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nahimjustfeelingit-writes · 5 months ago

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House Calls.

Professor!Terrence x Aaliyah

Summary: Aaliyah has an elusive charm that can be alluring to some and frustrating to others. Professor Terry is compelled to have her. On one fateful evening at his college buddies bachelor party, he runs into Aaliyah. An interaction he hadn’t imagined would ever happen.

Warnings: SMUT, 18+ CONTENT, based off of Players Club, Nasty Talk, Professor!Student.

Part Two

The calming effects of the incense burning within his Acadian–style home in Baton Raq. Lauryn Hill playing from a vinyl record was enough to ease his mind after grading over thirty midterm papers. Terry shut his laptop and released a soft sigh. He reached up with his long fingers, taking off his glasses. The burning at the corners of his blue-grey eyes caused him to rub. He was exhausted and in need of a long vacation somewhere tropical after this semester ended.

He pushed away from his elegant, black oak wood desk to stand, stretching his long legs and flexing his quads. Terry wore a boxy–fit graphic T-shirt with a photo of Nina Simone printed on the front and thigh–hugging drawstring, black shorts. His feet covered in long, black Adidas socks led him towards the door to his home office. He would have stepped on the tail of his British Brown Shorthair cat if he hadn’t spotted him creeping between his legs as he walked.

“Orion, watch out…”

The cat slowly moved away, staring up at Terry with its golden eyes.

His stomach grumbled. Terry remembered that he’d had leftover red beans and rice. He walked into his spacious kitchen, opening a cabinet to grab a soup bowl and then he strolled over to his silverware drawer, grabbing a large spoon. Ex–Factor faded in the background while he scooped the last of the food into his bowl. He paused, snapping his fingers in remembrance of the honey butter cornbread he’d made to eat with it.

After warming his food, Terry didn’t bother sitting in his dining room. He leaned over the counter and tucked into his food, appreciative sounds between bites mixed with his spoon scraping the side of the bowl the only noise. His tongue slipped out to catch a few crumbs from his lips after scarfing down the last of his cornbread. Terry shook his head and rubbed his belly as he cleared his mess.

“Damn good,” He muttered while walking towards his sink.

He accepted the burn of his muscles from his morning workout while crouching down to grab some surface disinfectant from beneath his sink. That let him know he went hard in the gym. His tongue smoothed over his teeth to get rid of food while he used a Bounty paper towel to clean. His eyes flicked to the window in his kitchen when he’d heard loud voices passing by his home.

The Apple Watch on his wrist with a stainless steel band alerted Terry to a phone call. He headed back to his office and reached over his desk to grab it from the charger.

“Wassam Bitch!”

Terry released a boisterous, deep laugh. All his teeth showing.

“Cousin! You good?” Terry replied.

“Chillin’ fam. Just left Unc house…”

“He straight?”

“You know how he do. Was in the garden wit’ his woman picking tomatoes and shit. I had to break it to ‘em that he ain’t invited tonight. HE CAN’T COME!”

“Mike, don’t do Unc like that…he wanna be there to support his son.”

“No old heads, TJ. We discussed this. I don’t want him getting a heart attack seeing all that buku ass clapping.”

Terry snickered with his phone to his ear as he made his way into his living room. He wanted to break in his new furniture.

“Layla snoopin’ ‘round the house. She heard about the strippers…”

“Thought you said she was cool about it?”

“She is. But ya know…”

Terry made a face on the other end of the line. He knew how his cousin could get. Tonight is indeed about fun, but if Mike messed up, Layla wouldn’t take him back a second time. Out of all the men attending, Terry is the most levelheaded. Majority of the men in his family and Mike’s friends were a bunch of crazy motherfuckers. He already knows how tonight is gonna turn out.

“No fuckin’ up, Cousin.” Terry stated.

“Already, Marine.” Mike joked.

——

She did a slow two–step with a roll of her hips in a sinuous manner to the late, great Aaliyah – she was honored to share her name – and Tank.

Can I come over? (Can I)

Come over (Stop by)

Come over (To see you)

Come over (Tonight?)

Can I come over? (Can I)

Come over (Get with you?)

Come over (I just wanna)

Come over (Be with you, baby)

Can I come over? (Can I)

Come over (Stop by)

Come over (To see you)

Come over (Tonight?)

Can I come over? (Can I)

Come over (Get with you?)

Come over (Just wanna)

Yeah (Be with you, baby)…

Bonnet on her head, a tank top that’s way too cropped and showing off under–boob with skimpy hot pink boy shorts covered her curvy frame. Aaliyah had just finished making her bed, freshly laundered sheets feeling cozy beneath her hands as she spread out the wrinkles. The next song on her Slow Jamz playlist was Ciara–Promise. Aaliyah tapped the side of her mouth in thought while staring at the neatly stacked money on her side table. She didn’t feel like digging for her mini safe tucked in the back of her closet, but she needed to put the money somewhere safe.

She made almost three grand. Aaliyah really enjoyed herself a week ago at the Fire Station. She craved that attention and excitement. Doing content from home was great, but to show out in person? Oh��it stroked her so good. She was so damn ecstatic that she came home and rubbed one out with her fingers deep in her pussy. Making a man react the way he does to her literal being just ignited something in her.

Aaliyah placed the money in her safe and organized her closet. After that, she grabbed herself a bowl of green grapes and crawled into bed. She popped a grape into her mouth while watching re–runs of P–Valley on mute, eyes reading the subtitles. She already knew what was going on, just something to distract her. She rocked her body in bed to Donell Jones–This Luv, lip syncing and snapping her fingers.

She wondered what Professor Richmond was up to…

Aaliyah kissed her teeth at her lingering thoughts. This week was filled with tension. She walked into that classroom on Wednesday, hauling her school bag and a pep in her step. She dressed in skater jeans and a tight Ed Hardy T-shirt with a gray hoodie unzipped.

“Today class, we’ll discuss morality…”

He had a tiny sculpture of Aristotle in his hand, long, manicured fingers grasping it firm. Today, he wore a perfectly fitting, short sleeve, mock neck black shirt with charcoal grey slacks and black loafers. The glasses on his face reflected the light perfectly whenever he moved his head. It was something about his eyes today that just…drew Aaliyah in. They seemed brighter.

She propped her elbow on her desk and rested her chin in her hand. That foot started to bounce beneath her desk, and when his eyes met hers, she had to turn away to simmer down the butterflies. Something embarrassing happened in the middle of his lecture. She forgot to turn her ringer off, the lyrics to P*$$Y Fairy playing.

Don't be surprised, baby, it's just me (Just me)

Don't be surprised, boy, when I bust it wide

I hypnotize you with this pussy (Pussy)

Now you feel like you can fly—

“Sorry! Sorry…”

Aaliyah silenced her phone and with a sheepish smile she allowed her eyes to roam the class, catching on to a few snickers. She felt heat creeping over her honey skin. Aaliyah bashfully tucked hair behind her ear, and then her sultry gaze connected with Professor Richmond’s.

He had one brow quirked up and his eyes were unblinking and concentrated on her firm. He was the first to slowly pull his eyes away before clearing his throat to finish speaking. That look in his eyes…

After class, Aaliyah approached his desk to drop off an in class assignment. She left her hoodie at her desk. Terry was standing there, propping himself up against his desk with his fingertips. He allowed his eyes to scan her body. She paid attention to the way his piercing eyes fixated on the exposed skin of her midriff. A quick circular motion of his eyes on her breasts caused her to part her lips, the tip of her tongue between her teeth.

“Here?” Aaliyah pointed to the pile of untidy papers.

“Yes.” Terry replied with a slower tone.

She slipped it there, patting the top of it. Terry clenched his jaw, his eyes returning to his laptop.

“Have a good day…”

He couldn’t stop himself from standing at his full height. He exhaled a long breath, his eyes trapping her.

“Yes, Ma’am. You as well.”

Aaliyah gave him one final once over, her eyes doing a double take to the veins in his arms…

Damn…

She walked away, the silence in the lecture hall unnerving. Terry crossed his arms in front of him and rocked back and forth on his heels. He lowered his head and shook it from side to side with a smirk. Aaliyah made her way out of the room, itching to look back and wave, but instead she looked back and gave him one final word.

“Sorry about my ringtone…I know it was inappropriate…”

Terry licked his lips, “Don’t even remember the lyrics.”

They chuckled, Aaliyah finally leaving the class.

——

Stickin' to the code, all these hoes for the streets

I put it in her nose, it's gon' make her pussy leak

Pussy niggas told, ain't gon' wake up out they sleep

You can't hear that switch, but you can hear them niggas scream…

That imposing beat had the house jumping off. Like That lyrics bounced off the walls, hyping up the room full of men that came out to support Mike.

Got your girl in this bitch, she twirlin' on the dick (he was once a thug, he was, he -)

(He was once a thug, he was, he -)

I got syrup in this bitch, turn up in this bitch (he was once a thug, he was, he -)

And it's 'bout the 'Ercs in this bitch, get murked in this bitch (he was once a thug, he was, he -)…

Terry wore an oversized tank top in beige with the sides cut low, giving you a peek at the muscles in his biceps and obliques. He gave himself a fresh line up and moisturized his low curls. Straight fit, light wash jeans hugged his lower half and he wore a pair of crisp, All White’s. Terry bopped his head precisely to the heavy bass, green solo cup in his hand between his lips. The gold Cuban link hanging from his neck matched the gold Cuban chain on his left wrist and the gold band of his Apple Watch on his right wrist.

The front door opened, more handsome black men pouring in and greeting everyone. Terry saluted the ones he recognized and shook hands firmly with those he didn’t. Terry knew the lyrics to Kendrick’s verse word for word. When the ‘Big Three’ line came up, everyone chimed in. Smile on his face, Terry headed towards the kitchen to fill his cup and mingle with some family he hadn’t seen in a while. He couldn’t believe his little cousins were old enough now to attend functions like this.

“This nigga freaked out already!”

One of Terry’s little cousins, Malik, who just turned 21 sucked his teeth at everyone laughing. Terry did notice the way he kept checking the door for the strippers every time it opened.

“They ain’t here yet, nigga!”

Mike entered the kitchen with enthusiasm and shades on. Terry caught the smell of weed on him when he approached his side. Terry picked up his trucker hat to clear some space from the kitchen island for more liquor bottles. A big ass bottle of Hennessy caught Terry’s eye. He was currently sipping on jungle juice.

“Got that shit that turn you into a beast, TJ. Real King Kong shit!” Mike shouted over the loud music.

“I see you came through,” Terry held the neck of the Hennessy bottle firm, veins in his arms popping out.

“We about to see TJ in rare form tonight!”

Terry shook his head at the men surrounding him all agreeing. He refused to let it get to him. He wasn’t the same tall, lanky kid from Red Stick. Wasn’t the same teenager who got picked on in the schoolyard for being too quiet or too nerdy. He was a grown ass man with intellect and vocabulary beyond the slang words and a muscle strength so powerful he could take down an entire room full of wannabe gangstas. But, he didn’t wear that on his sleeve. He remained stoic with his strong and silent presence. Tonight, however, he’d let himself enjoy what was to come. He had his money ready. He just hoped they were deserving of it.

He was a hard man to impress.

“Make yourself a stronger drink, Cousin. We got all night….”

Terry was more of a bourbon guy. But there wasn’t any around and he refused to bring his good shit for everybody to help themselves to. He poured Hennessy into his cup and took a sip. It was cool.

He sauntered towards the spread of party food they had catered. The smells made his mouth water. He grabbed himself a plate and piled fried chicken, smoked turkey greens, gator bites, mac and cheese, and whatever else he could fit. Today was his cheat day.

Terry ate his food while standing, catching bits and pieces of conversation here and there. On one end of the room, a group of men, most likely Mike’s friends, were laughing at whatever was on one of their phones. Across from him in the kitchen, there’s a debate about which they’d prefer: no ass and big titties or a big ass and no titties. Terry snorted. Childish behavior.

Tha Biz-, the Bizness

Uh, I like a long-haired, thick redbone

Open up her legs, then filet mignon that pussy

I'ma get in and on that pussy

If she let me in, I'ma own that pussy…

Terry didn’t care much for the mac and cheese. Too dry and not enough flavor. Every thing else was delicious. He tossed his plate and excused himself to the bathroom. He climbed the stairs to the guest bathroom instead of the basement because he was informed that the basement was reserved for the ladies who plan to entertain them tonight.

He relieved himself and flushed before washing his hands. He checked himself in the mirror making sure he hadn’t stained his new shirt.

“Ladies Ladies Ladies!”

Terry could overhear the commotion downstairs.

“The basement is all yours…hey, Keisha, lookin’ good…nice to meet you…don’t worry, the groom ain’t here right now he went out back…”

That sounded like Mike’s best man and bestfriend, Cliff.

“Take your time ladies…don’t rush the process…we won’t complain TRUST ME…”

Terry left the bathroom and walked down the stairs at the same moment they closed the basement door behind them. His eyes that appeared blue–green in the dim light scanned the room, taking in the eager and impatient looks on the faces of men ready to throw cash.

“Fuck you mean they gotta get ready? Type of shit is this here?” One dude complained.

“They work at Crazy Horse, Bruda, you know how them dancers are.”

“Busted and dusted,” Another replied with a drunk cackle.

Terry held up the wall, cup in hand, tripping off of the conversation.

“Kiesha thick ass can get this anytime, anywhere…but that one that walked in last? Man…”

The man that spoke, short in height with a bald fade and teeth lined with gold caught Terry’s eyes and shook his head as he blew air out his cheeks. Terry smirked into his cup.

“She the truth. I wanna see what she do…”

“She one a ‘dem pretty natural ones…rare.”

That interested Terry. He paid closer attention.

“Probably taste like sugar.”

“Im’a put my tongue in it!”

Cliff cracked the door to the basement. He stuck his head between the opening and shouted down the steps. Terry could hear him communicating with one of the dancers. He shut the door quickly and motioned for his friend to pause the music.

“I’m a grab Mike. It’s about to go down.”

He did the Birdman hand rub as he rushed away to collect the groom. The room started to flood with the others, all too anxious to get a glimpse and participate in the fun. Terry pat his back pocket, feeling the folded stack of cash he’d brought. He had more tucked away in his wallet just in case. Mike entered the room cross–faded. He moved with unsteady legs and a bottle in hand, the contents almost spilling onto the carpet.

Terry grabbed the bottle and sat it down on a table.

“AIGHT! ITS ABOUT TO JUMP OFF YA’LL READY?!!!”

Someone activated the strobe lights and the room flooded with ultraviolet light. The melanin in the room looked a deep blue beneath the black lights. Terry knocked the rest of his drink back and sat his cup down next to the Hennessy bottle Mike was holding. From the corner of his eye, he could see someone carrying a chair out from the dining room. They forced Mike to sit, Terry laughing at his cousin’s goofy smile.

Ear Drummers

Strippers

Mike WiLL Made-It

Bands a make her dance

Bands a make her dance…

The door opened and Terry locked his eyes forward, cupping his mouth and howling along with the others.

——

Aaliyah couldn’t control her indecisive habits if she tried. She’d spent majority of her day into the early afternoon cleaning and now her room looked like a disaster. It was nearing eight and she still couldn’t decide what to wear! Keisha was gonna kill her ass…

Aaliyah flipped through her clear tote filled with old outfits from her stripper days. She was about to give up and settle for a neon green fishnet set until she spotted a bright pink holster top with matching bottoms. There were hot pink fishnets with the back cut out for her ass that she could pair with it. Oh! pink pasties over the nipples would spice it up real nice. Aaliyah remembered her seven inch stiletto heels with rhinestone fringes. Perfect. She quickly grabbed it and worked as fast as she could, glancing at her phone.

So far, Keisha hadn’t called her. Aaliyah slipped off her satin, black robe and flung it over the chair situated in front of her vanity. She already applied her body oil with the aroma of fresh peaches blended perfectly with a hint of the tropics creating this rich, sweet, sultry scent. Her favorite fairy dust body powder clung to her soft skin and glittered in the light like diamonds.

Aaliyah tied the last tight bow on her bottoms before sitting to slip on her heels. She decided to go with a light beat, not wanted to wear anything too heavy and end up sweating it all off. She tapped the screen of her phone and with twenty minutes left, she swooped her edges and sprayed oil sheen over her two, long braids. Her French tip fingers smoothed down as much frizz as she could to keep it neat.

Situated in front of her body length mirror, Aaliyah admired the final look. Lastly, she tugged on a white, bodycon dress with a sway of her hips.

Buzz Buzz…Buzz Buzz…

“Hello?”

“I’m outside. Diamond and Precious is in the back. You ready?”

“Yeah,” Aaliyah grabbed a pair of black, thong flip flops, “heading out now.”

She ended the call and with one final sweep of her room, she turned off the lights and headed straight for the door. Stanley cup in the crease of her arm, she locked her front door. Aaliyah angled her body, descending the stairs carefully. She didn’t want a repeat of what happened a year ago. She sprained her ankle so bad she couldn’t dance for two months.

Kiesha rolled the window down to her Hellcat, smoke billowing out. Aaliyah rolled her eyes. She did not want weed smell lingering on her. Keisha leaned over and opened the door since Aaliyah’s hands were full. She climbed in and shut the door, Keisha not waiting a moment longer before hitting the gas hard. Aaliyah looked over at Keisha with a mug on her face while her friend laughed.

She noticed that she was the only one ready. Aaliyah looked back at Diamond and Precious. Redbone Diamond had her bubble gum pink frontal pinned up while holding a Hello Kitty compact mirror as steady as she could, drawing on her thin eyebrows. She had on a matching camouflage, short set. Aaliyah recognized that set from Fashion Nova. Her eyes moved towards Precious. Precious was a tiny girl. Petite and spunky. She had a buz cut dyed blonde. She was wearing her outfit beneath a tube dress while puffing on a fat blunt. Her eyes squinted at Aaliyah before giving her a toothy grin filled with braces.

“How ya’ll been?” Aaliyah asked.

“Good!” Diamond replied.

“Straight! How ‘bout you?” Precious said.

“Been good. Dealing wit’ school. Good to see ya’ll. Ready for tonight?”

“Can’t wait!”

“Turnt!” Diamond shouted before snapping her mirror shut, “Pass that here…”

Aaliyah relaxed into her seat.

“Girl, you told me to be ready by eight. Why the fuck you ain’t dressed?”

Keisha reached back, accepting the blunt while one–hand whipping the car.

“Cliffy told me we could use the basement if we needed to. I brought all the goods just in case. The coochie spray for Diamond—”

“BITCH don’t get hurt!”

Aaliyah chuckled.

“You got your LED plug?” Keisha asked Aaliyah excitedly.

Aaliyah dragged her upper teeth over her bottom lip with a mischievous smile.

“Nasty bitch….lemme see it.”

Aaliyah leaned her body against the door so her meaty buns could face Keisha. She lifted her white bodycon dress over her cakes and with one hand, she spread one hefty cheek. There, buried in her ass, was the LED plug. It lit up like a pair of sketchers. Keisha giggled.

“Girrrrrlllllllllll I told Cliff about you…”

Aaliyah fixed herself and straightened up in her seat.

“Keisha, don’t set me up with no nigga. No more of that shit.” Aaliyah retorted.

“I didn’t set you up. He remembers you from Crazy Horse. When he used to show up on Tuesdays…”

“Keish, not that nigga…he ugly and his breath stank. You know exactly what to do to piss me off!”

Diamond and Precious cackled in the back seat.

“His dick big.” Keisha replied as if that would change Aaliyah’s mind.

“Bitch, big dick, little dick, a dick made out of the purest gold if phat ma don’t get wet and this heart don’t skip a beat I’m not finna give you my time. That shit is crazy…”

“You shake ass for an ugly nigga though.” Keisha argued back.

“THEY PAYIN’ ME! Girl…” Aaliyah kissed her teeth, fixing her lash extensions because the windows are rolled down, “How far out?”

“Ten minutes.”

They rode in silence the rest of the way while blasting a bounce mix. Keisha’s Hellcat slowed to a stop in front of a cute little house with a lengthy drive way. Kiesha parked on the grass and killed the ignition. She gave the blunt one final hit before tossing it out the window. The ladies exited the car and before the went inside, Keisha had an idea for them to take some pics and video before heading in. Aaliyah acted as photographer and videographer while Diamond, Precious and Keisha did their thing.

When they finished, Keisha begged Aaliyah to do a video. Aaliyah scoped out the area and yanked her dress off, darting to stand next to a white SUV parked haphazardly on the front lawn. Keisha moved her phone in different angles, Aaliyah staring back at her with a hand on the car and her ass moving like a tidal wave.

“Damn, mama…show out!”

Diamond and Precious clapped their hands in time to Aaliyah’s twerking.

“Cool it nah,” Aaliyah shooed them off before putting her dress back on, “You see that?”

The other ladies followed her gaze through the windows of the home. They all gawked at the amount of men throughout that house.

“Dayummmmm…we leaving chubby tonight. Money, money, money!” Diamond said.

This was Aaliyah’s vibe. Although she had a ball at the fire station, nothing compared to a room full of black men. She grinned beautifully and squealed. They grabbed their things and Aaliyah was last to trail behind because she forgot her thong flip flops. Keisha knocked on the door boldly and it opened two seconds later.

It was Cliff.

He hugged Keisha and kissed her cheek. Cliff did the same greeting for Diamond and Precious. However. He held his hand out for Aaliyah. Her sultry eyes flicked to Keisha then back at Cliff. She accepted his hand and he guided her inside softly, his eyes scanning her body.

“Liyah Alllure…mmm, mmm, mmm…”

“Hey you,” Aaliyah titled her head in greeting with a sweet smile.

“Still just as gorgeous…happy you could join us tonight.”

“Happy to be here…”

“Ladies Ladies Ladies!”

Some dude with a skinny frame and a gold grill greeted them. They all said hello, ignoring the men in the room eye–fucking them. Aaliyah could suffocate from their stares alone.

“The basement is all yours…hey, Keisha, lookin’ good…nice to meet you…don’t worry, the groom ain’t here right now he went out back…Take your time ladies…don’t rush the process…we won’t complain TRUST ME…”

Aaliyah remained close behind Precious as they disappeared into the basement. The door shut behind her with a soft click. They entered the finished basement and Aaliyah excused herself to the rest room. She’d been drinking water all day and needed to go before doing a bunch of dancing. Keisha got dressed while Precious and Diamond helped each other out on jewelry. Aaliyah exited the bathroom in just her pink, outfit with rhinestones to match her heels.

“How we goin’ in? One by one or?” Diamond questioned.

She was dressed in neon green. A full body fishnet outfit with black stilettos. Aaliyah was happy she decided on the ensemble she had on.

“One by one. I’m supposed to give the lap dance. After that, ya’ll come out. Simple.” Keisha said.

The intro to Bandz A Make Her Dance started playing.

“That’s me!” Keisha stood up. She was wearing a white cowgirl hat with a fringe bikini set to match and white stilettos. She reminded Aaliyah of Megan The Stallion with her blue hair cascading down her back.

Keisha climbed the stairs and when the door opened, howling and yelling pierced her ears. The other three ladies shared a look with each other and laughed.

“I’m a need some liquor.” Aaliyah said.

——

Terry’s bottom lip sat between his teeth to contain his laughter.

When the first girl entered, going by the name of Keisha, he loved her vibrant personality and spit fire attitude. Keisha had the men in that room foaming at the mouth. She sashayed over to Mike with that brazen attitude and revealing body. Ain’t no way in hell she could fit that white bikini set and that was the point. Terry’s brows rose in surprise at Keisha straddling Mike. Her bountiful curves almost swallowed him while he was in that chair. Big ol’ ass and fat titties. That country thick you got lost in.

Terry grunted when she turned and made that big, fucking ass clap in Mike’s face. His thick brows knitted together and he shared a look with a friend before chuckling. Mike didn’t know what do to. He kept his hands to his sides, grasping the back legs of the chair he was stuck in.

“All that ass, Mike!”

“You better get it in while you can!”

“Suffocate that nigga, Keisha!”

“You good down there groom?” Keisha teased.

Money flew in the air when she plucked her top off. When them titties dropped, Terry’s large hand stuffed into his back pocket. He didn’t make it rain yet, he was waiting for Keisha to do something special. The body was crazy, but where’s the tricks?

“Throw that shit, TJ.” His friend nudged him with his elbow.

Terry ignored him.

Keisha stood up and went down to the floor in front of Mike in a split. She made those twin globes dribble and that was good enough to earn some of his cash. Terry leaned over the back of Mike’s chair and flicked two Benjamin’s on her. He watched it connect with that ass before falling to the floor. Keisha arched forward and spread her cheeks before going into a head stand.

She shook her legs and clicked her heels before dropping into another split.

“THERE YOU GO!”

“Baby going stupid…”

“Buku ass…”

Terry remained close. Keisha’s eyes locked onto him and it was enough to bring her to her feet. Terry held her steady gaze, a smirk teasing his thick lips.

“You a pretty nigga, ain’t you?” Keisha walked up on him with her hands on her hips, “What’s your name?!”

“TJ.” Terry replied.

Keisha pushed her breasts up with her fists in his face.

“Like what you see with those green eyes. A pretty boi like you ain’t used to a woman like me, huh?”

Terry’s tongue grazed his bottom lip and he locked on to the dizzying motion of her fat tits. Bringing his eyes back on her, he displayed a bill and sat it in the crease. Keisha leaned forward and grabbed the money with her teeth.

