The Coffeelorian

The markets of Mos Eisley are bustling with activity. Travelers and inhabitants pack the narrow passageways, making it difficult to move from stall to stall. It’s suffocating and the insufferable warmth radiating from the twin suns overhead only makes the experience more grueling. You’ve always hated Tatooine — you’d much prefer a blizzard in the barren tundra of Hoth to a sandstorm in the Dune Sea. Your only reprieve from the heat in the bustling crowd is the way they wordlessly part in front of you on instinct due to the beskar clad figure looming directly behind you like an imposing shadow — your Mandalorian. He wouldn’t bring you here if he had any other choice, but Peli is the only mechanic he trusts with the Razor Crest’s repairs and Mos Eisley’s salvage stalls are the only place in the galaxy that have parts compatible with the pre-Imperial vessel. 

Your eyes scan the merchandise until you find the familiar shape of an old ST-70 left engine deflector shield. The Razor Crest’s had gotten damaged during your last dogfight and now the engine is overheating while reaching hyperspace. Peli informed you both that if a new deflector shield isn’t installed, then your next jump into hyperspace could be your last. You stop at the stall to inspect the part — it’s a little worn, definitely used, but it sure looks better than the cracked piece of useless metal that is on your ship now. 

“How’s this look, Mando?”

You turn around expecting to meet his visor, but instead, find the Mandalorian scanning the crowd from his position at your flank. His helmet moves slowly from left to right, carefully scanning your surroundings. A small smile tugs at your lips as you watch him observe the environment. Where everyone else around you may perceive him as a threatening force, you only see your watchful protector. Even now as he stands close enough for you to feel the warmth of the suns radiating off his dark beskar, you feel immensely calm due to his unshakable security. Most would call him paranoid for his diligence; however, you understand his reservations with being in such a crowded place. Afterall, you met him because of a bounty placed on your head. 

It was after the Mandalorians had raised hell on Nevarro — after Mando had forsaken guild code in order to save the child that’s currently safe on the Razor Crest with Peli. He was desperate for credits and was offered a job to find and execute a human disrupting trade routes out of Endor. Mando wasn’t in the position to ask any questions, until he found you hiding out in the forest with a tribe of Ewoks. Turns out the man who hired Mando had a team on the planet stealing from the natives in order to profit by selling their goods and resources throughout the system — you weren’t disrupting essential trade routes, you were simply protecting a tribe that had taken you in. He knew the weight of that responsibility well and he’s always had a soft spot for those just trying to do the right thing despite the circumstances of the galaxy. So, instead of completing his mission he accepted a new one: help you take down the band of mercenaries stealing supplies from the Ewoks. In return for his assistance, you vowed to join him in his quest to protect the child from Imperial forces.

It’s been years since your first encounter on Endor and your Mandalorian is still wary of anyone who gives you a second glance. In the time spent traveling by his side, you realized even though he may be a man of few words, the man standing defensively behind you shows his affection through smaller acts of service — which includes watching your back as you look at salvaged parts. 

“Din?”

His visor finally moves to face in your direction at the sound of his name — his real name. A name he revealed in the privacy of the Razor Crest’s cabin late one night about a standard year into your ventures together. You’d been attempting to put Grogu to sleep, a task that was becoming harder as he grew in age and strength. After he finally drifted to sleep, you made your way to the cabin to see if your Mandalorian needed anything from you before you also got some rest. He didn’t need to turn around to know it was you approaching him — he’d memorized your footsteps a long time ago — and yet he still spun his chair to face you. 

“You good for the next few hours?”

He nodded in response — a man of few words. You gave him a tired smile and he was suddenly grateful for the helmet covering his expression because he knows that the cool planes of beskar hide a growing tenderness that makes him increasingly uncomfortable. 

“Alright, y’know the drill — wake me if you need anything.”

Another nod in response and instead of turning around to face the controls like you’d expect, his visor maintains its focus on you. His head tilts up slightly to meet your gaze from his seat, exposing a thin sliver of tan skin between the beskar and dark, wool fabric. Your eyes are immediately drawn to the sight and your breath catches. His head cocks to the side at your silence, exposing even more skin and you’re embarrassed by the way you yearn to know the man that’s underneath the metal. 

