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nomsfaultau · 5 months ago

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(Potentially) Daily ask №3

Technoblade and the Blood god edition!

I saw you mention an incident in which somebody got a -1 hand while playing a game of rock, paper scissors with him. How the heck did that happen? How do you piss a guy of in the game of rock, paper, scissors so badly that your arm gets disintegrated?

What college degree did he get? And how the heck? I mean college is already hard enough, how did he manage to get in without documents and while being a vessel for the Blood god?

What are the criteria of someone being an orphan? Like, I assume they'd have to have 0 parents. What if they live with their grandparents? What if they don't know that their parents are dead? Does found family work? What if the parents are in a coma? Just out of the picture? If a surrogate parent was involved do they count too? Adoption? Complicated definitions of being an orphan, dude.

So he just.. got spontaneously summoned by Tommy one day.. and was just fine with it?? I mean I assume that was before the foundation. So Techno could just be sitting in class and then go tear some dudes apart and then have to drive back to class? Unless they lived in the same city which would be more convenient.

How does he feel about being Tommy's tool, basically? Sure, everyone including Tommy care about him, but he is a self-defence tool for Tommy, isn't he? Doesn't it sting a little? Considering C! Techno's whole "I am a person" theme and monologue on dsmp, I assume there's something there, isn't there?

Does he have any opinions about being surrounded by 2 completely different gods? The Blood god and Phil. Because sure, Phil cares about him but he's still a god. And I assume he doesn't have the highest opinion on the Blood God (fear/disgust/spite, perhaps?), does that reflect on his opinion of Phil in any way? Phil does also go on bloody rampages, doesn't he? To protect the ones he cares about, sure, but so does the Blood god. Sounds like a great glass (angst) opportunity.

Uh-oh, I might've set complete chaos onto the foundation the last time around. So uh, I do despise it in this universe but also not having amnestics at all would indeed set the world on fire, I think. So, I have an idea. Amnestic brownies. There's just a room full of an infinite amount of amnestic brownies now. And the foundation is thoroughly convinced that they always used amnestic brownies. Oh also amnestic brownies don't work on the main crew. Just because.

Yes, I absolutely agree with the Blade demanding that he gets more cookies because of his size. So uh, a yellow truck just casually rides up to wherever they are camping. The truck is full of all different kinds of cookies. Here ya go. They also won't ever get moldy. Whatever flavour you want, it's there. Magic. Oh also the truck is invisible to everyone else besides the main crew so nope no risk of being discovered.

Boom the foundation mysteriously forgets about the main crew's existence amd all records of them dissapear. So they're not searched for. Under their respective scp numbers are now:

Phil - a chest that works like an infinite bag from dnd. But it only works on people. You throw people there and then you can call out their name and they return. Unchanged and with no memories of what happened there. (Haha get it, collected)

Wilbur - a shadow bunny. It's a bunny. Made out of shadow. Just a normal bunny. Likes carrots.

Tommy - an anime episode where the scenes play in a different order every time. Also there's occasionally a giant "fuck off" watermark on.

Blade - an axe but all blood that comes out of the wound made by that axe is censored, like in a children's game. The textures are randomly changed to one of definitely not blood.

Ranboo - as previously stated, amnestic brownies

Cheesus Crust, this is more me causing complete chaos in the fault world than an ask. I'm sorry? I can go back to a more ask and a shorter format if you prefer that

Get as silly with this as you want! I'm having a swell time with hypotheticals. Though it might be easier to send only a few questions at a time and save the rest for later, since tumblr formating is a pain. Answers below.

The Blade never. loses. It's impossible. The universe contorts itself to ensure this no matter the odds. Mind, this doesn't necessarily mean he wins. So theoretically if someone were to nuke him from the other side of the planet, The Blade would die but also an accident would occur (wire short circuits, random truck, etc) that would kill the person who slapped the nuke button. The Blood God answers anything that hurts or challenges his vessel, often against The Blade's will, so it's less that The Blade was mad enough to tear off someone's limb and more so that The Blood God chose to do so to guarantee victory in a game of chance. Is there a different way The Blood God could have won? Definitely. His strategy is unmatched, and he can almost sense an opponents move before they do it, giving him insane reflexes. However. He likes blood. So no arms for that poor D-class.

English major, folklore and mythology minor. He didn't go in person to college (aside from graduation, which was a very chaotic affair but he'd thought it'd be funny). Used a laptop and never once turned on his zoom camera since he gave a different excuse for it every time. He paid for it via online gambling since he never loses. As for ID, his college friends call him Dave so I presume he committed identity fraud at some point. Likely did something similar speedrunning K12 education since beforehand his main education source was the voices.

