hall, arranging his face into an expression that won’t be questioned by others when he emerges back into the music and the dancing and the socialising.

The first person he sees, when he steps back inside the hall, is Santi, watching the door. He puts his cup of tea down on the shelf at the side near the urn, and crosses the floor to meet him, putting his hand on Frankie's elbow.

“Fish…walk with me."

"I’m not…"

"Walk with me. Smile at Mrs Robertson and come out the front, now."

He lets Santi steer him by the elbow across the front of the hall past the line of coats, and past Mrs Robertson at the door who, of course, asks if everything is alright.

“Everything’s fine, thank you,” Santi replies with a broad smile. “We’re just taking some air.”

Fortunately, she doesn’t ask any further questions or seem in any way intrigued and Santi keeps his hand on his elbow until they’re fully outside in the street in front of the hall, lit only by the small, thin moon from above.

“What the fuck?” Santi says, dropping his hand. “You danced with her, then she went out the back door, and you followed her and…please…please don’t tell me you did anything.”

“Jesus, like what?”

“I don’t know – like, fuck her?”

“Pope!”

“What?” Santi stares at him. “The way you’ve been acting lately, I wouldn’t be surprised.”

“I did not fuck her!” Frankie replies, indignant. “I just…we talked, that’s all.”

“About what? What did she say?”

Frankie looks down at his feet for a long moment, watching the moon reflect off the sheen of his boot as he tries to assemble his thoughts.

"She said to stay away from her."

"Okay,” Santi lets out a breath of relief.

"And I told her I would."

"Good."

"But I'm not going to."

Santi doesn’t say anything for a long moment. The moon shifts behind a cloud whilst somewhere in the hall behind them, Mrs Cook starts up another quickstep on the piano, and he folds his arms across his chest, his expression tightening.

"Say that again?"

"I'm not going to do what she said."

"Frankie..."

"What?”

"Look at me."

Frankie lifts his face from his boots and looks at his friend, knowing without needing to see for himself, that the look he’s giving him is quiet and settled – the face of a man who’s made a decision in the dark, and isn’t going to be talked out of it, not even by his closest friend.

"Frankie, no."

“I don’t care what you…”

"Listen to me."

"I'm listening, Pope, because I always listen to you. I listened to you in the hut when you talked about Pilar and I understood, okay? I understood what you were telling me and why and I get it, I do. You did the right thing for you and the right thing for Pilar and good for you. Way to fucking go. But what you did isn’t the right thing for me, or her.”

"I’m just…”

"She feels something, Pope, okay? She told me she feels something and I had one hand on her cheek and the other on her waist and..."

Santi groans.

“…and she told me to stay away from her, and the way she said it…it wasn’t…she wasn’t…she wasn’t actually saying that she wanted me to stay away from her. She was saying she was afraid of what would happen if I didn't."

Santi shakes his head, “That’s the same damn thing.”

"No, it isn’t.”

"Frankie, it’s the same damn thing! A girl who tells you to stay away because she’s afraid of what will happen if you don't, is a girl telling you to stay away. The fear is the reason. You don’t get to decide what she means and what she doesn’t – that’s on her.”

"She said it doesn't matter. She said it can’t matter. She said he’s going to ask me to marry him. She said all of those things whilst she was crying and…and she was saying them to herself, Santi, not to me. She was saying them out loud because saying them out loud was the only way she had to make them be true, and…”

Santi steps closer to him. “Frankie, you’re doing the thing a man does when he wants the thing to be the thing he wants it to be. You’re listening to what she said and hearing what you want to hear and calling what you want to hear the truth of what she said, and that it is only going to make things worse!”

Frankie pauses, holding eye contact with his friend, before nodding. “Maybe.”

"Maybe?"

"Maybe I am doing that, okay? Maybe I am. But the truth is, I don't know, not for sure. I don't know if I'm hearing what I want to hear or if I'm hearing what's there. And I am telling you that not knowing is not a reason to stay away. Not knowing is a reason to find out."

"But it’s not your finding out to do, it’s hers!”

Santi sighs heavily and rubs a hand over his face.

"Frankie, the finding out is hers. She has to decide what she wants, not you, and if you don’t leave her alone, you’re not helping her find out. You’re taking the finding out away from her."

Frankie shakes his head. "Pope, if I stay away, she doesn't find out and she marries her boyfriend and..."

"Then that is her finding out and making a choice.”

"No, that’s her doing the thing she’s already doing. That’s her staying in the place she’s always been because it’s the easy place and the easy place is the place where I’m not, and her staying in the easy place because I’m in it is not her finding out anything. That’s her being left alone.”

He lets out a ragged breath.

“That’s her being left alone in this village in the middle of this fucking war and never knowing what…what she could have.”

Santi says nothing for a long moment, the only sound coming from the whisper of the evening wind and the piano from inside the hall. Somewhere in the distance, a dog begins to bark and then stops, the village settling once more, ignorant of the turmoil.

"Frankie, I told you about Pilar so you wouldn’t do this."

"I know.”

"But apparently you’re going to do it anyway."

"Yes.”

"Jesus…” Santi shakes his head. “You’re a goddamn fool, you know that?”

"Santi, you told me that you’ve asked yourself every day since you last saw Pilar whether saying how you really felt would have made it better or worse, and you told me that the answer every day is worse. And I believe you. But you almost said it, and the almost is the thing you have to carry, because you almost said it and you didn't."

Santi blinks.

"She’s not married yet, not even engaged – not properly. He’s just some boy she’s known all her life and…and if I stay away from her now, if I do what she said and what you’re saying and she marries him, then I’m going to be you. I’m going to be carrying the almost for the rest of whatever piece of life I get after this tour, and I’m not going to be you. Respectfully.”

“Glad you added that, you asshole.”

"I’m saying it because it’s true and because you’re the only man I can say it to, and I would rather say it to you than say it to myself in the dark."

Santi looks at him for a long moment before making a noise that might be a laugh and might be something else.

"Alright, Fish. I’m not going to talk you out of it because I’ve tried and you’ve thrown everything back at me, so – alright. But you need to be smart about this, and you need to be careful. You need to be careful that the thing you do is the thing you can live with.”

"I don't know what I'm going to do yet. I came out from behind the side door of the hall ten minutes ago having decided that I wasn’t going to do what she said, and that’s all the deciding I’ve done.” Frankie pauses. “I might wait. I might wait a long time. I might…I might never do anything."

Santi snorts. “You will. I don't know when or how, but you’ll do something because you’re not the kind of man who decides that he’s not going to do what a girl’s asked him to do and then doesn’t do something. So…you’ll do it. And all I’m saying is, when you do, be careful.”

Frankie nods. “Okay, thanks.”

“Don’t thank me,” Santi sighs. “If this all goes wrong…”

“You’ll be there.”

He huffs another laugh. “Yeah, guess I will be.”

They stand for one more long second in the dark, then Santi inclines his head back to the door. “Come on, let’s go back inside.”

