Pokechbi

· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·· · ─ ·✶· ─ · · Second Day

You wake from your slumber slowly, the bright and early Naboo sun gently pulling you from your dreams. A crisp breeze shoots through the curtains, landing on your skin, leaving behind a wake of goosebumps. You stretch your legs and lift your arms over your face, attempting to block your eyes from the light and resume your dormancy . And then you feel it. And it almost sends you flying off the edge off the bed. You jostle in startlement, your brain catching up to the feeling of someone conked behind you, hunky arm wrapped tightly around your waist and a light snore coming from a vocal modulator. Scarcely did you wake up with someone in your bed. A Mandalorian, no less. And scarcely ever did you wake up with that ache between your legs, raging through your core and threatening to seek its depraved vengeance with the man established behind you. You were accustomed to them being gone before you even woke. He stirs in his sleep, and you settle down within the curves and divots of his beskar. You wonder; When was the last time someone spooned you? 

You feel the heat from his breath creep onto your neck, warming your exposed skin delightfully. You never really got dressed after last night’s villainously dirty antics. And Mando didn’t seem to mind much. You can’t recall when you sailed off to sleep, but it had to be in the spaces between lustfully whispered words, smitten giggles, or supplemental breaks in conversation to deliver you more of his blissful dining at the Y. He kept you on your toes throughout the night, a hot-off-the-press spirit conjuring within the stiff walls of his beskar. The awareness ran through his blood, and settled deep in his frontal lobe. He was a changed man, the channels flipping through his mind until it landed on the horniest one on the frequency. 

He was startled by the knowing fact that he knew this wouldn’t be the last time he found himself buried between your thighs, face hot and moist with your essence. He would never not think of the way you taste, the way you smell on his scruff, and the way he feels when he sinks his face into your curious hair as he plummets his way through the galaxy. He was infatuated with the likes of you, the sight of you, his man-brain just hopelessly dull-witted with the confronting factualism that he was indeed; whipped and gone mad over you. And he hadn’t even fucked you yet. Gods, what had gotten into him? 

You smile to yourself, scooting and writhing yourself into him until you feel it; Milk-warm and ready to play, you think. The dizzying heat from his bulge practically leaks from the fabric of his underwear, attributable to his pants never making it all the way back on through the night. He stirs again, subconsciously tightening his arm around your waist, rutting into your backside in a broken, irregular pursuit of your warmth. You breathe, trying to calm your own dizzying heart rate. His movements become more and more jagged, his breaths hitching and scraping against his throat. Your mouth hangs agape with a stunned smile, thinking; Is he about to splooge on my back? You don’t stay long within your thoughts, the reality setting that you shouldn't give in to his inherently unconscious fondling. Or not yet, at least. After all, you’d only just met and although his breath faintly dripped with the scent of your heat on his tongue, you were a lady. A lady who doesn’t give in to her one-night-maybe-more stand’s somnophilic desires on the first morning. 

The Mandalorian’s hand creeped upwards, his grip around your waist tightening as he tries to reach for your breast. His thumb brushes your right nipple, sending a jerk to your legs and a jolt through your heat. 

“Mando” You whisper breathlessly, words of wisdom echoing against your skull; She who inquires, soon perishes.

He doesn’t respond. And by Gods, you are ready to burst. Instead, you feel a hand catch your breast, a low, involuntary groan emanating from his throat. He begins to knead messily, his fingers squeezing and releasing in no distinguishable pattern. You cover your mouth with a shaky hand, the other gently wrapping around the Mandalorian’s, attempting to remove it without waking him. In vain, of course; the man’s grip is so calculated and unmoving, even while he’s asleep. Curious, you wonder. He continues hunching against your backside, uncontrollable whines and grunts escaping from the modulator. Gods, he is really digging himself into you now, his dreams seemingly taking a hot, degenerate turn. You selfishly debate letting him finish, pretending to be asleep, and then rightfully suffering the consequences of watching him truck around your house without being able to touch him. Sincerely, what did you think would happen if he woke up now? It would forever weigh in his conscience. So you decide. For his sake of course, and definitely not yours. 

You softly back yourself into him, lying your head against the pillow once more as you relax your limbs. You extend your chest, allowing his sentient hands and hips to roam freely against you. He mutters something under his breath, something you had to think twice if you heard correctly. Your name; it flows prettily off his tongue, unconsciously verbed as if he’d been speaking it all his life. Your chest grows warm. 

His thrusts falter ever so slightly, signaling the eventual end to his very, very wet dream. Your eyes drift closed, senses hyperfocusing on the hot breath flushing your neck. He continues pawing at your breast, expertly taking your nipple within his fingers, rolling it between them. You dig your head into the pillow, cursing the words of wisdom. 

Your neck chills with the realization that he’s stopped breathing. His body flexes and stiffens, and a flowing warmth runs against the skin of your backside. You try not to wear a shit-eating grin, preserving the appearance that you were asleep. He ruts into you a few more times, thrusts broken and pained, the muscles in his arm twitching violently.

His breathing resumes, now hot, heavy and awake. 

You feel his arm gently snake off of you, his heavy frame jolting up to stand on his knees. You keep your eyes shut tight, biting back the temptation to burst into laughter. 

“Dank farrick!” You feel him rush off the bed, stomping his way to your living space. You faintly hear The Kid mumble sleepily from his crib, almost stirring awake from the commotion. He rushes back to you, cloak now secured onto his neck. You feel the coarse fabric against the ridge in your backside, wiping away the silky spunk from your skin. Gods, what it took from you to not erupt in laughter. You let out a series of artificial groans, withstanding the appearance that you were just waking up. You think to yourself; it worked, didn’t it? 

His hands leave you as you stir awake. “Mando?” You grog sleepily. 

“Yeah..I’m here” He says, his modulated voice delivering with a shaky breath. “Good morning.” He sits beside you, covering you with the soft blanket he managed to rip off of you in his innate, sexually agitated pursuit of release. You turn to face him as he covers you, breasts and pussy on complete display. You hear his breath catch, the muscles in his neck flexing as he swallows the excess of saliva accumulating from his glands. 

“Are you okay?” You ask teasingly, knowing the answer was a stark no. He breathes a chuckle, and you know his face has got to be melting off from the heat spread against his cheeks and ears. “I, uh- Yeah. Yeah, I’m okay.” He stammers. “It’s early, go back to sleep.” He leans forward, placing a hand over the top of your head, running his bare fingers through your snaking curls. You blink slowly at him, his gaze trained on you, feeling his breath escape the bottom of his helm. 

Mando had never seen hair like yours. He didn’t consider Peli’s wild and uncivilized do close to anything he was seeing on you. Your curls sat sentiently on your shoulders, each one seemingly having a mind of its own while sustaining the uniformed magnificence of your big, soft mane (which, might he add, fits so perfectly within his calloused fists). He continues running his fingers through it, catching gentle fistfuls of your locks between his fingers. It must feel good for you, evident by the way your eyelids drift shut, a warm smile softly beaming up at him. So he continues. He keeps massaging your scalp, allowing himself to get lost in you. Your gaze, your faint scent in the air, the alluring shape of your eyes and perfect teeth glinting at him as you smile. 

“Mando?” 

He doesn’t miss a beat before softly humming back to you. You don’t continue. The silence between you carries something heavy, a low simmer building to a heavy broil. 

He hums lowly, muttering something you couldn’t understand. 

“Mesh’la” The fluid word nestles softly in your ear, invoking your smile to widen. You didn’t know what it meant, but you didn’t need to. 

The sun begins to shine brighter through the open curtains, and the Mandalorian reaches above his head, snatching them shut. I should be getting up for the day, you think. But Gods, who in their right mind would leave such a position? Before you know it, your hand is reaching to his helmet, your fingers resting on the cold beskar. His hands slow as you touch him, the blatant exhibit of trust quietly settling between you. 

“You said you didn’t have to leave today, right?” You ask purely, careless of the yearn in your voice. He didn’t have to leave today. But that didn’t stop the jab in his chest when he calls to mind, he’s going to have to leave someday. But that day wasn’t today. And Gods be damned if he was going to waste what he had in front of him. 

· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·

Mando lived a fast life. Depraving himself of attachments, familiarities and all the niceties any common person would take pleasure in. He wasn’t common. Hell, most of his kind had been wiped from the galaxy, routinely seeked and destroyed by all who couldn’t understand the significance of a race who’d lasted tens of thousands of years. Bearing in mind all the millions of inter-species wars, battles, and armed conflicts his likeness has sustained. And the way of his survival was keeping a practice. Not staying on one planet for too long. Foolishly depriving himself of having a need for comfort. Often finding himself feverishly avoiding attachment to things as miniscule as food that might taste too good. Or feeling for another that wasn’t himself. 

And then came you, mysterious and vibrant all the same. If he was being ingenuous, his intentions were set from the start of his travels. He hadn’t planned to stay long. And foolishly, for a little while after meeting you, he believed it. The sight of you flustered him, threw him off his game. He couldn’t have distractions. And human women who looked like you were a distraction. You were short. He easily cleared a foot and change of your height. You were purebred, a type of mammal that didn’t originate on his side of the stars. Something he’d seldom see on other humanoid species he’s interacted with. Your eyes were a dark brown, radiating all and any light back to him. Striking, he thought. 

Your limbs and body moved fluidly, the shape of your frame something he’d only observed in fictitious..illustrations depicting what thoroughbred human females looked like. And compared to the countless alien and slightly-resembling humanoid species he’d laid with, Mando had to realize eventually that even in his almost 40 years of life, he will still be facing instances where he’s seeing a first. It wasn’t surprising, for someone who’s always on the move. The peaceful bearings of your welcoming gave you away first, the only humans on Naboo being the passive species that inordinately managed to make peace with the unruly Gungans. 

He stood at your doorstep, a gentle sheen glistening off of your top lip. You looked like you had been doing dishes, your house-gown damp at the lower stomach, sparkly soap suds melting on your wrists. Your bushy hair was fastened in a bun, curly tendrils escaping the silk ribbon unsuccessfully taming your mane, and poetically framing your face. 

Your face. 

He had been stranded, ship left in Mos Eisley, and Gods be damned if he had to lodge with a damn droid. So he and his child set pace for the peaceful plains of Naboo, hitching a ride with a small traveler’s congregation. Cognizant that he would find a somnolent villager who would be willing to take him in for a while. 

He had traveled for days, grudgingly following behind the adventures seeked by the traveler’s guild. The adults of the congregation asked relentless questions as they all gathered on their ship, children beaming and listening attentively whilst their eyes stayed glued on the shiny weapons and gadgets he kept on his person. 

“So you’ve never taken the helmet off?” Asks a woman, baby planted on her lap and a toddler sat on her other. 

“Not since I swore the Creed.” He replies flatly. 

“What is that?” A man points at the green booger levitating next to him. 

“I keep him around for luck.” He replies flatly, glancing at The Kid with an aggravated sigh

“Can I see your blaster?” One child glimmers, not missing a beat to squash his dreams with a firm “No.” The other kids groan in protest, but another question rings from the group that nearly sends him into a stupor. 

“Where do you live?” Asks another child, and for a moment, Mando doesn’t have an answer. Nothing sarcastic, nothing witty or a play on words. Nothing. The kids quiet themselves, as do the adults. Everyone keeps their eyes on him, anticipant on his response. His helmet dips in thought. What in the dank farrik was he supposed to say?

“Prepare for landing, folks!” The co-captian of the ship makes his way into the hull, sparing Mando’s idiotic silence to the child’s question with his chipper, animated announcement. His eyes stay stuck on the floor, lulling the weight of his answer in his head. 

You were the nonconformity, as was The Kid. He had never thought of himself as the type to settle down anywhere. He’d have to end up saying goodbye to his son, too. His entire mission was built on it. The entire reason he's here in Naboo, seeking lodging while his Crest is repaired, is so he can return The Kid back to his own likeness. But when you opened your door to him, so disheveledly sexy in your house gown and your unruly hair, a thought so damned ridiculous banged against his frontal lobe. Fuck the mission. You riveted him at first sight, your eyes curious and wide as you gave him a once over. He explained his situation, leaving out the part where he was carrying an asset so extremely sought-after, he might be bringing Imperial-level trouble to your doorstep and he didn’t even know it. He had been involved in an air collision, damaging his ship to the point of needing repairs. And he needed somewhere to go. Plain and simple. And as if he was being compensated for it, The Kid made his own case in frustrated babbles and upset bleats. At that point, he didn’t need you to tell him that you had no objections to his staying. 