An orphan status is something The Blood God can sense via soul bonds, since Bonds are kinda his deal (usually of the enemy/challenger sort but still). Have to be a child. It counts things like adoption/found family, since Collection counts otherwise Wilbur would be deadzo. It relies on a person's attachments to a parental figure, so grandparents/believing their parents are alive/coma would work. In Tubbos' case, Jasmine (a member of the hive) has parents that are living, but she doesn't consider them parents because they shot Tubbo. Ergo, Jasmine is an orphan, and Tubbo is too even if other members are adults who have parents.

The first encounter between Tommy and The Blade is found in the short story What Happened in the Catalyst. The Blade had graduated by that point and was living with Wil and Phil. So luckily he lived on the same continent by that point lmao. The Blade was incredibly confused when first summoned but was being shot at and so dealt with that first, inadvertently rescuing Tommy who survived because of Red stopping The Blood God. After a very hilarious phone call where Philza thinks he's in a hostage negotiation, they sort everything out. The Blade doesn't really fit in a car and Tommy's parents don't own a horse trailer, and so I guess he stayed with the Simonses while Phil and Wil made their way to Nottingham, since they're less conspicuous. The Blade got tacos out of it, and Tommy utterly hero worshiped him, so he was more or less cool once he had a plan to reunite with his friends.

The basis of The Blade being summoned by Tommy has its roots in how Technoblade would show up when called for battle, specifically the Battle of the Lake or whatever it was. Complaining about being woken up and grumbling yet eager to help his friend. Tommy had a pattern of getting in over his head and relying on his friends to get him out, and so I made that his literal power (along side starting wars). In the DSMP it degraded into a feeling that Technoblade was just being used for his might to further Tommy's goals. However, in Fault the summoning isn't controlled by Tommy at all, so it's harder for it to resemble a pattern of being intentionally used by a friend since the guy bleeding out on the floor probably doesn't have much control in the matter. If anything, The Blade feels more like he's The Blood God's tool than Tommy's. Actually, summonings are one of the few times The Blade is slightly more willing to be overtaken by The Blood God since it's violence with a purpose (rescuing his friend) rather than just because The Blood God feels like it.

But he also DOES resent Tommy to some extent. Summoning to him is less being used as a tool and more a chain that the Foundation uses to deny his freedom, dragging him back every time he gets out. Logically he blames the Foundation for attacking his friend, and The Blade's justice tends to the straightforward murder of the people causing the problem...but that doesn't change the fact he'd be free if it weren't for Tommy. On bad days he almost views Tommy as a tool to force him into submission. But again, in the Foundation he mostly encounters Tommy when he's dying, and it feels bad to hate the kid sobbing into his lap and depending on him for salvation. And it's even harder to feel like a hero knowing his escape attempt is the reason Tommy was sacrificed in the first place.

6. The Blade has a very very poor opinion of The Blood God chiefly for the fact his bodily autonomy is violated every time he takes over. He views The Blood God as a parasite trying to invade his mind, body, and control exclusively for the purpose of senseless violence. Frankly...it's a very derogatory and one dimensional view of The Blood God, but The Blade shuts him out completely, and so proper communication there isn't going to happen until a lot of character development.

Philza on the other hand doesn't violate his bodily autonomy or take over his mind. In fact Philza was very instrumental in The Blade getting better control over The Blood God and coping techniques for his intrusive thoughts. He made The Blade feel like he had more control through their careful spars where he brushed against the boundaries where The Blood God would usually take over while still maintaining sovereignty of himself. (Which in the long run only further hurts the relationship between The Blade and Blood God but not like Phil knew that so eh). Philza actually does have a decent relationship with The Blood God, since they often fight side by side. The Blood loathes and loves him in equal measures for protecting The Blade but also making it easier for The Blade to suppress him.

But also The Blade's background taught him that violence is the best solution to most things, which unfortunately Philza probably encouraged. Because Philza uses his wrath in the service of his Collected, The Blade is more at peace using The Blood God to defend him and his friends whereas before he was alone and saw fighting more as interruptions. Probably why The Blade is more amenable to Tommy summonings tbh. Philza encourages him to be violent, but also controlled violence. Which sounds crazy since Phil is out doing massacres, but to him that's very intentional, purposeful violence.

To The Blade, Philza and The Blood God differ wildly in the why department. Philza does it out of love and makes him feel free. The Blood God does it out of love madness and makes him feel trapped. However, there will come a scene where Philza tries to seek his bloody vengeance through The Blood God, only for The Blade to refuse being used as the tool of Philza's wrath. Not that he uses The Blade to the extreme degree The Blood God does, but the comparison is rather apt.

7. Ah this takes me back to the fake pot brownie scene I wrote for Fault years back and lost...alas. Basic premise was a Real Estate walking in on them crashing in a for-sale house and then Tommy trying to convince her the courtesy brownies she brought for clients were laced with weed and she's high as a kite. So I suppose brownies that hide the existence of anomalies has precedent in Fault? Though for the most part amnestics are used on humans and Philza was an emergency case. I'd be slightly more worried about the friends, family, and allies of the crew!