“Pope, you…” Frankie takes hold of his friend’s sleeve. “You won’t…say anything to anyone else, will you? To Will or Benny or Tom…”

“I won’t say a goddamn word,” Santi replies. “But I’m guessing I’m not the only one who saw what happened after you finished dancing with her, so don’t blame me if the others ask you about it.”

“That’s fair. I guess I could’ve been less obvious when I followed her out.”

“Long as she hasn’t come back in crying, you’re fine.”

They cross to the door together and once back amongst the warmth and the music and the dancing, Frankie heads straight to the trestle and takes a cup of tea from Mrs Robertson and doesn’t look across the floor. He doesn’t have to, because he knows that you’re at the other side of the room with Margery, your back angled very slightly to him, drinking your own tea slowly and carefully, not looking across the floor at him either.

Mrs Cook brings the latest dance to a finish with a flourish, and the floor stands and claps and breaks up, bodies moving in different directions, a low murmur filling the air.

Out of the corner of his eye, Frankie can see Will flirting with the girl serving the teas, while Tom and Benny are in conversation with Mr Robertson, the younger airmen’s expression screaming to be saved somehow from the drudgery of small, English village talk.

“Oh Lieutenant Morales,” Mrs Hadley clucks as she approaches from his left side. “I hope you won’t think me presumptuous in hoping you might have a dance free before the end of the evening?”

“I don’t think you presumptuous at all,” he smiles at her, still refraining from looking across the floor. “I’d be honoured.”

****

On the other side of the hall you, meanwhile, are drinking your tea slowly and carefully, trying to stop your hands from shaking whilst attempting to field Margery’s questions as best you can.

When you’d come back inside, she had immediately pounced and subtly redirected you, having seen you leave after your dance with Frankie and him follow you outside almost immediately.

“And then…?” she asks, eyes as big as saucers as you recount him coming upon you in the dark.

“He asked if I felt something and then…then he moved closer and…he put one hand on my cheek and the other on my waist and I thought…. oh Lord Margery, I thought he was going to…to kiss me and I wanted him to but then I…I told him he had to stay away from me.”

A sound leaves Margery’s throat that resembles a half snort, half cry and you realise that, for all intents and purposes, you’ve spoiled what she’s been hoping was going to come next. But she instantly catches it, turns it into a cough and takes another mouthful of tea, smiling at Florrie Bates as she floats past in the arms of one of the other Americans whose name, at this precise moment, you’ve forgotten.

“And what did he say?”

“He said he’d do it. But then he said he’s been thinking about me, and I told him that I had Henry and that I couldn’t do anything about it but…” you inhale raggedly, the teacup shaking in your hand. “But I want to, Margery. I want to, more than anything and that makes me a terrible person and…”

“Hush, old girl, of course it doesn’t!” Margery says fiercely. “It makes you human, that’s all. It makes you a woman who’s attracted to a man who’s attracted to you and that’s the natural order of things. And I told you before that you should be exploring your feelings and not worrying about boring old Henry…”

“Margery!”

“I’m serious, old girl. Things have happened now and you’d be a fool to ignore them.” She looks at you squarely. “You’re not a bad person, I know that. So, you’ll have to end things with Henry before you do anything with Frankie.”

“I didn’t say I was going to do anything with Frankie,” you hiss.

“Yes, you are – you know you are. And doing something whilst Henry sits in the background is a recipe for disaster, I’m telling you that now. I mean, look at Annie Taylor – flighty piece that she is. Talk of the village walking out with that airman whilst Barry’s away with the navy and you don’t want to be talked about like her, do you? You want to be talked about as a woman who was decent enough to let her old boyfriend down gently before taking up with a new one.”

You drain the rest of your cup and turn it around in your hands, shaking your head in the process. “I can’t because…because I told him to stay away and he said he would…”

“That’s why he’s trying his hardest, once again, not to look over here at you,” Margery says, glancing over your shoulder. “That man has no intention of staying away from you, old girl. He doesn’t know how long he might have left in this world and, believe me, he’s not going to waste a chance like this just because you’re too proud to tell Henry you don’t love him.”

Your head flies up and you meet Margery’s gaze again, mouth open and ready to defend your relationship. Only, you can’t. She raises an eyebrow, almost daring you to disagree, and all you can do is duck your gaze away again.

“If you don’t intend to do anything about your feelings for Frankie, then look at him,” Margery says after a few beats of silence. “Look at him right now.”

“Margery…”

“I’m serious, old girl, look at him.” She puts her cup down on the side and rests her hands gently on your shoulders, appearing for all the world like a simple, friendly gesture. “Just turn and look. He’s over by the trestle – you can’t miss him. He’s not looking at you anyway so there’s no harm done. nothing wrong with looking, is there? It’s not as though you haven’t done it before.”

She exerts gentle pressure on your shoulders and you feel yourself turning incrementally, a half turn at first, your gaze sweeping across the room – to where Florrie’s aunt and Mrs Robertson are chatting in the corner, where Mrs Cook is rifling through her sheet music, her tongue stuck between her teeth – and coming to rest finally at the trestle where Frankie’s standing with Santi, his gaze on Mrs Hadley, whose hand is on his arm.

Almost immediately, you feel your entire body start to shake again at the memory of what transpired. His hand on your cheek, his hand on your waist, his breath ghosting over your face…what you might have been prepared to do if things were different…

Margery’s wrong – there’s something very wrong with looking. Because right at that moment, Frankie’s eyes move from Mrs Hadley, just a fraction of an inch, and meet yours, like they have done before, but this time you find that you have to physically stop yourself from crossing the floor towards him. Your right hand snakes backwards and grasps blindly for Margery’s, squeezing it tightly in yours, pulling her close to you in ungainly fashion.

“Steady on, old girl,” she hisses as she bumps into your back. “You’re making it…”

“I…I need to go,” you mumble faintly, gaze still locked on Frankie who’s looking at you now with a mixture of concern and confusion. “I need to leave, now.”

“But…”

You cross the floor before she’s finished speaking and don’t wait for her, keeping your eyes on the door in front of you, your hand reaching for your coat where it waits for you on the peg without ever glancing in Frankie’s direction.

“You alright my love?” Florrie’s aunt asks as you move past her.

“Yes, I’m fine. I just…need some air.”

You don’t wait to hear her response or consider whether she finds your demeanour and actions strange or concerning. You simply pull your coat on quickly, but carefully, pull open the door and step out into the night air.

You start to walk, quickly, back in the direction of home with your coat unbuttoned and, behind you, you can hear Margery call your name and the sounds of her shoes as she hurries to catch up with you.

“Slow down, old girl…"

"I can't, Margery."

You keep going, with Margery behind you, and suddenly you hear the sound of the hall door opening and closing again, followed by the sound of boots coming down the steps.

You don’t look back because you know whose boots they are.

