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summary: bihan has a hard time expressing his love for his family in words and it can cause his child to lose faith in him sometimes
warnings: small violence, small mention of blood, wife!reader, mother!reader, child is around 8? idk, bi-han is a little mean at first,
notes: i've been thinking about this for a while and its making me go crazy | also this got a lot more angsty than I thought it was going to be š| wc: 1794
"Agh!" The sound of a thud echoes as you watch your son hit the floor.
You had your arms crossed as you watched him and another child sparring. Training to be a warrior of the Lin Kuei was not an easy thing to watch for a mother.
You knew your child was strong, having both his father's strength and your own, but it was still hard for you to watch. Your eyes peer to the side to see Bi-han standing next to you, watching closely at his child. You couldn't tell what he was thinking behind those piercing eyes: Was he worried about your son getting hurt? Or was he mentally ridiculing him for not being able to fight better? Either way, you knew you'd never get a straight answer from him.
An exhale escapes your mouth as you turn your attention back to your son, he had gotten the upper hand and was able to pin down his opponent until he was incapacitated.
"Stop." Bi-han said firmly, watching as both the boys let go of each other and stand up back in their starting positions. You saw that both of them were sweaty and had small scratches on their faces and small drops of blood on their knuckles.
"(S/N) wins. You will continue on with this training at dusk." He explains as the boys bow in front of each other before being dismissed.
You watch as your son turned to his father with hope in his eyes, and all Bi-han did was give him a small nod before walking away. Light in his eyes faded as his face fell and you thought you could hear the sound of your heart breaking.
"(S/N) you did so well!" You compliment him as you walk up to him and kneel down in front of him.
He avoided your eyes, keeping his gaze down to the ground. You could practically feel the disappointment on his face. "It's okay honey, you did very good." You try to reassure him, pulling him into a hug.
"Now let's go and get you some food and I'll help patch this up." You say pulling away from him and gesturing at the small cuts on his hands. He just nods and keeps his eyes down. You stand back to your feet and he reaches up and grabs your hand tightly.
Some time passes and you manage to patch up his small injuries and feed him dinner before tucking him into bed. Once he's lying down, you quietly leave his room and make your way over to your shared room with Bi-han. You found him fumbling to take off his arm gauntlets as he just lifted his gaze to meet yours before turning back down to his arms.
"Bi-han." You speak. He doesn't respond.
"Bi-han." You spoke louder now crossing your arms.
He finally averts his attention to you and bitterly asks, "What have I done now?" Oh boy
You raise your eyebrows at him, your mouth slightly agape. You knew you didn't have to say anything, Bi-han knew what he had done wrong. He sighs deeply while looking down and turns to you and gives you a dejected look. Your gaze could burn a hole through his head if you had stared any harder.
"There is something you want to talk about?' He asks, much softer this time.
"Yes, there is." You bluntly answer.
"You cannot treat your child this way, he walks around believing that his father has no appreciation for him." Your words were like poison to him, you knew that he felt guilt by the way he turned away and tried to avoid your eyes.
You stepped closer to him, not allowing him to avoid you.
"Do you wish for him to grow up believing that his father doesn't love him?" That struck a nerve.
"No." He says, turning to face you. By the look on his face, you could tell that the thought alone had hurt him. He had memories flying in his mind of how he felt towards his own father, how he vowed to never let his child feel the same way he did.
"That should not even be a question, he should know that already - it should be common knowledge!" He argues, trying to defend himself while also mentally cursing himself out.
"It is not common knowledge to him, he is a young boy. He cannot just assume that you love him, he has to be shown love and compassion, Bi-han." You explain, lying one of your hands on his cold cheek. "It is hard for you to say that, I know, but you must try. It is the least he deserves." Your voice was soft now, no longer arguing.
His expression had changed; what was once defensive and angry, was now sad and full of shame. it wasn't your intention to hurt him, but you had to let him know or else this behavior would just continue.
"You are a good father, Bi-han. You care about your family more than anything and you would go to the ends of the Earth to protect (S/N), let him know that. Trust me, he will be grateful. I know you want him to be a powerful fighter, if anything, your praise will make him even stronger." Your words must've impacted Bi-han, who was now looking down to the floor. His face was cradled by your hands, you could almost see a gloss going over his eyes from the way the moonlight fell on his face.
Before he could respond, you heard something moving around your door. Instinctively, the two of you whipped your heads around to look at the door, not seeing anything strange in particular.
Until you see a small hand wrap around the edge of the door and small eyes peering from behind the cracked door. You chuckled in relief, lying your hands on your hips as you look at him.
"You are seen, young one." He pushes the door open and walks into your room. "Grandmaster." He stops and bows in front of Bi-han before standing back up.
"You are supposed to be in bed." Bi-han advises, his normal cold exterior now posing as a cover-up for his vulnerability showing through just a moment ago.
"I know, I'm sorry father, I just - um." Your son struggled to get the words out, keeping his eyes down as he fidgeted with his fingers.
"Are you having trouble sleeping?" You ask softly as he nods. "Aw honey, was it a nightmare?" He looks up at Bi-han, not wanting to seem cowardly in front of him. He doesn't answer you but you know that he must've had a bad dream.
"Here, we'll come put you back in bed, okay?" You softly say as you reach out your hand and he tightly grabs ahold of it. You begin to walk him out of the room, looking back over your shoulder to Bi-han and urging him to follow you. He almost hesitates before eventually following you.
You make your way to his room and he crawls back into his bed. You pull up the sheets for him before sitting on the edge of his bed next to him. Bi-han stays in the doorway, as if he didn't know how to continue or he didn't want to do anything wrong.
"You don't have to feel bad for coming to find us if something is wrong, know that." You tell him as he nods. You lean in and give him a soft kiss on his head. "We love you very much, (S/N)." You add as you hold his head in your hand. A large smile spreads across his lips as he looks up at you.
Your head turns over your shoulder. "Bi-han?" You only say his name, but he's smart enough to know what you are asking. He takes a deep breath before going to the other side of his bed and sitting down. Your son's face dropped, thinking that he may be in trouble for something.
Bi-han kept his eyes down on the bed, looking up at you and back down to the bed.
"(S/N)." He starts, finally looking up to give his son eye contact. He takes another inhale and exhale, trying to stall and be able to find the right words. "You are a good fighter." He starts, unable to keep the eye contact and constantly looking down. Your son's expression changes from worried to beaming, you can practically feel him healing already.
"You train to become a strong warrior, it is why you are always fighting. You have shown a lot of progress and it is gratifying to know that you have been learning all this time. I have no doubt that you will become one of the best members of the Lin Kuei." He finishes, looking to you as if he is asking, 'was that okay?'.
He looks back to his son, whos eyes are full of happiness and he has a large smile plastered on his lips. Bi-han looked down with a small smile on his face. Then, your son sat up from under the covers and wrapped his arms around his father's neck and hold him in a close hug. Bi-han's hands reached up at held him closely. As he hugged his child, Bi-han peered over to you with a relief-filled smile on his face. You knew this was healing for both of them, your son has positive reinforcement from his father and Bi-han knows that his child still loves him.
He pulled away from the hug and brought a small kiss to the top of his son's head as you did earlier before he crawled back under the covers and laid his head on the pillow, his expression still full of light. "Goodnight, my love." You say before both you and Bi-han stand up from his bed and walk out, closing the door behind you.
"See? Doesn't that feel better?"
Before you could even look up at him, his arms are wrapped around you, holding you so tight you thought he might break your ribcage. You felt the shakiness of his hands wrapped around you torso and felt his chest heaving up and down against yours.
"I don't want him to feel resent towards me, as I did my father." His voice was shaky, like he had been holding that fear in.
"He won't, Bi-han. He's infatuated with you, he looks to you for approval." You explain, holding his head closely.
You knew this had changed something in him, a problem he had silently be ignoring. It made you happy, knowing how much he cared and now knowing that he will put extra effort into making his love known.
Thinking about how Matt Murdock would love an s/o with curly hair because of the sensation of the texture SIGHHHHHā¦ā¦ā¦ā¦ā¦ā¦him playing with your hair when youāre around is a near constant and he acts like a kicked puppy any time you make him stop bc heās frizzing it up šššš god forbid you try to talk to him when heās so distracted by it too, you will absolutely have to be repeating yourself!!!
At the grocery store, every question you ask about produce is answered with silence and a small absentminded smile as Matt, trailing much too close behind you, distracts himself with your locks. He pulls gently at a curl like a spring, then: āSorry, what did you say?ā
You stop the cart to stare at him incredulously, knowing he can sense your unimpressed eyes on him. You think heās trying to raise your blood pressure on purpose, especially with the deepening (now coy) smile on his face as he hears your heart rate kick up. āMatthew, I swear to God.ā You hiss through your teeth, a helpless mix of annoyance and fondness lacing your voice.
If your hair is on the more coily side and youāre able to get protective styles, I can see Matt absolutely adoring all of them as well!!! His personal favorites are any sort of braids, he loves feeling the ridges of them between his fingers.
On the rare lazy days you both get, you can always count on awakening next to Matt softly playing with your hair, already up and clingy.
āGood morning, sweetheart,ā he leans in to give you a slow, dizzying kiss that has you giggling into his mouth. After heās sufficiently stolen your breath, his lips trail up your skin to kiss the side of your head before inhaling the sweet smell of your shampoo. Nothing intoxicates his senses as much as you do!!!!!
robert accidentally discovering you have a celebrity crush ā and itās none other than him!
maybe youāre being teased by invisigal or flambae for looking at magazine covers of a certain hero while at work, and robert stops by to hear the tail end of the conversation. he doesnāt really care until ā
āā i just think mecha man is nice, okay?ā you mutter, though the way you refuse to meet the eyes of anyone screams that thereās something more to it. ālike, he looks nice, yeah, but heās also just ā nice. whatever. shut up.ā
though invisigal / flambae gives up and leaves, remarking that you are the worst liar in the world, robert remains, and when you find the courage to look back up heās just staring at you.
āwhat,ā you say, your face hot, already on the defensive.
ānothing.ā he smothers the instinct to grin like an idiot and affects nonchalance. āi think heād appreciate that.ā
Guys I'm ragequitting. I'm never playing this fuckwss game again until they bring back valko. I'm so done. I'm unistalling this shit OUUUUUUUHHH I'm gonna explode I'm so mad.
Could you do the Lin Kuei brothers with a curly (3A) haired female reader? Just their reactions to daily life with a partner that has pretty high maintenance hair lol
It's been four days since I posted anything. Let me tell you, it's not because I'm lazy, but rather because I'm a bit stuck. I used to post almost every day, and now I'm empty. But don't worry, I'll try to post more often.
Let me tell you, it's been incredibly hot in Poland for weeks now. The heatwave has come from Africa to my country, and we're literally experiencing almost 40 degrees Celsius every day. It's a disaster...
And I have some pretty important news for the people who send me requests. You know I write for other fandoms, right? I say this because lately I've been literally getting nothing but requests from MK1. Overall, I love the game, but I really don't want this blog to become just an MK1 theme.
And one more thing. I recently received two requests from MK1 that were BTS-themed and modern. I'll tell you, I won't be writing too many modern AUs and crazy requests like that from MK1. Besides, BTS isn't really my thing. I sometimes listen to Korean music, but I'm not a huge BTS fan.
Okay, it's enough of my yapping. Let's get started. I will be honest with you, guys. I don't have curly hair and I don't know anyone who have curly hair. But I tried my best.
Frank, with little convincing required, takes you in after night of bar crawling takes its toll. Fighting a battle of resolve versus craving, he struggles to handle a version of you that doesnāt keep her distance.
notes; honey im home!!! weāre done with the hiatus and In the home stretch of this series itās getting serious ppl, thank you all for so much support and kindness about my little passion project that I didnāt expect so many people to gaf about! anyway this one includes a Frank pov, mentions of alcohol / r is drunk, Frank does not like himself whatsoever ig
part 7 of just across the hall
word count; 4k
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You would think a man would get sick of the same view after an hour. But heās more disciplined than most. A stone faced soldier. In any case, heās got plenty in his own head to keep himself entertained.
Yeah. The ceiling is fine entertainment for Frank. Or, distraction, more like.
It gives him a physical reaction, every minute recollection of a few nights ago. He has to rub a calloused palm over his bearded jaw, almond eyes screwing up as if trying to block out the brute shame of it.
He felt like a real asshole. He was a real asshole. Hardly any news.
The cold in New York is slowly passing through. Frost is biting at his window panes, the frames outfitted with three different locks. His joints are aching from the weather, but he canāt bring himself to throw on some layers just to walk around the apartment. He does fine with a pair of sweatpants and some old blanket draped over the back of his couch.
Standing in the kitchenette makes him feel.. some vicious breed of awkward. There isnāt a strong reason to be. Heās alone, nobody bugging him and nobody watching. But even having his socks on the same tile, the specifics come back to him and he feels god awful all over again. He was never great at forgetting. Especially nothing pertaining to you.
That thought brings fresh disgust to the surface of his skin, and Frank shoves it back down with a rough drag of his hand down his face. Not the image of you, per se, though your expression hangs perpetually over him like a rosary over a cot. The question of why he couldnāt just leave you in peace.
He guesses that heāll never come to an answer if he keeps ignoring it like he is. He only has a vague interest in the colors moving across his TV screen, as he shifts for the first time in about half an hour to look down from his ceiling. Itās beat up, some garage sale junk made in 2013. Cable wasnāt great. But he had no idea how to get anything else on there, and Curt could never figure it out either.
So, Frank Castle, ex-marine, Kandahar-vet, partly-retired-vigilante, is reduced to watching the food network on a Friday night. And he hates to admit that itās pretty entertaining.
Heās deep in a feature about ratatouille when the shoddy intercom by the door buzzes. And in an instant, Frank is transformedā from a man truly showing his age, considering whether the recipe on TV is worth scratching down on a notepad he keeps on the coffee tableā to a man who has earned his paranoia from a laundry list of shameful deeds.
Before he knows he is doing it, heās checking off security measures. Windows, locked. The door is locked too, twice over. Alarms are set. Or did he forget? Maybe he shouldāve checked another time, before his particularly rough shift at the job site caught up to him like it now had. Frank isnāt a jittery man; the only clear difference in his gait as he traipses to the buzzer is the new hardness of his shoulders, and the movement of his eyes landing on the kitchen cabinet he designated for his SIG Sauer.
He presses the calloused tip of an index onto the button. Doesnāt say anything. Doesnāt have to; a womanās voice bursts over the intercom system, static-fuzzed. āāllo? Helloo! You up there? Frrr-aaa-nnnk.ā
Frankās shoulders fall, a weighted breath collapsing from his nostrils. Christ. It sounded like you had been talking to the intercom box long before the static emanated from the speaker, like he had caught onto the tail end of your ramble. āYeah.ā He says, too quickly. āYeah, Iām here. Whatādāyou need? You okay?ā
He hates the relief that floods his system. Even worse is the readiness he speaks with; as though he had been waiting for you to ask anything of him. But, he doesnāt think of this instantly. At the moment, he is just a man in pajama pants, relieved that his neighbor is willing to speak to him at all, brushing his knuckles across his bearded jaw. Your reply dampens the relief. āI think I forgot my keys, can you, like, let me up? I reeeeally would really appreciate it, yāknow. Itās cold. Pretty cold for spring.ā
You donāt sound distressed, per se. More talkative than normal if that was possible, a certain drag hanging the syllables of your words. Drunk. Very, drunk. āMā cominā down. Stay put.ā
He canāt let himself just buzz you in, let you hike up all those stairs to your floor. The decision doesnāt take much thinking. Any thinking, really. āOh, thaaankk you, Frank! So, so much!ā
He throws on the first shirt he can find (which happens to be a navy graphic-token from boot camp, more than well-worn) and is at the ground level within minutes. Frank finds you, leaning against the brick wall beside the outdoor intercom, looking out across the street as cars pass. Your face is turned away, but youāre easy for him to make out. Itās well past 11 PM, the night saturated with lamplight, red brake lights and neon signs suffusing color into the breeze. Itās only as he opens the lobby door that your attention turns to him, and he truly sees you.
The fluorescent light shining down from the concrete awning washes over your features in a way that would be unflattering for any other woman. But you arenāt any other woman, he knows. What mightāve been shimmer on your eyelids a few hours ago is now smudged around your eyes. Your hair looked a bit like it had been in an updo, and ripped free at a whim. He doesnāt smile, but some kind of lightness fills his chest.
āAwh, Frank.ā You say, and he sighs through his nostrils, dips his chin imperceptibly. āYouāre a lifesaver.ā
āDonāt know about that.ā He holds the door open as you walkā only stumbling onceā into the lobby. It takes discipline not to watch you walk, not to look at the dress you wear; backless, black, short. He keeps his eyes up.
Elevators finally fixed, and so he bumps a knuckle into the button and watches the way you lean against the metal door jamb like your legs are decoration. ā.. Had a good night?ā Frank brings himself to ask.
The doors slide open, and he decides that a strong hand on your shoulder is a good fall-deterrent. āOh, yeah. So fun. So, so.. uh, no. Actually. Not that fun.ā Your line of reasoning crumbles before it was laid down. āReally cheap liquor. And I, like, couldnāt find any of my friends towards the end, so I just left, yāknow?ā
āLeft?ā The elevator hauls upward.
āItās like, four blocks away.ā
Something in Frankās stomach churns, like a hard sock to the gut. Heās fairly good at concealing the feeling through a rough grunt, āYou walked here?ā
āYeah!ā The lightness of your reply elicits a half-groan, half-sigh. His roughened fingers come up to pinch the bridge of his nose, then to drag down his face, to his beard.
He wants to be angry with you; he canāt be. āChrist.ā When he opens his eyes, youāre watching him with this sweet little furrow to your brow. Shaking his head and averting his look to the upward tick of floor levels, he grumbles, āDonāt do that again. You need tāget home, yācall me. From anywhere.ā
The elevator dings, and the doors peel open. You nod slowly, eyes squinting as if you were thinking hard. ā.. Thanks, Frank,ā you murmur after a moment. He shrugs. Itās nothing. When will you get that itās nothing, not since itās you?
The quiet hangs as you step into the hall, one thatās comfortable considering the smell of alcohol lingering on you and the duty of caretaking wafting off Frank. You go the wrong way, first, he uses a guiding hand on your back to turn you. You laugh. He shakes his head.
Upon reaching his door, Frank watches you rifle through a purse that couldnāt possibly fit more than your phone and theoretically, keys. But, what did he know. He lets you dig around for a bit, amused, until you make a frustrated sound.
He interjects, āYou lost your keys.ā Saying it himself makes him nervous all over again. The kind of nervous that Frank tends to encounter often; not effectively worried, or paralyzed, but the kind that shakes him into running down a bullet pointed list. He guesses that itās the marines that turned him into a man that converts threat into fuel. Already, he knows that heāll have to check that club for your keys, change your locks, get you a new one. He grabs his own keys from a pocket. ā.. This isnāt your door, anyway.ā
āOh, right. Fuck.ā A smile crosses his features at your expression, he shakes his head. As if you had a thing to worry about.
With a jut of Frankās chinā āCāmon.ā
ā
By the time heās done setting the extra locks back into place, youāve kicked off your heels haphazardly. Looking over his shoulder, he watches you stumble-to and slump-down-on the couch less like you were attempting to sit and more like your feet gave out.
Springing into action, Frank finds it easier to focus on the tangible task at hand than the prospect of you, drunk on his couch. He grabs a bottle of cold water, not without checking your state over his shoulder.
You arenāt black out drunk. He shouldnāt be so focused on propping you up. He shouldnāt think heās propping you up, in any capacity. Youāre not his to take care of.
The reminder is a whip to beat back the part of him that relishes in your smile, when he hands you the bottle and says with the intention of a command but the tone of a too-gentle murmur, āDrink.ā
A mild sip delves into a chug. Haphazardly, you lean over to the coffee table and set down what two or three ounces is left of the bottle. Frank raises his brows at you. Okay? You nod back. Okay.
He watches you lay back and sort of sprawl over the couch, arms wayward. Your legs leave just enough room for Frank to sit on the edge of the couch. Absent-mindedly, he tugs down the bottom hem of your dress for your own sake.
āYour apartment is so bare,ā your eyes are moving, tracing the walls. He shrugs. He never expected this place to be permanent. Or, atleast, to last long enough under his name (Peteās name, he amends) to justify buying more furniture than was necessary. You smile, a little more open, a little more honest than your sober face would break open to reveal. āYou need like, a painting.ā
āIām not a painting guy.ā Frank squints, averts his eye. He hates how awkward he feels, seeing you again. Some vulnerability settles twixt his third and fourth rib. Some kind of fear, fear of mishandling something delicate that heād already dropped once, and he didnāt at all expect to be handed glue to mend it. You seem none the wiser.
āThereās too many paintings for you not to like atleast one. Like, atleast a hundred thousand.ā
āYeah?ā
āBecause, think of it, like, people have been painting since, what, the year 500. So imagine how many there are.ā
āYouāre right.ā
That satisfies you. Atleast, you smile and settle more into the couch cushions. āIāll get you one for your birthday,ā you chirp.
