#soft!!!

“I’ll call you a taxi,” Laurent said, which shouldn’t have felt like a slap to the face, which still did.

“Oh,” Damen managed. Then, “What?”

Laurent gave him a look, trying for scathing. Between the sniffling and the sneezing, it didn’t quite land as desired. The pout didn’t help.

“I’m not going to sleep with you tonight, Damianos.” In this obvious tone with half an eye-roll. Which, yeah. Damen—yeah.

“Oh-kay,” both eyebrows up. “I wasn't thinking—you're not feeling well.”

He just blinked at him. As if waiting for the moment Damen will go, ah, right, that, because yes, it was so obvious, wasn’t it. Grumpily: “It’s fine if you want me out.” It would even be understandable if Laurent had said he needed some space. They did spend every night together for the past… yeah, a good bit of time, so it shouldn’t bother him. In fact, Damen should probably be gagging for some time on his own, should, ah, be an adult about it. Should leave.

Didn’t. Stared back at blue eyes that kept narrowing. Laurent’s shoulders went up, and then down, pout sharpening into something else, worse. Through his teeth: “I’m not going to let you fuck me.”

Damen blanched, nodded, weirdly stung by the vehemence. "Of course not. You're ill, and, I get it. If you want me to leave you alone, it’s fine.” In a very convincing tone. Laurent seemed very convinced.

“I’m disgusting. A snotty, sweaty mess.”

He was—snotty and sweaty and puffy and red in the cheeks. And so fucking sweet it was tearing Damen apart, was squeezing something in his belly that might, will definitely crush him. “I just wanted,” he choked, shook his head. He’d imagined making Laurent many cups of tea and tucking him in and. Being ridiculous and clingy and with him. He’d imagined… five steps too far already. They'd only been seen each other a week. Laurent’s thin lips thinned alarmingly further.

“Wanted?” this inexplicable fury, his voice ice-cold.

“I thought to maybe make some soup? There’s carrots in the pantry and I thought I could make, never mind, it’s silly.” Flashbacks to giving Jokaste chocolates when she was on her period made his cheeks darken uncomfortably. Never ended well with her either.

Laurent’s mouth opened and closed twice and nothing came out. He cleared his throat. “Soup?”

1.5 of domestic, disgustingly-enamoured sweetness. Established relationship but in early stages; sick-fic but it's a minor cold and Laurent is being very brave about it; the level of smitten is. Extreme.

character: Din Djarin (The Mandalorian)

prompt: "You didn't deserve that... You deserve so much better."

masterlist

“Can I sit here?”

Mando’s helmet whips in your direction as soon as you utter the question. The fire in front of him crackles as it burns, casting a warm glow on his silver beskar. You gesture to the empty space beside him on the log. Mando nods and turns back around to face the fire as you take your place next to him.

The two of you sit in silence as you watch the fire. The close proximity to Mando is enough to keep you and your mind distracted. You haven’t known each other for long; you paths first crossed just a few months ago on Nevarro. You agreed to help him protect the child when things with the Guild turned sour. Many things have changed—including the way you feel about the Mandalorian.

The creaking of Mando’s gloved hands draws you out of your thoughts. You glance over to see him wringing his hands as if he’s nervous. Your thumb circles your palm as you gain the faith to speak.

“It’s been a long couple of weeks.” You look over at Mando to see him return your glance.

“It has.” Mando’s modulated voice is quieter than usual. You frown when he turns back to the fire. Worried by his behavior, you dare to press him for more.

“You seem troubled.” Mando freezes as you pause, swallowing hard before continuing. “The fight’s over and the farmers have been very hospitable.” You leave no room for excuses.

“You’re right.” Mando releases a heavy sigh as he leans forward and rests his elbows upon his knees. “It’s about the kid.”

Your blood runs cold as you lean closer to him. “What about him? Is he all right?”

Mando looks at you again. HIs gloved hands tighten into fists as he nods. “He’s safer here.”

You furrow your brow. “You want to stay here?”

Mando’s helmet falls. “I want to leave him here.” Before you can argue with him, Mando goes on. “But I’m... afraid I can’t.”

you are absolutely right, friend.