You hear Margery stop and say in a voice that isn’t particularly loud or particularly quiet but said at a volume that she knows you’ll hear, "Lieutenant."

"Miss Cole."

You keep walking because you know that if you stop and turn now, anyone coming out of the door of the hall behind you or coming down the lane from the direction of the cottages is going to see the two of you.

His boots come up behind you – twenty feet, ten feet, five feet – and you feel his hand take your arm above the elbow through the sleeve of your unbuttoned coat. And whilst it doesn’t stop you walking, it turns you sideways off the lane behind the old hawthorn where the lane turns a small bend before the row of cottages starts.

The hawthorn is thick and wide and tall enough for the two of you to stand behind it without any part of you showing to the lane, and before you can so much as draw breath, or ask him why he’s following you or not doing as you pleaded with him to, your hands go up to the front of his tunic under his coat and close on the wool between the two brass buttons, and his mouth comes down on yours.

In that moment, everything breaks – everything.

➰➰➰➰➰➰➰➰🇺🇸➰➰➰➰➰➰➰➰

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The week following that night at Din’s, you’re a shell of a person.  You cry for entire days but not much else - going on auto pilot taking care of Al but not yourself.  You don’t go to brunch that weekend, saying you feel disgusting, which honestly isn’t too far from the truth.  You’ve never been cheated on so you hardly know what it is you feel, only that an unyielding and tempestuous monsoon of emotions swirls inside you at all hours of the day.  You oscillate wildly between barely restrained hysteria, self-effacing shame, and sadness in an endless cycle.

To only your dog, you sometimes burst out half crying, half laughing at the absurdity of what you stumbled upon at Din’s apartment – how was it even possible?  Din, who you had loved with your whole heart, had pledged himself to you as you had him.  He had been your match in every way, and it was a tenant of his devotion that he only ever wanted to take care of you, make your life better.  How could the same man, without any warning, betray you in such an unfeeling and vulgar manner?  It simply could not be possible - it had to have been some type of cruel joke, you sob to Al. 

Then in an instant, you’ll turn your ire unto yourself: How could you have allowed this to happen?  Because it certainly did.  You stupidly let yourself be so blinded by love and desire that you didn’t see Din for what he was.  He wasn’t some honourable and noble protector; he was just some asshole who did and said what he needed to get his dick wet – and like an idiot you had fallen for it.  You were supposed to smarter than that, but it turns out you were just susceptible to a handsome face and a fat cock as anyone else.  The Din you had fallen for had been a total fabrication, and the dumbest part is that you had let him lie to you: you had blindly accepted that there were things in his life that he could never be fully honest with you about - that there were things that he just had to keep secret from you for your “own protection.”  You had accepted dishonesty as part of your so-called relationship right off the bat, it was no wonder that none of it had been real.  Stupid, stupid. 

Though you know now that it had all been lie, you still have moments, usually in the dead of night when sleepiness strips you of your ability to reason and overthink, where you simply just mourn.  Mourn the loss of what you had thought, no - felt in the very depth of your heart was a true, deep love.  It didn’t matter that it had all been an invention of your mind – the love you felt had been genuine for you, and you had cherished and held it dear.  The tears you shed during these periods of grieving are for the loss of your own false happiness and for the man that you had believed it.  It didn’t matter that they were never real to begin with, you had lost them all the same.

Your fog extends into the work week and you do something you haven’t done in ages: you take it off citing illness – you sleep, cry and try not to think of the crushing backlog you’ll face when you eventually return to work.  Near the end of the week, you make a phone call that you’ve been dreading but know is necessary.  Lala comes over the same day on her lunch hour – she thought you were just sick, having taken your excuse for missing the last brunch at face value, but when you burst into tears upon seeing her, she immediately knows that something is terribly, terribly wrong.

Taking you straight to her clinic, she slots you in with a fellow nurse right away so you can get what you’ve been dreading over with.  During the self-blame episodes of your emotion spiral, the weight of Din’s cheating and its possible consequences aside from the shattering of your heart have started to press down on you.  You definitely don’t need one more anxiety to occupy your thoughts, and this particular problem you could do something about.  You need to do something and accordingly you find yourself sitting in the clean but impersonal examination room answering the very kind nurse’s survey questions to determine what tests you need.

“Is there any particular reason you need a screening or is this routine?”

“My boyfriend cheated on me,” you say this flat, factually.

“Oh.  I’m sorry.   How long was your relationship?” her response is similarly dispassionate.

“Nearly a year.”

“During that time, how many sexual partners did you have?”

“Just the one.”

“Had you been tested prior to engaging in sexual activities with your partner?”

“Yes, all clean.”

“Was you partner tested?”

“He said he was clean.”  You can only answer what Din told you, with no confidence in whether or not it was the truth.

“Do you know how many other partners your partner had while you were together?”

“… no.”  Tears start to line your lower lash line.

“How long was he engaging in sexual activities with other partners?”

“… I really don’t know.”  Oh no, oh no, you’re going to cry.  Because you really don’t know any of it.  It's awful enough imaging that Din had been messing around with Vanessa the whole time that you and him had been together – if he was capable of that, who’s to say there weren’t others?

“Ok.  To identify the tests you need, I just need to ask about your sexual activities with your partner over the last year.  Is that okay?”

“Yes.”

“Did you kiss on the mouth?”

“Yes.”

“Did you engage in vaginal fingering?”

“Yes.”

“Anal fingering? Receiving, giving?”

“Yes. No.”

“Did you engage in oral sex? Receiving, giving?”

“Yes and yes.”

“Did you engage in penetrative vaginal sex?”

“Yes.”

“With protection? Or without?”

“Without.”  This is the only question you answer with shame.  Yes, everything had been consensual, but this – the decision to not use condoms was one made based on a mutual trust; a trust you gave openly and willingly to someone who hadn’t deserved it.  You had been careless in this respect – caught up in your feelings and your mistaken instinct that had told you Din was worth trusting.

“Did you engage in penetrative anal se-“

And so on, and so forth.  To the best of your ability, you answer clinically and without feeling, trying not to let the white hot flames of shame and anger simmering in your stomach boil up and over.  You had trusted Din, with your heart yes, but also your body.  One of the things you had loved about Din was how he always seemed to prioritized both your emotional and physical comfort and safety during your sexual activities, but for possibly the entirety of your relationship, he had actually been putting you in danger – taking a risk for you that you hadn’t consent to.  You don’t know how many other partners he was with when he was with you or if he had been safe with them – his cavalier approach to your health makes you sick. 

This feels good. It feels good to be angry instead of sad.

You wait patiently for the nurse to return with the swabs and containers and other equipment you need to self administer the tests.  Silently and alone, you follow the instructions while hot tears cascade over your cheeks.  It had felt good to be angry at Din for a moment, but it took more energy than you had to sustain it; the anger burned out quickly, leaving behind only sadness and embarrassment for having allowed yourself to be put in this position at all.