8. I'm personally imagining a dump truck, which is conveniently about the size of vehicle they'd need to drive The Blade around! They're going to get to Chicago in no time with that thing. Philza is having a very hard time convincing his kids that they need a balanced diet that isn't just cookies. Wilbur realizes he doesn't have hobbies now that he doesn't have to worry about food. Tommy WILL try to claim all the cookies by marking them with Red.

9. I'm assuming this is now what the Foundation has? And bravo they're all crazy creative. Let's see how the Foundation reacts I suppose.

Phil Bag of Holding Children: I can honestly picture him being used as a MTF tool, though my Foundation doesn't tend to use anomalies. But the potential of moving an entire flank of soldiers around with ease, completely undetected, is too tempting. One guy gets the drop on an anomaly and then boom throw out their pokeball and the poor anomaly is utterly surrounded now by an MTF squad.

Wilbur Shadow bunny: honestly so adorable. I feel like Morgan (observer from small au with Doctor!Phil) would fantasize about rescuing it. Wouldn't cause they're an utter coward, but they'd be nice and bring extra carrots.

Tommy Disorientating anime: 1 it would have to say m̶̮̯̃ụ̶̤̀̕f̵̯̹̈́̇f̴̗́́į̴̲̃̈n̶͎̈́ off because of Halo. Nobody in Fault can swear. Well except The Blade but he doesn't know that yet. 2, Webb (Philza's handler) would watch in his down time trying to make sense of it because he's desperate to connect with his daughter and teenagers like anime right? He's so lost.

The Blade PG13 axe: Honestly Maureen (guard) deserves this. Classic axe lesbian.

Ranboo Amnestic brownies: I can just picture Dr. Blake (very evil doctor) slipping crumbs into people's food and then taking notes on what happens. She would offer the whole brownies, but I reckon no one would trust that since it's so out of character.

And technically I suppose Tubbo already is a box of pinned bees and assorted limbs in the Foundation.

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cass-rambles · 3 years ago

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I had an idea of Mack liking a very oblivious/shy Captain and trying to figure out how to get them to realize he likes them

Like the Captain’s still smart just oblivious to romance

Could be yandere or not either works

??? I LOVE THIS IDEA 🤩

-: ✧ :-　He's unbearably pissed. To the point he's seething at everyone who comes into his vicinity whenever he thinks about it.

✧ Does he want to tell you? Well- obviously, but he's not going to be some stuttering stupid mess. No. He's going to be thoroughly prepared.

✧ First of comes the lesser mocking & teasing. He tones it down gradually, until he's decided that it's already way off his critical line. You end up hunting him down barely four days after, Celci following you closely behind with a thermometer and a bunch of pills. He nearly cries because of how many times you've avoided touching him, as you knew of his earlier discomfort, near disgust. When it turns out he's not sick, you turn quiet, quietly thanking Celci and then leaving.

✧ Once you manage to calm down, he begins to slowly pepper in soft compliements, although it doesn't end up well as you think he's mocking you even more.

(The compliments “I see you've finally learned the layout of the whole ship Captain. Congrats!” said with his typical snarky smile don't help.)

✧ Half of the crew is convinced you two are having a relationship crisis and they try to help out. Placing a flower crown under your cryo pod?

You end up allergic to one of the flowers pollen and you glare at the pure oblivious head engineer, who didn't have anything to do with it.

A nice morning lunch?

It ends up being the coffee you cannot stand and on that day you stop talking to Mack, going non-verbal, until he catches you at the end of the day and apologises, even though he doesn't know what had he done that time.

The crew thinks their plan work, but really you only sorted out that one problem. The feelings are still chained down.

✧ Eventually, he finds small ways to touch you, trying to hint that now he's comfortable with you touching him. Brushing hands, Mack bumps into you several times and pretends to fix your uniform a few times.

You both cannot handle it. He's practically on cloud nine, flushed like a ruby and you nearly melting under his hands right there and then.

At some point you start avoiding him and his confidence nearly wrecks itself in half.

✧ One day he snaps. There's an emergency, requiring someone to get outside of the ship and fix it that way and you volunteer without a thought. Mack doesn't want to let you go.

“God, Captain, is it so hard that we love you and care about you, and don't want you to put yourself in danger?!”

“Stop saying that! You- You don't love me.”

“Of course I do. I've been making it painfully obvious for the past weeks, but it seems you do hate me!”

“I never hated you!”

“Well I never hated you too!”

You're both left breathless, staring at each other with burning crimson cheeks. Neither of you know what to do.

Mack finally collects himself, pulling you closer to him.

“Please be careful at least.„

He whispers into your neck, pressing a ghost-like kiss into it before retreating with a near pained expression.