And as he walked into your home, the fresh air whipping through the living space, he caved into the masculine urge to muse. He watched you as you made up the conform couch with a pep in your step. He envisioned himself, coming back here, after a long day’s work. The raw sunlight warming the areas too chilly, Naboo air cooling the areas too warm. The organic, unrefined wind blowing through the windows as you tended to the house, Kid busying himself with getting in your way. The corner of his lips twitch, threatening a smile. 

“Thank you” He choked out, threatening to lose control of the shake in his voice, not realizing he’d been holding back a breath. 

“Of course.” You look at him with a sparkle in your eyes, your soft gaze and luminous smile burning through a hole through his impenetrable chest plate. 

Possibilities ran through his mind. You seemed so jovial in accepting him, not caring to prod into his business, you didn’t bark a price at him for his lodging and he was begrudgingly burdening you with an additional two mouths to feed. Do people like this exist? He thought to himself. He could almost split his side at how unbelievably suitable this life was for him. And yet he hadn’t even sat on your couch. 

You introduced yourself to him, your name coming to rest on his ears. He repeats it. And he takes it slow so he pronounces it right. A name he could hear himself huffing into his helmet while he thinks about all the repulsive ways he can have you, and your little corner of Naboo, all to himself. 

· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·· · ─ ·✶· ─ · · Second Day (continued)

“No, cyar'ika. I don’t have to leave today.” He coos at you, fingers now completely entangled in your hair. He gently removes them, moving his large and calloused palm to your face, cupping your cheek. He runs a thumb over it, yearning to keep his gloves off for the rest of his life if it meant he could touch you in perpetuity. 

“Tomorrow?” You ask glumly, already grieving the company of your new friend. 

“Yes, tomorrow. But I’ll be back in a few days.” He replies, his voice soothing and gentle. 

You fight the urge to make him promise aloud, aware of the blatant and foolish teen-crush you both had on each other. So you smiled sheepishly instead. 

“Okay” 

You hear soft coos coming from the living space, The Kid now stirring awake. You grin  at the sound, thinking to yourself; I could get used to waking up like this..

His helmet tilts to the side, his gaze still fixed on you. 

“Kid’s awake” He utters with a subtle sigh. You give him a tight-lipped smile, silently grieving the feeling of his warm hands on your face. 

The Mandalorian releases your cheek, inching to get up. You sit up, looking after him as he moves. You watch his body, the dim sunlight glistening brilliantly off of his armor. The bouncing shimmers were the only thing distinguishing his dark silhouette from blending into the darkness of the room. You study the way he maneuvers; so fluidly, so dexterously intentional that you begin to wonder if the beskar weighed anything at all. Something about his presence in your humble home was so assuring, sheltering, warm. He offered a stability that you couldn’t get from staying solitary. The rapidly growing attraction between you was evident of that. You craved him, and every alluring part of him more than you’d like to admit. 

He cranes his neck around the room, searching for something. His gloves. He’d shamelessly chucked them to the wind sometime last night, and you didn’t blame him one bit. It seemed as if he was pent up, frustrated with the fact that he’d let himself get to the point where he’d brazenly defile you the same day you’d met him. You weren’t complaining, though. A big, strong armored man was ready to pounce at the sight of you, what on Naboo were you supposed to do? And the drawback? You both hopelessly ached for more. And you didn’t know how long it would be until you were satiated with each other. You had to admit, it didn’t look promising. 

You keep your eyes on him, sitting up in bed as you watch him look for his gloves. The Kid begins to mewl, wondering where his father is. “I’m comin’, kid. Where did I put my…” He trails off, his head swiveling around the dark room. You reach up instinctively, peeling open the curtains, light spilling into the dark crevices of your bedroom. His gaze stops on the gloves laid halfway under your bed. “Here.” He bends to retrieve them whilst you stand up, stretching your arms and back from the cricks and tension from sleep. You walk towards your nightgown, haphazardly strewn about the floor a few feet from your bed. You bend to pick it up, both feet flat on the floor and stood shoulder-width apart. While bent, you sneak a peek behind your leg, your eyes landing on the Mandalorian standing still as stone, gaze stuck on you. If he hadn’t just been moving, you could fully mistaken him for an anchored statue. 

Words of wisdom echo through your mind; You’re in for it now, mesh’la. 

The Kid continues bleating and babbling impatiently, wondering what the hold up is. You unhurriedly stand up straight, lifting your arms and slowly slipping your gown over your head. The silky fabric falls around your curves, settling on your body loosely. You smile back at the Mandalorian, flashing him a sleazy wink. 

“Hungry?” You ask wittingly, swinging your hips as you brush past him into the living space. You should be handsomely rewarded for the amount of times you’ve had to suppress a colossal bout of laughter at the hardened, deadly soldier who’s currently stuck on stupid at the sight of your bare ass. The Kid ramps up when he sees you, incoherently yapping and babbling excitedly. You walk over to him, baby-voicing your good mornings and fully melting into your well developed kid-centric nature. As you approach him, his stubby arms extend towards you, beckoning you to lift him. You take the child in your arms, wrapping a hand around his fuzzy, yet bald head. You run circles over his forehead with your thumb, large, innocent eyes drooping and his beaming smile relaxing at your touch. The Mandalorian approaches a few feet behind you, arms crossed and his shoulder leaned against the doorframe to your bedroom. He observes you silently, letting you sink into your niche ability to love his child in a way that he couldn’t. 

“Good morning, little one.” You coo down at him, the affection for him gripping you completely. 

There was something about the child that besotted you. You couldn’t put your finger on it. You’ve never been so enamored by any of the littles you’ve cared for previously. You loved them all the same, of course, but your intuition was no fool. Was it because his father was the first possibility of a real companion that you’ve chanced upon since meeting the males of your village? You didn’t know, and frankly, you didn’t care to read too much into the brass tacks. All you knew was that this child was something special. And you’d do anything to make sure him and his father remained in your life, even after he no longer needed your accommodations. 

Suddenly, your eyes instinctively drift shut, and you feel an overwhelming wave of pure, instinctual energy flowing through your body. The thick of it coils through your mind, temporarily disabling you. In no time, memories and remnants of a life gone begin to swirl through your head as you look down at the child. Feeling as if a celestial force had pushed into your mind, inquisitively weaving its way through your identity and taking grasp of the most exciting parts with a child-like curiosity. 

Your parents. Bright, but unfamiliar. A twinge of sadness comes across your features at the sight of them once more, after years of training your conscience to suppress the remembrances for your own sake. Your mother’s face appears first. You didn’t remember much about her, or what she did for a living. Your subconscious only recalling bits and pieces of the entire stretch of time where your parents were alive. The flashbacks run slowly behind your eyes. For the first 7 or so years of your life, you lived on Coruscant, a planet so alive and undeviating from its heavy city culture. 

Verbatim, the planet was covered in cities. Altering species and people alike roamed the busy streets, something to learn and a new adventure to get lost within at every pivot. 

You were raised along many different types of children, alien and humanoid all the same. You forced yourself to not remember much from Coruscant, only a bit of the joyous things a child should remember. Makeshift playgrounds, busy streets and the noise. So. much. noise. A striking contrast to the calming plains of Naboo that you now claimed as your home. Eventually ending up here after you and plenty of your childhood friends were  driven out of your homes by the growing need for more major galactic trade routes. 

But naturally, shards and remnants of the unfavorable lie deep within your psyche. 

Your mother and father coming home after a long day of seeing the galaxy, muscles rigid with tension, and robes and cloaks smelling of char and a substance so stannically sweet it made your little head spin. You could almost smell it now. Your breathing speeds up, the sudden unpackaging of your deepest memories taking you by complete and utter surprise. Outside of your ethereal mental union with the child, you hear him coo sadly, his three tiny claws softly grazing your forehead as a tear rolls its way down your cheek. You feel a push into your conscience, attempting to unearth more unpleasant recollections until you feel your mind resist the pulls of the energy coming from the child. 

You think to yourself; What the hell has gotten into me? Why am I remembering? Gods, who is this kid? 

And as if your mind was partially occupied by an innocent spiritual visitor, one thought pushes through all the others into the front of your psyche. 

Grogu. 

Your lips twitch into a smile. Is that his name? You think to yourself. 

“Grogu?” You open your eyes to meet him, pupils growing large and ears perking to the sound of your voice. 

Grogu blabs excitedly, his arms waving happily at his successful attempt at whatever it is he had done to you. 

I knew it to be true. 

That excited internal monologue in your head was him, you observed. He was communicating with you without verbiage. Maker, this was the most extraordinary thing you’ve ever experienced. A small fraction of your soul had come alive. A minuscular inclination to follow the flow of the energy that encircled the two of you. To force yourself to ride the wave of new emotions. To let it take you with utter trust and faith. 

Without hesitance, you push your thoughts forward, forcing them to cascade within the connection you’ve established with the psychic child held in your arms. 

How are you doing this? How am…I doing this?

A few moments pass before you feel a response. 

The Force is within you. It is, has, and will unfailingly be. 

And suddenly, it all made inexplicable sense to you. Your undisputed ability to bear the brunt of the energy around you, constantly. To feel the universe for what it was, never what you were made to believe it to be. Your unwavering optimistic view on the happenings of your life, despite the harsh realities you were forced to face at a very young age. And, your innate ability to care and nurture, without ever asking or expecting something in return. You gave and gave, and never awaited to receive. 

The Force. You thought to yourself. As in, Jedi powers? 

You smile nervously at the child, unsure what to do with this new information. Truly, where did you go from here? The Jedi were almost completely obsolete. You’ve never done any extensive space travel, and seldom traveled outside your settlement. You wouldn’t even know where to start. 

“What happened?” You hear Mando’s voice float through the modulator, bringing you back to the present. You took a beat before responding, unsure of what exactly you were supposed to say. “Is Grogu his name? How did you know that?” Your smile grows at his rapid-fire questions, noticing how it was undoubtedly the most he had spoken since he arrived; despite the X-rated grunts and groans you elicited from him the night prior. You feel him approach from behind you, now aware of not just his physical presence, but a bodiless force that surrounded him. It was heavy, encapsulating and incontestably alluring. You turn to face him, Grogu still watching your features from the comfort of your arms, squealing softly but excitedly at his new-found discovery about you. 

Mando took a beat before speaking again. “You’re Force-sensitive?” He asks, and you huff at your inability to respond truthfully. 

“I…I had no idea. I mean, I’ve always been pretty intuitive, wise above my years and all that. But this…I mean this changes everything, Mando.” You walk over to the kitchen counter, resting Grogu on the flat surface. You run your fingers through your hair, brushing your curls from your face as you let out a long sigh. “How could this be true for someone so…regular? What did I do to deserve such a gift?” You laugh unbelievably, motioning your arms to yourself. “Truly, what do I do?” You shake your head, looking down at your hands whilst you weigh the options in your head. You could venture outside of the settlement, something you hadn’t done in a long while. You survived off of the land around you and short trips to the market within your zone, having mastered all homemaking abilities sufficiently enough to let you live independently. Gods, what were you thinking? You’d be the smallest fish in the pond. Anxiety gripped at your chest, your inner-placility faltering at the slightest. You looked up at Mando, your worried eyes landing directly on his. You didn’t know it, of course. 

The Mandalorian sighs nervously before replying. His tone is gentle, his voice low and warm through his helmet. “I might have a solution. But it would require you to leave your village, and I couldn’t tell you for how long.” You listen intently, resting your bottom on one of the stools beside the counter. Grogu’s ears perk up as he turns to face his father. 

“I’ve been on the hunt for a Jedi. Grogu needs to be reunited with his own kind. I’m not able to train him properly and…” He pauses, looking down at the child, his innocently curious eyes meeting the harsh glare of truth. “He’s been through so much. He needs to have a normal life.” His words settle deeply between the three of you. “He deserves a normal life.” You listen intensely, feeling the devout emotion in his words, despite the flat tone of the modulator. The uttermost love he feels for him. Your heart ached at the notion of him having to voluntarily separate from his son. It’s something you could never fathom, especially noting the life-altering experience he had gifted you in your first 24 hours of meeting. You wondered how much more the child could tug at your heart strings if you got to know him more. The universe couldn’t have been more clearer. The likes of Mando and Grogu were put on your path for a reason. You didn’t know why yet. But if you’d learned anything within the past 10 minutes, the path you lie within is the one you must swear to follow. Fully committing to your established  intuition, thoroughly trusting the Force to guide you across your journey. 

