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springtyme · 2 months

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𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐇𝐨𝐮𝐬𝐞 𝐈𝐬 𝐎𝐧 𝐅𝐢𝐫𝐞

𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝟐: 𝐈 𝐍𝐞𝐞𝐝 𝐒𝐨𝐦𝐞 𝐒𝐥𝐞𝐞𝐩 ♡

Carmy x afab!reader || Series masterlist || Series playlist

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chapter summary: You and your neighbor share a cigarette, and you have an unexpected chat with his sister... Carmy kind of wants to strangle Richie.

word count: 7.4k

warnings/tags: Eventual smut! (18+, mdni!) Language. Smoking. Food. Angst and fluff. Hurt/comfort. Slow burn. Mutual pining. Strangers to friends to lovers. The beef as found family. Set in season one.

a/n: This chapter was supposed to be about twice as long, but we are gonna wait with the rest till next chapter. this might mean that there will end up being an extra chapter in the end.

"I need some sleep It can't go on like this I tried counting sheep But there's one I always miss"

“I’m Carmen… Carmen Berzatto.”

Oh… Now the pieces start to fall into place - the tattoos, the exhaustion, the haunted look in his eyes that felt so familiar. A mix of sadness and understanding washes over you.

“But uh… Carmy is fine,” he adds, the tiniest ghost of a smile tugging at the corner of his lips.

“Nice to meet you, Carmy.” You smile at him before telling him your own name, feeling a little embarrassed you didn’t tell him earlier, and a short silence follows, before you gently clear your throat. “Well, shall we?”

“Yeah.” Carmy responds with a small nod of his head as he follows you down the hallway towards your apartment. The short walk feels oddly awkward and comforting at the same time.

As you step inside, you gesture for Carmy to follow you into the kitchen. You turn on the cabinet lights and motion for him to take a seat or stand wherever he prefers before grabbing a couple of mugs from the cupboard. There is still hot water on the kettle for you to make a new cup of tea.

“You want normal or decaf?” you ask, holding up the coffee canister. Carmen’s tired eyes light up a little at the mention of coffee.

“Normal, please, I don’t think I’ll be able to sleep anytime soon, and I have to leave for work in three hours” he lets out a soft, breathy sound, something between a sight and a chuckle, the sound weary but genuine, and a clear touch of gratitude in his voice. You put a filter in the coffee maker and pour the coffee grounds into it, the aroma slowly beginning to fill the air. As the coffee brews, you plop a tea bag into your own mug before pouring in the hot water. You take a moment to glance at him, his tired expression evident as he leans against the counter.

You notice the way his eyes flicker around the room, taking in the small details of your kitchen that must be mirroring his own, before his gaze lands on you. Your eyes meet for a split second before you quickly look down at your steeping tea, feeling how your pulse quickens slightly from getting caught staring.

You clear your throat and decide to break the silence. “So, how does a chef end up starting a kitchen fire at 3 in the morning?” you say in an attempt to lighten up the mood, but you immediately cringe at yourself, it probably wasn’t the most tactful question to ask. You’re not normally this awkward, but you also don’t normally have strangers in your apartment in the middle of the night like this.

“I-ehm… I was actually cooking in my sleep, I woke up to the fire alarm.” He confesses, sounding a little embarrassed as he rubs the back of his neck.

“Oh,” is all you say, not really knowing what else to come up with. You take a moment to process Carmen’s response, trying not to let your surprise show on your face. Cooking in his sleep? That certainly wasn’t a typical explanation for starting a kitchen fire. “I guess sleepwalking and cooking don’t mix well,” you end up replying, feeling a bit silly for stating the obvious.

“Yeah,” he says, nodding in agreement. “I suppose not.” his voice laced with exhaustion, and another long stretch of silence unfolds between you. You are just about to open your mouth to say something to break it - what, you don’t even know, but you are saved by the coffee machine beeping, indicating that the coffee is ready. You quickly pour the hot coffee into a mug, happy for the natural interruption of the awkward silence.

“Cream and sugar?” you ask him, smiling politely.

Carmy nods gratefully. “Just a little cream, please.” You carefully pour a dash of cream into the mug, watching as it swirls and mixes with the fragrant dark coffee before placing the mug in front of Carmen. He takes a sip, his tired eyes closing momentarily as he savors the warmth.

“Thank you,” he says softly, the gratitude evident in his voice. You just smile at him. Taking your tea, you lean against the counter on the opposite side of him.

The two of you fall into a now more comfortable silence, the only sound filling the room being the occasional sip of coffee or tea. You cannot help but glance over at him every now and then, taking in the tired lines of his face, the way his eyes seem to hold a thousand untold stories.

After a few moments of sipping your tea in silence, Carmen breaks the silence, pointing at one of the pictures on your fridge. “Is that from Copenhagen?”

You nod, a small smile playing on your lips as you look over at the picture. “Yeah, it is. I got a job offer here in Chicago and thought that it might be time to try something new, I moved here six months ago, but before that I lived in Copenhagen. I like it here, and I’m really enjoying my new job, but I do miss it.”

“Yeah, Copenhagen’s really beautiful,” he says, still looking at the picture.

You lean forward, feeling a spark of conversation ignite between you and Carmen. “So, you’ve been?”

“Yeah, I actually lived there for a while, when I worked at Norma.” He says it so casually, but you can’t help but feel a surge of surprise at his casual mention of working at a renowned three-Michelin-star restaurant.

“Wow, that’s really cool,” you say, genuinely impressed. “What was it like?”

Carmy smiles softly, a nostalgic glint in his tired eyes. “It was intense, but also really… rewarding?” he says, his voice trailing off slightly as if lost in memories. “The chefs there pushed me to my limits, I learned so much during my time there, but, yeah, it was definitely hectic...” He pauses, a hint of melancholy in his voice, he seems to be caught in his own thoughts for a moment before he lightly shakes his head and turns his attention back to you. “What about you, what do you work with?”

“I work in theater, I’m a scenographer,” you reply, feeling a sense of pride as you talk about your passion. “I design and create the visual aspects of the stage production, from the sets to the props and the costumes. It’s a lot of work, but I really love it.”

Carmen’s tired eyes light up with interest. “that sounds really cool. It must be amazing to see your designs come to life on stage.”

“It is,” you reply, a smile tugging at your lips. “It can be really demanding sometimes, but seeing everything come together during a performance… It’s like the best feeling I know. To know that your hard work is helping give people an experience. I really like that feeling”

He looks at you with a newfound glint in his eyes. You feel a warmth spreading through your chest from the way his eyes sparkle with genuine interest. “I think I know what you mean,” he responds, a sense of understanding passing between you. “It’s like when you create something with your hands and then see the final product, it’s a sense of accomplishment and satisfaction.��

“Exactly,” you nod in agreement, feeling a sense of understanding with Carmen in that moment that you haven’t felt in a long time. The two of you fall into a comfortable silence, both lost in your own thoughts for a short moment before he breaks the quiet.

“But, I’ll have to admit, I don’t really go to the theater that much,” he says, a sheepish smile playing on his lips. “Or like, at all.”

You chuckle softly, the conversation now flowing easily between you. “Well, don’t feel bad, most people don’t. And, I’ll also have to admit that I don’t really go to Michelin restaurants that often either… or at all.” This makes Carmy laugh – it’s soft and short lived, but genuine, and your heart sillily skips a beat by the gentle melody of it.

“That’s fair, but I’m not working at Michelin places anymore,” he says, his voice losing a bit of its newfound bravado and his smile falters slightly, a shadow passing over his features. “My brother, Mikey…” Oh… Michael was his brother, you feel a pang of sadness wash over you as you piece together the connection. “He left me his restaurant, It’s an old shithole of a beef spot. I’m trying to get it back on its feet, but it’s been a struggle, you know?”

You can see the weight of his words behind his tired eyes, the burden of responsibility and loss bearing down on him.

“I was in New York… I was the Chef de Cuisine at the Eleven Madison Park, and now I’m back here, trying to revive this place that I can’t even believe is still standing,” Carmen’s voice fades a bit at the end of his sentence, a sense of resignation and disbelief evident in his words. “It’s fucking bullshit.” You can hear the frustration and sadness in his voice, and you feel a surge of empathy for him. “But it also means fucking everything to me,” he adds, his eyes unfocused and tired as he gazes off into the distance before blinking and lightly shaking his head, his pale cheek redding a little.

He looks embarrassed at his little outburst, a deep sigh escaping his lips as he runs a hand through his curls in frustration. “Sorry,” he murmurs, the word hanging in the air as he looks down at his coffee mug. You can see the conflicted emotions swirling in his eyes, the weight of his past and present struggles evident in his posture.

“No need to apologize,” you reassure him, and another stretch of silence settles between you, the weight of his words lingering in the air. You don’t really know what else to say, so you don’t say anything, letting the quiet moment linger as you both sip your drinks, the only sound filling the room being the steady hum of the refrigerator.

The atmosphere hangs heavy with the weight of Carmen’s words, and you can sense how he is starting to shut down. So, instead of pushing for more conversation, you decide to take another approach.

“Hey, uhm, can I bum one?” you ask, nodding towards the pack of cigarettes you had watched him put in his pants pocket when you had entered your apartment. You have your own, and you try not to smoke at night, but you make an exception, you crave the comfort of a cigarette and Carmen looks like he does too, and being able to offer you a cigarette might make him feel like he has something to offer and ease the tension.

Carmen’s tired eyes flicker for a second, like he is being pulled out of deep thoughts before looking back at you again.

“Yeah, of course,” he replies, pulling the cigarettes from his pocket and handing you the entire pack. “I would have gone down on the street…” he begins to explain before trailing off.

You shake your head, cutting him off with a smile. “No need, If you’re fine with the fire escape we can go out there,” you offer in a gentle tone.

Carmen’s tired expression softens at your offer, and he nods in agreement. “Yeah, that sounds good.”

The two of you make your way to the window, cracking it open to let in some fresh air before climbing out onto the fire escape. The metal stairs creaking slightly with each step as the cool night air greets you as you both settle against the railing, the distant sound of the city humming below you.

You pull out a cigarette and pop it between your lips before handing back the packet to Carmy. He takes one, lighting it with a flick of his lighter, the orange flame illuminating his tired face. He has a scar, you notice, on his right cheek, which you hadn’t noticed before. It looks like an old wound, faded and barely noticeable in the dim light of the night. You can’t help but wonder how he got it, but you are pulled out of your thoughts as he flickers on the lighter again, this time holding it out for you to light your cigarette.

You lean in, the flame dancing before your eyes, casting a warm glow on your face. As you inhale, pulling life into the cigarette, the smoke swirls around you in the night air, the ember glowing brightly in the darkness. “Thanks,” you mumble, as you exhale, letting the smoke escape through your nose as you lean back again.

For a while, the two of you sit in companionable silence, the only sounds being the never-quiet ambience of Chicago from the streets below. The night air is cool against your skin, but also somewhat refreshing, and the warmth of the cigarettes and the close proximity of Carmen keeps you feeling cozy and content.

The weight of the conversation from earlier still lingers, but as you gaze out at the city skyline, a sense of peace washes over you. You smoke the entire cigarette in silence before Carmen breaks the quiet. “Did you know Mikey?”

You take a moment to collect your thoughts before responding, the few memories you have of Michael flooding back to you.

“I don’t know if I knew him. We weren’t close, but we were neighbors for a few months. He was always friendly whenever we crossed paths in the hallway,” you say, watching Carmen closely for any sign of emotion. “I had my couch delivered about a week after I moved in, and despite having ordered it to be brought up to my apartment, the delivery guys just left it down on the street. Michael came down. I think he was on his way to work, and this guy came to pick him up and after asking me what happened, they just picked it up and started carrying it up for me. I tried to stop them, I was so scared, they’d throw their backs out,” you chuckle softly at the memory. “He didn’t have to do that, but he did anyway. I tried to thank them afterwards, venmo them or something, but they just waved it off.”

Carmen listens quietly, his eyes focused on some distant point in the night sky, a flicker of emotion passing through his expression before he clears his throat softly. “Sounds like him,” he murmurs, his voice heavy with memories as he lights another smoke, silently handing the pack over to you.

You take one, grateful for the distraction as you light it and take a long drag, the smoke swirling around you as you exhale. The quiet moment lingers between you, the weight of unspoken words hanging in the air. You can feel Carmen’s grief and exhaustion radiating off of him, the burden of loss and responsibility heavy on his shoulders.

The silence stretches, and you start to worry that your story about the couch wasn’t the right thing to say, that maybe you had overstepped by bringing up memories of his brother. You rack your brain for something else to say, anything to lighten the mood or make him feel better, but you come up empty. Instead, you simply sit in silence, the only sounds being the gentle buzz of the city below and the occasional drag of your cigarettes.

You can sense that Carmen is grappling with his own thoughts, his tired eyes gazing out at the twinkling lights below, lost in his own world. After a while, he breaks the silence, dumping his cigarette butt in the rusty tin can you have standing out here for the purpose.

“I should probably get out of your hair and let you get some rest,” Carmen says, his voice resigned but appreciative.

You nod in understanding, feeling a sense of disappointment at the thought of him leaving so soon. A part of you wants to tell him to stay, but you also understand that he probably needs some time to himself. “Yeah, of course,” you reply, trying to keep your voice light and he gets up.

The polite, well mannered side of you tells you to get up and follow him to the door, but your intuition tells you to stay. It seems like he needs some space to process his thoughts and feelings, and you don’t want to intrude on that. So, instead, you simply smile at him and nod towards the window. “Thanks for the company, Carmy. And hey, if you ever burn down your kitchen again, don’t hesitate to knock on my door, okay?” you tease, you want to say something deeper, but you hold back, not wanting to push too much.

Carmen lets out a soft chuckle, his tired eyes lighting up with a hint of amusement. “I’ll keep that in mind. Thanks for the coffee and the chat,” he says, a small smile playing on his lips as he gives you a small wave before disappearing back into the apartment. A few seconds later you hear the click of the front door closing after him, and you feel a mix of emotions swirling inside you.

You sit there for a while longer, the cigarette between your fingers slowly burning out. The weight of the night settles around you, the city’s hum a distant lullaby. You take one last drag of your cigarette, scrunching your nose at the light burn of your lips as you realize it had burned down to the filter.

With a sigh you dispose of the butt in the tin can, letting it join the others, before standing, leaning against the railing and gazing out at the city lights twinkling below. The night air is crisp against your skin, the silence of the night wrapping around you like a warm blanket. You stand there for a little while longer, lost in your thoughts as your tired eyes capture the beauty of the cityscape below you. The events of the evening swirl around in your mind, the unexpected encounter with Carmy. You don’t know if you overstepped any boundaries, if you said the right things, or if you offered enough support. But you hope you did the right thing.

With a final sigh, you step back inside, closing the window behind you and letting the night air dissipate. The apartment, that has felt empty since you moved in, feels even emptier now, and that is when you realize that Carmen had been the first person who you have invited into your home since you moved to Chicago. You can’t help but ponder over that as you head back to the kitchen to clean up and finish your tea. Maybe you should invite some of your coworkers over sometime, or actually start on trying to make some friends here.

You go over to the coffee maker to pour out the leftover coffee in the pot, but you are surprised when you see that it has already been done, and the mug Carmen had used is hanging from the drying rack, along with the other dishes that had been sitting in the sink waiting for you to finally rack up the energy to wash, now cleaned.

Maybe it’s just because you really, really hate washing dishes or maybe it’s the realization that you have been more lonely than you realized, but the sight makes a weird feeling settle in your chest, and it is too much for you to start processing right now, so you simply set down your mug on the counter and turn on your heel, leaving the kitchen and head to bed. Had you stayed in the dark kitchen for just a short while longer, you might have noticed the forgotten phone next to the sink.

You make your way to your bedroom, peeling off your hoodie and sweatpants before sinking into the comfort of your bed, feeling a mix of emotions swirling within you, that you’re not ready to decipher. All you really want to do right now is to let all thoughts and feelings fade away into the peaceful void of sleep. You don’t have work tomorrow, thank god, so you allow yourself to drift off without setting an alarm, letting the warm duvet envelop you as the beating of your heart slowly lulls you into a deep, dreamless sleep.

· · · · ·

Carmen is flipping through the pages of the folder, he’s barely registering the ideas and suggestions she had put together for the restaurant.. He doesn’t want to be an asshole, really doesn’t want to, but all this is a lot and he can’t really deal with a lot right now.

He can feel the beginning of the well-known pounding in his temples, another day, another headache. He wants to be able to fix this place, and he is happy that Sydney wants to help with that, but all he can focus on right now is to get through the day. There is three hours to opening, one of the fucking ballbreaker machines are broken, and he can’t find his fucking phone, he thinks he might have forgotten it at home, he was a bit of a zombie when he left this morning. Last night was something… he’ll probably need 3-5 business days to process, or even better repress it completely from his memory, despite it being difficult.

“On page 27, randomly, there’s actually some pretty good layouts of just that,” Sydney says, clearly trying to sound casual, but her voice betrays a hint of eagerness.

“Page 27?” he asks, feeling overwhelmed by everything in front of him.

“Yeah, it’s mostly graphics,” Syd replies.

He knows Sydney’s right, she is smart and capable, and he is not doubting that she has a bunch of good ideas. She is probably way more qualified to run a business than he is, or ever will be, but he can’t see how any of this is realistic. She is right, they are sleeping on to-go’s, but there is no way they’ll be able to manage that right now.

And, yeah, there is no doubt that they need to make some serious changes, but all Carmen can focus on right now is to keep his head above water. He has issues keeping vendors current, and even scraping enough together to actually pay the staff.

“Yo, Carm!” Marcus voice calls out, interrupting them. Carmen hands the folder back to Sydney before stepping out of the little office to see what’s now going on.

Following Marcus’s voice, Carmy swings the doors open to the front of the house where he finds the baker leaning against the front of the counter, and Richie standing behind it with a woman, probably around his mothers age, who Carmy’s never seen before.

“Yo, what’s going on?” Carmy asks, trying to push aside the headache that is threatening to take over while trying to understand what’s going on with Sydney hot on his heels.

“No. I can handle this myself, cousin. I got this,” Richie tells him, holding his hand up as Carmen steps into the room. “So… You’re not Ron…” Richie says, now addressing the woman.

“Ron’s gone. Gone, gone,” she answers, which isn’t helping Carmen understand the situation in the slightest.

“Ron’s dead?!” Marcus exclaims, leaning a little further over the counter.

“Who is Ron?” Carmy asks, trying to get a handle on the situation.

The woman turns towards Carmen. “My partner Ron Pager. He passed away. I’m running his routes now.”

“Everybody’s dying,” Richie says, annoyed, making a half turn in frustration.

“Nancy Chore, Chicago Board of Health,” the woman introduces herself, offering an explanation to Carmen. “I’m here to inspect the property.”

Of, course… An inspection, why the fuck not?! Just what this day needed…

“Okay, Nancy, hi. I’m Carmen Berzatto,” he extends his hand, introducing himself. “I’m the owner.”

“He’s the owner’s brother actually. He’s also dead,” Richie says, causing a raised eyebrow from the older woman.

“He doesn’t look dead.”

“No, no I’m not dead. My brother is dead.” Carmen clarifies, even though he feels a bit dead right now.

“I’m very sorry to hear that,” the woman says with a sympathetic nod.

“I’m sorry for your loss too,” Richie says to the health inspector, not missing a beat as he continues. “Can I see some kind of identification?”

“Yeah,” the woman replies, holding out her very legit looking badge per Richie’s request.

“Interesting,” the taller man says, his arms folded over his chest.

“Is it? What’s interesting about that?” Carmen says, he can’t fucking deal with Richie’s antics right now, he just wants this inspection to be over as soon as possible. Carmy’s been trying to make everyone step up their game in the two weeks he’s been here. He, himself stayed until late last night to deep clean. There shouldn’t be any problems, and if Richie will just behave, everything should be going smoothly… Hopefully.

“It’s an interesting logo on her badge,” Richie says defensively.

Carmy decides to ignore him, turning his attention to the inspector. “Nancy, if you need anything, just find us. Make yourself at home. Okay?” He turns around to go back to the kitchen, he has a lot to do and he doesn’t have time to deal with Richie’s shenanigans right now. “Where’s Tina and Ebra!” he calls out as he makes it back to the kitchen with Sydney following him back again, seemingly not done with telling about her ideas to improve the restaurant.

Carmen had hoped that the interruption would make her forget about it for a while, his head can’t hold any more right now, but he is also mildly curious to hear ideas, and he also doesn’t want to seem like an asshole, it is really nice of her to want to help, so he lets her follow him around as he makes it through the restaurant.

“I also noted on the prog that it’s not necessarily flour that is expensive, but shipping, so we could just have somebody go and pick it up.” Sydney says as they make it back into his office.

“Yeah, Marcus,” Carmen agrees. He can definitely see the logic in that. It’s a good, and actually feasible, idea.

“Okay, sure. Marcus. Great,” she says a little confused.

“No, it can only be Marcus,” Carmy explains.

Sydney makes a face of befuddlement. “Why can it only be Marcus?”

“Sweeps, Tina and Ebra don’t drive,” he clarifies. .

“Uh, well, what about Richie?” she asks questioningly.

“Suspended license.”

“I saw him drive in this morning,” she points out.

Carmy just shrugs, he is not sending a man with a suspended license out driving doing work hours, if Richie wants to risk it on his own time then that’s his business.

Sydney shakes her head lightly, getting back on track. “The point is, it’s one of hundreds of things we can be doing to save costs!”

“Sydney. Sydney. Sydney,” Carmy interrupts her. “Look, I’m sure this is all correct, but it’s a lot. The job you’re describing goes way outside what I can afford to pay a sous, which I can barely afford already. But I hear you. Okay? I have every intention of turning this into an efficient, respectable place of business run by adults…”

He can see that she is about to say something, but before she can get to it she gets interrupted by an outburst from the front of the house. “That’s a fucking ass of shit!” Richie’s voice bellows.

“Eventually…” Carmy sighs, stepping out of the office once again to see what’s happening. “Yo, yo, what’s going on?!” He yells as he pushes through the door to the front again, seeing that most of the staff are already there. A pressing feeling of uneasiness, starting to form in his chest as he steps around the counter to get to where Richie and Ms. Chore is standing, who he had almost forgotten was here.

“Look… It wasn’t dangerous, Ms. Chore…” Richie says defensively, immediately making alarm bells go off in Carmy’s head.

“What’s dangerous?!” Carmy demands to know.

“I discovered a large hole in the tile. Looks like a former gas line next to the stove tops. Not only was it not properly dry walled and caulked, but someone clogged the hole with napkins and proxied over it with some kind of plastic. Grease seeped into the napkins and the proxy became unproxied.” Ms. Chore explains, sounding less than pleased.

“So what does that mean?” Carmy can feel how fury is starting to slowly simmer in his stomach, threatening to soon be brought to a boil.

“A potential cross contaminate. Additionally, no hot water in the hand station.” The older woman explains.

The last part makes both Richie and Syd erupt in protest, their voices overlapping and echoing through the room as they try to explain that the hot water does work, the water just has to run for a little while, which Ms. Chore doesn’t seem to be satisfied with. “Health code states any sink near a prep area needs to deliver instantly hot water to prevent the spread of bacteria.”

Carmen can feel how his headache is now blooming into a full-blown migraine as the chaos unfolds around him. The sound of the voices mixing with the sound of the broken arcade game is starting to feel like an alarm going off in his head. It is like the piercing sound is stabbing through his temples and into his brain. He rubs his forehead, while grabbing the counter with his other hand, trying to ground himself as he tries to push back the throbbing pain. A health code vialation is literally the last fucking thing they need right now.

“I haven’t even delivered the big one yet.” The health inspector continues and Carmen feels how his stomach drops at her words.

“There’s a big one?” Fak says from his seat at the counter.

“And what is the big one?” Carmen asks, breathing through his nose. richie

The woman pulls out a packet of smokes, ‘King Size Sapphire’, Carmen’s eyes immediately looks over at Richie. “Someone left a pack of cigarettes on the stovetop near the burners. Not only very dangerous, but also a potential contaminant.”

“Motherfucker…” Carmy let’s out. The migraine is now pounding behind his eyes.

“You can say that again,” Ms. Chore

“Motherfucker!” Richie echoes, making Carmy’s blood fucking boil .

“Don’t actually say that again, you fucking idiot!” He yells at the taller man, feeling like he could strangle him in this moment.

“Unfortunately, these violations leave me no choice. I award you a C.” Miss Chore holds the cardstock with a giant orange C out to hand over to Carmy, but he doesn’t take it. He can feel the anger and frustration boiling inside of him, threatening to spill over. The orange letter on the paper mocking him.

A choir of protests fills the room as the staff tries to defend themselves, but Carmy can hardly hear them over the pounding in his head.

“You know what, I’m going to caulk that shit right now, okay?” Richie states, trying to plead with Ms. Chore.

“Oh, it doesn’t matter how fast you do it. I can’t come back to test for 30 days,” Ms Chore says, not missing a beat.

“It’ll take five minutes, okay?! It’ll take five minutes to caulk.” Richie tries to bargain. “I can caulk! Let me fucking CAULK!”

“There’s no caulk in the house, dude,” Fak chimes, making Richie yell at him to shut up and Ms. Chore hands over the review paper to Carmy before leaving.

Carmy thinks he might actually strangle Richie, his head now not only throbbing with pain but with red hot fury as well.

“You’re bitching me? You wanna run this place?!” Carmen seethes, his voice dripping with anger as he pushes Richie in the chest, his frustration finally boiling over.

“How do you know they’re not your cigarettes?!” Richie pushes back, making Carmy stumble back a step.

“Cause I’m not a fucking dipshit!” Carmy yells, seething with a mix of anger and frustration as he is about to push Richie again, but Sydney steps in between before he gets the chance, trying to keep the two men from each other as they yell at each other. Cursing and yelling fill the room as tensions escalate, the staff trying to intervene and the review paper falls to the floor in the commotion.

“Let’s not do this,” Sydney says, her voice breaking through to Carmy, making him regain his senses.

“All right. All right,” he says, throwing his hands in the air, trying to calm himself down before turning to Richie. “Here’s what we’re gonna do. You are gonna go to the hardware store, you’re gonna get some joint compound. You’re gonna get some caulk and you’re gonna caulk that shit,” he says, his tone firm like he’s giving instructions to a child, despite him saying it with much more anger than he would ever use toward a kid.

“Okay, well, FYI…” Richie cuts in, as if he’s about to argue, making Carmy wanna punch him. “I’m not your fucking gofer.”

“FYI?! FYI!” Carmen can’t believe he is having this discussion with a grown man. “FYI, you cocked it up, you’re gonna caulk it out!”

“Okay, well, I would love to, but my license is expired, FYI!” Richie retorts, his voice dripping with sarcasm.

“I saw you drive in this morning,” Sydney points out, making Carmen turn towards her.

“Sydney, you wanna help, you can take him.”

This makes Richie protest. “No. Time out. I’ll Uber. Thank you.”

“Surge rates, fucko!” Carmy reminds him, his voice dripping with annoyance.

“Fine,” Richie says in defeat before looking at Sydney. “But we’re taking my car.”

“I don’t care…” she says, shaking her head.

Carmen is just glad that they’re leaving. Glad Richie’s leaving because he is fucking angry at him, and glad that Sydney is leaving, because it is clear to everyone that she is far too good for this place, and it makes him feel bad and kind of embarrassed that she has to put up with all the bullshit that happens here.

He just needs a break from annoying pseudo-cousins and over-ambitious sous chefs for a little while. Although Sydney is not officially his sous yet, but he is going to hire her – he’d be an idiot not to, she is probably the best this shitty place will ever see, if she still wants to work here after today, that is…

Carmy picks up the fallen review paper from the floor with slightly trembling hands as the giant orange C is staring back at him. The image burns into his mind, a symbol of failure and inadequacy. He knows that this place is shit and that he needs to make changes, but this is a whole new low. His head feels like it is about to explode, the pounding in his temples now so unbearable he almost feels nauseous, the ballbreaker jingle of the broken machine, like nails on a chalkboard, echoing in his tired head.

“Fix that fucking sound. Please fix that fucking sound!” He spits at Fak, half commanding, half pleading.

“I will fix it. Fak always fixes it. Kids come in, break it, and what happens? I fix the balls. Fak fixes the balls.”

“FIX IT!” Carmy just yells. He wonders if it’s actually happened, after all these years in nightmarishly stressful kitchens, two weeks at The Beef is what’s finally driven him completely insane as he goes back through the doors to the kitchen.

Taking a breath and clenching his fists he tries to gather his thoughts. If he changes the plans so that Tina takes over Sydney’s stations while she is gone and he makes family, they shouldn’t get too behind while Sydney and Richie are gone.

“Yo, Tina! I need you to help me out, chef,” he calls out to Tina, trying to regain a sense of control amidst the chaos. “I need you to take over Sydney’s stations while she’s gone. We need to keep things running smoothly, I’ll make family and help out with prep,” Carmen instructs, his voice firm but tinged with the underlying stress and frustration he’s feeling.

“Got it, Jeff,” the shorter woman says, retying the strings of her ‘Mrs. Always Right’ apron.

“Thank you, chef,” Carmy says, really meaning it. He knows she’s having a hard time with all the new changes he has made around the kitchen, and with Sydney coming in and things changing up, but she has been here for a long time and there is a reason for that.

As they start working and tackling the tasks at hand, Carmen feels how his anger slowly disappears, something else inside him taking over.

He has no idea how to manage, let alone fix, a failing business, but he knows how to cook. He knows what he’s doing when he’s in the kitchen and he knows that he can rely on his skills and can get into that magical state where he can shut his brain of for a little while, and just fully concentrates on the task at hand – which in this point of his life probably is the closest he comes to relaxing.

· · · · ·

You are pulled out of your slumber by the ringing of your phone, the shrill sound cutting through the peaceful silence of your bedroom. Groggily, you reach out to the nightstand where your phone is resting, fumbling for it in the darkness before finally grabbing hold of it. But as you squint at the screen to see the caller ID, you see that there is none, it isn’t even your phone that is ringing.

Confusion clouds your mind as you slide out of bed, and it is now clear to you that the sound isn’t coming from your bedroom. You stumble out of the room, trying to locate the source of the ringing, but it stops before you get a chance to pinpoint it.

“What the…” you mumble before the ringing starts once again, realizing that the sound is coming from the kitchen. You feel a sense of unease wash over you as you make your way to the kitchen, the sound of the shrill ringing growing louder with each step. You enter the room and coming into view is the telephone on your kitchen counter. Confusion wells up inside you for a split second, your groggy mind still in a half fogged state of sleep, before the events of last night come back to you. Carmen must have forgotten his phone last night.

You look over at the oven, the digital clock, shocked by how late it is, you can’t remember the last time you woke up this late.

You step over to the sink, looking down at the phone, the caller ID lighting up on the screen saying ‘Sugar’. You hesitate for a moment, wondering if you should answer or not. It feels pretty invasive to pick up another person’s phone, someone you don’t really know, and you have no idea who this Sugar is, maybe a girlfriend? In that case you don’t want to intrude on their personal business, and you’re definitely not in the mood to be interrogated by some angry girlfriend.

But it could be important, or maybe it is Carmen calling his own phone to figure out where it’s at. You contemplate what to do, but before you can make a decision the phone stops again, the ringing coming to an abrupt halt.

You let out a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding, but after a few seconds the phone lights up again. With a fast beating heart you swipe across the screen before picking it up to your ear, bracing yourself for whatever may come.

“God damn it, Carm!” A female voice crackles through the speaker, frustration and annoyance evident in her tone. “Listen I know-”

“Hello,” you croak out, interrupting the woman, not wanting to eavesdrop on a private conversation. The voice on the other end goes silent for a moment, and you can almost hear the confusion through the phone.

“Uh, hi…” the voice says, the frustration in her tone melting away, being replaced with puzzlement. “Is Carmen there?”

You clear your throat, a little embarrassed by the mix-up. “Uh, no, he isn’t.” You cringe internally at the awkwardness of the situation. “He, uh, left his phone here last night.” And you only cringe even more. “I’m his neighbor, we had some coffee last night.” You quickly add, mentally cursing yourself for sounding so awkward, but you push through.

“Oh..” the woman responds, her voice softening. “I’m Natalie, I’m Carmen’s sister.”

Relief floods through you, feeling a way more at ease now that you know who you’re talking to as you tell her your own name.

“I’m sorry for yelling at you,” Natalie says, genuine remorse in her voice. “I’ve been trying to talk to him for a few days now, and I was starting to worry, but I think he’s just ignoring me.”

You feel a sense of understanding wash over you, having seen the exhaustion and turmoil in Carmen’s eyes the night before, and knowing about what had happened with Michael you can’t help but feel for her. “It’s okay,” you reassure her. “But, yeah, I saw him last night, we had coffee and he must have left his phone here by accident.” You offer, hoping to ease some of Natalie’s worry

“Oh, thank you for letting me know,” she replies, relief evident in her tone. “He can be a bit of a scatterbrain sometimes. I know he’s been dealing with a lot lately, so I appreciate you looking out for him.”

You nod, feeling a sense of connection with Natalie, despite never having met her. “Of course, happy to help out.”

You contemplate whether to offer any more information about your interaction with Carmy, but you ultimately decide to keep it to yourself. It’s really none of your business, but you can’t shake off the urge to help somehow.

“Hey, uhm, if you give me the address I can swing by the restaurant and drop off his phone. I know I would be fucked without mine.” It’s not like you have any plans and you would probably not leave your apartment today if you don’t have a reason to. “I can tell Carmen to give you a call when he gets the chance,” you continue, hoping to be of some use and to ease Natalie’s worries.

“You’d do that?”

“Yeah, it’s not a problem. Just let me know where to go and I’ll drop it off,” you offer, genuine in your willingness to help out.

“That’s so sweet of you,” Natalie says, her voice softens even further, with a sense of genuine gratitude. She gives you the address to the restaurant, and you jot it down on a post-it note. The call ends with a warm goodbye from both of you.

Forty minutes later, after a quick shower and getting dressed and ready, you’re on your way to the train station, the music in your headphones filling your ears as you step out onto the platform. Luckily you don’t have to wait long before the gray train pulls up, you board and find a spot to stand, not feeling the need to sit. The gentle rock of the train lulling you into a sense of calm, as you let your brain disconnect and enter the weird, cathartic state of introspection that you often seem to get in on public transportation while you watch Chicago pass by in a blur of buildings and colors.

As the train comes to a stop at the station near the restaurant, you step out onto the platform and make your way towards the address Natalie had given you, it’s just a simple eight minute walk and you’re are there a lot quicker than you would have preferred, suddenly feeling a wave of nervousness wash over you, but you try to push through it, reminding yourself that you are just dropping off a phone and there’s no need to overthink things.

The restaurant is easy to spot, a worn sign hanging above the entrance with the name ‘The Original Beef of Chicagoland.’ You take a deep breath before pushing open the door and step inside.

Thank you for reading! Reblogs and comments are always greatly appreciated :) let me know if you want to be tagged in the next chapter ♡

@wittyno @eternallyvenus @eddioto

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millersdjarin · 1 year

Text

I Only See Daylight

Chapter Three

Pairing: Din Djarin x F!Reader

Rating: E (eventually)

Chapter warnings/tags: slow burn, dad!din, grogu and his ~powers~, bonding, injuries (not in detail), negative self-talk, mentions of past trauma/abuse

Chapter Length: 6.1k

Previous Chapter | Series Info & Masterlist

i'll tell you the truth, but never goodbye

In the later hours of the night as it stretches on into the next morning, you take your watch, and unease starts to curl in your stomach as you watch the sky. The clear, inky blackness is being covered by clouds, the wind picking up from the East, cold and nipping at your fingers and toes. In the distance, you could swear you start to hear rumbles of thunder on the hills.

Kriff.

It’s not long until you feel the first drop of rain fall on your cheek. You silently pray that it’ll just be a light shower, that it’ll pass quickly with the suddenly gusty winds.

Of course, that’s not how it happens. No, the rain only gets stronger, the sound of it hitting against the tent now almost as loud as the strong breeze rustling through the trees. You grab your coat from your pack and put it on, tucking your blanket into the shelter of a fallen log as best you can, not wanting it to get wet.

But it’s getting stronger, the wind picking up even more, thunder getting closer. The first flash of lightning isn’t a surprise, but it still makes you jump as it cracks through the sky all around you, followed shortly by a loud, long rumble of thunder.

“Come inside,” a voice says from behind you as the rain starts to pelt at your coat.

You turn, and Mando has a hand up to push back the tent so he can stick his head out. “I’m on watch—”

“Come inside,” he says again, this time gesturing for you to do just that.

You’re not going to argue. It’s really throwing it down hard now, your coat already surrendering to the wetness and letting it seep into your clothes. The thunder is right above you, lightning strobing through the thick covering of clouds.

It’s warmer in the tent, thank the Maker. The rain is loud above and around you, but the relief of being beneath some kind of cover is palpable.

“Thanks,” you say to Mando, wrapping your rather useless coat further around yourself. The kid is awake beside him, snuggled up into his hip with his face pressed against Mando’s flight suit. “Is he scared of the storm?”

“Yeah. He doesn’t like the noise.”

“I don’t blame him.”

“Is there anywhere we can go with better cover? I don’t trust this tent to hold in the winds.”

You chew your lip, thinking. “There’s a small cave a couple klicks North. It’s good shelter. It’ll be warmer.”

Mando nods. “I say we head for that. I can get the tent packed up in a few minutes—”

Another smash of thunder, this time so loud and sudden that it sounds like an explosion. It makes you jump, an involuntary yelp finding its way up your throat. Grogu jumps too, and cries, his ears turning downwards as he presses himself further into Mando’s leg.

The wind is already pounding against the tent like crazy, as if someone is outside and shaking the frame with all their strength. “We leave the tent,” you decide as Mando lifts Grogu into his arms, cradles him against his neck. “It’s not worth it. We need to get to cover. Away from the tall trees.”

Mando nods again and starts to get up. He holds open the tent’s door for you, and you accept gratefully, heading outside first before he follows you with the kid in his arms.

He’s shaking against Mando’s breastplate, hiding his head as far as it’ll go into his shoulder. The thunder is crashing every few minutes, lightning the bright and unrelenting warning of the sound. It’s been a long time since you’ve seen rain this heavy.

Before setting off, you scramble in your pack for the spare sweater that you keep at the bottom of it. You lay it over Grogu, tucking him in just like Mando does when he puts him to bed, not allowing in any drafts. Looking up into Mando’s visor, you explain, “Figure he’ll feel safer if he’s covered. Come on, let’s move.”

