#kingofkingdom

The bar is crowded when the two of you walk in. The noise was audible from the parking lot, rollicking voices yelling and the snap of pool balls against one another echoing through the air. Springtime in Louisiana is muggy and hot, meaning you'd opted to wear your cutoffs and a crop top.

Din keeps a steady hand on your lower back as the two of you walk through the front doors, a hand that snakes around your waist once you're inside. He removes his sunglasses and hangs them on the collar of his shirt, looking around for his friends.

"Do you see them?" you ask, looking up at your boyfriend. It's been three years, but the thought of Din as solely and devotedly yours still puts butterflies in your stomach. You're partners more than anything - have been since the start, since Lubbock, really - but the term 'boyfriend' just hits you right in your sappy, teen-romance-loving heart.

He shakes his head, lips curled in a frown. The two of you aren't stuck looking for very long, because a waitress walks up to help you.

"Hey there! Welcome to Peli Motto's. Y'all want a table or a booth?"

Her southern accent is as thick as it is charming; you can't help but smile back, her positivity contagious. Din, however, seems to be unaffected. He squeezes your waist, bicep flexing against your back.

"We're here with the 'Dameron' party," he replies, voice tight and utterly professional.

The girl's smile widens. "Oh, great! They were just asking about the two ‘a you." She reaches over to a slot on the wall and grabs a couple of menus. "Follow me right this way."

You go first, following the waitress further into the building, with Din at your back. It was a strategic move on his part, walking behind you, and you realize this the moment you feel a hand grab at your ass through your shorts.

You just turn back and give him a look, one eyebrow raised. He's smirking, dark eyes playful in the low light of the bar. You roll your eyes at his antics, but if you sway your hips just a tad more as you walk, well. That's no one's business but yours - and Din's.

The table is set back in a quiet corner of the bar - quiet only compared to the rest of the establishment, because the guys seated in the large, circular booth are raucous and rowdy enough as it is. This reunion was a long time coming. Poe and Finn - who live together here in New Orleans - planned the whole thing, partly as a reunion and partly to celebrate Cassian's return home from a stint abroad. It's the first time they've all been together in one place since Vietnam.

You and Din wouldn't miss it for the world.

Of the guys, you've met Boba, Poe, and Mayfeld thus far. You're eager to meet Finn and Cassian, because you've heard so much about them from Din and the other members of the group. Din told you that apparently Cassian's also got a girl he's bringing along: Jyn. They met overseas and she's visiting the states with Cassian while he's back. Din heard all of this from Poe, so neither of you have met her. 

The waitress shows you two to the table, and as soon as you’re in sight of the guys seated there, they let out a cacophony of whoops and hollers. You can’t help but smile, familiar and new faces alike calling out a welcome. 

Poe’s voice is the loudest, and since he’s on the end, he hops up to greet you and Din. 

“Well, look who it is!” he says, reaching out to pull you into a hug. You return his friendly embrace. 

“It’s good to see you, Poe.”

He pulls away and smiles down at you. From somewhere at your back, Din clears his throat. He steps forward to swat his friend on the shoulder. 

“Watch yourself, Dameron,” he growls, simultaneously putting an arm out to hug his friend. Everyone knows Dameron’s a natural flirt, so it’s all good-natured. The two guys pound each other on the back, as men always do, and break apart. 

When you look up at Din, you see he's smiling. 

At the table, everyone takes turns greeting you and Din as you slide into the booth. Finn, you discover, has a brilliant smile, and you look forward to chatting with him more. Cassian doesn’t seem overly extroverted, but he has a friendly face and a sharp wit that makes you laugh. 

You end up sitting between Boba and Din, for which you’re grateful, because Boba’s the one you know best - after your boyfriend, of course. That first job in Idaho was… well, it was an introduction to a life you'd never expected to live. A life you now called your own.

-

You never knew Idaho had such beautiful mountains. 

After driving through Twin Falls, up the middle of the state past farm fields and prairie, the Sawtooth Range rose like sentries against the blue, cloudless sky. Their jagged peaks cut harsh lines across the horizon, threatening both danger and adventure should one venture too close. Nose nearly pressed against the glass of the window, you'd stared at them like they might fall back into the earth the moment you blinked.

"I've never seen mountains like this," you'd confessed to Din. In reality, the closest you'd ever been to such magnificent scenery was when you'd seen pictures of the Rocky Mountains in picture books as a kid.

He'd looked over at you, at how enraptured you were with the rocky peaks.

"We don't have anywhere to be after this job with Boba. Maybe he'll let us hang around a bit longer, so we can explore."

You looked over, eyes wide with childlike excitement. "Really?"

Din chuckled, reaching out to put a hand on your thigh. You turned towards him, taking his hand in yours. 

"Yes, really. We might even get lucky enough to see a moose, or some elk."

The drive continued to prove more and more impressive as the day went on. Din masterfully guided the truck around curving, winding mountain roads, hands sure and strong on the wheel. Towering Douglas fir and Ponderosa pines blocked the sun when the route dipped down into a valley.

When the road lifted up onto the backs of the smaller mountains, and a sign indicated a scenic turnout a mile ahead, you'd insisted you both stop. 

Din had acquiesced, a small smile on his face. 

You took your camera and jumped out of the vehicle as soon as Din put it in park. Even though it was summertime, the mountain air bit cool and windy against your skin. Ignoring the goosebumps now risen on your bare arms, you walked up to the log fence, bypassing the information plaque to instead take in the view.

Snow-capped peaks stood closer than ever before. Below them, the valley was spread out and glowing green in the afternoon sunlight, and the scent of pine drifted on the wind. Lifting your camera to your eye, you took a photo of the mountains, making sure to include the valley, too. So you could look back and see just how close to the clouds Din had taken you.

Looking back at your partner, you saw him leaning up against the passenger-side door, staring off to the side, himself enraptured by the beauty and tranquility of the place.

You lifted the camera again to snap a photo. You absolutely loved catching him candidly, capturing the natural poses his handsome features often found themselves in.

Din turned to you, having noticed the flash.

"Here," he said, holding a hand out for the camera. You stashed the photos you'd just taken in your pocket and handed it over. "I'll get one of you, with the mountains in back."

You hurried back to the fence and half-sat on it, hands resting on the rough wood as you smiled for the picture. You wore nothing special - only some secondhand jeans and one of Din's t-shirts, with some boots you'd found for cheap in Albuquerque - but it fit the occasion, you thought. 

Din took the photo and then pulled it from the slot as it developed. Standing there on the gravel turn-out, the two of you watched the photo come to life, color blossoming across the page. It was completely average, in your eyes, but Din slipped it in his breast pocket nonetheless.

"C'mon, sweetheart," he said, looping his arm around your waist, hand tucked in the front pocket of your jeans. "Let's get going."

Just as the two of you turned back onto the road, another vehicle pulled into the gravel lookout. It was a VW van, a few years old from the looks of it, and out hopped an elderly lady, her husband, and a little weiner dog.

It made your heart ache for what might be.

The drive to Boba's place took another hour and a half. He lived outside Stanley, in a remote pocket of the National Forest only accessible by gravel roads. 

"Never known the man to be overly sociable," Din told you with a smirk. "I'm surprised he's let even me know about this place."

Better for hunting bounties, Din had said. Apparently men fleeing from the law often sought refuge in this dangerous, rugged terrain, and Boba made a living by tracking them down and turning them in. 'Warm or cold', as Din liked to say. Whatever brought in the paycheck with no loss of life or limb. Plus, he had the added benefit of no nosy neighbors and possibly the most quiet one could achieve in the lower 48.

His driveway led to a large clearing, in which stood a modest but comfortable cabin as well as outbuildings and fenced-in pastureland. A few horses grazed, and three big dogs ran up alongside the truck as you and Din drove up. He parked the truck alongside a similarly old, beat-up pickup, and cut the engine.