He huffs through the nostrils, lip twisting with humor. āYouāre not gettinā me anything, sweetheart.ā He wishes he regretted the pet name. āIf I really want a painting I can buy a painting.ā
āSo you really donāt want a painting?ā
āEnough with the damn painting.ā Frank grunts. You laugh. Loud, unabashed. Not forced to last longer to make someone feel better about a lame joke. He doesnāt think heās a funny man, hasnāt been for a few years. He thinks he could be, if he tried.
Maybe he wants to start trying. Or maybe heās already started, months ago.
Youāre smiling at him. And he doesnāt have a clue why, canāt explain the mild upward curl to his own lips. Then youāre reaching out. To him.
āWhat?ā Frank mutters, hating the sweetness to his tone. Youāre just smiling. A little lopsidedly, and though the overhead light is off, the dim floor lamp beside the couch illuminates your features in warm yellow. Just enough that he can see the faint smudge of your eyeshadow. And, against his better judgement, he leans to you. Gives up, just in that one foot of space bridged.
Itās close enough for you to curl your fingers into his beard, not tugging, but feeling. The backs of your fingers brushing his jaw. He feels sick. āDid you trim?ā
ā..What?ā Frank repeats. Idiocy keeps his eyes glued to yours, squinted, his voice just above a whisper, and his brow faintly drawn. He can smell your perfume, under the liquor. From here, a little mark that mightāve once been a scabbed scar from youth is visible on your chin.
āYou trimmed your beard.ā You say it so casually. He trimmed his beard. Itās purely observation. If anything, itās funny to you. This isnāt difficult for you. The firm gentleness of your fingers is nauseating. Frank closes his eyes.
āYeah.ā A lame response. He barely took half an inch off, just enough to distance himself from a fictional hobo.
Whereās his resolve? He rips his eyes open, and through pure discipline, moves away. Your expression is unchanged as you drop your hand. He canāt explain the craving for distance and closeness, culminating in the same breath, in the same man, and he almost wishes he didnāt let you in, didnāt let you crash onto his couch, didnāt let you remind him.
It was hardly your fault, he reminds himself. You were drunk; he was taking you too serious. You break the silence, as if you are oblivious to the weight pressing on all sides into Frank. āHas anyone told you that you could be a good Hagrid?ā
He doesnāt have to think about the chuckle that comes out from his chest. Itās something like relief from the unintentional torture you donāt realize youāre inflicting. āChrist, no. I, uh, havenāt gotten that one yet.ā It feels good to smile with teeth bared, as he is now. Unplaceably good. āThatās, what, Lord of the Rings?ā
āWhat? Whatās wrong with you?ā You laugh, again, features breaking into mirth. Itās easy for you, he knows. āItās Harry Potter.ā
Frank bows his head, grinning still like a boy. āUh. Yeah, yeah, yeah. I know.ā His eyes flick up to you, through his lashes. āYāknow, my boy loved those movies.ā
āYeah?ā You rub a knuckle into your eye, further smudging your makeup.
Frank screws his face up, lifting his shoulders and nodding in emphasis. āOh yeah. Got him the box set one year for his birthday. Back when we had the DVD player.ā Heās not sure when the words to describe his son came so easily to him. Maybe he just needs him to be known to you. Maybe he just needs to say the memory aloud, for his own sanity.
You donāt seem perturbed by it. He tries not to examine the smile playing on your features too closely. You mumble under your breath, brows raising, āHarry Potter.ā Conclusive.
A quiet passes. He, with a grunt, rises to his feet. As if pulled by string you lift your head up, beginning to push yourself onto your shoulders. āAre youāā you begin, but he waves his hand. The worry on your face is not too sweet for him to immediately want to shoo away.
āNot leavinā.ā A soft sound of recognition leaves your lips. Frank can feel your eyes burn into him as he moves to the kitchenette. It wasnāt like he kept makeup remover around. Maybe he should startā just in case. He finds a chance to rebuild some resolve, in the simple routine; in wetting a clean wash rag from the kitchen cabinet, wringing out the warm water over the sink.
āI havenāt seen you in forever. Soo long.ā He can hear rustling over his shoulder. A quick glance finds you kicking a old throw pillow at your feet onto the floor; stretching your legs out fully. Getting comfortable, he guesses. āWhereāve you been, Frank?ā
He chuckles, a brief, easy sound. āHere.ā He turns, bearing the wet rag in one hand. His shoulders raise to his ears, curling his lip with humor. āItās been, what, a week?ā
āA week?ā You repeat. He watches you comb your tresses with painted fingernails, a faint grimace playing at your lips. An affirmative grunt from him, followed by his weight dipping the couch cushion beside your leg. You sit up, hands in your lap. āSo, so weird.ā
Frank doesnāt say anything, only since he doesnāt think he should. Doesnāt trust himself to say anything right. He offers the rag to you, with lips pressed and eyes squinting.
āWhatās that for?ā You sit up.
He waves the rag in a small circle, the movement more of a result from the shrug of his shoulder than anything. He grumbles, near awkward, ā.. Yāknow. Your makeup.ā
Understanding washes over your face in nearly the same moment as giggles open it up. Frank doesnāt mean to stare. Truly, doesnāt. But does it count, when your own eyes screw shut with laughter for the sake of nothing but laughter? Canāt he steep his mind in the warm water of your presence a little, as long as you never notice, and never cast him away?
āOkay. Okay, alright.ā Frank mutters, half to himself. He lets exasperation color his tone, but in truth he doesnāt mind. Doesnāt mind leaning forward, raising the rag to your face all too gently. Your cheek pulls up in a smile under his hand, sputters of giggles leaving you. āThat hurt at all?ā
You hum, āNo.ā Carefully, he brings the cloth up to the skin under your eye, lifting some smudged shadow. āThank you. So much.ā
Frank huffs through the nostrils, dabbing too gently at your eyelid to be at all efficient in removing the makeup. āItās nothing.ā
āItās really not nothing.ā
Onto the other eye, with the same care. Some part of him is anxious to break you. He tries, really does try, to find some good way to wave you off. ācome on. Donāt be like that.ā You peek open the clean eye at him. He huffs again, and canāt resist the upward tick of his lips. āYou know Iām here.ā
Here. Where was here, exactly?
He doesnāt finish the thought. Does what is right by you, and nothing more.
Frankās focus is concentrated on the rag and the thin skin of your eyelid, and it isnāt until heās satisfied with the lack of shadow that he moves away, tosses the rag over the back of the couch. Isnāt until then, either, that he realizes how much silence has passed, and that your expression has turned some kind of melancholy.
āIām sorry we havenāt talked.ā
So am I.
Frank stays silent. You go on.
āAnd iām more sorry about the other night. Really.ā
Frank doesnāt mean to fail at holding your eye. He means, really, to take this conversation like a man. But his churning stomach betrays him, and his eye dart between the notepad on coffee table, the barren wall, you. You, frowning with guilt. Why should you be guilty? He moves to amend it, almost on instinct.
āDonāt say sorry.ā He mutters, quieter than he means to. He pats a rough palm against your bare shin, the curve of your warm calf on his fingers. Despite his better judgement.
The rise of your protest is nearly tangible, alcohol having washed away any trace of a poker face. āSeriously, sweetheart.ā There it is again. He squints briefly as if flinching from the craving thing inside of him.
āBut I was wrong. So, so wrong.ā Frank shakes his head at you. He leans over, grabbing the near empty water bottle, handing it to you with what he hopes is a firm, expectant expression.
āYou gotta sober up.ā He grunts. Itās an easy way out from under the wing of your pity. He canāt stand itā canāt stand the look on your face, like you owe him a fucking thing. Especially not some lame words for his sake. You take the water, delicately.
āI wish I didnāt.ā
ā.. Didnāt, what?ā
āDidnāt leave, that night.ā
He reminds himself to close his parted lips, to squeeze the hell out of his jaw, teeth-crushingly tight, in order to keep from saying anything from the chest. You frown at him, quiet, stone still until your head lolls to the side drowsily, ear finding the top of the couch back.
Frank turns his cheek with a weighty sigh through the nose. Hands splayed atop his thighs, and in a nervous tick, he curls his lip, looking to the far wall like it might give him a line. What else can he do? Warily, he glances at you in his peripheral. Sipping the water bottle until it's only hollow plastic. Like youāve already forgotten this conversation, who last spoke, and said what.
Thereās nothing to do. Thatās the only right answer. Leave you be. Donāt search for meaning in words from a drunk woman. Even if that woman is you, and he wants to, worse than heās wanted to find meaning in anything for fucking years.
ā..Sāmy fault. I shouldnāt have assumed, yāknow?ā No response. He makes a lame, hesitating noise like his throat is a step ahead of his head, creating sound before his lips form words.
āMaybe you were right. I couldāve, uh, drunk too much.ā A lie. He winces as the words pass his lips. āI donāt remember. I donāt know what man roundinā on fifty gets, fuckināā wine drunk.ā Frank chuckles at himself, then, though itās more of a grunt laced with weak humor.
Silence.
ā..I just donāt you tā.. I donāt know. Think Iām some asshole.ā He swipes his thumb against the crooked bridge of his nose, and canāt help the flit of his eyes from wall to wall. Another kind of humorless huff through the nostrils. āMaybe that ship has sailed. I just.. itās good to have company. Yāknow? I donāt want tābe the one that ruins that.ā
He lets the quiet breathe a few seconds, until he gives himself the humility to look over his shoulder, see if heās said something wrong. Instead, Frank hums a short, low note, in something close to amusement.
Youāre all but knocked out cold. Maybe thatās for the better. He has a feeling your neck will hurt like hell tomorrow, craned like that. In his mind itās hardly a decision; heāll take the couch.
If youāre at all roused by Frankās arms shifting under your knees and against your back to lift you, then you give him the kindness of not letting him know it.
Heās not a good man, he knows that; but if heās anything, heās dutiful. He doesnāt allow himself to appreciate your weight in his arms, as he moves to put his bedroom door open with his broad back; slow enough to not rock you. Neither does he give himself any credit, nor kindness to himself for pulling the comforter over you, closing the blinds so that you can sleep into the daylight.
Frank does, however, allowed himself to linger in the doorway. Callouses on the cool door handle, chest full and heavy with something familiar and suffocating. He does not try to name it. Does not try to recall the lifetime ago when this feeling was constant, surrounding him, woven into the fibers of his muscle and tendon.
He wants to be grateful to have been given another chance to feel it. But Frank is a man who puts a ravine between what is craving and what is deserved. And he does not deserve this.
He pulls the door closed against the jamb with a click.
Uuuuhh... can I get a fic with Damian high on meds after having a surgery.... with extra drama in the form of him having a secret relationship, and asking for her(reader) while drugged.... uhh with a side of fluff hold the angst .... that's all thank you
āļøµ pairing š š š damian wayne x fem!reader
ź° š¦ ź± synopsis š š š damian gets knocked out during a mission and wakes up post-surgery with enough pain meds in his system to dissolve every wall heās ever built. youāre supposed to be secret, but he exposes your relationship, obliterated by narcotics and his complete inability to hide how deeply heās attached to you.
WAYNE MEDICAL WING LIGHTS WERE TOO BRIGHT for someone whoād just stopped being technically unconscious, but damian surfaced like someone annoyed at being dragged from a nap he didnāt consent to, an insult so personal his eyelids twitched before they even opened. the brightness pressed through his skull like it was trying to etch itself directly into his brain. sterile white, the kind that had never once existed in a place he trusted. he cracked his eyes open anyway.
bad choice.
the ceiling came into focus in pieces: harsh tiles, vents humming cold air downward, a hairline crack near the corner heād catalogued months ago during someone elseās medical emergency. except this time it wasnāt someone else lying flat on their back in a bed built for recovery and compliance. it was him. which meant something had already gone terribly wrong.
the sheets were tucked too tightly, pinning him with all the subtlety of a net trap. the IV line tugged whenever he moved his fingers. his throat tasted dry, surgical dryness, not dehydration, and every breath carried that over-sterile antiseptic scent that hospitals diffused like perfume. it stung in a way memory recognized before consciousness did.
he hated it. he hated it viscerally, instinctively, the way you hate an enemy youāve fought before.
a chair creaked. dick. of course. no one else sat that way, half-slouched, half-alert, like a golden retriever trying to look responsible. āhey, baby bat,ā dick welcomed softly, which was exactly the wrong volume. āback with us?ā
damian squinted at him as if being spoken to was rude. his voice, when it came, sounded like someone had replaced his mouth with cement. āwhy,ā he croaked, blinking slowly, āare you here.ā
āyou had surgery.ā
damian paused like the word needed to be decoded. then his eyebrows knit together, slow, offended, gradually outraged. āi didnāt agree to that.ā
dick huffed a tired laugh. āyeah, wellā¦ it was kind of an emergency. and you were unconscious. and also? you literally signed the consent form before the anesthesia.ā
damian stared at him, long and unimpressed. āforged.ā
āit wasnāt forged.ā
āi do not sign things.ā
āyou sign things all the time.ā
damian shut his eyes briefly, like acknowledging that was beneath him. then he opened them again, narrower, sharper, but the effect was ruined by how unfocused the pupils were, drifting like his thoughts kept hitting walls before reaching their destination. the air was too clean. the lights too white. the smell coiled into his chest and pulled memories heād rather leave buried, metal tools, cold hands, the way the world looked when he was small and helpless and expected to endure instead of resist. nothing specific, just impressions. sensations. hospitals always woke old ghosts.
his jaw tightened. he wasnāt supposed to be the one in this bed. he didnāt get hurt. not enough to be downed like this. the last patrol replayed in flashes ā a blade catching him off-balance, the impact hot, surprising. he remembered the pain, but not falling. not blacking out. that made his stomach twist.
failure. vulnerability. unacceptable.
dick watched him with that older-brother sensitivity that always made damian bristle, like being perceived was an attack. ābefore you say anything,ā dick added, āyou did not lose the fight. you didnāt mess up. you got blindsided by a meta with a strength boost and you still managed to take him down. you justā¦ didnāt stay upright afterward.ā
damian glared. āi donāt recall being horizontal.ā
ābecause you passed out.ā
another glare. this one personal. dick raised his hands. ādonāt look at me like that. i didnāt make you lose consciousness.ā
damianās fingers twitched against the sheets. the fabric felt wrong, stiff, overwashed, hospital-issue. the kind meant for patients who stayed still. he hated being still. he shifted slightly, and something tugged sharply at the back of his hand. his gaze snapped downward.
an IV. taped in place. tubing snaked up to a bag overhead, dripping fluid into his bloodstream without permission. his entire expression went cold. āremove it.ā
dick inhaled sharply. ādamianāā
āremove it.ā
ādonātā okay, donātāā dick took two hurried steps forward as damianās fingers curled around the line. ādonāt you dare pull that out. i mean it. donāt.ā
āi am not a lab specimen.ā
āyouāre not,ā dick agreed. āyouāre someone who needs fluids and pain meds because you wereā whatās the wordā oh yeahā stabbed.ā
āit was minor.ā
āit was internal.ā
damian blinked at him, insulted. āi donāt want it.ā
ātoo bad.ā
there was tension in damianās shoulders. that hyper-focused alertness from childhood, when beds were places you recovered because you werenāt allowed to move, not because someone cared. his muscles remembered even when he didnāt think about it. his back never fully pressed to the mattress, his hands never fully relaxed. his breath always came measured, as if steadying itself for violence. the medical wing amplified that tension. the smell. the lights. the machines. everything too reminiscent of control.
heād been so busy cataloguing exits and shadows and the exact height of the IV stand that he hadnāt even noticed how his own body felt untilā
oh.
there it was.
the meds hit him. that soft, warm fog rolling in, blurring everything he tried to focus on. his thoughts glitched, trying to line up in formation and instead tripping over themselves. āgrayson,ā he said, voice suspicious, ādid you put something in my blood?ā
dick, whoād been leaning on the side of the bed like a worried parent pretending not to be one, blinked back. āuhāno, bud. you were asleep during the operation, remember? anesthesia? pain meds?ā
damian stared at him like dick had just recited a riddle in an unfamiliar dialect. āi wasā¦ asleep,ā damian repeated. āyou let them do that.ā
āyou needed them to do that.ā dick corrected.
damianās eyes narrowed, though the effect was ruined by how glazed they looked. āi do not need unconsciousness to survive.ā
āyou do when your insides are trying to become your outsides.ā dick muttered.
damian ignored him entirely, still watching him with a narrowing-bandwidth intensity. āyou allowed it.ā
āyou signed the form.ā
āforged,ā damian said, again, instantly, with the complete confidence of someone who barely remembered what a pen was. āi would not voluntarily be medically compromised.ā
āit wasnāt forged,ā dick sighed. āyou filled it out. you even wrote your full name at the bottomāvery neatly, might i add.ā
damian frowned like he was conspiring against him. he opened his mouth to deny itā¦ but then a wave of dizziness rolled through him, like someone had tipped the room on its axis. he went still. his eyes went a little wide. āi feelā¦ peculiar.ā
āthatās the painkillers.ā
āi dislike them.ā
āi can tell.ā
damian shifted, which was a mistake, his brain lagged behind the movement by a full second, like his consciousness had to sprint to catch up with his body. āmy head isāā he paused, searching the ceiling as if the correct vocabulary word was written there. āāfloat-adjacent.ā
āyouāre high, dami.ā
āi am notāā damian began, then stopped mid-denial, staring at the wall with deep betrayal. āi am.ā
āyep.ā
āi dislike this.ā
āweāve got that part,ā dick said gently. ābut youāre safe. and youāre okay. and itās temporary.ā
damianās eyes tracked dickās face like it was the only stable object in a shifting landscape. his brow furrowed with an almost childlike confusion. āiā¦ donāt remember agreeing,ā he murmured. āor anything. i wasā¦ focused. then pain.ā he paused, blinked. āā¦then nothing.ā
āthatās normal.ā
āā¦whereāsāā
but the name got lost on damianās tongue.
not forgotten, more like the conveyor belt of his brain jammed halfway through delivering it. he blinked, confused, mouth still slightly open like the word might tumble out if he waited long enough. dick straightened, alert. āwhereās who, bud?ā
damian stared back at him, unfocused. something flickered behind his eyes, something searching, reaching. but whatever it was refused to surface. his brows knit, annoyed at his own mind for failing him. āā¦i donātāā he frowned, as if the thought had slipped between his fingers. āi knew it. i know it. i justā¦ canātā¦ hold it.ā
dick softened. āhey. itās okay. youāre still coming out of anesthesia.ā
damian frowned. the door opened before dick could say anything else, tim walking in first, rubbing his eyes, followed by cass. tim raised his coffee cup. ālook whoās conscious.ā
cass tipped her head.
damianās eyes snapped to themāwell, halfway. they snapped, stalled, then drifted into their direction like his neurons were buffering. āyou are loud,ā damian announced.
tim blinked. āweā¦ didnāt say anything.ā
āyour face is loud.ā
tim nodded solemnly. āmakes sense.ā
cass stepped closer, tracking damianās micro-movements with an ease that came from years of knowing how to read bodies better than minds. damian triedātriedāto push himself up. his arm trembled. his shoulder lifted a fraction. cass reached out with one finger and pressed it lightly to his sternum. damian went down like gravity had increased selectively on his body alone. his eyes went wide. āthat is unfair.ā
cass offered a tiny smile. ādoctorās orders.ā
āi do not listen to orders.ā
āyou listened to hers.ā tim added dryly.
damian glared at him. or tried to. the effect was softened by the fact his eyelids kept drooping like they were too heavy. āshe cheated,ā damian muttered.
cass watched the way damianās eyes refused to work with him and smiled shyly. āyouāre high.ā
āi am notāā damian started, then hesitated, as if realizing halfway through the lie that he didnāt have the cognitive precision to pull it off. āi amā¦ moderately under the influence.ā
āthatās one way to put it.ā tim mumbled.
damianās head tilted back toward dick like his mind was circling back to unfinished business. āi was asking.ā
āabout who?ā dick asked.
damian stared at him again. long, slow, pondering with the full force of a malfunctioning operating system. he opened his mouth, then closed it. frustration etched across his face. āā¦gone,ā he said finally. āi lost it.ā
āitāll come back.ā
āi hate this,ā damian declared. āi hate hospitals. i hate beds. i hate drugs. i hate this room. i hateāā
āoh boy,ā tim breathed. āhere we go.ā
damian lifted one hand. studied it. flexed his fingersādelayed, clumsy. he stared like his own hand had betrayed him. āmy reaction speed is compromised. this is humiliating.ā
ādonāt worry,ā tim said cheerfully. āweāre taking mental notes.ā
damian shot him a bleary glare. āi will end you.ā
āin your current state?ā tim asked. āyou couldnāt even end a game of tic-tac-toe.ā
āi could,ā damian insisted, leaning forward as if to intimidate him, except his torso only made it two inches up before cassās finger sent him right back down again. damian let out a low, affronted noise. āstop that.ā he told her.
she shook her head.
damianās eyes narrowed, then drifted, then narrowed again as if the glare needed to be reinstalled every few seconds. he sighed, long and dramatic. āi should not be in this bed.ā
āyou were stabbed,ā dick said gently.