“Keep impressin’ me and there’s more for you…”

Keisha had to blink out of a trance. Terry had this unspoken power that rendered her speechless. To top it all off, that deep baritone shot straight to her clit.

“Come get this money, baby!”

Keisha pulled herself away from Terry, but not before dragging a hand down his chest. The look in her hazel eyes told him she wanted to do more than give him a lap dance.

She wanted to spin on that dick.

The door pushed open and the next girl to enter had pink hair. She was a cutie.

“I’m Diamond…”

When she turned, Terry looked away.

A BBL. A bad one at that.

He folded his money back up and made his way to where he stood earlier. The other men in the room were probably so used to seeing it that it didn’t even phase them. Terry watched Diamond do her thing. She hit the splits, shook that ass as best she could, but it was boring. Terry filled his cup and just vibed, laughing at the way some of the men in the room went bonkers over her. Even Mike was stuck. Mouth wide and eyes equally wide.

Next came a tiny girl that showed off acrobatic skills and flexibility. Terry had his money out again and he made it rain on her. She made that little booty shake. Keisha was making her way around, grinding and talking shit. Diamond allowed some of the men to grab ass. The three women scoped out Terry and winked at him. He played nice with Diamond and slipped her a crisp bill. With the tiny one named Precious, he tipped more.

“Where’s Liyah?!”

Cliff scanned the room. Another girl?

“There’s more?! Ahhh shit…”

——

Aaliyah watched from the bottom of the stairs as Precious made her entrance. She wrung her hands and exhaled a sigh. She didn’t know what to expect past those doors. Aaliyah applied more gloss and with a shaky hand, she grasped the railing and climbed. They kept the light off to avoid being spotted right away. Aaliyah stared through the crack of the door at Precious working the room.

So many…so many men.

The floor was covered with money.

She allowed her eyes to scan, taking everything in. As her eyes swept past the groom in his chair, she couldn’t see the entire room because of the door, but the sound of Cliff’s voice let her know it was time.

“Where’s Liyah?!”

“Put on her old intro!”

That was Keisha’s voice.

Aaliyah felt her nerves settle. The blacklights and the song reminded her of Crazy Horse. This was her walk out song….

Waka Flocka Ft. Roscoe Dash–No Handz Instrumental.

With one hand Aaliyah pushed open that door and stepped one shaky leg out past the darkness. The ultraviolet light caused her skin to twinkle and the blue hue made the pink she wore pop. She fully came into view, her tongue curled up over her top teeth to tease and those ‘come fuck me eyes’ staring into the faces of horny men with the money she wanted.

She allowed her body to rock to the beat. Aaliyah turned her back on everyone, brought her hands up, and gave them a thunderous applause with that beautiful ass before arching her back. She twerked those honey buns and looked back at it before a lusty smile appeared on her lips. Both hands twirled her braids while she rocked those hips.

Back. Forth. Back. Forth.

Bounce, Bounce, Bounce

*clap clap clap*

Nobody wasted time throwing money. She could work that entire room on her own. Aaliyah got down on her hands and knees, crawling like a jungle cat before turning to show off that LED plug while twerking.

“You see that shit?!”

“Hot damn!”

“Fuck, she’s nice.”

“C’mere pretty lady…”

“Freaky girl!”

That song…she owned it.

She staked her claim on it.

She spread those legs on her back and gyrated, thighs separated and the barely there crotch of her pink bikini covering her meaty pussy lips. She rubbed the money that rained down on her into her pussy and around her breasts. They…were…obsessed.

The way she looked at you, it made you feel like the only man in the world worthy of her attention.

How nasty she talked…

“I better see some thick bulges tonight, boys…”

On her feet, Aaliyah strutted dangerously slow, further into the crowd of men. As her eyes swept, she came across a pair of blue eyes that reminded her of a bottle of Hypnotiq beneath the blacklights. Too familiar…

Holy FUCKING shit…

She tried to mask her surprise but his was so boldly present.

The Professor.

His jaw dropped, eyes widening in disbelief as if a sudden jolt of electricity had coursed through his veins leaving him momentarily stunned. To others, it could seem as if Terry was so overwhelmed with how motherfucking fine Aaliyah is that he couldn’t even function. She knew the real reason. She simmered down her astonishment as best as she could and turning away, focusing on a cute guy with thick locs to his shoulders.

Her heart raced. Panic consumed her.

She had no time to panic.

“Prettiest thang in Louisiana…”

Aaliyah cupped her breasts covered in nipple tape and licked her lips. She could feel Terry’s gaze burning a hole into the side of her face. She was nervous. Oh so nervous. Her smile didn’t reach her eyes. Everybody was too drunk or too hype to take notice.

all except Professor Richmond. He could see right through her.

What the fuck was he doing here of all places?!

She blended in with her girls and tried her best to shield herself from Terry’s view.

That intensity in his eyes this time around left her shaken up.

Aaliyah pushed herself to perform. The space was too cramped. They scattered to watch her hit a clean split and when she glanced over her shoulder, Terry was right there. Like he appeared out of thin air.

He was standing above her. Towering over her. She had no choice but to look up.

Aaliyah couldn’t hide. She couldn’t if she tried.

“Back up, TJ. I’m tryna see all that…”

He was shoved to the side and Aaliyah felt the rain of money on her while she avoided Terry’s hard eyes zeroed in on her ass. He was so stuck.

Her breath hitched at the way he looked at her. Like he wanted to ravage her.

Her eyes glided down his frame and she loved the way he dressed. He looked delectable.

“Arch that back, bitch…”

“Yeahhhh…”

Aaliyah grabbed her ankles and made each cheek dance on its own. The heavy bass and quick melody of the bounce song compelled her to shake some ass.

The sound of her pulse in her ears drowned out the music. She locked eyes with him again and for once she grew timid. His eyes drank her in and when she lifted one leg up to pop that ass he chewed on that lip and tilted his head to see how that pussy looked from that angle.

You like what you see, huh?

“You got skills baby…Think you can show me more?”

Terry cut his eyes at the men circling Aaliyah.

Things were turning up like a raging storm.

“Pull that pussy part…”

They wanted to see her pussy. Aaliyah giggled and trailed a finger between her legs before rubbing it against one of their noses. They enjoyed that way too much. He tried to suck on that finger but Terry yoked him up by the wrist. The dread head looked at Terry like he was asking for a death wish.

“We don’t touch unless they say so…remember the rules.”

“Let go, nigga. I don’t need you tellin’ me what the fuck to do…”

“Woah, woah, woah…”

Aaliyah used that opportunity to disappear. A prickling sensation shot up her spine. She slipped down into the basement and hid herself within the darkness.

She needed a second.

“Get it together, Liyah…”

Aaliyah picked up a shorty bottle of Paul Masson Peach and took a long swig. She recapped the drink and scrunched her face from the burn. Aaliyah shook out her hands to stop them from trembling. How was she going to show her face in class on Wednesday?

All she would be able to think about was the shock on his face. There was no turning back. Aaliyah drank some more. She needed the liquor to get her through the rest of the night. The door to the basement opened and Keisha appeared. She had a look of concern on her face.

“Li–Li. You okay?”

“I’m fine, Keisha. Go back up. I was just feeling a little queasy that’s all.”

“Some shit was about to pop off. Did they touch you without your consent?”

“It’s cool. I’ll be up…”

“Don’t lie to me Li–Li…”

Aaliyah gave Keisha a reassuring smile.

“No reason to lie, mamas. I’m feeling better,” Aaliyah pushed herself up, “C’mon…”

——

Frozen.

When that door pushed open and she crept out like a sex goddess, he almost spilled his cognac.

Aaliyah?

The small hairs across his arms stood on end. Desire rushed in the moment the initial shock faded.

*clap clap clap*

Gahdamn…

He knew it. He fucking knew it.

That body outta be in a museum. This fine ass woman held a confidence so powerful he could bend at her will.

Terry Richmond sucked in a breath when her eyes connected with his.

He saw the power drain from her like Superman to Kryptonite. Terry’s chest grew tight. She drew in closer, his mouth unhinged. The glitter on her skin and the smell of her sweet fragrance made the big boy between his legs react.

Down boy…

He fought the urge to palm his bulge because it was growing out of his control. He didn’t know where to look first. Those titties sat up round and perfect. That ass was so fat he wanted to sink his teeth in it. Leave his imprint on that thick fucking shit. His eyes still lit up like Miracle on 34th Street from the glow emitting from that asshole.

Freak nasty.

He was speechless. His star pupil is a Stripper.

The biggest plot twist.

Terry wanted her even more. He wanted to tell her that it was going to be okay and she didn’t need to feel embarrassed or afraid. He could sense she was trying to avoid him as she moved around the room.

Terry needed her to know that he liked what he saw.

They weren’t in his classroom. It was okay to free her inhibitions and show him what Liyah Allure is all about. He found her popping ass and talking shit.

“Tip me, daddy…”

“You want it?”

“Don’t just stare at me. Spoil me…”

Honeyed voice as smooth as silk. Terry drew in closer and allowed himself to be consumed by her.

The glitter on her skin looked edible and if he could lick every single fleck off with his tongue he would.

The dip in her spine leading down to a full ass with hips and thighs to match told him she could take it deep and it would be a warm, tight, wet paradise.

He did say he wanted to escape somewhere tropical…

Those two braids would be anchored around his hands while he drilled deep with every goddamn stroke of his fat dick.

Unh…Unh…Unh…

Make her weep on his dick.

Professor…Professor…Don’t stop…

There she was.

Those eyes focused on him again and he saw the hint of shyness.

“I wanna pull that pussy part…”

Something primal and predatory sparked within him. Aaliyah stroked her lower lips with a single finger and shoved that finger against Darrell’s nose.

Darrell tried to take it too far.

Terry was quicker.

He wrapped his large hand around Darrell’s wrist with a vice grip similar to a boa constrictor. He would knock the daylights outta Darrell and leave him slumped over if he so much as put that finger in his mouth.

Darrell was stunned by Terry’s strength and the fact that he couldn’t break free. Weak ass nigga…

She disappeared.

Mike came over to settle down the growing altercation and with a pat on Terry’s back, he walked away in search of Aaliyah. She was nowhere in sight.

Terry waited for about ten minutes and then she resurfaced from the basement with Keisha. She probably needed a moment to gather her thoughts and energy. His presence stumped her.

Aaliyah scanned the room until she found Terry.

She got down on her hands and knees and popped ass in a split. Nobody else in that room mattered. She locked in on him from across the room. Terry sipped his drink and watched her.

“Who wants a private show?!”

Keisha pointed at Terry.

He gave a quick nod of his head. Keisha was about to be let down. He ain’t want nobody but Aaliyah. She was getting the rest of his money tonight. She deserves it and so much more. And when Terry gets his hands on her…

“I’ll take one. But I want her.”

Aaliyah saw the cash in his hand and smiled.

“Only if she ain’t scared.”

Aaliyah couldn’t believe he just said that.

“I get the impression she likes to tease…”

Aaliyah walked up to Terry with a seductive look in her eyes. He held onto her gaze with his money on display.

“Your call, beautiful.”

Aaliyah stared at him for another moment before taking him by the hand and down into the basement.

——

Terry allowed her to guide him. They headed towards the sofas, silence hanging between them. Aaliyah turned fully to face him before Terry took a seat. Without taking his eyes off of her, he placed his cup on the table and settled back into the cushion. Terry spread his thighs and with one hand over the top of the couch, the other smoothed down his left thigh invitingly. Aaliyah dropped her eyes to his lap and with a faint smile, she took a seat where his hand once was.

Aaliyah watched him spread his money out across his other thigh. She parted her glossy lips a fraction, eyeing nothing but one hundred dollar bills. Her eyes lit up. Terry looked up at her with low, lust filled eyes and a sly smirk. He removed his glasses with one hand and folded it against his chest before sitting it on the table, all while staring at her.

She looked at him.

He looked at her.

“…I don’t know what to say…”

Aaliyah’s eyelashes fluttered as she blinked away from him. Terry used his thumb to gently pull her attention back towards him.

“I should be embarrassed right now…”

Terry was trying to keep his composure but her breasts in his face was melting his cool exterior.

“Aaliyah…I don’t want you to feel embarrassed. I’m not judging you…”

She giggled nervously, “maybe not…but this was so unexpected, ya know?”

“Very. How long have you been doing this?”

Aaliyah stared heavenward shyly while deep in thought. He liked seeing her like this. It was another side to her he enjoyed.

“Well…this in particular…it’s my second time. Stripping…I did it for about five years before I quit Crazy Horse a year ago…now I just film content and work Verizon part time.”

Her eyes connected with his again.

“So…what do ya want me to do? A lap dance? What?”

Terry trailed his eyes down her body.

“Do whatever makes you feel comfortable…”

Terry’s hand molded into her back. Aaliyah shivered. The feeling of his hand on her skin was exhilarating.

She stood, facing Terry. He placed his money beside him, and his hands out of the way. Aaliyah straddled him, bracing herself on his shoulders. She looked down at him with a slow blink and the erotic smile she gave him forced his hands into fists.

“Have you ever had a lap dance before, Professor?”

“…Call me Terrence.”

“…Terrence…”

“Once. It wasn’t memorable.” Terry responded with a hushed tone.

He reclined his head back slightly and stared up into her eyes with practiced restraint.

Aaliyah gave him a mean whine over his crotch. Her chest would graze his goatee ever so slightly. He had to stop his tongue from poking out to drag between those titties.

“Ooh, that’s too bad…is this okay?”

That melodic voice…

“You’re doin’ just fine, Miss Aaliyah.”

Terry flexed his fingers. Aaliyah looked down at his hands.

“Can I admit something?” Aaliyah asked with a sultry smile.

“What’s that?”

Aaliyah tucked her chin and giggled softly. She blinked away briefly before her eyes met his again.

“What?” Terry pushed.

“I think about you every day…”

“Enough to stick around after class?”

Aaliyah’s bottom lip sat between her teeth. Terry smiled.

“Why did you turn me down?” He questioned.

Aaliyah dragged her hands down his chest and stilled her hips. Terrence rested his hands on the sides of her thighs. He couldn’t resist. Aaliyah didn’t protest.

The feel of her against his hands. The heft of her on him. The images he pictured in his mind…

“I’m not an easy girl, Terrence. You gotta work harder for me. I wanted you to…”

“Chase you.” Terry concluded with an elevated brow.

“May seem silly but…it turns me on.”

“I wonder what else turns you on…”

“That brain of yours,” Aaliyah trailed her fingers through his short, soft curls, “Your passion…expressive hands…your voice…those eyes…”

Terry licked his lips, “I would have chased you and went along with your lil’ game. If that means I get to play with you in the end…”

His eyes dropped to her lips.

“You do this…tongue bite thing…I like that…” Terry said.

“What else you like?” Aaliyah asked softly, doing exactly what Terry liked. Displaying the tip of her tongue between her teeth. Moving it back and forth…

“Everything about you…you’re so damn sexy…the way you look at me just…Aaliyah, you’re aware of your beauty. That confidence lights a fire under me, baby…”

“I’m baby?”

“Mhm, the prettiest baby…”

Aaliyah played with his Cuban link. Terry’s right thumb stroked the beauty mark below her lip.

Terry groped her thigh with his free hand and glided it up to her waist. He used his thumb to trace circles into her soft skin.

“I don’t like how you put your finger on Darrell’s nose.”

“You wish it were you? Darrell didn’t get a lap dance…”

Aaliyah lifted from his lap and turned so that she was grinding against his tent with enough pressure to rub her pussy over it. The hard bulge against her fat, lower lips caused her to moan.

Terry threw money over her, his ears enjoying the way her moans sounded so angelic despite her naughty actions.

After all, she is The Dark Angel.

“Aaliyah…”

That signature look back would have had him busting a fat ass nut in his jeans.

The way she moved her hips on him.

“I want you so fuckin’ bad…”

“I know.”

She smiled.

Aaliyah stood from his lap and Terry groaned deep.

“Times up.”

He glared at her with lust and frustration. Aaliyah leaned over him with her hands on the back of the couch. Their eyes connected and her glossy lips feathered over his.

“Until next time…I think I’m free for that lunch on Wednesday…”

She brought her lips to his cheek and with her jeweled tongue, Aaliyah dragged it over his ear tantalizingly slow. She pushed away from him and Terry stood from the couch. He fixed his attire while Aaliyah stared up at him with faux innocence and her hands crossed behind her back. She swayed back and forth, parting her lips to rest her tongue in the corner of her mouth.

“It’s a date.”

@theereina @bombshellbre95 @planetblaque @trippyscotch @megamindsecretlair @uzumaki-rebellion @thesweetestdrug @theblulife @hotgrlcece @blackerthings @deja-r @helloncrocs @hearteyes-for-killmonger @kaylabuggggg06 @skyesthebomb @blyffe @gwenda-fav @beenathembo @blackpinup22 @novaniskye @melaninhawtie @urfavblackbimbo @avoidthings @rose-bliss @xo-goldengirl @kinginwithbreezy-blog @mysecertdiaryofableedingheart @sirenmouths @creartivefairy @soulfulbeauty19 @therealmrsrhodes @hrlzy @nayaesworld @gg-trini @brattyfics @flydotty @writingsbytee @shiania @browngirldominion @notapradagurl7 @madamzola @kismet83 @aristasworld @sl33p-deprived-princess @erynnnn @itssbrie @melaninangel @withoutmusiclifewouldbflat @sweettea-and-honeybutter

#aaron pierre x black!oc #aaron pierre #rebel ridge #nahimjustfeelingit-writes

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bunny-jpeg · 8 months ago

Note

hello bunny! Can I please request cinnamon rolls with a side of coffee for Oscar? Tyyyy <3

bakery menu

want to submit your own order? then hit up the menu! i have been working hard on these orders to serve up smiles for my readers! so thank you for submitting this order! i love the combo you chose, especially with oscar and the rivals au! so thank you, thank you!

cinnamon rolls ("no one needs to know") + coffee (rivals au) served by oscar piastri (formula one)!

cw: smut/pwp, rivals au, secret relationship, living room sex, marriage, pull-out method (be safe)!,

it started with you visiting oscar in england. you thought he was stupid to live in rainy england, instead of sunny monaco. but, regardless, during off time, you went to visit him.

sometimes you brought lando along, and the three of you hung out together. but for the summer break in the 2024 season, you went alone. more than happy to visit your colleague? friend? the closest thing to call oscar would probably be rival. and lover.

you had been visiting for a day so far, and already you were barely wearing any clothes. or when you did, it was mostly oscar's clothes, the boxy t-shirts and boxer briefs felt good as you scampered around the large house he owned.

you had shared a meal when you landed and then breakfast in the morning. he made you eggs and even went as far as to get the brand of turkey bacon that you enjoyed more than regular bacon. and yet, you still stole some of the pork bacon off of his plate.

it was domestic, if anyone peered in with no context to your relationship, you'd look like an everyday couple. that was until you started playing switch.

"i swear to god pizza-pie, i'm going to throw your switch controller out the window if you don't get out of my way!!" you chirped as you tried to shove him on the couch.

"yeah, yeah, whatever, cupcake." he snipped back.

they were nicknames you called each other. you started calling him 'pizza-pie' after you misheard his last name upon your first meeting. it spiraled into a nickname for you.

you two shoved into one another as you said, "i swear to god, oscar. you get out of my way. this is going to end as it does on the track." you two were playing mario kart and currently you were lagging behind oscar.

he laughed at your words as he tried to get an arm around you to pull you to him, effectively trapping you against him. making you more prone to losing the race.

you were racing for mercedes and oscar was with mclaren, on the track you two battled it out. and in the media pen, the narrative of your rivalry was often spun. one of the top racers was going toe-to-toe with the first woman in decades.

you tried to bite his strong forearm as he held you, "you son of a bitch! goddamnit!" you swore which only made the man howl in laughter as he got first place.

he pulled away from you then kissed you when you came in second. fuckin' oscar and his bananas! you leaned into the kiss but you reached over and shoved him (with love, of course).

he put the controller down on the coffee table and he took yours to do the same before he crowded in your space once more and held you by the jaw.

"beautiful." he said, "you look good all flustered." then added a cheeky, "below me."

you made a face at him, "you are a pain in my side, pizza-pie." then he pulled you in for a sweet kiss. you wrapped your arms around his shoulders as he melted a little into the kiss.

"but you love me, don't you? my cupcake?" he chuckled as he felt close to you.

"i do, sadly." you joked before you were pulled into another sweet kiss. you held onto his shoulders and leaned into the kiss.

you ended up on the floor, on top of the rug. oscar slowly undressed you both with his eyes and hands. his strong hands on your body made you feel a rush of lust through your body.

you helped him get undressed, then it was followed by a bunch of kisses along your neck. you ran your fingers through his soft hair as he held you by the waist.

"pretty girl." he chuckled, "so pretty."

you squirmed a little, "you're not going to butter me up that easily." then reached out for his forearms when he grabbed you by the hips. he rubbed his achy tip up against your slit and you felt the air leave your lungs for a moment in anticipation.

"i know you love me." he said as he continued to rub up against you, "you can't deny it." he beamed, "you've told me you love me. can't take it back now, babe." he chuckled before he took a deep breath and sank his cock into you.

you tensed up for a moment and held onto the carpet under you, your back arched a little as you felt his length inside of you. you let out a sweet moan, if you were anywhere else it would be hard to keep quiet.

maybe it's for the best that you were all the way in england with him, but as the rain pattered against the window nearby. you second guessed that thought. you'd rather make love to your rival under the bright sun, not the heaviness of storm clouds.

"you're right." you sighed, "damn you, pizza-pie."

he laughed, "oh don't worry, cupcake." he went in for another kiss as he started to find his rhythm of his hips up against you. his cock was a bit of a stretch inside of you, but not enough to bruise your insides.

you held onto the rug tightly as he moved against you, you tried to meet his pace as he kissed you. his lips wet against your heated skin. you whined, "shit, oscar." you kicked your legs out a little as he moved.

"what would the rest of the grid think?" he asked.

you responded with, "i honestly don't care. but i am going to win this year, i'm going to beat, beat max, all of it. it's all coming home with me." you hissed a little as his thrusts got faster.

the heat climb to his face as he held onto your hips. he angled himself in a way to get the best angle as he rocked against you perfectly. he felt a shudder through his body as he felt his heart thump in his chest, your cunt was perfect for him.

he yearned for you when you were both on the track, he'd gaze would often linger before he got into the car. if there was anyone he was going to do tire to tire with, it would be you.

his greatest rival, his greatest love.

the two of you moved together. fit together like perfect pieces. who would've thought that you'd find love in your rival but as you met his gaze made you melt a little.

"oscar."

"i've got you." he said softly.

he was perfect, it left you feeling warm against him. the two of you found a pace and the pleasure washed over you. the kisses were wet and you felt his spit down your chin.

"mine."

"exactly." it rolled off his tongue with such ease.

you clutched onto the carpet under you and arched your back a little as the pleasure washed over you. you tensed up and let out a sweet moan that was music to oscar's ears. he could feel his heart racing in his chest. you gasped out his name as you felt yourself get over the edge. it hit you all at once.

"fuck. oscar." you panted

he slowed down as he felt himself get close then he pulled out and jerked himself off all over your stomach. he loved the sight of his cum all over your skin. he panted heavily and hunched over you as he finished.

he rested back on his heels and panted heavily. his softening cock in his hand. he wiped his forehead free of sweat with his free hand and gazed down at you lovingly.

you laid out on the rug under your back and linked your hands behind your head. you panted heavily, you caught sight of his lingering gaze on your chest. you smirked a little, "want to see who'll come out on top, or will you like to figure that out in bed?"

oscar nodded and replied, "i think you'll kill me if i try to beat you in mario kart." he patted your cheek and grinned, "so why don't we figure it out with you on your back then?"

the rivalry between you and oscar fizzled out by the end of the season. mostly due to photos of you two leaving a restaurant together and him kissing you in the car.

it was a little harder now and days since there are two piastri's on the track. you were still with your teams, orange and black. but when you both got podium it was an affair. you still stood a little taller when the national anthem of your country played, and you beamed at your husband in second.

he still kicked you ass in mario kart, but you still went wheel-to-wheel on the track. you may be married now, but you weren't going to back down to your husband.

even now as he had his arm wrapped around you in the living room of the shared home you had in monaco. much better than dreary england. "i'm going to kill you, piastri!"

"hey, hey. all's fair in mario kart, mrs. piastri!" <3

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explicit-tae · 2 months ago

Text

Ungodly Hour (Jimin)

It's your turn to make Jimin your "bitch" during Taehyung's 'Hallow-tine's Day' party.

Word Count: 6.435

Warning: smut, slight sub jimin, oral sex, dom reader, unprotected sex, face riding, alcohol intake, dirty talking, face-riding, oral sex (f/m), edging, face slapping, nipple sucking, begging, praise kink, handjob,

Valentine's Day Masterlist | Part One

“How long have you been working here?”

You inhale through your nose as your eyes catch onto Park Jimin, along with Jungkook, Hoseok, Namjoon and Taehyung. All of them - of course, besides Jimin - offer you kind smiles and Taehyung even a short wave.

“What can I get you?” you sigh out. It was going to be a long shift - and you’ve only been here an hour.

“Did Jimin invite you to the Hallow-tine’s day party?” Taehyung asks, turning to the man who is seated beside him.