Your feet hit the gravel just as you heard the cabin's front door slam shut, a cacophony of barking accompanying the sound. One of the dogs, a yellow lab with mud on its paws and legs, ran up to you and nearly bowled you over with its weight.

"Don't mind her," a low, accented voice called out, "Kamino's not used to visitors."

Doing your best to appease the excited dog while also greeting your host, you kept your hand down for Kamino to lick while looking up to give Boba a warm smile.

"It's so nice to finally meet you," you said, standing upright and properly looking at Boba Fett. Din had given you a short description - "mean-looking, like he got in a fight with a grizzly and won" - but you didn't realize how right that was until this moment. Scars criss-crossed his face, head, and shoulders, and his gaze was calculating and assertive. He smiled, though, and put a firm hand on your shoulder.

"Welcome to my home. Any friend of Din's is a friend of mine."

Footsteps came around the back of the truck and Boba turned from you to Din, your partner holding your shared duffel of clothes. 

"Good to see you again," Din said, reaching out a hand for Boba to shake. 

Boba took his hand and pulled him in for a half-hug. "It's been too long, brother."

You watched as the old friends reunited, their camaraderie still evident despite not seeing each other for a few years. Boba's tattoo, the one with a matching twin on Din's ribs, peeked out from under his shirt's sleeve, black ink barely visible on his upper arm.

They broke apart and Din's gaze found you. You stepped forward, into his embrace, and the two of you followed Boba up into the house.

For a log cabin inhabited solely by a gruff, single man, the house was surprisingly tidy. Everything was neat and clean - not in a rushed way that told you he was preparing for visitors, but in a way that belied a habit of cleanliness in Boba's everyday life. There was a fireplace against one wall and a set of windows in another, looking out over the forest and mountains beyond. Armchairs dotted the main room, with well-loved blankets thrown over the backs of them.

He showed the two of you to the guest room, sparsely decorated save for a few books on top of the dresser. Din set the duffel bag on the bed, which looked incredibly comfortable, and Boba continued showing you around the house. Through the kitchen, where the bathrooms were, the whole nine.

"You two want to take a seat?" Boba asked once the tour was through. The three of you ended up in the living room, where the fireplace was. "The drive must've been long, all the way up from Vegas. I'll get you something to drink."

"Thanks, Boba," you replied, finding a spot on the sofa, and Din followed closely behind, settling in next to you. 

Your host returned with three cold bottles of beer, the glass covered in a layer of condensation. You accepted yours gratefully and turned, noticing where Boba was taking his seat, propping your feet up on Din's lap so you could face the conversation more fully.

One of his hands, the one not currently holding his beer, dropped down to rest on the top of your socked foot, massaging gently.

"So," Boba started, settling in. Taking the two of you - an old friend and that friend's new flame - in. "How did such a pretty girl wind up with the last man I expected to settle down?"

Din took a sip of his drink, looking over at you with a sly smile, grip tightening on your foot. The orange light of the fireplace, flames warm against your back, casted flickering shadows across his face. You tilted your head, raising your brow at him, daring him to say something with that smart mouth of his.

He turned back to Boba. "You want God's honest truth?"

"You know me well enough to know the answer to that, Din," the older man quipped.

"I have no fucking idea."

That made you laugh, the ridiculousness of it. "Shut up, you big sap," you protested, sitting up to push him gently in the shoulder. It's too bashful and sweet for him - for your grumpy, tough, tattooed bounty hunter.

"It's true," he said, glancing over at you. "Every day that goes by I'm shocked you're still with me, cyar'ika."

You huffed, taking a swig of your beer, unaccustomed to such talk, especially in front of someone else. "Well, it'll be a cold day in hell before you see me leave you."

Boba laughed at that, saying something about the pair you two made, before the conversation steered in a different direction.

As the night wore on and the three of you passed the line from tipsy into drunk, you found yourself pressing your body closer and closer to Din until you were cuddling him, needy and drowsy and bubbling with giddiness for no apparent reason. Head resting on his chest, tucked under his chin, your ear felt the vibration of his words as he reminisced with Boba. Trading the war stories they shared with a heavy air of gratitude for it all being over, the conversation lasted well into the early hours of the morning.

You fell asleep like that, on Din's chest.

The next morning, you awoke in your bed in the guest room to the smell of bacon and the sight of pale sunlight streaming through the window. Birds chirped outside and something warm and large stirred next to you.

Din groaned softly, stretching his arms toward the headboard. His biceps flexed, strong and sure and glowing in the morning light. You looked up at him, at the groggy haze in his deep brown eyes, at the way his lips curled as he suppressed a yawn, and your heart swelled.

"Could get used to this," you murmured, and Din hummed in agreement, bringing an arm down to rest lazily on your shoulders.

The covers were a soft, flannel-like material that was cozy and warm to the point that you didn't want to get out of bed. You snuggled down into Din, as close as you could get.

Your partner gently rolled you over, guiding you onto your back so he could hover above you. Like this you felt caged, but in a good way - as though you could never find harm or trouble so long as Din held you like this, as though his arms protected you from everything the world outside threw at you.

Gazing up at him, you brought your hands up to his cheeks, caressing the soft, stubbled skin there with your thumbs.

Without a word, he leaned down and pressed his lips against your own. Muddled and messy in the remnants of sleep, the kiss was not one meant to lead to anything more. Your legs opened lazily, out of instinct, out of want to keep him there forever. Din closed his eyes and kissed you and tasted you in the way only he knew how.

From the kitchen, downstairs and adjacent to the living room, a record played, soft through the walls. Something old-fashioned, like Buddy Holly or Chuck Berry. The tinny sound of the singer's voice made you smile against Din's lips.

"What?" he'd questioned, pouting like a young boy at the thought of pulling away so soon.

You blinked, staring up into his deep brown eyes. You ran your thumb up across his brow, down his cheekbone, to the cleft of his chin.

"I just… I just think I love you, is all."

Your words seemed to take Din by surprise. It wasn't what you were going to say - you'd meant to comment about leaving Boba waiting, or something about not wanting to leave the bed, but instead that undeniable truth had slipped from your lips.

He looked at you softly, adoringly. "Do you mean that?"

"Of course," you replied. "Never meant anything more."

-

Breakfast, once you and Din managed to get up and eat it, consisted of bacon and eggs made masterfully on a cast iron skillet. Boba sat back in his chair as he and Din discussed the upcoming job, one that needed to see its completion within the next couple of days.

You listened to their planning and deliberation with a quiet, observant ear, quite intrigued by this side of Din you'd never seen before.

He spoke without room for debate, always sure of his own opinion before voicing it to Boba. It was clear he had great respect for the older man, through both shared trauma and what seemed to be a sort of teacher-student dynamic. When Boba presented something in a different way, Din listened attentively, taking in his friend's words and taking them to heart. However, he also knew his own strength as a hunter - that much was clear. 

They pulled out maps and black-and-white mugshots and police reports, piecing together the puzzle that made up this target. You could do little more than watch and sip your coffee.

After they settled on a plan, the two men took you out for some target practice before noon.

"If you're serious about this life," Boba had said, not unkindly, "then you'd better know how to handle a firearm."

Din nodded his agreement, so you went, walking with the two of them out back behind the barn. On a log, Boba set up some of your empty beer bottles from last night. Against the wooden slats of the barn rested three rifles - one of which you assumed was Din's - and each man carried a pistol or two on his person.

"Here." Din handed you a small revolver, keeping his hands close as you felt the weight of it. "Keep your finger off the trigger unless you mean to shoot at what you're pointing at. So long as these -" he ran his finger over the cylinder, pointing at the chambers and the bullets within them "- are loaded, you have the potential to fire."