āeveryone gets stabbed.ā
ānot in the liver.ā tim said, absolutely delighted to be here, absolutely delighted that damian wasnāt at full power to stop him.
damian blinked. āmy liver?ā
āyes.ā
he frowned, deeply betrayed. āi use that.ā
ānot today you donāt.ā
damian ignored him, attention wandering again, circling back toward the hole in his memory like a bee drawn repeatedly to the same window. tim rocked back on his heels, arms crossed, grin already sharpening. āso,ā he began casually, āspeaking of things you āuse,ā want to talk about the stuff you were saying while you were unconscious?ā
dickās head snapped toward him. ātim. no.ā
tim ignored him completely. ābecause wow. i didnāt know you had a romantic side. likeāit was actually kind of sweet? a little embarrassing? honestly extremely embarrassing.ā
damianās face twisted. āwhat are youāā
āyou kept saying,ā tim continued, pitching his voice into a dreamy falsetto, āāmy belovedā¦ come backā¦ come hereā¦ where are youā¦āā he clutched his chest dramatically.
āI did not say that,ā damian barked, though it came out slightly slurred, tragically soft, devastatingly unthreatening. ādrake is lying.ā damian announced to the ceiling, as if the ceiling could issue a rebuttal.
except ā- then damian froze, not visibly, internally, like someone had pulled the emergency brake on his thoughts. the hazy warmth in his veins pulsed, rising like heat behind his ears. something in his chest tightened, memory stirring sluggishly but insistently. the drugs softened everything except that. that memory. that wanting.
the warmth in his bloodstream pulsed again, stronger, like a tide he couldnāt fight. he blinked slowly, vision blooming and fading at the edges, and in the middle of that blur, something clear rose to the surface. you.
your face. your voice. your hands brushing the hair off his forehead last week. your breath against his neck in the quiet hours. your laugh that he pretended didnāt undo him. he inhaled sharply, like the thought of you punched through the haze. tim, seeing the shift, took a step back. he knew this was no longer teasing territory, this was damianās guard dissolving in real time. dick moved a little closer. ādamian?ā
damian blinked again. confusion, longing, frustration, and beneath all of it, a tenderness so raw it seemed to surprise even him. āwhereāsā¦ā his voice wobbled, more breath than sound. ā(y/n)?ā
timās eyebrows shot up to his hairline. cassās head tilted, studying him. damian didnāt notice their reactionsādidnāt even register that heād slipped. the meds made the truth feel natural, inevitable, impossible to contain.
āi want her here.ā
dick blinked rapidly. āher?ā
āyes, her,ā damian muttered like they were stupid for being confused, tone clipped but dreamy, like he was trying to be irritated through marshmallow fog. āshe should be here.ā
dick tried gently, āwhoāā
ā(y/n).ā damian snapped. āthe one iā the one whoāā he cut himself off, annoyed at how hard the words suddenly were. his tongue felt slow. his brain fuzzed.
everything except the wanting.
āiād much rather be with her than you guys.ā
damian pushed on, voice dipping into something warm and unrestrained and utterly unlike him. āshe doesnāt talk so loudly,ā he mumbled, glaring at tim for existing. āand she doesnāt hover.ā a pointed look at dick. āand sheās gentle.ā he added, a little dreamily, glancing at cass.
cassās eyes softened. dickās heart did a little somersault. tim opened and closed his mouth like a stunned goldfish. damian continued, because the drugs had him rambling, pouring out affection heād buried so deep even he forgot it was there. āand she smells nice,ā he said, brows furrowing like this was deeply important. āand she holds my hand when iām hurt. why isnāt she here.ā
ād,ā dick said softly, āweā¦ didnāt know she existed.ā
āthatās not my problem.ā damian glared at the wall. āshe should be here.ā he shifted, trying to sit up, but cass stopped him again. he slumped back instantly, blinking up at her like sheād just used dark magic. āi need to talk to her,ā damian insisted. āsheās probably worried.ā
damianās face, already soft from the medication, creased in a way none of them had ever seen. not anger, not annoyance, something else. something gentler. unguarded. dangerously unguarded.
he frowned. a slow, heartbreakingly earnest frown. āā¦she should be here,ā he murmured again, more wounded this time, as if the roomās failure to produce you was a insult.
tim whispered, āweāre in uncharted territory,ā like a man narrating a nature documentary about a dangerous, delicate creature.
dick pulled a chair closer. āweāre not keeping her from you,ā he said. āno one knew you wanted her here.ā
damian scowled. āi always want her here.ā
tim choked on a laugh. cass elbowed him. but damian wasnāt doneāif anything the words were pouring out faster now, because every thought of you made the meds tug him deeper into that warm, floaty honesty. āshe knows how to touch my hair the right way,ā he admitted, cheeks flushing faintly. āyou donāt justā you have to go with the grain, not against theāā he gestured vaguely at his head, missing by several inches. āshe knows. why isnāt she here.ā
āshe doesnāt know youāre awake.ā
āyou should have told her,ā damian argued, scandalized. āyou should haveā obviously you should haveāā his breath stuttered, foggy frustration ripping through him. āi want her.ā he repeated, smaller.
āokay,ā dick said. āokay. weāll get her. justā¦ try to relax.ā
damian tried to glare, but it melted halfway into a woozy pout. āi wonāt relax until sheās here.ā
dick exhaled, long-suffering but soft. āiāll call her. justāstay in the bed. stay horizontal. stayā¦ not ripping out your IV.ā
damian made a grumpy sound that was supposed to be dignified and was absolutely not.
you arrived like someone who had run every red light between your apartment and the wayne medical wing. you hadnāt even finished tying your shoes when the call cameāan unfamiliar number flashing on your screen, a clipped voice saying, āhi, uh, this is dick graysonādamianās brotherāplease donāt panic, heās okay, but heās asking for you and weā¦ think you should come.ā
you barely remembered hanging up. or grabbing keys. or the elevator door almost closing on your shoulder. ten minutes, maybe eleven, but it felt like one long breath held in your chest. in those ten minutes, everything in your head spun: damian doesnāt get hurt. damian doesnāt call for anyone. damian doesnāt need.
so what couldāve happened for dick to sound like that? what couldāve happened for damian to ask for you?
the security staff let you through without questionādick mustāve put your name on some list, because no wayne employee is normally that chill about strangers sprinting through sterile hallways with fear in their eyes.
your boots echoed off polished floors. the medical wing always had that cold, expensive, unnecessarily white lookāa place built to fix bodies, not calm nerves. you followed the signs, heart hammering, palms damp.
room 3B.
your hand hovered on the handle for half a secondāhalf a breathābecause you had no idea what version of damian youād find on the other side of the door. injured damian? angry damian? scared damian?
you pushed the door open.
damian had not relaxed. if anything, he had stewed, curled miserably in a hospital bed that looked like it was offending his entire lineage by existing. his hair was a mess. his eyes were half-lidded and glassy. a deep, irritable crease sat between his brows.
when you stepped in, the room shifted. dick straightened in his chair, relief flooding him. tim blinked like he couldnāt believe you were a real person. cass smiled at you like sheād expected this all along. but damianā
damianās eyes snapped open like someone had turned the sun directly toward him. the transformation was instant. his whole face softened and brightened all at once, surprise flickering into recognition, recognition melting into something warm and wreckingly tender. ābeloved,ā he breathed.
and it was so quiet.
then he triedāimmediately, stupidly, disastrouslyāto sit up. ānoāno, no,ā dick sputtered, grabbing his shoulder, flattening him instantly.
damian blinked up at him, betrayed for the thirtieth time today.
but then his gaze dragged back to you, heavy, warm, intoxicatedānot just by meds but by relief. āyouāre here. finally.ā
your heart dropped somewhere into your stomach. āof course i came,ā you started, glancing wearily at everyone in the room but stepping closer. āyou called for me.ā
āi needed you,ā he said, so matter-of-factly it felt like the room stopped breathing. āi told them. repeatedly. they were slow.ā
āheyāā
dick shot tim a glare.
damian reached for you without hesitation, fingers outstretched, messy and uncoordinated but desperate. cass gently caught his wrist to keep him from yanking at his IV. ācome here,ā damian insisted, eyes locked on yours. āi hate this place. i hate all of them.ā he gestured vaguely at his siblings. āi want you.ā
your lungs forgot how to work. ādami,ā you murmured, stepping to his bedside, taking his free hand carefullyācareful because he was loopy, careful because he was fragile, careful because he was looking at you like you were the only real thing in a world made of fog.
he exhaled, shoulders sinking in relief the moment your skin touched his. āyes. that. stay.ā
and suddenly youāre the idiot standing in a hospital room surrounded by the waynes. you donāt look at any of them. you canāt. eye contact feels like a trapdoor.
because this is the exact scenario damian spent months avoiding. the one he insisted would ācomplicate mattersā or āinvite unnecessary scrutinyā or ādestroy our operational advantage,ā which was his very dramatic way of saying he didnāt want his family to know he had feelings like a human being.
and now heās clinging to your wrist like a toddler afraid youāll evaporate. your voice tries to work but it comes out small. āuhā¦ okay. iām here. not going anywhere.ā
dick makes a soft, amazed sound, like heās watching a wild animal eat out of someoneās hand for the first time. tim is frozen in place, eyes narrowed like heās trying to run a facial-recognition scan on the situation. cass just looks deeply entertained. damian doesnāt notice any of it. heās too busy hauling your hand into his chest like he needs the pressure to stay anchored.
he nudges closer to you on the pillowāwell, he attempts to, but heās so high that the movement is less āsmooth shiftā and more āgentle toppling.ā you catch him before he face-plants, hands awkward around his shoulders, and heā¦ softens. actually softens. melts into your touch like heās never heard of pride in his life. ādonāt leave,ā he mutters. ātheyāre awful. youāre the only tolerable one.ā
his siblings watch this happen with the energy of people witnessing a natural disaster in slow motion. your heart does something inconvenient. āiām not going anywhere,ā you say again, softer.
heās going to regret every single word of this when the pain meds wear off. damian relaxes immediately, head tipping toward you, completely unconcerned that half his family is witnessing this emotional striptease heāll definitely deny later. then his hand paws clumsily at the air until it finds yours again. he drags it to his chest, then up toward his jaw, nudging, nudging, nudging like a disgruntled cat demanding to be held exactly the right way. you blink down at him. āwhat are you doing.ā
āyou know what iām doing,ā he mutters, pushing your palm against his cheek like heās molding clay. ācloser.ā
āi am close.ā
ānot enough.ā a pout forms soft lower lip pushed forward in wounded royalty. āyouāre supposed toā¦ā he gestures with his other hand, fingers fluttering like heās trying to summon the word. ākiss me.ā
your body goes rigid. ādamian. your entire family is three feet away.ā
tim chokes on spit. dick makes a strangled noise. cass is already covering her smile with her hand. dick, bless him, claps his hands together. āalright! great time to take a break. weāre gonnaā¦ uhā¦ give you two some space.ā
āa lot of space,ā tim adds, sprinting for the door like the room is on fire.
cass pauses beside the doorway, gives you a thumbs-up, then closes the door behind them. immediately, muffled bickering erupts.
āyou didnāt record that?ā
āiām not filming our brother in the hospital!ā
ācoward.ā
āguys, shut upāā
āi canāt believe he said kiss meāā
ācass stop laughingāā
āOH my godāā
you drag a hand down your face. āthis is mortifying.ā
damian doesnāt care. damian cares zero percent. damian is busy guiding your hand back to his cheek and pressing into it like itās a heat source keeping him alive. ātheyāre idiots,ā he announces, voice thick with anesthesia and indignation. āloud. insufferable. invasive.ā he blinks heavily, lashes brushing your wrist. āiām glad theyāre gone.ā
ātheyāre right outside the door still arguing.ā
ātheyāre always arguing,ā he says, sleepy venom coating every syllable. āthey argue about toast.ā
you try not to smile. āand you donāt?ā
āi argue with purpose.ā he says this with the gravitas of a dying king. āthey argue because theyāre incompetent.ā his fingers curl around your wrist and he tries to tug you closer again. ācome here,ā he murmurs, cheeks pink from more than medication. āyouāre being difficult.ā
āiām being respectful.ā you correct.
he frowns. actually frowns, like youāve just informed him gravity is optional now. ādisgusting.ā he sighs like a martyr. ājust kiss me.ā
his fingers skate clumsily up your wrist, slipping twice before finally hooking behind your hand, dragging it back to his cheek with the determination of a drowning man reaching for a lifeline. his pulse flutters beneath your palm, fluttery in that way that tells you the meds are hitting harder. āi need one,ā he murmurs, barely audible. ājustāone.ā
ādamianāā
āplease,ā he whispers. he looks at you like youāre the single point of focus in a world thatās tilting. pupils blown, cheeks flushed with medication and emotion he canāt register enough to restrain. heās trying so hard to keep his eyes open, to hold onto you, to stay with you in the haze.
the battle between logic and instinct lasts all of four seconds. maybe less. you lean in, careful, so he can pull back if he wants. he doesnāt. he meets you halfway, or at least tries to, except he misjudges the distance and bumps your chin first, blinking like the world betrayed him again. you soften. cup the side of his face, steady him, then you kiss him.
itās gentle. warm. barely there at first, just the press of your mouth against his, letting him feel it, understand it. his breath catches, a soft inhale against your lips like he canāt believe he got what he asked for. then the tension melts out of him all at once. his shoulders sag. his hand slides up to clutch weakly at your shirt. he makes this tiny, involuntary soundāhalf sigh, half reliefālike the kiss untied some knot inside him he didnāt know was choking him. he kisses you back clumsily, lazily, chasing the contact with unfocused devotion. the kind of kiss that says iām not fully here, but what i feel for you is.
when you finally pull backābecause heās still recoveringāhis eyes remain closed for a moment, like reality hasnāt quite caught up. they open, glazed and adoring in a way he will absolutely deny to the grave. āthat,ā he murmurs, voice dropping like heās drifting toward sleep. ābetter.ā
you smooth his hair back gently. āyeah?ā
he nods against your hand, eyelids lowering again. āyou fixed theā¦ everything.ā his lips twitch like he wants to smile but doesnāt have the energy. ākiss me again later.ā
you canāt help it. you laugh. āweāll see.ā
he humsāhums, like heās some exhausted, medicated cat settling into sun-warm sheets instead of a post-surgery assassin with a reputation to maintain. for a few minutes, everything is strangely easy. soft. he drifts in and out, eyes half-lidded, expression mellow in a way that would terrify gothamās criminal underground. he asks you three questions in a row (āwhat time is itā¦ why does the ceiling breatheā¦ can you make the bed stop tilting?ā), only for his attention to wander halfway through the third answer.
you stroke his hair and he melts like warm wax, that stiffness he always carries dissolving like youāre seeing a piece of him that only exists under anesthesia and around you. āyou should rest,ā you observe.
āi am resting.ā he sounds offended youād suggest otherwise. āiām the picture ofāā he yawns without warning. āādiscipline.ā
āsure,ā you say, hand smoothing down his cheek. āvery disciplined.ā
he narrows his eyes, but the effect is ruined by how heavy his eyelids are. āmockery is unbecoming.ā he drifts again, fingers twitching once like he wants to pull you even closer but canāt muster the energy. ten more seconds pass before he murmurs, barely audible, ādonāt be gone long.ā
your chest folds in on itself. āi wonāt.ā
but you still have to go. he needs his siblings updated. you need to breathe something other than recycled medical-wing air. andāletās be honestāyou need to apologize for walking in and accidentally detonating a family-secret bomb.
you pry his hand gently off your shirt, not easy, because he makes a soft, grumpy noise at the loss, and settle it over his blanket. āiāll be right back,ā you whisper.
he scowls, soft and half-asleep. āyou better.ā
you slip out. the door clicks shut behind you, and immediately, the hallway noise stops. immediately. like a switch. one second thereās muffled arguing, sharp whispers, annoyed sighs, something that sounds suspiciously like tim saying āthatās not fair, cass, you canāt hit people in a debateāā
and the next? dead silent.
you step fully into the corridor. three faces turn to you at once, frozen mid-conflict like you just walked in on a crime scene. dick stands with his arms out like he was physically separating people. tim looks defensive, hands half-raised, mouth half-open. cass is calmly holding what looks like timās hoodie string, like sheās been yanking him back into line.
they all stare. you blink. āā¦hi,ā you say. it comes out small. painfully polite. the kind of greeting you use when youāve just barged into the batfamilyās private meltdown because your secret boyfriend couldnāt keep quiet on morphine.
dick straightens so fast you actually hear the click of his spine. āhi! hey! um. hi. wow. okay. youāyou came out.ā
tim elbows him. āof course she came out, she used the doorāā
cass smacks the back of his head without looking.
āow???ā
you exhale slowly. āsoā¦ um. i guess i should sayāsorry? for all of that? heāsā¦ not usually like this.ā
three pairs of eyes give you the exact same expression:
oh we know.
you swallow, fingers twisting together because suddenly youāre seventeen again and meeting someoneās parents in a too-small living room where everyone is staring. āright,ā you say. āum. so. iāmāā the word lodges in your throat. girlfriend.
technically true. emotionally true. secretly true. publicly, thoughā¦ this was supposed to come out months from now. carefully. intentionally. maybe after damian finished having a internal breakdown about letting anyone know he had feelings at all. definitely not in a fluorescent hallway with him high on enough pain meds to take down a rhinoceros.
you clear your throat. āiāmā¦ hisāā
they all lean in a fraction. like wolves scenting vulnerability.
āāgirlfriend.ā
silence. not the casual kind. not the āoh okayā kind. no. this is the thick, suffocating, batfamily kind of silence, where shock ricochets between them. you want to die.
āwow,ā dick finally says, voice high and bright and absolutely panicked. āso youāreāuhāwow. okay.ā
tim takes a step back from you like youāre a rare cryptid. āwait, wait. damianāour damianāhas a secret girlfriend and he didnāt tell anyone?ā
āit wasnātāā you rub your face. āit wasnāt my idea to keep it secret.ā
every head turns toward the door behind you. the door damian is behind. three simultaneous: āof course it wasnāt.ā
you sigh. āhe didnātā¦ want the attention. or the questions. or theāā you gesture vaguely at the cluster of energy in front of you āāthis.ā
dick nods so hard youāre briefly concerned for him. āyeah. okay. right.ā
tim crosses his arms. āhe trusts none of us with his personal life. unbelievable.ā
cass tilts her head, eyes narrowing thoughtfully. āhe likes her,ā she says simply.
everyone turns to her, startled by the rare verbal input. she shrugs. āi watch him.ā
youāre still mortified.āiām sorry,ā you say again, because apologizing feels easier than existing in this moment.
āno, no,ā dick insists. ādonāt apologize. weāre justāprocessing.ā
āpoorly.ā tim adds.
