[iii.] soap who is oddly quiet while you're on top of him, moaning as you ride him hard. his eyes scan your body up and down, hands exploring places for the first time. only the occasional grunt slips out.

you slow down. "what is it? not up to your expectations?" you ask in between breaths.

soap locks eyes with you. "quite the opposite. you're well beyond my expectations, darling." he pinches your ass as the roll of your hips makes you tighten around him. soap tilts his head back on the sofa, giving in to the sensation. "you make me fucking crazy."

you plant your hands on his shoulder. "kiss me like you mean it, then."

soap grips the back of your neck, bringing your mouth to his. he kisses you hard, tongue pushed between your lips. he thrusts up until he finally cums, letting you fall against his chest. soap wraps his arms around your waist.

"we keeping this up or what?"

you roll your eyes at him with a smile. "i thought 'i want you' and making you cum said it all."

soap pinches your hip. "just making sure."

[bonus.] soap who goes into work with a shit eating grin on his face. when anyone asks, he pulls the ignorance card until he "accidentally" exposes a hickey near his belt.

"finally getting some action, mctavish. welcome to the big boys club," someone teases.

"and so we wait," din says.

"i hope you mean in there." you point your head to the bathhouse door. "don't want to waste those credits."

you go into two separate changing rooms on either side of the bathhouse. once you strip down and put on a robe, you open your entrance into the bathhouse first. you peel off your robe, self conscious even though no one is watching, then sink into the comfortably hot water.

a hard knock comes from din's side of the bathhouse. the door opens slightly. "i'm coming in. could you turn around?" din asks.

you does as he asks, water swishing around you. din waits a second. you hear the door slide open. soft footsteps pad across the tile floor, not the heavy, thumping boots you're used to.

the water shifts again as din sits in the bath. he clears his throat to announce his presence. you try to get comfortable. it's hard when your eyes are stuck to the wall.

din notices. he scoots himself to the corner closest to you. "here-" din wraps his arm around your waist. he pulls you in between his legs, your back against his chest. "is this fine?"

"yes," you say.

you tilt your head back against din. his hands roam your body in all the spots he's familiar with. his lips press against your bare shoulder, then your neck, gently suckling. you feel his facial hair graze your skin, more grown out than it was last time. he grips the curve of your waist, your breast, up your neck and down your navel.

you shift, not out of discomfort, to feel him grow and press into your lower back. din's hand stops below your stomach. even though he knows what you want him to do next, he always asks, "can i keep going?" and you always say yes.

din's fingers rub your clit before he goes lower. he pushes two fingers in you, feeling a wetness different from the water. his other arms steadies you as you let out a soft moan. you reach behind, taking him in your hand with a squeeze. din groans into the space connecting your shoulder and neck. the two of you continue this until you're both squirming and aching for more.

you place your legs on either sides of din's thighs. he holds you up by the hips as you guide him in, then sink down. despite the several times you've done this, you will never get bored of how he satisfies you. how he keeps his hands roaming your body, steadily playing with your clit until you're whimpering.

through your heavy eyes you catch glimpses of din's hands, his taut arms, the occasional sight of his stubbled cheek in your peripheral. it's a strange exchange to have him see you whole and bare while you're still piecing parts of him together—but you wouldn't trade it for anything in the galaxy.

when your eyes are shut, din cranes his neck to kiss you. gently, sloppily, light pecks across your cheeks or his tongue far into your throat. he feels sloppy today, unafraid of the saliva on the corners of your mouths. granted, it's been a while since you two have done this.

din moans louder when he's close. he holds your hips down as he pushes himself as deep as he can. you bite your lip in anticipation, waiting for the-

"i'm gonna- fuck- can i?"

