Mady

You had wandered back to the makeshift dinner table and were now clearing up the plate, spoon and cup that had been left behind in the wake of the meal. There wasn't a lot of mess, so you let your mind wander as your hands got to work wiping and cleaning and washing. You spare only a second thought to the mandalorian, you know he's up in the cockpit at the moment, he so rarely shows himself during the child's dinner time—he proves to be a distraction more than anything else, to both you and the child—but it's clear to you that he wishes to be more present during meal times. Sometimes you think about how heavy the weight of his creed must be, and how it must hurt that he can't sit and eat with his family—the child... and you hope yourself—at mealtimes.

A deep thudding stirs you from your thoughts, your eyes feel heavy and the whip of wind is rattling against the outside of the crest—you must have landed somewhere, too preoccupied to notice. You turn your head towards the sound and you see the mandalorian disappearing down the hallway. He pokes his head through one doorway, as silently as he can, checking on the little one. You can hear the lightest of snores if you listen closely, and a smile graces your features at the thought of the mandalorian watching over the child as he sleeps.

The door to the child's sleeping quarters shuts softly, and the mandalorian spares a quick glance over to you—although you don't believe he will actually be able to see you properly, you still smile—before turning the other way and disappearing down the hallway. You lose sight of him quickly, and although you hear the far away sound of a door opening and closing you don't give it much thought.

You've just about finished clearing up when the sound of footsteps comes back into focus again. You don't turn to look this time, you've just got one last glass to put back in its place and then you'll be free to put yourself to bed for the night. You hear the mandalorian scuffling around behind you, then a soft pat, and then the sound of footsteps continues and he's leaving again, disappearing back down the hallway as fast as he had arrived. You're puzzled, but don't pay it too much mind. He's tired, and you all have a busy week ahead, you need all the rest you can.

You sigh, a good sigh, one that says ah, finally, I have finished my little tasks and I'm free to rest. The wind whips against the side of the crest again and it sends another shiver over you.

God, when did it get so cold?

You stretch your arms out in front of you, trying to get your muscles to relax a little and–my god, my hands! they're freezing!

You turn, intent on getting yourself into bed as fast as you can, when a flash of blue invades your periphery. You look around, as if trying to find the owner of this mysterious blue square or perhaps looking to make sure they wouldn't catch you as you wander slowly towards it. (Of course, you know who the owner is, if it's not yours—and it isn't—then there aren't really many other options for whose it can be). It’s possible, you suppose, that it could just be an old rag used for cleaning, or maybe discarded material from one of the mandalorian's old capes, although it's more likely to b—

Oh.

Oh.

It's a blanket. Soft, navy, and a little tatty on the edges, but it's definitely a blanket.

You shiver again.

But... Did I forget that I brought that out with me? Surely I would've–

Oh.

A second realisation hits you.

Your cheeks warm and suddenly all of the Mandalorians shuffling and disappearing into doorways makes sense.

He was looking for this blanket.

Looking for this blanket, for you.

two, the breakfast —

Your eyes flutter open, and the gentle, warm light from the corridor floods your vision as you slowly sit up in your bed. You blink at the clock on the shelf next to your head, and it blinks back at you:

0822

You yawn. It's not late by any meaning of the word, but it's enough of a lie-in that your heart thumps a little faster than normal at the thought of the child patiently waiting for you to get him his breakfast. Mando would be busy by now; flying and plotting a course in the cockpit, talking with people about possible jobs on the spare comm-link in the far left side of the crest, cleaning his weaponry, or one of the other hundreds of things he busies himself with on the days he finds himself without a bounty to chase. You know he'd love to spend his mornings with the little fellow, talking with him and feeding him and cleaning up after him. But Mando's never been one for slow mornings, always preferring to get up and immediately start trying to provide.

You burrow to the bottom of the small cabinet by your bed, rooting around for a fresh set of clothes. You suppose it's possible that the child won't have even woken up yet, last night wasn't the easiest night for him. It was the first night in a while that bedtime had fallen while the crest was still mid-flight, which meant that Mando was tied up in the cockpit and you were on bedtime duty solo. And, to be fair to the little man, he had done well to begin with, you barely even noticed a change from his normal bedtime behaviour until the crest went through what you can only think to describe as a heavy patch of turbulence and then it all went a bit lopsided from there.

His blanket slipped out from his grasp, just as he was drifting off. The chill must have woken him up and even though the blanket was only separated from him for a few seconds it had snapped him back to being wide awake and you had had to calm him down once the ship began to shake again. The metal walls had been creaking, it had been loud enough to freak you out as well, so you tucked yourself up next to the child and ran your hand soothingly up and down his side while reciting to him his favourite type of story—a story about the brave, strong Mandalorian who fights bad guys and keeps his family safe on his big, fun spaceship.

You think you managed to get yourself to bed at just after 3 o'clock this morning. Mando was still flying the ship when you tucked yourself into your own bed and you had wondered briefly about when he planned to sleep before your tiredness had overtaken you and you had drifted off.

The smell of food is the first thing you notice as you slip out of your room. It's not strong, nor is it a burning smell, but it's there, and it's food, and it makes you uneasy.

Your emotions hit you in waves, first, the panic (that the child has somehow gotten his way into the kitchen and is making food on his own), then the anxiety (that he will end up hurting himself and all because you had slept in), next the guilt (that you had allowed yourself to be selfish and now the child was potentially in danger) and then, finally, the relief.

You sigh heavily when the kitchen comes into view. There is the child, happily playing with his homemade spaceship toy, there is a three quarters empty plate lying an arms length away from him on the table and there's a glass of juice placed next to it.

He is fine.

"Morning." Mando says. His voice is deep and it sends heat across your face.

"Good morning." You reply, smiling at them both.

Your eyes meet Mando's visor and he nods at you before turning away, busying himself once again. You walk gently towards the child and he coos as you sit in the seat next to him. You now realise that the scattered bits of food left on his plate are bits of pancake, blueberry pancakes by the look of it, and you feel your stomach pang with jealousy.

"And how was your breakfast this morning little one?" You run a finger behind his ear, which earns you a delighted giggle. "It looks delicious."

You turn your head back towards Mando, about to ask him if he has had anything to eat yet, and if he managed to sleep last night at all, but when you look over to where he was a moment ago you are surprised to find that he has disappeared. Your eyebrows furrow, a question ghosts your lips, and you're about to stand when your eyes glance upon something perched on the table.

A full plate of food is sat merely an inch from the tip of your fingers.

You glance around the room again, but you know Mando has already slipped away to some remote corner of the ship. Your stomach growls, and you suddenly realise just how hungry you truly are.

The food is for you, there's no question. The plate is coupled with your favourite caffeinated beverage and the pancakes are garnished with a singular piece of fruit—the one you had ogled at during your last market visit.

You didn't know Mando had gone back for that...

You had wondered that afternoon why he had left you and the child at the baked goods stall, he so rarely leaves the two of you unattended while you are out. You had thought maybe he was getting word on a bounty and didn't want the child to overhear. But as you stare now at the mouth watering piece of orange fruit in front of you, you can't help the warm feeling that blossoms in your chest.

I never even told him this was my favourite fruit. How did he know?

three, supply run —

There's something wrong.

You can't quite put your finger on it, but in the last few weeks you have felt… off. The bed you sleep on that usually has you drifting off within minutes now feels lumpy and hard. The blanket that never fails to give you comfort now makes you agitated and irritated. Your favourite part of the day, meal time during the evening, now leaves a sour taste in your mouth (and it's not the food).

Something is wrong. You just feel wrong.

And you know Mando has noticed. You catch him staring at you when he thinks you're not looking, when he thinks you're too preoccupied to notice him. He's always watched over you and the child, he's your protector, and he knows that if you’re safe then the child is safe too. But it's different now, not bad, just... different. His gaze isn't fleeting anymore, you think it watches you as you move about the crest, just trying to go about your day—help the child, prep the crest, sort through the mess of Mando's inventory—and it makes your chest ache.

You feel something tickle your cheeks as you move silently towards the cockpit. Tears sweep across your skin, as warming as they are confusing. The child is resting peacefully in his cot and it gives you some extra time to mull over your supposed wrongness. And, unsurprisingly, that makes you feel worse.

You can tell by how the crest is moving that you're about to land somewhere, you should probably pause and take hold of something for balance, but something deep inside you is spurring you forwards, telling you to keep moving towards the cockpit. And so you do.

The light is harsh as you enter through the doorway, it takes your eyes a second to adjust to the change. Mando huffs out a small greeting and you do the same. You take a step forward, about to ask where the pilot has landed the crest today, and what his business will be here, when your eyes finally pay attention to the view in front of you.

"Mando... are we in my hometown?" Your voice is thick with emotion, you swallow hard in an attempt to regain control over your voice, but your waterline is already lined with tears and they're threatening to fall fast.

He doesn't look at you, still fiddling with the controls as he docks the ship and sets her to park. "I–" He coughs, something burns within his chest. His focus is still on the console and so his words tumble out in a rather clunky way. "I... I–it was just an–uh, yeah–I thought that it'd be a good stop for supplies." He finishes. His cheeks feel hot and he's worried that he just made a complete fool of himself, but when he turns to face you—the crest now completely still and parked—he finds your eyes are still trained on the view from the window.

He notices the tear stains on your cheeks, and the way you are trying too hard to steady your breathing, but he says nothing. He brushes past you on his way out of the cockpit and his breath hitches, his fists tighten and you apologise in a dazed way as he steps around you.

The opening beeps of the cockpit door snap you out of your trance and your eyes flick around the room wildly. You brush your tears away, hoping that Mando didn't see them—but deep down, knowing that it would've been impossible for him not to—and your eyes meet his visor again. You're shocked to find him already looking at you, or more accurately, you're shocked that he didn't turn his head away when he saw your head moving around to face him.

"Supplies, you say?"

Your voice already sounds brighter to Mando's ears, and he smiles to himself—thankful just this once that you can't see past his metal headgear. You are able to read him better than anyone else he knows, and a little voice in the back of his head is telling him that the look on his face right now would be impossible to read as anything other than what it is—adoration.

Mando nods before turning away, leaving you alone in the cockpit while he preps the few things needed for a market visit. And you sigh, mind reeling over the possibilities of showing Mando your home again, already feeling lighter than you had a mere 5 minutes ago, and your wrongness is now being drowned out as you follow the mandalorian's footsteps and exit the cockpit.

four, the chores —

You finish wiping the blade and place it down gently onto the fabric you had laid over the table. The pile of assorted guns and daggers, along with the three spears and singular pulse rifle, is rather large now. The two small, circular shields (that you've never once seen be used by anyone) are also polished, although you were unable to pop out the large gashed dent that covers almost the entire left side of one of them.

You feel a slight twinge in your foot, the beginning of a cramp, and you jump up quickly, shaking your leg wildly and trying to stop the string of curses that are desperate to leave your lips. The room is oddly silent, apart from your grunts of pain, the music box sits an arms length away, you must not have noticed when the record stopped... You hesitate, torn between hitting replay and leaving it silent, but the decision is made for you when you look at the clock and see just how late it is.

I've been working for... how long?!

Your heart suddenly thumps wildly, your foot cramp long forgotten, and you move quickly from the table to the weaponry, your arms full with as much as you can manage to carry.

God, how could that have taken so long? I've still got to change the sheets on all of our beds, give the child a bath, wipe up the cooking area and oil up a few of the door hinges!

Your movements are hurried, and you manage to get everything back into its rightful place within 5 minutes (although you do almost lose a finger once or twice). You rush towards the basket that holds your bedding... but you don't see any.

Huh?

You bury your hands between the odd capes and spare blankets, searching for those familiar sets of bedding, and your hands come back empty. You huff, confused and a little ashamed that you've somehow misplaced the bedding, and you decide to just go to the kitchen and start wiping up instead, to take your mind off of it.

But when you get to the kitchen, the whole place is spotless! The cooker is polished and the plates and bowls from breakfast and lunch are all clean and placed back in their spots in the cupboard (and you definitely know this, because you checked each and every cupboard and counted the number of dishes... twice!). Even the sink is empty!

You spin around on your heel, deciding to go find the child, who should be in his playroom this time of the day, and take him to the washroom for his bath. Safe in the knowledge that at least this will be one thing you are actually able to do, and still confused as to why you haven't been able to complete anything else on your checkless since lunchtime...

But the child is not in his playroom. And now you're really worried. You race around the ship, sticking your head into every room you can think of, only to find the child is not in any of them. Your feet refuse to stand still and they carry you (almost subconsciously) towards the washroom, and as you get closer and closer you begin to hear the familiar sounds of an excitable child and the splashing that comes along with said child in a bath.

The door opens with a whack! and you grimace at how loudly the sound echoes through the room. Mando turns towards you, he is kneeling next to the tub, his armour is nowhere to found and he instead dawns a loose undershirt, a pair of dark trousers and his beskar helmet.

"Sorry." You whisper, as if trying not to wake a sleeping baby. Your eyes flit from Mando to the child, and back again. "You're bathing him."

Mando nods.

"You didn't ha—"

Oh.

And that's when it dawns on you.

"And you also changed the bed sheets?" You question, although you think—hope (dreading the potential embarrassment that will come if you’re wrong)—you already know the answer.

"Yes." He replies. He's not looking at you but it feels like his eyes are looking straight through you.

"And the kitchen..."

"Yes, that was me."

"Oh. Okay, thank you." Your voice is small, but it's hard to fight the smile growing on your face.

Mando turns to look at you briefly, "you don't need to thank me," and then he's gone again, back to giving his full attention to the little guy hiding amongst the bubbles.

"I-" You start, but you don't know what to say. Thank you anyway? I owe you one? You didn't need to do that for me?

Your thoughts swirl. There is so much you could say to Mando right now, and lord knows there are plenty of other things you could busy yourself with, but the look on the child's face when he saw you enter had your heart glowing and the opportunity to sit and enjoy a nice—if slightly wet—moment with Mando in relaxed mode was something you couldn't turn down.

five, babysitting —

Breathe... Just breathe. You tell yourself over and over again.

She's not even technically late yet, you and Mando—Din, to you now—had agreed on a midday pick up and here you were at... a quarter to the hour freaking out over nothing. He trusts her, he's known her for years at this point and hell, even you've met her– what... 2? 3 times now?

Everything is fine.

So why do you feel so on edge?

You hear the familiar clanging of the ship door as it opens, followed by echoing footsteps and the beeps of the door closing. Din comes to rest next to where you stand, his shoulder almost touches yours and you know, even without looking, that his eyes are trained on you right now with that familiar tilt of the head that he does so often.

Din can sense your nerves, even before he saw you he could tell something was different this time. He usually comes down to the bottom of the ship and finds you tinkering with something during the last few minutes of the child's miscellaneous playdates. He usually walks out of the ship door with you and wanders down the ramp while you perch on the edge with your legs dangling down beneath you. Sometimes he strikes up a conversation, other times you ramble about the child, and occasionally the two of you wait in a comfortable silence.

But not this time.

He felt uneasy when he came towards the ship door and he didn't spot you, even more so when he came outside to wait with you at the bottom of the ramp and you didn't say as much as a word to him.

He sees the anxiety you feel, it's written on your face as plain as day. You keep readjusting how you stand—left foot crossed in front of the right, then both feet facing straight with your knees in line and then back to left foot in front of the right—and whenever you do pause your movements Din can see your ankle bouncing up and down. You've had your arms crossed in front of your chest since he came to join you and your finger keeps tapping your elbow in a rather rhythmic pattern.

Tap. Taptaptap. Tap tap.

You know you shouldn't be as worried as you are, after all, you have no legitimate reason to feel so scared. Peli is a perfectly safe person for the child to be with, she invited him over for a playdate with her two young nieces—and you've actually met them, and they are quite sweet, if not a little excitable (but what kid isn't?)—and she's even babysitted him before as well, when you and Din have had to go away for a bounty together.

The thumping in your chest begins to get louder and it feels as though your heart is about to leap out from your throat. You can barely breathe. Your chest starts to heave and your knuckles turn white from how hard you are gripping onto your shirt sleeves. You don't know what—

Something touches your arm and you almost yelp in surprise. You glance to your right, ready to jump or flee or fight. But all you see is Din's helmet, head tilted, looking at you. You can only imagine the expression on his face—pity? Confusion? Sympathy?

You straighten your head. His hand doesn't leave your arm.

You take a deep breath.

Just beyond the nearest hill the faintest outline of a person begins to appear. They walk slowly, but undoubtedly in your direction, and they seem to be holding two things. One is a bag, you think. And the other is...

"They're back," you sigh, your voice is small but excited, and full of relief.

The tension is already beginning to lift from your shoulders. Din's hand is still resting on your arm, and if you hadn't been so distracted by the figure in front of you, and if you hadn't been wearing such a thick jacket, you would have felt his thumb rubbing small circles delicately across your arm. He only does it for a few short seconds, but he does it nonetheless.

Once Peli comes into better view you give her a wave and a smile, she waves back and then the child's hand peaks out of his sleeve and he waves back as well. It's enough to cause the smile on your face to widen, and you even let out an almost silent chuckle. Din slips his hand from your arm wordlessly, thinking that you probably wouldn't want his touch any longer and he takes a step away from you just as Peli arrives. He gives her a quick nod and then leaves the two of you to exchange pleasantries, quietly sneaking off to the crest's ramp and not so sneakily opening the crest door—the clanging is an issue; he wonders briefly if he should ask Peli to fix it soon.

six (one b), the bad job —

Din knew something wasn't right with this mission from the get go. There was something shifty about how the guy had spoken, demanding repeatedly about how both Din and you were necessary for what was needed. The man—Din has forgotten his name now, like it even mattered to begin with—had approached him just after he'd been turned down by another barman when he'd asked about possible jobs. The man was fast. Too fast. But Din had brushed it off at the time, too keen to get the job, too keen to earn some money again, too keen to get you and the child off this godforsaken planet.

Too keen to notice when the barman had signaled to the guy sitting at the table by the door, a small wink and a thumb pointed unsubtly in the Mandalorians direction.

“Din–Din, please. Are you there?” You curse, smacking the comm link against the wall and hoping the whack isn't hard enough to break the stupid little device.

“Ar–there–I–ca–hea–” Din’s voice hisses through the comm, followed by a high pitched whining noise that makes you jump back in surprise.

A strangled laugh escapes your throat, it’s thick with fear, and a half conscious thought flits across your mind—that if someone was listening and trying to find your location that the sound of your laughter would be a dead give away, and you’d be… well–dead.

You smack the comm against the wall twice more, for good measure.

“I’m here, Din, please–Maker–please hear me.” You beg, your voice is hoarse.

Multiple nearby blaster shots cause your head to snap upwards, sure that if you could just see the end of the alleyway, hear the sound of people milling around the market, smell the fresh baked goods at the stalls, your heart wouldn't be beating as fast as it is right now.

But the thing that would reduce your anxiety the most, allowing you to take a breath or a moment to recompose yourself, would be if you were able to see Din.

"I hear you, I'm here." Din's voice breaks through the blaster noise.

Another shot lands to your right and you retreat further into the corner between the wall and the crate that you're crouched behind. Your dominant hand holds your blaster tightly, your knuckles are pale. The cool metal against your palm keeps you focused, as you rise onto your knees to get a better aim another shot races past your ear. You waste no time in firing a returning shot and the stupid bastard goes down within 2 seconds.

Serves him right for not ducking down after firing at me, amateur.

“Cyar'ika?"

You're about to respond when you hear a loud crash. The loose pebbles on the street floor start to vibrate, sending a shiver down your spine. The noise is almost loud enough to drown out your own thoughts. Your resolve cracks when you realise the reason for the sudden lack of shots fired.

They've got a heavy repeating blaster cannon. And they're somehow pushing it down the alley you're trapped in.

"Din, I-" You cough, a lousy attempt to get your voice under control. "I don't want to die."

Your voice cracks on the last word, your mouth is suddenly as dry as a rock in the desert.

It feels like eternity before you hear Din's voice again, your only company the static sound from the comms and the low rumbling as the cannon makes it way closer to you. There's nowhere for you to run, you can't press yourself any further backwards, you have no jet pack, no grenades, no fire blaster and you never even said goodbye to the kid. God.

Tears fill your eyes, you bring a shaky hand towards your face, about to confess through the comm link something that you wish you'd had the guts to confess when you weren't 2 inches from death, when the familiar static is interrupted.

"You're not going to die, cyar'ika, I won't let that happen. I'm going to get you out of this, even if it kills me."

"Din, please-" You start, about to beg him to stay away, to tell him to think of Grogu. He can't lose his mother and father figure in one day, he just can't.

"Don't tell me to stay away." He interrupts, his voice hoarse, "this is my fault, if I'd been more careful, done my duty, then you would never have been put in this position-" He cuts himself off, you hear him take a deep breath.

"But-" You try.

"No," his voice is firm, "I'm coming for you and I'll be leaving this planet with you. The child still needs you and... I still need you."

If you had the capacity to think about anything other than the group of mercenaries currently moving towards you, then you might have questioned the last part of Din's sentence. You might have blushed and wondered at what he could mean, you may have even considered the possibility of him returning your feelings... But the sudden silence around you had your thoughts billowing towards one conclusion, and it wasn't good.

"Din... The cannon–god, help me–the cannon–they"ve stopped pushing it. I can hear them readying it."

You gulp and ready your blaster, not willing to go down without a fight.

"When I tell you to duck, you duck, okay?"

"What?" You question.

"I told you, I'm getting you out of here." Din curses and you hear the sound of blaster shots again, but this time they're coming though the comms link.

"Din, what are you doing? Maker! I told you to protect the child!" You try, pleading to the stubborn mandalorian.

"The child is safe. It's your turn now." He states, giving you almost no room to argue.

Almost.

The blaster shots continue over the comm link. You hear the mercenaries up the alleyway begin to ready their cannon, but before they have a chance to fire—

"Duck! Now." Din demands.