Let's say it gave you a lot of motivation to come back soon.

✧ After you establish your relationship as romantic, you're both near luminous.

Mack keeps walking around the ship with his usual shit-eating grin, spring in step, but he doesn't throw his mean remarks, he doesn't berate anyone as much. All he does is now keep to your side, attempting to hide his giddy, love struck gaze, almost violently obvious to everyone but you.

You two aren't both fans of PDA, but the crew has seen a few cheek kisses and holding hands.

✧ Needless to say, the Invincible has never had a greater atmosphere since you two confessed.

-: ✧ :-゜・．

#iswm captain #iswm mack #iswm mack x reader #iswm mack x captain #gender neutral reader #iswm #in space with markiplier #iswm y/n #love yall #getting asks is my fav thing in the world #or cute fic requests

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therealieblog · 2 years ago

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I’ve started reading Lindy West’s book ‘Shrill’, and I am loving it. She’s hilarious and sharp and fierce.

In the book she talks about working as a journalist for The Stranger, Dan Savage’s paper. She talks about how Dan was a good boss, but abrupt and not big on praise, and how she loved working for the paper.

Unfortunately, Dan, at that time in the early to mid aughts, was extremely fatphobic. He regularly wrote columns condemning fat people for being lazy, unhealthy and a drain on public resources. Lindy began striking back at him (mostly respectfully) in answering columns, and the one that I’ve transcribed below was incredible. He eventually changed his tune, and she says nowadays he’s far more positive about fat people. I like to think Lindy’s words helped open his eyes.

In the passage below, she responds to a column he published about being at a water park in the mid west, and how “unsightly” people’s fat rolls were in their swimsuits. It’s not a nice column, so I won’t quote more of it than that, but this is Lindy’s response. I did my very best to transpose her words directly from the audio book I have, but the italicizing and bolding are mine.

“Hello, I am fat.”

This is my body. Over there. See it. I lived in my body my whole life. I have wanted to change this body my whole life. I have never wanted anything as much as I have wanted a new body. I am aware every day that other people find my body disgusting. I always thought that some day, when I finally stopped failing, I will become smaller, and when I become smaller, literally everything will get better. I’ve heard it gets better… My life can begin. I’ll get the clothes that I want. The job that I want. The love that I want. It’ll be great! Think how great it’ll be to buy some pants or whatever. At J. Crew. Aw man. Pants! Instead, my body stays the same.

There is not a fat person on earth who hasn’t lived this way. Clearly, this is a terrible way to exist. Also, strangely enough, it did not cause me to become thin. So I do not believe any of it anymore, because fuck it, very much.

This is my body, it is MINE. I’m not ashamed of it in any way. In fact, I love everything about it. Men find it attractive. Clothes look awesome on it. My brain rides around in it all day and comes up with funny jokes. Also, I don’t have to justify its awesomeness, attractiveness, healthiness or usefulness to anyone, because it is MINE. NOT YOURS.

*Footnote: I’ve noticed that a lot of people have trouble with the basic definition of fat acceptance. They wanna argue and nitpick about calories and cardio and insurance and health and on and on and on, and if you are one of those people, wallowing in confusion, fret no more. I can sum it up for you in one easy to remember phrase. GET THE FUCK OFF ME YOU FUCKING WEIRDO! Print it. Laminate it. Be it.

I’m not going to spend a bunch of time blogging about fat acceptance here, because other writers have already done it much more eloquently, thoroughly and radically than I ever could. But I do feel obligated to try to explain what this all means.

I get that you think you’re actually helping people and society by contributing to the fucking Alp of shame that crushes every fat person, every day of their lives. The same shame that makes it a radical act to post a picture of my body, and tell you how much it weighs. But you are not helping. Shame doesn’t work. Diets don’t work.

Footnote: Fatphobes love to hold this assertion up, of how delusional and intractable fat activists are. ‘Calories in, calories out’ they say. ‘Ever heard of thermodynamics?’. ‘Uuuh I’ve never seen a fat person in a concentration camp. High five, Trevor.’

Leaving aside the barbarism of suggesting, however obliquely, that well, at least concentration camp victims weren’t fat. No fat activist who says ‘Diets don’t work’ is suggesting that you cannot starve a fat person to a thin death. Rather, we’re referencing the rigorously vetted academic conclusion that traditional diets, the kind that are foisted upon fat people as penance and cure-alls, and our entrance exam for humanity, fail 95% of the time. Whether fat people fail to lose weight due to simple laziness and moral torpor, or because of a more complex web of personal, cultural and medical factors, those numbers are still real. Those fat people still exist. Pushing diet culture, as a cure for fatness does nothing but perpetuate the emotional and economic exploitation of fat people. Shame is a tool of oppression. Not change. Fat people are already ashamed. It’s taken care of. No further manpower needed on the shame front. Thanks.