You definitely need some sleep. 

“Night, Mando.”

You turn on your heel to leave him for the night, but his voice stops you in your tracks.

“Din.”

His voice is soft, even through the helmet’s modulator. 

“What?”

“My name is Din Djarin.”

Your mouth goes dry at the revelation. The atmosphere in the cockpit of the Razor Crest suddenly shifts into something more intimate. He shifts in his seat slightly as the silence continues. You’re usually the talker, but what he just told you has left you completely speechless.

“Din is my family name.”

His family name. Those words weigh heavy on your heart. He had once told you about his homeworld — the one he knew before his upbringing on Concordia. About the Separatist invasion that occurred early in his youth. About the slaughter of his people by heartless battle droids. It was his first moment of vulnerability with you on the Razor Crest — the first time he let you see beneath the beskar for just a second. Movement rips you from your thoughts and your face softens as you notice Mando fidgeting nervously with his gloves. 

“Din.”

His head shoots up at the sound and his hands still. Beneath the visor, you know his eyes are boring into you. The thought almost makes you squirm — the moment of vulnerability feels foreign in this environment. Still, you allow him the time he needs to process. Afterall, he most likely hadn’t heard that name since he lived on Aq Vetina — yet another thing the Separatists took from him on that fateful night. Your heart wrenches for the man sitting in front of you. For the boy he once was — before Death Watch, before the beskar. 

You say the name again. The word feels heavy on your tongue, but a smile spreads across your features as the Din’s head cocks to the side. 

He looks at you the same way now. Even after the countless rotations that have passed since that night, he still regards you with his head tilted slightly to the right — an affectionate gesture, at least when it comes to you. You bite down hard on your inner cheek to stop the smile that begs to spread across your face at the sight — because despite his best efforts at looking intimidating, the way he’s looking down at you is undeniably cute. 

“How’s this one look?”

Din’s helmet moves slightly toward the object you’re pointing at as he takes a step forward, invading your personal space. Your breath catches when his beskar presses lightly against your back as he inspects the deflector shield over your shoulder. You hear him hum softly, the voice modulator doesn’t pick up the sound, but your proximity allows you to hear it from beneath the helmet. It’s uncharacteristically warm — it makes you wonder how his voice would sound without the helmet on. 

“Looks good enough to me.”

The Mandalorian shrugs his shoulders slightly and takes a step back. You immediately miss the feeling of his body behind you, but shake it off in order to barter for the piece you desperately need. Din appreciates the way you stand your ground in the market — he’s never been good with people, but you always seem to understand exactly what to say no matter the circumstance. You’ve gotten him and the kid out of some tough spots with nothing more than your wit and charm on several occasions, but he was always there behind you with a hand on his blaster just in case things went sideways. Even now, as he watches you haggle the price down with the stall owner, his hand rests against his thigh just above his blaster — you can never be too careful, especially on Tatooine. Once you bring the price down enough for your satisfaction, you turn around and outstretch a hand to the man standing behind you. Din wordlessly unclips a pouch from his belt and drops it into your hand. You smile at him before turning back towards the stall owner, the sight worth more than credits can buy. His head tilts as he studies you, something he’s found himself doing more recently. There’s just something about you that draws him in, something that’s becoming harder to resist the longer he spends by your side. He thought about ending your arrangement awhile ago, but he’s certain he wouldn’t be able to breathe without knowing you’re safe beside him — wherever you go, he goes. 

You turn around, placing the deflector shield in the old rucksack slung across your shoulders before sliding the pouch of credits back into his hand. Din sucks in a breath, immediately wishing that the leather of his gloves would disappear so he could feel the sensation of your hand against his. He wraps his fingers around the credits like they’re his only lifeline, fist clenching tightly in an attempt to keep his resolve. 

“You good?”

You peer up at him and he swears that you can see right through his beskar. His visor hides the smile pulling at his lips as he nods at you. 

“You?”

Your smile matches his own, not that you can tell. You move your hand up to your face, wiping the sweat from your forehead before answering.

“Just tired of this heat.”

