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hello male writer. before you is a typewriter. you have one day to write a novella with a woman as the protagonist without describing her breasts. the timer begins now
summary: after helping the mandalorian with a favor, he brings you a gift as a thank you. little do both of you know that this gift sparks a connection that neither of you can deny, and thoughts that din never considered before you.
tags/warnings: dual pov, no use of y/n cuz ew, alcohol consumption, mentions of medicine/contraceptives, a very tiny mention of being chased/hunted down, hella chemistry, fluff, language, jealousy, sexual tension, yearning, dirty talk, heavy makeout, biting, fingering, clit play, cunnilingus, breast play, slight choking kink, piv unprotected sex, praise kink, breeding kink, cream pie, helmet off, dark room sensory focused.
author’s note: listen listen LISTEN... I know, it's been a hot minute 🥲 Life happened and all that jazz. Tbh this has been in my drafts for a while but I decided to finish it now that the movie is out so this is probably canon divergent at this point lol. But when I tell you I ran away writing this, bitch I raaaan. To everyone who wondered what happened to that bottle of liquor in s3, this is for you pookies🫵🏻🙂↕️
When you decided to make Nevarro your home, you expected it to be a rough place. A far off den of thieves, bounty hunters, and a sleazy connection to the old empire. Nonetheless, it was cheap so you convinced yourself you could put up with it. It wasn’t anything new to you. Plus, at the time, you really didn’t have anywhere else to go.
Thankfully, the reputation has drastically improved over the past few years. It’s not Naboo, but there’s a sort of gritty charm to it. Rebels became marshals. Bars became schools. Thieves became honest vendors. Hell, there’s even kaf shops here now.
You’re no stranger to drastic changes in this galaxy. You’ve beared witness to the rise and fall of an empire after all.
But receiving a bottle of wine at night from a notorious ex-bounty hunter is definitely a first for you.
“You’re… giving this to me,” you ask, dragging the question out.
The Mandalorian stands at your doorstep. Unreadable beneath hard shiny metal and illuminated only by the entry light of your home above your door. The chilly night air bites your cheeks but he stands unfazed.
“As a thank you,” he explains. “You were a big help to my kid and this was the only thing I had that seemed like something you’d enjoy.”
All you did was give his little green kid some medicine. It’s not like it was even your first interaction with the infamous hunter. He’s stopped by your apothecary a couple times. Passing by so swiftly you hardly even knew he was there if it wasn’t for the lingering stares from other customers. If you recall correctly, he only ever picks up supplies to replenish a med pack or bacta spray for wounds.
Until you suddenly found him at your doorstep the other night with his adorable little green baby in his arms. The poor little guy was running a fever, coughing up a storm, and had even refused food for over a day. Any parent would be frantic. And so you didn’t even think twice to let them inside.
Luckily your small shop is attached below your home, so you were quick to find the right tinctures for his illness. The Mandalorian paced circles in your kitchen as you administered the medicine and blotted his kid’s little forehead with a cool damp cloth. It took some time and a lot of reassurance to a very nervous father, but after a few hours the fever broke.
You sent them home with some herbal tinctures and even some homemade hard medicinal candies for stubborn coughs and that was it. Hardly any words were exchanged between you that night that didn’t pertain to the child. Only a heartfelt thank you, goodnight, and a promise to pay you back somehow. You assured him that it really wasn’t necessary, that you were glad to help.
You’ve admittedly always been curious about the man. With his stoic demeanor and a reputation that preceded him like lightening preceded thunder. He’s somewhat of a local legend, menace, and hero all wrapped up in one. And now he’s at your door. With booze. Definitely a man of his word, this guy.
“You’re giving this,” you repeat with astonishment. “This whole bottle, to me?”
“Yes,” he answers again. “Is it a special one or something?”
“This is Andoan wine,” you emphasize, holding out the clear glass bottle. “You can only find these on Coruscant now. Very delicious, very rare, very expensive.”
“Is it,” he asks nonchalantly. “I’ve never tried it before. But I hope you enjoy it.”
“You really don’t have to,” you tell him.
“I insist. I didn’t know the first thing to do so I appreciate your help.”
You chuckle. With your limited interactions, you’re starting to see that he’s short and to the point with his words. Almost like he’s not entirely used to speaking with people.
“I…” You nearly argue it again but decide against it. He really didn’t have to give you such a lavish gift for something any good person would do in a situation like that. It was only natural. But at this point, refusing him might come off as rude so…
“Thank you very much.”
The Mandalorian acknowledges your gratitude with a tilt of his helmet, then turns on his heels to leave without another word. And for some reason, you linger at the door. You watch him go down one step, then another, then-
“H-hey, Mando?”
Your sudden call stops him in his tracks on the stair case and he turns to look back over his shoulder. The dim light gleaming over his steel.
“Yes?”
“I…. w-well…”
You’re stammering. Just come out and say it.
“If you’ve never tried it… would you like to share it with me?”
He stands there silently looking at you and the awkwardness crawls your skin.
“I’m not busy at the moment and it’s not really in my culture to drink alone.”
Culture your ass. You just want to drink with him. It’s unclear why in particular but… you’re curious about him. Other than the company of his kid, he seems alone. You wonder if he prefers it that way or if it’s for another reason entirely. Either way, the offer was worth a shot.
There’s more silence and the only noise in the air comes from the gentle chirp of some lava crickets and the breeze brushing the trees in the street. And it’s in that moment that regret starts to burn in your stomach
He’s gonna say no. A pause like that doesn’t necessarily mean yes. But it would be rude not to offer, right? A bottle this nice doesn’t come by these parts and it’d be a shame to drink it alone. It’s reasonable to offer the gesture. After all, he went out of his way to come here from across town. It’s the least you can do to show your appreciation in return.
“Alright.”
The word that falls out of him so effortlessly hits you like a punch to the chest. Are you nervous? Absolutely. But how many people can say they shared a drink with the Mandalorian?
A few minutes later, you find yourself standing on your tip toes, grabbing a couple earthenware ceramic cups in your kitchenette cabinet while Mando stands in your living room. His helmet follows the various potted plants, momentos and knick knacks from your travels littered around your home. Even tracing his gloved fingers over some of them.
“You have a nice home,” he says. “I didn’t notice before. Very lived in.”
“Lots of junk,” you joke. “You can say it Mando, I won’t mind.”
“My place is still new. Doesn’t feel like a home just yet.”
“That’ll change over time,” you assure him. “After a while, your home becomes a collection of memories.”
His attention gets drawn to a particular item on your wall. It’s an old worn down canvas satchel bag that hangs on the wall. At one point it was a life line. Now it serves as a reminder that no matter how hard life gets, showing a little kindness can go a long way for someone.
“What’s this memory?”
“That? That memory is what got me here.” You smile to yourself as you wipe down the cups with a clean kitchen rag.
“A few years ago, I was on Pantora with just some spare change and the clothes on my back. I was desperate to leave so I ended up hitching a ride on a freight ship. I worked on the ship in exchange for a ride to Corellia. Their language was difficult to learn and I had a rough time getting things done because for some reason everything was written in the native language and not aurebesh. On a stop to Tattooine, I accidentally labeled a pallet of coaxium as a pallet of scrap metal. That “scrap” was sold to some Jawas and by the time everyone realized my mistake we were already halfway to the next planet.”
“Was that before you came the Nevarro?”
“That was the reason I came to Nevarro,” you clarify. “It was their next stop so they dropped me here.”
“Ouch.”
“Yeah, ouch,” you laugh. “Anyway, I guess one of the workers felt sorry for me and left me that satchel with a couple credits and some ration bars inside. Buuut my mistake turned out to be a blessing in disguise. Nevarro turned itself around. I have my own little business. I’m even able to save a little bit of money now. For the time being, things are comfortable. I’ve hopped around the system a lot as you can see. But… this is a place I can always come back to.”
“Something reliable,” he adds.
“Exactly,” you say softly, smiling at the sentiment.
You look up at him. And you didn’t notice as you were cleaning those cups that he’s now completely facing towards you. His visor is trained on you. And it’s then that you realize how small your home really is. Because Mando is broad.
His crossed arms accentuate his wide shoulders. His chest plate follows the lines of his trim torso. Even those plates of beskar armor can barely hide the bulk of his biceps. Your eyes briefly, briefly take a tour at his waist line before you realize how incredibly rude you’re being.
He’s a guest. And a customer. Don’t. Check. Him. Out.
Heat starts to rise in your cheeks. Focusing back on the cups, you round the kitchen counter and walk over to him.
“I’m sorry. All this talking suddenly got deeper and I feel like I haven’t really introduced myself. We’ve only ever passed by each other before,” you chuckle, shaking away the nerves.
In hindsight you should’ve just introduced yourself the other night, but truthfully you were in care-taker-mode and it didn’t occur to you at the time. Plus you didn’t think you’d have an encounter with the man again other than seeing him briefly in your shop every so often. But he seems like a nice enough person with the limited knowledge you do have with him. And after tonight you’re bound to cross paths again. So you happily extend your hand out and give him his cup along with your full name.
There’s a couple beats of silence and you’re starting to see that’s his default. But it doesn’t stop you from second guessing your words as if you’re crossing an unknown boundary. There’s a slight tilt downward with his helmet and he responds with a regretful “I’m sorry, but-“
“You don’t have to tell me your name,” you immediately add. “I know there’s… principles you must have. I just wanted you to know me. That’s all.”
Another beat passes before he finally reaches out to take the cup in his hand. He repeats your name and the way it comes out of his voice holds a whole new flavor. Soft and curious even through the warble of his vocoder. It’s almost like he’s seeing how it tastes.
You like it. You like it a lot.
“It’s nice to meet you.” The voice wears the vocoder like a veil but you still catch a hint of a smile by his relaxed tone. No real logical way to know for certain, just a gut feeling.
“Likewise,” you smile back.
“So,” he exhales. “You want to know how two Mandalorians drink?”
“Sure. Sounds educational,” you joke.
With a tilt of his helmet, Mando steps further into the living room area and you follow behind, cup and bottle in hand. Walking over to the couch, his gloved hand reaches for the small round pillow resting there. His smokey grey cape flows over his shoulder and for a moment you’re mesmerized by the movement. As he turns on his heel, his fingers release the pillow. Letting it fall to the thin rug with a muted poof.
“Right here.” Mando gestures to the floor and you waltz over to take a seat on the cushion, crossing your legs. It doesn’t escape your notice how he doesn’t grab the only pillow for himself. Opting for your comfort over his own.
He takes a minute to look around the room. Probably checking for anything reflective. Then with a swish of his cape to the side, Mando settles in the floor behind you. When his back presses against yours, you expect a wall of cold hard metal beneath the cape. But instead there’s warmth. Strong and firm, but still warm and giving.
“It’s customary to sit on the floor when drinking with a war band. Usually outside around a fire. When it’s just two, it’s back to back.”
“Aaah,” you drawl. “Very practical. I like it.”
The top of the bottle comes off with a pop and the rich scent caresses your nose like a hug. After pouring about two fingers worth into Mando’s cup you pour one for yourself and settle in.
“Are we drinking to anything tonight ,” you ask him.
“Not sure. How about…,” he pauses for a moment before deciding. “To that Pantoran who gave you the satchel.”
That makes you laugh out loud. But you can’t help but feel a little pleased at that. If it wasn’t for him, you wouldn’t be on Nevarro, wouldn’t have a home. And you definitely wouldn’t be drinking with Mando tonight. For that you’re especially grateful.
“You know what, yeah,” you chuckle. “To the Pantoran.”
Mando extends his arm back to reach your cups and you meet him halfway. Letting them touch with a soft clack.
“Cheers.”
“Cheers.”
There’s an unclicking sound and you sense that he’s probably tilting his helmet back to drink. You ignore the small tinge of disappointment that he didn’t take it completely off. But it’s understandable. He doesn’t know you well. Even drinking like this with an outsider is probably a big deal for people of his creed. His back presses a little further against yours as he takes his first sip and you take yours.
The wine is rich and dry, and a bit smokey. But the underlying taste of tangy fruit blends well with the flavor. Going by the color, it has to have been bottled for a decades. The alcohol runs warmly down your throat and settles like smoldering ember in your stomach. It’s like no other alcohol you’ve ever tried before. Not even close.
“Hoooh,” he hisses after that sharp bite of alcohol.
“Yeah,” you agree knowingly. Already sensing that this bottle is getting finished tonight.
The conversations flow pretty easily after the first drink. He tells you about how his boy came into his life and how he suddenly found himself being his father. You tell him that you can only dream of having a parent like him because you never got to know yours. You half expected he would cut the interaction short and only accept one drink. But when you offer a refill, he gladly accepted which warmed you from the inside.
Admittedly you ask a few curious questions about his creed and he indulges you a bit. And he asks about how you got into medicine making. But for the most part you both stick to easier topics like current events on Nevarro, work, and food. Eventually two drinks turn into three and somehow you’ve both dipped into topics like past relationships. Which is dangerous territory after drink number three.
“It was baaad, Mando. I’m telling you. I mean, really! Who gives two shits who makes more money than who? Or am I in the wrong here?”
“Nah, definitely not,” he replies. His speech now more relaxed but a little raspy from the alcohol. “Honestly, he sounds like a little bitch if that was his main concern.”
“Yeah! Like, what is it with these men and needing to feel superior in such bullshit, inconsequential ways?”
“You seem strong willed. Weak men are intimidated by that.”
“Yeah well, then every man I’ve met in this galaxy was weak,” you groan. “I mean, c’mon. Am I that intimidating? Is it the yapping? It’s probably the yapping.”
“I think someone who’d be deterred by something that trivial doesn’t sound worth a damn anyway.”
With that, you let out a deep sigh and slump against the man behind your back.
“Eh, you’re probably right,” you exhale. You toss back the last little sip in your ceramic cup, savoring the flavor.
“You know what, it’s fine. I’m fine. I’ll just be that shop girl around the corner who throws herself into her work, makes her little remedies, and stays happily independent. I think I can live with that.”
A pause streches between you.
“You don’t sound too convincing, Shop Girl,” he teases.
“Shit,” you tsk.
You both wheeze with laughter, your bodies rumbling against one another and it’s so… relaxing. He’s surprisingly easy to talk to. Perhaps it’s because he doesn’t say much. Or that what little he does say is said with a sincerity you’re not used to. Or you’re drunk. It could very well be that.
But in a galaxy full of deceit and unknown dangers, it’s refreshing to talk with someone as honest as him. He’s authentic, unapologetically so.
“Hey so… can I ask you something?”
“You’ve been asking things this whole time,” he teases.
“I know, but… it’s technically a helmet question. And you can tell me to fuck off if it’s too much.”
Mando hums and the rumble reverberates through your body, nesting warmly in your chest. He’s settled comfortably against you and it makes you feel close enough to ask what you want to ask. After thinking it over he gives you permission.
“Can’t wait to hear this,” he sighs with a little amusement.
You smile. To your surprise, he actually has a good sense of humor. A dry, blunt one . But humor nonetheless. You run a finger over the rim of your cup, finding a little more courage.
“Mando… Have you ever kissed anyone before?”
It’s a simple enough question, right? It’s within the ballpark of the topics you’ve been discussing. And you’re both adults. It’s not like it’s inappropriate…Right?
Oh god, you really are drunk…
Regret rises with each passing second and you wonder why you even brought it up. It’s probably some kind of insult to his creed to ask something like that.
“Too much,” you broach gently.
“No,” he says softly. “You’re not exactly the first person to ask that. Doubt you’ll be the last.”
He pauses for a moment to find the right words. Then with a heavy exhale he gives you an answer to your insanely intrusive question.
“I was pretty young when I took the creed,” he states. “Ten, twelve maybe? Too young to be interested in those kinds of things. Never looked back since. To be completely honest, it’s not even something I really think about in adulthood. Never understood the hype.”
“Sooo, I’ll take that as a no.”
“No,” he breathes. “Never kissed anyone.”
Never kissed anyone? Never felt a person’s soft lips against his own or graze his skin? Does that mean he hasn’t gotten to experience more than kissing? Licking? Biting? Or…
Do not finish that thought…
“Huh… Well, that’s a shame,” you say without thinking, quickly adding “-but at the same time, I completely understand it too! I mean, it shows a lot of self discipline, you know? To resist that kind of… temptation. Most people don’t have any reason to be disciplined enough to stay chaste. I can admire tha-"
“I said I’ve never kissed anyone, I didn’t say I never fucked.”
Thank… the Maker… you’re not face to face. Because the way your eyes bulged just now would’ve been downright embarrassing had it been caught. He didn’t just say sex or even screwing. The Mandalorian fucks. The alcohol in your blood seems to conjure a brief glimpse of what that might look like before you find enough coherence to shew it away.
“…oh,” you breathe out, effectively stopping your rambling. “I-I guess I just assumed…”
A deep exhale blows out of his nose. He hums, seemingly entertained by the foot you’ve put in your mouth. But also making the air light between you.
“Well, you assumed wrong.”
The humor in his voice settles your nerves a bit. Thankfully there isn’t an awkward air at the sudden change to such a topic despite hardly knowing each other. And oddly enough, it feels easy to talk about it for that very reason.
“You’re rather chatty when you drink, Mandalorian. I feel like I’m learning all sorts of things about you tonight.”
“You’re right,” he breathes. “I spoke without thinking, I apologize.”
“No, It’s fine. I don’t mind at all. It’s a relief to know there’s a man under all that armor and not solid metal.”
He hums again and the noise stirs something in your chest.
“Well, even so… It’s late… Probably best if I stop drinking.”
You look into your empty cup. Then glance over to the bottle with barely a drop left inside. Something inside you wilts. There’s nothing to keep him here any longer…
“Yeah… Me too.”
You’re not sure if you wait for him to move first or if he’s waiting for you. But both of you remain still for nearly a whole minute. Silent and hesitant to end the night. As comfortable as it is, you feel Mando’s back lean away from yours and you miss the warmth. You turn on the floor to find him standing up as he adjusts his helmet clasp and places his empty cup on the table.