Your boots are muddy in a matter of minutes, flicks of it spraying all the way up your dark trousers. It takes fifteen minutes of hasty travelling through the forest to find the outcropping of rocks in a clearing at the bottom of a hill. The sky opens up above you and the rain gets even heavier. Fork lightning splits across the zenith, landing a blow onto the ground not far away.

Carefully, you step down onto the incline of the hill, grass slippery beneath your feet. With your hands out at your sides to keep your balance, you turn to the side, taking it one step at a time, the rain pelting down and making huge puddles of wet mud in between the layers of grass. Mando takes up the same position as you, clutching the kid to his chest while keeping him in the satchel.

It’s getting steeper, more treacherous. Each step you take slips an inch down before your foot finds purchase, the wetness finding its way into your boots and going between your toes.

“Watch your step—” Mando says, just a second too late as your foot falls into a deeper dip in the ground than you’d realised, splashing down into a deep puddle. You lose your balance in an instant and you feel Mando’s hands coming towards you, just about getting hold of your back, but your other foot slips with the force of his rescue and then you’re slipping down a long mudslide, only staying on your feet for a moment before you tumble forwards and onto your side. The ground feels impossibly hard beneath you as you roll all the way down the hill, shoulders smacking into the dirt over and over as the world spins around you.

You’re so dazed by the tumble, so winded from the force of it, that when you reach the bottom of the slope and finally come to a stop, at first you don’t notice the blinding pain in the back of your calf, and then, a moment later, the lizard tail that suddenly stings at your arm.

“Shit!” You cry out.

You hear the rain on Mando’s beskar before you even see him appear beside you. You’re not sure how he made it down the hill so fast without slipping, but he’s managed it, holding the kid to his chest with one arm and outstretching the other towards you.

The pain in your leg and arm is blinding. You’re not sure which is worse. At least you know that the shooting agony in your arm is from a lizard; you can’t tell yet what the hell is stabbing so far into your leg. It feels like you’ve twisted your ankle too, a throbbing starting up beneath the skin.

“Where are you hurt?” Mando’s voice comes through your pained panting.

“My—my arm, my leg, my—ah,” you grit your teeth against the tightening feeling in your arm, the lizard’s venom spreading and swelling your entire bicep. “Kriffing hells, my ankle, too.”

“Can you walk?”

In the haze that threatens to overtake your vision, you manage to lift up your good arm, the other clutched to your chest, and point to the cave just a few metres away. “The cave is just there, behind that overhang,” the urge to squeeze your eyes shut is almost irresistible, but you know that if you do, when you open them again the venom could temporarily make you blind. “Get the kid inside first.”

Mando hesitates for a second, but then nods, and runs through the rain into the cave.

It’s small, only a few metres deep, but the overhang at the front hides the entrance and keeps it almost entirely protected from the elements. You actually found it in a similar situation back when you first got to this planet; the storm wasn’t as sudden, so you searched for a place to hide before it got too bad. This was where you landed, and it kept you safe. Only, back then, you weren’t injured.

Mando is back out in just a minute, though it feels like longer; you can feel the sting spreading up your arm, the venom travelling through your blood. It’s only when you try to move your injured leg that you realise what the problem is: there’s a tree branch, broken off into a sharp point at one end, embedded in your calf. The ankle below it is swelling already.

“Let’s get inside,” Mando says. “Can you walk?”

It’s so alien to you to admit that something’s really wrong. But, really, right now, there’s no hiding it. You try to stand up, try to get both feet under you, but your injured leg buckles beneath you the minute you put weight on it. The tree branch is still in your flesh. “N—No,” you answer his question, catching yourself on the ground before you tumble face-first into it.

He catches you, wrapping an arm around your waist and slinging one of your arms around his shoulders. “Come on, lean on me,” he instructs, and you do.

The two of you stagger to the cave. Once you’re inside, the relief of being free of the rain and wind seems to lessen the pain a little. Not much, but enough that you notice it, despite the fact that you’re suddenly aware of just how covered in mud you are. With your good arm, you reach for the flashlight in your pack, and hold it up to illuminate the space. Grogu is at the far end, tucked into a corner and still wrapped in your sweater.

“Sit down,” Mando tells you. Carefully, he lowers you to the cave floor, leaning you against the wall. Grunts of pain come from your throat as the unpleasant sensations wash over you: a mix of feverish heat from the venom, the searing pain from the tree branch, and the throbbing of your ankle. Your vision starts to swim, gathering black spots.

“Hey,” Mando dips his head to try and meet your eyes, but everything is spinning, you can only see bits and pieces of the light, “Hey, look at me. Look at me, can you hear me?”

Blinking in a haze, you manage to nod. “It’s—the venom,” you rasp. Dizziness washes over you and stays there, rendering every inch of your wounded body unable to move, feeling like the world is shifting around you and you’re going in the opposite direction.

You can’t get your eyes to focus on him, but he tries to meet them anyway, dipping his visor with the lolling movement of your head. “I thought you said it wasn’t lethal?” He asks, then presses a gloved hand to your forehead. “You’re burning up.”

“It’s…it’s not lethal,” your voice is just a breath now as the pain turns to weakness, dizziness becoming all you know, and you can’t imagine a world that doesn’t feel like it’s spinning on its head. “Just really…really shit.”

“I need to get your jacket off, take a look at the wound,” he says and tugs at the lapels of your coat.

You nod permission, so he carefully removes it, and rolls down the neck of your long-sleeved shirt to inspect the sting.

He puts his hand back to your forehead. If you were more coherent, you’d maybe wonder how he can feel the heat of your skin through those gloves; then again, though, you can feel just how hot you’re getting. Sweat sticks to your neck, glistens in between your fingers.

“Is there an antidote?”

“Mando, my…my leg, it’s…”

“I know, I know,” he says, sounding more frantic than you’ve ever heard him. Calmer than most people would be, you’re sure, but frantic for The Mandalorian. He looks to your leg, crouches down beside it. “The branch is stopping it bleeding for now. I need to get your fever down before I can do anything else, or you’re going to pass out.”

“’M fine,” you can hear your words slurring, feeling them barely slipping past your numb lips. “Get the branch out…”

“Are you sure? I—kid, stay back, it’s not—oh.”

In your delirium you only just register the change in Mando’s tone. The soft realisation as he says oh.

There’s the gentle pitter patter of feet waddling towards you. You manage to control your swaying head enough to look down and find Grogu padding over, his ears turned downwards in concern, the little hairs on his head soaking wet. He’s reaching a hand out towards you, and it’s not until he’s just inches away that you realise he’s trying to touch the wound. The stinger wound that currently feels like it’s on fire, that is somehow worse than the literal tree branch you have embedded in your calf muscle.

You go to push him away, to tell him no, but Mando takes hold of your arms and squeezes lightly. “It’s okay,” he says, watching as Grogu settles beside you and starts to close his eyes. “It’s alright. He’s helping you.”

Wide-eyed and confused, you glance between the two of them. Every instinct is telling you to shout Get away from me! Kid, please don’t touch me!, but you can’t move, can barely even see enough to notice Grogu’s hand stopping just an inch above the sting.

And then, you feel it.

The venom, once spreading all the way from the site and up your shoulders, rendering them unable to move or flex, begins to retreat. You can feel it, like the opposite of running water through your veins, drawing out from the wound. The burning heat of it sates, leaving coolness in its wake. Leaving your blood normal again, the pain receding.

What the fuck is happening?

It feels like your arm is deflating like a balloon. The dizziness subsides, the world coming back into focus around you and the black spots dissipating. All that’s left now is your panting, breaths coming deep and fast from your lungs as you recover from the pain, from a fever being literally taken away from you in seconds.

Mando’s hands are still on your arms, though not to hold you in place; they’re too gentle for it. They’re almost comforting.

“Good job, kid,” you hear Mando say, and if you weren’t so confused by the whole ordeal, you might hear the smile in his voice.

As you look down at the kid again, he looks up at Mando, his ears perking up at the praise. You panic, though, when his eyelids start drooping. He careens to the side, dropping to the floor as his eyes close completely.

“Grogu!” You cry, but Mando tightens his grip on your arms again, coaxing you to look at him instead.

“It’s okay. He’s alright, that happens sometimes after he uses his powers.”

“His—his what?”

Mando sighs like he doesn’t have time for this. Which, okay, he doesn’t. “I’ll explain later. How do you feel?”

“I—better,” you reply, confusion only growing with the answer. Your leg and ankle, however, still hurt like fuck. “My—my leg, Mando, the branch…”

He reaches into his satchel and brings out a medpack. “I’m going to get it out,” he says. Then, lifting his visor to look at you, “It’s going to hurt. I’m sorry.”

Pulling your bottom lip into your mouth, you nod, and tip your head back against the cave wall behind you, bracing yourself for the pain.

It’s a tearing, skin-searing pain as the gnarled piece of pointy wood is extracted from your leg. Mando does it quickly, not wanting to draw the procedure out, but, Maker, ripping something like that out from your calf muscle is something you definitely feel.

You cry out, bringing your hand up to your mouth to dampen the sound. Tears well in the corners of your eyes and you screw your eyes shut, trying to stop them from falling.

Mando gets to work holding pressure on the wound, and that hurts too, feels like he’s pressing against the bone with a long, wide iron rod. He doesn’t say anything, but out of the corner of your eye you catch him glancing up at you every few seconds, every time you let out choked cries of pain.

A traitorous tear slips past your defences. You don’t have it in you to wipe it away.

“Breathe,” Mando reminds you, soft but firm. “You need to breathe.”

Frantic, you nod, and do as he says. The breath enters your lungs with great effort, your body starting to feel the bruises from tumbling down the hill so fast. You breathe in through your nose, out through your mouth, trying to stay calm and focus on the breath rather than the pain.

Soon, the bleeding stops, and Mando applies a bandage, wrapping it all the way around your leg.

“Your ankle is swollen, but I don’t think it’s broken,” he tells you, placing fingers so gently over the swelling that it’s just the ghost of a touch. “It’s probably a sprain.”

You nod in agreement. You’ve sprained this ankle before, and it does feel the same, if maybe a little worse because of the wound above it.

Mando cracks a disposable ice pack and waits for it to turn cold before he places it over your ankle, gently holding it there with his gloved hands. “How does it feel?”

“Not great,” you say, wry, feeling the sweat on your forehead and neck start to go cold now that your fever has gone. Speaking of, “What just happened? With the kid?”

Mando doesn’t answer at first, concentrating just a little too much on the ice pack. Then, “He’s got powers. He can heal people.”

“I—what?”

“How much pain are you in?” He asks instead of elaborating.

The lack of explanation and sudden change in topic startles you. You blink, and consider your answer. “Quite a lot, but I’m okay. I just…I just need to rest.”

Mando nods. “We’re dry in here until the storm stops. Are you warm enough?”

You want to nod, want to tell him that you’re fine and that he doesn’t have to take care of you, but the cold sweat drying on your skin has you shivering. “Not really,” you answer honestly.

Without a word, Mando grabs the empty tent pack and pulls out a spare blanket. He starts to spread it over you, but you stop him, putting gentle and cautious hands on his wrists. The touch seems to surprise him; he looks up, stopping in his tracks.

Too overwhelmed by touching him, you pull your hands away and distract yourself by looking down at the kid. “Is he okay?”

“He just needs rest.”

You nod, then pat your lap. “He can share the blanket with me.”

A pause. An unreadable stare. “Are you sure?”

“Yes. He’s all wet, I don’t want him getting cold.”

Another pause, then a gentle nod, and Mando lifts the sleeping Grogu into your lap. You cradle him in the crook of your good arm as Mando tucks you both under the blanket. It’s such a soft, caring gesture; warmth blooms in your chest despite the pain you’re in, and for a moment, you’re lost in the darkness of his visor. Wondering about him. About his eyes. About his hands, his heart. Just wondering.…

“How long do storms usually last around here?”

“N—not long. Just a few hours.”

He nods. “Then you should rest until then.”

“I’m in too much pain to sleep,” you tell him, looking his helmet all over, not caring if he sees you taking in every inch of him. It doesn’t seem to bother him; he’s looking right back at you, maybe even observing you in the same detail behind that visor. Hesitant, you chew your bottom lip for a moment. He moves away, goes to stand up. “Wait,” you say before you can think better of it. He stops, waits. “Can you tell me about your travels?”

He tilts his helmet. “My travels?”

“Yes. Just—tell me about somewhere you’ve been. Somewhere pretty.”

Abandoning his mission to stand up, he settles down on the floor in front of you, propping one leg up so he can rest his elbow on it, the other bent on the cave ground. He’s got your flashlight facing the roof of the cave, and it casts a white, shadowy light through the place, making him look somehow dark and light all at once.

He’s quiet, at first. You’re just starting to think he isn’t going to tell you, doesn’t want to share anything about himself.

But then you realise he’s just thinking about his answer. Because he wants to give a real one.

“Takodana has beautiful forests…”

“You should go back,” you say, gritting your teeth through the pain in your leg.

Mando looks at you from his place by the cave’s entrance, Grogu cradled in one of his arms as the daylight streams in and reflects off his shiny armour. “I’m not leaving you here,” he says.

“You should. I can’t walk, but I’ve got enough rations to make it work here until the pain is better.”

“I said, I’m not leaving you here.”

You stare at him as he stares right back. Challenging.

It’s not that you want to be left alone out here. Being alone is something you’re used to—in fact, it’s often the way you like it—but being stuck in this cave without your own strength, relying on your rations, isn’t your idea of a good time, nor a particularly good idea.

But equally, feeling like you’re holding two people back from living their life just because you fell down a hill will be a weight on your shoulders. It’s easy to slip into guilt at the idea. Mando and Grogu have helped you enough by healing and patching you up. You’ve had your hike, you’re only a day and a half’s walk from your hut, and the storm has passed. There’s no reason for Mando to stay; at least, not one that won’t make you feel absolutely terrible for making him put his life on hold. Their life on hold, whatever that may entail.

(Bounty hunting, probably.)

“Mando…” you say, but he interrupts you.

“I’ll go back for the tent, now the storm has passed.”

“The tent will be shredded. You know that.”

“Do you have another one?”

“At home? Yes. With me? No.”

“Then if you can’t camp, how are you going to get back to your hut before the sun sets?”

“I’ll be fine, and I’ll do it alone. I can sleep out in the open.”

He turns his whole body to face you, places one hand on his hip, impatient. “That’s not a good idea.”

“In case you forgot, this is my planet. I can handle myself.”

He stays pointedly quiet, tilting his helmet briefly to look down at your still-bandaged, still-swollen leg.

“I can handle myself enough,” you mutter, correcting yourself. “I mean it, Mando. You don’t have to stay here for me. This wasn’t part of our agreement.”

“We didn’t make an agreement.”

You sigh frustratedly and tip your head back against the wall behind you, finding it cold and damp. You don’t want to be left here alone. In fact, the very thought is terrifying.

But he’s got his own life. He’s got a kid. He’s got a bounty to get. You may not know much about him, but you are certain that he’s got more important things to do than sit in this cave and babysit you while you heal enough to walk to your silly little hut.

“I’m not leaving you alone,” he says again, this time firmer. “If you don’t want me around, I can make camp outside. But I won’t leave you here injured.”

“No, that’s not—” there doesn’t seem to be a way to say I want you around that doesn’t sound weird, so you just cut yourself off, and close your eyes. “Alright,” you relent, quiet. “Alright. Thank you. You don’t have to do this for me.”

“I know,” he says. “I’m going to go back to the camp, see what’s left of it. Do you need anything before we go?”

Keeping your eyes closed as a blush creeps its way onto your cheeks, you shake your head. It’s been so long since you accepted help; since anyone offered it. In fact, you can’t remember the last time it happened.

A thought that you have fought so hard to push down comes to the surface. It tastes sour on your tongue, sitting still in the back of your mind like it knows its very presence is enough to unravel you.

I don’t deserve his help.

You swallow the lump of tears that rises in your throat.

“I won’t be long,” Mando’s voice offers a welcome reprieve from the guilt, the shame. But when you open your eyes again, he and the kid are gone.

There are a lot of reasons that you chose this lonely life. Freedom, safety, a fresh start. And, maybe above all else, it was to escape the heavy feeling that you are a burden on everyone you meet.

Because that’s what they told you you are.

And, even now, years since you found your freedom, you still believe it.

It’s easy to forget when there’s no one else around.

The day stretches on. You doze off at one point, having spent half the night awake running from the storm and falling down a hill. The place where the lizard stung your arm is still sore, but only from the wound itself, not from the venom. You’re glad, at least, that on top of everything else, you’re not having to sit here stewing in a fever. Grogu saw to that.

However the fuck he did that.

You’ve heard of the Force, of having abilities that go beyond the realm of imagination. It could be that, you suppose, but you’ve never seen someone heal like that before. Let alone a kid.

The evening is fast approaching, and for a while, you start to think that Mando isn’t coming back. That maybe, halfway between here and your abandoned camp, he looked at the kid’s big eyes and realised he was better off just leaving you here. He could’ve done that with a clear conscience. He knows you’ll most likely survive here without him.

Which makes you wonder why he’s staying at all. Why he insisted on it.

Perhaps it’s his Creed.

Or maybe it’s just who he is.

He does come back as the sun starts to set. You can see the orange glow of the air outside the cave, feel a soft evening breeze brushing in through the foliage that hangs past the overhanging rock above the entrance. The contrast from the weather this morning is stark, and welcome. Outside, you hear his footsteps, hear the kid babbling away. Metal clangs loudly and through a gap in the leaves you see Mando tying his pallet of loot from the wreckage to a nearby tree.

Grogu coos happily when they step inside. You give him a tired smile, then look to Mando, who has a full pack slung over his back.

“The tent covering was mostly shredded. But our sleeping mats, pillows, and blankets were intact,” he announces, dropping the pack on the floor in front of you.

You look at it, then back to him. It’s been horribly uncomfortable to sit on this hard, stone floor all day. Your behind went numb hours ago, and the rock at your back has started to dig uncomfortably into your shoulder blade.

As if reading your thoughts, or your pain, Mando crouches down to open the pack, pulling out a sleeping mat. He lays it beside you, parallel to the stretch of the wall. Taking one of the air pillows, he puts it at one end of the mat. One of the other pillows has deflated. It sits on the floor beside him.

He drapes a blanket over the plump one, covering any lingering wetness.

You watch him. He’s not saying anything, just moving quietly and methodically, building you a bed inside this dimly lit, chilly cave. It’s so fucking endearing, so tender, of him; it brings a warmth to your chest, blooming out unfamiliarly into your arms and belly.

Once he’s done, he takes hold of the deflated pillow, puts his fingers over the air hole. Lifts it up to his covered mouth, hesitates.

“I’ll do it,” you say, reaching out for it. He lets you take it, and your fingertips brush against his gloves as you pull away. A shudder goes down your spine. You try your best to conceal it, and bring the air hole to your mouth before blowing the pillow up again.

“Thank you,” he says, taking it back from you and then propping it up against the cave wall beside the bed.

“You’re thanking me?” You raise an eyebrow. “Thank you. You didn’t have to do this.”

He gestures to the empty bed with his hand and a tip of his helmet.

Feeling just a little self-conscious under his unseen gaze, you shuffle across the floor as best you can without jostling your injured leg too much. A few grunts and gritted teeth later, you’re sitting with your butt on the soft mat, your back leaning into the air pillow against the wall.

The sigh of relief comes from your mouth before you give it permission. Your head tips back, eyes closing. “Maker,” you curse under your breath, “that’s so much better.”

“Good.”

You crack an eye open. “What about you?”

“There’s another mat.”

“Oh. Right.” You look across at the kid, who’s standing in the cave entrance, reaching up to play with the plants that hang down just inches from the floor. He giggles to himself with each leaf he successfully hits and swings. You find yourself smiling, unable to help it. His little hops are just so darn cute.

“I also went on a hunt,” Mando says, and brings out some fresh meat wrapped in the remains of the tent canvas. He’s already skinned and gutted it, ready to put it straight into a pan. “I thought we should save rations where we can.”

You nod, feeling a tightness squeeze at your throat, a stinging in your nose. No one has ever done this much for you before. Not without ulterior motives.

And you’ve tried to find one for him. Tried to dig, to look into the parts of him that he’s shown you. But there is no hidden reason for him to help you.

If he was here to collect your bounty all along, he’d just render you unconscious, and carry you back to his ship himself.

If he wanted to hurt you, to take advantage of you, he could easily have overpowered you by now. In your sleep, after you fell, when the fever was taking hold. Even afterwards, as the sun rose, and you were drifting in and out of consciousness as waves of pain came over you.

But he didn’t.

All he did was sit quietly. Played with the kid. Fed the kid. Fed you.

And then insisted on staying, even when it made no logical, self-serving sense for him to do so.

“Why are you helping me?” You find yourself asking as the tightness in your throat turns into another lump of emotion.

His helmet lifts, hands stilling in their task of retrieving the portastove from his pack.

He doesn’t answer. Just stares.

“You get nothing from this,” you say, unsure why you’re trying again to convince him to leave you here alone, when he’s already done so much for you, made this whole thing comfortable and bearable by just being here—“Why stay?”

For another long moment, he remains quiet. Then, unexpectedly, “This is the Way.”

That’s…not an explanation.

And you have nothing better to do than ask for further information. “What does that mean?”

He looks back down at the stove, moves over to set it up by the open air. He gathers a pan, puts the meat in it, and dusts off his gloves. Even though he’s not answering, you get the feeling that he’s not ignoring you. So you wait. Watching him.

“It’s part of my Creed,” he says eventually. “My religion.”

You raise an eyebrow, dubious. “To help people?”

“In a sense.”

You’ve never met someone part of any kind of religion that helps people. You’re not sure if it’s comforting or not, the fact he only does it because of his Creed. Or, so he says.

“That the only reason?” You find yourself asking, probably just a little too confident to be asking more questions when he’s already given you an answer. Which is more than you would probably give him.

He looks at you again. It’s incredible, how he manages to hold a shared gaze without you seeing his eyes. “It’s the right thing to do,” he says. It surprises you, that he’s given you another answer.

Warmth blooms in your chest again. You smile, soft. “Well,” you say, “thank you. I appreciate it.”

He cooks up the meat. Grogu hovers beside him. At one point he reaches out for the pan, going for a chunk of food, but Mando carefully slaps his hand away, points a finger at him, and says, “No. It’s hot. You’ll burn yourself.” To which Grogu listens, instead settling at Mando’s hip, seeming fascinated by the cracks and sizzles coming from the pan.

Once Mando has served both you and the kid your meals, Grogu waddles over with his little bowl, settles himself down on the mat beside you. You give him a smile and an affectionate wrinkle of your nose.

“It’s hot,” you warn him.

Grogu looks down at his food, then back at you, and the vaguest hint of a nod comes from his head. Then, in what is probably the cutest thing you’ve ever seen, he leans forward, making the tiniest ‘O’ shape with his little mouth, and blows on the food.

Mando, who is sitting against the wall opposite you, makes a noise that sounds like a fond laugh. It’s so surprising to hear that you snap your eyes up to look at him. You don’t know why you were expecting to see his face. It’s easy, when not looking at him, to forget that all you can see when you do is a helmet, all you can hear is his voice through it.

He’s got one leg bent up, his arm resting on it, hanging down over his middle. You’re not sure if he’s watching you or Grogu. Maybe it’s both.

You don’t know which you want the answer to be.

“So what about you?” He asks. His voice startles you as you put a hunk of meat up to your mouth, and it falls in before you have chance to blow on it. It’s fucking hot, but not quite hot enough to burn.

You hide your misstep by just chewing it like nothing happened. Something in the quirk of his helmet, though, shows you that he noticed. And he’s amused.

Clearing your throat, you ask, “What about me?”

“Why did you help me?” He asks. “Getting nothing in return?”

A soft frown creases at your forehead. Looking away, you stab at your food. “Same as you.”

“A Creed?”

You snort humourlessly. “I live here on a planet alone, and you think I’m part of a creed with other people?”

He hesitates. “You haven’t always been alone, though,” he questions, and his voice is soft, unnervingly so, like he’s unsure whether he should ask, “have you?”

You freeze. Stare down at your mess tin, at the oil and the red meat. Your thoughts start racing again, taking you back to the time when you weren’t alone, when you were never allowed to be alone. When there was no peace.

“I’m sorry,” Mando’s voice comes up again, softer still. “I overstepped.”

You go to shake your head, to tell him it’s alright, that he didn’t. But there are tears at the backs of your eyes. Memories flooding in.

No, I haven’t always been alone.

But now I am. And I have to stay that way.

Just about mustering enough strength to shake your head, you shove another mouthful in to your mouth and chew it silently.

Mando just watches. You, or maybe the kid.

You still don’t know which you’d prefer. And that is terrifying.

You never wanted to be seen again.

Now, you’re not so sure.

notes: i'd like to go camping in a cave with din and grogu pls and thank.

hope you enjoyed as always; all interactions are appreciated, but comments and reblogs especially fuel my need for validation ❤️

if you want to be on the taglist, just let me know!

take care of yourself ❤️

taglist:

@toobsessedsstuff @granillx @keepingitlokiii @shoe1412

#din djarin x reader #din djarin x you #din djarin fanfiction #the mandalorian x you #the mandalorian x reader #the mandalorian fanfiction #the mandalorian #star wars fanfiction #din djarin imagine #the mandalorian imagine #the mandalorian story #din djarin story #my post #my fic: mando #my fic #i only see daylight

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thegreatstoryteller · 1 year

Text

Seasonal Brews: Lights

Nick was more than happy to be open again for the season. Sometimes it could be quite the hurdle gaining the traction to whip enough magic for the season. But here he was once again. In another small town, bringing warm drinks and good company to a few lucky patrons happy to walk his way.

As everyone knows, it’s that time of year where magic is in the cold winter air, and the power of a good drink can really turn the life around for some lucky individuals.

The door opened beginning to jingle the bells marking the entrance of a new guest!

“Welcome to Seasonal Brews! How can I help y- woah! You uh…. Ok there?” Nick gasped at the young man covered in pine needles.

“Oh hi… yeah I’m fine… it’s nice and warm in here thanks. Just gonna browse your menu real quick! Wouldn’t want to inconvenience you.” The bespectacled young man said. His slim frame and pale skin lead Nick to believe he was sick for a moment, but his eager stride around the store would suggest otherwise. His dirty brown hair also had needles beginning to poke out of it haphazardly.

“Of course take all the time you need. Um… what was it exactly you were doing before to get…. All of this?” Nick gestures wildly around him as the young man blushes.

“Ah. Is it that noticeable? Sorry.” He says shaking his head knocking more and more needles to the ground. “My brother and I typically help people in the community with their Christmas trees this year! It’s kinda a nice tradition our family liked to do. My dad used to own a pine tree acre that grows these every year. We had to sell it awhile ago, but my brother and I still volunteer there! In fact… that’s kinda why I’m here! I was hoping to get a few drinks for me, my brother and some of the people we’re helping with their trees! I know it’s a lot to ask… sorry.”

Nick was surprised. He didn’t know what to make of this novel request, but he had the feeling he could help.

“Of course! I’d be happy to make you some. How many drinks are we talking here? And is there anything you’re in the mood for?” Nick offered, already in the process of making some of the drinks.

“Let’s see, well we only have 3 more deliveries to make. So I guess 1 for each of them and my brother. Something strong for each of them to get them through the day. They’ll need the energy.” The young man offered.

Nick smiled. “And don’t forget one for you! I’m picturing.... something sweet! What name should I put on your cup by the way?”

“Right! Sorry. It’s Noel. Nice to meet you.... Nick.” Noel said reading the drink maker’s name tag.

“It’s nice to meet such a kind heart today Noel. And there you go. Drinks are hot and ready, I’m sure everyone will love them. I brought an assortment so I hope you enjoy. The names of the drinks are on the cups, so distribute as needed.”

“Already? That was... well fast! Thank you Nick! How much do I owe you?” Noel offered.

“Consider this a gift for all the good you’re doing around town. Maybe next year I’ll need a tree or your help.” Nick joked.

“That’s awfully kind of you sir. Merry Christmas!” Noel pulled out some money and left it in the tip jar, much to Nick’s surprise.

“The pleasure is all mine. Stay warm out there” Nick said as Noel exited the establishment.

Outside Noel’s older brother was there waiting. “Thanks for getting the drinks Noel! I’ll drink just about anything after the day we’ve had.”

“No problem Hector. Here you go! This is a... dark chocolate mocha, with a peppermint twist. Hope you like it, the guy said he got some strong drinks for us.” Noel explained handing over the warm cup of coffee.

Hector gave his little brother a hug an wiped his longish brown hair from his brow before taking a deep sip. The young man wasn’t all that bigger than Noel, but he was more leanly muscled, a skill essential for hauling trees much larger than his size with the right skill. However as he took a sip those lean muscles expanded, lengthening and hardening as a cool breeze blew through the street. Noel closed his eyes not noticing the fresh powder now around the city making it looks clean and picturesque, as his brother’s red shirt and cap turned into a more Santa themed attire.

Hector’s beard began to grow in as abs popped under his jacket that now opened up revealing a powerfully built chest. And a deep voiced laugh emitted from the slightly older man. “It’s beginning to look a little more like Christmas now.” Hector said in a smooth baritone admiring the freshly fallen snow. “We better get to our first stop before it starts coming down faster. Let’s go.” Hector patted the side of his truck not seeing the changes spread down faster over it as its fading red color reinvigorated, but turned to wood. The entire body of the vehicle looking more sled and sleigh shaped until there was nothing more than a modern snow faring sleigh before them!

Noel rubbed his eyes as his brother’s appearance made him do a double take. Did he always look so big? And show off his abs this much? Didn’t they ride here in an old truck not some sleigh pulled by reindeers? Who’s to say, but Hector was right. The last thing they wanted was to get stuck in the snow. So the two hopped in and the reindeer pulled their sleigh to the first stop.

“Alright first on our list is Mr. Baston Chan. I’ll go grab the tree from the back, you can ring his doorbell and offer him his drink Noel.” Hector explained hopping out back and grabbing the large tree with ease. Noel happily agreed and jumped out into the thickening snow and walked down the long path to a modest single story house. With a ring and a knock he called, “Mr. Chan? It’s Noel and Hector with you’re tree! Care for a warm drink?”

An older Asian looking man opened the door slowly with a jolly smile. “Thank you boys for coming each year to help me out. You’re so kind.”

“We’re happy to do it Mr. Chan. Plus here’s a drink. The snow is really coming in these days this one is... a Red Bean Cappuccino?” Noel said reading the label.

“That is one creative mix. I am a fan of red bean after all, how’d you know. Thank you!” Baston Chan said ruffling Noel’s hair as they shared a smile. Noel went to help Hector with the tree, not that he needed it, but he still wanted to help. So the young man didn’t see Mr. Chan beginning to change right behind him. His skin tightened into a more youthful flow as his old tattered robe fell limply to the ground revealing a healthy athletic frame! Years of labor and effort now recalling itself to an aging body now once again filled with the vitality it once knew!

“You boys really brighten my day. It wouldn’t be Christmas without seeing your good deeds all around the neighborhood! If you ever want to come by my gym again we can do some post holiday lifting!” Baston flexed confidently out his door as Hector stood the tree right next to his porch.

Noel laughed nervously knowing Baston Chan’s vigorous workout routine, while Hector followed along. “We’ll try Mr. Chan, but Noel and I here will have to take a break every now and then to keep up with you. Merry Christmas!” The two waved off as Hector sighed. “Wow that man is in such good shape for his age. Who is next?”

“Ms. Mary and Ms. Christine!” Noel chimed in. He loved the two older women who would make him and his brother cookies as kids. So when they arrived to their larger house, which acted also as an art studio he was eager to see them with hearty knock.

A shorter grandmother type greeted him at the door. “If it isn’t little Noel! You’re so big now it’s wonderful to see you. And your brother, strong as ever lifting those trees! In the living room Hector! There’s also some cookies waiting for you boys inside!” Ms. Mary a curly haired older black woman said, directing the two brothers inside. There on a reclining chair was Ms. Christine, a larger blond woman equal to Mary in age.

“Thanks Ms. Mary! We also brought you some drinks! this one is... a hot Alpine Apple Cider and this one is a large hot chocolate with silver sprinkles.” Ms. Marry took the cider while handing Christine the hot chocolate.

“You boys are stars tonight! Have as many cookies as you like! I made them myself!” Christine said proudly.

The two boys began to munch on the delicious gingerbread cookies while the two women cheers and drank their drinks. Ms. Mary was the first to drink her drink. Her skin grew lighter in color, letting the cider fill her form. She grew taller and leaner, as her long curly hair receded into a shorter style while recoloring to blond! All the while Ms. Christine began to plump up even further gaining a larger bulbous belly that darkened with each sip. A salt and pepper beard grew over her face as the two of them took on more manly features! Soon Chris’ red jumper, popped open! revealing some darker moobs and a healthy gut, prompting a laugh from Mark who had discarded his shirt to sidle up next to his husband by the fire. Soon there was now a spry professional sledder and a larger black man cuddling lovingly together.

“Thanks for helping set up the trees boys,” Mark said. “And for finishing off those cookies. Santa here is getting a little too greedy before Christmas.” The handsome blond man said rubbing Chris’ large black gut.

“None sense. It’s Christmas! We get to relax a bit. But you boys can come by anytime for more if you like. Once our kids are back visiting their friends I’m sure Mark can take you all sledding like old times.” Chris offered warmly.

“That would be great Mr. Chris. And thank you Mr. Mark! Your hospitality and cookies are always top notch!” Noel said with a mouthful of treats.

“Now come on Noel, let’s leave these two be for now. We’ve got one more delivery!” Hector said pulling his brother who was waving vigorously goodbye.

“Gosh I love visiting them! We gotta visit more often. Anyway we have only one left and it’s... oh wow it’s Ansel! Can I uh... you know... do this one myself?” Noel asked blushing.

“Of course lil bro. He’s all yours.” Hector smirked as they stopped outside a nice two story family like house with lots of noise inside. Noel did his best to drag the tree to the door and knocked. Opening it was a handsome young man back from college this year. “Noel! You made it! With the tree too! Come inside! We were just setting up lights in here.” Ansel explained. The handsome young man’s athletic proportions causing young Noel to blush.

“T-thanks! I’d love to... oh and i Uh... got you this drink! We’ve been delivering them to people with the trees all night.” Noel offered.

“Noel! That’s really sweet. But! Did you reemember to get yourself something too? I see only one drink left. And I think it should go to the guy who’s been busting his butt trying to bring people holiday cheer. So why don’t you have it? Ok?” Ansel offered.

Noel didn’t know what to say but simply nodded and drank it without even reading the label. He was filled with warmth. A warmth he attributed being so close to his crush, but also one that was causing his paler skin to tan and his hair to shorten and darken. His jacket was getting tight so he removed it to reveal a straining polo that his larger biceps were threatening to tear! All the while Noel felt his vantage point lift up and up as he walked with Ansel through his house! Right until he saw a room covered in Christmas lights.

“Looks nice doesn’t it?” Ansel said looking up at Noel through the lights.

“It... it does! I like it a lot. And.. well... you... i mean I... ahha what was I saying?” Noel boomed with his new low voice sounding like a jock mumbling commands across a field.

“Well... I think you were saying you liked the decorations. Especially the mistle toe I put over here. You know holiday traditions and all? I think I want to stay true to this one at least.” Ansel said leaning up to kiss Noel as the two embraced.

Outside Hector finished setting up the tree and smiled proudly at his brother. He knocked on the window and gave Noel a thumbs up prompting the two to stop the kissing and back away blushing.

“Sorry about Hector... he’s just kidding around a lot... but i liked that a lot... and I like you... so... maybe after the holidays... you and I could grab a coffee or something?” Noel asked blushing.

“I’d love that. Have any place in mind?”

Noel looked down at the cup in his hand and smiled.

#TF Brews #Seasonal Brews #muscle growth sequence #age regression #race change #racial change #gender change #female to male #height growth

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sfb123 · 1 year

Text

Hands Down

Chapter 3: "True"

Catch up here!

Pairing: Liam x Riley

All characters belong to Pixelberry

Summary: Can Liam and Riley still find their way to each other despite Riley turning down Maxwell's invitation to Cordonia?

Rating: G

Word Count: 3,714

Song Inspiration: True - Ryan Cabrera

A/N: Thank you @charlotteg234 for helping me with the opening part of this.

Other than that, it hasn't been pre-read, so please excuse any errors. I'm really terrible at grammar. 😬

Tags are below the cut/in the comments. If you'd like to be added or removed, please let me know!

In the days following his coronation, Liam worked tirelessly to assure the people of his country that, despite his unconventional decision, Cordonia would be stronger and more prosperous than ever under his leadership. The council had rebranded what was supposed to have been his engagement tour into an introduction tour, which would not only serve as a chance to begin solidifying alliances and good-will with other world leaders and political taste-makers, but a chance for him to show everyone just what King Liam’s Cordonia could be.

However, even with the nonstop calls, meetings and interviews, his mind couldn’t help but drift to Drake’s words.

I’m pretty sure it was obvious to everyone but you that she was into you.

You mean to tell me that you’re not even going to try?

He hadn’t planned on trying. He assumed that by turning down Maxwell’s invitation she wasn’t interested. But once again, he thought about what Drake said and considered Riley’s point of view. If he had been put in her place, he would have made the same choice. Maybe there was still hope.

Liam decided that before he began his tour, he needed to fly to New York and find her. He had spent months thinking about her, even if she wasn’t the one, perhaps it would give him some closure and allow him to move on. When his final meeting of the week was finished, he boarded the royal jet and made his way to the states.

When they landed, Liam requested that they go straight to the bar. He couldn’t wait any longer. As his SUV traveled the streets, his mind and heart were racing, thinking of all of the things he wanted to say, and reminding himself not to come on too strong, or get his hopes up too high.

The car slowed to a stop in front of the bar, and Liam’s head guard, Bastien, walked around the vehicle to open Liam’s door. The young king paused for a moment, taking a deep breath to prepare himself. He was ready for a life full of deals and negotiations, he had been trained for it since childhood; but having to be open, and speak his heart was something completely foreign to him.

“Sir?” Bastien’s voice pulled him from his thoughts.

Liam nodded in acknowledgement and stepped out of the vehicle, moving toward the door. As soon as he stepped over the threshold, he was hit with the nostalgia of the last time he was there.

“Just a second.”

His breath caught in his throat at the voice calling from the kitchen.

She’s here.

His heart began racing as he neared the stools surrounding the bar. Just as he approached, Riley emerged from the kitchen, eyes trained on her notepad as she jotted something down.

She looked even more beautiful than he remembered. She kept her focus on the task in front of her as she walked past him and straight to a table, slipping the customer the receipt she had been writing on.

