sic parvis magna

SCHEDULE: Every Friday

Chapter 1. (posted on 10/02/25)

Chapter 2. (posted on 10/10/25)

Chapter 3. (posted on 10/14/25)

Chapter 4. (posted on 10/17/25)

Chapter 5. (posted on 10/24/25)

Chapter 6. (posted on 10/31/25)

Chaper 7. (posted on 11/07/25)

Chapter 8. (posted on 11/15/25)

Chapter 9. (posted on 11/22/25)

Chapter 10. (posted on 11/26/25)

Chapter 11. (posted on 12/02/25)

Chapter 12. (posted on 12/05/25)

Chapter 13. (posted on 12/12/25)

Chapter 14. (posted on 12/19/25)

Chapter 15. (posted on 12/26/25)

Chapter 16. (posted on 01/03/26)

Chapter 17. (posted on 01/09/26)

Chapter 18. (posted on 01/16/26)

Chapter 19. (posted on 01/23/26)

Chapter 20. (posted on 01/31/26)

Chapter 21. (posted on 02/06/26)

Chapter 22. (posted on 02/13/26)

Chapter 23. (posted on 02/20/26

Chapter 24. (posted on 02/27/26)

Chapter 25. (posted on 03/06/26)

Chapter 26. (posted on 03/16/26)

Chapter 27. (posted on 04/17/26)

Chapter 28. (posted on 04/25/26)

Chapter 29. (posted on (05/04/26)

Epilogue. (posted on 05/08/26)

DRABBLES

isn't she lovely - (posted on 12/10/25)

every time i close my eyes - (posted on 12/22/25)

how does it feel - (posted on 12/28/25)

happy birthday, harry - (posted on 01/14/26)

nice & slow - (posted on 01/26)

dance for you - (posted on 02/25)

You remembered because the little bell above the door clanged so loudly, you thought the ancient relic might have actually met its fate that day. When you turned to see who raced inside, it was him.

Harry.

He held a soaked copy of the New York Post in his hand. It was falling apart after doing an extremely poor job of keeping him dry in the sudden downpour. His dark hair was drenched and dripping all over the sticky tile floor. He blinked a few times, trying to get the rain out of his eyes without looking more pathetic than he already felt. He looked down at the destroyed newspaper and made a face before lifting his chin and scanning the restaurant.

That's when he spotted you.

He hesitated for a moment before offering up a lopsided grin and a shoulder shrug as you made your way towards him.

"Do you have a trash can I can borrow?"

You circled the host stand and held out the plastic bin, only to tease, "If you're borrowing it, that means you'll bring it back, right?"

He took a second then laughed politely at your shitty joke before dropping the newspaper into the empty bin with a solid thump.

"Consider it returned," he smiled, dark brown eyes sparkling despite the agitation he had felt moments before when he was caught in the rain.

You showed him to a table, one near the window, and brought him a coffee — to warm you up, you had said. He wrapped his hands gratefully around the stained mug and took a sip. When he swallowed, he paused, then looked up at you with genuine shock.

"This is... good."

You giggled. "Thanks."

"No, I mean—" He stopped to take another sip and made a satisfied noise in the back of his throat. "This is really good."

"You have a beautiful way with words," you teased again.

"Some of these expensive cafés around here don't make coffee half this good," he continued, taking another gulp.

"Well, I guess I've found my hidden talent," you shrugged.

The way he smiled at you had your heart skipping a beat.

There were other tables that probably needed to be cleaned or wanted their check, but you couldn't force yourself to step away. Something about him was magnetic.

And at the time, he really didn't seem all that special to the naked eye. He was just wearing a pair of worn jeans, an oversized brown jacket, and a basic looking tshirt underneath. He looked like every other working man within a five mile radius of your diner that stopped in for lunch every day. And yet... something pulled you to him.

Something must have pulled him to you, too, because a week later, he returned.

"No New York Post?" you asked when you greeted him at the door, hoping you didn't look too eager to see him.

He shook his head and pointed to the trash can.

"That's the only place The Post belongs. Only had it that day because someone left it at a bus stop bench. It was all I had."

"Desperate times," you mused before leading him to a table.

He looked a little dressier that day: slacks, but with a polo shirt. The only ring he had was on his pinky, one you were rather convinced was a fake emerald. You smiled to yourself, tucking away the lack-of-a-wedding-band note for later.

When he sat down, you noticed for the first time he placed a compact umbrella on the booth next to him before picking up the menu. You grinned and pointed to it with your ballpoint pen.

"Hey, you got yourself an umbrella," you said, "moving up in the world."

He looked up at you with those soft brown eyes again, the ones that crinkled at the corners when he smiled, the very same eyes you couldn't get out of your head for a week.

"I learn from my mistakes."

He became a regular after that. Once a week, every Thursday around one in the afternoon. You weren't sure if the time just suited him best or if he picked it because he knew you would be working.

You had hoped it was the latter.

About two months later, the diner was unusually busy. A tour bus had stopped outside and the restaurant was overloaded with thirty extra patrons. The kitchen was slammed, the counters were a mess, and of course one of the servers had called off that day.

You forgot it was Thursday. Harry had come in and seen the chaos. He tried to catch your eye but you were too busy balancing four plates on your arms to notice.

Another waitress, Darcy, hurried up to greet him, looking equally as frazzled as you but still offered to clean a table in her section. Harry turned her down, said he wanted to wait for you, and leaned against the wall watching you work with a small smile on his face.

Once one of your tables got up, Darcy helped you clean it and murmured quietly that you had a request at the door. You glanced up, saw him, and grinned happily despite the stressful lunch hour.

"Not in a rush today?" you asked when you led him to your only open table. He slid into the booth and shook his head.

"Nothing that can't wait."

"I'm honored," you said sweetly with a hand pressed to your chest. He smirked and his eyes quickly scanned you up and down.

"You're worth waiting for."

It knocked the wind out of you at first. You blinked like you weren't sure you heard him right, then exhaled a nervous laugh.

"Careful or I might think you're flirting with me."

"So what if I am?"

You laughed again and felt your face heat up. You started to fan yourself with your notepad, which only made Harry's smile grow bigger.

"Oh, you must be a heartbreaker," you teased.

"What makes you say that?" he asked, tilting his head to the side, still smiling. You leaned forward, placing both palms flat on the freshly washed tabletop, and lowered your voice.

"You're a smooth-talker, Harry," you said, refusing to break eye contact. "I'll bet you have a waitress you visit every day of the week. I'm just Miss. Thursday."

He threw his head back and laughed. Like, really laughed. And it made you smile so big that you dropped your chin to your chest to hide.

When his laughter finally died down, you lifted your head to look at him again, both of you wearing matching grins.

"Not true," he said, his dimple catching your eye and making your heart flutter a bit. "Let me take you out for dinner," he finally added, and even though you saw it coming, you still felt a rush of excitement shoot through you when you heard the words.

"Yeah? So you can introduce me to Miss. Friday?"

"Is that when you're free?"

You nodded, teeth sinking into your lower lip.

"Then tomorrow it is," he said firmly, "and you can pick the restaurant."

You whistled low and straightened back up. Your other tables were clearing up and heading to the front to pay, but you couldn't care less.

"Anywhere?"

He nodded and folded his hands confidently in his lap.

"Anywhere."

"And what if I have expensive tastes, Mr. Castillo?" you asked with a flirty tone.

"I can afford it," he assured you, still wearing the same smile.

"Even Nova?" You had said the first fancy, most hard-to-get-into restaurant you could think of, just as a joke. But Harry nodded without missing a beat.

"Nova it is."

You laughed and shook your head.

"I was just kidding," you said, "seriously, I'm good with anything—"

"Would you like to eat at Nova?" he asked, cutting you off. You paused for a moment.

"Well... maybe one day," you shrugged, "but the waiting list to get in is, like—"

"How's eight work for you?" He was already tapping away on his phone, offering it like it was nothing.

"Uh— s-sure," you sputtered. "Eight works."

He held up his phone for you to take. "Save your number and address. I'll pick you up."

He said it like he serious, but by Friday you still expected him to show up and admit it was just for laughs and maybe take you to some hole in the wall Italian spot, if you were lucky.

You were just fixing your hair and smoothing down your dress when your two roommates squealed from the window.

"He's here!"

"Oh, damn — he's got a Mercedes? Who is this guy?"

You snatched your purse and ran out into the living room, wedging yourself between them. Your jaw dropped when you saw Harry step out of the driver's side and round the front, casually buttoning his smart looking jacket and glancing around the relatively quiet street. But before he ascended the stairs to your building's front door, he looked up and spotted your three faces practically pressed against the dirty glass.

"Fuck!" you giggled when you all flew away from the window. Then a moment later, the buzzer rang.

"Y-Yeah," you stammered, pressing the answer button with a stupid grin.

"It's Harry."

You pressed the other button to unlock the door, then pushed your one roommate out of the way so you could make sure you didn't have lipstick on your teeth.

"What does he do again?"

"Who fucking cares!"

"Shhh!!" you hissed right when a firm knock came from the door.

"I'll get it!" Melanie sang, skipping to the door to cut you off. She flung it open just as you were reaching for her shoulder to yank her back, revealing Harry on the other side. His face lit up when he saw you, then his gaze dropped to Mel and he politely held out his hand.

"I'm Harry—"

"I know," she gushed, grabbing his hand and shaking it roughly. He grinned and glanced at you quickly before looking back at her. "I'm Melanie, that one's Liv."

Harry nodded at Liv perched on the couch who was waving at him like a fucking lunatic.

"Nice to meet you both." His eyes scanned the modest apartment behind you. "Cute place. How long have—"

"Let's go!" you said, pushing Mel out of the way and sneaking out the door.

"Have her back by midnight!" Melanie shouted as you were dragging him away.

"Yeah! But if you don't, at least do us all a favor and rock her world. It's been a while!" Liv added.

"Oh, my god!" you screeched over your shoulder while Harry chuckled softly next to you. "I'm going to kill—"

The apartment door slammed shut. You could hear their combined giggles, even though you were already halfway down the hall.

Harry cleared his throat, biting back a smile while you fanned your face in embarrassment.

"I am — so sorry about them," you said, stepping onto the elevator. "They're just... they're assholes," you laughed before tapping the L button repeatedly. "Sorry, it takes a few tries," you mumbled, then sighed happily when the button finally lit up and the doors slid shut.

An awkward silence settled around you as you waited for the elevator to take you to the lobby.

Fucking Mel and Liv, you seethed to yourself while sparing a nervous glance in Harry's direction. He was staring straight ahead at the closed doors, smiling in that way that made your knees weak, and you felt yourself smile back.

"So..." you began, breathing a sigh of relief when the doors opened. He pressed his palm against the side so they wouldn't shut, and looked at you expectantly. You blinked and cursed under your breath when it occurred to you he was waiting for you to go first, then hurried over the threshold and out into the run-down lobby.

"So," he echoed, opening the door for you to step outside. At least that time, you expected it and didn't look like a complete idiot. But then he stopped you before you could take one step down and offered his arm. You thanked him softly, looking shyly down at his crooked elbow, and looped your hand through.

If Liv didn't make it abundantly clear you hadn't been on a date in a while, it sure as hell was obvious to him now.

"You look—"

You stopped short when you heard tapping on the glass above your heads. As Harry was reaching to open the passenger side door, you looked up to find Mel and Liv making obscene gestures towards you and your date. Mel was miming a blowjob while Liv dry humped the air. Your eyes widened in horror and your jaw dropped. Harry turned to you, noticed your expression, but before he could spin around to look up, you grabbed his face, keeping his eyes locked on you.

"If you have any respect for me," you said lowly, "you will not look up right now."

He laughed and stepped back so you could get into his car, silently promising to ignore your roommates.

"Anyway," you laughed when he had finally pulled away from the curb. "You look so nice. I had no idea you cleaned up so well."

Harry grinned as he smoothly changed lanes.

"What, this old thing?" he joked, referring to his perfectly tailored black suit. When he came to a stop at a red light, he looked over at you. His gaze slid down your form, taking in the deep purple dress you had borrowed from Liv that was just a little too tight, but in a way that showed off your curves.

"You look absolutely beautiful," he breathed after what felt like an eternity. The way he said it made it sound like he was truly blown away and it caused a wave of goosebumps to flash across your skin.

"Thank you," you murmured shyly.

The light changed to green and you grew distracted with the car — the smooth as butter leather, the tinted windows, the hundreds of fancy looking controls that reminded you of a space ship. Your gaze kept darting all around, taking everything in.

"What do you do, Harry?" you asked.

You had asked him a few times before, and every time he managed to change the subject or sidestep the question. It didn't even occur to you he kept giving you non-answers until the night before, when you were telling Mel and Liv about your date and the question inevitably came up.

"What? I never told you?"

You shook your head and the corner of his mouth turned up into a half-smile.

"Huh... hold on, we're almost there," he said, pulling up behind a convertible with a logo on the back you didn't recognize, but based on the way people on the sidewalk were gawking, told you it was expensive.

And yet again, Harry managed to distract you. When you looked up and saw the sign for Nova above an impossibly gorgeous looking restaurant, your eyes nearly bugged out of your head.

"Are you serious?" you gasped. Harry looked at you, confused.

"You said—"

"I know what I said," you replied, "I didn't think— h-how did you—"

You couldn't get the words out. It was insane. It had to be one of the hottest restaurants in New York City, and yet Harry was able to get a reservation on a Friday night with barely twenty-four hours notice?

Your door opened and a young man in an impeccably pressed suit stood on the outside, offering you his arm. You gently took it while Harry got out on the other side, sliding a bill to the valet and rounding the front of his car to join you on the sidewalk.

"Ready?"

You nodded, speechless, as you took his arm. He led you up through the huge double doors and to the hostess, giving his name with practiced ease. She tapped something on a computer, smiled at you both, and led you through the restaurant.

It was dark, but in a warm, comfortable way. The guests were not rowdy, the kitchen was silent, and there was a pianist playing classical music in the center of the dining room.

A far cry from your diner.

"Here you are. Enjoy your meal," the hostess said once she reached your table. It was off to the side of the room. Private.

Harry pulled your chair back and looked at you, smiling at the way you were utterly and completely stunned.

"Thank you," you whispered, sitting primly in the chair. In front of you, there was an intimidating set of silverware on top of a white linen tablecloth. A candle was placed between you both, along with a small bouquet of flowers.

Harry sat down across from you, unbuttoning his suit and arching an eyebrow in your direction.

"Is it living up to your expectations, Miss. Thursday?"

You giggled and nodded.

"It's a step up from the diner, that's for sure."

"But the coffee's terrible," he grinned. Then he leaned forward, looking side to side quickly before meeting your eye. "Waitresses aren't as pretty, either."

Your cheeks burned and you laughed again, fanning yourself while looking away. Harry chuckled and leaned back in his chair.

"It's cute when you do that," he said. You dropped your hand and looked back at him.

"Do what?"

"When I pay you a compliment, you fan yourself," he said. "Very 50s movie star. I like that."

"Oh," you replied softly, "I didn't even realize. But... thank you."

"You're welcome." He folded his hands in his lap and crossed one leg over the other under the table.

When your server arrived to get your drink order, Harry sensed your discomfort right away.

"Do you like wine?" he asked, taking charge. You nodded. "Red or white?"

"Red."

"We'll take the bottle of the 1982 Chateau Latour Pauillac," he said, looking up at the waiter.

You stared dumbly at Harry after the server disappeared to get your wine.

"That sounds really expensive."

"Thought you had expensive tastes?" he reminded you with a smirk.

"I was joking," you said, "I drink wine out of a box! I can't tell the difference!"

He laughed and leaned forward again, resting on his elbows when he said, "Can I tell you a secret?"

You nodded and leaned forward, as well.

"I can't tell the difference, either."

You dissolved into a fit of giggles just as the server arrived with your bottle of wine. He took a customary sniff and taste before nodding his approval, then waited until your glasses were filled before addressing you again.

"Are you okay with the tasting menu?" Harry asked.

"Uh, yeah," you said, then looked up at the waiter and nodded. "Sounds great."