“Why would I do that?” Jimin scoffs, his eyes down at the menu to scan the various amounts of meat.

“I’ll take that as a no. You should definitely come.” Taehyung says, a boxy-like smile flashing your way with a set of white teeth.

You lick your lips, tilting your head a bit at Taehyung. They were the last people you’d expect to see right around now outside of school. Especially since this was your job you were working at and you were also involved with one of them - in a way - who you wanted nothing more than to respond snarkily.

“I…a Hallow-tine’s day party…?” you question with a shrug. “Can I get you all any drinks?”

“I’ll take a sprite-” Hoseok begins.

“It’s like a Halloween party.” Taehyung continues, uncaring. All he did want was for you to attend this party, silently pining for you and Jimin to continue this…relationship of sorts? It isn’t developed as of yet, but soon he has high hopes. “But on Valentine’s day, of course. So come in a costume!” he smiles, blinking your way as if a “Hallow-tine’s” party makes sense.

You couldn’t help but crack a smile at Taehyung.

“Costume winner get’s $1000.” Jungkook pipes up, averting his eyes upwards to look at you now. “I’ll take a water.”

“A water?” Jimin scoffs, knitting his brows. “Am I the only one drinking?”

Jimin turns his eyes to you, his mind flashing with memories of the past weekend he shared with you - the same ones that began in the classroom and ended with you and him entangled together the entire weekend afterwards. The same memories are plagued with you and him walking the halls of the University as if it never happened, back into the classroom bickering with one another. That was back in October and nearly 4 months ago.

“Whiskey.” Jimin says. “The whole bottle.”

“Are you serious?” Jungkook snickers.

“You have a baby and act like you’ve never downed a whole bottle of whiskey in this very restaurant.” Jimin retorts, leaning against the booth with a raised eyebrow.

“Those days are behind me, Jiminie.” Jungkook shrugs his shoulders. It wasn’t entirely true. He wasn’t opposed to drinking, but he still had to go home and help his girlfriend after this. “I’m a father.”

Jimin gags.

“Soo…?” Taehyung wiggles his eyebrows at you. “It’s a Halloween party as you know. Just set on Valentine’s day. Come in a costume. Everything will be provided. Drinks…food…”

“Is there a reason why you want me to come?” you place the tablet onto their table and place a hand onto your hip. “Also, why is the halloween party so…late?”

“Why not?” Taehyung questions. “We’re all friends here, aren’t we? We want you there.”

“Speak for yourself.” Jimin mumbles to himself.

You bite your lip to refrain from responding to Jimin, who appears as if he wants you to. A smirk is forming onto his lips as he witnesses your restraining appearance.

“I couldn’t attend. I was focused on preparing for my daughter.” Jungkook explains to you instead, a twinkle in his eyes that causes you to smile a bit at how cute he looked - and excited that he was now a father. “So Tae being dramatic,” Jungkook rolls his eyes. “decided to have it in February.”

“You can go a few hours without flirting with her.” Taehyung rolls his eyes towards Jimin. “And I wanted all my friends there. Bring the baby-”

“Fuck no.” Jungkook scoffs. “My mom is taking her for the weekend. I’m not sure how I feel about being without her.” Jungkook sighs and there goes your heart. You ponder how Jimin could be friends with someone as sweet as Jungkook. Maybe he was forcing it, you think.

“But seriously, Y/N. You should come. It’s a slutty event-" Taehyung begins.

“You know a lot about slutty, Y/N.” Jimin nods his head.

“Not now.” Hoseok hisses low, turning his eyes to Jimin.

“I do know.” you laugh a bit, body flushing with heat. You cannot act ashamed by what you do - not now or ever. “Maybe I can add a slutty costume to my wishlist and you’ll buy it for me. That’s what you usually tend to do with anything else.”

In the end, it’s you who has the last laugh; one that has his friends joining along with your comment.

“Whisky, sprite, water…” you nod your head, picking up the tablet to put their drink orders through. “Anything else I can get you all to drink?”

Your and Jimin’s banter didn’t stop there as the entire time they were there he was retorting back to you. But, you wouldn’t say it bothered you much. It was quite fun in a usually boring shift.

You had agreed to come to Taehyung’s Hallow-tine’s party, one he explained was usually planned by Jungkook, but instead opting to not. Now that, as Jungkook put it, was a father, he had prepared his home for a baby and not parties.

“That doesn't mean the parties are going to stop.” Taehyung had said piped in immediately after.

“How long have you been working here?” Jimin asks, downing a shot. It was five minutes until closed and he was the only one here. You ponder how one man can still drink and not appear utterly wasted.

“A year.” you respond, spraying down the table he occupies. “I don’t only fuck myself on onlyfans for a living.”

Jimin rolls his eyes. “Don’t get your panties in a bunch, Y/N. I just never saw you here.” he says, licking his lips. “We come here often.”

“Picked up more hours recently.” you admit.

“Onlyfans going dry?” Jimin jokes.

It’s your turn to roll your eyes. You won’t take his joke seriously as this was Jimin. But, he was correct in a way. You never solely depended on it to pay you expenses and always had a job lined up.

“It’ll never be dry as long as you’re subscribed.”

Jimin snickers at how quick you were with responding to him. He scoots out of the booth and stands, stretching a bit.

“What are you wearing?” Jimin asks. “To the party?”

You shrug. “Haven’t really been to a Halloween party before. Especially a Hallowtine’s. It’s a slutty event.” you say, trying your best to imitate Taehyung’s deep voice. “So I’ll make sure to have my ass out.”

Jimin clicks his tongue.

“We should go together.”

You’re silent for a moment, hearing other servers around you clean their tables just as you were doing. Closing shouldn’t be hard tonight as it was a slow evening.

“Together?” you cross your arms. “Is this the part where you confess your undying love for me?”

“Y/N,” Jimin shakes his head. “I hate you.” he deadpans. “But…we agreed that it’s your turn.”

You know what Jimin is insinuating. Four months ago, it was Jimin who had the upper dominance. You were “his bitch”. This time, it was your turn. Should it have taken this long? Probably not. But, you were a busy person and so was Jimin. You weren’t going to be the one to go to him first - as stubborn as you were.

“Okay.” you say, the corner of your lips twitching upwards. “I’m sure I can find a slutty police costume.” you poke Jimin’s shoulder. “You’ll be the inmate.”

“That’s so basic.” Jimin rolls his eyes a bit, your touch lingering on his shoulder. He blinks a few times, even humming to himself as he thinks about the costumes. “Are you going to use the handcuffs on me?”

You roll your eyes and cannot help but laugh out at the change in Jimin’s demeanor or the way his voice drops a few tones. You cannot help but think about the idea of Jimin being the one whimpering for you, handcuffed so he couldn’t get his hands on you.

“Basic?” you hum. “How about we fit the theme then? We can both be cupids.” you wiggle your eyebrows.

“Cupids? I’m not sure I trust a bitch like you with an arrow.” Jimin scoffs, but he does enjoy the idea.

“My arrows won’t make you fall in love with me. They will make you feel other things.” you press the palm of your hand onto Jimin’s chest and allow it to linger for a moment, a glint in your eyes that causes Jimin to raise his brows. “Find the costumes.” you murmur, pushing him away a bit all the while your eyes remain on his.

“You’re such a teasing bitch, Y/N.” Jimin states, but he would be lying to himself if he said he wasn’t anticipating it.

Leaving Jimin in charge of the costume meant that, for you, it was free of charge. It also meant he had full control of your attire and you were hoping it wouldn’t be too slutty.

At first, you weren’t sure about it when Jimin came at you with what appeared to be lingerie and a pair of wings for you to wear. “It’s red.” you had told him with a raise of an eyebrow. “Isn’t it supposed to be, I don’t know, white?”

“White is too pure for a whore like you.” was Jimin’s response, followed by a smirk. He wouldn’t tell you that he thought red would look good on you underneath the neon lights at the party. He didn’t want to gas your already big head up.

So you wore the red fishnets followed by the lingerie of the same color. He even gave you lace gloves to wear, stopping right at your elbows.

At first, you were nervous to wear something so revealing in public. Jimin had convinced you that when Taehyung meant slutty, he meant it truthfully.

“I got you these, too.” Jimin stated as you looked over yourself in your hallway mirror. Your eyes had connected with his through the reflection. He’s holding a black, rectangular box in his hands. “To go with your costume.”

You turned to face him now and he handed over the box. Your eyes scanned the small, silver letters right in the middle of said box. Saint Laurent. You then looked up towards the man who’s waiting for you to open said box.

The heels are more of a wine color than a red, but it wouldn’t be noticeable at the party. The YSL letters along the heel catch your eyes immediately and you feel your eyes widening.

“These must’ve been expensive.” you told him with a swallow. “So not only are you my bitch tonight, but you’re also my paypig?”

“They were expensive.” Jimin responded, a low smirk forming onto his lips. “I’m sure I’ll get my money’s worth tonight.”

Arriving at the party alongside Jimin, you understood now that he wasn’t lying. The lights are flashing and there’s smoke lining the ground so even if what you were wearing was too revealing, it didn’t particularly matter.

Jimin appeared more of a traditional cupid, dressed in a long white cloak - or chlamys he said because he was Jimin and he needed to correct you - gold wrist cuffs and a gold shoulder belt. He also has wings that match your own.

“Y/N!” Taehyung greets over the loud music. He’s holding two red cups in his hands. One he gives to you and the other to Jimin after he takes a sip of it. “You look amazing! Finally someone who gives slutty but classy.”

You smile at Taehyung a bit shyly. He turns to Jimin and furrows a brow at him before snickering. “Have fun you two.” he says, winking. “Nice heels, Y/N.”

Jimin takes a sip of his drink, his eyes glaring at his friend as he walks off. Taehyung wouldn’t tell you how Jimin bought the heels for you prior to you being invited to the Hallowtine’s party. Or how he insisted that they couldn’t be regular heels or nothing about him was “regular”.

“How drunk are you trying to get?” Jimin asks, downing the rest of the drink. It’s a mixture that only Jungkook would’ve made. If it was Namjoon, it would taste bitter and strong of alcohol and leave it up to Hoseok, it would just be juice.

“You drove so.” you shrug your shoulders. “I’m following your lead.”

Jimin smirks a bit. “These parties go on all night, Y/N. Tae lets me sleep in the guest room.”

You lift a brow but don’t respond. Instead, you do the same as he and down the remaining liquid in your drink.

The party goes on with you and him doing exactly that. You and him - and even some of his friends - take shots as if they’re water. You play games with them, majority of them you lost - much to Jimin’s dismay as you and he were partners. You dance, too, finding that the large space with dancing bodies to be exciting. Everyone was already drunk and it was hard to feel self-conscious when the liquor was making you outgoing and sociable.

You were in the middle of unwrapping a lollipop when Jimin stood beside you. “Enjoying yourself?” he asks with a furrowed brow. “You’ve been dancing with them for over 30 minutes non-stop.”

Them being Jungkook’s girlfriend and Chaeyoung, who were already drunk. You had to admit you had the most fun with them, even if Jungkook had to carry his girlfriend out. Or if Chaeyoung had decided to call it a night and nap in the kitchen - only because she didn’t want to miss out on who won best costume.

“And you’ve been watching the entire time?” you put the red, heart shaped lollipop in your mouth. “That’s not creepy.” you say sarcastically.

Jimin tilts his head. He isn’t sure where his friends have gone and he knows Taehyung has no intentions of announcing the winners yet. That being said, he was tipsy, horny and you were being too much of a bitch right now.

“Huh…” you look at Jimin a bit closer, squinting your eyes. Even underneath the flashing lights, the look in his eyes is highly evident. You reach a hand out to touch his slightly uncovered chest, the cloak hiding little of it. “...you must want to fuck me.”

Jimin rolls his eyes, even if it was the truth. “I hope you didn’t think those heels were free.” he retorts.

You smirk, glossy lips shining underneath the neon lights. “Don’t worry, I’ll wear them just for you in my next video.” a finger swipe up from Jimin’s chest right to his lips. You tap them playfully before turning on your heels.

“Where are you going?” Jimin huffs, his body flushed. His legs work on autopilot as he follows you.

“We should go somewhere to be alone, shouldn’t we?” you ask as you reach the kitchen. The alcohol appeared never ending and it had to be a sign of wealth because who else could truly afford all of this alone? Not including decorations, food and a $1000 cash prize.

You grab a bottle of champagne and shrug your shoulders. No one would miss it.

“Lead us to the guest room.”

“Upstairs.” Jimin says, jutting his head to the left where the staircase was at. “To the left, last door.”

Jimin wants you to lead the way just so he can watch you from behind. The wings compliments your costume, a sensual look that looks almost ethereal. The neon lights cast a glow off of you that his tipsy mind is angered with himself for finding you appealing.

The heels make your legs appear longer, Jimin thinks. Even from the loud music, he swears he can hear them click onto the tiled floor.

The guest room is large, you note upon opening the door. It’s clean and organized with a single, queen size bed right in the middle of it. On either side of said bed has two night stands, both holding decorative lamps. Right above the headboard is an oval shaped mirror that reflects the neon lights that shine inside when the door opens.

“It’s quiet.” you note once Jimin closes the door. The music is loud outside and it offers a muffled version from inside the bedroom that’s soothing. “Champagne?” you turn to face Jimin, raising the bottle.

Jimin nods, his eyes on you.

“Sit down.” you press, jutting your head towards the bed.

“Hm, demanding.” Jimin does as he’s told. He passes by your, his arm brushing past yours and he sits onto the edge of the bed.

You pop open the champagne and a bit of it spills. Jimin is unphased by the action and continues to look right up at you. You step closer to him, lifting the bottle to your lips and taking a sip.

Jimin watches the way a bit of it trails from the corner of your mouth and falls down your jawline. He takes a deep breath as you come closer. Your gloved hand reaches out for him and latches underneath his chin. You gently lift it up, a thumb lightly tapping at his plump lips. You lift the bottle to them.

Opening his mouth, Jimin’s eyes never leave yours as you pour the champagne into his mouth. The bubbling liquid fizzles onto his tongue and he swallows it whole when you’re done. He licks his lips as if savoring the taste.

Your touch underneath his chin is hot. Your hands roam towards his cheek, a thumb running along his lips as you tilt your head. For a man, Jimin did have such plump lips that never appeared to be chapped - a thought you hated.

“It must be killing you to sit here.” you murmur, standing right between his parted legs. One knee lifts a bit so that you press it against the bed and right between his legs. You furrow your brows when you feel it - the bulge. Sure, Jimin’s costume covered a bit of his lower half, but you weren’t expecting this so soon. “Excited already?”

“It’s the alcohol.” Jimin retorts, already willing to fight against you. It was going to take a few tries to get him to submit, but you were a patient person. After all, only you could do it.

“Shut up.”

Your knee presses against Jimin a bit - not too hard, but enough to get the man to click his mouth shut. The expression on his face would cause you to laugh if you weren’t determined to remain in character.

“You,” you snort. The bottle of champagne tightening in your grip. You lower your face so that you and Jimin are eye to eye. “want to call me a bitch so bad, don’t you?”

Jimin does - not in a malicious way. He never truly does mean it in that way - nor does he even intend on you knowing this, either.

Jimin remains silent, his eyes flickering to your lips for a mere second before back to your eyes. You’re so close to him, your knee not letting up as it continues to graze against his painfully hard cock. His adam’s apple bobs as he swallows, attempting to control his breathing.

“Kiss me.”

It’s an action that Jimin doesn’t fight you on. Your lips have a bit of gloss to them surprisingly. After all the shots, snacks and overall partying you’ve done. They’re sticky, but sweet; tasting of cherries that he knows he would want to get another taste of when this was done and over with.

You deepened the kiss, gloved hand not falling from his chin. It’s an act of possession and neither of you appeared to care. Soon, your tongue and his is dancing along one another, hot and needily. You can feel his cock pulsing pathetically against your knee.

Aggressively, you shove Jimin away from you. The action causes him to grunt and nearly hiss at you, but he bites his tongue. You notice the action immediately and hide your giddiness.

“More champagne?” you ask with a quirked brow.

Jimin nods.

“Cat got your tongue?” you question with a scoff. “Use your words, Jimin.”

Jimin’s eye twitches. “Yes.”

“Yes…?” you were having a bit too much fun with this. “Where are your manners?”

“Yes. Please.” Jimin grits out, his right leg shaking. He was holding himself back in berating you like he usually does - an action that never bothers you. It’s something that he’s familiar with.

“Good boy.” you say with a smirk. Jimin is taken aback by your words - more so because it causes his cock to jolt immediately once it leaves your mouth.

You press the champagne bottle to your own lips, eyes never leaving Jimin’s. Droplets begin to fall from the corners of your lips again, dropping directly to your chest. Without thinking much, you lift the bottle more, allowing a bit - not too much to be messy - to fall onto your chest.

“Go on.” you say.

Jimin dives in instantly, his warm tongue licking up the champagne from your skin. He groans to himself as he dips lower between your breast, a hand reaching out so all he had to do is push your lingerie-

SMACK!

Jimin’s head is jerked to the side, a stinging in his face.

You were getting bold, having too much fun with you being the one on top. “You didn’t have permission to touch me, right?”

A part of you expects Jimin to either 1, hit you back or 2, berate you like he always does.

You didn’t expect Jimin’s head to slowly turn back towards you, eyes dark, and for him to say;

“Sorry.” in such a low, voice. “Can I…touch you?”

Jimin’s voice is pleading that it shocks you for a moment and shoots straight to your core.

Slowly, you exhale. “What do you want to do?”

Jimin’s cheeks are flushed. He glances away and you can tell he’s biting the inside of his cheek.

“I want to lick the champagne…off of you.” Jimin murmurs, cheeks a crimson color. “Please.”

Your lip twitches upwards. Slowly, you begin to repeat the action, this time placing your free hand behind Jimin’s head. He turns it back towards you as the champagne begins to slide down your breast, in his eyes slow motion.

Jimin’s mouth salivates and his eyes dart to yours, silently pleading. You nod your head and it doesn’t take Jimin much hesitation for his tongue to be right back on your skin. He licks the top of your breast, grunting at the taste before he dips his head lower. His hands work up your breast, tugging the lingering down so that they pool out of them. He doesn’t hesitate to engulf both of them into his hands and to suckle, the citrusy taste hitting his taste buds immediately.

You moan a bit at how starved Jimin appeared, suckling onto your breast as if his life depended on it. His hands squeezing the mounds as if they would disappear if he hadn’t. His eyes are closed, face stretched in utter bliss at being allowed to do this - to taste the champagne right from your breast. When the high (and alcohol) wears down, you were going to have to tease him about it.

Now, however, Jimin’s tongue continues to swirl onto your nipples with such needy greed, going from one to the other every few minutes. Your head is pushed back, moans releasing from your own parted lips, nearly forgetting just who was supposed to be in charge tonight.

You couldn’t allow Jimin to regain control once more - not tonight when it was your night.

The hand that once kept Jimin against your chest entangles in his dark tresses and you yank him away from you. Jimin whines at the sudden action, but licks his lips when his eyes blinks open to look right at you.

“Too much?” Jimin quips.

“You looked too happy.” you retort. “Can’t let you have too much fun.”

“Of course not. You’re a bitch.”

Jimin is taunting you, wanting to see what you’d do. Maybe pull his hair or slap him again. He never did that before - or expected to like it as much. Maybe doing this with someone you hate (maybe that was a strong word, he didn’t hate you truly) made it more fun.

“You talk too much.” you shove Jimin’s head away. You drop the bottle of champagne beside you before grabbing hold of the cloak Jimin was wearing and tugging it. It flies off of him, leaving him in his underwear. You quirk a brow. “And you call me a whore.”

A shiver runs through Jimin but he doesn’t allow it to dwell. He watches the way your face brightens.

“Lay down.”

Jimin does, eyes blinking towards the ceiling. He can hear the way your heels click against the floor. The bed has movement and it dips as you begin to climb it - climb onto him. Your gloved hands roam his chest and Jimin rolls his neck a bit.

“There’s only one way to shut a whore up.” you say, before dropping yourself onto Jimin’s face, clit right against his lips. He’s shocked, but would be lying if he didn’t find the action entirely hot.

Jimin understands just what he was meant to do in this situation, hot tongue flinging out to roam your wet clit. Your thighs cage him between your legs, right hand gripping his hair tightly. Instantly, his own hands hold onto your outer thighs, tongue plunging between your folds.

Jimin recalls the many times he’s watched you - live or during recorded videos you’ve uploaded - fuck yourself. How wet your pussy was. Even then, it caused his mouth to water at the thought of how good you might've tasted against his tongue. How he could have you quivering if he’d ever get the chance to. The last time he’s tasted you was months ago and he could never get enough; not even now.

Your stomach churns as Jimin’s tongue continues to devour you effortlessly. Your attempt to shut him up did exactly that with little push back. Your hips buckle a bit, wanting to feel more of Jimin’s willing tongue against your clit, eyes squeezed shut. Jimin was such an asshole - a cocky one at that. He knew how attractive he was. How intelligent and cunning he was. He understood every assignment, inside the classroom and out. It’s why you and he budded heads so often.

“S-stop.” you stutter, but Jimin doesn’t. He knows fully that you don’t want him to stop and neither does your pussy. His head, pushed firmly against the bed, rocks back and forth as his tongue lays flat against your clit. His eyes flicker open to look at your scrunched, familiar face to know you were about to cum all over his tongue. A taste he craved for.

You cum, must to your dismay, all over Jimin. You’re highly upset with yourself for allowing him to get you distracted enough that it happens. You choose to take said irritation out on him.

You push yourself away from Jimin, eyes dark. “You’re such a whore, Jimin. So greedy for my pussy that you’d do anything to have it.”

You push yourself away from Jimin, the man licking his lips seductively.

“You’re right.” Jimin says, shrugging his shoulders. “I’ve missed your pussy.”

Your eyes widen a bit, not expecting him to admit it.

“I’ll never admit it in front of anyone.” Jimin murmurs, squinting his eyes to you. “I’ll continue to belittle you in front of everyone. I hate you.”

Your walls clench and you’re truly unsure how that makes you a bit horny.

“You hate me?” you say, amused. You lowered yourself so that you’re right in front of his clothed cock. You place a hand on it and it immediately jolts.

“No.” Jimin shakes his head, stomach churning at the sudden touch. “That’s also a lie. I hate the way you make me feel.”

Jimin must’ve been drunk or more than just the alcohol.

“You’re the only person that successfully manages to come toe to toe with me in everything.” Jimin licks his lips once more, your taste still on him.

You blink a few times. “Hm.” is all you say and without warning, you take out Jimin’s cock. It’s erect and pink - and oh so pretty. The tip is oozing with pre-cum that you just want to lick up. “Tell me more.”

Jimin swallows when he watches you take off your gloves and throw them aside. You wrap a hand around his cock.

“You,”

Jimin doesn’t get to say much because he watches you lay your tongue out to allow a trail of saliva to drop onto his tip. It trails down the shaft until it reaches your cuffed hand. You slide your enclosed palm up and down to lubricate his cock.

“-oh fuck.” Jimin groans.

“Speak or I’ll stop.” you warn, eyes hard.

Jimin swallows again. “I-I,” he begins just as you begin to jack his cock. “...I don’t hate you, Y/N.” he repeats, but understands that he can’t have you stop now that you’re making him feel so good. “I…I hate myself for being so consumed by…fuck…by you.”

More words that shoot directly to your core. Jimin was oddly hot now, eyes squeezed shut while you forced a…confession out of him?

“Arguing with you is the only way I know how to express myself around you.” God, Jimin thinks. You weren’t making anything easy for him.

Your tongue flickers against his tip and nearly laughs when Jimin flinches.

“Keep. Talking.” you grit, tongue twirling around his tip like you’ve done to the lollipop earlier.

“You know what the fuck you’re doing!” Jimin hisses, head lifting with hazy eyes as he catches suckle right onto the tip of his cock. “You’re…such a bitch, Y/N.” he groans, head slamming back against the bed. “And you drive me fucking crazy…you and those damn videos. I’ve watched you squirt more times than I can fucking count.”

“Good boy.”

Your mouth takes Jimin whole now, deciding maybe it was time to stop teasing him. He was being so good, after all. A completely sober and not so horny Jimin would’ve never admitted these things.

Jimin whimpers, you calling him a ‘good boy’ just makes this situation worse (better). Your mouth is so warm and wet, fully devoted to now cater to him; even if it is just for a moment. You take him entirely into your throat, then lift up so that only his tip is in your mouth. You repeat the action, each time sucking even harder. A hand wraps around his shaft so that you can jack him as you come up.

“Your mouth feels so good.” Jimin whines, hand itching to touch you but he doesn’t want you to stop. “You’re so good at this, fuck,” Jimin groans. “you’re so good at everything.”

It must’ve hurt him to say that, you think as you continue to suckle onto his cock. Satisfaction flows through you as Jimin continues to babble on, intoxicated on more than just the alcohol.

Your mouth pops Jimin’s cock out from your lips, saliva pooling out along with it.

Jimin shudders, chest heaving at how you stopped so abruptly.

“Who knew you felt this way.” you tease, a hand wrapping around his wet, hard cock. “When you sober up, I’ll have so much material to tease you on.”

Jimin knows this just as much as you do.

“If I didn’t know better…you’d be admitting to liking me.”