As soon as she turned around, Riley locked eyes with Liam and she froze in her spot. She wasn’t expecting to ever see him again.

“Hello, Riley.”

She stood in silence for another moment, trying to process the fact that Liam, the man she couldn’t seem to get out of her mind, was standing in front of him. “Hi Liam.” She managed to choke out.

Shaking off her surprise, she jumped right back into waitress mode. “Can I get you a table? Are your friends here with you again?” She paused for a moment, suddenly remembering what he had been doing in their time apart. “If you’re here with your fiancée, I can give you a quiet table in the back.”

“No, it’s just me this time.” He smiled at her. She didn’t know, she hadn’t been following the social season. He wasn’t sure whether or not that was a good sign. “I was actually hoping to speak with you, if you have a moment?”

“Oh, um…” She took a look around the bar. It wasn’t very busy, but there were customers that were going to need her attention. “Yeah, let me just check on a couple of tables. You can sit if you want.” She motioned to the bar. He nodded and took a seat on a stool.

After visiting each of her tables, and refilling a couple of glasses for the patrons at the bar, she stepped up to the spot where Liam was sitting. “Sorry,” she apologized. “Can I get you a drink?”

“No, I’m fine. Thank you.” He took a deep breath and searched her eyes, hoping for some kind of sign that she had missed him, or even thought about him once since he had left, but she had a wall up, he wasn’t even sure if she was happy to see him.

“So, how was your social season?” Riley asked, unsure what else to say.

“It was… eventful.” He mused. “My father officially stepped down from the throne.”

“Oh, wow. So you’re an actual king now?” Liam nodded. “Congratulations.” She noticed that Liam seemed uneasy about his sudden title change.

“I suppose. It was unexpected, and there was a lot behind it that made it a bit… bittersweet. But I knew I would end up here eventually.” He rubbed the back of his neck nervously.

“So how does your fiancée feel about the sudden fast track to queen?” She asked tentatively. She really didn’t want to hear about the woman he chose. She was probably smart, well spoken and gorgeous. Everything Riley felt she could never be.

Liam let out a breath, grateful that she brought it up first. “I don’t have a fiancée. I didn’t pick anyone.”

“But I thought you…”

“I was supposed to,” he took one of her hands in his, feeling emboldened by the moment and deciding to just dive in. “Riley, my whole life I’ve known I needed to put my duty to Cordonia above everything else. That included any ideas about romance, or marrying for love. As I went through my social season, I would try to weigh out my options, but my mind kept going back to our night together. I couldn’t pick any of those women because none of them were you.”

Riley stood in stunned silence, overwhelmed by Liams words, and the familiar, calming feeling of her hand in his. She felt him squeeze gently and she cleared her throat to compose herself. “I don’t understand.”

“I want to be with you, Riley.” It was a bolder statement than he intended to make, but he didn’t regret saying it.

She felt as though her heart was going to leap out of her chest, she still didn’t understand. How could this man, this king, this handsome, kind king have spent the last few months with women throwing themselves at him, and he’s standing here telling him he wants her. It didn’t add up.

“Riley?” His voice brought her out of her thoughts. She studied his expression, and noticed a vulnerability in his eyes.

“But… how would that even work?” She pulled her hand out of his and stepped back. “You’re on the other side of the world, the time difference must be insane.”

“It’s six hours,” He responded. “And I’m here now.”

“But not for long. You’re going to have to go home and rule a whole ass country. You honestly think you’re going to have time for me?”

Liam smirked, she was getting flustered, he took that as a sign that his feelings were returned. “The logistics can be figured out. And I will make time for you, no matter where I am, or what time zone I am in. You’re worth it.”

Riley’s brow furrowed in confusion. “How do you know?”

“Because I can feel it.” He replied, his eyes intently locked on hers. “Riley, there’s something between us. I felt it that night, it’s practically all I’ve thought about since we said goodbye, and I felt it again the second I walked through the door and heard your voice.”

“But…”

“Please,” he pleaded. “Just let me take you on one date. If after that, you can tell me that you truly don’t feel the connection, I will walk away and never bother you again.”

Riley didn’t need a date to know there was a connection, she was feeling everything he was. But she still had so many questions and doubts about the whole thing. The smart thing to do would be to say no, realistically, this would never work. All of the concerns that ran through her mind when Maxwell invited her to Cordonia came flooding back.

But did she want to do the smart thing? That’s what she thought she had done last time, and she’d been regretting it ever since. Riley had always played it safe and done the smart thing. She never took risks, and she was right where she had always planned to be. For the most part.

The hopeless romantic inside of her, the side she had silenced once before, was screaming at her to say yes. Love wasn’t logical, it wasn’t smart, it was a risk. Some of her favorite love stories included a visit to the seawich, trusting a fairy godmother, or taking a chance on seven strangers in the woods.

“Okay.” She answered softly, still unsure about where this would lead.

“Okay?” He repeated her hopefully. She nodded in response. “Wonderful!”

Riley smiled coyly at Liam’s excitement. “I’m actually free tomorrow night if that works for you?”

“Absolutely. I’ll pick you up at your apartment at seven?”

“Sure.”

Liam breathed a sigh of relief and stood from his barstool. “Perfect. You’re at the same address I walked you home to?”

“You remember?”

“Of course I do, I remember everything about that night.” He noticed a blush come over Riley at his response. “Maybe I could get your number though, just in case?”

Riley smiled, her eyes flitting to the floor. “Sure.” He handed her his phone, and she put her number into the contacts.

When she handed the phone back to him, his fingers lingered on hers for a moment before he pulled away, placing it in his pocket. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Riley watched Liam exit the bar, her eyes watching on the door until one of her customers called for her attention. She took a few orders and began mixing drinks, her mind drifting back to Liam and their conversation. She was nervous, terrified really, about going out with him. She couldn’t help but get ahead of herself, trying to figure out how a relationship with that much distance would work. Or why he would even want it to.

She was so lost in her thoughts that she didn’t notice Daniel enter the bar and come up behind her. “Holy shit,” Riley startled at his voice, nearly spilling the martini she had in her hand. “Sorry,” he smiled apologetically at his friend. “But it was important. You should have seen the smoke show I just passed on my way in here.”

Riley smirked to herself as she placed the drink in front of her customer and moved back across the room. She had a feeling she knew exactly who he was talking about. “Blonde hair, blue eyes, a little over six feet?”

“Yes, he was in here?!”

“That’s uh…” She picked up a rag and began wiping down the bar, avoiding eye contact with Daniel. “That’s Liam, the guy from the bachelor party.”

His jaw dropped. “Prince Charming?” She nodded with a small chuckle. “What was he doing here?”

Riley recapped the conversation for a stunned Daniel. She had given him a full rundown of their time together when she had returned to the apartment that night, but hadn't mentioned anything about him since. However, Daniel knew better than to think it was just a fleeting moment to her. He’d never seen her light up about anything, or anyone the way she did when she was recalling every last detail of Liam and their evening together.

“But you said yes, right?” Daniel asked hopefully.

“I mean yeah, how could I say no to all of that?” Riley shrugged. “But I don’t know.”

Daniel rolled his eyes. “Come on Ri, I get it, you’ve got this whole don’t see how great you are thing, and that’s your vibe. But seriously,” he placed his hands on her shoulders and looked her in the eye. “This man has already done more for you after knowing you for a couple of hours than your last boyfriend did all that time you were together. Take the hint. He wants you.”

“How does a relationship like that even work?” She continued to protest.

“First of all, it’s a date, not a relationship.” Daniel corrected her. “Second of all, if it gets to that, you figure it out. And then you invite me to your lavish royal wedding, because technically this is all thanks to me.” He winked.

“Alright, alright, I’ll go.” Riley chuckled. “What are you even doing here? It’s your night off.”

“I wanted to be your last customer.” He smiled, taking a seat at the bar. “I’ll have my usual, barkeep.”

***

The next day, Riley spent most of the morning rifling through her closet, trying to assemble the perfect outfit for her date with Liam.

“Daniel, help!”

Daniel rushed into Riley’s room to find clothes scattered over every inch of the space. “Holy shit Ri, what happened here?”

Riley looked up at Daniel from her seat on the floor, gripping onto two shirts. “What do grown ups wear on dates?”

“Oh Riley,” he dropped down on his knees by his friend’s side, wrapping his arm around her. “Just relax.”

“I can’t relax. I haven’t gone on an actual date in almost four years. I was just a kid. And this isn’t just a grown up date, it’s a grown up date with a king. Fuck,” her eyes went wide and she turned to face Daniel. “Am I supposed to wear a ballgown?”

He didn’t want to make her feel worse, but Daniel couldn’t help but chuckle at her panic. “I don’t think he’s expecting that.” He pried the shirts out of her grip. “Listen, he asked you out because he likes you, you don’t have to get all fancy. That’s what he turned down to come here to find you. Just be yourself, cute and comfortable.”

“But what if he’s taking me somewhere fancy? Guys like him don’t go to hole in the wall pizza places, or burger joints.”

“Or dive bars?” Daniel retorted with an arched brow. “You’re overthinking this. Here,” he reached behind her, picking up a green high low dress. “This is perfect. Wear it with that leather jacket you have. Classy and cool, you’ll be ready for anything.”

“Daniel, it’s perfect!” She wrapped her arms around him and brought him into a hug. “Thank you.”

“Of course, but listen,” he pulled back, looking at her with concern in his eyes. “You need to relax, you’ve got this. He asked you out, he flew halfway across the world for this date, safe to say he wants it.”

“That’s the problem,” she huffed, standing up and laying her dress on the bed. “He was supposed to pick a fiancée in his own county. He didn’t and then he came here, because of me. Do you have any idea how much pressure that is? He barely knows me.”

Daniel followed her, wrapping his arm around her shoulder. “That’s what first dates are for.”

Over the next few hours, as Riley got ready for her date, Daniel made sure to be there to guide her back when she fell too deep down the rabbit hole of worry and self-doubt about how the evening would go.

She was putting the finishing touches on her look when her phone chimed. It was a number she didn’t have saved, but the second she saw the message she knew who it was. The butterflies in her stomach kicked into high gear, Liam had arrived. He didn’t have her apartment number, so he couldn’t ring them to be buzzed up. She gave him the number and called down the hall for Daniel to buzz him in.

Riley slid on her shoes and made her way down the hall, where Daniel was waiting in the living room. She gave him a nervous smile. “Do I look alright?”

“Like a princess.” Daniel grinned. She rolled her eyes, making Daniel laugh. “You’ve got this Ri, trust me.”

As the elevator made its ascent to the fourth floor, Liam’s fingers tapped nervously against his thigh. He had spent all day preparing for this, it needed to go perfectly. The doors opened, and he stepped into the hallway stopping in front of the door marked ‘11D’. He took a deep breath before lifting his fist and wrapping gently. The door opened, and Liam’s breath caught in his throat when he laid his eyes on her.

“Riley you look,” he paused, taking another moment to admire her from head to toe. “Stunning.”

“Thank you,” he caught the blush in her cheeks just before her gaze dropped.

They stood in silence, not believing that they were actually here. They had both imagined this moment, but neither thought it would ever be more than that.

“I brought you these.” Liam broke the silence, holding up a bouquet of roses. “I wasn’t sure what your favorite flower was, I hope roses are okay?”

Riley smiled, taking the bouquet from Liam and lifting them to her nose. “They’re perfect.” Liam let out a sigh of relief. “Let me just go put them in some water, I’ll be right back.”

While Riley was in the other room, Liam took the opportunity to look around the apartment to try to learn a bit more about her. The decor wasn’t exactly what he had pictured for her, and she didn’t appear to be in many of the photos. He found it curious.

“Ready?” Riley pulled him from his thoughts.

Liam smiled and offered his arm to her. “Absolutely.”

He led her out of the apartment and to the elevator. As the cab made its descent, the pair stood in silence, Liam noticed that Riley seemed nervous. He could understand that, he was nervous too, but there was also an uneasiness about her that concerned him.

“Is everything alright?” Liam asked tentatively, hoping the evening was not about to end before even getting started.

“Yeah,” she smiled up at him softly. He felt his heart flutter at the sight. “I’m just a little nervous is all.”

Liam grinned as the doors opened. “Understandable,” he raised his arm, signaling for her to exit the elevator. Once she stepped over the threshold, he followed behind her. “I’m pretty nervous too.”

“You are?”

“Definitely,” he assured her as they moved outside. He walked her to the SUV that was waiting in front of her building, opening the door for her. He slid in behind her and closed the door before continuing. “If we’re being candid, this is actually my first real date.”

Riley contorted her face into a look of disbelief. “Yeah, okay,” she replied, her tone dripping with sarcasm.

“I’m serious!” He chuckled. “Growing up as part of the royal family, things were different. I was introduced to women, but our time would be spent at courtly functions. It was nothing like dating as you know it.”

Riley nodded in understanding, a brief silence coming over them. “As a matter of fact,” he continued. “I wanted everything to be perfect tonight, so I did some research on first dates.”

“You did?” She smiled. ‘That’s actually really cute.”

“I’m very glad you think so.”

“Well, since we’re having truth time,” Riley took a deep breath, and looked down at her hands, which sat in her lap. “I guess I’m just a little worried that after all this time, and after everything you did to come here and ask me out, I’m not going to be worth it.”

Liam’s heart sank at her confession. The last thing he wanted was to put any pressure on her, and he especially hated that she was worried she wasn’t enough. He realized in that moment that he may have come off a bit stronger than he anticipated when he had seen her the night before.

“Riley,” he said, gently placing his hand on her shoulder to comfort her. “I’m so sorry for putting that pressure on you. I assure you, while my feelings for you did have a part in the decision I made at my coronation, it wasn’t the only reason.”

He went on to explain his conversation with Leo, and how it had inspired him to forge his own path. He also told her about the conversation he had with Drake later in the night; leaving out the part about how obvious it was to everyone how she felt about him. She was already feeling insecure, he thought that would only make things worse. Instead, he told her that Drake suggested the best way to find his happiness was to go back to the last place where he felt truly happy.

“And you picked the night we met?” Riley asked.

“I did,” he smiled softly at her. “Riley, I can’t predict the future. I don’t know where this is going to go, if it goes anywhere at all. But what I do know is that when I was with you that night, I felt comfortable, free. It was something I hadn’t felt for a long time, and it meant a lot to me.”

Riley felt her cheeks get warm as she dropped her gaze to her lap. “It was a pretty great night, wasn’t it?”

“Absolutely, and that’s the only expectation I have for tonight. To have a pretty great night, with a pretty great girl.” He placed his index finger under her chin, tilting it so their eyes were locked.

Riley looked into his eyes and was met with a sincerity that gave her butterflies. At that moment, all of her questions and worries were gone; replaced by anticipation and excitement of what the evening, and the future, held.

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blackleatherjacketz · 1 year

Text

Forbidden Fruit: Chapter 3

Jack Russell x Female Reader

Summary: Jack saves you from a vicious vampire attack and you discover you might be more entangled than you thought.

This Chapter: Your friend comes to check on you and immediately recognizes Jack, helping you fill in some of the missing parts of your memory.

Warnings: Mentions of Sex, Kissing, Hand Holding, Face Holding, Jealousy, Memory Loss, Cats, Coffee, Domestic Jack, Fluff

Word Count: 2.2k+

Tags: @letsby @skittle479 @bullet-prooflove @acutecupidity

Read the rest of the story HERE

“Uhura doesn’t really like anyone,” you tell Jack as you watch your cat mark him affectionately, brushing her fur against him as she weaves her way in between his ankles. You’ve always had to warn people of her skittish nature before having anyone over, telling them not to take it personally if she ran away from them or hid in another room, but that doesn’t seem to be the case with Jack. “I’m surprised she’s warmed up to you so quickly.”

“Maybe she’s just a good judge of character.” He bends down and scratches behind her ears, grinning and cooing as she slowly closes her eyes and purrs in response.

“Maybe.” You stare at the image of him petting your cat, this gorgeous man standing in the middle of your kitchen as if it’s some sort of still photograph perfectly framed and hanging on your wall, but something’s missing. Something’s not right here, there’s a sort of… missing puzzle piece leaving the picture incomplete as it nags at the back of your mind. Unable to come up with a solution, you decide to shrug it off for now and make a pot of coffee to help kickstart your neurons and put the pieces back together.

Pulling the can of coffee grounds down from your cabinet, you pour the last remaining scoops into a fresh filter, the comforting smell of a thousand mornings before this filling your nostrils and wrapping itself around you in a feigned sense of safety. “I’m starting to remember Alan… Alistair, I mean.”

“Yeah?” You hear him groan in exhaustion as he stands up from his hunched position. “Anything useful? Do you remember how you got there?”

You ponder over your dream as Jack walks over to you, instinctively opening up the cabinet door and pulling out two of your favorite mugs. He sets them down next to the coffee pot in front of you as you wonder how much of the dream is worth telling him; if it’s worth divulging all the explicit and gory details, or even how the dream made you feel.

That was between you and God.

“I think we were involved for a few weeks.” You shut the lid to the coffee maker and press start, slowly turning around to face him.

“Oh.” A deep melancholy weighs down his features as he looks at you, the solitary word hanging heavily in the air between you until he finds the capacity to speak again. “By involved, you mean,” he swallows hard, spinning your Bob Ross mug around until it faces him. “Romantically?”

“Yeah.” You can’t help but feel guilty somehow after you answer him, his solemn reaction more visceral than you had expected. Didn’t he want you to remember what happened? Wasn’t he trying to help you figure out what’s been going on?

“Okay,” he whispers softly, keeping his eyes fixated on the mug. “That’s okay.” He runs his hand through his hair again, his lips curling into a frown as he nods in a forced display of understanding. “That’s okay.”

KNOCK KNOCK

“Are you expecting someone?” He blinks a few dozen times as you both look toward the door, welcoming the change of subject as the piping hot liquid sputters the last of the coffee into the dingey glass pot. “Remember not to invite anyone in.”

“I won’t,” you reassure him with a hand on his shoulder, squeezing it before walking into the hallway. “I’m just going to see who it is.”

You open the door to find your friend Andrea, the look of judgment on her face signaling that you’ve done something to make her extremely upset. That look was usually reserved for management behind their backs or patients who tried to swing at her for no reason, but today she’s giving it to you.

“Are you kidding me?” She practically yells, exasperated as the door swings open on its hinges. “I’ve been trying to call you for hours now, and you’ve been here this whole time?”

Oh no. You forgot to call into work tonight. Shit.

“I’m so sorry, I lost my phone somehow last night, and I couldn’t…” you stutter.

“We’re already short staffed, and you pull this? Now?” Her eyes dart from your face down to your neck, clocking the dried bandage you’d all but forgotten. “And what the hell is that? Are you okay? Why aren’t you answering my calls?”

You touch the gauze and tape that cling to your skin as you scramble to get a word in edgewise, wondering what you could possibly say to her that would make any sense. “Oh, umm… Uhura scratched me when I picked her up the wrong way,” you lie, hoping to God that your actions, or lack thereof, hadn’t cost you your job.

“Uh-huh.” She looks behind you and spots Jack, lowering her voice to a whisper as she steps in closer to you. “And why is he here? I thought you weren’t going to see him anymore.”

“Anymore?” You question, glancing back at him as he sips his coffee at the table. “I just met him last night.”

“Sure you did, and I’m George Washington.” She rolls her eyes and leans against the doorway, the severity of her tone lightening up a bit. “Look, I get it. If you want to play hookie just so you can get some ass, that’s fine by me, but at least call off ahead of time so the rest of us don’t have to suffer.” She raises her eyebrows a few times and looks back over at him, grinning from ear to ear.

“I’m sorry, are you saying that Jack and I were seeing each other?” All of the sudden that missing puzzle piece from before is starting to make a lot more sense, even if it raises more questions.

“You’re kidding, right? He’s the only patient you ever dated,” she explains, her expression telling you that this is more than old news. “But you texted me a few weeks ago saying that it was over, not to ask about him anymore. I thought that was a little weird, that maybe you’d want to talk about it in person, but you never brought him up again. So I figured you’d moved on, but… you’re a big girl and you can make your own decisions.”

“He was a patient?”

“Are you sure you didn’t hit your head?” She feels your forehead and peels your eyelids open, blinding you with her cellphone’s flashlight. “Or have a stroke?” She moves the light from side to side as she stares intently at your face. “Who’s the president?”

“Stop it,” you close your eyes instinctively and push her away, laughing as she turns her flashlight off and puts it back into her pocket. “I’m fine, I swear. I just need to rest."

“Too much to drink last night, huh?” She ventures a guess, her shoulders dropping in a relaxed posture. “I told you to stay away from those Long Island iced teas, you know how they sneak up on you.”

“Yeah, I guess you’re right.” You decide that a wild bender is a much more believable story than being bitten by a vampire and getting rescued by a man you don’t even remember dating. If Alistair had erased your memory of him temporarily, who's to say that he couldn’t have erased more than that? “Guess I’ll never learn, huh?” You chide, feeding into her story.

“Yeah, I guess not.” She sighs as the two of you stare at each other in an awkward silence for what feels like an eternity before she eventually gives up with a shrug of her shoulders. “Well, I can tell that you don’t want to talk about anything else, so I won’t pry anymore. I’m just glad that you’re okay. Promise me you’ll get a new phone tomorrow after the two of you are done having makeup sex?”

“I promise.” You lie again as she hugs you, trying not to imagine how good the sex with Jack might be as she wraps her arms around your shoulders.

“I’ll tell Martha that you’re sick and couldn’t pick up the phone.” She releases you from her embrace and steps back from the door, shooting one more look at Jack before giving you a mischievous wink. “Goodnight,” she sings.

“Goodnight.”

“You weren’t gonna tell me?” You fold your arms across your chest as you walk back into the kitchen, your tone forcing Jack to set his coffee down.

“I didn’t want to scare you.” He puts his hands up, palms facing you in defense.

“Scare me? Jack, look around, I think we’re way past being scared at this point. I just need someone, I need you to be honest with me.”

He sighs and presses his lips together, inhaling dramatically as if to summon up the courage to tell you whatever truth is about to leave his lips. “When you didn’t recognize me last night, I thought you’d eventually come around in the car or after you woke up today, but when you didn’t…” he trails off as his eyes begin to water. “I couldn’t bring myself to… I didn’t want to burden you with anything else.”

“Burden me?” You uncross your arms and let them rest at your side. “What are you talking about? Jack, just tell me what’s going on!”

“Alright,” he pauses, standing up from his seat at your table. “We’re together, you and I,” he finally admits, each word seeming to pain him to say out loud. He walks toward you slowly, every step practiced with care as he gets closer to you with his version of the truth. “You took care of me after I had a rough few nights at the hospital, and we connected after your shift.”

“That doesn’t sound like me.” You try to remain skeptical as he approaches you, his reaction to your relationship with Alistair making more sense by the minute.

“Well, it didn’t exactly happen overnight,” he explains, testing the waters with another step closer.

“I doubt it would, I don’t date patients.”

“I know, you’ve told me about a dozen times,” he laughs.

“I did?” Maybe you are being a bit defensive. After all, both he and Andrea’s stories seem to match up even though they have no real reason to.

“You did,” he nods, cautiously taking your hands in his before smoothing his thumbs over the grooves of your palms. “I took you out for coffee a few times, sometimes even at the hospital’s cafeteria if you had time for a break.” His face no longer seems to carry the heavy burden of worry from before, his features now softened with a rosy shade of hope as it gets closer to yours. “When we first met you used to put one cream and two sugars in it, then you cut out the sugar for a few weeks, and now you just drink it black.”

“That’s right.” You allow him to keep touching you, this new knowledge both calming and alarming you at the same time, his hands the only thing keeping you steady.

“Then one day you let me take you to dinner. And then eventually you let me cook for you, right here in this kitchen,” he smiles, looking to the side as he recalls that blissfully specific memory. “And we stayed up all night watching reruns of Svengoolie until you fell asleep.”

“I do love Svengoolie,” you relent, a genuine smile finally creping the skin around your eyes. You try to imagine what a life would be like with him in this picturesque setting he’s described for you, and can’t help but wonder how many times you’ve fallen asleep in each other’s arms.

“I know."

“How long have we been together?” You place your palm on his cheek, hoping it will spark something deep within your memory, but all it does is bring him closer.

“A year.” He lets you touch him, his lips parting as your thumb brushes a single tear away from his cheek. “Give or take."

“A year?” You barely manage to whisper, smiling as he lets go of your other hand to gently cradle your face. “A whole year? How can that be true? I don’t have any pictures of you or text messages or anything…”

“You have a scar on your left knee from when you fell off your bicycle as a kid.” He points to your leg with a nod of his chin. “It was the Fourth of July and you were only eleven years old when you tried to ride a tandem bike all by yourself. It was too heavy and when you turned in the sand, you fell down, scraping your knee miles away from your grandmother’s lake cottage.”

Oh my God, how else could he have known that? You’ve never told anyone else that story before, not even Andrea or any of your other close friends. Maybe he is telling the truth, after all.

“You cry when you’re angry,” he continues, weaving his fingers into your hairline. “You shut down when you’re sad, and when you're happy, your eyes light up like nothing else I’ve ever seen.”

You stare at him in awe, adoring the golden brown in his eyes as it fades to a light green around the edges as you nod silently, trying to take this all in. Suddenly you feel your lips pressing against his, soft and delicate as they cushion your timid kiss, parting only to give you a small taste of the life he’s described to you. That oddly familiar warmth surrounds you again, spreading through your lips and down into your core as his fingers press gently into your scalp, holding you close.

“Okay,” you whisper with a reluctant break of the kiss, finally believing his story with all of your being. “Where the hell have you been?”

#Jack Russell #gael garcia bernal #werewolf by night #jack russell x reader #jack russell x female reader #jack russell fan fiction #werewolf by night fan fiction #jack russell imagine

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buckttommy · 1 year

Text

WIP (Thursday)

I was tagged to do WIP Wednesday yesterday by Dev @eddiediass , Morgan @rewritetheending and Chapel @extasiswings but I was busy. So I'm doing it today! Most of my writing has been for {redacted} lately, but I was inspired by a gifset from @bilosan about a Buddie + Zombie Apocalype AU. So I played around with my Buddie x TWD fic from last year and ended up with this. This snippet is a loose continuation of this part; enjoy!

"Hey. Hey." Eddie slaps the side of his face to get his attention. He draws a gun, gleaming silver in the sunlight, and waves it around. "I was Army before all this. You know what that means? It means that if you touch my son, if you even so much as look at him funny, I'm gonna put a bullet in you so fast you'll be dead before you even know what happened. Now, my son is nice. He wants to help everyone we come across. I'm not nice, which means if you become a problem, if you slow us down at all, I’m cutting you loose. You got it?"

Buck nods slowly. "I got it."

“Dad.” Christopher frowns disapprovingly from the corner. “We said we weren’t going to cut him loose unless he did something bad to us.”

“No, you said that. I said if he became a problem we’d leave him to the walkers, and since I’m the decision maker here, I’m pretty sure what I say goes.”

Christopher continues to frown. It’s such a human moment, such a slice of normalcy in a world gone dark and wrong, that Buck starts to laugh. Quietly at first, and then louder, harder until his shoulders are shaking. Eddie looks at him like he’s crazy, hand resting on the handle of his gun, but Christopher only smiles at him.

“Man,” Buck says when he’s calmed down, “You have the cutest kid ever.”

“Shut the fuck up,” Eddie grumbles, clearly defeated. He still leans down and helps Buck to his feet, still supports his weight until he can prop himself up on the wall of the cabin before squatting down and letting Christopher get on his back. Eddie looks at Buck out of the corner of his eye. Reluctantly, he reaches into his waistband and holds a revolver out to him.

Buck takes it gratefully.

“You know your way around one of these?”

“Doesn’t everyone these days?”

Eddie snorts. “You’d be surprised. Come on. I have a truck about a mile away. We don’t fire unless we have to, otherwise we get through the woods as quickly as possible. You got it?”

“I got it.”

Eddie doesn’t look convinced. In fact, he’s looking more and more like he’s considering just leaving Buck here before even giving him a chance. Which would be shitty if Buck didn’t get it. It’s the end of the world; if he was a father, he wouldn’t put his kid’s life in jeopardy either, especially not for some stranger with a broken leg.

“Hey,” Buck blurts out, “I get a question too.”

“Of course you do." Eddie rolls his eyes. "What is it?”

“If it ever comes down to it—if I ever put you or Christopher in danger—I want you to promise you’ll be the one to do it. To kill me,” Buck clarifies when Eddie frowns. “The dead can have my body, I don’t care, I just—I just don’t want to end up like that.”

Buck can deal with a lot—he can deal with his parents’ deaths, he can deal with the world gone to hell, he can even deal with never finding Maddie since he already knows the chance is so slim. What he can’t deal with is turning into one of those things. He’s had nightmares about it, tried to envision himself as a monster tearing apart all the people he cares about, and it’s all too easy. That’s the disturbing part. It could happen to anyone at any time. Gone, just like that. Buck would rather be dead than have that happen to him.

Eddie’s face changes then, too quickly for Buck to tell. For the first time, he looks hesitant. Unsure.

“Promise me,” Buck insists.

After a beat, Eddie nods. “I promise.”

Buck nods back, relieved. He takes a deep breath and rolls his shoulder back, checking the gun for bullets. Fully loaded, one in the chamber. You can say a lot about him but you can never call Eddie Diaz unprepared.

He peeks out the cabin window and scans the woods. Coast clear. Eddie rests his hand on the doorknob.

"You ready?"

Buck's not sure he'll ever be ready, but he nods anyway.

“Ready whenever you are.”

#twd au #no plot just vibes #love what tumblr has done to the tags on desktop btw. very chic #jack.txt #my fic #wip wednesday

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genavere · 8 months

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@whumptober 2023 - Day One

No. 1: “But now this room is spinning while I’m trying just to fill in all the gaps.” Safety Net | Swooning | “How many fingers am I holding up?”

Summary: Team Natsu and the Thunder Legion are on their way back from a mission together...but the forest has different ideas on how their night will go.

Warnings: Minor Blood, Embarrassment for Characters, Probably OOC, Crack Fic

Rating: T for Teens (I kept this one nice for all of you)

Relationships: None - Everyone can enjoy this crack shot

If a Branch Falls in the Forest...

“Stop it, all of you.” Lucy frowned, pressing her once favorite sweater against Laxus’ forehead. Behind her, Team Natsu and the Thunder Legion were bickering back and forth on who the fault would ultimately land on. All the arguing felt like a hammer against her skull. It had to be worse for the man before her.

The accident had been just that—nothing to fight over in her opinion. No one could have known that a branch from above would have fallen while they slept. Freed’s barrier spell had been set up to detect intruders, not foliage.

In her opinion, they were lucky the branch did not flat out kill him. They were called Widow Makers for a reason.

“Laxus?” she called gently, worried that he had not opened his eyes for the past ten minutes, but took his posture as a good sign. Arms crossed, back straight, and a growing tick under his eye, if the morons behind her would pay attention, they would know of the coming eruption.

Glancing over her shoulder, it impressed her how a simple branch caused the world to end. Gray and Natsu stood back-to-back, fists raised and agreeing with the other as Bickslow. Both Evergreen and Erza had gone all out and had their wings out and argued in the air over the men. Even Happy got into the action arguing with Bickslow’s puppets—and that seemed more like a game of tag than actual fighting.

Freed had tried to help her tend Laxus, but she had ordered him to sit when he became paler than the person bleeding and swooned. They already had one severely injured teammate, she did not need to tend another with the rest acting like children.

“Laxus,” she called again, snapping her fingers in front of his face. Grey eyes pierced her in a glare, one she quickly returned with her own. “Don’t you give me that look, Mr. Tough-and Mighty, I am doing my best here.”

Heat rose over her cheeks when all he gave in response was a grunt. Fingers tightened in the ruined fabric. The urge to ensure he had a concussion barely stomped down. Violence would solve nothing here, she reminded herself, ignoring the multiple voices casting spells behind her. Not even the explosion that sent her hair snapping against her face phased her.

Lifting three fingers, she closed her eyes and held them out for him. “Just… tell me how many fingers am I holding up, okay?”

Another grunt.

Virgo would be able to dig seven graves—Happy and the puppets would go with Natsu and Bickslow respectively—and if Taurus had the element of surprise. No, the stubborn bull would never be quiet enough to land a surprise attack, and she could not rely on Loke to attack Gray. Not even the contract and bond between them as spirit and master broke whatever relationship those two had since neither admitted anything.

A swell of magic pulled over her back and a wall of words erupted from the ground as an arsenal of swords bounced off them. Glancing back, she recognized Freed’s work and realized he put up a safety net to keep them safe.

Scratch that, to keep Laxus safe. The pouting green-haired man kept glaring at her over his shoulder before his stomach revolted again. Yeah, she sighed, she had only been collateral in being kept safe.

“Laxus, I swear”—she gritted her teeth and pressed the cloth harder into his head. A pleased lift graced her lips as he winced—“if you don’t tell me how many I am holding up, I will—”

“Two,” he grunted, once more not looking at her. The lift quickly turned downward. Two? Even if he had a concussion, usually the vision was blurred. The answer should have been three or more.

“What?”

He mirrored her earlier look, grinding his teeth together. “Your shirt—”

“My shirt…” She looked down, brows furrowed.

It had been a cold night, and faced with huddling against Erza and risking personal harm or bundling up, she had taken the safer option. Her sweater had been soft and warm, and she hated the fact it might never get all of the bloodstains out. Underneath, she had just worn a normal tank top, white in color…

And it seemed that without the sweater, her body revealed exactly how cold it was, and the white fabric did not help, either. Eyes widening in realization, she met grey ones again. The hint of red on his cheeks had not been from embarrassment—not embarrassment from the branch.

A squeal of indignation filled the forest for miles. One blonde stomped off, taking the furred coat of the downed Lightning Dragon Slayer with her. Another blond laid on the forest floor, eyes swirling, and a second welt swelling.

When they returned to the guild hall, a concussion had been confirmed, though neither Wendy nor Porlyusica could say which blow to the head caused it. And, unfortunately for all of them, the reward money went to replanting the forest they had stayed in after a chaotic battle had left nearly all of it destroyed.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Day one is in the bag! Not the whumpest of whumps, but it was fun to write, lol. The next few days will be out of order to fully put together a story concept I came up with (much like my Dead Stars story, but this time not in order).

Hope you all enjoyed!

#fairy tail #natsu dragneel #lucy heartfilia #writing #fanfiction #fairy tail fanfiction #laxus dreyar #Whump #Whumptober 2023 #erza scarlet #freed justine #fairy tail evergreen #bickslow #gray fullbuster #fairy tail happy #crack fic #Hope you all enjoy!#Genavere

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warriorteam1924 · 2 years

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Houston, we got a problem....

John Deacon & Queen Band

Author note : Hello my beauties. here I am for day 3 of Deaky’s 71th birthday. I’m not following any prompts, it’s just birthday themed. I’ve been super busy lately and I’m aware it’s not my best piece, but I hope some of you will enjoy it anyways. Thanks in advance to anyone who will be giving honest feedback, it’s always very appreciated. Also, I remind you English isn’t my mother tongue, apologies in advance for the mistakes.

Warnings : none really, just my awful writing. and a slight cursing....

Summary : it’s John’s birthday !!!

Words count : 1,817 words

Permanent taglist : @reavenedges-lies @thosequeenboys @born-to-lose @orionis8689 @queenlover05 (communicate with me regarding tagging please)

Some thought since he was the lead singer of Queen, Freddie Mercury was the decision maker within the band, but it was a false assertion. When it came to music and the whole band creating together, they all had their word, everyone’s opinion was valid.

When it came to celebration, however, it was a totally different matter. He and only he was able to be in charge of everything. He always had a plan, and it was better for everyone else to follow his orders and it was useless to argue or contest his decisions.

John Deacon, Roger Taylor and Brian May had rapidly understood it. So, when Freddie Mercury announced he was going to organize a surprise celebration for Deaky’s birthday, Roger and Brian had merely exchanged glances, loudly swallowing. They weren’t sure where all of this was going to lead them, but on the other hand, they knew they had to follow Freddie’s rules on this matter. The singer was about to become a real drama queen, largely pouting and slamming the doors behind him. And after all, Brian and Roger only had to follow orders, this shouldn’t be too hard.

As it was clear for everyone, Freddie had a plan. He dragged Brian and Roger with him to go shopping. Balloons and decorations, presents, at least one from each musician, and a fabulous and fancy cake. After all, one only had a single birthday within a year, this needed a proper extravaganza.

Brian was staying strong, trying to reassure everyone, including himself, that they were going to find what they needed. Even if it was already the fourth shop the three of them were leaving, empty-handed. Roger, on the other hand, was already dragging his purple shoes on the pavement, huffing and puffing like crazy. Freddie was merely ignoring him, leading the way, rocking his hips as he was rapidly walking.

Eventually and at the end of what appeared to be an endless day for both guitarist and drummer, all was found and everything was ready. As they gathered at Freddie’s, they wrapped the presents, or at least, the singer undid the wrapping work the sellers had kindly done and wrapped everything all over again. The presents needed to be neatly presented, the paper needed to be straight and elegant. The bows had to be perfectly placed and the tag had to be correctly and distinctly written.

The balloons and the cakes didn’t need more attention, they just needed to be brought to Deaky on his birthday. Which was the following day. The three men agreed to gather again at Freddie’s, this way, Roger would be able to drive them and the rest of the purchases to their final destination.

On the D-Day, Brian and Roger made sure to arrive at Freddie’s earlier than expected. The two of them were aware the singer would be late anyways, but at least, they were making sure the blame wouldn’t be put on their shoulders.

Freddie eventually kissed his cats and they all got in the car, the balloons and the presents in the trunk, and the cake safely laying on the singer’s laps. The way to get to John’s place was pleasant, the day was already surely going to be very lovely. The sun was shining and it wasn’t too hot thanks to a nice summer breeze.

Roger parked not too far from Deaky’s and Brian headed to the trunk to take the rest of the stuff. The drummer took the cake and told Freddie he would safely and carefully bring it to the house. This way, the singer could be in charge of the rest of the presents and Brian could wrap the strings of the balloons around his long fingers, making sure none of them would escape.

The driving from Freddie’s house to John’s went well. There was no reason the way from the car to the house would be different.

Freddie was leading the way and opened the doorway that led to the pathway. Brian was following him, making sure the balloons weren’t on his way to see where he was putting his feet. Roger, bringing up the rear, very silently closed the doorway, his tongue sticking out as he was struggling between the cake and the lock. But it went fine and he let out a sigh of relief.

The three men were still quietly walking, willing to surprise their friend.