After leaving the samples where directed, you redress and meet Lala back in the waiting room and she takes you home.  You tell her that it’s okay if she tells the rest of the girls what happened, but you don’t know if you can deal with talking about it just yet and she nods understandingly.  You know your friends will be supportive (and possibly violent), but the strength required to feel your feelings and simultaneously express and explain them out loud doesn’t sound like something you have right now.  Not for the first time, you’re grateful that your friends are unflinchingly kind and understanding of you.

By the time the next Sunday brunch rolls around, your internal reservoir levels for self pity and destructive thoughts have lowered considerably.  You’re mainly just sad for what you thought was and what will never be, wallowing in the loss of what you had imagined would be a happy future with Din.

The girls are not quite that far along in their emotional journeys, but you’re better equipped now to answer their questions and receive their outbursts and reactions.  They all have choice words for Din ranging from lying cheating bastard to dickless waste of DNA.  Threats of violence to his personal (and commercial) property, as well as his physical being are put forth, predictably by Rory and less predictably from Katie.  Bea and Jen focus on drilling into you that you’re in no way at fault and that you hadn’t been wrong or stupid to trust and love Din the way you did.  Lala, being the only one to have seen you when you were in your darkest place, just holds your hand firmly, giving it a reassuring squeeze every so often.  You cry into your eggs and your friends shower you with comfort and support until you feel a little more like a human who is loved again.

One month ATN (After That Night)

Oof - you’re hungry.  It’s been a long morning of straight through meetings with no breaks until only now.  Well past lunch, it’s later than you would usually come, but you hope that your favourite sandwich shop still has some good options left – you’re starving. 

Walking in, the shop isn’t busy (which honestly makes sense as it’s nearing 2:00 pm) and the take away fridge is fairly bare, but with some satisfaction, you see your favourite sandwich sitting all by its lonesome on the top shelf.  Hand already out as you approach the refrigerated display, you reach up on your toes, just to have a big hand dart in ahead of your smaller one and snatch the sandwich out of your reach.

Falling back on the flats of your feat, you’re comically upset – this sandwich was your reward for your overly hectic morning and your disappointment is being further fueled by rising levels of hangry.  Maybe this nice man will offer you back the sandwich if you ask kindly; ready to give this sandwich stealer the sweetest most saccharine smile you can muster, you turn to face him and…

“Paz?”

“Lil’ Lady?”

This could be awkward.  You had loved Paz too.  Part of the great sense of loss you felt when you and Din broke up was from also suddenly losing the friendships you had made through him.  The Mandos, Poe and Lisa, Cass and even Boba had made up what had become a little family to you; the sense of belonging and love you had felt when they welcomed you into their fold and treated you as one of their own was one that you had treasured – their trust in you was not something you took lightly and you had kept their secrets with pride.  You had loved them all as well. 

Of course, like a knife to the heart, you’ve since come to the hurtful realization that those friendships were not as true or deep as you had thought either.  In all likelihood, Din’s friends were probably well aware of his cheating, or at the very least that his feelings for you didn’t run as deep as yours did him.  Though it saddened you, you couldn’t exactly be mad – their loyalty was to Din, not you.  At one time you may have felt some bitterness at this, but right now, seeing Paz for the first time after so long… you feel only happiness at seeing an old friend.

There’s a beat of silence and then it seems you both reach for a hug - it’s quick but warm.

“How have you been?” you ask, simultaneously; chuckling with you, Paz gestures for you to go first.

“Oh,” you don’t really know how to answer; Paz will surely know what transpired between you and Din.  Devastated?  Crushed?  Facing a crisis of self-confidence?  You opt for a watered-down version of the truth, “I’m as good as expected.  Busy at work.”

“Same.  With work, that is,” Paz smiles warmly at you; he’s missed you too.

“You down here for work today?” Suddenly recalling that Din had been downtown for Mando work the first time you met, you try not to let the pain of the memory show on your face.

“Yup.  Work.” Paz won’t tell you that he’s on a security detail, even though its not yours (you're under the careful watch of Koska and Iggy today).

You’re not going to ask about Din.  You’re not going to ask about Din, “How is… everyone?”

Paz assumes you must mean Din but he doesn’t know how to answer your question.  A shell of a man?  A man possessed when it came to the investigation into the threat made against you?  Depressed as all hell?  Paz can only parrot back your earlier response, “Uh, as well as can be expected.  Things have been tense, there’s a lot of stuff going on.”

You obviously don’t ask for details – it’s not your place anymore, and in truth, you feel like it never really was but you try to smile anyways, “Well, you can have the sandwich then.”

Paz looks down at the sandwich he’s still holding in his hand and laughs, “Are you sure?”

Nodding happily, it feels good to joke around with Paz again, “Definitely.  I’m here everyday.  I can have it anytime.”

“Ok, only if you let me buy you your sandwich, Lil' Lady.”

Beaming, you acquiesce, “Deal.”

Grabbing another sandwich from the fridge, you join Paz in line; the two of you standing together in comfortable silence.  You don’t know how it happens but a question that’s been silently buzzing in your mind slips out without permission, “Paz – can I ask you?  Are Din and Vanessa still together?”

You regret it the second the words leave your mouth, tears springing to your eyes.  Looking up at Paz, wide-eyed and embarrassed, you cover your mouth with your hands as if trying to magically stuff the words back in, “Omigod!! Paz!  I’m sorry!  That was... oh gosh... just really, really inappropriate of me.  Please don’t answer.  I never should have asked that.  Seriously.  Don’t answer please.  Besides, I don’t think either answer would make me very happy.”

Paz gives you a warm side hug and a sad look before he says reassuringly, “It’s okay, Lil’ Lady.  Don’t worry about it.”  He insists on buying you a cookie when you get up to the counter and you accept gratefully – you need all the comfort you can get right now.

The two of you say your quiet, but friendly goodbyes on the sidewalk outside of the sandwich shop; each genuinely hoping you’ll see the other again, but knowing that you likely won’t.

---

Paz is hovering.  Din can feel it, but he doesn’t look up from his seat on the ringside bench where he’s checking through an equipment list on his clipboard.

Paz continues to shuffle around until Din sighs and gives in to what his friend so obviously wants; looking up and tilting his head as his way of saying 'What?'

“Saw the Lil' Lady today.”

Immediately, Din’s heart leaps into his throat and his now empty chest constricts painfully; forcing himself to look back down at his paperwork, Din only grunts to acknowledge that he heard Paz.  Clearly Paz has something to say and in all the time they’ve been friends, Din has never been able to get Paz to keep his thoughts to himself, so he just waits.

“Ran into her at a sandwich shop near her office.  She looks good.”

Silence.

“She gave me her sandwich.”

Din closes his eyes, “Was it the egg salad?”

“Yeah.  How did you know?” Paz can’t hide the surprise in his voice.

“It’s her favourite,” Din says simply. 