Din chuckles at that in understanding. Even though he’s gotten used to the uncomfortability that comes from wearing head-to-toe armor, the twin suns high in the afternoon sky are practically baking him in his beskar.

“You thirsty?”

Your smile grows in understanding. It’s not often that the two of you have time to spare when visiting Tatooine, but on the rare occasion that there is a moment of down time Din would offer to buy you a drink at Chalmun's Cantina. 

“Very.”

Din extends his arm out, motioning for you to lead the way. You brush past the Mandalorian and you don’t need to look over your shoulder to make sure he’s following — there’s nowhere in the world you wouldn’t be able to feel Din’s presence, even the crowded alleys of Mos Eisley. 

The cantina is a welcome reprieve from the blistering heat of Tatooine, but it is equally as crowded as the market. Din finds a small booth in a dim corner and leaves you only to buy a drink at the bar. Your hand settles on the blaster at your hip — the blaster Din gifted you on life day during your second standard year together. Locals tend to leave you alone, they’re aware that you’re under the protection of the Mandalorian that frequents the establishment; however, Mos Eisley is a popular spot for traveling bounty hunters and smugglers. To your dismay, you seem to have attracted the attention of a young, olive skinned Twi’lek in standard bounty hunter gear. The man saunters over to your booth and your hand tightens around the grip of your blaster. He places both of his hands on the table and leans over you, your head tilts up to meet his eyes. He’s attempting to make himself look taller by invading your personal space. You wonder if this is an attempt at intimidation — or worse, an attempt to impress you. 

“Can I buy you a drink, ma sareen?”

Before you can form an answer, there’s already a blaster pressed into the Twi-lek’s back.

“Too slow, vaar’ika.”

Din places the drink down on the table with a heavy thunk and slides it towards you. You wrap your hand around the cool glass filled with neon blue liquid and take a sip before smiling sweetly up at the Mandalorian. Your eyes then drift to the Twi’lek who hasn’t moved an inch. You arch a brow at the young bounty hunter before speaking.

“Looks like Mando already beat you to it.”

The Twi’lek growls, barring his teeth at you. Din presses the blaster deeper into his back in response. 

“Mind your manners.”

Din’s voice is ice cold, the voice modulator of the helmet eliminating the warmth you heard earlier today from his tone, which makes his words even more threatening. It’s moments like this when you realize just how dangerous the Mandalorian truly is. He could drop the Twi’lek without breaking a sweat — and he would without a second thought if the Twi’lek even thought about hurting you. The Twi’lek huffs out a frustrated breath before making his way back to a group of bounty hunters in the opposite corner of the cantina. Din watches him for several moments before holstering his blaster and sliding into the booth on the opposite side of you. You watch his shoulders relax as his visor focuses back on you.

“You ever get tired of being my bodyguard?”

Din’s head tilts at your question, like he can’t believe you’ve asked it and he answers immediately.

“No.” 

You take another sip of your drink, attempting to hide the smile spreading across your features due to his response. Din notices. He notices everything about you — like the way you immediately change the subject. He doesn’t mind. By now, the two of you have established a comfortable ritual at the cantina. You talk and he listens. Occasionally, you ask him a question and he obliges you with an answer, but he’d much rather hear the sound of your voice.

You’re halfway through a story when a commotion from the other side of the cantina interrupts you. Din’s visor immediately moves toward the group of bounty hunters who are now fighting amongst themselves. He scoffs as he realizes that the olive skinned Twi’lek from earlier isn’t with them — he must have left to save himself from further embarrassment. Your head moves to follow Din’s gaze and you sigh as one of them pulls out their blaster, pointing it at one of his fellow men. You finish your drink and give Din a disappointed look. 

All good things must come to an end. 

Din gets up first, allowing his body to block you from the possibility of any misfire. He really never gets tired of being your bodyguard — he watches over you like it’s his life’s sworn purpose. The two of you exit the cantina. The heat has dissipated slightly, but it still hits you like a punch to the face. Still, you smile up at Din.

“You really do take me to the nicest places.”