You obey immediately, falling backwards onto your ass and tucking your head between your knees. Your blaster still sits in your hand.

The muffled sound is hard to place but the vibrations through the floor and the dust movements between your legs are easy to follow. You lift your head and rise to your knees just as a dark figure emerges from the cloud of dust. You drop your gun immediately when your anxiety ridden brain finally allows you to recognise the familiar glint of beskar in front of you.

You jump to your feet and slam yourself against the mandalorian with no regard to your body. His armour is hard, it almost knocks the wind out of you, but no pain or threat of attack could have stopped you from seeking out your chosen solace once you locked eyes on him.

"I'm here, cyar'ika, I'm here." He pauses and hesitates for only a moment before wrapping his arms around you.

From what he can see of you you seem to be mostly unharmed, just a few small scrapes across your arms and a large bruise across your cheek. He knows you'll need a cool press against your face soon or you'll run the risk of the bruise swelling badly, but the cuts are manageable and he'll be able to leave them a little longer before dealing with them.

"You're okay," he whispers.

You're unsure if he's reassuring you or reassuring himself, but you nod.

"Yeah, I'm okay. We're okay." You whisper against his chest.

Din swallows, his fear about your safety finally easing, his chest suddenly feeling not as tight as it had 5 minutes ago.

"Hold on, it's time I take you home."

You nod again, squeezing your arms tighter around Din's waist and looping them through the holsters and belts he wears at his sides. As the two of you begin to rise you manage to catch a glimpse of the alleyway. It's as you expected. The bodies of the four mercenaries lie surrounding their weapon, and the weapon itself has been blasted into several small pieces, one of which is lodged into the chest of the one that was closest to it.

You shudder, turning your head away from the mess as you continue to rise higher and higher.

The higher you fly the more the ache and anxiety in your chest eases. And when you land aboard the razor crest and lay your eyes on Grogu you find the only pain left is physical, and you're finally able to take a breath—unaffected by the anxiety and adrenaline of battle, safe and content with your family once again.

“He’s set to be an independent operative, but know he is working for and with us.” The colonel’s words then officially etch the truth in stone.

Mando comes around basecamp like a ghost. Barely staying put for you to register his presence, yet the whispers about him grow.

“I heard he took out a whole imperial squadron and a Moff too.” Dyana, your closest friend, tells you enthusiastic to catch up on all the rumors.

Then Ward calls for you, and you miss out on any other gossip Dyana and the others had.

“I’ll be heading to Coruscant this week to meet with a few higher ups and senators… I need you to do all the debriefs with Mando while I’m away.

It’s like a rancor suddenly barreled into you.

“Wait, me?” You stupidly question confused, and Ward shoots you a look, raised eyebrows and all.

“Do you think you’re not capable of handling this, ranger?”

“No, colonel.” You quickly reply, and she nods.

“Good, that’s what I thought.”

When you see her off, it must be obvious how hesitant you still are. Her sturdy hand gives your shoulder a reassuring pat.

“Don’t worry. He’s not as scary as everyone thinks he is.” Ward reassures, but it doesn’t soothe you much.

Especially when the day arrives and you find yourself waiting for him.

Just like before, the mandalorian saunters in and your focus is immediately drawn to him. But then, it gets knocked out of orbit when you find he’s not alone.

A tiny green creature waddles in beside him, childishly blinking at every sight. Why is a child with the mandalorian?

“Where’s Ward?” A rich striking voice startles you. Of course the terrifying warrior would sound this intimidating.

“Went to Coruscant for a meeting.” You reply partly stunned you’re actually talking to him.

“And you are?” But then mandalorian questions, sharp and distrustful, and it pisses you off. He’s the newcomer here, and he decides to question you?

“I’m the person you’re stuck with for your debrief and mission logs unfortunately.” Your voice whips out sharp.

He doesn’t say anything.

“What about Teva?” He counters again, and you want to scream. What’s this guy’s problem?

“Out on a mission,” your reply is sharper, bladed with annoyance.

“If you want you can personally contact Ward and explain why I’m not satisfactory enough for your debrief. I’m sure she’d love that.” Then the defiant reply escapes you faster than you can stop it.

It’s as if the whole cantina mess hall heard you because it becomes deathly silent.

The mandalorian simply stares you down with his unflinching helmet. Then the warrior turns and strides out not saying another word.

“I think you pissed him off.” Wolf snickers breaking the stillness.

A sense of dread looms as you realize you might’ve truly just gotten yourself into a mountain load of trouble.

Ward calls that night, and you knew it was coming.

“Why do you want to start a fight with the mandalorian?” She asks calmly over the comms.

“I’m not! He started it!” You can’t help but childishly counter. You even further explain how demanding and untrusting he was.

The colonel sighs.

“You have to understand… His people don’t trust easily. And for good reason. Try to be the one to play nice here.”

You want to be petty and say he needs to as well, but you can’t argue with Ward.

“Do the whole debrief drunk.” Zeb jokes about it with you the next day, and you scoff.

But by the time sunset arrives you start getting tempted to get a drink because maybe Mando isn’t showing up.

Until he does. And again he’s not alone. The strange but sweet little creature continues waddling alongside Mando.

It’s awkward as hell when he approaches your table. The tension lingers thick from yesterday prickling across your skin in the worst way.

You don’t even know if you should say anything

“Mweh?” A surprisingly soft little noise floats through the tension and you turn towards it. You blink down to find the mysterious little being staring up at you with sweet wide eyes.

With curious claws, the baby reaches for the loth cat charm dangling off your belt, the one of many trinkets your niece has given you.

Melted by the sight, you grin and scoot closer. Then you unclasp the charm for the baby to examine it more.

“You like it? It’s cute right?”

The little one agrees with a chirp sounding so endearing.

Something softly clicks. If a creature so tiny and innocent as this baby confidently travels with the mandalorian, then he couldn't be that much of an ass.

Someone sighs. Then settling back into your seat, you find the mandalorian seated across from you. The baby hops up to sit beside him. Yet his eager eyes remain happily taken with your charm.

“That imp base on Hoth had no leads.” He speaks first.

You’re stunned.

Your gut urges you to not make a big deal about this, to simply now see him as another coworker.

So you nod and casually plug in the info on your datapad.

“Hoth was a long shot, but we appreciate you going.” You even add that in.

You knew of a few pilots who served during the Hoth raid. It’s an unforgiving planet, takes a lot of guts to investigate that icy fortress.

“What’s the next order?” Mando asks firm, all business, just like Ward had told you.

You slide him a bounty chip containing info on a possible military officer who could be running a smuggling ring. The mandalorian doesn’t say anything else, simply takes the card and stands up.

“Come on, kid.” All he does is address the baby, not even sparing you a second glance.

Cute and so politely, the kid hands back your loth cat with a noise that feels like a thank you.

“You’re welcome, little cutie,” you tell him warmly.

Once the pair are out of sight, you sigh exhausted, relieved, and sprawl out on the table glad it’s over. Someone barks a laugh, and you aren’t even embarrassed about it.

You can’t wait till this is over.

It’s already been a week and a half of being grounded doing these debriefs with Mando. You miss being in the skies. But all that hope of getting back in the clouds gets squashed.

“I need to negotiate a few more issues with Senator Organa… can you continue to do the debrief?” It isn’t much of a question but more of an order from Ward.

So you meet with Mando for the rest of the week and into the next. It’s cordial, barely speaking for more than ten minutes with each other.

You try to be friendly, make a joke about the weather, but he just silently stares at you, obviously annoyed.

And it pisses you off all over again.

But you think of the adorable little baby who eagerly tags along with the terrifying hunter. The kid sweetly waves, and you wave back. You started bringing treats after his guardian chided him for eating some of yours.

The annoyed sigh Mando gave when you brought more snacks to share was worth it.

This time you decided to bring something else along with you.

It was the first charm your sister gave you when you became a pilot. A tradition her daughter, your niece, now does with you.

“Look!” You eagerly hold up the plush creature that makes the baby’s eyes go wide.

With adorable tiny grabby hands, he reaches for it and you happily hand it over.

You grin pleased seeing how pleased the kid coos.

“What’s your name?” The sudden question from Mando surprises you.

A bit stunned, you give it to him.

He nods solemnly, repeating it. Your heart does a strange flip hearing his deep voice say your name.

“This is Grogu.” He then introduces the kid who chimes in hearing his name.

“Nice to meet you, Grogu.” You excitedly greet the kid.

Then you turn to Grogu’s guardian. This solemn but striking mandalorian now has you curious to who he is. Your mind thinks about the rumors that have spread about him.

“And you? What’s your name?” You ask politely, but immediately you can almost hear Dyana screaming at you. She’s become the new expert on Mandalorian customs.

“They’re private people,” she had told you, confirming what Ward had said. “It’s probably why not a lot of people know about him, much less his name.”

“I’m sorry, forgive me.” You stammer quickly. “You don’t have to give it.”

A moment passes, and you worry you’ve unraveled this tentative truce or whatever it is.

“Din… Din Djarin.” His full name. It’s lovely.

“Din…” you repeat it.

“It’s nice to meet you too.” And you mean that.

Mando, Din, nods, and you think it’s worth the few weeks being out of the skies.

When Din and Grogu leave you realize the kid still holds onto your plush charm.

“Come on kid, give it back.” Din urges noticing too.

“No it’s okay. He can keep it. Give it back to me next time.” You grin at the baby, and Grogu giggles pleased at the answer.

“What do you say, kid?”

Grogu chirps a sweet thanks and waddles away content with the plushie in his arms.

The next day, as promised, he brings it back. But you exchange another charm with him. This time it’s a cute cloud with a sweet face. Eager for the new trinket, Grogu ditches the plushie and you laugh.

Work then follows suit. Din explains on the intel he’s slowly gaining on the imp official.

“Taking a bit longer than expected.” Din gruffly admits.

“Don’t worry. Rodents like him know how to hide. It’s not your fault. Then again that’s probably an insult to rodents.” You’ve been trying to stay professional, channel your inner composed Colonel Ward. But the old rebel pilot comes out.

Suddenly, a chuckle follows.

Din laughed.

You swear you misheard it. But the way Grogu giggles agreeing with his protector, you know you heard correctly.

“A fair statement.” Din agrees.

And you grin back at him. A golden victorious feeling bubbles in your chest.

Watching the pair leave, you find you’re excited to see them again.

The rest of the debriefs go smoother than ever. You bring new charms for Grogu to play with, and Din seems to settle in more.

“You have a lot of those.” He even comments a bit dry when you exchange another new charm with Grogu. This time it’s a fuzzy bantha.

“Managed to gather a small collection.” You explain.

“Really… couldn’t tell.” Din deadpans.

That’s when you realized he just joked with you.

“Think you might like those two,” Zeb teases the next time he drops by the mess hall.

“It’s called being civil.” You stubbornly reply while messing with the holopad, and the Lasat warrior barks a laugh.

“Civil? Yeah sure.” He teases further.

You stay stubbornly quiet.

“Don’t worry… They’re a pain in my ass too.” Zeb huffs, and it does soothe your annoyance.

Especially now that something is festered in you, a sort of curious itch to learn more about Din Djarin.

“I heard… he really did blow up an entire imperial base. That’s how Teva found him.” Dyana is happy to spill more gossip about him.

“He’s quiet, doesn’t talk much. So I doubt he’d say anything even if he did.” You mutter.

“Does he really keep a pet around?” Dyana presses for any new info.

The word ‘pet’ sounds harsh.

“He’s more like the kid’s guardian.” The word ‘parent’ instead wants to slip out especially after you’ve seen Din’s fatherly watch over the baby.

“Oh that’s even more interesting! Why didn’t you tell me this earlier?!” Dyana shrieks.

“You’ve been busy.” You half lie.

You could argue that it’s because you want to protect Din’s trust and don’t want to disturb that. But the truth is, you don’t want to share this little secret bond you’ve cultivated with him.

You however rapidly kick those thoughts away.

Ward will be back sometime this week. Your brief time with the Mandalorian would be over soon.

Except that time comes sooner than expected.

The next morning Colonel Ward arrives, an early return. Disappointment arrives just as fast. You knew this was only a temporary thing.

Trying not to feel annoyed, you now work on your x-wing. Deep under the hull, you refuel trying just to keep your mind focused here.

“Didn’t know you were a mechanic.” Suddenly, the rich voice of a certain mandalorian echoes in the hanger.

You scramble out from under the ship confused if you heard right.

But standing off to the side are indeed Din and Grogu.

“What? Thought I just did paper work and worked as an assistant?” You tease.

Din chuckles, and it sinks into the glowing sunlight coating the hanger in its glory.

“You’re looking at one of the New Republic’s best pilots!” Dyana.

She perks up emerging from the other side of the ship, and you shoot a glare her way not even knowing where she came from.

“A pilot?” Din questions, curious.

His helmet tilts towards you.

“Sometimes,” you shrug.

“And I wouldn’t say best.” You weakly laugh then glower at Dyana again. She simply beams innocently back at you.

“One day you gotta tell him about Endor. Though I’m sure you have plenty of fight stories to share too, Mando!”

You want to strangle her.

“You fought at Endor?” Din asks, helmet fully facing you and voice faintly awed.

It all makes your skin feel heated and tight.

All you can do is shrug again.

Endor seems like so long ago now. You were so much younger then. Wild and ready to sacrifice it all for the sake of protecting everything you loved. A small secret corner of your heart aches for those days of when you flew with such fire.

“Well… gotta go! Nice to finally meet you both!” Dyana nods to Din and smiles at the baby before scurrying away.

A traitor in the flesh fleeing if you ever did see one.

“So…an x-wing pilot.” Din comments, still watching you. His curious and impressed tone ignites a strange sensation in your chest that threatens to consume you.

“On good days I am.” You again shrug with a half smile.

“So what was Endor like?” He inquires, and you’re surprised he’s curious about that.

“Don’t know, never went on planet… kinda was busy flying around.”

You don’t even need to see his face to know he’s giving you a silent unamused stare. He must not think your joke is as funny as you do.

A surprised giggle does come though. Both you and Din discover Grogu effortlessly climbing up onto the wing of the ship.

“Kid.” Din chides.

“How did you get up there so fast?” You laugh amused at the sight of this tiny creature waddling on top of your x-wing.

Din sighs, truly parental.

“I take it that you fly?” You ask him yet keeping your gaze on Grogu to make sure he stays safe.

“I do.” Din answers, confident.

“Must be why he’s so curious and comfortable around ships. It’s good when kids get to experience being in the air.” You think of your niece who eagerly tries to convince you to fly her around.

“My niece is the same way.” You reveal.

Din hums a noise, acknowledging he’s listening.

“Is she the reason why you have all those charms?” He asks in a tone softer than you’ve ever heard.

“Excuse you, they are medals of honor.” You jokingly try to sound offended.

“With you I wouldn’t be surprised.” He replies deadpan, and you snicker.

“But yeah… she’s the one who gives them to me.” You explain how it was your sister who first started giving you those charms to decorate your x-wing.

They were to remind you to come home safe.

“I was ordered not to come home unless I brought the charms back safe and sound.” You repeat the same words your sister told you.

A soft breeze enters the hanger bringing in a welcoming cooling touch. But it’s then you realize how close you’re now standing next to Din. You didn’t even notice when you or him moved closer to each other.

“That’s… sweet.” His voice carries a tenderness that sneaks under your ribs and sinks in deep.

You turn and find he’s already looking at you.

Under Din’s gaze, it’s like you’re caught in a tractor beam unable to speak or move.

Dangerous thoughts have already begun clouding your mind, and they all connect back to this man. Like how you’ve noticed how broad his shoulders look, and how strong he is helping move crates around the base. What’s worse is you’ve begun wondering what this mandalorian looks like under his helm.

Grogu’s little giggle finally draws your attention away. Currently he peeks inside the cockpit through the window.

“So I take it this is your ship?” Din asks.

“No, I stole it.” You quip back.

“Sure you did.” His dry reply makes you snicker.

“It’s how I got to fight at Endor.” You jest, stealing a quick glance at Din. Of course he shakes his head unamused.

“Thought you didn’t see Endor.” He uses your dry joke back at you, and you can’t help it.

You playfully elbow him.

Another little giggle comes. Glancing back to the ship, Grogu now peers over from the wing’s edge grinning at you and Din.

“Little troublemaker, are you going to be a pilot one day?” You smile at Grogu.

“Mweh!” He squeals.

“I think that’s a yes,” you tell Din proudly.

“No.” Din answers back firmly.

“It’s okay I’ll teach you one day,” you counter sweetly, and the baby giggles more.

“No.” Din repeats again firmer.

A small cluster of pilots approach. Their laughter and conversation fill the air. Guess this moment is over.

“Still need to see Ward… shouldn’t keep her waiting.” Din is smooth about making his exit.

Quickly Grogu jumps into his arms, and you bid the duo goodbye for now.

You haven’t been in the air for long, but it feels like you’re floating now.

The moments you see the pair become like scattered stars.

Months settle in, and a routine follows. You sometimes see Din in the mess hall cantina when you return from a mission. Discussing with the colonel, all you can simply do is give your boys quick smiles.

Other times Din stops by the hanger where you linger now more than ever hoping he drops by. You and him talk about work, missions, the various planets visited.

You want to ask what got him to work for the new republic, but you don’t want to disturb whatever is growing between you and him.

“It’s budding love.” Dyana sagely declares one evening at the cantina, and Zeb agrees.

“It’s not!” You screech over a drink.

“I don’t think Mando has said more than five words to me, yet I see him talking to you so much.” Another pilot chimes in.

“He talks to Zeb the most!” You argue back. The two of them are often paired up on missions now. You try not to get annoyed by it.

“Not as much as you, kid.” Zeb rebuttals.

“Don’t think we haven’t seen the way he hangs around the hanger for you.” Sash Ketter snickers, and it only ignites the discussion once again.

You dismiss all their words as attempts trying to rile you up.

Because you don’t want to face the truth. You long for your chats with Din, even just to see him for a moment and play with Grogu.

It’s just an awful infatuation. That’s it.

Your small vacation break now approaching may be more of a blessing than you realize. It’ll hopefully give you time to clear your head.

“I’m heading home to visit family. I’ll be sure to bring back something good.” You tell Din the next time you run into him outside the cantina.

“There’s no need. Just… be safe.” Din nods.

His gentle words carry you the entire flight home.

The brief week away provides peaceful moments of relaxation. While you enjoy the time spent with your sister’s family, you long to return to Adelphi.

“So, what did you get me this time?” You ask your niece the day before you’re set to head back.

“I got you… THIS!” She proudly raises up an odd creature. You can’t even tell what it is.

“She made it herself.” Your sister whispers, and your eyes go wide.

“What?! Why didn’t you tell me we have an artist in this family now?!” You cry excitedly scooping up your niece in your arms and tickle her with glee as she squeaks excitedly.

“Actually before I go… Do you think you can help me make one too?” You ask her and your niece's eyes light up.

With eager hands she gathers all her supplies to deposit them on the table ready to craft.

“So… are you going to tell me who you’re making this for?” Your sister asks slightly suspiciously as you add little puffballs to your monster creation.

“What if I just want my charm to have a friend, huh?” You deflect.

“Yeah sure.” She’s not convinced but thankfully doesn’t press any further.

As hard as it is saying goodbye to her and your niece, you’re thankful to finally be back to your routine.

And of course, the new little charm sitting in your pocket seems to hold so much weight.

Din returns a few days after you. It’s hard trying to ignore the bubbling joy that rises watching him approach your x-wing first.

“Welcome back.” He greets and Grogu squeals adorably scurrying to you.

Eagerly you welcome his jump into your arms, and you squeeze him tight.

“I miss you too,” you tell Grogu but hope his father knows you mean him as well.

“And look, I got something for you.” You shift to hold Grogu in one arm.

Then you hold up the new charm.

“What is it supposed to be?” Din sounds confused and slightly alarmed.

“It’s a little monster,” you reply lightly insulted.

“My niece and I made these, and I knew someone who might like it.” You grin towards Grogu now.

“Bweh!” He cheers and draws the charm into his small arms so enamored with the strange monstrosity already.

“See! He likes it, that's what matters.” You huff proudly at Din.

Grogu chirps like he agrees. You laugh then catch Din’s chuckle too.

“What do you say, kid?” Din says.

Grogu however doesn’t say anything. Instead he leans up and hugs you. His sweet little arms curl against your neck.

Holding this baby so tight is like holding a little newborn star. You’re grateful for this moment and hug Grogu close, closing your eyes to fully embrace this wonderful tiny soul.

“You’re welcome, little troublemaker.” You softly tell him.

The baby then settles into your arms as if it’s the most natural thing in the world.

Worried you might have overstepped, you quickly snap your attention to Din. His helmet stays focused on you.

You wonder what his eyes look like, what color swims within his gaze.

“Glad you’re back safe.” Din’s voice sounds low, softer and a bit thick.

“Me too,” you reply, letting yourself sink into whatever it is overtaking your entire heart.

This infatuation, or whatever it’s mutated into, grows stronger. And it terrifies you.

But you’re reminded quickly there are more terrifying things to face.

The wound isn’t looking good.

You’re more pissed at yourself for getting ambushed by damn pirates. This operation was supposed to be simple, check in on the distress signal intercepted by base. But one pirate ambush later and you’re now stranded trying to stop the bleeding.

You just hope the emergency signal you sent back to camp went through. Leaning against your ship, you take a deep breath trying to calm yourself down. You’ve dealt with worse. You can handle this.

Until something pierces your back, and a scream of pain escapes you. Electricity courses through your body knocking you to the ground.

Everything stings. You can barely concentrate, but you hear them. Gleeful disgusting laughs swirling all around. The damn pirates…

“Think of the price we’ll get for x-wing parts!” One of them muses.

“Or even for the pilot, quite a cute one.” That comment unleashes a panicked feral terror.

