grogu's babysitter

Real heartbreak occurs quietly. It chips at you slowly; small cracks at first until you can no longer ignore the gaping wound in your chest. The missing center behind your ribcage. By the time you realize what has happened, the hole is too big to fill. The chasm impossible to bridge. They don’t tell you that it sneaks up on you, the curl of a cold-blooded snake around your neck that restricts your ability to breathe, to function. It hisses in your ear, a gentle whisper that only gets louder when the puncture isn’t tended to. 

Before you know it, the serpent has bared its teeth and sunk its poison into you. 

You didn’t think you would experience heartbreak with Dick Grayson. The man is loyal, loving. He anticipates your needs before you can even determine what’s missing. Raised to be observant and thoughtful, Dick is a fierce protector of those he cares about. You happen to be lucky enough to be one of them. 

You’ve seen how he is with his family, his friends, the people that he chooses to protect with his body, mind, and soul. There is not a thing he wouldn’t do to keep those he cherishes safe, even if it means sacrificing himself. 

Because of all this, Dick has to juggle one too many priorities. Not only are they things he already planned on doing, but he also has to account for the emergencies that crop up from time to time. Given that this is Blüdhaven, time to time means all the time. 

You’re used to it. Coming in second, that is. 

Your relationship with Dick is relatively new. Your dates aren’t life or death. So when he has to up and leave in the middle of dinner, it’s something you’ve grown accustomed to. The moment his phone vibrates on the table, you set your expectations. 

The first vibration, he ignores. 

The second one, his eyes flick down to his device before he refocuses on you.

Third time’s the charm. “Sorry,” he says sheepishly after you finish recounting your day. “Let me just check and make sure it isn’t anything urgent.”

But you already know the answer to that. It’s always urgent. It’s the city. You can’t blame him for it. Corruption is the norm in Blüdhaven; it bleeds through every crack and corner. From the police commissioner to the mayor, to the elites. Dick is ambitious, he thinks he can rid the city completely of its decrepit moral compass. 

The flicker of guilt that passes through his baby blues is the first sign. Then comes the sour curl of his lips when he realizes that he can’t disregard the threat alert from Oracle. Then comes the sympathetic look when he finally turns back to you. 

It’s that look that you can’t stand. That’s the one that always gets to you. Because you don’t want him to pity you. 

So you plaster a smile onto your lips and nod. “Go. The city needs you.”

Apologies automatically fall from his lips as he places a chaste kiss on your forehead, presses his credit card into your hands, and takes off. His dinner sits cold on the pristine white tablecloth. 

And you wonder if there will ever come a time when Blüdhaven will no longer need Nightwing. Or Dick Grayson. 

Maybe then you’ll have a chance at coming first. 

In his defense — and perhaps it comes from months of making excuses first for him as a friend and then as a lover, he does try. He tries to make time for you, slipping you into the little gaps he has in between investigations, philanthropic work, and patrols. It’s how you met him in the first place. 

Your job at the community center allowed you some governmental access which you used to help him take down a few bad apples in the mayor’s office. Small-time fry. But then he started doing more work for the people, building affordable housing and programming to help the city’s children, and you started seeing more of this elusive Dick Grayson. 

At first, you had been starstruck. The man is renowned all throughout the city — a savior to the good, a menace to the bad. The more time you spend with him, the more you learn about the Dick that he doesn’t show to the outside world. 

It’s the man who is weary down to the bone, cutting off one evil head only for two more to grow. It’s the man who bears the city’s burdens on his shoulders, carrying the weight of a million expectations with the limited resources that he has. It’s the man who slinks back into your arms after a long day and curls himself around you like it’s the only place he is meant to be. 

Falling in love with Dick had been all too easy. It’s like taking a nosedive off a cliff, knowing you’ll land in a wide-open ocean with a life jacket. 

When you find out that he also spends his nights as the masked hero Nightwing, he had been wary of how you would react. It’s ridiculous to think that you would feel anything other than pride when you see him in full gear for the first time. 

For some reason, Dick feels… further once you learn this fact. He already felt unattainable before —untouchable — as this generous, intelligent billionaire, heir to the famous Wayne family. Now that you know he is also a crime-fighting superhero, you feel those buried feelings of insecurity rise to the surface. The creeping voices clawing into your skin to question how you could ever be an adequate partner for him. 

How could you — someone so normal, so average — compare to the living legend Dick Grayson?

Of course, once the Nightwing gates are open, you also see the people he surrounds himself with. Martians. Kryptonians. Shapeshifters. Trained assassins. And Barbara Gordon — how do you even begin to describe Barbara Gordon?

Between Kori and Barbara, you were convinced that Dick had a thing for redheads. Dick reassured you that he really didn’t have a particular preference. No, no preference in terms of hair, but you can clearly see the pattern — all of his exes are skillful. Powerful. Hot.  

Gorgeous in a way that takes your breath away. Not only that, they’re fierce and bold and intelligent. They are out there saving the world day in and day out, whether it’s through ultraviolet energy projections or hacking into the most secure servers on the planet. 

That monster inside of you peeks around the corner with its talons out, ready to pierce through your fragile heart once more. You hate yourself for even thinking this way. It’s part of his job, these are his friends. You should feel lucky that you were even introduced to them. 

But that feeling has taken root and consumed your heart. Insufficient. Inadequate. Incapable. Who are you compared to all this greatness? 

It’s why you keep your head down, why you keep your mouth shut even as the fissures begin to appear in your heart. You disregard them, brush them off as a temporary blip in your confidence. You tell yourself that you’re lucky Dick’s even giving you the time of day. You can’t be another burden for him to bear. You should be making his life easier. 

So when he apologizes, you wave off his concern and tell him to go out there and save the world, Boy Wonder, because that’s what he does. The world comes first. You come second. It’s how it’s always been. It’s how it should be. 

The deeper you try to bury these feelings, these insecurities, the greater the cuts you slice inside your heart. You’re carving it out slowly, an excruciating process as you try to preserve what’s left of your emotions. 

Dick makes it up to you each time with flowers, with butterfly kisses, with the gentle touch of his hand. He promises you that next time will be better. He keeps his word. A few dates over the course of a few weeks, uninterrupted time, undivided attention. You’re on cloud nine by the time he drops you off at the doorstep, lingering for a fraction longer, enough time for you to invite him in to stay. 

He does. Every time. 

There are nights he returns to your side in uniform. His suit ripped, blood coating his skin crimson. These are times you’re reminded that he’s mortal. Human. You’re reminded that you could so easily lose him in all the work that he does. 

Nothing makes you feel more powerless than knowing that all you can do is help him tend to the aftermath. Your hands shake when you dab the antiseptic, when you wipe off all the red, when you wrap up the gauze around his body. 

You’re different from Barbara who guides him, who serves as his eyes and ears, and maps him a solution and exit each time. You’re different from Kori who fights alongside him with powers that he doesn’t have. You’re different from Bruce, Jason, Tim, and Damian, who know him in such intimate ways, moving in sync as he works through the city. 

You are someone watching from the sidelines. A character that could be so easily removed from his story, and nobody would blink twice. 

The thought pains you, but you suck it up and deal with it anyway. It’s easy to let these thoughts go when Dick murmurs saccharine sweet phrases into your neck. It’s easy to forget your place when he marks constellations across your body when he feels like having your company. 

You didn’t think it could get worse. You can only help. Right?

But you’re proven wrong the one time you’re all gathered at the Wayne Mansion. It’s a family dinner. The mood is light, the drinks are flowing, the food is delicious. Laughter ripples through the table and, for once, you aren’t overthinking your place at the table. 

That is, until an alarm sounds and everyone is immediately on high alert. They all seem to know what to do, whipping into action quickly while you sit there frozen. 

Dick gears up and then stiffens when he remembers you still at the dinner table, watching them all in awe and surprise. He looks at Alfred who is also preparing to help with the potential invasion of the mansion, then looks at you. “Stay here, okay? I’ll come get you when it’s safe.”

You open your mouth, ready to offer your assistance, but stop when you look around the room. How can you possibly even think about helping these heroes? They are the heroes of the story. You are the damsel in distress. 

“Okay,” is all you manage to say.

True to his word, Dick returns a few hours later. You’re right where he left you. He looks relieved to see you untouched, immediately coming up to you to inspect you. “Are you okay?”

Even when the worst is happening, his concern is on you. You’re adding more weight to his already hefty load. 

“I’m okay,” you reassure him. “Is everyone else okay?”

He softens and nods. “Yeah, they’re okay. Let’s get you home, yeah?” 

Dick’s kisses should’ve chased away those worries as they always have, but the feeling persists. It’s an itch you can’t scratch. An invisible scar you can’t heal. The feeling festers and grows, sprawling into this ugly hopelessness inside of you. 

It doesn’t disappear when Dick picks you up from work the next day, chattering on about the programs he is hoping to stand up with the help of the new mayor. 

It doesn’t disappear when the two of you run into Barbara outside of his apartment, telling him that there’s work to be done with Blockbuster.

It doesn’t disappear when Dick shoots you an apologetic look, asking for a rain check on your movie night — even when he’s already carrying the bags of popcorn and treats. 

The more you think about it, the more you consider where you stand with Dick. He’s already so busy with everything else. The last thing you want to be is another item on his checklist, another to-do to cross off. He already has enough on his plate, you don’t want to make it harder for him by adding another thing for him to complete. 

So you do what you thought was best. 

“I don’t think this is working out, Dick.”

Dick’s gaze falters, a shudder in his confidence. “What— why would you say that?”

“You’re very busy. You have a lot of things going on. I don’t think a relationship is a good idea right now.” Not for you, you add in your mind. This is for Dick, you remind yourself. This is to help him, the only way you know how. 

He’s quiet, lips pinched together as he frowns. The two of you were supposed to get lunch together, but you thought it best to sever it clean before the two of you sit down for what would likely be an awkward meal. So here you two are, standing in front of a restaurant. People mill about, barely paying you any mind. Some pause to look at Dick in admiration, but he is only looking at you. 

“Is this what you want?” His voice is lower when he asks this. 

No. But, of course, you don’t say that. 

“Yes. I think this is what’s best.”

A part of you wants him to resist, wants him to fight for you. That selfish part of you begs him to beg you to stay, to tell you that he wants this as much as you do. That he cares about you as much as you do him. 

But the responsible voice inside of you wants him to agree and walk away. 

Luckily – or not, he agrees with the latter. So the two of you hug and part ways. You walk away with shoulders held high and the tears streaming down your face. You don’t let him see it. You never want him to see it. 

And that’s the day you walked away from Dick Grayson.

It may be dramatic to say that there is your life before Dick and a life after him. You never thought you would ever consider romance to be the end-all-be-all of your life — and it isn’t. But Dick Grayson is something special, isn’t he? He isn’t just any romance. 

He is the romance. 

The type that sticks to you, a permanent fixture like he’s been tattooed and engraved into an everlasting mark on your skin. He clings to you like a persistent memory. No matter how many drinks you swallow, how many things you do to keep busy, you can’t seem to shake the thought of him when you’re alone.

The nights are the worst. The world inside your head is too quiet, even in a city like this one. Even when there are sirens blaring from every corner of your apartment and neon lights glare into your bedroom, you’re left to pick apart the decision you’ve made, constantly turning it over in your mind to determine whether it was the right one. 

There are nights when you find yourself reaching for your phone, your thumb hovering over his contact. It would be easy to call him, to ask for him back. You miss him, incredibly so. It would be so simple to send him a text saying as such. 

I miss you. What are you doing tonight?

Thinking of you, are you thinking of me?

I made a mistake. Will you have me again?

You try not to think about him, but the ask is akin to asking you not to breathe. Thinking about Dick comes naturally to you. It’s in the places you frequent, the ghost of him is the only constant lurking in the shadows. It’s the voice inside your head, calming you down when the city gets too much. It’s the absence that you feel the most — the sudden quiet when you don’t have him talking to you about his day, about his family, his friends, his ambition. The silence when he isn’t peppering you with follow-up questions about your week, sincerity and genuine curiosity entwined into his every syllable. 

And just as you’re swirling into this black hole, your phone lights up with an email reminder. A date the two of you were supposed to have. Movie tickets booked weeks ago because you had been so excited to see it, Dick had purchased the tickets immediately. With everything that has happened, you completely forgot to cancel it. 

However, instead of wallowing, you decide to go for it anyway. You’ve been cooped up in your home for too long, burying yourself under this mountain of self-despair. Quality time with your friends helped, but it didn’t cease the voices at night when you’re alone. 

The movie is good, it could’ve been better if you didn’t have this empty seat next to you. The theater is full and yet there is this one gap that sticks out like a sore thumb on opening night. Your mind is half on the movie and half imagining what it would be like to be here with Dick.

He would get popcorn ahead of time, with extra butter, just the way he knows you like it. He would get sweet tea, not cola, because he knows how you don’t like to pair bubbly drinks with airy snacks. He would let you hold onto the bucket and take it as an opportunity to reach closer to you whenever he grabs a handful, even sliding an arm around you to tuck you into his side. When the popcorn is gone, he would hold your hand, squeezing whenever he thinks you need the extra support. 

It’s an almost miserable experience. It’s pathetic how far gone you are for him that you can’t even enjoy time by yourself anymore.

But as they say, heartbreak is supposed to get easier with time. Eventually, you won’t remember what his touch felt like, the warmth of his body next to yours. You won’t think about him every time you pass by the basketball court he used to frequent to keep the neighborhood kids company. You won’t cry when you realize how many people you’ve gotten to know and lost in the process. You won’t think about him and you’ll remember that you can be perfectly content on your own again. 

You try not to fall under the weight of your worries as you step out of the theater. Everyone else filters out in pairs or groups, and you’re left standing there alone in the golden light that casts a glow across the rain-streaked sidewalk. You’re waiting for a cab. A cab that you will soon learn won’t find you. 

Not when you feel the breath down your neck.

“Aren’t you a pretty little bird?”

The unknown voice has you jumping, but not too far when a firm grip wraps around your bicep. Your eyes flash to betray your fear as you take in the masked assailant. He looks familiar, like a photograph hung somewhere in the back of your subconscious. Maybe one of Dick’s files that he tends to strew across your coffee table. 

“You’re Grayson’s girl. I’ve seen you around with him. Blockbuster’s going to want to see you.”

“I’m not— we’re not—” together, you want to say, but you don’t get a chance to finish your words when the man zaps you out cold. 

By the time you wake, there is a dull throbbing on your side where you’ve been electrocuted. The room smells of wastewater but looks relatively clean. You must be near the sewage plant. There is no one in the room and your eyes quickly dart around. What would Dick do in this moment? 

Your hands are tied up with a rope behind your back, feet against the legs of the chair. You systematically go through your surroundings. A shelf with all sorts of items. Books, random paraphernalia, and a glass bottle at the top. An idea pops up in your head, the films you watch finally coming in helpful; it might not be one that Dick approves, but he’s not here to scold you right now. 

Based on the distance and the weight of the chair, you scooch your way towards it. You use your shoulder to bump the shelf, rattling it with the little force you have. You can hear the bottle stumble a bit, but it’s not quite there yet.

Another hard push with your limited movement has it finally dropping on its side, rolling down the shelf until it lands, split in pieces, on the ground next to you. Now, you have to carefully drop yourself onto the floor, making sure you’re not getting the shards on your skin. There is no graceful way to do this, so you just tip yourself over. With your face pressed against the cold cement floor, your hands wriggle around behind you to grasp a piece of the glass, slicing the tip of your finger in the process, but at least you have this. 

Slowly, you use the jagged edge to cut through the rope. It’s an arduous process. The entire time, you’re praying that maybe — on the very off-chance — Dick is still keeping track of you. That he’ll notice your disappearance. Maybe he’ll come to your rescue. It’s a naive thought, but it’s the hope that you cling to.  

When your wrists are finally free, you get to work on your ankles. Another slice on your leg in your hurry to break free before your captors return. You don’t know where you are or how you plan to escape, but that tiny window looks promising. 

You’re halfway up the wall, standing on your chair, struggling to unlock the window when the front door swings open. You whip around and see the imposing figure duck into the room. Fuck. It’s Blockbuster. He is the man who’s been out for Dick’s blood for as long as you can remember. 

And now he has you, trapped in this room. His broad frame takes up nearly half the width of the space. You fiddle with the lock faster, praying for some miracle that you can escape in time. 

But the man doesn’t even give you a chance — his thick arms wrap around your torso before he lifts you up and throws you back onto the ground. If you didn’t know any better, you swear you hear bones cracking. The pain that shoots through you is fast, blistering, blinding. It’s hot-white and has your vision spotting. 

“Where do you think you’re going, pretty bird?” Blockbuster rumbles in vile amusement. “You’re not leaving this room. You’re not leaving this space until I get some answers.”

“Answers about what?” You spit out, the liquid coming out in a smattering of red on the grey floor. 

“Grayson. I want to know his weaknesses, his vulnerable points. I want to know everything there is to know about him to destroy him.”

The wide smile that stretches across his face has your stomach churning in disgust. He crouches on the floor, leans towards you, close enough that his platinum hair brushes against your face. 

“Or maybe you’re it. Maybe you’re his only weakness. Maybe I already have the pretty bird in my hands to take him down.”

“He’s not going to let you get away with this, or anything. He’s going to destroy you before you even come close to him.”

Blockbuster laughs, the sound booming. “This bird’s got claws. I can see why Grayson likes you. Don’t worry, pretty. I’ll break each one before you leave today. I’ll make sure you can’t sing for him anymore. I’ll make you squawk.” 

The threat settles in deep in your gut and your heart plummets six feet under. 

Then it begins. The beating, the brutalizing. You’re on the ground, against the wall, and flying through the air. Your face, your ribs, your hair, your legs, your arms. It goes on and on for what feels like hours. The only light you see is the one that hangs overhead, but even that begins to fade as your eyes struggle to stay open. Your chest heaves with heavy breaths, strained wheezes slipping past your lips in your desperate attempt to stay alive. The glass bits you were so adamant on avoiding before are now affixed to your skin like glitter. 

Your vision goes between white and red and pitch black. When you start to lose consciousness, he jolts you awake again. The only sounds ringing in your ear are his questions, now a jumbled blur of words, and a cacophony of foul laughter. 

You’ve never been religious but in those final moments, you pray. You pray for a savior. You pray that you’ll survive this. You pray that Dick doesn’t have to see you in your final moments.

Despite all that has happened, you like to hope that Dick still cares — and when Dick cares, you know he would live with this weight for the rest of his life. The last thing you want to leave him with is another burden to carry. 

Your ears start ringing from the abuse you’ve undergone. At some point, the pain no longer flares, it ebbs and flows as your body grows numb. Not a single part of you untouched. You don’t think the man even has questions anymore; he only takes ill gratification in the fact that he has destroyed something of Dick’s. 

You swear you hear a different voice, a different sound. No longer your screams or his laughter. A curse, a thud, a yell. Your brain can’t fully comprehend it, not when your senses can no longer be trusted. Not when they barely work. In the spread of red, you see glimpses of blue and black. 

You hear your name. You hear it before you feel a gentle touch, a brush that’s barely there on your head. 

Then it all goes black. 

“We need you to let her go. Sir, we are trying to help.”

“You don’t know what she’s gone through—”

“We will work to diagnose all her injuries. For now, we need you to let us do our jobs.”

“I’m surprised she’s still breathing. The damage she’s taken…”

“Let’s just get through this and let the family know.”

“Sir, this is family only—”

“I am her family,” Dick’s voice snaps back. You’ve never heard him raise his voice like that before. 

Then you hear someone else, more stern, still warm. Bruce. “If you’ll allow my son to stay with her, she doesn’t have family in the area. I’ll handle the paperwork, if you’ll lead me.”

“Sweet girl, I’m so sorry.”

“No, I’m not leaving.”

“Dick, you need to eat at least. You can’t help her like this.”

“I’m the reason she’s here to begin with. I’m not leaving her.”

“How’s she doing?” The deep baritone, you think it’s Bruce. 

Dick’s voice frays at the edges, like he’s barely keeping it together as he inhales. You can feel his eyes on you. “Better. Doctors think she’ll be fine but she doesn’t have the energy yet to be fully conscious.”

“She’s a strong one. She’ll be fine, Dick.”

A pause. You wonder how Dick looks, if he’s been eating— “I don’t think I can ever forgive myself if she isn’t.”

“I should’ve been there with her, you know. We bought those tickets weeks ago. I thought she refunded them when she broke up with me. Didn’t think she’d go alone to such a late showing.” 

A sigh. More high-pitched. Maybe Barbara. She’s been worried sick about him based on how many times she has come to visit. Her voice is more familiar than others. “You can’t blame yourself. You couldn’t have known that would happen.”

“It’s Blüdhaven, of course, something like this would happen. I should’ve expected this, that’s my entire job.” 

“Babs sent me here to deliver this. Can you please just eat first? Everyone’s worried about you.”

There’s the rustling of a plastic bag. You hope that Tim picked up Dick’s favorite Thai spot downtown, the one with the pad see ew he likes. Hopefully, that’ll cheer him up. “Thanks, but I’m good for now.”

“Dick, you’re not doing anyone any favors by punishing yourself. What would she say if she saw you like this, huh?”

“Well, she can’t really say anything now, can she? Because of me.”

“Stop blaming yourself. It’s Blockbuster’s fault. She wouldn’t want you to do this.”

“Should’ve been me in this bed.”

“I’m sorry, sweetheart. I’m so sorry. God, I’ll do anything — I’ll give up anything. Just please wake up. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

“I can’t do this without you. I need you to wake up, pretty girl. Need to see those eyes again. Need you looking at me again.”

“I swear I’ll do better. I’ll work harder. Please. Don’t take her away from me.”

When your eyes finally flutter open, you feel as if it’s been years since you’ve seen the light. The bright fluorescent lamps above blind you as you groan and turn away. Crust nearly keeps your eyes shut but you reach up to brush them away, only to wince at the searing pain by your side.

“Hey, pretty girl, easy. Don’t move too fast. You’re hurt.” 

Dick. You slowly turn to the side to find him there. Then you briefly analyze your surroundings. 

White. All white. Hospital. The only splashes of color are in the flower arrangements sitting at the end of your bed. Large and wild. Alive. 

You’re alive. 

Christ, you’re alive. 

But Dick — he looks disheveled, the most you’ve ever seen him at least. There’s certainly more than a day’s worth of stubble peppering his jaw, his blue eyes shadowed by the circles surrounding them. His hair is a mussed-up mess, like he’s been running his hand through it nonstop for days. 

He’s fast to approach, gentle to touch. You swear you see the slight tremble in his fingertips as he brushes your hair away from your face. His eyes search yours, drinking you in like he is memorizing every inch of you. Old habits die hard, you suppose. He’s probably cataloging your injuries as if the doctor hasn’t done that already. 

“Hey, Dick,” you smile weakly, the stretch painful. Your throat feels dry, your voice comes out grainy. There’s a stiffness around your neck, which you soon realize is a brace. It hurts to breathe, let alone speak. “What day is it?”

Dick scrambles to grab the glass of water at your bedside table. He eases the rim between your lips, letting the cool liquid slowly pour between your chapped lips. “Easy, not too much. Not too fast,” he whispers, then adds, “Been four days.”

“Hmm, that’s a while, huh? Hope my boss doesn’t fire me for missing work that long. God knows we’re understaffed.”

Your attempt to laugh falls short when you feel the piercing twinge in your stomach, and it comes out as a raspy cough instead. 

Dick’s eyes widen and you shake your head to reassure him. You don’t like the way his forehead creases in concern, how dim his usually bright eyes are. Dick forces a smile at your poor endeavor at humor. “No, I’m sure you’ll be fine, sweetheart. Called in for you.”

“Good. What a waste of PTO though.”

“Sweet girl,” Dick breathes out, closer this time as he leans forward and presses his lips against your temple. You barely feel it, still slightly numb under the bandage wrapped around your head. His breath is shaky when he exhales. “I’m so sorry. I’m so, so sorry. I should’ve been there.”

You roll your eyes, but it only makes your head ache. “Don’t be silly. Why would you have been there? It wasn’t as if we had plans.”

“We were supposed to go together. We—” Dick chokes on his words as he sits on the chair next to your bed, bringing your hand up to his face and flattens the back of it against his cheek. “I’m sorry. I can’t begin to tell you how sorry I am that I wasn’t there.”

“You were, Dick. You came for me. I knew you would.”

“I wasn’t fast enough.”

“You were as fast as you could be.”

“I didn’t get him. I wanted to, but you were there and you were hurt and I needed to get you to the hospital first. He escaped and—”

“You’ll get him next time.”

“I let you get hurt.”

“You didn’t do anything except save me.”

Dick’s lips quiver as he inhales again, as he looks at you. 

“I love you.”

Then you hear another sharp gasp. Yours. 

“I love you. I should’ve told you that a long time ago, pretty girl. I love you so much. I shouldn’t have let you walk away. I should’ve fought harder for you. I just— I thought you deserved better than me. Someone who could treasure you properly. Hopefully, someone who loves you as much as I do, even if I don’t think it’s possible.”

Your throat is tight. Whether it’s the tears or from the injuries you’ve sustained, you’re not entirely sure. Your question is only answered when you taste the saltiness on your tongue, your fingers reaching up to touch the wet mess rolling down your face. 

“But I can’t let you go. People think I’m selfless, but god — I’m so fucking selfish when it comes to you. Never want you to leave my side again. I want you close so I can protect you, keep you safe, love you proper. I want you to know how much you mean to me. I want to remind you of it every day. I took it for granted before, but never again. I love you. I’ll do it right this time, if you’ll let me. If you’ll still have me.”

“Dick…”

“God, look at me babbling away when you should be resting,” Dick huffs, disgruntled with himself. “I’m sorry. I’ll get the doctor. I should’ve done that first.”

“Stay.”

“I have to—”

You reach for his fingers again, intertwining them. It’s been a while since you’ve had his big hands up close. These hands always remind you that you’re safe, that you’re his. Gentle, a contradiction against the harsh touch of Blüdhaven. “Just for a little while.”

Dick glances between the door and your joint hands in conflict. He caves in to you, because — of course, he does. He’s never been one to deny you when you want to touch him. It’s his weakness. If Clark had his Kryptonite, he had you. 

“For a little bit,” he murmurs reluctantly, “but I want them to check on you right after this, okay? I have to make sure you’re good.” 

For a while, the two of you let the silence seep in. It wraps around you like a blanket, warm and steady. The worries of the past few days — even the past few weeks — seem to melt away as you let your eyes slide close once more, your head pressing back into the pillow. Dick’s fingers twitch in your hand and you give him a squeeze to assure him you’re okay. 

