#Bumpy was the spark that started this fire

[swan2swan]

[switchbladedreamz]

Ticket to Punishment

Pairing: Stopper x fem!reader

Requested?: Nah

Summary: Steve gets a ticket for speeding from Officer Callahan, Officer Callahan brags at the station about it and our beloved Chief hears.

Warnings: 18+‼️ pure filth, pinv, light ddlg, use of dom/sub dynamics, degrading, squirting

Shortest smut I've ever written probably but it's worth it. Gonna mark this as dark smut bc most of the dialogue is mean dirty worlds lol.

@hoppersprincess @hopperswhoreee @callmemana lmk what y'all think ;P

~~~~~~~~~~~

His hips slowly rocked back and forth, it was the only pace he'd allow and it was driving me crazy. "Please daddy go faster, I can't take it this slow" a slap was delivered to the inside of my thigh, the giant hand making all of my leg burn. Thick fingers curled inward, the pillowy skin falling between the open gaps in the fingers. His large imposing cock stuffing my quaking hole to the brim. My thighs sticky and cold from the essence leaking and spreading.

Steve was in the middle of the living room floor, his hands handcuffed behind him with a vibrator on low situated at the sweet space between his cock and balls. Stimulating simultaneously. His groans left ignored with cotton underwear shoved in his mouth. Hopper said he deserved it like that. That Steve needs to learn his place in the world after mouthing off to his officer after getting a ticket for speeding. My legs quivered, soreness aching through out my body. Thankfully that wasn't the only ache. Daddy whispered sweet gentle things in my ear, promising me sweet things if I behaved well. "Think you can do that for daddy, petal? Be a sweet girl for me and I'll give you the fucking you deserve.". My head nodded gently against his shoulder, tucking my face into daddy's neck. Breathing in his scent while his large hands grabbed under my thighs and spread my legs open and over each of his own large and spread legs. A muffled groan came from the floor as Steve watched Hopper spread you open over his lap. Hopper just chuckled at Steve's misfortune. "Be sure to hold on princess, it's gonna be a bumpy ride" Hopper whispered in my ear before chuckling. The hands under my thighs slip up, up, up to the crooks of my knees, the hands squeezed then lifted. I groaned as Hopper's girth moved in and out, slowly. Holding my knees still, Hopper then stood and walked towards Steve. "You think you're such a fuckin star, kid? If I see you look away from this gorgeous little pussy, you won't sit right for a week". Steve nodded, eyes wide. "Daddyy please" came the soft plea's falling down the drool and slick covered lips of (Y/n). The shallow beg woke Hop out of punishment for Steve trance. "Daddy's got you baby, sshh". Unlike how the evening started, that was the last kind thing out of Hopper's mouth.

Like lighting a fuse, a spark settled in the dom's stomach that lit the fire in his veins throughout his body. He took your legs as far as they could spread, his left foot lifted and he propped himself on the coffee table. If Hopper leaned forward an inch, Steve's nose would be rubbing my clit. The smell of you filled the younger man's nostrils, a bead of pearlescent essence leaking a path down the veiny underside of his (compared to the Chief's) slender member. My head thrown back on Hopper's shoulder, a litany of curses and praise at the top of my voice stringing together, it's a good thing Hop brought us out to the cabin. "You hear that Steve? You think you could get out girl to scream like that? You ain't got the balls" a glance down and a scoff from the older man "or the cock too, apparently". "She's screamin like a bitch in heat, she loves this. You think you got what it takes to give it to her like this Harrington?!" Hopper's degrading gets louder.

"Daddy I'm gonna cum, please let me cum." My moans turned silent, my mouth hung open and my eyes shut as the fire raged and was extinguished at the same time. There wasn't even time for a response after my question.

I felt Hopper's release deep inside of me, he came with a shuddering groan. He let my legs down gently, then wrapped his arms around me. Holding me, resting himself against me. His quickened breaths against my back, the air fanning down my spine. I look and smile at Steve. I take my panties out of his mouth, his cum splatted on his chest and even cheeks. "You squirted on my face" Steve giggles like a school boy. A pure smile from ear to ear plastered on his face. Hopper laughs loudly, the rumbling of his chest shaking me in time.

[merxthewizard]

I am a passenger in her car.

I am sitting in the backseat

I did this. This is my fault.

The trees zip by like bullets

The signal on gps phases in and out

This is stressing me out

This is stressing her out

She gazes back at me, her eye filled with what feels like hatred, maybe disappointment, maybe panic

I turn and look out the window, guardrails and road speed past me fast and faster

“I TOOK A WRONG DIRECTION”

Signal is out

Dread sets in as the hail beats down

We dodge and swerve and duck as the car shakes violently and jerks harder than a man possessed

She cries as our ears explode

Time ticks slowly as things race on by

Out of the forest, not out of the woods

Tears roll faster than the roads

An eerie quiet sets in slowly

Soft purr of pavement beneath

And the general sounds of the car

Things arnt going as fast now, still going

Still going, going on as the hills crawl

Slow down to a stop

Gas station

Shotgun

By that I mean

passenger

Steps out to use the restroom.

I’m left here. Alone. Not quite.

But alone.

I am a passenger in her car.

I’m left with the sounds of us two breathing

And the clicks and buzzes of the car idle

He’s back, we should talk, “I don’t want to”

It’s not safe to drive “I don’t care”

Get out and sit in the passenger “I’m driving.”

Fine. “Fine” “lets just sit here for a few minutes”

I softly mention. She’s mad at me. He’s just here.

We’re back on the road now, slowly heading home. I apologize. The roads start speeding up.

Faster and faster until reaching a more steady rate. She has a long drive, I have a long time.

She doesn’t want to talk. That’s fine. That’s fine.

I am a passenger in her car.

I get sharp gazes back at me mixed with sadness as she goes to the road. He’s messaging me on the phone what to say, I stay quiet. Better to let her just do her thing. I put on

Her music. Try and help her feel better.

We drive through what feel like ghost towns.

Occasional truck drives past

I am a passenger in her car.

I had a nice time at the park.

It was a serene sort of quiet.

Fitting for a place out in the hills.

We talked of magic and wonder in the world

We had a lunch of sorts and wandered in the woods. Somewhere in there I hurt her. Words I said? Probably. She got tired as we walked as I

Got lost. Not literally, there was a trail. Objectively we all were fine. She wanted the trip to be about her, I feel, I don’t say that, at least not immediately. Chilly spring day turns dark.

We all head back to the car. I hop in the back so long legs isn’t as uncomfy much to his argument and amusement. She’s not having fun. I don’t think shes had a nice time at all. All I’m getting are looks. We drive out of the park and then I say the spark that ignited this fire, in a set up of me trying to find the words and express my feelings I drop the one word that lit all of this ablaze

“Selfish.”

She does not like that.

I am a passenger in her car.

The Music becomes white noise along with the roads. Still fast and beating, but constant.

I think we all still settled down a bit more.

Signal is working again. One of her fave songs is playing. I don’t understand a thing. Both in lyric and seemingly in general. I keep my mouth quiet

Let this unroll and destress as the roads slowly become. Out of the forest not out of woods.

The roads here are awful, bumpy, tons of twist and turns, rocky and practically hazardous at times. She’s driving carefully.

Occasional truck drives past.

I am a passenger in her car.

I need to breathe a bit. My eyes fade in and out. Time passes. Tensions ease I feel. Just the sound of her music. Darkness slowly sets in, nights coming soon. My phone signal picks up and I get a small assault of messages. Nothing serious. “Does she want me to devote all I do and all of my time to her?” I say in my head. God knows what would happen if I said that out loud. “I don’t mean that do I?” Glad I’m keeping my mouth shut for once. Her album is done. I Politely offer some choices for next. She doesn’t care. I picked something comedic, I don’t think she found it funny.

I am a passenger in her car.

I make a few jokes to him, I don’t think he found them funny. Back to silence, besides of course the comedy album. I see a glimpse of her smile. She says skip the track with the damn sock puppet. I say I love you. She says I love you back, still upset. I’m glad things are calmer now.

Out of the forest, not out of the woods. Good enough. Hail turns to rain. She looks at me

I am a passenger in her car.

Jesus fucking Christ. I guess I never learn.

Lyrics of the song. Not much unlike my situation i guess. It’s getting colder, both the situation and the temperature. Rains beating pretty hard. Almost inaudible though due to music. White noise. Comedy record helped a bit, not much, but a bit. Good enough.

I am a passenger in her car.

That funny feeling comes on. The three of us sit in silence and just listen as she drives on. Rain beats slower. It’s cold. It’s quiet. It’s getting dark. Only sounds being that of music playing and white noise. “Hey what can ya say? But we were overdue, but it’ll over soon, you wait” just great. I look out the windows at the dilapidated buildings, damned, on one side of the road and glistening golf courses on the other, both fading in and out of twisted trees. Lights in the distance. Fellow people in cars and farms lights alike. Something else occasionally floating in the fields, might just be me.

I am a passenger in her car.

Album ends. Change to just whatever. Nevermind, change to something she likes. She smiles a bit. I don’t understand a thing, this time mostly in lyrics, having gained a bit of understanding. We’re nearing home. Apocalypse towers stand in the distance. Far from the hills. Bright lights of suburbia assault the way. The roads are steady, calm, paved decently, at least for this part of town.

We drive to get our friend home, after that we’ll see where we go.

Likely home.

I am a passenger in her car.

Music is off on the final stretch.

An eerie quiet sets in slowly

Soft purr of pavement beneath

And the general sounds of the car

Night has fully settled in, rain stops.

The stars are choked out by pollution.

Occasional truck drives past.

I am a passenger in her car.

We drop him off. He gets home safe.

“Do you want to talk about it or I just be quiet for now?” “There’s nothing to talk about”

She says as her tears roll more than the roads did.

quiet again. I look out the window. Just silhouettes contrasted against a dreary dark sky. Lights in the distance. Fellow people in cars and farms lights alike. Something else occasionally floating in the fields, might just be me. Stop sign. Everything stops seemingly, sound, lights, movement, even the cells in my body. Then at once it comes back. Just a weird stop in Ohio.

I am the passenger in her car.

We drive though a downtown of perpetual Halloween, blink and you’ll miss it, we pass the ymca that’s never called me back about a job, we pass a gas station with a boiled peanuts sign, we’re getting closer to home. We pass the train tracks, and the ice cream place, and the crossroads we both nearly died at years ago. We’re almost home. Feel the bump of the curb beat the car as it all comes to a stop. We’re home.

I am no longer a passenger In her car.

A bit more than a year passes by (the epilogue)

like trucks on the road what seems like ages ago.

I am a passenger in her car.

Her and I are no longer together.

Torn apart by time and a person so vile thinking about them, and the horrors I didn’t know they committed when I asked them to be a roommate, make me sick.

I should mention, not my friend from before. we’re still good friends, but that’s besides the point.

We’re going through the process of washing my hands of those two and the mess us three are in.

I’ll be fine, like always eventually. Still have feeling for her, always have, always will, but this is for the best for both of us.

She picked me up from where I moved to after being kicked out. I see the place we called ours for so long, I see roads we walked together and enjoyed the time. I see that bastard roommates car with a new large dent in it.

Not my fault, but I’d be lying if I said it wasn’t a bit cathartic.

I am a passenger in her car.

I will admit, and have admitted, that I was loud and mean, which can be scary considering someone my size, but in the end all bark, no bite.

She was neglectful at best, abusive at worst. Nothing unforgivable, nothing horrible. We both just need more help than we were getting. I hope we get it

The roommate, she’s a piece of work. arguably the most petty, manipulative, piece of shit, waste of oxygen, dog abusing, maybe baby killing, no good cancer of a human being I have ever met.

I’m saying that well aware dear family, friends, and friends of friends of mine have had cancer. That bad and infectious of a person, no other way to put it.

It’s hard dealing with anger and hurt like this, especially after so much that’s gone on. Easy to reflect on it though, particularly when one is waiting to get to the destination.

My exes music plays in the car as I see storage units and apartments pass by. Her mom, I, and her, all joke and laugh and catch up a bit in the time we have. Gives one hope a bit

I am a passenger in her car.

We get to where we were going, we do what we need to do, we get answers and questions, but ultimately a way to go.

Goes well.

Her and I talk a bit, I take this once chance I had to fully, truly, apologize for the mess we’re in, maybe talk about how her and I can go forward into a brighter later. Get a maybe, she asks for time. I’ll take those. Those are good comparatively.

More days pass, more answers, less questions, and more of the roommates rot seeping and oozing. I’m doing what I can to just be kind to my ex who’s clearly being manipulated.

It’s sad to see.

It’s hard to see.

I miss her . I hope she gets better, I hope she finds better, I hope she learns better and kicks the roommate to the curb.

My sleep is disrupted every night, getting less so, but hasn’t stopped so far, of my mind wandering and fearing what could happen. good, bad, or horrible.

I hate sleeping alone. I wish I had someone here, maybe her, but anyone will do just to help. A human antibiotic to help with the pain, get rid of the infection left in me slowly.

I’ll figure it out. I’ll move as the trucks did what seems like so long ago. I’ll keep on as the rain on that night. I’ll keep driving as she did.

I’ll always miss her just as I loved her. Now Despite it all,

I wish I was the passenger in her car

And that we rode into the sunset together.

[gloriabomfim]

Part 1:

[The movie set is buzzing with activity as actors and crew members prepare for a shoot. Pierre, the movie director, approaches Bumpy, who is standing nervously.]

Pierre: (excitedly) "Bumpy, my friend!" [He lifts his megaphone.] "You're going to be a star! You're going to star in famous movies!"

[Bumpy blinks in surprise, looking at his bandaged hand.]

Bumpy: "Me? In famous movies? Are you sure, Pierre?"

Pierre: "Absolutely!" [He gestures with his megaphone, full of enthusiasm.] "Your clumsiness and bad luck make for great comedy, and the audience is going to love it. You're going to be a sensation!"

[Bumpy tries to muster a smile, though he still looks apprehensive about the idea of being in the spotlight.]

Part 2:

[The camera transitions to a series of fast-paced montages. Pierre, with his clapboard and megaphone, directs Bumpy in various famous movie scenes. Bumpy's expressions are a mix of excitement and anxiety as he attempts different roles.]

Montage 1: Action Hero Bumpy

[Scene: Bumpy, dressed as an action hero, stands at the edge of a tall building. He's supposed to leap off gracefully.]

Pierre: (shouting through the megaphone) "Action!"

[Bumpy hesitates for a moment, takes a deep breath, and attempts to leap, but his cape gets caught on a nearby railing. He crashes into a pile of foam bricks, sending them flying.]

Bumpy: (dazed) "Ow! That hurt!"

Montage 2: Romantic Bumpy

[Scene: Bumpy stands opposite a beautiful co-star in an elegant setting. He holds a bouquet of roses, meant to be a romantic gesture.]

Pierre: (enthusiastically) "Action!"

[Bumpy tries to hand over the bouquet, but his nervous fumbling causes the roses to catch fire from a nearby candle. He desperately tries to put out the flames.]

Bumpy: (panicking) "Ow! Ow! Water! Where's the water?"

Montage 3: Sci-Fi Bumpy

[Scene: Bumpy is inside a futuristic spaceship, surrounded by blinking control panels.]

Pierre: (commanding) "Action!"

[Bumpy attempts to look like he's operating the spaceship's controls, but he accidentally presses the wrong button. Sparks fly, and alarms start blaring loudly.]

Bumpy: (covering his ears) "Ow! My ears!"

Montage 4: Historical Bumpy

[Scene: Bumpy is dressed in period clothing, attempting to walk confidently in a historical drama.]

Pierre: (with enthusiasm) "Action!"

[Bumpy tries to walk in oversized, unfamiliar boots, but he stumbles and falls headfirst into a horse trough.]

Bumpy: (sputtering and wet) "Ow! That's cold!"

[The montages continue as Pierre, undeterred, directs Bumpy through various scenes, capturing each mishap on film.]

Pierre: (with a grin) "Cut! That was perfect, Bumpy! Your unique talent is going to make these movies unforgettable!"

[Bumpy, covered in foam bricks, soaked, and slightly singed, tries to smile through it all, realizing that his unusual performances are indeed making these movies famous.]

[incenseonthetourbus]

While shuffling the tarot cards I meditated on Venus and Cancer. I was surprised when the first two cards I pulled were exactly two that were in my last reading I did on the Summer Solstice. Venus is retrograding and going back to re-visit this new energy that got sparked on the Solstice. On this re-visit we will now find that spark has grown into a very well established fire. Passion. A forward fire-y Ambition meets retrograding Venus. An old flame re-kindled? A Passion being Re-considered?

Regardless, this return to the house of Cancer isn’t an easy one though because it requires Venus to go back over the Cancer/Leo Gandanta knot which predicts a possible bumpy ride for the summer astrological forecast in regards to love & money. So hold onto your heart & wallet and spend cautiously until you can be a confident spender. Which won’t happen until Venus starts to go forward again.

IV The Emperor - 🔥 Aries, Mars, Energy & Strength. A masculine figure who goes out to conquer and acquire what he wants.

Atractylodes Macrocephala - Bai Zhu in Herbal Chinese Medicine -

( (macro = big , cephal = head) 😂 Is Herbalist Tierra making a joke about our emperor ? ) Moves Qi

[diariio-blogg]

Starting 2023

I have been thinking long enough about this decision. I tried even tell apart the stitches he sewed in the fabric of all our conflicts from the ones I contributed with, but I couldn't. It was somehow challenging trying to see what parts of me had caused things to go south, or what parts of how we interacted with each other were the ones accounting for our inability to understand each other.

If I look back I feel grateful for the time we shared. We met in September 2021, he met my family in December of the same year and moved in with me two months afterwards. I think we were just very excited and in love with the idea of finding the "one". He is almost 40, I am almost 30, so it can be logical that one falls in love with the ideal of a relationship that can work. Especially when most of your friends have already found their significant others, or at least they make it look like the have.

All in all, things went too fast. But If I remember correctly also did the discussions and the bickering. We travelled together to Israel in 2022 during Easter holidays. I remember already having fights during this trip. I don't remember precisely the reason. There was a fire in me, a destructive one, that was ignited every time something like this would happen:

he would make a joke at my expense, a not very funny one.

he would interrupt me when I am talking, or use things I confided in him against me

he would confirm that he has no interest in cooking and will never have it, although he can do cleaning. Which I guess was fine for some time.

he would refuse to go out the two of us to a club to dance because it was too weird...

at the end sex was pretty much the same thing, I would say even transactional. Like we both new what our roles were and where goes what, and in what order.

I have to recognize at the end he did show some initiative, but I couldn't shake the feeling off that it was forced. Like when you try to show your mom you finally learned some manners on the table, or try to show your partner that you are doing the thing they have been nagging in the last months.

Was there any other way out besides breaking up? I don't think so. I was resenting the relationship because I felt I lost my freedom, my space, my mental peace. Or maybe as my dad said, I decided to "give it away". Expecting, of course, something in return. But it was not enough.

We could have had a conversation on Thursday about how we are going to continue with some agreements to make the relationship work, like spending time together, and doing plans with friends. But I am convinced that the feeling of betraying myself by staying in a situation that makes me sad, became louder and louder, demanding of me to protect my own happiness, to reclaim my journey to self awareness and love. To stop lying to myself convincing me I am in love with him.

I can't say I was perfect during the relationship, nobody is. But I do realize I should have waited a bit longer for the spark to appear. For the fuel tank to be 100% before we started the long and bumpy journey of a fully committed relationship.

What is the learning from this?

This year is not about the next relationship. This year is about me. My mental health, my self-esteem, my social circle, my family friends, people who love me. My goals, my career. My dreams, my deepest ambitions. My learning, my mistakes, my wins.

There is some work to be done, and I want to start it as soon as possible. It is time. I owe it to myself and to the wonderful person who I am going to meet along the way.

I can wait a bit longer before making big decisions with a person I know just from 4 months. Not because they will turn out to be crazy, but rather because it gives time to let the spark flourish so whenever a strong wind approaches, there would be strong and long branches to hold from.

I want this year to be the one where I dared, where I said yes to the things I wanted to, where I dreamed big and reached even more than I expected.

Thanks for 2023 already.

[sitp-recs]

woah, a fellow brazilian :) do you happen to have any recs where they fight or hurt each other emotionally or just yk, are imperfect? thanks <3

Hello friend! 🇧🇷 that’s an interesting ask - I’m usually soft about my angst in the sense that I don’t really enjoy mean characters hurting each other intentionally. That being said, depending on writing and context I love myself a nuanced bumpy enemies-to-lovers or complicated get together. Here are a few fics that come to mind:

An Emerald In The Sky by MA (2022, M, 6.6k)

The hardest part about shagging an Unspeakable is that they’re not allowed to speak of anything. All Draco knows is that Harry works in Time. Harry works in Time, and while he’s out there in all of that time, it is as unforgiving to him as it is to anyone.

Kissed by potteresque_ire (M, 11k)

Draco Malfoy was attacked by a rogue Dementor on the night of his Azkaban release. He self-exiled to Muggle London and opened a late-night chocolate shop called Kissed.

I'll never be your chosen one by @andithiel (E, 15k)

Draco doesn't know what exactly he’s doing with Potter, he doesn't know how their unspoken agreement even started, and doesn't know where it will end. The only thing he knows is: he's not in love.

Vanishing Cabinets by Romaine (E, 18k)

Take one Wizarding Family Values politician who has a secret life, and add one Auror who detests discrimination of any type, but becomes a bit obsessed with said politician, and you have enough sparks to ignite a Beltane fire. (EWE)

Don't Stop It Before It Begins by mischieviolet (M, 19k)

“I don’t understand how this is of any concern to you, Malfoy,” Harry said, crossing his arms over his chest. Draco blinked at the use of his last name, something that Harry only used with him in jest these days. “I’m merely spending time with my Auror partner, who is from another country, and has no one here. I would do the same if it were you.”

Exposure by GallaPlacidia (M, 27k)

When Seamus uncovers Draco Malfoy's camboy profile, he, Harry and Ron decide to anonymously book a private show so as to humiliate him later. Fascinated by Draco's confidence, Harry keeps booking private shows under the disguise... Self prompt: Draco is a camboy. Harry betrays him.

Your Place or Mine? by loveglowsinthedark (E, 27k)

"This person is so much harder to hate. And I’m supposed to hate Malfoy. How the fuck else am I supposed to limit this to just sex?"

All Roads by korlaena (M, 36k)

Draco hates his job at the Prophet. He hates it even more when he’s assigned to write an article on Harry Potter, who left the country three years ago after their falling out. Draco doesn’t want to face the truth about himself, but he’s stuck between Harry and his duty, and he’s out of options.

Rush (For A Gap That Exists) by sleepstxtic (M, 42k)

A story of love and loss that grew amidst the most infamous rivalry in Formula One history: the story of Draco Malfoy and Harry Potter.

The Boy Who Only Lived Twice by lettered (E, 54k)

Harry Potter is an Unspeakable. Draco Malfoy is the wizard who shagged him. Adventure! Intrigue! Secret identities, celebrities, spies! It's all right here, folks.

Temptation on the Warfront by alizarincrims0n (E, 180k)

Draco Malfoy is forced into hiding with the Golden Trio and dragged into their search for horcruxes. What ensues is a journey of redemption, unexpected friendships and an unwanted, turbulent romance with Harry Potter. Warnings for swearing, sexual content, and dark themes.

Bonus: I haven’t read this QaF AU but I see it being recced quite often:

Harry Potter Gives a Shit by talithan (E, 58k)

“Where are you headed?” “No place special,” Draco fumbled, and flushed further. But then: “I can change that,” said Harry Potter.

[angryschnauzer]

Moonlight On The Sand

Summary: Stationed to the desert for a short mission, you are on terrain inspection when the full moon emerges from behind the clouds. However little do you know there’s something about the Captain accompanying you that may change things forever. Based on this ask from @fairndsquare​

Pairing; Captain Syverson x Female Reader (no race or size mentioned) Fandom: Henry Cavill, Sand Castle (Movie) Warnings: NSFW, 18+, Werewolves, Werewolf!Sy, Oral Sex (Female Receiving), Unprotected Sex, Ovulation, Breeding, Outdoor Sex/Car Sex. This is NOT an ABO story.

I do not run a tag list, but please go follow @angryschnauzerwrites​ and put that blog onto notifications. You’ll then get an alert every time i post a new story. Masterlist got too big for Tumblr, so past works can be found at @angryschnauzerwrites​ or on my AO3

Only the finest, free range, organic typos for me, allowed to run wild and free.

Sy fumed silently as he drove the truck through the abandoned desert. He was furious that he had been overruled, but the general had finally done a site visit and his word was final; Sy had to show the new logistics planner the area, and there was no avoiding it.

What the General didn’t know was what Sy had been through during his posting in the dry and barren landscape. That mythical creatures didn’t always originate from leafy green valleys, or snow capped mountains, sometimes they dwelled in dry arid plains and rocky outcrops.

The truck hit a particularly proud rock on the dirt track and leapt into the air, your hands flying as you grasped for something to steady yourself on, one on the dash and one on the particularly meaty thigh of your commanding officer.