āyes, poorly.ā
you glance at the door, then back to them. āheā¦ didnāt mean to tell you. heās justā¦ really high.
tim snorts. āyeah, we noticed.ā
but thenādick softens. visibly. his whole posture loosens. āweāreā¦ glad youāre here. really.ā
cass nods once. tim looks like he wants to be annoyed, but deep down, heās already building a spreadsheet called damianās girlfriend: things to investigate. you inhale, steadying yourself. this is fine. youāre here. damianās safe. theyāreā¦ intimidating, but also weirdly welcoming in a way. dick takes a half-step toward the door. āheās probably freaking out that youāre gone.ā
you grimace. āā¦yeah. heās not subtle right now.ā
tim snorts. āunderstatement of the century.ā
you all slip back into the roomāwell, you walk in, and the batfamily kind of fans in behind you like an unnecessarily dramatic processionāand immediately youāre met with a very specific sound: damian huffing.
heās upright again, God knows how he managed it with stitches and sedation, blanket bunched around his waist, hair a complete disaster, eyes sharp but unfocused and dark with irritation. he looks like someone whoās been abandoned in a desert for hours, not eight minutes. the second he sees you, everything in him unclenches. the frown softens. the shoulders drop. the tension behind his eyes dissolves like sugar in tea. āfinally.ā
you take a slow breath. āi was gone for like ten minutes.ā
āten minutes,ā he repeats, scandalized. āi could have died.ā
dick, behind you, mouths jesus christ into his hands.
you step closer and damian instantly reaches for you, hands out, grabby, zero dignity, all instinct. he looks like heās two seconds from climbing out of bed and onto you. āi told you,ā he mutters, leaning toward you with the gravity of someone confessing state secrets, āi canāt sleep without you.ā
your brain stalls. his siblings collectively short-circuit behind you. āyouāveā¦ never said that.ā
āiām saying it now.ā he tries to sit up even straighter, immediately winces, then stubbornly ignores the pain. āi hate it when you disappear. itāsāā he squints, trying to find the word in the fog of anesthetic swimming through him, āāunacceptable.ā
āunacceptable,ā tim echoes under his breath, shaking his head like this is the best day of his life.
damian hears it and snapsānot very effectively, because itās slurred and soft and deeply non-threateningāāshut up, drake.ā then he turns back to you, expression going gentle again so fast itās whiplash. ācome here,ā he says, voice lower, sleepy, warm. āplease.ā
you move without thinking. ābetter,ā he mumbles, leaning into your palm. Leaning. āi hate hospitals.ā
āi know you do.ā
āthey smell like fear and bleach. drake smells like bleach too. itās suspicious.ā
tim throws both hands up. āwhatāwhyāwhat did i even do?!ā
damian doesnāt answer, mostly because something else catches his attention. his gaze drifts back toward the IV taped to his hand like heās just spotted an enemy combatant. āā¦itās still there,ā he mutters darkly.
you can practically hear dickās soul leave his body. ādamianāā
too late.
damianās fingers curl, determined and clumsy, reaching for the line like heās about to solve all his problems via self-sabotage ānope,ā you say quickly, sliding your hand over his before he can yank. ādonāt start with that.ā
he blinks at you, startled. ābut itās in me.ā
āyes,ā you say calmly, āand itās supposed to be. if you pull it out, itās going to hurt, youāll bleed everywhere, and dr. thompson will throw a fit.ā
damian glowers at the IV like it personally betrayed him. āi do not consent to its presence.ā
ātough,ā you say softly. āleave it.ā
and something miraculous happens.
he listens.
he actually stops. his fingers relax under yours, he gives one final deeply offended exhale, then slumps back against the pillow, letting you guide his hand away from the tubing entirely. dick stares at the exchange like he just watched a unicorn descend from the ceiling. āyouāve gotta be kidding me.ā
tim narrows his eyes. āyeah, no, I want that in writing. he listened? willingly?ā
damian doesnāt even look at them. his attention is fully back on you, as if heās forgotten anyone else exists. āyouāre better at giving orders,ā he mumbles, voice slurred and honest.
your eyebrows shoot up. āi didnāt give an order.ā
āyes you did,ā he insists, even poutier now. āand i liked it.ā
tim chokes. you press a hand over damianās, trying not to laugh. āokay. well. thank you for listening.ā
āi listen to you,ā he says, like itās obvious. āyou make sense.ā
and thenāinevitablyādamianās gaze drifts, catches something on the wall-mounted TV across from the bed, and brightens in a way that is actually alarming. ātch. finally,ā he mutters. āsomething decent.ā itāsā¦ an anime. some shonen fight scene paused on a commercial break. āthey always have commercials on. americans have no discipline.ā
ādo youāwatch that one?ā
āi watch everything,ā he says, as if this is another well-known fact. āi have criteria.ā
ācriteria,ā tim echoes. āoh this I gotta hear.ā
damian lifts a finger dramatically, like heās addressing a senate hearing. āstrong character arcs. accurate sword technique. no filler episodes.ā he narrows his eyes like the concept personally offended him. āmost of themā¦ disgraceful.ā
and thenāgod help youāhe turns his head toward you and says, in a tone so earnest it almost knocks you over: āif i recommended shows to you, you would watch them. properly.ā
tim inhales sharply. āare you ASKING her to watch anime with you? publicly? in front of witnesses?ā
damian blinks once. twice. āyes?ā he says, baffled that this is even a question. āwhy wouldnāt i? she listens.ā
dick puts a hand over his heart. āthis is the most emotion heās displayed since he was born.ā
damian ignores him completely because a new thought has struck him, and he must share it immediately or die.
āand she likes animals,ā he says. āthis matters.ā
you look around. āā¦does it?ā
āyes.ā he nods, solemn. āpeople who donāt like animals are not to be trusted. it isā¦ foundational.ā
āi meanātrue,ā you mumble, trying not to laugh.
āshe,ā he says, pointing at you again, ālets titi sleep on her jacket. on purpose.ā
tim freezes. āwait. the demon cat? on their clothes? andāno blood?ā
you shrug awkwardly. āsheās actually very sweetāā
āHA,ā damian cuts in, triumphant. āi told you.ā then, with no transition at all: ātiti likes her more than she likes you.ā
this is addressed to the entire batfamily.
gasps. outrage. betrayal. you pat damianās arm, trying to settle him down. he looks up at you instantlyāimmediate, instinctive. ādonāt go again,ā he says, like you abandoned him for years instead of stepping outside to apologize to his siblings.
āiām right here,ā you soothe.
he exhales, satisfied. āgood. if you leave, they talk. they always talk.ā his voice drops to a whisper, conspiratorial. āthey gossip.ā
āWE DO NOT.ā
damian waves a dismissive hand. āyes you do. you gossip likeā¦ hens.ā
āhens??ā
āLOUD hens,ā damian corrects, settling further into your side. āand idiotic.ā
you choke on a laugh as all three brothers erupt in overlapping offended noises. and youāre just sitting there thinkingā
yeah. he is absolutely, utterly, painfully doomed when he sobers up.
You woke up in the world of TWD, and you fought so hard to not change the plot of the show, to not get too closeā afraid that you'll end up with more losses than not. However, the more time you spend with them, interact with them, laugh and smile with them.. You realize that you're slowly getting attached to every single one of them.
Still, you try not to socialize much, because you don't want to get hurt when a character dies. But.. People is real stubborn.
00, 01, 02, 03, 04, 05, 06, 07, 08, 09, 010.
011, 012, 013, 014, 015, 016, 017, 018, 019, 020.
021, 022, 023, 024, 025, 026, 027, 028, 029, 030.
031, 032, 033, 034, 035, 036, 037, 038, 039, 040.
The story will be updated every other day, but a new chapter may come twice a day depending on how the day goes so far. Just keep an eye out. :D
Take note that the story will have enough divergence to still be canon compliant, and unfortunately, this may have an x reader tag on it, but the story isn't that focused on romance. There are no definite endgame for the reader yet, but I'm broadening the possibilities on whom you will end up with.
hello male writer. before you is a typewriter. you have one day to write a novella with a woman as the protagonist without describing her breasts. the timer begins now
summary: after helping the mandalorian with a favor, he brings you a gift as a thank you. little do both of you know that this gift sparks a connection that neither of you can deny, and thoughts that din never considered before you.
tags/warnings: dual pov, no use of y/n cuz ew, alcohol consumption, mentions of medicine/contraceptives, a very tiny mention of being chased/hunted down, hella chemistry, fluff, language, jealousy, sexual tension, yearning, dirty talk, heavy makeout, biting, fingering, clit play, cunnilingus, breast play, slight choking kink, piv unprotected sex, praise kink, breeding kink, cream pie, helmet off, dark room sensory focused.
authorās note: listen listen LISTEN... I know, it's been a hot minute š„² Life happened and all that jazz. Tbh this has been in my drafts for a while but I decided to finish it now that the movie is out so this is probably canon divergent at this point lol. But when I tell you I ran away writing this, bitch I raaaan. To everyone who wondered what happened to that bottle of liquor in s3, this is for you pookiesš«µš»šāāļø
When you decided to make Nevarro your home, you expected it to be a rough place. A far off den of thieves, bounty hunters, and a sleazy connection to the old empire. Nonetheless, it was cheap so you convinced yourself you could put up with it. It wasnāt anything new to you. Plus, at the time, you really didnāt have anywhere else to go.Ā
Thankfully, the reputation has drastically improved over the past few years. Itās not Naboo, but thereās aĀ sort of gritty charm to it. Rebels became marshals. Bars became schools. Thieves became honest vendors. Hell, thereās even kaf shops here now.
Youāre no stranger to drastic changes in this galaxy. Youāve beared witness to the rise and fall of an empire after all.
But receiving a bottle of wine at night from a notorious ex-bounty hunter is definitely a first for you.
āYouāreā¦ giving this to me,ā you ask, dragging the question out.
The Mandalorian stands at your doorstep. Unreadable beneath hard shiny metal and illuminated only by the entry light of your home above your door. The chilly night air bites your cheeks but he stands unfazed.
āAs a thank you,ā he explains. āYou were a big help to my kid and this was the only thing I had that seemed like something youād enjoy.ā
All you did was give his little green kid some medicine. Itās not like it was even your first interaction with the infamous hunter. Heās stopped by your apothecary a couple times. Passing by so swiftly you hardly even knew he was there if it wasnāt for the lingering stares from other customers. If you recall correctly, he only ever picks up supplies to replenish a med pack or bacta spray for wounds.
Until you suddenly found him at your doorstep the other night with his adorable little green baby in his arms. The poor little guy was running a fever, coughing up a storm, and had even refused food for over a day. Any parent would be frantic. And so you didnāt even think twice to let them inside.
Luckily your small shop is attached below your home, so you were quick to find the right tinctures for his illness. The Mandalorian paced circles in your kitchen as you administered the medicine and blotted his kidās little forehead with a cool damp cloth. It took some time and a lot of reassurance to a very nervous father, but after a few hours the fever broke.
You sent them home with some herbal tinctures and even some homemade hard medicinal candies for stubborn coughs and that was it. Hardly any words were exchanged between you that night that didnāt pertain to the child. Only a heartfelt thank you, goodnight, and a promise to pay you back somehow. You assured him that it really wasnāt necessary, that you were glad to help.
Youāve admittedly always been curious about the man. With his stoic demeanor and a reputation that preceded him like lightening preceded thunder. Heās somewhat of a local legend, menace, and hero all wrapped up in one. And now heās at your door. With booze. Definitely a man of his word, this guy.
āYouāre giving this,ā you repeat with astonishment. āThis whole bottle, to me?ā
āYes,ā he answers again. āIs it a special one or something?ā
āThis is Andoan wine,ā you emphasize, holding out the clear glass bottle. āYou can only find these on Coruscant now. Very delicious, very rare, very expensive.ā
āIs it,ā he asks nonchalantly. āIāve never tried it before. But I hope you enjoy it.ā
āYou really donāt have to,ā you tell him.
āI insist. I didnāt know the first thing to do so I appreciate your help.ā
You chuckle. With your limited interactions, youāre starting to see that heās short and to the point with his words. Almost like heās not entirely used to speaking with people.
āIā¦ā You nearly argue it again but decide against it. He really didnāt have to give you such a lavish gift for something any good person would do in a situation like that. It was only natural. But at this point, refusing him might come off as rude soā¦
āThank you very much.ā
The Mandalorian acknowledges your gratitude with a tilt of his helmet, then turns on his heels to leave without another word. And for some reason, you linger at the door. You watch him go down one step, then another, then-
āH-hey, Mando?ā
Your sudden call stops him in his tracks on the stair case and he turns to look back over his shoulder. The dim light gleaming over his steel.
āYes?ā
āIā¦. w-wellā¦ā
Youāre stammering. Just come out and say it.
āIf youāve never tried itā¦ would you like to share it with me?ā
He stands there silently looking at you and the awkwardness crawls your skin.
āIām not busy at the moment and itās not really in my culture to drink alone.ā
Culture your ass. You just want to drink with him. Itās unclear why in particular butā¦ youāre curious about him. Other than the company of his kid, he seems alone. You wonder if he prefers it that way or if itās for another reason entirely. Either way, the offer was worth a shot.
Thereās more silence and the only noise in the air comes from the gentle chirp of some lava crickets and the breeze brushing the trees in the street. And itās in that moment that regret starts to burn in your stomach
Heās gonna say no. A pause like that doesnāt necessarily mean yes. But it would be rude not to offer, right? A bottle this nice doesnāt come by these parts and itād be a shame to drink it alone. Itās reasonable to offer the gesture. After all, he went out of his way to come here from across town. Itās the least you can do to show your appreciation in return.
āAlright.ā
The word that falls out of him so effortlessly hits you like a punch to the chest. Are you nervous? Absolutely. But how many people can say they shared a drink with the Mandalorian?
A few minutes later, you find yourself standing on your tip toes, grabbing a couple earthenware ceramic cups in your kitchenette cabinet while Mando stands in your living room. His helmet follows the various potted plants, momentos and knick knacks from your travels littered around your home. Even tracing his gloved fingers over some of them.
āYou have a nice home,ā he says. āI didnāt notice before. Very lived in.ā
āLots of junk,ā you joke. āYou can say it Mando, I wonāt mind.ā
āMy place is still new. Doesnāt feel like a home just yet.ā
āThatāll change over time,ā you assure him. āAfter a while, your home becomes a collection of memories.ā
His attention gets drawn to a particular item on your wall. Itās an old worn down canvas satchel bag that hangs on the wall. At one point it was a life line. Now it serves as a reminder that no matter how hard life gets, showing a little kindness can go a long way for someone.
āWhatās this memory?ā
āThat? That memory is what got me here.ā You smile to yourself as you wipe down the cups with a clean kitchen rag.
āA few years ago, I was on Pantora with just some spare change and the clothes on my back. I was desperate to leave so I ended up hitching a ride on a freight ship. I worked on the ship in exchange for a ride to Corellia. Their language was difficult to learn and I had a rough time getting things done because for some reason everything was written in the native language and not aurebesh. On a stop to Tattooine, I accidentally labeled a pallet of coaxium as a pallet of scrap metal. That āscrapā was sold to some Jawas and by the time everyone realized my mistake we were already halfway to the next planet.ā
āWas that before you came the Nevarro?ā
āThat was the reason I came to Nevarro,ā you clarify. āIt was their next stop so they dropped me here.ā
āOuch.ā
āYeah, ouch,ā you laugh. āAnyway, I guess one of the workers felt sorry for me and left me that satchel with a couple credits and some ration bars inside. Buuut my mistake turned out to be a blessing in disguise. Nevarro turned itself around. I have my own little business. Iām even able to save a little bit of money now. For the time being, things are comfortable. Iāve hopped around the system a lot as you can see. Butā¦ this is a place I can always come back to.ā
āSomething reliable,ā he adds.
āExactly,ā you say softly, smiling at the sentiment.
You look up at him. And you didnāt notice as you were cleaning those cups that heās now completely facing towards you. His visor is trained on you. And itās then that you realize how small your home really is. Because Mando is broad.
His crossed arms accentuate his wide shoulders. His chest plate follows the lines of his trim torso. Even those plates of beskar armor can barely hide the bulk of his biceps. Your eyes briefly, briefly take a tour at his waist line before you realize how incredibly rude youāre being.
Heās a guest. And a customer. Donāt. Check. Him. Out.
Heat starts to rise in your cheeks. Focusing back on the cups, you round the kitchen counter and walk over to him.
āIām sorry. All this talking suddenly got deeper and I feel like I havenāt really introduced myself. Weāve only ever passed by each other before,ā you chuckle, shaking away the nerves.
In hindsight you shouldāve just introduced yourself the other night, but truthfully you were in care-taker-mode and it didnāt occur to you at the time. Plus you didnāt think youād have an encounter with the man again other than seeing him briefly in your shop every so often. But he seems like a nice enough person with the limited knowledge you do have with him. And after tonight youāre bound to cross paths again. So you happily extend your hand out and give him his cup along with your full name.
Thereās a couple beats of silence and youāre starting to see thatās his default. But it doesnāt stop you from second guessing your words as if youāre crossing an unknown boundary. Thereās a slight tilt downward with his helmet and he responds with a regretful āIām sorry, but-ā
āYou donāt have to tell me your name,ā you immediately add. āI know thereāsā¦ principles you must have. I just wanted you to know me. Thatās all.ā
Another beat passes before he finally reaches out to take the cup in his hand. He repeats your name and the way it comes out of his voice holds a whole new flavor. Soft and curious even through the warble of his vocoder. Itās almost like heās seeing how it tastes.
You like it. You like it a lot.
āItās nice to meet you.ā The voice wears the vocoder like a veil but you still catch a hint of a smile by his relaxed tone. No real logical way to know for certain, just a gut feeling.
āLikewise,ā you smile back.
āSo,ā he exhales. āYou want to know how two Mandalorians drink?ā
āSure. Sounds educational,ā you joke.
With a tilt of his helmet, Mando steps further into the living room area and you follow behind, cup and bottle in hand. Walking over to the couch, his gloved hand reaches for the small round pillow resting there. His smokey grey cape flows over his shoulder and for a moment youāre mesmerized by the movement. As he turns on his heel, his fingers release the pillow. Letting it fall to the thin rug with a muted poof.
āRight here.ā Mando gestures to the floor and you waltz over to take a seat on the cushion, crossing your legs. It doesnāt escape your notice how he doesnāt grab the only pillow for himself. Opting for your comfort over his own.
He takes a minute to look around the room. Probably checking for anything reflective. Then with a swish of his cape to the side, Mando settles in the floor behind you. When his back presses against yours, you expect a wall of cold hard metal beneath the cape. But instead thereās warmth. Strong and firm, but still warm and giving.
āItās customary to sit on the floor when drinking with a war band. Usually outside around a fire. When itās just two, itās back to back.ā
āAaah,ā you drawl. āVery practical. I like it.ā
The top of the bottle comes off with a pop and the rich scent caresses your nose like a hug. After pouring about two fingers worth into Mandoās cup you pour one for yourself and settle in.
āAre we drinking to anything tonight ,ā you ask him.
āNot sure. How aboutā¦,ā he pauses for a moment before deciding. āTo that Pantoran who gave you the satchel.ā
That makes you laugh out loud. But you canāt help but feel a little pleased at that. If it wasnāt for him, you wouldnāt be on Nevarro, wouldnāt have a home. And you definitely wouldnāt be drinking with Mando tonight. For that youāre especially grateful.
āYou know what, yeah,ā you chuckle. āTo the Pantoran.ā
Mando extends his arm back to reach your cups and you meet him halfway. Letting them touch with a soft clack.
āCheers.ā
āCheers.ā
Thereās an unclicking sound and you sense that heās probably tilting his helmet back to drink. You ignore the small tinge of disappointment that he didnāt take it completely off. But itās understandable. He doesnāt know you well. Even drinking like this with an outsider is probably a big deal for people of his creed. His back presses a little further against yours as he takes his first sip and you take yours.
The wine is rich and dry, and a bit smokey. But the underlying taste of tangy fruit blends well with the flavor. Going by the color, it has to have been bottled for a decades. The alcohol runs warmly down your throat and settles like smoldering ember in your stomach. Itās like no other alcohol youāve ever tried before. Not even close.
āHoooh,ā he hisses after that sharp bite of alcohol.
āYeah,ā you agree knowingly. Already sensing that this bottle is getting finished tonight.
The conversations flow pretty easily after the first drink. He tells you about how his boy came into his life and how he suddenly found himself being his father. You tell him that you can only dream of having a parent like him because you never got to know yours. You half expected he would cut the interaction short and only accept one drink. But when you offer a refill, he gladly accepted which warmed you from the inside.
Admittedly you ask a few curious questions about his creed and he indulges you a bit. And he asks about how you got into medicine making. But for the most part you both stick to easier topics like current events on Nevarro, work, and food. Eventually two drinks turn into three and somehow youāve both dipped into topics like past relationships. Which is dangerous territory after drink number three.
āIt was baaad, Mando. Iām telling you. I mean, really! Who gives two shits who makes more money than who? Or am I in the wrong here?ā
āNah, definitely not,ā he replies. His speech now more relaxed but a little raspy from the alcohol. āHonestly, he sounds like a little bitch if that was his main concern.ā
āYeah! Like, what is it with these men and needing to feel superior in such bullshit, inconsequential ways?ā
āYou seem strong willed. Weak men are intimidated by that.ā
āYeah well, then every man Iāve met in this galaxy was weak,ā you groan. āI mean, cāmon. Am I that intimidating? Is it the yapping? Itās probably the yapping.ā
āI think someone whoād be deterred by something that trivial doesnāt sound worth a damn anyway.ā
With that, you let out a deep sigh and slump against the man behind your back.
āEh, youāre probably right,ā you exhale. You toss back the last little sip in your ceramic cup, savoring the flavor.
āYou know what, itās fine. Iām fine. Iāll just be that shop girl around the corner who throws herself into her work, makes her little remedies, and stays happily independent. I think I can live with that.ā
A pause streches between you.
āYou donāt sound too convincing, Shop Girl,ā he teases.
āShit,ā you tsk.
You both wheeze with laughter, your bodies rumbling against one another and itās soā¦ relaxing. Heās surprisingly easy to talk to. Perhaps itās because he doesnāt say much. Or that what little he does say is said with a sincerity youāre not used to. Or youāre drunk. It could very well be that.
But in a galaxy full of deceit and unknown dangers, itās refreshing to talk with someone as honest as him. Heās authentic, unapologetically so.
āHey soā¦ can I ask you something?ā
āYouāve been asking things this whole time,ā he teases.
āI know, butā¦ itās technically a helmet question. And you can tell me to fuck off if itās too much.ā
Mando hums and the rumble reverberates through your body, nesting warmly in your chest. Heās settled comfortably against you and it makes you feel close enough to ask what you want to ask. After thinking it over he gives you permission.
āCanāt wait to hear this,ā he sighs with a little amusement.
You smile. To your surprise, he actually has a good sense of humor. A dry, blunt one . But humor nonetheless. You run a finger over the rim of your cup, finding a little more courage.
āMandoā¦ Have you ever kissed anyone before?ā
Itās a simple enough question, right? Itās within the ballpark of the topics youāve been discussing. And youāre both adults. Itās not like itās inappropriateā¦Right?
Oh god, you really are drunkā¦
Regret rises with each passing second and you wonder why you even brought it up. Itās probably some kind of insult to his creed to ask something like that.Ā
āToo much,ā you broach gently.