After he left, you tried to mimic Harry. You picked up your glass, swirled it a bit, took a sniff and then a tiny sip. He watched you with an amused look as you smacked your lips together, looking deep in thought.

"Hm," you hummed, "I'm getting notes of... cherry... and..."

You glanced over at Harry and tried not to laugh.

"Amber."

He gave you that wide smile that brought out that dimple you loved.

"Amber?" he repeated. "What's amber?"

"I have no idea," you laughed, "I was trying to impress you. Did it work?"

"Oh, yeah. Big time," he said, making you laugh again.

Halfway through the tasting menu, you realized no one had ever made you laugh as much as Harry did. Your cheeks actually hurt from smiling so much, but you couldn't stop. He just had something about him that made you feel so comfortable and at ease, even if you were way out of your element.

"Hey," you said suddenly right as the server was putting dessert in front of you. Harry cocked his head to the side, waiting. "You never told me what you do for work."

He slowly grinned, nodded his thanks to the waiter, then lifted his wine glass to his lips.

"What'd you think of the wine?" he asked.

You shook your head and gave him a fake look of disapproval.

"Nuh uh. No changing the subject," you said. He chuckled and set his glass down.

"Alright. Private equity," he sighed, lacing his fingers together and ignoring his dessert completely. You blinked and frowned.

"What does that mean?" you asked, feeling dumb.

"I buy companies, strip them down, make them better, and sell them for more money," he answered plainly.

You nodded and took a bite of your dessert.

"Sounds... interesting."

"No, it doesn't," he smiled. You laughed, hiding your smile behind your hand.

"No, it really doesn't," you agreed, making him laugh, too. "Do you like it?"

He shrugged and finally lifted a fork to scoop up a piece of tart.

"I'm good at it."

"But do you like it?"

"Sometimes. The people can be draining but when it pays off, it's rewarding."

"Yeah. That's how I feel about the diner, too," you sighed, feigning seriousness when you added, "it's almost like we do the exact same thing, huh?"

You made him laugh and once again, you were amazed by how easy it was to be with him already.

After Harry paid what appeared to be an absolutely ridiculous bill that made you squirm a little in your seat, you were faced with the awkward part of the date that you almost forgot about.

Does he take you home? Does he ask you to come back to his place? Would you go?

"Want to take a walk?" he asked when you both stepped outside of the restaurant, and you breathed a sigh of relief. "Weather's nice. Unless— those shoes—"

He looked down at your heels but you quickly shook your head.

"No, I'm good. A walk sounds nice."

Luckily, he walked slow because you were lying — your shoes were not made for comfort. But you were willing to sacrifice it to spend a little more time with him.

The street was bustling with life, but it wasn't very loud. A few people laughed while sharing cigarettes outside of a bar. A man with earbuds and vibrant, reflective clothes jogged by, minding his own business. An older woman wearing a chic poncho with a full face of makeup walked her small dog across the street.

It was a nicer neighborhood than the one you lived in, that was for certain.

"Thank you again for dinner," you said after the silence stretched on a little too long.

"You're welcome," he replied, then waited a beat or two before adding, "If this isn't your scene or you don't feel comfortable, we don't have to do stuff like this next time. We can do anything you want."

You frowned, confused.

"I liked it," you said slowly, "it's definitely not like anything I've ever experienced before, but I still liked it."

"Yeah?" he asked, stopping suddenly. You did the same and turned to gaze up at him.

"Yeah. Of course."

He looked relieved. His face relaxed a bit and he gave you a small smile. Then you shot him a coy look when you added, "So there will be a next time, then?"

He smiled wider and tipped his chin up so he could glance at the night sky, and that was when you noticed the flush creeping up his neck, just past his collar.

"I sure as hell hope so."

He looked back down, eyes flickering across your face and settling briefly on your lips before finding your eyes again.

"I'd love that," you said, feeling the warmth creeping up your own neck from the way he looked at you.

Then, he brought a hand up to cup your face, his dark brown eyes shimmering in the moonlight.

"Can I kiss you?"

He said it so softly, almost like he was nervous, but you found it hard to believe. How could someone like him be nervous around someone like you?

You felt yourself drift a little closer, that magnetic pull doing you in. His cologne invaded your senses, his warmth curled around you like a blanket, and you nodded, unable to form the word yes.

He was gentle at first, and his lips were unexpectedly soft against yours. He moved slow, savoring every second, massaging your lips tenderly against his own and learning the feel of you for the first time.

You melted into him so easily. The hand on your face gripped you a little harder when your lips parted, and when he deepened the kiss, you could still taste lemon and wine on his tongue.

He stepped forward and you stumbled backwards, arms flying up to wrap around his neck. His free hand found your lower back and he guided you further until you felt the cool press of brick behind you.

Within a minute, the kiss went from gentle to heated. You were firmly stuck between Harry and a brick wall, and all you could do was try to keep up with the intensity behind each swipe of his tongue against yours. His beard pressed into your chin, burning the skin there, making his mark, but you loved it.

You were completely lost in it, in him. The way he smelled, the way he felt, the way he kissed you like he may never get another chance again. Months of weekly visits to the diner that left you wanting all built up to that moment and neither of you could seem to stop.

That is, until a group of people out drinking walked by with a low whistle aimed in your direction and finally, Harry tore himself away.

"Christ," he chuckled, still standing too close and still holding your face. You both panted for air and stared at one another, searching each other's eyes, trying to get a read.

"Maybe I should — I should take you home."

You threaded your fingers through the hair on the back of his head and before you could lose your nerve, said:

"Or you can show me where you live."

He didn't hesitate, which thrilled you, and fifteen minutes later, you found yourself in his car with his hand firmly planted on your thigh as he drove you across town.

"Tribeca?" you asked, peering around.

"Yep."

"Wow," you breathed, looking out the window. Every building you passed by looked more impressive than the last until Harry turned down a street and slowed down.

The doorman jumped to attention, snapping his fingers at a younger man behind a counter, the both of them rushing outside.

"Mr. Castillo," the doorman greeted warmly when Harry stepped out. Harry nodded, murmured good evening, and rounded the car to open your door. From the corner of your eye, you saw the doorman swat the other on the shoulder, who shrugged and made a perplexed face in return.

Your hand slid easily into Harry's and he shut the door behind you.

"My apologies," the doorman said to you, "we didn't realize you would be having a guest this evening," he added, looking at Harry.

"It's alright," he said smoothly while handing the keys and a folded bill to the younger man. "I'll take any chance to prove I'm a gentleman."

They chuckled and you smiled, but mostly for a different reason: it appeared Harry didn't bring guests home often.

The lobby was stunning. Bright crystal chandeliers hung above your heads. The carpet was the softest, thickest carpet you ever stepped foot on. Two gorgeous fireplaces sat on either end of the spacious room and in front of each was a sitting area filled with couches and chairs and tables. Even the elevator was beautiful. Inside the car was mirrored with golden edges. Soft music filtered through the air and just when you noticed the ornate light fixture above you, Harry swiped a card and pressed the P button on the elevator, making your jaw drop.

"Penthouse?" you squeaked.

He gave you a strained smile and glanced down at his watch.

Your brows furrowed for a moment, trying to figure out what was going through his head.

You stepped off the elevator, following Harry into his apartment. Lights were already on and dimmed throughout the space, as if they were on timers. He watched you take a few hesitant steps forward and slowly spin around, taking everything in. Your eyes trailed over the marble kitchen countertops, the plush velvet chairs in the sitting room, the massive television, the floor to ceiling windows overlooking a breathtaking view. But it lacked... something.

Harry remained silent, waiting for you to turn back to him. When you did, you gave him a small smile and said, "Is this all?"

He laughed softly and pushed off the wall to join you.

"What do you think?" he asked, brushing his knuckles up and down your arm.

"Do you like it?"

It was the second time you asked him that question in one evening.

"Yes. I do."

You nodded and took a step forward, closing the small gap between you.

"Then I like it, too."

His mouth found yours once again, kissing you with an urgency that had you wondering if it was more than just lust behind it. Either way, you matched it, tongue swirling in tandem with his and fingers weaving eagerly through his hair as he blindly walked you both through the kitchen, towards where you assumed his bedroom would be.

When you stumbled past the threshold to his room, you giggled from your combined excitement, breaking the kiss. His mouth trailed down to your jaw, lips peppering kisses all the way to your pulse point. You craned your neck to the side and your eyes fluttered closed with a soft moan. His hands searched your dress, looking for the zipper, pulling hastily at the fabric as the backs of your legs bumped up against his bed.

"Careful," you whispered, and his groping stilled. "I borrowed this, it's not mine," you explained with a laugh. Harry pulled away from your neck to catch his breath and gaze down at you. His face looked flushed, eyes a little glassy, and his lips already swollen. Something about seeing a man so put together look so wrecked, all because of you, sent a tingle down your spine.

"I could buy a hundred more to replace it," he reminded you with one lifted eyebrow.

You grinned. "I don't care."

Something flickered across his face. Something soft, not unlike disbelief. Then his hands were on you again, searching for the zipper now that he could see properly.

In a heartbeat, the dress became a purple puddle at your feet and Harry was lowering you carefully onto his bed with his mouth nipping and sucking up and down the column of your throat, pulse coming alive at his touch.

You arched your back and dragged a hand through his hair with a gasp, holding him against your neck while your hips lift, searching for friction and thank god, he gave it to you. He dropped his weight between your legs with a grunt and grinds, soaking up every delicious sound you made underneath him.

His hands found the straps of your bra and he slipped them past your shoulders, kissing every inch of skin as he went. With a speed that made you gasp, Harry reached behind and unclasped your bra, then tossed it to the side to join your dress and shoes.

Without missing a beat, he continued to plant wet kisses all the way down your sternum, between your breasts, and only then did he pause to look up at you with heavy lidded eyes.

"You're so fucking beautiful, do you know that?"

You couldn't answer him. The words got lodged in your throat when his mouth wrapped around your breast, sucking and flicking his tongue over your nipple while you writhed impatiently beneath him.

"Fuck," you moaned as he continued to explore your body, like he was mapping you, memorizing you. "Harry — please..."

You were tugging feebly at his pristine white button down, his suit coat long forgotten somewhere in the journey from the front door to his bedroom.

He reared back at your plea and began to feverishly unbutton the shirt, his gaze all the while raking up and down your nearly naked body like he was drinking you in.

When he shoved the shirt past his shoulders, he made an annoyed noise in the back of his throat when the fabric caught on his wrists, forgetting entirely about his cufflinks.

He dropped each one into the silk sheets and nearly ripped his shirt off, far too eager to get his mouth back where it belonged — on you.

He fell forward onto his arms and continued to kiss you everywhere he could reach while your hands snaked between your bodies, working shakily on his leather belt.

"Jesus — get these off," you huffed, pushing down on the waistband of his slacks. He chuckled against your neck and helped you, kicking the offensive material to the floor and flinging his white undershirt off to join the rapidly growing pile of clothes.

You sucked in a deep breath at the sight of his bare chest for the first time. He took care of himself — that much was clear. But he wasn't overly buff and his stomach was still a little soft. You dragged your palms slowly up and down his tanned skin, admiring every curve and slope until your fingers found the band of his boxers. His stomach tensed when you slid your hand inside and you heard him stifle a groan when your fingers curled around his cock.

"I wanna see it," you murmured in his ear while slowly stroking him up and down. His hips lazily followed your hand, his hot breath skittered across your chest, and even though you were in the middle of this world, surrounded by extravagance you could only ever dream of, the only thing he wanted was you.

He granted your request, pulling down his boxers and freeing his cock, leaving him entirely bare to you. He watched with heavy eyes as you continued to work him with your fist, enjoying the way he twitched in your palm when your lips parted greedily at the sight of him in your hand.

He had enough. He couldn't take it any longer. His fingers curled around the edge of your black panties, stretching them away from your hips, slowly, before looking up at you.

"You borrow these, too?"

You shook your head then yelped when the fabric tore suddenly away from your hips.

"Jesus!" you giggled, but his mouth hastily slanted over yours, silencing you with a deep kiss that had your head swimming and your knees weak.

"Been thinking about this for weeks," he confessed, the words slipping past his lips and pouring into your mouth. One arm dropped down to grip himself at the base and your own hands instantly grabbed onto his broad shoulders, bracing yourself for what was to happen next.

"Me, too," you whispered, but he just shook his head while lining himself up at your entrance.

"No, it's not the same," he murmured back. "You're all I can think about. Driving me fucking crazy every second of the day. Wondered what you were doing—" You felt the blunt tip of him breach your cunt and you inhaled sharply. "Wondered— wondered what it would be like to— to— fuck..."

You gasped in unison when he pressed inside, parting your wet walls with ease, like he was always meant to be there. You whimpered his name and clawed at his shoulders, unable to look away from his face contorting with pleasure, at the feeling of you wrapping around him for the first time.

"To — what?" you exhaled when he was fully seated inside of you. His nose nudged the side of your head and he planted a tender kiss to your temple.

"Wondered what it would be like to wake up next to you every day."

It was so unexpectedly sweet. It had your stomach twisting as you pulled him back down to your mouth, your hand cupping the back of his neck to keep him close.

He rolled his hips forward, slowly, allowing you both a chance to adjust to the tight fit of his cock inside of you. You moaned into his mouth and it just spurred him on. His hand found a home on your hip, thumb pressing into the crease at the top of your thigh, then he did it again — he pulled halfway out just to slowly glide right back in, basking in the way you stretched for him.

"You're perfect," he murmured against your lips. Your eyebrows pinched together, gasping at the heavy weight of him every time he pushed forward. "You're so sweet and beautiful and fucking — perfect."

He groaned the last word, burying himself as deep as possible as if to emphasize his point. You shuddered in his arms, unable to articulate just how good, how full, how complete you felt. All you could manage to do was nip weakly at his chin and rock your hips upward, encouraging him to move faster, to take more — take all of you.

So, he did. He picked up the pace until he found a rhythm that made your mouth hang open and your legs shake. He was hypnotized, watching the way your eyes rolled back and your tits bounced with every harsh thrust. The only thing that kept you firmly in place was his hand pressing down on your hip as he took and took and took.

"God, you're pretty," he moaned. He was overcome with you, completely sunk and drowning. "So fucking pretty like this. I'll never get enough. Never — shit — never get enough."

The huge, sprawling bedroom was filled with the sounds of your skin slapping together punctuated with the soft noises you murmured into one another's skin. It was as if nothing else even existed outside of that space, even though you were very much firmly in the heart of one of the busiest cities in the world. You were both so lost in each other that nothing else mattered.

He groaned when he felt your arousal dripping down his shaft and onto his sheets. You were just so tight and warm and perfect, it was driving him insane and he wished more than anything that he could come inside you. He wanted to see the way he spilled out of your pussy and leaked down your soft thighs. He wanted the image burned into his brain for eternity.

"Harry—" you whined, nails digging into his back. "Oh god, don't stop! Don't— don't stop— ple—"

His mouth captured yours once again, quieting you while also giving you exactly what you wanted. He snapped his hips ruthlessly, knocking the air from your lungs as you wrapped your legs around his waist. You pulsed around his cock and whined so sweetly into his mouth that it had him feeling dizzy and reckless.

He slipped his tongue past your lips when you came, his name garbled in your throat in a way that made him feel like a fucking god. You tore yourself away, too desperate for fresh air, and dropped your head lazily into his pillow as you rode out the rest of your orgasm.

"Harry," you sighed, and his skin prickled at the sound. Your eyelids drooped and your swollen lips parted to drag in more air. You were so spent but still wanted him to feel good, so you tightened your hold around his waist and dragged your fingers through his sweat soaked hair.

"Come for me," you whispered into his ear. You felt his entire body shudder at your command and a jolt of confidence ripped through you.

"I will," he gasped, vision blurring with every wet smack of his hips against yours. "I will, baby. I wi— I'll give you anything you want. I'll — oh, f-fuck..."

Your teeth gently grazed the shell of his ear, just enough to sharpen his senses. His arms wrapped around you, holding you still as he fucked you hard now, chasing his own release.