“I was scared,” you admit quietly. You can’t meet his eyes. Not for this. “I wasn’t scared of Blockbuster. I was scared of what would happen if you found me a minute too late. If I didn’t make it.”

“Wh— why would you be scared of that?”

“Because I know you’d blame yourself. You already have, even though you saved me. I didn’t want to be another weight to carry. Another burden on your shoulders.”

There is a fracture in Dick’s voice when he says your name. Like a prayer. Like a desperate plea. “You could never be a burden. I— I don’t know what I would’ve done if I didn’t make it in time. I don’t even want to think about that.”

“Might make things easier for you,” you try to tease, but the joke lands bitter on your tongue. “One less thing to worry about. I guess I already was when I ended things.”

Dick is quiet for a moment, you can’t even hear him breathe. So you turn to look at him again, curious eyes finding his slumped shoulders. “Don’t even joke about that. That’s not something I’m entertaining. I’m never not worrying about you,” he mutters, “kept tabs on you even after you broke up with me. I wanted to make sure you always had someone looking out for you, even if it’s someone you didn’t care about anymore.”

You frown then. “Why would you think I don’t care about you?”

His head tilts in question then, brows furrowing. “Isn’t— I mean, isn’t that why you ended things? Because you weren’t interested in me anymore. I wasn’t a great boyfriend, I know that. I should’ve done more. That’s on me. I just thought, you… didn’t care about me anymore. Maybe you found someone else.”

“Dick, oh my— no, not at all. I just—” your teeth sink into your bottom lip, the truth hanging on the tip of your tongue but you refuse to let it slip. 

He looks at you with such earnest eyes, ones that urge you to continue. 

How can you say no to him? How could you think for one second you could let him go?

“I thought it would be easier for you, if we broke up,” you admit quietly and are immediately answered by the deepening of his frown, “you have so much going on. Between Nightwing, Blüdhaven and Gotham, and all the community outreach you were doing, it just didn’t seem like you had time for a relationship. It’s not as if I was helping you in any way, I can’t really do that. Not like the others. So I did what I thought was best.”

The look on Dick’s face now, you don’t think you ever want to see again. He looks absolutely crestfallen. His lips slightly parted, eyes carrying the sort of melancholy that comes after a loss. “You— fuck, you thought that breaking up would be easier for me? How can you— what would even make you think that? I know I’ve been busy and I haven’t been the best boyfriend, but god, you— you never made things harder. Ever. If anything, I feel so much lighter with you around. I feel as if I could breathe again. When this city chokes out the last of me, I know I’ll at least have you. And god, I wasn’t perfect, I was a terrible boyfriend, but you put up with me. I don’t know why you did for as long as you did, but— I didn’t know that’s how you felt with me. I wish you’d told me.”

A laugh of disbelief escapes him, rising from his chest with acid on his tongue. 

“You were always so patient. I thought— I thought that’s all you wanted from me. A few dates here and there. I didn’t want to ask more of you, didn’t want to scare you off. I can be intense, overwhelming. I know I can certainly be, and I didn’t want you to think I was being too demanding.” 

“Dick, you’re… unbelievable. Do you know how much I admire you? Everything that you do? Sometimes, I don’t know what you see in me. When you have all these incredible people around you, when you’re doing all these incredible things. I didn’t think I’d be… enough.”

Dick stands then, cupping your face in his hands. His eyes are wild, alive now. It’s as if he’s been electrified in the last few moments of your conversation. “You are more than enough. You’re everything. Every day I see how hard you work, how much of your heart you put into this city and its people, and it reminds me of why I want to protect this city. It’s because of you. I want you safe, I want you happy here — with me. God, I fucking love you, you know that. I’m going to remind you of it every day. If you’ll let me have you again, I promise you — you’ll never have a doubt in your mind ever again when it comes to where you stand with me. You’ll see what I see in you.”

You crack another small smile, cheeks aching. You’re probably ripping open a couple of stitches, but it’s worth it when Dick breathes a sigh of relief. “Love you too, Dick.”

The smile he offers you is magnificent. The kind that you memorize, print, and tuck away for safekeeping on a rainy day. He presses another kiss to your forehead, then your hand. Firm this time. More confident. He hesitates before he leans to brush his lips against yours. 

And it feels like homecoming. 

“I’m going to put a tracker on you from now on. I’ll drop you off at work and pick you up. I’ll install new security measures in your office and our apartment—”

“Our?”

He freezes then flushes, pink tinging his neck. “If you want. I mean, I think you’ll be safer there. I know we haven’t been together long but I’ll feel better if you’re with me. We can spend more time together, I don’t have to let you go at the end of the day. If you’re not comfortable, I’ll set up a separate room for you first — not to say I won’t be crashing in there every night, but—”

“Dick,” you reprimand teasingly. “I’ll think about it. That’s a big move.”

“Right, yeah. Of course. You don’t have to. I’ll implement new security cameras and sensors at your place. I’ll booby trap some of the windows so no one can break in. We’ll upgrade your—”

“Dick,” you say again, softer this time. “Your offer isn’t a bad thing. I just… I have to think about it. I love you, I do. It’s just been a lot.”

He nods solemnly and you can practically hear the gears turning in his head. Always working. Always looking for a solution. 

“It’s not a no, baby.”

The pet name has him perking up, his eyes illuminating for the first time in a while since you’ve seen him. Crystal blue staring right back at you. 

“And Dick—”

“Yeah?”

“Probably time to get the doctor. I might’ve split open a few stitches.”

“Oh, shit yeah.” He jumps to his feet, ready to run out when you call for him again. He pops his head back in, gaze curious, happy, concerned. 

Your lips tug into a smile. “Thank you.”

“Anytime, pretty girl.”

dick is flying to (taglist): @catclaw1 @lunexiax @esunarint @lunaryoongie @alli0-0 @avgdestitute @parker-barnes-af @onecojg @lynnidc @winnichu173 @c3liaaaaa @my-drvidess @fruitypebsworld @smorgasbrods @ruptureedspleen @take-it-on-the-run @a-very-fictional-girl @eiaf4uwn @vivianna2392 @w1nchesterfiles @ae1szn @its-pomegranite @athenxt

“He’s set to be an independent operative, but know he is working for and with us.” The colonel’s words then officially etch the truth in stone.

Mando comes around basecamp like a ghost. Barely staying put for you to register his presence, yet the whispers about him grow.

“I heard he took out a whole imperial squadron and a Moff too.” Dyana, your closest friend, tells you enthusiastic to catch up on all the rumors.

Then Ward calls for you, and you miss out on any other gossip Dyana and the others had.

“I’ll be heading to Coruscant this week to meet with a few higher ups and senators… I need you to do all the debriefs with Mando while I’m away.

It’s like a rancor suddenly barreled into you.

“Wait, me?” You stupidly question confused, and Ward shoots you a look, raised eyebrows and all.

“Do you think you’re not capable of handling this, ranger?”

“No, colonel.” You quickly reply, and she nods.

“Good, that’s what I thought.”

When you see her off, it must be obvious how hesitant you still are. Her sturdy hand gives your shoulder a reassuring pat.

“Don’t worry. He’s not as scary as everyone thinks he is.” Ward reassures, but it doesn’t soothe you much.

Especially when the day arrives and you find yourself waiting for him.

Just like before, the mandalorian saunters in and your focus is immediately drawn to him. But then, it gets knocked out of orbit when you find he’s not alone.

A tiny green creature waddles in beside him, childishly blinking at every sight. Why is a child with the mandalorian?

“Where’s Ward?” A rich striking voice startles you. Of course the terrifying warrior would sound this intimidating.

“Went to Coruscant for a meeting.” You reply partly stunned you’re actually talking to him.

“And you are?” But then mandalorian questions, sharp and distrustful, and it pisses you off. He’s the newcomer here, and he decides to question you?

“I’m the person you’re stuck with for your debrief and mission logs unfortunately.” Your voice whips out sharp.

He doesn’t say anything.

“What about Teva?” He counters again, and you want to scream. What’s this guy’s problem?

“Out on a mission,” your reply is sharper, bladed with annoyance.

“If you want you can personally contact Ward and explain why I’m not satisfactory enough for your debrief. I’m sure she’d love that.” Then the defiant reply escapes you faster than you can stop it.

It’s as if the whole cantina mess hall heard you because it becomes deathly silent.

The mandalorian simply stares you down with his unflinching helmet. Then the warrior turns and strides out not saying another word.

“I think you pissed him off.” Wolf snickers breaking the stillness.

A sense of dread looms as you realize you might’ve truly just gotten yourself into a mountain load of trouble.

Ward calls that night, and you knew it was coming.

“Why do you want to start a fight with the mandalorian?” She asks calmly over the comms.

“I’m not! He started it!” You can’t help but childishly counter. You even further explain how demanding and untrusting he was.

The colonel sighs.

“You have to understand… His people don’t trust easily. And for good reason. Try to be the one to play nice here.”

You want to be petty and say he needs to as well, but you can’t argue with Ward.

“Do the whole debrief drunk.” Zeb jokes about it with you the next day, and you scoff.

But by the time sunset arrives you start getting tempted to get a drink because maybe Mando isn’t showing up.

Until he does. And again he’s not alone. The strange but sweet little creature continues waddling alongside Mando.

It’s awkward as hell when he approaches your table. The tension lingers thick from yesterday prickling across your skin in the worst way.

You don’t even know if you should say anything

“Mweh?” A surprisingly soft little noise floats through the tension and you turn towards it. You blink down to find the mysterious little being staring up at you with sweet wide eyes.

With curious claws, the baby reaches for the loth cat charm dangling off your belt, the one of many trinkets your niece has given you.

Melted by the sight, you grin and scoot closer. Then you unclasp the charm for the baby to examine it more.

“You like it? It’s cute right?”

The little one agrees with a chirp sounding so endearing.

Something softly clicks. If a creature so tiny and innocent as this baby confidently travels with the mandalorian, then he couldn't be that much of an ass.

Someone sighs. Then settling back into your seat, you find the mandalorian seated across from you. The baby hops up to sit beside him. Yet his eager eyes remain happily taken with your charm.

“That imp base on Hoth had no leads.” He speaks first.

You’re stunned.

Your gut urges you to not make a big deal about this, to simply now see him as another coworker.

So you nod and casually plug in the info on your datapad.

“Hoth was a long shot, but we appreciate you going.” You even add that in.

You knew of a few pilots who served during the Hoth raid. It’s an unforgiving planet, takes a lot of guts to investigate that icy fortress.

“What’s the next order?” Mando asks firm, all business, just like Ward had told you.

You slide him a bounty chip containing info on a possible military officer who could be running a smuggling ring. The mandalorian doesn’t say anything else, simply takes the card and stands up.

“Come on, kid.” All he does is address the baby, not even sparing you a second glance.

Cute and so politely, the kid hands back your loth cat with a noise that feels like a thank you.

“You’re welcome, little cutie,” you tell him warmly.

Once the pair are out of sight, you sigh exhausted, relieved, and sprawl out on the table glad it’s over. Someone barks a laugh, and you aren’t even embarrassed about it.

You can’t wait till this is over.

It’s already been a week and a half of being grounded doing these debriefs with Mando. You miss being in the skies. But all that hope of getting back in the clouds gets squashed.

“I need to negotiate a few more issues with Senator Organa… can you continue to do the debrief?” It isn’t much of a question but more of an order from Ward.

So you meet with Mando for the rest of the week and into the next. It’s cordial, barely speaking for more than ten minutes with each other.

You try to be friendly, make a joke about the weather, but he just silently stares at you, obviously annoyed.

And it pisses you off all over again.

But you think of the adorable little baby who eagerly tags along with the terrifying hunter. The kid sweetly waves, and you wave back. You started bringing treats after his guardian chided him for eating some of yours.

The annoyed sigh Mando gave when you brought more snacks to share was worth it.

This time you decided to bring something else along with you.

It was the first charm your sister gave you when you became a pilot. A tradition her daughter, your niece, now does with you.

“Look!” You eagerly hold up the plush creature that makes the baby’s eyes go wide.

With adorable tiny grabby hands, he reaches for it and you happily hand it over.

You grin pleased seeing how pleased the kid coos.

“What’s your name?” The sudden question from Mando surprises you.

A bit stunned, you give it to him.

He nods solemnly, repeating it. Your heart does a strange flip hearing his deep voice say your name.

“This is Grogu.” He then introduces the kid who chimes in hearing his name.

“Nice to meet you, Grogu.” You excitedly greet the kid.

Then you turn to Grogu’s guardian. This solemn but striking mandalorian now has you curious to who he is. Your mind thinks about the rumors that have spread about him.

“And you? What’s your name?” You ask politely, but immediately you can almost hear Dyana screaming at you. She’s become the new expert on Mandalorian customs.

“They’re private people,” she had told you, confirming what Ward had said. “It’s probably why not a lot of people know about him, much less his name.”

“I’m sorry, forgive me.” You stammer quickly. “You don’t have to give it.”

A moment passes, and you worry you’ve unraveled this tentative truce or whatever it is.

“Din… Din Djarin.” His full name. It’s lovely.

“Din…” you repeat it.

“It’s nice to meet you too.” And you mean that.

Mando, Din, nods, and you think it’s worth the few weeks being out of the skies.

When Din and Grogu leave you realize the kid still holds onto your plush charm.

“Come on kid, give it back.” Din urges noticing too.

“No it’s okay. He can keep it. Give it back to me next time.” You grin at the baby, and Grogu giggles pleased at the answer.

“What do you say, kid?”

Grogu chirps a sweet thanks and waddles away content with the plushie in his arms.

The next day, as promised, he brings it back. But you exchange another charm with him. This time it’s a cute cloud with a sweet face. Eager for the new trinket, Grogu ditches the plushie and you laugh.

Work then follows suit. Din explains on the intel he’s slowly gaining on the imp official.

“Taking a bit longer than expected.” Din gruffly admits.

“Don’t worry. Rodents like him know how to hide. It’s not your fault. Then again that’s probably an insult to rodents.” You’ve been trying to stay professional, channel your inner composed Colonel Ward. But the old rebel pilot comes out.

Suddenly, a chuckle follows.

Din laughed.

You swear you misheard it. But the way Grogu giggles agreeing with his protector, you know you heard correctly.

“A fair statement.” Din agrees.

And you grin back at him. A golden victorious feeling bubbles in your chest.

Watching the pair leave, you find you’re excited to see them again.

The rest of the debriefs go smoother than ever. You bring new charms for Grogu to play with, and Din seems to settle in more.

“You have a lot of those.” He even comments a bit dry when you exchange another new charm with Grogu. This time it’s a fuzzy bantha.

“Managed to gather a small collection.” You explain.

“Really… couldn’t tell.” Din deadpans.

That’s when you realized he just joked with you.

“Think you might like those two,” Zeb teases the next time he drops by the mess hall.

“It’s called being civil.” You stubbornly reply while messing with the holopad, and the Lasat warrior barks a laugh.

“Civil? Yeah sure.” He teases further.

You stay stubbornly quiet.

“Don’t worry… They’re a pain in my ass too.” Zeb huffs, and it does soothe your annoyance.

Especially now that something is festered in you, a sort of curious itch to learn more about Din Djarin.

“I heard… he really did blow up an entire imperial base. That’s how Teva found him.” Dyana is happy to spill more gossip about him.

“He’s quiet, doesn’t talk much. So I doubt he’d say anything even if he did.” You mutter.

“Does he really keep a pet around?” Dyana presses for any new info.

The word ‘pet’ sounds harsh.

“He’s more like the kid’s guardian.” The word ‘parent’ instead wants to slip out especially after you’ve seen Din’s fatherly watch over the baby.

“Oh that’s even more interesting! Why didn’t you tell me this earlier?!” Dyana shrieks.

“You’ve been busy.” You half lie.

You could argue that it’s because you want to protect Din’s trust and don’t want to disturb that. But the truth is, you don’t want to share this little secret bond you’ve cultivated with him.

You however rapidly kick those thoughts away.

Ward will be back sometime this week. Your brief time with the Mandalorian would be over soon.

Except that time comes sooner than expected.

The next morning Colonel Ward arrives, an early return. Disappointment arrives just as fast. You knew this was only a temporary thing.

Trying not to feel annoyed, you now work on your x-wing. Deep under the hull, you refuel trying just to keep your mind focused here.

“Didn’t know you were a mechanic.” Suddenly, the rich voice of a certain mandalorian echoes in the hanger.

You scramble out from under the ship confused if you heard right.

But standing off to the side are indeed Din and Grogu.

“What? Thought I just did paper work and worked as an assistant?” You tease.

Din chuckles, and it sinks into the glowing sunlight coating the hanger in its glory.

“You’re looking at one of the New Republic’s best pilots!” Dyana.

She perks up emerging from the other side of the ship, and you shoot a glare her way not even knowing where she came from.

“A pilot?” Din questions, curious.

His helmet tilts towards you.

“Sometimes,” you shrug.

“And I wouldn’t say best.” You weakly laugh then glower at Dyana again. She simply beams innocently back at you.

“One day you gotta tell him about Endor. Though I’m sure you have plenty of fight stories to share too, Mando!”

You want to strangle her.

“You fought at Endor?” Din asks, helmet fully facing you and voice faintly awed.

It all makes your skin feel heated and tight.

All you can do is shrug again.

Endor seems like so long ago now. You were so much younger then. Wild and ready to sacrifice it all for the sake of protecting everything you loved. A small secret corner of your heart aches for those days of when you flew with such fire.

“Well… gotta go! Nice to finally meet you both!” Dyana nods to Din and smiles at the baby before scurrying away.

A traitor in the flesh fleeing if you ever did see one.

“So…an x-wing pilot.” Din comments, still watching you. His curious and impressed tone ignites a strange sensation in your chest that threatens to consume you.

“On good days I am.” You again shrug with a half smile.

“So what was Endor like?” He inquires, and you’re surprised he’s curious about that.

“Don’t know, never went on planet… kinda was busy flying around.”

You don’t even need to see his face to know he’s giving you a silent unamused stare. He must not think your joke is as funny as you do.

A surprised giggle does come though. Both you and Din discover Grogu effortlessly climbing up onto the wing of the ship.

“Kid.” Din chides.

“How did you get up there so fast?” You laugh amused at the sight of this tiny creature waddling on top of your x-wing.

Din sighs, truly parental.

“I take it that you fly?” You ask him yet keeping your gaze on Grogu to make sure he stays safe.

“I do.” Din answers, confident.

“Must be why he’s so curious and comfortable around ships. It’s good when kids get to experience being in the air.” You think of your niece who eagerly tries to convince you to fly her around.

“My niece is the same way.” You reveal.

Din hums a noise, acknowledging he’s listening.

“Is she the reason why you have all those charms?” He asks in a tone softer than you’ve ever heard.

“Excuse you, they are medals of honor.” You jokingly try to sound offended.

“With you I wouldn’t be surprised.” He replies deadpan, and you snicker.

“But yeah… she’s the one who gives them to me.” You explain how it was your sister who first started giving you those charms to decorate your x-wing.

They were to remind you to come home safe.

“I was ordered not to come home unless I brought the charms back safe and sound.” You repeat the same words your sister told you.

A soft breeze enters the hanger bringing in a welcoming cooling touch. But it’s then you realize how close you’re now standing next to Din. You didn’t even notice when you or him moved closer to each other.

“That’s… sweet.” His voice carries a tenderness that sneaks under your ribs and sinks in deep.

You turn and find he’s already looking at you.

Under Din’s gaze, it’s like you’re caught in a tractor beam unable to speak or move.

Dangerous thoughts have already begun clouding your mind, and they all connect back to this man. Like how you’ve noticed how broad his shoulders look, and how strong he is helping move crates around the base. What’s worse is you’ve begun wondering what this mandalorian looks like under his helm.

Grogu’s little giggle finally draws your attention away. Currently he peeks inside the cockpit through the window.

“So I take it this is your ship?” Din asks.

“No, I stole it.” You quip back.

“Sure you did.” His dry reply makes you snicker.

“It’s how I got to fight at Endor.” You jest, stealing a quick glance at Din. Of course he shakes his head unamused.

“Thought you didn’t see Endor.” He uses your dry joke back at you, and you can’t help it.

You playfully elbow him.

Another little giggle comes. Glancing back to the ship, Grogu now peers over from the wing’s edge grinning at you and Din.

“Little troublemaker, are you going to be a pilot one day?” You smile at Grogu.

“Mweh!” He squeals.

“I think that’s a yes,” you tell Din proudly.

“No.” Din answers back firmly.

“It’s okay I’ll teach you one day,” you counter sweetly, and the baby giggles more.

“No.” Din repeats again firmer.

A small cluster of pilots approach. Their laughter and conversation fill the air. Guess this moment is over.

“Still need to see Ward… shouldn’t keep her waiting.” Din is smooth about making his exit.

Quickly Grogu jumps into his arms, and you bid the duo goodbye for now.

You haven’t been in the air for long, but it feels like you’re floating now.

The moments you see the pair become like scattered stars.

Months settle in, and a routine follows. You sometimes see Din in the mess hall cantina when you return from a mission. Discussing with the colonel, all you can simply do is give your boys quick smiles.

Other times Din stops by the hanger where you linger now more than ever hoping he drops by. You and him talk about work, missions, the various planets visited.

You want to ask what got him to work for the new republic, but you don’t want to disturb whatever is growing between you and him.

“It’s budding love.” Dyana sagely declares one evening at the cantina, and Zeb agrees.

“It’s not!” You screech over a drink.

“I don’t think Mando has said more than five words to me, yet I see him talking to you so much.” Another pilot chimes in.

“He talks to Zeb the most!” You argue back. The two of them are often paired up on missions now. You try not to get annoyed by it.

“Not as much as you, kid.” Zeb rebuttals.

“Don’t think we haven’t seen the way he hangs around the hanger for you.” Sash Ketter snickers, and it only ignites the discussion once again.

You dismiss all their words as attempts trying to rile you up.

Because you don’t want to face the truth. You long for your chats with Din, even just to see him for a moment and play with Grogu.

It’s just an awful infatuation. That’s it.

Your small vacation break now approaching may be more of a blessing than you realize. It’ll hopefully give you time to clear your head.

“I’m heading home to visit family. I’ll be sure to bring back something good.” You tell Din the next time you run into him outside the cantina.

“There’s no need. Just… be safe.” Din nods.

His gentle words carry you the entire flight home.

The brief week away provides peaceful moments of relaxation. While you enjoy the time spent with your sister’s family, you long to return to Adelphi.

“So, what did you get me this time?” You ask your niece the day before you’re set to head back.

“I got you… THIS!” She proudly raises up an odd creature. You can’t even tell what it is.

“She made it herself.” Your sister whispers, and your eyes go wide.

“What?! Why didn’t you tell me we have an artist in this family now?!” You cry excitedly scooping up your niece in your arms and tickle her with glee as she squeaks excitedly.

“Actually before I go… Do you think you can help me make one too?” You ask her and your niece's eyes light up.

With eager hands she gathers all her supplies to deposit them on the table ready to craft.

“So… are you going to tell me who you’re making this for?” Your sister asks slightly suspiciously as you add little puffballs to your monster creation.

“What if I just want my charm to have a friend, huh?” You deflect.

“Yeah sure.” She’s not convinced but thankfully doesn’t press any further.

As hard as it is saying goodbye to her and your niece, you’re thankful to finally be back to your routine.

And of course, the new little charm sitting in your pocket seems to hold so much weight.

Din returns a few days after you. It’s hard trying to ignore the bubbling joy that rises watching him approach your x-wing first.

“Welcome back.” He greets and Grogu squeals adorably scurrying to you.

Eagerly you welcome his jump into your arms, and you squeeze him tight.

“I miss you too,” you tell Grogu but hope his father knows you mean him as well.

“And look, I got something for you.” You shift to hold Grogu in one arm.

Then you hold up the new charm.

“What is it supposed to be?” Din sounds confused and slightly alarmed.

“It’s a little monster,” you reply lightly insulted.

“My niece and I made these, and I knew someone who might like it.” You grin towards Grogu now.

“Bweh!” He cheers and draws the charm into his small arms so enamored with the strange monstrosity already.

“See! He likes it, that's what matters.” You huff proudly at Din.

Grogu chirps like he agrees. You laugh then catch Din’s chuckle too.

“What do you say, kid?” Din says.

Grogu however doesn’t say anything. Instead he leans up and hugs you. His sweet little arms curl against your neck.

Holding this baby so tight is like holding a little newborn star. You’re grateful for this moment and hug Grogu close, closing your eyes to fully embrace this wonderful tiny soul.

“You’re welcome, little troublemaker.” You softly tell him.

The baby then settles into your arms as if it’s the most natural thing in the world.

Worried you might have overstepped, you quickly snap your attention to Din. His helmet stays focused on you.

You wonder what his eyes look like, what color swims within his gaze.

“Glad you’re back safe.” Din’s voice sounds low, softer and a bit thick.

“Me too,” you reply, letting yourself sink into whatever it is overtaking your entire heart.

This infatuation, or whatever it’s mutated into, grows stronger. And it terrifies you.

But you’re reminded quickly there are more terrifying things to face.

The wound isn’t looking good.

You’re more pissed at yourself for getting ambushed by damn pirates. This operation was supposed to be simple, check in on the distress signal intercepted by base. But one pirate ambush later and you’re now stranded trying to stop the bleeding.

You just hope the emergency signal you sent back to camp went through. Leaning against your ship, you take a deep breath trying to calm yourself down. You’ve dealt with worse. You can handle this.

Until something pierces your back, and a scream of pain escapes you. Electricity courses through your body knocking you to the ground.

Everything stings. You can barely concentrate, but you hear them. Gleeful disgusting laughs swirling all around. The damn pirates…

“Think of the price we’ll get for x-wing parts!” One of them muses.

“Or even for the pilot, quite a cute one.” That comment unleashes a panicked feral terror.

Get up, you have to get up. Even though every part of your body stings, screaming to stay still, you have to move.

You slowly try to sit up through the aftershocks, but then a boot comes to slowly step on your chest, pressing you down to the dirt.

“Nah uh little pilot, where do ya think you’re going.” A voice snickers.

You clench your jaw hard. This isn’t looking good.

A sudden blaster shot fires and immediately takes out a pirate with accurate precision.

“What was that?!” One of them screams.

Then a blaster shot silenced him.

“Step away from her now.” Din.

Or someone sounding like him.

The voice is deadly, terrifying, and you wonder if it even is Din.

Then the pirate towering above you with his boot still pressing on your chest suddenly gets thrown off.

Weakly you cough sitting up. While you do, you witness Din in action and realize he’s truly here.