Get up, you have to get up. Even though every part of your body stings, screaming to stay still, you have to move.

You slowly try to sit up through the aftershocks, but then a boot comes to slowly step on your chest, pressing you down to the dirt.

“Nah uh little pilot, where do ya think you’re going.” A voice snickers.

You clench your jaw hard. This isn’t looking good.

A sudden blaster shot fires and immediately takes out a pirate with accurate precision.

“What was that?!” One of them screams.

Then a blaster shot silenced him.

“Step away from her now.” Din.

Or someone sounding like him.

The voice is deadly, terrifying, and you wonder if it even is Din.

Then the pirate towering above you with his boot still pressing on your chest suddenly gets thrown off.

Weakly you cough sitting up. While you do, you witness Din in action and realize he’s truly here.

And the way he attacks, effortlessly slicing through the pirate captain and the lackeys that try rushing him - he’s incredible.

You’ve never seen anyone fight so fluidly and powerful. You’re witnessing one of the most powerful warriors in the galaxy…

And he’s here to save you.

A small concerned whimper comes to your side and immediately you glance down. Grogu quickly waddles to your arm and flashes his wide worried eyes up to you.

“I’m okay, I promise.” He must see the wound, and you try smiling reassuringly.

He hums a small noise at you. Then he closes his eyes, laying his little claw against your elbow. Slowly a gentle warmth suddenly crawls up your shoulder.

What is he doing?

The stinging pain vanishes instantly. Reaching up to your shoulder, you find no wound.

“Mweh.” Grogu peers up at you with a small little wave.

“You really are something else, little trouble maker… thank you.” You fondly stroke his fuzzy little head, and he beams.

Din urgently yells your name and soon rushes to kneel before you. Gloved hands reach out to steady your shoulders.

“I’m fine.” You now reassure him and move to squeeze one of his hands.

An exhale escapes Din, relieved.

“I’m sorry you both had to come all the way out here. I’m sure there are better bounties to hunt.” You half tease.

“Don’t apologize.” He immediately snaps.

Grogu makes a sad noise as if chiding his father.

“Just glad you’re safe.” So Din gently adds and steadily helps you stand.

Zeb lands moments later with a mechanic to help patch up your ship. The entire time Din stays by your side, letting you lean against him for support. His guiding hand never leaves you.

You’re given the rest of the week off to recover.

“So was Mando on a mission with you when my distress beacon went out?” You ask Zeb when he drops by to check on you.

He snorts, giving you a knowing side eye smirk.

“Is that what you think?” Zeb doesn’t elaborate even when you pester him.

It’s Dyana of course who reveals the truth.

“Mando was the first to rush out. Ward had to practically stop him before he flew off on his own.” Her words unravel something effortlessly in you.

How can you ignore these feelings for a mandalorian anymore?

“I think it’s romantic.” Dyana thankfully doesn’t judge you when you finally admit everything to her.

There was no time for romance during a rebellion, during a war. Even now you almost scoff at the idea. There are other things to do, other things to focus on than get lovesick over someone.

But Din dismantled all those old thoughts in you, leaving you exposed and almost greedy for someone now.

“It’s okay to want that you know… romance and companionship.” Dyana tells you already sensing your hesitation.

You know her and a cute mechanic have been dating off and on for a while. She’s always been urging you to get out more, maybe try to find someone. Guess you just had to wait for a mandalorian to show up.

But you have to put all those giggles and feelings aside.

Your time resting is done, and immediately you’re thrown back into the rush of work.

A mission and orders arrive a few days later on your datapad.

Raid strike this week, get ready

It’s not a full strike squadron, but you’re thankful Zeb is tagging along.

“Think your boyfriend might be joining us.” He teases, and your eyes narrow hard. Now you regret him being here.

“I don’t have a boyfriend.” You rapidly dismiss.

“Huh uh.” He rolls his eyes.

As if summoned to add to your pain, Din enters the command center. It feels like feral lizard birds were released in your stomach.

Immediately his helmet spots you. Grogu perched on his shoulder chirps upon seeing you. Trying to act relaxed, you give the boys a casual wave and bright grin.

Zeb chuckles, and you silently shush him again under your breath. You walk to meet Din halfway.

“Glad you’re doing better.” He says, faintly warm, and you nod grateful.

“Thanks to my two heroes,” you thank them both again. Grogu beams toothy when you tickle his chin.

Din doesn’t say anything.

“Guess we’re finally teaming up.” So you speak up first.

“Seems like it,” Din agrees.

This isn’t the first time he’s seen you in your pilot gear. Hell, he just rescued you last week. But for some reason, you feel more self aware than ever.

Thankfully Ward enters, drawing the room’s attention to her.

The mission is to ambush the warlord now barricaded up in his mansion. He’s apparently greatly armed and even hired a small air brigade. It’s why this strike squadron was called in. You’re curious why Din is here though.

“Without the mandalorian’s intel, we wouldn’t have this opportunity. So we will be following his lead.” She sends her focus to him.

Din simply and silently nods back.

Then he moves to the holo map and gives details about the estate. Hearing how commanding and surefire his voice resounds, the way he walks confidently and without any hesitation, he’s incredible.

But there’s no time to linger on this warrior.

It’s time to fly.

“Finally get to see you in action,” you tell Din as he walks out with you.

“Guess you will.” He replies with a hint of something playful, and it only speeds up your racing heart.

All you can do is laugh before parting ways.

“Don’t get lost in the clouds.” You teasingly yell to the mandalorian and he looks back at you from over his shoulder.

You can’t see Din’s eyes, but you hope they’re amused.

Him and Grogu now trail away from where you’re stationed, and you settle into your ship.

Your x-wing roars alive, and the familiar comms flicker in your ear. Then the call signals electrify the start to battle.

“Delphi squadron, lock in.” Teva announces on the main channel, the leader for this run. Everyone follows suit locking in their coordinates.

“Blue 9, standing by.” You chime in, readying the flight path.

“Starfighter, standing by.” Then a new voice floats through your helmet.

The tone resonates rich as a stormy ocean sending a shock through your system.

Hearing Din in your helmet does something to you so wild that you feel guilty at how fast your core clenched. You recollect yourself fast.

That’s when you notice the ship he joined in with.

A starfighter? There’s no way. Those ships don’t exist.

But again, you’re proven so wrong.

Among the gunfire and smoke, the sounds of battle, a new gleam of silver catches your attention. The Naboo N-1 fighter is a marvel.

A sleek whisper of a dream, one minute she’s a simple flicker of light then the next she’s firing directly in the trenches of the fight.

But as in awe of the ship as you are, it’s the mandalorian who leaves you breathless.

Din flies amazing. The fast maneuvering, the excellent read he makes of the battle, among his readiness to swoop in and out of tight spaces - you’ve never seen anyone fly this beautifully.

It inspires you, the type of flying that makes you want to soar higher to catch up.

So you do.

You embrace the rebel pilot you always might be and dive through the canyons chasing after one of the bandits the warlord hired.

Quickly you dispatch the enemy ship then swirl and maneuver your x-wing to return to the open sky.

“Target on your left.” Din’s voice suddenly thunders in your ear, chiming in on your personal channel.

“Got it.” You reply steady and twist fast enough to fire on the swing mid air.

“Got him, great shot!” Listening to Din’s deep fierce voice over your private channel, his voice colored in pride, you have to mute the channel to exhale.

Because a wave of arousal crawled up your spine so fast you had to bite your lip. Now you try settling yourself down again.

You pride yourself on being composed when you fly. There of course have been times when you’ve gotten emotional and maybe reacted.

Yet here this masked man completely disarms you.

It’s a fight you realize you won’t win.

The raid is successful, and the warlord gets taken in alive. That’s the win that matters.

“Great job,” Din suddenly voices back in your comms, still sounding so proud, and you melt all over again.

“You too, thanks for the support,” you answer back, just as fond, then rapidly switch over the channel.

“Captain,” you ask Teva on his personal comms.

“Before we leave, do you think I can test Mando on how he flies?”

Teva takes a moment then sighs.

“Make it quick.”

Giddy you quickly chime back onto Din’s channel.

“Wanna go for a run?” A part of you worries he won’t want to join you.

“Lead the way.” But Din quickly answers, and you pull back up to the clouds.

The planet is rather gorgeous, full of lush canyons and towering mountains. It’s a flight playground. Among the skies, twisting and twirling down through the natural landscape, you and Din soar around each other, with each.

Playful, yet delicately cautious, your x-wing revolves alongside his starfighter. Din keeps up with you every moment. Quietly the image of a dance among the clouds floats into your mind.

“Up for a race?” He suddenly asks.

“Oh, you know it.” You agree, excited. You settle into your seat, ready to take off.

But in a flash, he zooms past you.

“What the hell?!” You shriek over the comms.

Din’s husky laugh in your ear is a beautiful reward.

Returning back to Adelphi, you and him fly beside each other. Ward gives everyone the night off, and the cantina already seems to shine extra bright landing in.

Settling into your spot in the hanger, you notice Din lands his starfighter closer than ever.

Sliding off your helmet, for a moment you worry about how bad your hair looks, how messy and sweaty you must be.

But heading down the ladder, Din already walks towards you.

All your worries vanish. You don’t even care how fast you walk towards him. Here standing before Din under the low lights of the hanger, the world melts away.

“You were incredible.”

“You flew… amazing.”

Both you and Din speak at the same time, words jumbling up and getting tangled. It startles you, even his shoulders stiffen a bit.

Then you laugh.

“No, you were the incredible one.” You tell him first.

“Not compared to you,” he shakes his head.

“Glad I finally got to see one of the Rebellion’s and New Republic’s best pilots in action.” There’s a smirk in his voice, and heat burns through your veins.

Any words you want to say, he’s stolen them right from you. All you’re reduced to is a love struck fool caught in the orbit of this powerful mandalorian.

Din doesn’t say anything either. It’s like you and him can’t look away from the other standing this close.

“Hey! Ya two love birds gonna join us or what?” Zeb suddenly breaks the spell, and your blood instantly boils.

You hiss foul curses at Zeb, and he only cackles with laughter.

Embarrassed and trying to escape this moment you shake your head heading towards the exit.

“Come on, let’s go celebrate.” You manage to smile at Din hoping to dispel any comments about what Zeb said.

The mandalorian follows you into the mess hall cantina. The lively celebratory air glimmers with joyous laughter. It’s a welcoming atmosphere, and even Wolf along with a few other pilots ask Din to join them.

“Maybe in a bit,” He nods, instead staying by your side when you approach the bar.

“No pressure, but drinks on me if you want.” You offer.

“I’ll pass, but thanks.” He instead places down credits for your drink, and you thank him with a toast.

“Come on, let’s see how good of a sabacc player you are.” After taking a huge sip, you allow the alcohol to sting in the best way.

“Think you might be dissapointed,” Din chuckles.

Of course he’s a damn natural.

Everyone at the table cries in frustration when he wins the second round, and you even narrow your eyes at him.

“Oh, so you’re a liar.” You joke good naturedly.

“Never said I was good or bad.” He answers and it’s rather coy, lighter than what you’ve heard from him.

“Next time Mando I want you comin’ with me off planet! We could really win big.” Someone suggests and now it’s comforting seeing how much everyone has warmed up to him, how much Din has settled in here too.

Until you realize the baby is missing and immediately turn to Din. Maybe it’s the atmosphere but you lean closer to him placing your hand against his arm.

“Wait, where’s Grogu?” You ask concerned and low.

Din leans closer to you, his helmet almost grazing your face.

“Don’t worry, he’s asleep in the barracks.” Din’s answer comes low, reassuring.

Then he reaches up to lay his hand on top of yours. It’s a reassuring hold, a soft touch that brings comfort.

You exhale relieved and don’t have time to realize what he just did until someone drags Din away to play darts.

He squeezed your hand, and you now fight against a dumb smile just thinking about it.

Even after another round of getting your ass kicked at cards, you don’t care. You glance over to Din.

A cluster of pilots surround him. You’re not surprised. He’s a marvel, someone truly remarkable. But one of the prettier pilots slides up next to Din, batting her eyelashes so dreamily up at him.

Something fierce, venomous and coated in jealousy, strikes.

Reaching to Wolf, you nudge his shoulder a few times, and he knowingly looks at you. Not saying anything, he discreetly slips you a smoke stick.

You head out of the cantina into the soft warm night and light up. The smoke in your lungs settles you down for a moment and cuts through the alcohol.

Dumb Mandalorian man making you feel this way…

Taking another drag of the smoke stick, you watch the smoke you exhale mix into the air.

“Didn’t know you smoked.” Din.

His voice melts into the night like he stepped out of the shadows themselves. As he wanders towards you, you shift to lean against the rail of the patio.

“Not often,” you truthfully answer. It’s been a long time since you lit up.

A bad habit you picked up during your rebellion days, being as young as you were around seasoned veteran pilots. It became a way to calm yourself down and stop your hands from shaking from the nerves.

You even tell him that.

“What made you join?” He asks, tentative and quiet.

A loaded question but one you feel comfortable enough to answer, especially with him.

The empire took so much from you. You’re grateful you and your sister managed to keep each other safe, look out for each other. You weren’t lying when you joked about stealing ships. Learning to steal is how you survived for a while as a kid.

Then you accidentally stole from a man named Luthen Rael, and your life changed. Whatever he saw in your eyes that day when he caught you… it kept you alive.

He’s the one who helped get your wings, got you in touch with rebellion once you could fly. Once you joined, you never saw him again.

“Never looked back since.” You tell this all to Din.

You don’t regret your choices. They’re what brought you here after all, kept you safe even during the danger.

“You did what you had to… you should be proud of the life you’ve made. Of the wars you've fought and survived.” Din sincerely commends you, and his words settle deep in your heart.

You softly thank him, appreciating the sentiment.

“And you? What brought you to the New Republic?” Taking another drag of the smoke stick, you finally decide to ask.

This time he’s sighing and moves to lean against the rail beside you. He’s pressed up right beside you.

“Benn a long way to get here as well.” He’s vague, but explains how he was, and still is a bounty hunter by trade. How that path led him to the kid. How Grogu is by Mandalorian creed his son and apprentice now.

“I couldn't keep getting involved with pirates, working for gangsters. It’s not the life I wanted anymore.”

It’s admirable seeing how valiant Din’s spirit shines, yet you hear how weary his soul must be like he carries so much guilt.

“There are wars you’ve fought too, Din. You should be proud of your victories. Even the ones you don’t think you should be.” Maybe it’s the fading alcohol and slow numbness of the smoke stick, but you want more than ever to just hold him.

You go to take another drag to stop yourself from doing anything reckless, but find your smoke stick is burnt to its final end.

“I don’t.. deserve such kind words. But thank you.” Din’s voice is thick, tangled in thorny emotions.

Yet underneath it all, he sounds softer and raw, like a man trying to find comfort in your words.

So you turn and see his striking dark T visor gaze on you.

A moment passes where it’s just you and him under the night sky, staring at each other.

“No matter what path you took, I'm glad you’re here.” You earnestly tell him.

In such a short amount of time this mandalorian has reawakened something in you and takes up such a large part of your heart.

“Me too.” Din mutters, nodding.

Another x-wing lands outside steals your attention away as the engines break the quiet night air.

“Always been curious to how they fly.” Din suddenly comments sounding intrigued.

“You wanna see?”

He turns to you, helmet tilted incredulous and challenging.

“Come on,” so you challenge him back with a toothy grin.

Immediately Din follows behind you, footsteps quick yet terrifying agile.

The hanger sits in eerie stillness this time of night.

“Should we even be here?” Din asks low, a bit cautious.

“Didn’t take you as a ‘by the books’ guy, Mando.” You use the common name everyone calls him as a tease.

“Only when it comes to my employer.” He replies unamused.

“Trust me, we’ll be fine.” You wave him off and he continues following you further into the dark hanger.

He doesn’t know it, but this place, especially for pilots, is an infamous makeout spot. You try not to think about that too much.

There you arrive at your x-wing.

“Hop in,” you nudge him towards the ladder.

“What?” Din sounding so boyish and confused makes you laugh.

“Get in,” you urge.

Sighing defeated he climbs up the ladder to the cockpit and you follow. You look away trying not to stare at his cute ass.

“Can we even fit in this?”

“X-wings are capable of holding various types and sizes of pilots. We are not the empire, thank you very much,” you proudly declare.

The hatch opens, and Din jumps in. The dashboard and control panel light up as he takes a seat in your chair.

Your throat goes dry seeing him sit in the same pilot seat you fly in.

“Throttle, control stick,” he points out immediately.

As much room as you have, it is cramped standing up. So you curl to the side, closer to him, but keep your eyes on the control monitor.

“It’s got a good radar system.” Din comments admiring the monitor too.

You rattle on about how these are the upgraded models everyone got after the war. The original ones you used during the rebellion are classic, but the upgrades were warmly welcomed.

“Sorry, this all must sound boring.” You weakly laugh.

“It’s not. Tell me more.” He reassures.

You’re about to until you hear commotion around the hanger.

So, quickly you scramble up and around to slide into the seat -

Right between the V of Din’s legs.

You crouch low and drag him down too.

“Wh…what are you-”

“Shh…” you shush him. “Have to lie low just in case.”

“So we should leave.” Din urges urgent.

“We’re fine.” You reassure him now.

The commotion you thought you heard passes by, and silence returns.

You exhale a bit relieved, moving to sit up. Then you grin at him from over your shoulder.

“See… told you we’d be fine.”

He stays quiet.

It hits you. Maybe you upset him or crossed a line being this close. Though you aren’t fully pressed up against his chest, the position is still intimate. You’re literally between his legs.

You want to apologize, especially now that the courage fades away fast.

But all you can think about is how stunning Din is, how gorgeous he looks here in your ship.

“One day you should fly it.” You truthfully blurt out while staring at him.

“Don’t think Ward would let me.” He stiffly replies.

“I would.” You immediately counter.

“Plus you look good in here...” Then you realize what you just admitted.

So you try to recover fast.

“Knowing your skills, if you had been with us during the rebellion days, you would’ve fit in just fine. Probably would’ve even been half as good as me.” You add hastily, half joking, hoping he doesn’t linger on anything you said before.

You now glance away to check out the window. The hanger is thankfully still empty.

Then Din suddenly softly breathes your name.

You’ve never heard it sound so holy and raw that it rips you wide open. You completely shift around to glance at him in the lowly light cockpit.

“How inebriated are you?” He asks husky, thick.

“I could recite the entire radar flight plan chart we made for Endor.” You tell him completely wide awake now. Every part of you feels like a live wire completely focused on this man.

His low weak chuckle makes your stomach flip in the best way.

Din exhales, breathy and deep.

You don’t want to over step, don’t want to ruin this. So you patiently wait, hoping he makes the first move.

Feeling his arms slide around yours, tentative but curious, you’re galvanized.

Immediately you rise and twist around to fully stare down at him. Looking at Din for a moment, here in the cockpit of your ship, you want to burn this image into your memory. Want to consecrate this in a way you never may do with anyone else again.

You rest your legs on either side of his, caging him in then you settle down onto his lap.

The soft low noise Din makes is music to your ears.

He says your name, but it sounds more like a warning.

“I want this… I want you.” You tell him, finally admitting the words out loud.

Then, you grind down on his lap, straddling him, and immediately pleasure floods into your system.

Din groans, and it spurs you on instantly.

Frustrated that you’re still in your damn flight suit, you unzip the top, slide off the jacket, and exhale feeling the coolness reach your skin. Sliding your hands up to his shoulders you whisper his name.

Then you grind against the bulge in Din’s pants pressing into you, and your mind goes foggy.

But not foggy enough that you notice Din remains still.

Everything collides into you with a halting stop. What if he doesn’t want this?

“I’m… I’m so sorry.” You halt your movements and apologize composed as you can. Awkwardly you lift yourself off of him.

“No I-” Din starts, but then stops himself.

You settle back down on him but this time further back on his thighs.

“Do you… not want to do this?” You ask cautiously. “Because it’s okay if you don’t.”

It’s okay if you don’t want me, is what you actually want to say. But you’re not brave enough for that, no matter how many empire ships you’ve shot down.

“No.” Din noisily exhales frustrated.

His hands go to rest on your thighs. His head falls forward, crestfallen.

“I want this, want you. Just afraid I won’t be able to stop.” He admits weak.

“You don’t have to stop… I don’t want you to.” You admit, soft and greedy, deciding not to hold back now.

Here in your ship, you think maybe he’s become your prey, trapped in your spiderweb. But then his helmet ever so slightly tilts up to you. Under the watch of his unflinching visor, you now feel like a prey caught within a hunter’s gaze.

His heavy breathing grows stronger and reignites something in you.

“Din,” You mutter his name, and he lets out a strained curse.

“I think about you… too much.” Din reveals like it’s a painful truth, as if the words hurt to say.

“I think about you all the time.” The truth leaves you effortlessly now.

“Wonder about what color your eyes are,” You decide to be the brave rebellion pilot you are.

“If you and the baby are safe, eating well,” you add, and he chuckles breathily.

“I think about how brave you are and how… lucky I am to know you,” you continue feeling molten and sentimental now.

Din says your name again, this time tender, and it almost causes you to falter.

So you lean closer to his helmet.

“I think about how handsome you are… imagine your cock inside me.” You mutter and hearing the words aloud feels too much.

But then his strong hands dig into your thighs and slide you on his lap fully, dragging you across his clothed cock.

How strong he pulled you, the fast friction draws a whine from you.

“Yeah?” He growls and leans his helmet directly against your face. The cool beskar touching your skin is heavenly.

“Yeah.” You moan, and your hips begin their rhythm again.

This time it’s not just you moving. Din finally grinds up into you, and you see stars. Your underwear sticks to your sticky core, but you don’t care.