Only teasing him, of course. You would never believe that Jimin would like you outside of sexual encounters you and he share. But you did enjoy teasing him about what he has admitted to you.

“Would that be bad?” wasn’t what you were expecting from Jimin. If anything, it wouldn’t even be on your list of responses from the man.

Would that be bad?

Would it?

Well - no. It wouldn’t be bad, but weird. You and Jimin went at one another's neck so much that most people that knew you expected it. They waited for you to pipe in whenever Jimin spoke and vice versa. The tension between you two in the beginning slowly turned to something sexual; mainly because of Jimin watching you.

You bite your lip, unsure how to respond. Jimin doesn’t expect you to truly. Your words were true, you would tease him on end when this was said and over with and he’d do what he does best - talk shit, deny and deflect.

“I’m going to sit on your cock.” you say randomly. “I’m going to fuck it until I cum.”

Jimin gulps, nodding his head feverishly. “Okay.” he says, voice dropping a few tones. “I want you to use my cock as you like.”

Fuck, you think. Pussy drunk Jimin was something else - so submissive with little to say besides complying. You could get used to this.

You climb onto Jimin, kicking off the heels you just realized you were still wearing. You’re facing him, Jimin notices, when you hover above him. You sit onto his cock slowly, pussy clenching until he’s fully inside of you.

Jimin’s hands dig into the sheets, lungs filling with air.

Satisfaction runs through you witnessing Jimin being so fucked out. You know how he felt when you were his bitch and you had to admit that it felt amazing.

You rise and fall on Jimin’s cock, legs widening to assure he had a perfect view of it all. Jimin finds it hard to watch you, his mind flickering to the countless times he’s watched you through his phone screen. The way you’d fuck yourself with your dildo, rising and falling just the same way. Your face morphing to a one of pleasure, wet pussy dripping with lustful arousal…

Jimin groans, a hand reaching out to touch your clit. He cannot believe just how wet you were, thumb rubbing along your clit.

“Your pussy’s so…” Jimin shakes his head, exhaling. “...pretty and wet.”

“You sound like the simp you always call Jungkook.”

Jimin snickers, but he doesn’t deny it. Instead, since you allow it, he continues to twirl his thumb around your clit.

“I want you to cum all over me.” Jimin murmurs. It isn’t demanding in the slightest. It’s pleading. His eyes are begging. “I want you cum all over my cock like you do with your dildo.”

A whimper releases from your throat, eyes widening slightly. Your hips roll onto Jimin’s cock, wishing he would just shut up - but no, he didn’t.

“I don’t even have to cum.” Jimin groans, looking seconds from doing just that. The thought of being used by you as if he was your own personal fuck toy was highly exciting. He’s watched you for so long - the amount of times he came just by you squirting was too much to count.

“You’re so obsessed with me, Jim Jim.” you giggle, head falling back to let out a quick whine. “This pussy has you wasting thousands on heels.”

“It’s not wasting if you have it, Y/N.” Jimin’s hands roam up to grip your breast. His stomach churns with you squeezing around his cock.

“I know you want to cum.” you quip, this time slamming your hands onto his shoulders to push him back. You continue to rise and fall onto his cock sloppily. “Cum with me since I’m feeling nice.”

You also wanted to feel him cum inside of you; to watch the way his face would turn to one of pure ecstasy.

Jimin’s hands catch hold of your hips as you pound right on top of him. Your lips were centimeters from his and you contemplate kissing him, but decide against it. You didn’t want to appear like you were thinking about the plumpness of his lips; how full and tinted they were or-

Jimin presses his lips against yours as he cums, splashing your walls with warm cum and you’re cumming right along with him, hips quivering. The kiss is deep, neither of you breaking apart for a long, long moment.

Your forehead lies against his, panting when your lips finally detach from his. You fall beside him and groan.

Jimin breathes heavily. “You okay?”

You nod your head slightly. “Yeah. You?”

Jimin was asking himself the same thing. He was going to feel the full effects of it tomorrow.

“Yeah.” Jimin answers truthfully. “Do you…want to go back to the party?” he asks awkwardly. The music is faint from behind the door. “I don’t think we won best costume.”

“Why?” you turn to face him. It wasn’t like you were expecting to truthfully. “I thought our costumes were great!”

“Of course it was.” Jimin snickers. “It’s us.” he says, and then blinks - because he actually said “us” instead of “me”. He was including you along with him - and you notice just as he does, a smirk forming onto your lips. “Tae would never let me win a contest. Even if it was rightfully won.”

You hum out a response. That was fair. It wasn’t like he needed the reward.

“This Hallowtine’s party was actually fun.” you place a hand onto Jimin’s naked chest. Your fingers tap softly. “I should thank Taehyung for inviting me.”

Jimin remains silent. He doesn’t tell you that Taehyung invited you because Jimin couldn’t bring himself to. He didn’t say that to his friend, but he didn’t have to. Taehyung could see it for himself.

“Are you staying here tonight?” you question once the silence settles. “I can take a lyft-”

“Dressed like that?” Jimin scoffs with a raised eyebrow. He raises to a seated position. “That sounds absurd.”

“Ah, so you do care.” you tease, batting your eyelashes at him. “And here I thought you were just pussy talking.”

Jimin feels his cheeks flush, but he wasn’t going to go back and forth with you now.

“We can stay here.” Jimin says with a glance. “Or, I can take you home.”

“Hm…it depends. If I go home, will you come?” you were being bold enough to ask. “The night isn’t over, Jim Jim. You’re still technically my bitch.”

Ungodly Hour Masterlist

#ungodly hour #ungodly hour drabbles #ungodly hour jimin #jimin x reader #jimin smut #bts smut #bangtanwritershq #btswritersclub #bangtan smut #btswritingcafe #trivia-yandere #explicit-tae #trivia yandere's valentine's day masterlist #bangtanwriters net #bts writing

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curlyberrrry · 14 days ago

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✨️✨️✨️Poppy Playtime AU Headcanons✨️✨️✨️

(May update/add more characters as I go)

~Harley Sawyer~

🧪Loves dark chocolate (dark like his soul)

🧪Also black coffee (bitter like his soul)

🧪Neurodivergent, is probably the least social person in the whole building

🧪Is very quiet when walks, tends to indirectly scare other employees like he just teleported out of nowhere

🧪Didn't have the best childhood, heavily attached to Elliot during the Young Geniuses Program, gotta love the found father trope right guys ?

🧪Doesn't like physical touch unless he initiates it, this also applied to Leith until their relationship became more “complicated”

🧪Personal space ? Good luck cause whether he does it on purpose or not, he'll find a way to make someone as uncomfortable as possible, ironically hates when it's uno reversed on him

🧪A lot of people are terrified of him, his outbursts are infamous

🧪Despises pickles (we all know this) Leith will mess with him by randomly placing pickles in his lab, not the ones in jars but whole pickles, bro almost went into cardiac arrest (in a spare lab coat pocket, in a drawer, on his chair etc.) 🥒

🧪Has had other employees attempt to flirt with him (who are brave enough) but usually gives the cold shoulder

~Leith Pierre~

🥃Heavy smoker

🥃Fond of old fashioned cocktails

🥃Has a collection of colourful ties, wears them a lot to keep up a “friendlier persona” around the kids (Harley says they're ugly, Leith likes to blindfold him 😏)

🥃For a man of his stature, he gets scared easily, hence the “do not scare Leith Pierre” signs around the factory, he definitely flinches during jumpscares in horror films (again Harley being a bitch will tease him for it), will use Boxy to dispose those who disobey that particular rule

🥃Huggy is the perfect security and Leith treats him as his own personal attack dog (like Yarnaby for Harley)

🥃Sometimes is harsh towards Sharon but genuinely likes her company, he just has no patience most of the time

🥃Loves to yap a lot, very prideful, will tell horrific dad jokes

🥃Usually is calm, however, any incidents that involve the company's bank taking a hit will literally set him off, when by himself, he'll throw a small tantrum in his office (there's a few cracks on his desk from repeated hits)

🥃Idolised Elliot, doesn't realise he's trying to be like him

~Eddie Ritterman~

🖊Went prematurely grey due to genetics

🖊Has a bad leg and uses a cane to keep his body weight off it

🖊Whenever Stella lets her hair fall down from her messy bun, it gets him every time

🖊Will literally have teabags in his pockets (not just because he's British) as he's picky with his tea, won't drink the tea the company offers on lunch breaks

🖊Will smack and has smacked Harley with his cane during their “disputes”, Leith has put both of them in time out corners for 10 minutes at a time or longer until they both apologise (stubborn bastards)

🖊Has a notebook in which he writes down the important things from his conversations with Stella, usually to help him get her gifts, leaves random items in her office like a secret admirer lmao 💘

🖊Similar to Harley, he doesn't socialise too much, he's only there during meetings with the other higher ups or hiding in his office crunching the numbers (such a business man)

🖊Judges people based on their handwriting

🖊Hopeless romantic around Stella, covers it up by being icy and nonchalant

~Stella Greyber~

🪀Probably the nicest out of the four and the most approachable

🪀Adores the kids at Playcare, will accept drawings from them

🪀Has a bit of anxiety, tends to shut down whenever someone blows up at her

🪀Likes to put on a playlist for the kids, they choose the songs

🪀Surprisingly very good at piano and can sing

🪀Tries to forget what actually happens at Playcare when kids are chosen to go “home”, the guilt eats at her everyday

🪀Knows it's Eddie who leaves her random gifts, pretends to be oblivious

🪀Allergic to cats, won't stop her though from petting them, is that person to pet every stray cat on the street regardless of where it’s been

🪀Gives everyone flowers on Valentine's, even Harley, which he begrudgingly accepts to get Leith off his ass 🌹

🪀When she's alone, she always has to have some noise in the background, like a radio, due to her being used to being around kids, sitting in silence makes her uncomfortable

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alice-after-dark · 3 months ago

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man, I don't want vox to die next season or whatever, I want him to get beaten by Charlie's diligent and obsessive friendship flower beam and be stuck as a resident of the hotel with the other vees whining outside the hotel, banging on the door for Boxy to come home like two sad small purse dogs.

I adore this mental image, thank you lol

I really hope he doesn't die! Not only would it feel like a cop-out for all the main villains to just die at the end of every season, but there's so much potential if he lives? Vox is such a good character and I'd be so upset if his potential got wasted.

Seeing him as a resident of the hotel would certainly be interesting, especially given his relationship with Angel Dust, but there's a lot of potential there for some good interactions and character growth. Done right, it could be really fun and awesome!

I feel like Velvette would be annoyed about it mostly because now she's stuck doing most of the work at the V Tower. Valentino would probably whine and bitch and throw a tantrum.

And of course we have all the RadioStatic potential (drools)! Being stuck in close quarters would force those two to work out there issues and maybe understand the other a little bit better. And then they kiss and then they...okay, stopping myself before I go off the rails lol

#hazbin hotel #hazbin vox #hazbin alastor #radiostatic #alice rambles #hazbin hotel vox #vox hazbin hotel #hazbin valentino #hazbin velvette #asks

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thatboxylady · 2 years ago

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may or may not be doing a gofundme soon. or whatever anyone recommends. evidently the clinic who did my root canals a few years back astronomically fucked them up by leaving one of the roots unfilled (???) and now I'm needing a tooth removed probably? plus an implant would also need to be done because it's in a spot that I can't just skip not having a tooth? like fuck?

I'm gonna know more tonight but. I'm astronomically not happy and really scared tbh. we're supposed to be getting hurricane shutters this weekend and uhhh we live in Florida and Cannot Put That Off. We got lucky with Ian but that will not happen again.

#i got an infected tooth/jaw and it doesn't feel great #not even gonna talk about my car rn #or student loans #like how about we just let late stage capatalism crush boxy into pulp and then i just die #that'd be cool #boxy bitches

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imsodishy · 5 months ago

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Take a Step That is New

another episode of Four's Company (a series on ao3)

this episode filmed in front of a live studio audience

May 1987

The cheery chimes above the door at Dot's Dinner ting-a-ling as Steve walks in and he almost throws his stupid briefcase at it. He settles at the last minute for telling it to, “Shut the hell up,” and heads for the counter.

“Whoa, buddy, rough day?” Robin's already saddled up on a stool, Billy’s just serving up her burger and onion rings.

The boxy fan they’ve set up on the counter does nothing to dispel the muggy heat that’s settled over the city, just moves the humid air around. It also does nothing to improve Steve’s mood, sweltering in his stupid suit, he yanks at his tie until he can breathe again.

Steve claims the stool next to Robin, peels off his stuffy jacket and slams it down on the teal formica counter top with zero thought for whatever grease or condiments it might find there, then he plonks his head down next to it without acknowledging Robin, and groans like a dying seal, “I hate my fucking life.”

It’s not true, Steve likes his life. Mostly.

What he fucking hates is his job. Which makes up… some way too big percentage of his life; 9 to 5, Monday to Friday is a big chunk of the week. The heat doesn’t help.

Robin pat-pats his shoulder consolingly. He hears Billy huff at his dramatics before walking away from the sad spectacle of Steve’s life. Off in the corner Seymour, a grumpy old regular who basically lives at his booth, frowns. He’s always frowning at something though. Mostly at Steve, though not exclusively. Eddie earns his fair share of stink-eye.

Robin's hand is still on Steve’s shoulder when he can sense her lean in closer and– “Don't fucking sniff me, dude!” He snaps upright, leaning as far away from her as he can without toppling off the stool. “It's so weird.”

“Sorry! Sorry,” she says, “You seem stressed is all, and I was just checking you didn’t go crawling back to sweet lady nicotine's disgusting embrace.”

Robin’s been rabid lately on her bid to get all three of them to quit smoking. It started with a not in the house rule, and has quickly progressed to all out war on the cancer sticks. Steve's the only one who's buckled so far. He's on an almost two month streak right now, and she's been playing hard defense to keep him on it. He draws the line at the sniffing though. That is simply unacceptable.

Steve rolls his eyes, and grumbles, “I didn’t smoke,” God, he could really go for one right now though, “If I bring a lighter to work I’ll end up burning the building down.”

A strawberry milkshake clonks down on the counter in front of him as Billy basically drops it like a bomb, “Oh my God. Quit! Just quit your stupid fucking job that you hate!” he explodes, “I cannot listen to your sad-sack, bitch-baby, whining about it anymore.“

Steve pulls his milkshake in close just in case Billy tries to confiscate it for bitch-baby behavior. “I can’t just quit,” he whines.

Billy just rolls his eyes and doesn’t try to take Steve’s one joy away from him. “Why? Because your Dad got it for you?”

And like, yeah, but Billy doesn’t have to be such a dickhead about it.

Billy landed his job at Dot’s Diner like some kind of magic. Seriously, their first day in New York, they hadn’t even unpacked any of the boxes they'd schlepped into the house when Billy dusted off his hands and said, “I'm gonna get the lay of the land,” and walked out the front door.

He came back six hours later with a job and a peanut butter milkshake. It took him a month after that to tell them where he worked, and he tells them frequently that he's regretted it everyday since he caved. They do spend a lot of time there bothering him, despite the fact he refuses to give them freebies. His boss, Sal (who reminds Steve a lot of Benny from the diner back home, if he had about two dozen extra tattoos, like they both rolled off a big, gruff, diner proprietor assembly line somewhere), is actually way more likely to sling them a free coke or some fries once in a while.

“We could find you another job,” Robin says, as she’s been saying for months, “One that makes you at least sixty percent less arson-y, guaranteed!”

Robin got her job at the campus bookstore through student services, (obviously not an option for Steve), although, with the first year under her belt, she's talking about looking elsewhere for employment, since the school pays them peanuts anyway, and she thinks she'll be able to balance her schedule better now on her own.

The door chimes jangle crazily as Eddie bursts into the diner, “Outstanding news chums!” he booms, ignoring Seymour scowling in his direction.

“Easy on the door, Munson,” Billy warns.

Eddie shuts the door with exaggerated care, before he hustles over to the counter and hops up on the stool on Robins other side. He gives himself a drumroll, rattling all the flatware on the counter. Old Seymour’s glare intensifies.

“I have news,” he repeats, flipping his cup right-side-up for Billy to fill with coffee he doesn’t need, upcoming nightshift at the bar or no.

Robin takes a guess, “You talked to you boss about getting the time off for the Hawkins trip?” she doesn’t sound that hopeful.

And for good reason. “What? No,” Eddie dismisses her with a flapping hand, “I have an audition with a band!”

“Gasp,” Robin says flatly. The only news Eddie gets this excited about is when he's auditioning, or sitting in, or has a lead on some new band seeking a guitarist.

Eddie, by his own account, got his so-called day job (it’s nights, bar-backing) by just hanging around the bar/music venue he frequents all the time, bothering the bartenders (and selling them weed) until one of them slapped a rag in his hand and told him to make himself useful. Which suits him just fine to fill time while he chases his music dream.

“Look, I'm going to Hawkins either way,” Eddie tells her with a carefree shrug, “If Rosco won't give me the time off I'll just quit and get a new job when we get back.”

“See!” Billy says, slamming the coffee pot back into it's cradle, “You see how easy that is, Harrington? You lose a job, then you get another one. C'est la fucking vie.”

Eddie leans around Robin to look at Steve, “Oh-ho. Did the little Lord Harrington finally break free from the yuppie rat race?”

“No,” Steve says, and slurps a big sip of his milkshake.

Steve didn’t get his own job at all, obviously. It was already lined up for him before they even rented the moving truck. It came pre-approved for him courtesy of his father and his father’s business connections. Steve's been working there for almost a year now, but he's still not entirely clear what they do.

It's real-estate... kind of? The company buys properties, but they do it by selling shares in the properties to other companies, then they use that money to pay construction companies to tear down those properties and build new ones on the land. Those construction companies use that money to buy steel and other building shit from Steve’s dad’s plants back in Indiana (and Michigan). Then Steve's bosses sell the whole shebang for several butt-loads of money for them and their investors to start the game all over again.

Steve’s job largely seems to involve standing around, insuring their side of the boardroom has the most men in suits at all times, and occasionally kissing investor ass. He’s a Junior Account Associate somehow.

It’s soul crushing.

“Aw, cheer up, Stevie,” Eddie says, slapping him on the back, “Look on the bright side, at least you can always keep our beer fridge stocked with that fat paycheck of yours.”

Robin does Steve the favor of smacking Eddie upside the head.

Steve decides to change the subject, “What’s the band called, Ed?” he asks, because that’s always good for a laugh at least.

Eddie holds his hands in front of his face like he's framing a marquee, “ God of Gore ,” he announces in a theatrical growl.

Steve snorts to himself. Yeah, that’s good shit.

“And,” he goes on, voice rising in pitch as he gets more hyped up, “Get this, their last guitarist up and moved to Indiana! How's that for kismet? It's fate, I tells ya!”

“Who would willingly move to Indiana,” Billy wonders, “The whole state's a toilet.”

Not at all bothered by the shit talking of their home state, Eddie hops down of his stool and announces, “Speaking of which, gotta drain the snake.”

While Robin is busy grimacing at that, Eddie wiggles incredibly unsubtle eyebrows at Billy. He gets a, much more subtle, jerk of the chin back, so Eddie slips right past the bathrooms and into the kitchen, and doubtless out the back door to smoke in peace, away from Robin’s judgmental gaze. He’s made vague, placating noises at her about cutting back, but he’s just been sneaking around behind her back, with Billy as an accomplice.

Billy might be smoking more out of spite.

Eddie's whirlwind act really made Steve feel like the sad-sack Billy accused him of being, and he’s sick of that feeling, gets more than enough of it everyday at work.

All the silverware rattles as he slams a decisive hand down on the counter, much to Seymour’s ire. “You know what I think would make me feel better?” Steve asks loudly and rhetorically.

He shoves away from the counter and heads straight for the jukebox.

“No!” Billy booms, pointing at Steve like he’s a cat on the counter.

Steve backs slowly down the aisle, facing Billy the whole way with big, guileless eyes. “What's that?”

“You’re still banned for Bryan Adams crimes.” Honestly, Steve’s probably got a couple bans stacked at the moment. Billy doles them out liberally.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about, Hargrove,” Steve bumps into the jukebox because he still won’t turn away from Billy’s impotent glare. It's great, his ears are going red.

“I call the shots here,” he tries, fruitlessly.

“No you don‘t, Sal does,” Steve snorts, “And, anyway, I am a private citizen, this is a free country! My dime is as good as anybody’s!” He's been spending too much time with Eddie.

Billy throws a spoon at him.

Steve cackles as he plugs the jukebox. There’s a couple beats of bassy synthesizer.

Billy tells him, “You’re a monster,” with feeling.

Then— “ Watching every motion in my foolish lover’s game.”

Steve slow dances back towards the counter, swaying to the dreamy beat of the bum-bum-bum-bubums, high on the joy of being deeply annoying. He slides back onto his stool just in time to dramatically sing along to, “ Take my breath awaaaaay,” right in Billy’s face. It's gone all red now, like the cherry on Steve's shake, which he happily pops between his grinning teeth.

“It’s not my fault Sal won’t put Mötley Crüe in there,” Steve says, munching happily on his cherry.

Billy storms off into the kitchen.

“Someday,” Robin muses through he mouthful of fried onions, “he’s going to feed you a floor burger, and I’m not going to stop him. This song is sincerely awful.”

“I like it,” Steve declares.

“Of course you do.” Robin pats his hand condescendingly.

She swivels on her stool to face him, a concerned little furrow in her brow, and ketchup on her cheek. “Seriously though, Steve, we could find you a different job. No problem. You got the job at Family Video, and Scoops before that.” Robin got him the job at Family Video, and he only got the job at Scoops because the first guy they hired showed up to the training stoned, but it’s nice of her to say. “You don’t need to stick it out because of your dad, you don’t need his help. It’s not your only option or whatever bullshit you’re worried about. You can get a different job. And, okay, no it wouldn’t pay as much, but you'd get by.”

Robin wasn’t Steve’s first real friend or anything like that, he wouldn’t even say she’s his first good friend . But she’s definitely his best friend. Steve lays a hand over her slightly greasy one on the counter, and furrows his brow right back at her, “But then, Robin, who would keep the beer fridge stocked?”

She rolls her eyes and turns back to her burger, “So we'd have to bid goodbye to Daddy Beer-bucks, we'd survive.”

They would. Robin, Billy, and Eddie are resourceful, and smart, and self-sufficient, they’d figure out a way get by, even with Steve hanging like an anchor around their necks. But Steve hates the idea of dragging them down. Actually can’t stand it. He literally gets a stomach ache if he thinks too hard about it. When he can hear future Robin, somewhere down the line, when she’s sick of his shit, saying You can’t expect us to handle every little issue for you, dingus, in his head, except sometimes the ‘dingus’ morphs into ‘darling’ and imaginary-Robin sounds disturbingly like his mother (which doesn’t help the stomach ache problem at all). So he needs to keep bringing in enough money to pay his way.

Steve just smiles at her.

Billy reemerges from the kitchen to make a round of his tables, giving Steve the evil eye as he goes, before settling behind the counter to concentrate on glaring at Steve despite the fact that the song is long over by now, Eddie Money is playing now. Steve raises his eyebrows at his glare, “Don’t look at me, I’m all out of dimes.”

Robin, perhaps prompted by Mr. Money asks, “Where'd Eddie go? He’s taking forever in there.”

Billy silently points over her shoulder to where they can clearly see Eddie’s hunched form cowering miserably under the diner's awning from the unpleasantly warm rain that’s finally broken after threatening all day. He’s sucking down smoke like his life depends on it. Must not have been enough shelter in the alley when the rain started.

“No!” Robin shouts, much like Billy had shouted at Steve earlier, and dashes out the door, bells cheerfully chiming her exit. Eddie takes a couple more panicked puffs before Robin gets to him and he has to start playing keep away with the butt.

Steve watches them through the window for a couple seconds like a real life version of those weird old puppet shows, “What are those puppets that–“

“Punch and Judy,” Billy answers the unfinished question.

He flicks a dime that bounces off Steve's forehead and drops to the counter with a ring-a-ting-ting. “Go put on some Springsteen, Bambi,” he says, smiling at him like he’s still a sad-sack, sure, but at least he’s one Billy’s kinda fond of, then he goes to top off Seymour’s coffee down at the far end of the other end of the diner.

For Billy alone, Seymour’s got a great big smile.

Steve has stapled his tie to his desk. Which seems like the kind of thing most people would only do by accident. Not Steve, though. No, he simply got so bored that when the thought, I wonder if I could staple my tie to this desk right now, breezed through his head he went ahead and did it.

Turns out he could, so he added a couple more staples for no better reason than the first one.

Steve feels like his brain is melting out his ears which is maybe half boredom, half the heat. The AC has been in and out all week, something about the grid according to maintenance. Turns out a cracked window and a fan isn’t any more effective on the 10th floor of a Manhattan office building than it is in a ground level diner in the Bronx.

“Harrington.” All the staples explode off his tie, flying all over his little hot-box of an office, when he jerks upright as Connor Michaels walks in to his office. The guy definitely notices the staples too, judging by the shitty little smirk on his face.

The thing about all of Steve’s coworkers is that they hate him, because he’s clearly just a doofus nepotism hire who has no business working here. They all hide it behind a veneer of polite condescension while trying to use him as a connection since his last name is Harrington, though. It’s all so pathetically exactly like high school Steve can hardly stand it.

Connor chuckles, “Tgif, am I right? Listen, I asked Laura to pull the permits for the Hell’s Kitchen property for me, but she’s on the rag or something and flipped out at me.”