“When do we leave?” You ask, sliding off of the barstool and walking around to the kitchen. You wait for a response, busying yourself with preparing the kettle to make caf. Grogu inches himself forward, wanting off of the counter. He’d been entertained enough with the conversation. Whatever adventures awaited, he wanted in, especially if you were now involved. The Mandalorian hooks his hands beneath the child's arms, setting him on the floor gently. He patters away towards your bedroom, elated at the prospect of discovering a new part of your house. 

“My next stop is Corvus. I was told I could find a Jedi named Ashoka Tano there. I was hoping to locate her and find out if she knows someone who can train him.” He responds. You set the kettle to boil, turning to face him. Questions race through your mind, mouth opening and closing as you try and decide where to start. 

“Well, Mando. Guess you can say you’ve rocked my world in more ways than one.” You tease, combating your internal anxiety with the only way you’ve learned how; humor as dry as a Tatooine desert. You hear a huff crackle from the modulator, a noise you can almost discern as a laugh. You smiled at him, keeping your gaze locked on his. Remnants of your earlier antics begin to flow through your mind, your bottom lip instinctively wedging its way between your teeth. He stands still, his helmet tilting curiously, keeping his visor locked on you. He looks back towards the bedroom where Grogu has already found something to busy himself with, and back to you in one fluid motion. You begin to fidget, noting the rising octave of the temperature indicator on the kettle. 

He walks towards you slowly, stride slow and unwavering. Gods, he was the most attractive man you think you’d ever met, and yet you hadn’t even seen his face. You wondered what he looked like under there for a moment, his enigmatic nature fading the rest of your thoughts, replacing them with curiosities innocent and not-so innocent alike. 

He closes the gap amongst you, placing a strong hand on your lower back as he tries to maneuver his way between you and the counter. You face back toward the kettle, turning your backside to him to allow him more space. He instantly wraps his hands around your hips, the palm of his hand firmly squeezing at the flesh on your hips. 

Foolish move, mesh’la. The loud thought echoes in his head, moving through the sentience flowing between you and settling in yours. You didn’t know how you felt about having this kind of ability, but you weren’t sure you completely hated it yet. You had plenty of beginner’s advantages now, and Maker knows you were going to use them. The kettle begins to rumble beside you, pressure building within the hot walls of aluminum. You feel his warmth radiating through the fabric of your nightgown, your bottom nestling perfectly within the gaps of his abdominal armor. You press back into him, feeling his bulge stiffen against you. He keeps his hands wrapped tightly around your hips, his hips now heavily pressing against the curve of your ass. His fingers travel down the outside of your thighs, grabbing the fabric of your nightgown and lifting it so painfully slow. Goosebumps cover your arms and legs. Once he has you exposed, he raises his gloved right hand and brings it down roughly, giving one of your cheeks an authoritative slap. You stifle a moan, your knees going weak at his display of superiority. He rubs the point of impact, squeezing the soft skin reassuringly as he continues rubbing himself against you. He releases a soft groan, using both hands to knead and spread your cheeks. You feel his gaze boring into you from behind. The kettle begins to release a continuous whine, tension building as the water grows to a boil. 

He leans forward, helmet now right beside your face. He wraps an arm around your waist, resting his fingers between your thighs. You jolt as he touches your heat, desperately hunching into your behind as you bend forward, pushing back into him. 

“Dank farrik…you’re so perfect, cyar'ika.” He grumbles lowly, his voice shaky and breathy against your skin. You absorb his words with every ounce of intimacy he laced them with. And all the sudden, you’re wanting to feel his lips on yours. You craved the taste of his mouth, the feeling of his breath against your face and the arousing sensation of his tongue shoving its way into your mouth. You straighten against him, turning your body to face him. You rest your backside against the counter, feeling the cold smooth texture against your bare thighs. He instinctively bends to wrap his arms around them, hoisting you up fully onto the counter. And still, your lips only just reached his with an upward crane of your neck. You wrap your legs around his waist, his hips finding your middle as he leans into you. 

You carefully reach your hands up, your palms meeting the cold beskar of his helmet. You secure your fingers to the ridges around his visor, pausing before you proceed. 

 “Kiss me, Mando. Please.” Your words land heavily on his ears, and send a sensual jolt down his spine. And in that moment, he desired nothing but to rip the damned thing off and attach his mouth to every inch of you there was to taste. The kettle comes to a boil, the temperature indicator attached to the burner wailing a high-tone whistle. You both keep your gaze fixed to each other, his arm detachedly reaching beside you and turning it off. He brings his hands up, gently wrapping his around yours whilst he lowers them. You almost whined in protest, your appetite for the taste of him considerably disregarding all the stupid rules of his Creed.  

“Soon.” He replies, resting your hands on his chestplate. You smile, accepting his answer for what it was, not pushing any further. Instead, you lean forward, your face coming to meet his helmet with no protest from his position. You plant a soft kiss beneath his visor, and another below that one. You plant kisses against the beskar, the last one landing exactly where you felt his lips to be. 

“Soon.” You repeat, inching forward to hop off the counter. You and Grogu had more things in common than you thought. You feel a strong hand wrap around your wrist. 

“Sit. I’ll make the caf.” He states flatly. He gives you no room to gripe, already grabbing the jar of instant-caf sat within your cabinets. You walk back to your seat at the counter, watching him as he moves around your kitchen, so domestically, so fittingly. 

Grogu mumbles excitedly, the sounds of his successful play-time endeavors traveling through your home. You closed your eyes and pushed your thoughts forward, attempting to reach for him through the Force. 

Having fun? The connection was established easily. 

You watch as Mando treads further and further from your home, kicking up dirt with every confident, hunky step of his boots. Your eyes travel up and down his frame as he walks, wishing so very badly he was making his way to you instead. You hated when he left. But loved to watch him leave. Mando's body language is something you've seldom witnessed on a man. Assured, certain and absolutely positively unafraid. His gait engrosses you, your head following the modest swagger in his step, eyes trained on the slight sway in his hips as if he's carrying something all too burdensome between his legs. You take delight in watching him, studying his behavioral patterns and subconscious habits, honored to have the kind of closeness to a Mandalorian that many desire. 

You stay bent over the kitchen sink, peering through the window as you watch his silhouette become tinier and less distinguishable in the Naboo sun. The Kid sits perched on the counter beside you, babbling incoherently. He looks up at you with his wide black eyes, attempting to brainwash you into playtime mode. You shake your head at the little green monster, his itty bitty teeth peeking through his wrinkly lips. 

"Your father needs to eat tonight, as do you. Help me with dinner and we'll play as loooong as you want." You speak softly to the child as you lift him into your arms, and he responds with the sweetest coos and babbles you think ever heard while you lodge him on your hip. You set him down in his spherical crib, bouncing slightly as he settles down inside. You make your way to the front door, grabbing your harvest bin and checking behind yourself to ensure The Kid follows suit. 

You squint your eyes as you make your way to the garden, the sun painting your face golden and warming your skin delightfully. You perch your basket under your arm, resting it on your right hip, rocking it by habit. You bend down to pick your necessary ingredients for the meal, avoiding the ones The Kid tends to nonsensically complain about. The wind caresses you gently, the quiet serenity of the Naboo plains soothing your loud thoughts. Your blessed formality you’ve been accustomed to for a month now.

Your arrangement with the Mandalorian was simple. You watch his kid while he goes about business, feed him and keep him busy until he comes back. Occasionally rendering the same treatment to the Mandalorian when he takes rest. 

Understandably, you were hesitant to accept. Caring for the child of a Mandalorian? It wasn't similar at all to the responsibility you kept as a teen, watching over the littles of Naboo and becoming your neck of the woods' designated babysitter. No, this was different. You were put in charge of a child whose father could probably think of 17 different ways to end you before you had the chance to say "I'm sorry! It was an accident!". And then you laid eyes on the little booger, his preciousness enamoring you with a single look into his onyx eyes. 

When Mando first came across your home one afternoon, he was unsure of you too. Typical for someone of his nature. He needed lodging and repairs to his ship, something you could only partially provide. He approached you battered, tired and all too ready to crash on any surface he was offered. From the stories you've heard, Mandalorians are not as trusting as any regular citizen of the galaxy. They operate on their own rules, (or Creed, which you've come to learn) and a set of values that would choke a Wookiee to death with all its restrictions. So naturally, you were elated at the prospect, but with slight trepidation as to not break any of his rules. 

You let Mando and The Kid into your home on the premise that he would allow you to care for him, too. Initially, he wanted to leave the child with you while he tended to his ship’s repairs and other errands while lodging someplace else. You were having none of it. Partly because it's in your nature to nurture and wholly because a big, armored man was sat at your doorstep covered in Gods knows what, exuding the most magnificent masculinity you think you've ever seen. 

· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·

First Night

"You can lodge as well, Mandalorian. Please, come inside." 

"I'll sleep on the ship." He said, helmet tilted past your shoulder as the child made himself at home, watching as he acted as if he'd lived there his entire 50 some years of life. You squinted up at him, giving him a once over before stepping aside and outstretching your arm, beckoning him to come in. You flashed your best smile, and softened your gaze at him to try your best and convince him that you were trustworthy. 

"If the baby stays, you stay." You said finally. 

He stepped inside, wooden floors creaking under his weight. You watched him starry-eyed, the afternoon Naboo sun gleaming through the windows of your living space, glinting off of his Beskar armor as he made his way into your humble home. The gentle wind through the windows flows through his cape, flicking the edges softly. You closed the door behind you, making your way to one of your storage vessels, grabbing a pillow and a couple soft blankets for him. He watched while you prepared a makeshift bed out of your conform couch. You moved with a solid content, a notion Mando would never comprehend. He wouldn't be all too eager to allow a stranger into his home, but the way of your people strictly chartered you to nurture the healing and resting of any passersby you deemed honorable. And Gods, did you deem him honorable. 

He watched you while you gently brushed the cushions with your hand, embarrassingly cleaning off any remnants of your earlier meal from the fabric. You laid the softest blankets you had over the surface, tucking them between the cushions and perching the pillow up on the furthermost armrest. 

"Thank you" He spoke, his voice flat and deep through the modulator. 

"Of course." You look at him, visor too dark to see beyond. You smile up at him as he stands there, seemingly unsure of what to do next. 

You introduce yourself, your name settling into the quiet noise of the plains. 

He repeats it. It rolls off his tongue in a way where it implies he has great familiarity with it already. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

"Are you hungry?" You asked, placing your hands on top of your hips as you hear The Kid next to you respond to the offer in soft, excited coos. You speculated, and remembered an extremely detrimental rule you seemed to have looked over. They aren't allowed to de-mask themselves in front of anyone. Anything. So you speak before he can. 

"I can leave a meal out for you. Please, eat when you’re ready." You outstretch your hand, directing him to the couch. He takes slow steps towards you. You crane your neck up at him just as he approaches, your heart rate flicking up as he does so. His steps are slow, nonthreatening and soft.  For a man of his stature, you notice he's outwardly gentle despite his size and unyielding appearance. Reassuring. 

He reaches for the pouch rested on his utility belt, leather gloves audibly rubbing against the fabric and a gentle clatter coming from inside. Credits. Imperial. You reach your hands up, enclosing them around his. They're huge. Warm. Could probably engulf your face in one of his palms. You gave a gentle squeeze and softly ushered his hands back to his belt. You didn’t want his money. Sure, you could use it, but truly, it seemed exploitative and Gods forbid if you exploit a man and his child in their time of need. 

"Stay as long as you both need. I could use the company around here" You spoke softly, tilting your head toward The Kid while he watched from his spherical crib. 

"We'll only need a couple days. I don't want to trouble you." He replies. He nods suavely at you before he turns his back towards the couch, and lowers himself with a plagued sigh. You take a beat before speaking again, facing him while putting your back to The Kid. 

"What troubles you, Mandalorian?" You ask tenderly, keeping a cautiousness not to pry too much into his business. 

He takes a second before responding, slightly angling his visor up at you. "Nothing. Nothing you should burden yourself with." You tilt your head at him, smiling softly in understanding. "Can you promise me he'll be safe here?" You turn to look at the child, big shiny orbs peering back up at you, a soft babble leaving his lips as he outstretches his tiny arms towards you. Your heart melts at the sight, immediately feeling a profound connection form with the little green monster. You feel yourself naturally gravitate towards him, your body suddenly manifesting an internal magnet. The sudden wave of emotion temporarily ails you, pulling at your heart strings and overwhelming your chest with a simmering maternal burn. 