For some reason, this takes all of the wind out of Paz’s sails and he lays a gentle hand on his friend’s shoulder.  “She asked how everyone was, but it’s clear she was thinking of you.  Why don’t you call her, brother?”

Even if the whole point of what he had done to you wasn’t so you would stay as far away from him as possible, Din can’t imagine a world where you would want to talk to him, “She hates me.  I fucked up, and I hurt her.  She doesn’t think about me.”

Paz doesn’t want to bring up your question about Vanessa, but he can’t help but think it must mean something that you asked at all, “Maybe she’ll forgive you.”

Din is done with this conversation; he gets up and starts to head towards his office, “I don’t deserve her forgiveness.  I don’t deserve her.”

Two Months ATN

Din never allows himself to see you.  You’re a creature of habit and for the most part, your life after him has reverted to normal; it would be so easy for him to catch a glimpse of you whenever he needed to see for himself that you’re alright.  If he was lucky, he might even catch one of your many soft and sweet expressions that he misses so much and be able to pretend for a moment that it was for him.

But he doesn’t allow it.  Part of it is a means of self punishment – Din chastises himself endlessly for hurting you; he doesn’t deserve to look upon your face, he doesn’t deserve any comfort.  But ultimately, it really comes down to his own lack of self control. 

Din makes the mistake of checking in with your daytime security detail in person only once, a couple of weeks after your breakup.  Din is chatting with Mayfeld through the latter’s rolled down car window, when, as if he senses your very presence, he looks up to see you exiting your office building looking positively elated at being able to leave work at a decent hour (for you) – your quick and graceful steps towards the subway easily hold Din’s gaze through no effort of your own and his body starts to move towards you of his own accord.  He may have very well walked right into oncoming traffic trying to get to you if Miggs didn’t have a firm grip on the back of his shirt.

No, he has absolutely no self control when it came to you.  Every part of Din yearns for every part of you.  Your smile, your laugh, the sweetness of your very being and the steadfast comfort of your company.  He wishes for nothing more than to make you happy again, to be there for you to lighten your load, to make you laugh so hard you snort, the way he used to pride himself on being able to do; what he wouldn’t give to hear you coo sweetly to Al, to swim in the melodic lilt of your voice when you recall a funny story from work or your friends, or to drink in your heady moans and cries while he gave you every pleasure you deserved. 

Din knows that if he allowed himself to be in your presence for even a moment, he would throw himself at your feet and beg for forgiveness.  Plead and grovel until you took him back and then everything, the very reason for all this misery, would be for naught.  He would do anything to see you, hear you, have you again, except risk your safety.  So, he leaves the protocol for your security to others, and he never lets himself go where he knows you might be – he exercises what control he has, so that he never loses control where it counts the most.

But his dreams he cannot control.  And Din dreams of you constantly.

He comes to both look forward to and dread these dreams.  In his dreams you don’t hate him, and they almost always start off with you looking at him like you used to, with love and admiration.  Sometimes the two of you are in a memory, maybe a special date or occasion, or even better, doing something beautifully mundane like walking Al – something the two of you did a million times without thought, just a routine part of the life you had started to build together.  But more often than not, the two of you are in bed.  Sometimes his, sometimes yours, but always just looking, talking, touching.  Din could live in these quiet moments of devotion forever. 

But the dreams never end well.  He discovered that once you left the bed in the dream, you would disappear.  Getting up to find you, Din would find the apartment empty and quiet and no matter where he goes in the dream afterwards, you would be nowhere to be found.  After this happened a few times, he would try to keep you in bed or at the very least, not let you out of Dream Din’s sight, but it never works.  No matter what he does, by the end of the dream you’re not his anymore. 

A horrifying recurrence as of late is that he follows Dream You into your kitchen to find Vanessa sitting at the island while you, crying, start to cook breakfast at the stove for him and her.  He recognizes the look you give him whenever he reaches this part of the dream, it’s the same one you gave him on that last night on his apartment landing – the look of devastation, betrayal, shock.  Your unspoken How could you?  You were supposed to love me above all else, haunts him even after he wakes with a start.  Every time Din has this dream, he relives what he did to you and he feels sick.

Even when it’s not this particular iteration, Din wakes from every nightmare of losing you again sweating and regretting everything.  In these moments, alone in a bed that’s remained cold and uninviting since you last graced it with your soft body, Din tears into himself.  What the fuck was his problem anyways?  He had made his proverbial bed and now he has to lie in it.  What would have been the fucking point of putting you through all this if he was just going to be a weak ass piece of shit and run back to you because it killed him to be apart from you?  Put you through hell and then put you in danger?  No, he can't run from it anymore: this is the price he has to pay for being who he is, for having done the things he had – he doesn't deserve good things.  He doesn't deserve you. 

What he does deserve is this cruelest of ironies: that the only way he's still allowed to love you is to take care of you by keeping you as far away from him as possible.

Four Months ATN

Oy!  Din Djarin!!

Startled by the loud and sharp toned voice that carries over the noise of traffic, Din stops in his tracks; turning towards the sound of the bark, he recognizes your friend Rory barreling towards him.  For a moment, he’s terrified that she might get hit by a car crossing the street to get at him, but the cars somehow seem to understand the determination of her gait and the ferocity in her facial expression and all roll to a stop at her outstretched hand.  You always said that Rory was a force.

Din waits dumbly in the middle of the sidewalk, ready to take the inevitably beating, verbal or otherwise – certain he could not escape her wrath even if he wanted to.  Perhaps he would be tempted to try if he didn’t wholeheartedly believe that he deserves whatever is about to come his way.

As soon as Rory steps up onto the curb, two balled up fists of rage ram right into Din’s chest, the force of which, if he had not been braced for it, might have sent this former boxing champ flying backwards.

You!!! 

An accusatory finger is now poking him incessantly, over and over, pushing right into his sternum.

Din holds his two hands up, as if to surrender, but doesn’t do anything to stop her oncoming assault.  It’s starting to hurt a little, but he knows he deserves it and more.

Liar!

Cheater!

Pathetic!

Asshole.

Garbage human.

Piece of shit.

How you could do that to her?!

She did nothing but love you. 

She’s the sweetest, kindest, most loving person you will ever fucking be with, and this is how you treat her?

You ungrateful worm.

You’ll never find anyone better than her.

You never fucking deserved her, you twat.

Din takes every angry word spat at him with a resigned expression and downcast eyes.  Every word is true and he knows it.  He welcomes this even.  No one has been angry with him, except save himself.  Not Paz, or any of the Mandos, not even Boba.  No one has yelled at him or hurled insults at him, or called him out for the despicable person he is to have hurt you the way he did.  His sweet, pretty bird.  No, not his anymore.  He swallows every single one of Rory’s admonishments willingly and his head might even slightly nod in agreement.

Don’t you have anything to say for yourself, you fucking coward?

Arms dropping to his side in defeat, Din hangs his head and asks the only thing he wants to know, even though he's sure he isn’t allowed, “How is she?”