The other thing about Steve’s coworkers is that they’re all douchebags.

“Okay,” Steve says to avoid stapling his smug face.

“I know she does shit like that for you all the time, so think you could work your magic?” Connor wiggles his fingers vaguely that reminds Steve of how his mom would talk about his sport’s things any time it came up.

Laura is the only exception to the douchebag rule. She’s smart, and competent, and the only woman at Steve’s level of management. She also hates Steve, but she doesn't try to hide it. She’s got integrity about it. The only reason she helps Steve with things like permits and filings is that she knows she’s the one who will have to clean up the mess if he royally screws it. She reminds him a lot of Robin in the early days of working at Scoops, just completely unimpressed by and uninterested in his King Steve bullshit.

Steve does frequently throw himself on her mercy, she’s the only reason he hasn’t caused any serious problems so far. Which is maybe the other reason she keeps helping him, because he unreservedly admits that it’s a joke that they’re on the same level professionally. And not a funny one.

Steve starts sweeping the staples that landed on his desk and not the floor into a pile, “Sure,” he says to Connor, hoping that’ll get him to leave.

No luck. Instead he tucks his hand in his pockets and settles into a slouches against Steve’s wall, “How do you manage that anyway?” he asks lightly, “You tapping that?”

Steve rolls his eyes, “No.”

Connor hums, “Yeah, not surprising. I bet she’s a dyke.”

And maybe, on a different day, when Steve wasn’t already at his boiling point both figuratively and literally, he would have responded more... diplomatically.

“I quit my job,” Steve announces as he walks through the front door of his house.

All three of his roommates turn to gape at him from the living room.

They were all lounging around in the bare minimum of clothes required for the living room with two opposing fans pointed at them in an attempt at a cross breeze when Steve arrived home with his briefcase in a cardboard box with shockingly little else in the way of personal effects in it. He really hadn’t built up much of a presence at the office over the nearly a year he worked there.

“What?” Robin exclaims, as she mutes the TV, “What happened?”

“I threw a stapler at a guy’s head.” Steve answers.

“A stapler?” Billy asks, baffled, “Why?”

Steve shrugs, “I don’t know. I mean, I also said a lot of shit, but the stapler was probably the button on it.” Steve drops his things, steps out of his wingtips, and starts tugging at his tie as he makes his way across the room, “It wasn’t even- Like, I mean, it was business as usual, really. It wasn’t anything new, and I just... lost it.” He’s down to his undershirt and boxershorts by the time he collapses between Robin and Billy on the couch with a massive sigh like a slowly deflating raft.

“Right on man,” Eddie says from his spot on the armchair, leaning over to slap Steve’s knee, “I bet that guy had a stapler to the face coming.”

He really did, Steve must concede.

“Shit, I can’t believe I quit.”

Robin makes a questioning noise, “Did you actually quit, or did they fire you? For the stapler thing?”

“Who gives shit,” Billy says before Steve can tell them he’s not actually sure technically, “It’s done and dusted either way. Which calls for a celebration!”

Billy bounces up off the couch and goes to the kitchen to collect a round of beers for everyone, he’s the only one who’s foregone a shirt so far, which is unsurprising. He pops the caps of with his ring before doling out the bottles.

“To casting off the corporate shackles!” Eddie toasts, Billy and Robin here-hereing it.

Steve takes a big gulp of his beer. “What the hell am I gonna do?” he wonders aloud.

“Celebrate!” Robin says, she’s also in a t-shirt and boxershorts, which she stole from Steve a while back for loungewear, “Like the man said.”

Steve huffs, “I meant like, longer term. The rent and stuff.”

“Don't worry, Stevie my boy,” Eddie says, clapping him on the back, “Once we find you a real person job you'll do just fine. After all, the rest of us plebs cover our fair shares with our piddly little paychecks, right?”

Steve, caught out, hesitates a beat too long (long enough for Billy's bullshit radar to ping), before saying, “Right. Sure. Yeah,” in a way that clearly doesn’t cover for him.

Billy squints at him, “We have all been covering our fair share of the rent, right, Harrington?”

Steve nods but he can’t maintain eye contact when he answers, “Right. Fair shares.”

Robin, catching on immediately, groans, “Oh god, Steve, tell me you haven’t been doing something outstandingly stupid, like paying half the rent, this whole freaking time.” When Steve doesn’t answer right away she screeches, “Steven!”

“Not half! I haven’t, okay?” he rushes to explain, “Just, like,” he holds up his fingers pinched so close together, “A little more, than you guys.”

“How much more,” Billy demands through clenched teeth.

“Well,” Steve tries to think of how best to phrase it, “Imagine we had a fifth roommate, who's rent I have also been paying.”

“So, double,” Billy’s basically growling now, “You've been paying double what the rest of us have. This whole goddamn time!” Steve hadn’t thought of it that way, but the math does check out. He thinks.

“And... also the utilities,” he admits reluctantly.

“Oh, Stevie,” Eddie says, shaking his head sadly.

“Fuck!” Billy shouts and storms off, stomping his way upstairs without anyone trying to stop him. When Billy removes himself from a situation, it’s best to let him.

“I can probably still get the job back,” Steve offers, even though the thought makes him nauseous. He’ll eat shit if he needs to, “If I tell them I was on coke or something they might actually respect me more.”

Eddie’s still shaking his head, but more decisively, “No way, man. We’re not letting you go crawling back to those corporate shitbags now, not a chance in hell.”

“No other job I can get for myself is going to pay a quarter as well, though.”

Robin backs Eddie up though, “You were miserable, Steve. None of us wants you to be miserable like that, not for any amount of money.”

Steve still can’t just let it go, though, “But without that money-

“There’s no need to panic, all we need is a plan. You’ve got savings, yeah? That’ll give us a cushion until you get a new job- we need to do a comprehensive household budget,” Robin says, like she’s already running numbers in her head, “We’ve been way too loosey-goosey about it, anyway.” Because they’ve been relying on Steve to smooth over any gaps. Not that they necessarily knew that. They’d just hit him up for beer and pizza sometimes and called it a Shill tax.

“I don’t know how to do a budget,” Steve admits with an apologetic grimace.

Eddie slings an arm over his shoulders and tries to pull him into some kind of wonky headlock while Steve resists him easily, “Don’t you fret, for you are a very lucky boy, with three wonderful roommates, whose collars are all extremely blue. We’ll show you the ropes.”

“You know what the easiest expense to cut is?” Robin says brightly, “Cigarettes.”

“You know what!” Eddie wheels on her, suddenly apparently at his limit on the whole smoking thing.

Steve watches them bicker back and forth for a couple minutes. Even though it’s clear that this has been building for a while, and of course the inescapable heat doesn’t help, Steve can’t help but feel like it’s his fault for dropping a stress bomb on their heads. Or at least it feels very reminiscent of watching his parents fight about the wallpaper when what they really want to fight about is their miserable marriage. What’s the word for that? Displacement?

Eventually he slips out, leaving Robin and Eddie to their squabbles he can’t really contribute to one way or the other and heads upstairs.

Billy's not in his room, but Steve didn’t really expect him to be.

Halfway up the flight of stairs from the second floor to the third there's a window, and outside the window is a strip of roof, about five feet wide by ten feet long, and gently sloped, covering their porch below. Billy likes to sulk out there, especially since the weather turned, though not quite so much since it turned mean.

Sure enough, the window is ajar and Steve can smell smoke.

He sticks his hands out the window, palms out, he comes in peace, “I’m coming out,” he says, “Please don’t hurl me off the roof.”

Billy doesn’t respond, but he doesn’t bite Steve’s head off either, which from him is basically an engraved invitation.

Steve hauls himself up onto the little stretch of roof, crab walking over ‘til he can plant his butt next to Billy. Even though the sun is sinking fast the heat hasn’t broken at all.

He snags the cigarette right out of Billy’s mouth as he settles next to him and takes a long, indulgent drag. He only grimaces a little at the taste, Billy and his fucking Marlboros.

“Ooooh,” Billy deigns to speak to him, snatching his smoke back, “Robin's gonna be mad at you,”

“More or less mad than when I tell her I'm not going to Hawkins this summer?”

Billy's hand freezes with the cigarette just about back to his mouth. His lips, already parted to accept it, now just hanging slack pointlessly. “Seriously?”

Steve shrugs, shooting for nonchalance, missing by a mile probably. “Figure I can do without getting the full rundown on what an embarrassing disappointment I am in person. I’m sure I’ll get the CliffsNotes from our answering machine anyway. Those were always more my speed.”

He figures they'll share a laugh at that, but when he looks over Billy's not laughing. In fact, he's not even smiling, he just takes a rough drag off the cigarette and then hands it back to Steve without prompting. “If your dad leaves any blowhard message on our machine, I’m deleting them.”

Steve’s not sure what to say to that so for a while they just pass the butt back and forth in silence until he screws up his courage to ask, "What about you? You mad at me?” with a wince, “About the rent thing.”

“Well I’m not fucking thrilled about it, Harrington.”

Yeah, that was obvious.

Billy runs an agitated hand through his hair leaving his curls, already frizzy from the humidity, even more messed up. “Thought- it felt like we were making it. Doing it for real, you know? Standing on my own two feet like a man,” he scoffs to himself, “ Stupid.”

Billy’s got a very specific tone he does when he’s quoting his dad, and Steve fucking hates it.

“You are,” Steve insists. Billy quirks an eyebrow at him, and Steve scrambles to clarify, “Making it. Not stupid. You’re making it.”

“Not without a heaping helping of charity apparently. I can’t-”

“It wasn’t charity, dickhead!” Billy’s mouth snaps shut, and thank god for that, because Steve has no more interest in hearing what Neil Hargrove would have to say about his son than Billy does in suffering through phone messages from Richard Harrington. “It just made sense. I took that stupid job from my dad, and the paycheck was the only good goddamn thing about it. And you guys have all this other stuff going on. You and Robin have school, and Eddie’s trying to do his whole music thing. I mean, what the hell else was I supposed to do with all that stupidly easy money I was barely really earning? Other than use it to buy you guys food, and beer, and, yeah, pay the fucking rent!” He’s worked up a good head of steam, but he deflates immediately in the wake of his outburst, “I mean, what the hell else am I bringing to the table here?”

Suddenly self-conscious in the silence that follows, and way too aware that he’s breathing a little heavy, Steve snatches the cigarette from Billy’s hand. Takes a huffy little puff, like someone who doesn’t know how to inhale, then takes a slower, more measured one.

“You sell yourself short, you know,” Billy says, uncharacteristically quiet. Steve looks over at him, but Billy's not looking back, he's gazing out across their neighborhood instead.

“Look,” he goes on, slow and awkward, “I don’t exactly know where I'd be right now, if not for you. But, I know I wouldn’t be here .” He throws his arms out wide to encompass all of New York City, and their whole life here.

It's not like they have a spectacular view or anything, they're not up remotely high enough for that. Their sagging little strip of roof, on their rundown building, isn’t even facing the glittering Manhattan skyline. Down below them a taxi driver is shouting at a truck that’s blocking a cross street. The humidity is oppressive and the heat makes the streets stink like garbage, and it’s not like it’s any cooler in the house.

Their whole life here? It doesn’t actually look like very much from the outside.

Steve gets it though.

He jostles their shoulders together, “You would have gotten out. You would have made it anyway.”

“Yeah, maybe.” Billy plucks the cigarette out of Steve’s grasp, kills the last of it and pitches the butt to the street below. Steve watches the glowing trail of the cherry as it falls.

“You know,” Billy says after a long stretch of mostly comfortable silence, “If you don’t go to Hawkins, you’re gonna have to let Eddie drive the beemer.”

“Shit, I didn’t think of that.” He waves off the thought, “Can’t be helped. I need to start the job search anyway.”

Steve thinks about that process for all of thirty seconds before he groans, “Man, my resume is gonna be so fucking weird.” Steve lists his employment record out on his fingers, “Scoops Ahoy, burned down. Family Video... I don’t think I gave notice at Family Video, I think I just left and didn’t come back. Kensington Group Limited, assaulted a co-worker with stationary.”

“Well, if all else fails, you know Eddie would love to fake some references for you,” Billy says, “Bet he’ll do voices and everything.”

“Just what I need. A reference from Gondelf.”

Billy snorts a laughs, “It’s Gandalf, you know it’s Gandalf.” He’s right, Steve knows that, because Eddie never shuts up about that book.

“Mmm, pretty sure it’s Gondelf. I mean, he’s an elf, right?” Billy just rolls his eyes but he’s smiling, and listing a little towards Steve.

“Billy,” Steve speaks softly, earnestly. Billy hums back a question, “Would you... get me a job at the diner?”

Billy explodes with laughter, “Fuck no!”

“C’mon,” he wheedles, through his own laughter, “We can commute together! Sal loves you. Be a pal, put in a good word for me!”

Billy punches him in the shoulder, “Sure, I’ll tell him you’re a chronic masturbator and that I’ve never seen you wash your hands.”

“Thanks, buddy. I really appreciate that.”

Billy grabs the shoulder of Steve’s shirt and rattles him around a bit like a dog with a squeaky toy, “I’m going to shove you off this roof,” he threatens through laughter.

They lapse into giggly silence and then just silent silence. Billy keeps his grip on Steve’s shirt like he’s worried he might actually go toppling over the edge after all if Billy doesn’t keep a tight hold.

Or maybe he’s just forgotten that his hand is there.

“Hey,” Steve says after a while, just to get Billy to look him in the eye, “We’re gonna be fine,” he reassures him once he has.

Billy’s undivided attention is always intense, eyes like blue lasers locked on to a target. It used to freak Steve out in high school, but he’s gotten used to it. It’s just how Billy is. Sharp like that.

Sharp enough that he reads Steve like a goddamn book and knows that as much as Steve really was trying to reassure him, he was also, maybe just a bit, fishing for reassurance too.

“We’re gonna be fine,” Billy parrots.

They stare at each other, probably for too long, sitting in a little loop of comforting and being comforted. And Steve, he believes it. They’re gonna be fine.

They have each other.

#steve harrington #billy hargrove #robin buckley #eddie munson #harringrove #(pre harringrove really but ya know)#more cross-posting #dishy writes #four's company #fic

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redheadgleek · 3 months ago

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End of Year: Fiber Arts

I knit four scarves this year, to go with the three I had made last winter and gave them to my college girlfriends. That makes a total of 12 scarves I’ve made in the last three years and I finally used up all of my Rasta yarn!

I made my first shirt! It’s a linen/cotton blend that was somewhat rough to knit, but definitely softened as I went along. I made a decision early on to not do shaping around the bust, and that was a mistake, as it’s a little more boxy of a drape than what I like. I also had to go back and reinforce the neckline because it was giving Flashdance vibes.

I learned how to crochet and made my mom a kerchief for Christmas. I like crochet because it’s only one loop of yarn you’re dealing with at a time, but finding the beginning of a round is so complicated, I basically did the whole thing three times.

I went to Thailand and learned how to do back strap loom weaving from some of the Tribal women. I’m pretty proud of what I managed to accomplish in just three hours!

I tried out spindle spinning, but I haven’t had enough time to devote to it – it’s really challenging pulling out the fibers just right to get the right tension and circumference.

My dolls from last year are still languishing. I was trying to design a little suit coat and haven’t gotten the proportions right and now it’s been long enough, I don’t know where the mistakes are, so I’m probably going to have to start over. I’ve also been trying to knit a pair of “glittens” (I don’t like the fingers on the pattern, so it’s a fingerless glove with a flap), but I’m struggling with the thumb and just discovered that I’m off on my count, so I had to go back several rows.

This was also the year that I discovered a knitting community and have been spending my spare Thursday afternoons at my local yarn store knitting with others. And I reconnected with a couple of friends: my next door neighbor and another friend from the old MoFem days both knit and spin, so they came over several evenings to “stitch and bitch.”

#crafts #crochet #fiber arts #knitting

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anthrophobixx · 1 year ago

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★GET TO KNOW ME★

The name's Gina, pronouns are they/she/he (they preferred) I'm a 16 year old trans genderfluid nb romanian/hungarian artist and u probably already know me for being that crazy bitch on twitter who's obsessed with olandy, but I'm mostly focusing on pokemon right now :]

Dunno abt my sexuality tbf I just know I like women a lot

Side acc for edits n the like: @hypnosispkmn

Side blog for rambles: @butchfagbrockpkmn

I also have a bird app (duh) and an insta :]

C★MMISSION SLOTS: CLOSED !!

-> !! CW FOR EYESTRAIN, BE CAREFUL WHEN FOLLOWING !! <-

if ur interested in commissioning me, here's everything you need to know ^^

ALSO ALSO I loooove making moots/friends !! I'm just very anxious, but I'm open to chat :DD

IF I DO OR SAY SMTH WRONG PLEASE LET ME KNOW ASAP, I'M VERY OPEN TO BEING CORRECTED N EDUCATED !!!

TAGS:

art - # gina's art shenanigans

inbox art requests - # inbox mischief

rambles n shi - # gina says stuff

animations - # gina's art shenanigans but...they're moving

★ dni/byf/interests/favs after cut ★

DNI

No dni, I block freely. Pro/comshippers, zionists n bigots are an immediate nono though. I'd also prefer if people who sexualize Mingus Crown specifically would not interact, I can't stop you and I'm not going to, it's just a personal discomfort of mine

Also dni if u ship Brock with Misty, Ash, or any other 10 year old the guy is 15 that's kinda weird oki thx <//3

Other than that just b nice 2 me n we good ☠️

BYF

I have anxiety, depression and ptsd (all diagnosed !!) so uh be patient w me pls

My main comfort rn is Brock from pokemon so uh. If u hate him stay faaaaar away pls

I don't engage in discourse cuz it's dumb and I hate it

I ship phonesport stuff, steter, whatever the fuck if u get pissy abt that dni

I'm also hypersexual because ofc I am

IF I BLOCKED YOU IT'S PROBABLY BECAUSE:

You fit in my extremely short dni

You harass and attack other people for disagreeing with u totally not directed by the way

You constantly beef with my comforts like cmon man

You said weird shit 2 me or abt my art I'm still a kid lol

Interests (bold italic = hyperfix)

Pokemon

Regular show

Tadc

Garten of Banban

Poppy Playtime

Smiling Friends

Dialtown

Gravity falls

Dsaf

Fnaf

The walten files

Favs

Pokemon: Brock, Misty, Ash, Cilan, Dawn, Serena, Kiawe

Also pokemon: Hypno, Sceptile, Azumarill, Quagsire, Voltorb, Skarmory, Primeape, Hitmonlee, Charizard, Croagunk line, Alolaichu, Heracross, Minun, Garchomp and a lot more

Regular Show: Benson, Mordecai, Rigby, Cj, Pops

Tadc: Pomni, Kinger, Caine, Ragatha

Garten of Banban: Jumbo Josh, Banbaleena, Toadster

Poppy Playtime: Bubba Bubbaphant, Dogday, Bobby Bearhug, Craftycorn, Pugapillar, Boxy Boo, Kissy Missy

Kins

Gingi, Randy, Roger, Jake, Rigby, Cj, Ash, Misty, Serena, Mabel, Stan, Dipper, Pim. Personalitywise it really depends on the ppl I'm around

BLINKIES AND STAMPS THEY ARE SO SILLAAAAAY I LOVE EM

Oki I think that's all, thx 4 readin :33

#intro post #introduction #blog intro #gina says stuff #gina's art shenanigans #inbox mischief #gina's art shenanigans but...they're moving

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handspunyarns · 1 month ago

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You Were Marked: Day Thirty-Two point Five, part II

pairing: din djarin x plus size / reverse age gap / fem!O/C

word count: 17.2K

chapter summary: Din and Marathel have dinner, Marathel gets a little tipsy again, and Din decides to kiss Marathel.

warnings:  angst, mention of past abuse, child abuse, pedophilia, incest, and mental illness, English and Mando’a cursing

***Please feel free to comment, kvetch, or otherwise speak your mind about my work. *** 

Read this chapter on Ao3

You Were Marked: Masterlist

You Were Marked: <- Previous Chapter

Marathel’s face, upon seeing Din, was smiling, but then her expression changed to confusion upon seeing a woman standing so close to him. Who in Frith was this? Who was this … woman standing there with him? She was pretty, with wild, curling hair in a color she’d never seen before, hair the color of spiced pwmpum pie, which Marathel was very fond of but now vowed to never eat again! The unknown woman had a similar build to hers, although a bit shorter … but was also of a similar age, surely, as she understood ages to work.

Din wouldn’t just … collect a new woman, would he? And what is this … new feeling that is something like hate? Is this … is this that jell-us feeling that Din has whenever I mention Cobb? Oh, it’s a terrible feeling!

The ugly voices returned. Who’s to say he wasn’t collecting cunts to fuck while he was gone to Nevarro? Because that’s what men do! Because your cunt is is ruined now! Ruined and unfuckable! Isn’t that right, my sweet girl? My baby girl?

Shut up shut up SHUT UP!

You told the Dahl bitch to let him go, and she did, but now you don’t like it? This is what men do with useless cunts like yours, you imbecile! They get a new cunt, a fuckable cunt, and you better get used to it!

The Practical – Sensible voice came back to calm her. That’s right, old girl. You let him go; he can do as he pleases. And yes, you better get used to that.

While Marathel struggled with her racing thoughts, Din simply stared.

Din had decided, at some point in the past couple days, that Marathel was attractive and appealing, although she was probably the furthest thing from any sort of type that he might have preferred, if he actually had one (a perky ass notwithstanding). Din could not believe the change in his ma’mwsh ha‘laa, and his continued surprise at her modified appearance made little explosions in his gut as he continued to stare.

Within this same infinitesimal moment of time, Dursi, Meejil, and Tuulka were all thinking the same thing: Mando, you better say something quick, and it better be good! Even Grogu was looking up at Din’s helmet with a disparaging expression, but Din was fully incapable of speech.

How could he speak? This woman before him was as familiar as the blaster on his hip, but so completely new and different, new hair, new clothes, standing taller, prouder than she had before! The pants she was wearing, well, he’d already approved of how her backside looked in them, but now that he knew it was her, with her curvy waist and her shapely legs in those well-fitting pants … he thought she had great legs; scratch that, he knew she had great legs, those legs had nearly broken his ribs, squeezing the breath out of him as she came on his — dammit, Djarin! Have some kriffing … decorum, for the love of Frith!

In search of decorum, Din’s eyes went upward, meaning to search out her face, but his eyes instead got stuck on her neckline. Dank ferrik. Dank fucking ferrik. The top she was wearing when they got here had a relatively demure scoop neck, certainly showing off more than she ever did on Unmanarall — most of her handmade clothes were boxy in construction and quite modest — but this blue-green number was wrapped in deep pleats around her into a deep V-neck, and whatever cantilevered mammary miracle foundation she was wearing beneath it lifted those sweet breasts of hers practically up to her neck, giving her a good three or so inches of cleavage.

Haar’chak. Move your eyes up, Djarin, move them up. Her hair. Yes, look at her hair. That’s a safe thing to look at, you leering sack of shit.

Her hair, which at times looked like seagrass brought up at high tide while on Unmanarall, was as smooth and shiny as freshly polished beskar. It was caught up in combs behind her ears, the simple style making her look more sophisticated, more refined. And somehow, she had more hair, even though it was so much shorter. That bounce it had now was sassy as hell, and all those waves and curls threatened to drive him crazy!

And she suddenly had eyebrows! She always had eyebrows, you osi’kovid! But these eyebrows she had now framed the rest of her face and drew his eyes directly to hers. They must have used some cosmetics on her, but with such a light touch it was near as never mind, for she looked almost as she did before, but somehow more. Her skin looked fresh and dewy, for kriff’s sake; he wasn’t sure what the hell dewy even meant in terms of skin but he knew that her skin was just that. And then her eyelashes, always transparent before, now had a tiny bit of color on them as well, and he could see that her lashes were actually long and full and he worried that if she fluttered them — does she even know about fluttering eyelashes? — he might drop his rocks and then pass out!

And then there was her mouth! Her lips were full, lush, beautiful, with the corners just turned up in the slightest tilt that always made him wonder just what she was thinking, to have that little saucy smile like that, and that was back on Unmanarall, but here she was with those hitherto pale lips that had touched him in quite a few places and every time was magnificent, and now those lips were painted a deep red, stained like sour berry wine mixed with a bit of blood that made him desperately want her to bite him again and drink his blood and possess him like she was a Dahl possessing her mate and marking him as hers forever, darasuum …

Grogu, tired of Din’s lack of response, shouted “Pree Mama!” before launching himself out of Din’s arms and into Marathel’s, and she laughed. “Pree, PREE MAMA!” Grogu held her cheeks and kissed her with a loud smack, squarely on the mouth, transferring some of her lipstick to him. Then he turned to Din, pointed right at Marathel’s nose, and yelled with a deep scowl on his little face, “Mama PREE, Patu!”

“I, … uh …” stammered Din, before finally swallowing the hairball in his craw. “Yes, Grogu, Mama is pretty.” He gestured weakly and said, “You look lovely, Marathel,” his voice dropping a bit in volume as he’d realized he’d never called a woman lovely before. Marathel dropped her eyes and turned pink.

There was an brief silence — where mostly everyone breathed sighs of relief that Din had found his tongue and said something to the poor woman — then Dursi cleared her throat, saying, “Marathel, I was hoping that you’d allow me to introduce you to Meejil…?” Dursi gestured to the woman with the hair the color of red bark tea.