Careful not to curl your index finger over the trigger, you took the gun from him, resting it in both hands.

"Now, I want you to aim it at that bottle," he said, pointing down the way at a glittering glass bottle. "Don't shoot, just aim. Use the sight at the end of the barrel."

You did as you were told, one hand around the grip and the other on the bottom, like you'd seen in movies and shows. Your index finger remained straight along the barrel. Down the sight, you saw the bottle, and you tried to keep your grip as steady as you could.

"Good. Next, use your thumb to cock the hammer. That little lever, there - yep, just like that."

Din put his large, warm hands on your shoulder blades. "You've aimed and now you've primed it to shoot. We didn't give you hearing protection, because we don't get that luxury when we're on the job. Fire when you're ready, but be prepared for the noise and the recoil."

You nodded, taking a deep breath. Inhale, exhale.

Your finger found the trigger and pulled before your nerves could warn you against it.

Din was right; the sound did make you jump a bit, just as the gun itself jumped in your hand from the force of the recoil. The loud 'POP' masked the shattering of glass several yards ahead of you, so you didn’t realize you'd hit your target until you looked up and saw Din and Boba both smiling at you.

"Good job, kid," Boba grunted, clearly at least somewhat impressed. "Not bad for your first go."

You tested out each of the guns - for the rifles, Din gave you a set of earmuffs, the kind he'd wear on a stakeout if he were perched somewhere watching for a target. In the end, you liked the revolver the best, its handle fitting snugly into your palm and the bite of its recoil the least jarring of all of them. 

In your heart of hearts, you hoped you'd never have to use any of them. But it was good to know, regardless, in case Din ever needed help. That's a thought that made you grin - some beastly brute getting the better of your partner, only to be defeated by an unassuming girl with a gun.

After lunch, Din and Boba left to do some recon on the target, having asked whether you wanted to join them and acquiescing when you'd declined. Instead, you chose to indulge in some alone time in the cabin, taking up residence on the balcony that overlooked the mountains. With a blanket over your legs and your coffee mug refilled, you'd put on one of Boba's old-timey records and sat down with a book to read.

The tranquility of it all drew a few visitors. 

First, it was a few deer, a mother doe and her two fawns. You watched with bated breath as they wandered through the meadow, nibbling at grasses and wildflowers, before trotting along and disappearing through the treeline.

Then, a lone elk made his way through. This visitor made you sit up in your chair and peer over the railing, watching as the proud male strutted through the open grass and into the trees, just as the deer had done. Once he was gone, your heart still racing, you ran to grab your camera. Just in case.

No one else visited you until Boba and Din got back.

They returned with good news: they had located and apprehended the target, with more ease than they'd expected. This made you relieved, all at once glad neither of them was in danger and thankful you didn't have to get involved in the fray. Someday you'd have to, you knew, but not so soon.

That evening, after Din came back inside from his last smoke before bed, you caught him in the entryway. His jacket was still on, Marlboros tucked in the pocket.

"We should ask," you urged, wrapping your hands around his waist, drawing him closer. He put his hands on your hips and hummed. "Ask Boba about staying. Even a few days would be so nice."

Din nodded. "In the morning, cyar'ika. It would be a shame to let those warm sheets go to waste."

You wrinkled your nose at his comment, drawing a chuckle from his chest. He placed a kiss on your forehead, then walked with you further into the house. You were dressed in one of his t-shirts and little else, teeth brushed and hair up, ready for bed. Din discarded his jacket on one of the chairs at the kitchen table.

He looked back at you, an up-and-down once-over, the glimmer in his eyes a telltale sign of his wicked intent. Your heart raced, cheeks warming. He took a step towards you.

Hand back on your hip, he turned swiftly and pressed you against the counter, white tile digging into your back. His fingers trailed up your sides and found the peaks of your nipples through the shirt you wore, braless in preparation for sleep.

The yellowish light from the fixture overhead doused both of you in a soft, intimate glow. Beside you, the dishwasher ran, water rushing and gurgling quietly in an imitation of the words Din muttered in your ear.

"Can't believe how fuckin' lucky I am. You're perfect, you know that?"

It made you giggle, stretching your arms up to rest on his shoulders. You raised a brow, but you couldn't hide your smile. His hair, perpetually messy and disheveled, shone almost auburn in the light, a halo around his head that cast his handsome features in shadow.

"You really are a sap, huh?"

Din chuckled, but his hand continued to gently feel at your breast through your - his - shirt. His other palm rested on the counter behind you.

He pressed his lips to your ear, then to your jaw, then to your cheek. "Maybe I am. All your fault, though."

His free hand dipped down to grasp at your upper thigh, his crouched stance indicating he wanted you to hop up on the counter. You did so, with his help - you always forgot how strong he was until a moment like that, when he'd lift you without a second thought.

You settled your ass on the cool counter, legs spread to allow Din enough room to press even closer to you. Your heels found the backs of his legs, wrapped around and pressed to faded jeans to secure his place at your front.

From somewhere overhead, footsteps creaked, the sound muffled through the ceiling. Then the faint click of a lamp turning off.

Din began rucking your shirt up, enough so he could slip his hands underneath and feel at your bare skin. You turned your head and caught his lips with your own, a quiet whine escaping your throat when he kneaded both of your breasts. You concentrated on the taste of him, the fresh tobacco on his breath mixing with the mint-baking soda of your toothpaste, even though the way his fingers caressed your chest made it hard not to squirm where you sat.

Desperate to feel more of his skin against your own, you brought your hands down to the hem of his shirt and started tugging, insistent. 

Din stepped back to pull his shirt off by the back of the collar, all in one fell swoop, and there was a moment of stillness that followed. You, taking in the broad expanse of his chest and abdomen, and him, watching your face as you observed him. 

Reaching your hands out, you looked up and caught his gaze again. He stepped forward so you could put your hands on his bare skin.

"I think I'm the lucky one," you murmured, curling your fingertips into the smooth skin over his ribs, short fingernails leaving barely-there crescents in their wake. "Getting to have all of this."

Your partner chuckled, ghosting his nose across the apple of your cheek. His hands found the tops of your thighs, skating up and beneath the hem of your modest, plain panties. The navy blue ones, today. Soft and reliable and nothing too special.

"All of what, sweetheart?" His words were whispered into the skin of your neck as he kissed the salty remnants of your sweat away. Tongue darting out swiftly, he tasted you in that small kitchen that smelled of woodsmoke and pine.

He was a furnace with the way his bare skin warmed you. For ages you've been cold, naturally so, frigid fingertips and toes in even the summer months, but Din has enough heat to share between the both of you. This was the same that night; you pressed the backs of your fingers into the skin of his chest, shivering with how quickly this seemed to bring life to your bones.

"You, Din," you whispered, eyes fluttering closed as his teeth nipped at your neck. "All of you, all of your… your -"

He cut you off with the press of his lips to your own. You moaned, caught off guard by the interruption, distracted immediately and thoughts floating away on the still, silent air. 

Your hands flew up to cup his face, just as you had done that morning. His grip tightened on your hips, kneading and groping at your skin there. Wanting to be closer, to feel more of him, you kissed him deeper, pressing your clothed front against his bare chest. Nipples grazing his skin through the thin fabric of the shirt. 

For several long minutes, you kissed him like that. Hot and heavy and perfect. Your combined breaths sang the song of your desire, and when you bit at his plush bottom lip, Din groaned.

"You'll be the death of me, cyar'ika," he muttered, fingers playing with your panties like he meant to slide them off. "Walking around in my clothes, half naked like this."

"Hey," you chuckled, "I don't see you complaining, smartass."

He smiled, a quirk of his lips up as his tongue darted out to run along his teeth. "I'm not. Just… making an observation."