And the way he attacks, effortlessly slicing through the pirate captain and the lackeys that try rushing him - he’s incredible.

You’ve never seen anyone fight so fluidly and powerful. You’re witnessing one of the most powerful warriors in the galaxy…

And he’s here to save you.

A small concerned whimper comes to your side and immediately you glance down. Grogu quickly waddles to your arm and flashes his wide worried eyes up to you.

“I’m okay, I promise.” He must see the wound, and you try smiling reassuringly.

He hums a small noise at you. Then he closes his eyes, laying his little claw against your elbow. Slowly a gentle warmth suddenly crawls up your shoulder.

What is he doing?

The stinging pain vanishes instantly. Reaching up to your shoulder, you find no wound.

“Mweh.” Grogu peers up at you with a small little wave.

“You really are something else, little trouble maker… thank you.” You fondly stroke his fuzzy little head, and he beams.

Din urgently yells your name and soon rushes to kneel before you. Gloved hands reach out to steady your shoulders.

“I’m fine.” You now reassure him and move to squeeze one of his hands.

An exhale escapes Din, relieved.

“I’m sorry you both had to come all the way out here. I’m sure there are better bounties to hunt.” You half tease.

“Don’t apologize.” He immediately snaps.

Grogu makes a sad noise as if chiding his father.

“Just glad you’re safe.” So Din gently adds and steadily helps you stand.

Zeb lands moments later with a mechanic to help patch up your ship. The entire time Din stays by your side, letting you lean against him for support. His guiding hand never leaves you.

You’re given the rest of the week off to recover.

“So was Mando on a mission with you when my distress beacon went out?” You ask Zeb when he drops by to check on you.

He snorts, giving you a knowing side eye smirk.

“Is that what you think?” Zeb doesn’t elaborate even when you pester him.

It’s Dyana of course who reveals the truth.

“Mando was the first to rush out. Ward had to practically stop him before he flew off on his own.” Her words unravel something effortlessly in you.

How can you ignore these feelings for a mandalorian anymore?

“I think it’s romantic.” Dyana thankfully doesn’t judge you when you finally admit everything to her.

There was no time for romance during a rebellion, during a war. Even now you almost scoff at the idea. There are other things to do, other things to focus on than get lovesick over someone.

But Din dismantled all those old thoughts in you, leaving you exposed and almost greedy for someone now.

“It’s okay to want that you know… romance and companionship.” Dyana tells you already sensing your hesitation.

You know her and a cute mechanic have been dating off and on for a while. She’s always been urging you to get out more, maybe try to find someone. Guess you just had to wait for a mandalorian to show up.

But you have to put all those giggles and feelings aside.

Your time resting is done, and immediately you’re thrown back into the rush of work.

A mission and orders arrive a few days later on your datapad.

Raid strike this week, get ready

It’s not a full strike squadron, but you’re thankful Zeb is tagging along.

“Think your boyfriend might be joining us.” He teases, and your eyes narrow hard. Now you regret him being here.

“I don’t have a boyfriend.” You rapidly dismiss.

“Huh uh.” He rolls his eyes.

As if summoned to add to your pain, Din enters the command center. It feels like feral lizard birds were released in your stomach.

Immediately his helmet spots you. Grogu perched on his shoulder chirps upon seeing you. Trying to act relaxed, you give the boys a casual wave and bright grin.

Zeb chuckles, and you silently shush him again under your breath. You walk to meet Din halfway.

“Glad you’re doing better.” He says, faintly warm, and you nod grateful.

“Thanks to my two heroes,” you thank them both again. Grogu beams toothy when you tickle his chin.

Din doesn’t say anything.

“Guess we’re finally teaming up.” So you speak up first.

“Seems like it,” Din agrees.

This isn’t the first time he’s seen you in your pilot gear. Hell, he just rescued you last week. But for some reason, you feel more self aware than ever.

Thankfully Ward enters, drawing the room’s attention to her.

The mission is to ambush the warlord now barricaded up in his mansion. He’s apparently greatly armed and even hired a small air brigade. It’s why this strike squadron was called in. You’re curious why Din is here though.

“Without the mandalorian’s intel, we wouldn’t have this opportunity. So we will be following his lead.” She sends her focus to him.

Din simply and silently nods back.

Then he moves to the holo map and gives details about the estate. Hearing how commanding and surefire his voice resounds, the way he walks confidently and without any hesitation, he’s incredible.

But there’s no time to linger on this warrior.

It’s time to fly.

“Finally get to see you in action,” you tell Din as he walks out with you.

“Guess you will.” He replies with a hint of something playful, and it only speeds up your racing heart.

All you can do is laugh before parting ways.

“Don’t get lost in the clouds.” You teasingly yell to the mandalorian and he looks back at you from over his shoulder.

You can’t see Din’s eyes, but you hope they’re amused.

Him and Grogu now trail away from where you’re stationed, and you settle into your ship.

Your x-wing roars alive, and the familiar comms flicker in your ear. Then the call signals electrify the start to battle.

“Delphi squadron, lock in.” Teva announces on the main channel, the leader for this run. Everyone follows suit locking in their coordinates.

“Blue 9, standing by.” You chime in, readying the flight path.

“Starfighter, standing by.” Then a new voice floats through your helmet.

The tone resonates rich as a stormy ocean sending a shock through your system.

Hearing Din in your helmet does something to you so wild that you feel guilty at how fast your core clenched. You recollect yourself fast.

That’s when you notice the ship he joined in with.

A starfighter? There’s no way. Those ships don’t exist.

But again, you’re proven so wrong.

Among the gunfire and smoke, the sounds of battle, a new gleam of silver catches your attention. The Naboo N-1 fighter is a marvel.

A sleek whisper of a dream, one minute she’s a simple flicker of light then the next she’s firing directly in the trenches of the fight.

But as in awe of the ship as you are, it’s the mandalorian who leaves you breathless.

Din flies amazing. The fast maneuvering, the excellent read he makes of the battle, among his readiness to swoop in and out of tight spaces - you’ve never seen anyone fly this beautifully.

It inspires you, the type of flying that makes you want to soar higher to catch up.

So you do.

You embrace the rebel pilot you always might be and dive through the canyons chasing after one of the bandits the warlord hired.

Quickly you dispatch the enemy ship then swirl and maneuver your x-wing to return to the open sky.

“Target on your left.” Din’s voice suddenly thunders in your ear, chiming in on your personal channel.

“Got it.” You reply steady and twist fast enough to fire on the swing mid air.

“Got him, great shot!” Listening to Din’s deep fierce voice over your private channel, his voice colored in pride, you have to mute the channel to exhale.

Because a wave of arousal crawled up your spine so fast you had to bite your lip. Now you try settling yourself down again.

You pride yourself on being composed when you fly. There of course have been times when you’ve gotten emotional and maybe reacted.

Yet here this masked man completely disarms you.

It’s a fight you realize you won’t win.

The raid is successful, and the warlord gets taken in alive. That’s the win that matters.

“Great job,” Din suddenly voices back in your comms, still sounding so proud, and you melt all over again.

“You too, thanks for the support,” you answer back, just as fond, then rapidly switch over the channel.

“Captain,” you ask Teva on his personal comms.

“Before we leave, do you think I can test Mando on how he flies?”

Teva takes a moment then sighs.

“Make it quick.”

Giddy you quickly chime back onto Din’s channel.

“Wanna go for a run?” A part of you worries he won’t want to join you.

“Lead the way.” But Din quickly answers, and you pull back up to the clouds.

The planet is rather gorgeous, full of lush canyons and towering mountains. It’s a flight playground. Among the skies, twisting and twirling down through the natural landscape, you and Din soar around each other, with each.

Playful, yet delicately cautious, your x-wing revolves alongside his starfighter. Din keeps up with you every moment. Quietly the image of a dance among the clouds floats into your mind.

“Up for a race?” He suddenly asks.

“Oh, you know it.” You agree, excited. You settle into your seat, ready to take off.

But in a flash, he zooms past you.

“What the hell?!” You shriek over the comms.

Din’s husky laugh in your ear is a beautiful reward.

Returning back to Adelphi, you and him fly beside each other. Ward gives everyone the night off, and the cantina already seems to shine extra bright landing in.

Settling into your spot in the hanger, you notice Din lands his starfighter closer than ever.

Sliding off your helmet, for a moment you worry about how bad your hair looks, how messy and sweaty you must be.

But heading down the ladder, Din already walks towards you.

All your worries vanish. You don’t even care how fast you walk towards him. Here standing before Din under the low lights of the hanger, the world melts away.

“You were incredible.”

“You flew… amazing.”

Both you and Din speak at the same time, words jumbling up and getting tangled. It startles you, even his shoulders stiffen a bit.

Then you laugh.

“No, you were the incredible one.” You tell him first.

“Not compared to you,” he shakes his head.

“Glad I finally got to see one of the Rebellion’s and New Republic’s best pilots in action.” There’s a smirk in his voice, and heat burns through your veins.

Any words you want to say, he’s stolen them right from you. All you’re reduced to is a love struck fool caught in the orbit of this powerful mandalorian.

Din doesn’t say anything either. It’s like you and him can’t look away from the other standing this close.

“Hey! Ya two love birds gonna join us or what?” Zeb suddenly breaks the spell, and your blood instantly boils.

You hiss foul curses at Zeb, and he only cackles with laughter.

Embarrassed and trying to escape this moment you shake your head heading towards the exit.

“Come on, let’s go celebrate.” You manage to smile at Din hoping to dispel any comments about what Zeb said.

The mandalorian follows you into the mess hall cantina. The lively celebratory air glimmers with joyous laughter. It’s a welcoming atmosphere, and even Wolf along with a few other pilots ask Din to join them.

“Maybe in a bit,” He nods, instead staying by your side when you approach the bar.

“No pressure, but drinks on me if you want.” You offer.

“I’ll pass, but thanks.” He instead places down credits for your drink, and you thank him with a toast.

“Come on, let’s see how good of a sabacc player you are.” After taking a huge sip, you allow the alcohol to sting in the best way.

“Think you might be dissapointed,” Din chuckles.

Of course he’s a damn natural.

Everyone at the table cries in frustration when he wins the second round, and you even narrow your eyes at him.

“Oh, so you’re a liar.” You joke good naturedly.

“Never said I was good or bad.” He answers and it’s rather coy, lighter than what you’ve heard from him.

“Next time Mando I want you comin’ with me off planet! We could really win big.” Someone suggests and now it’s comforting seeing how much everyone has warmed up to him, how much Din has settled in here too.

Until you realize the baby is missing and immediately turn to Din. Maybe it’s the atmosphere but you lean closer to him placing your hand against his arm.

“Wait, where’s Grogu?” You ask concerned and low.

Din leans closer to you, his helmet almost grazing your face.

“Don’t worry, he’s asleep in the barracks.” Din’s answer comes low, reassuring.

Then he reaches up to lay his hand on top of yours. It’s a reassuring hold, a soft touch that brings comfort.

You exhale relieved and don’t have time to realize what he just did until someone drags Din away to play darts.

He squeezed your hand, and you now fight against a dumb smile just thinking about it.

Even after another round of getting your ass kicked at cards, you don’t care. You glance over to Din.

A cluster of pilots surround him. You’re not surprised. He’s a marvel, someone truly remarkable. But one of the prettier pilots slides up next to Din, batting her eyelashes so dreamily up at him.

Something fierce, venomous and coated in jealousy, strikes.

Reaching to Wolf, you nudge his shoulder a few times, and he knowingly looks at you. Not saying anything, he discreetly slips you a smoke stick.

You head out of the cantina into the soft warm night and light up. The smoke in your lungs settles you down for a moment and cuts through the alcohol.

Dumb Mandalorian man making you feel this way…

Taking another drag of the smoke stick, you watch the smoke you exhale mix into the air.

“Didn’t know you smoked.” Din.

His voice melts into the night like he stepped out of the shadows themselves. As he wanders towards you, you shift to lean against the rail of the patio.

“Not often,” you truthfully answer. It’s been a long time since you lit up.

A bad habit you picked up during your rebellion days, being as young as you were around seasoned veteran pilots. It became a way to calm yourself down and stop your hands from shaking from the nerves.

You even tell him that.

“What made you join?” He asks, tentative and quiet.

A loaded question but one you feel comfortable enough to answer, especially with him.

The empire took so much from you. You’re grateful you and your sister managed to keep each other safe, look out for each other. You weren’t lying when you joked about stealing ships. Learning to steal is how you survived for a while as a kid.

Then you accidentally stole from a man named Luthen Rael, and your life changed. Whatever he saw in your eyes that day when he caught you… it kept you alive.

He’s the one who helped get your wings, got you in touch with rebellion once you could fly. Once you joined, you never saw him again.

“Never looked back since.” You tell this all to Din.

You don’t regret your choices. They’re what brought you here after all, kept you safe even during the danger.

“You did what you had to… you should be proud of the life you’ve made. Of the wars you've fought and survived.” Din sincerely commends you, and his words settle deep in your heart.

You softly thank him, appreciating the sentiment.

“And you? What brought you to the New Republic?” Taking another drag of the smoke stick, you finally decide to ask.

This time he’s sighing and moves to lean against the rail beside you. He’s pressed up right beside you.

“Benn a long way to get here as well.” He’s vague, but explains how he was, and still is a bounty hunter by trade. How that path led him to the kid. How Grogu is by Mandalorian creed his son and apprentice now.

“I couldn't keep getting involved with pirates, working for gangsters. It’s not the life I wanted anymore.”

It’s admirable seeing how valiant Din’s spirit shines, yet you hear how weary his soul must be like he carries so much guilt.

“There are wars you’ve fought too, Din. You should be proud of your victories. Even the ones you don’t think you should be.” Maybe it’s the fading alcohol and slow numbness of the smoke stick, but you want more than ever to just hold him.

You go to take another drag to stop yourself from doing anything reckless, but find your smoke stick is burnt to its final end.

“I don’t.. deserve such kind words. But thank you.” Din’s voice is thick, tangled in thorny emotions.

Yet underneath it all, he sounds softer and raw, like a man trying to find comfort in your words.

So you turn and see his striking dark T visor gaze on you.

A moment passes where it’s just you and him under the night sky, staring at each other.

“No matter what path you took, I'm glad you’re here.” You earnestly tell him.

In such a short amount of time this mandalorian has reawakened something in you and takes up such a large part of your heart.

“Me too.” Din mutters, nodding.

Another x-wing lands outside steals your attention away as the engines break the quiet night air.

“Always been curious to how they fly.” Din suddenly comments sounding intrigued.

“You wanna see?”

He turns to you, helmet tilted incredulous and challenging.

“Come on,” so you challenge him back with a toothy grin.

Immediately Din follows behind you, footsteps quick yet terrifying agile.

The hanger sits in eerie stillness this time of night.

“Should we even be here?” Din asks low, a bit cautious.

“Didn’t take you as a ‘by the books’ guy, Mando.” You use the common name everyone calls him as a tease.

“Only when it comes to my employer.” He replies unamused.

“Trust me, we’ll be fine.” You wave him off and he continues following you further into the dark hanger.

He doesn’t know it, but this place, especially for pilots, is an infamous makeout spot. You try not to think about that too much.

There you arrive at your x-wing.

“Hop in,” you nudge him towards the ladder.

“What?” Din sounding so boyish and confused makes you laugh.

“Get in,” you urge.

Sighing defeated he climbs up the ladder to the cockpit and you follow. You look away trying not to stare at his cute ass.

“Can we even fit in this?”

“X-wings are capable of holding various types and sizes of pilots. We are not the empire, thank you very much,” you proudly declare.

The hatch opens, and Din jumps in. The dashboard and control panel light up as he takes a seat in your chair.

Your throat goes dry seeing him sit in the same pilot seat you fly in.

“Throttle, control stick,” he points out immediately.

As much room as you have, it is cramped standing up. So you curl to the side, closer to him, but keep your eyes on the control monitor.

“It’s got a good radar system.” Din comments admiring the monitor too.

You rattle on about how these are the upgraded models everyone got after the war. The original ones you used during the rebellion are classic, but the upgrades were warmly welcomed.

“Sorry, this all must sound boring.” You weakly laugh.

“It’s not. Tell me more.” He reassures.

You’re about to until you hear commotion around the hanger.

So, quickly you scramble up and around to slide into the seat -

Right between the V of Din’s legs.

You crouch low and drag him down too.

“Wh…what are you-”

“Shh…” you shush him. “Have to lie low just in case.”

“So we should leave.” Din urges urgent.

“We’re fine.” You reassure him now.

The commotion you thought you heard passes by, and silence returns.

You exhale a bit relieved, moving to sit up. Then you grin at him from over your shoulder.

“See… told you we’d be fine.”

He stays quiet.

It hits you. Maybe you upset him or crossed a line being this close. Though you aren’t fully pressed up against his chest, the position is still intimate. You’re literally between his legs.

You want to apologize, especially now that the courage fades away fast.

But all you can think about is how stunning Din is, how gorgeous he looks here in your ship.

“One day you should fly it.” You truthfully blurt out while staring at him.

“Don’t think Ward would let me.” He stiffly replies.

“I would.” You immediately counter.

“Plus you look good in here...” Then you realize what you just admitted.

So you try to recover fast.

“Knowing your skills, if you had been with us during the rebellion days, you would’ve fit in just fine. Probably would’ve even been half as good as me.” You add hastily, half joking, hoping he doesn’t linger on anything you said before.

You now glance away to check out the window. The hanger is thankfully still empty.

Then Din suddenly softly breathes your name.

You’ve never heard it sound so holy and raw that it rips you wide open. You completely shift around to glance at him in the lowly light cockpit.

“How inebriated are you?” He asks husky, thick.

“I could recite the entire radar flight plan chart we made for Endor.” You tell him completely wide awake now. Every part of you feels like a live wire completely focused on this man.

His low weak chuckle makes your stomach flip in the best way.

Din exhales, breathy and deep.

You don’t want to over step, don’t want to ruin this. So you patiently wait, hoping he makes the first move.

Feeling his arms slide around yours, tentative but curious, you’re galvanized.

Immediately you rise and twist around to fully stare down at him. Looking at Din for a moment, here in the cockpit of your ship, you want to burn this image into your memory. Want to consecrate this in a way you never may do with anyone else again.

You rest your legs on either side of his, caging him in then you settle down onto his lap.

The soft low noise Din makes is music to your ears.

He says your name, but it sounds more like a warning.

“I want this… I want you.” You tell him, finally admitting the words out loud.

Then, you grind down on his lap, straddling him, and immediately pleasure floods into your system.

Din groans, and it spurs you on instantly.

Frustrated that you’re still in your damn flight suit, you unzip the top, slide off the jacket, and exhale feeling the coolness reach your skin. Sliding your hands up to his shoulders you whisper his name.

Then you grind against the bulge in Din’s pants pressing into you, and your mind goes foggy.

But not foggy enough that you notice Din remains still.

Everything collides into you with a halting stop. What if he doesn’t want this?

“I’m… I’m so sorry.” You halt your movements and apologize composed as you can. Awkwardly you lift yourself off of him.

“No I-” Din starts, but then stops himself.

You settle back down on him but this time further back on his thighs.

“Do you… not want to do this?” You ask cautiously. “Because it’s okay if you don’t.”

It’s okay if you don’t want me, is what you actually want to say. But you’re not brave enough for that, no matter how many empire ships you’ve shot down.

“No.” Din noisily exhales frustrated.

His hands go to rest on your thighs. His head falls forward, crestfallen.

“I want this, want you. Just afraid I won’t be able to stop.” He admits weak.

“You don’t have to stop… I don’t want you to.” You admit, soft and greedy, deciding not to hold back now.

Here in your ship, you think maybe he’s become your prey, trapped in your spiderweb. But then his helmet ever so slightly tilts up to you. Under the watch of his unflinching visor, you now feel like a prey caught within a hunter’s gaze.

His heavy breathing grows stronger and reignites something in you.

“Din,” You mutter his name, and he lets out a strained curse.

“I think about you… too much.” Din reveals like it’s a painful truth, as if the words hurt to say.

“I think about you all the time.” The truth leaves you effortlessly now.

“Wonder about what color your eyes are,” You decide to be the brave rebellion pilot you are.

“If you and the baby are safe, eating well,” you add, and he chuckles breathily.

“I think about how brave you are and how… lucky I am to know you,” you continue feeling molten and sentimental now.

Din says your name again, this time tender, and it almost causes you to falter.

So you lean closer to his helmet.

“I think about how handsome you are… imagine your cock inside me.” You mutter and hearing the words aloud feels too much.

But then his strong hands dig into your thighs and slide you on his lap fully, dragging you across his clothed cock.

How strong he pulled you, the fast friction draws a whine from you.

“Yeah?” He growls and leans his helmet directly against your face. The cool beskar touching your skin is heavenly.

“Yeah.” You moan, and your hips begin their rhythm again.

This time it’s not just you moving. Din finally grinds up into you, and you see stars. Your underwear sticks to your sticky core, but you don’t care.

Not when you and Din rut against each other and his hands chart a path all over you. One hand slides up to your neck, anchoring you close to him. The other moves to your back, sliding up to bunch your tank top in his grasp.

It’s too hot now, and you’re wearing too many clothes.

So you weakly draw away from his hold to reach up and yank your top off.

Then you wiggle the last bit of the jump suit off, trying to let your hips and legs be free. But it’s hard.

Din even chuckles at your struggle, and you shoot him a look, annoyed. Patiently, he helps slide the material down until it pools down your legs.

Now you’re simply in your underwear, completely bare before him.

The sensation of his gloved hands running up your stomach, across your back, reverently taking in every inch of your bare soft skin, it melts you.

“Beautiful,” Din breathes in awe.

Then one of his gloved hands crawls up to knead your breast in his grasp, pinching your nipple. Your head falls back, and your hips return to seek relief. Grinding against him without the jumpsuit, the friction is so much stronger, a delicious undercurrent making you want more.

“Din,” You sob, feeling the pleasure build fast.

“Want you inside of me,” you whimper quickly getting drunk on him.

He cusses again sharp, dragging you harder against his clothed cock.

A loss comes when his hands leave your body, but wearily your eyes open once you feel him move to his pant buckle. Eagerly you join in to help.

His cock in your hand is warm. He’s thick, delicious in size. He’s already leaking, and possessed by something raw you lean down to lightly spit on his cock. Din groans so loud you think it rattles your bones.

Stroking his cock slow, you love feeling his mess mix with your spit.

He quickly hisses your name.

“Inside now,” he urges, a desperate man. Clutching at your hips hard, he practically draws you up.

Who are you to deny your mandalorian?

He helps slide off your stick underwear, now fully bare.

Before you sink down on him, you lean closer to his helmet.

You don’t have to say anything. You simply look at him, a final reassurance to see if he wants this the way you want him.

A gloved hand curls up to your face, cradling your sweaty face, stroking your cheek. His touch is fond, and it rocks you more than anything.

He nods firm, so sure.

So you sink down on him, guiding him into you. Both you and him moan and the world implodes in the most beautiful way.

When you were younger and around the veteran pilots, they used to share tales of how they’d christen their ships. Back then, you couldn’t imagine bringing anyone into this sacred space to do that.

Now you don’t want Din to leave it.

A fervid raw desperation has you clinging to him, Din touches you so protectively, keeping you close. His hands clutch you firm, like he’s worried you could fly away from him at any moment.

Needing to be closer, you curl against his neck. You ache to kiss his skin. But the smell of gunpowder, of something beautifully musky, purely Din, floods your mind and makes your mouth water.

His pace grows sloppy, and you feel it coming too.

“Where?” He slurs urgently.

“Inside, got the implant,” you mutter half dazed, but when you feel his cock twitch inside you moan embarrassingly loud.

“Inside Din please please please.” You now beg, wanting to feel him so badly.

“Not until you come first, wanna feel you.” Din demands growling back, and it pushes you over the edge.

Your climax knocks you into another realm. You’re floating. Din follows you over not long after with the deepest groan.

His warmth fills you, even feel it leaking out, causing you to whimper so content.

Exhausted you flop against his chest loving the cool press of his armor against your bare skin. Then a part of you hisses to pull away. Until Din’s helmet gently leans to rest against your head, and his gloved fingers tenderly stroke your back keeping you in place.

“So… you ever done that before in here?” Din asks, partially joking but still curious.

You shake your head no.

“You’re the only one.” You reveal.

His hand tracing across your skin suddenly stops. Then it fully draws across you to draw you closer to him in a soft like embrace.

An aching adoration for this man cements itself into you. It’s now etched into your heart and now your ship. Maybe the two are the same.

After this night, you find him everywhere now.

Anytime he or you return back from a mission, one seeks the other out.

Din and Grogu now even rest in your quarters.

The lodging here is small, but it’s become your makeshift home. Grogu snuggles up warm among the blanket pile you’ve made for him on the extra cot. And Din sleeps beside you in your bed.

You believed it was something sacred to know a mandalorian, but you realize it’s a true honor to find one seeking rest beside you.

Bathed in the moonlight leaking into your room, you and Din stare at each other lying side by side.

You wish he could relax more, maybe take off his armor.

But remaining helmeted, you understand his creed and don’t want to push. It’s just a small piece of you being selfish and wanting to see him.

“What’s wrong?” He notices your silence.

“I wish I could make this more comfortable for you.” Is the best way you can tell him.

He chuckles.

“Don’t worry, I’m fine.”

To even prove it he settles deeper among the pillows sliding closer to you.

“Nicer than the cot that I have on Nevarro.”

You almost laugh. He’s so endearing sometimes and doesn’t even realize it.

But you’re reminded he does have a home.

“What’s your place like on Nevarro?” You ask about it.

“It’s good, simple.” Such a boring classic Din answer.

“Maybe… one day you can see it.” That addition he makes has your heart racing.

“Yeah, I’d like that” you nod, grateful for the offer.

Slowly your eyes close on their own now.

“Brown,” until suddenly he blurts out a random color.

Wearily opening your eyes blinking at him a bit confused.

“My eyes… they’re brown.” He reveals.

A soft grateful smile warms your face as you thank him.

You fall asleep beside him, wondering about his home, what it would be like to wake up and see his beautiful brown eyes.

But those daydreams get shoved away fast.

Missions begin piling up. The empire trash is getting sneakier, working faster in the shadows. It keeps everyone busy. You barely see Din. When you do the exchanges are brief, simple glances or even short catch ups.

Ward eyes you and Din suspicious but of course aware.

Approaching Din you try avoiding the colonel’s gaze as she leaves.

That’s when you spot the ship that flew in yesterday.