Meejil took a half-step forward, smiling, and said, “Marathel, I am Dursi’s cousin. I met your Mando yesterday in my shop, and I told him to come here to find things for you. I am so glad to finally meet you.” Meejil extended her hand in greeting.

Marathel did her best to put a pleasant look on her face. She gave Grogu back to Din, and then took Meejil’s hand, saying a quiet hello in return.

Meejil gently squeezed her hand, and said, “We have common ancestors, you and I, from the planet Lew’el. My Great-Nan was from there.”

All Marathel could say to this was, “… Oh?” Lew’el? Yes, Lew’el. Those officers said that my people came from there, long, long ago.

“May I say … um … Ia’ gwr’fal chi.”

All the color drained out of Marathel’s face. “What did you just say to me?”

Meejil, confused, glanced at Din, then said, “Um … I said Ia’ gwr’fal chi. I said that I was glad to meet you.”

“No, you said …” Marathel collected herself, slid her hands up her forearms to her elbows, then said, “How do you know the Oldtalk?”

“I know only a little. My Great-Nan taught me a couple of phrases,” said Meejil. “I’m sure I said it wrong. I’m sorry.”

Din, sensing Marathel’s tension, said, “Marathel has told me that many words have changed meaning over time.”

Now Meejil looked upset. “Oh, no. I hope I haven’t offended you, Marathel.”

“No, no, of course not … I was only surprised to hear my language spoken by someone else, a stranger.” Marathel dropped her eyes to the floor, gripping her elbows hard, trying to put out of her mind what the pretty woman had said to her. “I must beg your pardon; I cannot think straight. I was recently in the medical center, and …”

Meejil gasped. “Oh, Frith, forgive me. I wasn’t even thinking, you be completely exhausted …”

Marathel, for her part, had stopped listening after hearing Meejil say … “Frith? You know Frith?”

Meejil nodded, smiling. “Frith and his tales are still a big part of Lew’elan childhoods. I know some of the stories …”

“Others know of Frith? I …” Marathel’s eyes misted over, and she thought she might cry, feeling so lost and confused. She thought she had been alone her whole life, not just living away from the Hold in a hut, but also not knowing of other planets and other people. But, other people knew of Frith, and had heard of her language, even though the words had changed meanings. Her people had come from some other planet she had never heard of, but was a place others knew. She was heading to a place she’d never been, taken by a man she believed she loved but would leave her there. Marathel felt so tiny in this giant galaxy, knowing nothing and fearing everything. But learning that this stranger had the a common thread to her, a connection to hold on to, gave her hope. And she believed, somehow, that Meejil understood.

Meejil, of course, did understand — or she at least had empathy for this poor woman and hugged her, saying, “Honey, I know. I get it.” Then she began to cry a little, too. “Oh, dear, you got me going …” Marathel chuckled, and pushed back from Meejil with a sniffle. Meejil found tissues in her handbag, handing some to Marathel. “Well, since we both know Frith and we’ve cried on one another, I think that means we are the best of friends; don’t you?”

Marathel shrugged shyly. “Okay …?” Then they both laughed.

Meejil found a card in the pocket of her handbag. “Here. This is my contact information. When you get settled, please, let’s talk. Okay?”

“Okay.” Both women laughed again, and Marathel felt ashamed that she made assumptions about this nice woman. Also, Marathel did not like that jell-us feeling at all, so she vowed to avoid it!

Dursi said, “Well, that was much more exciting than I intended, but, I must mention the unpleasantness of settling the bill.”

Din, who had been more than glad to not be a part of whatever emotional intrigue Meejil and Marathel had just experienced, led Marathel back the desk and held out the credit book to her. “It’s about time you learned how to use this.”

“What is this?”

“Your credit book. It’s how you access your money, so that you can spend it as you need to.”

“I don’t … you’re just giving this to me? I mean, you keep saying ‘your money’, like it’s mine, but …”

“The bounty, Marathel,” said Din. He set Grogu on the desk, and took her hand, placing the credit book in it. “Your money.”

“But … all of it? The whole bounty?”

Din tilted his helmet at her. “Of course, all of it, minus your new house, and ...” Now Marathel looked vexed, and was probably about to protest for some reason, but he didn’t want everyone to keep staring at them, and he said, low, “Can we not fight about the money now? That should be a private conversation.”

Marathel looked down at their clasped hands as they both continued to hold the credit book. “Do you not want to look at this bill; or explain it to me?”

“Your future financial situation is something that I should have no business knowing. And also … you must start asking others for help.” Din gave her fingers a gentle squeeze, then dropped his hands. “I will not always be with you, you know.”

Marathel looked up into his visor, wishing yet again that she could see precisely what shade of brown his eyes were. Still, she nodded and turned to Dursi, asking, “Would you, please … explain this bill to me?”

Dursi smiled and said, “Of course, I would be more than happy to, Marathel ... and teach you a couple of touch-up tricks for teary eyes.” She led Marathel back to a private area of the salon.

Din watched them go — well, watched Marathel’s backside, specifically — and stood looking off in that general direction, not noticing that Tuulka was trying to get his attention. “… I’m sorry; what?”

“Where would you like the lady’s purchases sent, sir? Do you have a hotel, or …?”

Din came back to the present. “A hotel, yes … here,” he said, bringing up the information for Tuulka to scan off his holopad. “We have not checked in, yet, though.”

“The lady’s purchases will be in your room when you arrive, sir. And may I say …” The young man leaned close to Din’s helmet. “Dank ferrik, sir, she’s … hot.” Din took a step back, tilted his helmet and stared at the kid. “Erm … I mean … she looks good. You know. Great.” Din continued to stare. “For a woman of her … you know … I’ll … uh … take care of the bags. Sir.” Tuulka left quickly. Din turned his attention to Meejil.

Meejil rolled her eyes and sighed. “Yeah, he’s a total derp sometimes. After all, he’s still a kid. But, really, he wasn’t wrong. I don’t know what she looked like before, but you have to admit that Dursi is damned good at her job. Look, I gotta go, so …” Din found himself pulled into a tight, motherly hug. “Be good to her. You know it’s going to be tough for her.”

“I know.”

“Be patient. It’s gonna be okay.”

Din was confused. “… of course, it’s going to be okay.”

Meejil pulled back and said, “No, what I meant was … She’s gonna be okay. And so are you, whatever happens.”

Din still didn’t get it, but he nodded, anyway. Meejil also gave him her contact information before requesting regular updates and saying her goodbyes. Shortly after she left, Dursi and Marathel reappeared, and Marathel now had a smart-looking handbag over her shoulder. “All done?” Marathel nodded. “Clear as mud?” She laughed, and nodded again.

“I’ve convinced Marathel to have a bite of dinner here, before returning to your ship,” said Dursi, reminding Din that he’d yet to tell her that they had a hotel room for the night. He wondered how much this meal was going to cost him. This place was swank, after all, and he was pretty much on a street dumpling diet, credit-wise.

But then, Marathel said, “Yes, and I’m … I am … having on the dinner?”

“Dinner’s on you, dear,” whispered Dursi, and Din smirked under his helmet, thinking, oh, my ma’mwsh ha’laa.

Marathel cleared her throat, and was about to speak again, when Din said, “I accept your invitation for you … to have dinner … on … um … you.” Smooth move, asshole! And get your filthy mind out of the gutter!

Marathel flushed and said, “Well … after all, you’ve saved my life a few times recently. I think I can buy you and Grogu a meal.” Oh, stop it, you silly gochgoch!

“Well … I thought that … I was simply repaying you for your hospitality on Unmanarall.”

The two of them gazed at each other in embarrassed silence, making Din wonder whether he’d just dropped right into one of his rom-com holos when Dursi said, “I’d be happy to walk you over there. I asked the head waiter to set up a booth for you, Mando. We have many guests who require privacy.”

Marathel was reaching for Din’s arm again when she felt something grab at her; she looked down to see Grogu’s left hand take hold of her finger, while his other hand held Din’s thumb. Din chuckled and said, “I guess Grogu would like to escort you.”

“Thank you, Grogu, I accept,” replied Marathel with a sweet smile.

Dursi led them across the lower level of the store, past what Marathel assumed was the loud salon. It was bustling with bright lights, thumping music, and young people with startling and colorful hairstyles, all of which she found overwhelming — making Marathel happy she went to the quiet salon. They came to the ornate entrance of a large room, dimly lit and draped with rich fabrics. Dursi gave Marathel a long embrace as well as her own contact information, and a request for Marathel to come back to shop again soon. “Remember what we spoke of, my most beautiful friend. I look forward to your next visit,” said Dursi, as she gently kissed Marathel’s cheek, then walked off with a smile and a wave.

“Madam? Sir?”

Both Din and Marathel spun to see a person, finely dressed, with tentacles for a face and a voice that seemed to emanate from a glowing orb that hung around his neck. “Welcome to Cegdar’s. I am Ke’, and I have the pleasure of serving you this afternoon. We have been expecting you.” He bade them both to follow, and he led them to a private booth with closed curtains. “For your privacy, sir. Once you have been served, we will only come to your table when called — please use the button, there — and we will announce our presence. Madam?” Ke’ held the curtain aside for Marathel to enter, and she sat on a most plush seat before a gleaming wooden table. Din sat opposite, and Grogu climbed out of the bag and onto Din’s lap. “Do you require a booster seat for the young ... master, sir?”

Din considered for a moment, and said, “Yes. Yes, please.”

“Of course, sir. Your menu, madam, sir.” He handed each of them a stiff sheet of embossed card. “Still or sparkling, madam?”

Marathel was looking at the stiff paper in front of her, full of incomprehensible lines and squiggles, only recognizing the letters that were in her name. “I ... I’m sorry?”

Din jumped in, saying, “Still, please, for both of us.”

“Thank you, madam, sir, I will return shortly.” The waiter disappeared behind the curtain.

“Still or sparkling what?” whispered Marathel.

“Water,” said Din, as he looked down the menu, noticing not a single price listed. Yup, swank. Way swank. Kriffing water is probably 100 credits a glass.

“What’s the difference?”

“Still water is just ... water. Sparkling water has bubbles in it.”

“Bubble water?” Din nodded. “Well, perhaps I’d like to try this bubble water,” said Marathel tartly.

“I suppose you’d like the most expensive thing on the menu, too,” observed Din.

“What is the most expensive thing on the ... mehn-yoo?”

“Damned if I know,” muttered Din.

Ke’ coughed lightly on the other side of the curtain. “The early dinner menu is fixed price and inclusive, sir. I have your water and your booster seat, if you will allow me ...?” The waiter entered and set up Grogu on the booster seat, putting him at proper table level, which delighted the child completely. “Your water, madam, sir.”

Din started, “The lady ...”

“Sir?”

Marathel glared at Din, and said, “May I try the sparkling water, please?”

“Of course, madam. The sparkling water comes from a local spring, and we infuse it with tartberry; it is very refreshing. Please, look over the menu, and I will take your choices when I return.”

Ke’ left, and Marathel hissed, “I can speak for myself, you know.”

Din suppressed his grin and said, “I know that exceptionally well. However, it is customary in a restaurant of this caliber for the man to order for the lady.”

“Well, that’s a dumb rule.”

“Well, then, you may order for yourself.”

Marathel scowled. “You know I can’t read.”

Din chuckled. “Oh yes, that’s right. I suppose you will just have to trust my judgement, madam. Now then, what is the most vile thing they serve here ...?”

Marathel was about to say something acerbic when Ke’ returned with a tall glass of fizzy pink water. “Are you ready to order?”

“Yes, we are,” said Din. Leaning towards the waiter, he pointed at the menu, saying, “The lady would like ... this, and I would like this. However, please bring that out at the end; we will take that with us. Oh, and for after ... this, please, for ... madam.”

“Excellent!” said Ke’, who then offered a couple of choices for Grogu. Din chose bunyip meat slices with root vegetables; he knew that the kid liked those.

Once Ke’ had left, Marathel said, “What did you choose for me?”

“You’ll see,” said Din, smiling under his helmet.

Marathel colored slightly, and said, “You know, I could have sat somewhere else, so that you could eat in private.”

Din shook his head. “No, no ... this is your first time in a restaurant; I wanted to ... enjoy watching you having that experience.” Marathel blushed even deeper, and she fiddled with her napkin. “And Marathel, you ... do look lovely. This ... transformation you’ve taken is nothing short of ... stunning.”

“Thank you,” she said shyly. “It was actually quite fun. I rather enjoyed the salon.” Marathel smiled. “Pex, who cut my hair ... they had quite the time washing it all.”

“I should think so. You have a lot of hair. It had never been cut before?”

Marathel shook her head. “Oh, no. Never. Women don’t cut their hair. They can’t. I can cut men’s hair, though. I’m quite good at it. I could cut your hair ... but I suppose that’s not allowed.” Din said nothing, but shook his head no. “That’s a shame; I love having my hands in your hair,” said Marathel before she realized what she’d said. She turned all kinds of pink before dropping her eyes in embarrassment and hiding behind her glass of sparkling water, which she did find quite refreshing. “You know, we never did talk more about what you did when you went back to Unmanarall. You said you went to the Hold before you went to the hut?”

Din nodded. “I think I told you how surprised we were to find the Round Building destroyed.”

“Not more surprised than me when it went boom behind me. I flew through the air and hit the outer wall. That’s how I ...” She gestured to her injured shoulder. “I have no idea why that happened.”

“It was the Mist.”

“The Mist?”

“What I was able to find out, Marathel ... The Round Building must have been the ship your ancestors first came in. The round part was the fuselage at one time, upended to serve as the metal shell for the building. Down in what became the lower levels of the Round Building were in fact the original engines for the ship. But stored below that were barrels and barrels of whatever was the liquid version of the element that made up Mist. Did you know it was flammable?”

Marathel frowned. “No ... the Mist itself, the airborne dust, that never caught aflame.”

“Perhaps only the liquid form was flammable,” said Din with a shrug. “I’m not a chemist. Anyway, yeah. Big boom. I looked down into the crater it left and I could see the original engines.”

“The machinery?” Din nodded. “The Bishop, before I ... he told me that the Captain and the Duke knew about the machinery down in the lower levels. The women weren’t allowed down there, of course. But the Captain and the Duke spent time down there, and they were the ones that captured the Bishop’s voice and sent it into the sky, he said. Over and over, they sent that message, every season for thirty years after I left the Hold. How no one else came to hear it until you did, I don’t understand.”

“Well ... you see, there’s a lot of ... stuff floating around out there. There’s this thing called the sub-ether that carries electrical and magnetic signals, bouncing them all over the galaxy. If a message is sent out in a wide open broadcast – as I believe your bounty message must have been – it could bounce everywhere and nowhere all at the same time, hardly ever getting captured by an antenna.”

Marathel looked crestfallen. “Oh, I don’t understand that at all.”

Din shook his head and took a sip of water through the provided straw. “Don’t concern yourself with that. It’s weird, some of the stuff that’s found out there. There is a message that gets beamed in to a single tower on a moon of Yavin once a Basic year, on the day of their winter solstice. Why there, no one knows. It’s a creepy deep voice announcing a string of numbers. And I mean creepy. I’ve listened to it, and it makes me pucker.” Marathel laughed. “That voice, saying ... thirty-eight, four hundred seventeen, six ... Thirteen numbers. Then a high-pitched scream that cuts off in the middle.”

“Always the same numbers?”

“Always. No one knows what it means. Cryptos have tried for years to figure it out. Then, three years ago, the message wasn’t the numbers. It was the same creepy voice, but it was only the sound of weeping.”

Marathel’s eyes were wide. “Just ... weeping?”

“Yeah. And then the scream that cuts off. And you know what the really weird part is?” Marathel shook her head, completely entranced. “Cryptos were able to work out that the scream comes from a different person each time.”

“No!”

“Yes.”

Marathel pressed a hand to her bosom. “That’s terrifying.”

“It is. I have a recording of the last broadcast on the Crest. I’ll play it for you.”

Marathel was aghast. “You will not! And I especially don’t want to hear it when it’s dark on the ship and I’m trying to sleep!”

Din chuckled. “Would I do that?”

“That is exactly the kind of thing you would do, you great tymffodd!” She scoffed and took another drink of her sparkling water while Din gazed at her and thought to himself, Dahl interference or no Dahl interference, she is simply the most ...

They both heard Ke’ quietly cough and announce, “I have your first course, madam, young master.” The first course turned out to be a leafy salad of greens and candied nuts in a sweet seeded dressing for Marathel, and simple fruit slices with the sweet dressing for Grogu, along with some hard cheese cubes. He rather disliked the dressing, but was amenable to the fruit and cheese. Marathel traded a couple of nuts for a cheese cube, which she liked quite a bit. The salad was good too, although some of the leaves were overly large and hard for Marathel to put in her mouth. She dripped a bit of dressing on the upper swell of her left breast, which Din stared at until she wiped it away with her fingertip.

After sucking the dressing from her finger, she asked, “Did you get the same first course?” Din nodded; he was momentarily incapable of speech. “It’s good; I think you’ll like it.”

Din nodded again, and was about to attempt a response when the waiter returned with their entrees. He placed a large shallow bowl each in front of Marathel and Grogu; Din expressed his thanks while Marathel simply stared at her plate. Din was cutting up the bunyip meat on Grogu’s plate when he noticed Marathel was still staring at her entree. “What, Marathel?”

“What is this?”

“Your dinner,” said Din with a shrug.

“Are you making fun of me?”

“No. Why?”

Marathel took a sharp breath, and hissed, “There are worms on my plate.”

Din chortled. “I beg your pardon?”

“There are worms on my plate!”

It took Din about three tries to collect himself before he knew he could speak without laughing. “Not worms, Marathel. Noodles.”

“Nuh-dulls?”

“No, not nuh-dulls. Noodles.”

“Noo-oo-dulls?”

“Close enough. Yes. Noodles. Boneth noodles with bunyip medallions and button mushrooms in a wetura cream sauce.”

Marathel pushed the noodles around on her plate. “At least I know what mushrooms are.” She sniffed, then said, “You know, it would be easier to understand you sometimes if you weren’t always wearing that helmet.”

“You know I can’t help that.”

“So, what are these noodle things, anyway?”

Din tilted his helmet. “What ... they’re noodles. I don’t know how to explain noodles to you, Marathel. Will you just eat?”

Marathel scowled at him, and then tried to eat the noodles by stabbing them, but they fell off her fork before she could get them into her mouth. She tried cutting them up, but with the same results. By the time she’d dropped a couple down her cleavage, she was completely vexed and Din was completely amused. Marathel picked out all the meat and the mushrooms – these were quite tasty, as was the sauce – but the noodles remained, and Din finally relented. “Marathel, try this ...” He demonstrated twirling Grogu’s fork against a spoon. “Spin the noodles on to your fork.”

Marathel frowned, but gave it a try, and was finally successful at getting a forkful of noodles into her mouth. “Well, they don’t taste like much of anything, do they? Just ... mushy, kind of.”

“I can’t believe you’ve never had noodles before. Unmanarall was devoid of noodles?”

“No noodles. Bread, grains, yes, but no noodles.”

Din chuckled. “There are huge planetary systems whose entire diet is noodle-based. But not Unmanarall. That just about blows my mind, Marathel.” Marathel shrugged and continued sopping up the last of the cream sauce with a bit of bread that had come with her salad. “So, what did you think of your dinner? Was my choice acceptable?”

Marathel wiped her lips with her napkin and said, “Yes, actually, that was very good, even with the worm-noodles.”

“Good. I’m glad you enjoyed it.”

“I suppose we must go back to the ship, and head to Nevarro?” she asked quietly, looking down at her hands as she folded them together on the table.

“Well, no, actually ...” Marathel looked up at him. “We’re staying here one more night. The ship is boxed in and we can’t get out until morning.”

“But ... what are we to do? Sleep on the ship?”

“We have a hotel room for the night,” said Din. Marathel frowned at him. “A hotel room is a place that people pay money to sleep in.”

“How many people in a room?”

Din shook his head. “No, not ... just the three of us. It’s a private room, with a private fresher. It’s connected to the casino closest to the medical center; I’m sure it’s quite nice.”

“Oh ... Something else you’ve had to pay for.”

“No, the room is courtesy of the docks, to make up for the inconvenience. The harbormaster gave me a chit for it.”

Marathel didn’t understand what a harbormaster or a chit was, but she supposed it didn’t matter. “Din, you must have lost so much money these past thirty-whatever days.”

“Thirty-two.”

“You were supposed to make money by finding me on Unmanarall. The coins, those were supposed to be for you and Grogu. And for your people. Why are you giving me all the money?”

Din looked down at the table. “As I’ve said before, Marathel, the Armorer wouldn’t accept the coins for the covert. If she said it was dishonorable for the covert to have them, it would be equally as dishonorable for me to have them as well.”

“Din ...”

“I can’t, Marathel, I can’t keep the money. You almost died. No money, or bounty, or reward is worth the suffering you’ve endured, what you will continue to endure,” said Din. “There is not enough money in the entire galaxy that could make up for your agony. Nothing is worth that.”

You were worth that, Din. You were worth it, and the brief happiness you gave me. The happiness Grogu gave me. A fleeting moment where I believed I was loved. Marathel swallowed, and said quietly, “Can you not understand that you are now dishonoring my wishes? My intentions for you?”

Din shook his head and pointed a finger at her. “Don’t you do that, Marathel. Don’t you dare turn that back around on me. You can’t make me carry that guilt.”

Marathel glared at Din for a few moments, then muttered, “I can’t believe I have to fight with a mercenary to give him money.”

Din folded his arms and leaned back in his seat. “Well, there’s a three-credit word. Mercenary. Did Cobb teach you that word, too?”

“No, I think it was actually the Bishop. He also called you a criminal. Several times. He couldn’t understand why I found you so appealing. But then he also didn’t understand why whipping the hide from my back daily didn’t cure my sulky bi ...” -- Marathel glanced at Grogu, who was licking his plate -- “... behavior.” She sighed. “Will, you, at least, be willing to take what you have lost from dealing with me? Surely you do need at least that. And perhaps, a little more? Just a small amount?”

Din, who was still working on the fact that Marathel thought him appealing, considered this offer of hers. He needed credits to get back to Nevarro and then on to Mand’alor. He needed supplies, more rations. He nodded. “Okay. I’ll accept that.”

“How does one do such a thing?”

“Bring out your credit book, and I’ll show you.” She did, and he brought his out as well. “Move over here, next to me; it’ll make it easier.” She did, fighting with the booth curtain a bit as she did so, which amused Din greatly. Then, when she sat down next to him, her added weight on the plush seat cushion made them slide close together, and he had a great view right down her cleavage. He just managed to notice the corner of something that looked like a small piece of paper tucked between her breasts before Marathel moved a bit away. “Okay, here. Open up your book, and press and hold down that button there.” She did, and both credit books made a small ping noise. “That means you now have me as a linked contact, see? That’s my name on the screen.”

“That’s what your name looks like in that ... Aurebesh?”

“Yes. And there’s your name on my screen.”

She looked, and then said, “I recognize Marathel. What’s the rest of that?”

“Ap Unmapeth. That’s the name you said you’re chipped with, right? I opened the account with that name. Well, as best as I could spell it, anyway.”

Marathel was touched. “You remembered.”

“Of course, I remembered your name, ma’mwsh ha’laa. So now, you go into this menu ...” He walked her through setting up the transfer. “Now the numbers ...”

“I think I can read the numbers. Dursi made this card for me ...” Marathel pulled a small card out of a slot in her credit book. Din could see the numbers of zero through nine in Aurebesh, and then under the numbers was an odd set of directional glyphs.

“What are those symbols?”

“Numbers as I know them,” said Marathel.

“You know numbers?”

“Of course I do. You can’t knit or weave or spin, or even cook, if you don’t know numbers. I’m not a complete idiot, Din.”

“No, mesh’la, you are the furthest thing from an idiot, and I wish you wouldn’t refer to yourself as such.”

Marathel said quietly, “You just called me mesh’la.”

“I am well aware that I called you mesh’la. Now, you enter the numbers and press that red button to send the credits to my account.” He told her the amount, and she entered it, referencing the numbers on her card. She took one last moment to enjoy the sensation of having him so close, made one tiny adjustment to the number, and then sent him the credits with a ping. Marathel put her card back in her credit book, and then moved back to her seat, leaving Din mildly disappointed that she left his side, as he had been trying to work out whether she was wearing perfume or if her different scent was because of her hair. Shortly after, his credit book pinged with the completed transfer. He looked at his credit balance and frowned. “Marathel …”

“Hmmm?” Marathel dropped her credit book in her handbag, and innocently sipped her bubble water.

“No, Marathel. I’m not accepting this.”

“Yes, you are.”

“You added a zero to the amount. I’m not taking ten times the number of credits.”

“Yes, you are.” Marathel’s lip started to quiver.

“Marathel …”

“You said no amount of money was worth my suffering, then how little will you take for saving my life? How little is my life worth to you? How little is just enough for you to accept?”

They stared at each other for a time. Marathel then heard Din sigh shakily, and then he sniffed harshly, as if he were suppressing some emotion. “Marathel, I am going to transfer a portion back to you.” Before she could protest, he continued, “I will keep part of this, above and beyond what I’ve lost. But then, this matter is closed. Do you understand?” Marathel arched her eyebrow, then nodded. Din did the transfer, and he heard the muffled ping in her handbag. “You aren’t even going to look at it, are you?”