“Sorry” the gruff man uttered through gritted teeth.

“S’okay… the moon’ll be up soon and we’ll be able to see better as its full tonight” you casually replied, looking out over the desert surrounding you, surprised as the truck slowed down a little.

“The moon?”

“Yes, you know the big round rock orbiting the earth?”

“I know what the moon is darlin’, been cloudy the last ten days so hadn’t been keeping track…” he muttered to himself.

You used the small penstick flashlight to glance over the map;

“I need to see this valley, and get an idea of what it’ll be like to bring the trailers in with water tanks on”

The Captain glanced where you were pointing and nodded once, letting the truck veer to the right to follow the camel route up through the hills.

As the truck gained elevation Sy could feel his mouth watering. He could not only smell you, he could sense how you had grown wet in his presence. It was like a sickly sweet coating of pollen at the back of his throat on a spring day back home. Halfway through the day he’d been in a conference call as you stood in the corner of the room, observing as he updated his superiors back in Washington, when he’d picked up another sense, the only way to describe it was as if something had suddenly ripened in the room. It’d taken him until the end of the call to realise it was you and your body had just reached its most fertile point in the month. You were ripe and ready, you just didn’t know it.

That single thought had plagued Sy for the rest of the day, something in the pit of his belly was just telling him to flee, to get as far away from you as possible… for your safety. But then his military training had kicked in and he’d followed orders, and that’s how he found himself pulling the truck onto a rocky pullout on the curved track as it skirted around the hill, the view over the valley spectacular as the moon finally emerged from behind the clouds and illuminated the earth below.

Stepping out of the truck you used your night vision goggles to scan over the plateau in front of you, looking out over the wide vista. You felt the heat of his body first, standing behind you, the hairs on the back of your neck prickling up. You knew what he was wanting.

-

24 hours earlier.

Scrolling your phone you checked the calendar, relieved that the mission to the desert would be there and back in the space of two weeks, back in time before your monthly bleed would start again. If there’s one thing you didn’t want to have to deal with, it would be tampons and sand. It would mean you’d be ovulating whilst there, but you had enough sugary snacks packed to keep the hormones subdued, and this wasn’t your first time being overseas, although normally you were confined to a small base north of Washington DC.

The flight had been long and bumpy, little more than a glorified cargo hold, so by the time you arrived at the compound and finally got to meet the infamous Captain Syverson, you were tingling with anticipation for what the next two weeks would involve.

-

When he finally spoke, it was low and deep, resonating through your spine;

“You need to get in that truck, and drive it far from here…”

You went to turn but his hand caught your arm, keeping you looking out over the valley;

“Captain?”

“Private, do as i tell you… there are things in these hills, that you don’t know of and don’t need to know of…”

It was then that you sensed it: the connection. It was like a spark shot up your spine, and in a moment of foolhardy courage you turned, the air being sucked from your lungs when you saw him. The Captain stood before you, his eyes burning into your soul, the ring of fire in his irises and his canine teeth just a little more prominent. Your chest heaved with a shaky breath, and his nostrils flared;

“Private…” he warned one last time.

But rather than running in the opposite direction, you slowly took a step forward, holding your hand to his cheek and for a moment your touch soothed him. You took in how his hair had grown longer, his shoulders even broader, he was virile and potent. That’s when he felt it, his senses clouded as the moon took hold, but finally he realised; you weren’t afraid.

His body slammed yours against the side of the truck, his lips on yours as his tongue pushed into your mouth; tasting you, devouring you. Your hands clung to the sides of his weather beaten uniform, pulling him ever closer so you could feel every inch of his body pressing against yours until suddenly his hands were on your hips and he was lifting you onto the still warm hood of the truck. With expert skill he had quickly shed you of your cargo pants and sensible undergarments, his face between your thighs and you watched with fascination as he inhaled deeply, humming as your scent hit his brain before he dived in. 

His tongue was everywhere; licking and tasting you, running firm circles over your clit before descending and pushing the thick muscle into your velvet channel, his sharp teeth pressed against your soaked folds as he tasted you from within. When you came you screamed into the night sky, your legs shaking as the feral beast between your thighs growled in satisfaction, his eyes glowing.

He pulled you from the hood and carried you to the rear of the vehicle, opening the tailgate before sitting you on the edge as he made quick work of his cargo pants, his thigh holster holding them up as his thick cock unfurled from the worn in cotton. You swallowed nervously; you were far from a virgin but the thought of the thick gnarled girth splitting your insides apart had you pulling away for a moment. That was until he gently cupped the back of your neck, pulling your face to his as he rested his forehead on yours and you instantly felt calmer and relaxed. The first touch of his hot flesh against your soaked core had you trembling with anticipation, before he paused, one massive hand resting over your stomach, and he growled as the warmth of your womb almost burnt into his palm;

“Mine...” he muttered, before those feral eyes met yours; “...ours”

“Captain… now, please…” you whined, knowing that what he knew about you, and you were ready.

With a roar he surged forward, your ripened walls parting for him as if welcoming him home. With his palm still pressed to your stomach he could feel himself inside you, the thickness pushing out your belly as he moved slowly and carefully, working to get just the right angle until he paused and you saw that ring of fire in his irises again burn bright.

It was then that he moved faster, the pull and push hitting every spot inside you, feral and wanting, an urgent need to to fill you with his seed, to breed you took over. Faster and faster he pounded into your soft body, drawing orgasms out of you quicker than you could process them, before he slowed and pulled you up so you were sitting, your bodies still connected. In that moment it was when the connection, the bond was finally fully formed, and as he pressed his forehead to your and started to fuck you again, you felt your spirit joining with his. His thrusts got faster, harder, his breath hot on your skin. The angle of his pelvis meant it took just a couple more thrusts and you were coming again, this time he threw his head back and let out a cry-come-howl as he released into your womb, his seed flooding into you as your body eagerly milked him of it.

You stayed joined in the most intimate of ways until the cool night air made a shiver run down your back, the movement of your body making you realise the Captain was still hard and nestled deep within you;

“So… are we stuck?”

“No… but this is the first time i’ve done… this… whilst i’ve been like… this…” he let out a huff of air; “I’m not exactly sure how long i’m gonna stay hard Darlin’... we could be here a while…”

“All night?” you said, a hint of hope in your voice

“I’m yours until the moon goes down Darlin’”

“And after the moon goes down?”

He Captain paused;

“What would a girl like you want with a beast like me come daybreak?”

Running your hand over his beard your thumb caressed the skin of his cheek;

“Everything Captain… i want all of you...” It was only in that moment that Sy saw it, the ring of fire in your own eyes. He had found his mate and you had found yours; “Breed me Captain…”

[elminx]

Energy Update: May 2022

Numerologically, May is a 11/2 universal month [5 (May) + 6 (2022) = 11 = 1+1=2] in 6 universal year. Eleven is considered one of the master numbers – the repeating ones are a signal of heightened probability – something new and quite out of the ordinary. The number 2 brings things together. You need two to make three and all of the numbers beyond that. There are increased possibilities in an 11-month – insert a This is Spinal Tap references here. This is further indicated for two reasons, one is that the planet of chance and unexpected change, Uranus is sitting in the sign of Taurus, and the other is that we are in the middle of an eclipse season which always has a feeling of divine intervention to it. Doors with open. Others will close. Bring a towel if you’re going to get emotional about it.

Uranus has been in Taurus since May 15, 2018, and will remain in the sign through August 27, 2026. This is an uncomfortable transit that we’ll all be experiencing for the long term but it does, as a general rule, prime the ground for…I don’t want to say disaster. But when we think of the fixed earth sign of Taurus it’s not even off-brand to compare their sudden and legendary anger to that of a natural disaster. Tensions will heighten on our planet the deeper Uranus digs into this fixed earth sign. The eclipses are just a spark, but a spark might also be all that is needed.

This is one of those points where I think that it’s important to remind my imagined readers that understanding the astrological weather should make you feel prepared, not paranoid. When we know better, we can do better.

May is definitely a month to watch out for. It doesn’t have to go badly – for you or for anybody else. But it’s going to be a bumpy ride on the winding road and you might want to keep two hands on the wheel or abandon your normal vehicle altogether. May is going to be a month to only wager with what you can afford to lose. May is going to be a month worth wagering if you have something to lose. May is going to be a month where it’s very important to put on your gas mask and make sure it’s secure before you try to help others.

The Setup

We begin the month with the Sun and Uranus in Taurus, Mercury in Gemini, Venus Mars Jupiter and Neptune in Pisces, Saturn in Aquarius, and Pluto in Capricorn. By the end of the month, the Sun will have moved on into gemini, Mercury will have retrograded backward into Taurus, Venus will be in Taurus, and Mars and Jupiter will have moved into Aries. A lot of going down and shifting at the moment, best get your very best balancing hooves on.

The Nitty Gritty

May begins with a bang one day early when we experience an intense partial solar eclipse at 10° Taurus that will be closely conjunct to the aforementioned Uranus in Taurus. All cards are going to be on the table this weekend and it’s anybody’s game, so you’d better bring your A-Game if you want to play. This is our first solar eclipse in this Taurus-Scorpio nodal cycle so it is likely to set the tone for the next couple of years of solar eclipses. This solar eclipse conjuncts our North Node which makes this extra future facing – this is the best day of the year to set long-term goals so long as you are willing to leave a bit of it up to “fate”. Nothing happens on a straight path where the lunar nodes are involved but that is s part of the magic. On the first of May, Venus sextiles retrograde Pluto in Capricorn, and on the 2nd she enters the cardinal fire sign of Aries and we might assume that she might finally, after a hard start to the year, get her mojo back. Aries isn’t always considered the sweetest placement for Venus, but she needs a heavy dose of confidence after that long march in time with a very cranky Mars. She stars in May but it may be a bit soon to spend too much time enjoying the limelight. If Venus in Aries can be a bit of a starlet, we can see through her month beginning and end with aspects wiith Pluto that sometimes, fame leads to scandal.

The is an undertone of shining too bright throughout the month as both Venus in her role as the Morning Star and the Sun flare dramatically about. The Sun conjuncts Uranus on 5/5, a day which has Caution Lights written all over it. Anything could happen though which means good things or bad things. It’s a good day for a solid dose of chance – whatever that means for you.

With it comes the lesson that echoes throughout all of this month’s energy: take the chance if you want to or need to, but duck and role instead of being flattened. The choice is always up to you. When the Tower card shows up, don’t scream “Not by the hair on my chinny, chin chin.” – let the houses of straw fall where they may.

That said: Be very fucking aware of this month if you know that your house is made of straw. That’s a very specific warning but if you know, you know.

There’s some problematic energy so it would be best if you could avoid getting involved in a problem. Mars in Pisces is sitting in a supportive sextile to the Sun and Uranus at the beginning of the month which is likely to make people quick on the trigger. Mars in Pisces is pretty passive-aggressive though so expect some backpass half insults before there’s outright conflict. Don’t discount the temper of the bull, though, don’t just go around waving red flags for no reason. Somebody’s likely to take the bait. Things may get even more confusing after Mercury retrogrades at 04° Gemini on 5/10. Mercury in Gemini always moves in both directions anyway so I think we’ll notice the retrograde less than average, at least until Mercury retrogrades backward into Taurus on 5/22 but it will still fuzz all of the connections a bit. Expect misunderstandings and some communication snafus. Keep an eye on your tech, check your battery, and proofread thrice before hitting “Send” if grammar matters. Mercury retrograde is a great time to travel if you do not care where you are going or if you will arrive at a particular destination on time, or maybe ever.

Mercury will pass between 26° Taurus and 04° Gemini three times in total: first in the pre-shadow phase, again while Mercury is retrograde (in reverse), and a third time when they move forward again in their post-shadow phase. Pay attention to what is coming up right now as you may have to revisit it at a later date.

The Sun will conjunct our North Node on 5/13. This has a pretty similar energy to our Sun-Uranus conjunction on 5/5 but with less negative impact so long as you are walking your proper path. The North Node is our guiding star; it represents, on a fundamental level, something that we were put here on this planet on the day that we were born to strive towards. Though eclipses are intense, emotional, and often disruptive, they still often right us on our paths.

This is not happening at this time by accident. The next day on 5/15, the Sun squares off with Saturn in Aquarius and we find our egoic version of our journey tested in some fundamental way, and then we are hit with the third blow as we experience a full lunar eclipse at 25° Scorpio on 5/16. The Scorpio full moon is among the strongest we experience and this eclipse will be visible to American residents – this is a night to stay up and stargaze at the blood moon. Spend some time with water if you can. You may be forced to make some choices during that weekend or you may find that your Other’s made some choices that affect you. Things may be completely out of your hands.

Eclipse energies are too unpredictable to properly forecast – they relate a lot to you, your natal chart, your placement of the lunar nodes, and how it relates to your chart, and if you are in alignment with you you really are not. (That’s hard to determine, of course, but I do think most people are intuitively aware when they have stepped off of their path) You can examine these things by sign, house, and aspect to learn more.

Just don’t make any rash decisions. Mars is conjunct Neptune so the way forward may be really hard to see and Mercury is not doing us any favors. They may take on the role of the Wanderer while they walk the low road but that doesn’t mean that they are carrying a lamp. Be your own Hermit. Find your own path. Be true to yourself first.

When the Sun enters Gemini on 5/20, he runs face first into Mercury who is inching back toward Taurus. The two meet on 5/21 so there might, for a brief moment, be light but it will dim even further when Mercury enters Taurus the next day of 5/22.

Great weather for divination, pathfinder, or journeying of any kind. Not so great weather for getting things done, or knowing what day of the week it is, or all of those other mundane little things that we tend to rely on our rational brains (or better yet, computers!) to keep track of for us. There is no time.

Mars enters Aries on 5/24 which will be somewhat of a relief because, by then, we might be itching for any hint of direction. Still, the lack of impulse control of Mars in Aries plus a somewhat blinded to reality retrograded Mercury isn’t the best combo, so I think that we should wait until Venus moves OUT of Aries into peace-loving Taurus on 5/28 before we make any rash decisions. Venus and Mars were not nice bedfellows on their conjunct journey throughout this year (they made war, thanks guys) and I’d rather that they were in separate signs for a while.

The last couple of days of the month are our sweet spot. We’ll have exited eclipse season after our lunar eclipse in Scorpio and as Gemini season arrives, some of the lessons of the lunar nodes will be fading away. With Mars in Aries and Venus in Taurus, we can relax and maybe just get things done now, eh? Work hard to fix what we have to and play hard with our rewards? Mars will conjunct Jupiter as well which is a lucky day indeed. The Gemini new moon on 5/30 will likely be much lighter and airy and a welcome reprieve at month’s end to let us breathe.

You can view the breakdown of the daily aspects on my blog.

Do you like my work? You can support me over on KoFi by tipping me, purchasing an astrology report, or buying some of my art.

[mackeydoodledoo]

The Fifth Lord: Chapter 6

Pairing: Alcina Dimitrescu and (Fem!Dragon)Reader [non-romantic], Bela Dimitrescu x (Fem!Dragon)Reader

Summary: Your name is Y/n Dracul; The only ‘mutant’ that doesn’t have the Cadou Parasite. You already have some sort of power that impressed Mother Miranda; you were the first known Human-Dragon Hybrid. Although you have your own house, “House Dracul”. Your ‘house’ itself is basically an unused wing of Castle Dimitrescu.

Warnings: Heartbreak, sadness, game spoilers [I’m sure everyone has watched or played Village]

A/N: So, Shit’s about to go down here!

“Three Dragon Slayers” - Yasaharu Takanashi [Play this when Y/n says: “You’re wrong Miranda.”]

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------

As you watch Heisenberg lose to Ethan Winters. You had the moment of realization that you were truly alone; The Last Lord standing. However, it didn't hit you as hard as it did when Ethan killed Alcina and her daughters. You decided to find Duke so you left, flying about until your wings got sore from the cold.

"Lord Dracul," The Duke calls out to you

You look up and see him, "Duke... I need you to give me Lady Bela's remains..."

"I’m afraid that comes at a high price my lord," he sighs, "However since you are a lord and she is your love..."

He reaches back into his carries and lugs out a Crystal Torso. You look down and notice Bela's fly squirming around.

It's Bela's scent....

You immediately reach for the torso and let it fall into you.

"Thank you Duke," you say, calmly

"What is your plan Lord Dracul?" He asks

You stop in your tracks and turn your head, your mouth visible to Duke. 

"Paying Mother Miranda a visit," you say, more sternly, "Someone's gotta pay..."

You make your way to the bridge and you set down Bela’s torso. You take off your jacket and place it around the torso. Bela’s fly peeks its hear out from your inside pocket.

“You’ll be okay,” You gently pat the fly, “You’ll be warm. Keep your body safe until I return for the both of you okay?”

The fly submerges itself into the sherpa-lined inside pocket.

“You have your body back...” You slightly smile

However, right as you stand up, you meet Ethan. Who cocks his gun at you.

“Listen,” You sigh, “If I help you get your daughter, you help me kill Miranda...”

“I-I thought you were on her side?” He asks

“Not really,” You say, looking across the bridge, “Though it was true she did spare me. But it was Dimitrescu who had raised me. I only trust her and her daughters. But with what you did- I’ll let it slide this once.”

You almost got your vengeful self get the best of you but you knew he was the only one who could wound Miranda enough for you.

“Deal,” He says

“One condition,” You add, “If I ever see you step foot into the castle again I cannot guarantee that I won’t kill you.”

He nods at your condition. The both of you walk across the bridge where you are met with some of the ghouls Miranda had reanimated to keep the both of you stalled. 

“Go forward,” You tell him, “I’ll keep these fools busy...”

You press your palm against his back and push him forward as your fists begin setting aflame. 

“I’ll meet you there!” You yell at him

“Thank you, Lord Dracul!” He says, referring to you for the first time

You smirk at his gratitude. But, you notice some ghouls beginning to reach Ethan before he could walk through Miranda’s vines. 

“Oh no you don’t!” You roar, breathing fire

It felt like grueling work when you finished off the ghouls. You manage to blast through to them however, a bunch of them guarding the entrance.

“You guys don’t know when o give up huh?” You ask them

You squat down, your feet beginning to create two circles of fire. They began growing to for around your body. You sprung your legs to give yourself a propelled launch, singeing the reanimated ghouls.

“MIRANDA!!!” You scream, your fist setting aflame once more

You used the fire emitting from your feet in an attempt to send a painful punch to Miranda’s face. However, in that attempted punch, Miranda catches it.

“I thought you were killed in the Castle” Miranda taunts you

“You were mistaken,” You growl, “I’m going to make you pay for what you did to my family...”

“‘Family’?” Miranda laughs at your comment, “You’re saying- that tall vampire woman and her three rabid children are your family?”

Both of your fists ignite and you roar. You fly over to her and again try to punch her for what she told you.

“They raised me!” You scream, “They gave me what you did not!” 

“And what is that?” She asks, still trying to taunt you, “They were nothing but pawns to my entire plan. They never loved you.”

That’s not true...

You and Miranda stop fighting and look around.

Alcina?!

Miranda punches your gut and you let out a pained grunt. You clench at your gut and stagger back.

“Agh!” You cough out blood 

You suddenly feel four different palms against your back.

We got you love.

Bela?...

Kick her ass for us!

Daniela?

Make her pay!

Cassandra?...

You smile, for the first time in hours, you smiled genuinely.

“You’re wrong Miranda,” You say, a circle of fire forms from your feet up, “They gave me the family I never had. They’ve shown me... Even as part monster, they’ve shown me love. You? You gave me nothing...”

Your eyes spark fire in their reflections once more and you launch yourself at her. Your first emits more fire than the last time. Miranda once more catches it in her palm, but she was struggling to hold it back. You could feel the shakiness in her arm as you try to punch her with more force than the last.

“This-this is betrayal!” Mother Miranda yells, trying to hold back one of your flamed fists, “I am the Black God! My power is immeasurable compared to yours! You are a weak dragon!”

You smirk, “Is that so?”

Your entire body begins setting aflame, a bigger one than you could ever emit, “Then I’ll just have to prove you wrong right now! Let’s see how much of a ‘god’ you really are shall we!?”

You yank your fist away from Miranda’s grasp. Before she could send you a punch out of fight or flight instinct, you simply catch it and hold it in a single hand. Unlike Miranda, whose arm was shaking as she tried to hold out your punch, you stand there; solid as a rock. No movement in your body what so ever.

“This cannot be!” She yells at you, “I am far more superior in power than you could ever be! This is the power I used to control all of you!!”

“Didn’t you forget?” You ask Miranda, “You didn’t experiment on me! You have no control over me!”

“Alcina and her daughter Bela do!” She tries to taunt you again

“You keep their names out of your mouth!” You snarl

You foot turns ablaze and you try to leg swoop her. She blocks your foot with slight ease and throws you back. You’re thrown into a tree trunk and you fall onto the ground; chest first. You wheeze out for air as you struggle to stand up again.

“My power is complete y/n!” She tries to intimidate you, “This is the power I will use to kill you since you no longer serve any purpose to me!”

You force yourself to stand up and you begin walking towards her, slowly and menacingly.

“Well then,” You start, smirking and setting your entire body ablaze, “I’ll use my power to fight for my family that you killed!” 

You dragon roar, breathing fire. You roll dive when Miranda uses her other clawed hand as a spear in an attempt to impale you. You breathe fire once more, setting fire to one of her arms. 

“You’ll pay for killing the people I’ve ever loved!” You scream, “The only ones who accepted me as I am; The Devil’s Dragon!”

“I should have infected you with my parasite!” She says, regretfully, “I should have had you brainwashed when I gave you a second chance!”

“You did give me a second chance, you are right about that,’“ You say, “But- it was Alcina who had raised me as I am... Bela was the one who loved me as I am... Cassandra and Daniela never saw me as a monster! Unlike you?... You used all of us! I’ll never forgive you for using them!”

Your roar was loud enough to shake the ground.

“Fire Dragon’s Art! Exploding Flame Edge!” You yell, your fire turning into spiked strings of fire, beginning at your clenched fists

You whip them around and it creates an exploding edge. You let them settle around Miranda as she begins being set ablaze. You listen to her scream in agony as she begins to crystalize. 

“You- Betrayed the lords!” She yells

“I’m the last lord standing!” You scream

She lets out one final scream in an attempt to get you however she only crystallizes. You let out a cough of smoke. You sigh in relief but clench at your stomach.

“Damnit...” You growl, noticing blood seeping through your shirt and the feeling of your shirt sticking to your body

You turn around and notice another man, his gun pointed at you. You were prepared to fight him too before Ethan grunts.

“Let her go Chris...” Ethan wheezes for air, “She helped..”

Chris places his gun back in his holster.

“Fine, we have to get you and Rose out of here,” He says, forcing Ethan to stand, “I’ve planted a bomb nearby. It shouldn’t blow the castle. I’d suggest you get back there as soon as possible because when I pull this trigger-”

Chris holds up a detonation device to show you, “This place is going to blow. But- I thought you were working for Miranda.”

“Things change when she kills the family that accepts me as I am,” You explain, “Good luck you two.”

You nod to Chris as you didn’t want to stick around to find out how the device worked. You begin flying back across the bridge to get Bela’s remains and go home. However, with one last effort, Miranda pierces and rips a small slit in your wings. Making you stagger fly a lot worse compared to when Ethan had shot a hole into the same wing tissue. Miraculously, you crash landed right in front of the torso. You immediately wrap your jacket in it and warm it as you begin running into the direction of the Castle.

“Lord Dracul!” Duke calls out for you, “Into my carriage!”

You practically dive into the back of his carriage and he begins motioning for his horse to ride back to the castle. It was a bumpy ride however, you still held onto the torso for dear life, not willing to let it go. Even though you were the one getting tossed around.

“My Lord, are you alright back there?” He asks

“As well as I can be,” You groan from the bumpy ride

“My apologies My Lord,” He says, “I didn’t want to get caught up in that explosion there.”

“Yeah, me neither,” You sigh, “Hey, how long until we’re at the castle?”

“Almost there my lord,” He answers

As you wait for him to tell you that the both of you had arrived, you peek into your inside jacket pocket. Sighing in relief when you see Bela’s fly peeking back up at you. 

“You’re safe,” You smile, tearing up, “Thank god...”

You pet its head as it tries to snuggle into your warm finger. You and the fly continue fueling each others’ comfort until you felt the carriage stop.

“We’ve arrived my lord,” Duke calls to you

Chapter 7

[ray-ray-writings]

Hey Ray! Could you write some soft Schlatt stuff? Soft or angsty really both are good!!! There’s just not enough schlatt content out there for me to spam my friend with. (I’d say go for soft things but my friend is an angst queen) thank you!!!!!

-🌻

I love Schaltt so much and am kind of sad that I don’t get the opportunity to write for him more lol. And how about a compromise? How about something angsty with a happy ending??? Did not mean for this to be as long as it is but it happens lol. Hope everyone has a great night, this is the last drabble for the night! More to come tomorrow!!