Yet, unlike Brian, Roger wasn’t really looking where he was going and since his shoelaces were untied, the inevitable happened. He made sure not to fall, and surprisingly remained quiet. Looking around him, he blushed heavily. They were only a couple of steps away from the front door.

Since Brian was the closest, the drummer whispered:

“Houston? We have a problem….”

He knew the guitarist was fond of space and hoped this would soothe him before actually announcing the bad news.

Brian turned around, trying to see between the balloons. No other words were needed. When he saw Roger’s face, he understood right away. The drummer let out a nervous laugh.

“Ready guys?”, Freddie whispered as he was about to knock on the door.

Yet, there was no answer.

“Guys?”, he frowned and turned around as well.

The scene wasn’t what he expected to see. Roger had his hand on his chin, thinking and Brian seemed to be trying to find a way to go back in time. Freddie noticed Roger’s hands were empty and looked down, since it was where the two others were looking.

That’s when he saw the box of the cake on the pathway.

“Noooooooooooooooooooooooo….”, Freddie whined, still in a whisper.

He put the presents next to the front door and came closer to the others, all of them staring at the box.

“Roger, what did you do?”, the singer complained.

The drummer looked at him, willing to sarcastically answer, but he knew it wasn’t a good idea.

“I’m sorry, it was an accident….”, Roger explained, still in a whisper.

“Maybe it’s not that bad….”, Brian said, trying to remain positive.

The three men simultaneously bent over, still intensely examining the crime scene. An old lady passed by, stopped to glance at them. She paused for a few seconds, wondering what was going on. She then shrugged and carried on her way.

Freddie delicately put his hands on the box, very gently opening it.

“Careful….”, Brian said, sweat forming on his forehead.

It was as if Roger and Brian were witnessing an open-heart surgery, as Freddie was now on his knees, looking inside the box.

He closed his eyes, sighing. He looked up, saying no with his face.

“Are you sure? There must be something we can do?”, Roger whispered.

“It’s too late, Rog….”, Freddie said.

“Let me see.”, the drummer replied.

“No, you cannot see this. it would break your heart.”, the singer stated, avoiding his eyes.

Roger frowned, but opened the box all the same. And he grimaced.

“Oh, bloody hell….”, Brian tried not to curse too strongly.

“Fuck….”, Roger was, on the other hand, less polite.

The cake was completely upside down, the frosting spread everywhere but on the top of the cake. The drummer came closer and put his index in the icing, willing to taste it.

“What are you doing?”, Freddie asked, seeming deeply offended.

“What? I’m just trying it.”, Roger shrugged.

“Is it good?”, Brian asked.

Yet, before Roger could answer, the guitarist had already taken a bit of icing on his finger as well, and tried it.

“Delicious. This is an excellent bakery.”, he said, nodding.

“You guys are insane….”, Freddie stated.

“You should try, Fred, it’s really good.”, Roger replied, sitting down to take another fingertip of icing.

The singer frowned, considering his option. He eventually shrugged and sat as well, tasting the frosting. Soon, Brian sat as well and the three of them started to take turns, cleaning the box from the icing that had spread everywhere. The three men were smiling, licking their lips, appreciating this moment.

“What the hell is going on here?”, a voice said, making them strongly startle.

John appeared on his doorstep, wearing shorts and an old T-shirt, summer slippers on his feet.

The three musicians exchanged guilty glances, none of them daring to speak first as Deaky was walking closer.

Roger searched his pocket and eventually found his lighter, turning it on. He placed it on top of Deaky’s cake, or what was left of it and began to sing.

“Happy Birthday John, Happy birthday John….”, he began, looking at the others for them to join.

The singer and the guitarist carried on singing with him, their voices harmoniously echoing in the pathway.

At the end of the song, John gently bent and blew the flame, and the three others cheered him, applauding.

There was a moment of silence and John sat with them, the whole band now seated around the open box, where the cake was still in pitiful condition.

“Shall we eat this cake or are we just going to stare at it during the whole day?”, Deaky asked, breaking the silence.

“Yes, Deaks’ right, let’s get inside and eat it.”, Roger nodded.

“Why get inside and risk another tragedy?”, John said, taking four forks out of his pocket.

The three guests looked at him, stunned.

“I’ve been watching you for the past five minutes. I want a piece of cake too….”, John carried on, giving them the forks.

They all exchanged glances again, a bit embarrassed. John took a full fork and put it in his mouth, licking his lips.

“Okei, but this cake is delicious. I need to know where you guys got it….”, he said, trying to appease the atmosphere, since he had the feeling his friends were strongly uncomfortable about the incident.

“Oh, we got it on Fleet Street, the white bakery….”, Freddie said. “I made sure you’d get the best of the best….”, he carried on, taking a piece of the cake as well.

The four men carried on randomly talking as they were eating the cake. Soon, there were laughs and giggles. The musicians tied the balloons on their friend and eventually he also got to open his presents, still seated in the pathway.

At the end of the day, John noticed his cheeks were sore, because he had been laughing and smiling a lot during the whole afternoon.

Yes, some would have thought his birthday party was ruined, but as far as he was concerned, he considered it was one of the best birthdays he had ever had.

He was surrounded by his friends, there was nothing fancy, nothing superficial, nothing luxuriant. And it was just perfect. And if sitting with his bandmates on this pathway during a whole afternoon and ending it with stiff legs was the price to pay, John thought it was cheap given how blissful this moment had been.

#warriorteam1924 writes #houston we got a problem....#queen #queen band #john deacon #freddie mercury #brian may #roger taylor #queen imagine #queen fiction #queen fanfiction #queen fanfic #Deaks71thparty #sorry the gif is lame i know #let's celebrate despite it all shall we

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medea10 · 2 years

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My Review of Kakegurui

How did I get into this anime? I was curious about this particular title for quite some time. There aren’t really that many anime titles where the main premise is about gambling and even when one exists, the anime itself stinks.

Hyakkaou Private Academy is the home to the rich and powerful’s offspring. Basically, the entire school is filled with recipients of the lucky sperm club. On the surface, the school seems to be doing its job of teaching these kids the real world. But once classes are over, everyone gambles. Take your pick of the games! Sometimes you get lucky, sometimes you go broke, and sometimes you become someone’s pet bitch. The student council has a system in place where if someone falls into debt due to gambling, they become ‘house pets’. The boys are known as ‘fidos’ and the girls are known as ‘mittens’. If they become a house pet, they must wear a tag around their neck and get harassed by classmates.

Ryouta Suzui is one such unlucky mongrel as he found himself falling to Mary Saotome. Mary is pretty handy when it comes to gambling and has crumbled several unlucky students. Enter Yumeko Jabami! She’s the newest transfer student to Hyakkaou and to Mary, an easy target to take advantage of. Unfortunately for Mary, she’s going to learn the hard way in a game of “fuck around and find out”. Yumeko is loving these games, but she loves figuring out the cheaters of the game even more.

Who’s bluffing? Poker face or kill face?! Who will win? Who will lose? Enter the rabbit hole to find out.

BETWEEN THE SUB AND THE DUB…AND THE OTHER DUB: So, things started off turbulent as this anime was in Netflix jail. Only recently has Netflix decided to give the U.S. audience some anime on a week-by-week basis. ONLY SOME ANIME! But seeing as this came out in 2017, unless you were living in Japan or had a VPN, you were shit outta luck to seeing this. But it eventually got released to U.S. Netflix with several languages available. Not only that but the live action Kakegurui is also on Netflix, as well as recent spin-off Kakegurui Twin. So, Netflix has total control over the Kakegurui franchise. End of story, right?

As of 2021, Sentai Filmworks licensed Kakegurui. Not a big surprise as Sentai has decided to pick up several animes that were exclusive to sites like Amazon, Crunchyroll, and Netflix. But then Sentai decided to give Kakegurui a dub. Replace the L.A. based voices with the ones in Houston. I’m not sure what and why all of this is happening and why it’s absolutely necessary to have two English dubs when one dub was recorded not too long ago. The only other time I see this happen is with Dragon Ball and whenever Animax grabs a title. Was this payback from when Netflix redubbed Neon Genesis Evangelion? I know Sentai has nothing to do with Evangelion, but most of the people of that company do. Here’s my opinion on the matter. I prefer the Netflix dub for Kakegurui. Also, the Netflix dub to Evangelion sucks eggs and should be wiped from this Earth. Moving on!

What’s really weird about this is that if you go to Hidive’s website, they don’t even have a page for Kakegurui. I guess they just have the rights to put it out on blu-ray and not the right to stream it. Here are the voice actors, yo!

JAPANESE CAST: *Yumeko is played by Saori Hayami (known for Shinobu on Demon Slayer, Shouko on A Silent Voice, Ononoki on Monogatari, Kagura on Fairy Tail, Tsuruko on Anohana, Himawari on Boruto, and Fubuki on One Punch Man)

*Ryouta is played by Tatsuya Tokutake

*Mary is played by Minami Tanaka (known for Lily on Zombieland Saga, Nako on Hitoribocchi, and Hinata on Assassination Classroom)

NETFLIX CAST: *Yumeko is played by Erika Harlacher (known for Violet Evergarden, Kou/Star Maker on Sailor Moon Stars, Shinobu on Demon Slayer, Crusch on Re:Zero, Ami on Toradora, and Ruler on Fate/Apocrypha)

*Ryouta is played by Griffin Burns (known for Tadano on Aggretsuko, Jintan on Anohana, Colt on Attack on Titan, Muichirou on Demon Slayer, and Doppio on Jojo’s Bizarre Adventure Pt. 5)

*Mary is played by Kira Buckland (known for Setsuna on Yashahime, Beatrice on Re:Zero, Umi on Love Live, Mitsuri on Demon Slayer, Izumo on Blue Exorcist, Luculia on Violet Evergarden, and Reimi on Jojo’s Bizarre Adventure Pt. 4)

SENTAI CAST: *Yumeko is played by Estelle Link

*Ryouta is played by Adam Gibbs (known for Shinichi on Parasyte, Seita on Grave of the Fireflies, Oreki on Hyouka, Hiroomi on Beyond the Boundary, Mitsuo on Golden Time, and Shuu on Domestic Girlfriend)

*Mary is played by Christina Kelly (known for Alice on Food Wars, Sophia on Chunibyo, Kouko on Golden Time, Nanami on Pet Girl of Sakura Hall, and Mine on Akame ga Kill)

SHIPPING: Oh, there are a lot of ships that people flock to with this series. But aside from seeing all the obvious lesbianism going down at the student council, we do see obvious stuff when it comes to Itsuki’s feelings for Kaede. Other than that, some might point to the words exchanged between Ryouta and Yumeko in the season one finale. But there’s one thing everyone should know while watching this anime. The only ship that matters here is Any Character x Gambling.

Ryouta has no chance of satisfying Yumeko unless he can bring the heat in a game. The way I see it, unless Ryouta makes Yumeko moist down there in a game, it’s not gonna happen. We only saw it once, so it’s not off the table.

In season two, we did see a bit of unrequited love. It’s been clear from her debut that Kirari’s secretary Sayaka loves her. Imagine that, a lesbian named Sayaka! Never saw that before, hahaha! Kirari did say some things to Sayaka that could be taken as a dismissal. But then we get the scene where Sayaka loses a game and has to jump from a building and Kirari jumps off with her. I don’t know if it’s love or just bitches being crazy.

And as for Kakegurui Twin, Mary Saotome has a childhood friend named Tsuzura. Ever since Mary transferred to this school, Tsuzura has been hanging with Mary. Not just that, but sees Mary as her prince. And yes, her imagination goes that far, wedding dress and all. That’s great and everything but what the hell happened to Tsuzura in the main series? If she loves Mary Saotome so much, where the hell was she in those 24 episodes?

CAN’T READ MY, CAN’T READ MY…: Let’s talk about the kill faces. Everyone has one! Even the men! But in this anime, the kill face is majority a women’s sport. Let’s face it, the majority of this anime is focused on the women and how many kill faces one can make in the span of a 22-minute episode. Usually, we’ll see this when the random character feels cocky or whenever Yumeko catches them cheating or lying.

Seriously though, the only face that scares me is whenever Yumeko gets angry when Midari does something to anger her. Out of all the scary faces I see in this anime, Yumeko’s displeasure of being with Midari is the one that scares me the most. Yumeko is actually nicer to the characters who literally poisoned her than she is to Midari.

ENDING TO SEASON ONE: It’s been pretty clear that the student council has been running this show from day one. President Kirari put in the system of “fidos” and “mittens” for those who are in debt from gambling. Not only that, but draws up “life plans” for those poor souls. These life plans are pretty much what they sound like; to force the debtor to give up any dreams of their own in place of what the student council has written out for you. Mary was not down with that and slowly crawled her way out of debt. But we’ve got other shit going down from the inside. There seems to be a traitor in the student council.

Yumeko has had her fair share of run-ins with members of the student council with different outcomes. Yumeko defeated Itsuki (the chick who likes taking off people’s fingernails) and Itsuki in return was dropped from student council. Yuriko however defeated Yumeko and that caused Yumeko to temporarily become a house pet. And then the battle between Yumeko and Midari (the eyepatch chick with a death wish) ended with Yumeko as the victor. And then Yumeko took out Yumemi! But that last one revealed someone who was plotting Yumemi’s downfall and that was the student council treasurer, Kaede.

Kaede is a cold, calculating, blunt man. And if I might add, perfect casting choice for Tomokazu Sugita! Good on you, Japan! More so, he’s one of a few characters that didn’t expose numerous “kill faces” when up against Yumeko. And I gotta say, quite refreshing to see more male characters. I love the heavy lesbianism as much as the next girl, but mix it up sometimes! Kaede had high ambitions of becoming student council president and was willing to screw anybody over to get there. So, will he be able to take Yumeko down in a match? Nah! Kaede embarrassed himself in front of a large crowd that included Yumemi’s fan club, the entire student council, and even the president. Kaede was then stripped of his title, went into a hysterical coma, and his hair went all Marie Antoinette.

Moving away from that drama, Yumeko is about to go face-to-face with the president of the student council, Kirari. Both girls are intimidating and have an unbelievable love for gambling. The stakes for this game are pretty dire as if either girl loses, they must drop out of the school, never to return. Long story short, it was a tie so neither girl has to leave. We learn a few things about these characters in this episode, however that’s not the important part for the shipping community. For the shippers, some clever wordage was tossed around that could give us a dropped hint for Yumeko x Ryouta. I think Yumeko and Ryouta’s words in the final episode were meant differently from what we’re all thinking. On another note, I’m not sure if it was Kirari playing or if it was her doppelganger vice president.

In the final couple of minutes of season one, Itsuki nurses Kaede (who is still in his hysterical coma). Kirari disbands the student council. And Yumeko is still gambling for the sheer thrill of it.

SEASON TWO: As I said before, Kirari is disbanding the student council. Add to that, she’s making the next student council election a big gambling event. The one with the most chips at the end of the month becomes the next student council president. Not just that, but the winner also becomes the head of the Momobami clan. Kirari was the head of the clan and her stepping down from that position has brought out 11 members of the clan to transfer to the school and compete for that honor. Each one of these 11 members all have last names that end with ‘bami’. Interestingly enough, Yumeko’s last name also ends with ‘bami’, but as for her being related to any of these people is shrouded in mystery. Yumeko’s family and everything about her is an enigma. We know that she has an older sister that’s in a hospital of some sort and that Yumeko literally has an unlimited amount of money at her disposal.

As one would expect, Yumeko is going to take part of these challenges. Many want Yumeko to become the next president, but all Yumeko wants is to gamble. Others have invested their time with other competitors like Mary Saotome and several of the random Momobami clan members. And because she can’t pass up a good game, Kirari is also competing to stay president. I don’t get it if she’s the one that disbanded the student council and started this whole melee election. Whatever! Crazy bitches be crazy bitches!

ENDING: Yumeko has had some life-or-death challenges this season. This doesn’t scare her; in fact, she gets a kick when the stakes are ultimately high and the scent of death reeks. Unless Midari is involved, but that’s to be expected, she’s annoying. Nevertheless, Yumeko did go through a lot of frightening moments including being poisoned, almost gambled away a pinky finger, and playing a game where the loser would have to plunge to their death. Yumeko has made it through all of that and thensome. Although, the poisoning was pretty gnarly, girl almost died there. When it comes to the election, Kirari is still in the lead as she holds the most vote coins. Yumeko, Mary, and Ryouta wind up in the top 10. But no one can really come close to Kirari. Seriously girl, what was the point of all this?

But those Bami members are determined to take down Kirari by any means necessary. Terano might seem like the big kingpin of this gang of Bami members. She is in second place after all and was behind some of the bouts Yumeko faced including this tax game she played alongside Kaede and Itsuki. But what does that old saying go, never trust a pretty face or something like that? Rei, the one who has been seen as just a moderator at most instances showed their true colors in the season two finale during an auction for vote chips. Rei wants revenge against the Momobami family and will happily see to Kirari’s downfall. Call it a lifetime of putting up a façade and being a servant to the clan.

I was kinda surprised Rei was really biologically female. I say ‘kinda’ because Romi Park voiced her. So I had a small feeling that was the case.

Anyways, Yumeko in her oh-so-delicious fashion managed to take down Rei and then doing an ultimate gamble. I honestly don’t know what could possibly surpass all the gambles that were life-or-death. Yumeko nearly risked her life in several gambles, including almost dying from being poisoned. But I guess this time it was for the Jabami name. Regardless of all the turmoil, Yumeko wound up victorious, Rei dresses like a girl for once, Yumeko nearly loses all of her vote chip winnings from the game against Rei, and there’s no real conclusion to who’s going to run the student council.

Okay, so…I thought the first season was pretty solid and left an opportunity for a second season with the student council shake-up. But then season two kinda fell flat with the introduction of all the ‘bami’ clan members. Maybe the Mary Saotome spin-off will clear things up! Five years after the main anime ends, Netflix drops the Mary Saotome spin-off. Now will this clear up all the weird things surrounding her involvement with the mysterious vice president? I’m gonna spoil it right here and say, no. There are only 6 episodes and most of them revolve around Mary and a bunch of characters we don’t see in the main series.

TWIN: Much like Yumeko, Mary was also a transfer student. And also like Yumeko, her high school debut captured the attention of many as Mary caught wise to what the other students were dishing out in terms of games. But Mary was scouted by different people. Some wanted her to join certain clubs. Others wanted her to become a student council member. And then there are those who are putting their faith in Mary to take down the student council’s barbaric system of ‘fidos’ and ‘mittens’. Seeing as that system was thriving one year later, it looks like that Mary wasn’t able to put a fork in it. But nice try with the resistance, guys!

There’s only six episodes. There are a few new characters that we never see in the original anime. Most of these characters are definitely not third years on the verge of graduating. So why haven’t we seen these people before? Are we going to get more episodes in the future? Is the manga adaptation still in publication? We still haven’t seen what happens to Midari’s eye. I mean, we know what happens, but we just haven’t gotten the gory viewing. And what happened to Tsuzura? She loves Mary! Did she graduate early, get killed by the student council, commit suicide for Mary’s adoration, transfer schools, get slapped with one of those student council life plans that went into effect immediately, what!? I’d believe the third option myself. Something has to account for not seeing her in the main series.

Kakegurui has been very entertaining. And even the spin-off with Mary was interesting. I’m hoping for another batch of episodes in the future. Again, only the first season had my attention. The second kinda bored me with the student council election. Maybe it was the addition of all those clan members or the fact that I expected more from certain characters. As far as having an anime revolve around gambling, it wasn’t all bad. It could have been worse. There has been worse from what I’ve seen. Maybe in the future, I’ll check out the Kaiji series as I heard that had to do with gambling. Maybe another day once I finish the romcom I replaced Kakegurui with.

In the meantime, if you want to check out Kakegurui, Netflix has every episode available for streaming. This includes the first season, second season, the Twin spin-off, and I think there’s even a live-action Kakegurui on the platform. However, Sentai Filmworks released the first 2 seasons on blu-ray. Just remember that there’s a different English dub than what Netflix gave.

#kakegurui #yumeko jabami #mary saotome #ryouta suzui #sayaka igarashi #midari ikishima #kaede manyuda #kirari momobami #rei batsubami

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no-droids · 3 years

Text

Ask Me Again Tomorrow

gif credit @pedros-pascal

Part Sixteen of the Rough Day Series

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 16.3K

Warnings: SMUTTTTT, following/stalking, some fluffy moments but mostly just a lil action and interaction, I don’t think there’s any other warning besides language and the smut (comm sex WITH A TWIST YALLLLL) but if you happen to find something else that warrants a tag, please let me know and I will do so accordingly!

A/N: The response to this story has grown beyond anything I could’ve ever imagined and I genuinely thank you all from the bottom of my heart for the privilege of writing for you. Hope this one ends up being okay and I’ll get to work on the next chapter soon!

***

Headstart—12:17pm:

The sky is so pretty. There isn’t much to look at on the surface—rolling hills and plains, grassy but with dry bare spots breaking up the green stretches, but the sky. It’s an oil painting above you, pastel swishes of yellows and pinks and purples with an enormous ringed planet taking up half the horizon and another sizable moon hanging high.

You should probably be running. Like, for real sprinting, but you can’t push yourself to go faster than a brisk walk. It’s so… free out here, more hills springing up every time you get to the top of the next, warm air filling your lungs. Even though you know realistically that the beginning will likely be the hardest—where you need to focus most on running and putting distance between you instead of hiding—truth be told, you’re not foreseeing making it more than a full day. You’re going to try, obviously, but in the grand scheme, you wouldn’t be surprised in the least if he finds you tomorrow. So, instead of wasting all your energy going as fast as you physically can right out of the gate, you just decide to stroll and think for a little bit.

You know what your goal is. Obviously, to last as long as you can, but more specifically… well, if Din is going to chase after you, then he’s going to try to think like you. Anticipate your movements, if he can’t already see the tracks you leave plain as day. Very soon, he’ll be walking this same exact pathing, following the footprints you’re leaving behind, but if you’re ever able to shake him or throw him off course, he doesn’t have a tracking fob. He doesn’t have any mechanical device that points him in your direction—if you can lose him with the footprints, then he’ll have to rely solely on predicting you. Which means you need to think… exactly the opposite of yourself if you want to outsmart him.

That’s harder than it sounds though, because… is he going to predict you predicting him? At what point does it stop? You somehow have trouble seeing this as an advantage the way he said it would be—you almost wish you had someone else chasing you, someone you didn’t know and someone who didn’t know you if only so this paradox could end before it begins.

You’re walking for about ten minutes before spotting a dirt road in the distance. There’s a person following it in the direction of the sun—you don’t know this planet’s magnetic field but you do know it’s after noon and the sun would set on Arvala-7 in the west, so that’s what you’ll call it for now. You call out to them as soon as you’re in range, and the stranger turns to you.

“Excuse me!” It’s a woman, you see it as you get closer. “I’m so sorry to bother you, but can you tell me where this road leads?”

She removes a sheer yellow shawl covering her dark hair and gives you a friendly smile. “Hello,” the lady greets, before spinning around and pointing back the way she came. “Osiruu is a few hours that way. There’s not much there, but it will take you to G’ila, a transport hub with many opportunities for drifters, or Nariss, the capital. I’m on my way to Shabeth,” she points in the other direction. “It’s far—a day’s walk, but it’s a holy place and offers quite the view. I would be glad for the company, but I understand its lack of practical appeal.”

So this place is safe enough to be inviting strangers along on your travels, noted. You’re going to have to make the decision right now, then. Which path should you take?

Something deep inside you tells you that you want to see this holy place, and just from a few sentences, you already like this woman and feel safe with her. But then all of a sudden, you remember something.

Last known locations tell you a lot about a quarry, Din’s voice drifts back to you, sounding soft and distant from the dark forests of Naboo. Smart ones go to populated planets, planets like Coruscant, planets that make it nearly impossible to find people. Brave ones go to dangerous planets, suicidal ones try their luck in the Unknown Regions, idiots continue to go about their business on their homeworld without caring. But planets like this—like Naboo… those are the pacifists. The ones that don’t ever put up a fight.

You suppose you should decide what kind of quarry you want to be. Friendly company and a view is something you normally crave—it’s something your soul speaks to after going without it for so long during your previous life. You never pictured yourself as the fighting type. When Din first asked you, you told him you wouldn’t run from him if he was chasing you, and choosing to accompany this kind stranger to her destination is essentially just that. Sacrificing a chase for a pretty view.

“Does Shabeth have a sizable population?” You ask her, and she shakes her head.

“It’s the sight of an annual pilgrimage that happens in a few months, but it’s beautiful there and I like to go whenever I can,” she tells you with a soft smile. “But there’s nothing for miles outside it, I’m afraid.”

Your footprints will lead directly there. He’ll find you easily.

“It sounds very nice, but I need to find somewhere with a lot of people,” you give her an apologetic smile. Truly, you think she would’ve made for a nice friend. “Thank you for your help, though, and good luck with your journey! I hope we meet again.”

“Do you need any food or supplies?” She asks you, and you stop short of passing her by. “I don’t have much with me, but know what it’s like to be a newcomer to Sanctuary II. I’d be glad to help.”

Good Maker, is this how everybody is here or did you just hit the jackpot with this lady? She seems like… you, almost. Her voice is gentle, she looks like she’d give nice hugs. You’re about to politely turn her down, but then you realize the brilliant opportunity that’s presented itself in her image.

“Actually, this might sound like a really strange question, but…” you tell her, before looking down at her feet. “Wanna trade shoes with me?”

***

Headstart—6:12pm:

You don’t think it’ll work, but as you walk into a small settlement a few hours later in a unfamiliar and worn pair of sandals, you decide that you’ll need to do this as often as possible. You can’t come up with anything else that’ll throw him off your physical trail besides constantly switching shoes—is that bad? Are you just an idiot with no hope? You’ve had—you check your watch—like, five hours to think of a game plan, and all you’ve come up with is shoes? You’re screwed.

At least there’s food here. Plenty. There’s vendors stationed along the street, multiple people passing by and going about their business. Osiruu, that nice woman said—not much here, but you think she was wrong. There’s children giggling and jumping rope on the corner, a shopkeeper sweeping her storefront, a graying man with an empty cup plucking an unfamiliar melody on an unfamiliar instrument—and while your tummy growls and you know you should quickly buy supplies and be on your way, you still stop for just a few minutes to listen.

It’s a lovely tune. You drop a few credits in his cup after he finishes and find yourself humming it as you look at the plethora of goods being offered by the vendors. Water, food—you buy enough of everything to sustain you for at least a couple days, not wanting to go hungry but also feeling realistic over optimistic. The cuisine is foreign and you just point to things that look appetizing since you’re not sure about the name or pronunciation, but after paying and taking a bite into a rather large piece of purple fruit, your eyes nearly cross at how sweet and tasty it is. Holy Maker, that might just be the best thing you’ve ever tasted. You ask for two more after you finish the first, tucking one in your backpack next to your blaster and munching on the other as you keep browsing.

Suddenly you see shoes—yes. Fucking shoes, your salvation. You take a good look at all your options, of which, there aren’t many. Generic men's, women's, and children's, all in the same color and design. It’s good in a way—you see most people walking around in the same type of clothing here and you pray there’s not a way for him to track your gait or the whole thing is a bust, but truthfully, what you’re most worried about is the fact that you’ll create a brand new set of footprints wherever your old ones disappear. Unless you trade with someone else, you won’t ever have a back pathing, you know that Din will probably be able to easily spot it.

“Three pairs of these, please,” you point to the correct shoes and tell him your size, but then—“Oh wait, actually, can I actually have one of them that’s the next size up? And another that’s the same but in men's?”

The man behind the counter gives you an odd look but acquiesces, measuring the size of your preferred pair to multiple men’s shoes to find one that looks roughly the same—you doubt he’s ever had a request like this, but you’re also a generous tipper. His smile is grateful when you tell him to keep the change and then you’re stuffing the new shoes into your backpack and moving onward.

Would there be some kind of map here, you wonder? One that shows distance so you won’t waste time trying to reach a place you won’t be able to walk to? That lady said a transport hub and the capital are through this settlement, but she didn’t provide much information beyond that. You don’t want to be in the middle of nowhere when he finally catches up to you, you’ll need some place to hide.

When you stop to ask an elderly gentleman as he passes by, he freely provides you a basic gist. There’s a large forest beyond Osiruu—after it will be a road that passes through a few notable places, with a town called Sijua to the west that leads north to G’ila, and Devain to the east that leads northeast to Nariss. Both are within walking distance, though it may take a couple days to reach your destination.

Alright then. Through the forest, you suppose. You probably should’ve asked which way is east, but he’s already leaving and you don’t have the nerve to ask him to stop again. You have a finger point, that’s all you need. Making sure to use one of the small restrooms near the square before heading out, you eventually decide to make your way towards the direction he said this forest would be.

***

Headstart—6:58pm:

A bus.

You’re not going to take it, of course, but it’s the perfect solution to the problem you’ve been mulling over. It’s at the very edge of the small settlement, and you quickly speed up into a half-jog as soon as you hear its engine running.

“Last call for the seven o’clock!” A large man stationed near the doors yells as you approach. “Last bus to G’ila until tomorrow!”

The sun is setting and you have to extend your hand out in front of you to not be blinded by it. “Hello,” you give him a smile, before grabbing one of the handles on the side and stepping up onto the metal platform.

“Ah!” The man quickly stops you, moving to stand in front of the open doors. He’s as wide as he is tall, big enough that he blocks the entire exit. “That’ll be ten credits, miss.”

“Oh,” you say, patting your empty pockets and pulling your eyebrows inwards, trying not to move too much in case the sizable amount of credits you have stashed in your backpack happen to rattle. “Oh, no. I think I lost my wallet.”

He sighs. “Off the bus then please, miss. Come back tomorrow if you find it.”

You nod, leaning your forearm against the paneling and beginning to take your shoes off. “Will it be parked in the same place exactly?”

The driver looks curiously at you, clearly confused at both the strange question and your strange actions. “I’m sorry? Please—off the bus.”

“One second,” you tell him, now barefoot on the platform and digging into your backpack for the slightly larger sized shoes you bought earlier. The sound of credits clink against your blaster, but you hope he takes your lead in purposefully ignoring them. “Does the bus to G’ila park in this spot every single day?”

“Yes,” the man tells you impatiently, eyeing the way you’re stepping into the new pair with a subtle look of distaste. Everyone is polite here, it seems. “It will arrive back at seven am sharp with passengers from G’ila, in the same exact place. Please get off the bus.”

“Thank you, sir,” you tell him with a smile, watching him step to the side to allow you to drop down into the dirt again and continue on your way.

Brilliant, if you do say so your fucking self. Eliminate the need for a back pathing. All footprints facing this direction are going to be the first footprints, and all of them facing the opposite way are going to be the last; if Din manages to figure out you didn’t take the bus, then he won’t be able to tell which new set are yours and which belong to the other passengers. You pray the helmet can’t track gaits, but while you’re still paying enough attention, you make sure to keep your steps just slightly longer and even try placing more weight on the edges of your feet to make it look like you have a slightly higher arch than you actually do. You’d put a pebble inside of them or something, but you know you’re going to be walking through the night and you don’t want to commit to having your feet hurt more than you already know they’re going to.

Eventually the quaint shops and small houses disappear behind you, and the sun setting over the horizon turns the clouds above turn more dusty green and brown than yellow and pink. You hope Din opened up the ramp after you left. You want him to see the sky.

***

Headstart—9:34pm

The forest here is different from Naboo, too.

Maybe it was because you only saw it while you were in crisis-mode, but that forest seemed much scarier and darker than this one. The vegetation there was thick and overgrowing, but these trees look like they’ve never had leaves on them at all. No twigs or small branches that sprout from the trunks—the branches are all thick and gnarly, criss-crossing with each other with how close they’ve grown together. You bet their roots are practically one at this point, stretching for miles and miles but all sharing the same system.

Because there aren’t any leaves, there's nothing to block the moonlight shining clear and crystalline through the twisting maze of branches. Sanctuary II appears to have a sister moon—Sanctuary I, perhaps?—that’s likely a similar size, because it’s the same one you've seen all day and it’s barely moved a few degrees that you can tell. It must orbit incredibly close and be tidal-locked with this one then. Two massive satellites swinging around each other as they circle a ringed gas giant, but it makes a stunning view and reflects more than enough light to see.

The sky is deep blue and maroon and you’ve been walking in a straight line for hours, using the stationary moon overhead as your guide. The only issue with this plan that you’ve been able to come up with is that there’s no widely traveled path through the trees—even you can see your footprints and the clear trail you’re leaving behind. You’ve been trying for a while to figure out another clever evasion tactic, but it’s harder than it sounds. Can’t just change shoes again, that’ll be a dead giveaway. How do you lose him?

You stop for a second, reaching into your bag to grab some water and stay hydrated. Looking up once more at the beauty of the swirling colors peeking through the branches above you, you find yourself pausing after returning the bottle to your pack. There are… an atrocious number of branches up there, and all of them are long and tangled and thick. Sturdy.

You’ve… never climbed a tree before.

Without thinking much beyond that, you decide to bend your knees and jump, grabbing hold of one of the strong wooden tubes over your head and then swinging your legs up. Ouch—the bark scrapes against your palms and you have to hold on tight with your thighs while you shimmy yourself upwards, but at least the wood is solid as fuck. It takes you a minute or two, but you’re eventually able to shuffle yourself around so you’re straddling the thick branch, and then you look out to see the large collection of them criss-crossing in every direction around you.

Oof, this is dangerous. You know it even before you start. The gaps leading to the ground are bigger and more numerous than your potential pathing forward, but the only thing that gives you reassurance is how thick the wood is—you’re almost certain the branches aren’t going to break as long as you’re careful.

Okay. Shoes, these are too big for the kind of dexterity you’re going to need. You take them off slowly, being extra careful not to drop them, and then exchange them with the better-fitting pair you bought earlier, making a mental note that the sandals and the larger shoes are the two you’ve already worn. If your pursuer manages to catch on to the multiple footprint changes, your most recent ones should ideally just… disappear right there, shouldn’t they?

You grin, before struggling into a low crouch and looking around your wooden cage for a safe way forwards.

***

Headstart—11:37pm:

Water.

A blessing, and not because you’re thirsty. You have clean water in your bag and decades of habits formed in the desert to ensure you’re taking breaks and drinking enough—what you need is a way to disguise your footprints once you get back on the ground again. This was good; scuttling your way along thick and twisting branches for as long as you have was time-consuming and exhausting, but it allowed you to avoid touching the ground for at least a mile or so, which means he’ll have to comb that entire radius to look for your drop.

And it was fun.

You even found yourself giggling as you ducked and scooted, ignoring the bark scraping your skin and your panting breaths, the way your face got sweaty and hot. You had to do some brave maneuvers at tricky spots—jumping, balancing, hugging—but it almost just felt like an exciting little obstacle course for you and you’re honestly having a fucking blast right now.

Water, though. Water is an unexpected beauty, even more than you’ve always considered it to be. Water is an eroder. Not only powerful enough to smooth down the rough edges of strong elements over time, but it will hide your footprints as soon as you create them and leave no indication that you were ever there.

Eventually you see it—a babbling stream cutting a considerably wide line through the trees. You creep forward and hang tight to a branch above you to make sure you won’t fall, wiping the sweat on your brow with your other hand as you study the terrain. The water is… a considerable distance below you, maybe about ten or so feet, and there’s quite a few branches on either side that extend and hang out over it. You could probably find your way to the other side somehow, but something tells you to avoid the road beyond the forest if you can. It leads to multiple places, it would be better to follow the stream until you can eventually merge with it later.

That means you’re… fuck. You’re going to have to jump, aren’t you?

It’s the only way—you can’t leave footprints which means you’re going to need to land in the water. The trees clear too far from the shoreline, so you can’t shimmy down the trunk of one for a shorter fall. You’re going to have to climb out on one of those long branches until you’re suspended over the stream, and then you’re going to have to lower yourself as far as you can and then let go. With your height already accounting for at least half the distance plus the length of your arms as you hang, you should only have to drop two or three feet before reaching water, and then maybe another two feet to the floor under it. It looks forgiving enough—the moonlight shines and the stream is clear and you can mainly just see sand at the bottom, no sharp rocks or other potential dangers to be found. This… this is doable.

Okay. If you pull this off, you’re a badass. If you don’t break any bones or seriously injure yourself in any way, you deserve some kind of commendation. This is probably kiddie shit to Din, who keeps literal rockets strapped to his back and jumps out of ships flying thousands of feet above the ground, but this is a challenge for you and you’re feeling just excited enough to be up to it.

You’re eventually able to climb onto the thickest, sturdiest branch you can see that happens to hang over the water, straddling it and beginning to scoot. Your thighs are killing you at this point but you’re holding deathly tight to the wood, your movements becoming more and more cautious the further away from the trunk you get.

You’re directly above the water now, but you need to go out a little further. Aim for right in the middle so you don’t accidentally leave any tracks or prints on the shoreline if you need to catch yourself. The unfamiliar wood in this forest is admittedly sturdy, but the branch begins to subtly sag with your weight as you keep slowly scooting forward, and you’re just about to the correct spot when—

Day 1–12:00am:

“Sweet girl.”

—You nearly fucking fall.

“Maker,” you gasp, suddenly scrambling to catch yourself on the branch before you can plummet. It creaks and groans under your weight but supports you nonetheless, and when you’re one hundred percent certain it isn’t going to break, you jerk your head down to the communicator and see that it’s midnight, on the dot.

Shit.

Your heart slams against your ribs and your arms shake with adrenaline while you study it for just a moment longer, trying to calm the fuck down.

“Hey,” Din’s voice comes sharply from your wrist, crackling and tinny through the comm, nearly scaring you again. “Answer me.”

You don’t want to sacrifice your grip right now, but you have no doubt he’ll fly the Crest out to you if you don’t respond. So you quickly let go to press a button on the front face and then latch onto the branch tight once more, raising your voice because you can’t risk bringing your wrist up to your mouth to speak. You hope he’ll be able to hear without the microphone picking up the sound of the stream below. “Uh. Ahem. Hello. Yes?”

“You’re too quiet,” Din’s disembodied voice immediately informs you. “Or something on your side is too loud. There’s an earpiece built into the side of the communicator, take it out and use it instead.”

You study the wrist brace without moving, until you finally see what he’s talking about. It’s a small, wireless piece of machinery hidden on the left side of the electronic display, and you quickly pop it out and stuff it into your ear just in time to hear the sound of hydraulics clanging through the speaker as you clutch the branch again. You’d know that sound anywhere, it’s the ramp of the hull closing.

“Are you already on the move?” You ask him incredulously, your thighs starting to go numb with how deathly tight you’ve been squeezing this tree.