Not when you and Din rut against each other and his hands chart a path all over you. One hand slides up to your neck, anchoring you close to him. The other moves to your back, sliding up to bunch your tank top in his grasp.

It’s too hot now, and you’re wearing too many clothes.

So you weakly draw away from his hold to reach up and yank your top off.

Then you wiggle the last bit of the jump suit off, trying to let your hips and legs be free. But it’s hard.

Din even chuckles at your struggle, and you shoot him a look, annoyed. Patiently, he helps slide the material down until it pools down your legs.

Now you’re simply in your underwear, completely bare before him.

The sensation of his gloved hands running up your stomach, across your back, reverently taking in every inch of your bare soft skin, it melts you.

“Beautiful,” Din breathes in awe.

Then one of his gloved hands crawls up to knead your breast in his grasp, pinching your nipple. Your head falls back, and your hips return to seek relief. Grinding against him without the jumpsuit, the friction is so much stronger, a delicious undercurrent making you want more.

“Din,” You sob, feeling the pleasure build fast.

“Want you inside of me,” you whimper quickly getting drunk on him.

He cusses again sharp, dragging you harder against his clothed cock.

A loss comes when his hands leave your body, but wearily your eyes open once you feel him move to his pant buckle. Eagerly you join in to help.

His cock in your hand is warm. He’s thick, delicious in size. He’s already leaking, and possessed by something raw you lean down to lightly spit on his cock. Din groans so loud you think it rattles your bones.

Stroking his cock slow, you love feeling his mess mix with your spit.

He quickly hisses your name.

“Inside now,” he urges, a desperate man. Clutching at your hips hard, he practically draws you up.

Who are you to deny your mandalorian?

He helps slide off your stick underwear, now fully bare.

Before you sink down on him, you lean closer to his helmet.

You don’t have to say anything. You simply look at him, a final reassurance to see if he wants this the way you want him.

A gloved hand curls up to your face, cradling your sweaty face, stroking your cheek. His touch is fond, and it rocks you more than anything.

He nods firm, so sure.

So you sink down on him, guiding him into you. Both you and him moan and the world implodes in the most beautiful way.

When you were younger and around the veteran pilots, they used to share tales of how they’d christen their ships. Back then, you couldn’t imagine bringing anyone into this sacred space to do that.

Now you don’t want Din to leave it.

A fervid raw desperation has you clinging to him, Din touches you so protectively, keeping you close. His hands clutch you firm, like he’s worried you could fly away from him at any moment.

Needing to be closer, you curl against his neck. You ache to kiss his skin. But the smell of gunpowder, of something beautifully musky, purely Din, floods your mind and makes your mouth water.

His pace grows sloppy, and you feel it coming too.

“Where?” He slurs urgently.

“Inside, got the implant,” you mutter half dazed, but when you feel his cock twitch inside you moan embarrassingly loud.

“Inside Din please please please.” You now beg, wanting to feel him so badly.

“Not until you come first, wanna feel you.” Din demands growling back, and it pushes you over the edge.

Your climax knocks you into another realm. You’re floating. Din follows you over not long after with the deepest groan.

His warmth fills you, even feel it leaking out, causing you to whimper so content.

Exhausted you flop against his chest loving the cool press of his armor against your bare skin. Then a part of you hisses to pull away. Until Din’s helmet gently leans to rest against your head, and his gloved fingers tenderly stroke your back keeping you in place.

“So… you ever done that before in here?” Din asks, partially joking but still curious.

You shake your head no.

“You’re the only one.” You reveal.

His hand tracing across your skin suddenly stops. Then it fully draws across you to draw you closer to him in a soft like embrace.

An aching adoration for this man cements itself into you. It’s now etched into your heart and now your ship. Maybe the two are the same.

After this night, you find him everywhere now.

Anytime he or you return back from a mission, one seeks the other out.

Din and Grogu now even rest in your quarters.

The lodging here is small, but it’s become your makeshift home. Grogu snuggles up warm among the blanket pile you’ve made for him on the extra cot. And Din sleeps beside you in your bed.

You believed it was something sacred to know a mandalorian, but you realize it’s a true honor to find one seeking rest beside you.

Bathed in the moonlight leaking into your room, you and Din stare at each other lying side by side.

You wish he could relax more, maybe take off his armor.

But remaining helmeted, you understand his creed and don’t want to push. It’s just a small piece of you being selfish and wanting to see him.

“What’s wrong?” He notices your silence.

“I wish I could make this more comfortable for you.” Is the best way you can tell him.

He chuckles.

“Don’t worry, I’m fine.”

To even prove it he settles deeper among the pillows sliding closer to you.

“Nicer than the cot that I have on Nevarro.”

You almost laugh. He’s so endearing sometimes and doesn’t even realize it.

But you’re reminded he does have a home.

“What’s your place like on Nevarro?” You ask about it.

“It’s good, simple.” Such a boring classic Din answer.

“Maybe… one day you can see it.” That addition he makes has your heart racing.

“Yeah, I’d like that” you nod, grateful for the offer.

Slowly your eyes close on their own now.

“Brown,” until suddenly he blurts out a random color.

Wearily opening your eyes blinking at him a bit confused.

“My eyes… they’re brown.” He reveals.

A soft grateful smile warms your face as you thank him.

You fall asleep beside him, wondering about his home, what it would be like to wake up and see his beautiful brown eyes.

But those daydreams get shoved away fast.

Missions begin piling up. The empire trash is getting sneakier, working faster in the shadows. It keeps everyone busy. You barely see Din. When you do the exchanges are brief, simple glances or even short catch ups.

Ward eyes you and Din suspicious but of course aware.

Approaching Din you try avoiding the colonel’s gaze as she leaves.

That’s when you spot the ship that flew in yesterday.

“You wanted… this hunk of junk?” You dubiously stare at the razor crest. This is the beloved ship Din apparently had been searching high and low for.

“She flies better than she looks.” Din defends.

Grogu excitedly waddles up the ramp eager to be inside the old ship.

You still eye the gunship worried about how good she can protect the cargo she’ll soon be carrying.

“Might not be a x-wing, but I trust this ship with my life.” Din senses your apprehension.

You give him a soft elbow nudge that barely makes his budge. But he playfully nudges you back, and a grin tugs at your lips.

“Ugh,” Zeb groans with faux disgust seeing you and Din. You roll your eyes.

“You know, I notice with all the markings… this ship looks like it could fit in with a gold squadron.” You tell Zeb nudging your chin towards the paint.

He barks a laugh.

“Wouldn’t that be a sight. This piece of junk flying with us?” Zeb muses.

“I don’t know…I think the crest would fight right in.” You shrug, fond.

“Yeah? Think we could get Mando in a uniform?” Zeb adds and Din flat out shuts that down with a hard no.

It makes you and Zeb snicker.

Now you head in to examine the ship yourself and look around. The older metal, the antique design and layout, it really doesn’t ease your apprehension, but you trust Din.

“Your beskar boy has shit taste picking a ship like this.” Zed snorts heading up to the cockpit.

“Shut up.” You practically hiss at him.

But he leaves you and Din alone.

It’s hard to navigate this strange space lingering between you and him, as if neither you or him know how to move.

So you decide to be brave. You grab his hand and squeeze it.

“Be safe,” you nod to the mandalorian.

He quietly nods back, gathering your hand in his. He squeezes back just as firm.

You head out of the razor crest and into the bright afternoon sun. From the cockpit window you spot your boys. Din nods a farewell, and Grogu spotting you waves down from the control panel. In his grasp is your silly little monster charm.

Not moving from your spot, you keep your eyes on the ship until it fades into the jump of hyperspeed.

You don’t hear from Din for half a month.

It’s nothing new. You’re had months where missions kept you both busy. And from how displeased she was with the last mission, Ward apparently has him working on something fierce.

Then another week passes, and you’re sent on a protective mission to Chandrilla.

It takes your full attention. But the entire time your mind is on Din. Are he and Grogu safe? Is everything going okay?

“You must be in love.” The Senator you’re escorting on the mission says suddenly. Embarrassment floods you fast.

“I’m sorry?” You ask slightly confused.

He smiles at you kindly.

“You’ve been sighing, seem distant. Like a heroine kept away from a lover.”

Shit.

“I apologize. I promised I’m focused.” You reassure him, and the senator laughs.

“It’s fine, my dear,” he reassures, then leans in eagerly. “So tell me about the lucky person.”

Now here you are telling this Senator about your awful admiration for the mandalorian.

“Oh, a mandalorian.” He whispers in awe. “They’re a rare kind. He must be quite a sight.”

He is. But he’s more than that.

He’s kind and unbelievingly sharp. Strikingly powerful, and unwaveringly supportive. There’s a compassion that walks hand in hand with Din’s firm courage.

“Oh you got it bad,” the Senator laughs.

It’s unfortunately true.

How fast and quickly this mandalorian has disarmed you, but what else would you have expected from a warrior like him? Maybe you were doomed from the start to fight against feelings for such a fierce conqueror.

The thoughts of him keep you going through the mission.

Arriving at base camp, you instead find there’s already commotion.

Din has returned, but he’s not alone.

Jabba’s son, Rotta the Hutt, is with him.

At least Din and the baby are safe.

Standing off overlooking the beach, Din patiently watches Grogu play among the beach waves with the young Hutt.

“So, looks like you’ve been busy.” You say moving to his side.

“Tell me about it.” He sighs.

The rundown he gives you is surface level, getting tied up among the Hutt twins while trying to search for the infamous Commander Coin.

“Things might get hairy soon. I’m heading back to Nevarro to lie low for a while.”

His somber tone says more looms.

“Din…” you mutter cautiously.

He turns to you.

“If you’re in any danger…know that I want to help.” You urge, hoping he’ll tell you more.

“I know.” He nods, yet says nothing more.

Please, your heart begs, please let me stay by your side and fight with you.

But you know fighting against this adamant man is a losing battle. So you sigh and reach down to your belt.

The charm you have on today is your favorite, and you hand it to him.

“Remember to bring it back to me.” You can’t even look at him because your eyes suddenly feel like they could spill over a river of tears.

His gloved hand cradles your face, letting you fully look at him.

“We’ll be fine.” His voice soothes you steeled with resolution.

You nod, fighting harder against tears.

Then Din leans down. He presses his helmet against your forehead. You close your eyes and lean into the cool beskar.

With a goodbye hug to Grogu, you tell the sweet little soul to keep an eye on his dad.

This time, you don’t have the strength to watch them leave.

You throw yourself into any available mission.

Ward must sense why you’re doing this and in a punishment of sorts, she instead sticks you on filing reports.

“Mando will be fine,” Teva tries to reassure you.

You hope he will be. Days pass and you try to settle into a routine.

But then a group of Anzellans arrive in a panic. You’d been working on your ship when they landed.

Currently they rapidly relay a message to Ward. She patiently tries to listen to all of their worried voices.

“What’s going on?” You ask Wolf.

“Apparently Mando and the kid are stuck on Nal Hutta… don’t think it’s looking good.” He mutters back somber.

Absolute dread is unleashed in you.

You don’t realize you’re moving until you’re standing right before the colonel.

“Let me join the rescue strike.” You urge.

Ward turns to you, then sighs, even says your name a bit heartbroken. That says enough.

“Are we really considering not going?!” Your voice raises, shocked and upset.

“It’s not that simple.” Ward, calm and composed, tries to clarify, but just hearing that line feels like an alarm goes off in your head.

“What isn’t simple?! He’s one of us. We have to rescue them.” You argue back harder.

“There are protocols. And with the intel and alliance we’ve tried establishing with the Hutts we can’t just strike in, ranger.” Ward sharply explains, putting you in your place.

Anger burns through your veins.

“She’s right, colonel…” Teva suddenly speaks up.

“Mando is one of us.” He agrees with you.

More Delphi officers stand up.

Before Ward can even say anything, you turn on your heels and head out of the hanger zipping up your flight suit.

You don’t care if this will get you in trouble, hell even dishonorably discharged. Din needs you. Grogu needs you.

Then you hear a few others arrive in the hangar.

Ward calls out your name. This is it.

Turning towards her, you ready yourself to accept whatever punishment. Yet, you instead see your commander in her flight suit as well. Your eyes can’t help but widen.

She sighs yet gives you a half grin, understanding.

“I should sit you out on this mission.”

“I know. I’ve accepted that I’ll be doing reports for the rest of the year.” You sleepily shrug.

Her smirks grows bigger.

“Try two years,” she says heading to her ship.

You’ll happily accept that too.

The twin’s palace is heavily guarded, and it’s a true dogfight on Nal Hutta.

Then Din’s voice electrifies the coms as he reports in with Colonel Ward. Absolute relief blooms in your chest, and you feel like crying. He’s alive.

Now you fly harder and faster than you ever have. It reminds you of Endor. That final battle all you thought of was the hope right before your eyes, knowing something precious was so close and needed to be defended.

That’s what this feels like.

You manage to knock out a few droid ships, but the main focus is on the palace.

Yet Din remains inside.

And Ward gives the command to light the place up.

“Get out of there. Please.” You whisper out loud or maybe to the force itself.

Then, the stronghold goes under flames.

You and the others circle around, flying out of the line of fire from the explosion. Yet your stomach stays in knots.

“Anyone got eyes on Mando?” Wolf asks before you can.

Out from the smoke, there among the water below, you spot them. Your boys are alive.

A watery relieved laugh escapes you as you blink away the tears.

“Go pick up the trash, Zeb.” Ward jokes, and you can’t even be mad.

Knowing they’re safe is all that matters.

Vibrating with so much emotion, you land besides Zeb’s ship hoping to see them.

But Ward of course arrives first.

You instead idle by your x-wing, pretending to be checking your engines. Ward tells him the truth about the Hutts that even you didn’t know. So that’s why she finally agreed to go.

“And… we don’t leave our own behind.” Her words resound within you.

Din deflects, saying how he’s not with the New Republic.

“Sure you aren’t Mando, sure you aren’t.” She says.

“If you aren't one of us… Who do you think helped convince us to come?”

Ward’s insinuating tone shoots a shock up your spine.

You keep your gaze on your ship, refusing to even look their way. Focusing on mindlessly keeping busy, you don’t notice footsteps approaching until you move out from under the wing. There Din stands waiting.

He’s here.

Grogu cries gleefully, and your attention turns to him. You eagerly accept him into your arms hugging him tight.

“I’m so proud of you. You must have been so brave, my little ranger.” You even press a kiss to his fuzzy head, addressing him as the courageous officer he is.

The baby coos back fond, embracing you with his sweet but sturdy little arms.

While he’s still in your hold, your eyes open to find Din.

He stares unwavering at you, and your eyes water again.

“Welcome back,” you croak out.

Din nods, then, he raises up your favorite charm you gave him.

“Had to bring this back.”

With a watery laugh, you shake your head.

“Your dad is so silly,” you half whisper to Grogu who giggles, agreeing.

A sigh leaves Din but, in a few steps, he walks towards you.

Then you and Grogu are gathered into his embrace. You immediately wrap one of your arms around Din.

“Thank you… for coming for us.” Din’s voice is gentle, grateful.

“Always.” You answer back with a resounding truth.

Your job is tied here, and you might fly for the sake of the New Republic. But you believe your true wings, your heart’s flight navigation, now will always include a path for and to Din Djarin.

Currently he chats with Rotta, from what you heard might be staying here too.

Once you head into the mess hall Ward calls your name. With a patient knowing grin, she holds out the datapad with the promise of the paperwork you knew would be waiting for you.

Logging in with your chain link, a new message suddenly chimes onto the monitor from an unknown contact.

It contains a coordinates location to Nevarro along with a single message attached.

Stop by whenever, we’ll be waiting

Quickly, you start the reports happily accepting your punishment.

—

The bar just off campus is loud, music thumping through the floor, glasses clinking, people packed shoulder-to-shoulder around sticky tables.

And unfortunately for your sanity, Bucky Barnes looks ridiculously good tonight. He always looks good. Senior defenseman for the college hockey team, six feet tall, two hundred and something pounds of all thick muscle. He makes every girl on campus swoon.

He’s leaning against the bar in a dark henley with the sleeves shoved up his forearms, laughing at something Steve said.

You swirl the straw in your drink and try very hard not to stare.

Natasha slides beside you with a knowing smirk. “You’ve been looking at him for twenty minutes.”

“I have not.”

“You absolutely have.”

You take another sip, scanning your eyes elsewhere to prove a point - you haven’t been looking at him… and mostly because being slightly buzzed makes it easier to exist around him without spontaneously combusting.

Across the room, Bucky glances over.

Your stomach immediately does a full Olympic floor routine.

Then because the universe hates you he starts walking toward your table.

“Oh my God,” you whisper. “Nat!”

“You’re so screwed,” Nat says gleefully. She cocked her head, "Figuratively… and maybe literally too. Get it!” She winks before she dashes off.

Traitor.

Bucky stops beside your chair, one hand resting on the table. “Hey, doll.”

That voice should genuinely be illegal on a college campus.

“Hi,” you say, trying to sound normal and not like your brain has fully blue-screened.

“Havin’ fun tonight?”

“A little,” you admit with a laugh. “Maybe I’m kinda buzzed.”

“Kinda?” He arches a brow as the corners of his mouth twitches.

You point at him accusingly. “Don’t be mean to me. I’m delicate.”

That finally gets a real laugh out of him and the sound makes you warm in all sorts of places.

You: 0

Crush on Bucky: Terminal

Bucky looks down at your mostly empty glass. “Need water?”

Probably. Definitely.

He’s standing close enough that you can smell his cologne, and his thigh brushes yours when someone squeezes past behind him.

Your heart practically cartwheels.

You smile up at him and say, “But I’m having such a good time.” Something soft flashes across his face then.

Like maybe, just maybe, you’re not the only one crushing here.

—-

You feel two strong arms wrap around you, hugging you tightly from behind. “We did so good honey,” Bucky murmurs into your ear.

“We sure did,” you replied, your voice filled with awe. “Gosh Buck, the love I feel…”

“I know,” Bucky replies, pressing a kiss to your temple. “So glad for that night in the bar. Gave me everything I could ever want and more.”

1.

You stretched your arms above your head, letting out a sharp sigh as the bounty’s unconscious body thudded to the floor of the Razor Crest’s cargo hold.

“That’s one way to say job well done,” you muttered, brushing space dust from your jacket sleeve before slinking into the co-pilot’s chair.

Behind you, Din Djarin closed the ramp and began checking the carbonite chamber, ensuring the target was fully frozen and secure. He hadn’t spoken much since you reached the ship — not that he was ever particularly chatty — but you chalked that up to the Mando brand of "taciturn charm."

“Well, that was fun,” you said brightly, spinning halfway in the chair to face him. “You always do jobs this entertaining, or was this just to impress me?”

His helmet tilted slightly toward you. “It wasn’t supposed to be fun.”

“No? Shame. You looked pretty good out there.” You gave him a teasing grin and leaned back, resting your boots on the edge of the control panel.

He turned fully toward you now, helmet glinting in the light of hyperspace pre-jump. “You almost got shot.”

“Yeah, but you didn’t let that happen.” You pointed a finger at him, lazily. “Knight in shiny beskar and all that.”

“…I hired you for your recon work. That’s all.”

You shrugged. “Sure, Mando. I’m just saying, you throw a girl against a wall to shield her from a blaster bolt, she might start thinking you care.”

He walked past you to the cockpit, flicking switches like nothing had happened. “We leave in ten.”

You laughed under your breath and leaned back further, hands behind your head. “You’re cute when you pretend I don’t fluster you.”

No response. Just the cold silence of a man fully immersed in his pre-flight check.

Not even a head tilt this time.

You pursed your lips, then smirked.

Alright. That one might have been too subtle…for him.

But you weren’t going anywhere just yet.

2.

You leaned against a stack of fuel canisters, watching Din as he crouched next to the hull of the Razor Crest, speaking low and serious with Peli Motto. Something about coolant lines or hyperdrive relays—you weren’t listening. Mostly because he’d taken off his gloves again, and there was something about watching his fingers flex against a piece of machinery that scrambled your thoughts like eggs on a Tatooine skillet.

Grogu was toddling near your feet, cooing up at you. You bent down and gave his ear a little scratch. “He’s lucky he’s got you, kid,” you said. “Shame you’re the only one in this partnership with any emotional intelligence.”

Grogu blinked at you slowly, then burbled in agreement. Or maybe hunger.

“Mando!” you called out, hopping off the crates and sauntering toward the ship. “Since we’re stuck in Mos Eisley for a bit… how about I buy you a drink?”

He didn’t even look up from where he was tightening something under the ship’s belly.

“No.”

You arched an eyebrow. “You sure? Could be a bonding moment.”

“No.”

You sighed, pushing your tongue against your cheek to hide the smile. “Are you afraid I’ll drink you under the table? Or that you’ll have fun?”

“I don’t drink on the job.”

“We’re not on a job,” you replied smoothly. “We’re in between. There’s a difference.”

He finally looked up at you, visor catching the Tatooine twin suns. “We don’t need to bond.”

You opened your mouth, but then shut it.

Instead, you gave a mock salute and walked off muttering, “Alright, Casanova, loud and clear.”

Later, you were helping Peli hook up a new motivator coil when she snorted and said, “You’re wasting your time, sweetheart.”

You turned your head. “Excuse me?”

“With him,” she nodded toward Din, who was now sitting on the ramp with Grogu in his lap, feeding him a little packet of something green and mushy. “You’ve been laying it on thicker than Bantha butter, and he’s just… nothing.”

You groaned, flopping back onto the sand beside her. “Is he dense, or just emotionally stunted?”

“Both,” Peli replied cheerfully. “Don’t take it personally. I’ve seen rancors with better romantic instincts.”

You covered your face with your hands. “Hopeless.”

“Yep.”

You peeked through your fingers, catching sight of Grogu now waddling toward you with food smeared across his mouth.

“Well,” you murmured, sitting up and letting him crawl into your lap, “at least one of them likes me.”