TW: Schlatt throws a glass bottle at you and a few curse words

So we’re going to say that you and Schlatt are engaged okay? So you and Schlatt have been together for a really long time server hopping. You kind of let Schlatt pick the places you go because you never really cared as long as you were with Schlatt you were happy. So when you moved to the DreamSMP you were honestly just kind of vibing. You quickly met Quackity and he very quickly became your best friend. You almost had a stroke when Schlatt announced he was running for president. (Joke intended lol). But Schlatt was a failed businessman who never showed any interest in politics so when he told you he was running for president of L’Manberg, you were super shocked. But nonetheless you helped him campaign and supported him 100%. And when Quackity told you that he was going to give all of the votes that Swag2020 got to Schlatt you actually began believing that he could win this thing. And to your absolute surprise, he did just that. He won. JSchlatt won. Your failed businessman of a fiancé actually won the presidential election of L’Manberg. You didn’t necessarily agree with his first decree, but you being the loving and supporting person you are, you stood behind your lover 100%, even when Wilbur stared at you with pleading eyes to do something. You forced yourself to look away and turn your attention to your fiance who was now celebrating with Quackity… Everything was good. Everything was happy…. 

But after the election, things started to get… bumpy. The presidency began to take a toll on Schlatt and instead of turning to you with his problems, he turned to the bottom of a liquor bottle. It really hurt. It hurt that he felt he couldn’t lean on you and come to you for support on these things. He would come home really late and leave really early so you didn’t see him at home. So you tried really hard to be there for him. You would swing by his office and try to get him to talk to you, but he would only shoe you out, or have Tubbo escort you out, claiming he had a lot of work to do. You’d try to convince him to go on walks or dates with you, but he would again just brush you off and tell you to go away. Finally you’ve had enough and so one night you stay up. You don’t fall asleep when you usually would and you wait for Schlatt to come home. He comes home at like 1:30 am, stumbling in through the door, barely able to stand on his feet with an almost empty glass whiskey bottle in his hand. “Welcome home,” You greet coldly, standing up from the couch with your arms crossed over your chest. Schlatt’s head snaps to you in surprise and he rolls his eyes before he takes a swig from his bottle, “What are you doing here?” He grumbles, wiping his lips after he drinks. You can’t help but let out a scoff and move around the room toward the wall farthest away from him. “Really? You come home drunk off you ass, barely able to stand up, and the first thing out of your mouth is ‘What are you doing here?’ Unbelievable” you spit out, rolling your eyes and leaning up against the wall. Schlatt grumbles something under his breath, slams the door shut and glares at you, “Hi!” he cheers in the fakest peppiest voice you’ve ever heard, “How was your day? Is that what you wanted to hear?” “Yes actually. I would have loved to hear my fiance ask me how my day was! But no, instead I get a bitter fiance who only cares about himself greeting me” you seethe, extremely pissed off at how he’s acting. Schlatt lets out another scoff, “Oh really? Only thinking of myself? You’re the one who wanted me to ask you how your day was, seems pretty selfish to me” he slurs, tipping the bottle back and taking another drink. You cannot believe the words you’re hearing. He really thinks you’re selfish for wanting him to ask you how your day was. “It’s selfish of me to want to talk to my fiance? It’s selfish to want him to look at me for more than three seconds? To talk about our days like we used to? To fall asleep in the same bed again and wake up just the same? That’s selfish?” “Yes! It is!” He blurts out, “I’m the president now and this country needs me and-” “Your the president but it doesn’t mean that you have to ignore me!” You finally shout, sick and tired of him not listening to you. But the raise of your tone sparked fire in Schlatt’s eyes and his voice booms right back, “I never wanted to be president, but you made me! This is all your fault! Being president does mean that I have to ignore you because I have to do the things that come with this goddamn job I didn’t even want!” “If you didn’t want to be president why did you even run?!?” You scream back at him. “Because you made me! I hate you!” He screams before hurtling the now empty bottle at you. It’s like slow motion. You watch the bottle fly from his hand and slowly fly in the air toward your face. You can hear yourself scream in terror as you're able to just barely duck in time for the bottle to shoot over your head and smash against the wall, thousands of glass shards falling to the ground. 

It’s silent. As you stand back up, tears are filling your eyes, but you’re able to see the horrified expression on Schlatt’s face. It’s obvious his actions have sobered him up and he now has a clear mind. “Y/N” he chokes out the whisper of your name, such a stark contrast from the volume level just a moment earlier. “Get out” you whisper back, a single tear falling down your cheek. “Y/N” he tries again, taking a single step forward, but you flinch back, your slipper stepping on the broken glass behind you, “Get out” you repeat a little louder. When he makes no move, you begin screaming again, “GET OUT! GET OUT GET OUT GET OUT!!” You scream as you sob. Again, Schlatt remains frozen in place, the whiplash of him being so drunk he can barely walk to him being sober due to him hurling a bottle at his lover has his head hurting and unable to move. When he doesn’t move, you do. “Fine, I’ll get out” You then quickly walk past him toward the front door. Schlatt catches your wrist, “Y/N, wait please” he begs, tears starting to form in his eyes. You rip your wrist from his hand, “Don’t fucking touch me Schlatt” you spit hatefully at him, “I’ve done nothing but wait for you for these past few months and now I’ve finished waiting. You’ve missed your chance” and then you’re gone. 

You run, and I mean run, to the nearest house, which just so happens to be Quackity’s. To your surprise, the light is still on. Before you can even knock, the door swings open and Quackity has pulled you into a warm hug. “I heard” he simply whispers in your ear. And it occurs to you that the two of you were in fact screaming at the top of your lungs at each other. “I’m sorry” you whimper in his shoulder, truly feeling bad for waking him and probably a few others. “Shhhh. It’s okay. I’ve got you now, let’s get you inside”. Quackity takes you in for the night, offering you a cup of your favorite hot liquid before tucking you in his own bed. When he tries to leave, you grab his wrist, “Stay… Please” you beg. Quackity hesitates for a moment before climbing in bed beside you. You snuggle yourself into him and put his arms around you so he was holding you. It felt really nice to fall asleep in someone’s arms again, especially your best friend’s arms. 

The night goes a lot rougher for Schlatt. He’s the most sober he’s been since he won the election. He has a raging headache and his heart aches, but he knows he deserves it. Schlatt stands there staring at the door for a long time. “Any minute now,” he thinks to himself, “any minute they’ll walk through the door and hug me and tell me they forgive me” but he knows that he’s just kidding himself. When the clock hits 3am he finally looks away from the door. Schlatt lets his eyes roam the living room and they freeze on the glass pile where you stood just a while ago. His heart thumps heavily in his chest and he has to swallow harshly to get the lump out of his throat. He did that. He threw that. Not only did he throw that, he threw that at you. His love. The best thing that had ever happened in his life. He had screamed that he hated you. Quickly, Schlatt rushes forward, drops to his knees and stupidly begins picking up pieces of the shattered glass. He thinks that if he can clean it up, if he can put it back together again, you’ll come back. You’ll come back to him and forgive him and everything will be alright. A sharp pain shoots through his hand causing him to drop all of the glass he’s collected. Deep maroon liquid pours from his finger causing Schlatt to let out soft curses. He quickly uses his other hand and wraps it around the bleeding finger, rises and walks to the bathroom. He holds the bleeding finger under running water while he struggles to pull a band aid out of the cabinet. “God. Y/N would be laughing at me so hard right now. Then they would just float in here and take care of me themselves…” he thinks out loud, “Fuck!” He curses harshly as he thinks about how bad he’s fucked up with you. He manages to get himself bandaged up before he takes a few painkillers, even though he really knows he deserves to hurt. He stumbles his way into the bedroom and flings himself down on your side of the bed, he really just wants to be comforted by you, even though he’s been so shitty. But Schlatt quickly becomes confused when it’s rather cold and does not smell like you at all. He lets out a sigh and rolls over onto his normal side of the bed and is immediately overwhelmed with the powerful scent of you on his side of the bed. The tears return to his eyes as he realizes that you spend every night on his side of the bed in hopes of getting even just a little piece of him. He sobs himself to sleep, face buried in his pillow that smells just like you. 

You wake that morning very confused because you wake up in someone’s arms. As you peel your eyes open, you take in messy black hair and the peaceful face of your sleeping best friend and the events of last night wash over you in one big memory wave. Hurt and sadness fall over your feelings again because you think you lost your fiance last night. You don’t get much time to ponder over it because Quackity’s eyes peel open and connect with yours. “You were watching me sleep. You fucking creep” He teases before letting out a huge yawn, moving his arm off of you and stretching. “I was not watching you sleep. I was simply staring at you while I was lost in my own thoughts you dork” you tease right back, also throwing your arm up to stretch. Quackity laughs and rolls his eyes, “Whatever creep” You roll your eyes at him in return, “Whatever’s right dork.” You two lay there for a moment before breaking out in giggles and pushing each other’s shoulder. It felt nice to laugh with someone while laying around in bed again. It felt nice to be happy. After a moment, you two climb out of bed. Quackity gives you some clothes of his to change into so you didn’t have to walk around in your pajamas. You change in the bathroom and do what you need to do before you Quackity in the kitchen for breakfast. You have a nice breakfast together, but as you eat there’s a knock on the door. Quackity gets up and opens it, “Tubbo! What can I do for you?” “Have you seen Y/N? Schlatt wants to see them so he sent me to find them. So have you seen them?” You can hear the young boy ask from the front door. You hear Quackity hesitate at the door, not sure if he should tell Tubbo where you are. So you stand up and walk into view. “Hello Tubbo” you greet the small boy kindly. His eyes light up at you, “Hello Y/N! Schlatt is looking for you! He’s in his office at the office! Shall I escort you to him?” He asks. It’s obvious he has no idea what’s going on. You give a little head shake and take a deep breath before you answer, “No it’s okay. Tell him that I’m having breakfast with my best friend and that I’ll… I’ll meet him afterwards. But also tell him that if he shows up here, I won’t talk to him ever again” Tubbo’s eyes widen slightly, but he gives you a small nod and a smile, “Okay. I’ll let him know Y/N” Tubbo then turns on his heel and runs off toward the office. Quackity shuts the door and turns to you with a concerned look on his face as he rests a comforting hand on your shoulder, “Are you sure you want to do that?” “No” you admit, “But I really should. It’s the adult thing to do” Quackity lets out a small laugh, “Then you’re more adult than I’ll ever be… Come on, let’s go finish breakfast” 

The two of you have a lovely breakfast together, but the whole time you’re thinking about what it is you’re going to say to Schlatt once you are in his office. Quackity gives you a tight hug before you leave. You metally prepare yourself on the short walk over to the office building. What you’re going to say, how you’re going to react, you know typical mental argument planning things. You take a deep breath once you’re in front of the door before you raise your fist and knock. “Come in” his deep voice calls from the other side of the door. You slowly open the door, step inside, and close the door behind you before you look up and meet Schlatt’s eyes. You feel your breath catch in your throat. He looks terrible. His eyes are red rimmed and bloodshot, his hair is a mess, the bags under his eyes were extremely dark… It was obvious he had gotten very little sleep last night.  ‘Good’ a voice whispers in the back of your mind. Schlatt scrambles to stand when you enter. You two stare at each other for a moment before Schlatt clears his throat and sticks out his arms. “Please. Have a seat… If you want” he stutters out. You cautiously move to one of the chairs and slowly lower yourself into the chair behind you and he quickly follows suit. There’s a little more staring before Schlatt speaks again, “So… Um. How was your breakfast?” he’s nervous, very nervous. “It was good… I know you didn’t ask me here to talk about breakfast Schlatt so let’s just get right to it shall we?” you cut straight through wanting to get this over with. Schlatt flinches slightly at the sharp tone but nods, “I’m so sorry for last night… No for the last few months. I have been an extremely shitty fiance and that hasn’t been fair to you. My behavior, especially these last few months, and especially last night was unacceptable. I’m so sorry and I really hope you’ll forgive me” You wait just a moment to make sure he was finished before you speak. And boy do you speak, “You’re right. You’ve been really shitty and it hasn’t been fair to me… But if you think a single apology is going to fix all of it. You’re dead wrong Schlatt. Dead wrong… These past few months have been hell for me. I’ve tried so hard to be supportive to try and have your back but you just kept pushing me away. I went to bed alone, I woke up alone, I had to take care of myself all while I was also trying to take care of you…. Schlatt last night you yelled at me, you screamed at me. You blamed me for the riff in our relationship. Blamed me for you having a job you claim you never wanted. I never forced you to run for president. I never forced Quackity to give you his votes. I never forced you to do anything you didn’t want to do. I simply stood behind you and supported you…. Last night you threw a glass bottle at my head. Had I not ducked it would have hit me straight in the face. I would have been severely hurt and it would have been your fault. But the thing that hurts the most, the thing that tears me up inside. Schlatt. You told me you hated me. You said you hate me.” 

Schlatt is in tears by the time you’ve finished and you’re nearly there too. “I know. I know. I’m so sorry baby. So sorry. I know I’ve been so bad. So horrible. I’m so sorry. It’s not your fault, it was never your fault. It’s mine and I know that. I take complete and utter responsibility. When I ran it was a joke, it was for a joke. I never expected to win, but you supported me anyway. You’ve always supported me and I know I don’t deserve you. I really don’t. Last night, when we were talking, well yelling, I was so drunk out of my mind. I thought you were me. I thought you were me and I was talking to a version of myself, a hallucination. That’s why I screamed at you. That’s why I told you it’s your fault. That I threw the bottle, and why I said I hated you. But when I heard you scream, everything became clear. I finally saw it was you and I knew I had fucked up. I know it’s no excuse, but it’s my explanation. I understand if you never want to see me again. I wouldn’t want to see me again.” Schlatt explains before breaking down into sobs. It all makes sense, the way he acted last night. Why he did and said those horrible things to you. You could tell he wasn’t lying. You know you still have a lot to talk about and work through, but for now, you quickly rise from your chair, move around the desk, before sitting yourself down in his lap and burying your face in his neck, pulling yourself close to him. His arms immediately shoot out and wrap around you and tug you to him so tightly, as if he’s scared if he let’s go, he’ll lose you. You cry in each other’s arms for a few moments, just letting out all of your emotions. The missing of one another, the sadness, and longing. You manage to get yourself under control first, pulling back to look him in the eyes “We still have a lot to talk about and you still have a lot of making up to do, but I’m going to forgive you. Not right now, but I will eventually. We’re going to make this work lover.” You promise your fiance, leaning forward and pressing a small kiss to the corner of his mouth. “I swear to you I will spend the rest of my life making it up to you. You’re my everything my love and I swear that I’ll make this right” he whispers before leaning forward and capturing your lips into a real and proper kiss. The kind you haven’t had in months. And you can’t help but absolutely melt in Schlatt’s lap. You wrap your arms around his neck and pull him closer. You two are going to be alright. Schlatt will make sure of it.

[talesofphantombandits]

Zero to Six ~ Hong Kong - Edited Version. Part 6.

Characters: Four X Zero (OC)

Summary: Zero was the first person to be ‘saved’ by One, she was his first honorary Ghost. Her knowledge in tech meant she got the role of ‘Hacker’ she recruited new team members, looked for missions and locations and made sure every security measure was looked at. You know normal hacker spy stuff. But her tough up bringing meant that if needs be she could fight, she was maybe even better than some people on the team knew. But due to One’s protectiveness over her she had to stay hidden, she was more of an actual ghost than the rest of the team was. This didn’t mean she couldn’t have her fun though, over the months of being with the full team she had formed quite a passionate love/ hate relationship with the handsome Four. Who knows what sparks would fly if they were ever to meet. Warnings: Slight swearing, some suggestive flirting in later chapters.

Tagg list: (I know this is a edit of my original story but if anyone wants to be tagged let me know.) @raylan-c​​, @angelic-demonss

The night consisted of looking through the research and planning the best way to go about getting the dictators brother out of the tower in Hong Kong as discreetly as possible.

That wasn't the most exciting part about that night though, at least for Zero. In all fairness she was trying to concentrate on the meeting, but it's hard when a certain blonde haired, green eyed beauty kept staring her down. He even had the nerve to smirk at her when he caught her staring back. Dam him. She hadn't even been in his presence for 24 hours, yet she couldn't decide if she wanted to beat the shit out of him or jump him, kissing him like her life depended on it.

Maybe both?

Five had kindly offered Zero the pull out bed in her converted shipping containment while One made arrangements to get her, her own little space like the others had, a permanent home of her own sounded very nice indeed.  Although Zero tossed and turned most of the night she couldn't say the next morning that she was at all that tired when she woke up, the excitement was coursing through her veins and the anticipation to actually get to do field work was overwhelming her. One knocked on the girls door and dropped off the little of Zero’s belongings that she still had, he must have been back to the hotel room and collected everything, she thanked him but he just nodded slightly. “Still pissed at me I see.” She turned to Five who was sitting at the small table having some light breakfast 

“He’ll get over it.” She gave me her best smile. “Don’t worry.” 

With her belongings now returned to her, she decided to go for a shower and get into some fresh clothes so she’d be comfortable for the flight. She stepped out of the shower, dried off then dressed in some black skinny jeans and threw on a long burgundy striped top. Finishing the look off with some long black boots that had laces all the way to the top and a dark green leather jacket. She slung the duffel with all her clothes in it over her shoulder and grabbed onto her laptop bag then headed out to meet Five on the tarmac.  She walked in the middle, the others chatting away behind her meanwhile One was up front, no doubt eager to get the planes engine started. 

Zero decided to sit in her own section, unlike the others she had some work to do and getting distracted wasn’t a option.  Two took the seat behind her, Three sat across from Two. While Four and Five where opposite Zero, Five sitting in the same row as her. Four just had to placed himself on the other row by the window, the perfect place to make side eye at her. Great! Now she had to deal with a 5 hour flight feeling him burn holes into my head and be the biggest distraction from her work.

"So.” His voice rang through the aeroplane that had just got very noisy due to One starting the engines. “How are you feeling this morning sweetheart?" His voice was like honey, it would something she could never ignore no matter how much she tried. His low tones sounded way better in person than over coms.

She smiled over at Four as best as she could, trying not to show how much the nickname effected her on the inside. "Fine.” She sighed. “More excited than nervous really. It's just great not to be stuck in a room 24/7.” She smiled taking the chance to now turn the tables and tease him. “How you feeling monkey boy?"

"Why do you have to call me that?” He leaned forward in his seat and rested his elbows on his knees staring intensely at her. “You could at least come up with something that sounds a bit more sexy, don’t you think?" He looked at her with a cute pout, something she thought he was trying to melt her with. 

“I think it’s sexy, monkey boy.” Three chimed in and everyone burst into laughter, but Four was glued to Zero.  She just scoffed. "I think you're the only person that thinks you're sexy, well apart from that blonde you picked up at the bar, and Thee of course." 

"Are you jealous, Zero? You know that was for mission purposes, besides I've seen the way you stare at me sweetheart." She just laughed, she’d lost count at the amount of times she’d scoffed at this boy.

She opened her laptop, fully intent on ignoring him the rest of the flight "Keep telling yourself that babe."

"You guys do know where all still here right?" One said awkwardly over the aeroplanes intercom. “Okay everyone strap in and shut up, we’re setting off now.” 

It was about an hour into the flight, everything had been considerately quiet since four at fallen asleep against the window, Zero would steal glances at him every once in a while. Seven announced that things would start to get bumpy, and Three started to get very uneasy. "You know I usually just look at the staff to see if I should be worried." She turned to see him clutching white knuckle to his seat.

"I think you mean the flight attendants, you can just look at me." Two said.

"Oh darling, no offence but you could be on fire and you'd have the same blank expression on your face." Zero turned to raise my eyebrows at Five, who looked back at her just as amused. and a look that said ‘something is definitely going on with these two.’ Zero nodded in agreement.

"You know what sucks guys, that if we were to crash." She looked over at Four this time to see if the commotion had woke him up, he opened one eye from his sleeping state to make a face at Five. "No one would ever care. Like we never existed." He said it loud enough for One to hear in the cockpit.

"You know I can hear you, if you're going to shit yourself there's a bathroom in the back.” Zero just giggled to herself and then got back to her work So this is what it was like to be truly around them, she liked it. It was always fun to hear their bickering over coms but this was even better, a warm feeling had started to invade her heart and a warm fuzzy feeling like home crept into her veins. It was nice to be around the right people again. They fought, they were sometimes asses but this was her true family and for once in her life she started to admire One for bringing such an amazing group of people together. She had decided in that moment that there was no where she’d rather be than here 35,000 feet up with the best bunch of idiots, and if she was to die on a mission she knew she had surrounded herself with the best adopted family she could have ever asked for.

When they finally landed, the colour is Three’s face gradually started to return, Zero took the opportunity while passing him in the aisle to pat him on the back, laughing as she exit. "Hey you little shit, don't make fun of me or I'll find out your fear." He just shouted after her retreating frame. They all dumped what little bags they had taken outside of the plane as One started the debrief one last time of the plan we were about to carry out. After about Twenty mins he decided to wrap it up. "Chowtime." One clasped his hands excitedly as the rest of the team cheered.

Zero decided that sitting at one of the higher tables would be more efficient for her to carry on her work, she’d almost finished on the plane but still had one more section to complete by tonight. She whipped out her note book, not feeling safe getting the laptop out in such an open and crowded space. But as soon as she’d put the paper on the table someone had ripped it out of her hands and in its place a bowl of noodles was set down.

"Hey!" She had began to protest looking up at the thief in question.

What she was not expecting was to be met with Four’s bright green eyes. Closing her note book, he placed it safely back in her laptop bag. "Do you ever stop working?" He sat down on the stool next to hers, and suddenly she was very self conscious. She tried to shake the feeling by directing her feelings to being annoyed he’d took her work, she sighed tilting her head at him. "It's been nonstop for three years of my life, I’m afraid at this point I don't know how to do anything else with my time."

"We could change that." He smirked.

She scoffed again, cracking open her chopsticks a little too aggressively but as to get the point across that she wasn’t in the mood for his flirting. "Excuse me, I'd like some alone time with my noodles."

"No come on.” He laughed, face turning more serious when he saw how fed up she was. “I’m sorry, I think we should start over."

"What?" She turned her head to him in confusion at how serious he’d become.

"We haven't had time to talk properly since you got here, seen as we've only really talked over the wire maybe we should have a fresh start." He held out his hand. "Hello, my names Four."

He at least managed to crack a small smile from her at this, she decided to humour him this once. Putting her chopsticks down, she took his hand and shook it. "Zero."

"What a beautiful name."

“Yeah,” She laughed. “Well, you should hear my real one.”

She’d completely forgotten about the electric pulse she had felt when they had brushed hands back in the hotel kitchen. But this time she was holding his hand and it felt like hot lava now, this fact meant she held onto it a little longer than she should have.  Suddenly letting go when the moment started getting awkward, she decided to focus on her noodles instead. 

"You know.” He started to talk again but she didn’t look up, taking another mouth full of noodles. “I was surprised that you didn't suddenly knock me on my ass when I came in." This made her laugh. "You've threatened me with it enough times."

"Well I could say the same for you.” He leaned in closer to her, his breath tickling the inside of her ear. “But there's plenty of time yet for that sweetheart.”  In a lower voice he continued. “I'll make you wait. Get you when you're least expecting it." He pulled back just to see her reaction, and was pleased with the blush on her cheeks.

She cleared her throat and decided to change the subject. "Are you nervous?" She asked not daring to look at him. "For the mission I mean."

"Why does everyone always ask me this." He huffed, leaning back on the stool.

"It's okay to be scared Four, fear is what keeps us alive." He didn't say anything, but when she finally looked up at him, he was looking at her with an emotion she just couldn't put her finger on.

"All you can ever do is your best." She smiled and finished up her noodles.

"I guess, hey! when did you get so smart?"

"Maybe about an hour ago?" They both just chuckled, finally the air around them settled.

"You guys finished? It's time to go." Seven said from behind them, putting his hand on Fours shoulder.

"Yeah, we're good." Zero smiled at Four as he passed her, her laptop bag.

As Zero started to walked out of the restaurant, Five caught her by her arm and linked them together, she then proceeded to hand Zero 50 dollars. "You were right, they did it in Vegas." She said defeated.

"Two and Three eh, maybe there hope for me after all." They both laughed as they crossed the road to catch up to the others who had already entered their hotel for the mission.

[himbodjarin]

LUNAR; CH8

18+ ONLY Series Content: Graphic descriptions of gore and smut. Din Djarin/Third Person POV.  Chapter Word Count: 8263 (im sorry) Pairing: Din Djarin/F!Reader - no use “y/n”

The Mandalorian is a driven warrior — traversing the galaxy in search of the ancient Jedi — but everyone has their weaknesses, and he’s no different. The Bounty Hunter possessed three in fact. One he’s discovered—The Child. The remaining two, though, he wasn’t aware of their existence. At least, not until he meets a valorous Sharpshooter underneath a moonless night sky; then he’s plummeting down a dark mission of self-discovery, questioning his morals and his Creed while the moon taunts him, the phases of the satellite corresponding to his personal revelations. However, the Girl has a dark past that may come to inflict hardships on the Mandalorian and the Child; it's up to the Bounty Hunter to decide her fate.

Read on AO3 / Series Masterlist

CHAPTER EIGHT: BLUE MILK PANCAKES

Mando still can’t grasp it actually happened—that he’d been so fortunate to experience such a jaw-dropping night with the Girl, with no ulterior motives no less. Back in his youth, when he was naive and desperate, it wasn’t exactly infrequent for a fling to take advantage of him; spend a quick few minutes so that one may eliminate him in his distraction or gain intel on private matters. The Girl didn’t try that—didn’t want that. She sought to provide him with sweet relief and nothing more, not even her own relief.