"Inside me?" you asked. The way your voice sounded so sweet and innocent had his cock instantly swelling.

"N-no, I can't." He couldn't risk it but it still broke his heart to tell you no.

You made a disappointed noise but you didn't push it. You loosened your legs and a few hard thrusts later he was pulling out of you with a grunt. Your legs dropped to the mattress, shaky and loose. You rolled your head and watched in a trance as Harry hovered above you, jerking his cock with clenched teeth until he stilled with a low, deep moan. A moment later, you felt hot spurts of cum painting your stomach and mound. It was filthy, the way you loved being covered in him, how you reveled in the feeling of his sticky release on your skin.

He looked dazed and breathless when he was done, staring down at you with bleary eyes as he gasped for air. But then his gaze brightened when he watched you lift a lazy finger to swipe through his mess, collecting a taste and popping it into your mouth with a moan.

"Jesus," he groaned, and you giggled. He pushed a hand through his hair and took a deep breath before forcing himself to stand.

"I'll get you something," he said, stumbling for a moment. You eyed his soaked, semi-hard cock appreciatively before he turned to his bathroom. He returned with the softest washcloth you'd ever felt in your life. You almost told him not to use it, that you felt bad ruining it, then remembered where you were and who you were with and refrained.

Afterwards, he was incredibly sweet. He pulled you into his arms and turned out the lights, both of you still naked between his silk sheets. His thumb rubbed gentle circles against your arm and his lips occasionally brushed lovingly over your eyes, nose, or forehead.

In return, you pressed lazy kisses against his throat and slotted your leg in between his, unable to stop yourself from smiling.

"I had a really nice time tonight," you finally said, breaking the silence and making him laugh.

"Me, too," he replied, gazing at you in the beam of moonlight that cast across his bed.

You bit your bottom lip shyly and glanced around his bedroom. There hadn't been much of an opportunity to take it all in before, but now in the quiet stillness of night, you realized his room was unusually bare with the exception of his huge bed and one large abstract painting on the wall.

"Did you just move in?"

He shook his head, eyes still locked on you. "No."

He could tell you were curious but didn't want to pry, so he threw you a lifeline.

"I could've hired a decorator but," he glanced around, looking a little forlorn. "I wanted to wait and do it myself. With someone."

"Oh," you breathed softly. Then, sensing his vulnerability, added, "I would have done the same thing. It's part of what makes a house a home, you know?"

His dark eyes flashed to yours and he smiled.

"Yeah, that's right."

You grinned and snuggled a little closer into his chest. His lips found the top of your head and he hummed, content. Your eyes slid closed and you could feel your body relaxing, ready to drift off to sleep when he spoke again.

"I have a confession to make."

Your eyes snapped back open and you looked up expectantly.

"I don't think I can wait til Thursday to see you again," he smirked. Your heart skipped a beat and you pretended to think it over for a second.

"Well... I guess I could make some time on Monday or Tuesday," you mused.

"How about both?"

You swallowed and nodded, hoping you didn't come off too eager when you said, "Yeah, I think that would work."

As he pressed a tender kiss to your lips to seal the deal, you mustered up the courage to ask the question that had been weighing on your mind since the day before.

"Harry?"

"Hm?"

He looked at you like he was completely smitten, like he was ready to give you the world on a silver platter if you asked.

"Since we're making confessions, I have a question that's been bothering me," you said carefully. His smile faltered, but only for a moment.

"What is it?"

"Why didn't you tell me about all of this before? When I asked what you did for work, you always blew me off. I was starting to think you were unemployed but—" you laughed and looked out the partially covered window overlooking Manhattan. "—I was way off."

Harry sighed and rolled onto his back, bringing you with him to lay on his chest.

"I haven't had a very good track record with dating," he said. "And usually when women find out what I do, all they see is the money, the lifestyle, the parties, but..." he trailed off for a moment, fingers playing idly with the ends of your hair. "I just wanted someone to want me for me."

You tilted your chin up, giving him a sorrowful look as you cupped his cheek, forcing him to look at you.

"I want you for you," you told him firmly. He smiled, took your hand from his face, and turned it over to kiss your palm.

"I know."

Currently dressed in very casual clothing he does not wear very often, he's attempting to feel completely relaxed without the several pounds of beskar that usually adorns his person. Being without his armor used to make him feel the opposite of relaxed, so he's trying his best to maintain a calm mind in spite of his instincts to fidget uncomfortably. Ever since you came into his life he seems to find himself without armor more and more. He's in a plain dark short sleeved tunic, a light pair of dark pants, and nothing else save for the helmet.

Din is seated in front of you while you direct him through the various yoga poses you're attempting to teach him. This isn't the first time you've shown him how to do this Earth exercise, but this is the first time Din is taking the learning of it completely seriously. It was his idea, wanting to share in more of your life with you while discovering a new way to move his body. He figured it would be good for him. He also figured that giving you a chance to be his instructor for once may be a fun change of pace for you, considering how increasingly vigorous his Mandalorian teachings have been over the last few days. After Berav, Din realized you were ready to handle much more than what he was throwing at you before. He's no longer scared to push you too far, trusting that you will tell him when or if you've had enough. And so if you're going to follow his lessons with reverence, it's only natural that he does the same in return.

He's definitely not as flexible as you are, so some of the poses are difficult for him to grasp at first. You're doing a very good job of explaining how his body should feel in each pose, which eventually helps him to improve his form. What doesn't help is the fact that you are completely distracting when you gracefully bend and shape your body with ease. You're wearing those black yoga pants from Earth and your cropped black sweater from Nar Shaddaa, the dark purple under garment covering your breasts revealing itself to him every time you do an upside down v pose you call 'downward facing dog'.

The names of these poses all sound so utterly ridiculous, but he's given up on trying to make any sense of them as he attempts to concentrate on your instructions. For reasons that elude him, focusing feels especially difficult today. Din thinks that he finally understands how you've felt in the past when watching his body move during training would cause you to become so easily distracted. He is completely preoccupied by you. Your body looks so strong to him as it easily flows through the moves. That little peek of your bra and the swell of your breasts were the problem at first, but as you move in various different forward folds with your legs straightened out in front of you, the rest of your body soon joins in on his misplaced focus.

Din's sitting paralleled to your left, his own legs stretched before him as he attempts to fold forward the same way. There is a gap of about three feet between the two of you, and he can't help but marvel at how much shorter your legs are than his. How much daintier your feet are. Din's eyes keep flicking to those small bare feet, the toenails painted that shimmery black varnish from Earth that somehow hasn't run out yet. Fuck, he could really use to kiss the soft soles and work his way slowly up from the toes to the bony ankles to the plump calves, all the way up the thick thighs to the delicious prize that lies between them.

Shit. He's already getting a little hard just thinking about it.

“Hey, Chrome Dome, are you listening to me over there?” You say this with an amused look on your face, which is staring at him from its odd position on the ground. You're folded so completely in half over your one bent leg that your torso is pressed all the way to the floor, and you're clearly at least a pose or two ahead of where Din left off. “You know, if you crane your neck like that too much in these poses you'll hurt yourself.”

Slowly pulling his abdomen in, he rolls his spine to sit back up with the proper form you've strictly instructed him to use when coming out of these folds. Din moves to a comfortable seated position facing you, a loud sigh escaping him with a hiss through his modulator as he shakes his head. “Now I know how it feels to be you, getting distracted during training.”

“I don't do that nearly as often anymore,” you say, moving slowly to reposition yourself to a seated position as well. Your feet are flat on the floor and your knees are drawn in towards you a little, hands also flat on the floor behind your back to prop you up. A haughty little smirk crosses your features as you take on that awful accent you do from time to time when you're being intentionally funny. “Did I,” you say your name, gesturing to yourself, “manage to distract the galaxy's fiercest Mandalorian warrior with my unbelievably desirable body and witty charm? Oh my, is that a big bulge in his pants I see? All because of little old me? I do declare!”

“Mm, it's because of you alright. And I had a mind to give it to you nicely, but now you're just acting like a brat,” Din says, head tilting to the side as he mulls over the impulse he's feeling in his gut. Your little routine was indeed funny to him, but the ache of desire stirring in his core wants to guide this in a very particular direction. “I think I may need to put you in your place for that, ner dush cyar'ika.”

A lustful look crosses your features and Din feels pleased with himself for causing it. That's the look you get when he knows you'll do practically anything for a taste of his cock. Din truly loves it so much, the way you can transform into a hungry little heathen at a moment's notice. He enjoys the lascivious desperation in your eyes when you mewl, begging for him to take you in that whining wanton voice you use only for him in the most private of moments. Suddenly he's ready to make those noises emerge from your delicate throat once again, and it's all he can do not to lunge forward to rip the clothes from your body.

Instead he decides to play a little more, “What's the matter, love? Nothing to say now?”

Shaking your head, you look right into the visor at his hidden eyes. Then your legs part a few inches, exposing your clothed mound to him. Perhaps it's on purpose, but more than likely Din thinks it's involuntary. He can tell your body is already reacting to him and he hasn't even touched you yet. Having this effect on you is so intoxicating.

“Come on,” he begins to crawl forward, “you speak more than anyone I've ever met. There's got to be something you can think of to say. Where's that bratty fucking mouth of yours now, huh?”

Your eyes suddenly glance anxiously to the ceiling, expression shifting as you look at him seriously. “You think the kid will stay asleep upstairs?”

Din's tone easily slips back into the softer one he uses normally, his body softening a little. “I'd say we've got about an hour.”

Nodding, you've suddenly returned to that concupiscent countenance and your own tone finds its way back to the bratty one you'd used a moment ago. “And just how does a big strong Mandalorian put a little Earthling brat in her place anyway? Especially without all of his fancy accouterments?”

Din growls, voice becoming slightly domineering again, “What does that word mean?”

You grin, the look of it completely prideful. “It's from a country on my world called France. It means additional equipment used for a particular activity. So without all your fancy Mando gear, I mean. The handcuffs would be a nice accouterment right about now. Yeah that might just be enough to put me in my place. But I dunno, I am feeling pretty bratty today.”

There it is. That's the thing Din needed to send him over the edge.

*****

Din descends on you so quickly that you're completely taken off guard when he's right in front of you and his swollen cock is suddenly in your face, the engorged tip of it emerging from the soft foreskin. You hadn't even seen him unfasten his pants let alone stand up. His left hand is wrapped around the base, positioning himself right in front of your eyes. You look up at him, the sight of his beskar helmet tilted down to look at you enough to make the heat between your legs become a full fledged fire.

“Up on your knees. I thought of a better use for that mouth,” he says down to you with that commanding tone he uses from time to time, the thumb of his right hand tracing your bottom lip while he cradles your chin as you comply.

Even with the rough rouse he's putting on, the way Din touches your face is so deliberately gentle and loving. It feels so good to trust him this much, to know that he's being this way with you and at the end of the day it all still just stems from a place of deep love and friendship. The two of you may not have been sleeping together for that long, but you've learned enough about what makes him tick to know that this is just a kinky little act. You like rough sex sprinkled in with passionate emotional sex, and so does he. But neither of you have any intention of ever hurting the other physically or emotionally. It's all in good fun, and if it ever were to not feel fun you know he would stop and vice versa.

And right now? This feels fucking fun. With Din you're able to play in a way that you haven't played with anyone, and you know in your heart of hearts that he's the playmate you've always hoped for. The one you can easily see yourself doing kinky shit with for the rest of your weird life.

Parting your lips, you grin as his thumb enters your mouth, pressing down onto your tongue while you suckle the appendage gently. When he removes the thumb and leans forward some, the hairs on the back of your neck stand up in anticipation.

“You ready to be a good girl for me or are you still feeling like a fucking brat?” Din asks, his voice working you over with how sexy it sounds when he's like this.

“Can't I be both?” You ask not-so-innocently, your tongue snaking out from between your teeth to flick at the precum leaking from him.

Then his free hand finds your hair, longer now by a few months and easier for him to yank at. Imagining him holding on to a ponytail in a similar fashion makes you wish it would grow out that much faster. So yank he does, pulling enough to cause a dull bit of pain but not enough to really hurt you. You gasp at the shock of it, and when your lips part even more he uses the opportunity to guide himself into your open mouth.

Working him with your mouth doesn't even feel possible, not when Din is fucking your face more than he ever has before. Your hands fly to his strong thighs to steady yourself as he holds your head, thrusting his length down your throat as far as it can go without making you gag too harshly. The girth of him doesn't help much either, causing you to have to open as widely as you can to take him all the way in. All the way isn't even the whole thing. There's about an inch and a half between your lips and the base. It feels like a complete mystery as to how the whole thing fits inside you without tearing you open each time.

Gagging and drooling, you take as much of his relentless bucking as you can until he suddenly stops and holds himself down your throat for a good long moment. Tears begin to well in your eyes from the lack of steady air and the slight pain of it, but just as you think you need to beg him to stop he lays off. He's sliding himself slowly out of your mouth, so you're sure to apply a light amount of pressure to aid his pleasure as he exits. The whining groan that escapes him makes you feel so proud.

That hand in your hair yanks again, gently this time. This one is meant to coax you into looking up at him. When your wet eyes meet the visor you feel as if you can hear him grinning from the other side of the beskar before he even speaks.

“How about now, ner cyar'ika? Good girl or brat? I'd choose wisely if I were you.”

A part of you wants to say 'brat' to really test the limits of this new semi-dominant side of Din he's showing you today, but the ache between your legs has become too great to ignore. If he doesn't touch you soon the pressure of it may actually break you. Relief is the only thing motivating you now.

“Good girl,” you breathe, squirming against his touch.

“Good answer,” he replies, pushing you over to bend at the waist. Thank fuck you put the padding down for your knees before yoga.

Propping yourself up on your forearms with your hips lifted, ass facing Din, a sharp feeling electrifies your body when you feel a hand brush the sensitive flesh between your legs. It causes you to shudder and moan, which in turn causes Din to laugh from behind you. He's not mocking you, he's simply just amused. You're pretty sure at this point that Din Djarin would never mock you for anything.

“Over the clothes and she's practically ready to cum on the spot,” he says through a hearty, rumbling chuckle. “Remember when you were afraid you'd never get to do that? Aren't you so grateful that I make you cum whenever you want now?”

“Yes, Din. So grateful,” you moan between words, the pressure of his fingertips increasing around your steadily swelling clit.

“Let's see just how grateful she is, then,” he replies.

His hands are at the waist of your yoga pants, tugging the fabric over the swell of your ass and stopping halfway down your thighs. You'd foregone underwear so the maneuver feels swift. When two of his fingers enter your warm and welcoming entrance without warning, a loud gasp fills your lungs.

“That's it, cyar'ika, need to get you ready for me.” Din coos, his voice sounding so lovely. “Mm. Very wet today. Perhaps I was not the only one watching the other with lustful eyes. Were you watching me, cyar'ika? Is all this for me?”

“Of course it's for you. How can you expect me to not feel constantly horny around you?” You ask in a sassy tone, looking back at him a little as you pout. “That's just not fair.”

“Is that complaining I hear?” He smacks your ass with his free hand, another sharp gasp escaping you. “What happened to being a good girl, huh? Ner jate dala?”

“I am a good girl,” you whine, pouting even more. He slaps it again and you yelp.

“I'm not convinced. Still needs to be put in her place, I think,” Din grumbles, positioning his cock at your entrance.

When he slides all the way in and a loud moan escapes your lips at the combined pain and pleasure of it, his hand comes around your head to cover your mouth. His palm stifles your cries until they subside and it suddenly slides to the back of your head, fingers once again gripping the tuft of hair. The hand really begins to yank, a little harder than before, and you're forced to arch your back to relieve a little bit of the ache.

Din's cock is pressing painfully into your cervix and he's leaning his head down to speak directly into your ear. God it's so hard to focus when there are so many different feelings assaulting your nerve endings. The hiss of his modulator causes goose-flesh to pepper the skin of your neck and arms.