Peli patted your shoulder, greasy handprint and all. “That’s a start.”

3.

The alley was narrow, the kind of cramped, shadowed crevice that smelled like rust and desperation. You ducked in first, tugging Din’s arm behind you just as blaster fire cracked against the duracrete wall.

“I told you that guy looked too twitchy to be a clean drop,” you hissed.

“You waited until we were already inside to tell me that,” Din replied, voice flat but calm as ever. You could practically hear the slight raise of his brow under the helmet.

“Call it a hunch,” you muttered.

Another volley of shots whizzed past, and Din shoved you further into the shadows. He followed in right after, pinning you both against the wall as the enemy patrol ran past. There was barely a breath between you. His arm was braced next to your head, his chest pressed fully against yours, armor cold even through your clothes.

You tilted your head up slowly, voice low. “You know, if you wanted me pressed up against you, Mando, you could’ve just asked.”

His helmet was angled so close you could see your own smirk reflected in the beskar.

“Stay quiet,” he said.

“That’s all you’re gonna say? Really?” You leaned in just a little, voice all honey and trouble. “No comment on the close quarters? The dim lighting? The way your knee is pressed against my—?”

“I said quiet.”

You let out a long, exaggerated sigh, head thudding back against the wall. “I’m just saying, most people would at least acknowledge the tension here.”

Din shifted his weight slightly, and you thought maybe—maybe—that you’d finally gotten through.

Instead, he pulled back just enough to glance outside the alley. “They’re gone. Let’s move.”

And then, just like that, the warmth of his body was gone, his cape brushing your arm as he slipped back into the light.

You stood there for a second longer, staring after him.

“Unbelievable,” you muttered, jogging to catch up. “I was practically breathing pick-up lines in your face, and you gave me nothing. Not even a grunt.”

4.

It had been a long day. The kind that sank into your bones and made even the air feel heavy.

The bounty had fought harder than expected, and Din had taken the brunt of it — bruised ribs, a split lip under the helmet, and a noticeable limp that he stubbornly refused to acknowledge.

Now, inside the dim hull of the Razor Crest, the silence between the two of you felt comfortable. Grogu was already asleep in his hammock, snoring softly like some tiny, ancient gremlin.

Din was sitting on the edge of the cot, working one-handed to undo a section of his chest plate. You noticed the stiffness in his shoulders, the way he winced every time he shifted his weight.

“Here,” you said gently, crossing the space to kneel in front of him. “Let me help.”

He started to protest, of course. “I’ve got it.”

You gave him a look, one you knew he could feel even if he couldn’t see your face. “I didn’t ask if you could. I said let me.”

He hesitated… and then let his hands drop.

Your fingers moved carefully, familiar now with the clasps and locks of his beskar. You worked slowly, undoing the armor piece by piece — chest plate, gauntlets, pauldrons — setting each one down beside you with reverence, like they mattered. Like he mattered.

His undershirt was dark with sweat and streaked with grime. You resisted the urge to reach for a cloth and clean him up. Instead, your hands hovered near the edge of his vambrace.

“You always take care of everyone else,” you said softly. “Let someone take care of you, just this once.”

He was quiet for a long moment. Then: “You don’t have to.”

“I know.” You smiled faintly, not looking up. “Doesn’t mean I don’t want to.”

You unlatched the vambrace slowly. His forearm tensed beneath your fingers, the bare skin warm.

He didn’t say anything to that. But he didn’t stop you, either.

When you finally looked up, you found his visor fixed squarely on you. The silence stretched between you like a held breath.

If he felt anything—warmth, tension, the way your fingers lingered against the edge of his wrist—he didn’t say.

Just a small nod.

And then: “Thank you.”

You nodded back, lips curled in the barest smile. “Anytime.”

You stood and walked past Grogu’s hammock, brushing a hand over his ears as you went.

From behind you, you could feel the weight of Din’s stare following you the whole way.

5.

The Razor Crest creaked under the weight of frost, a low groan echoing through the hull as wind battered the exterior.

You were both grounded — a storm too thick to fly through and a bounty who was likely just as frozen as the damn planet. The heating system, true to its usual charm, had sputtered out three hours ago.

You were curled into yourself on the floor of the ship, back against the wall, arms wrapped tightly around your knees. Your jacket was decent, but nothing short of a portable sun was going to fight the kind of chill creeping into your bones.

Grogu was warm in his little insulated pod, snuggled deep in his blanket nest, occasionally letting out a snore.

Across the room, Din sat on a crate, sharpening one of his vibroblades like it was just any other night. No sign of discomfort. No sign he was feeling the same way your teeth were chattering.

You didn’t say anything. You weren’t sure if it was pride or exhaustion, but the silence stretched.

Until finally, without looking up, he spoke.

“You’re cold.”

“No kidding,” you muttered, breath puffing visibly in front of your face. “What gave it away? The blue lips or the full-body shiver?”

He didn’t rise to the sarcasm. Instead, he reached into the compartment behind him and pulled out a heavy, worn blanket.

“Come here,” he said, scooting to the edge of the crate and patting the space beside him.

You blinked at him. “You’re inviting me to share body heat?”

“Purely practical.”

You snorted as you stood, dragging yourself over. “Right. Not because you enjoy my company or anything ridiculous like that.”

He didn’t answer, just opened the blanket as you sat down beside him.

It was warmer than you expected. His armor had retained some heat, and beneath it, his body was a furnace. The blanket went around both of you, his arm loosely draped behind your shoulders to keep it up.

The silence settled again.

Then, a little softer: “Better?”

You tilted your head toward him. “If I said no, would you let me shove my hands under your shirt?”

He didn’t so much as flinch. “No.”

You laughed, but it was quiet. Tired. The kind of laugh that cracked into something tender. You leaned your head against his shoulder, your voice dropping low.

“...Thanks, Din.”

He didn’t say anything. But you felt it — the shift. A subtle lean into you. The way his fingers adjusted the blanket more tightly around you both.

And then Grogu stirred in his pod, peeking out, blinking at the sight of you nestled together. He blinked once. Twice. And let out a soft, amused coo.

You met his gaze with a smirk.

+1

You stopped calling him Din.

Not on purpose. It just… slipped away.

It had started subtly: the teasing softened, the smiles dimmed. You kept your hands to yourself more, kept your jokes to Grogu instead. You still worked with Din, still followed him into the fire and out again, but the space between you felt wider than it ever had.

And maybe it was for the best.

Maybe you'd crossed a line, misread something. Maybe your flirting had made him uncomfortable, and he was too kind—or too stoic—to say it outright.

You hadn’t realized how much it hurt to pull away until you were halfway across a frozen plain, following behind him in silence, and he didn’t say a word about the wind biting at your skin.

He always offered the blanket before. Always stood just a little closer.

Now?

Nothing.

You tried to tell yourself it was fine. You were fine. You weren’t here to fall in love with a man who never showed his face. You were here because you wanted to be.

You didn’t expect him to care.

Then one night, as the ship drifted through hyperspace and Grogu was snoring softly in his hammock, Din stood in the middle of the hull, hands loose at his sides. Watching you.

“Why are you avoiding me?” he asked.

You blinked from where you sat on your bunk, caught mid-polishing your blaster. “I’m not.”

“You are.”

You looked down. “I just figured maybe I was… pushing too much. Saying things I shouldn’t have. Being… flirty.” The word stung coming out of your mouth. “Didn’t want to make you uncomfortable.”

There was a long pause. You expected silence. Maybe a brush-off. But instead:

“You weren’t.”

You glanced up. He stepped closer, the quiet clink of his armor unusually loud in the quiet. “I thought you knew.”

“Knew what?”

He hesitated, then said carefully, “I was flirting back.”

You blinked. “You what?”

He tilted his head. “You remember the first job? When we caught that bounty together, and I told you to leave right after?”

You nodded slowly.

“I made sure you got a full share. Paid for your passage off-world. Protected you during the shootout. I don’t do that for strangers.”

You swallowed. “That’s not—”

“And on Tatooine,” he cut in, voice quiet but firm. “You asked me to bond over a drink. I told you we didn’t need to bond.”

You furrowed your brow. “Exactly. You turned me down.”

“No,” he said. “I said, ‘We don’t need to bond.’ What I meant was—we already do. I didn’t think I needed more than what we had.”

Your mouth opened, then closed.

“In the alley,” he continued, stepping even closer, “when I had you pinned against the wall… You think I didn’t want that? That I wasn’t aware of how close we were?”

You felt your pulse jump.

“I wanted it,” he said simply. “I just couldn’t say it then. Couldn’t risk you thinking it was anything less than mutual.”

You sat up straighter, the air tight in your lungs.

He took another step, now close enough that you could feel the shift of his weight. “When you helped me take off my armor… I don’t let anyone do that. No one touches it. No one touches me.”

“Din—”

“And the blanket? On the ice planet?” His voice gentled. “That wasn’t practical. That was me finding the only excuse I had to hold you. To make sure you were okay.”

Your heart thundered in your chest.

“I thought I was being clear,” he said, finally. “But I guess I’m not great at… this.”

You blinked rapidly, trying to catch up. “You… you’ve been flirting this whole time?”

“As much as I know how to.”

There was a beat of silence.

And then, softly—warmly—he added, “So. You gonna keep pulling away? Or are we finally gonna admit we’ve been on the same page since the beginning?”

You stood, moving toward him until you were close enough to touch his chestplate.

“You could’ve said something.”

“I just did.”

You smiled, helpless and stunned. “Guess we’re both kind of hopeless.”

His hand brushed your arm, hesitant but deliberate. “Maybe. But not anymore.”

And just like that, all the quiet tension between you—weeks of half-meant jokes and unspoken affection—finally settled into something real. Something shared.

And just like that, all the quiet tension between you—weeks of half-meant jokes and unspoken affection—finally settled into something real. Something shared.

Not lost in translation anymore.

"Dear fellow constituents" Bucky started, holding the crumpled and unfolded paper out in front of him "It is my solem duty to say that you are being underserved-"

"Too mopey" You hummed, sitting across the kitchen counter, fiddling with the thread falling loose from your sweater.

"Mopey?"

"Mhm" You nodded, hopping up from your seat, rounding the corner "You need something that'll grab people's attention"

"So I should turn up with a machine gun?"

"No, that'll grab people's gunfire. I mean something with a little more…"

"Oomf?"

"Yeah! Sometimes it's handy that you're ancient"

"I'm old, doll, not ancient"

"Whatever you say grandpa" You took the pen from behind his ear, grabbing one of the thirteen discarded speeches screwed up on the countertop "How about- this"

You presented it to him and he started to read aloud, half waiting for the damn punchline.

"Dear fellow constituents, you're idiots" He looked to you "Nice touch, honey method huh?"

"Well they are! They're too stupid to see that Congressman Fuckface is trying to screw them over!"

"That's not his name, Sweetheart"

"I know" You rolled your eyes, arms encircling Bucky's waist "I just- this whole speech writing thing is bull, you'll do what's right for them, I know you will. They just have to open their eyes and see it"

"Thank you baby" He hummed, pressing a kiss to your head "Whaddya say you get ready for bed while I finish up here? I can come back to it in the morning"

"No, no" You sighed, pushing yourself up to sit on the kitchen bench "You're important to me and this is important to you so that means it's important to me too"

"Have you been seeing Dr Raynor without me?"

"Oh God no that woman's insufferable"

He cracked a smile, a small laugh even, something you hadn't seen in a while.

"Now c'mon" You started, all fake serious, hands on his shoulders "Let's write a motherfucking speech"

"You know you have a foul mouth, right?"

You smirked, leaning in close, lips brushing his ear "Didn't hear you complaining at your desk the other day"

"No" He hummed, his hand squeezing your waist.

You were soon interrupted by an electronic little song, trilling along underneath you.

"Dishwasher" He mumbled, reluctantly pulling back.

He moved to open the door, your legs hanging over it.

"Spread 'em, Sweetheart"

"But Congressman Barnes, what would your dear fellow constituents think?"

"That I'd look weird turning up without an arm on Monday"

"Fine" You sighed exaggeratedly, granting him access to the dishwasher.

He took out his arm, steam flooding out with it, and clicked it back into place, with that added little twirl for effect. He said it was a locking mechanism, but you were happy with the conclusion that he was your Disney Princess, and this was his dress spin.

"That new rinse aid work?" You asked, noticing how shiny it looked.

"Yeah, good call, doll" He pressed a chaste kiss to your lips, eyes flicking over his arm again as he pulled back "Just like new"

"Perfect for speech writing, huh?"

He shook his head, grin betraying him "You really are persistent, aren't you?"

"If I remember correctly-" You grabbed his waist, pulling him in to stand between your legs "That's one of the many, many things that made you fall for me"

"One of many alright"

Bucky leaned in, pressing long, open-mouthed kisses to your neck and jaw, hands skirting up your sides.

"So" You grabbed the fresh notepad you kept in your pocket, stealing his pen again "You wanna talk about taxes, right?"

"God you're stubborn" His forehead fell to your shoulder, grateful for your help but really not wanting it right now.

"Sure am" You scribbled something on the page before using the end of your pen to tilt Bucky's face up, puppy eyes boring into your soul "Nice try, but we're finishing this damn speech if it kills us both"

"Sweetheart, if i'm dead, who's gonna give the speech?"

"I'm sure someone will read it at your eulogy"

"Nice, real nice. Let's just get back to writing it"

"There's the spirit!" Your legs hooked around his hips, keeping him close "Don't worry, Congressman" You cooed "You'll get your reward later"

Bucky immediately snatched the pen from your fingers, writing faster than he'd ever written before. Like, worryingly fast.

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

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

"No. Are you?"

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

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

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

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

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

"I love you too."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Do you need some help, darling?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Yeah, sweetheart. Whenever you feel ready."

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

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

"So am I… You don't know how much…"

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

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

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

"I… Can you say my name, Din?"

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

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

"Yes. Wherever you want, darling."

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

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

"Yes."

"Can you – describe it again?"

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

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

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

"And your eyes are brown."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"You like my nose, baby?"

"Yes… I think it's very beautiful."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Whatever you want, sweetheart…"

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

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

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

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

"Do you want me to show you?"

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

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

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

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

"Yes. I would love that."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Feels – very good."

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

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

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

"I like both. Equally."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"I just – want you. Please."

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

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

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

"Do you want it inside?"

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

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

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

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

"Yes."

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

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

"I love you."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Yes. Yes, Din, so much… Please."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Yes… So good – Din."

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

"Are you sleepy, princess?"

"Yes. So sleepy, Din."

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

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

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

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

“Here I am,” he says, and you note the amusement in his voice. “Question is…do you know where you are?”

You stare at him, unblinking for several moments, then your eyes narrow and you swat at his chest plate. “Are you implying that I’m drunk!?!”

“Was just a question sweetheart,” he chuckles. “But I think it’s time I take you home.”

“But I’m having such a good time!” Your lower lip extends in a pout.

“I can see that. But home is a good time too.”

“If you take that helmet off it will be…” you mumble before giggling into his neck.

He sighs dramatically then grabs your waist to hoist you over his shoulder.

“HEY!” you say weakly, legs and arms dangling loosely. “I can walk.”

He doesn’t answer and heads toward the door.

When you’re safely inside the Razorcrest he gently sets you down, your body sliding along the hard length of his and his arms locking around your waist.

“Are you sure you’re ok?” The rumble of his voice is right there, and you lean in, grasping the bottom edge of his helmet.

His grip tightens, pulling you flush against him as you remove the helmet and his eyes instantly drop to your mouth.

“Mmhm,” you whisper, your face inching forward.

He kisses the corner of your mouth, brushing his lips to yours ever so gently. “You’re going to be my undoing,” he murmurs.

“That was always my plan,” you purr.

You’re in the kitchen preparing dinner with Bucky. Alpine is winding around his ankles as the record player hums softly in the background. The front door opens and your daughter calls out for the two of you. There is something in the tone of her voice that makes both of you look up immediately.

“Everything okay, doll?”

“Maybe?”

You and Bucky exchange a look. She drops her backpack by the table. “So, we started learning about the sixties today,” she replies as she pulls out her history textbook and flips through chunks of pages.

You see the page before Bucky does. There’s a grainy black-and-white photo of the Winter Soldier. Underneath, reads:

JAMES BUCHANAN BARNES — Soviet operative linked to numerous assassinations during the Cold War, including the assassination of President John F. Kennedy.

Your daughter’s gaze bounces between the two of you. Bucky closes his eyes and you swear that you see his soul exit his body.

“Dad, you assassinated JFK?!”

“Well,” Bucky says slowly, “that’s one hell of a way to start dinner.” After a beat, he continues, “Honey, remember that my mind was controlled by Hydra at the time.”

Your daughter, your sweet, Barnes child, walks to him, wrapping her arms around his waist.

“She really walked us through the chapter like normal, Dad,” she mutters into his shirt. “I’m just sitting there trying to survive third period and BAM! There’s your government-issued murder glamour shot.”

You let out a snort.

“Everyone started asking me things about daddy, Uncle Steve, Sam. You may get a call from the school.”

Bucky lets out an exasperated sigh.

“Can I cite daddy as a primary source in my essay?”

Simultaneously you and Bucky shout, “No!”

“I can’t promise I won’t do that.”

“You know you could have taken off these stuncuffs before we escaped,” Djarin huffs. “It would makes things easier.”  

He’s crouched down beside you, blaster shots whizzing by your heads as you try to get back to Zeb and the waiting ship.

“Maybe I like you restrained like this,” you murmur.

He lets out a low grunt and you grin, grabbing his bound wrists and dragging him to his feet as you fire a few more shots and make a run for the gangway.

Once you’re safely in the ship, Zeb asks no questions and prepares for takeoff. Djarin leans against the wall, breathing heavily.

“Can you take these off now?” he asks, a playful edge to his voice.

You shake your head no and step closer, pushing on his chest until his back hits the wall. Light fingers dance up his chest until they find the edge of his helmet. You lift, the pull deliberate until his lips are revealed.

You kiss them once, softly, before removing his helmet completely and leaning in, letting the distance collapse as your breath skims his cheek, then the line of his jaw.

“I missed you.” It’s a whisper into his throat, just hovering and you hear his rasp of breath.

Your hand slides to the back of his neck, fingers threading into dark curls, holding him steady as his lips curve upwards. You taste the spot, slow and teasing, and then claim his mouth, swallowing his satisfied moan.

The wind billows through your hair as you stand outside, the party behind you still raging on. You bounce on the balls of your feet, arms curled around yourself, Bucky's suit jacket the only thing keeping you warm as you wait for him to bring the car to you.

That's when it happens.

A hand skims your ass and squeezes. You freeze, blinking in shock.

Rumlow smirks, standing too close for comfort, "Lookin' good, sweetheart— where's Barnes, hm? Leaving a pretty thing like you out here all alone for the vultures. . ."

"She's not alone."

A shaky sigh escapes you at the sight of Bucky, sleeves rolled to his elbows, jaw grinding and silently seething.

Rumlow turns, "She sure seemed like it."

Bucky grins, shows them pearly white teeth, and then swings.

The crack is defeaning, ripping through the quiet of the night, the sick crunch of bone under his fist as it connects with Rumlow's nose.

You gasp, "Buck—"

"Stay there, princess," His hands fist Rumlow's shirt as rivulets of blood pour from his nose, "Gotta make sure this asshole knows not to touch what's mine."

"You ever touch her again," Bucky whispers, his voice so calm it sends a chill down your spine, "You'll be six feet under."

"Fuck you," Rumlow snaps.

Bucky's hand grasps roughly at the back of his neck, turning him around to face you, "Apologise."

Rumlow spits at your heels, leaving a splatter of blood, and Bucky jerks his head forward with a snarl.

"Apologise, otherwise I'll personally send you to Pierce in fucking pieces."

"Bucky," You murmur, "I just wanna go home."

His voice softens when he glances up at you, "We will, babydoll, I'm gonna take you home, but I'm not gonna let him disrespect you and walk away unscathed."

Bucky's hand tightens, fingertips digging into the sides of Rumlow’s throat until he chokes out an apology.

You watch Bucky shove him to the floor, satisfied as he watches the man drop, and then holds a hand out for you.

Your hand slides into his palm, intertwining your fingers, letting him pull you closer— safe and secure.

"You'll always be mine, babydoll," He whispers against your temple.

"I know."

Bucky gaze down at you for a long moment, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead.

"C'mon, let's go home."

The entire evening had been a mistake.

One failure after the other. One wrong glance stacked on the next, following her like vultures throughout the night. Whispers behind her back that tracked her every move, always clinging to her, always taunting.

It had been a disaster, and the worst of it? Bucky didn’t seem to realize.

Not a single worry line appeared on his forehead, his brows never furrowed like they so often did, his eyes never turned into that dark and menacing stare he sometimes came home with after a particular rough day. Nothing. As if gossip didn’t touch or concern him. Well, it obviously did not, because he was James Buchanan Barnes, leader not only of New York City’s underworld but of the underworld of the entire East Coast. He didn’t concern himself with the gossip of the minor families. But she was fair game—and everyone made sure she knew.

Sometimes, YN asked herself how the hell she had ended up as the girlfriend of America’s most notorious mafia leader. She didn’t belong in this world—her family never had troubles with the law or ever even gained a speeding ticket—and yet, she couldn’t withstand the charm of one Bucky Barnes after quite literally running into him on her way home from work. He had insisted on buying her dinner because she had dropped her overly overpriced Whole Foods salad she had just gotten after working another night of grueling overtime at the law firm she had just transferred to. Usually, she wasn’t the type of woman who would agree to dinner with a literal stranger, but something of Bucky Barnes had compelled her to throw everything she knew out of the literal window. It turned out to be the most fun she had had in a while, she had to give him that after hours of flowing, easy conversation, quick banter, and lingering smiles and thrown glances.