I’m not concerned with whether or not fat people can change their bodies through self discipline and ‘choices’. Pretty much all of them have tried already. A couple of them have succeeded. Whatever. My question is. What if they try and try and try, and still fail? What if they are still fat? What if they are fat forever? What do you do with them then? Do you really want millions of teenage girls to feel like they’re trapped in unsightly lard prisons that are ruining their lives? And on top of that it’s because of their own moral failure? And on top of that, they are ruining America with the terribly expensive diabetes they don’t even have yet?

You know what’s shameful? A complete lack of empathy. And if you really claim to still be confused. ‘Nuh uh, I never said anything guys. Seriously!’ There can be no misunderstanding shit like this: ‘I am thoroughly annoyed at having my tame statements of fact, being heavy is a health risk, rolls of exposed flesh are unsightly’ characterized as hate speech’. (she is quoting Dan Savage’s response to her last letter here).

Ha! 1. “Rolls of exposed flesh are unsightly” is in no way a tame statement of fact. It’s not a fact at all. It’s an incredibly cruel, subjective opinion that reinforces destructive, paternalistic, oppressive beauty ideals.

Footnote: In his response to this post, Dan took me to task for cherry picking that quote, explaining that he wasn’t mocking the flesh rolls of fat people specifically. He was mocking the flesh rolls of all women who wear low rise jeans without having the correct bodies for it.

Oh, OK, FYI, feminism isn’t super jazzed about men policing women’s clothing choices either. Also, it was totally about fat people you liar.

I am not unsightly. No one deserves to be told that they’re unsightly. But this is what’s behind this entire thing. It’s not about health, it’s about eww you think fat people are icky. Ew. A fat person might touch you on a plane, with their fat. EW. Coincidentally, that’s the same feeling that drives anti-gay bigots, no matter what excuses they drum up about family values, and yes, health. It’s all ‘ew’. And sorry, I reject your ‘ew’.

2. You are not concerned about my health. Because if you were concerned about my health, you would also be concerned about my mental health. Which has spent the past 28 years, being slowly eroded by statements like the above. Also, you don’t know anything about my health. You do happen to be the boss of me, but you are not the doctor of me. You have no idea what I eat. How much I exercise, what my blood pressure is or whether or not I’m going to get diabetes. Not that any of that matters, because it is entirely none of your business.

3. But but but my insurance premiums!

Bullshit! You live in a society with other people. I don’t have kids, but I pay taxes that fund schools. The idea that we can somehow escape affecting each other is deeply conservative. Barbarous even. Is that really what you’re going for? Good old fashioned American individualism? Please.

4. But most importantly, I reject this entire framework. I don’t give a shit what causes anyone’s fatness. It’s irrelevant, and it’s none of my business. I’m not making excuses, because I have nothing to excuse. I reject the notion that thinness is the goal. That thin equals better. That I am an unfinished thing, and that my life can really start when I lose wait. That then I’ll be a real person, and have finally succeeded as a woman. I am not going to waste another second of my life thinking about this. I don’t want to have another fucking conversation with another fucking woman, about what she’s eating, or not eating or regrets eating, or pretends to not regret eating to mask the regret. Oops. I just yawned to death.

If you really want change to happen, if you really wanna help fat people, you need to understand that shaming an already shamed population is…well… shameful. Do you know what happened as soon as I rejected all this shit and fell in unconditional lurve with my entire body? I started losing weight, immediately. Well la dee fucking da.

Footnote: If I had to do it over again I’d write this last part more clearly, because I think the way it stands undermines my point a bit. What I was trying to say was that if anti-fat crusaders really want what they claim to want, for fat people to be ‘healthy’, they should be on the front lines of size acceptance and fat empowerment. There’s hard science to back this up. Shame contributes measurably to weight gain, not weight loss. Loving yourself is not antithetical to health, it is intrinsic to health. You can’t take good care of a thing you hate.

#fatphobia #diet culture #fat acceptance #lindy west #shrill

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hoseokslefteyebrow · 3 years ago

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Bon 4oyage || K.SJ

Episode 1

Pairing: Kim Seokjin X Reader Summary: In which you're Jin's girlfriend of 9 years and tag along in Bon Voyage Season 4. Wordcount: 3.4k

" Y/N ah, tell me, do you have any plans for the (random date) till the (another random date)? " Your boyfriend of nine years asks you suddenly.

The two of you are simply chilling in your shared apartment.

" Not as far as I'm concerned, why? " You ask, sitting down beside him.

You were cleaning up the apartment before he asked you.

" Y'know the boys and I will be going on Bon Voyage again, right? " He asks you, lacing your fingers together.

You hum with a pout.

" Yeah, it's my annual miss Jin ti-"

" Not this year love. " He cuts you off, a smile on his lips.

You raise a brow in confusion.