Marathel set her jaw and leaned back against the high seat back. She crossed her arms, dangling her glass from her fingers. “No. And I never want to speak of money or that bounty with you ever again.”

Din nodded. “Fair enough.” He sat, unmoving, looking at her while she sat indolently, sipping her sparkling water, holding his gaze, making Din wonder what was happening between them now, for kriff’s sake, when the waiter coughed quietly on the other side of the curtain.

“Madam, sir, if I may interrupt, I have brought the lady’s dessert.”

“Of course, thank you,” said Din as Marathel furrowed her brow. Dessert? What is this new thing?

Ke’ carefully pulled back the curtains, tying them off to the sides of their booth. Next to him was a shiny cart that conveyed a covered plate as well as a metal bowl and a pitcher that seemed to have frost on the outside. He placed the covered dish in the center of the table, tilted his head towards Marathel, and said, “Madam, your dessert. I present our Deep Nebula Cake with table side ice cream and hard sauce.” He lifted the cover off the plate with a flourish, revealing a cake of the darkest, richest brown as Marathel had ever seen in a food.

The waiter then went back to the cart, and he poured very thick milk out of a small pitcher into a large metal bowl. He then picked up the large, frosted pitcher, and poured a clear liquid into the bowl while briskly stirring the milk with a large paddle. Cold smoke overflowed from the bowl like Mist over a ridge, startling Marathel and entrancing Grogu, who waved his hands at the clouds drifting across the table, cooing. After a final stir, Ke’ put down the large pitcher, then spooned what certainly did look like ice cream in a hollow in the top of the brown cake. He then poured a dark brown sauce from a tiny pitcher over the cake and ice cream. When the sauce spread over the ice cream, it seemed to turn hard, like a shell. Ke’ said “Your cake, madam,” as he bowed. He then presented her with a small hammer. “If you will please do the honors …”

Marathel sat there, blinking at the waiter, until Din said, with an obvious grin on his face under the helmet, “Take the hammer, Marathel, and give the top of the ice cream a little thwack.”

“Just a small one, Madam. Just enough to make a little divot.” Marathel took the small fancy hammer and gave the dessert a healthy tap. Ke’ carefully placed a red stemmed berry, coated in a thick red sauce, in the little space made by the hammer. “Enjoy, Madam, Sir.” With a final flourish, the waiter presented two spoons, closed the curtains, and left.

Marathel stared at the concoction before her. “Frith. That’s for me?”

“All for you.”

“It’s lovely, but what makes you think I’ll like this?”

“Marathel, I have traveled from one side of this galaxy to the other, and I have yet to meet a woman who didn’t enjoy this sort of cake.”

Marathel poked at it with a spoon. “Oh? And what sort is that?”

“Dark chocolate.”

Marathel shrugged and said, “Well. We’ll see.” She took a small spoonful of cake and dark sauce and ate it. Her face went through a variety of expressions: curiosity, questioning, then of surprise. She took another spoonful, a bigger one this time that included the frosting and the ice cream, and Din watched as her face went into a lovely look of deep pleasure as she chewed this second taste. She closed her eyes with fluttering eyelashes, and while Din neither dropped his rocks nor passed out, he did feel about as fizzy as Marathel’s sparkling water. She slowly chewed and chewed, rolling each morsel back and forth on her tongue, her expression softening into something that — to Din, at least — bordered on ecstasy. She raised her chin and swallowed, took a deep breath through her nose and swallowed again. She then dropped her chin, covered her mouth, and sighed. “Oh, oooh. Oh, my,” she quietly gasped.

“Do you—“ Din cleared his throat. “Do you like it?”

Marathel’s eyes opened — fluttered open, and the look in her deep silver pools of liquid beskar eyes was so blissful, Din had to take a few breaths to slow down his racing heart. “I believe,” she said, “that was the most wonderful thing I’ve ever had in my mouth.”

Haar’chak. “So, you like the cake, then?”

“Very much so. Your knowledge of women’s taste is secure,” said Marathel with a giggle. “Did you want any?”

“Not me, no. Although I think Grogu will cry if he can’t have any.”

Marathel smiled at Grogu, who did indeed look so sad and pitiful that she gave him a small section of cake — not the frosting or the ice cream; Din refused to give the kid that much sweet stuff so late in the afternoon. She attacked the rest of the cake, and she loved every bit of it. The frosting was thick and sweet but also slightly bitter, and the fresh ice cream — which wasn’t quite plain, it had some sort of flavor that Marathel couldn’t place — was such a lovely complement to the whole dish. How she ever lived her entire life missing out on something so decadent made her regretful, even a little sad!

All too soon, all that was left was the berry from the top of the cake. Marathel smiled saucily at Din, took the stemmed berry, held it by the stem above her open mouth, and dropped it in, stem and all. She chewed for a short while, then said, “Hold out your hand.” Din did so, and she spit the now-knotted stem into his gloved palm.

Din tilted his helmet. “Well, that was … confusing.”

Marathel giggled. “You, of all people, know I have a talented tongue. You know what’s sad, though? The Hold men didn’t care if we were good at what we were doing. At least you seemed appreciative.” Din drew his chin back, surprised. “I mean, I know I said you didn’t complain about what happened between us on Unmanarall,” said Marathel, wiping up the last of the sauce with her finger, “But I would go so far as to say you enjoyed it …”

“What the … Marathel, what is the matter with you?”

“I’m just speaking my mind. I won’t have a chance when you leave me on Nevarro.” She blinked slowly and sniffed. “And … and, Dahls or no Dahls, I know you watch my backside every time I leave a room. Which is why I wore these pants to dinner. I wasn’t quite sure if you liked cleavage too — is that the word? — but I noticed that you at least admire mine. I mean, I’m guessing that you’re looking. You’re breathing differently. More heaving. Oh, and by the way…” — she reached between her breasts and pulled out the scented card — “… yes, I’m wearing perfume. I heard you sniffing when I was sitting next to you.” She flicked the card at him, and it bounced off his visor and fell to the table.

Din tilted his head. “Are you … are you drunk?” He pressed the button to summon the waiter. “There was supposed to be liqueur flavoring in the cake, but certainly not enough to make you tight.”

Ke’ appeared. “Sir?”

“Just how much booze was in that cake?”

Ke’ looked startled. “The cake itself contains no alcohol. The frosting and hard sauce is made with a chocolate liqueur, and the ice cream is made with a cream brandy. Then the stemfruit is …”

Din groaned inwardly. “I thought it was only flavoring.”

“No, sir, the Deep Nebula Cake is one of our featured edible cocktails. And it’s quite strong, as it’s … meant for two.” Din glared at the waiter, who tilted his head. “It’s quite clearly listed on the menu, sir …”

Din waved his hand. “No, I’m sorry, it’s my fault. I didn’t fully read the description.” He sighed. “Would you be so kind as to bring the lady a strong cup of tea?”

The waiter left, and Marathel said, “Tsk, tsk, tsk. Mando! Trying to get a lady deffdonyn? At least Cobb made no secrets about pouring me spotchka,” she said with a giggle.

“Cobb gave you spotchka?”

“To be fair, Boba and Fennec gave me the first glass, Cobb just kept it full.”

“… Did he?”

“He might have kissed me, too, I can’t quite remember. I was lying in bed while the Modifier gave me a second set of treatment injections and Cobb was on the bed with me. I was falling asleep like I do when I get those injections.” Ke’ appeared with a small pot of tea, a pitcher of cream, sweet, and a beautiful teacup and saucer. He poured a cup, left the bill, then disappeared. “I’m pretty sure he said that the kiss was from you … oh, is that the bill?” She reached for it, but Din snatched it first. “Don’t, Din. I said I was paying for dinner.”

Din took a look at it, grunted, and said. “Fine. Hand me your credit book; I’ll take care of it.”

Marathel drank some tea, then handed her credit book to Din. “Dursi taught me about tipping. Be sure to be generous to Ke’, he has given us very good service.”

“I tip sufficiently,” muttered Din.

“Do better than sufficiently,” she said archly. “And don’t even think about returning more of the bounty I gave you.”

“I won’t.” Din fumed under his helmet, and bent his head to pay the bill.

“Oh, and more thing while I’m still … drunk enough to have the nerve to say this …” Marathel leaned across the table, inadvertently thrusting her cleavage into better view. “I rather enjoy looking at your backside as well!” she hissed, then picked up her cup and saucer, leaned back again, and returned to drinking her tea.

Din stared at her for quite some time before paying the bill. He slid the credit book back across the table to Marathel, then put Grogu, who was uncharacteristically silent, back in the bag. Din stood, pushing the curtains aside. Ke’ appeared with Din’s dinner in a carry out bag. “Sir.”

“Thank you,” said Din quietly.

“Madam?” said Ke’, giving his hand to Marathel to help her get out of the booth. Din, meanwhile, headed back to the restaurant entrance with Grogu.

“Thank you, Ke’. Dinner was wonderful; the cake was magnificent! Thank you, thank you so much.”

“Thank you, Madam; please come again.” Ke’ bowed slightly, and Marathel smiled at him, then hurried to catch up with Din, who was grousing to himself about Cobb, again!

They found their way back through Mise-Tusil and back out to the street level. Outside, the sun was setting, making all the colorful lights even brighter. More people were about, making Marathel nervous again, so she grabbed Din’s arm. He looked at her, asking, “Are you all right to walk a little bit?”

She nodded, so they made their way across a footbridge to the other side. Once there, they took another quickcart back to the medical center stop, riding in silence. Marathel was deep in thought, wondering if her recent behavior offended Din. She, however, had no regrets about her words — if she said things when she was drunk, it was only because she lacked the courage to say them sober. Isn’t that right, old girl?

I’d say so, old girl.

Yes, perhaps later she’d be regretful, when — or if — she knew better what Din thought. Once again, she hated the helmet he wore that hid his eyes and his expressions and his thoughts. Unfair, unfair, unfair.

At least you can be honest with your feelings, old girl.

Fat lot of good that does me now. What do I need to do, throw myself at his feet before he leaves me on Nevarro?

You’ve left him twice before, and now he’s leaving you. Three times, you’ll have tried to leave each other … Suddenly, Din’s statement of third time’s the charm made sense to her, and her heart broke yet again.

Meanwhile, Din wasn’t sure what he should think. Marathel was a cute drunk; her sassiness came out in startling ways, and while he was not pleased with what she dared to say in front of Grogu — he believed the kid was just as confused as he was — Din was rather chuffed that she found him attractive, despite the armor, helmet, and weapons.

In fact, Din wondered if he just shouldn’t have asked the waiter to take Grogu into the child-minding center, tied the curtains closed, and made out with Marathel right in that booth — only kissing, because, well, it was a restaurant, and surely there were health codes about anything more involved than kissing. Although possibly getting my hand into her cleavage or down the back of her pants … leave it alone, Djarin! You are going to be leaving her on Nevarro, third time’s the charm, remember? You have to get yourself right in your Creed after all this … weirdness with freaky cat-lizard-dog critters that may or may not have possessed your mind and emotions! If you weren’t thinking with your dick, chasing after some strange woman, then …

“… Din? We’ve stopped.”

Din blinked, finally noticing they were at their destination. He stepped out and extended his hand to help Marathel. She was moving slowly now; it had been a long day for her and she was still not back to full health. “Marathel? It’s just a little further. Will you be all right?”

“Just so long as I can lean on your arm.”

They walked in silence for a while. Din asked, “Are you still drunk?”

“Not drunk. Just a bit … topsy?”

“Tipsy?”

“Yes, that’s it. Tipsy. That’s a cute word; I like that word.” They went quiet again until Marathel asked, “Are you displeased with me?”

“No, of course not.”

Something in his tone made her think that he would prefer she not speak about it further, so, she let it go as they walked between the medical center and another large building, this one with tall windows and many bright lights. Marathel wondered what a casino was, and whether she’d see one of those wedding chapels. The sun was going down and the streets will filling with more people. Most of the people coming towards them looked at them with only mild curiosity; apparently a woman on the arm of a fully armored and beweaponed Mandalorian was not unusual on the streets of Canto Bight.

Din and Marathel went under a large stone and metal awning and they entered another large room, also with hard polished stone floors, like Mise-Tusil. There was a long counter at one end of room, where pretty young people in uniforms smiled at grumpy people, all of whom had many bags with them. In the center of this large room was a set of four enormous statues of naked females, artfully arranged with many flowers and a circular bench all around it. Marathel leaned close to Din, asking, “Where are we now?”

“The hotel lobby. I need to let them know we’re here for our room. Did you want to sit here and wait?” Marathel nodded, and took a seat on the padded bench. Din watched her wilt a little bit; she was obviously very tired. “Here, watch the kid for me.” He lifted his bag off his shoulder and placed it in her lap. Grogu was delighted to be with his Mama, even if he had to stay in the bag. He held out his hand, and like Din, Marathel gave him her thumb to hold.

She had just closed her eyes for a moment when she felt a presence nearby. Her eyes flashed open to see Captain Teva standing before her. He nodded politely, saying, “Lady Marathel.”

“Captain,” she said, doing her best to not grimace.

“You’ve greatly changed your appearance. I almost didn’t recognize you.” He smiled at her. “You clean up very nice, ma’am.”

“I’ve been to Mise-Tusil this afternoon.”

“I’ve heard of it. Would it benefit me to buy my wife a gift from there?”

“Your …?”

“My wife.” Marathel looked at him quizzically. “You don’t understand the word wife?”

“I’m afraid I don’t. But I don’t know many things, you see.”

Teva looked very thoughtful for a moment, then said, “I suppose I could see that. May I sit?” Marathel nodded, and he sat down next to her. “My wife, Kilne — here’s a holo of her — the woman I’m married to.” He showed her the image of a very lovely woman.

Marathel nodded again, but in understanding. “Oh, married. I know that word. You and Kilne have promised to live together for life. With … affection, I hope.”

Teva smiled. “Most days. Is, uh … Mando here?”

She gestured to the desk. “He is seeing about a room that we can stay in tonight.”

“Yes, I am sorry about that. I’m … also sorry about what I have to tell you next.” With a sigh, he said, “The Lew’elan Parliament has decreed you and your people refugees. That means …”

“I know what a refugee is. But what is a Parliament?”

“You know what a refugee is, but not a wife?” She shrugged, and Teva continued, “Parliament is Lew’el’s system of government — the people in charge.”

“Law and order?”

Teva nodded. “Precisely, yes. However, what the Parliament has also decreed is that you are part of the family of Bishop, so your legal — that means by the law — your legal name is Marathel ap Bishop. And therefore, by the law of the New Republic, your current chip is fraudulent.”

Marathel felt dread rising. “I don’t understand.”

“Fraudulent means that your chip is dishonest. It’s a lie. And because I know it’s dishonest, I must remove it, and re-chip you with your correct identity.”

Her dread was replaced by fear. “Why? What does it matter? Who does it hurt? It’s just a little lie, and who would care?”

“Marathel, as a refugee of Lew’el, you must follow their rules. Their rule is that an unmarried woman bears the family name of her … father,” said Teva apologetically.

“Please, no, please, please, no no no …”

“Lady Marathel, I am sorry, but I have no choice. I wish I could let this go …”

Marathel was sobbing now. “Please, please, don’t force me to bear his name, I can’t, I can’t, please, don’t make me carry his name …” The next thing Marathel knew, she was pulled out of her seat and against a hard armor chest plate, and a strong arm latched around her shoulders, holding her tightly in a circle of protection, and she heard a mechanized voice growling through a metal helmet:

“Tell me why you made her cry.”

Marathel heard some commotion, and she opened her eyes, turning her head to see Din holding out his blaster at Captain Teva’s nose. Teva simply looked back at Din mildly, his hands raised. Marathel looked around further to see a number of people wearing dark uniforms, pointing their weapons at the three of them.

A hotel rep came forward, wearing beaded clothing and an elaborate headscarf. “If I may suggest, uh … gentlemen, sir, please holster your weapon, so that we may come to an agreement? Is Madam all right?”

Marathel nodded, sniffling, and she found a tissue in her pocket so she could blow her nose. “I’m all right,” she said quietly.

Din holstered his weapon and lessened his grip on Marathel, leaving his hand resting on his shoulder. The uniformed people lowered their weapons. “I apologize for the commotion,” said Din to the hotel rep. Once the hotel people were satisfied that Din wasn’t going to create a messy scene and no one was being arrested, they departed back to the background. “What happened?” Din quietly asked Marathel.

“I unfortunately had to inform Marathel …” began Teva.

“Not you,” said Din, pointing a gloved finger at Teva while keeping his gaze on Marathel’s tear stained face.

“He … he said that I am now a refugee of Lew’el, but that means … my chip is now a lie, and, and … I have to get a new one, but, but … with the Bishop’s name on mine …” She began to cry once more, and she felt Din’s arm tighten again around her shoulder and Grogu’s little fingers tighten on her thumb.

Din looked at Teva. “Is this necessary? She’s not going to Lew’el. So who gives a womp rat’s blistered ass about a one more mischipped female refugee on a backwater outer rim planet?”

“Lew’el does. They’re quite vocal in the New Republic, and they originally wanted me to forcefully extradite her to Lew’el. This is the compromise. I must re-chip you, Marathel, with your legal name, with a locator chip. Those are my orders.”

“A lot of us followed orders when the Empire was around, didn’t we?” sneered Din.

“Cut me some slack, Mando, this is my job. And I just want to be done here, get back home to my wife and kids.”

Marathel interrupted. “Am I forced to have his name forever? Is there no compromise for me?”

Teva shrugged. “Once this chip goes into record, then you can petition to change your name. That’s the legal way to do it.”

“How long does it take for the chip to go into record?”

“It’s usually one hundred days or so.”

Marathel sighed. “Are these … legal things always so difficult and complicated?”

“I’m afraid so. Again, I’m truly sorry I must do this, Marathel. It’s all part of … law and order.”

Marathel wiped her eyes. She felt sick, almost faint. “I need to sit.” Din gently guided her back to sit on the bench, dropping to one knee before her, stroking her arm. She still held the bag that held Grogu, and she clutched him close to her while keeping him concealed. She looked at her inner arm, where the skin was still red and abraded from her irritating the various injection sites. You need to stop doing that. You need to figure out how to get by in this galaxy, and you must figure out how to do it by yourself. Din will not rescue you for much longer. You must save your strength for the fights that really matter.

Taking some comfort and strength from the Practical-Sensible voice within her, Marathel dried her tears, took a breath and lifted her arm out to Teva. He told her to relax while he opened a case and held a scanner over her arm. “This will hurt some,” he muttered as he turned a small dial. She saw the tiny grain shoot out of her skin like popping a stone from a lanog fruit. It did hurt, but not much. He pressed a small hunk of metal to another spot on her arm, and fired the new chip into her, which hurt worse than the one coming out. She grunted in pain. Din squeezed her other hand. Teva waved the scanner again, and the new version of her name — Marathel ap Bishop — popped up. Teva held the scanner to her. “Sign here,” he indicated to the screen. Marathel used her finger to scrawl a mark on the screen. “I am sorry, Marathel. I wish you all the best for your future. May the Force be with you,” he said, standing up.

Marathel muttered, “And also with you,” then sighed. “Oh, Captain, before I forget, your original question … yes, it would benefit you greatly to get a gift for your wife from Mise-Tusil. Ask for Dursi.”

Teva smiled at her and said, “I thank you, Lady Marathel. “ He then said to Din, “Your ship will be operational in the morning, and I’ll make sure the cordovas blocking you in are towed out by dawn. May the Force be with you.”

Din simply nodded, and Teva left. Din sat on the bench next to Marathel, realizing he was still holding her hand. “Are you all right?”

Marathel surprised him by leaning her head on his shoulder. “I guess. Honestly, though, I really need to stop letting things bother me so much.”

“But it’s your name. That’s worth getting bothered by.” Din took this opportunity to put an arm around her. “It would bother me if I had to take a name I despised.”

“Really? Like what?”

Din scoffed. “Like Vizsla, for one.”

“Who is that?”

“A fellow Mandalorian in my covert.”

Marathel looked up at Din. “You don’t like him?”

“I love him like a brother. I also hate him like a brother, because he’s an ass.”

Marathel chuckled. Then she held up her arm, which was red where the new chip was inserted. “So now I’m Marathel ap Bishop. Well, I guess I always was, no matter what I tried to tell myself.” She sighed. “What is a locator chip?”

“Just what it sounds like. It tracks your location. It sounds like Lew’el wants to keep you on their radar, at least for now.”

“I am a murderer.”

Din gently squeezed her shoulder. “You have yet to be tried and convicted, and I believe that there are many extenuating circumstances in your case.” Marathel shrugged. “Try not to worry about it too much. I wouldn’t be surprised if it all just goes away. I would think that a government would be too embarrassed to bring out a place like the Hold into public record.”

Yes … it is all too shameful to consider, thought Marathel. Out loud, she asked, “Is our room ready?”

“Yes, it is,” said Din. He stood up, taking the bag with Grogu back from Marathel and helping her stand. He led her to the elevators, and after a couple minutes, they found their room. On the way, Marathel amused herself by reading floor and room numbers out loud. Din praised her efforts before unlocking the door, letting them into a nicely appointed room, which was apparently an upgrade, according to the desk clerk.

It wasn’t quite a suite, but there was a small sitting area with a soft chair and a decently sized sofa. All of Marathel’s shopping bags were lined up nearly against the wall. Just past the sofa was an enormous bed, as wide as it was long. “Goodness,” said Marathel. “Six of us could fit on that thing.”

“What about Grogu?” asked Din, as he let the kid out of the bag, allowing him to explore the room.

“Okay, then, two of us and a Grogu.”

Din sighed. “I’ll sleep on the sofa.”

“What’s a sofa?”

Din looked at her a moment before pointing at the sofa and saying, “That is. That’s a sofa.”

Marathel frowned. “You’d rather sleep there? That makes no sense, Din. How often do you get to sleep on a real bed?”

“About as often as I get a real shower,” he said as he went to check out the fresher situation. “Wizard. Me first,” he muttered.

“Don’t you want to eat first? You could… sit at the table there.” Din tilted his helmet at her. “I can sit behind the sofa … put a blanket over my head, if you want. I won’t look, I promise.”

Din shrugged. “If you don’t mind.”

“I don’t. Please. Go ahead and eat. Dinner was delicious.” Marathel went behind the sofa and sat on the floor, leaning up against the back of the sofa.

Din chuckled. “Comfy?”

“No. Mind if I grab a pillow to sit on?”

“Go right ahead,” said Din as he turned to the desk, sitting in the chair. The desk faced the wall opposite the sofa, which meant they’d essentially be sitting back to back, which was acceptable. He unpacked his dinner from the bag, laying it out in front of him. He had also gone for the bunyip, but in a stir-fry with grains, vegetables, and a spicy sauce. It still smelled delicious. He had the salad, too, but he was prepared to skip it in favor of the entrée.

Just as he reached to remove his helmet, Marathel called out, “Is it all right if we chat while you eat? Or must you be silent?”

Din’s hands froze. He’d rather not chat — he thought they’d said enough for one evening — but he decided to humor her. “We can chat, if you like.”

“Good. I was hoping to hear your voice without your helmet a little more.”

Din shrugged, and removed his helmet. He put a forkful of his dinner in his mouth, and was happy to find that it was as delicious as it smelled. And of course, Grogu appeared next to him, wanting up. “Hey, buddy. C’mere. I suppose I can share a little bit.”

“Grogu is accustomed to seeing you without your helmet?”

Din lifted Grogu onto his lap and gave him a chunk of bunyip to gnaw on. “He is.”

“Good. It’s only proper a boy should know his father,” said Marathel matter-of-factly.

“I wanted him to know who I was. I … never saw my buir’s face. The man who rescued me. Took me in and raised me. He was very … strict about following the Creed.” Din ate another forkful of dinner, and it seemed to take a long time for him to swallow it. “He was very ill when he died. Removing his helmet may have lengthened his life, or at least made his death less painful. But it was his request that he die, and be buried in his helmet. His armor went to protect others.”

This surprised Marathel. “You weren’t allowed to have his armor?”

“I called him buir but I was only his apprentice. I had not earned armor like his at that time. I was allowed a small piece from his pauldron, his clan mark. I was allowed to keep his family weapons.”

Oh, Din. “I am so sorry.”

“This is the way.”

They were quiet for a while. Marathel could only hear Din eating. “Your buir … I believe he did the best he could. He raised you to be a good man. That sounds like a real father to me.” Din had to swallow back tears. But I’m not a good man, I’m not. “And I believe you are the best of fathers to Grogu.”

Din looked down at Grogu. She said I am a good father. That was the highest praise he thought he had ever received. He failed to hold back his tears this time, but a couple were okay. He gave Grogu a little squeeze before he said, “Thank you, Marathel.”

Marathel was thinking once again upon how unfair, cold, and cruel Din’s Creed was, when she realized he’d asked her a question. “I’m sorry; what was that?”

“I asked what Meejil said to you that upset you so.”

Marathel was quiet, then finally said, “It was nothing. Just nonsense.”

“Marathel, don’t lie to me. You practically went still. Meejil said it meant that she was happy to meet you, but what did you hear?” She didn’t answer. “Marathel? Tell me, please.”

Din heard her sigh shakily, then she sniffled. “You remember what I told you … what my earliest memories were?”