"As long as I breathe." You respond suddenly, mysteriously now aware of his father's quandary. Something, someone is after the child. And yet, the hardened soldier sat behind you is entrusting you to his nestling. Or, what do they call it on Mand'alore? Foundling. Easily the highest degree of honor within the Mandalorian Creed. You cradle The Kid in your arms, resting a finger between his 3 little appendages. He squeezes it, curiously bringing your hand to his mouth. You hear an amused grunt behind you coming through the modulator. 

"Stop that. Friends are not food." He says. You chuckle quietly. You reluctantly settle him back into his metallic crib, gathering the soft material inside and resting it over his tummy. He settles down and you begin rocking his cradle, softly bouncing it against gravity. You watch as his eyelids flutter closed, an instant snore escaping his lips. “Someone’s not so hungry after all” He says, a soft chuckle emitting from his helmet. You smile in response. 

"Gods, he is the cutest thing I think I've ever seen." You say with an unbelievable chortle. You turn to face The Mandalorian, his arms now outstretched behind him, cradling the backrest of the conform couch as he watches you interact with his child. You feel a whisper of something whirring deep inside your core, his aloof position of sitting now sparking a new inquisitiveness about the man sat before you. You motion to sit next to him, a meager cushion now separating you from the first prospect of an intimate interest you've had in a long while. You lower yourself onto the inner corner of the couch, resting your back against the armrest so that you're facing him directly. 

"He's alright." You chuckle at his lackadaisical response, knowing he would probably tear a rift into the galaxy at the mere likelihood of something coming into harm's way of The Kid. "Fair warning, he can be a handful." He says with an amused shake of his head. You nod in understanding, looking at him, stupid smile still plastered on your face. An awkward silence fills the room as the moment settles, and you continue watching him. His visor is aimed at the child, so you're not sure if he's able to see you or not. You don't fret. 

Seldom do you come across someone with such experience in life. Someone who's seen the ins and outs of the Galaxy, and still chooses to fight for it regardless of its goods and bads. You take the opportunity to study every visible dent, every scuff and defect in his armor. You can almost hear the stories of what he's seen emit through them. It captivates you, the complete opposition of life experience sitting across from you. You notice the small rips in his tunic between the gaps of his armor, a dark brown settlement of dried blood encrusted on the torn edges.

"You're really good with him" He speaks suddenly, and your gaze snaps back up to meet his, visor now facing you directly. You laugh shyly, a white hot simmer flooding your face. 

"I've always been good with the little ones. The futures of our Galaxy. They deserve the best, don't they?" You say gently, leaning into the subject matter to deflect from the fact that he just caught you infatuatedly staring at him. How on Naboo were you going to sleep with him laid in the room right beside yours? 

“I guess you’re right” He replies, voice low and barely coming through the vocal filter within his helmet. 

· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·· · ─ ·✶· ─ · · First Night, continued 

Mid-night has fallen, and the wintry breeze snakes its way between your curtains. The wind feels velvety against your skin, each force of air flowing through your nightgown. The moon paints a pale glow over your tan skin, your complexion glowing beautifully despite the low light. The spectral silk curtains hanging from your bedroom archway flow open in the night breeze, allowing you to see clearly into your living space.

You lie there, watching with sleepy eyes as the Mandalorian quietly makes his way to the sleeping child. You wonder, how does he manage to tread so softly despite wearing the heaviest thing within the walls of your home supplementary to the walls themselves? He presses a button on the highest point of his crib, and closes the shade. The Kid is now enclosed, innocently oblivious to the roaringly large world around him. He knows nothing but peace at this moment. You smile pleasingly as he pushes the crib to the other side of the room, out of your view. 

You notice the Mandalorian hasn’t moved from his spot. You look upwards, aware of him now watching you. Your heart skips a beat for a moment, and your cheeks flush, warmth spreading to your ears. You sit up slowly, regarding him with a nod. 

“Will you leave again tomorrow?” You ask, internally jumping at the sudden intermeddling question you gathered the nerve to ask him. 

He approaches your bedroom archway, reaching out and gently moving the curtain to the side, subtly ducking his helmeted head to pass through. He stands there for a couple beats, visor pointed directly at you. He watches you intensely,  curiously, and you can almost feel his gaze travel down your legs. Your skin engulfs in goosebumps, and Gods, you can just about feel your legs part under the dominance of his stare. 

“If it’s alright with you, I’d like to take rest for a day before venturing out again.” He says politely, breaking the tension with his completely unreasonable request. You think to yourself, are Mandalorian’s allergic to respite? 

“Of course you can rest for a while. As long as you need.” You adjust your positioning, straightening your back and sitting criss-crossed on your cotton-sheeted mattress. You smile at him, eyes traveling to the empty space beside you. You look back up at the Mandalorian, subtly tilting your head in invitation. 

“I’m sure the ventures of a Mandalorian are lonesome. I’d welcome the company as well” You leave the statement open-ended, considerately moving a few inches over to make space for the large-statured man. He lets a few seconds pass before responding, your tired eyes looking up at him, tension building between you. You’re sure beyond the rest of his talents, this was one of his favorites. Leaving you to revel in the pressure, seeing how much you could take before you show any visible signs of intimate turbulence.

“I shouldn’t keep you from sleep” He says unsure, his feet firmly planted where he stands but verbally expressing (and in no way convincing, might you add) wanting to do otherwise. 

“Please, I insist. I’ve got all the time in the world to sleep” 

He doesn’t miss a beat before responding. “Not with him around.” He says, helmet tilting behind him towards the sleeping child. 

You chuckle quietly. “Scarcely ever do we have a real Mandalorian come around this part of Naboo. I’d like to get to know you, if you’d let me?” you question softly, motioning your hand towards the space beside you. He seems to make his mind up right then. 

He finally steps forward, slowly making his way to the other side of your bed. He lowers himself, bracing his arms to accommodate the low height of the frame. He sits, weight sinking into your plush mattress. He turns halfway to face you, the Beskar bound to his body almost sparkling under the moon’s casted light. You both sit there in comfortable silence, and the only sound accompanying you in the dark room are the whistling gushes of night breeze coming through your drapes as you silently watch each other. You look up at him, noting the tension in his shoulders. You try to ease him by initiating a simple conversation. 

“Have you eaten?” you ask gently, curious to know if he enjoyed your cooking. 

“While you were showering” He replies almost instantly, a mild warmth spreading across your cheeks, the idea of him perceiving you while you’re naked instigating you to imagine what he’d look like when he’s naked. You’d probably showcase an astonishing loss of your self respect at the sight. You nod your head in content. 

He moves smoothly, lying back and positioning his hands behind his neck for support, now looking at the ceiling. You raise a knee to rest your cheek on, and wrap your arms around your bent right leg, outstretching your left. Your heart skips a beat, your bare left foot now only mere inches from his torso. You fiddle with a scar on your right calf as you both enjoy the serene silence of a chilly Naboo night. 

“It was delicious. Thank you” He speaks again, gaze fixed on the ceiling, his voice low and deep through the vocal modulator. Your chest feels warm. You’re truly glad he enjoyed it. Cooking has always been something you loved. Since you were a child, always messing the kitchen and clumsily helping your parents to prepare meals. Delicious. You repeat to yourself, a smirk twitching its way onto your lips. You could definitely get used to hearing that from him. “I’m sorry you have another mouth to feed. If it’s too much trouble, I can get The Kid food while I’m out.” He sounds..apologetic. And for a moment, you ponder on the lot of untrustworthy, malicious and currency-obsessed people he must have encountered to be so apologetic for simply wanting to feed his child. You smile at him, looking up from your hands. 

“Mandalorian, please understand me when I say this” You start, firming your tone while keeping your voice soft and lowered. “You and your son are welcome in my home at any time. To stay for however long you please. Do you understand?” You finish, looking him directly in the visor to render any thought that resembles doubt void and null. 

He turns to face you, observing your own blurred reflection in his helmet. You stand strong on your statement, keeping your focus fixed on where you thought his eyes would be. 

A minute passes, your eyes still fixed on his visor, keeping your unrelenting gaze directly on him. You wait for a response while he watches you back, his helmeted head turned towards you, breathing slow and steady. “Understood” He replies, his tone smooth and obeying. A moment passes, and you both stay looking at each other, unmoving. You watch as he slowly turns the rest of his body toward you, resting his weight on his right elbow. You see his free hand moving slowly, snaking towards your bare foot closest to his torso. The fabric of his clothes rubs against your soft sheets. 

“May I?” He asks, the resonance in his voice caressing your ears and stirring your core. You nod at him, biting your lip as he moves closer to you. 

He takes it in his hand gently, squeezing the soft ball of your foot. You relax under his touch, albeit sudden. The firmness of his fingers send rousing waves of heat through your core. His grip is strong, yet gentle. Much like a protecting caress. You exhale deeply while he squeezes, your head suddenly feeling 100 times heavier. You rest your head on your knee once more, rolling your forehead against your cool skin, your body gaining heat with every press of his fingers. You flinch as he squeezes a tender spot, your head rising to meet his gaze. 

In the absence of raw eye contact, the Mandalorian sits up as your eyes meet his visor. He takes your foot in both of his hands, gently but firmly pulling your weight from under you and dragging you towards him. Your nightgown rides up to your hips, just covering your panties. He places your leg down once you're reclined, your hair bunching up above your head, and your feet planted on the mattress so your legs are bent. You breathe deeply, eyes darting around his body as he handles you, your mind failing to keep up with the sudden development in affairs. Words of wisdom reverberate through your head; Be careful what you wish for. 

He kneels in front of you, towering over your figure below him. He adjusts the rest of his body, his helmet pinned still as his eyes stay stuck on you. He reaches up, hooking the hem of your panties in his fingers. He keeps his eyes directed at yours as he slides them down, lifting your feet to remove them fully. He moves slow and cautious, a carefulness in his touch that leaves you craving for more. He hurls them aside, banishing them to the moon-cast shadows. He grabs your right leg by the ankle, bringing it up to his chest and planting the sole of your foot on his strikingly cold Beskar. He raises your other leg, gripping your foot in both of his hands as he begins to massage again. 

His fingers glide so smoothly over the pads of your feet, one hand working your tired arch and the other digging into a squishy part of your sole that seems to send a lustful wave of full-body, thigh-squeezing chills every time he presses it. He squeezes it once, twice, and his head tilts naughtily the third time he notices what happens when he touches that spot. You look up at him, eyes glazed with sensuality, noting the slight falter in his gaze. 

“That feel good?” He says, his words breathy and smug. 

“Gods, yes. How are you so good at that?” He lets out a breath you can almost assume is a chuckle, and his hands slow as they travel up to your ankles, strong fingers and palms working the knots all the way up to your calves. He pauses at the bends of your knees, slowly and sensually squeezing, rubbing the absolute hell out of your most tense areas. He leans his weight forward slightly, pushing your legs closer and closer to your chest, and admittedly, forcing your thighs further apart. 

A voltaic pressure begins to build in your core. The Mandalorian continues to rub the soft skin in the bend of your knee, now working his way down your thighs, and riding both hands to a stop under each of your cheeks. He squeezes them both gently, slowly caressing the soft, plushy fat, hands traveling up to your hips, and back down to your ass. He pulls his left hand back, bringing it down to a slap on your right hip. You yelp, your legs parting as you flinch from the sudden plague of tingles through your body. A shiver runs down your thigh, noting that you’re now on full display. 

You look up at him, eyes now wide and awake. You rest your legs on his hips, pulling him closer to you. He lets out a soft hum at the sight of you splayed open under his grip, his for the taking. “Fuck” At almost a whisper, he lets it out with a deep breath, fingers seemingly more tense than before. He wraps both arms around your thighs, pulling your lower half to meet his. Your center meets his warm bulge, firm and radiating a dizzying heat between your legs. He grinds up against your pussy, your clit feeling his shaft throb behind its tight fabric prison. He groans deeply in response, bearing more of his weight down on your pussy, itching to get inside you. 

You hum as he grinds into you, your hands reaching between you both and tugging at his belt. “Mando, you’re torturing me” you grumble frustratedly. He lifts his helmet to look up at you momentarily, your breasts bouncing under your nightgown with every grind of his hips into yours. He ignores you, reaching under the thin fabric and taking each one of your breasts into his large gloved hands. Your mouth hangs agape as he kneads them softly, rubbing the pads of his thumbs over your nipples. You flinch when he pinches them gently, his gaze pinned on them as they stand at attention to his touch. “Your tits are perfect,   ” Your name rolls smoothly off his tongue, thick and syrupy as if he’s known it all his life. Your head dizzies at the sound of your name, a desperate whimper quietly escaping your lips. He lets them go with a squeeze as he continues grinding against you. 