The night had ended with his number in her phone—he hadn’t asked for hers because, in his opinion, the woman should have all the power over the matter of reaching out again or not, effectively ghosting the guy she didn’t feel comfortable with in the “worst” case—and from there, everything seemed to be history.

“You are so quiet and far away over there, love.” His smooth, soft words pulled YN right out of her thoughts, but she couldn’t bear to look over at him, sitting on the other side of the backseat of the expensive Mercedes Maybach. Usually, she would hold at least his hand, fingers laced, and his thumb would rub patterns onto her skin, only he knew the meaning of, but not tonight. Tonight, she felt like a peasant dressing up and playing masquerade in the glittering world of the filthy rich. When she didn’t answer, she heard the leather as Bucky slowly turned to her and felt his gaze watching her intently, as if she was a piece of one of the old masters he considered buying—and not to hang it in his brownstone, or townhouse on the Upper East Side, or the family home just outside the city. No, he would lock it away in some vault or another.

YN had never understood it and probably would never understand because she would never buy something this expensive in her lifetime, only to lock it underground.

Silence stretched between them, and not the companionable kind. Everything was different tonight, and it physically hurt her to think about what this could all mean. Not only for her, but for them. Perhaps he would wake one fine morning in the middle of the week and realize what a horrible match he had made with her and would just send her back into the world, fighting for herself again, finding someone of better rank and better breeding.

How she had learned to loathe that phrase ever since being his plus one for the first time.

“YNN,” he spoke again with soft urgency in his tone. Bucky knew her too well, she now realized. Blinking, her eyes watched the passing streetlights on their way home. “I’m just tired, Bucky. It was a long day.” A bullshit excuse because if she were so tired, she would have snuggled into his side the moment both of them had entered the car, falling asleep on his shoulder with his lips pressed to her hairline.

Bucky knew that, too, but didn’t press the matter. Not now, at least.

It changed when the Maybach stopped in front of the townhouse she had grown to love so dearly; it would hurt her to leave it behind. The view across Central Park on the uppermost floor and patio was breathtaking every moment of every day.

Opening the door without waiting for Bucky to round the car and open it for her, YN climbed onto the sidewalk, the noise of Manhattan surrounding her, and her heels carried her across the stone toward the entrance, passerby instinctively waiting to let the woman in the evening gown pass. “YNN. Love, wait.” He tried to be calm in public, she knew, because he wasn’t one of those people who fought openly on the streets unless absolutely necessary. But she didn’t wait; instead, she opened the door to the townhouse with the fingerprint scanner to her right, pushing the masterfully crafted iron door open and vanishing behind it, hearing Bucky huff in frustration as he closed it behind himself.

“Would you mind telling me what has gotten into you? Something clearly happened, and don’t try to sell me some sorry excuse, love.” He was angry—finally something they had in common tonight—and she huffed softly while kicking off those torturous heels she already had to wear every day when she headed to work. Even quiet nights at home on her rare nights without work had been taken from her. “Go and ask your dear friends to hear what exactly has gotten into me,” YN mumbled, pulling her phone out of the clutch she had probably strangled at some point during this evening. Notifications of work-related emails and some newsletter or another scrolled across the glass, and she wiped them all away, only to face her lock screen without obstacles.

A picture of Bucky and her at Santa Monica Pier, her sitting on the railing with Bucky’s sunglasses propped on her nose she had stolen from his only moments before Steve had taken the picture, grinning brightly and raising a hand to wave at Steve, Bucky’s arm protectively wrapped around her waist as he stood right next to her, looking at her with a smile so filled with love, it almost shocked her every time she saw it. It had been such a perfect day that not even the sunburn on her nose could ruin it.

One of his hands took hold of her arm and gently turned her to face him, a finger under YN’s chin made her powerless to look anywhere but into his eyes. They were so incredibly blue, she sometimes lost herself in them when she wasn’t careful enough. And now, they stared at her in confusion and something else. “What would they tell me, love? Hm? I would prefer to hear it from you.”

It was almost laughable how clueless he seemed to be if it wasn’t so sad. With a flip of her chin, she released herself from his hold and took a step back, away from him and his distracting closeness, because she wasn’t as headstrong if he was too close. “You know exactly what they would tell you, Bucky. It’s the same tune they have sung since the first time I showed up at one of their precious gatherings, intruding into their sacred halls, dripping and sparkling with gold no normal person would ever be able to afford. And that’s what I am: normal. Ordinary. Not of the respectable and acceptable breed to mingle with everyone.” YN took a steadying breath before she continued. “I am scrutinized whenever I dare to show my face right next to yours. Does anyone care that I was the best of my class at Yale? Or that I am one of the youngest partners the law firm has ever appointed, and that I do a hell of a job? No, of course not. Because that’s nothing they care for. All they care about is money, family, and connections. Things I cannot provide. Everything else is secondary at best.”

Bucky watched her ranting, eyes focused on her face, never letting it out of sight. And when she finished, he slowly cocked a dark brow ever so slightly. “I think you give too much on gossip, YNN,” he started to smile, making her irritated. A frustrated sound escaped her, and she slammed the phone on the sideboard lining the hallway opposite the grand staircase.

“You don’t get it. People like you don’t end up with people like me!”

And that was the crux of it all, wasn’t it? She was no one in everyone’s eyes. Just a tiny light easily diminished if they just so much as pleased it. Just a lawyer with a fancy corner office and nothing else to her name. They never even heard of it before Bucky had tucked her into his side and turned her into something else, something seemingly important but not important or special at all, as soon as they had gathered firsthand evidence. Just a fluke. Nothing more. The older ladies with unmarried daughters or granddaughters of the right age whispered behind her back how Bucky would easily tire of her, and then their time would come, because everyone wanted a piece of the most powerful man they knew.

And that jewel had been stolen by a peasant thief.

Bucky’s soft and melodic chuckle forced YN to stare him into the ground, but his delight and love were too strong for her to budge under her gaze. He didn’t even flinch and instead pushed both his hands into the pockets of his perfectly tailored black slacks.

“The ring in my pocket begs to differ, my dear.”

She wanted to scream. “You still don’t get it, you moron! You—… The what?” Only after her little outburst did her mind process his words, forcing her to pause and blink. Had he actually said what her mind struggled to accept?

Bucky sighed softly and stepped up to her, closing the distance physically and emotionally. “You heard me right, dearest.” With that, his hands pulled from his pockets, and a wine-red velvet box appeared between his fingers. He didn’t open it, just let her take it in before her eyes jumped back up to his, staring without daring to breathe. “I couldn’t care less what everyone is talking behind our backs because I have learned something ever since meeting you and guilt-tripping you into a dinner date with a stranger.” That made YN laugh under her breath. “Everyone has their expectations of life and how they want to live it—my parents certainly had them for me, but above all, they wanted me to find real love. The kind of love you crave coming home to every day. The kind that ignites you and makes you want to become a better man. I have found that with you, YNN. And I do not doubt the fact that I want to spend the rest of my life with you. It’s as easy as that. And if you want that too, then I suggest you stop ruining my attempts of proposing properly to the most incredible woman I had ever the pleasure of running into, okay?”

Nodding with tears in her eyes, YN cupped his face with both her hands, coaxing him down to kiss his soft lips, and Bucky happily obliged after putting the ring box back into the pocket of his slacks. “I’m sorry if I overreacted,” she whispered against his skin and felt his strong arms wrapping around her lower back, being pulled into his strong body honed by hours of training. “Don’t apologize, my love. We just have to get you a better armor against the evil vipers in the pits of hell.” His smirk was almost wolfish, devilish even, kissing her again. “Perhaps wearing my name will help you, my dear,” followed in a whisper YN felt more than she heard before a laugh was ripped out of her when Bucky hoisted her into his arms, carrying her upstairs with laughable ease, and making sure she understood who she belonged to since the day they met.

“Bucky!” You whined as he grabbed his keys from the counter, “You can’t do this to me, your hair is so perfect.” You leaned your upper body over the couch and pouted, although his back was to you

“Doll, I haven’t had a proper haircut in decades. I think it’s time for this ratty hair to go.” When he turned around to face you, he couldn’t help but smile ear to ear at your frown. “It will be fine.”

“You don’t know what.”

“I do,” he walked closer and kissed your forehead. “It’s just hair if you don’t like it, I’ll grow it back.” 

You huffed in protest, and he chuckled at you. “Baby, why do you even want to cut your hair?” You stretched up and wrapped one arm around his neck, pulling him closer, and your other hand went straight to his hair, running through it. 

“Because I had this hair when I was...” he paused and cleared his throat, “Well, this hair is just no longer who I am. I want everything fresh, you know.”

Your eyes soften. You couldn’t argue with him, but you still couldn’t hide your pout. “Okay.” You kissed his cheek softly, and he leaned into you. “Just promise me you will not go bald, and you will find a woman in there and ask her opinion, and you will let her know you have a girlfriend.”

“Of course,” he smiled at you. “Stop pouting,” he said, kissing your lips softly. Instinctively, you smiled, but when he pulled away, you put on a fake pout  

“You like it when I pout.”

“Not like this…and it’s too late, I saw you smile.” You rolled your eyes but smiled anyway as he kissed you gently one last time. 

You tangled your fingers into his long hair and pulled softly, and he whimpered, “Yeah, I’ll miss that.” You both chuckled and said goodbye as Bucky headed out the door to get rid of one of the sexiest parts of himself. 

…

About an hour later, you were in your bedroom folding laundry when Bucky came home. You hadn’t heard him come in over the music, but you gasped when a pair of arms wrapped around your waist. You gasped instantly, but relaxed when you heard his soft voice, “Hi, sweetheart.”

You smiled, “Hi baby,” you went to turn around to see the haircut, but his lips attached to your neck, keeping your face forward, and pinning you to his back. You chuckled, “Let me see!”  

Without answering, he pulled out flowers from behind his back and put them into your hands. They were your favorite “Shit, Bucky, is it bad?” You closed your eyes in fear that your boyfriend would be bald for the next few months, but he chuckled behind you. 

“I don’t know, actually.” Your eyebrows wrinkled in confusion. “Haven’t seen myself with short hair in maybe 80 years…I-I’m not sure if I look like me.”

“Can I see?” you asked softly. Suddenly, you didn’t care what it looked like. As soon as you heard the waver in his voice, you just wanted to tell him he looked handsome. 

He took a deep breath, then nodded against you, letting go. 

You turned around slowly, and as soon as your eyes landed on the new haircut…you were dripping. “Oh” was all you could manage

“Shit,” he muttered under his breath, and you quickly jumped to fix your words

“No, no, not oh, as in bad oh as in … oh.” Your own tone of voice made his eyebrows raise 

“So you like it?” Did you like it…you were ready to pounce any second. If he were willing, you’d let him get you pregnant just so you could pass down the luxurious hair gene 

“Yeah fuck baby, I love it. Like I really love it,” he smiled softly

“Good, good. I was worr-” he started to turn around so he could walk over to the mirror in the bathroom, but you grabbed his arm, stopping him “What?” his eyes grew worried again. 

You couldn’t even form words looking at him, so you just pulled him closer to you and kissed him roughly. It didn’t take Bucky even a second to kiss you back, his hands immediately finding your lower back. 

As the kiss grew more intense, he walked you back towards the bed, until the back of your knees hit it, causing you to fall on the mattress. Bucky was quick to get on top of you, pulling away for just a moment to look at you. 

“Bucky, you look fucking hot,” he smirked 

“Yeah?” His Brooklyn accent was strong, and you clenched around nothing. You rolled your eyes at his teasing and pulled on his hair, and he whimpred again. “Feels good when you do that, had to make sure it was still long enough for you.”

You planted yourself on your elbows and kissed him again. After a moment, his lips attached to your neck and he bit down on the spot he knew was most sensitive. “Fuck Bucky. Need you.”

He pulled away quickly and got on his knees in front of you. “Need to taste you, baby, please.” his fingers slipped under the waistband of your sweatpants, and you nodded. He practically ripped them and your underwear off in one swift motion. 

His big arms pulled your legs apart, making sure he had the perfect view of your cunt. “So pretty, baby.” 

“Bucky, please,” you whined as your hands went to his hair, trying to pull him closer, but that damn super soldier strength kept him from budging. He chuckled, close enough you could feel his breath on your pussy, and you shivered. 

“So eager, Doll. I want to have my fun,” he teased when you groaned. His hands ran up and down the sides of your thigh as his lips attached to your skin. 

He left a trail of kisses as he made his way up to your core. He paused before kissing you where you needed it most. “Need you so bad. Please, I’ll be good.”

He looked up at you, and no matter how hard he tried to play tough whenever he was looking at you, he melted, and you could always see it in his eyes. “Yeah, my good girl. Just for me?”

“Just for you, Buck.”

He hummed, content with your words, and finally put his lips on your clit. You both groaned at the same time as he began licking you slowly. “She’s so wet for me.”  His Brooklyn accent was strong whenever he was touching you.

“It’s the hair,” you teased, but it was the truth. His mouth was on you again, this time sucking faster and harder. Two fingers entered you without warning, and you cried out, encouraging Bucky to keep going.

You tried to buck your hips, but his big arms wrapped around your thighs, were keeping you in place for him. You pulled at the ends of his hair again, and he moaned against you. 

His eyes lifted to meet yours, which sent you over the edge. “Fuck Bucky, I’m gonna cum.” The third finger he shoved inside of you was his way of telling you to cum for him. 

You cried out as your orgasm hit you like a fucking train, and Bucky kept his tongue working as you let your orgasm take over you.

When you finally came down, Bucky took his lips off you, and you groaned, “Need to be inside you, baby.” He stood up and tried to turn you around, but you protested.

“Wanna see you.” he smiled, “Wanna see the new haircut” he smirked and moved you further up the bed. 

He worked his pants and shift off quickly as you took off your shirt and bra. 

He stood in front of you with his dick stiff in his hands. He spread your legs and pumped himself a few times before lining his tip up with your entrance. “‘m gonna fuck you so good, baby. Take good care of my girl, yeah?”

“Yes, Bucky, please,” you whined. Your whine was all he needed to push himself into you. 

It was slow and deliberate, and you needed more. He could tell by the way your face schruhced so he pulled himself out and without warning slammed back into you, causing you to cry out, “You feel so fucking good, Doll. So tight for me.”

You could only moan in agreement as he fucked into you. His hands wandered up your curves before landing on your tits, gripping them. “So fucking perfect for me,” he pulled on your nipples, and you whimpred, “Love that sound.”

You could barely form words; everything felt so good. His eyes were glued to your face. As you tightened around him, he moaned, “Fuck, just like that ‘m gonna cum.”

“Fuck me too, Bucky.”

“Cum for me, angel. Let it all go.” It didn’t take much more for your eyes to squeeze shut as your body shook beneath his. “Yeah, that's it, let me feel you.” 

He fucked you through your orgasm, his hitting soon after yours. As you both came down, his movements slowed until he was paused over you. Your chests rising and falling in sync.

Your hand made its way back to his hair, running through it. He chuckled softly, then leaned forward to place his forehead on yours, giving you a quick peck. “You really like the haircut?”

You chuckled, “Yes, Bucky, you look really good.”

Ma Kent snorted softly from across the table. “At this point, that baby’s probably ninety percent mashed potatoes.”

Clark looked entirely unashamed. “They will be a very healthy, growing baby.”

You bit back a smile.

That was the thing about Clark during your pregnancy, he hovered.

Did you need water? A pillow? Another blanket? Less blanket? A snack? Different snack? Did your back hurt? Were your feet swollen? Had you rested enough? Too much? Was the baby kicking enough? Too much?

The man treated your pregnancy like the world’s most important mission.

And it made him very, very easy to fluster.

And suddenly, sitting there at the table with Ma and Pa Kent, watching your husband lovingly shovel corn onto your plate like he was personally responsible for feeding both you and the baby, the idea struck.

You looked down at your half-full plate thoughtfully.

Then, very gently, you asked, “Clark… am I allowed to have some more?”

Clark didn’t even look up.

“Of course,” he said immediately, mouth still full, already spooning another helping onto your plate. “You barely ate any! Here, have more chicken too.”

You pressed your lips together. You continued carefully, in the smallest voice you could manage. “Are you sure?”

Clark blinked at you. “Sure about what?”

“That it’s okay for me to eat more?”

Clark stared at you for a long moment. Then looked at your plate. Then at you again.

“…Yes?” He sounded deeply confused.

You nodded solemnly, “Okay,” and resumed eating.

Clark reached for the biscuits.

“You want another one?”

“Yes please.”

“Here you go, my love.” He handed it over immediately.

You sighed as your prank failed, silently waiting for another opportunity.

-

Said opportunity was when Ma Kent brought out dessert.

Her specialty peach cobbler was still warm, the smell filling the kitchen instantly.

“Oh my goodness,” you sighed dramatically. “That smells amazing.”

Ma Kent smiled warmly. “Go on, honey, have some.”

You coached your face to look anxious, worried, then slowly turned toward Clark.

“…Am I allowed?”

The room went silent.

Clark froze with the serving spoon halfway in his hand.

Ma Kent blinked. Pa Kent’s expression changed immediately into a frown.

“Allowed?” Ma Kent repeated.

You looked down shyly. “Well… I just wanted to check first.”

Clark looked like his soul had briefly left his body.

“Why would you…what do you mean allowed?” 

You kept your face perfectly straight. “I didn’t want to upset you.”

“Upset me?” Clark nearly choked. “Why would it upset me?”

Ma Kent’s eyebrows shot up.

Pa Kent set down his fork, slowly and very carefully.

Clark turned toward you so quickly his chair squeaked against the floor.

“Honey, what are you talking about?”

You blinked innocently. “The cobbler.”

“The cobbler…”

“Yes.”

Ma Kent turned to Clark at the same time he looked at you incredulously.

“Clark,” she said carefully, “why would she need permission to eat dessert?”

“I—she doesn’t!” Clark’s brows were furrowed with concern, slowly feeling like he was unnecessarily put on the hot seat. “Why would you need my permission to eat cobbler?!”

You shrugged lightly. “Well, you may not want me to eat any more.”

Ma Kent slowly turned toward her son.

“Clark Joseph Kent.”

Clark’s eyes widened in immediate horror.

“No! No, no, no—Ma, I swear—”

Pa Kent crossed his arms.

Clark looked even more panicked.

“I have literally never stopped her from eating anything in her life! She eats whatever she wants, whenever she wants. I've actually been actively encouraging her to eat more because she sometimes forgets in the afternoon and the doctor said…" He caught himself, and looked back at you. "What is going on?”

You tilted your head. “But maybe you didn’t want me eating cobbler specifically?”

“Why would I not want you to?!”

Clark looked moments away from a full system shutdown.

“Honey,” he said frantically, stumbling over every word, “I have never, not once, told you what you can or can’t eat. Or do. Or wear. Or…anything!”

Ma Kent was now openly suspicious. “Clark…”

“No! Ma, listen to me—I swear, she does whatever she wants! Constantly! Happily! And I support her! Enthusiastically!”

You nodded thoughtfully. “That’s true.”

Clark pointed at you wildly. “See?!”

“But maybe secretly you don’t like how much I eat?”

Clark looked genuinely devastated.

“What?! No, Ma, Pa, listen to me. I’ve never told her not to do anything she wanted! Ever! If anything, she tells me what to do!”

He turned back to his parents, fully distressed now.

“I am not controlling! Right? I’m not controlling.”

Pa Kent finally spoke, voice low. “Son…”

Clark turned toward him in absolute panic. “Pa, I swear to God, I have never denied her anything in my entire life! I don't restrict her eating. I don't restrict ANYTHING! I don't tell her what to do. I would never." Clark's voice had taken on the slightly desperate quality of a man watching a small fire and patting his pockets for something to put it out with. "She has complete autonomy over everything. Every single thing. I've never once told her she couldn't eat or do or–"

"Clark," you said.

“--have anything she wanted, I mean she went through a period in the second trimester where she wanted a very specific brand of crackers at two in the morning and I flew forty minutes to three different stores to find them, I have the receipts, I can show you the receipts–”

“Clark.”

“--and I don't know what this is right now but I need everyone at this table to understand that I am not and have never been–”

“CLARK.”

He stopped his rambling.

He looked at you.

You were smiling. A laugh escaped you before you could stop it.

Then suddenly you were laughing so hard you had to hold your stomach.

The entire table stared at you.

“Oh no,” Ma Kent whispered, already realizing.

You wheezed helplessly, tears gathering in your eyes.

“I’m sorry,” you gasped. “I’m sorry…I was joking.”

Silence.

Clark blinked.

“…What?”

You covered your face, laughing harder. “It was a prank, baby.”

Clark stared. Ma Kent burst into laughter instantly.

Pa Kent leaned back in his chair.

Clark remained frozen. “You…”

“I’m sorry,” you laughed again. “You were just so easy to fluster.”

Clark looked deeply betrayed.

“I thought Pa was about to kill me.”

You grinned at Pa, “He was in on it,” you confessed, remembering how Pa chuckled gruffly when you told him about your plan.

Clark dropped back into his chair dramatically, pressing a hand to his chest.

“I cannot believe you.”

You leaned over and kissed his cheek sweetly.

“I’m sorry I scared you, honey. You're a wonderful husband," you said. "Why do you still have the receipts?"

He put his arm around you, and you could feel him giving up on the wounded dignity, the whole structure of it just gently collapsing.

"Souvenirs," he said again, quieter, “I didn’t want to forget anything about your pregnancy. And so that I could show our baby that I would do anything for them.”

You smiled at him, cupping his cheek tenderly before giving him a kiss. Clark turned pink.

"Forty minutes,” he reminded you, “Three stores."

"I know."

"In the rain."

"It wasn't raining."

"It was drizzling." Clark sighed deeply. 

You laughed, then immediately reached for the cobbler.

Clark instinctively grabbed the serving spoon and loaded a giant portion onto your plate.