“You wanted… this hunk of junk?” You dubiously stare at the razor crest. This is the beloved ship Din apparently had been searching high and low for.

“She flies better than she looks.” Din defends.

Grogu excitedly waddles up the ramp eager to be inside the old ship.

You still eye the gunship worried about how good she can protect the cargo she’ll soon be carrying.

“Might not be a x-wing, but I trust this ship with my life.” Din senses your apprehension.

You give him a soft elbow nudge that barely makes his budge. But he playfully nudges you back, and a grin tugs at your lips.

“Ugh,” Zeb groans with faux disgust seeing you and Din. You roll your eyes.

“You know, I notice with all the markings… this ship looks like it could fit in with a gold squadron.” You tell Zeb nudging your chin towards the paint.

He barks a laugh.

“Wouldn’t that be a sight. This piece of junk flying with us?” Zeb muses.

“I don’t know…I think the crest would fight right in.” You shrug, fond.

“Yeah? Think we could get Mando in a uniform?” Zeb adds and Din flat out shuts that down with a hard no.

It makes you and Zeb snicker.

Now you head in to examine the ship yourself and look around. The older metal, the antique design and layout, it really doesn’t ease your apprehension, but you trust Din.

“Your beskar boy has shit taste picking a ship like this.” Zed snorts heading up to the cockpit.

“Shut up.” You practically hiss at him.

But he leaves you and Din alone.

It’s hard to navigate this strange space lingering between you and him, as if neither you or him know how to move.

So you decide to be brave. You grab his hand and squeeze it.

“Be safe,” you nod to the mandalorian.

He quietly nods back, gathering your hand in his. He squeezes back just as firm.

You head out of the razor crest and into the bright afternoon sun. From the cockpit window you spot your boys. Din nods a farewell, and Grogu spotting you waves down from the control panel. In his grasp is your silly little monster charm.

Not moving from your spot, you keep your eyes on the ship until it fades into the jump of hyperspeed.

You don’t hear from Din for half a month.

It’s nothing new. You’re had months where missions kept you both busy. And from how displeased she was with the last mission, Ward apparently has him working on something fierce.

Then another week passes, and you’re sent on a protective mission to Chandrilla.

It takes your full attention. But the entire time your mind is on Din. Are he and Grogu safe? Is everything going okay?

“You must be in love.” The Senator you’re escorting on the mission says suddenly. Embarrassment floods you fast.

“I’m sorry?” You ask slightly confused.

He smiles at you kindly.

“You’ve been sighing, seem distant. Like a heroine kept away from a lover.”

Shit.

“I apologize. I promised I’m focused.” You reassure him, and the senator laughs.

“It’s fine, my dear,” he reassures, then leans in eagerly. “So tell me about the lucky person.”

Now here you are telling this Senator about your awful admiration for the mandalorian.

“Oh, a mandalorian.” He whispers in awe. “They’re a rare kind. He must be quite a sight.”

He is. But he’s more than that.

He’s kind and unbelievingly sharp. Strikingly powerful, and unwaveringly supportive. There’s a compassion that walks hand in hand with Din’s firm courage.

“Oh you got it bad,” the Senator laughs.

It’s unfortunately true.

How fast and quickly this mandalorian has disarmed you, but what else would you have expected from a warrior like him? Maybe you were doomed from the start to fight against feelings for such a fierce conqueror.

The thoughts of him keep you going through the mission.

Arriving at base camp, you instead find there’s already commotion.

Din has returned, but he’s not alone.

Jabba’s son, Rotta the Hutt, is with him.

At least Din and the baby are safe.

Standing off overlooking the beach, Din patiently watches Grogu play among the beach waves with the young Hutt.

“So, looks like you’ve been busy.” You say moving to his side.

“Tell me about it.” He sighs.

The rundown he gives you is surface level, getting tied up among the Hutt twins while trying to search for the infamous Commander Coin.

“Things might get hairy soon. I’m heading back to Nevarro to lie low for a while.”

His somber tone says more looms.

“Din…” you mutter cautiously.

He turns to you.

“If you’re in any danger…know that I want to help.” You urge, hoping he’ll tell you more.

“I know.” He nods, yet says nothing more.

Please, your heart begs, please let me stay by your side and fight with you.

But you know fighting against this adamant man is a losing battle. So you sigh and reach down to your belt.

The charm you have on today is your favorite, and you hand it to him.

“Remember to bring it back to me.” You can’t even look at him because your eyes suddenly feel like they could spill over a river of tears.

His gloved hand cradles your face, letting you fully look at him.

“We’ll be fine.” His voice soothes you steeled with resolution.

You nod, fighting harder against tears.

Then Din leans down. He presses his helmet against your forehead. You close your eyes and lean into the cool beskar.

With a goodbye hug to Grogu, you tell the sweet little soul to keep an eye on his dad.

This time, you don’t have the strength to watch them leave.

You throw yourself into any available mission.

Ward must sense why you’re doing this and in a punishment of sorts, she instead sticks you on filing reports.

“Mando will be fine,” Teva tries to reassure you.

You hope he will be. Days pass and you try to settle into a routine.

But then a group of Anzellans arrive in a panic. You’d been working on your ship when they landed.

Currently they rapidly relay a message to Ward. She patiently tries to listen to all of their worried voices.

“What’s going on?” You ask Wolf.

“Apparently Mando and the kid are stuck on Nal Hutta… don’t think it’s looking good.” He mutters back somber.

Absolute dread is unleashed in you.

You don’t realize you’re moving until you’re standing right before the colonel.

“Let me join the rescue strike.” You urge.

Ward turns to you, then sighs, even says your name a bit heartbroken. That says enough.

“Are we really considering not going?!” Your voice raises, shocked and upset.

“It’s not that simple.” Ward, calm and composed, tries to clarify, but just hearing that line feels like an alarm goes off in your head.

“What isn’t simple?! He’s one of us. We have to rescue them.” You argue back harder.

“There are protocols. And with the intel and alliance we’ve tried establishing with the Hutts we can’t just strike in, ranger.” Ward sharply explains, putting you in your place.

Anger burns through your veins.

“She’s right, colonel…” Teva suddenly speaks up.

“Mando is one of us.” He agrees with you.

More Delphi officers stand up.

Before Ward can even say anything, you turn on your heels and head out of the hanger zipping up your flight suit.

You don’t care if this will get you in trouble, hell even dishonorably discharged. Din needs you. Grogu needs you.

Then you hear a few others arrive in the hangar.

Ward calls out your name. This is it.

Turning towards her, you ready yourself to accept whatever punishment. Yet, you instead see your commander in her flight suit as well. Your eyes can’t help but widen.

She sighs yet gives you a half grin, understanding.

“I should sit you out on this mission.”

“I know. I’ve accepted that I’ll be doing reports for the rest of the year.” You sleepily shrug.

Her smirks grows bigger.

“Try two years,” she says heading to her ship.

You’ll happily accept that too.

The twin’s palace is heavily guarded, and it’s a true dogfight on Nal Hutta.

Then Din’s voice electrifies the coms as he reports in with Colonel Ward. Absolute relief blooms in your chest, and you feel like crying. He’s alive.

Now you fly harder and faster than you ever have. It reminds you of Endor. That final battle all you thought of was the hope right before your eyes, knowing something precious was so close and needed to be defended.

That’s what this feels like.

You manage to knock out a few droid ships, but the main focus is on the palace.

Yet Din remains inside.

And Ward gives the command to light the place up.

“Get out of there. Please.” You whisper out loud or maybe to the force itself.

Then, the stronghold goes under flames.

You and the others circle around, flying out of the line of fire from the explosion. Yet your stomach stays in knots.

“Anyone got eyes on Mando?” Wolf asks before you can.

Out from the smoke, there among the water below, you spot them. Your boys are alive.

A watery relieved laugh escapes you as you blink away the tears.

“Go pick up the trash, Zeb.” Ward jokes, and you can’t even be mad.

Knowing they’re safe is all that matters.

Vibrating with so much emotion, you land besides Zeb’s ship hoping to see them.

But Ward of course arrives first.

You instead idle by your x-wing, pretending to be checking your engines. Ward tells him the truth about the Hutts that even you didn’t know. So that’s why she finally agreed to go.

“And… we don’t leave our own behind.” Her words resound within you.

Din deflects, saying how he’s not with the New Republic.

“Sure you aren’t Mando, sure you aren’t.” She says.

“If you aren't one of us… Who do you think helped convince us to come?”

Ward’s insinuating tone shoots a shock up your spine.

You keep your gaze on your ship, refusing to even look their way. Focusing on mindlessly keeping busy, you don’t notice footsteps approaching until you move out from under the wing. There Din stands waiting.

He’s here.

Grogu cries gleefully, and your attention turns to him. You eagerly accept him into your arms hugging him tight.

“I’m so proud of you. You must have been so brave, my little ranger.” You even press a kiss to his fuzzy head, addressing him as the courageous officer he is.

The baby coos back fond, embracing you with his sweet but sturdy little arms.

While he’s still in your hold, your eyes open to find Din.

He stares unwavering at you, and your eyes water again.

“Welcome back,” you croak out.

Din nods, then, he raises up your favorite charm you gave him.

“Had to bring this back.”

With a watery laugh, you shake your head.

“Your dad is so silly,” you half whisper to Grogu who giggles, agreeing.

A sigh leaves Din but, in a few steps, he walks towards you.

Then you and Grogu are gathered into his embrace. You immediately wrap one of your arms around Din.

“Thank you… for coming for us.” Din’s voice is gentle, grateful.

“Always.” You answer back with a resounding truth.

Your job is tied here, and you might fly for the sake of the New Republic. But you believe your true wings, your heart’s flight navigation, now will always include a path for and to Din Djarin.

Currently he chats with Rotta, from what you heard might be staying here too.

Once you head into the mess hall Ward calls your name. With a patient knowing grin, she holds out the datapad with the promise of the paperwork you knew would be waiting for you.

Logging in with your chain link, a new message suddenly chimes onto the monitor from an unknown contact.

It contains a coordinates location to Nevarro along with a single message attached.

Stop by whenever, we’ll be waiting

Quickly, you start the reports happily accepting your punishment.

You believe you have never seen Lady Kilmartin this uneasy; and she is often uneasy, as even in silence, her anxiety tends to be loud—at least in front of you she is.

Not like you deem it a problem.

If you were to be honest, you would confess you find her adorable.

Cute.

Beautiful.

Breathtaking.

And it's not that you fancy her—of course you don't, she is your employer. The lady of the house. Dozens of ranks above you. Married to John Stirling, who you have known your whole life since your parents have worked for the family for around forty years and you have lived there as well. And also, she is a woman.

So, yes, it's not that you fancy her.

Except that you do.

“I should like to ask you something.”

You tilted your head to meet her eyes in the mirror, undoing her corset unhurriedly. “Of course, my Lady.”

She cleared her throat and looked at you, hesitant and anxious, and shook her head. “No, forget it. Thank you.”

“Are you certain?” You frowned. “Because you can ask me anything you please.”

“Yes, I am certain,” she replied and curved her lips softly. “You can continue.”

You nodded.

But her curious despair was bigger than her shy nerves.

“What is a pinnacle?” She asked suddenly, the question making you drop her corset to the floor and leave her bare in front of the mirror. “In the bedroom. Do you know?”

“Oh—”

Francesca blushed and picked the nightgown to cover herself. “I apologize, this was inappropriate, was it not? I just— John asked. He asked whether I had reached it or not and I said I had but I have no clue what it is that I was supposed to reach and Penelope mentioned something and I asked my mother but she would not tell me! I— sorry. Sorry. This does not concern you, I apologize.”

“You wish to know what a pinnacle is?”

“Yes,” she confirmed after sighing heavily. “I merely want information, but I understand if you do not wish to speak of the matter with me.”

You hummed. “Lord Kilmartin does not satisfy you?”

“No, he does! I just… No, he doesn't.” She pressed her lips together. “And I do not understand. I love him! I love my husband, I truly do, I do not know what is wrong with me!”

“No, no! Do not say that, my Lady, you are not the problem.” You shook your head. “May I ask what you and Lord Kilmartin do?”

“Uhm…” She blushed and looked up, too embarrassed to meet your eye. “We kiss…, he takes off his clothes, he… touches me there and, you know, he…”

“I understand.” You smirked lightly. “Do you take off your clothes? Or just your undergarments?”

“Just my undergarments.”

You nodded. “Sometimes, a woman needs more than that to reach her pinnacle, my Lady. That does not signify that there is anything wrong with you, it just means your partner will have to do additional things so it is enjoyable for you as well, but that is not to be any sort of imposition. You deserve to enjoy it like your husband does.”

“What kind of additional things?”

“Like getting you naked and touching more of your body, kissing you in places that aren't only your mouth, uh… You could mention it to your husband, my Lady, I am certain he would be willing to help.”

“Have you reached it before? The pinnacle?”

“Yes,” you said. “It is most… delightful, I must say.”

“Is it?”

You chuckled softly. “It most certainly is.”

“How does it feel?” She raised an eyebrow and turned to face you.

“It… starts slowly. Your body starts getting warmer, your heart beats faster, and it is like everything around you is too much and not enough at the same time. It comes from between your legs and expands to your whole body, it feels like you will explode from within with how good it is sometimes.”

“Thank you for the information,” she muttered. “Can I ask you something else?”

“Of course,” you agreed and turned around to help her in her nightgown.

“Can you teach me how?”

Well.

What a question to ask someone who is on her knees in front of you.

“So I know what to tell my husband. You don't have to do it! You don't have to. Only if you… want to. Please.”

“Alright, I will help you.” You nodded and stood up, leaving her gown on the floor. “I can guide you.”

“Thank you.”

Francesca stood awkwardly in front of you, almost making you laugh at how incredibly sweet she was.

“Lay on the bed.”

She nodded quickly and rushed to the bed as if you would regret it if she took a false step.

You took a seat on the edge of the bed and gulped at the sight of her. “Close your eyes… and… touch your body. Slowly. Try to focus on the feeling.”

Francesca inhaled and exhaled calmly as she complied, brows furrowing a little in concentration.

“You could stick to your breasts for a moment,” you proposed. “You can—yes, just like that.”

Her breath caught ever so slightly as she played with her nipples, eyes darting at you as if asking for approval.

“Does that feel good?”

She nodded, looking at you as she touched herself.

She stared at you as her hands explored elsewhere, as you asked her how it felt when she reached certain places, and as she nodded in affirmation.

It physically hurt that you couldn't be the one to touch her… you know that if she was yours, you wouldn't let her go to sleep not knowing what an orgasm is.

What hurt the most, though, was that she looked at you every step of the way.

“Wait,” you stopped her when she was almost reaching her cunt. “Open your legs wider.”

She swallowed hard, watching your reaction more than anything. “Like this?”

“Yes, just like that... You are ravishing.”

A soft moan left her lips and she felt herself clench around nothing at the praise.

So this is really it? Is she about to achieve her first pinnacle?

“Am I?”

“Yes,” you confirmed, seeing how incredibly soaked she was. “You can continue.”

She nodded and continued her path.

Her body jerked when she made contact with her clit and a loud whimper left her lips.

“Don't stop,” you whispered. “Rub yourself in circles. Be careful, for you are sensitive, but when your body asks for more, you could put a finger inside yourself.”

She nodded. “How do I know when my body asks for more?”

“You will know it,” you replied, suppressing the urge to join. Touch. Help. You gripped the fabric of your skirt until your knuckles hurt. “How are you feeling?”

Francesca bit her lip slightly. “I am feeling great.”

“Are you sure?” you asked, gently putting some strands of her hair behind her ears and ignoring how your touch only gave her goosebumps.

“Yes.”

“Then perhaps I should leave you to it,” you mentioned and attempted to stand up, but she gripped your forearm with her free hand.

“Stay,” she ordered, and you have never seen her this desperate. “Please.”

“Okay,” you agreed and took a more comfortable position on the bed. “I will stay.”

“Thank you,” Francesca moaned and closed her eyes, though her face was still turned to you, the filthy sounds of her making you press your thighs together. You noticed she had not let go of your arm, instead gripping it harder.

“Does it help… that I am watching?”

She opened her eyes. “Yes.”

“Is it exciting to be watched?”

“Yes.” She widened her legs more and inserted her index finger inside herself, letting out a quiet hiss. “Do you find it exciting to watch me?”

You certainly weren't expecting that question.

“I do,” but you answered honestly. “You are incredibly beautiful, my Lady. Anyone would be excited to watch someone like you.”

“I think I am close!” she cried out, breath labored. “Goodness, I— It's not enough, God, I'm—”

“Allow me,” you interrupted her and, in a matter of seconds, your hand replaced hers. “How does this feel? Is this okay?”

Francesca was dripping in pleasure, eyes closed shut and your name leaving her lips in feral whispers. “Yes, yes, please, oh, God. Please, do not stop, please.”

“You must be quiet, or someone might hear.”

“I cannot… I— I cannot be quiet, this feels so— Oh, God.”

You looked around, too worried for your own good, and there was only one way you knew to shut her up.

You kissed her.

And she returned the kiss like her life depended on it.

You felt her walls tightening impossibly hard, making it difficult for you to continue, but you would not dare stop.

She needed this. You needed this.

The way she tried to bring you closer by your neck and shoulders, how her hips thrusted forward so you could go deeper, how you could swallow her whines to silence, all until she finally reached her pinnacle, it all drove you insane.

Finally.

She writhed underneath you, thighs trapping your hand firmly, all the tension dissolving into waves that washed away her almost everlasting frustration, the residues of her pleasure being enough for her to want more.

You broke the kiss. “Was that okay?”

“That was amazing,” Francesca confessed in a sigh of bliss, still dangerously close to your lips. “Thank you.”

“You are most welcome, my—” You were interrupted by a kiss on your lips that caught you off guard but was not unwelcomed one bit.

You moaned into the kiss, diving deeper into her and letting her take you in entirely, and there she laid on her bed, her legs still shaking every few seconds but keeping your hands in place, your fingers still in and out of her softly as her pinnacle subsided.

Francesca broke the kiss barely to say “Don't leave.” and immediately kissed you again.

“As you wish.” you muttered against her lips, yours making their way to her neck to kiss her there while your other hand toyed with her nipples.

“Can I touch you?” she inquired, fingers hesitantly touching your bare cleavage with her fingertips.

You continued fingering her, gaining speed soon enough. “You would like to touch me?”

“Yes,” Francesca stated plainly, moaning as you pulled out your hand and turned to rub her clit rapidly. Her hips imitated the rhythm of your fingers and her lips let escape her cries of pleasure. “Yes, yes, yes, oh, God, yes, yes!”

“Yes, Francesca?” You, once again, shut her up with a kiss. “You would like to touch me?”

“Yes, yes!”

“Right after you give me another pinnacle?”

“Am I— Am I about to… Oh, my God, get another pinnacle?”

“I am fairly certain you…” Before you could finish that sentence, she screamed your name to announce her second pinnacle, though you interrupted her with a kiss before she could get too loud. “Shh… Be quiet, be quiet,” you cooed, pecking her lips before speaking again. “While I would love to have you all for myself and hear you scream my name as loud as you need to, you must be silent or else someone will hear and come to check if you are well.”

Francesca nodded. “Okay.”

“Now,” you purred in her ear. “I remember you mentioned you would like to touch me?”

“I would very much like that.”

“Alright,” you accepted but, before taking off your dress, you surprised her with your actions: you sucked your fingers clean.

Tentative, with intention.

Francesca's eyes flickered with something darker, sweeter, and she watched you with hunger.

When was the last time she needed something as much?

Was it two hours or two centuries ago?

She debated, she yearned, all while you undressed yourself under her curious, heavy, starved gaze.

She ached, she fantasized, all while you positioned yourself atop her and held her hand to drive it to your glistening cunt.

Francesca allowed you, touring your slit carefully—she felt her body beg for more touch, for you.

You grunted. “Francesca—”

“I like it when you say my name,” she muttered against your lips, her eyes fixed on yours like you are the last thing left on Earth. “You are really pretty.”

You bit the inside of your lower lip and kissed her again, feeling how her surprisingly skilled hands got to know the most intimate part of your body. “You as well. Oh…”

If you were to be honest, you would say you had never come as quickly as this one time—a time so different than those you have shared secretly with one of your fellow maids, mainly because this is the woman you were born to serve.

Does this count as serving her? Would this, somehow, be considered as part of your duties? If so, you have never been more glad to have this job.

Also because she is the most beautiful woman your eyes have ever laid upon. She is perfect with her long brown chestnut curls, her soft skin, and such wonderfully talented fingers that had your walls clenching in ecstasy like never before.

Francesca left you empty to then imitate your actions and suck her fingers, and then she frowned softly, the salty and unfamiliar taste of your arousal peeking her curiosity. “Do I taste similarly?”

You crawled backwards, not without kissing your way south, and definitely not without taking a little of your time to suck her nipples, latching onto them with some delicious sort of despair. Francesca whined with no stop, hands gripping the bedsheets as she felt her heartbeat reach places she never believed possible for it to. “I know of one way to find out.”

Francesca squirmed and watched you intensely, a soft gasp of complaint when your mouth let out her tits, taking back all the attention, left her flushed lips. “How?”

“Open up,” you instructed, hands separating her knees delicately. She covered herself, embarrassed. “Do not shy away, Francesca. Nothing here I am yet to see.”

“I just—” She blushed, the red sprawling from her ears to her chest. “I am slightly embarrassed, that is all.”

You hummed, encouraging her to open her legs. “How could you be embarrassed? Do you not know how incredibly beautiful you are?”

“Sorry,” She huffed out a shy chuckle. “I apologize.”

“Do not ever apologize,” you told her, feeling her open her legs with hesitation. “We could stop if you so wish.”

Francesca widened her eyes and shook her head. “No! No, no, let's… continue.”

“Are you sure?”

She nodded eagerly. “Yes.”

You curved your lips, comforting, as she gave you the much needed space.

“You are perfect,” you told her and kissed the inside of her thigh. “You are so wet. That means you are enjoying this. You are?”

“I am,” She breathed out heavily. “And you?”

You drove her legs to your shoulders and dove in, leaving a slow kiss on her clit. You licked your lips, eyes fixed on her. “Sure I am. She is so pretty, is she not?”

“Who is?”

“She is.” You smirked and started kissing her, enjoying her taste as if you hadn't drunk anything for months. “And she tastes so good, too.”

Her eyes rolled back and her thighs trapped your head in place. “This feels so good…” Francesca whimpered. “Goodness…”

You pinned her hips to the bed as you continued eating her out, soft and sweet, like she is a dessert you don't want to finish. She urged you to go faster, the pleas in her moans and the placement of her hands in your hair were enough of an indication that she needed it.

“It is coming again,” Francesca shrieked. “The pinnacle. Please, please.”

Instead of words, you allowed your actions to speak for themselves, quickening your pace as a result.

Honestly, you were growing slightly tired, but you wouldn't dream of leaving her on the edge, so close that she…

“Oh, my God!”

Francesca came once again, feeling as if her soul had left her body and she was watching herself react to her most recent pinnacle from far above.

She almost hates herself for never experiencing this with her husband, but if there is something for which she can actually hate herself, it is that every time she tried to picture her husband touching her instead of you, the filthy and demanding thrill would expire and only calling your name could ground her back to this moment.

It was you.

The sight of a body like hers, that reacted like hers, and felt like hers brought her a thrilling challenge that her husband couldn't. The feeling of nimbler hands on her body and your soft, dedicated mouth on her lips was a sweeter thought.

You are a sweeter thought.

Your lips on hers that tasted like her own arousal were salty, but sweeter than all the biscuits from teatime.

And she pondered about it all until she fell asleep.

before tonight, he would’ve scrawled out a similar answer to his peers in a blue crayon. bats, sharks, maybe even clowns. whatever preconceived notion of a threat his nine year old mind had configured and exaggerated.

the thought of losing his parents wasn’t one he would’ve entertained. it was impossible to even imagine, his parents were meant to stay with him forever. the thought maybe might’ve come to him in the middle of the night, in some freak nightmare where he woke up sweating and screaming, but that would be all.

just a nightmare. a figment of his imagination.

a nightmare that had quickly become a reality. his parents shouldn’t have been out tonight, shouldn’t have left the confines of their tightly guarded manor.

and yet, satoru had insisted on going to catch the last showing of—what movie? he doesn’t remember now—despite their reluctance. he tugged, he begged, he threatened to run away. when none of that worked, he settled for throwing a tantrum. his pouting and cold shoulder was enough to get even the most stubborn of the gojos’ to get dressed and out the door.

“it’s unbecoming of a young man to indulge in so many sweets,” his father spoke, lip curling at the sight of the cherry slushy in the young boy’s hand. in the other, boxes of overpriced candy and chocolate were barely juggled onto the counter in front. “you’re a gojo. people are always looking at you.”

satoru would like to say that no one’s noticed them during the entirety all of five minutes that they’ve been here. but he could feel people’s stares boring into their faces, cameras discreetly positioned around to snap a photo of the family. and yet, he can’t bring himself to let go of the sweets in his hand.

he can practically see the headlines now: gojo heir seen gorging on sweets, are the parents truly capable at what they’re doing or does this mark the end of gojo industries?! more on chapter five

his mom shakes her head, a placating smile on her face. “he’s the smartest in his class, he should have some indulgences once in a while.” she’s taken the role of playing peace between the two—often spoiling satoru in ways that his father normally bristles in. she unzips her birkin, unflinching at the fifty dollars she just spent in the concession stand over candy.

the showing room is deserted, reserved for no one else but the gojo family. the carpets had been cleaned just hours prior, the smell of lavender floor cleaner overwhelming the further they stepped in. no signs of popcorn spilt, no signs that it had ever been meant for anyone other than the family. even the leather seats had been polished, shimmering underneath the yellow hue overhead.

satoru takes a seat in the middle, allowing him for what he thinks is the perfect view. his mother takes a seat next to him, occasionally grabbing a bite of chocolate from an open box before it’s gone. it’s quiet except for the sounds of chewing and slurping, and well, his father complaining every five minutes. about how unrealistic the plot was, how quality in tv had gone down.

maybe he’d just ask just his mom to come with him next time.

he doesn’t remember when the first two shots rang out, too distracted by the sound of his own voice over the honking cars down the street and a police siren echoing through the crowd. “oh man, when that girl killed that guy, i was like woah—mom, are you listening?”

what he does remember is the sound of milky white pearls clattering against the dirtied concrete, each one stained crimson. the scent of rubber grating against asphalt, burning as the car screeched away at 60 miles an hour to escape the crime scene.

he remembers blood dripping onto his hands, staining the expensive valentino suit he’d been excited to pick out for tonight. he clutched onto his mom’s dying body, watching as the life slowly faded away from her vibrant, big blue eyes. they softened up every time she looked at him, crows’ feet prominent with every smile that she sent his way.

her face was still soft, still warm in that way he remembers. but her eyes turned grey, unfocused and dull. each breath that leaves her lips is ragged, each one more difficult than the last. “i…love you, satoru,” one last ragged whisper leaves her mouth, lost in between the sounds of the night.

his hands dig into expensive fabric, shaking her limp body over and over like a ragdoll. willing for her to wake up, for her to scold him. waiting for the moment that this stops being a nightmare. “mommy, mom,” he whimpers, head buried against her stomach, “i love you too.”

sobs racked through his nine year old body, shaking him to the bone. tears blurred his vision, prickling at the edges. religion had never been embedded deeply into his life, but he found himself whispering a prayer he heard alfred say over and over again.

gojo had seen his father in a variety of states—overjoyed when a merger went through, when a mistrial happened on a case against the enterprise, angry when he broke an expensive vase, when he got less than a hundred on a test. but he’d never seen him look so weak. so frail. desperately clinging to stay alive and failing at the same time.

help never did come.

expensive stilettos clacked against concrete, calm and precise, sharp eyes focused forward. briefcases brushed against his shoulder, the men around him walking as if blood wasn’t sticking to their shoes. as if each step that they took wasn’t staining the floor underneath red.

he should’ve called gotham pd, satoru knows that. should’ve done something other than just keeling over, bawling his eyes out until a headache slowly started throbbing in the back of his skull. but he can’t bring himself to move, can’t bring himself to go through his mother’s corpse to find her phone.

gojo can’t help but wonder why he’d been kept alive, if he should even be alive right now. he didn’t register how long it’d taken the police to arrive at the scene, putting up yellow tape over the perimeter and leading him out. “he’s in shock,” he thinks he hears one of them say.