"yes, please yes-"

din rocks you on him until he's spent. you let your head fall back again, his breath on your back as you both pant in exhaustion. you sit in the bath for a minute until you go to your respective changing rooms. before you leave, din kisses your jaw, then your lips face on, lingering on your mouth for a moment.

you're both slightly tipsy, overly warm, and ignoring the fact that the alleyway outside the bar where your other coworkers are is not the smartest place to makeout. also ignoring your no contact agreement with your ex, lt. simon riley.

yes, everyone warned you about dating your co-worker, but you took the shot anyway. while it may not have lasted long, you ended amicably and both agreed you would never try this again—for the sake of both your jobs. and, you would only communicate outside of work for urgent reasons.

getting some action after 6 months of abstinence is pretty urgent. simon didn't say it out loud, but his hand grabbing your ass would agree. his tongue pushes into your mouth as you grip the hair at the familiar space in the nape of his neck.

he switches between holding your waist and hips, gently knocking you against him where something rubs against your pants. a quiet moan rumbles from his throat. you kiss him harder, teeth knocking together, softly biting his lips when—

"ow."

you pull away. a thin string of saliva snaps between your and simon's lips. his face is flushed red, lips a bright pink, broken by a tiny sliver of split skin. simon touches the cut with his fingertip.

"did i bite you?"

simon nods. "yes, fuck. i thought i was a rough kisser, but you're rougher."

your face burns from a mixture of alcohol and embarrassment. you cover your mouth, muffling a laugh. "ohmygod, what the fuck was that?"

simon stares at you. there's a slight touch of bewilderment in his eyes. he's wondering the same thing.

you groan. "that was such a bad idea, right?"

"what was?"

you and simon startle at the sound of another voice. soap stands at the entrance of the alleyway, arms crossed with a knowing grin. he's probably as tipsy as you two, maybe more, but the sight of this has sobered him up.

"nothing," simon cuts in. "we're coming back in."

"yeah. 'coming' for sure." soap laughs at his own joke.

simon glances at you before he stalks out the alleyway, not before making sure you're behind him. he holds the door open for soap, who can't get rid of his smirk as he looks between you and simon.

"fuck off, soap," you throw at him as he walks past. simon smiles at you in approval. after soap goes inside, simon lingers for a moment before he closes the door.

"so. my place or yours?"

you tilt your head and look at the sky as if weighing your options. "well, our agreement says neither, and i know you're a man of your word..."

"fuck the agreement."

you smile. "my name happens to be 'the agreement.'"

Simon sits on the other side of the group, also keeping to himself. You don't notice him until a bunch of drunk heads bob out of the way, giving you a clear view. You catch each other's eyes. He's just as sober as you are. For some reason, you give him a smile. You raise your glass in a toast only he can see as everyone else is off in their own world. To your surprise, he raises his glass back. You both take a sip of your watery drinks. The most you've ever interacted with him "unprofessionally," you think.

When you go outside for air, you don't expect Simon to follow you. Or, more-so, he happens to get air at the same time you do.

The two of you don't talk much besides the polite, "They'll be alright in there, right?" and "It's nice outside."

When you walk, he follows. You don't stray too far from the bar, knowing fully your coworkers will probably need your help later. You're far enough that it's quiet except for the thrum of streetlights and distant cars passing by. You and Simon are tucked in a little alley, surrounded by closed shops. You switch between standing and sitting on one of the nearby stairs, unsure of what to even say to him. You don't know anything about this man besides his work profile, and he could say the same for you.

After sitting on the steps for a moment, you stand, only to stumble. It's so mild that there is no way in hell you could've fallen, yet Simon catches you anyway. A firm hand on your tricep, his fingers wrapped around your muscle even though you're steady on two feet. It really doesn't do anything. You definitely caught yourself. Yet, you thank him for the gesture, and he nods in response, but his hand is still there.

You're so close to each other. Why the fuck is he staring at you with such blank eyes, and why do you stare back?

You don't remember who acts first. It doesn't matter, because all you can remember is how his lips moved against yours with such fervor, searching for them whenever you pulled away for even a second. His hand grips the back of your neck, the other still on your arm. Never once have you thought this would happen with Simon of all people, and the idea of him wanting you was too much to make sense of. Surely these are drunk actions, you wish you could say. But both of you had the least to drink out of everyone the whole night, and you're damn near stone-cold sober.

When you stop kissing, you say almost nothing to each other, mostly out of shock. You see it in his eyes, a strange mix of emotions having realized you've gone from barely talking to tongues in mouths. That should've been the end of it.

"You want to get out of here?" Simon says under his breath, almost ashamed.