“You were right. It tasted better shared,” he admits. A satisfied smile curls your lips.
“If you learned anything about me tonight, Mando, it’s that I am always right when it comes to liquor.”
“I appreciate the hospitality.”
“I appreciate the company.”
You place a hand on the table as an anchor in an attempt to stand up and follow him to the door. But as you try to stand straight, the room spins and your knees buckle.
Nope. Not doing that.
You sit your ass right back down on that cushion before you make an even bigger fool of yourself. Quick to respond, Mando catches your free arm. Making sure you land back down safely.
“You ok,” he asks, concerned but with a hint of humor.
“Pfft. Yeah, I’m good. I think I’ll just stay down here for a minute,” you chuckle, running a hand through your hair and closing your eyes for a moment.
For sure you’ll have a hangover tomorrow. Shit. You work tomorrow. There’s a couple things you’re running low on, too. You’ll have to request an order through the trading guild. That’ll cost credits. Maybe if you get that Chiss man again you can manage a trade and he can throw in those dried flower buds for that tea that keeps getting sold out.
You know you’re already a bit dizzy. But behind closed eyes you feel like your head is swaying. Or rather… that it’s being moved. Something warm and firm holds your jaw up and when your eyes flutter open again you’re met face to face with dark silver.
The Mandalorian stands barely a foot in front of you. Visor fixed down on your face. Maybe the wine has made your brain slow but it’s only when you follow the path from his shoulder and down his outstretched arm that you realize what’s holding your jaw… is his hand.
With a subtle pass of his thumb along your cheek you can feel warmth starting to pool in your face. Awareness pricks the hairs on the back of your neck when you realize your position. Sitting on your knees, face barely level to his waist as a wall of steel and muscle towers over you.
“Your cheeks get flushed when you drink,” he mutters.
When I drink. Suuuure.
“Now you know,” you mumble without thinking. It grants you a satisfied hum from his helmet and you feel it travel through your ears and under your skin.
“Now I know…,” he repeats.
There’s no movement, no words. But there’s something thick in the air. It’s heavy and enticing. It’d be so easy to get wrapped up in it with any sudden movement. You look up at him through half lidded eyes and you get a gut feeling that they’re meeting his. You’re not sure what his are giving away. But yours have to be hinting something you’ve been trying to hide all night.
With a sharp intake of air, Mando steps back and releases your face. Your head drops a little at the loss of support and it follows his direction as he walks towards the front door with quick, heavy steps. With a press of a button on the wall panel, the door panels slide open and just before he steps outside… he stops. Not looking back, just standing there at the edge of your home with his stand still resting on the doorway.
“Don’t invite me in again.”
And then he’s gone. The door panels shut swiftly, leaving you alone and more confused than when he showed up at your door.
…what?
•
Din wishes he could say that the first thing he thinks about when he got home that night was his sleeping kid safe in the crib. Or at the very least about how incredible that wine tasted. But after he undressed and collapsed down onto his bed half drunk, the only thought he couldn’t stop thinking about as he stared at the ceiling was…
Damn… it’s been a while.
For the past few years, Din’s life has flipped around a number of times. Between barely scraping by as a bounty hunter, saving an orphan kid from an imperial psychopath, losing said kid, then having him return and be by his side to reclaim the Mandalorian home-world, there’s not much time to indulge those kinds of needs. But just because Din found himself being a busy father later in life doesn’t make certain things dead.
No. Everything felt very much alive and kicking by the end of that bottle.
Behind closed eyes, his room feels like it swirls. After that wine, his body feels loose and relaxed. Something he rarely gets to experience these days. Images dance across his closed lids. Delicate, slender hands around a handmade cup. A pink flush on smooth skin. Plump tinted lips between his fingers, softly parted and begging to be touched. The intrusive impulse to dip a finger between those lips was so strong he could feel his hand move into the action before he could even think to do so.
All thanks to that one question. That simple, innocent question activated a deep part of his brain that lay dormant. And then he decided to shatter the care free atmosphere by with a crass remark about sex.
Never in his life has he regretted saying something so fast. You barely even know each other. Admittedly, Din isn’t exactly a refined person, far from it actually. But after his third glass, any semblance of manners flew right out the window. His mouth did the walking with little thinking involved.
Yet, you didn’t get uncomfortable. You handled the slip up with humor instead of getting offended or something just as bad. Using humor to make the air light again. It surprised him how easily you did it. How easy the conversation was all night, really. It’s not everyday he’s able to let his guard down with another person.
Once he was aware of that, he became aware of everything. How late the hour was, how drunk you both were, and how your bed was right behind where you both sat. Only separated by a simple room divider. Even when he tipped up his helmet, there was a heady herbal scent from you that kept swimming in his nose and it was just as intoxicating as the wine. He couldn’t trust himself to stay any longer. And now, in the safety of his own home, he finds himself preoccupied with a mountain of questions.
What kind of person are you? What’s your daily life like? What other places have you seen? What troubles you? You seem to be rooted here in Nevarro for the time being. But from what you’ve mentioned about your past, you have a kind of nomadic life. What happens if he… if the kid gets attached and you decide to move on to another planet? But then again, it’s not like he’s not one to talk though is he?
Loyalty. Solidarity. These are things that have been etched to his core since childhood. But giving those things to something that could be fleeting? That’s a risk he’s avoided for most of his life. Those kinds of wounds never heal.
But as much as he tries to distance himself, it’s not always in his control.
Three weeks go by and they couldn’t end soon enough. When he offered to work with Teva (or Blue as he usually calls him) on a case-by-case basis, he figured they’d be more involved than the bounty hunting trade. He’s spent up to a month off planet at times in order to capture a quarry so it’s not exactly new to him.
But that was when he had the Razor Crest. With a cot to rest in, a weapons locker, and supplies readily at hand. In that regard, the N-1 leaves much to be desired. Plus Din’s back isn’t what it used to be and long rides in that ship are killer. And to add insult to injury, this last case with Zeb was especially complicated to resolve. It left him and the kid completely drained.
After finally landing back in Nevarro with fresh credits, there is absolutely nothing Din wants more than to just go home, bathe, and sleep for at least a day. But he’s got a very hungry green mouth to feed and there’s no way Din is fixing up any dinner tonight.
Street food it is.
“Alright, we’re making this quick. In and out. I’ll get you as much food as you want and you can pick out one sweet. Not five. One. Got that?” Grogu tilts his head at Din curiously from where he follows behind on the cobblestone street and he’ll just take that as a yes.
Dozens of food stalls are gathered at the main square in town as he approaches. Adorned with all sorts of neon signs, string lights and colorful banners. It’s a busy atmosphere filled with people laughing, vendors calling out for customers to stop by, and sounds of clanking and sizzling as they cook.
Din gravitates towards the skewers stand. He knows Grogu is going to down ten of them by himself so he opts for something easy, filling, and cheap. He catches sight of those spicy chunks of fatty meat searing over lava coals and his mouth waters.
“Okay, which onesss-“
Din reaches down to pick up his son only to find the street bricks.
“-Sssshhhhit,” he hisses under his breath, glancing around. This fucking kid. He knows better than to run off.
The crowd is thick and it’s getting dark. He scans through the sea of people and vendors but doesn’t find that familiar pale green.
Shit. Shit. Shit.
With a tap of his helmet side panel he switches to the tracking beacon screen. After enough scares like these he’s learned to have a tracker sewn into his clothes at this point.
Blinking red arrows come into his view and he follows the path. Not caring whose shoulders he budges or what food he knocks out of someone’s grip to get through. The red arrows turn yellow. He’s getting close but there’s still no visual of the kid and he’s starting to panic. He pushes through, scanning side to side and calling out his name in an orchestra of noises without reply.
Yellow turns to green and he’s still out of sight. He’s tiny and easy to miss. Grogu could be anywhere, he could be in any one of these stalls. What if he’s taken? What if someone else is tracking him? He could be picked up by a total stranger and taken away again.
Just as that thought crosses his mind, there’s a small separation in the crowd. Big floppy ears come into view and he’s definitely been picked up. But it’s no stranger that holds him.
“And here comes dad~” A voice soft as silk rings inside his helmet.
Relief floods his body as well as caution when he taps his screen clear. Only him. Situations like this only happen to him. It could’ve been Karga. It could’ve been anybody. But it had to be you that found him.
It was barely two minutes. But within those two minutes Din’s head flooded with every worst case scenario possible. And here he is. Happily babbling in your arms like he didn’t just give his dad a fucking heart attack.
“I know, I know,” you assure him like you can already tell where his head’s at, trying to speak over all the noise. “Don’t be too hard on the little guy. I already gave him a bit of a lecture for running around at night.”
Din wants to. It’s honestly his first reaction. But a cooler head prevails and he decides against it after a second thought. He reminds himself (once again) that Grogu is still young and that getting angry would only make things worse. What matters is that he’s safe and that he managed to find you.
“At least he won’t have to hear it twice,” he exhales, pushing out the stress sitting in his lungs. “Sorry about him.”
“No, no sorry needed. He’s smarter than he lets on. At least he ran to someone he knew. I’m glad I was around.”
Din opens his mouth to speak but ends up falling short with his words. Now that some of the stress has left his body, his eyes take you in at a second glance. Unclouded by the adrenaline.
Your hair is tied up with a pin with a few loose pieces falling at the nape of your neck and around your face. With the heat persisting into the night, you decided to wear a thin strap tank top that hangs low on your chest. It exposes miles of smooth skin, from your shoulders all the way down the arms wrapped around his kid. A dusty blue apron wraps around your waist over some baggy cargo pants so you must’ve came here right after work. There’s a glow from all the neon lights that adorns you and he has to will his mouth to move before he gets caught staring.
“Here.” He extends his hands to you. “I can take him back. Thank you for catching him. C’mon, bud. Let her get back to shopping.”
“It’s no problem,” you assure him with a smile. Your hands hooks under Grogus tiny arms and start to pull him off your torso. “Back to dad you go.”
But the moment he’s barely lifted, he cries out in protest with a shrill whine. Refusing to leave your side. You pull him back in instantly and run a soothing hand on his back.
“Oh! Okay, okay. You can stay with me for a minute,” you giggle in a sugary voice to Grogu. Bouncing him on your hip.
You both exchange a look of surprise (as much as his visor can give off anyway). What kind of person are you that Grogu prefers your embrace over his own father? He doesn’t know whether to be jealous or impressed.
But it’s getting late, they need to eat and get home and you probably need to get back to your own errands. Din’s hands extends again to take Grogu but you shake your head with a little smile. Letting him know it’s not an inconvenience to you.
“Here, wanna help me pick out some sweets?”
Grogu coos at your request, toying with the glittering silver chain pendant on your neck. You rest his kid on your hip effortlessly and the motion of it pinches something deep in Din’s chest. Turning to the assorted trays of sugared fruits on skewers, you list the various kinds for Grogu to pick out. Talking back with him like you can actually understand his little babbles. You answer him with “ooh, that’s a good choice” and “these are my favorites”.
Din just stands aside, watching the way you both interact and it’s admittedly a bit pleasing to see how natural you are with him. Most people think he’s a pet at first glance. Karga treats him like a newborn. Talking gibberish and doting on him despite him handling a 50 year old. You, on the other hand, just treat him like a regular kid. And it’s refreshing to see.
His son’s head spins back at his father with the biggest set of sparkling inky eyes and Din can see the pleading question in them. He tilts his helmet at him and reminds him “one”. Those large ears deflate a little and you giggle at the interaction. Din offers to pay for your skewer along with Grogu’s as another thank you for looking after his son (again). The vendor gathers the treats in paper wrappers to take to go.
You turn to ask Din something, but it’s covered by the noise of yelling and cooking. He tilts his head a bit lower to try and catch what you’re saying. Then, without hesitation, your hand finds purchase on the pauldron on his shoulder. Prompting him to lean in closer to you so you can speak within earshot.
“It’s been a minute since I saw you last,” you remark with a raised voice. “Everything good?”
Shit.
For a second he freezes. Partly at the lack of distance between you, but mostly because the last time he saw you he stormed out of your place like it was on fire without so much as a goodnight. You’re probably wondering what the hell that was about and he honestly can’t answer that himself. Although your expression seems more cheerful than troubled. He crouches closer to your ears and replies with caution, hoping to avoid the direction of that conversation.
“Yeah, we’ve been um… traveling a lot lately. I get contracted by the new republic pretty often these days. Leaving him behind with someone whenever I’m off planet for too long doesn’t seem fair to him so he’s always by my side no matter what.”
“Ah, that makes sense. You usually stop by for medkit supplies so when I didn’t see you last week I figured you were away.”
Din mentally smacks his forehead. Right. Of course you meant the shop. Because what else would you be implying to a fucking customer? You’re just making small talk. Something he has never really gotten the hang of. Seems pretty damn easy when he’s drinking though…
“We actually just got back. Too tired to fix something up so I figured I’d grab us something quick and easy before heading home.”
“Ugh. I feel that. When I get home I’m crashing on the first soft surface I see,” you groan, still bouncing Grogu on the curve of your hip. Those hips…
No. Stop it.
“Busy day,” he asks and your eyes roll upwards.
“Busy week,” you exclaim. “I swear I think about quitting at least once a day. But I like it too much. Plus it’s the only thing I’m any good at. Otherwise I’d probably be some kind of criminal.” You pause then laugh at the thought before adding, “then you’d probably have to hunt me down, huh?”
That… is a scenario that he already knows is going to stick in his brain for a while. It’s such an enticing thought that he doesn’t bother to tell you he’s not in that business anymore. A tiny part of him would much rather have you think he’d chase you. Obviously you’re not serious, but he can’t help but lean into the joke.
“I don’t know,” he says unconvinced. “Might be pretty easy to find you. All I have to do is look wherever there’s street food.”
A laugh bubbles out of you and there’s a strange feeling that radiates in his chest at being able to make you laugh. Pride maybe? No, more like… satisfaction.
“Don’t underestimate me, Mando. I know my way around the outer rim. I’d make you work for it,” you say. Taunting him with a knowing smirk.
A smile tugs higher on his hidden face. The thought of you making him work for anything will no doubt be food for thought later. And instinct tells him that might’ve been your intention. But two can play at this game.
You’re already nearly face to face but he inches even closer, almost close enough for metal to meet skin. Ensuring you catch every word right into your ear.
“I’d like to see you try, Shop Girl.”
Your eyes grow a little wider at the sound of your nickname and he takes pleasure at just how effective it is. It’s another reminder of that night. A name that was spoken within an intimate atmosphere that only the two of you occupied. And by your expression, that same thought crosses your mind too.
You bite your bottom lip in a smile. The same lips that were between his hands. The only lips he can’t seem to forget. The shape, the color, and how fucking edible they look. He’s even noticed how they pout a little when you’re concentrated on a task. More questions surface.
What do they feel like? What do they taste like? What makes a kiss so good that everyone can recall their first?
The bubble created is suddenly burst by the outside world. The stall vendor gleefully hands over the candied fruit over the counter in their wrappers and you take them with your free hand. Handing the mixed one to Grogu because he couldn’t decide on just one flavor. Reality returns to Din’s head and his thoughts immediately sober up.
What the hell is he doing?
He tears his eyes away. Even if you can’t tell, looking at you like that for too long feels wrong. You’re a good person, you’re trying to live a normal life, and what you’ve told him you’re not looking to get involved in any drama. He has to keep reminding himself of those things.
That same instinct to leave hits him again. Because that urge to do something he can’t take back flares up again and it’s best to not give that feeling any more energy. For both your sakes. He gestures his hand in a hand-him-over motion, signaling to you and Grogu that it’s time to go.
“Alright, time to go kid. Say goodnight.”
Grogu whines with a mouthful of sweets and a face covered in sugar and it makes him chuckle to himself. Din would normally find the defiance a little cute, if it wasn’t for the stunt he pulled earlier. You carefully hand him over with both arms leaning in close and again he feels another pinch in his chest at how carefully you exchange him.
Your bare arms graze against his clothed ones and he pulls away the second he has hold of his kid. He ignores the small current of electricity from the contact and maneuvers Grogu into the crossbody bag to his hip. Which, of course, makes him protest.
“Nope. You had your chance. Now you get the bag.”
“Aw c’mon,” you scold “He was just playing around. Now he’s in bag jail?”
First the kid and now you? He can tell his son no, but it might be a little harder to tell you that.
“Yeah, yeah. Maybe next time he’ll think twice about running off in a crowd,” he groans.
Once the kid is settled in the bag, you follow him down. Crouching down, you sit face to face with Grogu as he stuffs his face with the candied fruit. Resting your free hand on his fuzzy head as the other holds your own skewered treat.
“Kay, little rebel. Go stuff your face with some good food. And take it easy on your poor dad, alright? He’s not built for that kinda stress.”
“What’s that supposed to mean,” he asks, kind of amused by your ribbing. He can count on one hand the people who are undaunted enough to make playful jabs at him.
Your lips twist and your eyes take a tour up to your brows as you think of your reply.
“Hmm… just the way you get a little impatient sometimes. You were like that when you brought him over and paced my living room for an hour,” you chuckle. “You seem like the kind of man who gets antsy when something’s not in your control.”
A smile threatens to crawl his face. Pretty presumptuous. But he can’t deny how true that statement rings. Especially nowadays when it’s not just himself he has to worry about.
“Maybe so,” he replies with a hint of humor in his voice. “Patience isn’t really my strong suit. Although this one seems to enjoy testing it.”
“Patience is bitter,” you muse as you rub the top of Grogu’s head with your thumb. He coos with delight and the softest gaze glows on your face. Then from your crouched position, your eyes glance back up at Din and add, “…But the fruit is sweet.”
His jaw flexes beneath his helmet, and heat now courses through his veins.
That can’t be a good sign. He already enjoys your banter too much as it is. But that look just now was dangerous. It dredges up thoughts he shouldn’t have about you. Thoughts like kissing someone he barely knows. Feeling skin on skin. Showing you what a man like him can do to you compared to the boys of your past.