The warm skin of your ass tacks to the cold armor plates, the sudden temperature play teasing you, goosebumps littering your skin. He places both hands on your knees, pushing them apart as his head lowers, his gaze now fixed on your pussy. Your hips buck slightly with need, watching as the Mandalorian removes his gloves, one at a time. His fingers travel up your inner thighs, dragging his short nails over your sensitive skin while your legs wrap around his thick waist. You squirm, eager to see what else he can do with his hands. He stops suddenly, looking to your chest, and back up at you. He tugs on your nightgown bunched up around your waist. 

“Get it off” He reaches around you, hooking the hem of your nightgown in each of his fingers. You sit up a few inches to help him get it off as fast as you can, lifting your arms as he pulls it over your head. He tosses it to the side, heatedly disregarding wherever it went. As if he’s denying the prospect of you ever wearing clothes again. 

He sits back up on his knees, now watching you settle back down. He observes you; hair splayed messily around your head, breasts and nipples resting large and natural on your chest, the nooks and crannies in your frame holding an artistic mix of varying complexions and curvatures exactly where he wants them. A body so sublime, so made for him, it almost feels like an imaginary manifestation of his own subconscious version of a perfect woman. 

“I could get used to this view” His voice is low, gravelly with temptation as he watches you writhe beneath him. You smile in response, eager to see what he’ll do next. 

He takes a single finger, and slides it between your warm, wet folds, softly grazing your clit. You whine, bucking your hips forward in need, greedily whimpering up at him. 

“Why won’t you let me pay you for staying here?” He speaks again, a tint of wickedness lacing his voice, his finger stopping in its tracks. 

“Because” you reply, hoping you can dodge your way out of it.  

“There has to be some way I can pay you.” He applies pressure, curving his finger against your swollen bud, flicking it firmly. You flinch, nipples hardening as he continues teasing you. “Or, I can take my cute kid and my foot massages and find some other place to lodge. An Inn, maybe. I hear the customer service in Naboo is pret-” 

“Okay. O-okay” You cry, the tension in your core building fast. He continues flicking your clit, watching your legs jerk and your voice go higher and higher, dripping with need. “I know a way you can pay me.” You buckle shamefully quick. 

“Is that so?” He teases, adding a second finger to his torture, one continuing to tease your clit, the other rubbing your slick entrance, spreading your wetness to your labia. His fingers are strong, talented dexterity showing in his ability to stroke you in two spots at once. You watch them, thick and long, sure enough that he could rock your world with just a slight curve to his fingertips. You take a deep breath before responding, shakily trying to hide the distress in your voice. 

“This, you can pay me like this.” You reply, motioning your head to his fingers, now wet and hot with your essence. He slips a finger inside of you, before suavely entering a second one. Gods, his middle and ring finger. You gripe in agony, his digits deliberately slow-moving and so, so filling. You grip the sheets beside you, surrendering to the ride. 

The Mandalorian shakes his head, his voice deep and heavy with infatuation. “You have to be more specific than that, sweetheart.” You groan, his fingers slowing to a halt while awaiting your response. “Fuck me, please. You can pay me by fucking me. Does that work for you?” You don’t even recognize yourself, the huffs of frustration and whines of urge falling on deaf ears. You’re not used to being teased. Hell, you weren’t used to being tortured. He was driving you up the wall with his antics. Your cheeks burn hot with shyness and your hands desperately grasp at his, trying to get them to move. 

“Greedy girl” He responds smugly, a shakiness in his voice that’s getting harder and harder to ignore. How does he do it? How does he manage to keep his composure while you feel his cock against your thigh, practically thrashing to get out of his pants? 

He pushes his fingers inside of you, your walls clenching around them. He curves his fingertips, leans forward and absolutely goes to town on your pussy. You watch his arms, wishing you could watch his muscles tighten while he works you. His heavy fingers move fast, curling up into that one spot, his palm brushing against your clit with every thrust of his fingers. You buck your hips into his grip, feeling your wetness coat his hand. You look up at him, marveling at the sight before you. The Mandalorian now has his bulge in his free hand, squeezing through his pants and groaning as he rubs himself to the sight of you. 

“Mando..please” you beg, a futile attempt at steering his plans away from where he wants them. He leans forward, visor aimed right at your face while he relentlessly works on your hole. He speaks, ragged breathing carrying his words. “I’ve always..” he grunts, his bulge not letting up beneath his grip. You feel him twitching, you know it can’t be long until he caves. “..wanted to try one thing.” He finishes, your eyes now looking up at him, fluttering closed with each curl of his thick fingers. Lewd sounds fill the silent room, your wetness now audible to him as well. 

“Hm?” A sultry hum settles in his ears warmly, sending a shiver down his core and resting right into his tight balls. 

“Sit on my face.” He requests. Your heart skips a beat, and you smile up at him, tilting your head curiously. “And how would that work, Mandalorian?” You reply naughtily, a hint of wickedness lacing your voice. 

Without missing a beat, Mando lurches forward, hooking his arms under yours. Gods, does he smell good. His scent is thick and intoxicating, stirring your head and evoking a binding allurement to the hardened soldier handling you. He raises you, turning you both around until he’s lying flat on your bed, your legs straddling him as you sit on top of him. Your naked frame soft and plushy against his solid, unyielding armor. You feel his hands work their way up your thighs, squeezing your hips and rubbing your ass, giving each cheek a gentle smack as he groans under his helmet. You bend forward, giving him ample space to knead the doughy fat, moaning into his ear as he kneads. 

You wrap your hands around his neck, squeezing the thickened muscles and rubbing as much surface as you can manage between his shoulder plates. He moans submissively under you, a sound so thrilling to the ears you think you’d cum right then from the way it rattled your core. You lower yourself, your folds now cradling the raging erection in his pants. He tenses up as you do this, the gap between his armor and clothes cradling your bum perfectly, his cock fitting between your legs much similar to a piece of a very carnally, animalistically sensual puzzle. 

“Turn around” He breathes, and your hands can almost feel the heat radiating from the bottom of his helmet. Gods, he must be dying in there. You wickedly drag your pussy against his clothed cock as you move, drawing more heated grunts and groans from his throat. You settle yourself down in your new position, now facing his feet. You relax under his grip as he pulls you backward, thumbs hooked in the bend of your knees. He lets go of your legs, and suddenly you hear an audible release of air, the clear sound of the Mandalorian’s heavy breathing and the warmth of his breath against the skin of your back. “Shit” His now unfiltered voice reaching your ears for the first time. Velvety, hot and bothered, and deep enough to jolt your soul. You smile to yourself, now aware of his newfound vulnerability and exhibit of trust. 

“Come here” He directs. You lie backwards, obeying his command with not a smidge of hesitation, his breath meeting your nape. He groans softly in your ear, reaching his hand up and cupping over your eyes while his lips latch to your neck. His stubble scratches your skin, sending tingles down your spine. It's short, prickly, and you wonder; what color? You tilt your head to the side, giving him full access as he darts out his tongue and slides it over your skin, softly biting the crook in your neck and grinding up into your pussy. Suddenly, Mando removes his hands, releasing your tender skin from between his teeth. 

“Don’t look, okay?” He asks gently. 

You nod. “Of course.” 

You feel his hand reach between your legs, his hips raising to reach his belt. You assist him eagerly, fiddling with his pants trying to free his throbbing erection from its fabric prison. Once you both get it free, you feel a hand snake up your back, another one gripping the fat of your left hip, rubbing your skin and gently pushing you upright with his other. 

Mando revels at the sight of you, his head swirling with all kinds of gripping emotions as he watches you rock your hips side to side, purposely jiggling your ass over his bare face. He inhales your scent as you taunt him, your pheromones enveloping his pre-frontal cortex and flipping a switch in his core. An animalistic path of his nature never walked before. He watches you, the world around him seemingly slowing down. His thoughts quiet themselves, and the only thing he knows is you. Your soft body, your luring scent, the warmth radiating from your skin and your features contorting with pleasure as you both taunt each other to hell. His only goal at this moment; giving you what you so justifiably deserve. 

“Bend over, gorgeous.” He says sternly, and you listen. Happily. You bend forward, scooting your knees backwards until you feel Mando’s breath against your heat. You come face to face with the head of his cock, a considerable amount of pre-cum slowly dripping from the tip. It’s magnificent. Dense, brunette hair caressing the hilt. Shaft thick, long and wired to take whatever the hell it pleases from you. You crane your neck forward, running your thumb over the engorged veins littering his shaft. You plant soft kisses up and down his length, stopping at his frenulum before sliding it past your lips. He tenses immediately and a whiney groan leaves his lips, while your mouth travels up and down, wetting his length. You go down on him like this for a minute, his hands kneading your ass and spreading your cheeks, leaving you on total display above him. 

He buries his nose in your ass, arms hooking under your legs, hands locked at your hips to hold you in place. His scruff rubs against your sensitive skin, and you smile at the fact that he’ll probably be smelling you on him until his next shower. You feel his warm tongue dart from his mouth, determinedly finding your clit with pristine precision. You moan loudly, your back arching from the sharp wave of pleasure. He spreads your thighs, allowing himself more access between them. He continues lapping at your clit, taking it between your teeth every so often, causing your body to jerk and writhe. You push back into his mouth, rolling your hips and in essence, riding his face like the world’s finest speeder bike. 

And he can’t get enough. He’s never been so infatuated with the taste of something. It was unique, and he couldn’t stop. He couldn’t fathom stopping. The Mandalorian didn’t know how long you could go at this, but he knew he could go on for hours. He knew you were close. He continued sucking at your clit and thrashing his tongue eagerly. He releases one of your hips, his hand making its way behind you and between your folds, right above his mouth. 

You whine in response when he slips two fingers inside you, resting your breasts on his stomach and opening yourself to him fully. His fingers urgently curl downwards, finding your spot and stroking against it relentlessly. You wonder; Gods, is he trying to ruin me? You gasp as he suddenly withdraws his fingers from your walls, pushing them back into you and going at your G-spot once more. He continues tormenting you this way for a minute, each time he pushes them into you, warmth flushes to your core. He knows what he wants. And he calculates when it’ll come. Your walls are fluttery, clenching with need when he withdraws. And when he notices the subtle tremble in your thighs, breathlessness in your moans, he prepares; opening his mouth as wide as he can. 

One, two, and..

The Mandalorian hums frenziedly, the lewd sounds of his tongue lapping up your essence as you burst, your pussy completely gushing into his mouth. He maintains his grip on your hip while you gasp and moan in revelation, astonished that someone just made you do that. His tongue doesn’t let up, hungrily whipping against your clit. Your body thrashes against his abdomen, your hips pushing you deeper into his mouth. As he slows, your arms and legs shudder and wobble weakly. He takes a few beats, softly licking the last drops from your heat, your body rendered gelatinous. You continue stroking his length, although he’s seemingly forgotten about his own raging erection. 

You hear him swallow softly, exhaling with a satisfied breath. “Again?” You hear from behind you, the Mandalorian’s voice absolutely dizzy with adoration. You blink hard, catching your breath and lazily shaking your head. 

“How on Naboo did you do that?” You ask, breathily huffing the question. 

“Not sure. It’s more intuitive than I thought.” 

You try to continue working his cock, but you fail miserably. You rest his length halfway into your throat before you lose focus and let him take control. He continues gently licking your pussy, while you stay hopelessly drooling and gagging on his cock as he fucks into your mouth. He knows you’ve had your orgasm ripped from your soul, but it doesn’t seem to waver any disturbance in his endeavors. He’s doing this not only just to please you, but for the complete love of the game. You continue rocking your hips back, his tongue every so often slipping inside of you, curling against your walls. 

He seems to be complacent in this current position, as you hear no complaints from his end. You match his rhythm, bobbing your head as he rolls his hips up, throat fucking you. Mando’s rhythm falters as he grunts, the sounds coming from his throat a heavenly mixture of submission and the internal conflict of trying not to blow his load directly down your throat after the fun’s just getting started. You continue moaning on his cock, the palpable throb in his shaft pulsing against your tongue. You buckle up for the home run, calculating your next move. 