Then you're laid out on his bed, Simon on top of you, holding you down as he fucks you. Your legs wrap around his waist while his hands pin your wrists. Even though you're here, even though he's inside you, part of you still can't believe it. Lieutenant Simon Riley's kissing your neck, nipping at your skin, groaning into you because you can't stop fucking squeezing around him and he doesn't know how much longer he can take it. He's muttering shit in your ear, talking about how good it feels and how fucking hot and wet and tight you are. In turn, you can't stop moaning into his mouth, kissing him as much as you can until another moan breaks out.

You go back to work as usual. No words, only brief glances. But when the days are slow and you need something to distract you, Simon's sharp eyes turn to dark yearning. You're pulled into an empty room, closet, anything where he can be on his knees, pulling your pants and panties down, then licks you until you're shaking and cumming on his face. The funny thing is that Simon never asks for anything in return, though sometimes you do insist, and he doesn't say no. He can't when your mouth and tongue are equally warm and wet on his cock.

Tonight was no different. The seasoned bounty hunter had no trouble drowning out the chatter in his ear, denying drinks and services coming his way. He let you roam around until he was done, promptly exiting when the meeting was over. Part of touring the galaxy with the Mandalorian was missing out on the things you enjoyed in your youth. Drinking, dancing, acquainting yourself with people you’d never meet again. Din said nothing of your sacrifice, saying it was a small price to pay for the things you both had in store. Yet he couldn’t get over how sad you looked back in the Razor Crest, the neon lights still visible across the horizon from the cockpit. 

You picked at the dirt beneath your fingernails and occasionally tossed the silver ball to the child who babbled and tugged at your sleeve. Behind his helmet, Din’s face was something of annoyance and mild panic. He had never dealt with these types of emotions before; growing up, things were routine and clinical, down to the way you conducted yourself. His days as a bounty hunter did nothing to help him expand his emotional experience until the child came along.

Din rid himself of his cape and his weaponry, lightening the load. His boots clunked against the metal floor of the ship, slowly approaching the cockpit where you sat in the pilot’s seat, gazing out into the night. Din stood in the doorway with his hands on his hips and cleared his throat. The pilot’s chair spun around to reveal your miffed expression which you quickly covered with an empty stare.

“Yes?” you said quietly. Grogu continued to babble in the copilot’s seat, swimming in his loose tunic. He looked up with large, curious eyes, holding the ball out to Din.

“Do you…want to dance?”

Your brows furrowed and raised skeptically. “Like, in the bars?”

“No,” Din said slowly. “Just…in here. The ship.”

He didn’t miss the slight glimmer in your eye as you rose from your seat, scooping Grogu into your arms before setting him down on a crate. You still weren’t one-hundred percent sure of Din’s idea of dancing; there was no music, no crowd, no energetic ambience. The metal of the ship amplified each step and shuffle, making the interaction even more awkward than it already was to begin with (and heightening Din’s embarrassment).

“What kind of dance were you thinking?” you asked, offering your hand to him. Through his helmet, he stared for a while before the leather slid onto your bare skin. His fingers twitched against your palm before you grasped them gently, but confidently.

Din’s voice grew quiet. “Anything.” 

Through the darkness of his helmet, his eyes bore emptily into yours, transfixed on the smile creeping across your face. If he didn’t have it on, he might’ve felt the soft puffs of your breath on his face or your knuckles on his cheek when you accidentally knock them against the beskar and sucked in a pained breath.

“Now I know why they’re no match for blasters,” you teased. 

Your other hand rested on his shoulder, his reaching tentatively for your hip. Din was never one to be afraid when someone stepped close, always holding his ground, but he suddenly felt it grow increasingly warm beneath his armor when you were inches away. Even though you couldn’t see his face, he still flushed and did his best to remain composed.

You took a small step back and squeezed Din’s shoulder for him to follow. He mimicked every move thereafter—each turn, shuffle, and even the smile on your face (shame he couldn’t show his). The first few moments were rough. His heavy boots had come down on yours a few times, followed by whispered apologies, but you laughed it off. There was a moment where you encouraged Din to spin you, and it would’ve worked if he hadn’t stepped on the laces of your boots, tripping you. 

Grogu had fallen asleep. Curled in his tunic, you paused to gaze in awe at his little face. Your hand slipped from Din’s shoulder to his chest while his remain loosely on your hip. In that brief moment, Din glanced at you and swallowed thickly. Perhaps you had simply zoned out, but the way you held him felt oddly familiar—the exact picture of his parents who also once stood like this, looking at Din with adoration in their eyes. 