Everyone at the table burst into laughter again.

Clark looked around defensively.

“What? She’s eating for two.”

-

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And even a year later, you still hadn’t quite found your footing.

Grief made it hard to get up some mornings, while other mornings felt totally normal. You knew logically that a loss that significant would make you feel deeply, but it was still so suffocating to not know when something or someone would trigger you. Especially since every-day life was tied into your father like air.

Even at home, you kept his TV on and his door closed like he was still in there resting. Sometimes pretending made things easier, but not always. 

Most days were mundane at this record job for you, but definitely more interesting than the office. You actually liked your coworkers and manager for the most part. And you got to meet all kinds of interesting people that walked through. It made for great distraction most days.

You saw just about everyone there was to see come through the store; business execs, mothers and fathers, fitness gurus, influencers. Everyone came through to look for their music they loved.

And just being in Metropolis itself was bound for some chaos too. 

It made things even more interesting having the newly formed Justice Gang around. Trouble did seem to find the city at some inconvenient times, bringing the craziest things like giant monsters and mutants. But the Justice Gang did a pretty good job of keeping the city safe.

Most of the thanks went to Metropolis’ hero, Superman. 

You admired Superman a lot after your Dad’s passing. Or at least the way he was portrayed on TV - resilient and indestructible. You envied that, wishing you could be just as strong.

The chime above the door sounded, causing you to snap out of your deep thoughts. 

It hadn’t been a busy day, and in your downtime, you had let yourself get caught up in your memories. It was one of the parts of the job you disliked the most - having so much time alone - but there wasn’t much the customers could do about your own wandering thoughts.

Putting on your best customer service face, you approached the man who’d walked through the door.

The first thing you noticed was how tall the man was. Even slightly hunched, he towered over the gondolas that held the records. 

Next, you noticed how ill-fitted his suit was. It looked like the heavy tweed of his suit jacket just fell over his shoulders, as well as the pants. For someone his size, he was being swallowed by his clothes, which felt… off.

And lastly, when he spotted you approaching him, he locked his eyes with yours. You couldn’t help but notice that they were bright blue, brighter than you think you’d ever seen. Even with just a glance, his eyes held something so deep and sincere. It almost felt otherworldly. 

This man’s gaze made you stop in your tracks, your heart starting like a motor. 

He was handsome. 

It had been a long time since you’d found attraction in anyone, and even then, it still took a while for you to see features that felt striking to you. But with this stranger, you were nearly dumbstruck.

“Can I help you find anything?” 

The words finally left your mouth without your volition as more of muscle memory. Months of asking the same dull question helped you here, as your brain felt as though it were turning to mush.

“Yes ma’am.” The man’s voice was velvety and rich with the smallest country twang in it. He was starting to smile wide at you, “I was looking for any old Johnny Cash records.” 

It was like his voice encompassed you, surrounding you with warmth. Just like his eyes, it wasn’t like anything you’d herald before, and it took you more by surprise than you’d anticipated. It took a moment before his question fully registered in your mind.

“Oh,” you breathed, shaking your head to try and put you back into customer service mode, “Yes. You can follow me. Everything is alphabetized by last name.” 

He gave you a grateful smile before you led him the short walk to the country section. Once there, you awkwardly stood off to the side, allowing the handsome stranger to look for himself. There were a lot of “C” names, so both of you started to sift through the records after a few moments.

“So, you’re a country fan?” you asked, albeit quietly.

You tried not to cringe at yourself as you chanced a look his way. He was still smiling, dimples forming at the corners of his mouth. As if he couldn’t get even more handsome.

“Kinda. I like it just fine, but not as much as my Pa. I’m grabbing these records for his birthday coming up.” 

You nodded, “That’s kind of you.” 

“Sort of…” The tall stranger shrugged once, but his smile didn’t waver, “I kinda messed up and his records got damaged a while back, so I’ve been slowly rebuilding his collection for him. It’s been slow going though. I’ve been busy, and he doesn’t live around here, so I’ll have to fly these out to him.” 

A sad sort of longing crossed his features as he spoke about his Pa. It didn’t dim his eyes, but it made them look weary. It made you think of your own father and how you would’ve done the same for him.

Shaking the thoughts away before you could get sad, you plucked out a sleeve of an old Johnny Cash album with a small, triumphant smile, handing it to the stranger. 

“Hey, well, at least you’re trying for him,” You said gently, “Even if it was a mistake on your part, your Pa must really appreciate the effort you’re putting in to rebuild it.” 

Once again, the blue eyes met yours and another smile graced his face, taking the record from your hands, 

“Thank you…” Just barely, you could see his cheeks growing a dark crimson, “Now you’re the one being kind.” 

You felt your face doing much of the same and you shrugged back at him, “I’m just trying my best.” 

He stood there for a long moment, just staring at the album, his large fingers fiddling with the paper cover. It was like he was thinking of more things to say, but couldn’t quite get them out. It would’ve been comical had you not been in much of the same boat.

Finally, he murmured, “I never got your name.”

Just above a murmur, you gave him your name and he hummed aloud with a larger smile than before. The small sound to him nearly reverberated the entire store, but no one else but you seemed to notice that.

“Clark.” He outstretched his hand immediately, and an air of confidence suddenly surrounded him. Your hands met and it was much more firm than you’d expected. It was even more surprising just how warm his skin was, “Clark Kent.” 

The name was instantly familiar to you, “Like the Daily Planet reporter?”

Ever so slightly, his eyes lit up.

“Uh, yeah, that’s me,” He said with a short nod and an awkward laugh, “So you read the news.” 

A laugh escaped you too, “I do. My Dad kept the news on all the time, so I kinda just gravitate towards keeping up with everything, plus there’s a lot going on here. You kinda gotta know the news in order to not get eaten by something alien… even if a newspaper is expensive these days.” 

Clark let out a small chuckle, more sure this time as he held up his hands in defense, “Listen, I just work there.” 

The two of you gave a smile to each other once again. The two of you stood there for a long few moments just looking and staring until you realized neither of you had made another move. You motioned for him to follow you again, starting to head toward the register when he stepped to your side. 

“If you don’t mind helping me find one more thing,” He said quickly, nearly stumbling over his words, “Do you have The Mighty Crabjoys?” 

Furrowing your brows in confusion, you looked him up and down. He was more the nerdy type than anything with the big glasses and swallowing suit. You didn’t think he seemed the type to like pop punk bands. 

You smirked, deciding to tease him, “Don’t tell me that’s for your Pa too.”

“No, it’s for me,” Clark shook his head, biting back a laugh, “But there seems to be some judgement coming from you about my taste in music. Not so nice now, huh?” 

Laughing again, you also held up your hands in surrender, 

“No judgement, Mr. Reporter, but I wouldn’t have pinned you as a Crabjoys fan.” 

“I enjoy them a lot,” he said with a small huff, “I need something to pump me up when I’m working on an article.”

You rolled your eyes and nodded your head toward the pop-punk section, “Follow me then, Mr. Kent.” 

As you turned, he let out another hum. His voice, even with small sounds, made you feel warm inside. You could still feel that same buzzing energy from him, like a beam of light bursting through a pitch black room. All of your thoughts went to how you wanted nothing more than to be enveloped by whatever he was giving off. 

You led him to the pop-punk area and began searching through the “M”s until you found exactly what you were looking for fairly quickly. You pulled the sleeve from its place and handed it to the much taller man standing beside you.

Clark bit his lip for just a second to try and hide the small smile that formed.

You on the other hand weren’t hiding your grin anymore, “Anything else I can help you find?” 

He let out a small sigh and held out his collection of records for you, “I guess this will be it, thank you, ma’am.” 

You both smiled at each other a little longer than necessary before you walked him to the register. Albeit, your pace slowed, feeling abnormally sad that your time together was coming to an end. Your limbs felt like they were moving at their own pace; becoming noodles as you got to the counter and started to ring up the incredibly handsome man’s items. 

Adjusting his glasses, Clark cleared his throat, “Are you new?” 

You nodded, “Kinda. I’ve only been working here for a couple of months. Why?” 

“Just curious. I haven’t seen you before,” He shook his head quickly, “It’s not that I come in here that often, but it’s been the same people here for so long. The other guy that works here, B-Dog, is a really fun guy. Met him a couple of times.” 

Laughing, you nodded, “He’s certainly a character.” 

“Well, for what it’s worth, I’m glad you’re here today instead.” 

His murmur was almost too quiet for you to hear, but when it hit your ears, you began to reel. You could feel your cheeks heating up again. You tried to hide your growing flush from him by ducking below the counter to grab him a bag for his purchase. 

You took a deep breath, trying to convince yourself that a little flirt was nothing serious. You popped back up quickly, giving him a genuine smile.

“I’m glad you’re here today too. It’s been really nice talking with you.” 

Clark smiled wide at that as he reached into his pocket. A confused look took over his face, and after tapping his suit pockets for a few seconds, he let out a defeated sigh.

“Shoot…” He whispered, “Silly me. I think I left my wallet at home. Would you be able to keep these for me?” 

Those piercing blue eyes gave you an almost pleading look, and you couldn’t help but nod in response almost automatically. 

“I can put them on hold for two days.”

There wasn’t actually a policy for that.  

“Perfect,” he smiled wide, biting his lip, “And will you be working in those two days?” 

The prospect of possibly getting to see him again was more than exciting. With your heart hammering hard against your chest, you felt like you could barely breathe enough to answer him. Eventually, you managed to speak again, “I’ll be here tomorrow… Nine to six.” 

“Good, Thank you,” your name rolled off his tongue, “It was a pleasure meeting you today.” 

 This time, you were the one to hum in response “The pleasure’s all mine.” 

With a small, final smile, he rushed out the door, calling over his shoulder, “See you tomorrow!” 

No one else seemed to hear the boom of his voice; it was like it shook the entire earth. But as you looked around to see if anyone else was stunned, it was like you were the only one encapsulated by him. 

So, you chalked it up to just having a small, tiny crush.

***

The next morning, grief had other plans for you. 

It struck you hard especially after good days, making it difficult to get out of bed in the morning. Some days felt real and normal, while others felt fake. And now everything felt just a little too fake for you. 

Waking up in the apartment was always the hardest part. As you got ready for your day, you felt yourself going through all of the motions, but almost as if your head were underwater the entire time. 

It took so long for your brain to catch up sometimes, and you wished desperately that you could just bounce back and put on a brave face. You allowed yourself to cry to try and relieve some of the pressure in your mind, but it only proved to make your head even more foggy than before.

Some solace came from the news. Trying to distract yourself, you turned the TV on and tried to look for the good in life.

Superman, the protector of your city, had done it once again from a comet-like entity. And again, you found yourself wishing you could’ve been more like him. He seemed to do it all, and he did it with a smile on his face. Obviously you didn’t have the powers he had, but you figured he must’ve been so strong mentally just as much as physically. 

Once you got to the store later in the morning, you helped open slowly and did everything that was asked of you. It was a decent distraction for you as well, but sometimes the feelings were just a little too heavy. 

As the day progressed, busier than the day before, you successfully had gotten your mind off of some of your sadness, but had nearly forgotten about the tall man and his records from the day before. 

You had made yourself too busy to greet Clark when he walked in sometime after five. One of your other coworkers had greeted him and retrieved his records from the back. Feeling slightly defeated, you tried to stay out of their way, letting your coworker have the sale. 

However, nearly moments after you’d thought that, you felt his warm presence before you saw him approach you. When you saw him, it was like your entire demeanor changed.

“Hey there!” He greeted you with a chipper voice, “I was beginning to think you weren’t here today.” 

You chortled, but it didn’t feel as genuine as the day before, “Yeah. Barely made it.” 

Clark’s voice dropped almost immediately, “Barely, huh?” 

The sudden mood change shocked you a little. You hadn’t expected him to take you so seriously. 

Not wanting to sour the mood between the two of you, a small tug happened at the corner of your lip as you nodded, “Guess I’m not feeling the greatest today.” 

“I’m sorry to hear that.” 

His voice cut deep; inviting and enveloping just like the day before. It was welcome, but the warmth made you want to cry again. There was something about Clark that felt so familiar; nostalgic even, that it reminded you of spending your days in the sun as a kid. 

He frowned when you didn’t answer right away, “Anything I can do to help?” 

Gently, you shook your head, “That’s very sweet of you, but… no, I’ll be okay.” 

“I’ve got tylenol in my bag.” 

That made you laugh the tiniest bit, much more authentically, “It’s okay, Clark. Thank you. I’m just… a little sad. Nothing I can’t deal with.” 

“I have no doubt.” A soft smile graced his lips, “I’m sorry you’re sad. I wish I had some magic pill to cure that.” 

“Talking to you has been really helpful,” You murmured, hoping he wouldn’t hear you, “It’s made this day a little brighter.”

Before Clark could respond, your coworker B-Dog came back around, looking for Clark, but saw that he was talking with you. Luckily, Clark let him know that you’d been the one to initially help him, so your coworker relinquished the records to you to ring him up. You began leading him to the register again, feeling a small air of confidence arise in you.

When you turned at the counter to ring up his items again, you noticed a small dusting of pink overcoming Clark’s cheeks. Just your luck, he’d obviously heard you before, but he thanked you anyway. Quickly, he swiped his card to pay, keeping his eyes to the floor. 

After taking his purchase from you, he still made no move to exit. He stood there, somewhat awkwardly, staring at you with a sort of battle going on behind his eyes.

“S-Sorry.” Clark stammered, “I know this is very forward, so forgive me, but you’re very pretty.” 

This time, you knew your cheeks were burning too as soon as the words left his lips. Your mind went haywire as you were now the one to stare right back at him. You mumbled something of a thank you as you felt it leave your throat, but it was incredibly incoherent.

Clark was the one to laugh this time, breathlessly, like he was trying to catch up with himself as well. 

“I-I’m sorry. I know that was brash.” 

“No, it’s okay. I just don’t get compliments very often,” You said quickly, trying to regain your composure, “Thank you… you’re handsome yourself.” 

He smiled wide as the nervous energy expelled off of him, “Would you like to get lunch sometime with me? I know it can’t cure sadness, but maybe being near you would help a little. You know… like you said.” 

Biting your lip, you nodded, “I’d love that.” 

“Great!” Clark had said it a little too enthusiastically; too loud for the space. He cleared his throat again, speaking at a much more normal volume, “What day are you free next?” 

“Friday,” You said, slightly winded, “I’m off Friday.” 

“I could take you out on my lunch break. Guess it’ll even it out for disrupting your work time here.”

“This is far from disrupting me,” you said with a short laugh.

“How does noon sound?”

“Sounds like a date.”

You gave Clark a smile, the blush never leaving your cheeks.

“Yeah, sure does,” His voice cracked, “Um… how will I get in contact with you?”

Smirking, you thought of teasing him again, if only to make him blush more.

“I guess you can have my number.”

He smirked, shaking his head, presumably at himself, “I’ve forgotten how to talk to people.”

You were already writing your phone number on a post it note. You quickly tore it off and put the sticky side just below his pocket protector on his ill-fitted suit jacket. You weren’t normally this forward either, but it felt fun - exhilarating - to be so free with someone.

Clark’s smile got wider as he took off the sticky note and peeked at it before stuffing it in the pocket. He adjusted his glasses before looking back at you.

“Thank you again,” it was like velvet as he said your name, “See you Friday?”

“See you Friday.” You nodded. 

Leaving it at that, he walked out the door, but not before turning back to look at you once again. You couldn’t help the laugh that escaped you watching him trying to balance all of the things in his hands as he gave you a small wave. 

The light of the day sort of shifted after that, and you were left back to work and your own thoughts. The grief had still been there, quieting for a while as you spoke to Clark, just waiting to rear its ugly head back out. It seemed to come crashing back down as soon as he was out of sight. 

You excused yourself to the bathroom, just to give yourself a few extra moments alone and to allow some tears to escape. 

It was strange always feeling this whiplash of emotions especially after something so good. 

However, not even a minute after the tears had sprung, your phone dinged in your pocket. You dug it out, managing a smile as you read the message:

This is Clark! I look forward to helping you cure some sadness Friday!

Wiping away your tears with your palm, you felt as though he was already trying.

***

Friday came around much quicker now that you had something to look forward to. Most weeks, mundane as they were, tended to drag on. So, this was certainly a welcome change.

You woke up feeling a lot better than you had in a long time; you felt giddy and excited for what felt like the first time in forever. 

Admittedly, you’d only been on a handful of dates, and none of them had gone very well, so you were hopeful this would change too.

The two of you had been texting back and forth since you’d given him your number. Most of your messages were about the date and other details, like where to meet. But sometimes, you’d both delve off into other things, like talking about your days or tiny flirty messages back and forth. 

This felt different.

As you got ready, you made sure to wear some of your best clothes and put on the best smelling scent you had before walking out the door. You wanted to put in effort for yourself since it’d been so long, and in leaving the house, you felt fresh and confident.

The walk to the little cafe you decided to meet at felt excruciating long, like trudging through a dream. It felt like no matter how long you walked, you weren’t getting anywhere. You kept forward though, pure determination keeping you going. 

You felt your phone ding in your hand and you lifted it to see the message:

Just made it. I’m in the third booth from the back. 

Beside the text was a little winky face. Again, you smiled, luckily right around the corner. 

Trying to be as confident as you felt, you strode into the little cafe. You scanned the room for only a second before your eyes landed on the tall figure - already seated at a booth - waving you over. You couldn’t help the small giggle that escaped your mouth as you made your way over to him. Awkwardly tall against the booth, he still clambered out of the seat to greet you, giving you the utmost respect.

“It’s nice to see you again.” He said as you approached, motioning for you to take the seat across from him, “I haven’t ordered yet. I thought I would wait for you.” 

“Thank you Clark,” You said as you sat, “It’s nice to see you again too. And it’s even nicer of you to sacrifice your lunch break for me, no less.” 

Clark gave you a wide, toothy grin, letting his dimples show and his accent pop out.

“It was nothin’. I usually take my time for lunch most days, anyway.” 

Surrounded by his warmth, especially being in the booth with him, you felt a lot closer than you were; more intimate than talking in the record store. 

You had some time to scour the menu before the waitress came by to take your orders. It was all mostly breakfast, so you settled for a small fruit salad and toast. Clark on the other hand got the works: a large breakfast, complete with eggs, toast, hashbrowns, bacon, and a small stack of pancakes. 

As the waitress walked away to put in your orders, Clark sat back in the booth, giving you a funny look, “Fruit salad and toast?” 

Again, you felt your cheeks burning, “There seems to be some judgement coming from you about my food choices.”

He shrugged, smirking, “A little. Doesn’t seem like much of a breakfast.”

“Well, it’s lunch,” you chided, “And it’s not much of a meal, but it’s better than the greasy breakfast food.”

Clark’s mouth fell open like you’d just said the most shocking thing in the world. You bit your lip, trying your best not to laugh as his hands started to frenzy around him.

“What?!” he guffawed, though a grin still evident on his face, “What’s wrong with greasy breakfast food? You can’t tell me you don’t like pancakes or waffles. Everyone likes one or the other! There’s, like, a whole stupid song about it…” 

Another laugh escaped, “There’s nothing wrong with it, but it’s just not my preferred food choice.” 

“But fruit salad and toast?” 

“What’s to say I just wanted something small? This is my first date in a long time, after all, I’m a little nervous.” 

Clark didn’t say anything for a moment, only letting his smile widen slowly. He cleared his throat, “I haven’t been on a date in a long time either. I suppose I’m a bit nervous too.” 

“I’m relieved to know I’m not alone,” you murmured. 

The conversation flowed easily for a while until your food was sat down in front of you a few minutes later. The country twang in his rich voice came and went as you’d spoken, sparking your next question. 

“Where are you from, Clark?” You asked, beginning to prepare your toast the way you liked it, “Pa doesn’t sound like a Metropolis term.” 

“Because it’s not.” 

You glanced over at him to see that almost all of his eggs were already gone. Holding in a laugh, you let him continue. 

Swallowing his food, he took in a deep breath like he was about to reveal a secret, “I’m from Kansas. My Ma and Pa raised me on their farm and I moved here a few years ago for work.” 

The answer still felt vague, like there was more to be said, but you didn’t press him further. 

Instead, you hummed back with a small smile, “That makes a lot of sense.”

“Being from Kansas?” 

Clark shed his suit jacket off to the side, leaving him in just a light blue button down shirt. You watched as he rolled up his sleeves to his elbows, and you came to realize you were getting a little lost. 

His arms were… huge. As he crossed them to get his other sleeves, it was like all of his muscles pulled at the thin fabric of his shirt, barely able to move and mold with him. The ill-fitted suit suddenly made even less sense as it obviously did him no justice. 

The man in front of you looked at you, clearing his throat when he noticed you watching him without any words. 

Speaking without volition, you blurted out, “Well, you definitely have a farm-boy physique. But... no, it's your southern hospitality.” 

Clark laughed aloud, the room booming again. 

He shrugged, trying to be modest, “I threw hay barrels around for a long time.” 

“Do you miss Kansas?” 

“Every day.” He admitted softly, "Sometimes, I wish I had stayed. But… most days I’m really proud of my work that I do here in Metropolis.” 

“Then you must really like writing for the Daily Planet. You’ve gotten to interview some pretty cool people.”

A smirk graced his face as he cut into his pancakes. He hiked his glasses up his face with his finger, shielding himself for a second before speaking, “You’ve read my work?”

“I have. I like your articles about Superman.” 

“Superman, huh?”

 It was like his pace slowed significantly; taking slower and more deliberate bites of his food as his eyes perked up to you. He seemed to watch you and study your reaction.

You took a small bite of fruit, “You make him sound really… human. I like the thought of that; being able to do anything, but still having the capacity to be kind and compassionate.”

Clark nodded, speaking softly, “I think it’s important for people to see that too. He’s just like everyone else.”