“no shit, his parents are dead,” his comrade mutters, immediately freezing up at the cold look satoru shoots his way. it’s too late to back up now. the officer merely clears his throat, gaze averted downwards, “i’m sorry kid.”

alfred picks him up at the station immediately after the call had been made, rushing him back home. the ride had been silent, everything had been silent. the old butler worried, brows furrowing in concern, but he didn’t say anything. didn’t make the young gojo do anything other than grieve.

the older man shooed away the paparazzi as best as he could, keeping them away from satoru’s school, from the manor, from any recital places that they would dare sink their claws in. even so, he couldn’t avoid the whispers from his classmates. the long stares, the silences that lingered when he stepped foot into the room. alfred didn’t protest when he left gotham years later.

the years hadn’t been kind to satoru, torso littered with slashes and cuts from fights he’s been too stubborn to back down from. fears had been molded into a weapon of strength, into an emblem of resilience. and yet, he thinks his biggest fear as of yet is seeing you get married off to nanami kento.

he doesn’t even have a reason to hate the man—trust him, he’s tried. gojo’s spent the last day scouring through database after database, reading through articles once, twice, even three times to try to find something that isn’t there. he’s tapped into security cameras, hoping to catch what emails don’t capture.

hoping to catch him coming out of a building with a suspicious lip stain on his collar, with a singular blond hair out of place, only to find nothing in return.

gojo quickly comes to learn that nanami leads a very dreadfully boring life.

nanami works as the district attorney, voted in just the past year. one of the only few men in a position of relative power that wasn't influenced by how much the penguin had or how much he could be paid by whatever politician was running for mayor in the city. just a knack for justice and for prosecuting cases that paid less and cost more than they should.

when he’s not working on behalf of the state, nanami makes his way back home. back to the shared apartment he has with you, unwinding with an amber glass in hand and easy conversation. sometimes going off to dinner in a restaurant satoru wouldn’t dream of stepping in, often times choosing to stay in.

gojo can’t even be mad—you’re not the one who left, he is. ran away to a mountain halfway across the world, half dead before aid came to his rescue. he didn’t send so much as a letter, so much as a goodbye. just a simple ‘we’re over’ after school senior year before he disappeared into the wind.

repenting for a crime he didn’t commit with each day he pushed himself further in his training, trying to make his survival amount to something. amount to anything. gojo molded his body into a weapon, taking punch after punch only to stand back up again to do it all over again.

he hadn’t even mentioned coming back into gotham city—the news reporters that ventured near the manor would have a field day if they knew. instead, his arrival comes in whispers shared in the dead of night between mobsters, their fingers tightly pressed around the 9mm in their back pocket.

nightly patrols are taken with much more caution, much more vigilance. their eyes dart around their surroundings, hold around the gun tightening all that much more when they so much as feel a breeze nearby. when they see a shadow that doesn’t quite belong. and yet, no matter how many precautions are taken, gojo takes them down before they even realize a fight’s started.

knocks them down with one swoop to their calves, back slamming against the cold concrete. they rush to dig their gun out of its holster, unsuccessful in each attempt as the batman starts punching them. information dropping from their blood soaked, swollen lips like water, all too eager to be let go. batman doesn’t kill, each punch however making these criminals wish that he had killed them instead.

however, when satoru gojo does dare to make an appearance, it’s nothing short of a spectacle.

cameras flash from every direction once he steps out the backseat of a slick, all black cadillac. “is that gojo satoru?” someone whisper-shouts from a distance, all too eager to poke their head in. “didn’t he leave gotham?” another whispers back, voices getting drowned out by the sound of reporters clamoring around like blood thirsty vultures to a fresh pile of rotting flesh.

“gojo satoru, why’d you leave gotham?!”

“gojo satoru, do you still plan on continuing the gojo enterprise?!”

“gojo satoru, is that your girlfriend?! that’s utahime iori from the famous singer group!”

“gojo satoru, just five minutes of your t-”

swarovski crystals adorn the ceilings, expensive chandeliers bathing the room in a warm, golden light. hushed conversations fill in the empty pockets of silence that the jazz music couldn’t quite grasp, talks about the menu, about the weather, about expensive golf courses. your heels clack against the floors, nanami’s hand splayed out against the small of your back.

a nice date night in celebration of managing to get one of the penguin’s henchmen to spill the beans about an offshore account in exchange for thirty years.

he leads you to the table he’d managed to get a reservation for (…after three months of no avail), following the waitress over. she gives you a warm smile before setting down a set of menus, assuring she’d be right back to take your drinks. nanami is nothing if not the perfect gentleman, pulling your chair before you even have the chance to blink.

commotion stirs at the front of the restaurant, the doors swinging wide open to reveal a white head of hair you’d never thought you’d see again. the line of guests immediately start to protest, watching as he walks past without so much as needing to give his name, muttering about the quality of the restaurant.

“we’ve been standing here for thirty minutes,” a woman complains, disdain mustered as best as possible on her botox filled face.

“i know, can’t believe they’re just letting anybody in,” another utters in response, mouth agape when the mystery man of the hour drops his sunglasses. she’s met with a pair of aquamarine eyes, a shade of blue that makes it feel like dipping into the bluest of rivers.

the protests die down. there’s nothing more to say, nothing more to do than hope a table clears up for the rest of the guests. his eyes scan through the crowd, spotting you and nanami sitting in a table in the far back.

perfect.

you don’t pay too much attention to the man up front, chalking it up to pure coincidence. how many men had naturally white hair in gotham? (not many, but the chance was still there.)

“would you like some wine?” nanami questions, breaking you out of your stupor when he tilts your chin up. you’ve been staring at the menu for a few seconds now, trying to pretend like you’ve been struggling to decide what to get.

“i’d love some wine, sure.”

“i’ll get a bottle of your pinot noir, please.” the waitress quickly scribbles your order down, swerving through the tables in the dining room like a maze she’s figured out by now. it doesn’t take long before she’s returned with the chilled bottle, setting down your glasses. nanami fills up your glasses halfway, the restaurant’s atmosphere almost making him look dreamy.

bright chandelier lines illuminate the chiseled lines of his face, his arms bulging with each movement that he made underneath his blue button down. “to us,” he murmurs, his glass hitting yours with a clink. “to us,” you echo, finally taking a sip of the pinot. it’s not intense going down your throat, the taste of berries and cherry lingering on your tongue.

you can’t wait to get him home. to stop hallucinating you’re seeing satoru gojo, of all people.

—

gojo, meanwhile, leads utahime to the back, her hand wrapped around his forearm as their steps fall into tandem. satoru stops in front of you, clearing his throat. your name slips from his lips like something sacred, like something still worth holding onto. “and—” he finally turns to look at your date, lips curling up into a forced smile, “nanami kento, pleasure to meet you.”

definitely not hallucinating.

“the famous gojo satoru,” nanami states dryly, unamused at the man standing in front of you, “i’ve been told all about you.” the two men exchange a handshake, veins nearly popping with how firm they’re exchanging the gesture. each one is hesitant to pull away first, awkwardly gripping each other’s palm for a couple seconds before pulling away.

“i certainly hope not.” your smile falls at gojo’s words, clearing your throat. nanami turns to look at you, not questioning it yet, but making it clear he intends to. satoru still manages to read you like a book, changing the subject immediately, “so, let’s put a couple tables together. catch up for old time’s sake.”

nanami looks around, all the tables in a close proximity occupied to the max. “i’m not sure that they’ll let us,” he muses, “it looks pretty full in here.” he wasn’t lying, the place was filled to the brim and even more people were waiting outside, sweating off their louis vuitton in line underneath the scorching hot afternoon sun.

“ah, but they should, nanamin,” a small smirk makes itself known on gojo’s face, patek phillippe glinting underneath the lights as he lifts his hand. “i own the place.” he gestures with his fingers for another table, the restaurant immediately shifting in order to accommodate his whims.

waitstaff nearby scramble off their feet, every order that came before discarded in favor of satisfying satoru gojo. a table is pushed beside your own, chairs scraping against polished floors as they’re adjusted in a haste. the chairs are lined up to the perfection, right in between the table like one inch off would be enough to set off the owner.

which, maybe it would.

“ah, i forgot to introduce my date. how very rude of me,” he lets out a dramatic sigh, gesturing over where said date was standing. she was tall, a scar running from the side of her face that looked beautiful on her. they looked like the perfect pair. the thought stung a little, you weren’t sure why.

she had on a floor length burgundy velvet dress that fit her like a glove, molding onto every curve as if it was designed with only her in mind. an expensive (if you had to guess) fur coat across her shoulders, holding a chanel bag in hand. “utahime, nice to meet you both.” her embrace is simple, a handshake, but it was still nice. just nice enough.

“oh, you’re the main singer from the kyoto sorcerers,” you snap your fingers, “we have tickets to go see your show next week, you’re very talented.”

utahime gives a small smile, one that feels more like it’s out of politeness than anything else. “ah, well i can’t wait to see you there. gotham’s certainly been… interesting.” with the look of disgust on her face, you’d bet gojo’s manor she was almost robbed.

probably counting down the minutes until she was on the first plane out of here.

“come on, the city’s not that bad. i grew up here, y’know.” gojo has a playful pout on his face, leaning back in his chair. he’s grown up from the boy in high school who used to sneak sweets to basketball practice, who used to pick whatever flower he found off the ground to give off to you.

he’s filled out into the suit he’s wearing, back and biceps stretching out nicely into the jacket he’s wearing. not as big as nanami, but he’s bulked up. he’s grown his hair out, sporting an undercut you can’t help but wonder what it’d feel like to run your fingers through. aquamarine eyes no longer look full of life, no longer gentle, jaded but still just as beautiful as you remember.

you can’t help but wonder what it would’ve been like if he’d stayed—if he’d be the one sitting across from you right now. if it’d be his ring you’d be wearing, the person you’d be laying next to every night. but wondering that is silly, right? you’re engaged.

to nanami kento. a great man who you’re out with dinner tonight. you’re happy, ecstatic even. it’s just the wine making you linger on nostalgia for too long. just the wine, nothing else.

nanami merely raised a brow. “i wasn’t aware the gojo manor was within city limits.” you could practically cut the tension with one of the perfectly sharpened gold encrusted steak knives at the table. satoru merely let out a laugh, taking a sip from the glass of water in front of him.

“the palisades? sure, they are,” gojo hums, glancing over at you through a narrowed gaze. almost daring you to contradict him. you shrink in your seat when nanami turns to face you, both men putting you in an awkward situation. “you really should start learning the bounds of your jurisdiction, nanamin. very important to keep it in that noggin of yours.”

you only gulp down a generous portion of the wine in front of you, fingers tightly grasped around the stem of the glass. satoru doesn’t miss the glimmer coming from your ring finger, chandelier lights catching onto the small gem adorning a golden band. he would’ve gotten one bigger.

luckily enough, utahime was there to your rescue unknowingly. enbolded by the wine, she started off, “i’m talking about the kind of city that idolizes a masked idiot like the batman.” both men now turn to face her, a welcome distraction from staring at you. she takes a generous sip of wine before continuing, “what the city needs is someone like you, nanami. elected officials working for the law..”

“ah, well, the batman shows gotham that even a regular citizen can be a hero. it’s empowering to the people around gotham.” it’s not usually the answer given—most people rightfully arguing about the legality of the vigilante’s actions, about how far he’s willing to go.

utahime raises a brow, letting out a quiet scoff before taking another sip from her glass of wine. clearly, she’s not satisfied with that answer. “or maybe you’re the batman,” she deadpans, bringing the menu card up to nanami’s face. she covers up the top portion of his face, trying to mimic the effects of the cowl.

it doesn’t look right.

“pretty sure someone would’ve noticed if i left the house at night to play vigilante,” his hand clasps against your own, thumb rubbing small circles against the back of your hand. you don’t miss the way both of them turn to look at the ring on your finger.

obnoxiously clearing his throat and attracting the attention of every one in a one foot radius, gojo leans forward to study the ring on your finger. he taps on his chin, “marriage, huh? never took you for the type. thought you wanted to graduate and travel, all that nice stuff.”

you really wished the earth would swallow you now. maybe that the joker would appear and damage your dinner plans just to have a way out. but no. nothing extraordinary.

“priorities change. people change after a decade.” you don’t mean for the words to come out as cold as they do, but they land with a sharp sting to his chest. gojo’s smile falters, lips pursed into a tight frown.

“i’m aware, thank you. i just mean, it’s a big change from what you wanted in your life, is all,” he shrugs, nonchalant about the situation like he hadn’t resurfaced old wounds, “one can’t help but wonder how truly happy you are.”

nanami and utahime watch the scene like a ping pong match, now looking at you. awaiting for your response. “i am perfectly happy with nana-”

before you can continue, the waitress decides to approach the table with a stack of menus in hand. she sets them down, defusing the tense atmosphere in seconds. “i’ll be back to take your orders.” you pluck yours off the table, immersing yourself into the world of twenty different variations of caviar and wagyu.

the rest of the dinner goes surprisingly well after getting through those road blocks, with gojo even promising to host a fundraiser for nanami’s reelection campaign coming up in a few weeks. “trust me, a fundraiser with one of my buddies, and you’ll never need to campaign again.”

begrudgingly, nanami came to accept. even if the idea of taking money from a bunch of billionaires didn’t sit quite right with him, it was a help that he greatly needed against the corrupt agents he’d be going up against. you make your way out of the restaurant around eleven, waiting for the valet to bring kento’s car back over.

nanami doesn’t hesitate to take off his jacket the moment he notices you’re shivering in your spot, sliding the material over your shoulders. it faintly smells like him, like his expensive cologne. you wrap it around yourself like a blanket, wanting to engulf in the scent.

of course, gojo couldn’t leave without a proper goodbye. he approaches nanami first, extending his hand out. there’s not as much tension between them, though it still lingers. “nanami. a pleasure to finally meet you.”

and then he turns to face you, his hand reaching out for your own. you hate the way butterflies take flight in your tummy at the sight of him pressing his lips against your hand, even more so when he says, “even if you’ve changed since we last seen each other, you look nothing short of beautiful.”

nanami’s jaw clenches upon hearing that much, your own agape. the drive back home was silent, the atmosphere tense and awkward. you thought about breaking the silence a couple times—saying something about not knowing what gojo was saying. but nanami didn’t seem interested, intent on keeping his focus on the road ahead.

—

gojo hadn’t meant to stumble into such a private moment between you and nanami—hadn’t meant to stumble onto his fingers pistoning in and out of your sopping cunt.

he’d meant to check in, truly.

see if you’d gotten home alright. if you were starting to get settled in for the night.

he knows utahime would come over if he asked nice enough and threw in a new dior bag with the deal. any woman in gotham would come over, really, if he asked. and yet, here he is.

tugging his sweatpants down his beefy thighs, legs spreading out as his twitching cock springs out to hit his stomach. precum dribbles from his flushed red drip, a hiss leaving his lips when he drags his thumb across the slit. “f-fuck,” a soft moan leaves his lips, his other hand moving against the computer.

zooming in onto your cunt. as good as nanami’s home security system has been, it was nothing compared to gojo’s bat computer. he starts off slow, fingers wrapping around his shaft and jerking himself off at the same pace nanami’s fingering you in. your cunt squelches, moans filling the expensive sound system in the bat cave.

“do you think gojo could fill you up like this?” nanami’s voice lowers into a taunting whisper, his fingers just slowing down enough to leave you bucking your hips back against him, “fuck you like i can, sweetheart?”

you shake your head fervently, “n-no, no! just you ken,” you all but whine, wiggling your hips in front of his dripping fingers, “i don’t want gojo, i just want you, please.”

that only makes the man behind the camera start to jerk himself off faster, one of his hands coming down to massage at his balls. his head rolls back, eyes fluttering shut. precum smears over his fingers, coating his shaft with each pump he gives himself. gojo lets himself imagine being there—imagining watching nanami fucking into you.

sitting in a cuck chair in the corner of the room, tugging at his cock with you staring directly at him. drooling over another man’s fingers, fucking yourself back onto your fiancé. maybe if he was lucky enough, get to join and fuck your tight cunt, he’d settle for just mouth, really. get to be degraded by nanami too.

fuck.

his thumb rubs at his swollen head, each touch like livewire against the sensitive skin. gojo pushes himself to the edge only to let go of that pleasure, each time pushing himself further and further before halting right at the precipice.

kento works you open, fingers scissoring inside your walls to stretch you open, his thumb rubbing at your clit in quick, little circles. “so good so good, fuck ken, fuck!” you’re a blabbering mess, face pushed against the couch cushion underneath. his fingers switch from scissoring you to prodding at your g-spot, pushing you closer and closer to your orgasm.

you turn to look back at him, cock throbbing and tenting against his dress pants. still, his own pleasure is foregone in sake of yours. “need to cum,” you whine, your abdomen tightening up like a coil. each push of his hips, each touch against your clit, all of it pushes you closer and closer.

“do you deserve to cum, my love?”

*gojo would like to take this moment to say that no, he doesn’t think so. but well, he’s not in the room.

you shake your head, trying to keep yourself from squirting over his hand. it’s hard, counting down until ten, until twenty. “n-no, but i need to, please.” your face scrunches up, brows pulled together as a loud moan rips from your throat. “please, please, please.”

“go on, then. take it, take what’s yours.” he keeps moving at the same pace, keeping it steady while his fingers push you over the edge. you bury your head into the cushions, cunt clenching tightly around his fingers before—“oh, fuck!” your release washes over you like a wave, eyes rolling back as euphoria settles in your body. slick dribbles down to his knuckles, a loud squelch! vibrating through the walls when he pulls out.

gojo chooses that moment to let himself cum, his wrist twisting his hand around his throbbing cock and the other rubbing at the tip, rubbing at the frenulum. “o-oh, just like that, just like that!” he thanks the gods above he decided to soundproof the batcave, now that he’s desperately whining as he shoots strings of sticky cum up into his hand, onto his stomach.

nanami pulls his hand away, sticking his fingers in his mouth. the taste of you lingers on his tongue, fills his senses with the finest of ambrosia. he wraps his lips around the digits, tongue sliding up his fingers to get every single last drop. “you’re so good to me, you taste divine.”

nanami’s fingers pull at the cheetah print tie he’d donned for the night, pulling the satin fabric over your eyes. you’re submerged in darkness, dexterous hands tying a quick knot at the back of your head. “is that okay?” he questions, his fingers moving against the knot to ensure it’s not tight.

“yeah, it’s fine.” every sense is acting on overdrive—listening intently to each shuffle of fabric as he unzips his pants. nanami does quick work of discarding his clothes, pushing them off to the side before taking hold of your hips.

“arch a little for me, sweetheart,” he orders, your ass in mid air as you hoist yourself up on your hands and knees. you’re still dripping, cunt clenching around nothing at all. nanami can’t help himself—lapping up a string of slick dribbling down your folds, “just like that, perfect.”

one hand grips around the base, giving himself a few slow pumps before starting to push himself in. even his fingers hadn’t worked you enough, your walls clenching tightly around his thick cock. “relax for me, just like that, you can take it,” he assured you, pushing in another inch. your fingers grip at the cushions in front of you, digging into it as he finally bottoms out, heavy sac against the plush of your ass.

it doesn’t take much for gojo’s cock to stir back to life again, despite having just cum all over his fingers. just the sight of having nanami inside you in 4k was enough to have his previous softening cock twitching and throbbing again, his fingers gripping at the base once again.

kento starts off slow, retracting his cock before pushing it back in. slow and deep, letting you get adjusted to the stretch. one of his hands rests against the small of your back, forcing your back to arch even further. slick dribbles from your cunt like a faucet, smearing his shaft with each push. squelch squelch squelch!

when you start wiggling your hips against him, trying to fuck yourself onto him is that he finally decides to speed up. his fingers grip at your ass, tip hitting your cervix with each snap of his hips. “o-oh fuck, fuck, fuck, ken!” you babble, eyes rolling back behind the blindfold. heavy balls smack against your ass with each thrust, plap plap! painting the room in nothing but moans and the sound of skin against skin.

nanami’s normally gentle when he makes love to you—taking his time to make sure that you’re comfortable, to make sure that you’re being loved the way you deserve. it’s gentle, it’s devoted. and not to say that he isn’t doing the same now—but he’s moving rougher. trying to implant the idea gojo couldn’t fuck you like this. one of his hands moves across your body, goosebumps raising underneath his fingertips as he glides through the flesh.

his fingers move down in between your legs, your clit throbbing underneath his fingertips. he swaps between rolling the nub in between his digits to rubbing quick little circles, your cunt clenching impossibly tighter around his cock. like a serpent wrapping itself around its prey, only you wanted to push him past his limits.

“cum for me, sweetheart, come on, take it, it’s all yours,” nanami whispers right by your ear, all the hairs on the nape of your neck standing up. this orgasm hits you unexpectedly, your walls spasming around his shaft before you’re coating him in your slick. it dribbles down to his balls, his thrusts faltering as he struggles to keep his own orgasm at bay.

it doesn’t take long after for nanami (and gojo) to cum, thick spurts of cum painting your walls white. he slowly pulls out, fingers quick to push back the cum dribbling down your thighs, down to your folds, inside. kento’s chest heaves, now working on sliding the blindfold off your face. you blink slowly, getting adjusted to the moonlight pouring into the room.

it’s quiet for a moment, everything’s at peace between the two of you. your own chest heaves from the intensity of your orgasm, muscles slightly aching as you roll onto your back to relax. but peace before the storm doesn’t last very long, does it?

"are you still in love with gojo?" the question lands like a bucket of ice cold water, post orgasmic bliss quickly fizzling out. you blink slowly, a nervous laugh bubbling from your lips, “what?” nanami merely shakes his head, retreating into the bathroom. the sound of running water follows, drops landing onto the ceramic sink when he squeezes any excess water from a washcloth.

“you are many things but you are not dumb, my love. please answer me that question.” he rubs the washcloth against your sensitive cunt, and though the action is gentle, careful even, you feel as though it’s mechanical. like he’s simply forcing himself to go through it.

the thought makes your heart sink.

where gojo was chaos and unpredictability, nanami was peace. nanami was reliable and secure. he was someone you could have the white picket fence and a golden retriever with. gojo was someone you could have a reckless time with, a time that you’d enjoy but you’d be counting how much you had left of.

which makes you sound like a car salesperson, you quickly come to realize.

it’s not fair.

to nanami or yourself.

“i do,” you hate how small you sound when you speak, words spoken as nothing but a whisper, “and i love you. so so deeply. but… i think that a part of me will always love satoru gojo.”

“i see.” nanami pushes himself up from the bed, sheets rustling underneath. he plucks his glasses off the nightstand, fixing them over the bridge of his nose. “thank you for being honest with me, however i need to reevaluate this situation.

i’m not sure i can get married to someone who loves someone else.” he says situation like it’s a merger gone wrong, a business deal that didn’t pull through.

the front door slams with finality. you can’t bring yourself to sleep that night, awaiting for kento to come in through the door late at night. you never do hear a creak, never feel the comfort of his body next to yours.

the flashing red light you’d seen earlier from the corner of your eye fades into nothing, leaving you in the darkness of the room.

nanami kento wasn’t supposed to be out tonight. wasn’t supposed to be out in gotham city at the same time the joker was out terrorizing the city, maniacal laughter trailing each step that he took.

—

the next time you hear from nanami is from a hospital bed.

"hi, we're calling from gotham metropolitan hospital." it’s still early in the morning—bedside clock reading 9:59 a.m, but those words immediately have you shooting up in bed—eyes crusties be damned.

"we're calling you because you're listed as nanami kento's emergency contact. would we be correct in that assumption?" worry bubbles deep in your stomach, your hands shaking against the grip on your phone. a shaky breath leaves your lungs, barely registering as the nurse speaks up again, “hello? are you there, ma’am?”

you clear your throat, trying to muster up enough courage to continue the call, “i’m here, sorry. yes that’s me.”

“he’s been admitted late last night. nanami suffered from some heavy burns and he’s now in the icu…” a ringing sound echoes through your head as she continues speaking, your gaze directed onto the front door.

this was all your fault, wasn’t it? he wouldn’t have left the house if it wasn’t for you. why couldn’t you have lied to him, said that you didn’t love gojo anymore? that you only envisioned a future with him?