From their place at your hips, wound up in your panties, his hands began moving ever so slowly down your legs. You put your hands down on the counter to push yourself up and help him along. Din dragged the process out; he trailed your underwear down your legs painstakingly slowly, taking his time, massaging the spaces behind your knees and then your calves and then your ankles, until he finally slid the garment all the way off.

Coy smile still on his face, he tucked your panties into the back pocket of his jeans.

God, those jeans. Slung low on his hips, obscene in the way they provided you a view of his hipbones and the trail of hair that led much lower, you cursed yourself for not having your camera at the ready. What a picture he'd make like this.

The tile counter was cold against your bare bottom, but you soon forgot your discomfort when Din curled his fingers under the hem of your shirt and lifted, just enough to see what lay at the apex of your thighs.

"Not complaining," he muttered again, staring down at the way you glistened for him. "You just have to know what you do to me, sweet thing."

"Tell me, then," you replied. 

He looked up to your face and then back down again, and you watched the gears turn in his brain as he decided upon his course of action. Carefully, quietly, he lowered himself to his knees and he brought your legs up onto his shoulders. Catching on, you scooted forward as much as you could in eager preparation.

Din pressed a kiss into the inside of your thigh, his hands tight and unyielding where they gripped the skin of your legs. 

His breath warmed your chilled flesh as he whispered into it, and you felt the words more than heard them. "Makes me so goddamned hard, seeing you in my shirts. Every time you step foot outside in one of 'em."

Bringing a hand up to curl in his dark locks, you hummed. "Yeah? Y'know why I do it?"

He responded with a questioning grunt. His teeth then made another appearance, biting a mark into the thickest, widest portion of your upper thigh. He loved your thighs - loved watching them as you rode him into oblivion, loved holding onto them when you sat on his lap, and he especially loved them in times like this, when his mouth descended upon the nectar dripping from your center and they wrapped around his head, quivering from your pleasure.

In all honesty, if Din was asked which part of your body he loved the most, he'd have a hard time answering. He'd always had a tough time choosing favorites.

"Why's that, baby girl?"

He glanced up at you from his spot between your legs, brown eyes shimmering with something akin to delight. Maybe humor. It reminded you of a painting you'd once seen in a library book, something filled with shadow save for a single beam of light not unlike the bulb overhead.

That was the thing about your feelings for Din; they could seem all at once brighter than the sun and darker than a winter's night. You knew the violence he was capable of - had witnessed a portion of it firsthand - and saw how jealousy flashed dangerous in his gaze. Yet you also knew how good he was with children, and at making sandcastles, and at singing along to songs even though he didn't know the words to them.

Din pressed a kiss to the seam of your thigh, breath floating over your weeping sex. You scratched a gentle pattern against his warm scalp.

"'Cause I like it when other people can tell. When they know I'm yours just by looking at me."

In the moment after you spoke, he licked into you, deep and insistent, and the suddenness of it made you yelp. A high-pitched noise accompanied by pinched brows and clenched muscles, you slapped your free hand over your mouth to prevent any more incriminating noises from slipping out.

Something about what you said must have spurred him on, because Din set to eating you out like a man starved. 

Nose nudging the sensitive bundle of nerves at the peak of your pussy, Din's mouth worked magic against your soft, glistening folds. His grip tightened on your hips, bruising, as he pressed his mouth to your cunt. It was divine, like everything is with him, and your legs trembled with the feeling of it where his tongue caressed you.

Your hand, the one not covering your mouth, threaded through Din's thick hair and held on like a rider on her bronco. You tried not to let your hips thrash too wildly against him, but the building desire in your skin made that a near herculean task. 

"Din…" you uttered through your fingers, whispering, "Din, you gotta… oh my god -"

He hummed into you, dragging his sinful tongue up until he could catch your clit, pressing a rhythm into it and making you whine. Your orgasm built, hot and insistent in your core, and you knew he could feel you clench with it.

"Din," you repeat, "I need… need you to…"

Pulling away ever so slightly, he looked up at you with a devious glint in his eyes. The lower half of his face shone in the low light with traces of your wetness. 

 "What, baby? What do you need?"

Your mouth dropped open, breath escaping your lungs in bursts.

"I need… need'ya to - to -"

Din stood, silent and almost menacing in front of you. Even though you were nearly at eye level with one another like this, his dark gaze told you exactly what you needed to know. His hands remained on your hips, slotting his own in between your thighs.

God, what a vision. You looked up at him and your heart melted, needing him to fuck you like you need air to breathe.

Leaning back, you spread yourself out for him, hand trailing up your stomach to pull the hem of your shirt over your breasts. You watched his brows fall, eyes dark and intent in the way they gazed upon your figure.

"Please, Din."

"Please what? C'mon, sweet thing, you gotta be more specific. Tell me what you want - let me hear you say it," he muttered, though his hand was already reaching for the waistband of his boxers, visible through his open fly.

You tried to wiggle closer, but his hand on your hip stopped you. "Please, I need - need you to fuck me. Need your - need you in - inside me."

Din smiled, jaw working as his hands pulled his hard, aching member from the confines of his pants. Your eyes widened as you watched him stroke himself once, then twice, before tightening his grip around the base. The heavy girth that'll split you open and have you begging, whimpering, crying for more.

You don’t think you’ll ever get used to seeing his cock, much less feeling it split you open. 

"I got you, cyar’ika.”

It only took a certain sway of his hips for him to press himself against you, using his fingers and his pelvis to notch his cock at the exact place you needed it most. Watching the way he moved toward you, mimicking the way he would soon move inside you, made your pussy clench against him. 

“Look at me,” he murmured, squeezing your hip. 

You did as he said, focusing your attention on dark brown eyes, and it wasn’t a moment later that you felt him thrust his hips forward. Into you. Through you. 

A moan slipped out of your throat as you watched his eyebrows furrow in time with the feeling of him stretching you open. It was loud, much too loud for the quiet that blanketed the cabin, but Din covered your mouth with his hand anyway. 

Urging you back, he leaned forward as he seated himself fully inside of you. 

"Gotta be quiet, pretty girl," he muttered, though you could hear the strain in his voice, words uttered through clenched teeth and restraint. "Don't wanna wake Boba up, do we?"

You shook your head, eyes wide as you continued to stare up at Din. Above you, your hands skated up his back, restlessly grasping at him to urge him along. He pushed ever so slightly forward, adjusting the both of you, and you felt him brush against that spot within you only he'd ever been able to reach.

Pleasure-pain shot through your body. You arched up against him, against his hand on your mouth, eyes fluttering closed.

"Fuck. Can - can I --"

You nodded before he could finish the thought, knowing what he planned to ask and agreeing to it, like, five minutes ago.

Din pulled his hips back and snapped forward, jarring and sudden like the recoil of his gun. Your eyes rolled back in your head and an inelegant whimper escaped your lips, only to be muffled by the palm of his hand. 

Then he decided he'd rather shut you up with something else, something better, and he leaned down to kiss you.

He built up a rhythm as your tongues met, licking and biting and tasting. At one point it became little more than breathing each other's air, mouths hung open against one another as Din worked himself inside of you. His hip bones, ever his most seductive attribute (aside from, of course, everything else about him), bruised your own with the way he fucked you. Little noises escaped his throat and you nearly pointed it out - you would have if it weren't for the delicious crest you could feel rapidly approaching within.

He could sense it too. Din reached down and pressed a finger to that not-so-secret little spot and began to tease it, using the rhythm of his hips to draw seismic shockwaves out of your cunt.

Your lover kissed you again, hard, his hand in your hair, and then you both heard the sound of footsteps on groaning hardwood stairs.

Din froze. Your eyes snapped open and you saw him clench his jaw. Felt his hand slide up and around to your thigh.

"Don't stop on my account," Boba drawled, sounding much too amused for your liking. 