He chuckles at your sarcasm, leading you towards the sparsely crowded passages that’ll take you back to Peli’s workshop. That is, until your touch stops him in his tracks. His visor moves to his arm, where your hand has found its place between two of his beskar plates. He can feel the warmth of your touch through the fabric of his flight suit. The sensation makes his brain short circuit. He tilts his head back up and finds you already looking at him — the playful glint in your eye has been replaced with a devastatingly beautiful tenderness. 

“Hey, Mando!”

Din groans in frustration as he tears his attention away from you, spotting the Twi’lek from earlier. He must have followed you both from the cantina; however, Din was certain that he had left before the two of you. Either way, he’s tired of the man’s continued presence.

“Who’s too slow now?”

Din watches as the Twi’lek pulls out his blaster. He grabs his in return and aims; however, the olive skinned man beats him to the trigger. Din expects the bolt from the opposing blaster to ping off his armor, but it moves past him in slow motion. He moves on instinct, realizing too late that the shot was never meant for him — the Twi’lek was aiming for you. His hands move to pull you towards his body, out of the line of fire. A sharp gasp escapes your lips. Din hopes that it’s because of the sudden movement, but as your hand moves to hold your side he knows he was too late. 

“No.”

Not you, not now. He cannot lose you. 

His visor immediately finds the Twi’lek, still standing smugly at the entrance of the passageway. A growl rips through his throat as he raises his blaster once more with frightening speed before firing three shots at the Twi’lek. Once the assailant's body is lifeless on the ground, he focuses his attention back on you. His hands cover yours at your side before his visor focuses on your face.

“You’re okay. You’re going to be okay.”

You nod at his words, though you’re unsure if he’s attempting to convince you or himself. Either way, he seems to relax slightly at your coherent response.

“We gotta make it back to the Razor Crest. Can you walk?”

You take a careful step forward, gritting your teeth through the searing pain. Din moves to your side, wrapping a solid arm around you so you can lean against him for support. The journey back to Peli’s workshop is grueling. Between the pain in your side and the blistering heat, it’s a miracle that you don’t pass out. Din spends the trip carrying the brunt of your weight, mumbling an apology every time you wince. 

“What the hell happened out there?”

Peli questions the Mandalorian as soon as he enters the workshop. He throws the mechanic a look over his shoulder before answering.

“What’s it look like? I have a med kit on the Crest.”

“Well, did you at least get the part I need?”

Din huffs out a frustrated breath before yanking the rucksack off of you and throwing it at Peli. The mechanic catches the bag with ease before eyeing the deflector shield inside.

“Keep the kid off the ship!”

Din yells over his shoulder, but Peli is too busy assessing the part the two of you picked up. He lets out a frustrated sigh before hauling you up the ramp of the Razor Crest. Din places you gently down on the worn bench where you and Grogu eat meals together. He moves quickly, grabbing the med kit from the cluttered supply closet and dumping its contents on the small table beside you. Din kneels down in front of you, glancing up at your face before pulling your tunic up slightly so he can get a look at the wound. He sucks in a sharp breath at the sight. Your eyes follow nervously, but you let out a sigh of relief — the bolt simply grazed the skin on your right side. It will probably scar; however, the injury will heal fairly quickly. Din’s posture, though, is anything but relieved. 

“Din, I’m okay.”

You attempt to soothe his worries; however, it seems that your words fall on deaf ears. He grabs a stimpack from the table — his fingers clutch the container so tight you’re worried it might shatter as he administers it to you. You grimace at the sharp pain in your side from the injection, but are grateful for the way your pain subsides to a dull ache almost immediately. Din mumbles an apology before moving to grab a bandage. He struggles to remove the adhesive backing, fumbling due to the fabric covering his hands. A string of Mando’a expletives escapes his mouth as he drops the bandage before frustratedly peeling off his gloves and unceremoniously tossing them on the floor with the discarded stimpack. Your eyes are instantly drawn to the tan skin he just unveiled — the scars that litter his bruised knuckles and the veins that trail up towards his forearms. And then you notice the way that his hands tremble as he moves to grab the bandage again. You grab them with your own in order to ground him back in this moment. Din immediately stills. Your touch is electric — his skin is buzzing due to the contact. And then you sweep your thumb gently over one of his swollen knuckles and his heartbeat is ringing in his ears. A part of him wonders if you can hear it through the layers of fabric and beskar.