" Not this year? "

" Yeah, I've asked the company, once again. And this time, they actually agreed. " He tells you with shining eyes.

A smile makes it's way onto your face.

" Really?! "

It was, in a way, hard to believe. The company liked you, but never actually approved of Jin having a relationship. When you became a couple back in 2010, the two of you had to keep it a secret for 4 years for the company, and another 5 years to the public. Until now, you didn't think that they would be okay with you going public.

You couldn't believe it. Finally your waiting for each other got paid off.

" Yes. However, there are a few downsides. " He tells you, making a bit of a turtle face.

You subconsciously run your thumb over his hand.

" Just so you know, I will not come if I have to wear a mask for the whole thing-"

" No, no. -" He laughs.

" Even worse. We can't have sex. For like a little longer than a whole week. " He tells you.

You snort at his expression. You can tell it's genuinely bothering him.

" Is that an issue for me or you? " You ask him.

He huffs, turning around so he can lay against you instead. You run your unoccupied hand through his hair. Sure it's basically dead, but you know he likes it.

" Both. I know your sex drive, plus that also means like, no sleeping naked. And I have to share your attention with the other boys. " He pouts.

You grin, bending over to kiss his head.

" Don't worry, it'll be fine, fun even. We'll just have a pg family trip. "

And so you find yourself seated at a restaurant between your boyfriend and Taehyung. They're about to kick off the season, and today you're just going to talk about activities and what not.

" There's trekking and a lavender farm. " Hoseok comments as he looks at his phone.

" That sounds fun. " You comment, as the other boys give their own opinions.

After a bit more of catching up, the staff calls out to all of you.

" You've all done your research, right? " The staff member asks.

You all hum in response.

" Worry about the activities later, pick the accommodations first. " The producer tells all of you.

Soon enough everyone's talking again, figuring stuff out.

" We have to sleep in a campervan for three days. " Yoongi suddenly casually pops when you're drinking your tea.

You almost choke.

" eight of us in a campervan? How is that going to fit? "

" eight of us in one campervan won't be comfortable. " Taehyung agrees with you.

" We'll probably have 2 vans. " Jin tells the two of you.

" Y'know, there's this thing I've always wanted to try- When you wake up in a campervan and then wash up in the river. " Jungkook smiles.

You blink at him.

" You want to wash up in the cold? " You ask him.

He grins.

" If I can manage, yes. It'll be fun. " He nods.

" We didn't do research that thoroughly. " Namjoon tells the crew honestly.

" Forget on where to stay! We'll figure that out somehow. Let's focus on the activities first. " Jin calls out, basically canceling the producer's idea.

Soon enough everyone starts coming with ideas.

Jimin wants to go to Aurora¿ and on a boat. Yoongi just wants to go fishing and Namjoon wants to go on a kart trek.

" I want to go on the swing too." Jin says.

" The swing? " Namjoon asks surprised.

Namjoon had this great idea to go do some kind of bungee jump activity, just with a swing, as if that would magically make it better.

Jin hums.

" Yeah, it'll be fun with Y/N. We can both scream our heads off. " He smiles at you.

You laugh, swallowing your bite.

" Okay. But that does me we really are going, okay? No backing out last minute. " You tell him, knowing he's a scaredy cat sometimes.

He laughs.

" Yah! It's not like you're any better. " He points out.

You laugh.

That's true.

" Okay, okay, I promise. Do you? " You ask him, holding out your pink.

He smiles, taking your hand instead and kissing the top of it, sending you a wink playfully.

None of the boys mind either of you by now, knowing the way you two act longer than a while.

" I promise, m'lady. "

" We just sealed our death. " You laughed.

" We did. " He laughs with you.

" Well, at least we'll die together. " You tell him.

He smiles at you and winks again.

" That we do. "

By the the two of you tune back in, they're talking about trekking.

" It only takes 2 hours to finish. " Yoongi speaks.

Apparently they're talking about Mount Cook.

Soon enough they're all talking, and giving their opinions on it.

" It's really only a few hours, we should do it. " You catch Yoongi saying.

Jin hums in agreement, slurping in his noodles.

You raise your brow at both of them.

" Bet, you two will regret it. " You tell Yoongi, who smiles at you and shakes his head.

He makes an over confident face.

" We'll be fine, we'll have fun, don't worry. " He tells you.

" Should we stay in the campervan the whole time? " Jungkook suddenly wonders.

You make a face but don't say anything.

The editors do catch it, as does Taehyung. He nudges you with a smile.

" We'll all stink by the third day. " You tell him softly.

He laughs.

Sleeping in a campervan with eight people doesn't sound too appealing for the whole week.

" We can play Halli Galli. " Your boyfriend adds helpfully.

" And BTS Uno! " Namjoon adds too.

" Camping for sure. " Someone pops, probably Jungkook.

" Does anyone know anything about camping? What do we need? " Namjoon asks.