He felt so fucking worshipped.

Mando is the first of them to wake in the early rise of the sun. He sits there for a moment, savouring the gleaming rays shining through the viewport to warm his beskar and, consequently, his rigid body underneath. The Crest is coated in a layer of ice, corroding the durasteel beneath and, accompanied by the packed snow resting atop, it’s refrigerating the inside of the spacecraft. Mando slips on the discarded glove from overnight—a warmth surfacing his cheeks upon the reminder of last night’s events—and supplies friction to either hand in the prospect it’ll produce warmth. It’s wishful thinking. 

Granting him the opportunity to adjust to his surroundings, Mando stretches in his chair and virtually moans at the pulsations ranging through his limbs. It starts at his shoulders and travels through his core, nudging against the wound on his back and easing the tension out of his muscles, and reaches to the bottom of his toes which practically curl with delight. 

Mando considers removing the helmet to rub his eyes—the crust in the corners a botheration—lift it a tad in the least, but he doesn’t get the chance. The Child coos beside him, his little arms reaching up for assistance.

 “How did you get up here?” he asks, placing him on his knees. The Child doesn’t answer—why would he—and concentrates on balancing across the joints to tinker with deactivated buttons of the nav controls. “Where to, kid?” Mando scans the system’s database for a paragon planet to hunker down for a few days; spend some time with the kid—and the Girl, of course—before being ripped away from the semi-domestic life and continue on his unwritten path of planet-hopping.

There’s a planet not too far; small population, plenty of wilderness for the kid to explore, and there’s not much traffic that passes through. It’s good, perfect almost, and Mando is hesitant to accept the temptation. The Child’s head rotates to look at his guardian, his large green ears twitching curiously. He sighs and sets the coordinates for the planet despite his better judgement. It’s too fortunate; the last ‘safe’ planet they visited ended up in him protecting an entire village and the kid almost being killed. Although, he’s made a trustworthy ally who’ll assist if something were to go down. He glances behind him at the Girl, raking his brown eyes across her contorted body in the seat.

“Hang on, kid.” Mando lifts himself out of the pilot chair, leaving behind a monitoring toddler in his place, and kneels beside the Girl in the passengers. She’s sleeping peacefully and he doesn’t disturb her, despite the positioning she’s managed to get herself into. It’s unpleasant on his eyes and it couldn’t be comfortable. With a tremble in his back muscles, he reaches behind his neck and peels the cloak from his armour to drape it across her figure, relying on it to provide at least a small portion of warmth to her. She clasps the garment slightly and a smile surfaces his lips, his leathers coming up to brush a stroke across her cheek faintly—only lasting a second or two before detaching from her like an uncooperative magnet. Once she’s finally soothed back into position, Mando retrieves the safety belt from beside her and secures it across her waist before grudgingly tearing away from the Girl. “Looks like you’re with me.”

The Child squeals with enjoyment as the Mandalorian returns to his seat.

“Shh,” he instructs, glancing back to see the Girl motionless. He sighs with relief.

Mando joins the buckle’s latches together and wraps an arm around the Child to secure him against himself. The thrusters wake with a roar and quake the craft’s hull, the ion accelerator chamber thawing the thrusters nozzles of their icy barricade—shit, the ice. It’ll pose a threat, a handicap at the minimum if it doesn’t defrost soon enough. He cringes as the Crest whines against the glacier's dominance on his landing gear, but with the newly-maintenance thrusters, it’s no match against the craft. It rips from the ice and retracts to the hull’s underbelly, allowing Mando to manipulate the ship through the sky and out of the atmosphere; slabs of ice and snow descend to the ground beneath them. 

The feeble bumpiness fades into a smooth flight and Mando activates the autopilot controls. “Not so bad, huh?” He disconnects the buckle from his belt and slips out of the chair, letting the Child sit in the warm leather. “Don’t go touching things—and don’t wake her up,” he quickly adds, noting the Child’s inquisitive staring as though he hadn’t genuinely noticed her earlier. 

Mando sighs and hopes he’ll listen to his request just this once.

The Crest’s hold had been cleaned, just as the Girl promised to do, hardly even a speck of dust surfaced the floor. She’d been busy—and he had just been preoccupied with himself. Mando sighs to himself and browses through his reserved clothing. It mostly consists of bunking apparel—a couple of loose shirts and favourable pants—that he hadn’t had the opportunity to put to use since he fostered the Child. He’s expected—required to remain on the defensive at all times with the Guild breathing down his neck. 

He sorts through the articles and grabs the spare flight suit, his only other. It would be ideal to purchase another, especially now with this one having been ripped, but it wasn’t a necessity presently. The fabric in his hands smells of dirt and grime, residue from the lake he attempted to clean it in all those weeks ago, but it’s better than his current—tattered, bloody, sweaty, and cum-stained. What a combination.

Perhaps he should invest in a refresher for his Crest. That way he wouldn’t be hunched over in the dark corners of the hold, stripping the beskar steel from his body for anybody to stumble across. It didn’t provide much assurance being within eyeshot of the cockpit ladder and with the lack of places to conceal himself, his hurried movements advanced. Then again the sheer thought of the Girl seeing him like this—and joining him—isn’t unpleasant; it would make the situation a whole lot less embarrassing. 

He peels the last of his beskar from his body and stacks it against the wall, reorienting himself to slip out of his boots. It’s been a while since he last stood without any armour, excluding the helmet, and it feels refreshing in a way. But it doesn’t feel right.

Mando wasted no time in replacing the flight suit, smoothing the fabric out with his gloves and reapplying the ensemble of beskar; each patch of steel fitting snugly where it belongs. It’s slightly more bearable, not having to feel his own mess rubbing against him on the inside of the fabric, and he shoves the dirty flight suit in replace of the clean. He’ll get around to washing it when he has the time—or burn it by virtue of the rip across the arm. 

Speaking of arms, the bacta patch on his bicep had aided the wound significantly and within the next day or two, it should be healed. The lesion on his back was a different story. It’s still sore, somewhat better with a night’s rest, but it’ll be a while before he’s out there firing blasters with that same authority. It could cause jeopardy if he’s not cautious.

The Razor Crest abruptly rumbles and falls into a fit of tremors, hurling the Mandalorian against the stationary carbonite pods with fury. “Shit,” he growls and grips his bicep, pleading he won’t bleed through the fresh clothes so soon. It pulses again and the engines’ whining travels through the ventilation, discharging a high-pitched shriek followed by a low hum of a whistle.

“Man-fuck, Mando!” the Girl beckons from upstairs. Mando is quick on his feet up the ladder, clinging desperately to the rungs upon another spasm. “I was sleeping a-and the kid…” She doesn’t need to finish for him to understand, for the Child is sitting underneath the nav panel with colourful cords in his hands; wire coverings peeled away to expose the electricity hazards sparking in his fists.

“Kid, no!” Mando scolds and snatches the cables from his stubborn claws. He babbles a complaint to his guardian as he’s being relocated far away from the electricity. He’s completely dismantled it—Mando will need to implement an entirely new wiring system for the navigation controls alone; a job he’s not suited for. He turns to the Girl for support.

“Don’t look at me,” she raises her hands defensively, “I only know bits and pieces.”

Innocently burbling besides the Mandalorian, the Child watches as leather gloves track across the navigation controls urgently. He’s unbothered by the predicament they’re in—just glad that his guardian had returned to the cockpit’s cabin, it appears. Mando groans in annoyance, fumbling with the nav and fighting against it’s constant glitching. “We’re in luck. There’s a planet on the way. Tatooine. Someone can help us there.” 

“Yeah. Heard of it,” she mutters, regrettably, and he wonders what that is all about but it can wait. It wasn’t the time to sweat over the small details. “We’re not going to crash, are we?”

He contemplates, glancing over the system’s diagnosis and dismisses the electrical yammering it erupts. “Shouldn't—there’ll just be a lot of turbulence.”

That there is—turbulence and a great deal of it. There’s too much to maintain an uncoiled stomach throughout the remainder of the short flight and they’re both surprised when they’re successful in their landing, especially without the contents of their stomach having been dumped over themselves. Peli Motto—an innovative mechanic but a bit too communicatory for the Mandalorian’s preference—stands in her hangar with two greasy hands on her hips, eyes squinting through the viewport to gaze up at Mando. Better have my credits ready to go this time, he can already hear her say and he sighs. Credits he did have, but they weren’t exactly his, and there wasn’t much to spare.

“I’ll see to her,” Mando announces and retrieves the Child, “would you care to join?”

The Girl seems hesitant and peers out the viewport curiously. “Do you trust her?”

Mando takes another glance outside. Peli’s droids are nearing his ship to begin operations but with one stern look from the woman, they back away from the craft. “I do.”

The Girl sighs and peels herself from her seat, fiddling with the cloak that had been laid across her body earlier. “This, uh-”

“Clip it on for me,” he instructs and turns, waiting for familiar hands to run across his shoulders. It takes a moment and he considers retrieving it himself, but he’s patient and it pays off—her fingers playing with the neck covering to manipulate the cloak into place, her digits stroking against the back of his neck underneath all the thick fabric. It’s therapeutic somehow or other. He doesn’t quite understand it himself, but feeling the Girl’s pressure against him relaxes him; eases his eyes closed until all he wants to do is sleep, in her arms preferably and with his head on her chest—his head, not his helmet. Mando wants to press his ear against her flesh and listen to her heartbeat, her breathing, but most of all he just wants to be touched and to touch another.

The Girl smoothes her hands out across the cloak, running her palm down his back and ending just before it reaches the curve at the bottom. “There you go.” She smiles. Fuck, her smile. It makes him want to say something stupid, something embarrassing just to get the same reaction out of her; he wants to be the cause of that smile on her face. She adds, “Thank you.”

Mando twists to face her again, his head tilting. “What for?”

“Buckling me up and, uh, giving me the cloak,” she confesses, a timid hue of pink on her cheeks—she was blushing. “You could have given it to the kid or just kept it yourself, but… you didn’t. So, thank you.”

He swallows and reaches his hand up—for what, he doesn’t know. It’s not until his digits touch the soft padding of her cheek that he notices he’s making a move, his strokes transforming into uncertain shakes. The Girl’s blush deepens at the contact and she places her hand atop his, giving a quick squeeze of reassurance.

With that, his head is back to sorting through indecent thoughts and actions—but none are related to those they had been previously; they’re not obscene nor lustful. It’s his Creed that they’re unethical towards. He imagines the Girl reaching for his helmet, her slender fingers brushing against his chin as she does so, and lifts the steel to unmask the face that’s been sealed away for a long, long time. If she tried to do it right here, right now, he’s not positive whether he would stop her.

“We shouldn’t keep her waiting, it’ll be rude.”

She can wait, is what he wants to say, instead, he murmurs a simple, “Right.”

The Child appears satisfied in Peli’s arms, a large smile on his face as he glares up at the Mandalorian ahead of him. He’s receiving every ounce of attention he can muster out of the woman. “You telling me this little one did all that? Maybe if you gave him a little more attention he wouldn’t be tearing out your cables!”

“What do you mean?” Mando ponders. She runs a finger across the kid’s batwing ears and gestures behind him in the distance where the Girl preoccupies herself tending to their blasters. “What are you getting at?”

“Oh, come on! Do I have to spell it out for you? Are you that oblivious?” She sighs and soothes the Child, “You’ve found yourself another lifeform to harbour—probably spending an awful lot of time with her, aren’t ya?”

He’s not oblivious, not in the slightest; he’s just trying to avoid coming to terms with the thoughts in his head. However, he hadn’t noticed his lack of bonding with the Child and he mentally scolds himself. Of course, the kid wants attention, all kids do, and he’s probably becoming rather frustrated at the inadvertent neglect as a by-product of Mando’s fantasies. 

“I ain’t saying ya shouldn’t indulge a little,” Peli chuckles and wags her hairless eyebrows at the visor, “I don’t blame ya for that. It must be hard adapting to having a girl like that on board your ship.”

Mando quietly sighs under his helmet but a blush lines his cheeks nonetheless. He’s relieved she can’t see it. He grumbles, “Get to the point.”

“Point is, you can’t ignore a child like that,” she explains, “he’s an impish little critter—smart, too. It wouldn’t surprise me if he did that on purpose to get your attention.”

“He’s costing me a lot of credits for attention.” Black-brown eyes observe the looming figure of beskar and Mando softens slightly. Peli watches with interest and returns the toddler to his arms. “The Girl-”

“She’ll be fine,” she assures, “if she wants to help, I’ll be sure to give her a real workout—don’t worry she won’t be too drained.”

The Mandalorian commits a final leer at the mechanic, enough to cause her to pull her lips tight into a smirk, and he returns to the Girl’s side to exchange his goodbyes, “I’m going to head into town and see if there are any jobs available.” 

The Girl raises an eyebrow in question and pauses polishing the blasters, “I’m not coming with you?”

Does she want to come with him? The vocoder emits a hum of thought but ultimately he knows she should stay behind this time, “Peli reckons I should spend time with the kid. Shouldn’t take too long—I’ll just head in and grab the kid a meal, look around for intel… I’ll be back before it’s dark.”

She nods, understanding. “I’ll—just wait here then.”

Mando reciprocates her nod and hesitantly steps back, but the Girl’s fingers loop through his belt and draws him in close to her once again. He steadies himself with a hand on the dip of her waist, digits unconsciously poking into the flesh deeper, and he angles the helmet to her eye level in disarray. 

The familiar weight of his blaster slips into position against his thigh but he doesn’t tear his eyes away to look, he doesn’t want to move at all. “Might need it,” she explains, her tone hushed, “it’s good to go.” She lightly taps the blaster with her free hand and he stiffens when her palm comes to rest atop it, the tips of her fingers brushing against the outside of his thigh.

“Thank you.”

“Of course.” Her lips curl into a cunning grin and she tries to hide it by lifting herself onto her toes and breathing through the fabric surrounding his neck. Mando’s muscles flex involuntarily and the hand on her hip slinks a path to the curve of her back, where he fists a bundle of poncho fabric in his leathers. She whispers, “How’s your back feeling?”

“It’s - it’s better.”

She exhales softly and he swears he can feel it through the cloth, warming his jugular with her gleaming words, “So, you won’t be needing my help tonight?” Mando groans as she weakly pats the lesion deep underneath his cloak—it doesn’t hurt, more or less stings like a Droch crawling through his skin and draining his energy, but that was the Girl’s disposition more so than the wound’s sensitivity. 

“Well,” Mando clears his throat and steps closer—if that’s even possible—so his lower-half is pressing against her waist, evoking a hitch of his own breath from the contact. She’s so soft against him. “I might need a hand…”

She chuckles into his neck, sending the vibrations from her throat into his and it makes a beeline to his heart. It vortexes around the organ, a current so strong it’d be fatal to terminate the stream. Not that he wanted to stop it. It’s such a pleasant feeling, the phantoms of sunshine-esque tendrils applying a pacifying pressure that feels like that of an embrace; warm hands clasping his heart and delivering delicate kisses across the muscle. He can almost sense the cushioning of lips against the pulsing organ.

“Ya know, I’ve got more than just hands.”

“Fuck,” he whispers, practically drooling at the mere suggestion—he’d be so sluggish to drag it out as long as possible, every single touch of his deliberate to commit all her curves, bumps, even bruises, to memory. Store it away for a gloomy day, like a breach in the clouds; sunbeams breaking through the overcast and introducing a warmth like none other. 

Mando cranes his neck to the side slightly and she takes the invite to burrow deeper. The blood in his neck is hot and the air in his helmet sultry. He wants to do nothing but drag her back to the ship and lock themselves away for the remainder of the day, but the irritated child on his hip is starting to get antsy. Mando gasps, “Need to - to take the kid out.”

She hums her sympathy against his neck, “Take your time. I’ll be here.”

Well, time was indeed taken, or however the saying goes.

The Mandalorian had been forced into conversations all day courtesy of the Child; he just couldn’t seem to stop touching things or feeding on display products of each stall they’d pass. Mando’s entire vocabulary had been decreased to continuous sorry’s and kid, no! It doesn’t just end there. The Child was inquisitive of all his surroundings, particularly places Mando couldn’t fit himself—it made for some awkward dialogue between him and the kiosk attendants when he’d be on his hands and knees rummaging around for a loose alien baby.

“I’m not stealing!” He’d reassure but it’d have the opposite effect and turn heads, people eyeing him with curiosity; a Mandalorian, like that in folklore, frantically chasing a little green toddler with something half-alive dangling from its mouth. He’s made a fool out of himself enough for a day. The Child, on the other hand, is still persistent—giving him somewhat of the silent treatment until Mando bargains a promise of food. 

The Child attentively watches his food in the arms of the server, streaks of steam and a tender fragrance wafting in his direction as it settles onto the table ahead. “Thank you,” Mando nods and leans back in his seat, unequipping a small bag of leftover credits he could spare for the day and sliding it across the wooden surface, “do you know of any employment opportunities?”

“Regrettably not, sir,” the waiter replies and exchanges final pleasantries before returning behind the buffet to assist an unruly patron.

Mando sighs and returns his guard to the Child—who grabs a spoonful of scalding liquid and squeals in delight—and chews on the inside of his lip in thought. Tatooine is just as detestable as the last time he was here—the hustle and bustle never-ending. One would think that the Mandalorian could blend in with such an immense and diverse population, but his outright existence drew attention to himself; it’s becoming a ritual each time he steps foot inside a cantina. People’s discussions quickly cease as they scrutinise the warrior upon his entrance, contemplating whether they could neutralize him and pry the beskar steel from his body to sell in the black market. Some have tried and failed, of course. In his youth, Mando thrived off the sensation. It was empowering to have others tremble in their skin at the sheer sight of a Mandalorian, but he’s matured and those days are long since dead. He’s travel-worn, too exhausted to concern himself with people’s thoughts regarding him, so long as they weren’t orchestrating his downfall. 

“I ain’t never seen a thing like this before,” a disembodied voice mutters from behind the Mandalorian, the shoddy cantina lighting casting a shadow across their table. Mando doesn’t tear his attention from the Child but reaches for his blaster nonetheless, the leathers fiddling with the hilt in preparation. “Where’d you get it?”

When he doesn’t reply, the figure shifts to come between him and the Child—a trandoshan with wide-set eyes and sharp pointed teeth, sneering at the man underneath the beskar. She’s got yellow-brown scaly skin and dons a protective piece underneath an unbuttoned shirt, with a hunting rifle across her back and a carbine strapped to her belt. She steals a chair from the closest table and swings it around to join the pair, placing her elbows on the table and looking back-and-forth between Mando and the Child.

“We’re looking to raise a youngling like this, maybe something a lil’ bit more competent than this one.” The Child’s green ears perk up at the stranger but just as quickly dismisses her, plunging the spoon into the womp rat stew for seconds or thirds—Mando wasn’t keeping track. She glances behind Mando and waves a hand and calls, “Bookoo, what d’ya think?”

Bookoo—a Wookiee decked with nothing more than a dual bandolier across his chest and a small satchel at his hip—appears into view, soaring over the accumulated individuals and extends a welcoming smile at Mando underneath the shaggy rug of his face. “Muawa, ur oh.”

“No? What, you think we’re gonna get anything better?”

Mando interrupts, tired of the banter, “He’s not going with you.”

“We have credits,” she taps the satchel on Bookoo’s hip, they clash against one another inside the leather.

“He’s not for sale.” Mando tears himself from his seat and shepherds the Child into his arms, ignoring the burbles and whines he emits as he tries to grab hold of the bowl. Mando turns for the exit, intently listening to the whispers of the pair behind him, but stops when called for.

“Uh-sir... Mandalorian, sir?” He turns on his heels and eyes the waiter who places two small packages stacked together atop the counter. “Your dessert, sir.”

The Trandoshan eyes the Mandalorian as he awkwardly balances the boxes in one arm and the Child in the other. She steps forwards once his hands are far from his blaster to make her claim, “I promised my group I’d bring back an apprentice, ya see? With a lil’ bit of training, that thing should be good to go. Ain’t that right, Bookoo?”

Bookoo steps back defensively, “Mu waa waa.”

“Stupid Wookiee,” she mutters and rises from her stool, her bare feet tapping against the cantina’s duracrete flooring. She places a claw on the counter in an attempt of intimidation, but she only sustains a pathetic reaction from the waiter. “What’s a Mandalorian need a child for anyways? You raising that thing to become one?”

“We’re done talking.”

“Aw, come on. We’re just having a small chat. No need to run for the dunes.”

The Mandalorian denies her the satisfaction of retaliation and continues outside. The familiar crunch of grit a welcoming sound through his filters—he never thought he’d be comforted by such a sound. The Trandoshan yells one last remark before he steers a corner, “If you change your mind, we’ll be here!”

He’s suspicious of their intentions—and uncertain whether they were tailing him—so he weaves through the night crowd, bumping and pushing the drunkards to and fro. Once he’s scampered plenty, and positive they hadn’t been stalking his footsteps, he returns to Peli’s hangar with a drowsy Child and now-cold dessert. Optimally, the kid will be tuckered out for the rest of the night but it was never a certainty—he just hopes he’ll give him some privacy for at least a few hours.

Peli wipes grease on a rag hanging from a belt hoop of her coveralls and offers Mando a smile, “I assume you got yourself a job?”

Mando shakes his head in defeat and delivers one of the takeaway boxes in her hands.

“What’s this?” She opens the box and her eyes practically light up with joy but it’s short-lived as she eyes him suspiciously, “Is this a bribe?”

“Just a nice gesture. I thought.”

“Hmm,” Peli hums and closes the box, nodding her head slightly. “Well, ‘bout that ship of yours… It’ll be two thousand.”

Two thousand. It’ll bleed their funds dry, but the Crest needs repairs. Without them, they’d be stranded here on Tatooine for the unforeseeable future—something Mando really couldn’t accommodate. There’s too much sand. Too many people. His calloused hands aren’t for sitting on; they’re created to work, and he won’t allow himself to leisure around a planet without performing some act. 

The Girl won’t be pleased to hear he’s gone and spent a large sum of her earnings—not to mention how she’ll react when she ultimately comprehends she will be required to stay a little longer than expected. Mando feels his lips curling and he tries to smother it with reasoning; tries to tell himself he can’t keep her detained alongside him forever, but he’s obstinate and doesn’t take heed of his own advice. There’s a leap in his heart and a twisting in his stomach at the thought she’ll remain beside him for a little while longer—at least until he has the credits.

Perhaps the Child was onto something when he went and ripped all those wires out.

“That’s with a discount,” Peli adds.

“I should buy more of those.”

Peli scoffs at his jesting comment and tosses the takeaway parcel atop a flat surface. “The Girl. She’s good with her hands.”

If only she knew.

Something within the mechanic suggests that she does, in fact, know judging by the speculation written across her face; her squinted eyes waltzing his figure and her teeth chomping on the inside of her cheek to avoid voicing a sarcastic comment. The shield of beskar may disrupt his facial expressions—concealing them to only his cognisance—but his mannerisms are increasingly heightened to others and he’s gradually realising he’s not as proficient in masking them as he originally thought. 

Mando swallows a thick lump in his throat and shifts his weight to one foot, his hip cocking out vaguely. “Is the maintenance finished?” he asks, shifting the topic to something he can reduce the awkwardness with.

Peli clicks her tongue and rolls her eyes, “Oh, you mean the replacement of the entire navigational controls? Yeah, did it all by myself in a matter of a few hours. No help from my droids. No, it’s not done! Do you know anything about spacecraft restoration?”

“I typically leave that in the hands of...professionals.” Mando chooses carefully. “When will it be ready?”

“Me and your Girl are done for the night.”

His Girl?

Mando’s cheeks flush mildly, a faint tint of pink lining across his nose accompanied by a heat tackling the inside of his visor. Those two little words sound exceptional as the settle surrounding him, fogging his head with the seven letters—seven letters that he couldn’t relate to. They don’t belong to him; wouldn’t belong to him.

But he lets himself fantasise they could—they are.

His Girl. 

Mando’s lips ghost underneath the beskar, mouthing the words to himself as though to test the waters; dipping his toes in the substance and sampling the texture before sinking into it, letting it engulf him. He thinks of His Girl’s lips and how soft, how gentle, they looked. Her lips are the sandy borders of a beach—sand he wouldn’t mind if it were to wedge its way through his flight suit to abuse his body— and her tongue, her saliva, are the waters; refreshing but salty, leaving him thirsty for more.

Peli drags him out of his daydreaming without realising it, “But it should be up and running before the suns’ at its peaks. So you better have my credits ready! I’m not free labour, ya know.”

“Don’t worry,” he groans, “you’ll get the payment.”

She crosses her arms taut over her chest and squints at him suspiciously, probably wondering how he’s going to manage to pay her, but her determination fades into moderate compassion with a deep exhale. “All right, gimme the kid.”

“What? Why?”

Her earthy eyes flick up to the cockpit’s viewport and Mando twists his body to observe. The top of the Girl’s head can be seen from his perspective, her arms raised high above her in a stretch and then just as quickly disappears out of sight. Peli teasingly shoves Mando’s shoulder and laughs, “Go on, I’ll take the kid for the night. I’ll even do it for free; reimbursement for the dessert.”

She’s a blessing in disguise—who’s he to decline such a persuasive offer? 