āNo,ā he says softly. āYouāre not exactly the first person to ask that. Doubt youāll be the last.ā
He pauses for a moment to find the right words. Then with a heavy exhale he gives you an answer to your insanely intrusive question.
āI was pretty young when I took the creed,ā he states. āTen, twelve maybe? Too young to be interested in those kinds of things. Never looked back since. To be completely honest, itās not even something I really think about in adulthood. Never understood the hype.ā
āSooo, Iāll take that as a no.ā
āNo,ā he breathes. āNever kissed anyone.ā
Never kissed anyone? Never felt a personās soft lips against his own or graze his skin? Does that mean he hasnāt gotten to experience more than kissing? Licking? Biting? Orā¦
Do not finish that thoughtā¦
āHuhā¦ Well, thatās a shame,ā you say without thinking, quickly adding ā-but at the same time, I completely understand it too! I mean, it shows a lot of self discipline, you know? To resist that kind ofā¦ temptation. Most people donāt have any reason to be disciplined enough to stay chaste. I can admire tha-"
āI said Iāve never kissed anyone, I didnāt say I never fucked.ā
Thankā¦ the Makerā¦ youāre not face to face. Because the way your eyes bulged just now wouldāve been downright embarrassing had it been caught. He didnāt just say sex or even screwing. The Mandalorian fucks. The alcohol in your blood seems to conjure a brief glimpse of what that might look like before you find enough coherence to shew it away.
āā¦oh,ā you breathe out, effectively stopping your rambling. āI-I guess I just assumedā¦ā
A deep exhale blows out of his nose. He hums, seemingly entertained by the foot youāve put in your mouth. But also making the air light between you.
āWell, you assumed wrong.ā
The humor in his voice settles your nerves a bit. Thankfully there isnāt an awkward air at the sudden change to such a topic despite hardly knowing each other. And oddly enough, it feels easy to talk about it for that very reason.
āYouāre rather chatty when you drink, Mandalorian. I feel like Iām learning all sorts of things about you tonight.ā
āYouāre right,ā he breathes. āI spoke without thinking, I apologize.ā
āNo, Itās fine. I donāt mind at all. Itās a relief to know thereās a man under all that armor and not solid metal.ā
He hums again and the noise stirs something in your chest.
āWell, even soā¦ Itās lateā¦ Probably best if I stop drinking.ā
You look into your empty cup. Then glance over to the bottle with barely a drop left inside. Something inside you wilts. Thereās nothing to keep him here any longerā¦
āYeahā¦ Me too.ā
Youāre not sure if you wait for him to move first or if heās waiting for you. But both of you remain still for nearly a whole minute. Silent and hesitant to end the night. As comfortable as it is, you feel Mandoās back lean away from yours and you miss the warmth. You turn on the floor to find him standing up as he adjusts his helmet clasp and places his empty cup on the table.
āYou were right. It tasted better shared,ā he admits. A satisfied smile curls your lips.
āIf you learned anything about me tonight, Mando, itās that I am always right when it comes to liquor.ā
āI appreciate the hospitality.ā
āI appreciate the company.ā
You place a hand on the table as an anchor in an attempt to stand up and follow him to the door. But as you try to stand straight, the room spins and your knees buckle.
Nope. Not doing that.
You sit your ass right back down on that cushion before you make an even bigger fool of yourself. Quick to respond, Mando catches your free arm. Making sure you land back down safely.
āYou ok,ā he asks, concerned but with a hint of humor.
āPfft. Yeah, Iām good. I think Iāll just stay down here for a minute,ā you chuckle, running a hand through your hair and closing your eyes for a moment.
For sure youāll have a hangover tomorrow. Shit. You work tomorrow. Thereās a couple things youāre running low on, too. Youāll have to request an order through the trading guild. Thatāll cost credits. Maybe if you get that Chiss man again you can manage a trade and he can throw in those dried flower buds for that tea that keeps getting sold out.
You know youāre already a bit dizzy. But behind closed eyes you feel like your head is swaying. Or ratherā¦ that itās being moved. Something warm and firm holds your jaw up and when your eyes flutter open again youāre met face to face with dark silver.
The Mandalorian stands barely a foot in front of you. Visor fixed down on your face. Maybe the wine has made your brain slow but itās only when you follow the path from his shoulder and down his outstretched arm that you realize whatās holding your jawā¦ is his hand.
With a subtle pass of his thumb along your cheek you can feel warmth starting to pool in your face. Awareness pricks the hairs on the back of your neck when you realize your position. Sitting on your knees, face barely level to his waist as a wall of steel and muscle towers over you.
āYour cheeks get flushed when you drink,ā he mutters.
When I drink. Suuuure.
āNow you know,ā you mumble without thinking. It grants you a satisfied hum from his helmet and you feel it travel through your ears and under your skin.
āNow I knowā¦,ā he repeats.
Thereās no movement, no words. But thereās something thick in the air. Itās heavy and enticing. Itād be so easy to get wrapped up in it with any sudden movement. You look up at him through half lidded eyes and you get a gut feeling that theyāre meeting his. Youāre not sure what his are giving away. But yours have to be hinting something youāve been trying to hide all night.
With a sharp intake of air, Mando steps back and releases your face. Your head drops a little at the loss of support and it follows his direction as he walks towards the front door with quick, heavy steps. With a press of a button on the wall panel, the door panels slide open and just before he steps outsideā¦ he stops. Not looking back, just standing there at the edge of your home with his stand still resting on the doorway.
āDonāt invite me in again.ā
And then heās gone. The door panels shut swiftly, leaving you alone and more confused than when he showed up at your door.
ā¦what?
ā¢
Din wishes he could say that the first thing he thinks about when he got home that night was his sleeping kid safe in the crib. Or at the very least about how incredible that wine tasted. But after he undressed and collapsed down onto his bed half drunk, the only thought he couldnāt stop thinking about as he stared at the ceiling wasā¦
Damnā¦ itās been a while.
For the past few years, Dinās life has flipped around a number of times. Between barely scraping by as a bounty hunter, saving an orphan kid from an imperial psychopath, losing said kid, then having him return and be by his side to reclaim the Mandalorian home-world, thereās not much time to indulge those kinds of needs. But just because Din found himself being a busy father later in life doesnāt make certain things dead.
No. Everything felt very much alive and kicking by the end of that bottle.
Behind closed eyes, his room feels like it swirls. After that wine, his body feels loose and relaxed. Something he rarely gets to experience these days. Images dance across his closed lids. Delicate, slender hands around a handmade cup. A pink flush on smooth skin. Plump tinted lips between his fingers, softly parted and begging to be touched. The intrusive impulse to dip a finger between those lips was so strong he could feel his hand move into the action before he could even think to do so.
All thanks to that one question. That simple, innocent question activated a deep part of his brain that lay dormant. And then he decided to shatter the care free atmosphere by with a crass remark about sex.
Never in his life has he regretted saying something so fast. You barely even know each other. Admittedly, Din isnāt exactly a refined person, far from it actually. But after his third glass, any semblance of manners flew right out the window. His mouth did the walking with little thinking involved.
Yet, you didnāt get uncomfortable. You handled the slip up with humor instead of getting offended or something just as bad. Using humor to make the air light again. It surprised him how easily you did it. How easy the conversation was all night, really. Itās not everyday heās able to let his guard down with another person.
Once he was aware of that, he became aware of everything. How late the hour was, how drunk you both were, and how your bed was right behind where you both sat. Only separated by a simple room divider. Even when he tipped up his helmet, there was a heady herbal scent from you that kept swimming in his nose and it was just as intoxicating as the wine. He couldnāt trust himself to stay any longer. And now, in the safety of his own home, he finds himself preoccupied with a mountain of questions.
What kind of person are you? Whatās your daily life like? What other places have you seen? What troubles you? You seem to be rooted here in Nevarro for the time being. But from what youāve mentioned about your past, you have a kind of nomadic life. What happens if heā¦ if the kid gets attached and you decide to move on to another planet? But then again, itās not like heās not one to talk though is he?
Loyalty. Solidarity. These are things that have been etched to his core since childhood. But giving those things to something that could be fleeting? Thatās a risk heās avoided for most of his life. Those kinds of wounds never heal.
But as much as he tries to distance himself, itās not always in his control.
Three weeks go by and they couldnāt end soon enough. When he offered to work with Teva (or Blue as he usually calls him) on a case-by-case basis, he figured theyād be more involved than the bounty hunting trade. Heās spent up to a month off planet at times in order to capture a quarry so itās not exactly new to him.
But that was when he had the Razor Crest. With a cot to rest in, a weapons locker, and supplies readily at hand. In that regard, the N-1 leaves much to be desired. Plus Dinās back isnāt what it used to be and long rides in that ship are killer. And to add insult to injury, this last case with Zeb was especially complicated to resolve. It left him and the kid completely drained.
After finally landing back in Nevarro with fresh credits, there is absolutely nothing Din wants more than to just go home, bathe, and sleep for at least a day. But heās got a very hungry green mouth to feed and thereās no way Din is fixing up any dinner tonight.
Street food it is.
āAlright, weāre making this quick. In and out. Iāll get you as much food as you want and you can pick out one sweet. Not five. One. Got that?ā Grogu tilts his head at Din curiously from where he follows behind on the cobblestone street and heāll just take that as a yes.
Dozens of food stalls are gathered at the main square in town as he approaches. Adorned with all sorts of neon signs, string lights and colorful banners. Itās a busy atmosphere filled with people laughing, vendors calling out for customers to stop by, and sounds of clanking and sizzling as they cook.
Din gravitates towards the skewers stand. He knows Grogu is going to down ten of them by himself so he opts for something easy, filling, and cheap. He catches sight of those spicy chunks of fatty meat searing over lava coals and his mouth waters.
āOkay, which onesss-ā
Din reaches down to pick up his son only to find the street bricks.
ā-Sssshhhhit,ā he hisses under his breath, glancing around. This fucking kid. He knows better than to run off.
The crowd is thick and itās getting dark. He scans through the sea of people and vendors but doesnāt find that familiar pale green.
Shit. Shit. Shit.
With a tap of his helmet side panel he switches to the tracking beacon screen. After enough scares like these heās learned to have a tracker sewn into his clothes at this point.
Blinking red arrows come into his view and he follows the path. Not caring whose shoulders he budges or what food he knocks out of someoneās grip to get through. The red arrows turn yellow. Heās getting close but thereās still no visual of the kid and heās starting to panic. He pushes through, scanning side to side and calling out his name in an orchestra of noises without reply.
Yellow turns to green and heās still out of sight. Heās tiny and easy to miss. Grogu could be anywhere, he could be in any one of these stalls. What if heās taken? What if someone else is tracking him? He could be picked up by a total stranger and taken away again.
Just as that thought crosses his mind, thereās a small separation in the crowd. Big floppy ears come into view and heās definitely been picked up. But itās no stranger that holds him.
āAnd here comes dad~ā A voice soft as silk rings inside his helmet.
Relief floods his body as well as caution when he taps his screen clear. Only him. Situations like this only happen to him. It couldāve been Karga. It couldāve been anybody. But it had to be you that found him.
It was barely two minutes. But within those two minutes Dinās head flooded with every worst case scenario possible. And here he is. Happily babbling in your arms like he didnāt just give his dad a fucking heart attack.
āI know, I know,ā you assure him like you can already tell where his headās at, trying to speak over all the noise. āDonāt be too hard on the little guy. I already gave him a bit of a lecture for running around at night.ā
Din wants to. Itās honestly his first reaction. But a cooler head prevails and he decides against it after a second thought. He reminds himself (once again) that Grogu is still young and that getting angry would only make things worse. What matters is that heās safe and that he managed to find you.
āAt least he wonāt have to hear it twice,ā he exhales, pushing out the stress sitting in his lungs. āSorry about him.ā
āNo, no sorry needed. Heās smarter than he lets on. At least he ran to someone he knew. Iām glad I was around.ā
Din opens his mouth to speak but ends up falling short with his words. Now that some of the stress has left his body, his eyes take you in at a second glance. Unclouded by the adrenaline.
Your hair is tied up with a pin with a few loose pieces falling at the nape of your neck and around your face. With the heat persisting into the night, you decided to wear a thin strap tank top that hangs low on your chest. It exposes miles of smooth skin, from your shoulders all the way down the arms wrapped around his kid. A dusty blue apron wraps around your waist over some baggy cargo pants so you mustāve came here right after work. Thereās a glow from all the neon lights that adorns you and he has to will his mouth to move before he gets caught staring.
āHere.ā He extends his hands to you. āI can take him back. Thank you for catching him. Cāmon, bud. Let her get back to shopping.ā
āItās no problem,ā you assure him with a smile. Your hands hooks under Grogus tiny arms and start to pull him off your torso. āBack to dad you go.ā
But the moment heās barely lifted, he cries out in protest with a shrill whine. Refusing to leave your side. You pull him back in instantly and run a soothing hand on his back.
āOh! Okay, okay. You can stay with me for a minute,ā you giggle in a sugary voice to Grogu. Bouncing him on your hip.
You both exchange a look of surprise (as much as his visor can give off anyway). What kind of person are you that Grogu prefers your embrace over his own father? He doesnāt know whether to be jealous or impressed.
But itās getting late, they need to eat and get home and you probably need to get back to your own errands. Dinās hands extends again to take Grogu but you shake your head with a little smile. Letting him know itās not an inconvenience to you.
āHere, wanna help me pick out some sweets?ā
Grogu coos at your request, toying with the glittering silver chain pendant on your neck. You rest his kid on your hip effortlessly and the motion of it pinches something deep in Dinās chest. Turning to the assorted trays of sugared fruits on skewers, you list the various kinds for Grogu to pick out. Talking back with him like you can actually understand his little babbles. You answer him with āooh, thatās a good choiceā and āthese are my favoritesā.Ā
Din just stands aside, watching the way you both interact and itās admittedly a bit pleasing to see how natural you are with him. Most people think heās a pet at first glance. Karga treats him like a newborn. Talking gibberish and doting on him despite him handling a 50 year old. You, on the other hand, just treat him like a regular kid. And itās refreshing to see.
His sonās head spins back at his father with the biggest set of sparkling inky eyes and Din can see the pleading question in them. He tilts his helmet at him and reminds him āoneā. Those large ears deflate a little and you giggle at the interaction. Din offers to pay for your skewer along with Groguās as another thank you for looking after his son (again). The vendor gathers the treats in paper wrappers to take to go.
You turn to ask Din something, but itās covered by the noise of yelling and cooking. He tilts his head a bit lower to try and catch what youāre saying. Then, without hesitation, your hand finds purchase on the pauldron on his shoulder. Prompting him to lean in closer to you so you can speak within earshot.
āItās been a minute since I saw you last,ā you remark with a raised voice. āEverything good?ā
Shit.
For a second he freezes. Partly at the lack of distance between you, but mostly because the last time he saw you he stormed out of your place like it was on fire without so much as a goodnight. Youāre probably wondering what the hell that was about and he honestly canāt answer that himself. Although your expression seems more cheerful than troubled. He crouches closer to your ears and replies with caution, hoping to avoid the direction of that conversation.
āYeah, weāve been umā¦ traveling a lot lately. I get contracted by the new republic pretty often these days. Leaving him behind with someone whenever Iām off planet for too long doesnāt seem fair to him so heās always by my side no matter what.ā
āAh, that makes sense. You usually stop by for medkit supplies so when I didnāt see you last week I figured you were away.ā
Din mentally smacks his forehead. Right. Of course you meant the shop. Because what else would you be implying to a fucking customer? Youāre just making small talk. Something he has never really gotten the hang of. Seems pretty damn easy when heās drinking thoughā¦
āWe actually just got back. Too tired to fix something up so I figured Iād grab us something quick and easy before heading home.ā
āUgh. I feel that. When I get home Iām crashing on the first soft surface I see,ā you groan, still bouncing Grogu on the curve of your hip. Those hipsā¦
No. Stop it.
āBusy day,ā he asks and your eyes roll upwards.
āBusy week,ā you exclaim. āI swear I think about quitting at least once a day. But I like it too much. Plus itās the only thing Iām any good at. Otherwise Iād probably be some kind of criminal.ā You pause then laugh at the thought before adding, āthen youād probably have to hunt me down, huh?ā
Thatā¦ is a scenario that he already knows is going to stick in his brain for a while. Itās such an enticing thought that he doesnāt bother to tell you heās not in that business anymore. A tiny part of him would much rather have you think heād chase you. Obviously youāre not serious, but he canāt help but lean into the joke.
āI donāt know,ā he says unconvinced. āMight be pretty easy to find you. All I have to do is look wherever thereās street food.ā
A laugh bubbles out of you and thereās a strange feeling that radiates in his chest at being able to make you laugh. Pride maybe? No, more likeā¦ satisfaction.
āDonāt underestimate me, Mando. I know my way around the outer rim. Iād make you work for it,ā you say. Taunting him with a knowing smirk.
A smile tugs higher on his hidden face. The thought of you making him work for anything will no doubt be food for thought later. And instinct tells him that mightāve been your intention. But two can play at this game.
Youāre already nearly face to face but he inches even closer, almost close enough for metal to meet skin. Ensuring you catch every word right into your ear.
āIād like to see you try, Shop Girl.ā
Your eyes grow a little wider at the sound of your nickname and he takes pleasure at just how effective it is. Itās another reminder of that night. A name that was spoken within an intimate atmosphere that only the two of you occupied. And by your expression, that same thought crosses your mind too.
You bite your bottom lip in a smile. The same lips that were between his hands. The only lips he canāt seem to forget. The shape, the color, and how fucking edible they look. Heās even noticed how they pout a little when youāre concentrated on a task. More questions surface.
What do they feel like? What do they taste like? What makes a kiss so good that everyone can recall their first?
The bubble created is suddenly burst by the outside world. The stall vendor gleefully hands over the candied fruit over the counter in their wrappers and you take them with your free hand. Handing the mixed one to Grogu because he couldnāt decide on just one flavor. Reality returns to Dinās head and his thoughts immediately sober up.
What the hell is he doing?
He tears his eyes away. Even if you canāt tell, looking at you like that for too long feels wrong. Youāre a good person, youāre trying to live a normal life, and what youāve told him youāre not looking to get involved in any drama. He has to keep reminding himself of those things.
That same instinct to leave hits him again. Because that urge to do something he canāt take back flares up again and itās best to not give that feeling any more energy. For both your sakes. He gestures his hand in a hand-him-over motion, signaling to you and Grogu that itās time to go.
āAlright, time to go kid. Say goodnight.ā
Grogu whines with a mouthful of sweets and a face covered in sugar and it makes him chuckle to himself. Din would normally find the defiance a little cute, if it wasnāt for the stunt he pulled earlier. You carefully hand him over with both arms leaning in close and again he feels another pinch in his chest at how carefully you exchange him.
Your bare arms graze against his clothed ones and he pulls away the second he has hold of his kid. He ignores the small current of electricity from the contact and maneuvers Grogu into the crossbody bag to his hip. Which, of course, makes him protest.
āNope. You had your chance. Now you get the bag.ā
āAw cāmon,ā you scold āHe was just playing around. Now heās in bag jail?ā
First the kid and now you? He can tell his son no, but it might be a little harder to tell you that.
āYeah, yeah. Maybe next time heāll think twice about running off in a crowd,ā he groans.
Once the kid is settled in the bag, you follow him down. Crouching down, you sit face to face with Grogu as he stuffs his face with the candied fruit. Resting your free hand on his fuzzy head as the other holds your own skewered treat.
āKay, little rebel. Go stuff your face with some good food. And take it easy on your poor dad, alright? Heās not built for that kinda stress.ā
āWhatās that supposed to mean,ā he asks, kind of amused by your ribbing. He can count on one hand the people who are undaunted enough to make playful jabs at him.
Your lips twist and your eyes take a tour up to your brows as you think of your reply.
āHmmā¦ just the way you get a little impatient sometimes. You were like that when you brought him over and paced my living room for an hour,ā you chuckle. āYou seem like the kind of man who gets antsy when somethingās not in your control.ā
A smile threatens to crawl his face. Pretty presumptuous. But he canāt deny how true that statement rings. Especially nowadays when itās not just himself he has to worry about.
āMaybe so,ā he replies with a hint of humor in his voice. āPatience isnāt really my strong suit. Although this one seems to enjoy testing it.ā
āPatience is bitter,ā you muse as you rub the top of Groguās head with your thumb. He coos with delight and the softest gaze glows on your face. Then from your crouched position, your eyes glance back up at Din and add, āā¦But the fruit is sweet.ā
His jaw flexes beneath his helmet, and heat now courses through his veins.
That canāt be a good sign. He already enjoys your banter too much as it is. But that look just now was dangerous. It dredges up thoughts he shouldnāt have about you. Thoughts like kissing someone he barely knows. Feeling skin on skin. Showing you what a man like him can do to you compared to the boys of your past.
He saw it all over your pretty face when he held it in his hand. That flush on your cheeks, your dilated pupils. Hell, he even saw your heat signature rising in his helmet screen for fuck sake. Thereās an attraction and thatās fine (and not completely unreciprocated) but it canāt be anything more than that.