Sighing, Din dropped his head to rest on the tile next to your face. He looked back up and tugged your shirt down as much as he could, trying his best to protect your modesty.

"You did this on fuckin' purpose, Fett."

The older man chuckled. You heard a cabinet slam shut, then running water. "It's not like I didn't give you two rabbits a bed for a reason."

The embarrassment that coursed through your veins in that moment was so visceral it was hot to the touch. This was the first time you'd met any of Din's friends or family, and here you and he have gone and fucked it up. Taken advantage of Boba's hospitality and acted like horny, ungrateful teenagers.

"Listen, you can give me shit for this all you want tomorrow. There's only one other person in this room who's seen my dick and I'd like to keep it that way."

Boba laughed, hearty and deep. "Alright, alright. I'll get out of your hair. But it is good to know you treat your girl right, Djarin."

"Boba!" you and Din exclaimed simultaneously, and he left in a whirl of guffaws and snickering.

Suffice it to say, that night ended a bit differently than you'd anticipated. When the dust settled in the morning and Din wasn't quite so ruffled by the interruption, you mustered up the courage to ask your question, despite it all.

Boba, of course, agreed wholeheartedly.

-

You can't help the flush that warms your cheeks when you greet Boba. He gives you a sly smile but otherwise no indication of that… memorable encounter. It was three years ago, but it's still seared into your memory like it happened yesterday.

Jyn is seated across the table from you and you aren’t able to properly introduce yourself to her beyond a wave ‘hello’. You make it your mission, internally, to get to know her more before the end of the night. She's beautiful, dressed very well, with a pair of earrings that you'll be sure to ask her about later, if only to make her effort of wearing them noticed.

After the waitress takes your drink orders, the conversation flows easily, with you and Din the center of attention, having just arrived. The round table is perfect for this sort of gathering, as you're afforded an equal view of everyone.

Finn begins, leaning forward with his arms crossed on the table. His tattoo peeks out from under the loose collar of his shirt. “Poe relayed the story of how you and Din met to me, but I think you two should tell it the way it really went.”

You glance up at Din, who looks down at you and shifts to wrap his arm around your shoulders. You lean into him and then look back to Finn as you answer. 

“I was hitchhiking. Somehow I got lucky and he picked me up. Turns out, we enjoy each other's company quite a lot."

Mayfeld, who until this point has been uncharacteristically quiet, immediately groans. “C’mon, give us the details. When did y’all get down and dirty, huh?”

You laugh, but the words are barely out of his mouth before Din’s balling up a napkin in his free hand and flinging it at him. The paper hits Mayfeld squarely in the forehead and he reacts with an affronted “Hey!”

Din points at him, brow raised in a glare. “You’re on thin ice, you bastard. You and Dameron both.”

This causes the table to erupt into laughter. You can see the beginnings of a smile forming on Din’s lips, despite his thinly veiled threats. He’s enjoying his time back with his friends, you can tell. 

From across the table, you hear Jyn speak up, her British accent a welcome respite from all the testosterone the two of you are currently surrounded by. 

“What’s been your favorite memory travelling with Din so far?” she asks with a smile. You appreciate her genuine interest, apparent in her expression as she listens to you. 

Immediately, your mind goes to the obvious: Grogu. You and Din talk about him all the time, but have never been back to Lubbock, or even really that area of Texas at all. It still hurts to think of him, of how good those days were, but the two of you have also had so many wonderful days since. 

The kid was the reason the two of you stuck together in the beginning. He was the glue, at first -  the catalyst that made you realize your feelings for one another. Without that fateful night in the motel, when his mother took a chance on two strangers, you'd be god-knows-where doing god-knows-what. 

When you look up to Din, you can tell he’s thinking the same. His eyes have that look in them that they always do whenever the kid comes up. 

He’d be four years old by now.

The only problem is, no one knows about Grogu but the two of you. Not Boba, not Poe, no one.

You turn your attention back to Jyn. “We went to Glacier about a year ago,” you tell her, because that trip was memorable for many reasons. “We did the whole nine yards - camped out, hiked, you name it. My favorite part was the Going-To-The-Sun road, which is this road that’s on the side of a mountain with a crazy steep drop at the side. I thought Din’s hands were going to bond to the steering wheel from how tight he was holding onto it.”

“Six-thousand feet,” Din interjects, “with just a tiny stone wall between us and certain death.”

Finn shudders violently. "That's awful!" he exclaims, lips curled in disgust. "I'll stay on solid ground, thank you very much."

You can't help but laugh at your friends' antics, their reactions to your story and Din's recollection of that drive.

Of course, you don't tell them that Din made you come four times that night, tucked away in a little tent with nothing around but nighttime air and the sounds of your pleasure. 

Before anyone can say anything more, the waitress comes back with your drinks and takes your orders. Poe gets a plate of wings for the table as an appetizer and Din orders a burger with an extra helping of fries to share with you. Everything on the menu sounds so delicious that you have a tough time choosing, but ultimately you go for the house-made barbecue sandwich. If there's one thing you know about the south and places like this, it's to always go for their house specialty if you want the best their cuisine has to offer.

From somewhere towards the front of the bar, someone has put a quarter in the C-D jukebox to change the song, cutting out a Journey hit from a few years ago to be replaced by one of Stevie Nicks' solo songs. You're not sure of the title, but the iconic singer's voice is unmistakable as it flows through the speakers.

The beat makes you tap your fingers rhythmically against the tabletop. It's edgier than Fleetwood Mac's earlier records, but easily danced to, a common thread throughout most of the artist's discography. You've always loved Stevie Nicks. Din had been undecided on her until you insisted on playing Rumors for him in its entirety, which ended up winning him over.

-

"So both Mick and Lindsey were into Stevie? What about Christine?"

You laughed. The California sun was just as hot as you remembered, even in winter. Christmas in San Diego was beginning to look like a tradition, your handsome traveling partner and yourself finding your feet in the sand at La Jolla just as you had last year.

"Christine was married to John, who plays bass. They got divorced during the recording of the album too.”

Din nodded, mouth opening in a silent 'ah'. He was so attentive, listening carefully as you spun the story as you'd heard it from girlfriends and magazine pages. 

The large towel you two laid on still had the tag from the store. Your cooler, full of half-melted ice and cans of soda and beer, helped to pin the fluttering end down at your feet.

You wore your yellow bikini - thank god it still fit. You'd helped Din pick out new swim trunks this year, forest green and simple but they fit him like a glove. He wore his shades, too, and smoked his usual cigarette.

All in all, it made the Christmas of 1980 just perfect. A little chilly, sure, but picturesque and relaxing as hell.

From somewhere behind you, voices drew close, moving in from the parking area.

"See, Han? We're not the only ones out here. Come on, let's find a good spot."

"A good spot? There's one other couple on the beach, Leia."

"Exactly!"

You turned as best you could in your position on your stomach and caught sight of a young couple making their way down the beach. The woman, short and brunette, led the way, while her tall, harried-looking partner followed along, a beach chair under each arm.

The woman, who you presumed to be Leia, looked up and spotted the two of you. She stopped short, waving, and so you waved back.

Din, sitting up on your opposite side, put a hand on your hip. "You know these two?"

You shook your head, propping yourself up on your elbows. "Nah. They seem nice, though."

Leia picked her way across driftwood and empty beer bottles, clearly making an effort to say hello. Her hair was done up in intricate, beautiful braids, and she smiled brightly as she approached.

"Merry Christmas!" she greeted. "And Happy Hanukkah, and all the rest. You both have the right idea, I say. Han wasn't so convinced."

You sat up fully, brushing sand from your front, and stood to meet these newcomers. Din followed suit.

"Same to you - Leia, did I hear right?"

Your new friend nodded. "Yes, that's me. And that's Han, the scruffy-looking chump with the chairs back there."