“Just-” Peli stabilises the weight in her arms, the Child placidly dozing off in one, “I better not be hearing all that, okay? If you wake either me or the kid up-”

“Thank you.”

She watches him, stunned, and then shakes her head and mutters something under her breath. Mando doesn’t even feel tempted to know what she’s whispering to herself, he only has one thought on his mind: His Girl.

The Mandalorian reunites with the Girl in the cockpit’s cabin. She’s sitting on the floor tinkering with loose cabling with a craned neck to accommodate for the low-rise control board. Mando’s unsure whether he’s delighted to see her down there or disappointed; something within him expecting her to be somewhere less uncomfortable, awaiting his return—it’s a selfish thought and a very hormonal one at that. He sighs to himself and sits in the passenger’s seat, his elbows leaning on his knees to peer over her shoulder. “I thought Peli said you were finished?” Mando queries.

“She’s finished. I’m not.”

Mando breathes her name, introducing it to the cramped cockpit and it’s stale air, and she pauses a moment to turn her head and look into the magnetising visor. Now he’s the one pausing. It’s comical how he’s so easily conquered by a single glance. She doesn’t look at him like that in holoplays—where her eyes gleam in the low light hanging above and her mouth twitches when she’s restraining a smile—so why does his heart flutter and his blood surge through his veins? Rather, her eyebrows are crinkled with discouragement on account of uncooperative cords and there’s a streak of oil across her forehead—she looks just as gorgeous as ever. 

Mando’s voice softens as he talks to her, “Take a break. It can wait until morning.”

She dismisses his recommendation, “It’s fine, I can keep going.”

“Just because you can, doesn’t mean you should.”

“Quoting me to myself now, are we?” 

He shrugs his shoulders. “You’re persuasive.” She chuckles some and he delves into the rumbles, enveloping himself in the bubbliness of it. “I brought food. You can have some if you stop working.”

She quirks an eyebrow and eyes the package in his leathers. “What is it?”

“Come here and look.”

“Are you having some?”

Mando contemplates, but he already knows his answer. “I’m not hungry,” he lies.

“Neither am I.” She deceitfully smiles and returns to her labours—it’s arduous, her fingers firmly twining the wires together and unravelling others apart to reconnect to a bundle loosely hanging underneath the panel.

The Mandalorian had completely forgotten how stubborn she can be, especially with his thoughts distorted by the events of last night; she had been so adaptable and willing to aid him. It’s ridiculous to think they’re the same person. Jaw clenching with defeat, Mando sighs heavily and fiddles with the takeaway box. It’s lid lifts from its fastenings to expose a small stack of fluffy cobalt-coloured pancakes. They’re slightly soggy from the absorbed condiments and stone-cold, having been outside for far too long, but they’re a Tatooine delicacy he had yet to try before. 

Mando glances at the Girl and rips the pancake into sections, simultaneously watching her exhaust herself. She groans dramatically and readjusts her position, practically laying on her stomach with her torso hoisted by her elbows. It allows for her to maneuver underneath the control panels—and allows Mando to drag his eyes lower. 

His leathers slide underneath the bottom of his helm and dislodge it from position, the beskar expelling a sharp hiss of air. He freezes at the reminder but the Girl doesn’t seem interested in the newly discovered noise; he continues, elevating the hindrance just above his mouth to slot in a slice of torn pancake.

They’re soft like her hands and he lets himself imagine they are—pretends the sweetness of the syrup is actually his cum on her fingers or, better yet, her own slick. He’s reluctant to even chew, not wanting to shred the impure fantasy he’s created upon himself, so he doesn’t. Mando sits there with the pancake in his mouth just holding it there, letting his tongue flatten underneath it and suck the syrup out to relish in the bittersweetness. 

It’s only once he’s drained it of its flavour that he finally devours the cake in hunger. It’d been a while since he last ate, but he repeats the process with the other sections he had torn apart—struggling to contain his self-control as he savours the sweetness and imagery of the Girl writhing underneath him. 

Mando plops the tips of his leathers in his mouth and absorbs the residual syrup before aligning his helmet in place yet again, his hunger reasonably quenched—his thirst for the Girl, not so much. It doesn’t help matters when she reaches for a cord and her poncho rides up, unmasking the curves of her backside and revealing a splinters-worth of skin above the hem of her pants. He indulges at the sight of taunting skin and licks a drop of syrup from his lips, imagining his head between her thighs lapping at something sweeter—tangier. Mando feels so fucking undignified around her like his honour has been squeezed out of an over-absorbed rag; dripping through the gaps in his fingers and there’s nothing he can do to catch it before it vaporises before his eyes hardly leaving a trace in its wake.

It’s wholly improper how his eyes attack her unclothed skin, obsessing over it like a glass of water in the outskirts of Tatooine. Now that he thinks about it, his mouth is significantly parched and he’s forced to bite his lip to avoid reaching out for the temptation. Still, he hungers to run his fingers across the bare flesh and explore her bumps and curves with his tongue, dragging it over her neck and feel the rumbles of her moans as he sucked on a pulsing vein. Her moans—what a magnificent sound that must be.

The unspoken promise between them plays with the dark crevices of his imagination.

I’ve got more than hands.

Mando’s unsure if she meant it; she hadn’t indicated anything to him since his return. Is she expecting him to make the first move? If so, that’s torturous in itself.

Coffee-coloured eyes battle against the azure cakes and he confronts a moral dilemma. He has an inclination to satisfy the building arousal in his pants but it doesn’t align with his traitorous voice, “Eat.”

The Girl glances over her shoulder and Lord, he could get used to that view especially with him atop of her. She reverts her gaze to the opened box in his lap. “I’m not-”

“I’ve had one,” he confesses and tilts the box to show a stack of three remainders, “two each, but you can have my other.”

“When did you… Did you take off your helmet? In front of me?”

“Behind you,” he corrects.

She doesn’t find the humour in the situation, though, which surprises Mando. “What - what about your Creed? Fuck, Mando. You can’t…”

His expression softens underneath the visor and he sinks to his knees on the ground so he’s eye-level with the Girl, clasping one of her hands in his leathers. “Don’t concern yourself with that. I didn’t remove it entirely, just enough to eat. It’s not that big of a deal.”

“Not that big of a deal? Mando-”

Mando impolitely interrupts her by pushing a torn slab of blue through her parted lips—his digits lingering longer than necessary—and he chuckles at her shocked grimace. 

She swallows and slaps his pauldron, “Rude!”

“Sit down and eat.” 

The Girl conforms to his invitation and settles beside him, her back firmly planted against the durasteel wall of the cockpit. Mando awkwardly lowers to sit as well, the beskar clanking against the wall behind them but he doesn’t take any notice of it. It’d be like herding a group of Nexu—utterly impossible—if he tried to concentrate on anything but her thigh against his or her hand digging through the box on his lap. 

She munches on a blue cake beside him and it takes everything in him to give her privacy and not drool over the sticky syrup running down her fingers. It’s like she can read him though, her unsoiled hand hooking two fingers on the underside of the helmet and dragging it to look at her. “What about you?”

“I’ve...had one.” 

“One. I don’t want you passing out on me. Here, I’ll look away.” 

Mando eyes the divided dessert between her fingers and the drop of golden syrup slowly making way to her third knuckle. She’s not looking at him and can’t identify whether he’s accepting her offer or not, but she doesn’t dare retract her hand; it just hovers in the air waiting for his leathers to grasp the food from her—they don’t. Something so much softer does, though.

Mando licks a long stripe along the underside of her fingers, tearing the pancake from her clutch with his tongue and reserving it in the cheek of his mouth for later—too preoccupied with the sugary concentrate coating her fingers. She tenses at the sensations. It’s overwhelming, consuming her thoughts and spitting them out in a pile of goo. It’s almost irresistible to not look at him, to not watch as he sucks on her fingers so fucking desperately, but she’s respectful of his Creed even if it kills her.

“Mando,” she whispers because it’s too quiet, too real. 

His tongue is persistent, parting her fingers from each other and lapping at the syrup in the crevices of her knuckles. It’s so sweet and he moans around her fingers at the taste on the back of his tongue. Mando doesn’t concern himself with the potential of humiliation—he ought to look downright laughable right now—because she’s so sweet and soft in his mouth, far superior to the pancake he relished earlier. There’s a puny attempt to pull away on her behalf but with a firm grip on her wrist, she holds her position inside his mouth, especially when his teeth lock her digits in place, while her other hand finds the plate of thigh armour and hooks the fingers underneath.

“Shit,” she breathes and leans into him.

The Girl’s palm flattens against his chin and he stiffens his jaw, his movements slacking behind now that he’s focused on the warmth on his face. He couldn’t remember the last time someone had touched him so tenderly, no - he could but he didn’t want to; didn’t want to ruin the moment with the imagery of blaster fire and his mother’s last loving touch.

Her reassuring strokes against his cheeks with her free fingers urge him on and he sucked the final of the syrup from her digits before freeing them from his lips, placing a peck on the tips. Once the helmet is resealed, he finishes the neglected pancake in his mouth.

“You’re not as reserved as you act,” she chuckles, “where was that last night?”

Mando smiles. “Come here and let me show you.”

Where was all this confidence coming from?

He doesn’t care—he’s making a fucking move while he can.

The Girl contemplates him with a raised brow and a small smirk toying at her lips. It makes him want to know what she’s thinking—formulating—in that head of hers, but he’s not left in suspense for long. She braces a leg over his lap and straddles him, constricting her inner thighs against the outside of his and tilting his helmet back to look up at her. 

Mando nearly stops breathing, his organs refusing to cooperate in unison with such an unknown weight atop of him. All that confidence from earlier completely obliterates with just one roll of her hips—maybe it wasn’t confidence but arrogance, he thinks. She’s devious, he can see the pleasure in her eyes at his unfolding below her.

“Are you looking at me?” she asks, a hand on either side of his helmet to steady his head.

He nods because he doesn’t trust himself not to whine if he opens his mouth.

She looks back at him and for a moment, just a second, he feels as though she can see him, and then she grinds down and sketches the outline of his stiffening cock below her heat—and fuck if it isn’t one of the friskiest things he’s ever beared witness to. There’s just something so unique about the eye contact when she’s unravelling him like a ball of yarn; he wants to gaze into her eyes without the guard ahead of him and break her apart. “F-fuck, you’re,”-she rolls her hips again, faster-“ah, you’re too - too good to me.”

“I know,” she quips.

Daunting. It’s so fucking daunting being so paralysed with arousal underneath the Girl, stripped down to an accumulated pile of whimpers and twitches as she takes her sweet time tormenting him—and he fucking enjoys every second of it. He’s fatigued from years of bounty hunting, years of being shot, stabbed, beaten, and it’s stimulating having somebody touch him so languidly and voluntarily care for him in such a way.

“Tell me what you want, Mando.”

He swallows.

It’s so fucking ironic. He’s never had more than a few thousand credits to his name at a time and yet, pinned below the Girl with her being so provocative, he feels like the richest man alive—because it couldn’t be luck; he’d never been so fortunate to as receiving a simple bounty commission, a beautiful girl extracting every drop of arousal out of him no less.

He moans her name and inches his fingers under her poncho, “Want - fuck, I need-”

Mando’s pleas are interrupted by a suspiciously familiar disembodied voice shouting, “Come on out and nobody gets hurt!” It’s a gruff, hoarse sound that oils the cogs in his mind. The Trandoshan. She must’ve followed him here…but he took precautions…

He can’t find it within himself to tear his hands away from the Girl to survey the threat outside, so she takes it upon herself to clamber off his lap leaving him cold and hard in his pants. Molten lava rises in his chest as he raises to his feet, staring out the viewport with such vengeance it almost surprises him. The Trandoshan firmly stands with Peli Motto beside her, the barrel of her carbine pressed against her temple, and the Child squirming in her adjacent limb.

“Shit!” he growls and slams a pair of closed fists against the nav controls. It whines upon impact and blips a malfunctioning screen at his outburst.

“Hey, calm down,” she soothes, a hand slipping into his.

“They have Peli! ...The kid.”

The Trandoshan leers at him through the viewport. “Leave that blaster of yours on the ship and get down ‘ere. No funny business either! I’ll fire a hole through her head otherwise. Then the Kid’s.” She accentuates her point by thrusting the barrel against Peli’s temple harder.

The Girl fishes his blaster out of his holster. “They haven’t seen me,” she explains. “I’ll wait until you get close enough to them but don’t try anything without me.”

It could work. It could fail. He didn’t have an alternative plan.

“Okay,” he agrees, understanding the moment between them is long gone.

With one final gawp outside, Mando pries himself away from the nav controls and heads downstairs, bare. It’s not as though he’s completely defenceless; the flamethrower in his vambraces had enough fuel to get him out of a pinch, the whipcord could serve a purpose if essential, and he still possessed his vibro-knife in his boot. None of that can compare to the comfort of a blaster in his hand though.

The Child and Peli Motto’s safety is his priority, so he’ll comply with the Girl’s strategy and get as close to the Trandoshan as possible. He’ll use brute force if necessary.

They’ve relocated to an open region in the hangar where it’ll be near impossible to shield everybody if a blaster fight ensues. Preferably, it won’t come to that. The Trandoshan flexes her finger against the trigger when Peli fidgets with her hands beside her. Mando vaguely shakes his head in her direction and examines the Child’s wellbeing in the yellow-brown scaly arms.

“I’m here.” He raises his hands to demonstrate his compliance, “Let them go and we’ll talk.”

She sneers at him, laughs. “No.” The blaster reels back and whips Peli over the head, knocking her unconscious in a piled heap on the ground. Mando moves forwards, his fists tightening with each step. “Hold it right there.” The Child whines against the cold barrel pressing into his wrinkled forehead. Mando stops hastily, his eyebrows twitching with rage.

“What do you want?”

“I’ve already told you.”

“What do you need a child for?”

She smiles hauntingly, her sharp teeth locking together through her open-mouthed grin. “We don’t need one, but this one’s got a pricey bounty on its head,”—she aims for the flesh above his heart plate—“as do you.”

Guild members. Just his luck they’d be situated on Tatooine at the same time as he is.

The Mandalorian’s visor tilts to the Child in her arms, his eyes narrowing on the outstretched green claw. The kid’s eyes shut and his forehead wrinkles as he desperately tries to concentrate on something, and then it clicks in Mando’s head. His powers. The Child hadn’t used them since they took down the Mudhorn and Mando was beginning to think they had vanished, but they mustn’t have—he’s too focused on the air ahead of him.

The Trandoshan hasn’t noticed his fidgeting and Mando takes it upon himself to keep the barrel focused on him by stepping forwards, providing the Child time to figure out his abilities. “You won’t leave here alive,” he taunts.

She seems unfazed by his remarks, too confident in her plans. “Ah, what do we have here?” The Trandoshan asks curiously, peering over the Mandalorian’s figure and he whips his head to follow. The Girl is subdued in the arms of the acquainted Bookoo, who must’ve been anticipating resistance and remained obscured from their sight. 

The Girl fights against his grip but he’s far too strong for her to overpower and she limps in defeat, glancing up behind her at the Wookiee; eyes enlarging and her mouth falling agape underneath the face-covering she donned for the occasion.

Then—the last thing the Mandalorian expects to hear—the Trandoshan exclaims her name in a greeting, “It’s been a while!”

_______________________________

“Muawa, ur oh” - no, thank you “Mu waa waa” - please leave me alone

A/N: Good lord I am so sorry for an 8k chapter, I really didn’t want to split it into two. However, with this one being so long the next might not be out until the middle of next week (if I can manage to actually concentrate for long enough to write). Let me know how you enjoyed it and if you want to be added to the taglist! PS I’m running of gifs...please help...what do yall search for such hd gifs?

taglist: @ohhersheybars​​, @greatcircle79​​

[bee-kathony]

when the masks come off | Benedict & Sophie

What would have happened if Benedict recognized Sophie earlier in the story? What would he have done?

Saving a young woman from the clutches of three incorrigible rakes had not been on Benedict’s agenda for the night. But what kind of man would he have been if he simply walked past and let them have their way with her? The fear in the woman’s eyes stopped him in his tracks.

It was her eyes that spoke to him — first for help, and then something deep in his soul told him he knew these eyes and that he must save her.

Benedict hadn’t even wanted to come out to Cavender’s tonight, but perhaps this — saving this woman — was the reason for his presence. After all, he did believe in destiny and fate, and all that nonsense about there being no true coincidences in life.

“Sophie Beckett,” the woman had said.

The soft lilt in her voice struck a chord in him. As if he’d heard that sound before, but as much as he tried, he couldn’t place it. There was something about this woman… something familiar.

After he removed Miss Beckett from their grasp, Benedict had led them to his phaeton. They sat side by side now, arms and legs brushing as they bumped down the road.

“I don’t know how I can even begin to thank you for what you did back there,” Miss Beckett said, looking over at him. This was the third time she had thanked him, and Benedict had to admit it felt nice to be the hero, even if just for the night.

“It was nothing more than what any respectable gentleman would’ve done,” he tried to wave off her compliments, feeling a blush creep up his neck. “I shudder to think what they would have done had I not come along.”

Miss Beckett shivered next to him, and he thought not from the cold.

“You must be freezing,” Benedict tried to shrug out of his jacket, holding the reigns with one hand. “Take my jacket to keep warm, I think it is going to rain any moment now.”

“Oh,” Sophie smiled shyly, looking as if she did not want to accept. But once he got both arms free, he tucked the garment tightly around her shoulders. A warm feeling spread throughout him as he looked at her wearing his clothing.

They continued down the road in silence, both unsure of what to say. It wasn’t every day that Benedict went around, saving young misses from house parties. He had four young sisters, however, and the thought of harm coming to them was enough to make his blood boil. In his mind, Benedict thought of how he would react had Miss Becket been his mysterious lady in silver. He would have done anything to protect her and save her from ruin.

A chill raced through his veins as he thought of his lady in silver. It had been many weeks now since he had let his mind picture her. Over the years, her image had faded, and her features had become less pronounced. Her hair had been light, and long locks had tumbled around her shoulders. Her figure was slim, but still full in all the right places. Benedict would always remember the way she felt in his arms — her warmth had spread throughout his body, and he knew he’d never be cold again.

It was odd, he thought, that he would think of the lady in silver tonight. Usually these days, something he saw or heard sparked a memory, but there was nothing he had seen tonight to do so.

Benedict gripped the reigns, feeling the chill of the night air blow past. He shivered, huddling in on himself. The cold he had just gotten over was still lingering, and Benedict knew that if rain started to pour, he would never be rid of it.

“You must be cold too,” Sophie said and he nearly jumped, remembering that she was there, so lost in his thoughts. She began to take the jacket off, but he stopped her, placing his hand on hers. Warmth spread up his arm, and he nearly jerked it away.

His eyes met hers and the most curious feeling washed over him.

“What is it?” Sophie blinked, her face pale, and eyes wide. “You look as if you’ve seen a ghost, Mr. Bridgerton.”

“Perhaps I have,” Benedict looked at her, that strange feeling settling in his chest. There was something about her he couldn’t place. “Are you sure we have not met before?”

At this, Sophie’s mouth opened and closed. Her cheeks flushed red, which he thought very odd indeed.

“I am sure we have not,” she said, shaking her head. “I know I would not forget such a meeting.”

Nor would he.

“Have you spent anytime in London, perhaps?”

“No, none at all,” she said quickly, almost as if the words had been waiting on her tongue. “I have never even been to London!”

Benedict shivered again, feeling a few rain drops on the top of his head.

“Here, you must take this,” Sophie tried to give him his jacket back. “Please do not take offense, but you do not look well, Mr. Bridgerton. You are quite pale.”

“It’s this damn cold I had,” he sniffed. He wouldn’t allow her to freeze, so he placed the jacket firmly around her body again. Sophie was stubborn however and moved closer to him, her body now fully pressed beside his. Her arm hooked through his, and she huddled close. Benedict felt as if his heart would suddenly burst at the contact. It had been many years since he had been intimate with a woman, let alone come in close contact. Of course, he had attempted to lie with a woman once, but his heart had not been in it… nor had his body. With every touch, every kiss — Benedict only thought of her, his lady in silver from the masquerade.

She had haunted his dreams for the past two years. It was her voice that he heard asking him to dance, and her smell of rosewater that kept him sane. He had not stopped looking for her, but he was growing discouraged.

“Where are we going?” Sophie asked as she gently laid her head on his shoulder. The act was so intimate, so familiar that Benedict felt his heart squeeze.

“I have a small cottage just up the road,” he nodded ahead. “We shall stay there for a night or two. And do not worry about your reputation,” he smiled faintly and looked down at her to see a similar smile. “You will be properly chaperoned. The caretakers will be present, and I promise to refrain from doing anything untoward.”

“I did not think you would,” Sophie smiled warmly and moved closer to him.

As they continued down the bumpy road, the air grew colder, and Benedict began to cough. It was then as he thought he would hack up a lung that the rain began to pour, soaking both of them to the bone.

“How much farther is it?” Sophie had to yell over the sound of the rain.

“Just a mile or two ahead,” Benedict yelled back, coughing and feeling utterly miserable. Damn cold.

“Mr. Bridgerton, you must give me the reigns!”

He looked at her like she was crazy. “This is not something you would be able to control, Miss Beckett.”

But Miss Beckett was a stubborn woman, and as he doubled over, coughing up his lungs, the reigns transferred into her hands and she took over. Surely he would meet his death now, either from pneumonia or a road accident.

As the rain began to come down in sheets, Benedict managed to direct Sophie towards My Cottage and soon, but not as soon as he’d have liked, they finally arrived.

“Go find cover under the eaves,” Benedict pointed towards the door. “I will just be a moment to unhook the horses and take them to the stable.”

Sophie hopped down, her feet landing in mud, but came around to him.

“Your fingers have gone numb, Mr. Bridgerton,” she said and began to help him with the bridle. Together they freed both the horses and led them to the stable, seeing them safe for the night.

“I am sorry,” Benedict coughed as they reached the door to My Cottage. “This is not very,” cough, cough. “Very gentlemanly of me.”

“You have done more than enough to prove tonight that you are a gentleman,” Sophie smiled, wiping her hand across her brow. “You saved my life Mr. Bridgerton!”

It was then that Benedict saw her lower lip begin to tremble, and soon tears fell down her cheeks as the weight of what had occurred earlier finally hit.

“Oh,” he gathered her into his arms. “You’re safe now. I’ve got you.”

Benedict held her as she let out the tears she’d clearly been holding in. Anyone would have been afraid, and he was foolish to think that she would not have been. As he held her against his chest, he let his hands settle around her back, softly stroking. Warmth filled his chest, and once again, that same familiar feeling crept back.

He’d been thinking it all night… that he knew Miss Beckett from somewhere. But she had told him she’d never been to London, and it wasn’t as if he spent much time elsewhere. This did not dissuade him from wondering if he’d met her before.

“Are you better now?” He asked, pulling back to look at her.

She wiped her eyes, attempting a smile.

“I’ll be fine now,” she nodded. “Thank you.”

He grunted, unsure of what to say. “Let’s get inside and start a fire, does that sound good?”

Sophie nodded, still wiping fresh tears from her face. But as Benedict knocked on the door to the cottage, a sinking feeling came over him. It appeared that the Crabtrees, his caretakers, were not at home.

“Where the bloody hell could they be?” He swore and banged on the door again.

“What will we do? Break a window?”

“No,” Benedict chuckled, then coughed several times, feeling like death. “I know where the spare key is hidden!”

This of course meant that he would have to venture out into the storm again to retrieve it, so he left Miss Beckett on the doorstep and went around the back. Tucked under a medium size grey rock was the key and with shaking hands he turned the lock, walking into darkness. The Crabtrees were certainly not here.

Benedict walked through the house, his body shivering, and unlocked the front door.

“I don’t know where Mr. and Mrs. Crabtree are,” he croaked, coughing again. “But they’re certainly not here!”

“We’re alone?” She asked, her eyes wide.

“Certainly!” He laughed at her expression, and then pulled her inside, shutting and locking the door behind them.

They stood in darkness, their bodies pressed together. The heat of her breath warmed his neck, and Benedict wanted to lean down and kiss her. He’d been wanting to all evening, but she’d escaped a near rape — his kisses were the last thing she needed now.

“I shall start a fire,” Benedict whispered, breaking the silence.

“Good,” Sophie said softly, and then he stepped reluctantly away from her.

He stalked towards the hearth, gathering what he needed and striking a fire, nursing it until it became a full blaze, heating the cold room instantly. Next, he went towards a small cupboard and grabbed towels for them.

“Use this to dry off what you can,” Benedict said, offering her a small towel. “Once we are not dripping wet, I will find you some dry clothes to wear.”

“You have ladies clothes here?” Pink tinted her cheeks, and Benedict caught himself smiling.

“No,” he shook his head, biting his tongue. “But surely you can wear a pair of breeches and one of my shirts for the evening?”

“Of course,” she nodded quickly, the pink tint growing into a deep blush.

Sophie took the towel and rubbed it along her arms and neck. Then she moved it over her head, drying her short blonde hair. As the towel covered the top half of her face, Benedict froze.

It was the shape of her mouth that startled him. Since her eyes were covered, he was not distracted by their beauty — their soul sucking beauty that drew him in. The towel covered her eyes… almost like a Demi-mask.