“Can’t sleep,” Din murmurs, sounding so much closer and deeper than before. Does he have his earpiece on under the helmet or something? Stars, is that why his voice sounds that good? It’s like it’s coming from inside your own head, bassy and rough. “Ready or not.”

You huff, your tummy going warm. Of course he can’t sleep, of course he’s going to look for you as soon as he’s allowed to. If he waited until morning, you’d probably be slightly offended. You try to slow your heart rate into something acceptable, but being this far above water and hearing his baritone murmur directly in your ear make it difficult. “But I’m… sleepy.”

“You’re always sleepy,” he tells you, and though you can’t actually hear him walking, the sound of his footsteps shake through his voice just slightly as he speaks.

“Hang on,” you huff, ducking your head to drag it against your shoulder, keeping the sweat from your eyes without using your hands, “you’re gonna make me stay up all night just because you do? This isn’t fair—”

“Fair wasn’t part of the rules.”

Well. Fair.

Stars, you can’t stay here. You don’t know how long he wants to check-in for, but you’re also not confident with this branch’s ability to hold you for an extended time when you’re this far out from the trunk. You need to get in that stream one way or another, but now that he’s here, you have an extra problem. Din is going to hear you no matter what.

“Um. Can you give me a second?” You ask him, glancing around to make sure there’s no better way of doing this. Nope, you realize very quickly—this is the best idea you’ve got, and you don’t really know what that says about the quality of all your other ideas.

“What?” Din grunts shortly, but you just clear your throat.

“I need to… mute myself. Give me like… five minutes.”

“What are you talking abou—”

“You of all people cannot be upset about asking for five minutes of quiet,” you return testily, looking down at the distance to the stream once more. That’s a long way. You… you can’t swim obviously, but again, the water doesn’t look too deep. Just a couple feet likely, shouldn’t go past your knees.

It’s fitting that he doesn’t say anything, which you eventually take as disgruntled acceptance, so you quickly press the proper button on your wrist to silence the mic and then take a few deep breaths. You have a time limit now, you have to do this.

With incredible patience and precision, you eventually slide until you’re clutching the branch upside down like an only slightly quicker and less coordinated sloth, before slowly dropping your legs and hanging over the water.

It’s… admittedly a bit further down than you anticipated, or maybe that’s just you making things worse than they actually are, but you’re committed at this point and there’s no going back.

You close your eyes, count to three, and then you let go.

The sandy floor meets your feet with considerable force and you make a hell of a splash doing it, nearly falling but just barely managing to keep yourself balanced and upright at the last second. The water is cool and comes up just over your knees, your backpack miraculously didn’t get wet and all your limbs remain shaky but unbroken.

Okay. Okay, fucking success. It feels… thrilling, accomplishing a dangerous feat, and you quickly let out a loud whoop before clearing your throat, trying to sound normal as you press a button on the communicator’s face once more.

“Mando?” You ask, slightly out of breath. “Sorry about that, I’m back.”

Okay, now which way do you go? Downstream seems like the easier path after getting in so much unexpected exercise, so that’s the one you go with. As soon as you lift your foot from the sand bed, you watch your footprint almost immediately disappear through the moonlit water, and you bite your lip at just how well everything turned out for you.

After a moment though, you realize he hasn’t answered you. You look down at the communicator again to make sure you pressed the right thing. “Hello? Shiny?”

“Did you trade shoes with someone?” Din’s voice suddenly comes through the earpiece, sounding absolutely incredulous.

“Shit,” you tell him, trying not to smile. “Hoped that was gonna buy me more time.”

“It… might’ve, if you kept walking in the same direction as they were,” he informs you after a moment. “Your shoes went south, but this other pair got all the way out here just to turn back around again? Good idea, but the execution needs work.”

Maker, he’s smart. It was the first attempt at a footprint change so you weren’t thinking much beyond tricking the tracking mechanism in his helmet, you ignored his logic completely. Essentially, the exact opposite of what he told you to do. You like to think you’re getting better at it by this point, thinking beyond just the original exchange, and you’re hoping you’ll be able to trick him with at least one of the other fifty times you changed shoes today. You’ll have to see tomorrow night, if you can make it that long.

Also, the road you were on apparently goes north-south, that’s important information you make sure to take note of. The man in Osiruu said Devain and Nariss are to the east, and that Sijua and G’ila are westward, right? Remembering that you thought south was west earlier, you do some quick calculating and immediately come to a stop in the moving water as soon as you figure out your positioning, turning around and walking upstream instead.

You want to go to Nariss. The capital, and the biggest city in walking distance. Smart quarry go to populated places, places that make it nearly impossible to find people.

“Alright. Mando: one, Me: zero,” you finally acknowledge, swinging your backpack around and unzipping it to dig inside for another piece of fruit. You’ve been hungry for hours but had to use both hands to stay safe and far above the ground, it’s the perfect time to eat. “How’s the baby? Behaving himself?”

“He kept trying to follow you after you left,” comes Din’s response, and you stop with just your teeth piercing the flesh, wondering if you heard him right. You actually open your jaw and pull the fruit away with just a bite mark in it.

“You’re joking.” No fucking way, not that little demon.

“Wish I was,” he tells you solemnly. “Made a fuss, tried to open the ramp a few times. Didn’t cause any trouble after, just… pouted.”

That’s… that’s exactly how he responded the very first time Din left the kid on the ship with you instead of bringing him along. He threw a fit, tried to ditch you for his dad multiple times, and then ultimately just looked cute and mopey with his limp ears until Din came back. Do you think it’s just him rebelling against change? That has to be it, right?

“He better not be giving you any hints about where I am,” you warn his father. “I’d tell you to put him on but I don’t want the earpiece getting lost forever.”

You hear it. The softest laugh—barely a breath, coming after years of learning to make it just quiet enough not to be registered by the helmet. It gets picked up by the communicator in all its understated beauty when normally it’d be silent, and it’s just jarring enough to make you careless.

On your next step, you accidentally lift your foot too high and make a splash, and you already know you fucked up before he can say a single word.

“What’s that sound?”

You immediately stop moving, allowing the cool water to move as silently as possible past your stationary knees. Shit. “Uh. What sound?”

You think he purposefully doesn’t say anything. Probably because it feels a little like cheating, doesn’t it? It’s to your disadvantage, having him be able to catch hints from your environment when he’s the one who made check-ins mandatory, but then again… how smart do you think he is? Something tells you that he might not need to track you at all—what are the chances he stumbles upon this little stream and just naturally assumes you were clever enough to use it to hide your trail? Did you waste time trying to engineer a vanishing act when it’s not going to matter regardless?

Oh well, too late now. You quickly decide to change the subject.

“You should try the big purple fruit that one vendor sells when you get into Osiruu, by the way,” you tell him pleasantly, taking a big chomp out of it and then letting out an extended hum of delight that only really fucking good food or sex causes a person to make. “I’m eating one right now, it’s so good. Be the best thing you’ve ever tasted.”

“Mm. Doubt it,” immediately comes his low response. Fucking immediately.

“Mando,” you gasp, scandalized and giddy enough that juice dribbles down your chin a bit.

“Are you having fun?” Din asks, instead of pushing the conversation any further in that direction. You don’t know if you’re thankful or disappointed with how quickly he decided to abort, but you take a moment to consider his question while swallowing and wiping your mouth. Not the answer, you know the answer—but why he bothered to ask. Did he know you were going to enjoy yourself as much as you have? Your only possible lament is how you’re talking to him through a communicator instead of having him next to you.

“I am,” you say warmly. “Be… be better if you were here, though.”

“Give me your coordinates,” Din proposes, and his voice is just low and rumbly enough to make you pause.

You’re really, really proud of yourself for only considering it for a few seconds before scoffing. “Psh. Nice try.”

“Was worth a shot,” he sighs through the earpiece, and you smile, taking another bite of fruit.

“Ask me again tomorrow,” you offer, grinning at the implication.

“We’ll see,” you hear him return, and though his tone doesn’t really change, you know he’s probably rolling his eyes. He won’t have to ask for your coordinates because he’ll already be there, but it’s nice to pretend for a while longer.

And then you both walk all through the night, sharing casual banter with each other for hours. He never once implies he wants to disconnect, even when you hit him with more nonsensical questions—

“What’s your favorite food?” (“I don’t have one.”)

“Okay, well what about just a food that you like?” (“I don’t like food that much.”)

“What do you mean? Everyone loves food.” (“Not me.”)

“Alright, well um. What’s your favorite color, then?” (“I don’t have one, either.”)

“Come on, you must have some kind of color you like.” (“What’s your favorite color?”)

“…Brown.” (“Then that’s my favorite, too.”)

—until the sun rises and you both say your goodbyes.

***

Day 1–6:15am:

You resolve to waiting until you see another person to allow your feet to touch dry land, figuring the longer you stay untraceable, the better off you’ll be. Your toes are wrinkly and your pantlegs and shoes have been drenched for hours, but then you finally spot a few fishermen standing upstream with their backs to you, speaking to each other in the dawning light. Two look to be full-grown, but there’s a smaller one in the middle, maybe a teenage boy, and you pause for a second, looking at the riverbank next to them. All their valuables—water, food, bait, extra rods, but also… their shoes.

Quietly, you reach into your backpack and remove the pair of men’s shoes you bought earlier. The ones closest to you on the shore seem to be the smallest, so you sneak over as silent as possible and rapidly make an exchange, fitting the new ones on your wet feet before allowing yourself to touch dry land and then speed walking away.

The ones you left him are newer and roughly the same size anyways—yikes, maybe slightly smaller now that you’re thinking about it—but at least you have a back pathing. If that kid decides to take your offering and the shoes fit, Din will follow him, and if he decides to go barefoot instead, he should still follow him, right? You’re not really aiming to trick him outright, mostly you just want him to waste more and more time. This likely wouldn’t work if there wasn’t a time limit attached to this hunt, but you’re going to do everything you can to disappear while he’s still far enough behind you.

***

Day 1–7:06am:

You get to Devain remarkably quickly after finding the correct road. The pit stop is much bigger than Osiruu, big enough to call an actual town instead of just a settlement, but still not large enough to feel concealed. You want a city. This place at least has cars and ships moving about and overhead respectively, but you’re looking for somewhere with lines. Somewhere that feels as cramped and busy as possible.

Still, you find a restroom to use and then decide to grab some more food for your trip, happily spotting your new favorite purple fruit in one of the shop windows. As you’re reaching out to hand the storekeeper the appropriate amount of credits, Din’s gruff voice comes through the earpiece so suddenly that you jump, nearly dropping them all on the counter. “Hey.”

“Holy shit, what?” You gasp, earning a confused look from the lady in front of you. You quickly shake your head at her and mouth an apology while Din grumbles in vexation.

“You were supposed to stay on foot.”

Ah. So he got to the bus, then. Okay.

“Oh,” you answer ambiguously, exchanging the money for your bag of food and giving her a polite smile. Din stays completely mute while you grab your snack, stuffing the rest of the goods in your backpack and then turning to leave—mute for so long that you have to double check you didn’t accidentally do it yourself.

“…Smart girl,” you finally hear him say. Quietly muttered under his breath, half proud of you and half frustrated for making his job more difficult. “Which one of these is yours then?”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” you announce, before taking a large bite as you leave the establishment and talking with your mouth full. “You really gotta try the purple fruit, it’s great.”

The communicator abruptly clicks to silence on his end without anything else and you laugh so unexpectedly that a few pieces of it fly out of your mouth.

***

Day 1–1:32pm:

Somewhere miles away from you, Din jerks to a halt in the middle of a forest.

He looks around the dirt floor, walks a few paces and hears the kid coo gently from his cradle. Behind the visor, the red footprints he’s circling are the last ones around for hundreds of meters, as far as his display can read.

His helmet slowly tilts upwards, and follows the endless maze of thick branches overhead.

With the beskar hiding his face, no one can see the way he slowly breaks into a beautiful grin.

***

Day 1–9:51pm:

Oh. Oh stars, you’re tired.

You’ve been walking all day without really seeing anything, not having any place to disguise your tracks in the wide open plains. You could’ve stuck to the road, but you started to feel the exhaustion creep in during the early afternoon and you wanted to be far away from other travelers and potential danger if you needed to rest. You knew this would be a long journey when you left Devain earlier—over a day’s walk, a group of children told you—you even tried skipping or jogging a bit to see if that would inspire more energy in you, but it didn’t help much.

The large cup of caf you bought while in town was drained hours ago and it didn’t help much either, probably because your exhaustion is more physical and not necessarily mental. It just felt like a sweet warm drink to sip before you go to sleep, that’s how much the caf helped. Still, you kept walking, kept moving forward even as you squinted in the setting sun, your feet aching from traveling for this long wearing unfamiliar shoes. The last time you changed them was hours ago, pulling another bus maneuver but with an air shuttle instead. Still, you don’t think it’ll be enough. You don’t even know where Din is but you already feel like you’re losing ground just knowing that he’s the one in pursuit.

You feel it—the hair standing up on your neck, the tingles in your hands, the stirring of your tummy—whatever the incessant gogogo that your instincts happen to scream when you’re in first place but you know the person behind you is quickly closing in. It’s day fucking one, it’s day one and you feel him in the wind as it brushes through your hair, you can’t even pause to rest because nobody knows better than you that he’s an absolute fucking machine when he wants to be. The kid may have powers beyond that which can be explained by the laws of nature, but Din is a force all his own. He drives you forward when everything inside you is telling you to stop. He keeps you awake and determined when you just desperately need to rest.

But that only goes so far. You’re bordering on two full days without sleep, and though you’d normally be able to suffer through, the constant movement is just brutal after being confined to a stationary ship for so long.

There’s a lone tree in the distance, you think. It’s hard to see. Not because it’s dark—well it is, just a bit darker tonight compared to last, but mostly because your eyelids have grown heavier and more burdensome than the bag around your shoulders. That looks like a good place to just sit for a second, right? Maybe eat some more food, try and wake yourself up? Yeah, that’s a good idea, you’ll head towards the tree and just… sit…

***

Day 2–12:00am:

Completely dead to the galaxy and sitting on your ass with your back against rough bark, the comm clicks and Din’s voice comes through the earpiece.

“Wake up.”

It startles you enough to make you lurch forward and jerk your head around in a panic, looking for any flash of beskar so you can instantly break opposite to it. You scramble on all fours to look around but you don’t see anything, not even behind the trunk when you crawl, and then you take a deep breath and use the bone of your wrists to rub your eyes vigorously after a moment, knowing your hands are filthy. “Fuck, how’d you—”

“You’re always sleepy,” Din repeats, and you collapse back into the tree with an exhausted groan, not entertained but not even having the energy to get mad about it.

“I… I gotta sleep,” you tell him, already feeling your body let go of its tension and search for the darkness of unconsciousness once more. “Shit. How d’you… mm. Stay awake all the time…”

“Sleep,” Din encourages, you can still hear him walking. “You need rest. I’ll see you soon.”

No—

“No,” you whine like a child, moaning and shoving yourself upright. Maker, you’re trying to focus, but asking that of yourself is almost impossible right now. Everything swims—you were dreaming, you think, but you can’t remember and it’s not important other than to emphasize how woozy you are. Things still feel like a dream, somehow.

You think he can hear your struggling through the comm, because the sound of his footsteps pause. “Go to sleep.”

“You go to sleep,” you tell him bluntly, giving your head a violent shake to try and wake you up. You want to slap your own cheek but you don’t want him to hear it. “I can’t sleep if you don’t.”

“I’ve have at least a couple more days in me before that happens,” Din murmurs, and you bet he knows exactly what the fuck he’s doing to you. You start to slouch, hearing the voice he uses when he’s curled around your body in the darkness of the hull. So warm, so gentle. If you use your imagination, you can feel his fingers drawing slow circles on your back, the vibration of his low voice rumbling against your ear as you lay your head on his chest. “If I hunt you the way I’d hunt a quarry, I’m going to find you before you wake up.”

“Then I’ll jus’ have to… not let tha’ happen,” you slur. Even this close to unconsciousness, you try your best to throw in a misdirect. “Already… paid for the bed an’ everything.”

“Sure you did. You in another tree?”

You immediately frown even as your eyes drop closed, too tired to fight but still managing to sound upset. “You makin’ fun of me?” You ask him with a harumph. Genuinely, you’re not smart enough to figure it out right now.

“Not hardly,” Din sighs, sounding… you don’t know. Is that displeasure or not? It’s not immediately clear. Does it sound that way because you’re just dumb stupid right now? Or because Din can’t actually decide how he feels about it? “Lucky I heard water over the comm last night, I would’ve wasted hours in that forest.”

“Noooo,” you whine in response, trying to push yourself off the tree but tipping sideways in the process, “that’s not fair—”

“Fair wasn’t part of the rules,” he repeats himself again and… nope, you don’t even have the energy to snark something back. You just grumble your best imitation of him while you do everything you can to heave yourself upright. It’s pitiful, you lose your balance not even halfway through and just plop on the grass for a second and groan.

“Stop,” Din eventually orders through the earpiece, tired of it. “What’s sixteen times itself?”

You’re loopy to the point where you don’t even question why he decided to ask you that. You just furrow your brows for a second and try to think about it, before suddenly realizing you… don’t know, you can’t remember. Multiplication tables and squares up to twenty are elementary to you, you know them by heart. Sixteen times sixteen. One forty-four. No… no that doesn’t sound right, is that twelv—

You take way too long answering what would’ve been an immediate response two days ago.

“I’ll stop here for tonight,” Din tells you with a resolved sigh. “I won’t move until you wake up. Go to sleep. You’re putting yourself in danger, you can’t even do the basics.”

Later, this moment will come back to you. That problem isn’t basic, not many adults would be able to tell you very quickly that the answer is two fifty-six. You don’t even think Din would. You would, though. On Naboo, you used rapidly applied trigonometry in your head to find his location, and that was barely two minutes after waking up. You should know this. And he knows you.

But for right now, you don’t pay it a single lick of attention.

“You promise?” You ask quietly, voice incredibly small as your head tilts back towards the sky, already feeling yourself beginning to fall back into the darkness again.

“I promise,” he vows in return, gentle but a promise nonetheless. He doesn’t have to do this. You wouldn’t be able to keep going even if he didn’t offer up this temporary truce, but knowing he isn’t currently gaining ground on you makes the idea of sleep so much more welcoming, something you want to seek out instead of fight.

“Will you, um…” your expression furrows. How do you say this? You sigh, giving up before even trying to figure it out. “I’m… not in a bed. I’m outside.”

Din doesn’t say anything when you pause, and even through the haze wanting to take over, you know it’s going to sound needy. You want him to stay. Even in the midst of an adventure, you want him to stay, you want to hear him breathe as you rest, but there’s not really an integrous way to ask.

You don’t need to ask.

“I’ll keep the comm open and wake you when the sun rises,” comes his lulling baritone before you can elaborate anymore, enveloping you in comfort in this dreadfully uncomfortable bed of grass and dirt. “Sleep, sweet girl. I’m right here.”

***

Day 2–5:34am:

The sun shines over the hills and you lift your head up to squint your eyes at it, confused as fuck. Looking down at your wrist to check the time in the warm rays, hands and clothes dirty from laying on the ground that long—you stay groggy and clueless for just a moment longer, before your heart lurches when you remember Din’s promise to you.

You open your mouth to address him but then catch yourself just in time. Wait. Don’t panic. Listen.

Breathing. Slow and relaxed through the earpiece, a rhythm now branded into your memory from months of nights spent in pitch black. He’s… asleep.

Din is asleep? Seriously?

You can count like… twice that this has happened, and one of those was because he got you to touch him just right after closing up a wound on his back, and his body couldn’t handle the strain and passed out. You’re never awake when he’s asleep—you’re just not, it doesn’t happen. Din… sleeps like it’s just a choice for him, he doesn’t ever really need it. Almost like how he used to eat before he started sharing meals with you, he said he doesn’t even like food that much. You think he just severed all of those things long ago, things that are basic fundamentals of survival and operated like a bounty droid that lost its voice box. It’s… nice, feeling like you’re somehow giving back some of the things he lost. Unintentionally encouraging him to find sleep again. Making sure he eats more, listening to him speak.

You struggle to your feet as quietly as possible, hearing him continue to breathe slow and relaxed through the communicator. This isn’t purposeful, you don’t think he actually allowed it. He promised you, and Din doesn’t take shit back. If he tells you he’ll do something and he doesn’t follow through, it’s either out of his control or a mistake, it’s never been purposeful. He didn’t mean to fall asleep.

And, in other circumstances, you most definitely would not find some way to take advantage of this. You’d let him sleep and do other things in the meantime—make some food for you and the kid, find something on the Crest that isn’t spotless and clean until it is, or just… lay there next to him until he woke up. But… these circumstances are their own. You have to capitalize now, this is your chance. You passed out last night around… ten pm, you think it was, and then he promised to stop at midnight. That means you have to walk at least two hours before he wakes up if you want to prevent any loss of ground—you don’t know where he stopped, he could be a few miles back even.

You have to find Nariss—you have to. It’s your only option, if you keep trying to run, it’s just going to make it so much easier for him. Now is the time to hide. You know it hasn’t been long, it’s barely been two days since you first left the Crest but it feels like you’re already in endgame, already making moves in self-defense instead of actually planning your maneuvers ahead of time.

The capital should be half a day’s walk from here, then. As long as you get there, you think you’ll be okay.

***

Day 2–8:28am:

Din’s groan suddenly comes through your ear.

You immediately stop, seeing a busy road in the distance and glad you haven’t quite made it there yet, before trying to disguise your voice as drowsy. “Mm?”

“Shit,” he breathes, and you hear him get up, the sound of beskar moving as he grunts.

“Mpph,” you groan back, squinting your eyes to see if that’ll help sell the act. “I thought you… Mando, fuck, y’said you’d wake me when the sun came up.”

“I… fell asleep,” he admits, voice rough with it, sounding just as confused as you felt earlier.

“You said you had days in you before that happened,” you murmur, taking a deep breath and stretching your arms up above your head. Stars, your back hurts, how does he possibly manage to carry a fucking jet pack around all the time?

“Yeah, I…” He pauses for a moment and you bite your lip, not liking the quiet as soon as you hear it. “How long have you been up?”

Op. Not good. “Wha?”

He’s not falling for it. “How long?”

How in Maker’s name? This is impossible. How can you hope to hide from him when you can’t even manage to hide the smallest fucking truth from him? Can you salvage this somehow? “…Like ten minutes.”

“Least a few hours, then,” he sighs, and you get ready to hit him with the same line he used when you complained about his leg-up, opening your mouth as soon as you hear him speak. “That was smar—”

“Fair wasn’t part of—”

Oh. Well. Apparently you didn’t have a reason to feel shitty about deciding to haul ass while he was passed out even though you kind of ended up doing so anyways. There was no agreement besides that he wouldn’t move until you woke up. Reason is on your side, but it still feels a bit like you fucked him over. Is that valid or are you just so used to being nice that putting yourself first feels like a wrong you’ve committed?

“Don’t feel bad,” Din tells you, and you hear a soft coo in the background. It makes you smile the smallest bit, your shoulders relaxing even as they ache from carrying your pack around. “You should feel bad about stealing that poor kid’s shoes, though. He walked home barefoot.”

You smack your forehead. “It was just….”

“Yeah,” he scoffs when you don’t finish your sentence, and you can’t keep back a giggle. “Alright, I’m up now. See you when you get here.”

And then the communicator clicks, and you’re…

Uh. What the fuck was that?

No. Nope, you’re not going to get played. That was a brilliant attempt at fucking with you, but you’re not falling for it this time. You’ve grown since that night on Canto Bight, you know him, he can’t just say shit to fuck with your head and then smile at your flailing response from under the helmet anymore. You normally would stew in that last comment until it got to you, made you make a mistake most likely, but the more you think about it, the more certain you are that he has nothing. He was just trying to see if you’ll abandon your entire plan just by implying he already knows it. That’s beginner shit, you’re not falling for it. Din wanted to leave the conversation with the upper-hand since you gained at least an hour of extra ground while he slept. You’re certain of it.

***

Day 2–12:35pm:

Nariss is big. Nowhere near the size of Coruscanti sectors of course, where billions of people are packed from surface to exosphere and require oxygen recirculation towers to breathe at the very top, but just slightly bigger than you expected. It’s bustling and you haven’t even made it through the city gates yet—you’re approaching them and the large number of people waiting in line, seeing buildings stretch out for miles in front of you and grinning. Yes, this will work nicely.

As you peek over shoulders in the sizable crowd, you see only two or three people allowing people to enter one at a time… is that a biometric scanner?

Oh. That looks good and it also doesn’t look good at the same time. If Din’s safety meant nothing to you, you’d have no trouble whatsoever getting in line and waiting to do a retinal scan, but you immediately pause and consider the potential consequences.

Your dumb ass almost weighs the option of clicking the communicator on and asking his opinion. You’d give away your location in a heartbeat (if he doesn’t know it already) just because you’re worried he’d… what, exactly? Stand in line for an hour, take his helmet off in front of a crowd of people, have the system ping his scan, and then hang out and wait for New Republic reinforcements to show? You have to stop worrying about him. He’s not a baby, he can handle himself and you need to stop considering the possibility of taking a loss just so he doesn’t have to, even if the self-destructive sentiment feels ingrained in your nature to do so.

So you wait in line, moving at a slow pace but at least moving. While you’re standing there quietly, a man in front of you decides to strike up a conversation. You don’t come from a place with an excess of people, but the ones in your sector were friendly and did this kind of thing often, so perhaps for that reason, you decide to chat.

“Do you have some place to stay?” He asks at one point. So far the conversation has revolved around him—every time he asks about you, you deflect. He doesn’t need to know. “Nariss isn’t kind to drifters.”

This catches your attention, though. This is relevant. “What does that mean?”

“It’s expensive?” He scratches his blonde hair, giving you a soft smile. “Food, housing, all of it is way out of my price-range. I stay with my uncle and work overnights at the eastern docks. It’s not much, but it’s enough to keep a roof over our heads. We used to live in Gibrath, but then we moved to the city because he’s a good architect and they’re always expanding. It’s nice, of course, but really expensive.”

He’s handsome, you think… in kind of a boyish, charming way. Blonde hair, sparkly blue eyes. He doesn’t look much older than you, and maybe in another lifetime you would’ve found him appealing, but… you like darker features, you think. Someone a little less expressive. This guy… talks a lot.

“I thought this moon was a safe world for people displaced by the Empire,” you offer, taking a step forward as the entire crowd shifts.

“Sanctuary II is,” he comments. “The capital is safe, too—what, with all the orangies walking around,” he tilts his head to two jumpsuited guards trying to organize the glob of people so the line can move faster, rolling his eyes as if they’re some kind of joke. “But not… welcoming, not if you’re looking for a place to settle. You would’ve been better off in G’ila.”

“Is there anywhere you know that would take me for free?” You ask. You have quite a few credits left, but you don’t think it’s a good idea to stay in an inn. It’ll be the first place Din checks.

“Are you a virgin?” He returns, and you immediately pull back at the unexpected question, your heart thudding at the possibility of danger. The man’s sandy eyebrows shoot up at your response and he quickly apologizes—“Heavens, I’m so sorry to ask like that! It’s just… the only place I know is the Holy Keja Orphanage on the northern outskirts. Their signs say they only house children and teenagers, but I’ve heard from other girls your age that they’ll accept any woman as long as they’ve stayed pure in the eyes of the Maker.”

“Oh,” you say after a moment, leaning sideways to see just a few people standing in front of him. Good, this is almost over. “Um. Yep. That’s me.”

He smiles at you once more, giving you a nod. “When you get to the city, just go straight through. It’s about a mile outside of the gates, no more than a day’s walk from this side of town.”

Okay, that’s… interesting. You think about it while you thank him and begin to exchange polite goodbyes, moving up another step until he’s next in line. That might actually be a good move. Din could spend a long time in the city without ever finding you. Smart quarry go to populated places, but… smarter quarry defy the expectations placed upon them, right? He knows you’re smart, and even though you’re confident his “See you when you get here” was purely psychological fuckery, that also implies… at the very least, that he’s assuming there is a here to get to. Meaning, he knows you’re not going into the wilderness to evade him. He’s not going to comb the outskirts when there are so many places to hide within the city gates, with an entire perimeter of New Republic guards stationed around it. Even if he does, the signs will say only children and teenagers—categories you do not fall into.

The unnamed man is soon ushered forward but you stop him quickly. “Oh, by the way. I doubt this will happen, but if a man in a big metal suit with a tiny green baby happen to ask you the same thing, please don’t tell him what you just told me.”

He furrows his eyebrows at you and cocks his head, but smiles and agrees nonetheless.

***

Day 2–5:43pm:

You have an idea.

You’ve been working on it all afternoon, but you were hit with it the second you were looking for another pair of shoes to buy and find a clever way of putting on.

The cheapest ones were ridiculously overpriced, blonde dude was right. You blinked down at the tag and asked the salesman where the cheapest shoes in this part of town were, and then he just wrinkled his nose at you and shooed you out of the store. Granted, you slept in dirt and spent two days walking—you bet you reek, but he didn’t have to be like that.

Though, the man’s displeasure with you had an upside. You were holding a possible pair of pants and a shirt to buy when he threw you out, not yet having checked the atrocious pricetag on them, but it appeared as if he’d rather let you have them for free than rip them from your… admittedly, pretty filthy arms. Oh well, you weren’t complaining. Fancy clothes for free, score.

But now you’re here, and you have the best idea. You don’t need to change shoes, not yet. Why? Because you’ve figured out how to turn your incessant detriment into an advantage.

You’re in the middle of downtown, you think, maybe just some random crowded square, and there’s an inn in front of you. It’s fucking enormous, and you already know it’s gotta be incredibly expensive just looking at the sheer number of stories. It’s an eyesore, it sticks out. But that’s okay, because you’re only planning on staying for a night.

It’s also… right next to New Republic headquarters. Or fuck, at least a station of some sort, because they’re swarming in and out of the constant crowd, passing by the valet doors.

At first you naturally wanted to steer away from the jumpsuits, since you know they’re bad news for Din, but then you remember what he said before you left. I’m only telling you so that you’ll know your advantage and find a way to exploit it. I can’t be seen by any officers, or they might arrest me.

It’s to your advantage, he said so himself. Everything lines up perfectly—the street is bustling, the inn is well protected, it’s nice—it’s everything you’re looking for.

And there’s another upside, see. An omnipresent, omniscient ghost in the form of a communicator clipped to your wrist right now. If Din is always going to be able to predict you, he’s always going to know when you’re lying, always be able to read you… then you’ll just have to let him.

Let him know. Let him know exactly where you are. Right in the middle of the most populated street you’ve seen thus far, a constant barrage of people walking by and New Republic officers patrolling. If you were planning on staying in the city, this would probably be your best option to hide. He could waste days here if you’re smart about it.

The concierge doesn’t appear too pleased with your lack of cleanliness and neither do you, honestly, but at least he allows you to book a suite for the night. It’s… not as bad as you were originally assuming, credits-wise, but it’s worth more than half your stash and you’re going to have to conserve from this point on. It shouldn’t be too bad—your destination is a holy orphanage, you’re sure they’ll have some extra food and a bed for you even if it won’t be ideal. Still, you think you’re going to enjoy some lavish experiences for once in your life before you go.

***

Day 2–11:54pm:

Alright, so this was the best idea ever. This is the shit.

You’re leaning back against a fluffy stack of pillows, squeaky clean from an absolutely glorious bath and watching the flickering drama on the large holonet display in front of you. You don’t have any idea what’s going on, as it’s being broadcast in Rodian, but you haven’t been able to change the frequency because it’s so fucking intense—somebody’s sister is their mother, you think? No, that must be a mistranslation, right?

You’re also in a robe. Yes, there is a motherfucking robe in here. And… and slippers, it’s like a dream. Do people normally wear slippers in bed? You do. Hell, maybe you should stay here, screw the credits and the chase. This mattress is even better than the one on Naboo and you’re basking in the luxury after being outdoors for so long.

The lights are off other than that and you’ve opened the drapes wide, knowing you’re on something like the fifteenth floor and nobody would be able to see you anyways. You just like being able to turn your head and look out at the sky. Violent and periwinkle tonight. You wonder if he’s looking, too.

Luckily, you snap yourself back out of it and glance down at the time on your communicator, quickly pressing a button on the remote to mute the Rodian show and then opening the line the moment the hour changes.

Day 3–12:00am:

“Hiya, Shiny,” you say before anything else, laying back and running a few fingers through your damp hair. Your eyes close against the flickering light, taking a slow, relaxed breath. Maker, this feels nice.

“You sound happy,” Din comments. Astute, you feel happy. Well… you’d obviously feel happier if he was here. Your eyes flick over to the open bathroom door, still steamy from your bubble bath earlier, imagining him walking through it completely naked and then climbing over you on the covers. You can only really picture it from the neck down—no, hang on… you can see his shaggy brown curls, that one spot on his forehead you know, how his facial hair would be dark and frame his mouth. No face, though. Missing just one fraction of him from your imagination, feeling incomplete but also somehow… complete in a way.

“I feel better after sleeping last night,” you tell him, purposefully leaving out the softness of the sheets underneath you, the sheer comfort of all this extravagance. You don’t need it, you’ll never need it, but it feels nice to have for once.

“I do, too,” he replies quietly, and your eyes flutter closed. You… miss him. This mattress would feel softer with him next to you. He’d probably be able to translate this show for you, even though you already know he’d fucking hate it. You can imagine it—you with your eyes closed, him propped up on an elbow next to you and grumbling vague descriptions of the nonsense happening on screen just to hear your chuckles. Adventures are great, but maybe they aren’t as great by yourself, you think.

“You should sleep tonight, too,” you encourage, but he scoffs.

“Not a chance,” Din mutters. “Oh, before I forget, we need to charge the communicators today.”

“How am I supposed to do that?” You ask him, glancing at all the multiple wireless charging outlets stationed around you. “I’m in the middle of nowhere.”

He doesn’t even take a fucking second before responding. “Good one.”

You grin up at the ceiling, warmth flooding you. You love him. Literally every single time, he just knows. Your curiosity is too overwhelming after this happening so often. Your plan to distract him relies on him being able to read you, but that doesn’t prevent you from wondering how he does it so accurately, time and time again. “How do you know?”

“You slept outside last night,” he immediately tells you, like that should mean anything to you.

Does he… does he truly know you well enough to know how much your back and shoulders hurt today? How much you were aching for a shower and clean clothes? A bed to sleep on that isn’t dirt or metal? You give into the accurate prediction with shameless honesty, not caring if he knows it’s the truth.

“This bed is soft,” you murmur gently, dragging your hand across the mattress next to you. “You should be here. I’d make you feel good.”

Admittedly, your comfort is making you a bit drowsy and you said it in the easiest way possible, but you didn’t necessarily mean it sexually. Well… you sort of did—you’d make him feel so good in this bed—but what you meant was more… comforting. He could take a bath, or a shower, and get all the grime off him. He could feel clean and unburdened, take a break instead of constantly moving around. The baby could have a whole bed to himself if he wanted, though you know he’d probably want to be on this one instead. You could all look at the sky together.

Din is quiet for a little bit, before his voice comes back through the earpiece. “Are you in an inn?”

“No,” you say, a little too quickly. Perfect, that sounded just right for a lie. You are lying, you absolutely are in an inn, the only difference is that you want him to catch on that it’s a lie, so… why does he take way too long before responding?

“Hm.”

What the fuck—why… how is it even physically possible? He read you that deeply from one single word? You’re not sure if he’s somehow psychic and figured the whole fucking thing out or if he just knows there’s something off, but it’s still enough to blow you away.

“Are you doing this on purpose?” You blurt without thinking.

“Doing what?” He grunts, sounding like he’s stepping over something, his breath changing intensity as he walks.

“If I look out this window right now, am I gonna see you standing out there just messing with me?” You don’t even know what to believe anymore. How do you beat this? If you don’t want him to know the truth, he’ll figure it out, and if you do want him to know the truth, he’ll still figure it out. His perception is unbelievable.

After a moment of silence, he murmurs gently through the comm. “I thought you said you were in the middle of nowhere.” It sounds like he’s smiling.

“I…” your eyes shift around awkwardly, “am…”

Din lets out a deep sigh. He’s right, that was bad, even for you. “I found your bed a few hours ago,” he admits. You close your eyes as you listen to him make his way closer to you, step by step. “I’m nowhere near the city yet. You have time to sleep.”

Your expression furrows and you frown. “Why are you helping me?”

“Why do you want me to think you’re in an inn?” He tosses back, and you huff.

“Because I’m trying to outsmart you but you make it really fucking difficult,” you grumble, not happy about him catching on so quick.

“You’ve also gained about four hours on me since we started.” His voice is gruff. You don’t know if he thinks it’s a good thing or a bad thing. “You should give yourself more credit. I thought I would’ve found you by now, never expected you to get all the way to Nariss. It’s… not good for me.”

The honesty creeping in makes you go soft. It makes you want to reciprocate, even if it’s dumb and you haven’t thought it all the way through. “Wanna know a secret?”

“Tell me.” His voice is a bed all its own, deep and gentle and safe.

You say it before you lose the nerve. “I might just turn around and walk back.”

His footsteps stop and you hear a small sound in the background, a quiet little baby noise that suddenly makes your heart ache. You’re comfortable but incredibly aware of how alone you are. People pass by on the streets below, cars and hoverbikes honk in the distance and you’re by yourself. For the first time in over a year, like you have been for years, you’re by yourself.

“Sweet girl,” Din sighs, and all of a sudden… you can feel his arms around you with it. You feel so… known, somehow. Every sentiment you could’ve possibly given in your last sentence, he relays his understanding back with his. He makes you feel loved with it. “Never wants to run.”

You don’t say anything, because you suddenly realize you’re totally fucking whipped, up down and sideways for his metal ass and the little floating grimlin that follows him around, and you would throw away the fifth quarry, adventure, the sky—literally everything if you could be with the both of them right now.

But again. You don’t have to say anything, he already knows. “Give me your coordinates.”

Your eyes pop open and you bite your lip. Oh, stars. You hate that you do genuinely consider it. He could be here, and very soon. With the jet pack, both of them could be here in less than an hour, probably. He could take a shower. Watch these stupid shows with you all night without needing to be on the move, help you build a bed of pillows for the kid on top of this one. You could be with both of them again, even if it’s only for a little while.

“Ask me again tomorrow,” you finally whisper, looking down at the soft white fabric of your robe, the way one of your slippers is falling off your foot as the holonet program continues to play on mute.

Din’s footsteps eventually start up again, and you both relax in silence together. You, squinting at the screen because your eyes are getting heavy; him, continuing to travel step by step and gain ground on you. Let him come. You’ll be long gone by the time he even makes it to the gates.