—

antiseptic and lysol cleaning spray seeps through the walls in thick, relentless waves, the stench embedded into the hospital’s every corridor. people gather around waiting rooms, some with family, some alone. a couple look tired, worn down from sitting down on a stiff chair for hours while others tremble anxiously—both anticipating and fearing any updates.

you make your way into the icu, giving your name at the front desk. a nurse hands over a sign-in sheet and a name tag, “he’ll be right behind that curtain,” she gives you a polite smile once you plaster the name tag on. “just, keep in mind he looks different from the last time you’ve seen him.”

passing through the hallway, your eyes scan through the whiteboards on the window. trying to find nanami’s room. some are here for high blood sugar, for surgery, and finally, you meet his room at the end of the hall. the door creaks, hinges squeaking in protest when you step inside.

nothing could’ve prepared you for the sight behind the curtain.

nanami lays on a hospital bed, wires littering his arms and connecting him to a barrage of machines on the side. a heartbeat monitor filled the silence, the sound steady and grounding. gauze covered one half of his body, a light dressing enough to keep germs away from the exposed wounds.

away from the burnt half of his body.

he turns his head to look over at you, no sign of any displeasure of you being here. no sign that the argument was still in mind. “you came,” he whispered, voice hoarse.

“i came,” you easily respond, though your voice shook at the edges. you didn’t want to cry—not in front of him. so you settled for doing the next best thing. passing over the water in his styrofoam cup over, watching as he struggles to sit up.

he takes the cup with a quiet thanks, taking slow sips of the water before setting it down. “i’m glad that you did. i wanted you to know that i apologize for the way i acted. i know that you love me.”

you shake your head, one of your hands reaching out to take his own. nanami feels cold to the touch, something you’re not quite used to. he’s like a furnace, normally, warming you up better than a blanket can. your fingers squeeze against his hand, holding him tightly.

“it wasn’t fair to ask you to be okay with me loving someone else,” you murmur, “but i wanted you to know that i only do want you.” you’re not sure when warm tears started streaming down your face, only feeling his thumb wiping away the droplets.

conversation comes as easily as it once did between the two of you, no mentions of the joker or what happened last night. only about the future, about what you’d be doing for your wedding. “i was thinking we’d go to a honeymoon in malaysia. the east coast islands have some of the prettiest waters,” he suggests, “it’s been a while since we’ve had a proper vacation.”

“i’d really like that.” you didn’t mind where it was, didn’t mind if it was just in the comfort of your apartment or in a resort in a beach—you just wanted to be with nanami. he quickly fell asleep, sedation working overtime to keep him from being in excruciating pain 24/7. despite everything, he looked peaceful. relaxed.

you’re not sure how long passes by in between watching his chest rise and fall slowly with each breath and updating his mother on his condition—assuring that everything seemed to be fine for the most part. but you start to grow tired in the chair as well, start to feel the letters of your keyboard blurring into one mess.

your eyes flutter shut, about to let yourself relax too, just enough to take a quick nap before heading back home. it’s calm and quiet for the most part, just the sound of rolling carts passing by in the halls an—BEEP! BEEP! BEEP!

eyes shooting wide open, you’re met with the sight of nanami’s heart monitor beeping rapidly. the line on screen had settled into a straight line, no sign that his heart was beating. flashing red lights go on overhead, the intercom system calling over nurses. you stand up in a panic, rushing out the door. “he needs help, please!”

everything passes by in a blur. a huddle of nurses usher you out the room, the rest practically trampling through the door while they push a cart in while they speak about a code blue.

you watch helplessly from the small window on the door, a nurse rubbing paddles of a defibrillator together. a shock’s delivered, currents administered throughout nanami’s veins. his chest jerks up from the movement, limp body flailing upwards. he doesn’t wake up.

“administer another shock.” one of them orders, paddles rubbing against one another before landing on his chest again. another shock gets sent through his body, another shock that wasn’t enough to get his heart started back up.

“time of death: 15:45.”

—

the apartment that you once shared with nanami now feels empty, feels like the space itself is mourning his loss. the walls feel bland, constricting with each step you took further into the space. like it knows you’re not the one supposed to here right now. there’s no warm smell of vanilla and flour welcoming you in, nothing but the space that kento left behind.

you can’t bring yourself to go into the bedroom yet, can’t bring yourself to face that maybe, just maybe, if you would’ve said the right thing, he would’ve been standing right beside you. so, you settle for sitting down on your worn down couch. wrapping a blanket that smells like a mix of expensive leather and oud cologne and fabric softener, a scent you want to catalogue and imprint to the back of your head before it fades away. before the last traces of nanami leave your life.

you think he would’ve looked at you with that same tired but fond smile you’d grown accustomed to, pulling at his tie while relaying about his day. about haibara mixing up the blue and red ink again. about higuruma inviting him out for lunch, offering a case to do together pro bono.

but you’ll never have that again, will you?

you’ll never see him stumble in through the door again, never see him look at you with that same adoration again. never cuddle up under the blankets together, watching tv with a home cooked meal on your lap. the screen in front of you remains off, only showing your reflection. your red rimmed eyes, your trembling hands.

turning the tv on, you’d be faced with your ex fiancé’s face on every news channel. that’d only confirm what you already knew, what you’d been begrudging to accept. so you don’t, not yet. if you don’t look at the news, you can pretend that he’s still alive for just a few moments more.

something catches your attention from the corner of your eye, an envelope that wasn’t there before. reluctantly, you step over to the kitchen, fluorescent lights too bright when you flick on the switch.

a letter sits on your kitchen table, no kind of indicative from who it was from—but you knew already. gojo. you grab the letter, words blurring at the edges and tears smearing over the ink.

i wasn’t sure how to start this letter out, but i want you to know that i deeply care about you. your friendship is one i have greatly appreciated. i want to apologize that my whims got nanami involved in business that shouldn’t have been his to handle, and so, i have decided that you are no longer part of my life. i can’t handle losing you too. but i love you.

attatched to the letter in the back was a check for eight million yen, enough to cover the funeral expenses. part of you thinks about ripping it up, but you don’t. he deserves to be remembered, to have his ashes scattered in malaysia. so it sits on the kitchen table next to the letter, waiting for you to accept the fact nanami’s not coming back.

or gojo for that fact. he’s rebuked you from his life, from even being a part of it, in hopes of keeping you safe. without so much as letting you get a word in about the manner.

you’re all alone.

you decide to turn the tv on, the blanket no longer feeling as comfortable as it once did. the fleece itches against your arms, the material itself knowing it wasn’t right for you. that you weren’t its rightful owner. it’s covered in every news media outlet—a citywide hunt now taking place for the joker.

the same people that were grieving over nanami’s loss yesterday, each one offering their condolences spoken into a microphone and in front of camera, were now the same ones that were tearing away his reelection posters today. ripping each one away like it’d never been there in the first place, ripping them at the edges in a haste, while plastering whatever candidate they could find in such short notice.

they played the part well, coming over to express their sympathy while simultaneously making smear campaigns the moment you turned around. you didn’t care about their sympathy, didn’t care about their fake smiles, or offerings.

you just wanted your fiancé back.

your pocket buzzes with a new notification, the words 'your wedding invitations have been delivered!' shining brightly on the screen. your grip on the wedding band in your palm only tightens, eyes brimming with unshed tears. you were meant to be wearing a white gown, preparing for the biggest day of your life, memorizing and reading over your vows. instead, you were reading over your eulogy and smoothing over a black dress.

you were so, so close.

You and Anakin had been sent on a small reconnaissance mission to the Outer Rim, just beyond Republic-controlled space. Intelligence from the Jedi Council suggested that a Separatist outpost was being established on a remote moon—not large enough to warrant a full-scale operation, but important enough to verify before the Separatists could fortify it.

It was a quick mission: slip in, scan the area, confirm or deny enemy presence, and return. You’d finished your scans, confirmed the base was just a false lead, and were already on your way back to Coruscant when Anakin decided to “save time” by cutting through a less-charted sector.

You’d warned him the nav computer showed no registered fuelling stations in that quadrant, but he’d waved it off with a trademark grin—the kind that made it hard to stay irritated even when you knew you should be.

“We’ll make it,” Anakin chuckled, shaking his head at your worry. “I know the numbers better than that machine does. Trust me.”

Now, two hours later, the fuel gauge blinked a bright, accusing red.

“Apparently, trust me means ‘run out of fuel in the middle of nowhere,’” you said, deadpan, as the ship gave a sputtering lurch.

Anakin’s jaw flexed as he adjusted the controls. “We’re fine.”

The ship groaned again.

You folded your arms. “Define fine.”

He shot you a side glance. “Fine means I’m landing us safely on that planet before you say—”

“I told you so?” you arched a brow. 

Anakin sighed, fingers tightening on the controls. “That.”

The tension broke slightly, but his frustration was still palpable—he hated being slowed down, hated admitting mistakes, especially when he didn’t want to take this mission in the first place.

The nearest habitable planet registered as unidentified—no record in Republic archives, but with a breathable atmosphere and detectable vegetation. Against his better judgment (and his pride), Anakin brought the ship down.

The ship hummed with a low, protesting growl as it descended through the pale clouds of an uncharted world. Smoke curled from one of the engines, and the fuel gauge blinked accusingly red.

“We wouldn’t even be in this situation if someone had topped up the tank before we left,” Anakin muttered from the pilot’s seat, jaw tight as he fought the controls.

You shot him a look from the co-pilot’s chair. “Someone was too eager to prove he could get us back without refuelling.”

He exhaled sharply through his nose, eyes fixed ahead. “That’s not the point.”

“Of course it’s not,” you said sarcastically, and he gave you a sidelong glare that said you’d hit the mark.

The ship touched down with a jolt on a flat patch of dusty ground surrounded by towering, violet-leafed trees. The world was quiet—eerily so—but the air was warm and fragrant, alive with the hum of unseen insects. 

Anakin stood, brushing his gloved hand on his tunic. “Stay close. We just need to find some fuel or trade for it. No wandering.”

You nodded. “Of course not.”

Five minutes later, you were wandering.

The trees here were strange—thin and crystalline, their bark translucent, glowing faintly from within. The air smelled faintly of spice and sugar. You stepped off the trail, drawn toward a small cluster of delicate flowers the colour of sunrise.

Curious, you knelt, leaning in. “Anakin, look at this one!” you called. He was still tinkering near the ship but glanced up at the sound of your voice.

“Don’t—” he began, already walking toward you.

“I’m not—” you protested, then stopped as the flower unfurled slightly under your breath, as if reacting to your voice. “That’s strange…”

You reached out, just to point, and the plant shuddered. A second later, a puff of shimmering golden mist sprayed directly into your face. You stumbled back, coughing, blinking glitter from your eyelashes.

“—touch anything,” Anakin finished dryly as he reached you, expression flat but eyes glinting with barely contained amusement. “Are you alright?”

You coughed again, waving the air. “I think so. It just—uh—sprayed me.”

He crouched beside you, inspecting the plant. “It’s some kind of defensive mechanism,” he murmured. “Probably harmless.” Then his nose wrinkled. “You smell… sweet.”

You blinked. “Sweet?”

He nodded, lips twitching. “Like, I don’t even know. Like candied fruit.”

You glared at him. “That’s not funny.”

He raised both hands. “I didn’t say it was.” But the corner of his mouth betrayed him.

You sighed, brushing glittery dust off your tunic. “Next time, you can do the exploring.”

He smirked. “Next time, we’re not stopping for fuel.”

You were still brushing glitter from your sleeves when Anakin crouched again, studying the flower like it had just challenged his mechanical expertise.

“Don’t even think about it,” you warned, watching him dig through his belt pouch.

“I’m just collecting a sample,” he said, tone all Jedi seriousness now. “If it’s some kind of reactive pollen, the Council will want to know. It could be useful for research.”

You folded your arms. “Translation: you’re curious.”

He gave you a pointed look. “Curiosity is part of scientific observation.”

“Uh-huh,” you hummed dryly. “That’s exactly what you said before taking apart a thermal detonator last month.”

He ignored that, producing a small containment vial. “It’s harmless,” he said confidently, leaning in toward the golden bloom.

You took a deliberate step back. “That’s what I said right before it attacked me.”

Anakin tilted his head, his voice soft now, almost coaxing. “Easy… just need a petal sample—”

Pfft! The flower pulsed again and sprayed a burst of golden mist straight into his face.

He froze. Eyes squeezed shut. Shoulders stiff. A shimmering dust cloud settled over his tunic, catching in his hair, the light making him look almost—well, radiant.

Anakin straightened slowly, eyes half-lidded, expression flat. He brushed at his tunic, only spreading the shimmer further. “Maker help me,” he muttered under his breath.

“Don’t,” you said, trying and failing to suppress a laugh. “Don’t move—you’ve got—glitter everywhere.”

Anakin exhaled through his nose, which only made it worse.

“Not. A. Word,” he warned, stepping closer, but that just made you laugh harder.

He gave you a look, equal parts irritation and reluctant amusement.

There was a moment of silence. Then you absolutely lost it.

He wiped his face with the back of his gloved hand, expression flat. “Very funny.”

By the time the laughter had died down, you and Anakin made your way back to the ship—both still dusted faintly in gold. The sun of the strange world hung low and heavy in the sky, casting the crystalline forest in shimmering amber light. It was beautiful, but the air felt different now—thicker, warmer, almost buzzing with life.

Anakin crouched by the ship’s side panel, retrieving a small canister of reserve fuel. “You know,” he said, still brushing the occasional fleck of glitter from his glove, “this is exactly why the Council prefers Obi-Wan for recon.”

You smirked, leaning against the hull. “Because he wouldn’t run out of fuel or get into a glitter war with alien flora?”

“Exactly.” He twisted open the panel and began attaching the canister hose. “Though to be fair, I don’t think he’d have found this place half as interesting.”

You rolled your eyes, but there was a fondness in it. “Interesting is one word for it.”

The two of you fell into a comfortable rhythm—him managing the refuelling, you keeping watch and handing over tools when he asked. It was quiet except for the soft hum of the fuel transfer and the distant whisper of the alien wind.

After a moment, you wiped at your temple and frowned. “Is it just me, or is it getting hotter?”

Anakin paused, glancing up. There was a faint sheen of sweat at his hairline too. “No, it’s not just you. The temperature reading’s stable, though.”

You squinted toward the glowing tree line. “Maybe the sun’s shifted. Or…” You trailed off, looking down at your hands. There was still a faint shimmer clinging to your skin—almost like the dust hadn’t fully settled. You flexed your fingers; the warmth under your skin felt strange, like an echo.

Anakin followed your gaze. “You still have some on you.”

“So do you,” you pointed out, suppressing a grin. “You’re sparkling.”

He huffed, muttering, “Don’t start.” But then he paused again, frowning slightly. “Do you feel… off at all?”

You hesitated. “Maybe a little light-headed. And warm. You?”

He nodded slowly, eyes narrowing with that calculating Jedi focus. “Could be the planet. Or that plant.”

You tilted your head, teasing, “What, you think we’ve been poisoned by space glitter?”

Anakin gave you a look. “I’ve seen stranger things.”

You couldn’t argue with that—not after years beside him. Still, as he went back to tightening a coupling, you caught the faintest flicker of gold beneath his collarbone where the dust had caught the light. The way the air shimmered around you both made your heartbeat quicken for reasons that didn’t feel entirely logical.

He glanced up again, meeting your eyes. For a moment, neither of you said anything—just stood there in the alien heat, the ship purring softly beside you, the world humming with quiet energy.

Finally, you cleared your throat. “If we both start glowing, I’m blaming you.”

He smirked, breaking the tension. “If we both explode, you can blame me. Glowing sounds like the better option.”

You laughed, shaking your head. “You’re impossible.”

“Maybe,” he said lightly, “but I’m still the one who’s getting us back.”

You smiled—but the warmth beneath your skin lingered, thrumming faintly, like the planet itself was pulsing through your veins.

By the time the fuel line hissed shut, the sun had dipped lower, painting the horizon in streaks of violet and gold. The air still felt thick and heavy, humming faintly with warmth that didn’t seem to fade—not even as the wind picked up.

Anakin secured the canister, gave the ship’s hull a firm tap, and straightened. “That should do it. We’ll have enough to reach the nearest station.”

You nodded but didn’t move to go inside yet. The ship’s shadow stretched long across the strange crystalline grass, and for some reason, the idea of climbing back into the cockpit felt… abrupt. You caught his glance and saw the same hesitation mirrored there.

“Maybe we should eat first,” you said after a beat. “Before we take off.”

He considered, then nodded. “Good idea. We could both use a break.”

The two of you set up a small portable ration kit near the landing strut—something you’d done countless times on missions before. But tonight, the simple act of sharing a meal felt different. 

The air was still shimmering faintly, golden flecks drifting lazily around you, catching in his hair, on your sleeves. The warmth wasn’t just from the alien atmosphere anymore—it was something quieter, deeper.

You unwrapped a ration bar and tossed one his way. “Dinner of champions,” you said dryly.

He caught it one-handed, smirking. “Don’t get too used to it. When we’re back on Coruscant, I’m making sure we get a real meal.”

“You cook now?” you teased.

“Only when the galaxy isn’t trying to kill me,” he said, taking a bite.

That earned a soft laugh from you, but then your smile faded slightly as you leaned back against the ship, eyes drifting toward the horizon. “You ever notice how it’s always quiet right after the chaos ends? Like the galaxy gives you one deep breath before the next storm.”

Anakin followed your gaze. “Yeah,” he said quietly. “It’s the only time I actually feel like I can breathe.”

Something in his tone made you glance at him. The dying light painted his features in gold, and for the first time since you’d known him, he looked… unguarded. The edges of his usual confidence had softened—replaced by something gentler, more human.

You felt your chest tighten in a way that had nothing to do with the plant or the heat.

“Maybe that’s what this place is,” you said softly. “A breath between storms.”

He looked at you then—really looked—and the space between you seemed to shrink without either of you moving. The air shimmered faintly again, the gold dust in the atmosphere catching like starlight, and you both felt it: the strange pulse under your skin, steady and warm.

Anakin frowned slightly, though his voice had softened. “You feel that too, don’t you?”

You nodded. “Yeah. Like—everything’s louder. Brighter.”

“Maybe it’s the plant,” he murmured.

“Or maybe it’s something else,” you said before you could stop yourself.

The words hung there, delicate and dangerous. For a long moment, neither of you moved. His gaze lingered on you—steady, searching—and you could feel the weight of everything unsaid pressing between you like gravity.

Then, mercifully, he broke eye contact with a low breath and a crooked smile. “Whatever it is,” he said, “let’s hope it wears off before Obi-Wan sees us glowing like this.”

You laughed softly, tension dissolving just enough to breathe again. “Agreed. He’d never let you live it down.”

Anakin’s smirk turned a little more relaxed. “You mean us.”

You rolled your eyes, finishing your ration bar. “Fine. Us.”

The rations were long finished, but neither of you seemed ready to pack up just yet. The strange, golden twilight had softened into a dusky glow, and the air hummed faintly around the ship like the planet itself was alive.

You rummaged through your pack, pulling out one of the few pieces of fruit you’d brought from the Temple—a small, pale orange sphere that looked like a cross between a peach and a tangerine.

“Something that doesn’t taste like compressed starch,” you said with a small smile, tossing it in your palm.

Anakin raised a brow, leaning against the hull beside you. “You’ve been holding out on me.”

You grinned. “I was saving it for an emergency.”

“This doesn’t count as one?” Anakin wondered. 

You looked around pointedly—at the empty world, the still air, the faint shimmer of gold still hanging between you both. “If this doesn’t, I don’t know what does.”

You took a bite. The juice was sweet and cool, a welcome contrast to the heavy warmth around you. But a drop of it slipped down your chin before you could catch it. You made a small, annoyed sound and wiped at it with your sleeve, but the motion just smeared it faintly across your skin.

Anakin chuckled under his breath—that quiet, low sound he rarely let anyone hear. “You missed a spot.”

You rolled your eyes. “Thanks, I’m aware.”

Before you could reach for your sleeve again, he moved—a small, thoughtless motion, the kind that came from habit rather than intention. He reached out with his thumb, brushing the side of your chin to wipe away the trace of juice.

The gesture was quick, gentle, almost clumsy—but when you looked up, he was closer than you’d realised. Close enough that you could see the faint golden dust still caught on his skin, the way the light flickered in the blue of his eyes.

Neither of you moved.

The air between you seemed to thrum again—not with danger, not with the strange warmth of the planet, but with something quiet and unspoken. His hand lingered for half a second longer than it should have before he caught himself, pulling it back and clearing his throat.

“Sorry,” he said softly, eyes flicking away. “Reflex.”

You swallowed, trying to ignore the way your heartbeat suddenly felt louder in your chest. “It’s fine,” you murmured, but your voice came out quieter than you expected.

For a few seconds, neither of you spoke. The air shimmered faintly between you, carrying that same warmth that had been building all evening—but it wasn’t oppressive anymore. It was… grounding.

Anakin exhaled slowly, looking out toward the glowing treeline. “We should probably get going before the temperature drops.”

You nodded, forcing your hands to steady as you packed the last of your things. “Right. Before another plant decides we look like a threat.”

That earned a small smirk from him—the familiar one that broke the tension just enough to let you breathe again.

You both climbed back into the ship, the engines rumbling to life beneath your feet. As the planet fell away below you, its golden light shrinking into the blackness of space, you couldn’t help but glance sideways.

Anakin’s expression was calm—controlled—but his hand, resting on the throttle, flexed once, like he was grounding himself.

Whatever the plant had done, whatever the warmth had stirred, neither of you spoke of it. But it lingered—a quiet hum between you, as constant as the stars outside the viewport.

The ship lifted smoothly through the atmosphere, leaving the shimmering planet behind. From the cockpit, the clouds looked like spun glass—beautiful, fragile, and distant. You leaned back in the co-pilot’s chair, exhaling as the steady hum of the engines filled the cabin.

Anakin adjusted the controls with his usual focus, though you noticed how his jaw still worked slightly—that quiet, restless habit he had when his thoughts ran faster than his words.

“You’re quiet,” you said softly.

He gave a small shrug, eyes fixed on the viewport. “Just… thinking.”

“About the mission?” you mumbled, glancing down at the retreating planet. 

“About how I’m going to explain to the Council that we ran out of fuel because of my ‘creative navigation choices,’” he said dryly.

You smirked. “I’m sure they’ll love the part where you got attacked by a flower.”

That earned a faint, reluctant laugh. 

A moment passed before you tilted your head toward the controls and said, lightly, “You might want to plot the hyperspace route before we end up landing on another unknown planet.”

Anakin glanced sideways, catching the teasing glint in your eye. “You’re never going to let me live that down, are you?”

“Not a chance,” you said, leaning back with a grin. 

He made a sound halfway between a groan and a laugh as his hands moved deftly over the controls. “Remind me to leave you on the next mystery planet we find.”

“You’d miss me,” you said before you could stop yourself.

The words slipped out lightly, but they hung there, weightier than either of you expected. Anakin froze—just for a heartbeat—and you saw the corner of his mouth twitch like he wanted to smile but didn’t quite trust himself to.

“Maybe,” he said quietly, flipping a final switch.

Stars stretched into blinding lines as the ship jumped into hyperspace. The cockpit filled with that silvery light unique to lightspeed—soft, endless, reflective.

You both sat in the glow for a while, neither speaking. There was something about the stillness between jumps—the way the stars blurred into motion but the cabin stayed cocooned in silence—that always made it feel like time itself slowed down.

You glanced over. His features were calm again, but you caught a flicker of gold still glinting faintly on his jawline, a remnant of the planet’s dust.

The hum of the ship in hyperspace was soothing, a steady vibration that seemed to sync with the pulse of your own heartbeat. You leaned back in the co-pilot’s seat, stretching your arms above your head.

“It’s going to be a couple of hours before we hit Coruscant,” you said softly. “I think I’m going to take a quick nap.”

Anakin glanced sideways, concern flickering in his eyes. “You okay?”

You nodded, a small smile tugging at your lips. “Mm-hmm. Besides… you’re perfectly capable of keeping us alive, aren’t you?”

He smirked, but it didn’t reach the tension in his jaw. “I suppose I can manage.”

Settling back, you closed your eyes. The ship’s gentle sway and the faint warmth lingering from the mysterious planet made it easy to drift off, the silence of hyperspace wrapping around you like a soft blanket.

When you woke, the ship had not yet exited hyperspace, and you immediately realised that the nap had done more than refresh you. Sweat clung to your hairline and back, and your robes were sticking uncomfortably to your skin. Your hair, previously brushed from the golden dust, now clung damply to your neck. 

You were a hot mess—exactly the kind of disheveled state that made it hard to meet anyone’s eyes, let alone Anakin’s.

“Hey,” he said, voice low but edged with concern. He leaned slightly toward you, brow furrowed. “Are you alright?”

You nodded quickly, trying to brush past the discomfort. “Yeah… just a little warm, that’s all.”

He didn’t seem entirely convinced, and you noticed something unsettling—or maybe electrifying—in the way he looked at you. His usual controlled composure was subtly fractured: his hair was tousled in a way that mirrored your own messy state, the faint golden dust still glimmering in it, and his eyes held a heat you hadn’t seen before—the same way you felt yourself burning from the nap.

You swallowed, suddenly very aware of the proximity between you. “I’m fine,” you repeated, though your voice sounded smaller than intended.

Anakin exhaled, brushing a hand across his forehead—he looked exactly like you felt: hot, restless, and caught somewhere between self-control and the pull of something deeper.

“You really don’t look fine,” he said softly, a note of something unspoken threading through his words.

You pressed a hand to your temple, trying to steady your racing thoughts. “I just… need a second,” you murmured.

You leaned back, trying to ignore the sticky heat from your nap and the strange pulse that seemed to linger under your skin. You closed your eyes for just a moment longer, hoping a few minutes of rest would make you feel human again.

Anakin was close—too close—even without meaning to be. He kept glancing at you, concern etched in his features, as if reading every line of tension in your body. The golden dust from the planet still clung faintly to both of you, catching the hyperspace light and giving the cabin an almost ethereal glow.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” he asked softly, voice low enough that it seemed meant for you alone.

You swallowed, a little too aware of the warmth radiating off him. “I—yeah. Just… overheated, I guess.” 

He didn’t move away. Instead, after a quiet moment, his hand rested lightly on your knee, not pressing but steady, grounding, and somehow impossibly intimate.

You let out a soft, involuntary groan, half-frustrated, half-surprised, as a shiver ran up your spine at the contact.

“You’re… tense,” he murmured, his thumb brushing just enough to notice your reaction without overstepping. His gaze met yours, a mixture of concern and something unspoken, something deeper that seemed to echo the warmth still thrumming beneath your skin.

You tried to shift subtly, but it was impossible to ignore the faint heat radiating from his hand. “I—ah—just… I’m fine,” you said quickly, though the groan had betrayed you.

He didn’t pull back, only tilted his head slightly, studying you. “You don’t sound fine,” he said softly. His eyes flicked to your lips for a heartbeat before returning to your eyes.

You swallowed hard, suddenly hyper-aware of how close he was, of the warmth and of everything unspoken and dangerously heavy in the cabin. 