You rest your weight on one of your elbows beside his thick leg, letting your fingers travel under the fabric of his loose pants. You run your nails down his hips with the other as he continues messily fucking your warm, heavenly mouth. He shivers against your touch, his thrusts tensing and faltering so very obviously. You arch your back, throwing your ass backwards and putting on a very lewd show for him. His hands fall to his sides, his voice dipping with every thrust of his hips. Your throat gargles and salivates for him, your hands and mouth now sloppy with spittle. 

You run your nails down his hips one last time, traveling over his thigh and between his legs. You take his balls in your soft hands, squeezing gently and kneading softly. They’re soft, warm and just the right size. You think to yourself; I could probably fit both in my mouth if I tried. You shift your weight to your shoulders, letting your head hang heavy and allowing Mando full reign of your throat. You feel him tense as he continues thrusting, squeezing your eyes shut as tears work their way down your cheeks. His mouth attaches itself back to your clit so suddenly, you know he’s close. You can feel it. The tense coil between both of you stretching and gaining pressure, ready to snap at any moment. He wraps his arms around your legs once more, now squeezing your cheeks and hips so hard you’re sure he’ll leave a mark. 

Mando provided his all. Your mouth is just too warm, too soft, too inviting. How was anyone supposed to last with such an enchanting set of lips and a warm, tight throat wrapped around his cock? He eats you as if his life depended on it, treating your pussy as if it were his last meal. You deserved that, at the least. As long as he could go on for. 

You feel his body tense under you, hearing Mando suddenly whine against your heat. His tongue laps at your clit and entrance furiously, absolutely rejoicing in your taste, letting it guide him through his orgasm. “Fuuucking hell” He grunts and his muscles jerk violently, his hot seed spilling into your throat while he groans a string of sexy, wet expletives into the air. You try your damndest to swallow as it comes. His thrusts slow to a stop. You lift your head from his length, gasping and licking your lips clean. As you lift your head from his shaft, you suck his pulsing tip before releasing it with a smack of your lips, earning a last soft whine from his throat. 

You sit up straight on his chest, bouncing slightly while his breathing settles. You both savor each other’s presence, newfound intimacy thrilling and fresh. His hands rest on your hips, his fingers drawing nonsensical doodles on your soft skin. You bend slightly to support some of your weight on your hands, perched on his abdomen. Your hair sits messily on your shoulders, and he watches as you take a moment to rest on top of him. He appreciates your contentment of your new spot, not so eager for you to move either. A view he could very quickly get used to. You run your hand over the smooth Beskar, wondering to yourself; Does he have abs? Is his happy trail sparse? Or thick and paving? You hear a shuffle, and a click before he speaks again. 

“Come here” He says, voice now filtered through the vocal modulator. You turn slowly, mattress sinking under your hands and knees as you crawl to him, his helmet reflecting back at you. You look up at him with smitten eyes, his spent, not-so-little friend resting contently between his balls. You smile, sleep dizzying your gaze, watching as the Mandalorian pulls your sheets from under you both. He unrumples them, laying them over your frame while you get comfortable beside him. 

Silence takes the moment, both of you fixing your gazes to the moon-lit ceiling. “So” You speak finally, your voice landing pillowy soft on his ears. 

“You’ve..never done that before?” You ask sheepishly, tilting your head so it rests on his shoulders. 

He breathes a chuckle in response. “I have not.” 

“Didn’t seem like it” You both laugh quietly, allowing the moment to settle as he brushes a finger over yours. A flickering flame simmers between you, leaving you yearning for more of him. 

You smile with a newfound excitement, thrilled for the future of your arrangement with the steeled soldier lying beside you. 

Your back presses against the glass of the car window, the cold seeping through the fabric of your jacket. Nothing could pull you from it, or from him. Simon’s mouth was delicious. You didn’t expect it to be anything less, but hot damn. His tongue snaking its way into your mouth, your lips wrapping around it and eliciting a groan from his throat. He slowed his pace, allowing you to suck on his tongue with an unmistakable ferocity. You wondered just how long it would be until you were bobbing your head against the hardening cock between his legs instead. He presses his leg between your thighs, silently giving you the okay to grind your clothed heat against him.

You do just that, a moan escaping from between your lips, the contact sending a soaring heat to your core as you move your hips. You’re practically sitting on his lap now, the wetness seeping through your panties and onto his jeans. You relish in the taste of him, the smell of him and the pure, raw and sexual energy flowing between the both of you. You whine, frustrated at the need for your release.

He separates from the kiss, dragging his lips against yours painfully slow. “So eager to cum already, love?”

You feel his breath, hot against your lips and taunting you as you inhale his scent deeply. You look up at him with pleading eyes, your lips parted and mouth left empty and cold, breathing heavily. You see the smirk spread across his perfect lips, glossy, wet, and puffy from the vigorous kissing. He takes his bottom lip between his teeth and brings his hand up to your face. You watch it as he runs his thumb across your cheek, trailing across your jawline until he reaches your chin. His thumb presses against your lips, big enough to shush your labored breathing. You smile, still aware of your ass basically sat atop his leg.

A car passes you by, honking loudly at the scene of you and Simon eye fucking each other against the door of your car. He pulls his balaclava back over his mouth swiftly, his eyes never leaving yours as he slowly pulls his leg from between your thighs. He looked down at it, a smug chuckle leaving his lips.

“What a pretty mess you’ve made” He purrs against your ears.

Your heart thumped so hard, it felt like it’d break a hole through your chest and run away.

The honking snapped you out of the moment, the realization dawning on you. You had kissed your patient. And not only did you kiss him, but you practically dry humped his leg in public while he fucked your mouth with his tongue. You look down at the wet spot on his jeans, something else stirring inside you. Guilt? No. Arousal? Maybe.

You smile to yourself, partly embarrassed, partly wishing the mess was made on his face instead.

“I’m not usually that eager during a kiss” You chuckle.

“Well now I’m curious to see how much more eager you can get.” He teases, his fingers trailing against your hips, his voice lowering to nearly a whisper. You smile, pushing your guilty thoughts aside. You raise your hands, sliding them under his shirt. You feel his stomach tense, the heat of his scarred skin warming your cold hands as you look into his eyes. He lets out a breath, one that seemed he was holding as soon as you touched him. He steps closer, closing the gap between you.

“Let me show you, Simon..” You lower your tone, the heat simmering in your core rising up to coat your voice in pure need. You see his eyes slant as he smirks, the smile falling softly as you touch him.

You raise your hands up, pressing your nails into his skin softly, dragging them down his stomach. You reach his belt, tugging at it as you take your bottom lip between your teeth in a suppressed grin. He lets his arms hang loose, letting you tease him. Simon didn’t strike you as the risky type, or one to do things like this in a public place. So you decide to press him until he breaks. If he’ll break. You unzip his jacket, watching as his muscular chest rises and falls slowly.

You press the button to unlock your car door, opening it with one hand while you hook the other through his belt loop with your pointer finger. You fall into the backseat, pulling him towards you. He ducks as he gets in, sitting in the seat next to you. His towering frame makes your car look tiny. Simon is just so masculinely…there. Every cell in your body screamed to jump his bones, but you persisted. As he adjusted himself, closing the door behind him, peering at him while kneeling on the seat next to him. You watched him, your eyes trailing down his jaw and chest, until your gaze reaches the growing shaft trapped in his jeans.

You smile to yourself, reaching over and tugging his jacket off. He helps you, leaning over to kiss you softly as you drag it down his broad shoulders. Your lips wrap around each other’s hungrily, soft grunts and moans filling the air. Once his jacket is off, you stare at his arms in awe. They’re covered in a sleeve of tattoos, all the way down to his wrist. Some decipherable, some not. You run your fingers over them, the hairs on his arm prickling at your touch. He parts from the kiss softly, eyeing you. Your fingers run over a scar or two, the muscle in his arms tensing as you get near them. But he stays, watching you with curious eyes as you touch him.

“Got a story for each of ‘em, if you want to hear sometime.” He says so quietly, you almost didn’t hear. You smile at him, running your hand down his arm, landing in his hand. You interlace your fingers with his, noticing how he squeezes your hand in his.

“I’d love to” He chuckles lowly at your reply. He wraps his arm around your waist, pulling you toward his lap. You stop him, placing a finger against his chest. You smile teasingly, backing up as you get on your knees. He chuckles, his hand grabbing his shaft through his pants, adjusting himself. He grunts as he squeezes it, a pained look in his eyes. You kiss his chest through his shirt, making your way up to his throat, licking and softly biting the skin exposed between his shirt and his balaclava. His stubble is rough on your tongue, the delicious smell of his cologne wafting through your nose. He throws his head back, his Adam's apple bobbing as he swallows, the anticipation killing him inside.

You smile, kissing your way back down to his stomach, feeling the firmness of his abdomen through the fabric of his shirt against your lips. He reaches up, placing a hand softly on the back of your head. He entangles his hand in your hair, following the flow of your head. He rubs your scalp, running his fingers through your hair, and twirling strands of your hair around his fingers. He lets you tease him, soft grunts and groans caressing your ears.

When you finally reach his belt buckle, he looks down at you, his eyes lidded with frustration, his breathing heavy and labored. You suppress your smile, keeping eye contact as you slowly undo his belt. You swiftly undo the button on his jeans, unzipping them slowly. He pushes his hips forward, a desperate look in his eyes. You move your head back, with just an inch to spare between your mouth and his clothed cock. You hook your fingers in his belt buckles, pulling his jeans down while his bottom is off the seat. You drag them down his legs, never breaking eye contact as they fall around his ankles. You lean forward, rubbing your hands up his legs, trailing them inside his thighs. You smell the arousal coming off of his cock, noticing a small wet spot on the gray boxers tightly hugging his thick frame. You place a soft kiss on it, rubbing your tongue against the wet fabric. He huffs, throwing his head back against the seat.

“Please, baby.”

Your ears perk up, the sound of Simon becoming so sexually frustrated because of you..it stirs your core. You smile, not responding with words. Instead, you take the hem of his boxers, pulling them down just enough to expose the head of his cock. You watch it in awe, swollen and ready. You lean down, running your tongue around it, taking it between your lips and sucking softly.

Simon moans roughly, groaning with a hint of a whine in his voice. You continue teasing the head of his shaft, his hands slowly pulling his boxers down more and more. You pretend you don’t notice, taking more and more of him between your lips as he pulls them down. You help him, dragging them down his legs until they reach his ankles. He huffs in relief as you take him in your hand. Hot to the touch, hard, and huge. The size of it makes you pulse from the inside out, the thought of him filling you fully, forcing you to take every inch until you adjust to him and love it, begging him to never stop.

“Like what you see, love?” He says, a breathy chuckle escaping his lips. You look up at him, a wide grin on your face as you nod your head yes. He smiles back down at you, evident in his eyes as his gaze flits between his cock and your lips. You maintain eye contact as you take him into your mouth again, your mouth beginning to water at the taste of him. You wrap your hand around the base of him, taking as much as you can into your mouth. The tip hits the back of your throat, with a considerable amount of length to spare between your lips and your hand. You bob your head, allowing your wet lips to drag against his cock, the warmth of him making your salivary glands weep. You begin to feel saliva drip down your fingers, dripping down to his balls. You let go of him, rubbing his balls in your hand instead. His hips buck forward as you do this, a strained groan ringing into the air.

“F-fuck..don’t stop” He pants.

You weren’t planning on it. But you don’t say that. Good girls don’t talk with their mouths full, do they?

You look into his eyes, watching him as he admires you. You slowly push your head forward, his cock filling your mouth with every inch you take. Your cheeks puff out as you gag, feeling the tip of his cock stretch your throat. Your eyelids flutter closed, tears beginning to well as you try your hardest to breathe out of your nose. Simon softly places a hand on the back of your head, keeping you in place. You don’t fight it, the feeling of his shaft growing harder a telltale sign that this is not the time to stop. Your back arches as you relax it, trying to angle yourself comfortably.

“I’m close, love..” He says, his voice now higher pitched, a throaty whine in his tone. He lets you up, and you don’t waste a second before you massage his balls again, bobbing your head at a steady pace as you feel his legs tremble under you. You wrap your other hand around the base of his cock, stroking him as you suck the rest of him.

“Fuckkkk- '' He lets out a strained groan as you feel him twitch in your mouth, pushing himself back into your throat. He grabs the sides of your head, bobbing it up and down on his cock as he thrusts upwards. Your eyes spill tears, your nose running and your lips swollen as he finishes inside your throat. Hot spurts of cum threaten to overflow the tight fit, as his chest rises and falls.