His cough broke the silence, and you quickly snapped back, jolting when you realized your hand had wandered to his chest.

“Do you want to continue?” he asked. 

“Do you?”

The double suns of Tatooine could not make his face this hot. He gulped—Din Djarin didn’t gulp, especially not in…nervousness? Yet under the burning gaze of your round innocent eyes, the prospect of melting through the floor was welcoming.

Din hadn’t realized how long his silence had stretched until your smile faltered. Polite, almost clinical it became, the same smile you gave to a stranger. You started to slip away, but Din’s grasp held you firm.

“Oh,” you muttered with a tinge of shock.

“Yes,” Din said almost mechanically. “I want to keep going.”

He kept his hand steady on your lower back, stiff at first for support. You continued to lead the dance despite how elementary it was. Step, sway, step, sway. Eventually Din found himself taking bigger steps to your surprise. What took your breath away, however, was when he kept himself an arm’s length away and gently twisted your hand. Taking the hint, you did a successful spin without getting your laces stepped on again.

Din was glad the helmet kept his face covered because—well, he wouldn’t know what to say if you saw his elated smile. Not as bright as yours but still more than he thought was possible. Although it was quiet, Din couldn’t have wished for anything more. 

Soon your activities got the best of you. The pair of you stood in the center of your makeshift dancefloor, taking in light breaths and wiping away the first bit of sweat from your skin. Your body moved away from Din. He had to hold himself back from reaching out.

Brushing your sweaty palms across your pants, you looked at Din with a twinkle in your eye. In these moments, with only silence between you, you wished you could peer into that pesky mind of his. 

“Not bad for a beginner,” you laughed. “Maybe next time you’ll finally let loose on our missions.”

Your raised your fist and gave Din’s helmet a few playful knocks. Din’s hand pressed your palm flat against the cold beskar. Your eyes widened for a moment as he moved it to where his cheek would be.

“Close your eyes,” he said.

You stared blankly at him, the words not yet seeping in.

“Close your eyes,” Din repeated. Then, “...please.”

“This isn’t some backstabbing ploy, right?” Your words came out drier than you intended. Sensing Din’s waiting, you obliged.

“Don’t peek. Not one bit, or else I might actually have to backstab you.” There was a slight tremor in the humility of his tone—uncertain and afraid.

With your vision filled with black, your ears tuned in to the sounds around you. The soft shuffle of leather, quiet clanks of boots on metal, and your breathing. Din nudged your hand away from his helmet. You let it fall back to your side and squeezed it in an anxious fist. More shuffling, then he took your hand again.

When Din guided it back to his face, you gasped. Skin. Warm, lined with stubble, and human. You wanted to laugh, make a joke about how you swore Din was a droid all this time. But nothing came from your dry throat. Your fingers traced the edges of his face, feeling the ridges of his nose, brows, and chin. In front of you, blocked only by your eyelids, was Din Djarin bared.

He knew, and you knew, this was not right. Though you hadn’t actually seen anything, the notion of feeling him somehow felt more sacrilege than anything else. Still, a warmth bloomed through you. Din was real.

He lowered your hand to his chest, letting it fall over his heart.

“Open your eyes.”

You squinted against the bright lights of the ship as your eyes readjusted. Back in front of you was Din—well, he was always there—the one you were most familiar with. Faceless. Yet in the few seconds you were able to reach underneath the mask, you felt the most connected. 

You stared at Din, biting the inside of your cheek and pondering. He tilted his head to the side.

“It’s…late. We should head—”

Your hands gripped both sides of his helmet, fingertips pressed into tough metal. You half stepped towards him, half pulled him in until your lips haphazardly smashed into the beskar and knocked your teeth. You winced, but you kept your mouth planted firm. In hindsight, it was idiotic and comparable to kissing a wall. In the moment, it was all you wanted and more.

Din’s hand came to rest in the curve of your back as you pulled away. Wide-eyed and stunned, every thought ceased to exist in your mind. You could only focus on the mark of your lips on his precious helmet. When you went to wipe it away, Din gently grabbed your wrist. 