He saw it all over your pretty face when he held it in his hand. That flush on your cheeks, your dilated pupils. Hell, he even saw your heat signature rising in his helmet screen for fuck sake. There’s an attraction and that’s fine (and not completely unreciprocated) but it can’t be anything more than that.
You and him live completely different lives. There’s no need to uproot your peace and get involved in his complicated affairs. Even if something happened, it wouldn’t be long before the allure of the suit and mystery people usually perceive of Mandalorians would turn into repulsion.
That’s how it’s gone before. That’s the way it is.
•
You’re a bad person. A horrible human being and a shameless lowlife. Downright beyond saving.
I’d like to see you try, Shop Girl.
The damn sentence won’t stop replaying in your head. It’s not just a nickname. It’s a nickname he gave you. One that’s covered in underlying context and memories that only the two of you share. One that peppers your skin with goosebumps when it comes out of that raspy modulated voice. It’s even worse when your brain starts intrusively placing it in all sorts of sentences.
That’s it, Shop Girl…
You’re doing so well, Shop Girl…
Bend over for me, Shop Girl…
That last one has crawled into your dreams more often than you’d care to admit lately.
You need to get a grip. It’s just an attraction. You’ve been alone for too long and you’re getting all wound up over a smidge of attention. He’s just a regular decent person with a kid to take care of who also just happens to have an amazingly muscular body and a voice of sin. Simple as that.
Right. Simple.
After that night at the food stalls, the Mandalorian and Grogu have been visiting your humble Clinic Shop on a more frequently. Usually you'll see them a couple times a week if they're not on one of their long haul trips. Missions? Jobs?
It's not like Mando has any reason to let you know ahead of time. But when a week or so passes with no sign of silver or green, you can't help but feel a little down. You've come to look forward to seeing your regulars. But they grown to being your favorite customers.
And if you're being honest, theres a growing part of you that feels tied to the man in silver beskar. When he's here, the part blossoms. And when he's gone, it feels... wilted. It's unexpected and confusing to say the least. The closest feeling you could label it is homesickness. And truthfully, you're not really sure if you want to feel such a heavy thing towards anybody right now.
There's a lull in the store this hot muggy afternoon. You've already finished your prescription orders, restocked your shelves, even watered all the potted plants outside the entrance. Since you finally have some down time, you figured you might as well get to making some of your popular tea mixes.
On the back counter, you have a variety of dried herbs, flower buds, tea leaves, and a few large mixing bowls. The scent in the shop is incredible right now. Swirling around on the wind propelled by the metal fans around the shop. Spiced and aromatic with a hint of fruitiness. You let the smell fill your lungs and relax your body as you place measured scoops of the mix into small paper bags. A bead of sweat tracks down the back of your neck. Even with pinning your hair up and the strapless wrap you chose to wear today, the heat of the day still clings to your damp skin.
A cool glass of that Andoan wine would be so good right about now...
Maybe it was instinct, or maybe there really is some kind of invisible tie. But something makes your head tilt to the side and glance at the open entrance. And it's then that a glint of sliver light reflects on the stucco walls. A flutter of anticipation strikes through your chest and your eyes are locked at the entrance. Then, that familiar Silver T-visor and a pair of floppy green ears peek around the corner.
The smile that spreads across your cheeks is so big it almost hurts.
"Hey," you exclaim from the back of the store. You leave your station and excitedly make your way across the store to the pair as they step inside.
“It’s been a whi-“
“Ah ah, sorry," you cut Mando off mid greeting, halting him with your pointer finger. "Grogu gets first dibs.”
Mando shakes his head but you can tell he's humored. Turning his hip to the side and giving you access to the canvas crossbody where Grogu resides.
“Even though I'm a regular customer," Mando retorts.
If you didn’t know any better, you’d think that sounded a teensy bit like jealousy. You smirk, giving eyes only to the little green baby.
“Not when you’re as cute as him.” You say, placing Grogu on your hip and giving him little scritches on his wrinkled head.
“Isn’t that right, Kid. Mando wishes he could be half as cute as you.” The child coos at you and Mando shakes his head. But you can tell by his body language that he's at least a little amused.
You walk back to the back counter with the kid in your arms and Mando in tow behind you. And the feeling you have in this moment is oddly... domestic? You're not entirely sure if that's the right word. In your life you've never experienced domesticity. But you figure it's similar to that homesick feeling you get.
You place Grogu on top of your station and pull out an herbal lollipop from your apron for him. You like to keep a few handy for kids and they also help with coughs. The kids inky eyes gleam as he babbles and plunges the sugary candy in his mouth.
"Any chance that delivery for those new Pharmakits arrived yet," Mando asks, leaning a hand on the counter next to you.
"They did," you nod. "Any chance you're planning on taking on an army on your next trip?"
He shrugs, tilting his helmet to the side in that way he does when he's being aloof.
"Doesn't hurt to keep one on hand. You never know."
You hum in acknowledgment but inside a pit forms in your stomach. The danger he faces whenever he goes on these "jobs" isn't lost on you. Lately, it's been on the back of your mind more often than not. On his last visit, when he asked about ordering stronger meds and triage supplies, it hit you just how much his long absences affect you. And just the thought of never seeing him or his little boy again stirs up something vile inside.
“You seem to be busy today,” he remarks, pointing out all the open jars and mixing bowls with various dried leaves and herbs.
His remark takes you out of your thoughts. You must've been silent a second too long for him to change the subject like that. With a deep inhale and slight embarrassment you shrug off the negative thoughts and ground yourself back to reality.
“Yes and no. I’ve been restocking while it’s dead to keep busy.”
He leans in a bit to get a closer look at the contents of the bowl. Close enough for you to catch the scent of smoke and musk on his clothes.
“You’re mixing… tea?”
You hum a yes and nod.
“Tea can be used for lots of medicinal purposes. Many people prefer natural remedies to pharmaceutical ones. I try to have a mix of both.”
“So this is medicine?” You sway your head to the side, trying to think of the best way to explain the purpose of the tea.
“Kiiind of. You could say it’s preventative.”
“What does it prevent?”
“Pregnancy.”
A clearing of his throat follows your answer. You turn toward him with a smirk and a raised brow but his visor has now turned away your face.
Most fearsome bounty hunter in the outer rim, everybody.
“You asked, man,” you chuckle with a shrug.
“Guess that’s on me,” he says.
“This is actually one of my best sellers,” you tell him. You grab the wooden scoop and raise up the floral mix, letting the various petals and herbs rain back down into the bowl. The motion makes the sweet scent drive up in the air. “I have customers tell me they don’t leave the house before their daily brew.”
“I’m glad business is going well for you,” he deflects, making you fold your smile in your teeth. And suddenly your brain sees a prime opportunity.
“You know, Mando…,” you drawl as you mix the petals. “If you’re ever in a pinch and you need some, I could give you a sample.” The way his helmet jerks to face you almost breaks your nonchalant smile.
“That’s um… very generous but it’d be wasted on me.” His body straightens stiffly and you can tell the topic makes him a bit uneasy. But you press on anyway.
“You sure? You can never be too safe. I’m sure any visitors would appreciate it.” He sighs deeply and turns away, shaking his head in annoyance.
God, this is too much fun. Teasing him is so easy. If it wasn’t for the helmet you bet he’s sweating right now. He might look cool and collected. But after drinking with him, you know there’s in fact a man under all that metal.
“I’m sure,” Mando confirms. “I'm not seeing anyone at the moment.”
And there’s the answer you’re looking for.
Was it a bit sneaky? Yeah. Yeah, it was sneaky. But it rules out the theory that reason he told you not to invite home again was because he’s currently taken. It’s still an enigma as to why. But honestly there’s still the gut feeling that you did something to make him uncomfortable that night.
Maybe you crossed a line with one of your questions. You tend to ask a lot of questions. Your filter also isn’t everybody’s flavor. Even so, you had a great time talking, even joking around with him. You’ve come to cherish that night in your memory. And the thought that you obliviously might’ve said something to offend Mando in any way makes your chest ache.
But if that was the case then why has he been stopping by your store more frequently since then? He always says he’s restocking his med kit but you get the feeling there’s more to it than that. Almost as if he’s checking up on you. Making sure you’re doing ok. And above all, that’s what scares you.
It’s scares you how good that thought makes you feel.
“Picking up an order!” An unfriendly voice bellows from the entrance where a Trandoshan man in fine robes stands waiting. “Name’s Samir T’ar.”
It takes a second to snap back into action. But you slap on your best customer service smile and leave your task for later. Rounding the corner past Mando and the kid and walking to the Medicine Cabinet. Wiping the non-existent dust on your hands on your waist apron.
“Hi, yes! I’ll grab that for you right now.”
The Trandoshan stands waiting at the counter as you sort through the assorted orders in the glass case. Looking for the right name tag and plucking the tied linen bag. You dont turn your eyes toward him, but Mando’s pressance is all your body is aware of. You can tell he’s miandering through the shop, looking at various items on the shelves. Which, to you, is a bit funny since hes been here plenty of times by now.
Is he playing the curious customer right now because there’s someone here?
You rest the tied bag next to the register as you run the total. All while the Trandoshan taps his clawed fingers impatiently on the check out counter.
“‘Kay with the compounded medicine and the herbal soak salts, that puts you at… fifteen credits today.”
“It was twelve the last time.”
“Yyyeesss, some of the ingredients for the meds were hard to come by this time around. Outer rim shipping routes, and all that,” you smile, trying to humorously reason with the man.
“And that’s supposed to be my fault? Just make it the same price as before and I’ll be on my way already.”
Ugh, great. One of those.
“I understand where you’re coming from, really. But fifteen is pretty fair considering the initial cost of acquiring ingredients of this high quality. Can’t beat the price compared to those New Republic clinics-"
“Nonononono," he waves with both hands in disapproval. “I’m not paying a single credit more for something I can make myself.”
That’s kind of the point of it buying here, right? To save yourself the trouble of making it?
“Sorry. Price is firm," you say confidently but kindly. "Buuut, how about if I throw in a couple sample heating pain patches. Free of charge,” you chirp, unfazed by his condescension.
Work with me, guy. There’s a man packing heat in the back…
“How about I give you ten for the order and leave? I don’t need you to peddle your-“
It’s a hand that shuts him up. Not yours, as much as it twitches to swipe that bag and toss in it the trash. No. This hand is big. Leather clad. And planted firmly on the counter between you and the customer.
“You can pay the fifteen or you can leave. But what you won’t do,” Mando leans in towards the Trandoshan for effect. “-is talk to her like that again. Make your choice.”
With his chest pressed to the back of your shoulder, you struggle to not squirm. You can feel his heat on your body. His frame eclipses yours from behind. The smell of gun smoke and musk caresses your nose and you die a little inside. But it’s his words that make you want to melt into a puddle.
He didn’t just ask, he demanded for you to be treated with respect. Not that you can’t hold your own when it comes to defending yourself against snarky customers. But the way Mando didn’t even hesitate to intervene on your behalf. It stirs up all sorts of thoughts.
Oh maker, you really are a shitty person. The man stands up for you and all you can think about is how hot he sounded.
The Trandoshan swallows hard. Mando might as well a knife to the guy’s throat with the look of silent terror on his reptilian face. Without even breaking eye contact with Mando, he stuffs his clawed hand in his pockets, and pulls about 20 credit chips without counting. Letting them clatter on the counter as he tosses them.
“H-here,” he stutters. “Fifteen is fair.” With that he snatches his order from the countertop and makes a hasty exit.
“Have a nice day~,” you sing-song as he scurries out onto the street.
You shift your eyes up to Mando, his palm still pressed flat against the counter with his other hand thumbing his belt. His visor follows the customer as he leaves and you can tell that his body language doesn’t relax until the he’s completely out of sight.
“Fucker…,” he mutters under his breath. When he finally turns his visor to you, he finds a knowing little smirk on your face.
“What?”
“You know, if you really wanted to scare him, you could’ve just pulled out your blaster.”
His visor turns away and he takes a step back as if he’s been caught doing something out of character. And if it wasn’t for his confident stance, you’d almost say he got a little flustered just now.
“I didn’t like the way he spoke you,” he grumbles. Which only makes you giggle.
“You’re right,” you agree with a serious tone. Slamming your palms on the counter. “That’s the last straw! I’ll have to close and resort to a life of crime after all!”
Although you can’t read his face, his body language says it all. He tilts his head to the side in a way that can only mean “are you fucking kidding me” and it only makes you smile harder.
“C’mooon, it’s funny,” you say. But he’s still not charmed.
“Does he always treat you like that,” he asks like he needs to know for certain.
You fold your lips between your teeth to hide your smile. He’s concerned for you and you can’t help but bathe in it. At least for a little bit.
“And if I said yes?”
“I’m being serious.”
“It’s fine, Mando. It’s really not a big deal for me. Look, if I let every snippy customer get to me, I wouldn’t have a business. I’m a big girl. I can fight for my honor all on my own, don’t you worry.”
“That’s not the point.”
“Yeah? What is your point then?”
He steps in closer. Forcing you crane your neck to face him. Your backside unconsciously presses against the back of the counter and you’re pinned. He’s impossibly close. Close enough to see your eyes reflected on the inky black screen. Knowing he’s captured your full attention, he hits you with a bombshell that devastates you.
“I wouldn’t let anyone disrespect you when I can do something about it,” he says crystal clear, lowering his voice. “If someone gives you trouble, they’ll deal with me before they mess with you... Understand?”
That shuts you right up. Your playful expression falls, now replaced with silent astonishment. He keeps saying things that reach deep inside you, making your chest tight. Words like that make it hard to breathe.
You feel utterly captured and it’s no wonder he was the best hunter in the outer rim. Because even though he’ll defend your honor and call you sweet nicknames… all he has to do is stand his ground in front of you to make you feel like prey. And fuck, do you wanna be caught…
“Ok,” you breathe when you find the courage. “I understand now.”
“Good…”
Silence streches between you and it feels as though you’re both waiting for something to happen. Something that feels like it’s been teetering on the edge since the night you drank together. It’s connected and deep in a way you’ve never experienced before. You can tell it’s something he’s afraid to say out loud.
What you’re both afraid to say out loud.
He doesn’t move. Doesn’t add anything to his statement. He’s got you locked in his gaze with no escape. And for a moment you wonder if he’ll take hold of your jaw again. Goosebumps rise to your skin because it wants so badly to close the gap.
Suddenly, a call rings from the vambrace on Mando’s forearm, abruptly breaking the tension. At first he hesitates to address it, still locked onto you. But after the second ring he lets out an aggravated sigh and steps away to check the incoming call.
You walk back to your work table and mixing bowl of tea to give yourself something to do while your breathing returns to normal. Scooping a measured cup from a large jar of dried leaves before adding it in.
Grogu sits with his little feet dangling over the table, now finished with the lollipop and looking at the candy-less stick with droopy ears. And before Mando turns to look, you sneak his son another herbal lollipop from your apron.
"Don't tell your dad," you whisper, pressing your index finger over your lips. Which earns you a happy little "Batu" in understanding.
Mando is pacing around now. Conversing with a gruff sounding Lasat. You don’t eavesdrop per se, but words like “new lead”, “investigation”, and “high-risk” get your ears to perk up.
“Shit,” he sighs deeply once the call is done. Planting his hands on his hips.
“Work call?”
“They like to keep me busy, that’s for sure. Best not keep them waiting.”
“R-right! The pharmakits."
You walk towards side of your shop in the back closet where your new inventory sits in their delivery crates. Grabbing one case but then after a second thought grabbing another before turning back and handing them to Mando. When you return Grogu is already back in his father's tote still nursing his treat.
“Couple things," you disclaim, handing the cases to him. "Keep these in a dark cool place if you can. Heat can spoil some of the medicine. And if you ever find yourself needing the epibacta, I’d advise you to take in a safe place. This dose will knock you out cold for a while. Emergencies only.”
He takes the cases by the handles and gives you a nod of understanding.
“I appreciate it. I’ll try to avoid needing it.”
“Just… be safe.”
“I will…”
Another beat of silence. At this point it's starting to feel like you're waiting on the other person to break the ice. But after a moment, he clears his throat.
“Well... Until next time, Shop Girl.”
“Until next time,” you repeat.
He really should stop calling you that. But you just can’t bring yourself to stop him. What do even tell him if he asks why?
You turn to the holopad on the front counter and check the inventory list to give your hands something to do. Chewing your bottom lip as walks towards the exit. One step, then another…
“And thank you,” you quickly add before he steps out. His foot stalls just before reaching the street and you tap on the screen pretending not to notice. Your eyes glance up to him, catching his helmet peer at you over his shoulder “…for stepping in.”
“Anytime,” he says softly. He step out into the street and you exhale a breath you didn’t know you were holding. You lean on the counter with your chin propped in your palm, now free to watch them go without notice.
Grogu turns back to look at you one last time, his tiny arm fighting against the fabric of his bag before popping out and waving at you. The adorable gesture makes you giggle. The little guy must know exactly how stinking cute he is. You wiggle your fingers back at him from behind the counter. Mando takes notice of his kid, turns his head back, and finds your gaze.
For a moment, everything’s frozen. People cross and mix in the street between you. Life seemingly goes on like any other day for everyone in town. But in your eyes, there’s only him. Only bright silver fills your vision. After a moment, Mando raises a hand for a final farewell, and in the next, he’s gone. Blended into the crowd.
An ache spreads in your chest, and that confirms it. You can’t deny that what you’ve been pushing down for months isn’t just an attraction. Strangers can be attracted to each other but he feels like anything but.
You like him. You like how you feel when he’s around and how safe his presence feels. You like that little skipped beat you get when something you said earns even the smallest chuckle from him. You like that he trusts you around his kid.
And you love that he keeps coming back.
You’ve tried to rationalize as just a simple customer acquaintance. But you can’t keep kidding yourself. Its always felt more than that. And you want to know more about him.