He pulls your head up slowly, bringing you face to face with him. Your eyes lidded with lust, you stare at him with a lazy close-lipped smile on your face. He presses a thumb against your lips, his eyes grazing over your features.

“Swallow, baby.” You do as you're told, swallowing the stray drops of his seed pooling on your tongue.

“Good girl.”

…

You sit in your passenger's side seat as Simon drives back to your office. You frantically fix your makeup in the sun visor, trying to make it look like you didn’t just deepthroat your patient. You notice Simon glance at you from the driver’s side, a cloud of satisfaction surrounding him. He reaches over, placing a hand on your thigh. You smile at the gesture.

As he pulls into the parking lot on base, you flip the sun visor back up, satisfied with your makeup again. You smooth your hair on your head, smirking to yourself. You take a minute, you and Simon watching each other with shit-eating grins on your faces. Before you reach for the door handle, he grabs your hand.

“Same time next week?”

You stared at the email on your laptop, the cursor blinking on the empty reply line. You chew your nail as you think of a reply. You had given your email to Simon to contact you whenever he needed to talk outside of your office, but never expected him to actually use it considering how he was practically forced by Price to attend your sessions. Although something in you knew it wasn’t so forced anymore. It had been a week since your last session, the night before you’d see him again. 

Having a hard time tonight. Can you talk? 

-LSR 

You typed your reply, hitting send without a second thought.

Absolutely, Simon. You have my number :) 

-

Less than a minute later, your phone rang. You let it ring twice before picking it up. 

“Hello?” You say, a slight shake in your voice. You definitely weren’t used to clients calling you personally. Especially this late. 

“Up at this time?” He says smugly. You hear the smirk in his voice. You smile, scratching the skin behind your ear. 

“Couldn’t sleep. What about you?” You reply. 

“Same here. Don’t you have to be up early?” 

You lick your lips, biting back a smile at his concern. His voice gruff, yet gentle and warm in your ears. 

“I’ll be alright, Simon. What’s been on your mind?” 

He takes a pause before speaking. The line is quiet, a stark contrast to your TV running in the background. You grab the remote, muting it. 

“Just need to talk, love. That’s all.” His change of tone has you concerned, realizing you need to distract him. But nothing has you captivated more than his painfully British nickname for you. Love. It flows off his tongue so easily, so sweetly. Feels like sugar running through your veins, sweetening you. 

“I’ve been gardening lately. Probably not the right time, considering how it's almost winter.” You chuckle. You replied on a whim, knowing he probably could not have cared less about your failed gardening experiments. You hear him chuckle on the other end, the sound shocking you as you haven’t heard his genuine laugh in the months he’d been seeing you. 

“What are you growing? Or trying to, at least.” His sarcastic remark makes you smile wider, a small giggle leaving your lips. It was nice, being able to hear how he sounded outside of your office, talking about things that seem small and insignificant. Like a close friend. 

“Well, I’ve managed to sprout a few tomato plants, some green onions too. Those things grow like crazy.” You respond. 

The line goes quiet again. You fill the silence. 

“I’ve got some nice indoor plants too, they’re less complicated to care for, you know?” 

“What kind?” He asks. 

“The easy kind” You reply, the smile evident in your voice. He chuckles. You feel good, knowing you’re helping him. Even if it’s the smallest bit. 

“I can’t keep a plant alive to save my life. Just got no time for it.” He continues with a gentle sigh. You smirk to yourself, imagining Simon overwatering a plant, thinking he was helping it rather than killing it. 

“I can show you a thing or two, if you want?” You ask. You don’t know what came over you, or why you thought he’d want to learn how to care for a plant by his psychiatrist. “I’m no expert, though.” You continue, not wanting to break the moment. 

“I’d like that.” He seems to jump at the opportunity, not regarding the insinuation that he’d need to come to your apartment to do so. You lie down, turning on your side as you stare at the wall ahead of you. 

“Who knows, maybe you’ll become good at it.” You say gently, a hint of hopefulness in your voice, fully knowing Simon was not the type of man to be good at gardening. It couldn’t hurt to try, though. 

“I’m sure with a teacher like you love, I’d be good at anything.” He catches you off guard, your eyes widening and mouth hanging agape. You try to find the words, but he interrupts you. 

“Thank you for taking my call.” He says, his voice sounding distant. “I needed it.”

You take your lip between your teeth, biting back a smile. “Of course, Simon. I’m here for you. Always.” 

“Night, love.” He says, the smirk evident in his voice.

“Goodnight, Simon. See you tomorrow.” You hang up. Your mind races miles a minute, repeating his words in your head. 

With a teacher like you, love, I’d be good at anything. 

So you weren’t the only one feeling it. 

˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚

You sat at your desk, the clock creeping to 2:00PM. Your appointment with Simon was in less than 10 minutes, and you were still strongly feeling the effects of what he said to you last night. 

Am I overthinking this? Is he just being friendly? Is he naturally flirtatious? 

The questions ran through your head and swarmed through your subconscious. There was no possible way he was actually into you. There were plenty of factors at play. You had been the only one picking at his brain for the past six months, the only one who seemed to care enough to know what was going through his head. Was it that? Or was it the fact that you had been the only consistent thing in his life, and it was taking a toll on him? 

You got up, pacing behind your desk as you waited for him. Sure, you were attracted to him. You liked his presence, his strong, unwavering aura. He was a man who was sure of himself, and that was a guaranteed turn on for women who had only managed to attract the wrong types of attention from all the wrong kinds of men. 

And yet, there you were: spraying extra perfume in all the most intimate places. Behind your ears, your upper forearms, your ankles. Today, your dress being shorter than the pencil skirts you usually wore, the v-cut just a tad bit deeper. Your heels just a bit higher and your legs just a smidge more shaved than usual. 

A knock at the door brings you out of your head. You throw your hair behind your shoulders, walking over to the door. You pause for a moment, then swing it open. Simon stands there, in his usual attire. You notice his eyes shift under his balaclava, a glint of something different in him today. You take notice of this, stepping to the side as you let him in. You close the door behind you, directing him to the chair as if he hadn’t been sitting in it every week for months now. You walk to your desk, your strides slow and calculated. 

“I like your dress. What’s the occasion?” He asks suddenly. You turn to him, noticing how his eyes slightly struggle to stay above your chest. You smile to yourself at him noticing your change in attire. 

“No occasion, I just felt like looking nice today, that’s all.” He hums in response, nodding his head slightly. 

“You always look nice.” You chuckle softly. You walk towards the chair across from him, sitting slowly, keeping your eyes on his. You notice his gaze flit to your legs, and back up to your eyes. The boldness of his glances made your heart leap in your chest. 

“Well thank you, Simon. I’m glad you think so.” You fidget with your fingers, keeping eye contact with him. “Do you want to pick up where we left off last week?” You open your notepad and uncap your pen. “What’s on your mind today?” 

“Not letting me forget why I’m here, huh.” He chuckles softly, resting his right ankle on his left knee. Simon was often hard to read. And he knew that. He only expressed what he wanted people to see, and it frustrated you. You were putting some serious elbow grease into picking at his brain, yet he kept his walls impenetrable, letting you in slowly but surely. 

You capped your pen, setting your notepad aside. You looked at him and smiled gently, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. You leaned back in your chair, folding your leg over the other. You had a feeling this day would come, when Simon needed a break from the professional shrink-talk. He needed a friend, one that didn’t constantly remind him of his duties as a soldier. Someone to get away with. One that wasn’t legally obligated to share his thoughts and innermost secrets with his superiors. 

You see a hint of amusement in his eyes as you continue to exchange looks to each other. The silence was growing, but not uncomfortable. He watched as you got up and walked over to the door where your jacket hung. He kept his eyes on you while you put it on, your dress rising slightly as you raised your arms. 

“You like coffee?” You ask, grabbing your purse and opening the door. He chuckles, rising from his seat and following you out. 

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“They’re closed.” Simon says, bending down to read the cafe’s open hours. You peer inside, seeing nothing but chairs on the tables and the lights completely off. 

“Well, shit.” You say, laughing to yourself. He looks down at you, and you swear you see a hint of a smile in his eyes. “What now?” You say shyly, the embarrassment evident on your face. 

“Your offer for the gardening lesson. Does it still stand?” He says. You smile, hearing the smirk in his voice. Your breath catches in your throat, thoughts racing through your head. Surely it would be unprofessional. It was completely forbidden in the psychiatry world to allow a client into your home, much less a client who had unbearable tension with you. It scared you. The thought of being alone with him, in close quarters. What would happen? You’re sure Simon wasn’t stupid. He knew what was at play. The stolen glances, the slight flirting between you two over the months. It was obvious. 

“Of course. We can have coffee at mine instead.” You say, breaking the silence. He nods, following you back to your car. As you walk back down the street, the wind picks up and your hair flies everywhere. You give up on trying to keep it in place, letting it flow wild. The wind blows your dress uncomfortably high, and you feel a breeze hit you in places that shouldn’t be hit. You look back to Simon, noticing how he watches you struggle to keep it down. You smile at him, smiling nervously. How embarrassing. 

You reach your car, pulling your keys from your jacket pocket. Before you could pull the door open, you feel a strong hand wrap around your wrist. His touch on your skin feels comfortably warm, in contrast with the biting cold. You turn, meeting him eye to eye, your lips hanging agape. He takes a step towards you, your chests only inches apart. 

“Thank you. For getting out with me.” He says, the look in his eyes sincere. You stare up at him, looking between his eyes. Oh how badly you wanted to reach up and kiss him. The urge settles deep in your stomach. You place your hand on his bicep, squeezing gently. He looks at your hand and places it over yours. He takes it in his, interlacing your fingers. The warmth from his hand spreads throughout your body, settling in your core. It was strong and big, his grip unwavering and protecting. 

“Anytime, Simon.” You reply, the shake in your voice giving you away completely. He leans down, pressing his forehead to yours. You close your eyes, tightening your hold on his hand and wrapping your other arm around his neck instinctively. 

What the hell has gotten into me? This can’t happen. It feels wrong. He’s my patient, for Christ's sake. But fuck, does it feel so good. He’s so warm. So..big. 

You feel his hand rest on your hip, squeezing slightly. You relax into his touch, his body heat practically melting you. You open your eyes, and take a step back. 

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“As for your past, Lieutenant, we’ll be sure to discuss that when you’re ready. If you’re ever ready. Not that there’s anything wrong with wanting to keep it private. Sometimes, there are things we must keep to ourselves no matter what. You don’t owe me, or anyone else an explanation.” You end your sentence calmly, knowing you had the tendency to ramble. Sometimes your clients didn’t need to hear it all at once. It’s how you kept them coming back. How you kept him coming back. 

He looks past your shoulders, out of the window behind you. Your clients had the tendency to do so, since the view from the window was mesmerizing. You folded your legs, gently swinging your leg over the other and feeling the leather of the chair peel away from your thigh. You looked behind you, glancing in the same direction he was looking. The tall trees swayed in the fall wind, moving in unison as if to purposely entrance their observers. You felt weirdly jealous of them at times. They seemed to be more therapeutic to your clients than you were. You keep your eyes on him, hearing his breaths behind his balaclava ever so slightly. Deep, balanced and even. He was stoic in all the right ways, his expression never changing. You look downwards, observing the way his jacket hugs his muscles in all the right places. You take in his broad shoulders and chest, a slight heat simmering at your ears. Your eyes flutter upwards once again, noticing the sliver of skin on his neck peeking out from the gap between his balaclava and his jacket collar. You also notice the slight glint of his dog tag chain shining in the light coming from the window. Looking up at his eyes once again, you almost jump as you realize they’re on you. His stare is heavy, weighing your words back down your throat. 

You smile sweetly, capping your pen and sticking it inside your notebook, setting it on the small end table beside you. 

“Simon, our time is nearly up for today. Went by fast didn’t it?” You ask, trying to stir his attention away from the fact that he just caught you checking him out. You cringe internally, wondering if he’ll bring it up or not. 

“Yeah, it did.” His gruff voice comes out almost a whisper. His accent soft on your ears, his eyes seemingly peeling away at every layer of you each time he looked at you. His eyes flit down to your legs, and back up to your face. You smile at him, your heart doing somersaults in your chest as you fidget with your fingers. He stands suddenly, starting his walk to the door. You stand as well, slowly trailing behind him. The smell of him wafts into your nose. It was intoxicating. Addicting, even. A mix of settled cologne, the familiar scent of his laundry detergent mixing with his musky body odor. The smell of him took you by the throat and forced its way into your subconscious. You craved that smell, the manly, homely smell of him. 