It’s been about ten minutes of shared, quiet existence before you hear him bite into something and chew, and your face suddenly lights up.

“Are you eating the purple fruit?” You ask, your slipper falling off with excitement. You don’t know why, but it’s like… you’re stoked for him. Just as proud of him for doing normal things as he does when you step out of your own comfort zone. You like to think you’re both better that way. Balanced.

“Mm,” Din replies with his mouth full, and you grin down at your bare legs peeking through the robe while he swallows.

“Is it not the best thing you’ve ever tasted?” Your voice goes a little breathless with it, and you hear his footsteps stop once more.

“Close,” Din murmurs lowly, sending a small shudder through you. It suddenly feels a bit warm in here, doesn’t it? This morning was one of the rare times you were awake while he was asleep… it’s almost always the other way around, and just from the implication in his tone, you’re reminded of the thing he likes doing most when you’re resting. Maybe he’ll let you do it to him, next time around. The thought gets you hot enough to warrant the other slipper falling to the floor.

“You’re alone, right?” You whisper, knowing he must’ve pulled the helmet up to take a bite of the fruit. He must still be following your path through the hillside, then, not yet reaching the road.

“The kid is awake,” Din tells you, sounding like he’s trying to stop everything before anything starts. His words are short and clear in their meaning, but…

This has a very small chance of success, you already know. “…Do you want to—”

“No,” he responds quickly, already way ahead of you. “We can’t.”

Something in his voice… you don’t know, there’s just something there that makes you feel just a little reckless. Should you push it? You’re by yourself in this suite, what can go wrong?

“You can’t,” you correct him quietly, shifting around on the bed just a bit and biting your lip. It’s a thrill—being able to tease him without having him in front of you, drive him crazy knowing you’re just out of his reach. “But I can do whatever I want, can’t I?”

There’s a pause, a tense and knowing silence suspended between you before he eventually speaks.

“I’d be real careful,” Din mutters low in warning, but what is he gonna do?

“What are you gonna do?” You whisper to him devilishly. Quiet and breathy, beginning to snake your hand down. Stars, your heart is already pounding. You’d only likely mouth off like this in person just to see how hard he’d fuck you, but this feels extra dangerous for some reason. He’s stuck, he can’t do anything about it right now, and you know it’s playing with fire. “You could hang up if you don’t want to hear me. Or you could find me before I’m finished. Come make me stop.”

Din doesn’t say anything but he very much does not hang up, nor does he come busting into your room like you imagine he’d like to. The sheer fact that your door is still closed and locked tells you for sure that he isn’t just hanging out in the hallway, just letting you have your fun.

You start pressing your fingers against your robe at the apex of your thighs, humming at how nice the pressure feels. You don’t even spread your legs or push the fabric away, you just sigh into it and wiggle your hips a bit, pressing hard against your clit and listening to him breathe.

“Do you want to listen?” You ask quietly after a moment, and Din still doesn’t respond. Likely because there’s not a real answer, both yes and no would imply the wrong thing. “I’ll talk.”

Still, nothing from him. Dead silence through the comm. You’re starting to understand. For two days, you’ve felt like he could read your every thought just by the cadence of your voice. He’s staying quiet so you can’t even attempt to do the same to him—if he doesn’t talk, you can’t find a weakness and pounce on it, you can’t feel any more confident or reassured about your own ability to read him.

You’ll just have to push a little harder, then.

“Hm. If only this fancy communicator could…” you pause to look down at your wrist for a second, studying the menu. You don’t think you’ve ever really looked at it, you never had the time.

Din’s growl is sudden and sharp through the earpiece. “No, don’t even think—”

“Ah,” you smile, tapping the face and immediately finding the correct screen. “Take pictures.”

He’s deadly quiet for a moment, and you bite your lip with excitement. When he does speak, his voice is a pure threat, chilling you to the bone as much as it burns deep in your tummy. “…You wouldn’t.”

Ignoring him, you suddenly locate a menu option that sounds phenomenal right now. “Oh shit, does this holocall? Or is it a video option?”

“Holo,” he says very seriously while you study the lack of complexity of the built-in camera in skepticism, “and the kid is awake, so you can’t—”

“Oh, it’s definitely a video,” you unclip it from your wrist and he curses as you sit up, and then you press a button and wait impatiently for him. “Pick up.”

Din takes forever before responding, and you hear the continuous beeps as it attempts to connect, before his quiet baritone rumbles in your ear. “What if I don’t?”

You feel your mouth pull down at the corners, not so much frowning as you are dubious. He’s going to turn down the opportunity to see you and your surroundings when his whole goal is locating you? Really?

“You sure?” You ask softly, raising an eyebrow. “You’d get to see me, where I am. What I’m…” your eyes dip down to the loose robe riding your curves, your skin glowing against the white fabric, “…wearing.”

The beeps continue on for a few more seconds, until they finally stop. You frown down at the black screen of the communicator, not seeing anything at all. Did he decline the transmission request? No… there’s a little red light next to the small lens that wasn’t there before. Why can’t you see him?

“Why can’t I see you?” You ask. You want to look at him looking at you, you don’t want to always be stuck on the other side of a one-way mirror.

“I… have it linked to my helmet, but it only has a front-facing camera,” Din tells you after a moment, and he sounds… slightly out of breath. “Easier to see, the watch is useless now besides the controls.”

Wait, does that mean you’re… being shown on the inner-display of his helmet instead of his wrist? Right in front of his eyes, as if he were actually here with you?

“Nobody can see me but you?” You clarify, and when he doesn’t respond, you bite your lip and lean back into the pillows. You lift the watch up slightly, extending your arm out until you can get the angle as wide as possible. “Can you see… this?” You ask softly, before hooking your fingers in the collar of your white robe and slowly pulling it open for him.

“Where are you?” Din asks instead, and you hear his footsteps through the earpiece, as if he’s walking away from something very quickly.

You don’t answer him, parting the soft fabric until your breasts are completely exposed and you sigh, closing your eyes and snuggling back into the pillows once more. “I’ll tell you where I am if you keep watching me.”

“Why?” Din grits in frustration, coming back around to the same dangerous question he had earlier. “Why would you do that?”

“I don’t know.” You slowly tilt the camera down until you can spread your legs and the robe falls open with the movement, letting him see your pussy peeking through in the flickering light of the muted screen in front of your bed. “Can you see that?”

“Yeah,” he says shakily on the end of a breath, and you feel yourself get wet. Fuck, he sounds so fucking tempted, the sight making his voice come without any of the self-assuredness as it usually has, but… he could also just be saying that. How do you know he’s telling you the truth?

“What am I doing?” You test him, lifting your knee just the slightest bit so you really give him something to look at.

“Spreading your legs for a camera,” Din responds without hesitation, voice scraping against your ear, making you shiver and your nipples harden. Fuck, the way he says it, like it’s wrong and bad even though he’s the only one who can see or hear you do it… it makes you feel even more naughty and emboldened.

You bite your lip and reach your hand down to spread your lips for him, too, hearing his breath immediately catch on the other end. Already your pussy makes your fingers slick against your soft skin, the sash of your robe still holding the fabric together on your body but also loose enough to allow it to part in the right places and reveal everything you want him to see.

“I am in an inn,” you whisper teasingly, letting your finger drop to brush against your clit and then sighing in soft delight. Oh stars, that feels nice, it feels so good to treat yourself after being completely nomadic for two days, getting to be clean and soft and comfortable while you feel this pleasure, and Din’s voice growls through your communicator like you’re doing something painful to him.

“Fuck,” his breathing picks up while you begin circling your clit. “Where?”

“Nariss,” comes your quiet moan, turning your head on the pillow to blink slowly at the camera. Wanting him to see your eyes as well as your finger slowly dip into where you’re the hottest, caressing the sensitive skin there knowing he’s watching.

“Where in Nariss?” Din’s voice is as pleading as it is sharp, desperately trying to keep either you or himself on track.

“I don’t know,” you say again. Truthfully, you don’t—you don’t know the cross streets, you don’t know the part of town, you don’t know much of anything at all besides physical descriptors. You quickly move the camera to the side as far as you can hold it and let him see you from a different angle with the window as a backdrop. “But the window is open. And there are lots of people outside.”

“Can they see you?” Din immediately challenges. Of course they can’t, you’re fifteen stories up and the room is darker than it is outside with all the city lights and swirling colors of the sky, but you suppose he doesn’t know that. You think he just needs to relax—if this is what he’s always like during hunts, you now know exactly why he comes back to you all riled up and tense.

“I don’t know,” you murmur back, starting to rub your clit a little faster, trying to make it feel like him. It doesn’t—your fingers aren’t large or strong enough to give you those perfect circles; you just feel like you’re meandering yourself towards ecstasy instead of picking you up and hauling your ass there like he does, but it’s okay. Hearing Din’s rough breathing come through the earpiece, knowing his hands are probably clenched tight into fists, wondering if he’s hard yet… all of it culminates into a power trip unlike any you’ve experienced recently. It makes you bold, tells you to open your mouth. “Does it matter? I’d still let you fuck me against it if you were here.”

“Stop it,” comes his growl, but what is he gonna do?

Your leg lifts a little wider so you can slowly slide your fingers down and push two of them inside yourself, and Din swears as you moan, “Come find me.”

“Give me your coordinates—”

“Are you giving up?” You offer breathlessly, lifting your eyebrows and your hips up slightly at the question, but you’re… not expecting the extended silence following. You assumed a growled no would immediately come next, or just another empty threat said with enough force to make you tremble with excitement, but not… nothing.

The response makes you pause just for a second, easing your fingers out and dragging them across your thigh to clean some of the wetness off before extending your arm out towards the communicator. Din stays quiet while you navigate through the menu with trembling fingers, eventually finding your coordinates and hovering over the unchecked share location box.

You wait with your lip bit, confident he knows what you’re doing and you don’t have to narrate or repeat yourself. Fuck, you knew you were considering abandoning this entire adventure just to be next to him again, but you had no idea. No fucking idea that it could ever be a thought in his own mind as well. You… assumed he likes this, hunting is what he does for a living and he’s the one who conceived of the idea in the first place. Is he just that aroused by you? Or is there something more?

“No,” Din eventually murmurs, and you immediately navigate out of the menu so you don’t accidentally press anything catastrophic, before pulling your hand away from the communicator with a resolved hum and settling back into the pillows again. Making sure to look directly into the lens even if your eyelids are heavy with heat and desire, you slowly lick your fingers and then reach down once more.

His deep, shaky breath is so telling. Exhausted after all this, but still not hanging up, still doing his hardest to tough it out when he’s only miles away from you and has jets attached to his back. You don’t want to drag it out but you also do, you want to be kind but something about Din makes you also want to be as formidable as possible. You’ll never be able to threaten like he does, you’ll never have anyone cower just because you walked into the room, you’ll never be as powerful or strong as he is, but you can still put up a fucking fight against him in your own way.

You whimper softly, your breathing beginning to find a quicker pace as surely as your fingers do. It begins to spark and build, a red hot flame being kindled by the knowledge that he’s as close as possible without actually being close, right here with you when he always seems so far away.

“Mando,” you whisper, though your expression pulls inwards just slightly because it… in a scenario as sensual and intimate as this, it almost doesn’t sound righ—

“Din,” he whispers back, so quiet you almost don’t hear it, like he almost doesn’t want to but has to anyways, and then you just start to fucking burn.

“D-Din,” you whisper instead, trying to keep your voice as quiet as possible through the rising swell. He’ll be able to see it, you think. The way your tummy and chest start to heave, how your body begins to brace for it—and yeah, Maker, he sees it, because his voice suddenly changes.

“Stop,” Din growls roughly, knowing exactly how you cum—knowing exactly what it looks like, the way it sounds in your breathing, what it tastes like, how it feels on the inside. It’s been so long since you’ve touched bliss without him, months and months since you brought yourself to completion on the floor of the Crest by yourself, and though he’s rarely ever denied you, your own high on newfound control causes it to slip. He barks your name and tells you to stop once more, but it’s too late.

“I’m gonna cum, Din,” you breathe out—

“Don’t—”

It tears through you, rapid and surging, and he snarls a curse, something loud snapping and thudding and… did he just punch something? You can’t think, it’s delicious and hard as fuck and everything you needed after two days of near constant movement and thought with little rest, and you bite your lip to keep quiet but a pained whimper still shoves its way out of your tense vocal cords regardless. It sounds like it hurts because it does hurt; the orgasm shatters your body into pieces and you’re left trembling by yourself on this soft bed, wishing he was with you on a metal one.

You sink into the mattress in the moments following, sluggish and exhausted and just conscious enough to keep the watch facing you. You bet the camerawork was terrible, shaky at best, but you can’t find it in yourself to care right now. You just lay there and listen to his harsh breathing while you work to slow your heart rate, reveling in the filthy little show you just gave him and wanting to finish it out properly.

“Come find me,” you breathe out once more, lazing soft and naked for him, blinking dazedly at the watch as you pan it over you. Your thighs are still twitching and there’s a thin sheen of sweat clinging to you, but you drag a finger through your swollen lips and carefully wipe the wetness across one of your nipples. “Clean me up.”

“Fuck,” Din suddenly spits through the earpiece, furious. “You think—y-you think—”

“What?” You hum, basking in the afterglow and so, so curious. Truly, you’re dumb as fuck, you have no clue what you’re thinking, but if anybody would be able to tell you, it’s him.

There’s a moment where his breathing stops. It’s completely silent on the line, before you hear another few heavy footsteps on his end pick up and then halt just as quickly.

“You think you can taunt me?” He murmurs, dangerous and deadly quiet. “Show me exactly where you are, disappear and then make me waste forever trying to get there? You think that’s gonna work?”

Your eyebrow lifts, considering. He… may or may not have predicted your strategy perfectly, but his insight has stopped surprising you by now. “Maybe…”

“Maybe you shouldn’t fall asleep tonight.”

Ooh. That one sends goosebumps down your arms, but you’ve gained four hours on top of a twelve hour headstart. He can’t scare you with that tone, not when you’re still woozy with pleasure and he isn’t right in front of you. Instead of wilting beneath the hard threat, you just blink gently at the communicator, finding strength in being the only one to get him this mad when he’s always so composed, this talkative when he barely says a word. “Maybe I’ll just stay here then?”

“Maybe you wanted me to know you’re in an inn because you already found someplace to hide that isn’t one,” Din reasons very, very adeptly. Stars, your heart subtly begins to pick up, your legs continuing to tremble as the small red light next to the lens stares you down. “Can’t be planning to stay with someone you just met because you’d already be there, can’t be going to a hostel because you found the one city on this moon built for commerce and not aid. Not staying in another inn, you can’t afford it—the view looks high up, that robe is expensive, and you already bought food and at least five pairs of shoes in two days. I don’t think the place you found is even in Nariss. You think you can outsmart me, sweet girl?”

The chill down your spine doesn’t reach your eyes, you won’t let it. You just feel yourself smile, tilting your head at him and licking your lips while your finger brushes one of your nipples, but Din doesn’t accept your silence the way you’ve always accepted his. He wants an answer from you, right now, and it’s clear in the dark rumble of his voice, the danger slowly brewing beyond what you originally planned for.

“Tell me,” he orders, unamused and leaving no room to disobey. “How long do you think you can keep running?”

Your eyelashes flutter, suddenly deciding… why not? What have you got to lose? Nothing that you didn’t already go into this situation completely expecting to lose anyways. What’s the worst he can do? Find you?

You close your eyes, pinching one of your nipples and wondering if you might just go for another one since he’s still here. “Ask me again tomorrow.”

But then, instead of immediately responding, you just hear Din’s footsteps suddenly pick up, faster than any pace you’ve been able to keep over the past few days. You don’t think it sounds like a run necessarily, but you know that his legs and strides are far longer than yours and it’s probably pretty much equivalent to a run for you. You hear the rhythm of your demise speeding up, coming closer and closer, and everything in you both fears it and welcomes it.

“We’ll see,” he tells you, and then the red light vanishes and your earpiece clicks to silence.

***

Day 3—2:23am:

Even though it takes you much longer to do so than it normally would on a bed so large and comfortable, after such an exciting interaction and not being used to flickering light when you try to sleep but wanting to experience the rarity anyways, you’re eventually able to pass out.

But, not even a few minutes into a restless dream, you turn over and accidentally knock your communicator off the wireless charging station on the side table. It blinks with four percent battery life.

***

To be continued!!

#the mandalorian x you #the mandalorian x reader #din djarin x reader #din djarin x you #mando x reader #mando x you #the mandalorian #smut #reader insert #fanfic #rough day #no-droids #tw: stalking

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fett-djarin · 3 years

Text

Stress Relief

Here it is! This is entirely self indulgent and filthy! Im a wh*re for the croissant guards

Also I headcanon Fox looking like how amikoroyoaiart draws him. her art is so good!

Commander Fox x f!reader

Crossposted on ao3

Rating: 18+

Length: 3.9k

Warnings/Tags: Oral (m receiving), that good sloppy toppy, office sex, cursing, light grinding, making out

NSFW BELOW THE CUT

Bringing the Guard their morning caf had become a tradition, of sorts. You knew the caf in the mess wasn’t good--in fact, it was barely even palatable. When you first started as a new secretary, it had been your timid way of offering friendship to the imposing troopers who worked so hard to keep the planet safe. They warmed to you quickly. Thire was the first to remove his helmet in front of you, plonking it down on your desk and taking a long pull of caf barely a second after you handed it to him. At your stunned look, he had just raised a brow and said, “Long patrol last night,” with a shrug.

As the others had become more comfortable with you, you had seen most of them without their buckets at some point--except for Fox. He always took his caf with a polite “Thank you, ma’am,” and retreated to his office. You knew it was against regulation for them to remove their helmets while they were on duty. But even when you dropped off the caf in his office, he was at his desk with his helmet on.

“He keeps it on so you can’t tell if he’s actually asleep,” Thorn told you one day. “I suspect he even does it while we’re standing guard sometimes.” You laughed aloud at that. The serious Commander Fox, asleep standing up. He was right though, you never would be able to tell.

The first time Fox removed his helmet in front of you, you hadn’t expected the gray dusting his temples, but honestly you weren’t surprised. The poor man was stressed beyond belief and worked half to death. You were more surprised that he finally did it in the first place. Fox sighed, running a hand through his unruly curls, before taking the caf and giving you a tired smile. He thanked you by name that time. You tried to ignore the butterflies in your stomach.

From then on, he had been without it more when you went into his office. You even caught him sleeping once--head resting on his folded arms, bucket set next to him--and had done your best to deliver the caf without waking him. Maker knew he needed the sleep more than he needed hot caf--if Thorn hadn’t told you he snuck naps with the helmet on, you would think he ran off caf and stubborn will alone.

One morning, after you had passed out caf to the others--and a little cup of whipped cream for Grizzer--Fox hadn’t made an appearance, so you made your way to his office to drop it off. You knocked lightly on the door. “Come in,” his gruff voice called, and the door slid aside. You smiled at him, noting the way his shoulders visibly relaxed at seeing it was just you. You set the cup down on his desk. You had just turned when a touch on your wrist stopped you.

Fox was looking up at you, helmet cocked to the side. “You know you don’t have to bring us caf every time you work, right? The boys better not be nagging you for it.”

“I know,” you said. “I enjoy doing it. And it’s the least I could do.”

“The least you could do?”

“You all work so hard. You deserve more, even if it’s just better caf.”

He squeezed your wrist gently. “You don’t owe us anything. It is our duty to the Republic--”

“I know, Fox,” you tried to hide your grin, and failed. “But you’re also my friends.”

That seemed to surprise him, hand falling from your wrist as he sat back in his chair and regarded you curiously. You made your way back to the door, pausing in the entryway and looking back over your shoulder.

“Have a good morning, Commander.”

“...You as well, ma’am.”

The door slid shut behind you. Fox slipped his helmet off, setting it on his desk and staring hard at the door you had disappeared through. His eyes flicked to the paper cup of steaming caf, brows furrowed.

It was the first time you had called him by his name.

Friends?

----

After that day, Fox seemed to be trying to talk to you more. Instead of taking his caf and running off, he would stay, either to chat or just hang around for a minute with you and the other Guards. Stone nudged Thire, who nudged Thorn, and they all looked over to where Fox leaned his hip casually against your desk and you were laughing at something he said.

“Did someone replace Fox while we weren’t looking?” Thire questioned under his breath.

“I’ve never seen him so...cheery,” Stone said.

You smiled up at Fox, worrying your bottom lip with your teeth. They watched as your fingers grazed the back of his hand where it rested on your desk. “Think something’s goin’ on between those two?” Thorn asked, gesturing vaguely over towards you and Fox with his cup.

“Absolutely.” Thire didn’t hesitate to answer.

The three quickly snapped to attention as Fox excused himself, heading their direction. You gave them a small wave. Thorn was about to wave back before Thire thumped him in the arm.

“Don’t you have duties to attend to?” Fox grumbled as he passed them, heading to his office. “Get to it.” You hid your laugh behind your hand seeing the three Commanders scramble to disperse.

Evening rolled around, and you cocked your head side to side, stretching your neck and shoulders. You had been going over forms all day, datapad after datapad, organizing reports and requests for the Chancellor and the Senate. Your shift was almost over, and you were getting ready to go home for the night.

Various members of the Guard had come and gone, leaving and returning from patrols. Senators and representatives had filtered through; less and less as the evening progressed. You were just getting ready to leave when Fox stalked through, back from his rounds, tense and practically vibrating with irritation. He didn't even spare you a glance as he disappeared into his office. If the doors weren't automatic, he likely would have slammed it shut.

You knew he had a thankless job--a job he had no say in having, either. Usually it was something to do with the Chancellor that got him so worked up. Half the time you thought Fox would strangle the man himself if he could. Maybe you should take Fox out to one of the cafes nearby, just for a second to breathe and not carry the weight of the Guard on his shoulders. Was that against regulation? It might be better to invite him back to your apartment. Or did that imply too much?

You pushed yourself up from your chair, mind made up. He could always say no. You wouldn’t be offended.

You paused outside the door to his office, listening carefully. You couldn’t hear anything from the other side. So, you knocked.

“What.” Fox’s biting tone surprised you, but you didn’t take it personally.

“Commander? I...It’s me,” you said hesitantly, and then wanted to smack yourself. Confidence. “Is everything alright?”

No response. You took the silence as a sign that he wasn’t interested in talking. That was fine. You didn’t want to impose if he needed time to himself. The door slid open just as you had stepped back, intending to leave. Fox sighed, jerking his head to direct you inside.

The door shut behind you, and Fox sat heavily in his chair at the desk. Another deep sigh, and his shoulders slumped. He pulled his helmet off, setting it aside, and you caught a glimpse of the dark circles under his eyes before he put his head in his hands.

“Commander Fox?” You took a tentative step forward, so you were close enough to reach out and touch his shoulder.

He looked up at you. There was still tension lining his shoulders, hands flexing into fists and then relaxing. Stress. He opened his mouth to say something, frowned, and then closed it again. He cleared his throat. “Did you need something?” You could tell he was making an effort to soften his voice, likely as to not snap at you again.

“I just wanted to check in, sir,” you said, coming around the desk to stand next to him, leaning your weight against it. “It looked like something was bothering you.”

He waved his hand in the air vaguely, brows pinched. “You don’t have to call me ‘sir,’ you’re not one of my men.” He looked like he was debating saying more, so you waited patiently, quietly, hoping he recognized that you were here to listen if he so needed.

“As you likely know, there’s a gala coming up. Senators, politicians, ambassadors, Jedi….” Fox huffed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “It’s going to be a security nightmare. And the Chancellor,” he spat, venom in his voice, “has been on my case about patrols and the Guard. Always demanding more. We’re spread too thin, and not getting the support we need--” he cut himself off. He was getting himself worked up again.

You placed your hand over his where it was clenched into a fist on the desk. It relaxed under your touch. Fox heaved another sigh mixed with a groan. “I’m behind on paperwork too,” he glared at the stack of datapads sitting to the side. “I don’t know where I’m supposed to find the time to do everything.”

“Hmm,” you reached over and picked up one of the datapads, skimming through it, hopping up so you were now sitting on the desk. It was just a patrol report that needed Fox’s signature before being filed. “What’s your CC number?”

“CC-1010,” he answered instantly, then regarded you with suspicion. “Why?”

You signed the bottom of the form: CC-1010, “Fox,” and submitted it.

“What are you doing?” his voice seemed to have kicked up an octave.

“Helping you with your work. I deal with paperwork and holoforms all the time,” you said, picking up another datapad and scanning through the information. “Most of the time it’s to make sure there’s a document trail. Most of these probably don’t need an in-depth review, they’re not important. They just go in the archives and are never looked at again.”

“I--you--that’s illegal,” he sputtered. But he seemed more surprised than serious.

You raised a brow at him, signing his designation and name once again before submitting the next form. “Are you going to arrest me?”

“No,” he didn’t hesitate. Interesting. Then he had a thought. “Your handwriting doesn’t even look like mine.”

“Doesn’t it?” you showed him where you had signed. It was almost identical to his scrawling script. His eyes flicked between the form and your face, incredulity on his features.

“How…?”

You shrugged. “It’s something I’ve always been good at. Saved me a lot of trouble as a kid when I needed my parents to sign for something at school. Especially when it was a disciplinary note.” Fox barked a disbelieving laugh at that and you couldn’t help your sly smile. “Even if I didn’t mimic your signature, no one would notice. Or care. You could mark the lines with an X and it would go through; it’s only the acknowledgement they care about. You can even draw a loth-cat face and have that be in the archive forever as a signature.”

“Don’t you dare,” he threatened with a chuckle. “Some of these aren’t just patrol reports though. I actually have to read through the more important ones.”

You handed him a holopad as you picked up your third. “How’s this: we work on these together; if I find one that has important information or requires more than a signature, I’ll give it to you.”

He regarded you for a long moment, debating your offer. Some of the weight had lifted from his shoulders; he looked less tense, less overwhelmed, even less exhausted. Then he slowly nodded. “All right,” he said. “But you have to let me buy you coffee for once.”

“You don’t have to do that--”

“We’re friends. Right?”

That stopped you short. You did consider him and the other guards friends, but to hear him say that he also considered you one...it was nice. It made a pleasant warmth flutter in your stomach, and you couldn’t help your shy smile at his words. “Right,” you agreed. The soft upturn of his lips made your breath hitch. He looked so young when he smiled.

The two of you worked in companionable silence, steadily making your way through the stack of datapads. You had been correct--most of them were unimportant; standard reports and forms that required a signature purely for protocol. Every once in a while you handed one over to Fox for him to read through. Slowly, your free hands had crept together, and Fox hoped to the Maker that you didn’t notice how warm his cheeks had gotten.

Your thumb rubbed soothing circles over the back of his hand, and he didn’t notice he was staring at the way your fingers moved rather than reading through the form you handed him until you cleared your throat. “Fox?” you asked quietly. His gaze landed on your lips. He wanted you to keep saying his name, he wanted to hear it again and again--

You brushed a stray curl back from his forehead. A tug on your arm had you stumbling forward off-balance, and you would have fallen if strong arms had not wrapped around you and pulled you into an armored chest. Heat rushed to your face at the new position you found yourself in: sat in Fox’s lap, his hand still entwined with yours.

Then he kissed you.

It was gentle, soft. His lips pressed to yours chastely, far more gently than you expected him to be, and you felt the datapad fall from your hand. The sharp clatter of it hitting the ground made Fox pull back, but then you grasped the back of his neck, twining your fingers in his curls, and pulled him back to your mouth. He tossed his own back on the desk with a groan as your lips met again.

You licked the seam of his lips, and he opened for you. Fox was content to let you lead. His hand gripped your hip, and he sighed into your kisses, melting from your affection. You don’t know how long the two of you stayed like that--tasting, breathing each other in, sharing languid kisses full of pent-up desire.

His wild curls were soft in your fingers, and he all but purred when you lightly scratched your nails along his scalp. The hard plastoid of his thigh plates was uncomfortable underneath you, and you shifted your hips slightly in an effort to find a more comfortable spot. The breath hissed out through Fox's teeth, and your face flushed with warmth realizing you had brushed against his codpiece. His fingers tightened on your hip and thigh, pulling you towards him, encouraging your hips to roll against him again.

It was an awkward angle, with you sitting with your legs thrown over his lap, but from the hitch in Fox’s breathing it was doing something for him. You hummed into his mouth before pushing yourself up, holding onto his broad shoulders for support as you swung one leg over so you were now straddling him, chest to chest.

“Better?” he rumbled, nipping your bottom lip before soothing the sting with his tongue. You squeaked as his palms cupped and squeezed your ass, tugging you closer. Both of you basked in each other's eager little breaths and soft noises, hungry and wanting for more.

"Mhmm." The new position allowed you to feel the firmness of Fox's codpiece against your center when you pressed your hips into his. Fox really appreciated the new position, with your tits against his chest and free access to grope your ass. He almost whined into your mouth at the steady slow grind you started against him.

You wanted to hear that noise again. An idea struck you. You wanted to taste him. One more deep kiss, then you shimmied back off his lap. Fox made a noise of protest and tried to pull you back to him, but you just grinned and shooed his hands away. The floor was cold on your knees as you settled between his spread legs.

“What are you--oh,” he cut off with a harsh breath as your deft fingers unclasped his codpiece and tossed it away. Immediately, your palm cupped the warm bulge at the front of his blacks. He shifted in his seat, and you noticed his cheeks and ears had flushed a shade darker. How cute.

“Commander,” you purred, slowly stroking him through the fabric.

“Y-yes, cyare?” His hands flexed at the arms of his chair. He was struggling to not reach out and pull you back on his lap. Normally so composed, Fox now looked wrecked with his lips slightly parted, kiss-swollen, and hair mussed.

“Will you let me suck your cock?”

Fox spluttered and fumbled at your bluntness. You bit your bottom lip, looking up at him from beneath your lashes, still slowly stroking him over his blacks. You could see him fighting with himself. Maker, he wanted it. He wanted to see your pretty lips wrapped around his length. But he also didn’t want you to feel like you had to--he also desperately wanted to pleasure you.

“Please?” you leaned forward and mouthed at his clothed erection, letting your spit soak the fabric. Your eyes locked with his, looking up at him with your best faux-innocent look, like you had no idea what you were doing to him. But Maker, you were hungry. You wanted him.

“Fuck,” the word sounded as if it had been punched out of him. His pupils were blown wide, black swallowing the rich brown of his irises. “Fuck, yes--”

You wasted no time in tugging the band of his blacks down. A shiver worked its way through him; seeing you on your knees in front of him was a dream--a dirty little fantasy he would never admit to. Many nights alone in his quarters or in the showers he had roughly fisted his cock to the thought of you in situations that were most definitely unprofessional, biting the back of his hand to keep his noises at bay. And now here you were, the sweet secretary, making his dreams become reality.

The sliver of warm skin revealed to you made you instantly want more, and you couldn’t stop from pressing a light kiss to his hip. Then you eased his leaking cock from his blacks. Fox hissed in a breath through his teeth as your hand loosely wrapped around him, pumping his length slowly. The precum that dribbled from the tip slicked your grip. He was thick and firm in your hand, like velvet-wrapped durasteel.

The first stroke of your tongue against his cock made him curse. You licked slowly, working your way from tip to base and back, tracing the pulsing vein that ran along the underside. Taking the head of his cock in your mouth, you tasted the salty tang of the precum that leaked from him. When you hummed around him, his hand shot to your hair, fingers winding through the strands. He didn’t push you down or pull you away; instead, he merely just...held on.

Fox’s breathing kicked up watching you worship his cock with your tongue and hands. You enjoyed watching him try to hold himself together, slowly making him fall apart piece by piece. Your head bobbed up and down his length, each time taking more of him. Your hand continued to pump and work the rest you hadn’t fit in your mouth. He breathed out a string of words in a language you didn’t understand, but from the tone it sounded like he was praising you.

All his little noises were making the heat coil in your core. Wetness pooled between your legs, and you clenched your thighs together for the slightest bit of relief. You closed your eyes to concentrate, focusing on the weight of his cock on your tongue, the heat of his body. You slowly took more of him in your mouth until you felt his tip bump the back of your throat. Breathe through your nose. Fighting off your gag reflex, you swallowed around him.

“Shit! Shit, mesh’la--” Fox cried out above you, feeling your throat constrict around his length. He tugged gently on your hair, and you pulled off him with a gasp. “Fuck, if you keep doing that I’m gonna cum in your mouth.” It was meant to be a warning, but he sounded too breathless for it to carry any weight.

“But Commander,” you looked up at him, enveloping the tip of his cock in the heat of your mouth and gently sucking. His thighs twitched under your hands, cock throbbing, and you pulled off with an obscene pop. “That’s the best part.”

You were messy, letting saliva drip from your mouth and down his cock. You sucked, licked, and kissed every inch of his length until it was sopping. When you ducked down to take his balls in your mouth, his breath hitched, hand tightening in your hair, and a low moan came from him.

“Gedet’ye, mesh’la, gedet’ye--” Fox choked out.

“Hm?” You pulled back, hand wrapped around his cock and continued to pump him tightly. You twisted your wrist when your hand brushed over his head. He was panting lightly, and looked deliciously wrecked.

“Gedet’ye,” he said again, “please.”

You smiled at him, and he felt his heart jump. You looked filthy, lipstick--Coruscant guard red?--smeared, lips and chin wet with spit. “I want you to cum in my mouth, Fox.” Then you brought your mouth back to his cock and sucked, laving your tongue over the sensitive head as one hand stroked the base. The other came up to cradle his balls, and he was done for.

Fox cursed up a storm in both Basic and Mando’a, nearly doubling over as his orgasm was wrenched out of him by your clever mouth. You kept your gaze connected with his, eyes hazy and half-lidded. Warm spurts of his release filled your mouth and you eagerly swallowed it down, milking his cock until he had nothing left. Subtly, you rubbed your thighs together, so turned on it nearly hurt. Seeing Fox fall apart for you stoked the fire of arousal in your core.

He had an arm thrown over his eyes as he slumped in his chair, chest heaving for breath. “Stars above, you’re going to kill me,” he said. You giggled, hands running soothing motions over his thigh plates, even though he couldn’t feel it through the plastoid. He looked boneless and sated, which was exactly your intention--well, part of your intention.

Then he was guiding you back up, cupping your cheek and kissing you hard. It was desperate, deep, filled with so much emotion that you couldn’t decipher it, you only knew that you felt the same. You moaned into his mouth. He broke the kiss, and you noticed the glint in his eye and his sly grin before he kissed you again, standing and guiding you back to sit on his desk.

“Now it’s my turn.”

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scuttling · 3 years

Text

Head Over Feet - Chapter 3

Fandom: Criminal Minds Pairings: Aaron Hotchner/Female Reader Spencer Reid/Female Reader (Unrequited) Word Count: 4,597 Chapters: 3/? WIP (I think 4 but you know me!) Tags: 18+, NSFW, Unrequited love, Protected sex, Oral sex, Vaginal fingering, Rough sex, Friends with benefits, Praise kink, Daddy kink Summary: Falling in love with one of your two closest friends was never something you planned; it only makes sense that falling in love with the other would also come as a complete surprise. *Inspired by/in collaboration with @ssamorganhotchner. Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Link to AO3 or read chapter 3 below! You make it to Aaron’s just a couple minutes after he does; he’s removed his jacket, shoes, and gun, and his collar is unbuttoned, tie loosened but not untied. You wrap your fingers in it the moment you see him, work open the knot, and he leans in to kiss you, guides you fully inside so he can close the door behind you.

You pull his tie off, unbutton his shirt, unclasp his belt, kissing all the while—deep, eager, breathless kisses; when you have no choice but to pull back for air, you’re both panting, fingers still working to get you out of your clothes.

“How was your day? Good?” he asks, chest heaving as he pulls your sweater over your head, and you nod, wet your lips.

“Good, yeah. Yours?” He nods too.

“Good.”

“That’s good.” You surge up for a kiss, unbutton his pants and untuck his shirt, pull it off and drop it onto the floor. His hands find your waist and he maneuvers you through the living room, toward the sofa; you pause, press a hand against it, lift your leg to unzip one boot, then the other, and kick them off and under the coffee table.

He guides you to his bedroom—you’re walking backward, and it’s almost as if he drags you, his hands holding you tightly, long legs leading the way. You trip, tip-toe your way there, know he’d never let you stumble or fall, and when you stop at the foot of the bed you reach down, pull down his zipper, push his pants to the floor. He takes your face in his hands, meets you for a hot, messy kiss, and then you pull his undershirt over his head, quickly wiggle out of your jeans.

“You are so gorgeous,” he breathes, wrapping a hand around the back of your neck and pulling you in for another deep, wet kiss. He tilts his head the other way, nose against your cheek, tongue in your mouth, gripping you hard, and you moan into the kiss; you’re a little surprised at how that simple gesture, the hand on the nape of your neck, makes you feel wild and out of control. “Hmm. Do you like that?” he asks softly in your ear, squeezing his fingers, and you lick your lips, nod.

“Yeah. You can be a little rough; I like rough.” He pulls back to make eye contact, holds your gaze for a moment, and then unhooks your bra with the hand not on your neck, guides it off. Still looking into your eyes—your breath comes quick from arousal, not exertion—he slides your panties down, and then he moves both hands to your ass, lifts you up, and deposits you on the bed; you’re sitting up, but he pushes your arms so you’ll lay flat, holds you there a moment, and you moan again. Jesus.

“Can I eat your pussy?” he asks, low, leaning in to mouth at your throat, and you grip his shoulders, gasping softly when he nips at your neck.

“Fuck. Yes.” He pulls you closer to the edge of the bed, kneels on the ground, and opens your thighs with strong hands, licks over you slowly with a flat tongue. “Mmm. Oh my god.”

Broad swipes turn to targeted slips of tongue between your lips, quick flicks over your clit, and when he presses closer you run your hand fondly over his head, grip his hair roughly at the roots. He groans against your skin, sucks hard at your clit, and brings his hands up to squeeze your breasts, and you can’t help rocking up against his face, whining and moaning and begging for release.

“Please, Aaron. I want to come for you.” He looks up at you, gliding his mouth over your soaked folds, and takes back a hand, slides one finger inside you and then curls his tongue around it. “Oh, yes, please. Yes.” Another thick finger pushes in, presses up, pumps quickly, and you tense, arch off the bed, a string of whimpers falling from your lips as you come.