He’s been careful to avoid this — the addictive sensation of your soft skin against his. Every time he’s had to patch you up in the past, his dark gloves have been a barrier between you both. But the heat of Tatooine and the anxiety making its home in his bones had his palms sweating uncomfortably against the heavy leather. The fabric kept sliding against his slick skin, making all fine motor skills damn near impossible. He never expected you to capture his hands with your own. But you did and there’s no going back. He never knew what he was missing, but now he does — he was a man dying of thirst and you're an oasis. 

The adrenaline coursing through his veins has him moving forward without a second thought, resting his beskar clad forehead against yours. The cool metal feels like heaven against your sunbaked skin; however, a selfish part of you wonders what this would feel like without the beskar barrier. The meer thought crossing your mind has guilt immediately clawing up your throat. This should be enough — it’s more than you ever thought was possible when you first started traveling with the Mandalorian. However, every time Din offers you a new piece of himself, you yearn for another. Your hands involuntarily tighten around his and you swear you hear Din whimper through the helmet. He’s desperately trying to regain his self control, but he’s overwhelmed by the fact that your hands grasping his is no longer enough contact.

“Do you trust me?”

You pull your forehead away from his and stare into his visor. He feels infinitely small under your gaze. Once again, he swears you can see through the beskar.

“Of course.”

Your immediate answer relieves some of the anxiety that’s built up in his chest. He trusts you implicitly — more than anyone in the galaxy. He’s glad that he’s earned even an ounce of that from you.

“Close your eyes.”

You do as you’re told. Din’s heart is hammering against his chest as he musters up the courage for what’s next. He pulls his hands away from yours. The immediate frown that accompanies your expression has his lips quirking up into a small smile. His fingers tremble as he reaches up and grabs the edge of beskar under his chin. The helmet slides off easily and a gasp escapes your lips as you hear the metal clang against the floor. Din blinks once, then twice — attempting to adjust his vision to the unfamiliar light. And once his eyesight clears, it feels like he’s looking at you for the first time. And gods, you are beautiful.

“Please don’t open your eyes, cyar’ika.”

Your heart clenches as his voice graces your ears. The Mando’a term of endearment has never sounded sweeter. His timbre is soft and warm without the voice modulator — it’s how you’ve always imagined his voice would sound. The Mandalorian may be cold and intimidating by nature due to necessity. But Din — your Din — sounds like sunshine. You nod at his plea. Although you wish you could get just a glimpse at the man standing before you, you’d never do anything to break the careful, steadfast trust built between you both. 

He moves closer to you, invading your personal space more than he’s ever allowed before. Your breath catches in your chest as you feel the heat radiating off of his body. And then he reaches out, gently guiding your hands to his face. You realize immediately what this gesture means — you may not be able to open your eyes due to his oaths, but this is his way of allowing you to see him. Din’s eyes flutter closed as your fingers roam the gentle planes of his features. A small laugh bubbles in your throat as his short stubble prickles your finger tips. To Din, the sound is heavenly. And then you card your fingers through his curls — the noise that escapes him is vulnerable and desperate. He never knew how starved he was for your touch and now that he’s felt it, his hunger feels damn near insatiable. He moves forward slowly, pressing his forehead against yours once again. Your hands immediately still as you feel his breaths fan against your cheeks.

You’re starting to think that Twi’lek did more than graze your side with his blaster outside of the cantina — that your body is actually unconsciously sprawled against the sands of Tatooine. Because this is a dream — heaven, really — and you never want to wake up. 

“I’m sorry this is all I can give you.”

His voice is impossibly quiet and you can hear the shame permeating through his words. You gently shake your head against his. Doesn’t he know what this means to you? How you know that he’s already given more of himself to you than his creed allows? Your hands move, cradling his face.

“This is everything, Din.”

He laughs — really laughs — at that. The sound is melodic. And with a newfound confidence, Din greedily presses his lips against yours. Your hands find their way to his soft locks once more as his pull your body against the harsh planes of beskar armor, careful of your injury. The kiss is desperate and messy — years of built up tension finally breaking through your haphazard affections. When you finally break the kiss, gasping for breath, Din doesn’t let you go far. His knuckle caresses your cheekbone as he openly admires your flushed features. And when he speaks, his voice is overflowing with unbridled devotion.