How is she?! What the fuck do you mean ‘how is she’? How the fuck do you think she is??

“What I mean is… I’m not still hurting her, am I?”

Silence.

“She’s okay now, right?  She hates me, but I don’t matter anymore?  She doesn’t think of me enough to still hurt her?”

Rory stops and evaluates the man standing in front of her.  He looks… broken.  She’s been throwing all her weight into every push, poke, smack she’s laid on Din and he’s taken it all.  Absorbed it along with every harsh word out of her mouth; he hasn’t fought back or even flinched - almost as if he wants her to hit him.  To scream at him.  And now, with the only words he’s spoken, he’s asking to confirm, with what almost sounds like hope, that you’ve forgotten him.  Din’s choice of words strike Rory as odd.  He wants to make sure he’s not “still hurting” you?? 

Suddenly, her mouth drops open as she retracts her hands, “… you didn’t do it.”

Din looks shocked and almost terrified.  He opens and closes his mouth several times but nothing comes out.  No denial or refute of what Rory now realizes has been completely obvious.

“You didn’t cheat on her.  You never cheated on her,” Rory’s tone is softer now, but determined and confident.  She’s leaving no room for argument, not letting Din worm his way out of the truth.

With a sigh, Din has no choice but to confess, “How could I?  Why would I ever want anyone but her?  The most perfect creature to ever exist.”  If he had seemed defeated before, Din is now positively deflating right before Rory’s eyes.

“You love her.”  Again, not a question.

“Always.  Forever.”

“Why w-”

“Rory, please.  You must never tell her.  She has to go on hating me and wanting nothing to do with me,” fear is catching up with Din now.  If Rory tells you the truth, this plan to keep you safe will unravel.

Rory’s eyes widen in disbelief, “You have to be joking.  Do you know what you put her through?  And it’s not even true??”

Quietly, Din asks, “How much has she told you and your friends about what I do?”

“That you own a gym?” Rory crosses her arms and gives Din an incredulous look.

“What else I do.  What my old job was.  Who I worked for.  Who I’m connected with,” he has to be able to make her understand.

Rory lets these words hang in the air for a moment.  No – you were always pretty tight lipped about what Din might be involved in outside of athletics.  It did seem that in the months leading up to your breakup, you would often stress over Din’s work and wellbeing, and though your friends never asked you to expand on it, it wouldn’t make sense for the responsibilities a gym owner to give you that kind of anxiety.

“You got a knife wound once.  Lala told us,” Rory recalls.

Din nods, “And that was nothing.  That’s the least of what the people who might come after me would be capable of.  She’s in danger just by being with me.”

“You wouldn’t protect her?”

“Of course, I would.  With my life.  But why should she be in danger at all?  She didn’t choose this life.”

“She chose you.”

“She shouldn’t have.”        

“You don’t get to decide that for her?!!”

Din knows that.  He shouldn’t have chosen for you.  But he made the decision that he thought would keep you safe and now you both have to live with his mistake, “I know, Rory… I know, but it’s done now.”

“Undo it, asshole.”

Like he hasn’t thought about it a million times.  Like he doesn’t wake up and his first thought when he opens his eyes in the morning isn’t to find you and crawl on his hands and knees and admit that he had fucked up in how he handled everything and beg your forgiveness.  Sometimes Din’s halfway out the door before one of two things stop him.  The first is the very real possibility that you would tell him to go to hell – you had loved him better than anyone ever had, better than he deserved, and he had callously thrown away the greatest gift ever bestowed upon him.  The second, is the very real fear from the threat made against you; Din hasn’t eliminated it and what if, just what if, what he’s doing is actually working and removing you as a worthy target?  Yes, he shouldn’t have gone about things this way, but… what if it was keeping you safe for now?

“Someone threatened her, Rory.”

This stops Rory as she’s about to open her mouth to say something else.  Closing her mouth, she studies Din and her shoulders drop, “Who?”

“I don’t know.  I haven’t been able to find out who’s behind it but I will.  Until then, I have to try and make her less of a target.  Please.  Rory.  Please.  Make sure she stays away from me.  You can’t tell her any of this.”

“But… she doesn’t know?”

“No. I don’t want her to be scared.  And she is being protected - all the time, I promise.  But the safest thing for her is to stay the hell away from me.  If whoever wants to hurt me doesn’t think they can do it through her, then she’ll be safe.  Please, Rory.”

Din is begging her now.  His eyes imploring Rory to understand and decide as he once did, that your well being has to come above all, including loyalty and love.  He sees it in her eyes as she relents, much the same way his must have once upon a time, and she nods, “Okay. I won’t tell her.  And you promise she’s safe right now?”

“I promise.  I… wouldn’t be able to live like this if I couldn’t at least do that for her.”  Is it worth it?  Yes, your life, your safety is worth anything and everything to him.

“You think you can get them?  The people behind the threat?”

Din nods, “I’m sure of it.  I’ll make sure of it.  I’ll take care of it.  That’s a promise I won’t break.”

“Okay.  You should tell her afterwards though.”

“Maybe.”

“She deserves the truth, Din,” Rory gives him one last exasperated look.

“She deserves the world, Rory.”

The two of them give one another a silent nod of mutual understanding before parting ways.  They might not see eye to eye on everything, but Din trusts that your friend will put your wellbeing and safety first; she loves you just as much as he does.  Rory leaves Din behind feeling conflicted in a way she hadn’t thought possible when she confronted him earlier – the last thing she expected was to sympathize with him, but it’s become clear to her: the only person who’s been hurting more from your breakup than you, is Din.

Five Months ATN

“I want to go out with Mark.”

Four heads look up from their brunch with lighting speed to stare at you, shocked by your sudden announcement.

Feeling a bit awkward at this reception, you go on, “… I mean if he’s even still available.  And if he’s not, is there someone else at your firm that might be, Jen?”

Jen looks at you curious and hesitantly excited, “I can check, but I don’t think he’s in a relationship?  He broke up with someone a couple of months ago.  You really want me to set you up?”

You don’t catch the looks that Rory and Lala exchange before Rory cautiously asks, “Do you even like Mark?”

“Hey!” Jen looks scandalized.

You’re slightly bewildered watching your two friends seemingly stare daggers at each other, “I don’t even know Mark? I just…” 

You sigh. 

“… I just have to do something.  Try something new.  Babes, it’s been months and… I’m still not over him.”  Your friends know that the “him” in question is not Mark.

It’s been five months and you’re still in a state of melancholy and heartbreak that you can’t quite articulate.  The days where you’d cycle through extreme emotion, be it intense sadness, justifiable anger, or self-pitying shame, have long since passed.  You burned those emotional candles to their proverbial wicks and for the time that they were lit within you, they served their purpose.  You’ve processed those emotions and laid them to rest.

What remains is a type of grief, a longing from your soul that you struggle to contain on a day-to-day basis.