You and him live completely different lives. Thereās no need to uproot your peace and get involved in his complicated affairs. Even if something happened, it wouldnāt be long before the allure of the suit and mystery people usually perceive of Mandalorians would turn into repulsion.
Thatās how itās gone before. Thatās the way it is.
ā¢
Youāre a bad person. A horrible human being and a shameless lowlife. Downright beyond saving.
Iād like to see you try, Shop Girl.
The damn sentence wonāt stop replaying in your head. Itās not just a nickname. Itās a nickname he gave you. One thatās covered in underlying context and memories that only the two of you share. One that peppers your skin with goosebumps when it comes out of that raspy modulated voice. Itās even worse when your brain starts intrusively placing it in all sorts of sentences.
Thatās it, Shop Girlā¦
Youāre doing so well, Shop Girlā¦
Bend over for me, Shop Girlā¦
That last one has crawled into your dreams more often than youād care to admit lately.
You need to get a grip. Itās just an attraction. Youāve been alone for too long and youāre getting all wound up over a smidge of attention. Heās just a regular decent person with a kid to take care of who also just happens to have an amazingly muscular body and a voice of sin. Simple as that.
Right. Simple.
After that night at the food stalls, the Mandalorian and Grogu have been visiting your humble Clinic Shop on a more frequently. Usually you'll see them a couple times a week if they're not on one of their long haul trips. Missions? Jobs?
It's not like Mando has any reason to let you know ahead of time. But when a week or so passes with no sign of silver or green, you can't help but feel a little down. You've come to look forward to seeing your regulars. But they grown to being your favorite customers.
And if you're being honest, theres a growing part of you that feels tied to the man in silver beskar. When he's here, the part blossoms. And when he's gone, it feels... wilted. It's unexpected and confusing to say the least. The closest feeling you could label it is homesickness. And truthfully, you're not really sure if you want to feel such a heavy thing towards anybody right now.
There's a lull in the store this hot muggy afternoon. You've already finished your prescription orders, restocked your shelves, even watered all the potted plants outside the entrance. Since you finally have some down time, you figured you might as well get to making some of your popular tea mixes.
On the back counter, you have a variety of dried herbs, flower buds, tea leaves, and a few large mixing bowls. The scent in the shop is incredible right now. Swirling around on the wind propelled by the metal fans around the shop. Spiced and aromatic with a hint of fruitiness. You let the smell fill your lungs and relax your body as you place measured scoops of the mix into small paper bags. A bead of sweat tracks down the back of your neck. Even with pinning your hair up and the strapless wrap you chose to wear today, the heat of the day still clings to your damp skin.
A cool glass of that Andoan wine would be so good right about now...
Maybe it was instinct, or maybe there really is some kind of invisible tie. But something makes your head tilt to the side and glance at the open entrance. And it's then that a glint of sliver light reflects on the stucco walls. A flutter of anticipation strikes through your chest and your eyes are locked at the entrance. Then, that familiar Silver T-visor and a pair of floppy green ears peek around the corner.
The smile that spreads across your cheeks is so big it almost hurts.
"Hey," you exclaim from the back of the store. You leave your station and excitedly make your way across the store to the pair as they step inside.
āItās been a whi-ā
āAh ah, sorry," you cut Mando off mid greeting, halting him with your pointer finger. "Grogu gets first dibs.ā
Mando shakes his head but you can tell he's humored. Turning his hip to the side and giving you access to the canvas crossbody where Grogu resides.
āEven though I'm a regular customer," Mando retorts.
If you didnāt know any better, youād think that sounded a teensy bit like jealousy. You smirk, giving eyes only to the little green baby.
āNot when youāre as cute as him.ā You say, placing Grogu on your hip and giving him little scritches on his wrinkled head.
āIsnāt that right, Kid. Mando wishes he could be half as cute as you.ā The child coos at you and Mando shakes his head. But you can tell by his body language that he's at least a little amused.
You walk back to the back counter with the kid in your arms and Mando in tow behind you. And the feeling you have in this moment is oddly... domestic? You're not entirely sure if that's the right word. In your life you've never experienced domesticity. But you figure it's similar to that homesick feeling you get.
You place Grogu on top of your station and pull out an herbal lollipop from your apron for him. You like to keep a few handy for kids and they also help with coughs. The kids inky eyes gleam as he babbles and plunges the sugary candy in his mouth.Ā
"Any chance that delivery for those new Pharmakits arrived yet," Mando asks, leaning a hand on the counter next to you.
"They did," you nod. "Any chance you're planning on taking on an army on your next trip?"
He shrugs, tilting his helmet to the side in that way he does when he's being aloof.
"Doesn't hurt to keep one on hand. You never know."
You hum in acknowledgment but inside a pit forms in your stomach. The danger he faces whenever he goes on these "jobs" isn't lost on you. Lately, it's been on the back of your mind more often than not. On his last visit, when he asked about ordering stronger meds and triage supplies, it hit you just how much his long absences affect you. And just the thought of never seeing him or his little boy again stirs up something vile inside.
āYou seem to be busy today,ā he remarks, pointing out all the open jars and mixing bowls with various dried leaves and herbs.
His remark takes you out of your thoughts. You must've been silent a second too long for him to change the subject like that. With a deep inhale and slight embarrassment you shrug off the negative thoughts and ground yourself back to reality.
āYes and no. Iāve been restocking while itās dead to keep busy.ā
He leans in a bit to get a closer look at the contents of the bowl. Close enough for you to catch the scent of smoke and musk on his clothes.
āYouāre mixingā¦ tea?ā
You hum a yes and nod.
āTea can be used for lots of medicinal purposes. Many people prefer natural remedies to pharmaceutical ones. I try to have a mix of both.ā
āSo this is medicine?ā You sway your head to the side, trying to think of the best way to explain the purpose of the tea.
āKiiind of. You could say itās preventative.ā
āWhat does it prevent?ā
āPregnancy.ā
A clearing of his throat follows your answer. You turn toward him with a smirk and a raised brow but his visor has now turned away your face.
Most fearsome bounty hunter in the outer rim, everybody.
āYou asked, man,ā you chuckle with a shrug.
āGuess thatās on me,ā he says.
āThis is actually one of my best sellers,ā you tell him. You grab the wooden scoop and raise up the floral mix, letting the various petals and herbs rain back down into the bowl. The motion makes the sweet scent drive up in the air. āI have customers tell me they donāt leave the house before their daily brew.ā
āIām glad business is going well for you,ā he deflects, making you fold your smile in your teeth. And suddenly your brain sees a prime opportunity.
āYou know, Mandoā¦,ā you drawl as you mix the petals. āIf youāre ever in a pinch and you need some, I could give you a sample.ā The way his helmet jerks to face you almost breaks your nonchalant smile.
āThatās umā¦ very generous but itād be wasted on me.ā His body straightens stiffly and you can tell the topic makes him a bit uneasy. But you press on anyway.
āYou sure? You can never be too safe. Iām sure any visitors would appreciate it.ā He sighs deeply and turns away, shaking his head in annoyance.
God, this is too much fun. Teasing him is so easy. If it wasnāt for the helmet you bet heās sweating right now. He might look cool and collected. But after drinking with him, you know thereās in fact a man under all that metal.
āIām sure,ā Mando confirms. āI'm not seeing anyone at the moment.ā
And thereās the answer youāre looking for.
Was it a bit sneaky? Yeah. Yeah, it was sneaky. But it rules out the theory that reason he told you not to invite home again was because heās currently taken. Itās still an enigma as to why. But honestly thereās still the gut feeling that you did something to make him uncomfortable that night.
Maybe you crossed a line with one of your questions. You tend to ask a lot of questions. Your filter also isnāt everybodyās flavor. Even so, you had a great time talking, even joking around with him. Youāve come to cherish that night in your memory. And the thought that you obliviously mightāve said something to offend Mando in any way makes your chest ache.
But if that was the case then why has he been stopping by your store more frequently since then? He always says heās restocking his med kit but you get the feeling thereās more to it than that. Almost as if heās checking up on you. Making sure youāre doing ok. And above all, thatās what scares you.
Itās scares you how good that thought makes you feel.
āPicking up an order!ā An unfriendly voice bellows from the entrance where a Trandoshan man in fine robes stands waiting. āNameās Samir Tāar.ā
It takes a second to snap back into action. But you slap on your best customer service smile and leave your task for later. Rounding the corner past Mando and the kid and walking to the Medicine Cabinet. Wiping the non-existent dust on your hands on your waist apron.
āHi, yes! Iāll grab that for you right now.ā
The Trandoshan stands waiting at the counter as you sort through the assorted orders in the glass case. Looking for the right name tag and plucking the tied linen bag. You dont turn your eyes toward him, but Mandoās pressance is all your body is aware of. You can tell heās miandering through the shop, looking at various items on the shelves. Which, to you, is a bit funny since hes been here plenty of times by now.
Is he playing the curious customer right now because thereās someone here?
You rest the tied bag next to the register as you run the total. All while the Trandoshan taps his clawed fingers impatiently on the check out counter.
āāKay with the compounded medicine and the herbal soak salts, that puts you atā¦ fifteen credits today.ā
āIt was twelve the last time.ā
āYyyeesss, some of the ingredients for the meds were hard to come by this time around. Outer rim shipping routes, and all that,ā you smile, trying to humorously reason with the man.
āAnd thatās supposed to be my fault? Just make it the same price as before and Iāll be on my way already.ā
Ugh, great. One of those.
āI understand where youāre coming from, really. But fifteen is pretty fair considering the initial cost of acquiring ingredients of this high quality. Canāt beat the price compared to those New Republic clinics-"
āNonononono," he waves with both hands in disapproval. āIām not paying a single credit more for something I can make myself.ā
Thatās kind of the point of it buying here, right? To save yourself the trouble of making it?
āSorry. Price is firm," you say confidently but kindly. "Buuut, how about if I throw in a couple sample heating pain patches. Free of charge,ā you chirp, unfazed by his condescension.
Work with me, guy. Thereās a man packing heat in the backā¦
āHow about I give you ten for the order and leave? I donāt need you to peddle your-ā
Itās a hand that shuts him up. Not yours, as much as it twitches to swipe that bag and toss in it the trash. No. This hand is big. Leather clad. And planted firmly on the counter between you and the customer.
āYou can pay the fifteen or you can leave. But what you wonāt do,ā Mando leans in towards the Trandoshan for effect. ā-is talk to her like that again. Make your choice.ā
With his chest pressed to the back of your shoulder, you struggle to not squirm. You can feel his heat on your body. His frame eclipses yours from behind. The smell of gun smoke and musk caresses your nose and you die a little inside. But itās his words that make you want to melt into a puddle.
He didnāt just ask, he demanded for you to be treated with respect. Not that you canāt hold your own when it comes to defending yourself against snarky customers. But the way Mando didnāt even hesitate to intervene on your behalf. It stirs up all sorts of thoughts.
Oh maker, you really are a shitty person. The man stands up for you and all you can think about is how hot he sounded.
The Trandoshan swallows hard. Mando might as well a knife to the guyās throat with the look of silent terror on his reptilian face. Without even breaking eye contact with Mando, he stuffs his clawed hand in his pockets, and pulls about 20 credit chips without counting. Letting them clatter on the counter as he tosses them.
āH-here,ā he stutters. āFifteen is fair.ā With that he snatches his order from the countertop and makes a hasty exit.
āHave a nice day~,ā you sing-song as he scurries out onto the street.
You shift your eyes up to Mando, his palm still pressed flat against the counter with his other hand thumbing his belt. His visor follows the customer as he leaves and you can tell that his body language doesnāt relax until the heās completely out of sight.
āFuckerā¦,ā he mutters under his breath. When he finally turns his visor to you, he finds a knowing little smirk on your face.
āWhat?ā
āYou know, if you really wanted to scare him, you couldāve just pulled out your blaster.ā
His visor turns away and he takes a step back as if heās been caught doing something out of character. And if it wasnāt for his confident stance, youād almost say he got a little flustered just now.
āI didnāt like the way he spoke you,ā he grumbles. Which only makes you giggle.
āYouāre right,ā you agree with a serious tone. Slamming your palms on the counter. āThatās the last straw! Iāll have to close and resort to a life of crime after all!ā
Although you canāt read his face, his body language says it all. He tilts his head to the side in a way that can only mean āare you fucking kidding meā and it only makes you smile harder.
āCāmooon, itās funny,ā you say. But heās still not charmed.
āDoes he always treat you like that,ā he asks like he needs to know for certain.
You fold your lips between your teeth to hide your smile. Heās concerned for you and you canāt help but bathe in it. At least for a little bit.
āAnd if I said yes?ā
āIām being serious.ā
āItās fine, Mando. Itās really not a big deal for me. Look, if I let every snippy customer get to me, I wouldnāt have a business. Iām a big girl. I can fight for my honor all on my own, donāt you worry.ā
āThatās not the point.ā
āYeah? What is your point then?ā
He steps in closer. Forcing you crane your neck to face him. Your backside unconsciously presses against the back of the counter and youāre pinned. Heās impossibly close. Close enough to see your eyes reflected on the inky black screen. Knowing heās captured your full attention, he hits you with a bombshell that devastates you.
āI wouldnāt let anyone disrespect you when I can do something about it,ā he says crystal clear, loweringĀ his voice. āIf someone gives you trouble, theyāll deal with me before they mess with you... Understand?ā
That shuts you right up. Your playful expression falls, now replaced with silent astonishment. He keeps saying things that reach deep inside you, making your chest tight. Words like that make it hard to breathe.
You feel utterly captured and itās no wonder he was the best hunter in the outer rim. Because even though heāll defend your honor and call you sweet nicknamesā¦ all he has to do is stand his ground in front of you to make you feel like prey. And fuck, do you wanna be caughtā¦
āOk,ā you breathe when you find the courage. āI understand now.ā
āGoodā¦ā
Silence streches between you and it feels as though youāre both waiting for something to happen. Something that feels like itās been teetering on the edge since the night you drank together. Itās connected and deep in a way youāve never experienced before. You can tell itās something heās afraid to say out loud.
What youāre both afraid to say out loud.
He doesnāt move. Doesnāt add anything to his statement. Heās got you locked in his gaze with no escape. And for a moment you wonder if heāll take hold of your jaw again. Goosebumps rise to your skin because it wants so badly to close the gap.
Suddenly, a call rings from the vambrace on Mandoās forearm, abruptly breaking the tension. At first he hesitates to address it, still locked onto you. But after the second ring he lets out an aggravated sigh and steps away to check the incoming call.
You walk back to your work table and mixing bowl of tea to give yourself something to do while your breathing returns to normal. Scooping a measured cup from a large jar of dried leaves before adding it in.
Grogu sits with his little feet dangling over the table, now finished with the lollipop and looking at the candy-less stick with droopy ears. And before Mando turns to look, you sneak his son another herbal lollipop from your apron.
"Don't tell your dad," you whisper, pressing your index finger over your lips. Which earns you a happy little "Batu" in understanding.
Mando is pacing around now. Conversing with a gruff sounding Lasat. You donāt eavesdrop per se, but words like ānew leadā, āinvestigationā, and āhigh-riskā get your ears to perk up.
āShit,ā he sighs deeply once the call is done. Planting his hands on his hips.
āWork call?ā
āThey like to keep me busy, thatās for sure. Best not keep them waiting.ā
āR-right! The pharmakits."
You walk towards side of your shop in the back closet where your new inventory sits in their delivery crates. Grabbing one case but then after a second thought grabbing another before turning back and handing them to Mando. When you return Grogu is already back in his father's tote still nursing his treat.
āCouple things," you disclaim, handing the cases to him. "Keep these in a dark cool place if you can. Heat can spoil some of the medicine. And if you ever find yourself needing the epibacta, Iād advise you to take in a safe place. This dose will knock you out cold for a while. Emergencies only.ā
He takes the cases by the handles and gives you a nod of understanding.
āI appreciate it. Iāll try to avoid needing it.ā
āJustā¦ be safe.ā
āI willā¦ā
Another beat of silence. At this point it's starting to feel like you're waiting on the other person to break the ice. But after a moment, he clears his throat.
āWell... Until next time, Shop Girl.ā
āUntil next time,ā you repeat.
He really should stop calling you that. But you just canāt bring yourself to stop him. What do even tell him if he asks why?
You turn to the holopad on the front counter and check the inventory list to give your hands something to do. Chewing your bottom lip as walks towards the exit. One step, then anotherā¦
āAnd thank you,ā you quickly add before he steps out. His foot stalls just before reaching the street and you tap on the screen pretending not to notice. Your eyes glance up to him, catching his helmet peer at you over his shoulder āā¦for stepping in.ā
āAnytime,ā he says softly. He step out into the street and you exhale a breath you didnāt know you were holding. You lean on the counter with your chin propped in your palm, now free to watch them go without notice.
Grogu turns back to look at you one last time, his tiny arm fighting against the fabric of his bag before popping out and waving at you. The adorable gesture makes you giggle. The little guy must know exactly how stinking cute he is. You wiggle your fingers back at him from behind the counter. Mando takes notice of his kid, turns his head back, and finds your gaze.
For a moment, everythingās frozen. People cross and mix in the street between you. Life seemingly goes on like any other day for everyone in town. But in your eyes, thereās only him. Only bright silver fills your vision. After a moment, Mando raises a hand for a final farewell, and in the next, heās gone. Blended into the crowd.
An ache spreads in your chest, and that confirms it. You canāt deny that what youāve been pushing down for months isnāt just an attraction. Strangers can be attracted to each other but he feels like anything but.
You like him. You like how you feel when heās around and how safe his presence feels. You like that little skipped beat you get when something you said earns even the smallest chuckle from him. You like that he trusts you around his kid.
And you love that he keeps coming back.
Youāve tried to rationalize as just a simple customer acquaintance. But you canāt keep kidding yourself. Its always felt more than that. And you want to know more about him.
At the end of the day, you roll down the metal doors of your humble apothecary and walk the same 15 steps up to your home as you do everyday. You bathe, put on your most comfy shirt and sleep shorts, make yourself a simple meal, and wind down for the night. Itās been your routine everyday since you made this place your home.
Only tonight, despite all your trinkets, all your memories, and all your comforts, tonight your home feels a bit empty. Like something important has been removed and you canāt place what it was. With your dinner bowl in hand, you almost take your seat on the couch before thinking twice on it and choosing the floor of your living room instead tonight.
You actually find it to be pretty comfortable. More grounding. You only wish you had something warm to lean back on.
ā¢
Din thought Guild Master Greef Karga had an inflated ego. But High Magistrate Greef Karga makes that Karga look like a Jedi monk.
He finds himself sitting on a leather chase with his legs propped on the window ledge in Kargaās high tower office. He watches him spread and maneuver a 3D hologram model of Nevarro and the town. His voice filled with ambition as he explains all his new projects for the upcoming year.
āWeāll put the lodges here, here, and here. Theyāll have access to the hot springs in the crawling canyons and docks will be built around the water edges. Iāve spoken with that lovely Twiālek bathhouse owner and sheās spending her best architects to Nevarro as a personal favor to me. Itās going to be the jewel of the rim I tell you!ā
Much of the dialog goes over Dins head. Mostly because heās dead tired and currently operating on less than four hours of sleep. They only landed a couple hours ago from another grueling mission. He partly listens to Kargaās plans, partly watches Grogu quietly sit on the hologram table as he stuffs his mouth with blue cookies his āuncleā has given him. But mostly, Din gazes out one of the many windows in his 360 degree office. Watching the sun set over the canyons and turn the sky a dusty pink.
The shiny bronze protocol droid shuffles around the office with a silver tray with two crystal glasses of spotchka. He offers a glowing glass to Karga who gladly takes it. Then the droid starts to approach Din with the platter, offering him a glass as well.
āUh no no, he doesnāt drink,ā Karga quickly corrects, taking a momentary pause from his plans. The shiny droid fumbles a bit, flustered, then offers an apology before scuttling away with the tray.
Mando doesnāt even bother to correct them. Too much energy. Itās true, heās never accepted alcohol in front of Karga. Especially in those early guild days when trust was low. But even to this day, Din doesnāt drink around people.
Wellā¦ most people, that is.
An image of last time Din saw you pops into his head. That thick, slightly mussed hair tied up with a hair stick. Dewy skin. All smiles and laughter. You wore a deep blue torso wrap that time, His eyes kept following the lines of your collar bones and all that exposed skin seemed to glow in the reflected sunlight in the shop.
And those lips. Those goddamn pink tinted lips that he canāt get out of his head. If thatās not the definition of beauty he doesnāt know what is.
Your teasing is something heās growing used to. But that day you pushed too far. You werenāt taking him seriously and you shouldnāt be the only one who gets to tease, right? When he cornered you against the counter, he made it known just how serious he was about defending you. That flush came back to your cheeks and your breathing had picked up. You had no idea, but your eyes had found his and it made heat pool in his lower abdomen as he got lost in the color of them.
In that moment, Din wrestled back the impulse to lift you up on that countertop, spread those perfect legs and-
ā-Right, Mando?ā Kargaās voice interrupts just as that train of thought was getting good. Din turns his visor over to him.