At the end of the day, you roll down the metal doors of your humble apothecary and walk the same 15 steps up to your home as you do everyday. You bathe, put on your most comfy shirt and sleep shorts, make yourself a simple meal, and wind down for the night. It’s been your routine everyday since you made this place your home.
Only tonight, despite all your trinkets, all your memories, and all your comforts, tonight your home feels a bit empty. Like something important has been removed and you can’t place what it was. With your dinner bowl in hand, you almost take your seat on the couch before thinking twice on it and choosing the floor of your living room instead tonight.
You actually find it to be pretty comfortable. More grounding. You only wish you had something warm to lean back on.
•
Din thought Guild Master Greef Karga had an inflated ego. But High Magistrate Greef Karga makes that Karga look like a Jedi monk.
He finds himself sitting on a leather chase with his legs propped on the window ledge in Karga’s high tower office. He watches him spread and maneuver a 3D hologram model of Nevarro and the town. His voice filled with ambition as he explains all his new projects for the upcoming year.
“We’ll put the lodges here, here, and here. They’ll have access to the hot springs in the crawling canyons and docks will be built around the water edges. I’ve spoken with that lovely Twi’lek bathhouse owner and she’s spending her best architects to Nevarro as a personal favor to me. It’s going to be the jewel of the rim I tell you!”
Much of the dialog goes over Dins head. Mostly because he’s dead tired and currently operating on less than four hours of sleep. They only landed a couple hours ago from another grueling mission. He partly listens to Karga’s plans, partly watches Grogu quietly sit on the hologram table as he stuffs his mouth with blue cookies his “uncle” has given him. But mostly, Din gazes out one of the many windows in his 360 degree office. Watching the sun set over the canyons and turn the sky a dusty pink.
The shiny bronze protocol droid shuffles around the office with a silver tray with two crystal glasses of spotchka. He offers a glowing glass to Karga who gladly takes it. Then the droid starts to approach Din with the platter, offering him a glass as well.
“Uh no no, he doesn’t drink,” Karga quickly corrects, taking a momentary pause from his plans. The shiny droid fumbles a bit, flustered, then offers an apology before scuttling away with the tray.
Mando doesn’t even bother to correct them. Too much energy. It’s true, he’s never accepted alcohol in front of Karga. Especially in those early guild days when trust was low. But even to this day, Din doesn’t drink around people.
Well… most people, that is.
An image of last time Din saw you pops into his head. That thick, slightly mussed hair tied up with a hair stick. Dewy skin. All smiles and laughter. You wore a deep blue torso wrap that time, His eyes kept following the lines of your collar bones and all that exposed skin seemed to glow in the reflected sunlight in the shop.
And those lips. Those goddamn pink tinted lips that he can’t get out of his head. If that’s not the definition of beauty he doesn’t know what is.
Your teasing is something he’s growing used to. But that day you pushed too far. You weren’t taking him seriously and you shouldn’t be the only one who gets to tease, right? When he cornered you against the counter, he made it known just how serious he was about defending you. That flush came back to your cheeks and your breathing had picked up. You had no idea, but your eyes had found his and it made heat pool in his lower abdomen as he got lost in the color of them.
In that moment, Din wrestled back the impulse to lift you up on that countertop, spread those perfect legs and-
“-Right, Mando?” Karga’s voice interrupts just as that train of thought was getting good. Din turns his visor over to him.
“Hmm?”
“You just agreed to let the kid spend the night here.”
“Right. Yeah,” Din scoffs. “Was that before or after I sold my ship to the Jawas,” he replies in a gruff tone. Karga doesn’t find the sarcasm amusing.
“Alright, alright.”
“Maybe I’ll sell them my armor while I’m at it.”
“I get it,” he exclaims. “You weren’t even listening! I was talking about the space port proposal and I can’t even tell where you clocked out. That's not like you, Mando.”
“I’m tired. I just got back from a long trip.” Kargas eyes glance between Din and the window he's been looking out from.
“I wouldn’t say tired. More like… Distracted.”
He says the word with an insinuation Din would rather do without.
“It’s nothing,” he deflects.
“Hey, you know me, Mando. I’m not one to judge,” Karga says, throwing his hands in the air. “If there’s anything on your mind I’m all ears. Money, politics, work, women-“
“There’s nothing to discuss. I’m fine," Din deadpans.
Kargas covers Grogus ears, who is too preoccupied by his munching to mind.
“Sounds like you need to get laid.”
Maker...
“You’re sordid,” he grumbles, shaking his head and turning back to the window. Karga just laughs. Amusement written all over his wrinkled face.
The arguments were one of the main things that changed between them over the last few years. Now they bicker like two old friends instead of two business associates. But one thing that has never changed is the way Karga tries to pressure him into revealing things out of him. Imperfectly human things.
He’d offer Din all sorts of things like spice or Twi’lek bathhouses just to see if he was capable of being tempted. And right now… there’s only one other person Din can think of capable of doing that.
“You know what I think? I think you’re starting to outgrow this lone wolf lifestyle of yours,” he speculates. “You’re a father now. Don’t you think the little one needs a mother?”
Dins helmet swivels back to Karga.
“Don’t you think you should stick to governing your town?”
“I was just getting to that," Karga exclaims excitedly. "You know we really should consider moving a few of the-“
“Here we go…,” Din sighs to himself.
What should’ve been a quick visit has turned into a one sided yap session. It’s been a couple weeks since he left and he’s eager to re-supply for his next run with Zeb. He’ll need to head to the square at some point as well. His home is in desperate need of a re-stock. And of course, a visit to the clinic probably wouldn’t be a bad idea if he’s already in the area.
Even from up here, your store can be seen at the far corner of the plaza. And every couple minutes, he can see you. Popping in and out of the small store and rearranging some of the potted plants outside. People greet you from the street and you turn to wave back.
It’s getting harder and harder to find excuses to go there that sound necessary. Last time he was there he picked up two new pharmakits, even though another two regular medkits sit unopened in his home. He’s been buying that energy tea you make, despite him being a kaf drinker his whole life. He keeps going back for shit he really doesn’t need. But if he was pressed to give a better reason, it’s mostly because he feels a need to check on you.
True, Nevarro has become significantly safer, but that doesn’t make it safe. Especially for a woman living completely on her own. You’re a kind hearted, giving person in a galaxy that does nothing but take. And someone like that should be protected. He’s looked the other way too many times in the past and he doesn’t want to be that person anymore. And plus the kid enjoys the visits.
Sure, the kid. Keep telling yourself that, Din…
A chiss man with a floating pallet of goods approaches your shop entrance and your attention turns from watering the plants to greet the vendor with a bright smile. You speak animately. And it would normally be endearing, if it wasn't directed towards another man. In the privacy of his helmet, Din grimmaces.
He shouldn’t be surprised. You’re well traveled, knowledgeable. It’s no wonder you’re able to buy products from so many places. But this particular vendor is getting a bit too close for Din’s comfort.
As usual, you talk with much enthusiasm. Sparking a conversation with the man. It’s clear you’re familiar with each other by the body language you both give off. And he’s not sure if it’s because you regularly get inventory from the man, or something beyond that.
You turn around on the balls of your feet to dip back inside the shop and as you do you’re completely oblivious to the way the Chiss’s head tilts to the side so his crimson eyes can roam your backside. And the only reason Din caught it was because the binocs in his visor seem to have unconsciously been turned on by his finger on his vambrace.
You return to with a small wooded box and open the lid to show him mineral salts, the kind he’s seen you make herbal soaks with. The vendor offers a large lidded glass jar of some kind of dried purple flower buds from his cart. With the added exchange of some credit chips, there’s more talking and smiling. Something he said makes you laugh as you sign his holopad and Din has to flex his fingers to stop them from clenching into a fist.
Enough. Stop watching.
The mental check forces Dins attention to shift back to whatever Karga keeps droning on about. You can associate with whoever you damn well please. It’s none of his concern who you do business with or what your personal life is like. Din nearly turns his visor away. But out of the furthest corner of his eye, he catches something he can’t tear away from.
The distance between the Chiss and you has suddenly shrunk. The moment unfolds in slow motion as his eyes chew on every second. The Chiss steps closer to lean down then…
Din’s arms uncross when the Chiss leans in close to your face. And before he knows it, the fucker plants a quick peck on your cheek. And you return it! The whole exchange lasts less than a second before you wave each other goodbye and he goes his separate way. You return inside with the product like nothing and Din sits there, completely rattled.
What… the fuck?
Was it a casual kiss? Did you even know that he was checking you out? If you did, was that a friendly goodbye gesture or was it flirtatious? That son of a bitch gets to walk around with bliss on his cheek all day now. Oddly enough, that’s what puts Din over the edge. A complete fucking stranger knows how your lips feel and he doesn’t.
Never in his life has he harbored thoughts like these. It’s downright pathetic. He feels corrupted.
“Fuck it,” he growls to himself beneath his breath.
“-Anyway, back to my point. I was considering having a port built for- hey!”
Before Karga has a chance to monologue further, Din has picked up his son from the edge of the desk—grubby hands still clinging to the bag of cookies—and has placed him right into Karga arms.
“I need you to watch over him for the night. I’ll come back for him in the morning.”
“Okay then? Fine by-.” Din doesn’t bother to listen because there’s no ending to that sentence that matters to him in this moment. He makes his exit, the slide doors opening as he nears them.
“Hey! Where do you think you’re going all puffed up like that?”
“I need to settle something,” he tosses back before letting the doors shut behind him.
The sun is getting low and a few other vendors are starting to take down their signs and close their doors. You’re probably getting ready to close up for the day yourself. Hopefully he’s able to catch you before then.
Each step on the cobblestone is heavy with purpose. And it's not unoticed the way several people on the street see an armor clad Mandalorian and scurry out of his way with a petrified look on their faces. But right now he doesn't particularly care. Right now everything in his head is clouded with the exception of one objective.
From a couple stores away, you catch him approaching from your peripheray. And he's not sure how to describe it, but it's like something in your body language softens when you see him. Your shoulders become less tense, your eyes gleam, and you cast him that bright toothy smile that could stop any man's heart.
“Ah! Hey! It’s been a while, Mando! How’s-“
“I need to have a word with you.”
Both your expression and your hand freeze momentarily in place, minus a suspicious quirk in your brow.
“Okaaay, you have my attention,” you chuckle, but there’s a nervous tone riding on it. “What can I do for you today?
“I need to speak with you," you tells you bluntly. "Privately.”
Confusion paints across your face and your smile falls a bit. Understanding how serious his request is.
“Like, right now,” you ask hesitantly.
“Preferably, yes,” he answers.
“Ok, yeah sure. Um… I’m just about to close up and we can head upstairs in a minute.” You start to turn away but then quickly turn back to him and immediately add “or we can go somewhere you’re more comfort-“
”It’s fine,” Din quickly interjects, stopping that train of thought. “This won’t take long anyway.”
You blink at him a couple times and give him a quiet “ok then” before turning around and preparing your shop to close.
Seems that Din’s command from his last visit was taken seriously. Regret over those words washes over him. If he’s being honest, being inside your home again sets off several red lights in his head. But he’s already on the verge of blurting out something teetering on the edge of his brain. Better to wait until he’s behind closed doors and away from any prying eyes. Or flirtatious vendors. This shouldn’t be complicated. He’ll make it quick.
He decides to wait around the corner of the shop where the stone steps meet your front door. He leans against the wall with his arms crossed and his finger nervously tapping his arm brace. After a few minutes you round the corner with your bag over your shoulder and lead the way into your home. Instinctively, he looks around for any eyes before entering and closing the door behind him.
“So where’s your boy,” you ask, tossing your bag on the couch and walking towards the kitchen. “I have to say I’m kind of surprised not to see him on your hip. You seem inseparable.”
Your voice is chipper but he can tell by your stiff body and lack of eye contact that you’re not entirely comfortable. For a moment Din reconsiders this encounter. But no. The sooner he this bug out of his system the better.
“He’s… spending the night with a friend,” he answers. Grabbing one of those ceramic cups from the cabinet, you fill it with water from the sink and he’s starting to think that you’re only doing that to keep your hands busy.
“Aaww, a sleepover? Is it his first-”
“If you don’t mind,” he cuts off. “I’d like to get to my point.”
“Oh… Y-yes, I'm sorry. I’m rambling,” you say sheepishly. “I’m just…,” you take a deep breath, rest the cup of water on the counter, and lean back against it. Eyes fixed to the floor.
“…it’s just what you said the last time you were here. And the way you approached me earlier, you seemed kinda… I don’t know, upset? I know you don’t wanna be here so I’m wondering what I did to upset you that you’d come here.”
Damn it… He’s such an asshole.
He should’ve never said that. You've been thinking this entire time that you’re at fault for his shitty social skills. Truthfully, with the way that wine had his head so deliciously foggy, he had to leave before his body did something it was aching to do, begging him to do. But how does he even begin to explain that?
“You didn’t do anything,” he answers immediately. But thinks on it once more. “Well… technically you did. But I’m not upset with you.”
“You’re not,” you ask him sheepishly.
“I’m not,” he assures.
A beat passes in silence as you chew over his words.
“Okaaay,” you say with a smirk, “now you really got my attention.”
That mischievous tone travels through Din’s helmet, in his ears, and settles warmly in the pit of his stomach. Something about the combination of your sweet voice and relaxed shift in your body language makes this whole interaction even more nerve wracking.
“Sooo, you wanted to talk to me about something I did?”
“Right.”
“Okay, sooo...” He feels you urging him to continue but now Din finds himself more cautious of his words now. If you’ve been silently worried about offending him the last thing he needs is for this to come off wrong way.
“It’s… a bit hard to explain,” he exhales. If he could pinch his brow right now he would. “To put it plainly, the night we drank together, you said something that’s been… stuck in my head.”
“Was it the thing about the name?”
“N-no.”
“Was it the Pantora story?
“No.”
“Was it the comment about knowing my liquor? Because I like a drink from time to time but I don’t have like a problem or anything-“
“No- Can I finish,” he asks impatiently.
“Okay, okay. Sorry. Go ahead.”
“When we were drinking, and talking… we said a lot of things and got into some deep conversations. And at one point, you asked me if I ever kissed anyone before. I said no back then because… I've never given it any thought in the past. But now it’s got me… curious.”
Your quirk your brow at him.
“Curious how?”
“I want to know what it’s like,” he answers plainly.
“… Sorry, what?”
“I need this… curiosity out of my head. It’s driving me crazy and I need it out of my system. So I figured… since you’re the one who mentioned it in the first place, you can help me kill it.”
“You’re… Okay so, hold on…,” you say with a shaky breath. “Are you… asking me to kiss you?”
“That’s… an oversimplification. But yeah.”
“You’re asking me to be your first kiss? Am I understanding you right?”
Maker, you ask a lot of questions. Are you always like this? You did the same exact thing when he gave you the wine. On any other day it would’ve been endearing but he didn’t anticipate the conversation lasting longer than a minute. Now his request sounds more and more lecherous with each passing second.
“I won’t bother you again after this. You have my word. It’s completely casual. Just killing a curiosity.”
“There’s a preeetty common phrase about curiosity and loth cats that goes differently.” A giggle tumbles out of your mouth on the tail end of that sentence and humility crawls under his skin.
“Sorry to waste your time.” He starts to turn towards the nearest exit when you step in to stop him. Placing a hand briefly on his arm in the space between his armor and the contact sends a current of electricity up his spine.
“No wait, don’t be like that,” you toy with him.
“I’m not laughing,” he spits. But you still have the nerve to giggle.
“It’s okay, Mando,” you laugh assuredly.
“No, it’s not. It’s ridiculous. I hate it. I hate that you put this in my head.”
You fold your lips between your teeth to try to hide your amusement. But you still can’t help but crack a smile a little at his frustration. He basically just confessed to having this obsession for months and he can tell by your smug expression that you’re enjoying how incredibly uncomfortable he is about this.
“You’re right. I’m… sorry,” you say under your breath. Trying to fix your face.
There’s a beat of silence. Stepping in closer, he tilts his head down to you. Locking you in his gaze. He takes pleasure in being nearly a full head taller and the way your breathing picks up before he says in a low gruff voice…
“No, you’re not.”
You smile behind your hand as your eyes dance across his visor, unknowingly locking eyes with the man beneath. You know you’re not sorry, just like he knows he’s not particularly sorry either. It’s not just this moment. It goes back to every interaction you’ve had together. The banter, the nicknames, the visits. He’s as much to blame as you are. And then… you slowly you shake your head, agreeing with him and confirming his suspicion.
Fuck, you’re cute. He hates that he loves how cute you are. He hates himself for not being stronger.
“Ok,” you nearly whisper. Looking up at him with the sweetest eyes. “I’ll help you.”
•
“Is all this really necessary?”
Din currently sits on the floor of your living room. The same spot as last time in fact. Your were the one that insisted on it and honestly he couldn't bring himself to tell you no. Since he sat down in the soft carpet, you've been flitting around your home turning off lamps, closing blinds, and covering any reflective items. Which, admittedly, he's greatful for. But the more time he spends here, alone with you, the more he's not going to want to leave.
“It’s not everyday you get your first kiss, Mando. I wanna make sure it’s a good one. I wish I could re-do mine.”
Gloves fingers flex and stretch restlessly on his knees as you approach the last lamp sitting on a side table in the living room and pause.
“Are you sure about this?”
Fuck no he’s not. But the sooner he does this, the sooner he can find some normalcy in his head again.
“Flip the switch," he says in a low modulated voice.
You fold in a growing smile before taking a deep breath and flicking the switch. Bathing the entire home in inky darkness. The silhouette of you through turns to hues of thermal green and red, carefully maneuvering through your living room by memory before finding your seat in the floor in front of him. And with slight hesitation, Din reaches up to remove the last barrier he has.
“Can you see anything?”
“Not a bit,” you answer.
With that confirmation, he unclasps the chin strap and slowly lifts the helmet up and off. He blinks several times to adjust his vision before finding the outline of the table and placing his helmet there. On the return, his head bumps into your outstretched hand. Not knowing that you had moved.
“Agh.”
“Sorry sorry,” you pull away. “Give me a moment, I’ll find you.”