“Maybe… maybe I just need a moment,” you murmured.

He nodded, still keeping that steady, grounding presence. “Take your time,” he whispered, thumb brushing against your knee again in that same gentle, careful rhythm.

The silence that followed wasn’t empty. It was full—full of everything the mission, the planet, and that golden dust had been stirring between you. Every shiver, every pulse of heat under your skin, every subtle brush of his hand made the moment thick with possibility.

That’s when you realise it. The sheer, overwhelming pleasure coursing through your veins, the familiar ache in your lower stomach. 

You were turned on. Your core pulsated uncontrollably as a bead of sweat ran down the side of your neck. 

You had to suppress a moan at the revelation, clenching your thighs together to relieve some of the tension there and completely forgetting Anakin’s hand was still on your knee. 

He smirked beside you, already knowing how you were feeling as he himself felt it too. Anakin’s hand trailed up your thigh, gently squeezing the flesh. 

“Ani…?” you panted, furrowing your brows and turning your head to him. 

“I know,” he whispered, moving his hand from your thigh and brushing a strand of hair from your face. 

“We can’t…” you murmured, chest heaving as your arousal grew. “We shouldn’t…”

“No one is around to see us,” he pointed out, turning your chair around so you faced him head on. 

You contemplate your options for a second. You could either jump his bones and let him fuck you or—who were you kidding? There wasn’t a second option. 

You climbed into his lap, one of your hands tangling in his hair and tilting his head back. Anakin grinned up at you as he placed his hands on your hips. 

“What about the Jedi code?” you panted, hands moving down to grip the front of his tunic. 

“Oh, fuck the Jedi code,” Anakin growled, surging forward and slamming his lips against yours. 

He kissed you as if he was dying of thirst and you were the last drop of water—desperate and ravenous. 

His hands were all over you: tangled in your robes, gripping at your sides, pulling you flush against him until there was no space left between you two. All Anakin could focus on was you—the way you tasted, the warmth of you against him, your soft hands roaming along the muscles hidden beneath his tunic.

You were the only thing that mattered right now. You leaned back just enough to meet Anakin’s eyes. With one hand still on his chest, your other one came up to cup his cheek—brushing your thumb across Anakin’s bottom lip, tracing the edge. 

You shifted your weight in his lap, closer, settling more firmly against him, and the movement sent a rush of heat through Anakin’s veins. His lips trailed down to your neck, sucking and biting at any bit of skin he could reach. 

You stifled a gasp, shivering at the feeling of his teeth against your neck. You tilted your head to give him better access, your grip on his hair tightening. Anakin could feel your pulse race beneath his tongue, pounding in a way that matched his own. 

You moaned softly, rutting your hips against his. His bulge hit your clit perfectly and the sound you let out made sure Anakin knew it. Your hips rolled again, desperate for any type of friction. 

The pool of slick in your underwear leaked through your trousers as the pleasure continued to build. Anakin groaned softly against your neck, his hands guiding your hips at a deadly pace. 

Anakin became impatient, his hands pulling off your tunic with unnecessary force and your top half was soon bare for him to see. 

It was embarrassing how turned on you were. One of Anakin’s large hands came up and cupped your breast causing your breath to hitch at his touch. 

“So fucking beautiful,” he whispered before closing his lips around your right nipple.

His tongue gently flicked against the hard bud as his other hand worked on your left breast. You placed one of your hands back in his hair, your grip borderline painful. 

"Sorry," you panted, arching your chest further into his face. 

“What are you apologising for?” he mumbled, teeth nibbling your nipple which made you desperately buck your hips against him. 

He pulled back slowly, his teeth gently pulling your nipple as he backed away before letting it fall from his mouth. 

His skin was glistening with sweat, cheeks flushed, eyes hooded and lips parted. His eyes never left yours, watching your every move. 

“Tell me to stop,” he said roughly, his gloved hand still squeezing your breast. “Tell me to stop and I will.”

At his words, you moaned again, the low, needy sound filling Anakin’s ears and going straight to his groin.

"Don't stop," you murmured, nails digging into his shoulder blades. "Please don't stop."

Your legs shifted, thighs tightening around Anakin’s hips at the same time as you rocked into him, desperate for more friction. You were already flushed and panting and the sight alone was nearly enough to snap what little self-control Anakin had left.

Anakin’s grip on your hips bruised, fingers digging into your flesh. He couldn’t stop the groan that broke free at your words, your desperation pushing Anakin to the very brink. You were driving him crazy, and you knew it. 

"Fuck, baby," Anakin murmured against your neck, teeth grazing over your collarbone. "You're killing me."

"Good,” you whispered in response. 

You lifted your head, capturing Anakin’s mouth in a heated kiss, hips rolling into his as your nails dragged down his shoulders. Even when you tried to take control, Anakin knew he was still the one holding it.

Your hands fumbled with the hem of his tunic, desperately trying to get it off. Anakin chuckled, breaking the kiss to help you wrestle his tunic up and over his head. 

As soon as the offending fabric was gone, you attacked the expanse of newly revealed skin with urgency. Your mouth found his neck, burning a path of hot kisses from his throat down to his chest. 

Your hands, however, kept continuing their way down until they stopped on the waistband of Anakin’s trousers, fingers dipping below the hem. 

Anakin hissed at the sudden brush of your fingers against his straining cock under the fabric. Your tongue darted out, wetting your lips as your hand palmed him through the fabric. 

"Stars—" Anakin groaned, head falling back against the chair, eyes squeezing shut.

"You're like this and I've barely touched you," you murmured, still teasing. 

You rubbed him with the flat of your palm, your touch just rough enough to bring Anakin’s heart rate up to an alarming speed, but not nearly enough to give him what he wanted. 

"It's ridiculous," you continued, pressing a final wet kiss to his chest. "If I knew this was all it took—"

Anakin growled, fingers knotting in your hair and snapping your head up. His grip making you gasp, and he couldn't help but revel in the sound. The smirk on your lips was gone now, replaced by an expression of surprise.

"Enough talking," Anakin husked, wrapping your hair around his hand and angling your head back. "Stop being a brat."

Your eyes darkened at his tone, the way he so confidently held you. You shivered, heat prickling across your skin as he held you there, trapped beneath his gaze. You liked it. You’d never admit it, but you liked it.  

"Or what?" you challenged, voice low but trembling.

Anakin raised an eyebrow, a smirk of his own spreading across his lips. "Oh, baby," he murmured, leaning in close so your noses brushed, "You want to play this game?"

Before you could respond, Anakin shifted his grip on your hair, pulling it and making you moan. He smirked when you wriggled in his lap, trying to grind against him again.

"You're too easy," he chuckled, free hand moving to slide up the inside of your thigh. 

You had to take a moment to steady yourself. Anakin’s grip tightened even more when he felt the dampness between your legs. 

"Look at you," he murmured against your neck, fingers toying with the hem of your trousers.

You moaned, a shiver running all the way up your spine at Anakin’s tone and the way his fingers were so close to what you wanted. You were almost at the point of begging, but you resisted, knowing he wanted you to. Yet, you couldn't stop the way you shifted against his hand, trying to get more friction. 

"You… oh fuck... you're insufferable," you panted, fingers digging into Anakin’s shoulders.

As your hips moved against his, you trailed a hand back down to his trousers and slid it underneath the fabric of his underwear. Anakin’s laughter died in his throat the moment you wrapped your fingers around him. His grip on your hair faltered for just a moment as a shiver ran through him. 

"Fuck—" he whispered.

Anakin tried to utter your name, intending for it to be a warning, something to get you to stop but his words came out as more of a needy groan. He was already so worked up that the sudden touch had him hissing in pleasure, his hips arching into your hand without his permission. 

You loved the way Anakin’s control was starting to crumble. He was a mess and you’d barely even done anything yet. All from a few touches and a shift of your hips. 

"You're so—Maker, you're—" Anakin’s grip on your hair was just shy of painful, sending little pinpricks of pleasure across your scalp. 

You moaned, thumb swiping over his tip and spreading his pre-cum. "You were saying something?" you murmured, almost a little smug, enjoying the power you had in that moment.

Anakin gritted his teeth, trying to regain some semblance of control, but you were making it impossible. "You—" 

The word ended on a sharp inhale as you squeezed his cock. Your moment of control was short lived as one of Anakin’s hands was still on your thigh, so close to where you wanted to be. He dragged his fingers up, then down again, feeling the way you shook at his touch.

"You're playing a dangerous game, princess," Anakin rasped, fingers finding the hem of your trousers again.

The way he called you princess made your breath hitch, a shiver running all the way down to the base of your spine. You loved it when he called you that and he damn well knew it. 

You couldn't bite back the moan that left you when his fingers brushed against your clit. It was a soft, needy sound that was music to Anakin's ears, and it sent him spiralling even further into the depths of pure, primal want. 

"Please—" you arched against his hand, desperation leaking into your words. "Just touch me."

Anakin grinned cockily, the grip on your hair turning just a little rougher. Your hand moved out of his underwear and back to his shoulder, gripping it tightly.

"I am touching you," he murmured, rubbing the heel of his palm against you. You moaned again, back arching, eyes squeezing shut at the sudden pressure. 

Anakin could feel the dampness soak through the fabric, but he pretended not to notice.  

"You want me to touch you here?" he murmured, fingers sliding back to the hem again.

"Don't—" you choked on your words as Anakin gently lifted you up and tugged at your trousers, pushing them down your legs. Your breath hitched in your throat as the cold air hit your clit.

"Don't tease," you managed, voice raspier than before with your growing need. "Stop teasing and just—" 

Anakin took pity on you, finally moving his fingers through your folds. Your words turned into a desperate moan at the contact you’d been craving. Your hips rocked, trying to get more.

Anakin let out a low breath when he felt how soaked you were. You were beyond ready for him and it took almost all of his self-control not to take you right then and there. 

His fingers slipped through your folds again, circling your clit, spreading your wetness around. It was a light, teasing touch, the one you hated the most. But with how worked up you were, it was all you needed. 

“Stop being a fucking tease,” you grumbled, desperately trying to buck your hips into his hand. 

"Language, princess,” Anakin teased, dragging his forefinger through your folds. “Tell me what you want.”

“You know what I want,” you huffed, reaching a hand down and gripping his wrist.

“I need words,” Anakin breathed deeply, biting back a smirk.

“Fuck you,” you snapped weakly, suppressing a whine. 

Anakin chuckled, a low, cocky sound in your ear, still only touching you with one finger, running the pad through your folds in a repetitive rhythm that had you panting. You were on the edge, and Anakin knew it. He could feel your walls squeezing around nothing, desperate for something more substantial. 

His finger brushed against your clit again, and any coherent thoughts you might have formed flew out the window. You huffed, having had enough of his teasing and deciding to take matters into your own hands—quite literally. 

The hand that clenched around his wrist moved down and to the waistband of his trousers. With a little struggle, you managed to pull down his trousers and underwear in one go letting his thick, heavy cock spring free. 

Your lips parted slightly at the sight of him leaking on his muscular thigh. You reached out, taking him into your hand and giving him a few slow pumps. Anakin groaned, hips twitching at your touch.

"Don't—" he could barely form a thought. "Wai—not yet, love."

Another shiver ran through you at the rough edge his voice took now. It was deeper than usual, raspier, teetering on the verge of losing control. 

"You keep teasing me and I'll keep teasing you," you responded, squeezing him again. You relished at the strangled groan that escaped him as payback for your own situation.

Catching his breath, Anakin pressed his thumb against your clit causing you to moan and rock your hips to chase that delicious friction. You bit your lip, desperate to hold on to whatever semblance of control you had left. 

"You’re insufferable," you murmured, but your tone lacked its usual bite, replaced by a breathlessness that betrayed your neediness. The hand you was stroking Anakin with stilled as you fought to focus. "You’re doing that—oh fuck, that on purpose."

Another needy gasp left you. The feeling of his thumb against your clit was heaven, combined with the pressure of his fingers sliding against you. You could barely think straight.  

Your hand stroked him again, weak and uneven as you teetered on the very edge of control. Just when you thought you had it, Anakin finally slipped a finger inside you. The feeling was so sudden but unbelievably perfect and just what you craved. 

"Oh—" you moaned, your free hand gripping onto his shoulder. "Like that."

Anakin cursed under his breath, the sound mixing with your moans echoing off the walls. The way your insides squeezed his finger made him even harder, made him crave you more. His thumb moved against your clit, alternating between circles and more pinpointed pressure. Your legs shook, eyes squeezing shut. 

"More," you gasped, hand falling onto Anakin’s shoulder. "I need—"

"Another finger?" Anakin teased, his gloved hand coming up and grasping your chin.

Anakin couldn't resist asking that, even though it was obvious you wanted more. He needed to hear the word leave your lips. A second finger pressed against you, not quite moving yet but hinting at what you needed. 

"Please," you begged, hands clawing at his shoulders. "I need—" 

"You need what, hm?" Anakin rubbed his thumb against your clit again.

Anakin kept his tone light, cocky, despite the way his own breath was coming out in pants. He continued the steady pace against your clit, keeping his fingers still at your entrance. 

"You need another finger? Or—" he leaned in, whispering in your ear. That was the last straw. "You need me inside you?"

The way Anakin whispered the question made your body shiver with desire. He was smug, cocky, in control of every word and every movement, and he loved it. 

"I—" your voice cracked, breath catching in your throat when Anakin dipped the tip of his finger inside you, just enough to tease. "I need—"

Anakin grinned when you finally gave in, unable to form words anymore. He’d won, and it was one of the most satisfying things he’d ever experienced. 

"That's a good girl," Anakin said, voice low, slipping another finger inside you. 

You moaned, body sagging against him at the full feeling, your hips still moving. Anakin set a steady rhythm, fingers moving inside you at the pace you desperately needed right now. But then he took it one step further.

Anakin’s fingers curled to hit that perfect spot inside you, making you see stars and cry out. You moved against his hand, trying to meet his pace. Your moans were shameless now, your grip on him turning almost painful. 

"Oh fuck—" You could barely form words. The only thing you could focus on was finding his mouth again.

You tried to connect your lips with his but Anakin tilted his head to the side, making you come into contact with his cheek. 

“Ah, ah,” he tutted smugly. “Keep your hand moving.”

You almost whimpered at the sound of his command, your fingers trembling around his hard cock. You tried to keep your hand moving, squeezing him every so often, but it was getting harder to focus. You were right on the edge, your entire body coiling tightly like a spring ready to snap.

Anakin smirked at the way you were slowly coming completely apart in his hands, the moans and gasps and whimpers that left you becoming more helpless and uneven with every second. 

You were so close, he could feel it. Anakin curled his fingers inside you again, picking up the pace, and that was it. Your eyes squeezed shut, head falling onto his shoulder as a strangled gasp made it past your lips. 

You came with a whimper, walls squeezing Anakin’s fingers in waves, making his cock twitch. The moans that fell from your lips sent a jolt of pure heat through Anakin, and he gently pulled your head from his shoulder and surged forward to capture your mouth once again. 

It was messy and feral, his tongue sliding past your lips like he was a man starved of you. His gloved hand moved to grip the back of your neck, holding you to him as close as physically possible, the other gripping your hip tightly.

You moaned into his mouth, low and wanton, and it was the sweetest damn noise he’d ever heard. You were practically vibrating with need as you slid a hand between the two of you, lifting yourself up slightly and running him through your folds.

Anakin groaned loudly as you made sure his cock was covered in your arousal. His head dropped back against the chair as he panted raggedly. Anakin’s eyes closed, his body trembling with the effort of restraining himself. 

His gloved hand was still holding the back of your neck and he reached it up to tangle in your hair, tugging gently; pleadingly. 

“C’mere,” he gasped out urgently. 

“I don’t think I can get any closer,” you teased, nipping his jaw.

Anakin let out a low growl; somewhere between frustration and need. His hand tightened in your hair, using it to tug you close enough that your bodies were pressed flush together now. 

"You're going to drive me insane," he muttered in your ear, nipping at her earlobe in warning. 

You let out a small, sensual chuckle as you lifted yourself up and lined him up with your slit. You sunk down onto him slowly, hissing at the way he stretched you out. Anakin wasn’t small by any means. Far from it. In fact, he was huge.

“Finally,” Anakin muttered hoarsely before pushing into you in one deep, devastating thrust that made you both cry out. 

“Holy shit!” you moaned, head tilting back. “You’re so big!”

Anakin’s hips stuttered at your words—his entire body tensing as he let out a low, broken moan. 

“You feel so damn good," he panted in return, his hands dropping to your thighs. 

His grip on your thighs tightened slightly before bottoming out inside of you—already trembling with the effort not to lose control completely right then and there. 

"Fuck," he groaned, tilting his head back. "I'm trying to be gentle here, but you're making it really, really hard, love." 

The words were a half-hearted protest that was ruined by the shiver that ran through him and the way his hips jerked against yours with a hint of a more desperate side he was trying to fight back.

His head dropped forward, resting on your chest; his breath coming in ragged pants as he finally started to move—slow, deep rolls of his hips that dragged every possible sensation from both of them. It took every bit of willpower inside Anakin for him not to lose himself inside you right then and there.

Anakin glanced down and the sight made his breath hitch—his hips jerking forward instinctively as he watched the way you took him, stretched and full around every inch. His hands digging into the soft skin of your thighs as a low groan rumbled in his chest.

"Fuck… look at you," he breathed out roughly—his voice thick with arousal. "So damn perfect like this… taking all of me so well..." 

He kept his gaze down—his breath stuttering as he watched the way his cock disappeared inside of you; the way you stretched and took every inch of him so perfectly. Another groan tumbled past his lips, vibrating through both your bodies as he forced himself to look back up at you again. 

"Fuck," he choked out roughly. "You're gonna ruin me completely like this…"

“More,” you gasped, nails digging into his shoulders. “Please.”

His breath hitched sharply at your request, his hips giving an involuntary twitch inside of you. His grip on you tightened as he forced himself to look again—watching with rapt attention the way you took him so perfectly.

"You're so fucking tight," he managed between pants. "So goddamn wet for me already—and I can see it… how full you are." He swallowed hard before continuing in a low murmur against the shell of your ear: "See that bulge? That's all me… stretching you out just right..." 

He inhaled shakily, swallowing hard as his fingers tightening on your hips. He just couldn’t get over the way you took him—so perfectly stretched around every inch.

"You feel like fucking heaven," he choked out roughly; his voice trembling. "So damn hot and tight—like you were made for me." 

His hands slid up to grip your waist tighter as another shaky exhale left him between words barely audible anymore but clear enough regardless through sheer desperation alone. His head dropped forward once more; resting his forehead against your own as he took a deep, shuddering breath—like he was struggling to hold back from falling over the final edge. 

But Anakin could only hold back for so long, and that point was rapidly approaching it seemed, if this kept up. "Fuck… I can't take much more of this," he mumbled against your lips. 

You huffed slightly, pushing his chest and making him lean further back in his chair. Slowly, you began to move your hips in time with his, matching his pace. Anakin’s eyes went wide, a strangled groan leaving him as you ground down against him, taking all his attention. 

His breath came in short, ragged bursts as he watched you take control. "That's it," he panted roughly; voice dripping with raw need. "Fuck… you feel so good like this.”

Anakin bit his lip hard when you moved again—his hips jerking upward instinctively into the friction despite himself. He was already losing what little self-control remained and he could feel the familiar coil of pleasure tightening deep inside him.

“You’re going to fucking kill me like this,” Anakin choked out, his voice breaking slightly.

His fingers dug into the skin of your waist hard enough to bruise. His breathing was ragged and uneven as he forced himself not to move yet—to just let you set pace—even though every fiber screamed at him to do something—anything—before he completely lost control entirely.

“I don’t know how much longer I can last,” he rasped and you squeezed your thighs around him, keeping him buried inside you.

The way you clenched around him only furthered his quickly increasing state of arousal, and it was becoming incredibly hard for Anakin to maintain even the slightest bit of composure. He let out a sharp breath as you ground down against him, his hips bucking upwards in response. 

"I… I can't—" Anakin panted weakly. "I’m gonna… I need more of you."

“You’re a big boy… take me,” you whispered and Anakin didn't need to be told twice. 

Within the span of a second, he was on his feet with you in his arms. The action made him slip out of you, causing the two of you to moan at the loss of contact. He took a couple of stumbled steps before pinning you against the nearest wall. 

"Are you trying to make me lose control right now?" he asked hoarsely. "Because I swear, if you keep doing or saying stuff like that, I won't be held responsible for what happens next."

Anakin’s eyes roved over your face, taking in how wrecked you already looked—and knowing he was the cause of it. He nipped at the sensitive spot below your ear before drifting lower and slowly mapping a path down your neck and over the curve of your shoulder. 

You huffed, sliding a hand into his hair and tugging his face back to your own so you could kiss him. Anakin’s lips crashed into yours with barely restrained hunger. The kiss was urgent, desperate and Anakin was far beyond the point of being able to hold back; his control lost entirely to the overwhelming need for you. 

He broke the kiss only to gasp for air, his forehead resting against yours as he tried (and failed) to regain some semblance of composure. He could feel every tremor that ran through your body under his touch—and it only spurred him on further.

"You drive me insane, do you know that?" he whispered raggedly. "Every damn day, you drive me insane." His lips found your neck again, nipping and biting at the sensitive skin. "I can't think, I can't work, I can't do anything when you're around… all I want, all I need is this… you… fuck I need you so damn much..."

“So show me,” you begged. “Show me how much you need me.”

Anakin didn't need to be told twice—his mouth crashed back onto yours, hot and demanding as he held you up with one hand as the other lined himself back up with your core. The friction was electric; the way your bodies fit together was almost too perfect for words. 

His fingers tangled in your hair again; pulling slightly as his hips rolled against yours with a slow, deliberate grind that made you both shudder all over again. 

"This is how much I need you," he gasped out between kisses.

He held you in place against the wall before he pulled back and slammed into you again. Anakin broke the kiss once again to look down at you and the sight the greeted him had his hips stuttering slightly.

You were wrecked. Your cheeks were flushed, your chest was heaving and your hair was wild from where he’d been gripping it. Your lips were swollen from his biting kisses and the flush on your throat was a vibrant red. 

Anakin could see the faint mark from his teeth over your collarbone, and he growled low in his chest at the sight. You were his. He claimed you like some kind of wild beast, and he had no intention of letting you go.

“Fuck,” you drawled out, gripping onto a shelf beside you.

His lips found your neck again, his teeth grazing along the sensitive spot he knew would drive you crazy. He rolled his hips against yours with enough force to make the shelf shake as well; the muscles in his arms and torso straining from holding back everything he still wanted to do to you... and shit, he wanted to do so many things that it was bordering on obscene.

Anakin let out a low, possessive rumble as you grasped the shelf—he loved hearing you like this. Seeing you like this. The feeling of you around him… and the knowledge that no one else would ever get to see you like this. It was almost enough to push him over the edge right there. Almost…

"Fuck, you feel so good," he groaned raggedly, his voice thick with lust and something dangerously close to worship too.

Anakin’s thrusts were relentless now; each one deeper and more punishing than the last. He let out a low, broken sound—his hips snapping forward with just enough force to make you cry out each time. 

You moaned, fingers threading through his hair, your whole world narrowing down to the moment in front of you. You were soaked. It was almost embarrassing. You were unable to stop the gasps slipping from your lips as he filled you over and over and over again. 

Your legs shook around his waist, your heels digging into his lower back in a desperate attempt to keep you grounded. Anakin’s breath came in ragged gasps as he leaned his forehead against your shoulder. 

“You’re so fucking perfect, do you know that?” he muttered sinfully. “Like a fuckin’ goddess…"

“I’m close,” you panted, throwing your head back against the wall. 

“Me too,” Anakin agreed, his hips losing their rhythm as his climax approached. 

Soon enough Anakin’s entire body tensed as he let out a guttural groan, his thrusts uneven and frantic. His fingers dug into your thighs leaving bruises in their wake as he finally broke. 

“Fuck,” he choked out raggedly against your neck before biting down on the junction of shoulder and throat hard enough to leave another mark—his release crashing over him like an unstoppable wave that left him shaking from head to toe.

The feeling of him releasing inside you was enough to bring you to your own orgasm. His name tumbled from your lips in broken gasps, each one answered by his low groans and whispered curses.

For a few long seconds, the ship was filled with the sound of both of your uneven breaths, mingling as you tried to catch your breath. Slowly, your legs unwrapped from Anakin’s waist, and he helped you lower your feet to the ground. Your legs shook, and Anakin placed his hands on your hips to keep you upright. 

You rested your hands on his forearms, sucking in a shaky breath as you glanced down between your legs and saw his release mingling with yours and dripping down your thighs. 

Anakin furrowed his brows and looked down to see what you were so focused on and his cheeks flushed red as he finally realised the mess you both made. 

“Oh,” he mumbled dumbly, his expression a mixture of embarrassment, and a strangely satisfied sort of pride too. 

Anakin moved his hands from your hips to your thighs, his thumbs brushing over the insides of your legs almost teasingly. His touch was gentle and teasing as he drew slow, deliberate circles along the inside of your knee—working slowly but steadily higher. 

“I know what you’re doing, you ass,” you grumbled weakly.

Anakin let out a short laugh—one that was rough with amusement but also still very much affected by your presence. "Yeah, I know," he admitted shamelessly before pressing his fingers against the mess between them. 

His breath hitched as he slowly dragged two digits through his cum leaking down your thighs, collecting what little remained before pushing it back inside you without hesitation. He groaned slightly when he felt just how warm and slick you were for him and you would’ve arched your back off the wall if he weren’t holding you down against it. 

You rolled your eyes, smiling despite yourself. “You’re incorrigible, Skywalker.”

He grinned and pressed a lazy kiss to your collarbone. You breathed in sync, the hum of the ship grounding you both back to reality and the faint shimmer of golden dust clung to your skin like the ghost of a memory. 

For a long moment, neither of you spoke. Then Anakin let out a small, incredulous laugh—the kind that slipped out when everything felt too absurd to take seriously anymore.

“What the fuck was that plant?” 

-

"He did it so quickly!"

"I couldn't even feel a thing!"

"He was so handsome!!"

You overheard some of your coworkers discussing a private dental clinic that had opened not so long ago.

Fine.

Maybe you should go book with the dentist there- just this once. Before the pain would get worse and you'd have to get the tooth pulled or something. Then you'd definitely get someone to bring you in unconscious.

A Wednesday, somewhere in the later midday.

You were sat in the rather aesthetic waiting area, just the receptionist sitting at the front desk and typing away with her long nails. Whoever owned this clinic had good taste in style.