“I'm going to make one thing perfectly clear and I need to make sure you're listening. Are you listening, love? I know it's hard when I'm buried inside your perfect tight little cunt like this, but I need you to try for me.”

Barely able to think straight, you really have to force yourself to say the word 'yes' in a gooey voice.

A smack to your ass and he's asking, “Yes, what? Need to make sure you're paying attention.”

“Yes, Din,” you hiss his name, breathing heavily as you try in vain to wiggle around into a more comfortable position. It's an impossible task, the grip he has on your hair and his length fastened deep inside of you keeping you glued in place. “I'm paying attention, I swear. Tell me, Din. Please.”

“Good, cyare. Now hear me when I say this: My cock is the only accouterment you'll ever fucking need. Do I make myself clear?”

The sound of his voice and the nature of the words coming out of his mouth are enough to make you feel close to the edge already, like a few pumps of his cock and finger strokes to your throbbing clit will be all it takes to make you crest over into orgasm.

“Yes, Din, yes! Crystal clear! I understand!”

Without another word he begins fucking you so hard that all you can do is stay in the position he's trapped you in and allow your body to get lost in the ecstasy of it.

*****

A few hours later Din is working out the tight muscles of your hamstrings while you lay on the same mat that was rolled out for the short-lived yoga session. After the training he's been putting you through for the last couple of days and the fucking of your life he just gave you, your body is in desperate need of some deep rest and relaxation.

Din's natural sense of what you need from him is so wild to you sometimes. Without needing the concept of 'after-care' explained to him, your cosmic companion made quick work of ensuring that you felt completely safe and secure once the both of you reached satisfying climaxes. He'd been rougher and more domineering than he's been with you up to this point, and somehow he just understood that you would require some extra soft attention from him in the aftermath of such an encounter.

And so he'd held you and said all of the loving things he could think to say, stroking your hair all the while. After he checked on both the ship and the kid, he made the two of you a cup of tea which you drank sitting back to back. Now he's giving you a massage to soothe the muscles he's been causing you to strain for days on end, all the while recounting stories from his younger days. He told you several days ago that the past has been on his mind, specifically the time he spent learning the Way of the Mandalore from his mentor as a kid. Naturally you've been encouraging him to share whatever memories he feels comfortable sharing.

The kid is awake from his nap at this point, happily hanging out with his two foster parents and his favorite feline friend while some soft music plays in the background from Din's little L0 device. It's instrumental, from one of the many film scores in your music library. Din seems to like those quite a bit, much to your enjoyment. Now that he has his own device it's been interesting to listen to your music from the perspective of it being Din's library as well.

It feels so incredibly good to be here in this moment. In your metal home, floating through outer space with the ones you love so dearly that it hurts sometimes.

Jupiter is chasing the new toy that you and Green Bean made for her during the stay on Tatooine. Improvised with spare junk you'd found in a pile back at Hangar 3-5, it's the equivalent to those fishing rod toys from back on Earth. A metal rod with a strong piece of thin cord attached to one end, and a frilly thing made of coiled wires and scraps of fabric on the other. You've been showing him how to tease her with it over the last few days, slowly running it along the floor to encourage her pounce. Only to quickly jerk the toy away at the last second, driving her mad for a chance to pounce again.

The kid is trying to do it the way you showed him, the movement of it awkward considering how small he is. But he's getting the hang of it, and when he successfully yanks it away at the last second the little cheer of triumph he makes causes Din to chuckle warmly at him from where he sits behind and to your side.

“Great job, kid! You really got her that time,” he says, all the while still rubbing the tender knots of your tight thighs.

You really have to hold back moans of pain when he hits sensitive areas. Even in the midst of feeling like your muscles are being split in two, though, you still manage to throw the kid a genuine smile. “Yeah, buddy! You're doing great with that thing. Just like I taught you.”

Din's hands halt their movements for longer a second, a strained little noise erupting from him. The sound of it alarms you enough to look back at him.

“Are you okay, Din?”

“Yeah, just feeling a lot,” he says, looking down at you with tight shoulders.

That odd sense that you can feel him judging himself comes back to you. It's been happening quite a bit since Tatooine. He'll say something and, depending on the context, it'll come off like he's second guessing himself. It's mildly concerning, but you trust him to come to whatever conclusions he needs to in due time. Until then, you just make sure to remind him, “I'm here for you, ner verd.”

“Likewise, cyare.”

*****

“Ah, my sweet Nevarro. So good to be back.”

Din observes you say this happily to yourself from where he's standing both beside and a little behind you. You're seated in the pilot's seat, hands confidently maneuvering the ship through the planet's atmosphere as you bring her in for a landing in the docking area outside of the city gates. Surprisingly there are a few ships, more than usual, also docked on Nevarro today, but you land far enough away from the rest to give space. You've gotten a lot better at flying the ship, just as you've gotten better at so many things in this new life you've chosen to live by his side.

“Excellent landing, love,” Din praises, watching as you power down all the flight systems correctly before standing to face him.

With a respectful bow of the head you say in Mando'a, “Vor entye, ner burc'ya. I learned from the best. Ni ganar ori'jate bajurad.”

Both impressed and endeared, Din melts a little into his words, “Mm, and don't you forget it.”

You shoot him an attractively playful look, causing Din's heart to flutter a little at the sight of it. “Gather the kid so we can go see our friends and help my grandfather,” you order, tone light.

“Yes, ma'am,” he nods dutifully. Din regards you both seriously and fondly beneath his helmet as he adds, “and might I say, your Mando'a is sounding better and better with each day that passes.”

“I feel like my accent is awful,” you respond bashfully, eyes flicking away from his unseen gaze.

Din reaches forward, a gloved hand gently caressing your cheek as he guides you to look at him again. When your big eyes meet his visor he feels the sudden urge to tell you that he loves you, and so he does. He doesn't wait for you to say it back before continuing on, “The quality of your accent makes no difference to me. I am grateful that you are trying. Speaking Mando'a is not something that I need from you, but I appreciate it nonetheless.”

Smiling up at him, your voice takes on a soft tone of affection. “It's nice to communicate with you in the language of your people. Plus it feels like it's our private way of communicating. I guess if we do find another Mandalorian it wouldn't be private, but you get what I mean. I've also never made myself learn another language like this. I took a few classes on other Earth dialects when I was younger but I can't really speak much of it now. Feels good to actually take this seriously.”

Din nods in understanding, “When I was first learning to speak Mando'a my accent wasn't good either. As I've told you, it is not my native tongue. But knowing Mando'a and many other dialects is essential for a Mandalorian to navigate the galaxy efficiently.”

“Once I get Mando'a down, we can see about learning others,” you say with a little chuckle. “One thing at a time, please.”

“Of course. By the way, I wanted to ask you something,” Din says with an excited tone that immediately catches your attention. Your eyes seem to light up at him.

“What's that, Chrome Dome?”

“What do you think about renting a room at the Inn again? At least for a night or two? We're running low on funds but I can see how good my credit is with Karga. Perhaps something can be worked out.”

Din adores your little squeal of delight and the brightness of your features as you leap forward to throw your arms around his waist. It knocks him backwards a step and he takes a moment to readjust before hugging you back, arms circling you as you nuzzle lovingly into his chest plate. He chuckles when you let out a long happy sounding sigh and say, “A real bed.”

*****

Upon exiting the Space RV with your cosmic companion and alien foster child in tow, you see that your first true friend in this galaxy is standing at the base of the ramp waiting to receive your party. She looks formidable as ever, arm muscles on display in the short sleeved tunic under her armor. You can't help but feel that she's put extra care into her appearance today, but you also can't put your finger on what exactly seems to be different about her to begin with.

“Hi, Cara,” you say happily, rushing forward to greet your friend with a strong hug.

“Hey, stranger,” she greets in return, embracing you fondly. Then her hands find your biceps, squeezing them with a look of approval on her features. “Whoa there, those feel like they've gotten bigger.”

Shrugging, you beam and jab a thumb in Din's direction beside you where he stands holding the kid. “Mando's training has been really paying off. I'm definitely a lot stronger than I was the last time you saw me, but still nowhere near you Ms. Bad-ass.”

Cara grins, “At this rate you'll look like me in no time.” Then she turns her attention to the Mandalorian companion you've chosen to travel the galaxy with. “Mando,” she nods and he returns it, “I am glad to see that you've kept up with her training. I take it she's improved?”

Din's voice sounds so fond as he speaks of you, causing your heart to swell for him. “You should see her in action,” he says, “Certainly an improvement from our last visit. Are you still enjoying your position as Marshal of Nevarro?”

Cara nods, but squints at Din with a tight-lipped frown. “I am, but cleaning this place up by myself is getting old. Just the other day I had to take care of some ne'er-do-wells hanging around in the caves your old Mando group lived in. Could sure use a deputy if you're looking for a long-term job around here. It's going to be awhile before seedy types take the hint that they are no longer welcome on this planet.”

“I appreciate the offer, but a job is not why we have come,” Din replies, looking at you.

You interject, “We need a favor from Greef, and we have a lot to fill you in on.”

“Then let us see if the busy High Magistrate will grant us an audience,” Cara says somewhat sarcastically, motioning for you and Din to follow.

*****

“Mando!” Greef Karga greets in that booming bass of his as your party enters his new and quite large office. You always liked the way the older man greets your cosmic companion with the same enthusiasm each time. The office is not what you were expecting and not what his office was like the last time you had been on this planet. It's an impressive room, impeccably decorated for someone of high stature to show off said stature a little. The open door to the balcony overlooking the city provides you with a glimpse of a beautiful view, and Nevarro looks so pretty to you in that short moment.

“Greef,” Din says with a respectful nod, moving to shake the man's hand. “Good to see you.”

“Likewise, my friend.” Greef turns his attention to you, smiling kindly. “And you, my dear, are lovely as ever. It seems like life with Mando and the little one here is treating you well after all?”

The kid coos up at the old man from your arms, causing you to smile down at him before sending a knowing glance Din's way. Then you turn your attention back to Karga, returning the warmth of his smile with one of your own. Taking in his appearance, you can tell that this new official position has been good for him. He seems happy, and enthusiastic as ever in his red ceremonial robes and fancy looking adornments. You may not know much about local governments in this galaxy but you understand enough to know that this outfit must come with the job. When you first landed on Nevarro and met Greef Karga, he had told you of his great plans for his beloved planet. You're happy to see that dream come to life for him. The city looked so clean and picturesque as Cara had led you to the new government building, even nicer than it had been during the festival of lights a few months back.

Bowing your head, you say, “I can't thank you enough for encouraging this arrangement, Greef. Life with my boys has indeed been treating me well, but not as well as Magistrate life seems to be treating you. Look at this office, look at that fancy uniform! Well done.”

Looking away almost bashfully, you can tell that Greef adores his new position as what is essentially the city mayor but is trying desperately to remain humble about it. “The people of Nevarro are happy, and that's all I care about. Besides, Marshal Dune gets to have all the fun cleaning this place up from miscreants who haven't gotten the memo that Nevarro is off-limits. I, on the other hand, am drowning in paperwork.”

Cara sends a pointed look Greef's way, crossing her arms over her chest with a tilt of the head. “And my job doesn't have any paperwork? There's more to it than beating up scoundrels.”

“So, what is it I can do for you?” Greef asks, laughing a little at Cara as he speaks to you and Din. “Have the two of you finally decided to settle down here? Nevarro would love to have you.”

You sit the kid down on the gray leather chair at Greef's desk, moving so that the group of adults are all facing each other. “Well we actually came here to ask you for a favor. It pertains to something dear to me.”

“Go on,” he urges you, eyebrows raising with curiosity.

And so both you and Din assist one another in the recounting of everything that lead to your return to the lava planet. You describe the resurgence of your grandfather, much to the shock of both Cara and Greef. Din describes the bounty hunters to Karga and the ex-guild member knows exactly who Din is talking about when Berav's name gets dropped. Then you ask him if there is anything that can be done to make the bounty on your grandfather go away. Greef explains that there is one person who he thinks may be able to help, someone who owes the High Magistrate a favor he has yet to cash in. Hope rises in your chest at that.

“Let me make a few calls and see what I can do,” Greef says with a reassuring hand to your shoulder.

“Thank you,” you say, giving the man a small hug.

“I can't believe your grandfather was here the whole time,” Cara marvels, head shaking.

“Neither can I,” you say with a curt laugh.

Din walks over to the kid, who has been using his ability to spin Greef's office chair for the last minute and a half straight. He stops the chair and the kid begins to wobble uneasily. “That's enough, buddy,” Din lightly commands in a parental tone. Then he turns his attention to the adults again, specifically Greef. “We wanted to stay at the inn tonight but things are getting tight without any bounties. What's my credit like around here?”

“I will arrange for the three of you to have a room, on the office of the Magistrate's tab. Stay for a few nights if it suits you to do so,” Karga offers with a nod. “But if you're in need of credits to further your journey along, Marshal Dune and I have a proposition of our own to present you with and we'd be willing to pay.”

“I'm listening,” Din says expectantly.

Cara takes a step forward, looking directly at Din. “I think that there's someone you ought to meet before we explain. We've had some very interesting visitors these last few days, visitors I think you specifically will want to speak with, Mando.”

*****

Carasynthia Dune leads the group back out to the docking bay outside of town, much to the surprise of the Mandalorian. Din's not sure what or whom to expect. Cara had acted oddly when she mentioned strangers that Din 'ought to meet', and he's felt suspicious about whatever this is since she brought it up.

Upon entering the docking bay, Din notices the other ships scattered around the Razor Crest more than he had bothered to before. Among various ships of all shapes and sizes, he notices a formidable Gauntlet starfighter in the crowd. That one catches his attention. It's not a model often seen these days, the rotating wings of it standing up like the wings of some great bird.

Of course, this is the ship that Cara happens to be leading them to. With you holding the kid as you walk beside him, he reaches out to brush your arm a little.

You look over to him with a puzzled expression, most likely surprised by his outward display of affection in such a public place. “Everything okay, Chrome Dome?”

“Thinking about sleeping in a real bed tonight,” Din confirms, smiling warmly. “Hopefully whatever this is won't take long.”

“Hopefully. As soon as my body hits that mattress I'm going to sleep for ten hours straight. At least.” You reply with a dreamy sigh, looking down to the child with a warm grin of your own. “And I know you will try to wake me up but it'll be no use. I'll just be too comfortable.”

Din laughs, “Ah, but if I tempt you with those sweet breakfast cakes from the restaurant I think you'll rise quite easily. I may even pick them up while you're sleeping just to make it that much easier.”

“I can't believe you would use my love of Nevarro pancakes against me. That's cruel, Mando. Truly cruel.” As you say this, you shove at his shoulder with your free hand before placing it to your heart, making a hurt facial expression.

Din's hearty chuckles are followed by a shake of the head as they near the ship.

“We're here,” Cara says, looking back to the two of you with a smirk.

When Din looks up and sees three Mandalorians walking towards him, his heart nearly stops beating from the shock of it. All three are in similar blue and gray colors but have armor that is unique to each wearer. Two of them appear to be female, one of which appears to be the leader.

He vaguely hears your voice somewhere to his right saying, “Cara, what is going on here?”

“Marshal Dune. High Magistrate Karga.” The apparent leader greets Din's two friends with a respectful nod. “And who do we have here?” She turns to address Din, “Greetings, brother. It is good to see beskar this far out on the rim.”

“You are truly Mandalorians?” Din asks skeptically, and the way you look at him lets him know that the surprise must be evident in his voice.

“In his defense the last couple of people we met in beskar weren't really Mandos,” you interject, looking at Din as if to say that you're trying to be helpful.

“We are as Mandalorian as they come,” the leader says, just as she proceeds to remove her helmet. The other two remove theirs as well, revealing three unique faces to him.

“You show your faces,” Din practically snarls, “you are not Mandalorian. Where did you get that armor?”

The leader, a woman with red hair pulled back in a headband, lets out a great sigh as her face drops into a frown of disappointment. With the helmet cradled under her right arm, the leader's eyes narrow at Din as she coolly states, “This armor has been in my family for three generations.”

The male of her group, a plain looking man with dark hair looks at Din with disgust as he says, “He's one of them!”