You walk through the base, you wrap your robe around you and rub your shoulders.

You try to shake your nightmare off. You couldn’t. The image of your friend Jyn being killed replayed in your head. You shake these images away. Maybe some warm blue milk will help you get back to sleep.

You make your way into the cafeteria, there were a few stragglers there. You payed no mind to them. Though a familiar figure caught your eye.

Bodhi Rook.

He was hunched over, holding what would you know? Blue milk. His long dark locks were not tied back in a bun, he didn’t have his goggles. He looked…comfortable.

The blue milk immediately left your mind. You walked over to him and gently place a hand on his shoulder.

He jumped but ever so slightly. “Oh, hello Y/n. Why are you still up?” Concern was heavy in his voice.

You sigh and sit by him at the table. You scratch at the table. “I get dreams.”

“Nightmares?” Bodhi asks.

“Yeah. If they can even be called that. I feel like it’s worse than just nightmares.” You shake your head. “It almost feels like… something or someone is calling to me, and i can’t help them.”

“Y/n I’m so sorry. That sounds terrible. Not being able to let your mind rest, I understand that.” Bodhi reaches over and places his hand on top yours. he rubs his hand across your knuckles softly. his hands were rough, but his touch was the opposite.

“Thanks Bodhi. It’s hard not being able to trust your own mind.” You say looking down. “I feel like there’s something fundamentally wrong with me.”

“Nothing is wrong with you Y/n. I’ve only known you a few short weeks and you’ve been the kindest one to me here. You don’t turn away from me, you don’t look at me as if i’m still apart of the empire.”

“Never Bodhi, you defected. You left, that part of your life is done. You have so much you can do now. You freed yourself.”

Bodhi huffs and smiles. “I wouldn’t go that far.” He looks at your joined hands. His heart warms at the sight.

“I would,” you say in response. You knew bringing Bodhi to Yavin could be a danger. You worried about how other rebels might see him. But Bodhi was smarter, he knew how to handle himself. Plus having K2 also helps.

“Do you want some milk?” He asks. “Sometimes it helps me sleep, especially when it’s warm.”

You nod, “I would love some Bodhi thank you. That’s actually why I came down here.”

“Warm blue milk helps you sleep too?” Bodhi asks, a smile on his face.

“Yeah, it does. It’s also kind of a guilty pleasure for me.” You admit shaking your head.

Bodhi just nods and goes off to get the milk. You watch his figure as he moves. You could tell he was still learning his way around.

He comes back with two mugs. “Here you are,” he hands you the mug.

You thank him. The mug immediately warms your palms. You take a sip and let the warmth engulf you. You hummed in response.

“That good huh?”

A smile grows on your face, “Yeah, it’ll do. Thank you again.”

Bodhi raises a hand. “It’s all right. No need to thank me Y/n.”

You look down at your mug and smiled. You were glad you came down here when you did.

“So you you get them too? Nightmares I mean…”

“Yes, I do. Mostly about the life I did have, but they’re less and less now. Ever since meeting you-I mean, just coming here has helped. I know I’m safe here. For now at least.”

“For now?” You asked.

“For now. Everything still seems so…unknown.”

“Is there anything that you know for sure?” You asked curiously.

“Yes, there is someone.” Body replies. He rubs his hand on his neck. “But that’s for another time.”

You didn’t dare push back. Bodhi oils tell you something when he was ready, you never pushed him.

“I’m glad I came down here when I did.” You admit to him.

“I am too.”

“We should do more of thee then. We can call them our… milk dates…” You trail off. Milk date?? What?

Bodhi let’s out a laugh. “That sounds brilliant! Can this be our official first milk date?”

Y/n nods. “Only if it’s with you Bodhi. Only you…”

He presses a soft kiss to your lips this time, chuckling softly. “Mhm,” He hums against you. “Missed my girls. Thought I’d come back a bit early.”

You smile and lean into him even more as he begins to pepper kisses all over your shoulders and collarbones. “Yeah?” 