Han frowned, shouting back in protest. "Hey! Who's scruffy-looking?"

You couldn't help but chuckle, their friendly banter a welcome intrusion on what might otherwise have been a calm, uninteresting morning. You crossed your arms and turned to Din, introducing yourself and then him.

"Nice to meet you," Din said, mouth curled in a frown. You rolled your eyes, turning back to Leia, leaning in conspiratorially with a grin.

"Looks like we have the same taste in men, huh?"

That made her laugh, a rowdy noise that you knew would be the life of the party if you were in a crowd. This stranger was beginning to grow on you, her smile infectious, and it made you realize how much you missed having a good old-fashioned friend. Sure, you had Din, and no one could replace him, but having another woman to talk to might be… nice, actually!

You felt a hand come to rest on your shoulder and you turned to look at Din, finding him staring at you with his brow raised. You knew that expression - one that said 'Really? You're sure about this?' - and you shrugged a yes.

It was just then that Han caught up to the group, slightly out of breath. 

"Leia, did we forget to pick up drinks?"

The woman's face fell, getting serious for a moment. "Oh, shoot and molasses, we did. I'd hate to have to r-"

Din stepped forward, taking his cigarette out of his mouth to speak. He squeezed your shoulder gently and then gestured over to the cooler. "We've got plenty extra, if you care to join."

-

The barbecue sandwich is heavenly and it's only made better by the conversation that's been happening around your table. Drinks have been flowing steadily, outmatched only by the stories your newfound friends tell. Some of them make you laugh until you're nearly in stitches, while others have you captivated and on the edge of your seat. Poe's a pilot, was in the war and has now made a career of it, and he loves to regale everyone with his tales of misadventure and the cast of characters he's met.

Your meal is nearly finished when you hear Jyn excuse herself to use the restroom. You follow suit, taking the chance to accompany her - as girls tend to do - and to have a one-on-one conversation with her.

She turns to you as you make your way to the bathrooms, tucked away in a far corner of the bar. You have to cross through the crowded floor to get there, so Jyn puts a hand on your elbow to keep from losing you in the fray.

"So, where are you from?" she asks, voice just audible in your ear. "Originally, I mean. When you were younger."

Turning back with a humored look on your face, you reply. "Nowhere interesting. Just a town along a highway with a Wal-Mart and a couple bars."

Your new friend laughs, like she doesn't quite believe you. "Surely there must have been something exciting about the place where you grew up!"

"I promise, nothing to write home about. What about you? Where in the UK are you from?"

"Oh, I'm from Birmingham," she tells you. The two of you turn the corner where the sign for the restrooms points and make your way to the swinging wooden door labelled 'Ladies'.

Jyn heads to a stall while you stand at a sink and touch up what little makeup you have on. Your mascara has run ever so slightly from tears of laughter, so you take a paper towel, wet it, and wipe the dark marks away. There are a few other women around you chatting and putting themselves together - overall the stereotypical scene in a bar's women's restroom.

When Jyn emerges, you scoot over so she can take her spot at the sink and wash her hands. You look at her in the mirror, arms crossed over your chest, hip resting against the bathroom counter. Her earrings glint in the fluorescent light.

"Those are cute," you tell her with a smile, causing her to glance up. "Your earrings. Where'd you get them?"

"Oh! Thank you. Cassian bought them for me for our one-year anniversary. They've got my birthstone in them - topaz for November."

You nod, smiling. About to continue the conversation, you open your mouth to speak, but you're interrupted by someone noisy and excited entering the small restroom.

"God, Soka, you should have seen the look on his face when I told him! I'll never forget it --"

The familiar voice cuts off right as you turn and make eye contact with, of all people in the world, Leia Organa.

"Oh my god --"

"Leia, what --"

You and she exclaim to one another at precisely the same moment, cutting one another off with broad smiles on your faces. She's dressed in baggy jeans and a tight tank top, with her hair up in her signature braids. Her friend, the woman she walked in with, has a dark complexion and braids across the crown of her head and over her shoulders, inlaid with gold rings. 

Together they make quite the fashionable pair, though you wouldn't expect much else from Leia.

"Am I dreaming?" she trills as her friend makes a dash for one of the open stalls. Beside you, Jyn gives you a pat on the arm and you wave goodbye, seeing that she wants to get back to the table.

You laugh. "Hardly! It's so good to see you, Leia. What brings you into the area?"

She smiles warmly, clasping her hands in front of her stomach. "Soka and Han and my brother and I are all in town for a wedding! My parents are renewing their vows, isn't that great? My gosh, it's great to see you too! How long has it been now?"

"Well, last Christmas, so…" you do the math in your head, counting backwards, "about five months?"

Your friend nods. "That sounds right. Oh, Han and I were telling Luke - my brother, that is - all about our Christmas brunch on the beach this past year. One of the best Christmases I've ever had and I stand by that."

The restroom has grown a bit crowded, so you and Leia make your way out and into the hallway where there's a bit more breathing room. She leans up against the wall, short stature putting her just above eye level with the light switches next to her.

"It was a great one," you agree, remembering the meal you and Din shared with Leia and Han on that same beach where you met two years prior. You'd met up a few times outside the holidays when your schedules and locations lined up, but Christmas was always special.

Leia looks at you with a toothy smile. She's got this energetic, outgoing energy about her that you can't help but connect with. She's told you she wants to be a senator someday - though with Han's line of work, that may be difficult. You'd learned soon after meeting them that he's a smuggler, though of what you're not sure, and Leia's a trust fund baby with cash out her eyeballs. They make quite an interesting pair, but somehow they work out perfectly. Their banter is playful and you've seen Han kiss her almost as much as she's seen Din kiss you.

"How's Din doing?" she asks, black-lined eyelids fluttering with interest. "Is he here?"

You nod, smiling at the mention of your partner. "He is. We're here for a reunion of sorts for him. Friends from 'Nam, actually."

Leia gives you a knowing look. "I should have known, you two hardly spend a moment apart. I'd say I don't know how you do it, but Han and I aren't much better."

Giggling, you turn in towards her to let someone past, the hallway small and dark and filled with framed photos and newspaper articles. There's one of Arnold Schwarzenegger sitting at the bar; it surprises you, because you could've sworn you saw him on a movie poster just last week.

Just as you're about to turn back to Leia, someone steps up behind her, a hand on her shoulder. 

She looks over to him and says something you can't quite catch through the way your ears rush with an unknown, unusual emotion.

In front of you is a man with a priest's collar. A blond man with a priest's collar that looks all too familiar, even though the last time you saw him it was only for a second and it was three years ago.

"This is my brother Luke," Leia says to you. "Still can't believe my twin's a priest, for chrissake --"

"Leia," the man scolds, though his lips curl up in the beginnings of a grin.

You think you're going to be sick.

"Excuse me," you grit out, rudely pushing past and making a beeline for Din.

You find him standing next to Boba, having left the table in favor of finding a few more drinks at the bar. They stand with their heads tilted towards one another, talking in low voices, but when Din sees your face he turns towards you, concerned.

"Is everything oka--"

Taking him by the bicep, you tug him towards a dark, empty corner of the bar where you can talk in relative privacy. Your heart is racing, mind swirling with all the unlikely reactions Leia's brother is surely going to have at recognizing the two of you.

"It's the… it's him. The priest from the school."

Din furrows his brow, confused. He puts a soothing hand on your shoulder but it does little to calm your nerves.

"What are you talking about?"

You give him a look, eyes wide. "The school in Lubbock, Din. That priest."

Your partner blanches, face falling. "What?"

"Yeah. And not only that, he’s fucking Leia’s brother.”

Din’s expression morphs into one of shock, his mouth open, nose scrunched. “Huh?”

His face makes you laugh, realizing how your words sounded. “No, I mean he is her brother. Sorry, that came out wrong.”