“So good, sweetheart,” he breathes, and he lifts you and guides you up the bed, so your head rests against the pillows. Your chest is heaving, teeth sinking into your bottom lip, and he lays on top of you, moves his mouth to yours, gets you to open it for a soft, wet kiss. “Suck my fingers, baby.” He presses them into your mouth, and you hold his hand, suck them hard and messy until he pulls them out, kisses you again. “I’m going to get a condom, I’ll be right back. Just a second.” You nod, let your head fall lazily back against the pillows, and he comes back, pushes his boxers down, and climbs over you.

“Let me?” He hands you the packet, watches you carefully tear it open, slip it over him, and you run your hands along his body, lean up for kisses until he guides you back and opens your legs wider with his knees.

The second he’s inside you, you both grab at each other, your hands on his back and one of his on your face while the other presses against the bed for support. He fucks harder, faster than the first time, and you eagerly match his pace, slide your hands down to dig your fingertips into his ass.

“Oh, fuck. Aaron,” you pant, and he brushes his fingers over your lips, then moves that hand to the bed as well, so he can press deeper. You hitch your legs up high, squeeze them against his hips, hold on to his ass as he fills you so completely it’s almost too much. “Yeah, fuck me. Oh, god.”

“Yeah, just like that. There’s my good girl.” You whimper, and he pounds his hips against yours, lowers himself down to his elbows and slips an arm behind your shoulders, holds you close like an embrace, kisses you breathless.

It doesn’t take long for you to come, not with his body pressed to yours, his mouth on yours, his cock so thick and so deep inside you; you mumble his name, Aaron and Hotch like your brain can’t keep up, and then he comes too, brings a hand to your cheek and just stares into your eyes while he frantically thrusts, then slows, then stops.

You sigh, bring your hands up, one on his wrist where he cradles your face, the other brushing through his hair; he shifts off of you, to the side, but you just hold each other for a moment, catching your breath, kissing softly.

Eventually he leaves to dispose of the condom, comes back and pulls you against his chest; you slip your legs between his, run your hand up and down his arm.

“So what did he do?” he asks after a couple of minutes, his voice a little rough, and you tilt your head to look up at him.

“What?” He doesn’t make eye contact.

“What did Reid do? To get you so worked up?” You feel a hot rush of shame, press your cheek against his chest because you can’t bear to look at him.

“He said he loves her. That he’s waiting for the right moment to tell her.” He hums, just a thoughtful sound, no judgement, and you shift up, rest a hand on his cheek so he’ll look at you. Your own idiocy aside, he needs to see you say this. “But I thought about you all day. I couldn’t get you out of my mind, and that had nothing to do with him—nothing.” He looks you over like he can’t decide if you’re just saying it, or if it’s true, and you brush your lips softly over his, put as much feeling as you can into the gentle touch.

He closes his eyes, exhales, brings you close for another series of tender kisses, then punctuates them with a press of lips to your forehead.

“What do you want for dinner?” he asks, and then he smiles softly, and you kiss him again and dangle over the edge of the bed, grab your phone out of your pocket, and cuddle close to look over some menus.

You opt for Lebanese, eat way too much baba ganoush, and lay your head on his lap and read while he watches the news. About a month later, you wake up at Aaron’s after yet another night spent in his bed—your twelfth consecutive night together at one of your apartments. You leave early, head home to shower and change, only grumbling a little about how you won’t have time to stop for coffee; when you get to the office, there’s a coffee cup with a stopper in it sitting on your desk, and you smile, pluck the stopper out and take a sip. It’s a perfect latte, still piping hot, and it makes your chest warm in a way that has nothing to do with the temperature.

“Secret admirer?” JJ asks, walking down from her office. “I saw it there when I came in but didn’t see who left it.”

“It was just Hotch,” you say, but just Hotch doesn’t really mean what it used to. He’s been your friend for a while, that’s not a secret, even though your friends with benefits thing kind of is—you don’t actively hide anything from anyone, but neither of you have felt the need to clue anyone in—but you can feel yourself becoming a little more… possessive, of him. It’s ridiculous: just because you’re sleeping with him doesn’t mean he’s yours, or that he owes you anything, you know that, but you’re more aware than ever of when someone pays a little too much attention to him.

It’s painfully obvious when you are in Charlotte later that week, working out of the FBI field office there; it’s your second day on the case, and one of the agents assisting you flirts with him in the breakroom. Openly.

“The coffee here is horrible,” she begins, standing next to him at the coffee maker as he waits for a fresh pot. You came in for a refill too, but he beat you to it, and then she showed up and squirmed her way in between you as if you weren’t literally in the middle of a conversation. “If you want, I can take you to my favorite cafe across the street. They grind the beans every half hour, so it’s always very fresh.” She’s turned toward Aaron, can’t see you, so you roll your eyes; he catches it, tries to hide a smile, but the agent thinks it’s for her. “Is that a yes, Agent Hotchner?” She lays a hand on his arm, but he clears his throat and he takes a half step back, politely and effectively removing it.

“No, I’m sorry. I’m spoken for.” The woman turns to look at you—she’s clearly unhappy about being turned down, more so since you’re standing just inches away—and you smile your polite, fake, public servant smile until she takes the hint and leaves the break room. You move closer to Aaron like you were before she arrived, your arms crossed in irritation, and he pours you a cup of coffee, hands it to you, leans in to whisper in your ear. “Play nice, kitty.”

His words send heat throughout your body, and when he pulls back you just stare at him for a second. If you weren’t so exposed, you’d put down the coffee, grab him by his tie, and kiss him until you’re both stupid, but there are agents walking back and forth past the windows, the open door, so all you can do is look at him. You make it count, make sure to tell him with your eyes that you cannot wait to get him to get him naked; it must be effective, because he wets his lips, flicks his gaze over your body. It’s only when someone clears their throat in the doorway that you look away from each other, and even then it takes a moment.

“Hey you two,” Emily says, hands on the doorframe. “We’ve got a witness that just came forward, Morgan’s going to take him into interrogation now. You probably want to come see this.” Naturally, the witness only further complicates your investigation; you’re all glad your killer takes his time choosing a new victim, because it buys you a little more time, and you have a solid profile by the next morning. You split up to canvass the neighborhoods, to go door to door asking if anyone knows a man who fits your profile—you’re partnered with Spencer, who seems more anxious than usual, and that’s kind of saying something.

“Are you doing alright?” you ask him as you walk up to a red brick house, knock on the front door. He presses his lips together, nods, hands in his pockets.

“Yeah, I’m good. Are you?” You look over at him, raise an eyebrow, and he rocks a little on his heels. “You’ve cancelled the last couple of movie nights; we haven’t spoken much.” You knock on the door again, but there’s still no answer.

“I’ve been busy; you’ve been busy too, you know how it is.” You gesture to the next house, pull out your phone to jot down this house number so you don’t forget it and head down the sidewalk. “How are things with Chelsea?” He hums noncommittally, and you shove him lightly with your shoulder. “Come on, it’s okay. I wouldn’t ask if I didn’t want to know.” It hasn’t been exactly easy, the last month—hearing how close the two of them have grown, how he told her he loves her and she said it back, how he has a drawer at her apartment—but it’s been easier. (Aaron doesn’t have a drawer at yours, you think absently, hasn’t asked for one, but you figure that’s by design; it’s a good reminder of what your relationship is, and isn’t.)

“They’re good. She gets a little frustrated when I’m gone for a while, when I have to cancel plans.”

“Most people are like that; they don’t live the life, so they don’t really get it. That’s normal,” you assure him. You’re a little surprised that it comes so easily, just like it would have before your big confession. He takes the lead this time, opens the screen door of a light blue bungalow and knocks three times.

“Is that how your… boyfriend is?” You bring your hand up to your face like a visor, peer in through the small windows on either side of the door, avoid eye contact.

“He understands,” is all you say. It’s too complicated to try to explain your relationship with Aaron, and you’re both comfortable with how it is now, not exactly secret but not exactly public; you don’t want to jeopardize it any way. “And she might, too, eventually. Just give it time.” You pull back, smile softly. “Looks like no one’s home. Why did we decide to canvass at one o’clock on a Wednesday?” Spencer shrugs.

“Because Hotch said.”

“Oh, that’s right. I’m going to text that dummy; you drive.” You hand him the keys, slide into your seat and buckle up, then tug your phone out of your pocket.

Canvassing was a bust—no one’s home. Whose bright idea was that again?

Excuse me? You grin, look out the window so Spencer won’t see it.

I think you may be getting past your prime. Time for a younger man to take your place?

You better watch your mouth, baby.

Or what, daddy?

You send it before you even realize what you said; it just sort of came out. The next several minutes pass by agonizingly slowly, and you’re about to send a panicked text, either backtracking or trying to play it off as a joke, when he replies.

You’ll just have to wait and see. Come back to the office. I’ll give you new instructions.

On the way.

Good girl. You almost whimper. He knows how those words affect you—torrential downpour in your panties—and he knows you’re in the car with Spencer. He’s playing a very naughty game, one you desperately want to participate in. You start to type...

“What did he say?” ...and then you drop your phone on your foot, turn to Spencer with a questioning frown.

“Hmm?”

“What did Hotch say? When you told him we didn’t have any luck.” You reach down to pick up your phone, and your seat belt tightens, restricting your movement. You huff, sit back in your seat.

“Uh. He said to head back to the office and he’d figure out something for us to do.” Spencer nods, and you blow out a breath, lean your head against the headrest and close your eyes.

Thankfully, the ride back to the office is short, and the two of you head for the room the team is set up in. Aaron stands when you enter, gives you a brief once over, and then rattles off new details the other groups have learned, gives you new assignments. Spencer leaves to meet up with JJ and Derek, but you hang back when Aaron softly says your name.

“Your text,” he begins carefully, and you take a deep breath. “What you called me. Is it okay if we continue that?”

“Yeah, it’s okay with me; more than. Is it okay with you?” He nods, moves a little closer; he glances up, like he’s looking toward the door behind you, then slides his hand to cover the back of your neck, squeezes it.

“It’s okay with me; more than. Be careful,” he murmurs, and then he releases you and you swallow hard, get back to your assignments.

The unsub is tracked, cornered, captured by nightfall, and you fly home despite the late hour. Everyone grumbles on the flight, about wanting to sleep in their own beds, or take a hot shower with better water pressure, but all you can think of is taking off Aaron’s clothes, maybe getting on your knees for him.

When you get back to the parking garage, you head for your car, but Aaron stops you with a hand on your arm. “Just come with me,” he says—he’s not asking, and you’re not about to argue. If anyone finds it strange that you leave with him, they don’t mention it, don’t even throw you a second glance.

You try to behave on the drive back to your place, but it’s so difficult. You squeeze his thighs when he comes to a stop at traffic lights, loosen his tie, run your fingers through his hair; he is just as turned on as you are, which is saying something, considering you’ve been nearly constantly horny since he called you kitty yesterday. He parks in your designated spot, turns off the car, and you release your seat belt, all but pounce on him. You push your hand past the open collar of his shirt, kiss his throat, curl your tongue around his ear, and he puts his hands on your face, kisses your mouth hard, then pulls you back.

“Inside; I need to fuck you.”

Yeah, you’re not going to argue with that either.

You get out of the car, try to help him with your bags, though he won’t let you; you fumble with the keys in the locks, you’re that turned on, but once you get upstairs, get the door to your apartment open, you’re both desperate again, pulling each other’s clothing off, kissing rough and deep. Shoes, socks, pants, and underwear are the first things to go, quickly removed, leaving you in a t-shirt and bra; you take Aaron’s dress shirt off, get him down to just the undershirt, but when you work your hands up his body he kisses you breathless, takes a step back.

“Stay there, right there; just like that,” he rasps, and you don’t move, just wait for him to walk to your bedroom, grab a condom, stand in front of you again. He says nothing, just looks you over, your heaving chest, wide eyes, spit slicked lips, and he rolls the condom on, walks you back against the wall; you gasp when you’re pressed against it, and he leans in, kisses your neck, nips at your jaw.

You moan softly, tip your head so he can reach more of your throat; one of his big hands comes down to rest on your pussy, rubbing easily, and then he pushes two fingers inside like it’s nothing. You’re already ready, so ready, and you wrap a hand around the back of his head, scratch over his scalp, whimper while he pumps his fingers a few more times before withdrawing them.

He wipes his fingers on his shirt, gets his hands under your thighs, and boosts you up, back against the wall, legs on either side of his waist. “Aaron, fuck,” you gasp, pushing up his shirt and wrapping your arms around his back, and he presses inside you, leans in for a messy, eager kiss and groans against your mouth.

“Hold on tight, kitten; I’m going to be rough,” he pants, lips hovering over yours, and you grip him, digging in with your nails. They aren’t long, or very sharp, but he loves when they scrape down his back as he fucks you into the mattress; you can’t imagine this will be any different. “That’s it; just let me use you, okay?”

“Okay, daddy,” you breathe, and he starts thrusting, pinning you up against the wall. You can feel his muscles flex beneath your hands, and he kisses and bites at your throat as his hips pump against yours; it’s almost overwhelming, and you’d close your eyes if he didn’t look so incredibly sexy, determined, slamming his cock into you, banging your body against the wall. “Oh, fuck.”

“Take it all like a good girl, like daddy’s good girl,” he says, eyes on yours, and he lifts one of your legs, swings it over his forearm so you’re spread further, so he can pound deeper inside you. All you can do is clutch him, try your best to bounce into his thrusts, and moan, and when he comes you move a hand to his hair, grab it roughly, grind down against him. “Oh, that’s it. God.” He tips his head back, exhales long and slow, and you lick your lips, keep moving until he tells you to stop.

He sets you on your feet, pulls out carefully and throws the condom in the trash, then crowds you up against the wall, wraps his hand around the back of your neck, kisses you deep and dirty and messy, lots of tongue and the occasional rough press of his teeth against your bottom lip. He pulls back, looks down at you, squeezes your neck, and you whimper.

“Daddy?”

“What is it?” You squirm a little; there’s no way he forgot, didn’t realize you didn’t get off. He’s always been very attentive, very good at making sure you’re satisfied. You wet your lips.

“I want to come.” He hums, takes his other hand and rubs it over your pussy, and you buck forward, whimper again.

“Can you think of a better way to ask for that, baby?” You move your hands over his back again, beneath his shirt, look up at him with soft, sensitive eyes.

“Can I please come, please?” It takes a moment, but he nods, moves his fingers to your clit and rubs them quickly, so quickly it’s dizzying. You moan, cling to him, and he leans close, presses his forehead to yours, looks down at you while he takes you apart with just his fingertips. “Oh, yes. Oh, fuck.”

“You like that, kitten? Then come for me.” You want to, so badly, you murmur it into the space between your mouths; when you finally climax, you whine, hold on to him, nearly go weak in the knees, and he lifts you up again and carries you to the bedroom, lays you gently back on the bed.

He moves toward you, and you curl yourself around him, hold him close; you wind up on your sides, one of your legs between his and the other slung over his waist, and he murmurs praise into your ear, pretty and perfect and so sweet and good. You pull his shirt over his head, and he removes yours, your bra, and you just lay there and hold each other, kiss, content.

Kissing turns to nibbling your throat again, and you wrap an arm around his shoulders, press a hand against his chest, moan softly while he mouths at your sensitive skin. Your hips move, you can’t help it, and then he’s hard against you, and you all but beg him to push inside.

“We’re good, I’m good,” you breathe, because you didn’t think to grab a condom and you don’t want to separate now, not when the moment is so thick and heavy and sultry, when you are well and truly wrapped up in each other. “I’m haven’t had sex with anyone else; have you?”

“No, it's just you. It’s just you.” He weaves a hand into your hair, pulls you closer for deep, slow kisses, and presses into you; his free hand resets on your hip, splays across it, broad and warm, and you rock together, kissing and panting, your hands moving over skin, clinging desperately to each other in a way that is so different but just as passionate as before.

“Aaron.” He pulls back, looks at you, squeezes your thigh, and says your name; he repeats it while you come, and you repeat his as he kisses your throat, hugs you close, and eventually spills inside you.

“You’re so incredible,” he says with a soft kiss, and you pull him closer, hug him tightly with your whole body, kiss his hair.

“You’re perfect. Addicting,” you say with a soft laugh, and he smiles, catches your mouth in a kiss.

You don’t want to separate any more than you did before, but you have to use the bathroom, and you could both use some water, so you get cleaned up together and then you stay in the bathroom while he heads for the kitchen. You throw on your robe, meet him out there, drink the better part of his glass of water; a knock on the door startles you both, and he walks over to where his clothes lay on the floor, pulls on his boxers.

“Who could that be this late?” he asks, and you shrug; you certainly weren’t expecting anyone at this hour, and definitely not with Aaron here. You walk toward the door, look out the peephole, take a deep breath and turn back to face him.

“It’s Spencer.”

“I’ll go in the bedroom,” he says, and you frown, but nod, give him one more kiss before he goes. You unlock the door and swing it open slightly, take in Spencer’s disheveled appearance, his teary eyes.

“Hey, what’s going on? It’s late.” He sighs, runs a hand through his hair.

“Chelsea broke up with me. We were supposed to go to a gallery opening for her friend tonight, and I missed it because we got back so late. She was upset, and we both said things, and she broke it off.” He moves forward, and you take a step back, which brings you both inside the apartment. He swallows, leans in and wraps his arms around you. “I didn’t know where else to go.” Taglist 🤍: @thaddeusly @arsonhotchner @mrsh0tchner @ssahotchie @sleepyreaderreads @mintphoenix @meghannnnnn @disgruntledchowchow @azenpal @g-l-pierce @my-rosegold-soul @ssamorganhotchner @heliotropehotch @angelhotchner @qtip-blog @gspenc @wishuhadstayed @averyhotchner @hotforhotchner11 @itsmytimetoodream @unicornprancing

#aaron hotchner #aaron hotchner fanfic #criminal minds #criminal minds fanfic #aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotchner x female reader #hotch x female reader #hotch x reader #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x female reader

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oro-e-diamanti · 3 years

Text

Quiet Music: Leggiero (Chapter Three)

aIn collaboration with @bethanysnow

Small touches, looks, and wine-soaked daydreams lead to whispered conversations on balconies' edge. Put out cigarettes in the middle of the night. Let lips touch as palms do - eventually...

Content | Fluff

Pairing | fem!Reader x Damiano

Word count | 7111

Tag list | @damianodavide @lizstans @unitermoonshine @its-afucking-mess @ethaneskin @dont-let-me-drown-in-you@vampirtet @lividisuigomiti @juststalking @tabi-toast @ethan-torchio-angelo @cheese-toastie-11 @thewitchinthemountain @ethanesimp @sofckinelectric @man3skin @daddydamiano @finelinejpm @superchrystaldrug @ginny-lily @everythingisdefinitelynotfine @nientedaridere @rainbowmarta @tiaamberxx @shaunthesheesh @enjcltaire @rocketqueen @aleksanderwh0r3 @dacey0eg @damianodavidhands @megann-duff @teatrodellavita @coven-daddy @till-you-scream-and-cry @solasullabarca @fanfictionandfluff @makapaka11 @slave4yourlove @geklutst-ei @bidet-and-legolas @ginny-lily

***

The bus rumbled underneath Damiano as he turned around in his bunk, the humming of the vehicle drowning out the clatter and chatter of his bandmates in the background. His head was pounding, but less because of the little alcohol he had consumed the night before and more because of the thoughts that had kept him up all night. This morning, he had made sure to be up before Y/n would come around for her wake up call, got ready and then all but crawled into the bunk on his bus for more sleep. They would play a gig in the evening, but for now he was thankful for the 6-hour drive to Oslo with nothing to do.

He could almost feel himself drifting off, body tired out and mind exhausted, but instead all that he saw when he closed his eyes were scenes from last night.

The room was filled with laughter. Music and Vic’s singing, as Damiano let himself fall onto the bed next to Y/n. She looked gorgeous, hair down, relaxing, a champagne flute in her hand and a slight smile on her face. Even though he knew she’d be worrying about what Thomas was doing to the room and how she was going to get them out of bed the next morning. But mostly she was just gorgeous and he told her so.

His hand reached out before the contemplation of this action had been finished in his brain. The adrenaline from the first show of the tour had him flying, soaring, and there was nothing that could possibly bring him down. Her eyes showed surprise but she didn’t pull away as he put a strand of her hand behind her ear. The gesture was small but Damiano felt like he was on fire, briefly stroking the soft skin under his fingers before pulling back.

He found himself babbling about his hair, but he was much more interested in what she had to say. He wished she would talk about herself more often - so much of his personality was so out there, so much information about himself was literally out there, in magazines and interviews and photos, but she had her walls up, even when they were joking, even when she seemed to be talking freely.

“You’re getting more interesting with every second I’m around you, you know?” The words slipped out of his mouth so easily. She went over it just as easily. Did she not care? Did she not find him interesting? He had hoped for some sort of reply or reaction, but she just continued talking. Maybe she wasn’t interested in him… His brain only allowed the thought for a minute. No, he told himself, she simply was this way. Cool, calm, collected. He was sure he would be able to get her out of her shell further one of these days. He wasn’t going to stop trying.

Next thing he knew, she had thrust her phone into his hand, some picture of her from years ago. He didn’t care much about the outfit or the makeup or the questionable hair, it was her smile that drew him in. There was something carefree about it, something unabashedly confident, something she seemed to have lost since then. There was no way back for him he realised in that moment - it might as well have been this woman or no other ever again.

Next thing he knew, he was complimenting her again, calling her darling, but this time he didn’t have to wait long for a reaction. The drink that had been in her mouth just a second ago was now spluttered on her clothes and some of the bedding. He was about to ask her if she was alright, but she had jumped up from the bed, hands trying to hide her reddening face, and dashed to the bathroom.

Fuck, what happened?

“Damiano! What did you do to the poor girl!” Vic shouted in amusement from across the room. He simply waved it off. He wasn’t actually sure what he had done and it bothered him more than he would like to admit - especially in front of his bandmates. Maybe he had come on too strong, tried too hard, had made it awkward. His plan had been to pay her compliments - not scare her away with them. He would have to reconsider his course of action.

When she came back, it was only to say a quick goodnight, waving and leaving. She only spared him a brief glance, no smile or any reassurance that they were fine.

It had not stopped going through his mind. This morning, she had pretended like nothing had happened, but he knew she had been avoiding his gaze and her smiles didn’t seem quite as genuine as they did before. Damiano let out a low groan into his pillow. This was a mess and a half.

The curtain of his bunk was drawn back harshly, revealing Ethan’s face.

“Why would you scare me like that!” Damiano complained. “I could be jacking off in here!”

“Well, I want to assume you wouldn’t do that in a semi-public space such as this,” Ethan replied with contemplation on his face.

“What do you want anyway?”

“Victoria sent me and told me to tell you, I quote,” Ethan cleared his throat. “‘Stop moping, Damiano, it’s no fun'. So, there you go.”

Without another word, Ethan turned back around, leaving the curtain open, and walked back into the kitchenette of the bus. Out of the corner of his eye, Damiano could see him stealing a bit of fruit from the fruit bowl. He felt no motivation to join them.

***

“He alright?” Y/n whispered to Thomas, who was sitting close to her, guitar on his lap. He just shrugged. Ethan rejoined the group with an unreadable expression on his face, sitting down next to Victoria. Y/n shot him another concerned look, but he simply shrugged as well. She shook her head and got up from her spot, walking over to the counter to make breakfast for everyone. Getting out the waffle maker. Putting the Moka pot on the stove and filling it with water. Too early in the morning for rock and roll. In the background, she could hear the band discussing rehearsals and the show in Oslo.

As soon as the smell of food hit the three bandmates, they were all over Y/n, hovering around the little kitchenette, pushing and shoving each other to be first. Y/n looked at all of them in turn. Thomas was currently standing on the couch, raising his hand to smack an unsuspecting Vic who was looking the other way. A single raised brow from Y/n got him back down onto the ground.

“Hey! I’m older, I go first!” Victoria pushed Thomas back.

“Maybe, but it still took your mum nine months to think of a good joke,” Thomas retorted.

Ethan turned around, chuckling at his friends’ banter - but Y/n’s reaction was far more blatant. She started to laugh, a loud, almost cackle that the band had never heard before. Her smile easily reached her eyes and she gave a little applause at Thomas’ joke. “I- I;” she gasped in between laughs, “I know it’s not that funny but it just got me, sorry!” Finally managing to bite her tongue, she went back to serving breakfast.

Out of the corner of her eye, Y/n saw Damiano leaning so far out of his bunk to find out where the sounds and the laughter were coming from. The driver though couldn’t have known it was a bad moment to go over a pothole. With a loud thud, Damiano crashed out from his bunk and onto the hard floor. Chili, excited at the prospect of being able to reach him, ran over to lick his face.

“Eh! Chili, hi. Vic! Come get your dog!” He groaned, picking up the golden fluff and sending it back to her owner. She trotted away happily, over towards Victoria, who was a giggling mess after seeing her friend’s fall. He rolled his eyes at her grin.

“You gonna come join us, sleepy boy? I made coffee,” Y/n said, still trying to keep the peace between everyone. Pouring coffee into a mug, she walked over to Damiano and bent down, handing him the beverage. “I don’t really care if you want to spend the entire day on the floor, but I think your fans might tonight. So come join the party, hm?” Her voice was soft and enticing. Damiano’s eyes sparkled at her invitation. But still, his face was burning red. He sighed and nodded.

Y/n stepped back, taking the cup after he had taken a long sip, and reached her hand out to him. With a swift movement, Damiano was back up on his feet, immediately losing his balance and crashing into Y/n’s shoulder. More blushing on his part. He had not been expecting this amount of strength from her. Not caring about his little bump into her, she dusted him off, picking some fuzz out of his hair, her hand so close to his face, yet so far. She handed him the coffee once again and gave him a smile, before going back to her little corner on the bus as everyone devoured their breakfast.

Damiano watched as she tidied up after everyone had finished, constantly making sure what was effectively their home during tour would stay homely. She always looked like she belonged, and he admired her for that. After one last wipe down of the counter, she quickly addressed everyone on the bus, asking if she was needed for anything else right now, and after a round of head-shaking from everyone, she grabbed her laptop and retired to a quiet corner on the bus. It was only when she briefly looked up to find his eyes and gave a slight smile that he realised he was still watching her every move. Embarrassing, he scolded himself.

Damiano started fumbling for his bag, grabbing a notebook and a pen. He had too many thoughts running around in his head, too many images and ideas about Y/n, and he felt like the only way to get rid of them was to write. Maybe he’d even be able to make something out of it. Anything would be better than staring and dreaming about her anyway.

***

Two more hours until Oslo. With a heavy sigh, Y/n pushed the laptop away from her, neck cracking as she finally moved her bones a little. Suddenly, a pair of hands came down onto her shoulders. She only flinched for a moment before she realised it was Damiano, slowly starting to massage her tense flesh. Her head fell forward and she waved her hand to have him keep going. His fingertips digging into hours of uni work, work work, other work. Tension all living in her neck being slowly worked away by the singer.

"I'm not gonna turn down a free massage," she chuckled, feeling his talented fingers remove knot after knot. Then, suddenly, they became softer. She could hear Thomas in the background shouting something at Damiano. Taking his attention away from her, and all it left was soft fingertips on the sensitive skin on her neck. Dancing along and leaving goosebumps in their wake without him even knowing what he was doing to her. She shivered under such a light touch. A groan left her lips as she was falling deeper under his spell. At this point, she didn’t care. A very pretty man was smoothing his hands over her neck and shoulders and it was nothing short of lovely. Normally this wouldn’t be on Y/n's top list of things she would allow - but a 6-hour bus ride and sitting in one place for most of it was a killer.

I could fall asleep like this - fuck…

She was snapped back to reality when she realised that Damiano was once again staring at her screen, asking what she was working on, hands never moving from their position. She wasn’t sure how she was supposed to concentrate like this.

“Oh, I’ve, um,” she awkwardly fumbled with the laptop, “I’ve been trying to memorise this sonnet. I’m doing a course on Shakespeare this semester and we’ve been told to pick our favourite by him and I think I finally decided on mine. It’s Sonnet 128 - um. One of the only sonnets to give you an actual scene in place. It’s from the perspective of this guy watching a bard and just craving to be touched, used, kissed by this person. To have the same sort of attentive mastery be directed at him instead of the player’s instrument. Describing the person listening to this bard play… Wait, would you just like me to read it to you?” Y/n looked up at Damiano. He nodded as he slid into the seat beside her. She moved the laptop so she could see its screen still and began to speak.

***

Sitting next to her wasn’t as bad as Damiano thought. After working on her neck and shoulders, her perfume had rubbed off onto his skin. Light and warm, not super floral, but he didn’t peg Y/n to be a flower kind of woman anyway. Looking at her face now, he noticed things he hadn’t seen before. Faint freckles, little lines around her eyes, the pink tint on her lips. Her hair was done up again in a bun. He could see a couple of bobby pins trying to hide in her wild hair. Then she started to recite the piece and his chest was exploding. He felt as if he was watching winter melt away and spring come.

“How oft, when thou, my music, music play’st”

Oh, what he would do to be her muse, Damiano thought. Her voice, low and soft, was like music itself to him, never mind the way her eyes lit up at the words she repeated from the screen. A little light inside of her, one he hadn’t encountered before.

“Upon that blessed wood whose motion sounds With thy sweet fingers, when thou gently sway’st”

Her fingers were just as sweet, his mind piped up as he tried to listen to her more closely. Some light polish on her nails that he hadn’t noticed before, but now that she was scrolling through the laptop, it was like he couldn’t keep his eyes off them. Quickly exploring images of them tangled in his hair, scratching down his back ever so slightly. Stop, he told in his own head in vain. Just stop and listen, for once. Yet the ideas of her he had hidden away kept demanding attention.

“The wiry concord that mine ear confounds,

Do I envy those jacks that nimble leap

To kiss the tender inward of thy hand,”

He tried so hard to concentrate. To listen, to take in the words she was reciting, to grasp their meaning and what they meant to her, but it was hard, getting harder. In an uncalculated move on his part, his arm swung around her shoulders, not pulling her closer, just letting her know he was there, right now, right here, with her. His hand resting on her upper arms, feeling the warmth underneath the fabric of her blouse.

“Whilst my poor lips, which should that harvest reap,

At the wood’s boldness by thee blushing stand!”

His eyes travelled up from her fingers, over her soft and curvy figure, her delicate neck, to her blushing face. She was blushing an awful lot with him and he had not yet figured out completely if this was a good sign or not. Either way, he thought she looked adorable, a natural pink on her cheeks. Slightly restless eye movements that didn’t match up to the words she was reading, a certain nervousness overtaking her. He wanted to make her blush like that for the rest of his life if he could. He silently wondered if she would blush that much if… if it was just the two of them, alone in some random hotel room, a whole world of exploration before them.

“To be so tickled, they would change their state

And situation with those dancing chips,

O’er whom thy fingers walk with gentle gait,

Making dead wood more blest than living lips.”

His eyes betrayed him, flicking down to her lips as soon as she said the word. Soft, a light tint on them, pronouncing every syllable in the most mindful way. He wondered if she would let him kiss her. What. His brain flickered between two emotions. Yes, yes, yes. He would give everything to feel her sweet mouth on his, getting her close, inhaling her scent, pouring his every thought into a kiss. No. What was he thinking? She was their assistant. Strong, gorgeous, fiercely independent, and surely not interested. Right? He couldn’t help wondering. Would she let him kiss her? Would she want him to? Had she thought about it, the way he was right now?

“Since saucy jacks so happy are in this,

Give them thy fingers, me thy lips to kiss.”

Their eyes met and Damiano hadn’t even noticed how much closer he had edged towards her. It would only take a little bit, one more breather, a tiny motion, to put his lips on her, to feel what she was feeling, and the way she looked at him had him craving, obsessing and he almost dared himself to do it, when a voice pulled him out of his thoughts, pulled him away from her.

“Y/N! I don’t understand how the waffle maker works!”

Damiano had never wanted to kill his bandmate more than at that moment. With a groan he turned around, seeing Thomas fumble with the appliances in their little kitchen area, a dumbstruck look on his face, and puppy dog eyes pleading Y/n for help. She only gave a low chuckle, before getting up and walking over to the guitarist, leaving Damiano with a head full of thoughts that all circled around her.

***

That was close, Jesus Christ! My face is so warm… how are his eyes that pretty? How have I never noticed that before? I wonder if he was thinking about the same thing as I was back there…

***

The crowd was roaring out by the main stage. Crew held their places waiting for the queue to go. The band stood off stage trying to sneak a peek at the audience. Hundreds more people than they were expecting. Y/n sat in a metal chair that was dubbed ‘her chair’ so she could watch the performance from behind the main curtain to cheer the band on without being seen. The lights in the main room were being lowered, the playlist that had been on in the background slowly being turned off, as the noise of the audience got impossibly louder. The band was getting nervous now, the good kind of nervous. Thomas jumping around to get his energy levels up before they would get the sign to get on stage. Y/n smiled at them in turn, returning a little wave Ethan was giving her. Just as they were given the go-ahead, and all of them started to jog on stage, Damiano took a little detour, sending her a smile that would set all the butterflies free in her stomach, before pressing a little kiss to her forehead. He was gone before she had a chance to react. Yet, she froze. Damiano looked back and it was the most perplexed, confused, and adorable expression he had ever seen on her.

It was an expression Damiano couldn’t get out of his head for the rest of the concert, even long after she had lost it - and he knew she had because he couldn’t keep himself from looking over at her every now and again. He was fascinated by the way she watched them.

And if she was watching? Well, then he was going to put on a show.

He pulled all the tricks he knew - well those that were fitted to the situation and venue. During one of their songs, he decided to pull his favourite one. With a low grunt, he ripped his shirt apart, throwing it across the stage, unable to wipe the smile off his face. Until he looked over to where his top had landed and his eyes fell onto Y/n, standing beside the stage, now with a performance-rich torn tank top on her face. Maybe his aim had been a little off. The look on her face as she removed the fabric made him laugh. At least she isn’t hiding now, he thought, before going back to the song.

During “You need me, I don’t need you”, one of the covers they had chosen for the night, he couldn’t fight the grin, knowing his favourite lyric of the night was coming up.

“Melody music maker, reading all the papers, they say I’m up and coming like I’m fucking in an elevator.”

Where Damiano would usually take the chance to suggestively hump the mic stand and focus on the audience, this time he did it while looking straight at Y/n. Her face clouded red, eyes looking at him with a flustered glare. He simply winked at her.

Similar things kept happening throughout the night, any song to do with sex or romance, any innuendo, it was all directed at her. To him, it was all about her all the time, and he made sure to let her know.

***

After one last encore, the band left the stage, the sound of the crowd chanting their names in the background. Once backstage, they all exchanged hugs, all pumped up from the adrenaline and the successful show. A massive gift basket sat in the corner, filled with beers, chocolates, some skincare products, and flowers, along with a note from the venue welcoming them to Oslo and thanking them for playing. Vic immediately grabbed Y/n.

“When we get back to the hotel - up for a girl’s night?” Wriggling her eyebrows at the assistant, she picked out some of the products from the red tulle in the basket.

“As if I could say no to you.”

***

“Okay, what’s first, face mask or red wine?” Victoria asked, holding up both items in her hands as she followed Y/n into the hotel room, Chili yapping at both of their feet, dying to get attention from anyone.

“I will pour the wine if you open the face mask stuff,” Y/n decided, picking up Chili for some snuggles, before putting the dog down on the bed and grabbing the wine glasses. “Don’t have a girls' night often, so this is nice.”

“I keep having them with the boys but it’s not really the same,” Vic laughed. “They never want me to pluck their eyebrows or anything! Oh, and please be careful with the wine around Chili, I drenched her once and it didn’t come out of her fur for ages.”

“You - you did what now? Wait, nope, I don’t wanna know. But to be honest, I would kill to get Ethan on my lap with some tweezers in my hand. Boy, does he need it. Not by much, sweet guy. Just, uh, you know?” Within a moment or two wine was being poured and handed to the blonde. “I didn’t know how much you would want but we can always add more,” Y/n stated, hopping onto the bed next to Vic.

“Oh, very sweet guy with unpredictable hair, really!” Vic said, grabbing the glass and downing more than half of it in one go already, before sitting down next to Y/n with the little pot she had opened and a little applicator for the cream. “That’s so fancy, I usually just slap it on my face with my fingers.”

“Same! Thinking we’re posh fucks, aren’t they?” Y/n grinned, looking at the tiny skincare items, another sip of wine. Chili curled up between the two women. “You looked like you had fun at the concert.”

“It’s so good to be back on the road and I feel like we’ve really found ourselves as a band now. We’ve only played two shows but it’s already my favourite tour. I’m convinced it’s because you’re here, too, by the way, you really fit in with us,” Victoria smiled at her, sipping from the glass, then putting it away on the nightstand and motioning for Y/n to do the same. “Come here, I’m gonna do your face.”

“Ah, I wouldn’t say that. You guys have been absolutely killing it. You got here by your own accomplishments and will, that’s hard to do. I am far more surprised at how well I’ve been able to fit in with you all. I’m, uh, as you can see,” putting the glass away, she scooted to face Victoria, “not as… ‘rock and roll’ and I would have assumed you’d want your assistant to be. But glad I got stuck with you though.”

“Oh, shush,” Vic said, sternly, as she began applying the cream to Y/n’s face. “You fit in just fine. Firstly, I think we definitely need someone to keep us grounded a bit sometimes and secondly, I am absolutely convinced there’s a lot more rock and roll in you than you think - you just wait until you’ve been exposed to us for longer, you’ll see!”

“Well, I agree with the grounded part. You realise that today during breakfast Thomas was climbing on the sofa about to smack your head just to get further in line? That boy does not stop.” She relaxed into Vic’s touch, silently deciding that girls' nights needed to be a more regular thing. This was great. “Ethan said something similar - something about ‘head banging right along with everyone else’. You all have it out for me don’t you?!” She asked, putting on an overly dramatic, surprised look.

“No, he didn’t!” She exclaimed, astounded. “I’m gonna get him back for that tomorrow. Anyway, Ethan was right, you won’t be able to resist our bad influence forever, Y/n! So, have you been to gigs before taking this job, or is this still something new to you?”

“I have been to gigs before, but they were more music festivals, and I was never one for EDM or anything. The heat and lots of glittery, sweaty people drunk on warm beer? No, thank you. Or they would get a new assistant for a tour and the job would end. Not in a bad way, it's just how it is as an assistant. You do your job until they don’t need you anymore.” She shrugged. “I don’t know if it’s the wine or you, but I don’t think I’ve talked this much about myself really since I started this job. Not this particular job, mind you, but the whole P.A. thing.” Y/n chuckled, pulling her hair back into a tighter ponytail to keep out of the way of the fancy skincare.