“Stop,” Benedict reached forward, his hand touching hers on the towel.

“What?” She sounded almost afraid.

“Do not move,” Benedict said softly, his heart racing. Memories began to return to the forefront of his mind. Thoughts he had thought were long lost. Miss Beckett’s hair was much shorter than the lady in silver’s, but ladies were allowed to get haircuts. Her figure was much the same, perhaps a bit slimmer than it had been years ago.

Her lips… the full and pouty lips that he so often dreamt of.

“Mr. Bridgerton—“ she started to removed the towel, but his hand tightened on hers.

“Please,” he begged. “Do not move.”

Could it be her? His lady in silver that had fled the ball without telling him her name? Miss Beckett was a servant, so that could explain why no one, not even Lady Whistledown had recognized her. And perhaps why she had told him so few details about herself. She thought he would not like her if he’d known she was not some superior Lady.

“Sophie,” he said her name softly as his thumb brushed lightly against her bottom lip. She gasped, but stood incredibly still. Benedict bent his head, suddenly feeling like his cold has disappeared, though he knew it lingered still.

Nothing mattered in this moment other than kissing her. If she was the lady in silver, the woman he’d dreamt of for years… a cold could not stop him from kissing her.

“What are yo-“

He pressed his lips to hers, silencing her question.

A thousands sparks of light appeared behind his eyelids as their lips touched. Warmth filled his chest, and he thought his legs would give out. Benedict slowly — so not to startle her — wrapped both hands around her waist, pulling her close and deepening the kiss.

“It’s you,” he mumbled, parting her lips with his tongue. She allowed him to bend her to his ever whim, and her hands snaked their way around his hips.

“Benedict,” she cried, clutching him harder.

Tears of his own fell down his cheeks, and he wanted to shout at the feelings bursting in his chest. He had found her! Benedict had found the woman he’d been searching for all this time. And he’d found her in the most peculiar of places.

They kissed for what could’ve been hours, neither one wanting to part, but Benedict had a few questions for her.

Benedict took a step back, keeping his arms tight around her waist, and looked down at her. The towel had fallen down in their embrace, and her hair was mussed. He smoothed it down with his hand.

“I can explain,” she began, unable to meet his gaze.

“Yes,” he nodded. “I think you better.”

“I need to sit,” Sophie said and he walked with her to a small divan across from the fire. Never once did he stop touching her, and he pulled her close, taking both her legs to lay across his lap.

“I have been searching for you,” Benedict said softly, tilting her chin to look at him. “For years, Sophie. Where did you go?”

Her lip trembled, and she looked scared.

“I did not know how to tell you who I really am,” she sighed, twisting her hands together in her lap. He moved one hand slowly up and down her back in comfort.

“A servant,” he said, and she nodded, though he felt she was holding something back.

“I was never supposed to be at the ball,” she wiped at her nose. “I was never supposed to meet you. And I was certainly never meant to actually like dancing with you.”

“I liked dancing with you as well,” Benedict smiled and took her hand, lacing their fingers together. “I suppose I can understand why you did not tell me who you were.”

“I am sorry,” Sophie looked at him then, her eyes telling a story he so wished to hear.

“I have many more questions,” Benedict stroked her cheek. “But I feel as if I might collapse at any moment.”

“Oh!” Sophie jumped, her hands flying to his face and pressing against his forehead. “I nearly forgot that you are ill.”

“So had I,” he smiled, then coughed deeply. “Finding the woman of your dreams can do that to a man.”

Sophie blushed, then leaned in to kiss the tip of his nose. “I dreamed of you too.”

Benedict sighed and pulled her close. “How am I ever going to let you go?”

“Don’t,” she smiled, pressing her head against his.

They sat there, in shocked silence before Benedict’s body began to shiver uncontrollably.

“Oh dear,” Sophie climbed off of the divan. “You need to lie down and get under the covers, Benedict.”

“I think I shall stay right here,” he mumbled, his eyes feeling heavy. Falling forward, he let out a grunt as his head hit a soft pillow.

“The fire is already started,” Sophie muttered, and he opened one eye to see her flitting around the room, searching for a blanket, he thought.

“In the cupboard,” he pointed in the direction.

“Ah,” she said, gathering two very fluffy blankets and laying them across his body. “Now, do not move, Benedict.”

The next thing he knew, she was pulling off his boots, and struggling. He knew he should help her, but his body had succumbed to fever and chills. Benedict drifted off to sleep, and for the first time in nearly two years, he felt happy.

++++++

Sophie sat beside him all night, and into the next day. As he slept, she had found suitable dry clothes and put them on. They were very big on her small frame, but there wasn’t much that could be done about that.

When she first saw Benedict at the Cavender’s, she had allowed herself to hope for the first time in years. Here was her prince charming, come to save her. Sophie had thought about their meeting again nearly every night since the ball. This however, was not a scenario she had ever imagined.

Benedict slept soundly on the divan, one leg hanging over the side. She had done what she could — feeding him sips of water and broth, and making sure that he kept warm under the covers. She would have felt better if he was in his own bed resting, but there was no way she could have moved him.

Last night she had told him as much of the truth as she was able. Yes, she was a servant, but she could not work up the nerve to tell him that she was also a bastard. A bastard of a man that did not want her. Sophie had never felt like she belonged to anyone, but in Benedict’s arms, she had felt safe, wanted, and completely his.

She watched him sleep, and as she did, tears fell freely down her cheeks. Benedict had found her, and he had recognized her after all. There were many obstacles ahead, and many more questions he would no doubt ask, but all that mattered was that they had found each other.

Hours later, Benedict woke with a start, sitting up straight. He looked much better, and he should, Sophie thought — he’d nearly slept for eighteen hours.

“You’re up,” Sophie said, and his head jerked to the left to look at her.

“Is this a dream?” He blinked a few times, shaking his head from left to right. “Surely you are not really here.”

Sophie rose from her chair across the divan, and came to sit beside him. Her hand rested over his, and she squeezed it.

“I assure you that I am real, and I am not leaving your side, Benedict.”

He let out a deep sigh, his body crumpling as he rested his head against her shoulder. Sophie had needed the thought of Benedict to feel sane these past few years, but she had no idea that he would have needed her just as much.

“Do you feel any better?” She asked, raising her palm to his forehead. “Your fever has cooled considerably.”

“I feel much better, actually,” he raised his head. “But I do not know if that was the sleep or if that is because I finally found my mysterious lady.”

She blushed, feeling her heart well up three times its size.

“You slept through the night and nearly all of the day,” she said.

He looked around the cozy living room, blinking. “So Mr. and Mrs. Crabtree have not returned?”

“No,” she shook her head. “It has been raining since last night. I suppose if the roads are flooded, they can’t return.”

“Hmmm,” he grunted, and then his stomach let out a loud rumble.

It was then that Sophie realized she had not eaten in quite some time herself.

“There should be a bit of food in the larder,” Benedict made move to rise, but she put her hand on his chest.

“You are to stay right there,” she kissed the tip of his nose. “I am perfectly capable of finding something to eat for us.”

Moments later, she returned with a bit of cheese, a few apples and a few cuts of what must have been sausage. They ate her findings up quickly, both too hungry to speak. Once sated, Benedict turned to her, and pulled her onto his lap as he had done the night before.

“I still have questions,” he said softly. “But I think I do not care to know the answers just now. All I want is to hold you in my arms and never let go.”

Sophie sighed, feeling all at once protected and safe. She moved one hand to the back of his neck, allowing her fingers to slide through his thick hair. Benedict moved his hand to her waist, and turned her face to his before placing a gentle kiss to her lips.

Desire bloomed in her stomach, and Sophie moaned as he parted her lips. She knew that he was still weak from sickness, but the strength of his hold on her proved otherwise. In her mind she pictured this moment so many times. Touching him now paled in comparison to those dreams.

Sophie knew that she did not want to become anyone’s mistress, not even Benedict’s. For he could not want to marry her, as she was still a servant — his lady in silver or not. As a bastard of a wealthy and uncaring man, Sophie would not allow herself to fall pregnant with child and repeat the same mistakes as her mother.

But she had thought all this as she lay alone in her own bed, and not while the man she loved was kissing his way down her neck, and his hands pushed at her skirts.

“Oh Sophie,” he mumbled against her neck, his tongue snaking out. “I’ve thought of touching you,” he sighed. “Of kissing you right here for so many nights.”

Sophie blushed at his admission, and angled her neck for him.

“I even touched myself,” he pulled at her shirt, popping open the buttons. “I thought of you, as I took hold of myself. Of your body against mine.”

“Oh God,” she moaned. “I thought of you,” she nodded quickly, goosebumps crawling over every inch of her skin. All rational thought left her mind as Benedict slipped his hand into her shirt, cupping her breast.

His face moved up to look at her, his lips plump.

“Did you touch yourself?” He asked, brazenly.

Sophie bit her lip, feeling shy, but she nodded.

“Jesus,” Benedict said under his breath as he looked at her. “This has to be a dream. I do not deserve you.”

“It is I that does not deserve you,” Sophie cupped his cheek.

“Sophie,” he gulped, his eyes transfixed on her lips. “You may say no of course, but I very badly want to be inside of you.”

There was nothing that could have prepared her for those words to tumble out of his lips. Of course, she knew what occurred between a man and a woman, but she never thought she would ever experience that feeling. As she sat on his lap, Sophie had felt him grow hard under her thighs, and she knew this was proof of his desire. Her own desire had pooled deep in her belly, and there was a wetness between her thighs.

No, she did not want to repeat her mother’s mistakes, but in this moment, Sophie wanted him. She wanted to feel loved, and cared for. All her life, Sophie had sought the approval of others. She had allowed herself to be pushed around, and broken.

Benedict looked at her — he looked at her as if he knew all of her deepest and darkest secrets. This was a man that would not leave her, or abandon her. This was a man that would show her what physical intimacy was, and he would do it gently.

“I want you,” she said softly, almost a whisper.

This was the answer he sought, for his lips claimed hers again, much deeper this time. Benedict grabbed her waist and pushed her to lie back against the divan. He hovered over her, his thigh between hers. As he pressed down to kiss her, she felt his arousal pulsing against her thigh.

“I have never…” she trailed off, feeling suddenly very shy to say the words out loud.

“It will hurt,” Benedict said, looking pained. “I will try to be gentle, but you must tell me if it is too much.”

Nodding, Sophie reached for his hand, feeling much more comfortable when she was touching him.

His hands returned to the buttons of her shirt, and he undid each one, his fingers slightly shaking. It occurred to her then that maybe he was just as nervous as she was.

Benedict opened the shirt, laying her bare before him. His gaze lingered on her breasts before he lightly grazed each nipple with his fingers. They hardened instantly, and she sucked in a breath.

“Do you like that?”

“Yes,” she nearly choked on the word.

His finger moved swiftly across each nipple, flicking it back and forth until both stood at stiff peaks. Then, his tongue was on her, and Sophie thought she would surely die from the pleasure.

He swirled his tongue around her areola, then sucked deeply, hollowing his cheeks. Sophie cradled his head, watching as his tongue moved on her skin. He placed kisses on her tender skin, and continued to suck while his hands went to the buttons of his own shirt, removing it quickly.

Sophie allowed her hands to travel down over his chest, earning deep moans from his lips. She shivered as the vibrations moved across her body, and then let out a startled cry as his hands found the waistband of the trousers she had borrowed from him. They were very loose and came down easily. For the first time in her life, Sophie lay bare, and exposed underneath a man.

Benedict placed a gentle kiss to each breath before pulling up to look down at her.

“You are the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen,” he sighed happily. “I am convinced this is a dream. But not even my dreams could conjure this kind of perfection.”

Sophie blushed, turning her face into the pillow to hide.

“No,” he took her chin lightly between his fingers, turning her to look at him. “You must never hide from me. You are too lovely to hide. Your beauty should be appreciated every day. Your skin should be touched,” he ran his hand lightly down her stomach. “You should be loved,” he whispered. “Every day.”

“Benedict,” Sophie felt tears spring to her eyes and then his lips were on hers, desperately wanting to be closer. He had been slow in removing her clothes, allowing her to grow comfortable with him, but now he moved quickly in taking off his trousers. His hard length rested against her thigh, and Sophie squirmed at the heat of it.

“Please tell me if I hurt you,” Benedict kissed her cheek, jaw and ear as he took hold of himself, guiding it to her center.

Sophie clutched his shoulders, unsure of what to do with her hands. He nudged her legs wider apart, and she wrapped one loosely around him, allowing him to stroke his cock against her. She was wet, and he slid in easily.

“Oh!” She cried out at the intrusion, not entirely disliking it, but it was a sensation she had never known before.

“Are you okay?” Benedict paused, cupping her cheek.

“Yes,” she answered quickly and then flexed her hips, urging him on.

“Sophie,” he grunted, his head lowering to rest against her chest. Benedict pushed forward slowly, inch by inch until he was at her maidenhead.

“This will hurt just a moment,” he kissed her lips, wanting to take the pain away.

Slowly, he pushed forward and Sophie felt a flash of pain across her entire body. It was very uncomfortable, and she wasn’t sure she could take him moving anymore. Benedict was panting above her, and she could tell that he was exerting immense self-control.

“You feel so good,” he kissed her lips. “Please tell me it feels good for you.”

“It does,” she said, wincing as he moved into her further. “Just… hold still a minute longer.”

He nodded, his hair tickling her forehead.

After several minutes, Sophie felt herself open up around him, and soon it did not hurt as much as it had before. Her hands moved to the small of his back, and she urged him to go deeper.

Benedict pressed forward, and Sophie moaned. She grabbed his hand, squeezing it tightly as he began to move in a steady rhythm. His hips snapped against her, and he was flush against her, fully rooted. A tingling sensation raced across her body, and she angled her head to find his lips.

Hungrily, Sophie devoured him, wanting to take more of him inside of her. She did not know what to do, but she moved her hips off of the divan, and meeting him in his thrusts. Benedict moaned and sighed above her, his body tensing under her fingers.

“Please,” she begged for more.

“Anything,” he muttered, and pounded against her, leaning up on both arms to arch his back. Sophie looked into his eyes, feeling completely seen.

He moved one hand in-between their bodies, touching her between her legs. She let her gaze drift there and gasped as he began to touch her, stroking her and making her belly tighten. She was building to something, something she knew she had to reach or she would scream.

“More!” She cried out, grabbing onto him and pressing her hips up.

Benedict smiled, his fingers and hips moving faster. Soon Sophie was breathing hard, and as he moved inside of her, stroking her inner depths, Sophie found what she had been searching and climbing towards as light exploded inside and over her body.

“Benedict!”

“Sophie,” he cried and snapped his hips a few more times, before his body shook, then settling to rest over hers.

Her hands settled on his damp back, wet with perspiration from their efforts. She took was sweating, and her limbs felt loose. Sophie knew she could not move even if she wanted to. Benedict sighed heavily and turned his face to look at her.

“I have never felt something like that in all my life,” he smiled widely, lopsided just as she loved.

Knowing this fact made her heart soar. For she knew that Benedict was experienced — her readings of Lady Whistledown assured her that all the Bridgerton men were somewhat notorious rakes. But Benedict was different, and she had known this from the first moment they met.

“From this day forward,” she said softly, reaching up to push a damp curl from his head. “I do not wish to be parted from you.”

“We shall remain together,” Benedict lifted his head, and grasped both sides of her face. “Forever, and always.”

“Forever, and always,” she repeated and met his lips for a kiss.

They had many challenges ahead, but they would face them together, hand in hand. Sophie had been searching for this kind of peace her entire life, and it was here in this moment, lying in Benedict’s arms that she found it.

[hearts-hunger]

ciryc ca’tra (cold night sky): chapter four || din djarin x reader

Read on AO3 | Masterlist

chapter one | chapter two | chapter three

Series Summary: When you crash-land on a frozen planet on your way to Trask, you and Din work together to keep the Crest afloat and keep your little family safe under the cold night sky. || Part One of Jate’kara (Lucky Stars)

Chapter Summary: It’s the spiders one y’all :(

Pairings: Din Djarin x Wife!Reader

Genre: Hurt/comfort, fluff, angst | Word Count: 2.2k

Warnings: spiders :(

A/N: I tried to make the action fun to read and not too lengthy, and reader’s inner monologue gives it an angle that’s a little different from what you see in the episode. Let me know how I did! ♡

“Go, go! Back to the ship!”

Your husband appeared in front of you, beskar blocking the view of the horrific beast that gnashed its teeth and screeched loud enough to shake the icicles off the ceiling. It grounded you, seeing only him; you let him take you by the hand and pull you towards the cavern entrance. You held your baby tightly to you, his fearful cries enough to keep you focused on getting him away from that thing at any cost. 

Din pushed you in front of him, bringing up the rear as you fled the cavern now overrun with spiders. The huge, monstrous one loomed over them all, covering the distance between its cave and you in only a few steps. It snapped at Din, barely missing him as the four of you ran into the cave that led to the ship. The beast howled; the swarm of smaller spiders answered in kind and flooded the cave with their deathly shrieks.

Suddenly, the ceiling was falling - you looked back over your shoulder and saw the giant spider’s legs come crashing through the ice above, raining great shards of ice and rock onto the surge of spiders below. For the moment it seemed trapped; you didn’t have time to be thankful before you saw the seething wave of spiders that followed over the rubble, some no bigger than your hand and some as large as Din.

Your husband drew his blaster as the spiders started to surround you; the red flashes of each shot that took out one spider illuminated a dozen more to take its place. You felt a wave of hysteria so strong it nearly took your breath away, and you grabbed onto Din’s cloak like a lifeline and stumbled after him as he tried to clear a path through the maze of spider-ridden ice. 

You couldn’t tell if you were hallucinating or not, but the frog lady started to leap on all fours ahead of you; Din navigated the winding cave with as much care as he could, constantly looking back to make sure you were with him. The shadow of the giant spider overhead threw the cave into near darkness, and you felt Din’s hand on your arm, pulling you in front of him. When he let you go, you called his name in panic; you saw three bright red lights in his hand, then saw him throw them back behind you.

Bombs, your woozy senses registered. Din pushed you forward before he threw the last one, grunting with effort as he ran and tossed it as far back in the chamber as he could.

The explosion blinded you, and you were pulled forward as the spider’s shriek echoed with the sound of falling ice. You almost wished the flash had lasted longer as you saw the groping, teeming piles of spiders converging from every side; you nearly smacked into Din as he came to a halt, desperately looking around for an exit. He fired a few more shots, but there seemed to be an endless swarm of them; Din held his forearm in front of him, as if bracing for a blow, and you had enough presence of mind to step back and shield the baby with your body.

The sound of his flamethrower crested as the blue flame lit on his vambrace, and suddenly the whole cave was brilliant with a roaring fire. You staggered towards the cave entrance, Din right on your heels; you heard his blaster fire almost continually as you finally came out into the cavern where your ship lay. You had never been so glad to see such a wrecked piece of metal in all your life, and sprinted towards the Crest with your son held tight against you.

You ducked inside the hull, feeling a sense of relief you knew was coming too quickly, too strongly; you watched the frog lady take her eggs from Din and haul them up to the second level. You waited for your husband to come in through the split in the siding, but he didn’t come; he fired his blaster over and over until all you heard was its ringing bark and the teeming sounds of the spiders. You knew you should go up but found yourself rooted to the spot; you had to see your husband come in, and you would not move until you did.

A loud thunk against the hull, and Din gave a painful groan; another determined grunt of effort came through his modulator and was followed by another round of blaster fire. A second later, he stumbled through the split metal, followed by a steady stream of spiders.

“Go!” he told you, firing his blaster a few more times while he urged you towards the ladder. He boosted you up and followed you into the cockpit, shooting at the spiders as they swarmed up the ladder. He tried to close the cockpit doors; they strained against the limbs and bodies that struggled to get through, groaning metal against seething, sharp-toothed monsters. 

Din tried to force the doors shut with one hand and fired his blaster with the other, dagger-like legs and teeth cutting into his hands. A few spiders got through, skittering over the walls to where you stood clutching your baby to your chest; you felt a cry of terror and disgust claw at your throat as the terrible things dangled from the ceiling and crawled over the walls. 

In a sudden flash of clarity, you reached behind you to the compartment where you kept your pocket blaster; you fished it out one handed and gripped it tightly, like Din had taught you, aiming for the spiders that seemed ready to jump at you. The sound of it was tinny compared to Din’s blaster, but it did the job, splattering the spiders in bits of green slime all over the walls.

Din looked back at you, surprised at the sound of other gunfire; he only hesitated for a moment before he turned back to the doors and aimed his flamethrower through the gap, charbroiling the spiders as they tried to get through. After a few moments of the roaring fire, it seemed to finally work; the doors groaned shut and Din shut off the flamethrower, each breath panting and unsteady.

The peace only lasted for a heartbeat as hordes of spiders came rushing from the cave, scuttling over the Crest like an infestation of the broken hull. You backed away from the windshield as hundreds of spiders teemed and clicked over the glass, feeling nauseous; you felt Din behind you and reached blindly until you felt his arm, crumpling the fabric of his flight suit in your grip. 

“Strap yourselves in,” Din ordered, and you could hear the fear that colored his voice even through his modulator. He steered you to the passenger chair closest to you, a little rough in his haste, but you weren’t sure you could have done anything on your own as the spiders’ movements became so vast and so loud that it sounded like the fine debris of an asteroid field. 

You pulled the seat belt over you and the baby with shaking hands as Din turned the ship on.

“This better work,” he prayed to nobody, powering up the Crest in a way much more frantic and sloppy than you’d ever seen. His attention to the Crest was a little like that of a man to his lover, and you knew it hurt him to have to treat his beloved ship so carelessly. The ship creaked and groaned as it powered up, nursed back a feeble semblance of life by Din’s repair but by no means fully functioning.

“I’ve got limited visibility,” Din said, looking through the foggy, frost-covered glass to the chittering limbs above. “It’s gonna be a bumpy ride.”

He muscled the lever for the main thrusters, breaking through a thin sheen of ice to put it into position; the engines flared to life, bright orange flames dancing over the walls of the cavern, the familiar jerk of the ship pushing you back in your seat. With a valiant, heaving effort, the Crest gave its last bit of strength to lift itself out of the ice, rocking and shaking with exertion. You had a bright, furious surge of hope - maybe you would get off this frozen planet, maybe - 

Something huge fell on the top of the Crest, the force of it knocking the wind out of you and nearly slamming you into the dash. The Crest shuddered to the ground, landing harder than it had the first time it crashed into the ice; the shrieking roar of the giant spider was so loud you covered the baby’s ears as the sound echoed through the cavern.

“It’s ok, it’s ok,” you said hoarsely, your little one’s cries of fear tearing at you. Then, before you knew it consciously, your body sensed something - you curled around your baby and shielded him from the monstrous silvery claw that shattered the glass and struck the floor of the cockpit.

You could only watch in abject horror as the beast loomed over the cockpit of the Crest, its grotesque eyes peering through the broken glass at you.

“Din,” you managed, and you felt his hand on your knee. You had the wrenching thought that you’d never planned what to say to your husband at the very last, perhaps hoping that your end would come a little more peacefully than this, and hoped he knew how much you loved him.

The monster reared and opened its gaping maw towards the Crest, and you knew you were going to faint.

You must have blacked out for a second, dark spots dancing across your vision, and you came to woozy and shaking with terror. The monster’s jaw suctioned to the glass, its teeth raking over the only thing shielding your husband and your baby from certain death; you kissed your little one’s head and squeezed your eyes shut as you gripped Din’s hand as tightly as you could.

The sudden, unmistakable sound of laser-cannon fire filled the cavern, and your eyes flew open to see the red beams sparking where they hit the spider’s body. It howled in pain and landed heavily on the cockpit, sliding off the side as the cannons continued to fire. Din let go of your hand - you looked up at him, out of your mind with fear and confusion, and watched him unholster his blaster and open the cockpit doors.

“Wait, Din,” you called, your voice cracked and pitiful. The baby called after him too, but he didn’t turn back to you, and you had the awful feeling that watching him stride out of the broken cockpit would be the last you ever saw of him. Everything was washed in red light as the laser cannons fired continuously; then, suddenly, they stopped, and everything was deathly quiet.

“We ran the tabs on the Razor Crest,” a voice finally said, and it wasn’t your husband’s. You hastily unbuckled yourself and moved to look out through the glass; the baby watched too, giving a wondering coo at the scene below.

Eight-legged bodies littered the ground, oozing green fluid onto the murky grey snow. The same pair of X-Wings that had chased you onto this frozen rock were a few paces away, their pilots aiming their blasters towards the Crest’s smoking hull; Din stood in the beams of their headlights, blaster lowered cautiously in the way that told you he wouldn't hesitate to raise it again at a moment’s notice.

“You have an arrest warrant,” the pilot continued. You recognized him as the same one who’d asked for your beacon at the checkpoint. “A warrant for the abduction of prisoner X-6-9-11.”

That cursed Twi’lek, who’d been more trouble than he was worth from the first moment Din had set foot on that transport ship. You held your breath and waited for the pilot to continue.

“However, onboard security records show that you apprehended three priority culprits from the wanted register,” the pilot said. “Security records also show that you put your own life in harm’s way to try to protect that of Lieutenant Davan from the New Republic Correctional Corps. Is this true?”