Your hands search in the dark for him. He can’t see much but he can tell your hands land on nothing by the way the air between you moves and he doesn’t feel any contact on his person. So he reaches out, bumping into your arms and taking hold of them. Following the line of your forearm until he reaches your hands.
“Here," he murmurs. Gloved hands wrap around your wrists and gently lift them up. He guides your hands forward until…
You let out a small gasp when your hands find the warmth of his bare face. Soft and giving as opposed to the cold, unyielding beskar. Their movements are slow and explorative. Running your thumbs over his stubble. Surprisingly his hands don’t release their grasp. His leather clad digits press against the racing pulse in your wrist as his thumbs run over the back of your palm.
“This help?”
“Yes, thank you,” you whisper.
From sound of rustling on the rug, Din can sense your body leaning in. Your breath brushes over his skin for a moment before something warm presses against his chin and it takes a second to register that it’s your mouth. You ease him into the build up and he’s greatfull for it. Jaw. Then cheek. Then just grazing the furthest corner of his mouth.
And then… contact.
At first it doesn’t feel like much. Just something soft and warm pressing against his mouth. What most people refer to as a peck, he assumes. But it’s when you barely pull back and return for another that a shiver wracks his skin. Your lips lock in the return, molding together in perfect unison. And it’s fucking electric.
Just by feel alone, he senses that your lips are slightly open. So he mimics you. Giving his jaw just enough slack to respond as you go in again. The sensations have his mind in a thick fog. The soft flesh, the sweet taste, the faint suction. His skin feels like there’s live wires going off underneath. Giving in completely, he finally returns the kiss. Pressing into it with more confidence.
You hum against his mouth, and he dies a little inside.
That’s when the real hunger builds. There’s a slow simmering heat rising between you now. Without thinking, his hands grip your wrists a little harder. Pulling you in closer. The kiss grows a bit stronger with each return back into each other with no loss of contact. Lingering longer and breathing against one another.
He feels your head tilt more to the side and again he mimics your movement. The break only lasts a fraction of a moment. But in the re-entry, the tip of your soft tongue happens to brush his mouth. Sweet wetness coats his bottom lip and it’s in that instant Din feels all restraint leave his body.
Taking your face in his hand, he kisses you open mouthed, inviting you in. Your tongues slowly graze one another and if he fucking died in this moment he’d be ok with it knowing that he got to know how you taste.
The hunger becomes unbearable. Soon enough the breathing becomes heavier and the air becomes hot. Your arms end up wrapping over his shoulders, pulling him deeper and he’s more than happy to dive further. Another small noise escapes your throat and the vibration travels through his entire body.
He needs to feel you. To taste you. Devour you. He needs you.
A break for air is the only thing that throws him back into semi-consciousness as you pull away. The heat built up between you makes him dazed. Hot breaths fill the small space between your lips as you lean your forehead against his.
“Mando?”
“Yes,” he responds in a raspy whisper. A few moments pass as you collect your words and catch your breath.
“Is this really just about curiosity…?”
Your words lean more towards a statement than a question. There’s no point in denying it now. As much as he tried to convince himself or rationalize his strange request, he does feel a pull towards you. Much more complicated than just attraction. The more he sees you, learns about you, and talks with you, the more… inevitable you feel to him. There’s a gravity to you that he can’t escape from. Nor does he want to.
“Yes and no.”
“What does that mean?” The breath of your question brushes the heated skin of his cheek. And right now, he can't think of any answer that wouldn't give him up.
So he lets it fly.
“It’s not just the kiss I’m curious about.”
The silence in the air is thick. The only thing between you are the sounds of both of you catching your breath. It’s possible he might have ruined everything with that one sentence. But it’s the truth. It had nothing to do with the kiss and everything to do with you. Your kindness, your banter, your hospitality. All of it.
There’s no way of telling what you’re thinking at the right now. It’s in this moment that he wishes the lights weren’t out so he can at least read your expression. But then after what seems like an eternity, your forehead nudges against his and you blow a deep sigh of relief. Arms still draped over his shoulders.
“Oh good… I thought it was only me,” you confess with a skittish laugh.
And that tightly pulled restraint finally snaps inside him when he hears that.
Without any hesitation, he dives back in. Kissing you like a man starved. Just like that night, he feels drunk. Only this time it’s on the taste of you and the feeling of your hands finally on him. It’s that thought that drives him to rip off his leather gloves and toss them aside without breaking contact once. His bare hands find your waist and the strip of bare skin between your shirt and linen pants.
“Is this what you meant,” you pant. “When you told me not to invite you in again.”
“Yeah... it is.” He pants the confession as his mouth trails down the line of your jaw and finding your neck in the dark.
“That’s a relief,” you chuckle. “I was worried I offended you.”
“The only thing that’s offensive is that I can’t see that pretty pink flush on your face right now.”
“Should I get a blindfold,” you tease.
What a fucking woman. The mental image of you in a blindfold, only a blindfold, pours fuel on an already blazing fire. But for now, he’s more than ok feeling his way around tonight.
“Next time.”
It comes out of his mouth confidently and without hesitation. Because you both know there will be a next time. He’s bitten into the forbidden fruit and now he’s addicted to the taste.
With a simple shift, his hands dip beneath the thin fabric of your shirt and find the delicious heat of your soft belly.
"Lay down for me."
With your arms draped over his shoulders, you eagerly comply. Slowly dragging him down with you. He careful not to press all his weight on you—being crushed by beskar would definitely kill the mood—but it doesn't stop you from pulling tighter. Craving connection. All while Din rains wet kisses and soft bites upon your pulse.
So this is what your skin tastes like. Slightly salty, sweet, and smooth between his teeth. He might eat you whole if he’s not careful. He nips at the skin of your exposed collar bone and you writhe. Arching to press your chest to his. So he decides to give it some attention.
“Take it off," you pant with an neediness that drives him pull the damn shirt off in one swift motion.
His bare hand crawls up your sternum. Exploring the valley of soft skin free of any restricting fabric. The moment his fingers find the stiff peak of your bare breast he pinches eagerly. Earning the sweetest little whimpers from you as his mouth works on the other nipple. Biting and sucking the soft point. He can’t see a thing in the dark, but what’s lacking in sight is made up by sound with the delicious breathy moans you let out for him.
“Mando…”
Fuck, does he love the way you call out for him. Every touch, kiss, and suck he gives elicites the most gorgeous sounds out of that perfect mouth. The sounds to straight to his cock, now painfully stiff. It's tempting to just dive into you right now. But he's waited this long. So why not take his sweet time with you. With his face still burried between your breasts and you fingers raking through his hair, Din feels a press of your hips against his armor. And he needs more.
“Shop Girl…”
The nickname doesn’t catch your attention. You’re either too lost in the moment or too breathless to answer. It’s only when he uses your given name that your body perks up and you give him a raspy “yeah?”.
“Do you want this," he asks.
His right hand has found its way to the waist band of your work pants. Ready and waiting for your answer. You try to grind against his hips but he presses your hips down firmly. He knows damn well neither of you want to stop. But he needs to hear it. There's no going back after this.
"Is this ok?"
He doesn't know if you're unsure. Or if maybe your trying to meet his eyes through the darkness. But there's a long pause. Only the sounds of heavy breaths and the pulse beating hard in his ears. And every second that passes has him hanging on the edge of madness.
"Yes...," you finally breathe. "I need you."
She needs me.
The words leave him winded. Months of questions and pining suddenly feel well worth the wait just to hear those words. They not only affirm going further, but the bond that's been steadily growing between you. Not a single ounce of hesitation survives after he hears that. And with one hand, Din loosens the tie of your pants and dives in beneath the fabric of your underwear.
By feel alone, Din manages to pull your pants down to your thighs and you kick them off your feet. His hands roam over all the smooth exposed skin and he can only imagine how perfect you must look if you feel this good. The tips of his fingers finds the dampness between your legs, running along the seam, and he slowly pushes inside until his knuckles meet your entrance.
You release a soft gasp and he swallows it with a deep kiss. You both sigh into each other's mouth. As if you need the other to even breathe. Din's lips never leaves yours as he does an experimental curl against the fleshy part of your walls and you arch your body against his.
“This where you need me," he huffs against your lips. "Right here?”
“Right there... Perfect..."
"I wanna taste you." The confession comes out before he can even think about it.
"Then taste me, Mando."
He can hear the smile in your voice. The taunt. And he's more than happy to reciprocate it.
He rises above you and you whine from the lack of contact. But the loss doesn't last long. Because before you even can register what he's doing, his head has already lowered between your legs.
"What are you- ah."
That gasp you let out when his mouth envelops your pussy is downright tortured. Good too know you were just as desperate as he was.
"Fuck! I thought you meant... You were gonna... Shit..."
No fucking way would he be satisfied tasting you on just his fingers. The sweet tangy flavor explodes over his tongue and he groans. Fucking hell, you taste good. He doesn’t even know what the hell he’s doing but that’s sure as shit not stopping him. He drowns in you. Lapping and sucking on your swollen little bud and loving the way it makes you cry out. Two thick fingers pump into your wet heat as you melt in his mouth. Such a fucking treat.
You writhe beneath him. Squirming and clawing at anything to hold on to as he works you up. Eventually your hands finds his hair again. Taking a fistful and pressing his face further against your cunt. The sting on his scalp makes his cock twitch in his flight suit and he groans.
“You want me to make you come, Shop Girl," he mumbles against you.
“Yes.”
“Say it.”
“Make me come, Mando... Please…”
He doesn't break pace, doesn't falter, doesn't change a damn thing what he's doing because he can feel close to the edge you are. You tighten around his digits as the pump in and out. And with a firm suck on your clit you let out a strangled gasp.
"Oh Fuck! Fuck! Mando!"
Your breathing becomes short and shallow. Panting so hard right before holding your breath and tipping over the edge with a strangled cry. You come long and hard. Trembling so much he has to hold you steady by the hips.
Through the waves of your climax, Din continues to eat you. Lapping at your perfect pussy like it's wine and he doesn't waste a single drop of you. Even sucking and licking his fingers clean as you lay breathless before him. They come out of his mouth with a wet pop and he can’t help but let out a small breathy laugh.
“I’ve always wanted to try that…” he confesses.
You let out your own exhausted little laugh and he can already tell he wants more. More laughter, more of those pretty sounds, more of you.
It's with that in mind that Din starts pulling his cape off.
Piece by peace, he silently removes his armor. And after a few moments, a second pair of hands joins in. You fumble in the dark with his chest piece first. Helping him out of his armor one section at a time. They fall to the carpet with a soft thud along with the crumbling pieces of the restraint he’s built since that first night.
There’s no signs of stopping. You keep giving him more. More heat. More yearning. More questions.
What makes you laugh? What gives you pleasure? What makes you feel good and whole and satisfied? He needs to know.
And now that he’s gotten a taste, there’s no way he’s leaving here tonight until you’ve both had your fill.
•
If this is what happens when you invite the Mandalorian into your home, let your door never close.
Getting to your bed was easier than you thought it’d be in pitch black darkness. The only thing keeping your ‘bedroom’ separate from the rest of the home is a wooden lattice divider from the ceiling to the floor.
He lays you down on the soft futon on the floor and you open for him like a flower. Two strong palms drag and paw all over your body as his mouth works magic on yours and it makes you dizzy with desire.
Maker, he’s so good with his hands.
His body separates from you only to remove his flight suit and you whine at the loss of contact. Naked and panting for him. Within seconds he’s back on top of you and the feeling of his bare skin against yours makes your head spin. With everything so dark you wonder if this is even real. Maybe this is all a fever dream.
“Are you gonna show me how Mandalorians fuck this time,” you tease against his lips. Calling back to when he showed you how they drink. With your bare legs around his hips, you tease his resolve by running your inner thighs over his sides and you’re rewarded with a low hum. The hand supporting your neck slowly drags forward to find the base of your throat.
“You don’t need to know how Mandalorians fuck.” His wide grip gently squeezes the sides of your throat, just enough for you to feel the power in those hands. “Just how I fuck.”
Holy shit. You thought him gripping your jaw was hot. But this? This might’ve awakened something you didn’t even knew you wanted.
A whimper escapes you only to be muted by his mouth again. His tongue swirls with yours with a hunger you’ve never knew was there these past months and it’s such a relief to know that you weren’t the only one pining.
Mando’s mouth travels to your cheek, then jaw, finally finding purchase on your neck. Biting and sucking as his body presses into yours. He’s insatiable right now. There's no doubt that you'll find yourself covered in marks when the lights come back on.
You’re so lost in the moment that you almost don’t notice when something hard and warm presses against your inner thigh. Out of nowhere, a thought you haven’t even considered before decides to pop into your head at the very last minute.
“H-hold on!”
Your hands find his shoulders, urging him to pause. His lips unlatch themselves from your neck the second you blurt it out. Instantly propping himself above you with his hands on either side of your head.
“You want me to stop?,” he pants.
“No… Hell no. It’s just…”
How do you even begin to ask this?
“Um… I know I probably should’ve asked earlier but… you’re human, right?”
Mando blows out a low chuckle, understanding your underlying meaning. He feels human, from what your hands can tell anyway. He could be like his kid for all you know. It’s not that you’re not willing to go Inter-species, but your experience is mainly human. Plus with the lights off it’d be pretty difficult to figure out fitting things.
Taking your hand from his shoulder, he presses it against his chest where you can feel a dusting of hair. His skin is hot, damp with a thin layer of sweat and his breathing is heavy. He continues to lead your hand further down his torso so you can feel every hill and valley of his muscles. Eventually your hand hits a trail of hair down the middle and then…
Oh shit.
His hand guides you along the length of his cock. Encouraging you to explore every ridge from the thick base all the way up to the damp tip. He’s stiff and hot in your palm. When you give him a firm squeeze he groans and twitches in your grip.
Oh shit.
“Does that answer your question?”
The human part, definitely. Fitting is still debatable.
He lets you handle him. Giving you free rein to tug and tease as he bucks into your hand. He groans with pleasure and the power trip you feel knowing exactly how you affect this fiercely disciplined man makes the pulse between your legs throb harder. After a minute, his hand snatches yours to a halt, making your grip around his cock tighter.
“Show me where you want it,” he demands in a gruff breath. And you do just that. Pressing the damp tip against your clit. The contact sending a jolt of pleasure up your spine.
“Inside,” you plead. “I need you inside me.”
With an impatient huff, his hand comes down to take hold of your leg behind the bend of your knee. Spreading you wide and teasing your entrance before pushing himself inside. You gasp at the initial stretch, digging your nails into his shoulders. Mando curses under his breath and as he pushes you worry for a moment if there’s an end to him.
It’s slow, deliberate. Feeding his cock into your tight cunt until he’s pressing the limits of your walls. You shudder together when he’s completely sheathed and his hands grip your hips so hard his fingers dig into your flesh.
“Mando…” You throw your head back. Arching your whole body, waiting it to adjust to him. “Fuck!”
“I knew it,” he pants. “Fucking knew you’d feel good…”
He splits you in half and before you’re even ready the first hard thrust hits you. You whimper from impact and he thrusts again. Pinning you down by your hips to keep you at the perfect angle. Soon he sets a steady pace as he fucks you into delirium. It’s too much, he’s too much. Yet you moan and whine for more like each thrust might be the last. He feels incredible and you can only claw at his trim waist as it moves for you.
“That’s it… Good girl… Taking me so well… I wanted this… I want you to know every part of me.”
His words plunge into your chest like a dagger. Laced with a meaning that goes far beyond sex. Because you feel it too. You wanted him to be closer. You wanted him to know your name, know you. Even if it took this long to get here.
You feel one hand find your leg. Hiking it up so the back of your thigh lays flat against his chest. His hand drags up and down, caressing the soft flesh without losing a beat with his thrusts. A kiss presses on your calf and your head feels like it’s spinning. One moment he’s rearranging your insides and the next he’s giving your body sweet affection.
Tension builds in your core. Growing tighter and tighter with each hard thrust. Usually the second orgasm is more elusive to chase on your own. But this man is about to push you right into the next one not five minutes after the first one.
“Don’t… Stop…,” you pant. “Don’t stop, I’m so close, Mando…”
“Come for me... Let me feel you."
Then it comes. Tensing your entire body before coming down like a crashing wave. It’s spreads through every inch of your body, making you pulse and shake beneath his frame. You cry out in the midst of the euphoria, clinging to his shoulders, and everything feels so right. He moans along with you, feeling every tight pulse around his cock and letting you ride out the remaining waves.
“That’s two now, Shop Girl. You gonna give me a third?”
You let out a breathy laugh, still coming down from the clouds.
"I... I'm not sure I can," you chuckle.
"Yeah, you will," he pants. Amusement lacing his raspy voice.
Without out warning, Mando takes both your legs. Placing your calves over his shoulders as his leans forward. Folding you in half. And with one hard thrust, his cock drives back into you at a deeper angle. Your back bows and you swear you see stars in the blackness of the room. His lips land on the corner of your mouth and kiss their way to your lips. Offering a soft apology after the roughness. His strong arms are propped around you and you feel eclipsed under his broad body.
Soon his rhythm picks up. Becoming more desperate as he chases his own release. The room fills with the sound of your bodies meeting and you don't think you've ever heard anything more perfect. His panting picks up, his moans become louder, and the quivering breaths he makes when he finds a particularly deep spot will no doubt live in your mind rent free forever.
“You wanted me bare, didn’t you,” he huffs, pressing his damp forehead to yours.. “When you offered me that tea? You thought about me coming inside this perfect cunt, didn’t you.”
Caught red handed. Sure, you wanted to know if he had a partner as well. But the thought did cross your mind when he cornered you against the counter. You wanted to know how he felt bare, with nothing between you. Even dreamt a few times about it.
“Yes… Fuck, yes! Please! I want it!”
“You gonna come with me, Shop Girl? Hmm?”