It gave you pause again as you locked eyes, a charming smile gracing his lips. You couldn’t help but let yourself smile too. It was almost making your cheeks sting with how much he made your lips curl up, but you couldn’t stop it even if you wanted to. 

“So,” he started as he wiped his mouth with a napkin, half of his food devoured, “You got a long round of questions. Mine starts now: Where are you from?” 

And again, your mouth curved up, “I’ve lived in Metropolis all my life. I am a born and raised metropolitan.” 

“We just call you folk city slickers back home.” He chuckled, “You must be close to your family then.” 

Biting your lip, you knew something like this would eventually come up. There wasn’t a use in being so vague, so you came out with it, trying to mask the grief that started to travel through your body.

“I was. I don’t have any immediate family here. It was just me and my dad, but he passed away last year.” 

Another look overtook Clark that you couldn’t place. You hadn’t told many people about your father, expecting a lot of pity looks, but this wasn’t that. He was looking at you like he understood very well. It had been difficult to talk about your father without getting emotional, but with Clark, you were able to keep calm. 

“Gosh,” he murmured, “My condolences.” 

You tried to smile through your growing sadness again, trying not to let the mood drop too far, “It’s still a little fresh, but I’ve been okay. Thank you.” 

“Of course.” Picking up that you didn’t want to speak on the subject anymore, Clark gave you a polite nod before pivoting completely with his next question. “Have any pets?”

His bright eyes trailed you as he took in another big bite of his food, now blatantly gauging your reaction. You were grateful he didn’t press further about your past with your dad. 

“Do fish count?” 

“Sure,” he shrugged, “Do you like your job?” 

“Are you investigating me?” you asked with a small chuckle. Clark didn’t answer, simply motioning for you to continue through his mouthful of food. “I like my job most days. I like it better than the office job I had before.” 

He swallowed, “What do you like and dislike most about your job now?” 

“You are investigating me,” you mused, “I love music and people who also love music. I don’t like sales tactics.”

"Is that what was wrong with the office job?"

"Kinda" you sighed, "Just needed a change of pace."

“So you take pride in sharing your passion with people.” 

Your brows furrowed at him curiously as you nodded slowly, “I guess so.” 

Another smile graced his face, making his dimples show. 

The two of you ate and talked for a little longer with more basic getting-to-know-you questions. He asked things like what your favorite color was, or your favorite movie. Even with the most mundane questions, however, he looked as if he were filing every bit of information away for later.

His raven hair fell in a curl over his forehead as he moved, and all you could think of was reaching forward and putting it back in place. As much as it pained you, you kept your hands to yourself.

Towards the end of the date, Clark happily paid for the both of you, waving you off with a short, “You can pay for me next time.”

As you stood together from the small booth, you took a deep breath and asked him, “Can I walk you to work?” 

He flashed you a toothy grin, “I’d love that.” 

The short walk to the Daily Planet was filled with extra questions, but mainly it served as an excuse to be around him more. The feeling of warmth he radiated was addicting, making you wonder why herds of people weren’t following him around for it.

And all too soon, your walk came to an end. 

Both of you stood in front of the massive building, making no moves to go further. Neither of you said anything for a long while as exchanged short, shy glances. You didn’t want the date to end, and you were silently cursing yourself for it being such a short meeting.

“When can I see you again?” 

Clark was the first to break the ice, asking in a fast, hushed voice. Pushing his glasses up on his face nearly covered the blush that was forming on his cheeks. 

“That is, if you want to see me…” 

Your face was doing much of the same as you nodded back at him, “I do. What about Sunday?”

“We could have dinner?”

“It’s a date.” 

Smiling sheepishly, Clark’s hummed, low and deep, just like the day you met him. Slowly, he upturned his hand to you, silently asking for you to take it. Once you did, he brought it up to his lips slowly, leaving a light kiss along your knuckles. You were already reeling from that, but as he pulled his hand away - in one swift movement - he leaned forward to leave a kiss on your cheek. 

“This has been the best lunch I’ve had by far.”

“I’m glad. Very glad.” you stammered.

“See you Sunday?”

“Yeah," you breathed out, "See you Sunday.” 

With another big smile, he backed away toward the entrance of the building, nearly stumbling when his eyes wouldn’t leave you. His large, clumsy limbs flailed as he waved at you, and you couldn’t help but giggle. You waited until he was inside before making your way back to your apartment. 

At that moment, you felt like the luckiest person in Metropolis. 

You’d been on dates with others - plenty, actually - but had never felt the way you did on that one. Not even by a mile. Even in just that short time, he made you feel seen and listened to without having to blurt out every aspect of your life. 

Even being near him made you feel giddy, like a child with a crush. 

What left you even more dumbfounded is that Clark seemed to like you back, like he felt just as happy and carefree with you. And that was refreshing.

Almost as if to solidify your thoughts, you got a text almost as soon as you closed your apartment door. 

Hope you made it home safe. I can’t stop thinking about our date. I’m very excited for Sunday!

A bunch of emojis flooded in after: smiley faces, sunshine, and little hearts. 

You held the phone close to your chest and let out a small squeal of joy. Clark really did have a way of curing sadness. 

***

Sunday came before you knew it. In those near 48 hours, you were glued to your phone, responding and waiting on messages from Clark about when and where your Sunday date would be. You’d been texting even more since your date, and every text was like a breath of fresh air. 

The two of you decided - well, Clark decided - on a nicer, more upskaled restaurant in the heart of downtown. He made reservations for the two of you and everything.

It wasn’t until Sunday morning leading up to your date that something started to feel… off. 

Leading up to your date in the evening the both of you still had to work. To you, it was a nice distraction from the nerves pooling in your stomach. Your heart beat wildly against your chest the entire day any time you thought of the nerdy, dark-haired man.

Throughout the day, you and Clark continued to talk intermittently, but you notice he’d pulled back somewhat pretty early in the day. The messages he sent were still sincere and enthusiastic, but shorter and less frequent than they had been. 

You thought that maybe he was just having a busy day. And very desperately, you tried not to think about what else it could be.

Once work was done, you had some time to go home and get ready for your date. However, that weird feeling that something was wrong kept popping up. So when you entered your apartment, you stood in the living room, typing out a message to Clark.

We’re still on for tonight?

You decided to take a shower as you waited for his answer. 

Despite the strange feeling, you were beyond excited to go on another date with Clark. It had been a long time since you’d looked forward to something like this. You found yourself even wanting to put effort into how you looked; making yourself look as good as you felt. It wasn’t something you’d felt in such a long time. 

After your shower, you could feel anxiety building as you checked your phone. Luckily, there was a text waiting for you from Clark: 

Of course! I’m still at work, but I’ll get off soon!

A sigh of relief left you as you shot back another text, confirming that you’ll see him at the restaurant. 

Before long, you were checking yourself out in the mirror, putting on your last touches of jewelry and accessories. Another weird feeling washed over you, despite Clark’s confirmation, but you thought of it just being your nerves.

As you locked up your apartment, you took in a large breath, looking at the time and making sure that you were still on time for the reservation. You glanced at your messages, but the screen remained blank after the last message you sent. 

Although you didn’t know him that well, it didn’t seem normal.

Still, you sent another quick text, telling him you were on your way to the restaurant, hoping he would respond to you when he could.

Throughout the train ride downtown, the feeling that something wasn’t right was growing deeper in your abdomen. Especially with the radio silence from Clark. It had already been almost an hour since you’d last heard from him and normally he wouldn’t have gone that long without sending you something back already.

Still, you persisted. 

At the restaurant, you kept a brave face as you approached the counter. Part of you thought that maybe your date was already there, waiting for you at the table he reserved. But it was no such luck as you looked around the mostly vacant restaurant. 

You smiled at the hostess, giving her the name “Kent” and the reservation time. You felt a small rush of relief as she nodded to you, leading you back to a booth. She placed down two menus before giving you a polite smile back.

“Still waiting for your guest?” 

You tried to sound confident, “Yes, he’ll be here soon.” 

She gave you a solemn look before nodding and taking your drink order. Still hopeful, you decided to order a glass of red wine. As she walked away, you looked around at the few couples that littered the place before pulling out your phone.

You sent another message, telling him you were there. But there was nothing in return.

Feeling your heart pounding in your chest, you didn’t want to give up just yet. Although something felt wrong, you knew Clark wouldn’t put in effort to make reservations just to stand you up. He’d been so sweet to you that this didn’t seem like his character. 

But then again, you didn’t know him like that.

Against your better judgement, you still waited. And waited. And waited. 

After an hour, you felt more embarrassed than anything. The waitress had come up and asked you if you were waiting still, and each time you would nod, asking for another glass of red wine. Three glasses later, the waitress set a small appetizer down in front of you for free. 

Your heart couldn’t take it anymore.

Just as you were gathering your things, ready to go to the front to pay, your phone dinged. Reaching for it, you finally got some form of an answer by text. 

I’m so sorry. I got so caught up at work, but I haven’t been able to stop thinking about you–

Without reading the rest of the message, you stuffed your phone in your purse, not wanting to read any excuses. You finally asked for the check and paid for your wine, keeping your head low as you slowly made your way out of the restaurant. 

The waitress, and you were sure any of the patrons, were giving you sad looks, only making you feel worse. You took a mental note that you would never go there again out of pure embarrassment. 

You held your tears in until you were fully out of view of any prying eyes, but as soon as you were out the door, the dam broke and it was like a waterfall fell over your cheeks. You tried to wipe them away to no avail, only for more to continuously fall. 

As you walked home, you tried to cover your face with your hands, trying to focus on simply getting to the apartment. The subway had too many eyes, and you didn’t want anyone else to see you. With your eyes casted to the ground, the walk felt like an eternity. 

Halfway home, you passed by some men sitting on some apartment steps. You kept your head low, hoping no one could see your tear stained cheeks. Still, a low whistle sounded from one of the men who stood up, trying to get your attention. Typical of a lot of men in Metropolis, but you never budged, you simply ignored them, continuing on your walk.

But a little ways away, you could hear footsteps behind you and low murmuring as the men talked to each other. You tried to quicken your pace, feeling that they were trailing behind you fairly quickly. 

Your heart started to thud fast against your chest as you lengthened your stride. Easily, however, they were able to keep up, some of them being much faster. 

“Hey!” One of the men chimed behind you, “Where you going?”

You kept walking, ignoring him again. With just your luck most of the shops you passed were closed and no one else seemed to notice or care that these men were following you. Taking in a large breath, you remained forward, using all of your strength to speed up.

“This is a nice view back here. I would love to see the front.” 

Another man said, or maybe the same one. It didn’t matter though, and you didn’t dare to look behind you.

You were almost at a job, but judging by their footsteps, you knew they were still gaining on you. The tears that you’d been trying to keep in were freely flowing down your cheeks, creating a harsh sting against the cool night air. 

As a hand caught your shoulder, you let out a yelp, and in an instant, he showed up.

Superman.

You heard the commotion before you even had the chance to turn around. There was a smack and a groan as some of the bystanders around you finally started to turn their heads. As you finally looked behind you, there was Superman with his hand around the neck of who you could only assume was the man that grabbed your shoulder. 

From where you stood, you couldn’t see the strong man’s face, but you knew it was Superman just by everything else. You could obviously see how big and tall he was, but you could also feel the presence and power he had. 

The three other men were watching in horror as the large meta-human stood incredibly still, his cape flapping lightly in the wind as if he were waiting for them to speak first. 

“Fellas.” His voice was loud and pointed. He let the man by the neck go, shoving him towards his friends, “Why don’t you run home?” 

As the men scampered off, Superman watched for a moment, crossing his arms in front of him before turning to face you. 

“Are you okay, ma’am?”

Words and thoughts weren’t coming easily as you stared possibly for too long. The super hero in front of you started to smile wide, dimples poking out of the corners of his lips. 

A soft buzzing noise began in the back of your brain, low and soft, like it was trying to grab your attention. Maybe it was the combination of everything that had happened that day; the shoddy communication with Clark, him standing you up, the men, and now Superman, but you couldn’t hold your tears in any longer. The dam broke once again as tears spilled from your eyes. 

“I don’t know,” you sobbed. 

Superman’s eyes softened as he uncrossed his arms, making himself just a bit smaller for you. 

“It’s okay to not know.” The large meta-human motioned to a bench along the sidewalk about a block away, “Want to talk?” 

Nodding at him, he gave you a kind smile before leading you over to sit. As he sat beside you, you could immediately feel the inhuman warmth radiating off of him. It felt almost familiar but not enough to come to mind. 

Instead, you thought of your father. 

Superman didn’t say anything or make you feel like you needed to talk back at him. He simply sat with you and waited until you were ready. 

When you did finally speak, you tried to deflect off of your sad feelings, “Aren’t you supposed to be out saving the world?” 

The question came out more accusatory than you’d wanted, but it didn’t seem phased as he answered. 

“The world starts with the people in it.”

Without pressing, he waited again for you to continue talking. You took a deep breath, shaking your head at how ridiculous it was to be telling Superman of all people your mundane problems.

“This sounds so stupid saying this to you,” your laugh was wet as you tried to gain composure again, continuing, “I got stood up by a guy I really liked. And then this happened. But… this guy felt really different. Now, I’m not so sure.” 

“That’s not stupid.” His voice became quieter like it was just for you, “The only thing that’s stupid is the guy that stood you up.” 

You sighed, nodding, “Guess so. I got so frustrated and embarrassed. I think he tried to apologize, but I didn’t read his messages.”

“You have a right to be angry,” Superman caught your gaze and you weren’t sure if you ever noticed that his eyes were blue, “Regardless of if he apologizes, you don’t have to accept anything else from someone that wronged you.”

You thought for a moment. 

“I don’t want to feel angry though, and maybe that’s naive. But everything was going really well until a few hours ago.”

Superman sighed, cautiously placing a hand on your shoulder. That same warm familiar feeling washed over you once again as you leaned in to him. 

“I can’t offer you much, but I can offer you my opinion.” Nodding lamely, you urged him to continue, “It sounds cliche, but trust yourself. He miscommunicated and made you upset, rightfully so. If you feel like this bond you’ve made with him has severed beyond repair, don’t read the message, and don’t waste anymore energy on just some guy. But on the other hand, maybe he had a valid excuse and now he’s trying his best to apologize. It’s ultimately up to you to decide whether you give him the benefit of the doubt or not.”

For a long moment, you stared at the super human before you in complete awe. You’d looked up to him for a while, and here he was in the flesh giving you advice. 

“What would you do?” 

Superman laughed, his voice echoing through the city. 

“I have a bad habit of giving everyone the benefit of the doubt. It’s hard not to want to see the good in people. And who knows, maybe now he knows that he should’ve made time for you.”

You didn’t say anything to that, studying him again. The low buzzing in your head was getting slightly stronger; his blue eyes and dark hair were setting off sparks of something that you couldn’t place. No matter how hard you tried, you couldn’t grasp what was so familiar. 

After a few moments, your head started to ache. You shut your eyes for a second to recalibrate, giving up on trying to figure anything else out for the night. 

Certainly, he noticed you taking the moment, “You should rest.” 

He stood up from the bench and outstretched his hand to you. Gently, you took his offered hand, standing to face him. For someone so strong, he was incredibly gentle as he helped you up. He gave you a wide smile, standing tall once you were on your feet.

“Thank you, Superman.” You sighed, “You’ve done so much for me tonight. Not only saving me, but taking the time to talk to me too. I can’t thank you enough.” 

“You’re welcome, ma’am, but you don’t need to thank me. I’m just a guy trying to do what’s right.” He nodded to you once, beaming at you, “If you ever need to talk again, I’m just a shout away.” 

You nodded back and before you knew it, Superman was flying off into the evening sky.

Swiftly walking the rest of the way to your apartment, you felt more at ease than you had before. Once you got inside, you felt like you could breathe again finally. 

Still feeling utterly conflicted, you cleaned yourself off and threw your outfit in the hamper before finally crashing onto your couch. You didn’t let the tears well in your eyes this time as you pulled out your phone. 

Thinking over your conversation with Superman, you mulled over what you wanted to do with Clark. 

On one hand, he had stood you up. Plain and simple, that was a really awful thing to do. You’d felt so embarrassed and stupid at such a nice restaurant that it would make sense to cut him off much like he did for you. 

But Clark felt… different. That feeling you got while you were with him was unlike anything else you’d felt with someone before. He’d been so sweet before that there must’ve been something wrong for him to not show up.

You thought of what Superman said about giving people the benefit of the doubt. And you came to the conclusion that if the most powerful man on earth could give people a chance, you could too.

Finally, you opened up your phone to your unopened message from Clark. 

I’m so incredibly sorry. I haven’t stopped thinking about you, but I’m still caught at work. I hate to think you’re waiting for me, and I understand if this is inexcusable. It’s not my intention to leave you hanging. I’d love to try again.

You sighed heavily before typing out a reply: Can we talk?

Mere seconds after you hit send, your phone was ringing. It almost would’ve been funny had the situation been a little lighter. 

“Hello?” Clark sounded first, your name slipping quietly from his lips.

“Hey.” You said timidly. 

“Listen, before you say anything, I’m really sorry. I-I know I messed up really big. I get caught up with work like that sometimes, and I should’ve warned you instead of making you think I was leaving you high and dry. It’s not an excuse for being a jerk, but I thought I should at least offer you an apology.” 

Tears pricked at the back of your eyes again, but none fell. You were too tired to let anything else out, “I waited over an hour for you, Clark.”

“Gosh,” He sighed, “I… I understand if that was too much.”

“I really like you… but right now, after this, I-I really don’t know.” 

“It’s okay to not know.” He murmured.

Lightning zapped at your brain again and you furrowed your eyebrows, trying to shake it away as you didn’t want to think too hard. Clark waited silently on the other end of the line for you to speak. Hesitantly, you took in another deep breath. 

“Clark?” 

“Yes?” 

He answered like you took his breath away

“Can we try again… like you said?” 

He let out an audible sigh - like he was finally releasing the air he’d been holding, “Of course. Yes, we can try again. Thank you. Wherever you’d like and whenever you want, I’m all yours. I’ll even take off work for the day.”

You let out the smallest laugh, “You don’t have to do that much.”

Clark let out a hum of thought over the phone like music to your ears, “What about now?” 

Your eyebrows nearly shot to the ceiling.

“Now?” 

Over the receiver, a low chuckle sounded, “I can pick up some wine and a midnight snack?”

Your heart began to speed and stutter, your head already beginning to whirl. In your silence, Clark’s voice dropped even lower to a murmur, speaking again before you had the chance to overthink it.

“You can say no to tonight and we’d still make time for another date. I just want to make things up to you.”

“Okay…” you bit your lip, beginning to feel that giddy feeling again as before, “But you better bring a red.”

“Yes ma’am.” 

Once you hung up, it only took about fifteen minutes before there was a knock at your door. You ran out of your bathroom to answer the door, having thrown on a more casual outfit than your pajamas.

At the door stood a very disheveled Clark, like he’d been running around. His curly dark hair was in disarray and he was still in his ill-fitted work suit. He held out a bottle of red wine, a bag of snacks, and a large bouquet of flowers. You looked at him incredulously as he beamed a large smile back at you. 

“Can I come in?” He said breathlessly.

A giggle escaped you as you stepped aside, letting the tall man walk through your door. He placed the items he brought on the nearest surface except for the flowers, which he held back out to you. 

Clark said your name quietly, catching your gaze, “I can’t express to you how genuinely sorry I am. Any excuse I give is not enough. I wanted to be there, but I wasn’t.”

Carefully, you took the flowers from him, but before you could pull away, he enveloped your hands with his. His strong fingers squeezed yours with a soft pressure, gazing into your eyes with his deep ones. 

“You’re here now,” you whispered.

His eyes flickered down to your lips. Your heart started to dance in your chest as he placed one of his hands along your cheek. He was hesitant, like he was testing the waters with you. Although he wasn't fully forgiven yet, you couldn't find yourself to pull away.

“Can I kiss you?” His voice was just above a whisper.

You nodded once, but he didn’t move immediately. 

Ever so slowly, you pressed your lips together, like you were savoring every second. It was a quick, small beck before you pulled away to look at each other. 

And for a moment, things felt blissful again. 

No words needed to be spoken as you leaned in again, pulling him to you. The second kiss was longer, more intimate and slower… hungrier. But he didn’t make any moves to go any further. He was content with your lips, keeping you grounded as he molded to yours. He began to smile into the kiss, wrapping his arms around your waist.

The two of you kissed for a few moments longer, only pulling away when you needed to get air. 

Soon, the two of you were sitting on your couch with two glasses of wine in hand, eating your snacks as you slowly fell into a comfortable rhythm of talking and getting to know each other again. It felt like you could talk about everything and nothing with him all at once. 

And after a while, it was like the forgotten dinner never happened. 

Sometime in the night, Clark stood up from your couch to inspect the bookshelf of records you owned. 

“Golly, you have quite the collection,” He mused aloud. 

Clark walked over to the record player and carefully opened it up. The last record you’d been playing - The Righteous Brothers - was queued already and Clark simply pressed the play button.

“It was both me and my father’s collection.” you said as music started flowing through your speakers. 

“Unchained Melody.” Clark hummed, “My Pa loves this one.”

“Mine did too.”

Clark outreached his hand to you and for a moment, you had a flash of deja-vu back to your conversation with Superman. That moment with the super human felt like a lifetime ago, but in reality it had only been a few short hours. That low buzzing started in your head again, but this time, you could feel something poking and prodding as you looked at the man in glasses before you.

But the thought that crossed your mind was impossible.

Instead of thinking too hard, you took Clark’s hand, letting him help you off the couch. Ever patient, he waited for you to get closer before wrapping his arms securely around your waist, placing his chin on your shoulder as you swayed to the song.

“If you'll let me fix things,” He whispered, “I want to be yours if you’ll have me.” 

You smiled wide, nodding.

“I’d love that.”