Din holstered his blaster. “Am I under arrest?” he asked, exhaustion and resignation in his voice even as he refused to confirm or deny the truth about Lieutenant Davan.

“Technically, you should be,” the pilot answered. Then, after a moment, “but these are trying times.”

Din took a breath. “What say I forgo the bounties on these three criminals, and you two help me fuse my hull so I can get off this frozen rock?”

You knew it was a long shot, but it was better than not asking at all. Maybe you would finally have a stroke of luck in all this.

The pilots didn’t take kindly to his offer. “What say you fix that transponder, and we don’t vaporize that antique the next time we patrol the Rim?”

Without waiting for an answer, the pilots returned to their cockpits; a moment later, with the sound of their engines echoing through the cavern, they had left Din, the wreckage of his ship, and the passengers they hadn’t even known about to whatever thread of fate might occur on such a frozen, unforgiving planet.

Read chapter five!

pedro pascal character taglist: @punkgeekchic​, @tv-saved-the-teenage-girl​, @stardust-galaxies​ ♡

series taglist: @kyjoraven​, @sarahjkl82-blog​, @remmysbounty​, @bitchin-beskar​​ ♡

let me know if you’d like to be added to either taglist! ♡

[sailorgreywolf-legacy]

Legacy - Chapter 64

The sound of cannon fire broke through the silence. It came with a flare of light from the Spanish forces in the fortress. The last holdout of the Spanish army on his land. 

Mexico let out a breath that he hadn’t realized he had been holding. It had begun, just as the morning light broke. He hated the time that came before a battle, and the first shot came as a comfort. The preparations had set him on edge. Working with Santa Ana to shore up the defenses had served a purpose, but it had felt like waiting for the inevitable. 

Cuba’s warning had given them enough warning to prepare, and the Dutch aid had freed up enough of his ships to mount a defense of the harbor. It had surprised him at first to read how few Spain had been able to muster for his reconquest. In his nightmares Mexico had seen the armada of old looming on the horizon. But, an empire crippled by a decade of war could not field the power that he once could. As the Netherlands had told him, Spain was weaker than he had been in a very long time. He had known that it would be a smaller force than Spain in his glory days, but it had done little to make him feel calmer. 

Even with Santa Anna’s cool confidence in himself and the defenses, he couldn’t stop himself from dreading the silence before battle. In the nights before he had tried to listen to his intuition, which seemed to have an uncanny ability to predict the outcome of battle. If he felt dread, then Spain may succeed. But even his gut had felt frustratingly uncertain and undecided. But if there was anything that Mexico was certain of, it was that when he could fight he could have a part in ensuring a victory. 

As the canon shot from the fortress raised splashed in the low light of dawn, Mexico tightened his hand on his sword. Though there was no one to fight yet, it felt right. The moment that a Spaniard dared to set foot aboard he would be ready to cut them down. 

He knew little about sea warfare, but he could judge that there was not a danger from the batteries yet. The shots, clearly meant to be frightening, were landing in the water of the bay. Though the splashes were impressive, they were harmless. Mexico guessed that the cannons of his own forces were not firing because the shot and gunpowder were expensive and limited. It seemed that Santa Anna was capable of some restraint, though everything about the man said otherwise.

The captain joined Mexico at the railing and said, “Calm yourself. Patience determines victory at sea.” 

Mexico nodded and tried to release some of the tension in his shoulders. This was not a battle on land, and combat with swords would not come as quickly. He asked, “Why are they firing when we are out of range?” 

He knew it was something of an obvious question to a sailor, but the captain already understood that he was a soldier. He saw the smallest suggestion of a smile on the mortal’s face, which reassured him that his interest was appreciated. He answered, “They’re trying to draw us out of position so that we can’t counter their ships as well. I expect that we will see their fleet any moment.” 

Mexico nodded; he could understand the strategy at play. It was bait, and it was not being taken. The captain raised his spyglass and said, “And there they are.” 

Mexico glanced at the horizon and saw that the Spanish fleet was appearing at the mouth of the bay. It was not the mass of sails he had imagined, though he had known the numbers. When they were spread out across the surface of the water, it did not seem quite as frightening. Mexico realized how much he had allowed himself to fear Spain in a way that was unwarranted.

 As the ships got closer, the guns at Mexico’s back began to fire. The cacophony of the dueling cannons seemed like a prelude to the fight that was coming the moment that the ships were in range of each other. 

The captain confirmed it by turning to Mexico and saying, “I must go. Hold on when you need to. Things are about to get bumpy.” 

Mexico was certain that if he could hold himself steady enough to shoot on a galloping horse, then a heaving ship would prove little challenge. He had never fought at sea before, but he had faith in himself. 

There was a moment of silence, which he took to steady himself, and fix his gaze on the imperial flag flying from the Spanish flagship. If Spain was leading the offensive, then that would be where he was. And if Mexico could just reach him, he could take back the mercy that he had offered in the last battle. There was no way to secure the peace other than to defeat Spain soundly again, and leave him incapable of continuing to fight. This time Mexico was prepared to not stop short when he had the chance to end it. 

He felt the wind fall quiet. As he glanced behind him, he saw the sail fall flat. For a moment, it felt like the world held its breath. The air smelled like gunpowder and salt. 

Then the quiet was broken by a shouted order from the helm. It was followed by a flurry of activity. As if nature itself was following the command, the wind returned pushing from behind. For the little he knew of naval tactics, he knew that it was a favorable wind. 

The ship jerked forward beneath him, and Mexico had to put a hand on the rail to steady himself. He hadn’t anticipated how unnerving it felt for the ground beneath his feet to shift so suddenly, but he righted himself quickly enough. The movement of the ships was difficult to follow as the fleets seemed to merge into each other. From what he could tell, their target was the Spanish flag ship, while the smaller ships were busy with each other. 

This was the reason Mexico had chosen to put himself on the largest ship; it gave him the ability to get close to Spain. Though he wanted a victory for the safety of his fledgling empire, his personal goal was to get close to Spain again. 

He put his hand on his sword again and waited with bated breath for a moment. Mexico felt the ship shake again as the cannons let out a series of bellowing shots. There was a crash of wood as a few of the shots found their target. The spray of seawater and the smoke from the guns made it difficult to tell if they had done any damage. 

Mexico leaned forward on the rail, trying to assess what had happened. He could see places on the side of the ship where the shots had impacted, but it hardly seemed enough to cause significant damage. 

He caught a flare of orange in his peripheral vision, and realized a moment too late that he should not be standing so close when the Spanish ship fired back. The awareness came too late, but someone grabbed him from behind and dragged him away from the railings. The force of the pull unsteadied him enough for him to lose his footing and fall. As he lost his footing he pulled his rescuer down on top of him. 

A shot hit where he had been standing, sending a shower of splinters and hot sparks over the deck. Mexico drew in a breath of thick air, and tried to comprehend what had just happened. The smoke clouded his vision and made his eyes burn. 

He turned his gaze to his rescuer. The man had been knocked unconscious, though there was blood seeping into his hairline on one side of his head that made Mexico suspect that it may be something worse. He put his hand to the man’s neck to feel if he was still alive. He felt a pulse, though the man’s heart rate was slow. 

Mexico gently pushed the weight of the man’s body off of himself. He didn’t want to hurt the man, but he had to get himself free. 

As he got to his feet, less gracefully than he’d hoped, he felt the ship shudder again as another broadside was loosed directly into the Spanish ship. He assumed that it had done significant damage, though naval battle was still a mystery.

Mexico could barely make out what was happening through the smoke, and the cacophony. But, he could tell that sailors were massing at the side of the deck. It seemed that they did not expect another broadside from the Spanish ship, so it was safe enough to stand close to the edge. He assumed that their last shots had done enough to delay the enemy guns to silence them. 

He felt like he was beginning to understand how battle between two ships was fought. He also felt like he was also starting to find his feet on the swaying surface. For all of his grace, trying to keep himself sure of his footing on deck was proving difficult. 

Once he was certain of himself again, he moved to join the other sailors waiting to see what came next. He heard a bellow that he assumed came from the captain, “Boarding!” 

He was not certain whether it was an order or a warning. But it did not matter to him either way, since it meant a fight was coming. It was the kind of fight that he understood, one with swords and pistols. 

Before diving into the fray, he drew his pistol. He had loaded a shot into each before the battle had begun, so he needed only to aim and shoot. 

The sailors were throwing grappling hooks across the gap, pulling the gunnel of the Spanish ship closer. A symmetrical series of grappling hooks flew from the enemy, creating a firm netting between the two, and pulling the two ships close enough that a man could jump from one to the other. 

The Spanish sailors were gathered on the other side, just as he had anticipated. In the moment, the battle would become the same as any other. With the hulls practically touching it would be impossible to effectively fire cannons into the other ship. It also seemed that the gun crews had taken to the deck with weapons in hand. 

This was the moment that Mexico had been waiting for. He leveled his pistol and waited to choose a target. His hand was steady, though his footing was not as sure as it would be on solid ground. 

An enemy sailor attempted to cross the gap, and Mexico fired with well honed muscle memory. The bullet found its mark, and the mortal fell into the gap between the ships. Mexico heard the splash as the body hit the water. 

With that, all restraint broke. Sailors from either side cleared the gap, and there was the sound of sabers colliding and a series of shots. Mexico tucked his second pistol into his belt. In the smoke and chaos he could not be certain who he would hit if he fired into the crowd. He didn’t dare take the risk of hitting any of his own men. 

The blade was certain though. An enemy landed right in front of him, and Mexico acted on instinct. He cut the man down easily. 

It almost felt like there was little challenge in anticipating that more men would pour across the gap, and taking them out as soon as they landed. It would also do little to end the battle. The average sailors were not driving this attempt at reconquest. 

He had to find Spain, and he had to end him. That was why he had decided to be on this ship, and it was the only thing that mattered. He tried to see through the mass of bodies to see if he could catch a glance of Spain through it. He knew what to look for, the scarlet coat and the glare of his eyes. Mexico couldn’t see him, but he continued to look because he knew that Spain must be on the other ship somewhere. 

He didn’t realize how intently focused he was until he felt a sharp pain in his side. He broke his gaze away from the crowd and looked down at the source of the pain. A sailor who he had failed to notice had managed to stab him. But it seemed that he had not found quite the right stance, and the stab had only managed to touch his side. 

He gritted his teeth, turned, and hit the man with the pommel of his sword. The mortal stumbled backwards and fell into the gap, disappearing into the water.

 Mexico put his free hand to the wound. It didn’t feel deep, but his hand was stained with blood when he pulled it away. He was used to the sight of his own blood after all of the years of war. He wiped it on his own jacket, and tried to focus on Spain. Being injured meant it was even more important to find him, since he could not afford another lapse of judgement. 

He glanced around. His eyes fell on the upper deck, and he smiled. That would be the best place to get an elevated view of the deck. It looked as though a couple shots had hit the upper deck and shattered the railings. But, the stairs had little damage, and that would give him the advantage that he needed. 

He looked around to make sure that there was no one who was about to stab him again the moment that he turned his back. He did not see anyone who seemed poised to attack him, so he took the moment to make a break. He took quick steps up the stairs, and then turned to face the battle. From above he could get a better sense of what was happening, and from his perspective it seemed to be a perfectly even battle. 

He scanned the men, looking for Spain. After his moment, his eyes landed on him. As he caught sight of Spain, the man turned and met his gaze. He saw the way that Spain’s lips curled into a smile, like he had been looking for Mexico too. 

Mexico knew that he had to take advantage of his position and the distance between them. It would not last, because he was aware that Spain would get closer. He wanted a decisive fight as badly as Mexico did.

He drew his pistol. A single shot could do enough to remove the other man from the war. Mexico leveled the gun and took aim. He couldn’t squander the shot, so he was hesitant to pull the trigger. He could feel the enormity of the moment on his shoulders. 

He lined up the shot, and took a breath to steady his hands. But, before he could fire, Spain moved into the fray. Mexico couldn’t fire without possibly hitting someone else. He would not waste his one shot on that. 

Instead he tracked Spain’s movement through the fray between the two ships. Mexico put his finger on the trigger, waiting for the first moment that he could get a clear line of sight. He waited, and was uncomfortably aware of the swaying of the boat beneath him. It seemed somehow less predictable than a galloping horse. 

He saw Spain emerge, and he fired immediately. He felt the way that the ship heaved again as soon as he fired, but he could not take it back and hope for a better shot. 

Spain staggered, and Mexico thought that the bullet had found its mark. He could not see the other clearly enough to tell where it had hit. But, as Spain straightened up, he felt his heart drop. Spain had his hand pressed against his left shoulder. 

It wasn’t even his dominant arm. 

Mexico put the pistol back into his belt, saying as he did so, “God fucking damnit!” 

He could have made that shot easily on land, and he knew it. It was enraging when Spain met his eyes again and raised an eyebrow like he had expected better. Mexico clenched his teeth, and decided that he would finish the job with his swords. He drew both, and waited. 

Spain reached the stairs and said, barely even sounding winded from the rush to reach Mexico’s position, “Shall we dance again, my dear?” 

Mexico loathed how confident he sounded, like he didn’t have blood soaking into his jacket around the bullet wound. He took a step closer to make it clear that Spain did not intimidate him and responded, “That didn’t go very well for you last time. Are you sure you want to try again?” 

He was amazed that the stab wound from their last battle had already healed. He would have to do it again. Spain smirked, “You won’t get that lucky again.” 

Without further warning, he lunged. Mexico caught his blade with his own. The force of the blow caught him slightly off balance. To regain his footing he took a step backwards up the stairs. He said, as he parried Spain’s second blow, “What are you trying to do? I will not surrender.” 

Spain was making a point of attacking aggressively, and Mexico chose to play the defense for the moment. When he got on the level ground of the deck it would be easier to push back. Spain responded, “I’m taking back what is mine. If you think I will not fight to my last breath for you, then you underestimate me.” 

Mexico felt his foot hit the flat of the upper deck and prepared himself to push back. He spat back, “You are being pathetic. I am never going to accept a monster like you.” 

He deflected Spain's next strike and countered with one of his own that Spain managed to dodge. Mexico retreated enough to find his footing. Spain took the opportunity to keep talking, “You call me a monster, but I heard what you did to Tlaxcala. I kept that useless old man alive for centuries, and you killed him without a second thought. I didn’t think you were capable of it.” 

Mexico felt like Spain had knocked the air out of his lungs. He hadn’t realized there was anyone who could have heard that conversation and told Spain. The mere implication that it was anything like Spain’s crimes made him see red. He said, through clenched teeth, “You could not possibly understand.” 

Before Spain had a chance to make another comment, he aimed a slash at Spain’s side. The other caught it and parried, then transitioned smoothly to an attack of his own. Mexico saw it coming and caught it. 

Spain leaned forward over the crossed swords, “You’re just like me now. You have blood on your hands.” Mexico felt the rage in the pit of his stomach. He pushed Spain away as hard as he could. He said, barely containing his own rage, “I am nothing like you.” 

The way that Spain continued to look mildly amused made him even angrier. He threw another blow, intent on causing damage. Spain caught it and said, with a sickening smirk, “Just admit that we are meant for each other.” 

Mexico could feel Spain pushing him backwards, but he refused to break the guard yet. He shifted his grip enough to get the right angle, and then pushed against Spain’s sword enough that it slipped out of his hand. The sword clattered on the deck, and Mexico took it as a sign that he had Spain where he wanted him. 

He stepped back and raised his sword, and said, “I have you again. When will you understand that you’re beaten?” 

Spain met his gaze unflinchingly. He didn’t seem to understand that he was unarmed and at Mexico’s mercy. He said, “You have so much to learn about naval battles. First, you need to learn to pay attention to your surroundings.” 

Mexico had no idea what he was talking about, and quickly glanced around to figure out what he had missed. In the momentary distraction, Spain charged him. He felt Spain’s shoulder hit his chest. Suddenly the ground disappeared under his feet. 

He was falling for a long moment, and then he hit the deck hard. There was an immediate splitting pain in his head where it had impacted the wood. 

His thoughts felt fuzzy as he slowly opened his eyes. He couldn’t figure out how long his eyes had been closed. As he looked up, he realized what had happened. He was looking up at the break in the railing on the upper deck where Spain must have pushed him off.

The next thing he was aware of was that Spain was no longer on top of him. He was standing, dusting off his own jacket. Once he had pulled himself together, he said, “Now I am going to take you home.” 

He sounded very far away, and there was a ringing in Mexico’s ears that nearly drowned him out. Mexico felt strange, but he knew that he would not let Spain touch him. He drew a small knife from within his jacket. 

As gracefully as he could, he sat up and jammed the knife into Spain’s stomach. He saw the look of shock on Spain’s face at the injury.

The Spaniard growled and responded by headbutting him, which sent a new spike of pain through Mexico’s aching head. Mexico’s eyes watered at the pain, but he refused to look away from Spain. He would not concede, not for a moment. 

Spain pulled the knife out of his abdomen and tossed it across the deck. Then he said in a voice that sounded like he was trying very hard to hide how angry he was, “It’s over. Come with me, now.” 

He leaned down and reached for Mexico’s jacket. Mexico wished that he had another knife, but he had used his only one, and could not figure out where his sword had gone. So, he reached up, pretending for a moment that he was reciprocating the gesture. 

But it was only to get close enough that he could seize Spain by the shoulders. Once his hands were firmly in place, he responded, “Damn you, bastard.” 

And then he drove his thumb into the bullet wound on his shoulder. He could tell that Spain was surprised by the way he reacted to the pain.He grimaced and his knees seemed to buckle. Mexico knew that he had him off balance, and he pushed hard enough to get Spain away from him. He made sure to put particular pressure on the wound, so that he’d have more leverage. Spain lost his footing and fell.  

Once he had made distance, Mexico managed to scramble to his feet. Standing up made him feel dizzy, but he would not allow himself to show it. For the moment, he had the advantage.

He caught sight of his swords, which had not flown too far when he fell. He wouldn’t have time to retrieve them before facing Spain again, but he was glad that they had not ended up in the bay. 

He turned to face Spain again, and raised his fists to defend himself. Spain did the same, though Mexico could see that his left hand had a slight tremor. That shoulder must hurt terribly. 

Mexico was about to strike when he heard the sound of a gun being cocked next to him. He turned to see the captain with a pistol in hand, with it trained on Spain. 

Spain glanced from the mortal to Mexico and seemed to decide that he was outmatched. He gave Mexico one more withering look before turning and fleeing back to his own ship. 

Mexico let out a long breath. Once the adrenaline of facing Spain started to wear off he realized that the ringing in his ears had not completely stopped. He also felt a very uncomfortable awareness of the boat’s movement in his stomach. 

He bent to recover his swords. As he bent down, he realized how dizzy he really felt. He staggered as he straightened up, and the captain said to him, “Are you alright?” 

Mexico wasn’t sure how to answer the question. He could feel his side bleeding, and he was sure that the shirt was ruined. His head was painful, and it took some focus to keep the world from blurring at the edges. 

He countered with the more important question, “You should have just shot him. Did we win?” 

The captain nodded, but something about the look on his face said that he was still concerned about his unanswered question. Mexico nodded, and said, “Good. I’m going to bandage my wounds. Tell me when we reach dry land again.”

Once he was alone in his cabin he tried to center himself. The pain in his head had faded, but he still felt strangely disoriented. He could have taken the moment to lay down and rest, but he refused to. He had too much to think about, and too much that he needed to deal with. 

The wound to his side was the first priority. He retrieved a roll of bandages. As he moved he felt the ship move, and lost his footing again, and had to put his hand out to steady himself. He breathed deeply and tried to orient himself again. 

Once he felt centered, he pulled up his shirt and began to wrap the bandages as tightly as he could on his own. It was not perfect, but it would stop the bleeding long enough for it to heal. 

As he worked, his mind slipped back to what Spain had said during their clash. He should have guessed that the spy who had told Spain about Guerrero would also have told him about Tlaxcala. 

He did not think he had done anything to equal Spain’s brutality. He had not cut down the man where he stood, though the thought had crossed his mind. Spain would have never hesitated; he would have killed the man on the spot. 

He finished wrapping the bandages and tucked the end in so that it would hold. With that dealt with, he turned to his hands. When he looked at them he realized that they were caked with blood. It did not surprise him after such a brutal battle. He knew that he had touched his own bleeding wound, and made Spain bleed as well.

He poured water into a basin, which he knew had been provided because of his status as an officer. He dipped his hands in the water and watched as the red began to float off. He couldn’t put his mind completely at rest as he looked at his hands. 

It was his own blood, and it was Spain’s and his own, but he also could not help but think that it was also Tlaxcala’s blood. He had condemned an old man to a slow death. It was a cruel decision, and not one he would have made if he had taken a moment to consider it logically.

Perhaps the man had remorse for his role in the conquest that he had never had the chance to express. Mexico rubbed his hands together, trying to get the blood off. The water quickly turned murky and red. He realized, with a sinking sense of guilt, that Spain had lied to Tlaxcala too. He had used everything that he could to secure his victory. 

Mexico pulled his hands out of the water and began to wipe them off. He could see that there was still blood under his nails, and he began to work at cleaning under them with the edge of the cloth. 

He felt like a fool for not knowing better. He had more experience with Spain’s charm and his ability to lie than anyone. He should have been the first one to give the man a chance to speak. His heart felt heavy as he had the thought. He should not have done what he did, but there was no way to turn it back. He had already severed the man’s connection to immortality, and had no power to give it back. 

As he put aside the cloth, he thought about what he could do to set things right, something that Spain would never do. He had to see Tlaxcala before he died, and express his regret to him. He could not let the man think that he was numb to what he had done. He had to make it clear that he felt regret, and for his own future he had to face the consequences of his actions, so that he never acted so quickly out of anger again. With the decision made, he let himself slowly sink onto his bunk, so he could rest until they reached the docks.

Mexico changed into riding clothing and paused only briefly to check the bandages on his torso. They seemed to be holding, so he decided he didn’t need to change them before he left. With that, he intended to go straight to the stables and take his horse to see Tlaxcala. 

But, as he crossed the hall he heard a familiar voice, “Are you going somewhere?” Santa Anna was striding across the floor towards him. Mexico had hoped to sneak away without an explanation, but the man’s presence made that impossible. Santa Anna continued, “I hope you are not. I was planning to celebrate the victory with you.” 

Mexico appreciated his enthusiasm, but he did not feel like celebrating at all. The feeling of guilt was far too strong for him to put it aside for the night. His heart was set on making everything right as much as he could. He replied, “I must. I have something that I have left unfinished.” 

He didn’t feel like he owed the man any other explanation, and he hoped that Santa Anna would not ask for more. All the mortal asked was, “Does it have to be tonight?” 

Mexico nodded, “I’m afraid so. It cannot wait.” 

Santa Anna shook his head like he was deeply disappointed, but his answer was, “Very well. I trust you to do what you must.” 

He paused for a moment before adding, “And come back soon. I’ll miss you while you’re gone.” 

Mexico couldn’t help but smile as he replied, “I will.”

It was a long ride to Tlaxcala, but it gave him time to think through what he was going to say. It would be strange to walk into the home of a man who was dying because of him, but it was better than ignoring the problem. He knew that the last words to the man had been callous, and he wanted to end things on a better note. 

Perhaps it would be no better if he expressed himself, and he would be thrown out immediately. But, even that would feel better because it would give him the chance to express himself. It would also give Tlaxcala the chance to express anger that was very well deserved. 

Mexico ignored the way that the movement of the horse made his head ache again. The blurring in his peripheral vision had faded, but he could still feel the dull ache in the back of his head. He tightened his hands on the reins as he felt another wave of rage at the thought of Spain. 

If not for the underhanded push, he would not be in pain. Spain was dishonorable, and he should have expected as much. But the unfamiliar environment had been enough to catch him off guard. If the fall had succeeded in knocking him unconscious, the consequences would have been terrible. Being at Spain’s mercy could have had dire consequences, but he had recovered fast enough. 

It made him deeply angry, but he tried to repress the feeling. For the night, he had to focus on the guilt festering in his gut. He gritted his teeth and hoped that the anger would fade before he got to Tlaxcala. Anger was the emotion that had gotten him into this trouble, and he refused to walk into the conversation angry. 

As the sun began to sink towards the horizon, he began to realize how long the ride would be. He had no desire to rest for the night, since he was certain that the feeling of guilt would only worsen when he closed his eyes. If he slept at all, it would have been uneasy and troubled. He had no desire to do that in some unfamiliar room in an unfamiliar place. If he rode through the night, he would reach his destination by morning.

He decided that it would be best to get there as soon as possible. He leaned forward and patted the horse on the neck, and said, “I’m sorry that I’m going to do this. But we’re going to keep going.” He set his gaze on the horizon as the sky darkened and continued.

The sun was rising as he reached the house in Tlaxcala. As he had entered the city he had realized that he did not know exactly where he was going. He had decided that he would trust his gut and what he knew about his kind. Countries often chose to live in the heart of their capital, and it wasn’t difficult to find. 

Mexico also trusted his gut to tell him that he was in the right place. It was not logical, but it was usually right. 

As he stopped his horse outside of the courtyard, he wondered if this had all been a terrible idea. Had it been worth it to ride through the night to be told that he was hated and thrown out? 