The second female of the group, a younger woman with darker skin and braided hair glares at him as she curses, “Dank farrik!”

“I am so confused,” you mutter angrily beside Din, sending sharp glares of your own back at them as you place half of yourself in front of him protectively. He does not move to stop you, feeling both surprised and moved by how fiercely you are ready to defend him. “What do you mean 'he's one of them?' Just who the hell are you?”

The redheaded woman gives you a look up and down with a raised eyebrow, saying fiercely, “I am Lady Bo-Katan of Clan Kryze. I was born on Mandalore and fought in the purge. I am the last of my line.” Bo-Katan turns her attention swiftly on Din, “You were raised by a cult of religious zealots. Your people broke away from mainstream Mandalorian society and their goal was to re-establish the ancient way.”

Din feels heat rise to his face, and angry blush finding him as his temper also rises. Mainstream Mandalorian society? Religious zealots? What lies are these strangers trying to poison him with?

“There is only one Way. The Way of the Mandalore.” Din says curtly, motioning to you that it is time to leave before spinning on his heel to walk away from the offending impostors.

Cara and Greef look at each other with worried expressions for a moment before Greef reaches out to stop Din from passing by with a hand to his right pauldron, his palm resting over the mudhorn skull. The look he fixes Din with is grave. “Mando, you stubborn bastard. Can you at least hear us out on the matter we need help with? Having all your skills combined is just the kind of manpower I need to get rid of the last Empire base here on Nevarro. I know you care about this planet just as much as I do, Mando. I want my planet to be free of old oppressors and unsavory scoundrels once and for all, dammit. Give me that and I will not only doubly ensure the safety of her grandfather but I will once again offer you permanent residency and citizenship here on Nevarro if you ever wish to stay here.”

Din takes in the seriousness of Greef Karga's expression and realizes that this must be more dire than anyone was letting on. “There's an Empire base still active here on Nevarro? How long have you known about this?”

Cara steps forward to interject, “The base seemed abandoned for a while, but lately I've been picking up on unusual activity out that way. Unusual activity for an unpopulated area with high lava tides being any activity that is,” she adds a little sarcastically.

Din turns back sharply to face the group of 'Mandalorians' again, looking at Bo-Katan as he addresses them. “And what do you get out of this? It does not seem to me that you're simply here to assist from a sense of creed.”

Bo-Katan replies in that same serious tone she'd used before. “There are two reasons that the base is precious to me. The Empire's remnants are in possession of weapons bought and sold with the plunders of Mandalore. We are on a quest across the outer rim to collect these weapons and ships to aid us in the retaking of our homeworld. I intend to unite our people again and for a new Mand'alor to take the throne.”

Din openly and loudly scoffs, shaking his head, “The planet is cursed. Everyone who goes there dies. If you were truly born there you should know that better than anyone.”

The look on Bo-Katan's face becomes icy as she replies, “I do know that better than anyone. But do not believe everything you hear. Our enemies want us separated because they know that Mandalorians are stronger together.”

“What is the second reason?” You ask from Din's side, eyeing the woman with a look Din cannot place.

Bo-Katan eyes you back and continues, “I have been hunting an Empire officer named Moff Gideon. He has something that belongs to me. I intend to kill him and take it back.”

Din feels himself turn white, gasping at the sound of the name. “Gideon is alive?! Gideon is here?!”

Bo-Katan shakes her head, “No, he is not here on Nevarro. But I believe the next clue as to his whereabouts lies within the walls of that base.”

Din feels your hand on his forearm, pulling him to reality a little bit with your voice as well. “Mando, do you think that Gideon guy knows that the kid is alive?”

“I do not know, but we need to find out.” Din says, patting the kid on the head protectively from where he is perched in your arms. “Don't worry, buddy. We're gonna protect you.”

Bo-Katan's female crew member looks at the child with a raised brow. “What would Moff Gideon want with a small child?”

Din replies cryptically and evenly, not trusting of these strangers. “He was hunting the kid last year, and that's all that matters.”

Just as Din says this, someone from town comes running towards the group across the docking bay, shouting for Marshal Dune and Magistrate Karga to come quickly.

*****

You're so taken aback by everything that just happened with Din and the other Mandos that nothing really registers for you until people are shouting and once again weapons are being drawn all around you. Looking around to finally take in your surroundings, you see that you're in front of the school you once worked at and a group of rough looking aliens seem to be causing trouble. One with a bunch of spikes all over his face and what sounds, to only you obviously, like an off-brand British accent seems to be the one causing the most trouble. The alien threatens Greef and demands to be served an alcoholic beverage, which is when Din intervenes looking sexy as ever as he takes charge of the situation. You swear that the sun is shining just on him for a second as he addresses the group of galactic troublemakers, the glint on his silver beskar both blinding and beautiful at the same time.

It's actually laughable how quickly this fight is over with Din Djarin, Cara Dune, and a group of rogue Mandalorian warriors up against a handful of dopey pirates. You stand there holding the kid in one arm and a blaster in your opposite hand, but a need to fire it never comes.

Just as it had been with Cobb Vanth and Boba Fett, Din and the Mandalorian woman Bo-Katan seem to be more civil after fighting alongside each other in battle, albeit a very small one. The other two seem to openly not care for Din, but Bo seems to mean what she says about thinking that Mandalorians are stronger together. Though she does not agree with Din's religious beliefs when it comes to wearing the helmet at one's discretion, she is not being as disrespectful about it as the other two are.

That is the most wild revelation of all. The possibility that there could be two ways of Mandalorian life and that Din was both not privy to, and doesn't believe in the one that would allow you to see his face. Nothing about this changes how you feel about him or his helmet, and you hope to convey that to him later if he needs reassurance. But the fact remains that this changes things, and you wonder how Din is feeling about this under all that beskar of his.

Right now he sits across from you at the restaurant where you've sat across from one another many times at this point. The child is in your arms, wiggling around as he waits for his food to come. Normally you'd be talking to the kid more but right now you're listening to the plan to take down this Empire base. There's a blue alien at the table whom you met once when you lived on Nevarro for that first month or so after the incident which brought you here. The only thing you know about him is that he's Karga's bookkeeper. He's at one end seat while the dude Mandalorian, Axe his name is, sits at the other. Cara sits next to you with Greef Karga on your other side. Across the table from you, Bo-Katan and her associate Koska Reeves are seated on either side of your cosmic companion.

You can't even figure out how the seating arrangements ended up this way, they just did. Suddenly everyone was just sitting. Looking at the sight before your eyes of two Mandalorian women seated to the left and right of your Mandalorian makes you feel insanely jealous for a moment. Luckily, for Din's sake, he looks so utterly miserable and you do not need to see his face to know that it's true. You know he's not enjoying a single moment of having to listen to Bo explain how she is basically royalty while Cara looks at her like a wolf with hearts for eyes from your side of the table. This entire social interaction is wildly uncomfortable and you cannot wait to get out of there.

Once the food comes, Bo-Katan is suddenly asking Din if he would like to join her crew after the siege is over, stating again that she believes Mandalorians are stronger together. She says that perhaps Children of the Watch and mainstream Mandalorians can find a way to unite for the sake of their kind's survival. You can't help but notice how when she says this, the other two in her crew seem to make small faces of disapproval.

For a second your heart skips a beat, stomach lurching a little as you consider a possibility that Din could and has every right to say yes to such a proposal. It causes that jealousy to rise in you again, fierce and electric as you stare the woman down with an intense look from across the table. The kid coos in your lap, slurping up his food, and Din looks over at the two of you.

Din looks back at Bo with a shake of the head. “I cannot join this quest to take Mandalore. I am on a quest of my own, to bring this child to the Jedi.”

“What do you know of the Jedi?” She asks, eyeing him skeptically.

“Nothing, I was hoping you might help me by creed. If there is anything you know that could assist me in locating one,” Din replies honestly.

“Live through tomorrow and I will give you what information I have,” she bargains confidently.

Sitting there stewing, you can't help but think that you don't really care for Bo-Katan and you would very much like for her to leave your Mandalorian alone.

Eventually the meal is over and the plan is set. At first light the group will gather and make quick work of taking down the base. They will retrieve the Mandalorian weaponry, then overload the lava core to melt the place down and destroy it. Din and Bo-Katan will look for any evidence as to Moff Gideon's location and whatever knowledge he may have of the kid. The kid isn't to go anywhere near the base for fear of alerting anyone as to his living status, and therefore it's decided that you will stay behind with him. This only adds to your frustration with these new Mandos being here.

As everyone leaves to go their separate ways for the night, you are not surprised to see that Bo and Cara take off to speak in private, heading in the direction of Cara's house. As much as the Mandalorian royal annoys you, you are glad to see that Cara seems to have found someone that she likes. Definitely explains her appearance today, hair and make up done up more than usual.

None of that changes the fact that Bo and Koska made you incredibly jealous this evening, and that in turn is leaving you feeling irritable with your beloved when you don't really mean to be. He's trying to make conversation with you as you head towards the inn and you know that you don't sound like yourself as you respond to him, the answers you're giving coming out curtly.

*****

Din has no idea why you’re suddenly in a horrible, snippy mood with him. It takes him aback a little, considering how loving and kind you had been with him on the ship earlier this morning or when you'd so quickly defended his honor to Bo-Katan. He’s not interested in letting this simmer for a long time, waiting patiently for you to explain yourself as he would have done several months ago. No, the level of trust and communication between you has increased so much recently that he no longer feels trepidation about approaching you.

And so he plans to do just that as soon as the room at the inn is sorted out and the three of you are safely tucked away inside. Not the same room as last time, but nearly identical in every way. The plan is to rest for the night and execute the mission the following morning at first light. It's late enough that the kid has fallen asleep in your arms, but not late enough for the two of you to go to sleep yet. He's certainly not going to feel relaxed enough to even try until whatever this is gets resolved. So, if he can at all help it, he’s not going to spend the entire evening in the comfortable hotel room he's been looking forward to all day feeling wildly on edge because of your sudden change in mood.

You're already making quick work of tucking the child in the dark orange comforter, placed in the very center to sleep between the Din and yourself just as things had been last time. He'd been so worried that the two of you were going to suffocate the tiny kid that first night, but when he'd woken in the morning the child had been sleeping safely in the adults' embrace. Din recalls how that morning had felt, waking up facing the two of you. The sunlight softly lighting your peaceful face, the child tucked under yours and Din's touching hands.

Din uses that memory to steady himself as you kiss the child's forehead and stand back up. He notices right away that you're not facing him on purpose. Coming from a place of love, he softly asks you, “Cyar’ika?”

“Yes?” You respond, tone slightly bitter. You still will not look over at him, which Din knows by now to be a sign of just how upset you really are.

“Can I ask why you seem to be angry with me all of the sudden?”

You let out a long sigh, eyes shutting tightly. “I’m not angry with you.”

“But your demeanor towards me suggests otherwise,” Din counters.

With fingertips to your temples, you begin to rub small circles into the flesh there as you finally look at Din again. He's relieved to see that your features have softened a little as you speak. “I feel insecure, which makes me angry. So I guess I’m projecting that a little bit. But you haven’t done anything wrong, darling. I'm sorry for worrying you. I feel silly for even feeling this bad in the first place.”

“Do you know when it started?” He asks.

You sigh again, “When we met two very attractive female Mandalorians today and they kicked that pirate's ass.”

Din’s taken aback by that, completely unaware that the Bo-Katan and Koska had been the cause of this. He can’t help it, a little smile creeps up his lips under the beskar and his voice takes on a joyful tone, eyebrows rising. “Cyar’ika... are you... jealous?”

Covering your face with your hands, a groan erupts from your throat. “Ugh this is so embarrassing. Yes, you got me. I am jealous. I’m never going to be as bad-ass as those women. Seeing Bo-Katan stand there and talk to you with all of her muscles and beskar was driving me fucking crazy, Din.”

“Love, I have no idea where this is coming from but please trust me when I tell you that I felt nothing when I looked at those women other than confusion and a little bit of disdain. They are not true Mandalorians to me.”

“But they are from Mandalore, Din. She's the fucking Mandalorian princess, for fucks sake!”

“So because I grew up on one of its moons and not the planet itself my claim to the creed doesn’t mean as much? And just so you are aware, her bloodline means absolutely nothing to me. It may mean something in her culture, but in my culture foundlings are our future. We do not bow to kings or queens simply based on biological lineage.” He knows he sounds defensive but he also knows he can’t help it.

You give a shake of the head, frowning. “You misunderstand me. What I’m saying is that they were raised in your culture from birth, even if they take their helmets off and you don’t consider them to be legitimately Mandalorian in the way that you are. What if there are truly two ways of Mandalorian life? Even without walking The Way like you do, they know how to do everything I’ve been trying so hard to learn like the backs of their hands. How can I compete with that?”

“When did this become a competition to win my favor?” Din asks seriously, crossing his arms over his chest.

You shrug, groaning a little with frustration. “I don’t know, I guess I’m the only one making it one.”

Din looks at you squarely in spite of the fact that you cannot see his expression. “You've already won my favor a dozen times over. Those women didn’t look twice at me, but more significantly, I did not look twice at them. I think it is clear that you and I are together, even to strangers.”

Sighing, your shoulders relax a little. But Din knows you're still on edge as you speak, “I know, I know. Like I said, I feel embarrassed for even getting this worked up. I think Bo-Katan did look twice at Cara though.”

Din nods, “I saw that. Seems like a good fit for someone like Dune.”

“Cara likes her too, I could tell,” you agree.

Din says your name, tone dropping to a patient one. “You’ve changed the subject because this makes you uncomfortable, I can see it in your face. But I do not want to end this discussion without saying this: You are more than enough for me. I don’t think I could ever look at another person the way that I look at you. Yooba solus ner cyare.”

“You better remember that when those girls are using their jetpacks and acting all cool tomorrow.” You say, an uncomfortable, forced smile trying to find its way up your lips. Din can tell you're still feeling self conscious from the way you sound.

He moves forward, reaching his gloved hand out to cup your cheek. Once again he finds himself longing for his facial expression to be seen, the shame of that notion feeling odd considering the day's events. These new Mandalorians and their blasphemous lifestyle have him vexed for more reasons than just the fact that they flaunt their faces. But even still, a very teeny tiny part of him feels envious of Bo-Katan and her crew at this moment. Din has no interest in showing his face to the general population whatsoever, but dank farrik he wishes he could show it to you and the kid at times like this.

Din steadies himself, remembering that he's been able to communicate with you so well up to this point without his face playing a role in that. He reminds himself of how easy you are to talk to as he leans in to press his helmeted forehead to yours.

“I promise you that your face is the only one I want to see when I wake in the morning, and your voice is the last thing I want to hear when I fall asleep each night,” he says earnestly. “I love you very dearly.”

A little noise escapes your throat, and the way your eyes soften tells Din everything he needs to know. You're no longer concerned with jealousy as your arms come to wrap around his neck and he feels your body melt into his. “You really know how to charm a girl, Djarin,” you say in that voice you tend to use when the two of you are feeling particularly sentimental.

“To charm implies to manipulate and deceive, so I'm not entirely sure I understand.” Din says with confusion.

Laughing a little you lift up from the Mandalorian kiss to look at him more in the visor, in the eyes. “Its just another Earth phrase. I assure you in this context it's positive and intended to be romantic. I love you too, Chrome Dome.”

“Earth must be such a strange place,” Din muses jokingly.

“Concordia must be even stranger for the likes of you to come from it,” you say this just as teasingly, poking your tongue out at him.

“Hey now,” Din pretends to warn, “remember what happened the last time you were a brat to me.”

Pressing your body even closer to his, you smirk up at him knowingly. “I hope I never forget.”

*****

Next Chapter

Previous Chapter

Masterlist

*****

Taglist:

"All the former cult members that worked Snow Shine have solid alibis," Luke agrees.

"Were you ever able to get a hold of Irene Elrod?" Chief Polchies asks.

"Not in person," Tara replies, "but she finally answered our calls."