The clock ticked and ticked and ticked…

God, you were feeling sweatier and more nervous by the second.

What if you could bail and just ignore the slight discomfort forever-

"Miss, Doctor Geto is ready to see you."

You give her a small smile and got up, fingers nervously holding on to the front of your shirt.

The doors pushed open and shut behind you, standing alone in a rather intimate space- it didn't feel as… hospital-esque and sterile cold as other places you've been.

Don't get me wrong, it was pristine and organized, hygienic and and and…

Your thoughts trailed off when you saw a man emerge from a room in the side, a warm smile on his lips and narrow eyes filled with a welcoming warm shade, some folder with papers in one hand. He was so handsome- those girls at work were right.

His hair was done up in a man bun, face mask tugged below his chin. And something about that lab coat and dark gray scrubs. Oh my.

"Hello, Miss. I hope i didn't keep you waiting for long. "

Your fear suddenly bloomed from a cold anxious ball to some blooming flower in the middle of your tummy.

Whatever, might just be the five stages of denial.

Getting up on the chair and having a sexy dentist wrap that little stupid piece of tissue and clip it around your neck shouldn't have made you feel hot in the face but it so did.

Until you saw him sit down, man spreading and getting comfortable while grabbing one of those dental mirrors. And the rest of the tools- hanging nearby on some expensive looking machine. But dear god if it didn't make you start shaking, blunt nails digging into the sides of the lush leather of the chair you sat in.

You could feel it start to lower and you were now laying flat down on your back.

Your eyes snapped shut, not to mention your teeth clenching and refusing to open. That same fear was flooding back. You had forgotten that you were supposed to let your doctor get a look at your chompers.

"Sweetheart? Hey… cmon, can you open your mouth for me, please?"

"Mnn…"

"I promise I'll just check up on your teeth, nothing painful."

"Mhnn…"

"Cmon… say ahhhh…"

A gloved finger lightly tugged on your bottom lip, making you peek one eye open to see a worried faced Geto peering down.

You managed to loosen up your jaw, opening up just enough.

"There we go, not so bad. Now, Miss, please keep open for me."

You just nodded yes, trying to keep your tongue from shifting too much.

The little mirror was cold when it clinked against a tooth or two. But besides that, it wasn't too scary.

You did wish it was his fingers inside instead…

Oh.

"Sweetheart.. open up a bit more for me, yeah? It will be quick. I just have to see all of your pretty teeth." Suguru calmly spoke to you, clearly wanting to have you calm down and cooperate. But the tone in his voice made you feel like melting instead of focusing.

You hadn't even noticed you were drooling, eyes now fully open and unable to look away from his focused face, so close… too close.

Those seemingly warm eyes turned, irises locking in with yours.

You swore you saw him try not to smirk before focusing back to looking over the backs of your upper molars. You did open up wider. Getting some small praise… why was he praising you? You liked it.

"Good… you're doing so good, just a bit more. I'm sure you can handle it."

Your eyes kept flicking down from watching his hand to then back to his face. It was like you couldn't decide what was better.

"It seems you have some sensitivity on your second molar, Miss."

You blinked, giving a small nod, unable to make anything besides a "mhm" sound with the mirror still inside.

When Suguru pulled it out you felt a bit sad his hand wasn't anywhere near your mouth anymore.

"Please rinse your mouth." Geto smiled, placing the mirror away to start picking up some other tool.

You glanced over to the little paper cup, watching it getting filled with water- picking it up and swishing the water around in your mouth, glancing over to the dentist with cheeks puffed up from the liquid.

"Spit it out, doll." Suguru chuckled, watching you seem unsure about what to do with it now.

You leaned back down and spat it out, trying to ignore the name he called you so casually, using the flimsy paper towel around your neck to wipe the saliva strings trying to escape your chin.

"Your teeth are healthy and in rather nice condition, but it seems you haven't visited a dentist in a while, hm?" Geto tapped a few fingers on the headrest of the chair, signaling for you to lay back down.

You obviously did as told and tried to answer his question.

Maybe Suguru had caught on by now, because once you opened your mouth a few fingers were pressing down on your tongue and then gently moving side to side as if inspecting your bottom set of teeth, lightly pressing down on your canine.

"Isn't it a bit rude to not answer questions, sweetheart?" He cooed down at you, the thumb of the hand in your mouth softly pressing against your cheek, making you tilt your head, having you look up and meet his amused gaze.

"Wehhll…m..doont.. likkeuh denthisthts…" You tried to babble out with the digits in your mouth, drool already pooling around them.

How embarrassing.

It looked like you were shaking, again, not from fear though.

Something about the way the gloved thumb caressed the side of your cheek and whilst the middle and ring finger were taking their time to spread your saliva around while "inspecting" the rest of your pearly whites had you forgetting why the hell you were even here. The small pain from your molar gone.

"I see… you don't like me then? Not one bit? I'm hurt, Miss… really am." Suguru pretended to pout a bit, the two fingers gliding deeper- you hoped he didn't see how your eyes rolled back, hands unable to hold on to just the sides of the chair and twitching to grab into his arm.

You wanted to say that no, no you did like him but that no came out as a small…

moan.

"Oh?" The hand halted, slowly pulling out- as if teasing you for making such a sound.

The fingers didn't get too far though, gathering the dripping drool to nudge back inside of your parted lips, almost having you splutter.

"I guess i was wrong."

Your hand finally reached up, nervous digits gripping into the white sleeve of the lab coat.

You initiating some sort of touch was like a switch being flicked down.

Suguru pushed himself up, wiping your drool across your cheek while smiling down at you.

The chair silently lifted up, riiiiightt until your face was laying at the perfect height. Just about where his bulge was.

Great.

Sucking a dentist's dick wasn't on your bucket list.

But watching Suguru use his teeth to pull the gloves off and reach down to the waistband of those a bit too oversized scrubs, you already had your lips parting. Again. For a completely different reason now.

Fwop!

A girthy cock smacked you right across the face, you could feel it wanting to twitch from the feeling of your skin.

"Patience, doll."

Your hands struggled to stay put while Geto slowly dragged it back and forth, just rolling his hips and nudging it closer and closer to your mouth- greedy tongue already darting out to try and get a lick in.

"Such a dirty girl, put that back." He gripped the base of the heavy thing, lifting it to smack across your mouth a few times, finally letting it slide over your glossy lips after, making sure to only drag it between them, not inside to let you have a taste.

"You're not so scared anymore, are you, sweetheart?"

"Mnnoo…" You pursed your lips to speak, kissing the pinkish tip before it slid past.

"How cute."

"Let's get you off of this chair, mn?"

-

The floor was a bit hard on your knees, but that wasn't the thing you were worrying about right now.

It was the man standing above you, a large palm playing with your bangs while the other lazily jerked the tempting thing in front of your face.

A dark happy trail disappeared underneath up his shirt, the ivory coat shifting with each of his movements- your nails dug into your knees this time, eyes almost doe and watery by how badly you wanted to lean forward and have Suguru's cock down your throat.

It was cruel, honestly.

"Will you be a good girl and open up wide for me?"

"Yes-"

The meaty thing lightly smacked against your cheek, leaving a light smear of precum on the spot.

"Don't answer me, just do. Let's try this again, hm?"

"Open up. Say Aaaah."

"Aaaaahhh…"

You thickly swallowed, opening your mouth just barely, too focused on staring at the way Suguru's wrist was sloppily dragging the palm back and forth, running across this big vein that you swore you could taste already-

Another smack to your cheek with the fat cock.

"Wider, sweetheart. Be good."

You let out a small whine but finally let your jaw go loose and leaned forward.

The hand in your hair reached further back, gripping into your locks and pushed you forward.

The delicious way that thick girth slid into your mouth… across your tongue and farrr back down to your throat. Not even having you gag surprisingly.

"There we go, finally got what you wanted so bad, yeah, doll?"

"mhnmmhm!" your humming vibrated around the meaty thing stretching your lips and rewarded you with a soft groan from Geto.

The sound of full balls smacking against your chin, lewd gags and wet slurps filled the neat space.

Drool was definitely dripping down your chin and dampening the collar of your shirt.

Not to even talk about the puddle drenching trough your panties…

But Suguru was filling your throat so good you couldn't do anything but blissfully shut your eyes and hold on to your own thighs.

"Feels nice, yeah? Sooo good…" You could hear him start to ramble from above you, both of those large palms cupping the sides of your head to keep it in place as he used your mouth. Clearly this was getting to Geto just as much as you.

"Fff… shit… Will you be a do.. doll and… swallow? Swallow for me?"

How could you say no to such a lovely man.

Suguru almost collapsed, having to let go of your face to grip into the tool trolley nearby, rattling it- making sure to push in alll the way to the hilt, neatly trimmed hairs tickling your nose as your throat convulsed and tried to swallow around the girthy thing down it.

The hot cum spurting down it made you choke and try to pull away for some air. But you definitely did swallow every last drop.

The softening length gently glided out, leaving your throat feeling empty.

-

Well then.

After your dentist helped you get cleaned up a bit and made sure you were alright.

It was time to go home.

Tooth still sensitive.

But it's okay, Dr. Geto made sure to leave a spot for you to come in next week. On a Wednesday.

And the week after that. For free.

How kind.

Seems like your fear of going to the dentist had disappeared too.

Yoon's notes: FOR MY LOVELY MOMMMY @serpenttine. I am still very i donno insecure about my writing after everything and doing a char i have never done IM SHITTING MYSELF SCARED. but i love drea so much i wanted to make this special, to show her how much i care for her. AND AS A CONGRATS ON HER BIG MILESTONE IN FOLLOWERS. you deserve the world mama. MWAH I HOPE YOU LIKE

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all work belongs to @yoonsucks , do not copy, repost, translate or feed into AI !!

Nevarro? The place that was nothing more but a meet-up for the Bounty Hunters' Guild? Now being anything other than that?

A home.

And if they told you that wouldn't be the only thing to change, well, what would you expect?

Certainly not the famed Mandalorian being that home for you.

Once rivals at work, then hasty allies due to unforeseen complications involving a certain little green alien. Among the stars and the quietness his stoic nature provided, you found a place within the beats of a heart that had just learn how to feel again. Where before stood nothing but darkness, a body on auto-pilot, now lay a man who you could read: in his pauses and stances, in the tilt of his helmet, in the slight cracks of his voice if an emotion was hard to hide under beskar and indifference.

The Mandalorian, living legend, was more than the beskar warrior that had defeated Moff Gideon and wielded the Darksaber: underneath, he was Din Djarin, your lover.

And you, the Guild's second best: who kept winning his jobs, who he once deemed annoying and reckless. Who almost put once his life to end if it wasn't for Grogu changing your heart. Now his cyar'ika.

The universe worked in mysterious ways: the way fate had intertwined your lives with duty and heart, a soul and warrior pride. A house, a baby to raise as one of your kind.

The very same one that's cooing right now as you play with his hands.

"We should definitely get him a bed"

Din's head turns around, stopping whatever task he had in his hands.

"He likes to sleep on the floor"

You gasp. "Why are you talking about him as if he was a Massiff? That's your son!"

He returns his attention to the gun he was cleaning, losing interest in the conversation. "Then Grogu can sleep on the bed with us"

You carry up Grogu before walking up to him, forcing him to turn by his shoulder.

"He'll eventually grow it out"

"It'll take years, probably centuries. Didn't you hear the Jedi?"

"I did, I'm not deaf. Maybe you are, or just empty brained"

To prove said point, you knock on his helmet. The beskar makes an echoing sound that bounces off the walls.

"Stop" Din warns, although his voice sounds remotely angry. Bothered, if anything.

No matter the love, some things don't change: him finding your antics annoying.

"Do you want your son to remember how stingy you were?" you balance him on your hip, "How daddy didn't spare a few credits for a decent crib?"

You raise Grogu to his face, aligning it with his visor. The child babbles, as if he truly understands the role he has to play.

"How can you say no to that cute face?" you taunt with a baby voice, moving Grogu. "To those cute big eyes and large ears?"

He stands up. "Put him down. You're going to drop it"

You narrow your eyes. Then, pretend to. Din instantly goes alert-mode, arms raised and ready to catch him.

"It's not funny"

"You're not fun"

He sighs, probably rolling his eyes under the helmet.

"You're such a child, cyar'ika"

You turn Grogu to look at you, his big eyes rooted in your face as he giggles.

"That makes us two, eh?"

Without telling you, Din proceeds to take him from your hold.

"Hey!"

"It's time he rests" It's all he says, walking towards the bed.

You cross your arms. "You just did that to take him away from me"

He gives his back to you, focused on Grogu and his fingers wrapped around his.

"Maybe"

You huff. "I'm going to cook something. For me"

Din doesn't grant you a reply this time.

"Suit yourself" you bite back.

The thing about being rivals for about two decades, is the petty banter never seemed to die out.

It's rarely serious, probably only when you chastise his suicidal tendencies when he's piloting, so of course it doesn't last.

Which is why he's right now coming from behind you, hand on your waist. Din wasn't much into physical contact as he was into proving his love through actions, so any small touch was highly appreciated by you.

"He fell asleep"

You stirr the pot, "In the floor or the bed?"

His reply is curt, "Floor"

You sometimes forget he's not much of a talker.

"You're bent on proving your point" you flicker his signet, "stubborn as a Mudhorn once they pick up a fight"

"Maybe..." his voice dwindles, not before going out with a rasp. You recognize the pattern of his breathing, the way it hitches, "...maybe I wanted the bed to be free"

You turn the stove off and take a better look at him, desperately wishing to see his face.

The last time you saw it, he did it for Grogu. You understood, but can't say it didn't sting even a bit.

Would his eyes be a darker shade, crowded with lust? Would he sport a grin or a smirk? Is he looking at you with desire, with need? And where those same lips still as kissable as they looked that day? Would they eat you, devour, like a starved man if he let you see? Leave marks; bites, to show everyone around what to him belonged?

"That's raw" he whispers, voice croaking.

Your voice breaks, too.

"Who cares? We're not eating anymore"

"Not that" he agrees.

Din gently pressed you against the soft sheets of the bed, your breath hitching as he placed himself on top.

His hands tremble slightly as he touches your skin, a contrast to the stoic, effective and unbreakable warrior he portrayed: this powerful, quiet man was trembling in your arms.

No matter the time that has passed since his confession back in Maldo Kreis, when he thought you'd find death at the hands, well, teeth, of giant spiders. He had, since then, been completely undone by you, and each time he touched you―such reverence on every tip of his finger that grazed your skin, he made sure to prove nothing had changed since then.

He's quick to get rid of his garments, not without a little help from you to quit most of his armor.

"Din" you breathe as soon as his body is free―everywhere but face, your fingers digging into the skin of his shoulders. You tug him closer, encouraging. "Don't stop"

He lets out a strangled sound that's half a groan, half a sigh of relief at your command.

"You have no idea," Din murmurs, voice thick with adoration, "how much I need you"

He pulls back, and even though you can't see his eyes, you feel the vulnerability ooze from them. The way his breath picks up a quick pace, as if the effort of letting you see him like this is almost as consuming as the sight of you, underneath, ready for him. For a moment, it's like he's seeing through you, trying to commit every detail to memory.

You extend your hands, letting him take them. You caress them until the trembling stops, guiding them to your hips. His hands grip the skin of your hips like you were his anchor.

Din was, if anything, willingly, desperately, surrendering to you.

"Don't be afraid" you softly coo, voice barely above a whisper, "it's not our first"

"Please" he whispers, pained. It was a plea, asking permission to let the mental armor off so he can fall apart in your arms.

"Let yourself go, Din. Let me help you" you whisper. "Now, tell me: what do you want?"

"You" he answers without missing a beat, trepidation laced in his breath, "just you"

He grabs your shirt, jacket long discarded on the floor without caring; it's a miracle you didn't throw it over Grogu's sleeping form.

"Can I?"

You nod, breathlessly. "Yes"

He pulls the fabric over your head, fingers fumbling with your pants.

"Why do you carry guns inside the house?" he protests, undoing your belt.

"When you take the knife out of your shoe, I will"

Suddenly you're only in your underwear, shivering because of the cold.

"Dank farrik. We should've bought that heater, the fireplace barely feels there"

"Don't worry" he crawls down, between your opening legs, "I'll make you warm"

He looks up at you.

"Can I..." he starts, cracking in the last word, "...can I taste you?" Din's fingers slide to the waistband of your underwear, "please"

"But, your face-"

"You're right" he backtracks, "I don't know why I-"

You cut him off, "I can cover my eyes"

Din lets out what seems like a sound of pure relief, probably at the solution around his creed or the fact he'll get to taste you. Maybe it's the lust speaking over his rationale, but he's saying:

"Why hadn't we thought about that before?"

"I think fighting Imps and trying to keep Grogu safe took all the time"

He sports a crooked grin under the helmet. "This is the way"

You click your tongue, "You wouldn't be too happy if I was the one saying that"

You don't waste more time.

Your hands reach out to his helmet, slowly pulling it off. He stops you before you get to see more than his chin.

"Close your eyes" he mutters with a quiet, vulnerable, raw voice. It is equally thick with desperation, more than before.

"I will"

The helmet comes off with a hiss. All you see is dark, hands holding to the beskar.

"I have an idea"

You hear Din's breath hitch, a small yelp dying on his lips. Lips you'd die to see.

The helmet feels heavy on your head, and you wonder if he feels so too or it's used to it at this point.

"Don't worry" you throw your head back, "eyes on the roof"

You sense his hesitation, "I'm not looking"

It takes some minutes for him to reply, "I know"

"Then" you extend your hand, "what's wrong?"

You feel him draw closer, search the warmth of your hand. And then, it happens.

Your body freezes, feeling him place his cheek on your palm, rubbing against it. You cup it on instinct, the rough of his stubble tickling. You giggle, fighting back tears.

"You haven't cut it"

"I know you like it"

You laugh with glossy eyes he can't see, your heart swelling with the intention.

"But I can't see it"

The bed cracks as he lowers himself. "I'm sorry. I just... I really wanted to taste you. I've thought... about it, for so long. What your lips would taste like, how you-" he cuts his rambling off, whispering his thoughts out loud. "I'm not an... expert. I have never done it before. But I know I can make you feel good. I'll be so good for you, I promise"

Heat runs straight to your core, making it clench around nothing.

"Yes" you breath, giving him permission.

Din's hands grip your thighs as he hooks his fingers into the sides of your underwear and slowly pulls them down.

"Cyar'ika..." he breathes, "you're so beautiful"

And then his mouth's on you.

It's a bit clumsy, slow enough to feel both deliberate and unsure. It may be just Din, maybe having him like this for the first time, anyone, but its devastating.

The way he explores you with his tongue, learning every fold, sensitive spot, taking his time, dragging the flame that's set in your belly, knot tightening as your toes curl. It's overwhelming: the intensity of his focus, the way he seems hellbent on putting your pleasure first―making you feel something.

"Din" you call shakily, hands falling to your sides into fists curled on the sheets as the pressure builds higher and higher, a tight coil ready to snap. It becomes almost unbearable, your knuckles turning white. "I-"

Without thinking, your hands fly to his hair, feeling the brown strands you once saw at Moff Gideon's ship, fingers curling as they pull on locks that have grown longer since then.

Din stops. You gasp at the loss, forcing yourself not to look at him.

"Wh- What happened? Did I hurt you?" you ask, voice laced with urgency and panic as you try to catch your breath.

His voice is rough, "Do it again"

You falter, unsure if you heard well. "What?"

"Please, do it again" he rasps, drunk in pleasure. "Pull my hair. I... I liked it"

Devoid of the helmet, his voice rings much clear, intentions even more obvious.

The confession sends a fresh wave of arousal through you. Hesitating, you reach for his hair again, consciously this time, feeling it in your fingers, playing with it until his breath rags softly and you feel the damp of his sweat pour through your tips. Finally, you tighten them again, pulling harder this time.

A low moan falls from his lips before he dives back in, mouth more demanding, hungrier.

In response, you grip and pull another tug that evokes a ragged, beautiful sound from his throat. His body trembles with intoxicating pleasure as his mouth dives into you yet again.

Every movement of his tongue, every suck of your cunt: he wasn't trying to just get you off, Din was, like everything he did, trying to prove his loyalty and love with actions; no words were easy, but showing you he was yours, his devotion, like this, he could do it.

You can feel his moans vibrating against you, little whimpers of pleasure that he can't hold back every time you tighten your grip.

"Din" you gasp.

Your hips start to move against his face, chasing friction as the pressure builds within.

"Are you close?" Din rasps, and it takes all of you to not look at him. All you can do is imagine the sight of his glistening lips, pupils blown wide. How undone he might look, just by testing you.

You can only nod, a half cry getting lost in the air.

His movements become more focused, determined. His lips seal around you, and it's the closest you'll get to a kiss.

Your vision begins to blur. You pull his hair again, harder this time, with a sharp yank that makes him cry against you.

The coil snaps, pleasure crashing into you as the vibration was the final push to fall into your orgasm, the waves of pleasure crashing over you, blinding you.

He laps softly as you ride your orgasm, like a starving dog until you're left limp and trembling, legs barely able to hold you up.

"Din"

Like hypnotized by your voice, he stops the kisses on your inner thighs and looks at you, feeling his gaze burn over your spent body.

"Yes?"

"Kiss me"

There's silence where you sense both his discomfort and insecurity.

Your chest aches. "I won't look. Kiss me, please"

You hear him sigh. "You won't look?"

"No" you gulp, throat dry, "but before you cover yourself again, let me know what it's like to kiss you"

"Cyar'ika..." he warns.

"I'll be a good girl, Din. But I- I need to do it. I haven't stopped thinking about it since I saw your face. I won't even look at it. Just let me... let me kiss you"

He stays, still.

"Okay" he whispers, voice hoarse. "I'll do it"

You only manage a breathless nod. "Okay... That's okay"

Any price to pay would be worth it if it meant getting to kiss him for the first time.

A fine tremor still runs through him as he removes the helmet. When he lifts it off your face, you hear him sigh in relief at the sight of your closed eyes.

"Good girl" he mumbles, reigniting the fire in your belly.

"Can I... Will you ay least let me touch you?"

He stops, and you know he still hasn't put his helmet on.

"If I can't see you..." you swallow. "I want to touch you, Din"

He doesn't refuse nor allow it.

"Don't deny me" you plead.

"Will it-" he stops, dragging out the words, "will it make you happy?"

You nod.

Then, his hand finds yours, interlocking his fingers with your own. They land on his face, eyes softly tracing through his skin, rough little hairs, and swollen lips, while his breath stutters with desperate hunger.

"Kiss me now"

He leans in, unsure at first, until he's all over your mouth. You feel him stop, heartbeat picking up.

"Do it again"

He locks your mouth onto his, messy, and hungry, like he had a taste of you and now it isn't enough. It will never be.

Like he wants to devour you, memorize the inside of your mouth for something that'll probably never happen, the violation of something so sacred―but your love might be the only religion he will bend his knees for tonight.

The kiss feels like a dying star: exploding, but a light that never goes out. It only fades, into a memory you'll fall yourself asleep too, hidden within desire and the echoes of your heart, chasing that feeling, that high, you'll never get back. Putting your fingers over your lips, to remember his kiss, to feel something. A pressure, to suffocate the one over your heart.

But for now, it's enough.

Because Din bending the rules of his creed for you is proof of his unyielding heart.

And it belongs to you. All of it, tonight.

"Please" he whispers against your lips, the word a needy sound. "I need to be inside you. Please, I need to feel you. Show you you're mine"

You call his name in a cry as he crawled up over you, body covering yours.

"Cyar'ika" he whispers with raw devotion.

The helmet locks. You look up.

"Din" you whisper, looking at the man you love.

He settles between your legs, hips pressing forward, hard length straining against his pants.

Din's breath comes in harsh, uneven pants.

"Do it" you wrap your legs around his waist, pulling him down, guiding him to your entrance. He slowly pushes inside, a broken whine coming out of his mouth, "make me yours"

He fills you completely in an aching stretch, but it burns so good.

He doesn't move, just stays there, buried deep inside you, breath in harsh, uneven puffs under his helmet. he was trembling, his breath coming in harsh, uneven pants.

"Please, don't let me go" he whispers, voice muffled against the beskar. "I love you"

"I won't" you promise, "I love you"

Something breaks by the way he looks at you, even through his visor. You feel the intensity of his stare and his moves, slow at first, then with a little more confidence. His thrusts were deep and messy, not fast but laced with desperate want.

Every sound Din makes is a broken whimper, some sounding like your name. He was also clingy, hands never leaving your body, one in your hip, the other laced with your fingers. Even if you can't see his face, the intimacy of everything is overwhelming.

This isn't just sex, but a confession: Din, laying himself bare, every scathed piece under the unbreakable beskar. And you take them as they are, holding him close, meeting his thrusts, whispering words of encouragement against his helmet.

"Say it again" he pants, voice hoarse with emotion, "that you love me"

"I love you, Din" you whisper firmly. You bite back a scandalous moan, "as long as the galaxy stands"

The words seemed to fuel something raw in him, unraveling a desire that makes each thrust deliberate, with an edge: he's desperate to claim you, to mark you as his own.

"Mine" he croaks out, rhythm faltering as his own release starts to build, "all mine"

You come first, a soft cry falling from your lips. Your walls tighten around his length, and that's what makes him come. He looks at the roof, letting out a gasp while his body shudders under the force of his release, a broken call for your name spilling from his lips.

Before his body gives out, you feel it: the strain of holding back, of being the first time.

A single tear rolls from under the helmet and falls over your body.

"Din-"

Wordlessly, he collapses on top of you, body weight pressing you into the mattress. It feels lighter, somehow, than the nights cuddled in the cramped space of the old Razor Crest.

His body, scarred and soft, still trembling through the aftershocks, pale from not seeing the sun and flushed because of earlier events―it's yours for the night.

Din's face remains hidden, yet you can tell he looks at you with quiet, tender, loving eyes.

"Please stay"

You reach up, pulling him closer by his neck.

"I promised I would"

He makes a pause before speaking again.

"...Forever?"

"Well" you look next to you, where Grogu is fast asleep still. It seems nothing can wake him up, "you guys need me"

"That's not what I meant-"

"...as much as I need you too"

He chuckles softly, and you can picture a smirk drawn over those lips you touched moments ago. Kissed, for the first time.

"Din, look at me"

He turns towards you. "I am"

You find his hand, pulling it to kiss knuckles that have killed many men, that have pulled the trigger to end lives. The same ones that pull you closer as he lays next to you, bodies seeking each other's warmth.

"I'm here" you whisper, as faithful as a prayer. Your own creed, "and I'm not going anywhere"