āHmm?ā
āYou just agreed to let the kid spend the night here.ā
āRight. Yeah,ā Din scoffs. āWas that before or after I sold my ship to the Jawas,ā he replies in a gruff tone. Karga doesnāt find the sarcasm amusing.
āAlright, alright.ā
āMaybe Iāll sell them my armor while Iām at it.ā
āI get it,ā he exclaims. āYou werenāt even listening! I was talking about the space port proposal and I canāt even tell where you clocked out. That's not like you, Mando.ā
āIām tired. I just got back from a long trip.ā Kargas eyes glance between Din and the window he's been looking out from.
āI wouldnāt say tired. More likeā¦ Distracted.ā
He says the word with an insinuation Din would rather do without.
āItās nothing,ā he deflects.
āHey, you know me, Mando. Iām not one to judge,ā Karga says, throwing his hands in the air. āIf thereās anything on your mind Iām all ears. Money, politics, work, women-ā
āThereās nothing to discuss. Iām fine," Din deadpans.
Kargas covers Grogus ears, who is too preoccupied by his munching to mind.
āSounds like you need to get laid.ā
Maker...
āYouāre sordid,ā he grumbles, shaking his head and turning back to the window. Karga just laughs. Amusement written all over his wrinkled face.
The arguments were one of the main things that changed between them over the last few years. Now they bicker like two old friends instead of two business associates. But one thing that has never changed is the way Karga tries to pressure him into revealing things out of him. Imperfectly human things.
Heād offer Din all sorts of things like spice or Twiālek bathhouses just to see if he was capable of being tempted. And right nowā¦ thereās only one other person Din can think of capable of doing that.
āYou know what I think? I think youāre starting to outgrow this lone wolf lifestyle of yours,ā he speculates. āYouāre a father now. Donāt you think the little one needs a mother?ā
Dins helmet swivels back to Karga.
āDonāt you think you should stick to governing your town?ā
āI was just getting to that," Karga exclaims excitedly. "You know we really should consider moving a few of the-ā
āHere we goā¦,ā Din sighs to himself.
What shouldāve been a quick visit has turned into a one sided yap session. Itās been a couple weeks since he left and heās eager to re-supply for his next run with Zeb. Heāll need to head to the square at some point as well. His home is in desperate need of a re-stock. And of course, a visit to the clinic probably wouldnāt be a bad idea if heās already in the area.
Even from up here, your store can be seen at the far corner of the plaza. And every couple minutes, he can see you. Popping in and out of the small store and rearranging some of the potted plants outside. People greet you from the street and you turn to wave back.
Itās getting harder and harder to find excuses to go there that sound necessary. Last time he was there he picked up two new pharmakits, even though another two regular medkits sit unopened in his home. Heās been buying that energy tea you make, despite him being a kaf drinker his whole life. He keeps going back for shit he really doesnāt need. But if he was pressed to give a better reason, itās mostly because he feels a need to check on you.
True, Nevarro has become significantly safer, but that doesnāt make it safe. Especially for a woman living completely on her own. Youāre a kind hearted, giving person in a galaxy that does nothing but take. And someone like that should be protected. Heās looked the other way too many times in the past and he doesnāt want to be that person anymore. And plus the kid enjoys the visits.
Sure, the kid. Keep telling yourself that, Dinā¦
A chiss man with a floating pallet of goods approaches your shop entrance and your attention turns from watering the plants to greet the vendor with a bright smile. You speak animately. And it would normally be endearing, if it wasn't directed towards another man. In the privacy of his helmet, Din grimmaces.
He shouldnāt be surprised. Youāre well traveled, knowledgeable. Itās no wonder youāre able to buy products from so many places. But this particular vendor is getting a bit too close for Dinās comfort.
As usual, you talk with much enthusiasm. Sparking a conversation with the man. Itās clear youāre familiar with each other by the body language you both give off. And heās not sure if itās because you regularly get inventory from the man, or something beyond that.
You turn around on the balls of your feet to dip back inside the shop and as you do youāre completely oblivious to the way the Chissās head tilts to the side so his crimson eyes can roam your backside. And the only reason Din caught it was because the binocs in his visor seem to have unconsciously been turned on by his finger on his vambrace.
You return to with a small wooded box and open the lid to show him mineral salts, the kind heās seen you make herbal soaks with. The vendor offers a large lidded glass jar of some kind of dried purple flower buds from his cart. With the added exchange of some credit chips, thereās more talking and smiling. Something he said makes you laugh as you sign his holopad and Din has to flex his fingers to stop them from clenching into a fist.
Enough. Stop watching.
The mental check forces Dins attention to shift back to whatever Karga keeps droning on about. You can associate with whoever you damn well please. Itās none of his concern who you do business with or what your personal life is like. Din nearly turns his visor away. But out of the furthest corner of his eye, he catches something he canāt tear away from.
The distance between the Chiss and you has suddenly shrunk. The moment unfolds in slow motion as his eyes chew on every second. The Chiss steps closer to lean down thenā¦
Dinās arms uncross when the Chiss leans in close to your face. And before he knows it, the fucker plants a quick peck on your cheek. And you return it! The whole exchange lasts less than a second before you wave each other goodbye and he goes his separate way. You return inside with the product like nothing and Din sits there, completely rattled.
Whatā¦ the fuck?
Was it a casual kiss? Did you even know that he was checking you out? If you did, was that a friendly goodbye gesture or was it flirtatious? That son of a bitch gets to walk around with bliss on his cheek all day now. Oddly enough, thatās what puts Din over the edge. A complete fucking stranger knows how your lips feel and he doesnāt.
Never in his life has he harbored thoughts like these. Itās downright pathetic. He feels corrupted.
āFuck it,ā he growls to himself beneath his breath.
ā-Anyway, back to my point. I was considering having a port built for- hey!ā
Before Karga has a chance to monologue further, Din has picked up his son from the edge of the deskāgrubby hands still clinging to the bag of cookiesāand has placed him right into Karga arms.
āI need you to watch over him for the night. Iāll come back for him in the morning.ā
āOkay then? Fine by-.ā Din doesnāt bother to listen because thereās no ending to that sentence that matters to him in this moment. He makes his exit, the slide doors opening as he nears them.
āHey! Where do you think youāre going all puffed up like that?ā
āI need to settle something,ā he tosses back before letting the doors shut behind him.
The sun is getting low and a few other vendors are starting to take down their signs and close their doors. Youāre probably getting ready to close up for the day yourself. Hopefully heās able to catch you before then.
Each step on the cobblestone is heavy with purpose. And it's not unoticed the way several people on the street see an armor clad Mandalorian and scurry out of his way with a petrified look on their faces. But right now he doesn't particularly care. Right now everything in his head is clouded with the exception of one objective.
From a couple stores away, you catch him approaching from your peripheray. And he's not sure how to describe it, but it's like something in your body language softens when you see him. Your shoulders become less tense, your eyes gleam, and you cast him that bright toothy smile that could stop any man's heart.
āAh! Hey! Itās been a while, Mando! Howās-ā
āI need to have a word with you.ā
Both your expression and your hand freeze momentarily in place, minus a suspicious quirk in your brow.
āOkaaay, you have my attention,ā you chuckle, but thereās a nervous tone riding on it. āWhat can I do for you today?
āI need to speak with you," you tells you bluntly. "Privately.ā
Confusion paints across your face and your smile falls a bit. Understanding how serious his request is.
āLike, right now,ā you ask hesitantly.
āPreferably, yes,ā he answers.
āOk, yeah sure. Umā¦ Iām just about to close up and we can head upstairs in a minute.ā You start to turn away but then quickly turn back to him and immediately add āor we can go somewhere youāre more comfort-ā
āItās fine,ā Din quickly interjects, stopping that train of thought. āThis wonāt take long anyway.ā
You blink at him a couple times and give him a quiet āok thenā before turning around and preparing your shop to close.
Seems that Dinās command from his last visit was taken seriously. Regret over those words washes over him. If heās being honest, being inside your home again sets off several red lights in his head. But heās already on the verge of blurting out something teetering on the edge of his brain. Better to wait until heās behind closed doors and away from any prying eyes. Or flirtatious vendors. This shouldnāt be complicated. Heāll make it quick.
He decides to wait around the corner of the shop where the stone steps meet your front door. He leans against the wall with his arms crossed and his finger nervously tapping his arm brace. After a few minutes you round the corner with your bag over your shoulder and lead the way into your home. Instinctively, he looks around for any eyes before entering and closing the door behind him.
āSo whereās your boy,ā you ask, tossing your bag on the couch and walking towards the kitchen. āI have to say Iām kind of surprised not to see him on your hip. You seem inseparable.ā
Your voice is chipper but he can tell by your stiff body and lack of eye contact that youāre not entirely comfortable. For a moment Din reconsiders this encounter. But no. The sooner he this bug out of his system the better.
āHeāsā¦ spending the night with a friend,ā he answers. Grabbing one of those ceramic cups from the cabinet, you fill it with water from the sink and heās starting to think that youāre only doing that to keep your hands busy.
āAaww, a sleepover? Is it his first-ā
āIf you donāt mind,ā he cuts off. āIād like to get to my point.ā
āOhā¦ Y-yes, I'm sorry. Iām rambling,ā you say sheepishly. āIām justā¦,ā you take a deep breath, rest the cup of water on the counter, and lean back against it. Eyes fixed to the floor.
āā¦itās just what you said the last time you were here. And the way you approached me earlier, you seemed kindaā¦ I donāt know, upset? I know you donāt wanna be here so Iām wondering what I did to upset you that youād come here.ā
Damn itā¦ Heās such an asshole.
He shouldāve never said that. You've been thinking this entire time that youāre at fault for his shitty social skills. Truthfully, with the way that wine had his head so deliciously foggy, he had to leave before his body did something it was aching to do, begging him to do. But how does he even begin to explain that?
āYou didnāt do anything,ā he answers immediately. But thinks on it once more. āWellā¦ technically you did. But Iām not upset with you.ā
āYouāre not,ā you ask him sheepishly.
āIām not,ā he assures.
A beat passes in silence as you chew over his words.
āOkaaay,ā you say with a smirk, ānow you really got my attention.ā
That mischievous tone travels through Dinās helmet, in his ears, and settles warmly in the pit of his stomach. Something about the combination of your sweet voice and relaxed shift in your body language makes this whole interaction even more nerve wracking.
āSooo, you wanted to talk to me about something I did?ā
āRight.ā
āOkay, sooo...ā He feels you urging him to continue but now Din finds himself more cautious of his words now. If youāve been silently worried about offending him the last thing he needs is for this to come off wrong way.
āItāsā¦ a bit hard to explain,ā he exhales. If he could pinch his brow right now he would. āTo put it plainly, the night we drank together, you said something thatās beenā¦ stuck in my head.ā
āWas it the thing about the name?ā
āN-no.ā
āWas it the Pantora story?
āNo.ā
āWas it the comment about knowing my liquor? Because I like a drink from time to time but I donāt have like a problem or anything-ā
āNo- Can I finish,ā he asks impatiently.
āOkay, okay. Sorry. Go ahead.ā
āWhen we were drinking, and talkingā¦ we said a lot of things and got into some deep conversations. And at one point, you asked me if I ever kissed anyone before. I said no back then becauseā¦ I've never given it any thought in the past. But now itās got meā¦ curious.ā
Your quirk your brow at him.
āCurious how?ā
āI want to know what itās like,ā he answers plainly.
āā¦ Sorry, what?ā
āI need thisā¦ curiosity out of my head. Itās driving me crazy and I need it out of my system. So I figuredā¦ since youāre the one who mentioned it in the first place, you can help me kill it.ā
āYouāreā¦ Okay so, hold onā¦,ā you say with a shaky breath. āAre youā¦ asking me to kiss you?ā
āThatāsā¦ an oversimplification. But yeah.ā
āYouāre asking me to be your first kiss? Am I understanding you right?ā
Maker, you ask a lot of questions. Are you always like this? You did the same exact thing when he gave you the wine. On any other day it wouldāve been endearing but he didnāt anticipate the conversation lasting longer than a minute. Now his request sounds more and more lecherous with each passing second.
āI wonāt bother you again after this. You have my word. Itās completely casual. Just killing a curiosity.ā
āThereās a preeetty common phrase about curiosity and loth cats that goes differently.ā A giggle tumbles out of your mouth on the tail end of that sentence and humility crawls under his skin.
āSorry to waste your time.ā He starts to turn towards the nearest exit when you step in to stop him. Placing a hand briefly on his arm in the space between his armor and the contact sends a current of electricity up his spine.
āNo wait, donāt be like that,ā you toy with him.
āIām not laughing,ā he spits. But you still have the nerve to giggle.
āItās okay, Mando,ā you laugh assuredly.
āNo, itās not. Itās ridiculous. I hate it. I hate that you put this in my head.ā
You fold your lips between your teeth to try to hide your amusement. But you still canāt help but crack a smile a little at his frustration. He basically just confessed to having this obsession for months and he can tell by your smug expression that youāre enjoying how incredibly uncomfortable he is about this.
āYouāre right. Iāmā¦ sorry,ā you say under your breath. Trying to fix your face.
Thereās a beat of silence. Stepping in closer, he tilts his head down to you. Locking you in his gaze. He takes pleasure in being nearly a full head taller and the way your breathing picks up before he says in a low gruff voiceā¦
āNo, youāre not.ā
You smile behind your hand as your eyes dance across his visor, unknowingly locking eyes with the man beneath. You know youāre not sorry, just like he knows heās not particularly sorry either. Itās not just this moment. It goes back to every interaction youāve had together. The banter, the nicknames, the visits. Heās as much to blame as you are. And thenā¦ you slowly you shake your head, agreeing with him and confirming his suspicion.
Fuck, youāre cute. He hates that he loves how cute you are. He hates himself for not being stronger.
āOk,ā you nearly whisper. Looking up at him with the sweetest eyes. āIāll help you.ā
ā¢
āIs all this really necessary?ā
Din currently sits on the floor of your living room. The same spot as last time in fact. Your were the one that insisted on it and honestly he couldn't bring himself to tell you no. Since he sat down in the soft carpet, you've been flitting around your home turning off lamps, closing blinds, and covering any reflective items. Which, admittedly, he's greatful for. But the more time he spends here, alone with you, the more he's not going to want to leave.
āItās not everyday you get your first kiss, Mando. I wanna make sure itās a good one. I wish I could re-do mine.ā
Gloves fingers flex and stretch restlessly on his knees as you approach the last lamp sitting on a side table in the living room and pause.
āAre you sure about this?ā
Fuck no heās not. But the sooner he does this, the sooner he can find some normalcy in his head again.
āFlip the switch," he says in a low modulated voice.
You fold in a growing smile before taking a deep breath and flicking the switch. Bathing the entire home in inky darkness. The silhouette of you through turns to hues of thermal green and red, carefully maneuvering through your living room by memory before finding your seat in the floor in front of him. And with slight hesitation, Din reaches up to remove the last barrier he has.
āCan you see anything?ā
āNot a bit,ā you answer.
With that confirmation, he unclasps the chin strap and slowly lifts the helmet up and off. He blinks several times to adjust his vision before finding the outline of the table and placing his helmet there. On the return, his head bumps into your outstretched hand. Not knowing that you had moved.
āAgh.ā
āSorry sorry,ā you pull away. āGive me a moment, Iāll find you.ā
Your hands search in the dark for him. He canāt see much but he can tell your hands land on nothing by the way the air between you moves and he doesnāt feel any contact on his person. So he reaches out, bumping into your arms and taking hold of them. Following the line of your forearm until he reaches your hands.
āHere,"Ā he murmurs. Gloved hands wrap around your wrists and gently lift them up. He guides your hands forward untilā¦
You let out a small gasp when your hands find the warmth of his bare face. Soft and giving as opposed to the cold, unyielding beskar. Their movements are slow and explorative. Running your thumbs over his stubble. Surprisingly his hands donāt release their grasp. His leather clad digits press against the racing pulse in your wrist as his thumbs run over the back of your palm.
āThis help?ā
āYes, thank you,ā you whisper.
From sound of rustling on the rug, Din can sense your body leaning in. Your breath brushes over his skin for a moment before something warm presses against his chin and it takes a second to register that itās your mouth. You ease him into the build up and heās greatfull for it. Jaw. Then cheek. Then just grazing the furthest corner of his mouth.
And thenā¦ contact.
At first it doesnāt feel like much. Just something soft and warm pressing against his mouth. What most people refer to as a peck, he assumes. But itās when you barely pull back and return for another that a shiver wracks his skin. Your lips lock in the return, molding together in perfect unison. And itās fucking electric.
Just by feel alone, he senses that your lips are slightly open. So he mimics you. Giving his jaw just enough slack to respond as you go in again. The sensations have his mind in a thick fog. The soft flesh, the sweet taste, the faint suction. His skin feels like thereās live wires going off underneath. Giving in completely, he finally returns the kiss. Pressing into it with more confidence.
You hum against his mouth, and he dies a little inside.
Thatās when the real hunger builds. Thereās a slow simmering heat rising between you now. Without thinking, his hands grip your wrists a little harder. Pulling you in closer. The kiss grows a bit stronger with each return back into each other with no loss of contact. Lingering longer and breathing against one another.
He feels your head tilt more to the side and again he mimics your movement. The break only lasts a fraction of a moment. But in the re-entry, the tip of your soft tongue happens to brush his mouth. Sweet wetness coats his bottom lip and itās in that instant Din feels all restraint leave his body.
Taking your face in his hand, he kisses you open mouthed, inviting you in. Your tongues slowly graze one another and if he fucking died in this moment heād be ok with it knowing that he got to know how you taste.
The hunger becomes unbearable. Soon enough the breathing becomes heavier and the air becomes hot. Your arms end up wrapping over his shoulders, pulling him deeper and heās more than happy to dive further. Another small noise escapes your throat and the vibration travels through his entire body.
He needs to feel you. To taste you. Devour you. He needs you.
A break for air is the only thing that throws him back into semi-consciousness as you pull away. The heat built up between you makes him dazed. Hot breaths fill the small space between your lips as you lean your forehead against his.
āMando?ā
āYes,ā he responds in a raspy whisper. A few moments pass as you collect your words and catch your breath.
āIs this really just about curiosityā¦?ā
Your words lean more towards a statement than a question. Thereās no point in denying it now. As much as he tried to convince himself or rationalize his strange request, he does feel a pull towards you. Much more complicated than just attraction. The more he sees you, learns about you, and talks with you, the moreā¦ inevitable you feel to him. Thereās a gravity to you that he canāt escape from. Nor does he want to.
āYes and no.ā
āWhat does that mean?ā The breath of your question brushes the heated skin of his cheek. And right now, he can't think of any answer that wouldn't give him up.
So he lets it fly.
āItās not just the kiss Iām curious about.ā
The silence in the air is thick. The only thing between you are the sounds of both of you catching your breath. Itās possible he might have ruined everything with that one sentence. But itās the truth. It had nothing to do with the kiss and everything to do with you. Your kindness, your banter, your hospitality. All of it.
Thereās no way of telling what youāre thinking at the right now. Itās in this moment that he wishes the lights werenāt out so he can at least read your expression. But then after what seems like an eternity, your forehead nudges against his and you blow a deep sigh of relief. Arms still draped over his shoulders.
āOh goodā¦ I thought it was only me,ā you confess with a skittish laugh.
And that tightly pulled restraint finally snaps inside him when he hears that.
Without any hesitation, he dives back in. Kissing you like a man starved. Just like that night, he feels drunk. Only this time itās on the taste of you and the feeling of your hands finally on him. Itās that thought that drives him to rip off his leather gloves and toss them aside without breaking contact once. His bare hands find your waist and the strip of bare skin between your shirt and linen pants.
āIs this what you meant,ā you pant. āWhen you told me not to invite you in again.ā
āYeah... it is.ā He pants the confession as his mouth trails down the line of your jaw and finding your neck in the dark.
āThatās a relief,ā you chuckle. āI was worried I offended you.ā
āThe only thing thatās offensive is that I canāt see that pretty pink flush on your face right now.ā
āShould I get a blindfold,ā you tease.
What a fucking woman. The mental image of you in a blindfold, only a blindfold, pours fuel on an already blazing fire. But for now, heās more than ok feeling his way around tonight.
āNext time.ā
It comes out of his mouth confidently and without hesitation. Because you both know there will be a next time. Heās bitten into the forbidden fruit and now heās addicted to the taste.
With a simple shift, his hands dip beneath the thin fabric of your shirt and find the delicious heat of your soft belly.
"Lay down for me."
With your arms draped over his shoulders, you eagerly comply. Slowly dragging him down with you. He careful not to press all his weight on youābeing crushed by beskar would definitely kill the moodābut it doesn't stop you from pulling tighter. Craving connection. All while Din rains wet kisses and soft bites upon your pulse.
So this is what your skin tastes like. Slightly salty, sweet, and smooth between his teeth. He might eat you whole if heās not careful. He nips at the skin of your exposed collar bone and you writhe. Arching to press your chest to his. So he decides to give it some attention.
āTake it off," you pant with an neediness that drives him pull the damn shirt off in one swift motion.