" Well, we start with a tent. " Hoseok provides helpfully.

" I've camped a few times with my brother and his friends. Most stuff is usually inside the campervan." You tell them.

Jimin adds onto that, explaining most stuff to Namjoon, like a table that's built in.

" Let me see the campervan? " Jungkook asks.

" It's huge. " Hoseok responses.

" If it's that big, will it be easy to drive? " Jin asks.

" The road will probably be mostly empty. " Namjoon points out.

" We do need shower facilities. It's not like we can shower outside. " Yoongi points out.

" We don't need to shower. " Jin says vaguely.

You give him a disgusted face.

" Oh yes we do. " You tell him.

" I want to too. " Jimin says.

" We have to think of the rest too. " Yoongi tells Jin.

" I normally shower though. " Jin says.

" Yeah I know. " Yoongi grins.

" You better. " You say with a scrunched nose.

Jimin laughs.

" Happy wife happy life, hyung. " Jimin tells the eldest.

Jin turns to you and looks blankly at you for a second. You raise your brows before flipping your hair over your shoulder sassily, returning your attention to your meal.

" No, I do take showers everyday, and my lady knows, thank you very much. " He grins playfully, one of his hands going under the table to rest on your thigh.

After a bit more of discussing about Jin's shower habits, the producer cuts in.

" We do need to choose an accommodation besides the campervan. " He points out.

You breathe happily as Tae grins at you.

For a moment it's a bit of chaos, most of the boys pointing out a 9.7 rated accommodation.

With a bathtub.

As soon as it comes into view, Jin turns to you, and you give him a cheeky smile back, yet shake your head.

Rules are rules.

However, a moment later they're looking at a different accommodation, with cramped rooms.

" it'll be fun. Like old times. " Jungkook smiles.

A moment later they're back at discussing the campervan.

" Jungkook and I will drive mostly though. " Hoseok calls out.

" I don't mind driving. " Hoseok tells the others.

" I'll get a driver's license on our days off too. " Namjoon pouts.

" I can drive. " You tell them.

Almost everyone turns to beam at you.

" No, no. Not you, you drive like we're in Fast & Furious. " He points out.

You grin.

" Then she can be back up driver. " Yoongi gives you fake hope.

" Back up driver? We already have enough drivers though.-"

" Yeah, we can't have you drive on national tv. " Jin says quickly.

You laugh but don't bother with it.

This can only mean you'll be in charge of the audio right?

Soon after they're making a song about Bon Voyage.

You can't really follow, but you clap along anyway.

The scene wraps up with everyone clapping.

A Few Months Later

" Yah! I went shopping with Y/N especially for this! " Jin says as his bandmates bully him.

You don't pay a lot of attention, instead busy with helping the boys pack the last stuff and checking up on everyone.

Soon enough a staff asked you aside.

" Yeah? " You asked her.

" This is for you, as you're coming with and the boys' are sponsored by Fila. The company thought it'd be nice if you'd at least have a jacket of the same brand too. " She smiles.

" Oh, that's really nice. Thank you. " You smile at her.

She hands you a soft pink wintercoat. It's admittedly not your colour, nor your style, but you take the jacket gratefully, happy that they at least thought of you.

" I look good in whatever I wear. " You hear Jin say.

You come up to the mirror beside him, checking out the jacket on yourself.

" Noona, your jacket looks nice on you too. " Jungkook compliments you.

You smile at him.

" Thank you! A staff member gave it to me, it's from the company. " You beam.

And then they're arguing over Namjoon's accent.

" We may be in the same group, but during our days off, I only saw Jimin hyung and Hobi hyung. And Y/N Noona. " Jungkook tells the camera, smiling cheekily at him as you give him a look.

You too went to visit him on his birthday.

" Yah! I called you so often! " Jin argues.

Jungkook doesn't bother with Jin's complaint.

From there the talk is mostly chaotic. First Jin's asking about an extra suitcase (which is really yours), Taehyung is showing of his Ramen noodles, Jimin has finally arrived and you found out that Yoongi's washing up.

" At least someone showers. " You tease your boyfriend as you nudge him playfully, thinking of the small meeting a few months back.

" Yah! I shower too! You of all people know that. " He shakes his head, playing along.

You grin.

Soon enough you engage in small talk with Namjoon, and you can hear Jin somewhere in the back.

" Compared to when you went to Malta-" The staff member begun.

" We took a lot more this time, didn't we? " Jin says.

" My pillow, something to hug when I have to sleep separately from Y/N, a down coat, fleece, pajamas. I also packed some slippers. And some of Y/N's clothes didn't fit it her suitcase, so it's in mine. " Jin laughs.

" Do we need to bring shampoo and conditioner? " Jin asks a few moments later as everyone's seated together on the couch.

" We should bring our own, we might not be able to bring them. " Yoongi points out.

