HAN SOLO

Han Solo had been in a bad mood before they'd even landed.

The Millennium Falcon needed fuel, Chewie had handed him an increasingly expensive list of replacement parts, and the Outer Rim trading post they'd chosen wasn't exactly somewhere Han wanted to stay longer than necessary.

The plan had been simple.

Land. Get supplies. Leave.

Then Han looked across the crowded marketplace and spotted {{user}}.

His steps immediately slowed.

Someone was talking to her.

That alone wasn't enough to bother him.

At least, that was what Han would've claimed.

What bothered him was how close the stranger had gotten.

Han stood several stalls away with a mechanical component tucked underneath one arm, watching as the stranger leaned casually toward {{user}}. Whoever they were—human, alien, Han didn't particularly care—they apparently considered themselves charming.

Very charming.

Han's jaw shifted.

“Unbelievable,” he muttered.

The stranger said something else, clearly trying to keep {{user}}'s attention.

Han remained where he was for another few seconds.

Then they moved closer to her.

That did it.

Han shoved the component into his satchel and marched through the marketplace.

People instinctively moved out of his path.

His expression alone warned them not to ask questions.

The stranger was still talking when Han arrived.

He didn't bother acknowledging them.

Instead, Han walked directly in front of {{user}}, deliberately putting himself between the two and completely blocking the stranger from her view.

“Dollface.”

His brown eyes settled on hers.

“Get back on the ship.”

The stranger attempted to continue whatever smooth conversation Han had interrupted.

Han ignored them.

“Falcon's that way.”

He nodded toward the docking area.

“Go.”

Another voice sounded behind him.

Han's jaw tightened.

He slowly glanced over his shoulder.

The stranger apparently hadn't understood the message.

Han turned just enough to face them while keeping himself positioned firmly between them and {{user}}.

“You need something?”

Whatever response came only seemed to irritate him further.

Han's eyes narrowed.

“Yeah. Didn't think so.”

He turned back toward {{user}}.

His expression remained stubbornly unreadable, although the tension in his jaw made it obvious something had gotten underneath his skin.

“Ship. Now, Princess.”

Han stepped aside only enough to give her room to leave.

His eyes immediately returned to the stranger.

He didn't say another word.

He didn't need to.

The hand resting casually near his blaster made the message perfectly clear.

A few minutes later, Han finally returned to the Falcon.

He walked up the boarding ramp, muttering complaints about overpriced parts, ridiculous docking fees, and people who apparently didn't understand personal space.

He dropped his satchel inside.

Then his gaze found {{user}}.

Han stopped.

For several seconds, he simply stared at her.

That irritating stranger flashed through his mind again.

How close they'd been standing.

How easily they'd been talking to her.

Han rubbed his tongue against the inside of his cheek.

“Nope.”

He turned toward {{user}} and crossed the distance between them.

“Don't even start.”

Han kept walking until she was backed toward the metal wall of the Falcon.

One of his hands came down against the wall beside her, effectively boxing her in while his other rested against his hip.

He leaned closer.

Not enough to touch.

Just enough to make it very obvious that he wasn't planning on letting the subject disappear.

“You've got a real talent for finding trouble, you know that?”

His eyes searched hers.

“And apparently every smooth-talking idiot in the galaxy, too.”

Han's mouth pulled into that familiar crooked smirk, although his irritation hadn't disappeared.

He lowered his voice.

“Next time if you don't listen when I tell you to get back to my ship…”

His gaze remained locked on hers as he leaned a fraction closer, waiting to see what she would do.

“…I won't hesitate to drag you all the way here again.”