The best way you can think of describing it is Hiraeth – the Welsh word that conveys the feeling of “a longing for a time, place, or person that feels like home but may no longer exist or that never existed at all”; when you miss Din, it feels like a type of homesickness.  And though far from being lonely in your life, your heart nevertheless maintains an empty chamber that you are dearly afraid may be forever reserved for Din.  Your Din.  The one you had loved and thought loved you.

You miss it all - everything that had never been real: the closeness, the intimacy, the safety of Din’s embrace.  You miss the way he looked at you and made you feel like the only person in the world who mattered; you missed his adoring touch and the way that he would be soft and gentle with you when you knew he harnessed such strength and power within those same hands.  He had made you feel cherished and special, appreciated and exalted.  Yes, it had all been a lie, but you heart had believed in it and the memory of what you’ve irretrievably lost haunts you every day still.

You’ve never been one to believe the adage that to get over someone, you had to get “under” someone else and you’re certainly not looking to replace what you thought you had or even date for the sake of dating.  You’re just simply out of ideas.  You need… a distraction.  A real-life person to think about, instead of one that only ever existed in your head.

“Don’t push yourself if you’re not ready, babe,” Lala says, gently.

“I don’t want to ‘get back out there.’ I just need…”

“A rebound?” Rory’s assessment is unfortunately, spot on.

You look sheepish, “That sounds terrible.  But something like a distraction.”

Jen is hardly bothered, “It’s okay.  I won’t tell Mark but I don’t think he would mind even if he knew.  Men are weird as hell.”

Everyone laughs and you go back to your breakfast, half listening as Jen chirps some of Mark’s merits and tells you that she’s going to try and set something up for the upcoming Friday.  You don’t notice the worried and pinched looks that Lala and Rory continue to give one another for the remainder of brunch.

It’s absolutely pouring today.  The phrase ‘raining cats and dogs’ must have been inspired by a similar rainfall, you’re sure.  You hold your umbrella as close to your head as you can while deftly trying to keep your shoes dry by doing little and big hops to avoid puddles.  It’s a relief when you finally make it to the overhang in front of your office building and can shake out your umbrella before stepping inside.  Wiping your feet on the already soaked through mats that building maintenance has put down, you wonder if the weather will clear up before your date with Mark tomorrow.

You’re slipping your still dripping wet umbrella into a plastic sleeve when you hear a commotion by the security check desk.  Gabriel, the head of security is arguing with someone who by the looks of it is soaking wet and trying to get through the security turnstiles.  As you approach with your own access card already in hand, the voices get louder:

“Dude.  Come ON!”

“Miss, like I said, you have to have security access in order to move past this point.”

“I’m not going to go anywhere in the building, I promise!  I just need to get to the subway.”

“I heard you already, miss.  You’ll have to use one of the other two subway entrances.  This one is for people who have access to this building only.”

“It’s pouring!! Can’t you see?  The other two entrances are both over a block away and I’m already soaked!  I just want to get home!”

“I won’t ask again, miss.  Please leave.  There are people who need to get through.”

You’re shocked.  You’ve never heard Gabriel get frustrated or raise his voice before.  But that’s not why you’re shocked.  It’s the girl’s voice.  You know it. 

It’s Vanessa.

In some other universe you might hail this as karma, but in truth, you only have sympathy for the girl you see before you.  It really is miserable out and you’re sure that Vanessa isn’t some corporate espionage spy – she really is just asking for a little help to get out of the rain and home before she gets sick.  Without overthinking it, you come up behind her and give Gabriel a reassuring smile, “It’s okay, Gabriel, I can take her to the subway.”

Vanessa turns and looks at you with a wide-eyed, almost scared expression on her face.  You can’t help but feel bad for her.  Obviously because she’s soaking wet and shivering, but you think she must not have been met with much kindness in her young life.

“Ma’am, that’s not really protocol…”

Your reassuring smile is now extended to Vanessa as well.  You want her to know you’re here to help her, truly, “Gabriel, it’s fine.  I know her.  And, even if I didn’t, I could never let you send a woman out into that downpour when we could so easily help her get to where she needs to go, okay?”

Gabriel nods as you swipe your access card against the reader and you gesture for Vanessa to go through before you follow.

The two of you walk silently towards the subway for a few moments.

“You don’t have to…”

You wave off Vanessa’s concern, “I think Gabriel’s watching, so I’ll just walk you all the way to the subway entrance so he doesn’t give you anymore trouble, okay?”

She nods and the two of you continue on.

“You don’t have to be so nice to me.”

Your answer is genuine, “I really don’t know any other way to be towards you.”  It’s true.  Yes, Din had cheated on you with her, but you hadn’t been dating Vanessa, you had been dating Din.  He had wronged you, not her (even if she had probably been a bit smug about it).

Vanessa nods again, the expression on her face seems to relax into some kind of revelation that you don’t quite understand.  When you get to the subway entrance, the two of you pause awkwardly before she finally speaks, “Thank you.”

Again, you try to smile as kindly as you can, “It’s okay.  I meant what I said to Gabriel – I didn’t like that he was trying to send you back out in the rain.  Here.” You hold out your umbrella, still in its plastic sleeve.

Vanessa doesn’t take it, even as you continue to extend it in her direction, “I don’t know how far you have to go once you reach your stop – the rain may not have let up by then.  Really, take it.  It’s my firm’s – I have a bunch more upstairs.”

This time she does open her hands and when she grasps the umbrella’s handle to take it from you, she blurts out, “I never slept with him!”

Silence hangs between the two of you at her statement.  You don’t know what she means at all, so you just say, “I’m sorry?”

Vanessa is looking down at the umbrella in her hands, words just spilling out, “That night.  The night you ‘caught’ me and Din – you didn’t walk in on anything.  I don’t know how, but he said he knew you were coming over and he asked me if I could make it look like he and I had been sleeping together when you showed up.  We didn’t do anything.  I played on my phone on the couch until we heard you knock.  I- don’t know why I did it… actually… no, that’s a lie.  I do.”  She finally looks up at you.

“Din was so in love with you.  Like seriously, so stupid in love with you.  He hadn’t been with anyone for a while before he met you, and those of us who… had gone out with him once or twice just got used to it, I guess.  Like we wanted him but he didn’t want anyone and that was fine.  Then he met you and all of a sudden, he was the doting boyfriend, head over heals in love, showing you off to all his friends, taking you to meet Boba.  And then it was so clear: it wasn’t that he wasn’t the boyfriend type, it was you.  He only wanted you.  I guess… I was jealous.” Vanessa shrugs, ashamed, “So when the chance came up to hurt you... I jumped at it.  I’m sorry.”

To say you’re shocked would be an understatement.  There is so much to process.  You’re not sure what Vanessa is asking from you, but you do appreciate her honesty, “I mean, I guess I get why you did it.  But why did Din?”