"Yes," Spencer explains, "it seems Miss Elrod, or should I say, Mrs. Aquila, now lives in North Carolina, happily married to another former cult member, Levin Aquila, and neither of them particularly want to talk about their time with The Rites of the Wintering Sun or with Snow Shine. They regret their time with the cult, knew nothing about the money laundering, but they both have incredibly solid alibis. All the former cult members have solid alibis for the murders.”

Aaron looks at the files again, glancing over the names and not recognizing any of them, "Even the basketball coach had a good alibi? Marty Teegan?"

"Teegan was...a strange duck. To be sure," David nods. "But we can't arrest someone for being weird."

"Boy," Tom snorts, "if we could."

"But we don't," Aaron snaps.

"Don't be such an idiot, Enoch," Luisa reprimands him, mostly to show off to Aaron, which is now grating his nerves.

"What? I'm just saying," Tom tries to defend himself.

"I didn't like the climate change advocate, Raleigh Cooper," Y/N says quietly, almost a whisper. As he is sure is the opposite of her intention, everyone looks at her. And he instantly knows she's onto something. Y/N's sense of humanity and understanding of human complexity meant that she was usually onto something. Which is why, despite his own personal misgivings about her presence here, Aaron knew she belonged.

"Why?" Luisa scoffs, rolling her eyes. "Too caring about her students?"

Y/N takes a very measured breath and responds, "No. No, I do think she knows too much about the youth she works with. Teegan was a bit awkward, yeah. To be honest, most of them were, just like Miss Elrod and the other cult member she married - they are former members of a cult whose leader was shown to be a big fraud and who is now incarcerated. So, yes, to David's and Aaron's and even Tom's point, Teegan was weird. But he is no longer in contact with any of the youth he worked with or anyone else from the cult for that matter. Raleigh Cooper is still in contact with kids, for God's sake. That hardly seems appropriate."

"Snow Shine ran for like 8 years," Luisa continues, pushing as though she thinks she's still right, even though Aaron knows that she has to know that Y/N has made an excellent point. "The only one she knew was Heron Li and the kids she's talking to probably aren't kids anymore."

"There's no reason for an after school program leader should have the phone numbers of kids and not their parents or guardians," Y/N states evenly, not engaging even though Luisa's tone is rising. "And she flat out admitted that she was in contact with kids well under the age of 18."

"What do you think her angle is?" Chief Polchies asks. Luisa's head snaps in his direction, clearly irritated this theory is being taken seriously.

"I think she was in love with Heron," Y/N explains. "The way she talked about him...it was weird. She knew too much, but was careful not to reveal it. Guarded, but detailed. But, why would there be something to guard?"

"So why would she have killed him?" Aaron asks genuinely. She turns to him, clearly shocked he's speaking to her directly. Luisa looks particularly put out now that Aaron's talking to Y/N. He can practically see her pouting out of the corner of his eye, but he couldn't care less.

"He was leaving," she answers quietly, a sad expression crossing her face. "Heading to RISD. He didn't have a girlfriend, but I bet there was someone he was into or something like that."

"Kara Nicholaus," Tom says suddenly, while turning through a file. He's all excitement then, running over to Y/N with a photo of the climate change club from Snow Shine's yearbook. He's pointing to a beautiful young black girl with very dark, very clear skin. Her hair is natural and her eyes are shining and bright. And right next to her, his arm around her waist rather than her shoulder is Heron Li; he's not looking at the camera, but right at Kara, smile just as big if not bigger than hers. "This was taken about three or four months before the disbandment and raid of the cult."

"Seems like a good possibility," Y/N agrees. Similarly to the picture, Y/N is looking at the photo, squinting down at the picture of Heron and Kara, but Tom is only looking at Y/N. Which is suddenly a massive problem to Aaron.

"If he was interested in this girl, why would Raleigh Cooper try to flirt with him?" Luisa asks, clearly irritated.

"Actually," Spencer answers, "if she was attempting to groom Heron and he rejected her, that might be what set off the murders."

"Wouldn't she kill Heron first?" Luisa asks, still skeptical.

"I agree, actually," Luke pipes up. "I even think she probably knew more about the money laundering. She kept looking away when we asked her about it."

"I remember her," Chief Polchies says. "Her records were incredibly detailed. We couldn't find any connection to the laundering. Though..."

He trails off and Aaron looks at him, "Though what?"

"They were almost too clean, come to think of it," Chief Polchies admits. "It put a bad taste in my mouth at the time, but there was no reason to look into it. I didn't have a valid reason to get a subpoena for her records other than my own concern."

"Cooking the books like that would take a lot of work," Tom states, once again rather clumsily.

"It shows a level of methodology," Emily starts, "a level reminiscent of buying a pair of scissors from a general store and then wipe the security cameras. And then kill people and move them to locations to mix up the victims."

"Yeah," JJ says, "a hebephile like that wouldn't take too kindly to being rejected and if she knew about the laundering, she shows signs of being incredibly methodical."

"She has to be working with someone else," Tara states.

"What makes you say that?" Luisa asks, still miffed.

"She's too small to have gotten those bodies to lay in trees like that," Tara shrugs.

"So then why do we think she's done it at all?" Luisa cries, obviously frustrated and almost yelling. "Just because Officer Boring over here thinks so?"

She's pointing at Y/N, who has the decency to not to yell back. Emily's on her feet immediately and so is Chief Polchies.

"Montoya, out," he commands, pointing at the door. "My office in two minutes."

"Chief Polchies, I-" she tries, looking frantic.

"You what?" Emily asks imperiously.

Luisa blinks hard, trying not to cry, "I just think we should consider-"

"We should consider what?" Aaron asks, his tone curt and harsh. Her head turns quickly to him, clearly hoping he's on her side.

"I just think we could consider other possibilities," she explains softly, her eyes watering.

"Why? Because you don't like SSA Y/L/N?" Emily asks.

"Y/N is the only one with a solid theory," Aaron continues as though Emily hasn't spoken. "She has thought it through and explained it thoroughly and, as we review more evidence, it made more sense."

"Why are you suddenly on her side?" Luisa nearly pouts, still trying to keep her tears at bay.

"Respecting the fact that someone acted on a well thought out idea isn't being on 'her side'," he states bluntly. "It's just recognizing brilliance."

Luisa stares at him for a moment and a tear drops from her eyes, but Aaron finds he doesn't care. He can feel the rest of the team staring at him, especially Y/N, but he doesn't care.

"Montoya," Chief Polchies interrupts. "My office. Now."

The two of them leave the room and Aaron clears his throat, turning back to the desk and looking at the file.

"Is there any evidence of contact between Raleigh Cooper and Heron Li?" Emily asks to break the silence.

"Yes," Penelope replies, typing away, pretending she and the rest of the room weren't entirely focused on Y/N and Aaron. "Funny you should ask that, Boss."

Y/N catches Aaron's eye and mouths, "Thank you."

Aaron smiles for what feels like the first time in years and mouths back, "You're welcome."

Y/N smiles and then looks at him again and mouths, "Friends?"

Aaron thinks about it, hard. He doesn't want to just be friends, but it's better than nothing.

He mouths back, "Friends."

*************************************************************************

Things are good for about 48 hours. Kara Nicholaus is alive and well, living in New Jersey and about to start classes at Princeton. The evidence surrounding Raleigh's snapchat is eye opening. She's sent Heron hundreds of snap chats, most unopened by Heron. He blocked her and she makes burner accounts to continue trying to talk to him. He's blocked her number and she's made more. It's pretty crazy. And then they can't find Raleigh. She's not at her house, she's not at work, she's not at any of the murders sites, and her car isn't anywhere to be found either. They put out an APB for her, and start patrolling Acadia and the areas around the park as well.

It's for that reason that Aaron and Y/N are sent to the lighthouse together. It's the Baker Island Light Station. Luisa, definitely under the close watch of Chief Polchies, is paired with him to patrol a part of Acadia. Tom and Tara are patrolling another part, JJ and David are put on Raleigh's house, Penelope and Spencer are patrolling traffic cameras, on the lookout for Raleigh's car, and Emily and another officer, a cop called Ben Wick, are on patrolling the general store. The rest of the station are patrolling the previous crime scenes.

While she's giving the assignments, Aaron sees Emily realize that she has to pair Aaron with Y/N. She shuts her eyes briefly and almost stumbles over her words.

As they get ready to leave, Aaron sees Emily mouth and "I'm sorry" to Y/N, who smiles graciously and shakes her head as though to say it'll be fine.

Will it?

The car ride is silent. Like, so silent it feels like he might drown. They'd agreed to be friends, sure, but things were still awkward. His horrible behavior notwithstanding, it's not as though they'd had it out. Yet, anyway. He clears his throat, driving steadily. He feels Y/N look at him, but can only seem to clear his throat again.

"So," he starts, his voice thin and flaky. "This weather is..."

And he trails off, amazed he was able to say anything. His words sit in the air, silent for a while and then Y/N giggles. And then she starts laughing hard.

"My God," she finally gasps out, still laughing, "Emily was right."

"What?"

"You are so fucking formal," she laughs harder. "The weather? For the love of God, Aaron, we haven't properly spoken since we were 19. And you choose to speak about the weather? Look, I appreciate what you said to Officer Montoya, but - ugh, come on, man."

There she is, he thinks. There's the strong-willed girl he knew way back when. Her brilliance is a given, sure, but he'd thought maybe her headstrong character had evened out more than he'd ever wanted.

Thankfully, they pull up to the lighthouse. It's beautiful and old, picturesque, even. Without speaking again, Y/N straightens her kevlar and hooks her gun into her belt and gets out of the car. She walks to the water's edge, staring outward. Aaron gets out slower, fixing his vest and checking his gun methodically, trying to waste time.

"I wish..." he hears her say, her voice faint but present. He walks over to where she is, but stays behind her. She turns her head slightly, acknowledging his presence, but looking back out at the water.

"I wish we were here under different circumstances," she continues. "I wish we had found each other again under different circumstances. No, more than that, I wish...I wish we'd known each other at a different..." She stares out, still, unable to say more, shaking her head.

"No," she states promptly, "no. I just wish you'd realize that I never meant to hurt you. I was just..." She sighs and he realizes she's crying. "I was just young and afraid. And I would've tried and would've done anything for us to work. But we both left and...it's deeply unfair of you to hold that against me."

She looks at him then and, as much as it shames him, he can't fully look at her. He opens his mouth to speak and finds he can't say anything. She turns around fully to look at him, only to sigh - not exasperated or sad, just a sigh.

"So," she states, clearing her throat and looking back toward the lighthouse, "shall we go on patrol?"

*************************************************************************

Y/N knew being paired with Officer Montoya wouldn't exactly be a picnic, but she'd hoped it'd be...civil. Especially since they'd figured out that Raleigh's partner in crime was Levin Aquila - the husband of Irene Elrod. She’d been paying him handsomely for burner phones, technical support, and, apparently, paying his brother, who still lived in Maine, to help with physically moving the bodies and placing them high in the trees after she murdered them.

Levin Aquila had broken down pretty easily and had told the police in North Carolina everything when they added pressure from the FBI. He told them that, apparently, Arnold Swanson had offered up information in order to get his sentence potentially commuted or lessened. She was scared he'd tell the police about her and Levin cooking her accounting books during Snow Shine and about her attempted seduction of Heron Li. She apparently freaked out and murdered the first victim at the general store, stealing the kitchen shears and attacking ferociously. She'd called Levin - who'd helped her fix her accounting books and gained financially from it - and he'd sent his brother to help her move the body. They'd hid the bodies at the old Snow Shine facility and mixed them up to try and confuse the police.

The whole thing had been meant to threaten Arnie, who had indeed retracted his offer of information, but Levin revealed that Raleigh had decided to murder Heron when he'd posted on social media about his plan to go to RISD and about going to prom with Kara. Levin had felt it was too far, but Raleigh was out of control. He had no idea where she'd run off to, but he knew she was dangerous. He had no knowledge of her murdering Winona and didn't help her or his brother with the plan at all. Levin's brother, a burly man called Leo, gave himself up after a conversation with Levin. He didn't know about Winona's murder either. Levin and Leo both warned that Raleigh was armed, dangerous, and would stop at nothing to get away.

Emily's splitting of the team had been nothing short of borderline despicable lately. If Y/N hadn't known the pressure she was under, she would've thought Emily was angry at her. Pairing her with Aaron 48 hours before was upsetting, but being paired with Officer Montoya was insanity.

Y/N has no idea what she'd expected, but she certainly didn't anticipate Officer Montoya to be silent. Well, silent is kind. It was a passive aggressive silence. Lots of sighing and lots of gum smacking. It's been about two hours of sighs and gum smacking as Y/N sits in the FBI van with her. Montoya had agreed to drive, the last real speaking she'd done all day.

"Are you planning to talk?" Montoya suddenly says, startling Y/N enough that she jumps slightly.

"I wasn't, really," Y/N states calmly.

"That's odd," Luisa says, smacking her gum. "You always seem ready to say something."

Y/N sighs quickly and still says nothing.

"Maybe it's because Aaron isn't around," Luisa prods further, still smacking her gum.

"The lack of Agent Hotchner's presence has nothing to do with my decision to speak or not at this moment," Y/N states evenly.

"Oh, yeah? And what does?" Luisa smirks.

"Present company," Y/N replies flatly, finally looking her in the eyes.

She has the wherewithal to at least look away from Y/N, who rolls her eyes and looks forward again.

"Emily mentioned the two of you knew each other," Luisa says after a few moments of silence.

"We did," Y/N admits. "Quite a while ago."

"In what way?" Luisa asks, her tone different now. Sadder.

"What do you mean?" Y/N counters, trying her best - despite her dislike of Luisa - to sound kinder.

"He just said..." she trails off and looks out the driver's side window. "He didn't make it sound serious."

"Ah," Y/N responds trying to keep her tone in check. She didn't anticipate Aaron telling the whole world about their sordid love affair, but she guessed that, if he was truly interested in this girl, who, for all intents and purposes, made her interest in him very well known, he'd underplay it. Still, it stung. "Yes, he would say that."

"What was...how do you know each other?" Luisa asks, voice almost a whisper.

"I guess you'll find out eventually, if Aaron keeps dating you," Y/N sighs.

"We aren't dating," Luisa states quickly, her old tone completely gone, replaced with an almost desperation. "I've-I've tried, but he doesn't seem...there's something stopping him. I thought it was just being professional on the case, but...but then he took your side-"

"He didn't take my side," Y/N insists, rolling her eyes again.

"No, I know," Luisa says almost apologetically, which surprises Y/N. "I know. I fucked up. I just....he looks at you a lot, you know?"

Y/N stares at her and Luisa smiles sadly.

"I just...I just wanted him to look at me that way," she admits, eyes watery.

Y/N opens her mouth to say something and then Emily's voice comes over the comms: "Unsub has been spotted and is headed towards the split in the trail directed toward the Great Long Pond."

"That's near us," Y/N confirms, grabbing the mic and responding, "We'll head that way and wait for back up."

Y/N puts the mic back and then looks at Luisa. She has a quizzical expression on her face.

"We could cut her off," she says softly.

"What?" Y/N asks, genuinely confused.

"We don't need back up if we cut her off," Luisa states, louder now.

"Officer Montoya," Y/N starts, attempting to keep her voice even, "that's not-"

But Luisa is already putting the van into gear, hurtling forward at great speed. Y/N holds on to the grab handle, gripping it as Luisa speeds up more and more.

"Of-Officer Mon-t-toya," her voice breaks up as the speed over uneven ground, "th-this isn't-t sa-safe!"

"Maybe not," Luisa replies, her voice chillingly even, "but maybe, just maybe, I'm acting on a well thought out idea."

Her echoing of Aaron's words from his defense of Y/N does nothing to calm her nerves. And as Raleigh Cooper's blue sedan comes into view and Luisa presses the gas even harder, Y/N's not sure what either of them says, but all she knows is that Aaron's eyes flashing in her memory are the last thing she sees before the world turns black as they crash into Raleigh's car.

**************************************************************************

The lights of the hospital are too bright. As Y/N opens her eyes, she has to blink several times, relieved she's not still in that car.