He pinched the bridge of his nose. If the dull ache would go away, then he could think clearly about what he was doing. His heart told him that it was right, and that it would soothe the feeling of guilt either way. If he turned away from the uncomfortable feelings, then he was no better than Spain. He needed to know at least that he was better than Spain, otherwise the feeling would haunt him.

He took a deep breath and prepared himself for whatever was about to happen. Then, feeling as centered as he possibly could, he turned his horse and entered the courtyard. As he dismounted, he still felt slightly off balance. It must have been some lingering effect from spending time on a swaying ship. 

He gave the horse a few loving pets to the mane, because he knew that he had ridden the poor creature harder than he should have. He said, quietly enough that someone wouldn’t hear unless they were very close, “You did very well. You can rest now.” 

He wasn’t certain whether he would be back quickly, since it depended on Tlaxcala. But, he hoped that his horse had the chance to rest. 

As he turned, he realized that the door had already opened. In the early morning, the sound of hooves must have been quite noticeable. He took it as an invitation that Tlaxcala had not immediately closed the door and locked him out. If he had not wanted to see Mexico, then it would be easy enough to keep him out. Mexico hoped that he had drawn the right conclusion from the gesture. 

As he walked closer, he realized that the person standing in the doorway was not the old man he had spoken to before. There was a woman looking at him, and he couldn’t read her expression. Perhaps he had come to the wrong house after all, though his heart told him that it was not. 

He also could not shake the feeling that he had met the woman somewhere before. Her face felt so familiar, but he could not think of a reason why. 

He pushed all the thoughts away and tried to focus on the reason he was there. He said, trying to sound polite, “I’m sorry to bother you. I am looking for Tlaxcala.” 

He spoke in Nahuatl, though he hadn’t made the conscious choice about the language. It came naturally to him, and he chose not to question it. Her eyes widened slightly when he started speaking, and for a moment he thought she would not understand him.

But, that worry was assuaged when she responded, “My husband? He is here, but he is asleep.” 

She sounded shocked, but Mexico was too focused on the word. He didn’t know the man was married. He felt even worse knowing that he had killed a man who had a spouse who would mourn him. If they had children, his guilt would be even more terrible. He knew what it was to lose a parent.

He tried not to betray the thought as he said, “I would like to speak to him if he is well enough to see me.” 

He did not know what state Tlaxcala would be in, since he didn’t know how long it took an immortal to die. It felt far too forward to ask whether he was still capable of carrying on a conversation. It had felt like his father had faded very quickly based on his limited memories, so the same may happen to Tlaxcala. He also wanted to give her a reason to politely decline him if his presence was too uncomfortable.

The woman nodded and answered him, “You can see him, if you would like. He won’t be expecting you.” 

Mexico could not help but wonder if she knew who he was, because it felt like an understatement. He expected Tlaxacala to neither be expecting him nor be happy to see him. He could not think of a single person who would be happy to see his killer.

She stepped aside and said with a slight smile, “Please come in.” 

It felt strange to step over the threshold. He felt like an incredibly unwelcome guest. He didn’t know why she would look at him so warmly, unless she had no idea what he had done. It made him feel like she would notice at any moment and throw him out, as she had every right to. Perhaps it would happen once she spoke to Tlaxcala and he made the whole situation clearer. 

She led him to a comfortable kitchen, and then said, “You should sit, and I will wake him.” 

Mexico found the welcome entirely too warm, but he was not going to question it. He made himself as comfortable as he could at her kitchen table. Much to his surprise, she placed a cup of coffee in front of him, and gave him another smile. He found it hard to smile back while being so aware of his own guilt. 

After the long ride and the sleepless night, coffee seemed very welcome. But, he felt like he could not take a drink of it, because it would be taking something from a dead man. To drink the coffee would be to accept the hospitality, and he could not do that. 

He put his hands around the cup and felt the warmth, but he would not allow himself even a sip. She left the room, and he was left alone with his thoughts and a coffee that he didn’t feel he deserved. He stared at the surface of the coffee, and tried to collect his thoughts. 

He had not thought through what he was going to say to Tlaxcala. The important part was that he said he was sorry, and Tlaxcala could react to it however he wanted. He was uncomfortably aware of how long the woman had been gone, and he began to wonder if they were trying to decide to tell him to leave. 

He tapped his finger on the table, trying to force himself to be patient. He could feel the nervous energy building up in his body. Remaining sitting felt too uncomfortable. He felt far too nervous to be alone with his thoughts. 

He pushed the cup to the side and stood up. He intended to pace, to do something with his nervous energy. He would have thought that the night would have exhausted him, but he still felt awake and anxious. 

He began to pace, thinking about the words he wanted to say if he got the opportunity. He wanted to sincerely express that he was trying to learn, though he knew that was little consolation to a dying man. It was all he could think of to say, and he was not certain that he would remember any of it when he was faced with the conversation. 

He paused by the door when he realized that he could hear voices on the other side. He knew that should not listen to Tlaxcala speaking to his wife out of respect to both of them. But, he could not resist the temptation of knowing if he was about to get anger from either of them. 

He leaned close enough that he could hear the voices. All he could make out was Tlaxcala’s voice saying, “You should tell him. He’ll feel better if you do.” 

He didn’t hear the answer. He had no idea what they could be talking about. He dared not push the door open to hear better. Instead, he turned away, feeling ashamed of himself for even listening. He heard the sound of her footsteps returning, and decided to sit again so that she did not know he had been wandering. 

She returned and said, “He’s ready to talk to you.” 

Mexico swallowed his nerves and responded, “Thank you. You’ve been so kind.” 

He felt like he should say it in case he was about to get castigated and have to leave in a hurry. If Tlaxcala threw him out, he wouldn’t have a chance to thank her, and she did deserve thanks for all her hospitality.

Tlaxcala was laying in bed with the curtains drawn so that it was bright enough for Mexico to see him clearly. He looked like he was ill. There were dark circles under his eyes, and he looked older than he had the last time Mexico had seen him. He had very distant memories of his father looking faded when he died, and Tlaxcala looked much the same. 

He had thought of so many words to say, but he wasn’t sure what to say to start the conversation. To his relief, Tlaxcala met his eyes and said, “You are a surprising guest.” Mexico replied, “And I am sure that I am not a welcome one.” 

He felt like it was better to open the door for Tlaxcala to tell him exactly how he felt. It felt better to allow the possibility of rejection, so that it did not feel like such a blow when it came. 

But, the old man didn’t have any anger in his face as he answered, “That depends on why you are here. If you want to gloat, then I will ask you to leave. But, judging by your face, I do not think you are.” 

Mexico settled into a chair at his bedside, because he felt like he had just gotten the permission to stay and talk. He replied, trying to say what he had been thinking about, “I am not. I wanted to speak to you because I am sorry for what I did.” 

The words felt heavy in the air, like they could never be enough. He watched Tlaxcala’s face as he spoke, and tried to judge the reaction. The man’s eyes widened in surprise, but he didn’t look upset. Mexico couldn’t help but continue to voice his thoughts, “I was angry about so many things, and I took it all out on you. But, I should not have hurt you for what Antonio did.” 

He could think of more words to say about how he had taken his pain out on the person he could hurt, instead of the one who was threatening him. But, it was better to hold his tongue and give Tlaxcala a chance to respond. 

The old man took a moment of quiet before he said, “It makes me glad to see that you have reflected on it.”

He adjusted himself in bed with a groan, so he was sitting up and looking directly at Mexico. He finished his thought, “I want you to look at me, and remember this. Your actions have consequences. You have more power now than you ever have, and you must be more careful with your temper.” 

Mexico felt like this was an oddly measured lecture for what they were discussing. He leaned forward and said, trying to make himself clear, “You do not have to forgive me. I do not expect you to.” 

He felt particularly uneasy with the idea, and wanted harsh condemnation. To his great surprise, Tlaxcala leaned forward and took his hands in his own. Tlaxcala sounded like he was speaking patiently to a child when he said, “Listen to me. I know that I do not have to, but I never wanted to be your enemy. These old grudges have to end. This cycle of conquest and revenge and pain has to end with you.” 

Mexico felt like he was a foolish child, and he didn’t know what to say. He simply nodded, hoping it was clear enough that he understood. He could not quite comprehend how someone could not resort to anger, but it felt like a skill that he should learn. 

He felt absurdly like he might cry, because the relief was too strong and he could hear compassion in the old man’s tone that he had not earned. Tlaxcala held his hands a little tighter, and said, “I knew from the moment you were born that you would represent something bigger than any of us. I want you to take this as a lesson. Be a better ruler than your mother. Be better than Spain.” 

Mexico found his voice again and said, “I am so sorry. If I can do anything to make you more comfortable, please ask.” 

He could feel moisture welling in his eyes, but it felt wrong to cry when he was the guilty one. Tlaxcala gave him a pained smile, and said, “You’ve already given me peace by coming here. Now I would like some rest.” 

Mexico nodded. He understood that this conversation had been everything he could have asked for already. He said, “Thank you for hearing me out.” 

He was holding back tears as he left the room. He could not understand how someone could be so understanding. He leaned against a wall and felt a new wave of guilt and uncertainty. He closed his eyes for a moment, trying to collect himself. 

He felt like he was losing someone he had never known, but who could have supported him. The strange grief and guilt mixed to feel like something somehow worse. 

He felt the soft touch on his arm. He opened his eyes to see Tlaxcala’s wife standing in front of him, looking oddly concerned for him. For the briefest moment, he thought that she looked like his mother if Aztec had ever been able to grow old. It made him feel even stranger. 

She said, “Are you alright?” 

It was the same question that the captain had asked him, and he still did not know how to answer. He said, “He was very kind. I am just tired.” 

It was the best answer he could give to avoid discussing the turmoil in the chest, and the ever present ache in his head. She said, “You were in a battle, weren’t you? At sea, I would guess.” He had no idea how she could have made such an accurate guess. He replied, too quickly to be fully polite, “How do you know that?” 

He had changed out of his uniform, so it could not possibly be that obvious. She put a hand to his forehead and said, “I saw this.” 

With that, she pulled something out of a spot near his hairline. He winced at the pain, and was utterly confused until she held up a long, bloody splinter. She said, “You brought part of the ship with you.” 

It must have happened during the broadsides, but he had no memory of it. He felt a droplet of blood forming where the splinter had been. She pulled out a kerchief and offered it to him, saying, “Press on it and it’ll stop bleeding.” 

He took it and followed her instructions, but he was confused. He voiced the thought, “I am very grateful. But I do not understand. I am causing your grief. Why would you want to help me?” 

He pressed the cloth to the spot that was bleeding, and began to wonder if his side had also started to bleed again. In these strange circumstances, he was not sure what he would do with an answer. 

She took a deep breath and answered, “You are young, and you made a mistake. I’m not going to punish you for that. If you learn to do better, then that is all any of us can hope for.” 

He wished that someone would just be angry at him. It felt like the kindness was unwarranted and unearned. She made it worse by saying, “You can sleep here. We have extra rooms, and you seem quite tired.” 

Mexico stared at her for a moment, trying to comprehend. The whole day felt utterly strange and he found himself wondering if he had slept after the battle and this was all a very lucid dream. People were usually only so kind in his dreams. But, given the pain he was still feeling, that was impossible. 

He answered, “I could not possibly do that. You have both been incredibly kind, and I have asked for enough.” 

He was absolutely certain that he would not sleep in the same house as a man who was dying because of him. He guessed that offer was what Tlaxcala had urged her to tell him, to let him know that he was welcome to stay. But the idea made him feel no better. Even the thought of laying down and attempting to sleep brought another wave of hideous guilt. 

He shook his head, and added, “I think I have been here long enough, and I should go back to Veracruz.” He felt deeply uncomfortable with how long he had been in Tlaxcala’s house, even if no one was being unkind to him. His own deep awareness of what he had done felt like it was wearing on him. 

She looked like she wanted to say something else, and he hoped that she would not. He said, hoping to stop the conversation, “Thank you for everything. If either of you need anything, please do not hesitate to write.”

He was back on his horse and riding away as quickly as he could, despite his fatigue. His racing thoughts and volatile emotions were enough to keep him awake through the night. No matter how much he thought about it he could not make sense of the whole series of interactions. It had violated all of his expectations about people, and he could not decide how to react. 

Even as he returned to Veracruz, he could only think that he should take Tlaxcala’s words to heart and keep closer control of his temper. 

It was late afternoon when he returned to his own room in Veracruz. He needed time to sleep and think through what had happened, since he could feel the way that the exhaustion was starting to set in. As soon as he reached his room he flung himself onto the bed, fully determined to sleep. 

But, his hand hit a note that had been left on his pillow. As soon as he saw Victoria’s handwriting, his heart sank. He could already guess that it was an invitation to a meeting. When he opened it and saw the word “tonight” he groaned at the prospect of yet another night with little sleep. 

He could not possibly choose not to go. If he wanted to keep his word to Victoria about supporting the republic then he would need to accept secret meetings when they happened. He read through the rest, because he would need the details. 

The words blurred as he tried to read them, and it took substantial effort to focus. It was all very straightforward, and he was very glad that Victoria had opted for little poetic language. For a man who had trained in law, he was surprisingly talented with brevity. 

The end of the letter intrigued him the most though. It said with ample mystery, “It would be best if you were there. There will be something you will not want to miss.” In normal circumstances, he would find that undeniably tempting, but he couldn’t help but feel like a chore. He groaned again, rolled over, and got out of bed to pull himself together to leave again.

It was not difficult to find the beautiful mansion, and as he looked at it he wondered if Victoria owned it, or if it was the home of someone who was sympathetic to the rebellion. Victoria never seemed to have a shortage of friends. He also had the passing thought that it was not very subtle, but he knew better than to question someone who had been so effective at organizing rebellion. 

Mexico found the man waiting for him in the foyer, looking very pleased to see him. Mexico saw his face slightly fall when he got closer, and he could only assume that the lack of sleep was obvious on his face. The past day was beginning to blur in his mind, and he was certain that he must look exhausted too. 

But, Victoria hardly hinted at it when he said, “I am glad that you are here.” Mexico smiled and responded, “Your letter was interesting. It seems like you have a surprise for me.” 

He had assumed it was something very exciting, like a clear idea how to topple Iturbide. The sparkle of intrigue in Victoria’s eyes didn’t particularly worry him. He was certain that anything that Victoria would play would be for his benefit, because the man was sincere in his patriotic convictions. 

Victoria responded, “I do. Come with me. I have something I think you should see.” Mexico wasn’t certain why he was feeling the slightest sense of foreboding, but he blamed it on his exhaustion. He followed Victoria as he led him to one of the many rooms, and paused in front of the door. Victoria turned to him, with a look of intrigue, and said, “I think you should go in by yourself. It will be better.” 

Mexico was very tempted to ask what was worth all the secrecy, but he trusted him well enough to not question him. He pushed open the door. And his heart dropped the moment he laid eyes on the man who was sitting at the table. 

Vicente Guerrero looked up and met his eyes. 

Mexico felt goosebumps bloom on his skin. He had no idea what to say to the man, or even if he wanted to speak to him. He heard Guerreo start to say, “Ale-” 

But before he could finish what he wanted to say, Mexico turned and left the room. His heart was racing, and he couldn’t collect his thoughts. He stepped to the side outside the room and tried to collect himself. 

He heard Victoria approaching him, and he said, “You set me up! You both conspired to do this.” He wished he could sound angier, but he didn’t have the energy. The sleepless night had rendered it impossible.

Victoria shook his head, and said firmly, “No, he didn’t know either. I invited both of you without telling either of you.” 

Mexico gave him the best glare he could muster. He could not put into words how much it felt like a betrayal to be suddenly faced with Guerrero in the flesh again. He asked, “Why would you do this without telling me?” 

Victoria seemed to have far too much confidence in himself as he said, “Because you would not have come if I told you, and neither would Vicente. And I need you both to talk. I cannot effectively lead with you two avoiding each other.” 

Mexico’s head was swimming, but he was certain that he was frustrated. He responded, “I am supposed to decide when that happens.” 

He felt another spike of pain in his head, and he put his hand to his head. He couldn’t sustain the anger enough to yell at Victoria, not while he was tired. He winced at the pain and said, “I cannot have that conversation tonight. I’m not ready.” 

He wanted nothing more than to go home and sleep, but fleeing completely would make him look like a coward. He had no idea what to do, since every option would bring confrontation. Victoria sighed like he was deeply frustrated and said, “You cannot run from this for your whole life.”

Mexico’s voice was quiet as he closed his eyes and said, “Please leave me alone. I need to think.” He knew he was just pleading for time, but it was all that he could do. Victoria said, “Very well.”

The sound of retreating footsteps brought him some peace, though he knew it was temporary. He wished that the ache in his head would fade enough so that he could think clearly. If they could be alone, he might be able to express his feelings to Guerrero, but his mind was blank when he tried to think of what to say. He pressed his palm firmly against his forehead, trying to force himself to focus. It hurt far more than he expected it to. He had forgotten that Spain had headbutted him exactly where he was pressing.

He thought he was alone until he heard a familiar voice, “Alejandro, we need to talk.” Mexico opened his eyes and saw Guerrero. He must have followed him out of the room. He was annoyingly persistent, as he always had been. Mexico knew he should have expected it.

 His heart beat skipped several beats as he realized that this conversation could not be avoided. Without a response from Mexico, the mortal launched into a prepared speech, “I know that I disappointed you, but I need you to give me a chance to explain myself. I need you to know that -” 

Mexico interrupted him by saying as firmly as he could, “I cannot do this right now, Vicente.” 

It was all that he could think of to say that would stop a deeper conversation. If Guerrero said anything too intimate, he felt like he would either cry or rage, and he could not handle either. 

He saw Guerrero’s face change immediately as he heard the tone of his voice, and he abandoned whatever he had planned to say. He asked, “Are you alright?” That damned question. 

Mexico replied, without thinking about what he was saying, “Why does everyone keep asking me that?” 

He still had no answer to it, especially not for Guerrero. The other man answered the rhetorical question, “Because you look like you’ve been through hell.” 

Mexico scoffed. It could not possibly be as bad as that, and he hoped his reaction would convince the man that it wasn’t. But, Guerrero’s eyes widened and he said, “And you’re bleeding.” 

Mexico assumed that the splinter wound had started to bleed again. He put his hand to his forehead to stop it, only to find that it was dry. Guerrero said shortly, “Not there.” 

Mexico then put his hand to his side, and it came away red. He said, “Damn it.” He had forgotten to check his bandages before he had left to meet Victoria. 

He glanced back up at Guerrero and was struck by how concerned he looked. The man had curled both of his hands into fists, like he was holding himself back from doing something with them. Guerrero spoke, and Mexico could tell his jaw was clenched from the stiffness of his voice, “May I touch you?”

The question puzzled him for a moment, and then he remembered that he had told Guerrero emphatically not to when they had last seen each other. The man looked like he was hardly holding back the urge to embrace him. 

The fact that Guerrero asked was enough to soften Mexico’s defenses. He answered, “You can.” 

With permission granted, Guerrero used one hand to gently brush Mexico’s hair off of his face. Mexico heard him draw in a sharp breath through his teeth before he said, “That looks painful.” Mexico guessed that he was looking at the bruise from where Spain had headbutted him.

He said, trying to remedy the worry, “I am fine. It’s just some blood.” Guerrero met his eyes and said, “You are not fine. Come with me.” 

He slipped his arm around Mexico’s waist and pulled him close enough to support him. Mexico was certain that he should push him away, and maintain his anger about the lie. But in the moment, it felt good to have someone hold him. There was something about being so close that felt achingly familiar, like his heart had been craving it.

He said, trying to make it clear that nothing was forgiven, “I am still mad at you.” It didn’t sound particularly convincing, and Guerrero responded, “Right now I don’t really care. You need rest. You can be mad at me tomorrow.” 

He let Guerrero lead him back into the room, and said, with a gentle firmness that Mexico had sincerely missed, “Sit down.” 

Without thinking, he obeyed. In the back of his mind he wondered where Victoria had gone, but he assumed that it was a choice to give him time alone with Guerrero. This conversation had been the point of this whole charade.

He wasn’t certain how he felt about any of this, but he could not muster any anger at his former general. Guerrero kneeled in front of him so that he could look him in the eyes while he was sitting. He asked, gently, “Ale, when was the last time you slept?” 

The question felt like it struck too close to home, and Mexico glanced away. He answered, feeling ashamed of himself for being too careless, “Two days ago. Before the battle.” 

Guerrero took one of his hands in his own. It was incredibly comforting, in a way that Mexico had not anticipated. He had not had someone touch him so gently in quite some time. He felt his eyes start to sting. He had not realized how deeply he had missed this. 

Guerrero asked, “What happened?” 

Mexico could not remember the battle well enough to tell him what happened. After the fall, his fight with Spain got terribly blurry. The memories of the battle were a jumble that it would take too much effort to untangle. 

But, he guessed that the question was about what had kept him awake all night. He tried to provide an answer, “Antonio said something and I had to make amends to someone I hurt. I couldn’t live with myself if I was like him.” 

It was hard to explain without saying what he did to Tlaxcala, but he did not want to admit to that yet, not to someone he held in such high regard. He hoped that Guerrero would understand. 

The mortal seized upon the name, “Antonio? Spain was there? Is he the one who did this?” 

To make it clear what he was talking about, Guerrero softly brushed the bruise on his forehead with his thumb. Mexico knew he could not avoid the question, so he answered with a wry smile, “You should see what I did to him.” 

Guerrero was immune to his attempt at humor. He said, “Right now I am looking at you, and you look like you were in trouble. How close did he get?” 

Mexico bit his lower lip, uncertain of how he should respond. In truth, he did not know how close it had been. Guerrero seemed to understand his silence, and his grip tightened on his hand. He said, with a dangerous edge of anger, “I cannot believe that anyone let him get that close to you.” 

Mexico finally decided that he needed to clarify how he ended up in battle. He said, “It isn’t anyone’s fault. I insisted that I wanted to fight. It was my fault, and I got unlucky.” 

Guerrero’s hand touched his cheek softly, and he felt his heart thundering. He had missed this touch so dearly. The mortal said, “Ale, my dearest, you always insist. You are too noble to let anyone fight in your place. But, you need to be protected. Did you have guards?” 

Mexico hadn’t even thought about it, though it had been normal when Guerrero was his commander. He shook his head. He could see the way that Guerrero’s expression darkened. He was angry, and Mexico knew it; he had seen that expression enough to know. 

Guerrero drew in a breath through his nose, like he was trying and failing to keep himself calm. He said, “That’s how this happened. I am going to kill him.” Mexico said, with an attempt at levity, “I tried to kill Tony. It’s difficult.” 

But, Guerrero was not amused and said, “Not him. I am going to kill Agustin. I promised you that if he hurt you, I would kill him.” 

Mexico remembered it clearly. He had never thought that it would come true in this way. Guerrero continued, “If something had happened, we could have lost you. And if that had happened…” 

He stopped himself before he finished the thought. His hand slipped off of Mexico’s and he curled it into a fist. He repeated, with his voice filled with righteous anger, “I will kill him.”  He was looking away like he could not stand to show how enraged he really was, and it spoke volumes. 

Mexico’s anger at him evaporated, because the display of concern was too sincere. He could feel the tears forming in his eyes from the days of stress and sleeplessness. 

He craved Guerrero’s touch, and with the man so close it was exquisitely painful. He could handle dreams of his general’s comfort. But, it was too hard to deny the affection when it was so close. He knew what his heart wanted.

He said, “Chente, please.” 

Guerrero looked up at him again, tenderly this time. Mexico extended his arms, hoping it was clear what he wanted. Guerrero immediately understood and pulled him into an embrace. He spoke softly in Mexico’s ear, “I’m here now. I will make this right. I promise you I will.” 

He caressed Mexico’s hair softly. Mexico let himself close his eyes and put his head against the man’s chest. It felt so familiar and comforting. It felt like home. He said, his voice almost shaking, “Why did you lie to me? I’ve missed you so much. Chente, you don’t know how alone I’ve been.” 

He held firmly onto the back of the man’s jacket with both hands. The physical presence was so comforting; it made it all real. Guerrero gently cradled his head against his chest and said, “I promise we will talk about that tomorrow. I’m so sorry. I should have never left you alone with these people. They don’t understand how important you are.” 

Mexico wished he could spend the rest of his night with his head against Guerrero’s chest. If only he could stay and sleep assured of the protection of his general. 

The same thought seemed to occur to Guerrero. He took Mexico’s face firmly between his hands and said, “Stay here. Take some rest, and we can discuss everything when you feel better.” 

Mexico wanted to accept the invitation with every fiber of his being. But, he thought of Santa Anna, and what the man may tell Iturbide if he did not return soon. It could put everything in danger if he stayed. Though he was not sure if Santa Anna even knew he had returned from Tlaxcala. It was possible that it would not matter, but he could not take the risk.

He swallowed his emotions and said, “I cannot stay. The commander will notice. I have to be back tonight.” Guerrero said, unwavering, “I cannot let you leave in this state.” 

Mexico shook his head. He was emotional and tired, but he was not incapable of riding. He said, “I will be fine. I can still ride.” To make his point, he stood up again. 

He realized a second too late that it was a mistake. His vision went black, and he felt his knees buckle. For a moment he felt himself falling, until arms caught him.

 Before his consciousness faded out he heard, “Don’t worry. I’ve got you.”