Vanessa shrugs again, “I really don’t know, I didn’t ask.  It didn’t matter to me, I guess.  I’m sorry.  But after you left, I… propositioned him?  Thought I would shoot my shot since we were both basically half undressed.  He turned me down and practically kicked me out.  All he cared about was making sure you got home safe.  You’re all he cared about.  Always.  It was only ever you.”

“I- ” you’re speechless.  Actually speechless, “Thank you for telling me, Vanessa.  I- still don’t understand any of it, but I always appreciate honesty.  Truly.”

And with that, Vanessa gives you a little wave of the umbrella you gave her as a final thanks before she disappears down the stairs into the subway station, leaving you dumbfounded and shellshocked.

It had been a lie.

Din hadn’t cheated on you.  Not with Vanessa.  Not that night, or according to her, any other night.  You had been his one and only.  The way you had always thought.  The way he had always made you feel.

Every spiraling assumption and devastating conclusion you’ve drawn about your relationship over the past five months is now being called into question: that he never loved you, that he wasn’t the man you believed him to be, that the devotion in your relationship had been one sided.  Had it all been real?  Was your Din real?

But he had lied. 

He had made up an elaborate lie to get away from you.  To hurt you.  This revelation gives rise to feelings that you thought you had long worked through and put to bed: betrayal, hurt, disbelief, anger.  On top of this fast rising tide of emotions that you’re afraid might drown you rides a question you've never felt like you wanted the answer to when it was simply that Din was a cheater: Why?

The date is going okay, you think.  Actually, it’s going exactly how you knew it would – you’re not into it.  Mark is honestly nice enough, funny enough, charming enough – you can see why Jen was always trying to get you to go out with him.  But he’s not Din.

You haven’t told anyone about your run in with Vanessa because you still don’t know what to make of it all; you have pieces of a puzzle that you didn’t even know existed, new questions, even fewer answers, and a whole new host of confused feelings.  Unsure of your own heart, you hadn’t known what to say to Jen to cancel this date that she lovingly setup for you at your request, so here you are.

Even if your overthinking brain wasn’t in overdrive analyzing and reanalyzing everything you learned yesterday, your heart, which is still working out your feelings towards Din, has unequivocally softened.  The Din of your memories, the one for whom your heart still beats deep down had been real, and he had never betrayed you in the manner you believed for the past few months.  The love you had felt with him had been true and the affection and devotion that had been cornerstones of your relationship have started making their way back into your chest.

You feel sort of bad about Mark.  Yes, you had been very clear with Jen and yourself that this date didn’t mark any great interest of yours to start dating again, but you know you could be putting in more of an effort on this date.  You try.  You really do.

After the pre-dinner drinks are finished and the waiter’s taken your dinner order, you excuse yourself to use the restroom, hoping for a few minutes alone to gather your thoughts.  Heading towards the bathrooms, you walk down a hall that opens to the restaurant’s private party rooms on one side.  All the doors are opened and you peek in to see that most of the rooms are empty, one of them being cleared from a large party that must have just left; when you get to the last doorway, you’re stopped dead in your tracks when you see who's inside.

It's Din.

He’s leaning back in a chair that’s been placed further back and away from the dining table that must centre the room; part of the meeting but not an active participant – a perimeter guard.  His handsome profile is as striking as you remember; his strong aquiline nose and cut jawline that’s currently flexing as he swallows hold your attention by their very existence - how is he here just when all your thoughts happen to be of him?  Din’s chocolate brown eyes are fixed on someone or something in the room, but he must feel your gaze because he turns and sees you – keeping his expression neutral, as if he doesn’t want anyone else in the room to notice you, you still see his eyes soften as they lock with yours and your heartbeat picks up a little.

Hi, you mouth shyly.

Hi, Din's lips curve up slightly at your sweet expression as he mouths back, you look nice.

You do too, because he does.  He’s in a black suit with a crisp white shirt and jet-black tie; the monochromatic look works for him.  Din’s slicked back hair is different – you’re so much more used to seeing his curls loose and tousled, but the change isn’t unwelcomed.  He looks professional.  Devastating.

Work?  Your head tilts a little so you can see a little further in the room and Din knows you see Paz sitting in front of him wearing a nearly identical outfit.  He nods, You?

Date.

Din nods slightly, eyes unreadable, Be safe.

I will. Not sure how much more you can communicate this way or even what you want to say, you give Din a little wave before continuing down the hall to the restroom.

---

Din cannot sit still.

Date? You were on a date?

But that’s not even the most jarring thing about seeing you unexpectedly tonight at the same restaurant where Boba’s holding a family meeting.  What’s really turning Din’s world upside down is that you didn’t look upset to see him.  Your expression was soft, kind and inviting.  As if you didn’t hate him. 

You’re over him.  That has to be it.  You were over him, wholly and completely; much too sweet to hold onto any malice towards him, you had treated him politely, like an old acquaintance.  He wants to be glad – happy that you’re no longer hurting and that his transgressions against you didn’t leave a permanent mark on your beautiful soul.  But his heart feels like it’s made of lead; dropping from his chest into his stomach when he thinks of you being on a date.  Din gets up and takes a walk towards the main dining room of the restaurant, looking to satisfy his morbid curiosity.

He sees you right away.  Your back is to him, but he knows its you.  You sit across from a perfectly respectable looking man dressed in a sharp suit – the both of you clearly having come straight from work.  The man probably has some smart corporate job like you, like a lawyer or someone who underwrites space rockets or something cool.  The man is making you laugh; Din can tell by the way your shoulders shake.  He imagines your smile and the way that your eyes crinkle when you think something is super funny but you don’t want to let loose one of those melodic laughs of yours where you throw back your head and the resulting song carries over the crowd.  Din watches as you swirl your wine glass the way he always thought was super adorable, with two of your fingers pressed against the base of the glass stem, before you lift those same fingers to make a gesture with your hand that indicates you’re adding to your date’s story with some witty comment of your own.  Your date’s face lights up and his look of admiration and joy from the pleasure of your company is one that Din knows well. 

He decides can’t watch anymore and slinks back down the hallway; heart ripped to pieces, leaving you to your pleasant evening.

Thanks so much for being patient with me - these chapters are emotionally hard to write and even harder to edit 😅 Since I'm once again yeeting this into universe on a random day instead of my usual posting date, adding a few tags for those who have expressed an interest in the story (omigod if you don't want to be tagged, please tell me!):

@tuquoquebrute @furiousmushroom @cheekychaos28 @72scsuze @nerdieforpedro

@toobsessedsstuff @whirlwindrider29 @inept-the-magnificent @mellymbee @that1nerd-20

@hipabbster23 @bitccchmood @bigbutchenergee @rainbowcat164 @the-strawberrythief

@johnssherlock221 @misstokyo7love @vivian-pascal @florxdexcerezo @fanficlover1414

@rarachelchel @heartbrokenlilbitch-nef @jeewrites @sunnytuliptime @kulekehe

Why am I CRYING 😭😭😭😭

They just need to get back together or I riot 🔪