“Maker, Mando! I’m right fucking there, please! I… I’m… ah-“
His firm hand grips your jaw. Whipping your face back to him so he can cover your mouth his. He kisses you deep, open and messy. No technique, just raw desire as he eats you alive. You moan and whimper against his mouth with each debilitating thrust he makes. He drives into you faster, harder. Relentlessly pushing you closer to the edge.
When it arrives, the orgasm hits you at full force. Wracking your whole body in convulsions as you scream, actually scream against his mouth. Your toes curl, your nails dig into his back and your cunt squeezes on to him for dear life like he’s never allowed to leave again.
Mando hisses through his teeth and he's right there with you. Ramming into you with relentless force as he chases his own release. His face dives into the crook of your shoulder and his arms scramble to take hold of you and he loses control. Letting out a sharp groan as he comes.
“Fuck.. Fuck,” he shudders in your ear. “Agh!”
His hips jerk against your body, driving himself as deep as you can take him. You feel his cock throb as he pumps into you again and again. Filling you to the point of spilling out and it’s... everything. Connected in such a profound way you’ve never felt before. In this moment, it’s hard to tell your bodies apart. You’ve melted and mixed and you never want to separate.
You ride it together, mold together, lose control together because you both knew it’d come to this. In the end this was inevitable. And in a galaxy filled with unknowns, in this you can be certain. A connection like this is few and far between. It’s real and raw and rare. Resisting that feeling was never an option, so why try?
Even in the climb down he doesn’t stop. Those hard demanding thrusts slow to a gentle drags as if he doesn’t want to finish yet. Hands glide all over each other’s bodies, soothing the other. All along his tense shoulders, you pepper soft kisses to his skin. Easing you both down from the clouds. He hums in the decent and it lulls you into an exhausted bliss.
Everything feels hazy and soft. You’re not sure how long you stay melted together like this. Minutes? Hours? But it’s needed. After a while, the breathing becomes steady and a soft, drowsy satisfaction settles between you.
“That’s the first time someone's come inside me,” you quietly confess. For a moment, Mando absorbs what you just said. Then you feel him prop himself in his elbows above you.
“Really?”
“Yeah…,” you breathe. Running your hands up the sides of his neck and resting them on his stubbled face.
“You know… since we’re sharing firsts tonight.”
He smiles and this time you’re able to know for certain by the feel of it in your hands. Leaning down, his forehead finds yours in the dark and you don’t think you’ve ever felt so whole before.
“I’m your first, huh,” he breathes. “I like that.”
There’s so many layers to this man. Quiet and withdrawn. Rough and demanding. Soft and caring. Each one is a trait you’ve come to cherish. You’re not sure if you love this man. But you’re definitely starting to fall for him. You can explore that treasure box later though. For now, you’ll take tonight for tonight and let whatever comes next between you arrive in its own good time.
“Me too, Mando...”
•
•
•
💕 THANK YOU FOR READING 💕
If you enjoyed my notes app delusions, please reblog, add a comment, drop insane reaction pics. I love seeing all your interactions, thoughts, and support on here. Might consider posting my works on A03 as well but we’ll see. Much Love! 🥰
Note: at the bottom of this post you will have 2 options with consequences on how to proceed!
Minor note: BnD/Books and Daggers refers to the Café Jason mentions in his profile!
Notification: Would you like to...
-> ⌞ghost Jason⌝
⤷ consequence: he sends you a message at night that reads:-
"Hey, I'm sorry if I acted rude/weird/offensive in any way and caused you to be uncomfortable. I genuinely thought we were connecting, but if that was something one-sided and you felt pressured to speak with me, I apologise. I wish you well and hope you have a nice day."
-> ⌞meet up with Jason⌝
⤷ consequence: have a friendly hangout at Books And Daggers
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May i request the Lin kuei brothers with a reader who has a pocket watch or locket that has a picture of them that they always keep on hand? It's just a random cute thought I had (Totally okay if you don't do this also i hope you're doing well!!)
Me when my name is RestInSlices and I’m supposed to be writing but the demons in me are tweaking so I sleep all day. OOOPS
Haven’t rewatched the main story in a minute but hopefully this still makes sense for their personalities
Bi-Han is such a fucking hard ass so I don’t think he’d make it obvious how he feels about it
He gives me “acts of service” vibes so I see him finding out about the locket while taking care of you
He’s noticed that you wear a necklace all the time but he’s never asked about it
You typically tuck it away under your suit but this time, you forgot
Bi-Han is checking on you (and by “checking on you” I mean he’s being a mom and looking over your suit and “this is too tight” “this should be here” “this should be on top of this”) when he notices it’s not tucked as usual
That’s when he notices that it’s actually a locket
And because he’s as nosey as any typical black mother (we’ve discussed this and I refuse to change my mind) he opens it
He stares at it for a second, his brain processing what he’s looking at
Bi-Han isn’t the best with social situations and looking at things in a non “FOR THE LIN KUEI” way, but it’s not like he’s never heard of this whole picture in the locket thing
Once he processes what he’s seeing, he just goes “hmm” and tucks it under your shirt
“Am I to take your grunts as words?” “Am I dying soon? You don’t need this” “I like having you near me” “I’m always near you” “Okay, Bi-Han”
He doesn’t necessarily get it until after the mission
Things went terribly. An explosion went off in the midst of the fight and the two of you were separated. And while it was good that the Lin Kuei eventually ended up winning the battle, he still couldn’t find you. At least not right away
You’re badly injured and disoriented, and what he couldn’t help but notice as he picked you up, was your open locket
He mentions it days later when you feel better, telling you how foolish it is to stare at a picture instead of calling for him or crawling away
“I had enough strength to stay awake because I had a picture of you near. My lungs were burning, the skin on my legs torn, smoke clouding my vision. But I could still see you. As long as I could see you, I could remain strong and either wait for you to find me, or die looking at my favorite person”
He gets a locket with a picture of you soon after
Assassins aren’t supposed to have things on them that can identify them, but while growing up, Kuai Liang noticed that some of the Lin Kuei would carry things that reminded them of their loved ones
One time, he asked his father about it
“They shouldn’t, but they are still men. Love is the one thing even the best of us cannot kill. And when these men are lost and need a reminder on why they need to keep fighting, it will be the thought of their wives and children waiting at home that will give them the strength to crawl out of any grave they have found themselves in”
Real wordy but Kuai Liang sorta got it
He understood those words better when he met you
Someone he loved so much, he began to ache when you were not near
He opted for keeping one of your hairpins with him at all times
I mean, look at his hair. Just put that hairpin in with no problem
He notices your locket on a whim. He just happens to look over when he notices you take your Shirai Ryu (?) pin off and open it
Mind you, it’s not supposed to be able to open so he’s like “what was that?”
That’s when you tell him that you messed with it and turned it into a locket/pin and put a photo of him inside
First of all, that’s impressive
Second of all, he can’t help but smile when he looks at it
He’s always known that you love him but this gives him the extra confirmation he never knew he needed
It’s understandable to imagine the whole older brother letting his father die thing would cause him to have doubts in the relationships he’s made, even if he doesn’t realize it
Shows you the hairpin he took
“My hairpin with the jewel on the end that I’ve been looking for has been in your hair the entire time?” “Let’s not focus on details”
Keeps the hairpin whether you tinker his Shirai Ryu thing into a locket or not
I also see him opening your the locket on your shirt at the random times
You’re talking to some random male and here he go tryna assert some sort of dominance
He a lil undiagnosed but it’s okay
Take that shit the fuck off NOW
BUT WAIT, let me explain
Tomas lost his entire family, right. And yeah, it was the Lin Kuei that killed them, but he can’t help but be paranoid
He worries that his association with someone marks them for suffering and/or death
Like with him and Kuai Liang. Bi-Han made the choice to let their father die because “he doomed the Lin Kuei to mediocrity”, but Tomas sometimes worries that by not killing him, his father started to look weak in Bi-Han’s eyes which ultimately led to his death
And then Kuai Liang goes against Bi-Han with him, and what happens in return? People in their new clan are killed. Kuai Liang and Harumi could have been killed as well!
He worries about you constantly, and now you have a locket with his picture in it?
What if you’re captured and they see his photo and kill you because you know him? What if someone was watching his family that night and got away and what if for some reason they really want him dead and what if-
I don’t mean to baby him or anything. I’m just saying I can see his trauma effecting (affecting? Idk) him in multiple ways
He goes from “people are watching me” to “never mind, ptsd was just beating my ass”
He just like you fr. Yeah bitch, I said YOU
But moving on
He freaks out when you show him and you have to sit with him and calm him down
You might even have to come up with some sort of compromise
“I just don’t want you getting hurt by knowing me. I think about this all the time and I’m so sorry I’m being difficult but-” “No need to explain. Not to me. Not for that”
He would prefer you have a ring or necklace that looks black but once you damn near press your eyeball to it, you see the photo
A locket is too obvious to him. These captors he imagine would immediately notice it’s a locket
You do that for him and he’ll keep something of yours. Something small and not obvious. Like a scrunchie maybe
One day his heart will let him rest, but that day is not today
I wrote this on the app and while on hold for fucking Walgreens BUT hopefully nothing is misspelled and I think they all have around the same amount of writing
ok i’m having some #thoughts… what if fbi!dex and reader were dating before the whole fisk bullshit and when he went to the mental hospital, reader never visited him. he was so confused and hurt bc u told him you’d never leave him, so when he escapes prison, the first thing he looks for is u. he shows up to your apartment and sees a kid standing behind u, the right age for dex to be the father…
Scared of Life
Benjamin Poindexter x fem! Reader
warning: hurt/comfort, angst, depression during the pregnancy, your daughter being a little possessive over you
A/N: WAIT I LOVE THIS IDEA SO MUCH OMG???? Thank you so much for the request, I hope you like this <333
Dex remembered promises with terrifying precision.
Most people forgot small details over time. Words blurred together. Memories softened around the edges until they became easier to live with. But Dex’s mind didn’t work like that. Every important moments burned itself deep beneath his skin like shrapnel he could never fully remove.
Especially when it came to you. Especially that night.
You had been laying half on top of him on the couch, wrapped in one of his shirts while some terrible late night cooking show played quietly in the background. Dex barely remembered the show itself. What he remembered was your heartbeat against his chest. The warmth of your fingers lazily tracing the scars on body. The way you looked at him like he was still human even after learning all the ugly parts of him.
“What if I get bad again?” he asked quietly. You lifted your head almost immediately after that. Confusion crossed your face first before sadness slowly replaced it. Like the question itself hurt you more than him.
“What do you mean?” Dex shrugged slightly beneath you, eyes fixed on the ceiling instead of your face.
“People leave eventually.” His voice stayed flat when he said it, almost detached. “Usually after they realize I’m too much work.”
Your expression tightened instantly. You shifted upward until he had no choice but to look at you. Your hands cupped his face carefully, thumbs brushing lightly against his jaw.
“I’m not people.” you whispered softly. Dex stared at you for several seconds without speaking.
Then quietly:
“You promise?”
Your forehead rested against his.
“I promise.” That promise became the thing that haunted him most after Fisk destroyed everything.
Because you disappeared. Completely.
No visits during recovery. No calls to the hospital. No messages. Nothing.
At first Dex thought maybe you were hurt. He asked about you constantly during the first few weeks until doctors started exchanging uncomfortable looks every time he brought up your name. Eventually one nurse admitted nobody matching your description had visited him once.
That answer hollowed something inside him immediately. Still, he made excuses for you.
Maybe Fisk threatened you. Maybe the FBI forced you away. Maybe you thought he hated you now after everything that happened.
But as weeks turned into months, the silence became impossible to explain away. Dex sat alone in sterile hospital rooms replaying every conversation you ever had together until it drove him half insane. Every memory became evidence against himself.
Maybe he scared you too much. Maybe you saw what he really was. Maybe loving him finally became exhausting.
Eventually the worst possibility settled heavily into his chest and refused to leave. You abandoned him.
Just like everyone else always did.
The realization destroyed him more thoroughly than Fisk ever could. Because Dex loved catastrophically. His body craved you like oxygen. He was utterly miserable and obsessed with you. Once someone mattered to him, they became stitched directly into his nervous system. Losing them didn’t feel emotional.
It felt physical. Like skin being ripped apart. Like he was told to stab himself over, over and over again.
So when Dex finally escaped months later, bruised and angry and barely holding himself together beneath layers of violence and betrayal, there was only one thing he needed before anything else. You.
He found your apartment just after midnight.
The building sat in a quieter neighborhood than your old place. Smaller too. Safer. Warm yellow light glowed faintly through the curtains while flower pots rested carefully beside neighboring doors.
Dex hated how normal it looked.
You used to talk about wanting normal someday. Somewhere peaceful. Somewhere without constant sirens and blood and fear clinging to every street corner.
Apparently you built that life without him. The thought twisted sharply in his chest. Dex stood outside your apartment door listening carefully before moving closer.
Two heartbeats. His expression darkened instantly.
You moved on???
His jaw tightened hard enough to ache before he reached for the lock. The mechanism clicked softly beneath practiced fingers. The door opened silently.
The apartment smelled exactly like you. Vanilla candles. Laundry detergent. Coffee. And your parfum in the air made it worse.
For one dangerous second, Dex nearly forgot why he was angry.
His eyes moved carefully across the room. A blanket tossed over the couch. Crayons scattered across the coffee table. Tiny shoes abandoned near the kitchen.
Tiny shoes? Dex frowned slightly.
Then he heard your voice somewhere deeper inside the apartment.
“Lily, if you’re still awake, I swear to god-” Small footsteps thundered instantly through the hallway. A child’s laugh followed.
Dex froze completely.
You appeared seconds later wearing oversized sleep clothes, hair messy like you’d been trying unsuccessfully to get someone into bed for the last hour. The second your eyes landed on him, every bit of color drained from your face instantly.
The air left your lungs so sharply he heard it.
“Dex.” His name sounded fragile coming from you. Emotional enough to make something ugly twist inside him all over again. You stared at him like you’d seen a ghost. Dex stared back just as hard.
You looked tired. Not physically exhausted exactly.
Just worn down around the edges in ways he didn’t remember. Softer somehow too. There were faint shadows beneath your eyes, old stress lines near your mouth, and despite everything crashing violently inside him, Dex still thought you were the most beautiful thing he had ever seen.
Then anger surged back hard enough to choke him.
“You left.” The words came out rougher than intended. Your expression cracked immediately after hearing them.
Before you could answer, another figure peeked around the hallway corner behind you.
A tiny human, a little girl. Maybe five years old.
Dark curls slightly messy from sleep. Big eyes narrowed suspiciously at the stranger standing inside her apartment.
Dex’s breathing stopped instantly.
Because she looked like him.
The eyebrows. The cheekbones. The expression.
Even the way she tilted her head while assessing him looked painfully familiar. The little girl blinked once before gasping dramatically.
“MOMMY!!!!!!” Dex barely had time to process what was happening before the child suddenly shoved herself directly in front of you with shocking determination.
“MOMMY GET BEHIND ME!!!!!” she yelled loudly. “THERE IS A MAN HERE.”
Dex stared blankly. The tiny girl spread both arms protectively in front of you like she genuinely planned on fighting him herself if necessary.
You looked one stress induced headache away from collapsing entirely.
“Lily, sweetheart-”
“No!” she shouted. “I saw this happen on the big screen.”
Dex blinked slowly. The child pointed accusingly toward him.
“You cannot break into our house.”
Dex frowned slightly. “Technically I already did.”
“THAT’S WORSE.” You made a strangled noise beside her that sounded suspiciously like suppressed laughter.
Dex looked deeply offended instead. The little girl squinted harder at him.
“You look sus… uh… susbizi- Mommy what was the word for weird dangerous looking people.”
“Suspicious, baby. Suspicious.”
“YOU LOOK SUSPICIOUS!!”
“I look suspicious.”
“Yes.” She narrowed her eyes critically. “And your face is weird.”
Dex actually looked wounded by that statement.
“My face is normal.”
“No it’s not,” she argued immediately. “You look like a sad potato.”
You physically turned away to hide your laughter. Dex stared at the child in complete disbelief. Then suddenly her expression changed. Her eyes narrowed further.
“Oh my god.” Your face lost every remaining trace of color.
“Lily-”
“You have my eyebrows.” Silence filled the apartment instantly. The little girl looked between both of you several times before gasping loudly enough to wake the entire building.
“MOMMY.” You covered your face with both hands immediately.
“IS THIS THE GUY YOU SAID WENT ON VACATION WITH PEPPA?”
“Yes, Lily. That’s him.” honestly? what were you supposed to tell her when she asked you where her dad is. So you came up with the excuse that her father is on vacation with… peppa the pig.
“So… that’s your secret husband?” she asks innocently.
“What? No!”
Dex looked equally alarmed. “Absolutely not.”
The little girl pointed directly at him again.
“You’re the daddy my mommy told me about.” Dex forgot how breathing worked. You looked ready to die on the spot.
Lily marched directly toward Dex after that with terrifying confidence before stopping directly in front of him. She planted both tiny hands on her hips while staring up at him with the exact same intense focus he’d seen in mirrors his entire life.
“Okay,” she announced seriously. “Here are the rules.”
Dex blinked once. “Rules.”
“Yes.” She pointed between herself and you. “Mommy is mine first.”
You made another choking noise somewhere behind her.
“I’m not sharing,” Lily continued firmly. “Even if you are my dad.”
Dex stared at the tiny child standing in front of him issuing territorial warnings like a mob boss. Then very seriously:
“You don’t wanna share your mother.”
“No.” She crossed her arms harder. “She’s my favorite person.”
Something inside Dex cracked slightly hearing that. Because he understood immediately. Because you’re his favorite person, too.
Unfortunately for him, Lily apparently inherited every protective instinct he ever possessed. It was as if your genes didn’t even try other than her getting your eyes.
“You can stay!” she decided after several seconds. “But if you make mommy cry, I bite.”
Dex nodded solemnly. “Understood.”
“She actually bit a pre school teacher once.” you admitted weakly.
“He was rude to you!” Lily defended instantly. Dex nodded again like this was perfectly rational behavior. Honestly, the fact that he seemed proud should’ve concerned you more than it did.