He stops at the door, looking down at you. His height was significantly higher than yours, your head only reaching to his shoulder. You look up at him through your lashes, placing your hand on his back and rubbing ever so slightly. The muscles tense under your touch, but he doesn’t move. Not an inch. Your mind betrays you, the thought of what his skin might feel like under your nails as he split you open races through your head. 

“You did great today, Simon.” You say softly, giving him a reassuring pat on his back. His eyes flit between yours before he starts out of the door again. 

“Same time next week, love?” He asks. He had such a smug way of speaking. Such a smug way of making you weak in the knees without even touching you. And he knew it. You nod at him, smiling sweetly as you shut the door to your office. Placing your back on the door, you run your hands through your hair, hearing his footsteps fade down the hall towards the elevator. 

You walk over to your desk and sit down. The chair creaks under you, the silence of the office driving you insane. Your head raced with thoughts. All about him.

No one in the psychiatry ward had managed to keep consistent appointments with the Lieutenant. He was a hard nut to crack. The hardest you’d ever attempted. You were getting there, slowly but surely. People swarmed you with questions in the office, everywhere you went. 

“What does he talk about?” 

“How come he doesn’t talk with anyone else?”“Does he tell you anything about the missions?” 

“Have you seen his face?” 

“Doesn’t he scare you?” 

“Can you get his number for me?” 

Questions ranged from pure curiosity, to just downright trying to break patient-confidentiality. It pissed you off. They acted as if he were untouchable. Unlovable. All he needed was to be humanized. You couldn’t imagine how tired he was of his reputation around the base. Never being treated as a normal soldier. Not that he was a normal soldier, anyway. He had earned his rep. But you kept that to yourself. 

When his captain showed up in your office, slamming his file on your desk and begging you to make it work, you knew you had to. Price sat across from you, frustrated and scared of losing his best soldier. Not to war, or battle, but to his own mind. Simon had a nasty habit of bottling things up. Letting his thoughts get the best of him and letting them chip away at his sanity until he broke. He holed himself up, letting his trauma dictate who he was not only as a soldier, but as a person.

You hadn’t quite managed to persuade him into unpacking his past just yet. It seemed like an unattainable milestone some days, but others, you came mighty close to it. You spoke to Simon as a friend, not just as his psychiatrist. Each visit, you felt closer and closer to him. To his mind. 

As a professional, you knew it would be wrong to take your relationship outside of the two chairs he came to sit in once a week. You thought about him every time you had a quiet moment to yourself. It was becoming something you couldn’t control. It had gone to stealing glances, to unknowingly checking him out any chance you could get. He’d catch you every time, yet never said anything about it. 

You fiddle with your fingernails, feeling your palms grow clammy with every painful minute. The leather of the chair sticks to your thighs, your pencil skirt doing nothing to hide the nervous perspiration of your skin. You look to the floor, averting his gaze.

“I am pleased to see that you’ve come to visit me, schatz. But what I cannot understand is why you are sat in that chair, toying with those freshly manicured nails, acting as if you don’t want to sink them into my skin as I fuck you brainless.”

You freeze in place, your eyes shifting up to meet his. Your lips hang agape, opening and closing as if you were a fish out of water. And a fish out of water you were. You tread on thin ice, a mere prey blissfully unaware of the territory you were frolicking on. Countless times you tried convincing yourself that you were just hooking up. Taking what you needed from each other and moving on. You were lying to yourself, straight out of your teeth. And that was the stark contrast between you both. König knew what he wanted. He was a sure man, never sure of anything more. While you sat, debating in your head and weighing your options, he stalked. He watched, studied, and observed. He fantasized about all of the possible ways he could bend you, stretch you, break you. You knew fighting it was useless. Foolish, even. Every cell in your body yearned for his touch. His name on your tongue, his acknowledgment of your existence. The validation you sought from him was unhealthy for any woman to crave. But that didn’t stop you from being mercilessly stabbed and prodded at by these needs and desires. You’ve had your fair share of sexual relations. But nothing compared to the dynamic you had with König. Nothing. No one. And that scared you to all hell. You knew by the time he left you at the medical wing, your shoes glued to the ground as your head burned and boiled with all of the different things he made you feel. And he hadn’t even fucked you yet. And as you sat in that chair, his dark eyes roaming over your body and studying your every move, there was nowhere else you’d rather be.

“Hey, meine Liebe. Stay with me now.” König snaps his fingers at you, ripping you from your thoughts. His voice held a tone of amusement, a breathy chuckle leaving his lips as he watched you. Something about being condescended to by him made him all the more impressive. Any other man would have been met with a fist to the face, or a look of disapproval from your sad eyes. Your stomach rolled around with nerves as you came to this realization. You kept quiet, resting your hands on your thighs.

“Stand up, Liebling. Come to me.” You rose to your feet, your heels feeling heavier than they did a few minutes ago. As you make your way around his desk, you take notice of the mess of paperwork scattered across the surface. He reaches his hand out. You look at it before taking it in yours, the sheer size of his fingers sending shivers down your spine. His grip was gentle, bringing your hand up to his mask. He lifts it above his nose, planting a soft kiss on your fingers.

“Your hands are beautiful, dear. Keep them that way, ja?” He coos, planting more kisses along your fingers. You sway at his words, noticing the smile growing on his face as he watches you. He leans forward, grabbing your other hand as he brings them both to his shoulders. You give them a gentle squeeze, stepping forward as you slide them down his back. You bring them back up, embracing him in your arms. He rests his head on your chest, the hard plastic of his helmet digging into the soft flesh of your breasts. He lets out a deep sigh, his arms snaking around your waist.

The soft embrace came to a halt as he let out a grunt, standing to his full height and stepping towards you, backing you into the desk. Instinctively, his hands make their way to your hips as he turns you around, your back facing his chest. Your breath catches in your throat, a lump forming in your chest as you feel him press into your ass. You feel him grow stiff in his cargo pants, a huff escaping his lips as he wastes no time in hiking your skirt up to your waist. You feel the cool air of his office hit your bare cheeks, the lacy black panties you wore purposely now on full display.

“You really are a sight to behold, my dear. What I wouldn’t give to have the taste of you linger on my lips for all of eternity.” König purrs against your skin, his breath raising the hair on your body. He leaves a trail of searing kisses on your neck, biting and sucking at the skin. He leaves bite marks and bruises in his wake, marking you as his. A telltale sign of possession, that boiling hot feeling in his gut that drives him absolutely insane when in your presence. The urge to destroy you, to make you melt under his very gaze. He takes notice of your choice in underwear, the gesture sending a searing hot primal energy through his veins that coincide with his intentions to absolutely devour you. As if you were made specifically for him, to fulfill his every desire. His hands keep your skirt bunched up, and you feel him lower to his knees behind you.

“Please, taste me König. I need it.” You say breathlessly, the need for him dripping off your tongue.

“Tell me again, Schatz. What do you need?” He asks, inching closer to the spot between your legs that aches for him so, so badly.

“Please..just taste me. I need your mouth on me.” Your cheeks grow hot as he makes you talk, the unfamiliar demands on your tongue electrocuting your nerves. You feel him hum against your skin, his finger hooking under the band of your panties. He kisses along your ass, biting the soft skin and leaving dark purple hickeys where only he can see them. You cry out as he does this, the pain and pleasure swirling through your blood like a drug. You feel him tighten his grip on your panties, only a second later hearing the fabric rip. You gasp, looking behind you at the man on his knees, his face inches away from your heat. He looks up at you, holding the torn lace up to his face as if it were a mere fishing catch.

He wastes no time in shoving them in his pocket, turning his attention to your exposed ass once more. You feel his breath go closer to your heat, hearing him inhale your scent deeply. You push your hips backwards, letting out a shaky breath as you feel his lips against your folds. Uncharacteristically slow, his tongue makes its way between your lips, reaching up and grazing your clit. Your body jolts at the contact, the warmth and wetness of his tongue lubricating your skin. Your legs instinctively part themselve, giving him further access to your most intimate parts. You feel his hands grip your inner thighs, spreading you open from behind. The mixture of temperatures, his warm tongue teasing your entrance and the cold air grazing your clit driving you nuts. He lets out a loud groan, the vibrations of his voice pounding through your body.

You feel him rise, hovering over your back as his hands grip your hips. You can feel the way he’s practically bursting a hole in his cargos, growing harder by the second. He grinds it against your ass, a soft moan escaping his lips as his cock makes contact with you through his pants. He turns you around once more, your back now shoved against the desk. You waste no time hopping on top of it, parting your legs as König’s head dives back between your thighs. He licks and sucks at your clit like a man starved, and a man starved he was. The taste of you on his tongue was enough to make his balls tighten with arousal and his chest to burn with red hot passion. He got off on pleasing you, the masculine power he felt while hearing your moans and whimpers slide off your tongue like hot honey. And to know he was the cause for them drove him mad.

He continues his wrath on your pussy, his tongue lapping at all the right spots. He leaves no part of your cunt unlicked as you writhe beneath him, your thighs tightening around his head.

“You taste like heaven, mein liebe. What a lucky man I am.” He purrs, his hands making their way between your thighs, prying them open. He rises a few inches from your heat, staring down at your pussy as if it were a prized possession. A trophy to reward him for his bloody endeavors. He wastes no time in diving back between your legs, a groan escaping his lips as he finishes his work on you. He rises to his feet, looming over you. His dog tags dangle over your face, glistening in the lights of his office. They sway back and forth, hypnotizing you as you try to catch a glimpse of the engraving on the battered metal.

Before you could protest, you hear his pants drop to the floor and the tip of his monstrous cock slides between your folds. He lets out a grunt as he lubricates himself with you, slapping his heavy shaft against your clit repeatedly. Your body jolts as he does this, the wrath of his tongue still coursing through your veins. He chuckles at your sensitivity to him, your body’s response to him being nothing more than primal. He mewls in the way his actions grip you, his every touch making you whine, moan, and whimper against your will.

He leans down to your face, lifting his mask over his chin as he latches on to your lips. The hot breath from his nose wafts into yours, forcing you to practically inhale him as if he were the last bit of oxygen on earth. He parts from the kiss, looking downwards as he pushes into your tight walls. You watch him as he thrusts ever so slightly, his cock meeting resistance only halfway.

“Open up for me, love.” He purrs, his accent thick on his tongue. You moan aloud against his shoulder, forcing yourself to take him all. The pressure inside of you is indescribable, the pain of him splitting you in two being practically palpable.

“Shhh, I know Schatz. I know. You are taking me so well already.” He purrs. You can hear the satisfaction in his voice, knowing how he’s enjoying your delicious pain. He knows he’s ruined you for any other man. He’s well aware of the fact that you both have started something you cannot finish, how your conscience screams and tears at you to beware of the consequences of this newfound addiction. Yet you stay there, your legs spread for him and your plushy walls fluttering around his cock as if you couldn’t get enough of him.

“Braves Mädchen. Look how well you are taking me” (Good girl) his voice comes out strained, struggling to keep himself from utterly destroying you right there on his desk, not a care in the world about who could hear you scream and cry as he pounds into you mercilessly. His thrusts take up speed, the desk groaning and creaking under your weights as you bite your lip, begging yourself not to let the entire base know what was happening behind that door. His hand travels up your chest, resting on your throat as his other hand finds its way to your clit. He thumbs at it rhythmically, in sync with his thrusts. Your mouth hangs agape, a familiar warmth and tightness forming in your core. You aren’t far from your end, trying to fight it away with every fiber of your being, as to let this moment last forever.

“König” you strain, his head snapping up to watch your face as the pleasure rips through you. Your thighs shake and tremble around his waist, his thrusts speeding up as he fucks you slower, deeper. He groans and grunts as he keeps his eyes on you, your face contorting and your eyes crossing as he doesn’t let up.

“That’s right, my good girl. Let it take you” his thrusts falter as his hand leaves your clit. He grabs your legs, pushing them against your chest as he presses his weight against them. You feel the pressure grow in your chest, his pace slowly but steadily rising and slowing as he feels himself about to burst at the seams. You watch his eyes behind his sniper hood as they soften, his grunts turning into whines and groans as he slams into you, all the way to the hilt. You feel his cock twitch inside of you, followed by the warmth of his seed spilling into you deeply. He halts, breathing over you heavily while he lets your legs fall back around his waist. He leans down, resting his head on your breasts.

You wrap your arms around his shoulders as you stare at the ceiling, caressing the mountain of a man. A tear rolls down your cheek, falling onto the desk below you.