“Hm, now I just keep thinking of putting glitter on you and getting you in the middle of a good punk gig one of these days,” Vic giggled as she finished up Y/n’s facemask, motioning for her to return the favour. “Let’s make the most of this wine then, I’m going to pour you another glass and you tell me a bit more about yourself.”

Grabbing the little pot of face mask, Y/n gently held Vic’s face, slowly applying the cream. “I’m going to be an alcoholic by the end of the tour, aren’t I? Um, well, I had a boyfriend, he was a prick, we broke up. My best friend lives in London in our old flat. My favourite films are old Hollywood romances. ‘Singing in the rain’, stuff like that. I dunno really. I’m just Y/n. Though I was thinking we should find a way to line Damiano’s trousers so that if they - when they rip apart, you see the lining and not the man’s underwear. Not that I think he cares, actually.” She truly was unable to turn work off completely, even on a night off.

Victoria couldn’t contain the giggle, receiving a scolding look from Y/n, who almost put the cream in her hair by mistake. “Thinking about Damiano’s underwear a lot, huh? Can’t blame you, that man is as pretty as they come. You can be happy they’ve all not gotten to the point where they just hang out on the tour bus in just their boxer shorts, but believe me, that day will come sooner or later!”

“I have not!” She insisted as her face betrayed her, telling a completely different story. “That is unprofessional and objectifying. I hope it doesn’t happen at all. You saw my face before when you all decided to ‘put on a little show’ in the dressing room.” She took the glass from Vic to take a sip. “Anyway.” She started blending out the face mask with fingers, careful not to get it into Victoria’s hair. “Would there be anything you want to know? I am never good at talking about myself.”

Chili nuzzled into Victoria’s leg, getting more needy. “I don’t want to cross any boundaries here, but honestly - why do you work so hard? I’ve only known you for like three days but you never seem to relax, you’re always either busy working for us or working on your projects and when you have a minute to breathe you end up cleaning after us or just going above and beyond taking care of us. I’m not complaining,” she held her hands up, laughing. “It’s great, but it’s a lot, huh?”

“Um… I can’t lie. Not to you or the band. Lying isn’t good for you anyway. But.. I don’t know. Lots of stuff happened before I moved to Italy. Lots of not-so-good stuff. So, I had a lot of reserved pent-up energy, still do. So I had to find ways to put it into things. Now I put it into my work because it’s my new dream. I put it into the band because I care about you. I want to see this tour do well…” Y/n stopped for a moment, caught off guard by the question, looking back and forth between Victoria and her own reflection in the wine. “I want to prove to myself that I can achieve and be successful. I am also a giant workaholic, though, like it’s bad,” she giggled, as Chili now put a paw on Vic’s thigh, demanding attention.

“Well, if you gotta do that whole workaholic thing, I’m glad you’re doing it for us,” Vic smiled, placing a soft hand on Y/n’s arm. “Just make sure to make some time to let loose every now and again. I’m sure any of us would be happy to help you with that.” She turned on her phone to check the time. “I should probably get this mask off now, give me a second,” she explained before getting up and skipping to the bathroom sink.

“Yeah, that’d be good,” Y/n said, also taking note of the time. “Doesn’t Chili need to go out now? There’s no grass on the balcony or I’d let her do her business here.” She stood up, placing the wine glasses on a little counter, trying to force the cork back into the bottle. “Thank you for tonight though, we should make it a thing.”

“Yeah, I’ll take her out for her evening walk now.” Victoria came back, hair slightly damp from where she had washed her face too hastily. “But let’s definitely do this again, next to Ethan you’re like the most calming person on this tour to hang out with.” She moved to give her a hug, only to realise Y/n still had the mask on, so instead, she opted for an awkward shoulder rub and a giggle. “I’ll see you tomorrow, yeah?”

“You do realise it is my job to follow you around and see you tomorrow? Like, that is what I am paid to do. But hell, I’d still do it if it wasn’t my job,” she smiled, nudging Vic’s shoulder. “Now go get Chili out and then get some sleep yeah? Important things like sleep, food, water, everything you people seem to keep forgetting about!”

“Well, that’s what we have you for now, don’t we?” Victoria laughed, picking up a whining Chili and already halfway out the door. “But you get some sleep too! No working through the night, I am ordering you to bed - as your boss!”

“Of course!” Y/n laughed, shutting the door behind the bassist. After taking off her mask, she put the rest of Vic’s leftover wine into her glass and went out onto the balcony with her laptop. Pulling out all the bobby pins and the hair tie, she ran her fingers through her hair, brushing out the knots and letting it hang loose. The light from the sunset had long been gone by the time they had gotten to the hotel. Only street lights and the blue screen were illuminating the space of the balcony. The outdoor space was large enough for a table and chairs. The street down below was faintly noisy as people and cars passed by, but not enough to disturb her peace and quiet.

***

So much for an early night, Damiano thought, staring at the screen of his phone, as Ethan slept soundly in the next bed. With a sigh, he kicked the blanket off his legs, grabbing a pack of cigarettes from the nightstand, and sneaking out onto the balcony without waking his bandmate. Maybe a smoke would help. His eyes drifted from the rather unspectacular view out front to where he noticed movement to his right, only to see Y/n on her own balcony, right next to his.

Y/n was relaxing in her chair, glass of wine in her hands, mouthing the words to something on the computer in front of her. Entirely focused on whatever she was working on, she didn’t notice Damiano’s door opening and closing. She took a drink of her wine, leaving a dark red stain on her lips, then stood up to face the street. Laptop on her arm and looking outward, she mumbled the words on the screen to herself. He just about managed to make out what she was saying.

“But soft! What light through yonder window breaks?

It is the east, and Juliet is the sun.

Arise, fair sun, and kill the envious moon,

Who is already sick and pale with brief- Wait, no. Grief. Okay.” She cleared her throat. “Who is already sick and pale with grief. Stupid tiny font is gonna be de death of me,” she mumbled, trying to zoom into the text.

Damiano watched her, a chuckle on his lips, both amused and amazed at seeing her play out the scene on her own. With a quick flick of his lighter, he turned to his cigarette, taking a drag, wide awake. The low light of the moon was illuminating her figure and her hazy movements and for a while he allowed himself to simply be fascinated by her. By the way she moved. Performing fully committed to the open air. Then she made a particularly dramatic, sweeping gesture in her monologue and he knew he couldn’t keep quiet any longer.

“Hey there, Juliet.”

The surprise went through her like an electric shock, she was stumbling over nothing, almost dropping the laptop from her arms, as she turned around towards him so fast, he was sure her hair was going to give her whiplash.

“Ah fuck - Damiano?!” She gasped delicately into the night. “You’re going to give me a heart attack one of these days!”

Hopefully, for very different reasons, he thought to himself.

“Sorry,” he sheepishly replied. “What are you doing? It’s almost 2 am.”

“You know I could very well ask you the same thing.” She looked at him accusingly. “If you didn’t have the day off tomorrow I’d be ordering you back to bed immediately.”

Damiano briefly considered a suggestive comment, but instead, let the cigarette between his lips keep him quiet. Y/n was putting her laptop away now, sinking back down into the lounge chair as he walked over to the edge of his own balcony, leaning over the railing to get a better look at her.

“You know I’ve not forgiven you for your antics at the concert tonight yet,” she suddenly stated, pulling him from his thoughts. The smirk flashed over his face naturally. He wondered if she was blushing again, but the little light the moon and her laptop screen gave off didn’t tell him anything. He was hoping she was.

“I promise I didn’t mean to hit your face with my top,” he laughed.

“But you obviously did mean everything else you did!” An accusing finger was pointed his way. “I did not appreciate that.”

For a second he flinched, wondering if he had gone too far, crossing a boundary. But then she looked back at him with a smile she was obviously trying to push away, unsuccessfully. Glass of wine in her hand, she sauntered over to him, while he put out his cigarette on the railing. She leant over her own railing, mirroring his movements. At a slow pace, like she knew he was watching, she sipped from her glass. His eyes falling to the way her neck was exposed as she threw her head back, tracing the soft skin with his glances until she set down the drink. There was a droplet of red wine on her lip and he wished their balconies were closer together, fantasising about reaching out and wiping it away, feeling just how soft she would be under his touch.

“Not that… I didn’t like it.” She paused. “Also not the first time I’ve been hit in the face with a shirt. So there’s that.” Y/n laughed.

“Now you’ve got me curious - who else would hit you with a shirt? Are you trying to tell me you’ve been to strip clubs?” Damiano laughed. Teasing her came easy to him.

“Dancers. With aim as terrible as yours, Mr. David. And I don’t know if you want the answer to the second question,” she smirked. When they were alone like this, she seemed more at ease. That, or it was the wine. He didn’t know.

“Dancers, huh? Think you could teach me a thing or two? Or, you know, were you just watching, lusting over sexy men?”

“Ah! I would do nothing of the sort. Most of the guys there weren’t into girls anyway. Wouldn’t do me much good… Damiano, I could teach a lot of things. You to dance? God help us all.” She made a dramatic cross across her body, laughter twinkling in her eyes.

“Now, Y/n, I’d let you teach me whatever you wanted,” he winked. “Preferably something… active, hm?” He could keep from laughing as he saw her unimpressed face, staring him down and shaking her head. He’d rile her up for the rest of his life if she gave him the chance.

“I once met this Italian guy, came to the studio. Thought he was God’s gift to dance. But you Italians all have that, bravado, confidence, whatever you wanna call it. Well, after learning the first intermediate step, he fell flat on his face and went back to beginner lessons. You gonna be like that?” Raising a brow at him, she leant further over the railing on her side.

Damiano puffed up his chest, comically, trying to make himself appear bigger in a useless attempt to impress her. “Now, you’ve obviously not met the right Italians yet, amore mio. Sounds to me like you need a real Italian to show you the way.”

Just like this morning, she burst out laughing, letting out cackles that filled the air with joy. “Sorry - not laughing at you. Just thought what you said was funny.” She looked down, and as dark as it was, he could see the same signs he had seen before. Shy expression, holding herself close to her body. The slight panic of not knowing what to say. “You’re real Italian, alright. You seem to always know what to say. Now is that an Italian thing or a Damiano thing?” She asked, sarcastically, to deflect the fact that her face was heating up.

Amore mio…that's what did it. He felt like he was unlocking a single puzzle piece at a time, slowly putting her together and making sense of her. He couldn’t wait to get the whole picture one of these days. “Maybe it’s a you thing,” he simply said. The night was making him strangely comfortable with being honest. “Maybe you just bring it out in me.”

“Eh - I’ve been told I bring out a lot of things, never a savant before.” She was still looking down, at her hands, starting to pick at her nail polish. Some little nervous tick that he hadn’t caught onto till now. “It’s late, you should go to sleep, Dami. I am sure that bed is missing its handsome owner right about now.” She started to look far away, picking up the wine glass and taking the last sip.

He had barely heard what she had said - too focused on her calling him Dami, for the very first time. It was like a little shudder running through him, knowing she was growing closer to him as the time passed. “Are you okay, though? I’m sure my bed will survive without me a little bit longer.”

“Oh, I’ll be fine. Don’t you worry about me, I worry enough as it is. Tomorrow is a day off, so I won’t be waking you up in the morning, bus call isn’t until later. Um, but I will be getting breakfast. Is there anything you would want?”

“As long as it involves coffee, I’m happy. I’m sure you’ll pick out the perfect thing anyway.” Damiano watched as she nodded, moving towards the balcony doors and away from him. He felt like grabbing her just to keep her there. He straightened up as well, just barely backing away from the railing. As she left he looked at the space she once occupied, feeling like he could almost make out the outline of her body where it once had been.

Amore mio...

#maneskin fiction #damiano david fiction #damiano david imagine #damiano david x you #ethan torchio x reader #maneskin imagine #maneskin x you #maneskin x reader #thomas raggi x reader #damiano david x reader #writers block #bethanysnow #quiet music

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its-me-im-coraline · 3 years

Text

Birthday Surprises // Damiano David

words // 984

warnings // none

pairing // Damiano David x F!Reader

author's note // let me know if you want to be tagged. its a little stupid, with a little stupid humor cause i saw something like that online and i just... it inspire me

request // yes by @ starslazyandcozy, happy belated birthday babe, I hope you like it.

summary // Reader has her birthday and thinks Damiano has forgotten but the man has a few tricks up his sleeve.

It was a special day today. Her birthday was finally here and she could not wait to spend it with her lover. Y/N woke up that morning full of excitement - it would be the first birthday with Damiano - but the aforementioned man was nowhere to be seen. His side of the bed was empty, and cold by the time Y/N woke up, only a note there , folded in four and left on the pillow.

Good morning, amore. I did not mean to leave so early but I was needed at work. Seems some of our demos have been ruined and we might need to re-record them. There’s breakfast already made (I did promise, didn’t I? I made some waffles - yes I put syrup on top) and coffee is at the coffee maker (oh I wish it will stay tasty till you wake up).

I’ll try to be back before lunch. There’s this new place at the end of the town square - Thomas told me about it - and I thought we should go.

Have a good day dolcezza, I love you.

♡ Damiano

Not a word about her birthday. Nothing at all! Y/N tried to not start the day on a bad note, instead taking a deep breath and deciding to go and enjoy the breakfast Damiano made. Maybe he did not entirely forget. Maybe he did not have time to even think about it when he left. He must’ve already made the breakfast before they called him to go. Yeah, yes, that’s the only logical explanation. He will surely text me later.

But later never came. Y/N spend the morning entirely alone - well with the exception of Damiano’s cats. There were phone calls occupying the phone all day, from family and friends and all of that, but nothing from the one person she expected to call her the most. The man had gone in radio silence, not even a text shot her way.

By the time striked 15.00 PM Y/N was convinced Damiano forgot. Of course he did! It’s not like he does not have entirely too much on his plate. He’s so busy, I understand, she tried to convince herself but she knew that she was actually pretty upset. It did hurt that Damiano did not remember her birthday, after a whole year of being together and over 5 of being friends. It was impossible, or at least it seemed to be, but as the facts show it did happen.

“Amore, I’m back,” called Damiano entering the apartment, “are you ready to go?” He walked in the house all excited (and with a few surprises up his sleeve) but it was not reciprocated. “Amore?”

Y/N was sitting on the couch asleep in a state that the man could only explain as (very mildly and kind of falsely) depressive. There were dry tears in her face, her hair was a mess. Damiano simply could not believe it. He felt guilty, having a few ideas as to what got his girlfriend in that state but he wanted to make sure. So he did the most ‘logical’ thing he could: wake her up.

His fingers started softly running through her hair, landing on her back and rubbing it over the thin material of her his t-shirt. “Dolcezza, hey, hey baby, hi,” he whispered seeing as she slowly opened her eyes. “Happy birthday baby.” A soft kiss was all that followed his words and a soft smile of relief as he saw his love smiling as well.

“Did you sleep well?” He questioned, never pausing his very relaxing actions.

“Not really,” she said truthfully, “I thought you forgot.” The confession felt very freeing to Y/N. It had almost stressed her out - the possibility of her lover forgetting such a day.

“I could never forget you, amore-”

“Yeah but you never said happy birthday all day,” she whined a bit, slightly joking but slightly actually complaining about his actions. To his defence he was not planning on ignoring his lover, only giving the birthday wishes and gifts a little later that day, in an attempt of a surprise.

“I only wanted to surprise you,” he explained, pulling Y/N out of the couch as he got up and walked to the front door. There, by the door, on a comfortingly old chair, sat a bouquet of flowers and a big pastry shop box with two candles and a little stick that throws fire sparks taped up top and two candy bars (Y/N’s favorite). “The lady gave me those for free. She said I was - and I quote - so funny, she had to gift me at least those because she has not laughed this much in a while. I don’t even know what that means,” he laughed making Y/N laugh with him before embracing him strongly.

“Hey, get off! You have to see the cake.”

“What did you do Damiano?!”

“Nothing, open it up!” If he could be ‘too excited’ then Damiano was just that. He had this stupid little boy-ish grin all over his face, all but yelling ‘immature teenage boy’ in the most positive sense that could have. He could be an adult rockstar at 23 but sometimes his humor matched a 15 year old.

Y/N did as told, opening the box of the cake and almost falling to the floor while laughing, tears in her eyes. In the open box sat a cake in the shape of a crooked penis with a lopsided smile and a few words written on it. ‘Another year you’re alive. It will be my pleasure’. No wonder the lady found it so funny.

“Do you like it?” Questioned Damiano, not much that curious about the answer, his own entertained smile turning into laughter soon.

“I love it,” replied Y/N and kissed the man softly, “thank you.”

“Happy birthday, amore.”

tag list: @bieberhoodforever @tabi-toast @ginny-lily @moriro-da-regina @the-killer-queenie @makapaka11 @teenyweenynightghost @superchrystaldrug @selenophiliaxx

#måneskin #maneskin imagine #maneskin fanfiction #maneskin #damiano david imagine #damiano david #måneskin headcanon #måneskin x reader #måneskin imagine #måneskin fanfic

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stargazingthenightaway · 3 years

Text

See Something You Like? Part 5

Pairing: Rebels Rex x Reader

Word Count: 4.6K

Warning: NSFW 18+ Sexual tension, yearning, dirty thoughts, praise kink, size kink, breeding kink (if you squint) fingering, oral (female receiving), spanking, P in V sex, bratty reader, Dom!Rex, slight predator/prey vibes, slight voyeurism

A/N: This is it, we’ve made it to the end! Thank you everyone for reading and @samrubio for your delicious art 😚 There will be a small epilogue that’ll be posted sometime soon, and I have a couple other ideas floating around that tie in with this fic. Let me know if you would like to be added to the tag list.

Mine.

That word echos in Rex’s mind as his lips trail along the side of your face, listening to the sinful noises you make as his thumb slowly ghosts over your throat. He can feel your pulse fluttering beneath his touch, frantic and loud, the beat matching the voice in his head chanting his claim. Mine. Mine. Minemine. A claim he intends to keep.

Pulling back, he looks at you and satisfaction curls deep in his gut, seeing what a pretty picture you make for him, all flushed and strung out. You’re trembling with your need to cum, legs spread out and tense by his sides, pleading with your eyes for him to have mercy on you and give you release. Your pussy pulses around nothing, glistening with your arousal, waiting to be filled.

Smirking, Rex brings his attention back up to your neck and how his hand looks wrapped around it. Maker, you’re small he thinks to himself, seeing how big his hand is against your throat. It sends a thrill down his spine, seeing how tiny you look compared to him, how you mentioned that you liked he was big.

Giving a gentle squeeze, he watches as your eyes flutter closed and your neck arches up into his touch, a silent plea for more. You quietly moan, and Rex can feel the vibrations against his palm. He chuckles darkly “Well well, it seems like my good girl has been keeping some secrets from me.” He traces his fingers down your throat “I think we’ll be exploring that another time.”

Your moan is cut off as Rex leans forward, dragging his tongue in the valley between your breasts, licking up the droplets of sweat that have collected there, before moving up to your collarbone. He scrapes his teeth against the raised skin before biting down, leaving another one of his marks.

You keen as he continues, murmuring praises into your skin. “You’re just full of surprises cyare,” he says as he continues to mark his way back up your neck. “You’ve been so good for me, taking my fingers so well,” you moan as he sucks another mark on your skin, “making the prettiest noises.” He can hear the clink of the binders as you squirm in place, trying to bring your body closer, his hovering just out of reach. Soon you can touch, but not yet.

Rex places a final kiss on your cheek before looking at you. “I think you earned a bit of a reward mesh’la.” He caresses your jaw. “As pretty as you are with you mouth stuffed full, how about we take the gag out?”

You hum in approval, opening your mouth a bit wider so he can remove the glove. Once it’s out you can feel there’s a slight ache from being kept open for so long, but Rex is already one step ahead of you. Bringing both hands up to the sides of your face, he gently massages your jaw, the movement from his hands helping to relax your muscles and you sigh.

“Look at you,” he says as he rubs the soreness away, “Such a good girl for me.” His hands are warm and you make a sound of content, arching your neck to move you face closer into his touch.

“Only for you Sir” you purr.

Stars, could you be any more perfect. Out of everyone on this base, he’s the one who gets to see you like this. Rex feels his cock twitch in anticipation but knows there’s one more thing he needs to do before he fucks you into the mattress.

Your body is thrumming with restless energy, wanting so badly to cum but revelling in the soft attention that Rex is giving you. The calluses on his hands are a stark reminder of the life he’s lived, how hard he’s had to be, but with you, they show you how attentive he is to your needs without using brute force. Gentleness in strength. Turning your face, you kiss his palm, feeling his hand twitch in surprise. His hands move away, one trailing down to your chin, turning you so that you’re facing him, and your breath hitches in your chest.

Liquid gold stares back at you, burning with the intensity of his arousal, and while there is still desire, it’s softened by the look of adoration on his face, looking at you as if you’re the most precious thing in all the galaxy. It makes your heart clench, seeing that gaze directed towards you. Something tugs deep in your chest, a yearning to see what else will make Rex look like that. This man deserves everything and you want to be the one to give it to him. To give him a reason to smile in the morning, to keep him soft when the missions are tough, to kiss his worries away and let him know he’s loved. It's like the look he gives you says you’re home, like he can be your home, and you want to be that for him.

The burning need you felt has quieted down to a warm simmer as the both of you take each other in, a moment of calm in the frenzy of your passions. You know that Rex will bring you back to being a writhing, needy mess in no time, so you enjoy this moment, of being here, with him.

Rex must see something in your gaze that spurs him into action. “What’s your colour cyare?” He asks, fingers still holding your face towards him.

“Green. Very, very green.” You respond, smiling up at him, eager to continue.

He chuckles, finding your answer endearing. “Very well then,” he says, grinning devilishly as he makes his way back down between your thighs, “green it is.”

He doesn’t stop to tease you this time, going straight for your clit and sucking harshly, causing you to cry out. His fingers are stuffed into your pussy, thrusting at a punishing pace, bringing you back to the edge. Your thighs clamp around his head, keeping him in place as he eats you out.

“That’s it, right there” he growls into your folds, “don’t hold back mesh’la. Let me hear you scream my name.”

“Fu-Ah! Fuck! Rex!” You wail as his tongue licks at the folds around your core, the squelching sounds drowned out by his groans as he slurps up your arousal. Pulling against the bindings you cry out. “Please! I’m almost there! Please Sir!” Heat zings down your spine as the need in your belly coils tight, ready to snap.

With a snarl Rex adds a fourth finger, and you howl, the feeling of being stretched out and pushed to your limits exquisite. While you tremble in his grasp, he brushes over that special spot and presses down while his other hand goes back to your clit, rolling and pinching the flesh there. You can hear the wet sounds of his fingers thrusting into your heat, feel your slick coating your inner thighs. But it’s still not enough. Sobbing, you grind your hips against Rex, looking for that something to push you over the edge. “Please tell me I can cum, please please please!"

Sensing what you need, he removes his hand from your core and spreads you open with his fingers, licking into your heat before looking up at you from between your thighs, eyes feral. “Cum for me,” he orders “cum all over my tongue mesh’la.”

With a soundless scream, your pussy clenches down as the coil in your belly finally snaps, sending a gush of slick over Rex’s hand as your back tries to arch off the bed, but his arm anchors you in place, so you’re just grinding onto his face. Legs clamp tight around Rex’s head, as he keeps licking you through your orgasm, drinking you down with a groan, tongue plunging deep into your heat. The vibrations cause another mini-orgasm to ripple through you, and you feel tears fall down your cheeks as you cry out.

You so badly want to reach down and hold onto him, pull him as close as you can, but the binders keep your arms in place, so all you can do is writhe in ecstasy, as much as Rex will allow. All you can do is take what he gives you, and he gives, and gives, and gives.

Panting, you shake through your aftershocks, legs falling limp to the sides. You can still feel Rex licking your core and you whine at the overstimulation, weakly pushing him with your leg “Rex, please, too much”

“But cyare," he coos “there’s still so much for me to clean up.” He presses a kiss to your clit, feeling you twitch “you gushed all over my face”

Weakly, you lift your head and your mouth drops open in a little ‘o’. His beard is covered in your slick, glistening on the strands as he sits up, smirking like he won the whole war himself. His tongue pokes out and you watch, transfixed as he licks up your arousal that clings to his lips.

“Best kriffing thing I’ve ever tasted,” he growls out “could eat you out all day and I’d still want more."

“Rex," you whine, “you can’t say something like that, not when I’m like this.” You jostle your hands in the binders. “Need you to come up here baby. Need to kiss you right now.”

Rex hums as he drags his fingers through your folds, collecting some leftover slick, hearing your breathing stutter. He looks at you, brow raised “ask me nicely.”

Stars, he’s making you work for it.

Putting on your best tooka eyes, you look up at him. “Please sir, could you kiss me? I want to taste myself on your tongue.”

Haar’chak! Rex curses to himself, you’re getting better at fracturing his control. His cock throbs, reminding him he hasn’t cum yet, but he still has a few things planned for you before he finds his own completion.

Rex leans forward, brushing his fingers over your lips, coating them in a gloss of your slick before claiming your mouth with his. You groan in satisfaction, feeling the wet slide of his tongue against yours. It’s a heady feeling, knowing that moments ago Rex was face first between your thighs, and now you’re tasting yourself on his lips. You feel him reach up to undo the binders, and as soon as they’re off you wrap your arms around his shoulders, pulling him closer and deepening the kiss.

Rex groans as he feels you press your body against his, and he ruts up once, twice, his length dragging through your folds and coating himself in your slick. If he wasn’t careful he’d cum faster than a shiny having their first orgasm!

As he pulls away you wonder if you’ll get the chance to return the favour and see what he tastes like. Would he be tangy like you or something else, something stronger? You go to reach for him, mouth watering at the sight of his cock, when he gently grabs your wrist, shaking his head. “Not today mesh’la. Right now, it’s everything that I want to do to you.”

Pouting, you take his hand, the one still coated in your arousal, and decide to show him what he’d be missing. Pulling Rex’s hand to your mouth, you wrap your lips around two of the fingers that were previously buried in your heat, looking up at him through half-lidded eyes. You can hear him groan as you gently suck on the digits, cleaning up the evidence of your arousal.

“Kriff, such a dirty girl,” he growls as he starts to slowly pump his fingers in your mouth, watching you bob your head to take them all in. “Ner aikiyc ad’ika, so eager to have something to suck on.”

You release his fingers with a wet pop, smiling mischievously at him. “Change your mind? Or do you need more incentive?” You say as you lick between his fingers, catching what you missed. His cock twitches and you eye the bead of pre-cum, watching as it trails down through your slick, hungry for a taste. “You sure you don’t want me to suck your cock sir? See how far I can take you?” You can see his other hand clench by his side, feel his resolve start to crack. Just a little more you think to yourself. You pull his hand down so that it’s resting against your neck and smirk when you see his breath hitch. “You’re so big, I bet you’d be able to see yourself in my throat.”

You yelp as you suddenly find yourself flipped over onto your front, Rex pulling your hips up so that you’re on your hands and knees, legs spread wide as he moves behind you. Your ass is nestled against his groin, and you moan when you feel how hot and hard his cock is. You squirm in anticipation, pushing back to encourage him when he brings his hand down on your ass, the smack mixing with your shriek. A fresh rush of arousal drips down your thighs, as he repeats the action on the other cheek, the skin turning a rosy colour beneath his palm.

“I thought I had dealt with your attitude,” he says as he spanks you again, your moans filling the room “but I guess I need to fuck the brat out of you.” Rex grabs your ass, kneading the flesh before spanking you one more time, reminding you who’s in charge.

Stroking his cock, he lines himself up at your entrance, rubbing the tip along your folds, listening to you whimper. “Such a pretty pussy” he growls, watching as more arousal drips from your core before pushing in, sinking all the way down in one thrust.

He groans at the feeling of your heat surrounding him, how you flutter around his length, adjusting to his size. Anything he dreamed about does not compare to the reality of finally being inside of you. You squeeze down and Rex grits his teeth, already feeling himself close to the edge. He pulls out, your walls clenching down until only the tip is in before thrusting back. He grabs your hips, anchoring you in place and makes good on fucking the brat out of you.

His hips snap forward, and you moan at how full he makes you feel. He wasn’t lying when he said he was big, but Maker! You swear you could feel him all the way up in your throat! Your eyes roll back when he hits a spot that has you seeing stars. “Right the-ah! There!” You whine out “please don’t stop!” The hands on your hips flex, slamming you back down on his cock and your arms give out, your face pressing into the mattress. The new angle causes Rex to go even deeper, hitting a place you didn’t think existed and you cry out “More! Oh kriff, please more!” You’re babbling now, pleas falling from your lips, hands bunched up in the sheets. When he grinds down your breath stutters, eyes fluttering closed “You’re filling me up so good sir, feel so full.”

“Kriff mesh’la, you feel so good” Rex growls, watching how he sinks into your core, your arousal coating his balls. “Love watching this ass bounce on my cock.” He grabs a handful as he continues to thrust into you, spreading you open so he can get an even better look at where you’re joined. The wet slap of skin doesn’t mask his groan or the desire in his voice “Look at you, you keep pulling me back in.”

You’d feel embarrassed at how focused he is on your pussy but you’re beyond caring right now, craving the high he’s giving you. A particularly hard thrust has you keening loudly and you worry about others hearing you. This moment is for you and Rex, and you don’t want to share it with anyone else. Reaching out, you bury your face in a pillow, muffling the sounds of your moans.

When Rex can’t hear you voice crying out, pleading for more, he looks down and sees that you’re face first in the pillow in front of you. That feathered monstrosity is preventing him from hearing all the lovely sounds you make, sounds that are all for him. This will not do he thinks to himself.

Since your hands are occupied holding the pillow, each thrust from Rex’s hips sends you further up the bed. Abruptly, you’re pulled up, one of Rex’s hands fisted in your hair, the other ripping the pillow away and throwing it on the floor. He grinds up, grazing your sweet spot and you wail, hands grasping at his.

He moves his head besides yours, breath ghosting over your ear. “Oh no mesh’la, you don’t get to hide these beautiful noises from me. I want to hear every sound you make as I ruin you.” His hips have sped up their movements, and you feel another orgasm building up. The hand that was in your hair lets go and snakes around the front, tilting your head to the side and resting on your throat. “Let everyone hear you as I make you cum on my cock.”

His other hand has made its way down to your pussy, sliding along where you two are joined before moving up to your clit. He starts rubbing it in circles and you feel your legs start to shake, the pleasure starting to overwhelm you. Rex bites down on your shoulder and you cry out, and that’s the push you need for your release to rush over you.

Rex doesn’t let up as you quiver and shake in his arms, continuing to thrust up into your tight heat as you gush all around his cock. There’s so much that it coats the front of his thighs and drips down yours. “Good girl,” he groans “just ride it out, I got you.”

You’re panting by the time the last aftershocks have subsided, and Rex is stroking his hands up your sides, causing a warm feeling to grow in your chest.

“What’s your colour cyare?” He asks, holding you close.

It takes a moment for his question to register, as your head is feeling pleasantly buzzy. “Still green Sir” you say, words slightly slurred as you nuzzle the side of his face. Raising your hand, you run your fingers through his bead, feeling him smile by your actions.

He chuckles “Good, because I’m not done with you yet.”

Belatedly, you realize that while you had cum, he’s still beskar hard, length throbbing inside of you. You clench down, and Rex hisses, pinching your side.

“Don’t start something you can’t finish cyare” he warns, though there’s no heat in his words.

Before you can respond he pulls out and you whimper at the empty feeling. His hands guide you down to the bed, turning you over so that you’re lying on your back again. You spread your legs and he settles between your thighs, sliding his cock back in your pussy, and you sigh at the feeling of being stretched out.

Rex sets an unhurried pace this time, leaning forward and caging you within his arms, watching your face as he thrusts in. He wants to see your pleasure build, your eyes glaze over in bliss, too cockdumb to form words. To see you give in to your inhibitions and let him give you everything you need, only to do it all over again.

Your lazily wrap you legs around his waist, encouraging him to go faster, brushing your hands up his arms before linking behind his neck. “See something you like sir?” You coo up at him, undulating your hips when he thrusts in.

“If it’s you? Aways” he says and revels in the smile it brings to your face. He speeds up and brushes against that bundle of nerves that make you whine, holding on to him tighter. Soon, both your moans fill the room, and that delicious curl of pleasure builds at the base of your spine. You can tell Rex is close since his hips start to lose their rhythm and there’s more grinding than thrusting.

“Rex, need you so bad, I need to cum on your cock,” you beg “I’m so close!”

“Haar’chak! Just a little bit more mesh’la I-”

KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK

The sound is like a droid popper going off in the room, and you despair as you feel Rex curse and start to slow down. No! You’re so close!

You desperately grab onto his wrists “Don’t answer it, don’t you dare answer it!” You cry out, furious that someone would interrupt you and worried that Rex would leave like he did earlier on when summoned on his comm link. “Kriff! You promised no interruptions, you can’t leave me like this again!” You sob, hoping you can persuade him to stay.

KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK

Rex stops completely, buried deep in your core, and you stutter out a groan. “Reeex, please.” Stars you feel so full. You tighten your legs around his waist, trying to get him to move, but he doesn’t budge. Looking up at him, you can see his gaze is on the door, a calculated look in his eyes. It makes you slightly uneasy, but you’re beyond caring right now, not when rex is balls deep inside you.

Your next response is cut off when you hear your name tentatively called from the other side of the door. Salsa dancing emperor! It’s that kriffing ‘won’t take no for an answer’ pilot! You growl low in your throat, unable to verbalize the sheer fury you have towards the space-waster currently ruining what you’re sure is the best kriffing sex you’ll ever have.

Rex listens to you growl and chuckles darkly, enjoying your frustration. Seeing a way to make sure others know you’re his and to back off, he grinds his hips in a slow circle, listening to you moan before you slap a hand over your mouth, muffling it. He pulls your hand away and presses it into the mattress, a silent order to keep it there.

“Ah ah mesh’la, what did I say about hiding from me? I want to hear every. Single. Sound.”

With that, he lifts your legs from around his waist and presses them into your chest, spreading you wide open. The look he gives you is completely wild, and you’re too turned on to protest “Make sure you scream my name nice and loud cyare, show them who you belong to” and then goes to absolutely destroy your pussy.

He snaps his hips into yours, setting an unrelenting pace and you moan high in your throat. “Re-AaaH! Rex! Fuck, you feel so good!” Rex doesn’t give you time to adjust to the position before he’s moving your legs over his shoulders, and pressing you down into the mattress. Your eyes roll back as you feel his cock pounding into you, deep enough that it’s kissing your cervix.

He slides his hands up to yours, linking your fingers, as his thrusts pick up speed. “Look at me mesh’la,’ he grunts out “want those pretty little eyes on me.”

You blink up at him, tears streaming down the sides of your face. He’s so close that you can see your reflection in his gaze, flushed and fucked out.

His eyes are intense as he grinds his hips down into yours “Who does this belong to? Who’s the only one who gets to fuck this pussy?”

"You! Ah! Only you sir, it’s yours!” You cry out, trembling on the cusp of your orgasm. You only need a little bit more to send you over the edge.

He continues to pound into you, “Still think I’m too tired now mesh’la? Bet your Yavin boys don’t make you feel like this?”

“I was wrong! I don’t want them,” you sob, pleading with him with your eyes “only you make me feel like this! You do! Kriff Rex!”

“That’s my good girl.” You’re too busy crying out that you don’t hear the sound of feet rapidly making their way down the hall, far away from your room. Rex grins, knowing that you won’t be bothered by that pilot anytime soon. He feels you clench down and his hips start to stutter. “I’m close cyare, where can I-"

“Inside!” You cry out, “Inside! I have the implant.”

It’s only a few more thrusts before Rex is pressing in deep, filling you up with his cum and setting off your own release. He lets go of your hands to hold you close, and you wrap your arms around his shoulders, clinging to him as you both shudder through your climaxes.

Rex carefully moves your legs off his shoulders and maneuvers the pair of you so that you’re laying on his chest. He brushes some hair away from your face, smiling when you curl up even closer in his arms, you face tucked under his chin.

Coming back back down from your high is like wading through a caramel fog, creamy and dense, and oh so satisfying. This is what you should feel like, boneless, pliant and completely fucked out. Rex has ruined you for anyone else.

There’s the steady sensation of Rex stroking your back and you stretch out, arching into his touch. You feel his chest rumble underneath your hands before he tilts your head up and his lips are on yours. The kiss is languid and you sink into it, relaxed in his embrace. You stay like that for a while, trading kisses as easily as breathing, before he gives you couple smaller ones as he pulls away.

He takes you in, blissed out and smiling at him with those soft eyes he adores. “There she is,” he croons “there’s my good girl.”

You preen at the attention, snuggling closer into his side. While you’re content to bask in the afterglow, there’s a question that’s burning to be asked. “Am I your good girl or am I your good girl for now?” You don’t look at him as you ask your question, worried you won’t be able to mask your emotions if it’s not the answer you want. It’s so quiet you wonder if Rex heard you at all. When the silence drags on, you take that as your answer and start to slip from his arms, when he tightens his grasp around you.

“Look at me cyare” and you hesitantly bring your gaze to his. His voice is steady when he answers, but you can see the vulnerability in his eyes.

“You’re my good girl today, tomorrow and every day after that, for as long as you’ll have me.” His heart feels like it’s going to beat out of his chest as he waits for your response.

Your heart perks up as warmth spreads through your chest and you feel a smile tugging the corners of your lips, happiness threatening to spill over “And if I want you for a lifetime?”

The smile he gives you is dazzling “Then you have me mesh’la, for a lifetime.”

You’re too happy to respond, so you just tug him down, showing him everything you’re feeling in your kiss. He groans into your mouth and moves so that he’s hovering over you, hands stroking you body as he quickly dominates the kiss, turning you into a quivering pile of need. Eventually, you feel him rut against you, cock hard and leaking.

“Really Rex? Already?” You giggle “You’re insatiable.”

“Oh, ner kar’ta,” he grins “I am nowhere near finished with you.” And proceeds to show you exactly how long his endurance is.

You were right. Rex has absolutely ruined you for anyone else, and you’d gladly let him do it again.

Ner aikiyc ad’ika - My desperate little one (very rough translation) Haar’chak! - Damn it! Ner kar’ta - My heart

Tag List @samrubio @justanotherstarwarswhore @bvcketfvcker @grumpymuffinmama @justanothersadperson93 @fat-zygerrian @deewithani @idolized-sea-salt @i-am-bad-at-blogs

#Captain Rex #Rex #Oldman Rex #Rebel!Rex #Rex x reader #Rebel Rex x reader #First fic #Yay me #OMG this was such a brat to write #But we got there #and we got some SPICE!#Dom!Rex #Couldn't stop blushing as I was writing this #Dom Rex knows how to take care of a bratty reader 💦#18+

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