The next hour passed in complete emotional chaos.
Lily interrogated Dex like an FBI agent while simultaneously climbing all over you possessively anytime he sat too close. She demanded answers to increasingly bizarre questions while Dex answered every single one with complete seriousness.
“Do you know dinosaurs?”
“Yes.”
“What’s your favorite?”
“Velociraptor.”
Lily gasped dramatically. “That’s mine too.”
Dex looked absurdly pleased by this information.
Meanwhile you sat frozen on the couch trying unsuccessfully not to emotionally collapse watching them interact.
Dex looked at her like she hung the moon itself.
Eventually Lily began falling asleep curled against your side while still glaring suspiciously toward Dex anytime he moved too suddenly.
Her tiny hand clutched your shirt tightly even half asleep. Dex watched her carefully from the opposite side of the couch.
Memorizing every detail about her. About his daughter.
Then Lily’s sleepy eyes slowly lifted toward him one final time.
“You better not go on vacation again.” she mumbled quietly. The room fell completely silent. Dex froze instantly. Lily yawned softly before curling closer against you.
“Mommy gets sad sometimes.” she whispered sleepily. “She cries when she thinks I’m sleeping.”
Dex looked at you immediately. And the pain on his face nearly destroyed you. After carrying Lily carefully into bed together, the apartment finally fell quiet.
The second her bedroom door clicked shut, all the tension both of you had been avoiding rushed back violently.
Dex stood near the kitchen counter while you lingered several feet away uncertainly. Neither of you knew how to begin unraveling five years of grief.
“She’s five.” you said softly. Dex nodded once.
“She likes dinosaurs. Hates cherries. Talks a lot about wanting to build an animal farm. Thinks every stray cat belongs to her.” His expression softened briefly before tightening again.
“Why didn’t you tell me?” There it was. The question he keeps asking himself the whole time.
You looked down immediately because suddenly meeting his eyes felt impossible.
“Because I was terrified.” you admitted quietly. Dex stayed completely still.
“After Fisk.” you continued shakily, “people watched everything connected to you. Hospitals. FBI contacts. Your apartment.” Your throat tightened painfully. “Then I found out I was pregnant.”
Dex looked physically unable to breathe.
“I kept thinking if anyone found out about her…” Your voice cracked slightly. “They’d use her against you. Against me.”
Tears blurred your vision.
“So I disappeared.” Dex’s jaw clenched hard enough to ache.
“I wanted to visit you,” you whispered. “God, Dex, I wanted to so badly.”
His breathing became uneven instantly.
“But every time I thought about bringing her near any of that…” You shook your head weakly. “I couldn’t do it.”
The apartment suddenly felt too quiet. Too small for all the pain sitting between both of you.
“The pregnancy was horrible without you.” you admitted softly after a moment. Dex closed his eyes briefly.
“Not because of her,” you said quickly. “She was an angel. Felt like she knew I wasn’t doing well and tried to not give me a even harder time.” A weak laugh escaped you through tears. “But because every scary part of it made me want you.”
His face crumpled slightly.
“I wanted your arms around me when I got sick.” Your voice shook harder now. “Wanted to tell you when she kicked for the first time. Wanted you there during ultrasounds.” Tears slipped freely down your cheeks now. “I wanted to lay against your chest and hear you tell me everything would be okay.”
Dex physically flinched. Like every word hurt him. Like you just stabbed him in his heart.
“I needed you,” you whispered brokenly. “And I couldn’t have you.”
For several seconds, Dex said absolutely nothing. Then suddenly he crossed the room. His hands cupped your face carefully. Like he needed physical proof you were still real.
“You protected our daughter.” he said fiercely. You cried harder instantly.
“You should hate me.”
“No.” The answer came immediately.
“I thought you abandoned me,” Dex admitted quietly, eyes burning into yours. “But you were protecting her.”
Your chest hurt painfully.
“I waited for you every day,” he confessed. “Every single day.”
Something shattered inside you hearing that. You wrapped your arms around him instantly.
Dex made a quiet sound against your shoulder that almost didn’t sound human at all. Relief hit him so hard it physically shook through his body. His arms locked tightly around your waist while his face buried against your neck like he still couldn’t believe this was real.
“I will never leave you again.” he whispers loud enough for you to hear.
bestfriend!kei accidentally rats himself out for having a huge crush on you.
wc: 1.4k
usually, the air in tsukishima’s room smells like expensive laundry detergent and the faint, lingering scent of old books, but today it was saturated with something far more lethal: the scent of your shampoo. it was a tactical assault on his senses. he sat at his desk, pretending to care about a history textbook, but his brain was busy cataloging the exact frequency of the fabric of your hoodie rubbing against his bean bag chair.
he was currently enduring a very specific kind of torture, one where he had to pretend that your presence didn’t make his pulse do a frantic tap-dance against his ribs. it was exhausting. he deserved a medal, or perhaps a small kingdom, for the restraint he was showing by not simply collapsing at your feet and asking you to step on him.
“i’m heading out to the convenience store,” you announced, stretching your arms over your head. the movement caused your shirt to ride up a fraction of an inch, and tsukishima felt his soul temporarily leave his body through his tear ducts. “do you want anything?”
he didn’t even look up. if he looked up, he was compromised. the golden light of the afternoon was hitting your hair in a way that made him want to write a five-page thesis on the physics of light reflection.
“yeah,” he muttered, his voice a dry rasp that betrayed absolutely nothing—he hoped. “your affection. but whatever.”
the silence that followed was heavy enough to crush a small sedan. tsukishima froze. the words had slipped out like a rogue spy escaping a high-security prison. his heart was trying to punch its way through his sternum to find a more dignified owner.
“what?” you asked, tilting your head.
tsukishima finally turned, his face a masterpiece of practiced indifference, though his ears were glowing a shade of red usually reserved for emergency flares and fire trucks.
“what.” he repeated, deadpan.
“did you just ask for my affection?”
“i asked for strawberry shortcake,” he lied, the falsehood so blatant it practically grew a nose. “clearly, the lack of sugar is making you hallucinate. it’s a tragic symptom of your deteriorating mental faculties. go buy your snacks and leave me to die in peace.”
“kei,” you said, stepping closer. you didn’t call him ‘kei’ often. usually, it was nicknames or just a sharp poke to the ribs. when you said his name like that—soft, like something just shared between you two—it felt like a physical weight pressing against his lungs. “i heard you.”
tsukishima felt like a cornered animal, if that animal was six-foot-three, wore glasses, and was hopelessly in love with a girl who thought he was just a grumpy beanpole. he pushed his glasses up his nose, the plastic clicking against his skin. he wanted to vanish. he wanted to be a puddle. he wanted to be the very floorboards you were standing on so he could support the weight of your entire life.
“your hearing is as questionable as your taste in movies,” he snapped, though the bite was gone. his hands were shoved so deep into his pockets he might have been touching his kneecaps.
you didn’t back down. instead, you leaned into his space, your eyes shimmering with a mix of amusement and something that made his knees feel like they were made of overcooked noodles. “you’re blushing.”
“it’s the lighting.”
“it’s four in the afternoon and we’re in the shade.”
“the sun is reflecting off the neighbor’s roof,” he countered, his brain scrambling for any logical explanation that didn’t involve him admitting he would literally let you ruin his life if you asked nicely.
you reached out, your fingers grazing his forearm. the contact was electric. to tsukishima, it felt like being struck by lightning, except the lightning was warm and smelled like fruit. he felt a desperate, localized heat blooming wherever you touched him. he was a goner. he was a pathetic, shivering mess of a man disguised as a cynical middle blocker.
“if you wanted affection,” you whispered, moving even closer until he could see the tiny flecks of sparkles in your eyes, “you could have just asked. you don’t have to be a weirdo about it.”
“i’m not a weirdo,” he breathed, his height suddenly feeling like a disadvantage because he had to look down so far to see the person who held his entire cardiac rhythm in the palm of her hand. “i’m a person with standards. standards that you’re currently vibrating against.”
“shut up,” you laughed, and the sound was so bright it felt like a direct insult to every miserable thought he’d ever had.
before he could formulate a witty retort about your lack of decorum, you surged forward. you buried your face in the crook of his neck, your arms wrapping around his waist.
tsukishima stopped breathing. his nervous system went into a full-scale lockdown. he felt the soft pressure of your chest against his, the puff of your breath against his skin, and the world simply ceased to exist. there was no volleyball, no exams, no annoying teammates—only the weight of you.
his hands hovered in the air for a second, trembling like a victorian orphan in a blizzard, before he finally broke. he collapsed into the embrace, his long arms winding around you with a ferocity that bordered on primal. he tucked his chin over your head, squeezing you so tight he was worried he might actually merge with your atoms.
“you’re so warm,” he murmured into your hair, his voice losing every ounce of its defensive edge. it was a vulnerable sound, a complete surrender. “it’s annoying. everything about you is an inconvenience to my peace of mind.”
“is that so?” you teased, muzzling into his sweater. “should i let go?”
“if you let go, i’m filing a police report for emotional battery,” he threatened, though he was currently stroking the back of your head with a tenderness that could have melted a glacier.
he was so far gone. he was wandering in the desert of your attention and he never wanted to find an exit. the way you fit perfectly under his chin felt like a cosmic joke, a puzzle piece designed by a deity who specifically wanted to see tsukishima kei lose his entire mind.
he pulled back just enough to look at you, his thumb tracing the line of your jaw with a reverence usually reserved for ancient artifacts. his expression was no longer bored or smug; it was tender. he looked at you like you were the only source of oxygen in a vacuum.
“i don’t want anything from the store,” he admitted, his voice dropping to a low, honeyed register. “i was being literal. i want you to stay here and keep making me feel like my heart is going to explode. it’s a very interesting sensation for me. i’d like to study it for the next fifty to sixty years.”
you beamed at him, a smile so radiant it probably could have powered a small city for a month. “fifty years? that’s a long time, tsukki.”
“i’m a very thorough student,” he whispered, leaning down.
when his lips finally met yours, it was a bit clumsy at first—the height difference was a logistical nightmare—but then his hand moved to the back of your neck, pulling you upward, and everything clicked. it tasted like strawberry lip balm and the kind of quiet, domestic forever that tsukishima had spent his whole life pretending he didn’t want.
he kissed you like he was trying to memorize the texture of your soul. he kissed you with the bottled-up desperation of a thousand nights spent staring at his ceiling, wondering if you could hear his heart screaming through the walls.
when you finally broke for air, he kept his forehead pressed against yours, his eyes closed. his glasses were slightly crooked, and his hair was a disaster from your fingers running through it. he looked human. he looked happy.
“forget the store,” you breathed, clutching the front of his shirt. “i think i have everything i need right here.”
tsukishima let out a huff of a laugh, a genuine, throat-deep sound that vibrated through both of your chests. he pulled you back into the circle of his arms, burying his face in your shoulder once more, determined to never let another inch of space come between you again.
the history textbook remained forgotten on the desk, its pages fluttering in the breeze, utterly useless compared to the lesson he was currently learning about the gravity of a girl who finally loved him back.
n: this was supposed to be a crackfic but i somehow turned it into a sweet fic.
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I've been really intrigued by a reader that is Daniels assistant and while there is plenty of stories in the iwtv space none of them really scratched that itch, so I made some headcanons. I might write some actual stories in this universe, we'll see! This is mostly pre season one going into season one at the end.
As always, gender neutral reader
Mostly focuses on Daniels relationship with reader (platonic)
(hints of future armand x reader)
• assistant! reader who probably has a degree in something very academic and hard to get jobs for and get funding for ( think anthropology or sociology)
• assistant! reader who is just trying to pay their way through grad school and the only option they found that was even slightly related to their field is assisting Daniel Molloy with research, first draft editing, appointments, etc.
• assistant! reader who is a little overwhelmed in the beginning by Daniel being...well Daniel. However, overtime they learn to play off his odd energy and blunt remarks with things even odder and blunter
• assistant! reader who forms a tentative frenemies relationship with Daniel
• assistant! reader who is easy sailing for the first year because of Daniels writers block, they are mainly just asked to schedule things and do a bit of research here and there
• assistant! reader who is the only person that Daniel tells about his Parkinson's diagnosis, not because they are super close but because they will probably be the only one effected
• assistant! reader who makes every single doctors appointment and always drives him home after his infusions
• assistant! reader who is the first to see the email requesting that Daniel fly to Dubai and redo his interview with the vampire Louis de Pointe du Lac
• assistant! reader who is ready to delete the email, thinking that it's just someone messing with them
• assistant! reader who asks Daniel about it just in case
• assistant! reader who is equally appalled and fascinated as Daniel tells the story of how he met a vampire at a bar and interviewed him
• assistant! reader who is adamant that Daniel not go, saying that not only is his health declining, but also his previous experience with this so called "vampire" lead to him being attacked
• assistant! reader who reluctantly goes with him anyway just to ensure his safety, totally not because they are curious or anything
• assistant! reader who stays to themself at the beginning of their time in Dubai
• assistant! reader who is taking constant notes during the sessions, not only of the major things discussed but also any particular mood changes that may be significant and follow up questions to speak to Daniel about later
• assistant! reader who does not lift their head even when addressed directly so absorbed in notetaking
• assistant! reader who takes a sip of whatever drink they have to hide their smile whenever Daniel says anything particularly funny or snarky
• assistant! reader who notices Louis's little shadow focusing more on them then anyone else when he is in the room
• assistant! reader who tries to connect with "Rashid" afterward because he looks to be around their age and because of his position in the house they might be able to bond over stories
• assistant! reader who takes Rashid's coldness towards them a little too personally, becoming extra snippy around him and withdrawing into their shell even more
Summary: Aemond can't seem to get his brother's new court jester out of his head. Lucky for him, you have a knack for showing up at the right place at the right time.
Warnings: Smut, fem reader, slight slight incest vibe, reader is able to some contortion type stuff for the plot (not that theres a lot of plot), slight rough sex
AN: Okay so this is technically already posted on my ao3 account but since then I’ve felt like it needed some work, so in honor of the new hotd season coming out soon I’ve cleaned it up and reposted it here. Can you tell I like pathetic Targaryen men lol
4.6k Words
Aemond couldn’t think straight.
For days, weeks, months now, his mind, a mind he’d sculpted to be impenetrable to any enticement or seductions, was under the control of a dark force he could not name. A force so powerful he’d been bound to his bed for hours, hand wrapped around his aggravated cock, unable to break from the spell of his brother’s newest form of entertainment.
You were from far away. Pentos, Essos, he couldn’t remember. He certainly wasn’t about to ask Aegon. He refused to give his older brother the satisfaction of knowing he desired, that he needed something, that he couldn't get a silly little court jester out of his head.
It began as a midnight fantasy. He would lay down to sleep, pale, damp hair splayed out on his pillow. Eye patch discarded, bare skin on the silken sheets of his bed chamber; it was the closest he got to true comfort. As his eyes closed, he saw you. Your ridiculous costume you wore to charm the court. Pastel and small- practically naked. Ruffles around your neck only added to the pageantry, and your cap and bells danced around your head when you flipped and turned.
He hated your performances, watching you tell your stupid jokes, juggle pins, and bend your body in ways he could not have imagined in his wildest fantasies. Your face, shrouded in paint, was a mystery to him. Dark smudges around your eyes, bright blushing cheeks, on the background of stark white. It was your lips that enticed Aemond the most though. You would paint them a vivid crimson, soft and plush, Aemond had devoted many hours to imagining them wrapped around his fingers- or his cock. When you stood before the iron throne, enrapturing his brother with your comical songs, or dancing, or magic tricks, Aemond could feel his blood go hot.
On more than one occasion, he was forced to flee the throne room. It infuriated him, but he couldn’t spend even one second in your presence if your attention was all for his brother. Aegon’s attention was certainly on you. His eyes never leaving the bouncing of your breasts or the curve of your bottom in the leotard.
In his darkest moments, he pictured you and Aegon, you submitting to him, Aemond watching from the shadows as his brother pounded into the object of his attraction. He always felt dirty after coming to the image.
The shame wasn’t enough to stop his musings.
Most of his fantasies revolved around you coming to him in the night. Falling to your knees before him, begging for him, confessing to your hunger. He would smile, rub the blush into your cheek, and take you apart. It had gotten to the point where he was leaving meetings early, cutting his time in the training yard short, missing meals, only to skulk around the keep aimlessly. He would wander for a while, unsure if it was to find you or run, before finding a place, his room, a closet, an empty hall, and touch himself to the thought of you bouncing around in your little shows.
He would gently stroke his cock, forehead against the cold stone wall, imagining you there in front of him. He liked to imagine what your face looked like, or the color of your hair, which you kept tucked into your cowl. Only your eyes were visible, piercing, staring into his soul.
Aemond imagined those eyes looking up at him, smaller hands expertly wrapped around him, whispering your little jabs.
Oh how you seemed to love making jokes at his expense. You were certainly clever enough not to bully the king, but apparently the Prince was not exempt from your ridicule.
It was the other reason he ran when your acts began. It wasn't even that your words were particularly mean, but the thought of joking in a way that elicited a laugh from the knights and courtiers enraged him in a way that made his cheeks blush and his trousers tighten.
His one saving grace was that you avoided the mention of his scar.
Never were your jokes about his horrific deformity, the way maidens turned down hallways when he neared and guards snickered about him when they thought he couldn't hear. No, you liked to laugh at the way he stood, rigid and guarded, or the way he stalked through the courtyards and breezeways like he was in a rush. Aegon would laugh at the way you acted like the dark Prince, stomping about and flipping your imaginary long blond hair. Aemond’s blood boiled when you would try to imitate his voice, creating a caricature of his temperament. On days when the jester would pretend to be him, he would only need to touch himself for a moment before he was shooting come across whatever unfortunate surface he’d found.
*****
The first encounter happened because Aemond attempted to find a place to relive his aching cock.