"Oh my God, Y/N," Penelope's voice breaks the silence. "You're okay!" She practically jumps into Y/N's view, hugging her, nearly sobbing.

"Yeah," Y/N rasps out, her throat immensely dry. "I'm okay."

"I'll go find a doctor," Aaron's voice says. He drifts into her view as he crosses to the door, looking back for only a moment. The second he's gone, Penelope looks back at Y/N conspiratorially.

"He pulled you out, you know?" she whispers. "Against what the firemen were saying. Like, broke the car window and pulled you out himself."

"Oh," Y/N finally manages to say. "That's-"

"He told me everything," she continues. "All of what happened with you two."

"That's...um," Y/N blinks, "that's something."

"Raleigh's dead, by the way," Penelope states. "She died in the wreck."

"Oh my God," Y/N's eyes grow wide, "what about Luisa? Is she okay?" She starts trying to get out of bed when a gentle, but strong hand touches her shoulder. She looks up into Aaron's eyes looking down at her with something akin to an incredibly worried awe.

"She's fine," he replies gently. "Hurt, but fine. But you need to lay down until the doctor gets back. You had a pretty nasty concussion."

"I told her we shouldn't-"

"I know you did," Aaron cuts her off, calmly and gently leading her to lie back down with Penelope's help.

"Emily reviewed the dashcam footage after the accident," Penelope assures her. "Remarkably sturdy vehicles, those FBI vans. The front fender is a little bent, but it took out Raleigh's car. And Raleigh."

"What happened to Officer Montoya?" Y/N asks once she's fully laying down again.

"She took the brunt of the accident. She has a broken wrist and a pretty bad cut on her chest, but she's okay. Professionally, she'll face some pretty hefty repercussions," Aaron answers darkly.

"Am I in trouble?" Y/N asks genuinely.

"Absolutely not," Aaron replies. "If anything, I-" He's cut off as the doctor walks in. The doctor does a routine check on Y/N and informs her that they'll keep her overnight, but that she should be able to leave tomorrow morning. Aaron follows the doctor out and Penelope looks at Y/N again, eyes sparkling.

"After he and Emily reviewed the camera footage with me," Penelope tells her, "Hotch cried."

"I see," Y/N replies. Of course it had made him cry. Aaron believed many things that weren't his fault were, and she knew he'd blame himself if anything happened to anyone. It was one of the things that made it so hard to let go of her love for him. She could finally admit that she had always and would always care for him in some way. She looks back at Penelope, hoping her heart isn't on her sleeve.

"He felt like it was his fault," Penelope explains. "Emily told him not to blame himself, but he was pretty inconsolable. I'm sure you being okay will help his spirits tremendously."

Y/N can't help it, she laughs. Penelope looks confused and then she points out the door. There's Aaron, sitting on a bench just outside the room looking incredibly put out and typing furiously on his iPhone.

"You sure about that?" Y/N jokes and the two women laugh before the rest of the team arrives.

Like most cases, as much time as it took, it was over very quickly. Y/N was discharged in the morning and returned to pack her things at the hotel. She stops by the station to get the few things she left there. Chief Polchies apologizes to her for Luisa's behavior, but Y/N reassures him that it's all okay. Tom asks her out, which is surprising, but she turns him down. All is back to...normal, maybe.

It's been a strange case, that's for sure. And she's ready to return to...normalcy? Something has shifted in this case, but maybe it was best to just let it go.

She's picking up the last of her things in the precinct, preparing to meet the team outside when Aaron breezes through the door. He sees her immediately and freezes. The two of them stare at each other, the air suddenly thick and confusing.

"I'm so sorry," he chokes out, not quite meeting her eyes. "I forgot my scarf." He points to the desk chair where, sure enough, there's a light gray scarf with a light tan and darker gray plaid pattern on it. He steps forward to retrieve it, clearly uncomfortable. Without thinking, Y/N picks it up, holding it out to him. It hangs between them in the silence. Aaron's face, softer than it had been in days, softens even more. At least, his eyes do.

He finally meets her eyes, "I sent you an email. I'm sorry if you don't have my email, but I got yours from...um, from Penelope. " He takes his scarf from her, their hands almost touching, but not quite. His eyes drop from hers to the space where their hands almost met. He opens his mouth, as though to say something, but nothing comes out. He meets her eyes once more, then turns and leaves rather abruptly.

She waits all of about two seconds before grabbing for her phone, opening the lock screen and seeing the email waiting for her. Her hands shake as she clicks it open.

Dear Y/N,

I know I said nothing when we were at the lighthouse the other day, and that was a mistake. Though, thinking about it now, I have so much to say, then it may have been too much. So, I'm emailing you. Which feels deeply impersonal and I'm sorry. I don't have your talent of being vulnerable, like how you were at the lighthouse.

You light my soul on fire. I am half agony, half hope. I hope this isn't too late or that my chances are gone forever. You have always held my heart, it has always been yours. It is more yours now than when it was broken. On this case I have been petty and unkind, which was not deserved by anyone, but least of all you. You were the reason I came. I lied to myself and to everyone and came to consult on the case, but the moment I heard you were there, I knew I had to come. The idiocy that has made me bitter and cold towards you is a wall I've built to protect myself. You hurt me all those years ago, but I know I've hurt you, too. I'm sorry if I'm rambling. I have loved no one the way I loved you. The way I love you. Please, I have to know if you feel anything for me or if I've ruined this forever. One look, one word from you and I will do whatever you wish. Even if it means you never want to see me again. I am yours if you'll have me, Aaron Hotchner

Y/N lets out a breath she didn't realize she was holding. There are tears rolling down her cheeks that she didn't realize were there. This man. This man she'd known for so long and adored...feels the same way. She doesn't want a normal without him. She doesn't want anything without him. Her feet begin to move before she knows where she's going. She runs outside, feeling insane.

"Y/N?" Emily asks, confused by what Y/N is sure is her rather haggard appearance. "Are you alright?"

Everyone is staring, waiting for the cars to the air field, but Y/N suddenly doesn't care. She can feel Penelope beaming, can sense Spencer and JJ putting the pieces together, can see David and Tara look at each other for answers out of the corner of her eye, and can see Luke looking helplessly confused.

"A-Aaron," she breathes out, "Aaron. Where is he?"

"He's-he's walked to the lighthouse, I think," Emily replies. "What's going on?"

"I have to go," she smiles. "To the lighthouse."

"Yeah, you do!" Penelope cheers. Y/N spares a moment to smile for Penelope and then takes off running, not sure how far Aaron's made it down the path.

The late afternoon sun feels as though it's twinkling down on her through the trees as she full tilt runs to the lighthouse. Just as the lighthouse comes into view, she spots him, his black coat and the scarf from earlier. She can barely think.

"Aaron!" she calls, almost breathless. He looks back and sees her, running towards her, meeting her halfway.

His eyes are wide, "Y/N, where's your coat?"

"It doesn't matter," she smiles, the slight shiver to her voice not affecting her at all. "I read your email."

"It does matter. We're in Maine and it's autumn," he insists, pulling off his scarf and wrapping it around her.

"Aaron," she nearly yells over his fussing, grasping his hands in her own. He stares at her, taking in her tears and her smile.

"You read my email?" he asks softly, as though realizing what she'd said for the first time.

She nods, smiling deeper, "And I - I love you, too."

Aaron smiles the kind of smile where it seems to come from his entire being as he looks at her. Almost teasingly he asks, "Are you sure?"

Y/N nearly giggles, wrapping her arms around his neck, eyes intently on his lips, "Yes. And nothing and no one will persuade me otherwise."

~ “You pierce my soul. I am half agony, half hope.” - Jane Austen ~

You’ve been with them for just over a year now. It only took a few months for it to feel a lot less like work and dangerously close to home. The two Hotchner men had quickly taken over your world and you wouldn’t change a thing. 

Jack liked you right away. Somewhere between the dramatic lightsaber battle and the joke about transformers and he was sold. 

Aaron, on the other hand, had taken longer. He was always polite and respectful, but he was also rigid. He moved like he was always bracing for impact. He trusted carefully in measured doses, and time and time again you proved yourself. 

“You’re still awake.” His voice comes through right after you hit answer. 

You smile and bite back the yawn you’ve been fighting. 

“So are you.” You comment, “That’s not good.” 

“No, it isn’t.” 

“You’re profiling a serial killer, and I’m trying to profile whether Jack actually brushed his teeth or not.” 

He lets out an exhale that is as close to a laugh as you can get while he’s on a case. You know there’s a small smile with it too. 

“Something like that.” 

“Jack informed me when you get back he needs you to know dinosaurs would definitely beat sharks in a fight.” 

He hums, “So he came to a conclusion?”

“He said sharks lose because they can’t climb stairs.” 

“Solid logic.” 

You snort out a laugh. 

“Thank you.” He says softly after your laughter has slowed. 

“For what?” You ask. 

“For this. For being there.” 

Your chest tightens in the way it always did when Aaron let the walls slip a little. 

“You don’t have to thank me, Aaron.” 

A pause. 

“I know.” 

You hear a soft unmistakable click of the back door in the kitchen. You straighten instantly, sucking in a breath of air. Aaron notices the change immediately. 

“What is it?” 

You slowly stand from the couch and take quiet steps back towards the stairs. 

“I-I think someone’s in the house.” You whisper. 

Silence. 

Aaron breaks it with no trace of softness left. 

“Y/n, get to Jack and lock yourselves in his room. Right now.” 

You grip the phone tighter in your hand, your heart racing. Your instincts are screaming at you, but part of you wonders if you really heard it. Did your mind make it up? The house has been silent ever since. 

“I-” You hesitate. 

“No,” His voice turning sharp before you can hear him shout to someone close by, “Garcia get the police to my house immediately. Someone’s in the house and Y/n and Jack are there.”

Your eyes are laser focused on the kitchen, taking a half step back toward the stairs. Then a shadow moves and your stomach drops. 

“Aaron-” 

A man lunges forward and you race for the stairs. You make it up the first three before his hand catches your shoulder. It sends the phone clattering against the hardwood floor. 

Aaron is hundreds of miles away, forced to listen. The sound of the phone hitting the floor echoes like a gunshot. 

“Y/n!” Aaron shouts your name, pacing the conference room of the Tennessee police department. Against his true desires, he puts it on speaker so the rest of the team can hear this and understand what’s going on. 

His voice tears through the line, but it’s useless and frantic. He could hear everything. Furniture scraping violently against the hardwood. Your cries and sharp gasps. The sickening sound of someone being thrown down on the stairs. Aaron’s entire body went cold. 

“Garcia, how far away is the unit?” Aaron asks, clutching the table in front of him. The sounds just continue to go on. 

“I’m on it, I’m on it!” She stutters, clearly distracted by the other phone on the line, “The closest patrol is three minutes away.” 

Might as well be three hours away. 

Aaron could still hear you fighting. 

“Get the hell off of me!” You shout, the unsub snarls something the phone doesn’t quite pick up. 

Then suddenly footsteps running upstairs. 

“No!” You shout. 

Because Jack is upstairs. You knew it and he knew it too. Everyone can hear the pure desperation in the way you shout. There’s more crashing, following by the awful sound of bodies colliding. You manage to throw yourself at him, taking both of you down to the bottom of the stairs. 

Aaron’s grip on the table grows so tight his knuckles start to burn. He could hear the sharp cry when the unsub yanked you back down to the floor hard enough to make JJ physically flinch. But you’re fighting like hell, kicking and scratching, anything purely for survival at this point. 

A small voice from far away calls out. 

“Y/n?” 

Everything stopped. 

You look up to the top of the stairs and see Jack standing there in his pajamas. He has one hand on the bannister, but his eyes widen with fear when he sees the reality of what’s going on. 

“Jack!” You cry, “Hide! Run!”

Your voice is clear and cuts through the chaos like a whip. 

“Now!” 

Aaron could hear the shift. The moment you started to fight harder, you could feel it too. The fear was gone, now you’re running off of protective fury. A sharp kick connects hard enough for the unsub to curse loudly and roll over onto his side on the floor. 

You pull yourself toward the stairs, managing to stand after using the railing for leverage. The unsub groans, slowly rising from the floor. You try to move faster, but he drags you back down again. You scream again but never stop fighting. 

Sudden sirens take over the neighborhood. Loud and close, the bright red and blue lights shining in the living room windows. The unsub freezes. He shoves you back again, hard, before taking off for the kitchen and you hear the back door again.

You crawl up the stairs to where Jack is hiding somewhere. 

“Jack?” You call, “It’s okay! He’s gone, the police are here.” 

Your voice is shaking now, pain starting to catch up to the adrenaline. Small footsteps bound down the hall, you sit on the top step unable to move any closer. You hold your arms open for him and he collapses into you instantly. 

“It’s okay, I’m here.” You sigh, running your hand over the back of his head, “We’re okay.” 

You repeat it over and over until the police break down the front door.

“They’re safe, Hotch.” Morgan places a cautious hand on his shoulder. 

Aaron can’t answer. He can’t answer because you’re hundreds of miles away, helpless and terrified, and all he could do was listen. Again. 

-

The jet was silent. It was heavy in a way that only happened when something was personal. This was a direct attack in Aaron’s home against you and his son. 

“Garcia said the officers think the unsub knew the house layout.” 

Hotch stares straight ahead. 

“He did.”

He didn’t need the officer's report to know that. 

“He knew where the backdoor was and he moved like he had been there before. He went upstairs.”

Toward Jack. No one said it, no one had to. 

Rossi leans closer, “We’ll find him.”

Hotch gives him one short nod, but his expression remains the same. 

The unsub isn’t the only thing weighing on his mind, he can’t get over the guilt pulling at this throat. Heavy and sharp. He heard it all happen, he listened to you fight for his son while he was useless. And you had nearly been killed because of it. 

The jet landed just after dawn and no one bothered with going home, they just went straight to the hospital. Garcia had already texted that she was in the waiting room and would stay until they got there. 

She jumps up from her chair when she sees them walking together down the hall and walks straight up to Hotch. 

“She has a dislocated shoulder, bruised ribs, stitches along her hairline, and enough bruising to make everyone working this floor visibly wince when they leave her room.” Penelope spits the words out quickly, Aaron’s face remaining the same. 

They slow as they approach your room, through the open door they can all see you. You’re asleep and carefully propped against white pillows. Bruises in ugly shades of purple and blue litter you, with one arm secured in a sling. The other arm is wrapped around Jack and resting on his back. He’s tucked against your side, out cold. 

Morgan swore quietly under his breath and JJ had to look away. Rossi, who has seen enough violence for ten lifetimes, stood there without speaking.

It was undeniable and written all over your body that you had but yourself between danger and Jack without hesitation and fought like hell. Aaron stood in the doorway like the air had been knocked out of him. 

Rossi gives him one firm nod before stepping back, “We’ve got the rest. Go be here.”

Aaron stepped into the room alone, shutting the door halfway. For a long moment he just stood there and watched the two of you taking steady breaths. He pulls a chair close to your bedside, sitting carefully like a sudden moment would have you both jump. Maybe it would. 

He doesn’t know how much time passes where he just enjoys the consistent sound of your breathing. Long enough that he notices the second it changes and you shift a little. Your eyes open slowly, heavy with pain medication and exhaustion. 

“Aaron?” Your voice comes out rough. 

He nods first because it takes him a second to trust his own voice. 

“Hi.” 

A small smile curls on the edge of your mouth. 

“You look terrible.”

A surprised laugh escapes him. 

“It's okay, I look terrible too. I think my face scared Jack earlier. But he’s used to having you around, so he managed.”

You try to lighten the mood, anything to ease the deep frown and heaviness all over his face. You’ve seen him after some terrible cases, but you’ve never seen him like this. He looks defeated. 

Silence settles between the two of you. You glance down at Jack, sleeping soundly against your side. 

“He finally crashed a little bit ago. He refused to leave.” 

Aaron looks over his son, then back to you. 

“He stayed because he knew you were safe.”

You swallow.

“I’m sorry.”