"Oh," he replies, eyebrows bouncing up. His hand comes up to cover his mouth as he looks off into the distance, then he glances back down at you. "You're sure it's him?"

You give him a look. "Din, I'd know that guy anywhere."

Nodding, he lets out a breath. "Well, what should we do? It's not like he's gonna call the cops on us, sweetheart."

"But could he? Surely there's a law against leaving children on ch--"

Din's face shifts to something carefully neutral, a silent warning for you to stop talking, like, right now. His eyes go a bit wide and it’s not a second later that you hear someone’s voice behind you. 

“Leia told me all about you two,” Luke says, voice kind, not a hint of accusation in his tone. 

Putting your friendliest smile on, you turn to face him, heart beating wildly in your chest. “Father! I apologize for my rude exit back there.”

He laughs, waving a hand. “Please, call me Luke. And no need to worry, I'm glad everything is alright."

You nod along, trying to discern whether or not he recognizes the two of you. It seems like he's not put off at all by the sight of you, so you're hoping he doesn't.

Din puts a hand on your shoulder before speaking up. "Yeah, everything's good. I'm Din, by the way, and this is my girlfriend. We're friends of Leia and Han's."

Luke smiles."Yes, what a coincidence that you met up again here, of all places."

The irony of it strikes you - from the way Din squeezes your shoulder, he gets the same feeling. You shift your weight from one foot to the other, and you think you feel a bead of sweat run down your back.

Leia's brother looks from you to Din and then back again. His smile shifts slightly, to something softer, as he clasps his hands in front of his stomach, fingers interlaced.

"I must admit," he says, taking a pause like he's thinking over the words he wants to say, "I wanted to talk to you both for another, purely selfish reason."

You feel your heart drop into your stomach.

Luke continues, fiddling with his hands. "I'm sure you don't know this, but it's too big of a coincidence to go unmentioned. I've been taking care of Grogu at my school for the past three years. I recognized you from the photos left with him."

Both you and Din are utterly silent. Risking a glance up at your boyfriend, you see that his eyes are wide and his mouth is pressed into a thin, tense line.

"I don't mean to accuse you of anything. In fact, I wanted to thank you."

You blink, at first certain you didn't hear him right. "Pardon?"

Luke nods, laughing softly. "Yes. It was clear from the photos that you took wonderful care of him. I hold no judgement against you for anything you did. In fact, I'd argue you did the right thing, giving him some love and happiness while you could. I want you both to know that, and to know that he's doing great."

Your eyes are welling up with tears and your lower lip has curled downwards and before you can stop yourself, you're reaching out with both hands to envelop Luke in a hug. Din chuckles, but you can hear the emotion filling his voice even as he tries to keep it in.

"Thank you, Father," he says. "That means more to the both of us than you know."

Letting go of the young priest, you use the back of your hand to wipe away your tears.

Luke smiles, putting a hand on your arm. "I'm glad it does. As I said, it was clear from the photos how much you cared for him, and I can see that's still the case."

It's just then that you hear the telltale sound of Leia's voice growing closer.

"Oh, Luke, what have you done? Already making my friends cry? I swear, one minute you're taking dad's pickup to go down to Tosche, the next you're some kind of spiritual guru hellbent on bringing people to tears."

You laugh lightly at her teasing tone, waving off her concerns with newfound ease, thanks to what Luke has just told you.

"Happy tears," you tell her. "The happiest tears, in fact."

-

The year is 1996.

The week after he receives his college acceptance letter in the mail, Grogu finds an envelope on his pillow with his name on the front. Father Luke's characteristic blocky, uppercase writing in black ink tells the young man that this is something important.

He opens the envelope, using his index finger to tear along the seam, and an assortment of items falls out. 

Firstly, he picks up the letter and unfolds it, thin and delicate in the way that aging things are.

The words are like a revelation to him. He re-reads the note about five times before turning his attention to the other contents of the envelope, tears prickling behind his eyes. As an 18-year-old young man, he is not one to cry very often, but this is as close as he's ever come to knowing his past.

He picks up the small collection of photographs and flips through them with trembling hands.

There is a Post-It note on the very last one. He removes it without giving it much mind, eager to see the image beneath. It's of a man, the man seen in the rest of the photos, holding a child that Grogu recognizes to be himself. They're standing knee-deep in a small lake, wide smiles on both of their faces.

Grogu never knew his mother or father. These two strangers didn't either, it seems, but they carried him in these photos as if he was their own. 

The note stuck to his thumb catches his attention then. Two names and a phone number.

The first time you kissed him, you could taste the champagne he’d had earlier that night. Not enough to get drunk, or even really buzzed, but enough to leave his lips and tongue flavorful under your own.

His strong hand was wrapped around your waist, keeping you close, fingers steady over the thin fabric of your dress. Javi held you like this often - from lunches on your parents’ boat to strolling casually through the piazza, he had definitely adopted the Italian tendency to show public affection through touch. All your male friends here do it, but with him it’s different.

Javi is so very different.

Tonight he looks even more like a dashing prince than usual. His dark hair is perfectly messy and his white shirt is unbuttoned just enough, his leather shoes shiny and understated. You’d smiled when you noticed his shoes - they’re the first nice pair he’d been able to afford while living here.

You met him four months ago, when spring was ending and summer soon approaching. He arrived early for his studies abroad, an American political sciences major in the heart of Florence.

Hardly a penny to his name, on a meal plan and receiving a generous scholarship or two, Javi had no business flirting with you. He did it anyway, and you found yourself charmed by his roguish smile and kind eyes. He paid for your gelato, like a typical American gentleman would, and bought some of his own. He ordered the same flavors as you. He hasn’t tried anything different since.

As you kiss him, the sea wind sweeps over the two of you on the secluded terrace where you stand, causing goosebumps to flutter over your skin. You shiver, pressing closer to Javi’s warmth.

He breaks the kiss, looking down at you with a concerned crease between his brows.

“You cold?” he asks, voice rough and deep in a way you don't recognize.

You can’t help but smile at him. He’s so handsome, looking at you like this. Holding you close. “Only a little. You’re warm enough for both of us.”

“This dress,” he murmurs, eyes flitting down to look at your lips. His fingers toy with your dress’s low backline where his hand rests beneath your shoulder blades. “No wonder you’re chilly.”

When your parents first met Javi, they were skeptical. They thought he was taking advantage of you, that he’d insert himself into your life for your wealth and your name.

He’d spent the past four months convincing them otherwise. Now your mother loves him and your father smiles at his jokes, which is something that can’t be said for many people. You can count on one hand the number of people who have made your father laugh, and Javi’s one of them.

He wants to join the FBI, or the CIA. One of the two, you could never get the acronyms straight. He told you about how there’s rigorous training, both physical and professional, to even be considered. Javi keeps himself in good shape for this reason, though your cook’s fine meals have added a bit of softness to his midsection. He complains about it, but you secretly love it. He’s so strong and disciplined that it’s lovely to see just a hint of vice in his features.

You run a hand up his bicep, feeling the muscles that he keeps hidden beneath his shirt.

“Do you like it?” you ask demurely. You bought the dress last week with the express purpose of looking good for him.

Javi takes his hand from your hip and places it on your cheek, his touch tender and gentle.

“You always look beautiful. Especially tonight.”

The party’s for one of your friends from school. She’s moving to the UK to continue her studies and this is her last big hurrah. You’d been invited, with the option for a plus-one, and Javi was the obvious choice.

You’d felt the gazes of the girls in attendance on you and Javi when you both arrived. He’s a few years older than you are, but you know they’re looking because they’ve never seen him before. He’s not part of the rotation of wealthy Florentine boys they all seem to cycle through like clockwork. He’s a stranger, and most importantly, he’s got you on his arm.