“You’re a good dance teacher,” he uttered in a breath. His grip on you hadn’t loosened.

You cracked a grin. “If you wake up early tomorrow, we can squeeze in another lesson.”

Kylo sees past your sarcastic facade; you assume he can despite the helmet that obscures his face. His breathing comes out slow but heavy, signaling his exhaustion. To credit yourself, you did put up a good fight. The large crack on the side of his helmet where part of his singed hair peeks through sits as a testament to your force. Still, you’ve strained yourself far past your limits. The adrenaline may have given you a boost before. Now you can hardly keep your legs from shaking.

Despite the close proximity of the two blades, neither of them seem to come any closer. Through your fatigue, you notice Kylo hasn’t moved. His saber may be pressed against yours, holding position, but that’s all there is to it. There’s a sudden stillness to the air, a stark contrast to the tremors of the Force surrounding you two as you fought moments before.

“You are.”

The words take a moment to settle in your ears. You blink blankly at Kylo, grip loosening around the hilt of your weapon. In the split second you let up, Kylo’s lightsaber swings to attack your legs. Instinctively, your saber comes down to block him. You notice it again, the sudden stillness, the fact that he let you defend yourself before his weapon fully came down.

“You are.”

The helmet makes Kylo’s voice come out mechanical, as if programmed by a droid. Yet you can hear the slightest hint of his own unobscured tone. Desperate, like the confession pains him. Kylo’s lightsaber reaches for your shoulder, once again slow enough for you to block. Rather than hold the position, Kylo continues to barrel his lightsaber at you. His relentless attacks drive you further back. Though each clash covers part of his speech, you still hear the words clearly.

“I hate you. I hate you. I can never escape you, no matter how far I go.”

You can’t suppress your scoff. “You, escape me? If I’m not mistaken, you’re the one who keeps coming for me. You’re the one with the army and the forces and the utter brashness to spend your resources on me, Supreme Leader.”

Your foot catches in the root of a tree, throwing you back. You brace yourself for the fall, but an invisible force keeps you upright. Looking forward, Kylo’s hand is outstretched. It quickly falls back to his side. You bring both of your hands back to the hilt of your lightsaber, holding the burning blade between the two of you. Kylo’s still burns, though he doesn’t wield it.

“Everything…All I do…is for you.”

A hot flash of anger replaces the icy chill in your spine. “What in Maker’s name are you talking about?”

“Everything! The armies, the droids, the battles—I did it all for you!” Kylo steps closer. Through the helmet, you sense his face twisted in half anger and agony. “I wanted, I needed you to rule beside me. Create an empire no one else in the galaxy could touch. You could’ve had anything you wanted. I would’ve given you everything you wanted.”

Kylo takes off his battered helmet. You want to tear your eyes away. It’d be easier to dismiss his claims as a possession of the dark side of the Force if you couldn’t sense the genuinity in his pleading eyes. The Supreme Leader has toppled out of his throne.

“Of all things,” you manage to utter, “you thought I’d want destruction?”

“Power,” Kylo spits, his typical curtness returning for a brief moment. “Even the purest of minds want power. The power to heal, the power to help.”

You shake your head no as Kylo takes more steps toward you. You push your lightsaber foward, forcing a bigger gap between you and Kylo. “I’d rather be thrown to the rancors than take anything from you.”

Kylo’s lightsaber is disarmed, now a hunk of metal in his hand. Yours continues to burn and crackle. Drive it through him. Silence him. End this now. Your hands tremble as Kylo’s wraps around them, disarming your lightsaber for you. The leather is warm to the touch, softer than you expected. You imagine your eyes to be like that of a porg’s—round, dark, and helpless. What remains of the space between you and Kylo is only a few inches that shrink with each passing second. Your nose picks up the scent of blood, fuel, and earth from his skin.

To deny the curiosity that nags at your brain is to deny the strange warmth that blooms across your skin. Both run rampant, and in Kylo’s presence only grow. The dark side of his Force coming in contact with your light side creates a dangerous thrum you feel in your veins. Both of you can sense its potential growing, and neither reject it.

“Why?” you whisper as Kylo’s forehead nearly grazes yours. “Why did you do it?”

His hand holds you steady by the nape of your neck. You gasp when he brings his lips close to your ear.

“For your love.”