Din looked down at Grogu, knowing that she was censoring herself for his sake. But yes, he remembered. First, the brand on her inner thigh. The smell of burning flesh was one he knew well, but it was her burning flesh, her soft, delicate child-skin irreparably damaged as if she were only a herd animal, marked for ownership. And then, her first rape, the Bishop forcing himself into her mouth and down her throat, and Olba, forced to participate in the defiling of a little innocent girl. Din swallowed and said, “Yes, I remember.”

“The Bishop said those words to me, after the first … before the second.”

“What do those words mean to you?”

“It doesn’t … the words don’t go directly into Newtalk — Basic, as you say. But it essentially means ‘you are no more.’ That there was no more me or mine, but that I was his. And, of course, he would have said that to me again if I had ever become his Whyn.”

No wonder she says that words lead to lies. Her own language has been so fully bastardized that she can’t trust any words at all. “Marathel, I’m sorry.”

“It’s just words. It doesn’t matter.”

Din disagreed with that; precise words were very important to him both as a man and a Mandalorian. Clear and precise words, clear and precise plans, clear and precise actions. And also, a lesson from his youth, a lesson from his engineer father, also clear and precise with his words: sticks and stones break bones, son, but words cause permanent damage. “Marathel, if I said

di grad’gwm cwd’atch, what would that mean to you?”

“Once again, please?”

“Di grad’gwm cwd’atch.”

Marathel frowned. “I can’t … that doesn’t make sense to me. It’s you … something something. That graw sound is kind of the word for hand, and cwd’atch sounds a little like cwtch, but … sorry. It’s nonsense to me. Where did you hear that?”

“Meejil. She said …” Din had been done eating for a while, and just now realized he should have put his helmet back on by now.

“Meejil said …?”

He replaced his helmet before he said, “She said it means …” His mind scrabbled for something innocuous. “Let’s be friends, essentially.”

Marathel was not convinced, especially hearing his voice in the helmet again, that he was telling her the full truth. Words always lead to lies. And there are words we will never say, not to each other. Certainly not words that matter. “Since your helmet is back on, may I get up from behind this sofa?”

“Yes, of course.”

She got up awkwardly, her legs full of pins and needles. “Oof! My bottom fell asleep.” She shook out her legs and said, “I don’t know how comfortable this sofa will be for you, Din; the cushion barely helped at all.” She tossed the cushion back on the sofa with a chuckle.

Din stood as well, putting Grogu back on floor to let him run around. “I’ve slept on worse.” Din carried his trash to a refuse can, then stretched and asked, “Did you need the vac tube before I shower?” She shook her head no.

As he found some clean clothes, Marathel said, “I think I’ll organize my bags, and let Grogu get out his deg-degs.”

“Deg-degs?”

“His need to run.”

Din nodded. “Ah, yes. His zoomies, I call it.”

“Zoomies?”

“He goes zoom zoom zoom everywhere,” explained Din with a shrug.

“He has been cooped up for so long. And now he will have to be cooped up on the ship. We will have to try playing deg’rhydeg on the ship.”

“That running game? Grogu taught me how to play it. Perhaps, all three of us could play?”

Marathel scoffed. “The three of us on your tiny ship? We will be crashing into each other!”

Din shrugged. “Could be fun.” Full-contact running game? With tackling? Yes, could be fun, indeed. Before Din could expand on those possibilities in his mind, he shut himself in the fresher room. As he reached to lock the door, he wondered if Marathel would wonder why he locked the door, as if she wouldn’t give him privacy. She’d been careful to grant him privacy since the moment they met. And even though she was now more vocal in her distaste for his Creed, she’d yet to break his trust that he was aware of. Well, locking the door was force of habit. He didn’t often take a full shower unless he was in a fully secure place, and a hotel room was no secure place, typically. Otherwise, he would have left his weapons out there.

Why are you overthinking this? Just get on with it!

So, he removed his weapons, stacked his armor, stripped down, and stepped into the fresher. The water was warm, not hot — he was far too used to cold water.

The hotel toiletries boasted that they were chemical-free and made with local flora and herbs. He soaped up his hair and found that the shampoo smelled quite pleasant, and reminded him of a field of wildflowers on a hot day. Then it reminded him of the scent of Marathel’s hair, in particular the day they had been racing to outrun the Mist. She’d put Grogu’s safety above hers — she’d even made sure that he’d be protected from breathing the Mist. He’d put his arms around her, feeling her body pressed against his, and … and the heat from her head ignited the scent of her hair, heated by her running, and her soap in her hair was flowers and herbs and he didn’t quite notice it then, but he remembered now, and he felt himself becoming aroused, and …

Stop it. Just stop it!

He reached out and turned the water colder. The cooler spray hit his head, rinsing the scented shampoo away and chilling him out, so to speak.

It is over. There never was an us; we were both enslaved emotionally and the feelings I had for her were not mine. And even if … even if I’m attracted to her now, it is just a distraction. It is nothing of consequence.

I need to get myself right, back on the path of my Creed. If nothing else, she is an aruetii, an outsider, not forbidden but not exactly desirable or encouraged by the Creed. And she has told me that she hates my Creed. But the Creed is how I live my life, and will continue to live. Raise Grogu in it. Because this is the way.

This is the way.

Din finished his shower, dried off, and pulled on his thermal pants as quickly as he could; in his addled mind, if he was dressed, then there would be no temptation. He trimmed his mustache — he disliked when it got too long and curled into his lip — and quickly ran his electric shaver over his jaw. Good enough for government work. Then, he stood for a while, staring in the mirror at where the bite wound used to be.

Gone. Not just gone, but as if it never happened. Like it was a dream, that she pulled me to her, encircled me with her thighs and her pussy and fucked me like all of existence was ending, and then bit me hard enough to steal my soul. Gone.

And she’s standing right outside this unlocked door, beautiful and heartbroken because I think she thinks she loves me, but she doesn’t know what love is, and neither do I, so I must not encourage her, I must rebuff her because I can’t be right with my Creed and be the man she thinks she wants.

He looked for his clean thermal shirt and realized he didn’t bring it in here with him.

Haar’chak.

That meant he’d have to go out there shirtless, which conflicted with his reaffirmation to be more dutiful his Creed, to find more piety in his Creed. Still … she’d seen his bare chest before. More or less. It was only for a few moments; he’d grab his shirt and turn his back and it would be fine. He pulled on his flight pants, did up his belt, put on his helmet, gathered his things, and stepped out of the fresher.

Marathel had reorganized her new clothes into fewer bags, putting her most personal things into the bag she’d brought from Tatooine. While she did this, she found the holopad Fennec had given her, along with the instructions on how to step up the therapy visits the doctors wanted her to start. She’d heard the fresher door open, so she turned towards it, and began, “Din, would you please —“ when she was faced with a half-naked Din Djarin.

She froze, a look of shock on her face, and her wide eyes skated down from his helmet, down what she could see of his throat and the hollow at the base of it, skating over his bare chest and his nipples impudently staring back at her, then down his rib cage and his belly, marked with scars here and there, and the fine thatch of brown hair that led from his navel, down, down under those belted pants where his … oh, Frith … and she tried to drop her eyes straight to the floor, but then there were his bare feet, the feet he’d never allowed her to see, not even in the water, not even in darkness, which was where she’d seen most of the rest of him, not in a bright room like this, and Marathel gasped and turned around, covering her red face in shame. “Din! What are you doing?!”

“I … forgot my shirt.”

“Why didn’t you say so? I would have closed my eyes, turned around…”

Somehow, Din was comforted that she seemed just as confused and upset as he was about their … situation. And he wasn’t even tipsy. “I just thought … you’ve seen this much of me before … well, more, really … that it would be all right.”

“I never saw your bare feet!”

“Oh yes, I was wearing socks, wasn’t I?” said Din, suddenly nostalgic for the time he’d danced in the shallow water with Marathel and Grogu, just before she’d asked him to remove his helmet, and he’d told her no. Back when he thought he would just be leaving her behind, alone with her Dahls on a distant and strange planet. That was Day Six. Twenty-six days ago.

“Why are you doing this? I’ve only seen this much of you in the dark. Please, just get dressed.”

And even though he was just a minute ago telling himself that he needed to discourage any feelings between the two of them, he just couldn’t stand here and tell his heart to stop racing at the sight of her. “Marathel, I need to … You need to see …”

“What?”

His hands, his bare hands, went to her shoulders. “Turn around, Marathel.”

“No, Din.”

“The bite mark is gone.”

“Gone?” Marathel whirled back around anyway, despite her earlier protest, first looking up into his visor, not wanting her eyes to fall on any part of him she had seen only in the dark of night. His hands, his forearms were okay, those were safe. He was wearing the pants of his flight suit, sturdily buckled, but she knew how to undo that buckle. One-handed, even.

Her eyes then drifted to his upper chest, near his shoulder, where she had bitten through the tough fabric to mark him as hers. She was controlled by the Dahls, and she had allowed Rodanthe to tether them together, and she allowed the Dahls to control Din, who had merely come to the planet to earn money.

He never gave his consent for any of this! He never agreed to be tied to an insane woman for potentially the rest of his life! Taking care of me, organizing my future — these things should not be his responsibility!

And that was all very well and good, but she was not prepared for the heartbreak she felt when she saw only smooth skin, no evidence that she had ever marked him. The evidence that they’d had been together, that they’d had shared each others’ bodies against that post. Even if they had been driven to each other by the Dahls — he was at least enough aroused by her, willing to show her a better way for a man to treat a woman, that a woman could be desired, and pleasured, and even fulfilled because she was a person and not just a ... hole. And then, that fourth night together, when she had fully possessed him — with his consent, yes — she’d felt that scabbed wound under her fingertips as she sat astride his mostly naked body, she’d rubbed that bite mark with her cheek. Now she was wishing that she had tasted it with a slathering of her tongue, bitten the wound anew and sucked his blood into her mouth, to possess that much more of him.

Wait, what?

“I… I don’t…”Marathel said quietly as she reached out and tentatively touched Din where the bite mark had been. He shuddered, and his skin instantly broke out into goose flesh and his nipple below her hand puckered into a tiny nub — oh Frith, he’s reacting to my touch the way I react to his, the Elders never reacted like this to touch, they only ever just wanted to spill their seed into a hole — and she started to draw her hand away, but he captured her hand instead.

“Marathel? May I kiss you?” Her head popped up at his quiet request, her eyes wide. “Please. I just …” He touched her cheek. “I want … I need to know.”

Marathel began to say, “I don’t …” when Din dropped a strip of fabric over her eyes. “Din, what …?”

Din wrapped the fabric around her head several times. “I must blindfold you. I want to kiss you in the light this time.”

Oh, thought Marathel. She supposed that seeing the person you were kissing was far more intimate than the dark. But then, she wondered, why do I always close my eyes when he kisses me? She felt his fingers tuck in the blindfold ends securely, heard the metal helmet coming off, and then caught his exhale against her face, his fingertips on her cheeks.

Oh, thought Din. The blindfold in the light was so different than in the dark. In the dark, it was simply another layer of protection, keeping him safely within his Creed. Seeing her, in the light, with that fabric blocking her sight made her look so, so captive, so vulnerable … it excited and frightened him at the same time. He swallowed, gently lifted her chin, and lowered his lips to hers, his eyes open, his brow furrowed, not sure what to expect.

Marathel had meant to stand still. She had meant to not react. She had meant to simply receive his touch.

That was not what she did.

Marathel had only watched a few minutes of the holo in that hospital waiting room, but she was completely captivated by the kissing actions of the two people on the screen. Every kiss with Din had been unmoving, merely pressure of skin against skin. But the kiss she’d observed on the holo projector was … not that at all. There was movement, and action, by heads and hands and lips, and — and — apparently tongues, and there was a wetness to it that gave her stomach a bubbly feeling and compelled her to catch her breath.

That was why she was so embarrassed when Din slid to a stop in the doorway in the medical center. Marathel had been … aroused by the sight of the couple kissing the way they were on the screen, and she suddenly felt obliged to try it for herself, thinking perhaps it would make a difference in his feelings for her.

And maybe, she was still a little drunk.

Din, for his part, wondered if he had the stones to try to kiss her in what he called The Rom-Com-Cobb Method — which he knew he was terrible at, even just doing what he was doing gave him terrible anxiety — when he felt her mouth open just slightly against his, and then, the touch of the very tip of her tongue on his upper lip and she drew her full body so soft and warm and heavy against him and she slid the palms of her hands up his bare waist over his ribs and over his nipples that were now rock hard and she tilted her hips up against his and the touch, the mere touch of her softness against his body sparked his penis back into life and he wanted to lay her down and strip that pretty teal blue top off her and remove whatever she had on underneath it to find her nipples with his own palms to discover whether they were as rock hard as his but that wasn’t what he wanted, he only wanted to kiss her, just kiss her to see if he did have any true feelings for her, if he had any love for her and he was ashamed of himself, reacting with lust like he was confronted with the naked backside of a prostitute waving her pussy in the air at him, because love was supposed to be more significant, more pure, wasn’t it?

Wasn’t it?

And in that same nanosecond, Marathel’s voice filled his head: I don’t know how to kiss.

But she knew how to now? When did she learn? How did she know how to … who taught her?

He suddenly had a idea who. Din dropped his hands and stepped back, turned and walked away, bothered both by her sudden kissing skill and his reaction to her.

Marathel was ashamed to have acted in such a way that obviously upset him. Oh, what have I done? Was it wrong? Did I kiss poorly? Was it improper to kiss him like that?wondered Marathel as she dropped her chin to her chest. “I am … sorry. I have offended you. I should have never …” Then the Dahls came back into her head, chattering oh so loud!

Behaving like a slut, a whore, and he still doesn’t want you. You are disgusting. You may as well just lay on the ground with your legs spread for any diseased cock to dump his load in your filthy cu…

Marathel found the wall beside her with her hand, then turned towards it, surreptitiously pulling her hair so hard she saw stars, but she refused to cry. No more, not in front of him! Never again!

Din, his back to her, hurriedly put on his thermal shirt, his socks, and his helmet before he felt safe enough to approach her again. She looked so … distraught, leaning against the wall, her back to him, her face in her hands. He felt ashamed himself, for having responded so physically to her, but was more suspicious of her response to his kiss. It wasn’t as if kissing was some sort of natural skill; it was obviously something that was learned and practiced, and was a skill he was sorely lacking but at least he’d had some experience with it … but Marathel had said that men didn’t kiss on Unmanarall. She said she didn’t know how to kiss. Therefore, she must have learned it from someone, and that someone must have been Cobb.

She even said at dinner that he did kiss her! That sonofabitch! Some friend!

“Marathel …”

His voice, mechanized in his helmet, oddly comforted her. “We do only seem to upset each other, don’t we?”

Din nodded. Remembering she still wore the blindfold and was facing away from him, he said, “That … seems to be the case.”

“So we shouldn’t do that ever again.”

Din suddenly felt dismayed at the thought, but he said quietly, “I suppose not.”

“May I take off this blindfold off now?”

He stepped over, saying, “I’ll do it.”

She felt his hands touch her head, her hair, and then the blindfold was off. She chuckled, trying to be lighthearted, wanting so much to lift the cloud of shame and misery that had emanated around them, and asked, “So, you just keep a blindfold in your pocket?” Din didn’t answer. “Kind of presumptuous of you, isn’t it?”

Din shrugged, and replied flatly, “A Mandalorian is always prepared.”

Marathel, now crestfallen and confused, gestured towards the fresher room. “Are you …?”

“Yes. Yes, I am. Go ahead.”

Marathel picked up a shopping bag, but paused. “Oh. I … I need your help.” Din simply looked at her. “My … in the back. Would you … unhook it, please?” Din continued to wonder what Marathel meant, although he believed he should know what she was asking for. Then, Marathel turned her back to him, reaching behind her and lifting up the hem of her shirt. “I can’t reach and only one shoulder works.”

… Oh.

Dank ferrik.

He also had very little experience doing this. The times he had removed a bra from a woman, he was either standing before her (twice), or just used a damn vibroblade to cut the damn thing off (he didn’t keep count, because… liaisons and medical emergencies were counted together). He raised his hands and realized that his hands were still bare. He stepped away to grab his gloves and put them on before gently sliding his fingers between the stretchy fabric and her battered skin. He said quietly, “These ... things are new for you, aren't they?”

Marathel responded, just as quietly, “I’ve always worn undergarments.”

“Did you, though?”

The words were out of Din’s mouth before he knew it. Good one, Djarin. Smooth. Now, push the ends together, don’t pull them, so the tension is off these stupid tiny hooks, he reminded himself, and then the closure was undone. Marathel whispered her thanks, and shut herself in the fresher room. He waited until he heard water running, then he muttered dank ferrik again under his breath, pacing back and forth in confused anger before putting his boots and armor back on.

Marathel closed the door, turned on the water full blast, crossed her arms tightly, and sat down on the lid of the vac tube. She was shaking, rocking back and forth, trying to not cry. If she could have been sure he wouldn’t be able to hear, she would have slapped herself across the face multiple times for her foolishness. And of course, the voices came, loud as ever:

What were you thinking? Kissing a man as if you knew what you were doing? Oh, you should have known better!

No man will ever accept you as you are, a broken, insane, fat, whore who has been so abused in every hole you have that you aren’t even useful as a cum bucket! You can’t even shit without pain now! Unable to bear children, stupid as could be, fat and ugly; why, oh, why, did you ever believe that someone like this kind and generous and good Mandalorian could love you? Someone like him will never declare any kind of true emotion for you! All his words were nothing but the lies of the Dahls, working through him, forcing him to fuck you, what good man would even want to be near the filth that you are?

Shut up shut up SHUT UP! She cried in her head, louder than the voices. Oh, pain, pain, she needed some pain, something to redirect her brain and her heart and all the horrible words in her mind, because rocking back and forth wasn’t working, pulling her hair wasn’t working, she needed pain, but Din was always so clean and thorough, and he left nothing behind in this room that she could use, so she flung her injured arm over her head and it did the trick, the pain in her shoulder was so intense that she greyed out for a moment, but it silenced the voices and the chattering and the self-loathing, at least for now.

Marathel changed into the sleep outfit she’d purchased. She brushed her teeth and washed her hands and face, using items from the little bag of toiletries the nurses gave her. She took the combs from her hair and brushed it straight, still not used to its shorter length, finding that this chore now took very little time. Finally, she looked at herself in the mirror to make sure her eyes were dry and not red before exiting the fresher. She put her bags back against the wall and moved towards the bed, pulling the tucked-in duvet and sheets loose.

Din was sitting on the sofa, holding a sleepy Grogu and watching her. She was wearing some sort of silky-soft-looking pants and matching shirt, which were printed with dark purple-blue swirls like gas clouds in deep space. The fabric clung to her curves, her hair fell over her shoulders, her feet were bare, reminding him of the first time they met. She must have felt his gaze upon her, because she straightened up to look at him, and the soft light of the bedside lamp put her in a slight silhouette. His eyes skated down from her face to her nipples, poking at the clingy fabric. He quickly averted his eyes beneath the helmet.

“Are you sure you don’t want the other half of the bed?” asked Marathel.

Din nodded. “The sofa is fine. I would have slept on the floor otherwise.”

“That’s ridiculous, Din, the bed is plenty big enough.”

“I don’t want to argue with you, Marathel.”

“I’m not …” Marathel closed her eyes and sighed. “All right.” She flipped the duvet back and climbed in, settling on her side, facing away from him.

“Marathel?”

“What?”

“The, uh … light?”

Marathel huffed and reached back to get the light, but unfortunately used her bad shoulder, and she cried out with pain. Grogu yelled Mama and jumped out of Din’s arms, landing on the bed on the far side of Marathel. He sought out her shoulder, placing his healing hands where she hurt the most. Marathel thought briefly of stopping the boy, but she knew he would be unable to understand why she didn’t want her shoulder healed by him. So, she lay quietly, allowing the warmth of the Force flow from the child’s tiny hands and into her shoulder, and she could feel the muscles and ligaments knitting back together. “My clever boy,” she whispered, smiling at the child.

Grogu was sad.

Mama was sad too. Patu was also sad. But Patu kissed Mama! Kissing Mama was supposed to make Patu happy! But it only made Patu and Mama sad! Why were Patu and Mama always so sad? Grogu didn’t know. Grogu wanted Patu Mama, but Patu and Mama didn’t seem to want that anymore!

And Mama had a different dark inside head of Mama now. The dark inside head of Mama wasn’t the Bad Dahls anymore. The dark inside head of Mama was now … Mama. And Grogu didn’t know how to help Mama.

Grogu was very sad.

He turned his big eyes to Marathel’s and said, “Sad Mama?”

“Oh, not sad, exactly, my sweet. Nervous, yes, a bit scared. Your da is taking me to Nevarro, a place you know well, but I’ve never been there. You’ve been scared in new places, yes?” Grogu nodded. “Grown-ups get scared too. But I’m going to do my best to learn as much as I can. And you’ll be with your da and he’ll teach you many things.” She kissed Grogu’s ear. “Go to your da, now,” said Marathel, but Grogu whined quietly. “We all need to sleep, so we can go tomorrow. I’ve taken up too much of your da’s time, and my shoulder is feeling much better. Thank you, my love.” Grogu looked unconvinced, so Marathel reached behind her again, and shut off the light. “See? All better. Now go to your da, that’s a good boy.”

Din called out, “You heard her, kid, let her rest.” Grogu pouted, but pecked her on the mouth with a kiss. He jumped off the bed, toddling back to Din, who was now supine on the sofa. He lifted Grogu up to his chest, grunting. “Getting heavy, pal.”

“As heavy as a guilty conscience,” said Marathel. “Good night.”

Din frowned under his helmet and turned his head towards her. What the shab did she mean by that? And what’s with this da stuff? Am I not Patu now? But she did not speak again, and neither did he. He turned back to stare at the ceiling. She stared at the wall. Grogu stared at the floor. Sadness swirled like heavy fog through the quiet room, where the only sound was the gentle hiss of the air circulators.

Din’s mind was a whirl, even though he was wiped out. His day began with Marathel in his arms, and now he lay alone on a lumpy sofa while she lay alone in a giant bed. Both of them had been pawns for the whims of a damned animal, and he was more confused than ever. What was he supposed to feel?

As always, one thing at a time. Get her to Nevarro, let her begin her new life. Get yourself to Mand’alor, begin again on your path. Rediscover your fortitude, the courage to overcome your obstacles within your Creed. Recommit yourself to the stewardship of this child; the big battles are yet to come.

Mand’alor, give me strength. I have done my duty by this woman; she must find her path, please help me find mine again. Please guide me to the Living Waters, so that I may swear on my name and the names of the ancestors that I shall walk the Way of the Mand'alor; so that the words of the Creed may be reforged in my heart. Please guide me to my absolution.

This is the way.

Din finally fell into a light sleep, waiting for any sound, any rustle of blankets or sigh or snore that would alert him to movement in the dark room. He felt the weight of Grogu leaving his chest a couple hours later, but he remained in his half doze until he heard Grogu quietly chirp to Marathel at the other end of the room. Din silently rolled off the sofa to a standing position and crept closer to the bed.

He heard Marathel whisper, “Hello, my little Godenfyrth. I can’t sleep either. Perhaps your da will let you cwtch with me.” Louder, she said, “Is that all right, Din?”

“I … how did you know I was here?”

“You just told me,” said Marathel with a light chuckle. “Would you like to cwtch with us? As I’m sure you can see – in the dark, with your helmet, there is plenty of room on this bed.”

“No, I … I’m going to lie down on the sofa again. Get some rest, Marathel.”

“I will,” she said, not sure if she should feel quite so disappointed. She listened to Din quietly cross the room and settle again on the sofa. She guessed he was facing away from her just as she faced away from him. Grogu whined quietly. “Shhh, little one. Go to sleep. I love you,” said Marathel, wondering if Din heard her.

Din had heard her. She sounded heartbroken. He quietly sighed, closed his eyes, and fell again into an uneasy sleep.

Marathel couldn’t sleep at all. Her brain wouldn’t be quiet, her heart wouldn’t stop hurting, and her stomach kept churning for a very long time after Grogu started quietly snoring with his little whistle. This is what you asked for, old girl. It had been the absolute right thing to do, to ask Rodanthe to release Din from her, but she had underestimated how much it would rip her apart. The pain will fade, and you’ll go on with your life. And if the pain doesn’t fade, your life will go on anyway.

Marathel lay quietly, wondering what her future held. She now had her own house, apparently, on a planet that Din at least felt was suitable and safe enough for her to be alone. There would be new people. Probably too many people for her to tolerate at first, but she’d lived her whole life tolerating much worse things than the stares of strangers. She thought of Cobb, and how most of the people she’d met so far were kind and decent to her. Perhaps Nevarro would be the same for her. Perhaps there was a market. Perhaps the market held yarn.

The very first thing, thought Marathel, I must learn how to read. As soon as we get going, I will learn how to use that holopad thing. Din will help me. Even if he doesn’t want to, he will. He may not love me anymore, but he still feels responsible for me. Probably part of that Creed he feels he must follow.

Well, I have no Creed. I have a past I’m ashamed of and a name I hate. But no one has to know about my past and I can change my name. I know how to be alone; I’ve been alone before, and I can live my life just fine alone. I don’t need a Creed to tell me how to live my life.

I will be me. Just … better.

Day Thirty-Three ->

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