His bare hand crawls up your sternum. Exploring the valley of soft skin free of any restricting fabric. The moment his fingers find the stiff peak of your bare breast he pinches eagerly. Earning the sweetest little whimpers from you as his mouth works on the other nipple. Biting and sucking the soft point. He canāt see a thing in the dark, but whatās lacking in sight is made up by sound with the delicious breathy moans you let out for him.
āMandoā¦ā
Fuck, does he love the way you call out for him. Every touch, kiss, andĀ suck he gives elicites the most gorgeous sounds out of that perfect mouth. The sounds to straight to his cock, now painfully stiff. It's tempting to just dive into you right now. But he's waited this long. So why not take his sweet time with you. With his face still burried between your breasts and you fingers raking through his hair, Din feels a press of your hips against his armor. And he needs more.
āShop Girlā¦ā
The nickname doesnāt catch your attention. Youāre either too lost in the moment or too breathless to answer. Itās only when he uses your given name that your body perks up and you give him a raspy āyeah?ā.
āDo you want this," he asks.
His right hand has found its way to the waist band of your work pants. Ready and waiting for your answer. You try to grind against his hips but he presses your hips down firmly. He knows damn well neither of you want to stop. But he needs to hear it. There's no going back after this.
"Is this ok?"
He doesn't know if you're unsure. Or if maybe your trying to meet his eyes through the darkness. But there's a long pause. Only the sounds of heavy breaths and the pulse beating hard in his ears. And every second that passes has him hanging on the edge of madness.
"Yes...," you finally breathe. "I need you."
She needs me.
The words leave him winded. Months of questions and pining suddenly feel well worth the wait just to hear those words. They not only affirm going further, but the bond that's been steadily growing between you. Not a single ounce of hesitation survives after he hears that. And with one hand, Din loosens the tie of your pants and dives in beneath the fabric of your underwear.
By feel alone, Din manages to pull your pants down to your thighs and you kick them off your feet. His hands roam over all the smooth exposed skin and he can only imagine how perfect you must look if you feel this good. The tips of his fingers finds the dampness between your legs, running along the seam, and he slowly pushes inside until his knuckles meet your entrance.
You release a soft gasp and he swallows it with a deep kiss. You both sigh into each other's mouth. As if you need the other to even breathe. Din's lips never leaves yours as he does an experimental curl against the fleshy part of your walls and you arch your body against his.
āThis where you need me," he huffs against your lips. "Right here?ā
āRight there... Perfect..."
"I wanna taste you." The confession comes out before he can even think about it.
"Then taste me, Mando."
He can hear the smile in your voice. The taunt. And he's more than happy to reciprocate it.
He rises above you and you whine from the lack of contact. But the loss doesn't last long. Because before you even can register what he's doing, his head has already lowered between your legs.
"What are you- ah."
That gasp you let out when his mouth envelops your pussy is downright tortured. Good too know you were just as desperate as he was.
"Fuck! I thought you meant... You were gonna... Shit..."
No fucking way would he be satisfied tasting you on just his fingers.Ā The sweet tangy flavor explodes over his tongue and he groans. Fucking hell, you taste good. He doesnāt even know what the hell heās doing but thatās sure as shit not stopping him. He drowns in you. Lapping and sucking on your swollen little bud and loving the way it makes you cry out. Two thick fingers pump into your wet heat as you melt in his mouth. Such a fucking treat.
You writhe beneath him. Squirming and clawing at anything to hold on to as he works you up. Eventually your hands finds his hair again. Taking a fistful and pressing his face further against your cunt. The sting on his scalp makes his cock twitch in his flight suit and he groans.
āYou want me to make you come, Shop Girl," he mumbles against you.
āYes.ā
āSay it.ā
āMake me come, Mando... Pleaseā¦ā
He doesn't break pace, doesn't falter, doesn't change a damn thing what he's doing because he can feel close to the edge you are. You tighten around his digits as the pump in and out. And with a firm suck on your clit you let out a strangled gasp.
"Oh Fuck! Fuck! Mando!"
Your breathing becomes short and shallow. Panting so hard right before holding your breath and tipping over the edge with a strangled cry. You come long and hard. Trembling so much he has to hold you steady by the hips.
Through the waves of your climax, Din continues to eat you. Lapping at your perfect pussy like it's wine and he doesn't waste a single drop of you. Even sucking and licking his fingers clean as you lay breathless before him. They come out of his mouth with a wet pop and he canāt help but let out a small breathy laugh.
āIāve always wanted to try thatā¦ā he confesses.
You let out your own exhausted little laugh and he can already tell he wants more. More laughter, more of those pretty sounds, more of you.
It's with that in mind that Din starts pulling his cape off.
Piece by peace, he silently removes his armor. And after a few moments, a second pair of hands joins in. You fumble in the dark with his chest piece first. Helping him out of his armor one section at a time. They fall to the carpet with a soft thud along with the crumbling pieces of the restraint heās built since that first night.
Thereās no signs of stopping. You keep giving him more. More heat. More yearning. More questions.
What makes you laugh? What gives you pleasure? What makes you feel good and whole and satisfied? He needs to know.
And now that heās gotten a taste, thereās no way heās leaving here tonight until youāve both had your fill.
ā¢
If this is what happens when you invite the Mandalorian into your home, let your door never close.
Getting to your bed was easier than you thought itād be in pitch black darkness. The only thing keeping your ābedroomā separate from the rest of the home is a wooden lattice divider from the ceiling to the floor.
He lays you down on the soft futon on the floor and you open for him like a flower. Two strong palms drag and paw all over your body as his mouth works magic on yours and it makes you dizzy with desire.
Maker, heās so good with his hands.
His body separates from you only to remove his flight suit and you whine at the loss of contact. Naked and panting for him. Within seconds heās back on top of you and the feeling of his bare skin against yours makes your head spin. With everything so dark you wonder if this is even real. Maybe this is all a fever dream.
āAre you gonna show me how Mandalorians fuck this time,ā you tease against his lips. Calling back to when he showed you how they drink. With your bare legs around his hips, you tease his resolve by running your inner thighs over his sides and youāre rewarded with a low hum. The hand supporting your neck slowly drags forward to find the base of your throat.
āYou donāt need to know how Mandalorians fuck.ā His wide grip gently squeezes the sides of your throat, just enough for you to feel the power in those hands. āJust how I fuck.ā
Holy shit. You thought him gripping your jaw was hot. But this? This mightāve awakened something you didnāt even knew you wanted.
A whimper escapes you only to be muted by his mouth again. His tongue swirls with yours with a hunger youāve never knew was there these past months and itās such a relief to know that you werenāt the only one pining.
Mandoās mouth travels to your cheek, then jaw, finally finding purchase on your neck. Biting and sucking as his body presses into yours. Heās insatiable right now. There's no doubt that you'll find yourself covered in marks when the lights come back on.
Youāre so lost in the moment that you almost donāt notice when something hard and warm presses against your inner thigh. Out of nowhere, a thought you havenāt even considered before decides to pop into your head at the very last minute.
āH-hold on!ā
Your hands find his shoulders, urging him to pause. His lips unlatch themselves from your neck the second you blurt it out. Instantly propping himself above you with his hands on either side of your head.
āYou want me to stop?,ā he pants.
āNoā¦ Hell no. Itās justā¦ā
How do you even begin to ask this?
āUmā¦ I know I probably shouldāve asked earlier butā¦ youāre human, right?ā
Mando blows out a low chuckle, understanding your underlying meaning. He feels human, from what your hands can tell anyway. He could be like his kid for all you know. Itās not that youāre not willing to go Inter-species, but your experience is mainly human. Plus with the lights off itād be pretty difficult to figure out fitting things.
Taking your hand from his shoulder, he presses it against his chest where you can feel a dusting of hair. His skin is hot, damp with a thin layer of sweat and his breathing is heavy. He continues to lead your hand further down his torso so you can feel every hill and valley of his muscles. Eventually your hand hits a trail of hair down the middle and thenā¦
Oh shit.
His hand guides you along the length of his cock. Encouraging you to explore every ridge from the thick base all the way up to the damp tip. Heās stiff and hot in your palm. When you give him a firm squeeze he groans and twitches in your grip.
Oh shit.
āDoes that answer your question?ā
The human part, definitely. Fitting is still debatable.
He lets you handle him. Giving you free rein to tug and tease as he bucks into your hand. He groans with pleasure and the power trip you feel knowing exactly how you affect this fiercely disciplined man makes the pulse between your legs throb harder. After a minute, his hand snatches yours to a halt, making your grip around his cock tighter.
āShow me where you want it,ā he demands in a gruff breath. And you do just that. Pressing the damp tip against your clit. The contact sending a jolt of pleasure up your spine.
āInside,ā you plead. āI need you inside me.ā
With an impatient huff, his hand comes down to take hold of your leg behind the bend of your knee. Spreading you wide and teasing your entrance before pushing himself inside. You gasp at the initial stretch, digging your nails into his shoulders. Mando curses under his breath and as he pushes you worry for a moment if thereās an end to him.
Itās slow, deliberate. Feeding his cock into your tight cunt until heās pressing the limits of your walls. You shudder together when heās completely sheathed and his hands grip your hips so hard his fingers dig into your flesh.
āMandoā¦ā You throw your head back. Arching your whole body, waiting it to adjust to him. āFuck!ā
āI knew it,ā he pants. āFucking knew youād feel goodā¦ā
He splits you in half and before youāre even ready the first hard thrust hits you. You whimper from impact and he thrusts again. Pinning you down by your hips to keep you at the perfect angle. Soon he sets a steady pace as he fucks you into delirium. Itās too much, heās too much. Yet you moan and whine for more like each thrust might be the last. He feels incredible and you can only claw at his trim waist as it moves for you.
āThatās itā¦ Good girlā¦ Taking me so wellā¦ I wanted thisā¦ I want you to know every part of me.ā
His words plunge into your chest like a dagger. Laced with a meaning that goes far beyond sex. Because you feel it too. You wanted him to be closer. You wanted him to know your name, know you. Even if it took this long to get here.
You feel one hand find your leg. Hiking it up so the back of your thigh lays flat against his chest. His hand drags up and down, caressing the soft flesh without losing a beat with his thrusts. A kiss presses on your calf and your head feels like itās spinning. One moment heās rearranging your insides and the next heās giving your body sweet affection.
Tension builds in your core. Growing tighter and tighter with each hard thrust. Usually the second orgasm is more elusive to chase on your own. But this man is about to push you right into the next one not five minutes after the first one.
āDonātā¦ Stopā¦,ā you pant. āDonāt stop, Iām so close, Mandoā¦ā
āCome for me... Let me feel you."
Then it comes. Tensing your entire body before coming down like a crashing wave. Itās spreads through every inch of your body, making you pulse and shake beneath his frame. You cry out in the midst of the euphoria, clinging to his shoulders, and everything feels so right. He moans along with you, feeling every tight pulse around his cock and letting you ride out the remaining waves.
āThatās two now, Shop Girl. You gonna give me a third?ā
You let out a breathy laugh, still coming down from the clouds.
"I... I'm not sure I can," you chuckle.
"Yeah, you will," he pants. Amusement lacing his raspy voice.
Without out warning, Mando takes both your legs. Placing your calves over his shoulders as his leans forward. Folding you in half. And with one hard thrust, his cock drives back into you at a deeper angle. Your back bows and you swear you see stars in the blackness of the room. His lips land on the corner of your mouth and kiss their way to your lips. Offering a soft apology after the roughness. His strong arms are propped around you and you feel eclipsed under his broad body.
Soon his rhythm picks up. Becoming more desperate as he chases his own release. The room fills with the sound of your bodies meeting and you don't think you've ever heard anything more perfect. His panting picks up, his moans become louder, and the quivering breaths he makes when he finds a particularly deep spot will no doubt live in your mind rent free forever.
āYou wanted me bare, didnāt you,ā he huffs, pressing his damp forehead to yours.. āWhen you offered me that tea? You thought about me coming inside this perfect cunt, didnāt you.ā
Caught red handed. Sure, you wanted to know if he had a partner as well. But the thought did cross your mind when he cornered you against the counter. You wanted to know how he felt bare, with nothing between you. Even dreamt a few times about it.
āYesā¦ Fuck, yes! Please! I want it!ā
āYou gonna come with me, Shop Girl? Hmm?ā
āMaker, Mando! Iām right fucking there, please! Iā¦ Iāmā¦ ah-ā
His firm hand grips your jaw. Whipping your face back to him so he can cover your mouth his. He kisses you deep, open and messy. No technique, just raw desire as he eats you alive. You moan and whimper against his mouth with each debilitating thrust he makes. He drives into you faster, harder. Relentlessly pushing you closer to the edge.
When it arrives, the orgasm hits you at full force. Wracking your whole body in convulsions as you scream, actually scream against his mouth. Your toes curl, your nails dig into his back and your cunt squeezes on to him for dear life like heās never allowed to leave again.
Mando hisses through his teeth and he's right there with you. Ramming into you with relentless force as he chases his own release. His face dives into the crook of your shoulder and his arms scramble to take hold of you and he loses control. Letting out a sharp groan as he comes.
āFuck.. Fuck,ā he shudders in your ear. āAgh!ā
His hips jerk against your body, driving himself as deep as you can take him. You feel his cock throb as he pumps into you again and again. Filling you to the point of spilling out and itās... everything. Connected in such a profound way youāve never felt before. In this moment, itās hard to tell your bodies apart. Youāve melted and mixed and you never want to separate.
You ride it together, mold together, lose control together because you both knew itād come to this. In the end this was inevitable. And in a galaxy filled with unknowns, in this you can be certain. A connection like this is few and far between. Itās real and raw and rare. Resisting that feeling was never an option, so why try?
Even in the climb down he doesnāt stop. Those hard demanding thrusts slow to a gentle drags as if he doesnāt want to finish yet. Hands glide all over each otherās bodies, soothing the other. All along his tense shoulders, you pepper soft kisses to his skin. Easing you both down from the clouds. He hums in the decent and it lulls you into an exhausted bliss.
Everything feels hazy and soft. Youāre not sure how long you stay melted together like this. Minutes? Hours? But itās needed. After a while, the breathing becomes steady and a soft, drowsy satisfaction settles between you.
āThatās the first time someone's come inside me,ā you quietly confess. For a moment, Mando absorbs what you just said. Then you feel him prop himself in his elbows above you.
āReally?ā
āYeahā¦,ā you breathe. Running your hands up the sides of his neck and resting them on his stubbled face.
āYou knowā¦ since weāre sharing firsts tonight.ā
He smiles and this time youāre able to know for certain by the feel of it in your hands. Leaning down, his forehead finds yours in the dark and you donāt think youāve ever felt so whole before.
āIām your first, huh,ā he breathes. āI like that.ā
Thereās so many layers to this man. Quiet and withdrawn. Rough and demanding. Soft and caring. Each one is a trait youāve come to cherish. Youāre not sure if you love this man. But youāre definitely starting to fall for him. You can explore that treasure box later though. For now, youāll take tonight for tonight and let whatever comes next between you arrive in its own good time.
āMe too, Mando...ā
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š THANK YOU FOR READING š
If you enjoyed my notes app delusions, please reblog, add a comment, drop insane reaction pics. I love seeing all your interactions, thoughts, and support on here. Might consider posting my works on A03 as well but weāll see. Much Love! š„°
ā¤· consequence: he sends you a message at night that reads:-
"Hey, I'm sorry if I acted rude/weird/offensive in any way and caused you to be uncomfortable. I genuinely thought we were connecting, but if that was something one-sided and you felt pressured to speak with me, I apologise. I wish you well and hope you have a nice day."
-> āmeet up with Jasonā
ā¤· consequence: have a friendly hangout at Books And Daggers
May i request the Lin kuei brothers with a reader who has a pocket watch or locket that has a picture of them that they always keep on hand? It's just a random cute thought I had (Totally okay if you don't do this also i hope you're doing well!!)
Me when my name is RestInSlices and Iām supposed to be writing but the demons in me are tweaking so I sleep all day. OOOPS
Havenāt rewatched the main story in a minute but hopefully this still makes sense for their personalities
Bi-Han is such a fucking hard ass so I donāt think heād make it obvious how he feels about it
He gives me āacts of serviceā vibes so I see him finding out about the locket while taking care of you
Heās noticed that you wear a necklace all the time but heās never asked about it
You typically tuck it away under your suit but this time, you forgot
Bi-Han is checking on you (and by āchecking on youā I mean heās being a mom and looking over your suit and āthis is too tightā āthis should be hereā āthis should be on top of thisā) when he notices itās not tucked as usual
Thatās when he notices that itās actually a locket
And because heās as nosey as any typical black mother (weāve discussed this and I refuse to change my mind) he opens it
He stares at it for a second, his brain processing what heās looking at
Bi-Han isnāt the best with social situations and looking at things in a non āFOR THE LIN KUEIā way, but itās not like heās never heard of this whole picture in the locket thing
Once he processes what heās seeing, he just goes āhmmā and tucks it under your shirt
āAm I to take your grunts as words?ā āAm I dying soon? You donāt need thisā āI like having you near meā āIām always near youā āOkay, Bi-Hanā
He doesnāt necessarily get it until after the mission
Things went terribly. An explosion went off in the midst of the fight and the two of you were separated. And while it was good that the Lin Kuei eventually ended up winning the battle, he still couldnāt find you. At least not right away
Youāre badly injured and disoriented, and what he couldnāt help but notice as he picked you up, was your open locket
He mentions it days later when you feel better, telling you how foolish it is to stare at a picture instead of calling for him or crawling away
āI had enough strength to stay awake because I had a picture of you near. My lungs were burning, the skin on my legs torn, smoke clouding my vision. But I could still see you. As long as I could see you, I could remain strong and either wait for you to find me, or die looking at my favorite personā
He gets a locket with a picture of you soon after
Assassins arenāt supposed to have things on them that can identify them, but while growing up, Kuai Liang noticed that some of the Lin Kuei would carry things that reminded them of their loved ones
One time, he asked his father about it
āThey shouldnāt, but they are still men. Love is the one thing even the best of us cannot kill. And when these men are lost and need a reminder on why they need to keep fighting, it will be the thought of their wives and children waiting at home that will give them the strength to crawl out of any grave they have found themselves inā
Real wordy but Kuai Liang sorta got it
He understood those words better when he met you
Someone he loved so much, he began to ache when you were not near
He opted for keeping one of your hairpins with him at all times
I mean, look at his hair. Just put that hairpin in with no problem
He notices your locket on a whim. He just happens to look over when he notices you take your Shirai Ryu (?) pin off and open it
Mind you, itās not supposed to be able to open so heās like āwhat was that?ā
Thatās when you tell him that you messed with it and turned it into a locket/pin and put a photo of him inside
First of all, thatās impressive
Second of all, he canāt help but smile when he looks at it
Heās always known that you love him but this gives him the extra confirmation he never knew he needed
Itās understandable to imagine the whole older brother letting his father die thing would cause him to have doubts in the relationships heās made, even if he doesnāt realize it
Shows you the hairpin he took
āMy hairpin with the jewel on the end that Iāve been looking for has been in your hair the entire time?ā āLetās not focus on detailsā
Keeps the hairpin whether you tinker his Shirai Ryu thing into a locket or not
I also see him opening your the locket on your shirt at the random times
Youāre talking to some random male and here he go tryna assert some sort of dominance
He a lil undiagnosed but itās okay
Take that shit the fuck off NOW
BUT WAIT, let me explain
Tomas lost his entire family, right. And yeah, it was the Lin Kuei that killed them, but he canāt help but be paranoid
He worries that his association with someone marks them for suffering and/or death
Like with him and Kuai Liang. Bi-Han made the choice to let their father die because āhe doomed the Lin Kuei to mediocrityā, but Tomas sometimes worries that by not killing him, his father started to look weak in Bi-Hanās eyes which ultimately led to his death
And then Kuai Liang goes against Bi-Han with him, and what happens in return? People in their new clan are killed. Kuai Liang and Harumi could have been killed as well!
He worries about you constantly, and now you have a locket with his picture in it?
What if youāre captured and they see his photo and kill you because you know him? What if someone was watching his family that night and got away and what if for some reason they really want him dead and what if-
I donāt mean to baby him or anything. Iām just saying I can see his trauma effecting (affecting? Idk) him in multiple ways
He goes from āpeople are watching meā to ānever mind, ptsd was just beating my assā
He just like you fr. Yeah bitch, I said YOU
But moving on
He freaks out when you show him and you have to sit with him and calm him down
You might even have to come up with some sort of compromise
āI just donāt want you getting hurt by knowing me. I think about this all the time and Iām so sorry Iām being difficult but-ā āNo need to explain. Not to me. Not for thatā
He would prefer you have a ring or necklace that looks black but once you damn near press your eyeball to it, you see the photo
A locket is too obvious to him. These captors he imagine would immediately notice itās a locket
You do that for him and heāll keep something of yours. Something small and not obvious. Like a scrunchie maybe
One day his heart will let him rest, but that day is not today
I wrote this on the app and while on hold for fucking Walgreens BUT hopefully nothing is misspelled and I think they all have around the same amount of writing