His eyes widen with surprise, “For what?”

“For not stopping it sooner, for scaring Jack-”

“Y/n.” He interrupts, his voice cracking. That actually makes you stop. He leans forward with his elbows on his knees and his hands clasped tight like he had to physically hold himself together. 

“You have absolutely nothing to apologize for.” He shakes his head, “You protected my son.” 

The next words were lower and less steady. 

“You put yourself between him and a man you knew could kill you, and you're apologizing?”

Tears flood your vision, but you still can’t pull your gaze from Aaron’s. 

“I couldn’t let him get to Jack.” 

“I know.” 

His voice was softer now. 

“I heard it. I heard it all.”

He heard it all. You had forgotten he was on the phone when the stranger broke in, which is likely what saved you. He got police to you within minutes. Everything could have been so different if you hadn’t stayed up waiting for his call. But he had heart it all. The fight. The fear. Jack. 

You lift your hand carefully from Jack’s back and reach out for Aaron to take. He looks at it for a second before using both of his hands to completely envelope yours. He stares at them for a minute while he gathers his thoughts. 

“I was on the other end of that phone listening to someone hurt you, and I couldn’t do anything about it.” 

“Aaron” You start. 

“I’ve only felt that helpless once before, and I never wanted to feel like this again.” 

His hands tighten around yours. 

“Aaron.” Your voice calm, pulling his focus back on you, “You got the police to us in minutes, Jack is okay, and I’m okay. You don’t get to carry blame or guilt over a man choosing to do something horrible.” 

He wants to look away, but he knows he won’t get away with that. Jack shifts, mumbling something in his sleep and both of you instinctively look down at him. The room stays quiet like that for a few minutes before Aaron looks back again. 

There’s something in his expression now that had been there for months but neither of them had dared to touch. It was also part of why you waited for your late night call. They had started as a way for him to say goodnight to his son, but had evolved to at least twenty minutes with you each night. 

“I don’t know what I would do without you.” He admits and your breath catches. 

Aaron Hotchner does not say things he doesn’t mean. 

“I’m not going anywhere.” 

-

By late afternoon, the hospital had reluctantly signed discharge papers. Aaron was given strict instructions to follow for three different pain medications and that you can’t lift anything heavier than a pillow. Hotch nodded along like he was taking an oath. 

You borrowed extra sweats from Aaron’s emergency overnight bag, and were entirely unimpressed with the mandatory wheelchair escort all the way to the car. The car ride to the house was quiet, Jack hardly making a peep as they got closer to the house. 

Aaron parks in the driveway and from here you can see the caution tape over the door. The wood is splintered where they kicked down the front door to get to you. You don’t make a move to get out of the car and neither does Jack. Aaron turns from the driver’s seat to face you. 

“The two of you wait in the car. I’m gonna run in and get our stuff, we’re not staying here.’

You blink, “We’re not?”

“It’s not safe to stay here until we know who we’re looking for. We’re going to go in to Quantico.”

“The BAU?”

“It’s secure. Garcia’s there and JJ is bringing enough snacks for Jack to qualify as a federal offence. Until we know who did this, I’m not leaving either of you alone. I’m sorry.”

You frown, “Don’t apologize for that.” 

He looks back at Jack and he gives him a thumbs up. Aaron gets out quickly and races inside, it doesn’t take him long to pack go bags for all three of you. 

“I get to see Uncle Reid!” Jack says excitedly. 

“Agent Reid.” Hotch corrects. 

“No,” Jack shakes his head, “Uncle Reid.” 

Aaron sighs, “Apparently I’ve lost control of professional boundaries.” 

You dare a smirk. 

“Long ago.”

For the first time since the attack you see the ghost of a real smile from him. 

The team was waiting when you arrived, Garcia launching herself at you before remembering your injuries. She settles for a cautious hug that you hide a wince for. 

“Oh my god, look at your face!” 

“I’m okay.” You laugh softly. 

Rossi leans in next to press a careful kiss on your cheek, “He’s gonna give you a really good raise after this.”

You laugh and look back at Aaron. You missed it, but Rossi gives Aaron a look behind your back that says ‘you’re in love with your nanny and everyone knows it’. Aaron ignores him with practiced precision. 

They set you up in the conference room with ice packs and coffee, Garcia is watching Jack in Aaron’s office. Everyone is sitting around the table, far from their typical victim interview but this was far from a typical case. 

This was personal. 

The hospital did pull DNA from under your fingernails, but whoever the unsub was, he wasn't in the system so it turned up nothing.

“Start from the beginning. Anything you remember matters, even if it’s small.” Hotch manages to keep his voice steady, staring directly at you. 

You nod slowly, setting down your coffee down on the table. 

“The back door first. The house was quiet, but I heard the click. He knew how to get in without making much noise.” 

Reid starts taking notes. 

“How tall was he?” Morgan asks.

“At least a head taller than me. Strong. He knew exactly where he was going, he didn’t hesitate.” 

You swallow. 

“He never looked around, he moved like he already knew the house.” 

The room fell to a still. Reid’s pen stopped moving and everyone looked up. 

“He was there for Jack.” Aaron states. 

You nod, agreeing with the theory. 

“And for you.” Rossi nods toward you. 

You look at him, “What?”

“People who target families like this aren’t improvising. It’s personal. They want fear, and they want the message to last.” 

“He could’ve killed me if he really wanted to.” You shake your head, “He kept trying for the stairs for Jack-”

“He probably wanted you to be scared.” Morgan clears his throat, “He was getting off on your fear.” 

The stuns you into silence.

Emily sets down her pen, “Did he say anything to you?”

You frown again, “He said…’He should know what it feels like’.” 

Aaron’s jaw tightens instantly because that isn’t random at all. That sounds like revenge, which confirms his biggest fear. Yet again his job is putting the people he cares most about in harm's way. 

-

The team had scattered to run more leads, but you stayed in the conference room. You find yourself standing in front of the evidence board for the case. Crime scene shots, the staircase, the broken bannister. Your blood on the hardwood. The photographs from the hospital that are so clinical and detached you don’t even recognize yourself. 

The woman in the picture looks like someone else. 

“You really shouldn’t do that.” 

You turn and see JJ in the doorway. 

“I know.”

She steps into the room and stands next to you, turning her attention to the same photographs. For a solid minute neither of you speak. Finally, you exhale. 

“It just feels like if I stop trying to remember something that’ll actually help… like he’s winning somehow.” 

JJ nods, “I get that.” 

“I hate that I’m scared of his house. That his house is crime scene photos again.” 

You know that this isn’t the same house he had with Haley, but it’s still been his home with Jack for years now. 

“Y/n, you were attacked. Being scared doesn’t make you weak.” JJ insists. 

“It feels like it does.” 

“No,” Her voice firm now, “what you did was beyond brave. You kept Jack safe and saved yourself.” 

You blink, “I was terrified.” 

“Exactly.” She finally smiles, “And you still did it. Bravery typically looks like that.” 

That hits you harder than you had expected. JJ softens even more when she realizes none of this has done anything to ease your concern. 

“For what it’s worth, Aaron is barely functioning.” She smiles knowingly, “He’s trying very hard to look like Unit Chief Aaron Hotchner, but the rest of us have eyes.” 

You let out a warm laugh. 

“He cares about you. A lot, honestly. I think he’s been trying not to for months.” 

Her words make you go completely still, eyes darting to his office on the other side of the room. JJ simply shrugs. 

“We all see the way he looks for you first when he walks in, and the way Jack talks about you. Hotch hasn’t been the same since you came into his life, and I mean that as a good thing.” 

“Why are you telling me this?” You look back at her finally. 

“Because I don’t like wasting time. Or seeing people I care about hurt without each other.” She reaches out a hand carefully for your shoulder before leaving the room. 

Maybe JJ is right. Maybe everyone already knew. 

-

You softly knock on the doorframe before letting yourself into Aaron’s office. He looks up from his desk instantly. You're wearing a spare FBI hoodie, but you're still wearing his sweats that are too long. You look as cozy as you can while wearing an arm sling. 

Jack peeks his eyes open, he had been faking sleep over on the couch for nearly a half an hour. 

“There you are!” He sits up. 

You smile at Hotch before making your way over to him. You sit on the edge of the couch and smooth a hand over his hair, gentle and automatic. Jack shifted so you had more room and he could tuck himself against your side. Within minutes, his breathing slowed. Sleep finally won. 

“He couldn’t sleep without you.” Aaron says softly, unable to take his eyes off the two of you. 

Eventually you look up, daring to meet his gaze. The bullpen is still a blur, but it’s warm and quiet here in the office. Safe. 

“He’s scared you’ll leave again.” 

His eyes dart down to his son. 

“I know.” 

“He doesn’t blame you,” You continue, “he is so proud of what you do. He just knows something bad happened when you were gone.” 

“Again.” He answers, “Something bad happened when I was gone, again. I’m supposed to be the person who keeps him safe.” 

You frown, “You are.”

“I wasn’t there.” 

The guilt is still there. How could he not still feel guilty? Here you are trapped at the FBI for your safety, covered in bruises, and he’s sure you still can’t take a full breath with your ribs.

“You got the police to us immediately and came home.” You offer a teary smile, “He knows you love him so much.” 

“Sometimes that doesn’t feel like enough.” 

You shake your head. 

“It's enough.” You disagree, “And you can’t blame yourself for something some lunatic decided to do.” 

He leans back in his chair, you can finally see the exhaustion that JJ was talking about. He looks tired in a way that sleep can’t even fix. 

“I can’t get it out of my head.” You shake your head, mostly saying it to yourself but Aaron is hanging on every word, “Who is capable of doing that to a family?”

Aaron’s eyes flash with recognition. 

“What?” You question, seeing the idea that just hit him. 

He steps out to the bullpen where the team is still there. You ease yourself carefully off the couch not to wake Jack and lean against the door frame. You watch him go down the steps toward the desks. 

“Garcia, look into Karl Arnold’s recent activity. I want to know everything that has gone on at his prison, any of his visitors, and all of his mail.” 

Morgan’s head snaps up, “The Fox?”

“On it, sir!” She begins rapidly typing on her laptop and you’re just as puzzled as you were thirty seconds ago. 

“Who is Karl Arnold?” You ask, pulling all eyes on you. Everyone hesitates in their answer, save for the youngest member of the team. 

“Karl Arnold killed entire families-”

“Reid.” Emily warns, effectively cutting him off. 

“He fixated on me during the case.” Aaron explains, “Personal resentment and control issues. He blamed law enforcement for his capture.”

“You think it’s connected?” Rossi asks. 

Aaron nods, “The one and only time I’ve seen him since then he was passing along a message for Foyet.” 

Garcia starts typing even faster at this realization. 

“Okay, digging into everyone’s favorite horrifying family annihilator. Prison records, visitor logs, and communications, give me… uh oh.” 

“What?” Aaron stops in his tracks. 

“Karl Arnold has had the same visitor for the past three months. Every Tuesday, his younger brother Daniel Arnold.”

Morgan crosses his arms, and Garcia connects her laptop with the big screen. A large picture of a white man in his mid-forties pops up. Your grip in the doorframe tightens to steady yourself. The second you see the picture, all of the color drains from your face. 

“That’s him.” 

No one moved right away. 

“He wasn’t just sending a message, he was trying to continue the work.” Morgan’s voice is low and careful.

You’re unable to pull your gaze from the screen. The same dark eyes from last night staring right back at you through the screen. 

“If he’s following Karl’s methodology, he was watching the house for weeks.” 

That makes you sick to your stomach, you slowly turn back into Aaron’s office and settle carefully back onto the couch with Jack. You don’t want to hear the rest. 

The bullpen was still moving fast, Garcia discovered Daniel has a storage unit in the area and a rental car that has been reported missing for nearly five weeks. 

“Okay, Mr. Creepy Brother also has a very concerning purchase history including lock picks and burner phones, because apparently subtlety is dead.” Garcia’s typing doesn’t falter for a second. 

Morgan checks his weapon, the rest of the team gearing up. 

“Got an address, mama?” Morgan looks at her. 

“There’s an apartment in Arlington.”

“Split up.” Aaron instructs, “Morgan, JJ, and Reid go to the storage unit. Prentiss and Rossi go to the apartment. Bring Anderson too.” 

He looks over the team one more time. 

“I’m not going.” 

“What?” Garcia blinks. 

Morgan looks up too, surprised. Rossi simply nods and pats his shoulder before walking toward the elevator. Rossi understood first, but the rest were not far behind. Family first. 

"We've got this." Emily nods, following the rest of them out.

The bullpen felt quieter immediately with the team gone and Garcia returning to the lair. You flinch when Aaron opens his office door, not expecting anyone to be here. 

“You’re not going?” You ask softly, glancing down at Jack once more before looking up at Aaron. He doesn’t move back toward his desk, he just takes slow heavy steps and lands in the chair right next to the couch. 

“No.” he sighs, “You were right.”

You frown, “About what?”

He looks down at Jack before coming back to you. 

“You said he’s scared I’ll leave again.” 

“Aaron…”

“I spend so much time trying to protect him by doing that job that sometimes I forget he also needs me to stay.” 

The honesty makes your chest ache. 

“I need to be here when he wakes up.” 

A beat passes while he studies you. You hate that. The advantage he has to every conversation and moment. You’ve gotten good at reading him over the past year, but it was nowhere near his capabilities. 

“You don’t need to be out there with your team?” You question carefully. 

“Everything I need is right there.” He reaches out to take your hand in his. It’s warm. 

“Really?” You smile. 

“Mhm.” He barely cracks a grin. 

“You know, for a profiler, you’re being surprisingly unclear.” 

That actually earned you a quiet laugh. 

“Probably because I’m very aware I’m saying this to the woman who was attacked in my house while protecting my son twenty-four hours ago.” 

You squeeze his hand. 

“Yeah, probably not your smoothest timing.” 

“Definitely not.” 

You look down at Jack again for a second, then back up. 

“I care about him.” 

Aaron nods once. 

“I know.”

“And I care about you.”

It was out there. No taking it back. 

You bite back a nervous smile, “See? Very brave of me. Your turn.”

His thumb starts to stroke back and forth on the back of your hand. You can tell he’s being extremely careful, like it all truly mattered to him. 

“I care about you too,” He swallows, “More than I should have let myself.”

Your breath catches. 

“But I did anyway, and I don’t regret it.” 

“Good.” You whisper. 

“Good.” He agrees. 

You sit up, letting him pull you closer to him. His kiss is soft, still careful but it still feels like relief for both of you. Like coming home. 

A mischievous giggle escapes from behind you on the couch. You both pull away and turn to Jack. He has one eye squinting shut, like he could still be asleep. 

“Hey!” You tease, turning on him to tickle at his sides. 

His giggles start instantly and Aaron is quick to jump up and join in. Jack’s laughs only get louder. 

“Okay! Okay!” Jack sits up, out of breath from his laughter. Aaron sits in the space it opens, all three of you squeezing together.

You’re confident neither of you wanted him to know about this quite yet. Maybe a trial run before letting the eight year old know that they liked each other. 

“I saw you kiss Y/n.” Jack grins. 

“I did.” Aaron admits, eyes checking in on you for a second before focusing back on his son, “What do you think about that?”

“Would you be home more?” Jack turns to look at you. 

You nod, “Yeah, it would be more time with your dad and I both at home. At the same time.” 

He nods eagerly, causing both of you to chuckle. Aaron’s phone rings on his desk, causing all three of you to look at it. He gets up to answer it, pausing for a second before saying ‘Hotchner’. 

He looks up after a few seconds, his eyes narrowing on you. He replies with ‘okay’ several times before ending the call with a ‘Good work. Thanks, Morgan’ and sets the phone back down. He turns to face the two of you. 

“Morgan has Daniel in custody.” 

You let out a breath of relief and it’s visible in your shoulders. You close your eyes briefly, it’s finally over. Aaron comes back to the couch, pulling the two of you closer to him. Jack sits on his lap, and you lean against his side. 

For the first time in days, the danger was gone and there was a new future ahead for each of you. It finally feels like everything really could be okay. 

-