He hums against your sternum, continuing to cover you in kisses. 

Rex was always extra needy when he returned from a mission. Even just a few days away left him in agony. He hated being apart from you and your daughter, he worried about the two of you every second he was gone. The work he was doing was important, of course, he knew that. His brothers needed him, needed his help, his guidance. But selfishly, sometimes he wished that he could throw that part of him away and just lock himself up with his precious girls.

“Always miss you,” He mumbles, his hand slithering under your, Rex’s actually, t-shirt his warm, calloused hands splaying over your stomach. “Never going away again.”

You giggle and turn fully now, facing him, your fingers reaching up to cradle through his hair, which had grown out a little from his usual buzzed look. “Sounds good to me,” You murmur, nuzzling into his neck.

Rex shuffled the duvet up further over the two of you as he held you close. “Go back to sleep, sweetheart. We should have a couple more hours before the little monster wakes up.”

He holds you tight in his arms, and you are content and happy as can be as you begin to lull back to sleep. You always slept best this way. You were the safest you could possibly be, held close and tight by the man you love, knowing he's safe and not away somewhere getting shot at. 

But mornings in your home never stayed that peaceful for long, not when you have a two-year-old anyway.

Your bedroom door creaked open, yours and Rex’s eyes opening along with it. 

“Mama, when will-” Your daughter peeked her head into the room, her tooka pyjamas riding up one of her legs. She was also carrying her little bantha plush toy, one that Rex had got her when he returned from a mission a few months back.

She cut herself off from whatever she was about to ask, no doubt about when her papa would be home, before she spotted Rex in his spot in bed, her face beaming with light and a large, toothy smile. “Papa!”

Before Rex could even untangle himself from you, she was already climbing up on the bed and jumping on top of him. Rex chuckled at her, taking her into his arms, her own arms wrapping around his neck.

She gave him a big smile. “I missed you sooo much!” She declared, pulling back so she could sit in his lap. 

Rex grinned at her, the two staring at each other with identical sets of eyes. “I missed you too, baby.”

She giggles. “I missed you more!” 

Rex raised an eyebrow, a smirk hanging from his lips. “Not possible.”

Your daughter shakes her head and continues giggling before stretching her arms out in front of him. “Uh-huh, I missed you this much!”

“Really now?” Rex laughed, grabbing her to pull her closer. “Okay, well. I missed you this much!” Rex says as he begins to tickle her sides, peppering kisses over her face as she squirms closer to him by instinct.

She shrieks with laughter as Rex kisses every single part of her face, letting out overdramatic noises. 

She begs you for mercy, which is funny since she hadn't even registered you were there until now. “Mama, help! Help!” 

Her giggles fill the room, a sound you or Rex could never tire of. You laugh as your husband continues to tickle her, seeking every missed laugh and giggle. 

“Papa!” She continues to giggle. “But I made your favourite biscuits for you!” 

Rex stopped at that, his expression full of feigned surprise. Your daughter falls into the small gap between you and Rex, a few giggles still escaping from her lips. “You made me my favourite biscuits?” 

She laughs again, reaching up to hold his face. “And I decorated them blue! Your favourite colour!”

Rex laughs, expression full of happiness and love. “You did?”

“Uh huh!” Your daughter says proudly. “Can we eat them now?”

You and Rex catch each other's eyes, both of you knowing that this was coming. You reach over to kiss your daughter's forehead, your smile wide. “It's a bit early for biscuits, baby.”

She immediately pouts and turns to her dad, giving him her best puppy-dog eyes. She knows that she has him wrapped around her finger. “Papa, pleaseeee.” She prolongs the please, her eyes wide and full of hope.

Rex looks at you and chuckles as you roll your eyes. “I suppose. Just this once, though.”

Your daughter lets out a loud, “yay!” before she scrambles off the bed, grabbing Rex’s hand to pull him in the direction of the kitchen. You can't help but giggle at their antics, the two of them always getting up to no good when they're together. 

You can hear their laughter echoing through the kitchen, no doubt stuffing their faces with biscuits. You let them have their moment, you know she misses her dad so much whenever he's gone, and you know he misses his baby girl just as much.