The music plays in the distance. Voices float up through the evening air, laughing and exuberant.

You lean into his touch, eyes closing against the comfort you feel with your cheek in his palm.

This must be what heaven feels like.

Javi had taken it slow with you. He earned your friendship before anything else, chatting with you about life and TV and his favorite sports teams back home. He told you about Texas, though when you expressed a desire to visit his hometown, he’d scoffed, calling the place a ‘shithole’.

You still want to visit, someday. Shithole or not.

Perhaps your friendship was the reason things did not progress very quickly between you. You knew he found you attractive and you most definitely felt the same, but for the longest time it just didn’t feel right to try and move things along.

There’d be moments, however, when you wished so desperately that he was yours it almost physically hurt.

One such moment was late one afternoon, on the deck of your family boat. You’d gotten out of the water first and you stood there, watching, as he emerged from the waves in his short swim trunks, the synthetic material clinging to his body ever so perfectly.

You’d seen the outline of… well. You’d seen the outline of something big, something that made you blush and look away, distracting yourself with drying your hair.

Another of these moments was an unremarkable Friday morning spent in one of your favorite bookshops, not too far from Javi's student apartment. You'd been browsing the shelves as he stood outside to smoke. Before long, you found a few paperbacks that looked interesting, and you paid for them with a kind smile to the elderly gentleman working at the register.

You'd exited with a "grazie!" and that's when you'd noticed Javi was speaking to someone, eyes bright and posture relaxed as he exhaled smoke through his nose.

He smiled at you the moment you exited the shop, and as you walked over, you listened to their conversation.

Javi was speaking to the stranger in Spanish. You recognized the sound of it, but could not understand it, having learned English and French and Arabic in your youth.

The other man, older with a salt-and-pepper beard, glanced over to you and then back at Javi. You stood beside your friend, books tucked safely under your arm.

"¿Esta es tu novia, Javier?"

The words caused Javi to blush, but he covered it by taking a drag from his cigarette.

"No, aún no. Algún día pronto."

It was the first time you'd heard him speak Spanish. The words rolled off his tongue with such ease that you couldn't help but glance up at him, intrigued by this new lilt to his voice. You wanted to hear more of it.

Javi snaked his hand around your back to your hip, fingers tucking into the belt loops on your jeans, and he pulled you into his side. You went easily, the motion a familiar one.

But something about hearing him converse in his first language, combined with the feeling of his firm hand on your hip, made something inside your heart shift. It was a small moment, miniscule in the grand order of things. It meant so very much to you.

Javi’s compliment makes you smile softly, his gaze full of such tenderness that it makes your heart ache. You put a hand on his chest, your cool palm a stark contrast to his furnace of a pectoral.

“You don’t look too bad yourself, Peña.”

He chuckles, smiling, his breath a short burst across your face that makes your hair flutter.

Javi's always been good at avoiding praise. "I look the same as always, hermosa."

You run a hand up his shoulder and neck to tangle in his dark curls, warm at the base of his skull. He smells like the cologne you'd helped him pick out - something from a small shop he'd never have found on his own, something woody and deep and fragrant. It was mostly selfish, that shopping trip, because all it makes you want to do is bury your nose in the collar of his shirt where the aroma is strongest. You think you could breathe in that scent for the rest of your life and never get tired of it.

"Exactly," you murmur, glancing over his shoulder at the glittering coastline and then back up to him. "You always look handsome."

It's impossible for him to hide his blush this close. "Yeah?" he asks, like he doesn't believe you. Like he wants to hear you say it again.

"Yes. Even when you wear those ugly sports shirts.”

He makes a face like he’s offended, and you laugh. “Hey, you can never go wrong with a Cowboys jersey.”

You smile and lean up to press a kiss to the corner of his mouth. It seems as though now that you’ve started, you’re trying to make up for all the times you haven’t kissed him.

Javi goes quiet, looking at you like you’re the most beautiful girl in the world. You decide to open your heart just a bit more to him - it must be in the air, because something about the night is making your want of him that much stronger.

“I thought you were handsome the moment I saw you in the gelato shop," you tell him, thinking back on that day.

Usually Americans tended to annoy you, never conscious of local etiquette and manners, always too loud and disruptive - but Javi was so sweet. His brown eyes had glimmered at you like jewels, his lips quirked in a smile that gave life to a thousand butterflies in your stomach.

He'd sat with you for over an hour, listening to you like he'd known you your whole life. The warm sun gave his skin a glow that you remember clearly to this day. Long after you both had finished your food, he was there, as if he had all the time in the world for you.

Javi presses another soft kiss to your lips, slow and mesmerizing, before drawing back again.

"You looked so beautiful," he murmurs, nose brushing against yours. "I never thought you'd give me the time of day."

You can't help but smile. "I knew I'd regret it if I didn't."

It feels like the two of you are on that balcony for the whole of the evening, the blissful joy of finally admitting your feelings - and having them reflected like a mirror in him - taking precedence over all the celebrating going on below you.

"Do you see them?" you ask, looking up at your boyfriend. It's been three years, but the thought of Din as solely and devotedly yours still puts butterflies in your stomach. You're partners more than anything - have been since the start, since Lubbock, really - but the term 'boyfriend' just hits you right in your sappy, teen-romance-loving heart.

He shakes his head, lips curled in a frown. The two of you aren't stuck looking for very long, because a waitress walks up to help you.

"Hey there! Welcome to Peli Motto's. Y'all need a table?"

Her southern accent is as thick as it is charming; you can't help but smile back, her positivity contagious. Din, however, seems to be unaffected. He squeezes your waist, bicep flexing against your back.

"We're here with the 'Dameron' party," he replies, voice tight and utterly professional.

The girl's smile widens. "Oh, great! They were just asking about the two ‘a you." She reaches over to a slot on the wall and grabs a couple of menus. "Follow me right this way."

You go first, following the waitress further into the building, with Din at your back. It was a strategic move on his part - walking behind you - and you realize this the moment you feel a hand grab at your ass through your shorts.

You just turn back and give him a look, one eyebrow raised. He's smirking, dark eyes playful in the low light of the bar. You roll your eyes at his antics, but if you sway your hips just a tad more as you walk, well. That's no one's business but yours - and Din's.

The table is set back in a quiet corner of the bar - quiet only compared to the rest of the establishment, because the guys seated in the large, circular booth are raucous and rowdy enough as it is. This reunion was a long time coming. Poe and Finn - who live together here in New Orleans - planned the whole thing, partly as a reunion and partly to celebrate Cassian's return home from a stint abroad. It's the first time they've all been together in one place since Vietnam.

You and Din wouldn't miss it for the world.

Of the guys, you've met Boba, Poe, and Mayfeld thus far. You're eager to meet Finn and Cassian, because you've heard so much about them from Din and the other members of the group. Din told you that apparently Cassian's also got a girl he's bringing along: Jyn. They met overseas and she's visiting the states with Cassian while he's back. Din heard all of this from Poe, so neither of you have met her. 

The waitress shows you two to the table, and as soon as you’re in sight of the guys seated there, they let out a cacophony of whoops and hollers. You can’t help but smile, familiar and new faces alike calling out a welcome. 

Poe’s voice is the loudest, and since he’s on the end, he hops up to greet you and Din. 

“Well, look who it is!” he says, reaching out to pull you into a hug. You return his friendly embrace. 

“It’s good to see you, Poe.”

He pulls away and smiles down at you. From somewhere at your back, Din clears his throat. He steps forward to swat his friend on the shoulder. 

“Watch yourself, Dameron,” he growls, simultaneously putting an arm out to hug his friend. Everyone knows Dameron’s a natural flirt, so it’s all good-natured. The two guys pound each other on the back, as men always do, and break apart. 

When you look up at Din, you see he’s smiling.

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