He’d had a long morning. Aegon requested his presence at breakfast, only to go into detail how he’d keep his little clown on her knees in front of him if she'd let him. Aemond had gripped the edge of the table as his older brother complained that the courtly fool would not let him touch her. He’d left in a hurry, a sorry excuse on his lips as he left the gazebo his brother had invited him to and strutting through the gardens, looking for a place to empty himself. He couldn’t get the image of his brother fucking you out of his mind.
He turned down a walkway, almost running past the fragrant roses and bright foxgloves, moving toward a small stone alcove he liked to read in. Several times before, he’d ducked into the space to touch himself after a particularly vexing or titillating performance. He saw the opening, half hidden by the branches of a willow, gently moving in the summer warmth. Aemond rushed in, turning to press his back to the wall next to the opening and squeezing his eye shut. His chest heaved, and his hand came up to press against his heart.
“Whats got you in such a twist?”
Aemond’s eyes shot open to the gentle sound of familiar teasing.
You were smirking, the red of your lips turned up and your white teeth showing between them. What were you doing here? In his spot, crouched on his bench, making fun of his current state?
“Why are you here?” Aemond gritted out.
You stood up on the bench, turning from him and walking along the edge on your toes, your arms outstretched.
“Oh, I was just exploring the gardens, when I stumbled on this charming little place. What a perfect place to practice in, don't you think?”
You spun to face him, giving Aemond a deep curtsey.
“My Prince.”
You looked up at him through your lashes as you continued to bend forward, waiting for his response. Aemond knew the smart, responsible, princely thing to do would be to leave, to not give you the satisfaction of an answer. Instead, he glared at you, pushing off from the wall and stomping toward the bench. You stood back up, eyes narrowing and lips spreading into a grin. Your amusement did nothing for his temper. He stopped before you, looking up at your painted face in indignation.
“It's a wonder you've never been punished for your insolence." Aemond said, crossing his arms. You laughed, throwing back your head and making the bells on your cap ring.
“My insolence is precisely why I’m so popular. The people around here are amused by my teasing; it adds to my mystique."
You turned back to the bench, folding forward and placing your hands on the stone to push up into a handstand.
“I’m certainly not amused by your arrogance.” Aemond growled, “And I’m certainly not interested in your mystique.” He walked down the bench as you walked on the edge.
You kicked your legs back and forth before answering.
“I disagree.”
He narrowed his eye and knelt down to be level with your eyes.
“Oh? Most members of the court would be loath to disagree with their Prince.”
Aemond stared into the darkness surrounding your eyes, satisfied with his quip. There was a long pause before a response.
“I think you're enchanted my mystique,” You taunted, “In fact, I think you spend a lot of your time thinking about me.”
The amusement drained from his face and he stood quickly, stepping back from the bench.
“I think you secretly enjoy my performances, I notice the way you're always staring, when you think no one can see you, the way you rush out of the throne room after I move.”
You kept your eyes on him.
“And I think-” Pushing your legs forward, you stepped down onto the ground in front of him, bringing your head up from the bench and looking up into his eyes.
“I think my teasing secretly turns you on.”
You whispered your final stab up at him, chest brushing his. The strange pair of you stared at each other, both breathing heavily as the weight of your accusation rested between you.
The longer Aemond waited to respond, the wider your grin grew, until you were vibrating with laughter and your bells jingled. The sound broke him from his trance, and he roughly grabbed you by the arms and pushed you backward until you were pressed against the wall of the alcove.
“You want the truth?” Aemond snarled, face bent to press the sharp point of his nose against yours. Briefly, you imagined a smudge of white on the tip when he pulled back, and let out a garbled titter.
“Oh, that's funny to you?”
He ran his hand up from your arm to your neck, wrapping his long fingers around it under the lace of your ruff. He held you closer to the wall, pressing you up onto your toes.
“You think it's funny that you’ve taken over my every waking thought? That I must leave rooms when you're near to touch myself? That when my brother speaks of your body, even the image of him with you turns my cock to stone?” Aemond pushed his nose against your cheek, and you could feel his words against your flesh. The rough plaster of the garden wall dug into your back, and later, when you checked in the mirror, you would find the skin between your leotard and ruff rubbed raw. Presently, though, you couldn't feel it.
You couldn't really feel anything but Aemond’s hand on your throat, his breath on your face, his chest pressed against yours, Aemond Aemond Aemond. His piercing lavender eye stared down at you, the intensity pulling a guttural sound from the back of your throat. Aemond grinned.
“Who knew the Fool had such a lust for pain?”
You moaned again. Aemond pulled his hand down from above your head, lightly running his long fingers up your bare legs to the apex of your thighs. You wiggled against him as he pressed his fingers into the fabric, and Aemond let out a breathy laugh.
“Look at you, so wet and I’ve barely even touched you,” he growled, “You really are a little slut, aren't you? Dancing around court, bending your body, teasing me, you've wanted me to snap, hold you against the garden wall and fuck you rough.” He began rubbing his fingers back and forth down your clothed cunt, the only sounds coming from heavy breathing and the wetness between your legs. You moved with him, pushing Yourself against his hand.
Aemond pulled his fingers away when he felt it.. He pressed his forehead to yours as he slowly slid his fingers past his thin lips.
He smiled around them.
“You taste as good as I imagined.”
You mustered up a smirk for him.
“Oh, so you’ve been thinking about how I taste?”
What was meant to sound taunting ended up coming out in a breathy moan. It was Aemond’s turn to laugh at you.
“I’ve had many thoughts about you, and I intend to act on all of them. Now,” He pressed his lips to your ear.
“Kneel for your Prince.”
Aemond gripped your shoulders and pushed you down to your knees.
“Take my cock out, little Fool.”
You rushed forward, gripping his belt and pulling at the fastingings of his trousers until his large, throbbing member sprung free. It was long and thick, bigger than you’d seen before, and you couldn't take your eyes off the purplish-red head, angrily dribbling precome onto the stone beneath him.
Looking up at him through your lashes, you noticed his chest rising and falling rapidly. Slowly, you leaned forward, keeping your eyes on him as you stuck out your tongue and licked the tip. An animalistic sound left his mouth as he reached forward and grabbed the tassels on each side of your hat.
You took it as an invitation to wrap your lips around him, taking him farther into your mouth as he pulled you forward. Down, down, down, until his cock was firmly lodged in your mouth, your nose pressing against the pale hair on his pubic bone. You pressed your tongue against the bottom of his cock, running it along the underside as you pulled back, sucking your lips around him. Aemond threw his head back, gripping your cap and moving your head faster, pushing himself farther and farther into your mouth.
Tears edged at the corners of your eyes as he shoved his cock through your lips, mixing with your spit and running the paint down your face. The dark from the eye makeup smeared down over the white, and your red lips smudged around him. He let out a loud groan, loud enough that anyone walking past the hidden alcove would have heard the Prince get his royal cock sucked. He gripped your cap harder as you made a choking noise at the back of your throat.
“Seven hells, your mouth feels so good. You feel-” You sucked your cheeks in and ran your tongue up the underside of his cock again, causing him to choke out another moaning purr. He thrust against your mouth, faster and faster as he got closer to completion. You gripped his thighs and hung on for dear life as he used your lips to finish himself off, spurting warm spend down your throat.
“Fuck, take it, swallow it.”
He held your mouth at the base of his cock and felt you swallow against him.
Aemond let out shaky breaths as he continued to grip, keeping you close to his body. Your eyes remained on him, looking up through your lashes at this pale, severe face, which was at present the most relaxed you’d ever seen him.
“Come here.” He managed to growl out.
You giggled.
“I certainly don’t see how I could get much closer to you, my Prince.”
He sighed again and let the corner of his lips turn up. Loosening his grip, he slowly moved backwards towards the bench you’d been sitting on when you first started taunting him that afternoon. Dropping down to sit, Aemond patted his leg for you to join him.
Quickly, you crawled over, thankful the smooth tile of the alcove didn’t scrape your knees. You gripped his thighs, looking up at him with a mixture of desire and anticipation. His gaze darkened; he liked the feeling of someone submitting their power to him. Aemond bent and gripped your waist, hauling you up into his lap so that you sat on one of his thighs. An arm snaked around you, pulling your side closer to him, while his other hand slid down your body, gripping one of your breasts harshly before making its way down to the apex of your thighs.
“Spread your legs for me, wide. I know how far you can bend them,” Aemond growled into your ear, “I know you’ve felt my eyes on you, watching you entertain my brother. You show off for me, don't you?”
He tugged the crotch of your leotard to the side, exposing you to the garden. Briefly you thought of the consequences that might fall upon you should any unwitting passerby see you in such a compromising position, but all thoughts were pulled back to the bench when Aemond landed a sharp smack to your cunt. You let out a startled, half squawk, half groan.
“Girls like you,”
Smack.
“Showing off,”
Smack.
“Doing anything to get attention,”
Smack.
“I know what you really want.” Aemond spoke, lips pressed to your ear.
“You want to be broken,”
He pressed his hand flat against your cunt.
“Used,”
He pressed two long fingers against your entrance.
“Taken until you ache, until you can’t do your pretty twirls, until all you can think about is finding your way onto my cock.” With that, he pushed his fingers inside, eliciting a loud moan from your soft lips. He smiled against your cheek as he continued to move his fingers in and out.
“I want the whole Keep to know how much of a slut our little Fool is.”
Curling his fingers deep inside you, he reached until he was met with the roughness he knew would pull another animalistic noise from your mouth. You did not disappoint, gripping his bicep with one hand, and his knee with the other, trying to stay balanced with your legs spread in his lap. Aemond added another finger, increasing the speed in which he thrust them while reaching up to free your breasts with his other hand. He gripped the front of your costume, pulling down until they sprang free. The lace of your ruff gently lay across the tops of them, and he watched as his movements caused your breasts to bounce enticingly. He grabbed your breast harshly before squeezing and rolling your nipple between his nimble fingers.
You threw your head back and moaned again. This brought a smirk to Aemond’s thin lips and he repeated the action, alternating between pinching and rolling, tugging and squeezing, all while continuing to thrust his fingers into your aching wetness, curling them in a way that made you feel like nothing you’d ever experienced before.
No man had ever treated you this way, using you, bending your body to his every whim. You felt the last ounces of your resolve slip away as he slid a third finger in. Your legs shook, and the wet sounds of Aemond’s fingers in your cunt grew louder. Moaning grew louder as you came, clenching around him and gripping him where you could so that you wouldn't slip. Aemond held you against him, gripping your breast hard enough that there very well might be a mark the next day.
Heavy breathing, your whole body covered in a thin sheen of sweat as you came down from your high. You leant your forehead against his jaw, and he turned in to you as he slid his fingers out.
Aemond let out a huff of a laugh at the wet sound they made. You smacked his shoulder, but it held no real force behind it. He wrapped his large hand around your smaller one.
“You could be thrown in the dungeon for hitting your Prince, you know.” He whispered, bringing your fingers to his mouth and kissing the tip of each one. You smiled softly up at him.
“Good thing you like my insolence, right?”
Aemond took your face in his hand, other arm pulling you impossibly closer before pressing his lips against yours in a searing kiss; your arm tightening around his neck as you slid your hand into his pale hair. He snaked his tongue past your lips and you melted into him, gripping the hair at the base of his neck. Aemond released your face and reached down to take your breast in his hand, squeezing and gently rolling a nipple between his fingers. You pulled your mouth away to let out a sigh, and a string of saliva connected adjoining lips. He kissed you again, softer this time, almost gentle, trailing kisses up your jaw to your ear to whisper:
“I’m going to fuck you know, little fool, I’m going to bend you in half and take you until the only thing you can say is my name. Would you like that?”
You could feel his tongue against your ear as he whispered, and you grabbed the leather of his doublet for balance before answering.
“I thought I was supposed to call you my Prince?” You let out, airily giggling. Aemond smirked, wrapping his arms snugly around your waist before flipping you onto your back on the bench. He hovered over, blocking the light with his larger form and canopy of long hair.
The force of it knocked the breath from your lungs, and you stared up at him, mouth agape. He stroked a finger down your cheek, gently trailing down to your dripping cunt. Aemond let out a sigh.
“Gods, you're still so wet for me,” He groaned, as he rubbed the tips of his fingers over your clit, “I can’t- I can't tell you how many times I’ve thought about this, watching you contort your body, fucking you in your twisted positions.” He moved his hands to the insides of your thighs.
“Let's see how far you really bend.”
With that, Aemond pushed your thighs back, back, back, until your feet were well over your head and your legs were open wide enough to get a full picture of your weeping sex. You wiggled in his grip, but he held fast and you found you couldn't move from the prone position.
He grinned, before leaning forward and spitting on your opening, lowering himself to give it a harsh, scalding kiss before rising up on one knee on the bench. Aemond towered over you, and the look on his face told you not to move your legs from the position he’d put you in. He stroked himself,his cock already hard again.
Aemond leaned down, resting a hand beside your head and pressing a kiss to the tip of your nose, before sliding the spongy head of his cock through your folds. You let out a loud, unladylike moan, and willed yourself to keep your legs up for him. His face, usually so harsh, was contorted in a way that showed just how much your body affected him. He moved slowly, rocking his hips back and forth to push himself through your heat, rubbing against your clit with each thrust. He let out a whimper, and you gently took his face in your hands.
Aemond turned his head to press his lips to your palm, before pressing the angry tip of his cock against your opening. Both the Prince and the Fool let out a sigh as he sheathed himself into your heat, bottoming out when his pelvis met yours. Aemond gave you a moment to adjust to him before pulling back, almost all the way out, and slamming back into you with a force that shook your frame against the bench. It caused a light twinkle from your bells, and he gripped your thighs to get a better angle into your aching pussy. You moaned loudly, the sound mixing with the jingling of bells and the slap of his balls against your ass.
Aemond’s bliss was indescribable.
If there really were seven heavens as his mother so often preached, he didn’t really care to know. Surely none of them were better than the feeling of his little harlequin wrapped around his cock. The sound of your voice, so often teasing him, was now only emulating your craving for him. He couldn't even decide where to look. Your face, smudged with paint and tears, or your bouncing tits, enticing his fingers and mouth? Or was it the connection, his member diving into your gooey cunt that drew him in the most?
He moved a hand from your leg to your clit, rubbing tight circles in time with his relentless thrusting. A poor fool you were, holding on to him for dear life as you reached your high again, arching your back and pressing your hips ever closer to his as you let out a half shriek at your completion. Your legs shook overhead, eyes seeing white stars as you rode out your orgasam on his thick member.
Aemond was captivated by the sight of you writhing against his cock. Your greed, finishing and still pressing yourself against him, brought him to the edge. The Prince roared, stuffing his cock into you and holding himself there, erupting. You moaned again at the feeling of his warm seed filling you, running out of your opening onto the stone of the bench.
The two of you stayed there for some time, connected, breathing together, Aemond’s face pressed against the lace at your neck as you stroked his hair.
“I’ve thought about this too, you know.” You pretend-whispered, turning your head to him. He looked up at you in confusion.
“Seeing you in the crowds, watching me, rushing out when I've done something provoking,” You took his face in your hand, “I imagined you were rushing off to touch yourself, thinking of me.”
You laughed then, and he joined in before kissing you again. Aemond pushed himself off, slowly removing his softened cock from inside you. He paused to watch his come leak out, and when you whimpered at the loss of him he tried to memorize the sound. He offered his hand.
“Why do you think I rushed in here today?”
I bright smile spread across your cheeks as you took his hand and stood, adjusting your costume to cover yourself on wobbly legs. Aemond did the same, tugging up his fallen trousers and adjusting his belt. Both of you pausing to hold onto one another when your knees felt weak. When he finished, he looked up to see you were already staring at him, head tilted and a shrewd grin on your face. He gave you a questioning look, and you stepped closer, rising onto your toes and licking your thumb, before rubbing it against his lips.
“What are you doing?” Aemond questioned, wrapping his long fingers around your wrist.
“The paint can be hard to remove, you wouldn't want anyone seeing all this red on your lips, would you?” You answered slyly. He released you, watching you continue until you seemed satisfied with the removal. You ran your fingers from his mouth up his jaw, cupping his face. Aemond closed his eyes and nuzzled his cheek against your palm.
Lifting back up onto your toes, you rested your other hand on his chest for support when you leant forward to whisper to him:
“Maybe later, you can have me rub the paint off your cock.”
Aemond’s eyes shot open as you stepped away quickly, turning to skip out to the entrance of the alcove. At the last moment, you turned in the doorway, giving him a heated look, and then a long, exaggerated bow.
it’s really important to me when men put their heads in women’s laps. one of the most important things i can see on my tv. men laying their heads in women’s laps or men sitting and women standing and the man holds her around the middle and presses his face into her tummy as she hugs him around the shoulders. two very important poses. extremely soul igniting tableaux.
Now I’m imagining a sad bestie because the giant lovey dovey dog (or even funnier small dog) is being a therapy dog for Armand instead of her…the dog resting its huge head on his knee and just staring at him with big wet eyes
Bestie would be a little bummed about Armand stealing her dog, but would also be happy to give Armand that kind of therapeutic outlet.
It would be extra funny if Armand was the most against getting a pet. Bestie has been begging for one, Louis isn’t strongly against the idea, and Armand has spent weeks insisting that the only one that gets to stay in the penthouse just because they’re cute is bestie.
Eventually, bestie wins the argument because of course she does, but that doesn’t mean Armand wants the creature near him. He’ll help out when it comes to caring for it, he won’t be cruel towards it, but he’s not seeking out the dog for comfort.
The dog starts following him around. He’s not sure why, but the dog keeps choosing to sit next to him instead of Louis or bestie. It’s there when he wakes up, there when he goes to bed, there when he wants to play on his iPad in the living room.
He stops trying to fight it. If the dog wants to rest its head on his lap and stare at him with large wet eyes then so be it. Over time, Armand notices that the dog starts sniffing at him whenever he has heavier thoughts, and that the dog always comes and lies on his lap when he’s about to spiral.
It’s kind of like when a dad swears you better not bring a dog into his house just to end up best friends with the dog.
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