" I'm taking mine with me, you guys can use it too if you don't mind smelling like fruit. " You shrug.

" We can also get them at the airport. " Jungkook suggests.

" Right, Duty-Free. "

And then they suddenly spring to the topic of food, and before hopping over to talking about who's going to be the accountant.

You don't bother adding in on that, you've never traveled with a group of eight before, and you aren't really willing to try when it comes down to it. After that, you're all tacking up your suitcases.

Soon after they're suddenly grabbing some random bags, and Hoseok finds money.

How they forget money, you don't know.

You all sing the new Bon Voyage theme song before you finally set off towards the airport.

" Did you search for 'huge luggage' when you bought your bag? " Yoongi teases Jungkook, though his bag is just as big.

You're walking in front of the two, your left arm linked with Jin's right, your suitcase in your right hand and your backpack on top of it.

You turn to give him a look.

" I'm pretty sure we all did. " You point out.

After a moment of rare silence (The only thing you hear is the rolling of suitcases), Jin claps again.

" Bon Voyage! "

" Why is no one reacting? " He asks the camera with a grin.

" Bon Voyage! " Jungkook pitches in late.

A moment later, the scene cuts, and you all get on the bus.

You sit in the back with Jungkook and Hoseok.

" How did you spend your vacations? " The producer asks them.

They all each start talking about their vacation.

Yoongi mentions his finished mixtape, Namjoon visited lots of museums and went to Europe, Hoseok points out about how he hasn't seen most of them in a while, Jimin basically went everywhere, from Korea to Russia, and Jungkook worked on some songs.

" Jin what did you do in the vacation? " A staff member asks.

You snort.

" I spent half the time sleeping and half the time playing games. " He admits.

" I went on dates with Y/N too. " He says quickly after.

" It's no surprise, at least he made time for you. " Namjoon grins, looking at you.

" I forced him. " You joke.

" I wasn't that bad. But I mostly did play games whenever Y/N wasn't around. Or slept. " He nods along to his own words sleepily.

" Then I realized I couldn't keep living like that, and so I met up with some friends too. " He laughed.

" You had an important realization. " Hoseok comments.

" I did. " Jin grins

After that came the question of Taehyung's where abouts and he mostly traveled the outskirts with friends. Most were shook when he mentioned one of his friends already being married. Jin too gave you a quick glance at the mention of marriage. Taehyung also mentioned working on a few songs too. Hoseok came soon after, and he mostly worked on his solo song 'Chicken Noodle Soup', and chilled at his apartment.

After that they spoke about their pets. When the question came if you had any, you shook your head, though you did mention that your parents owned two cats.

After that you all got a 'travel guide' made by crew for New Zealand. You didn't open it yet, instead opting to read through on the plane.

Before you know it, you've all arrived at the airport.

And before you know it, you and Jin are waving the other boys off.

" Bye guys! "

" Bye! "

" Have a safe flight! "

" So they can't come? " Jimin asked, as Yoongi did so at the same time.

" They can. " The staff answered shortly.

" Huh, so you can't? " Jungkook asks you, still confused.

" No, we can, we'll just have to take a different flight, we'll probably arrive a few hours later. " Jin tells Jungkook.

" We have a connecting flight, we'll probably arrive around the same time. " Yoongi points out.

" As long as you two can come it's fine. " Jungkook comments.

[ Due to issues with Y/N and Jin's travel documents, the two are unable to board the same flight as the members. Luckily, they're able to take a different flight, and arrive an hour later. ]

Time flies, and before you know it, the two of you are walking in the airport, just having checked in.

" Y'know, I might as well have forgotten my password. " Jin jokes.

You shake your head.

The humor appeared to be low budget.

Soon after he's catching up with Army through the camera, simply babbling about his plans as you too listen, until,

" Oh, is that RJ? " He wonders, looking at a shop.

You sigh.

" Oh please not again, we have so many of them-"

" Let's be cute and get matching RJ's Y/N. I'll pay. " He says, pulling you along with him as your arms are once again looped.

Before you know it, the two of you are at the check out, with two matching RJ plushies. He's got a pretty big one, while you've got a smaller, cuter one.

Soon enough it is time to get on your flight, and time,, flies,, by.

" Now, we are going to find the other members. " Jin informs the camera as the two of you finally walk out of the airport.

A crew member tells him it's all good like this, and he turns the camera off, handing it to the staff member.

" Don't you think it's a little awkward to talk to a camera? " You ask Jin as the two of you and two other staff members get on a cab thing to go to the other members.

He shrugs, holding out a hand for you to help you get in the car as the car has a bit of a elevation.

" Not really, we're pretty used to having camera's on us by now. " He tells you honestly.

You hum, and soon enough everyone's in the car, and easy conversation flows through.

It doesn't take all too long before you're at the destination.

Once you are spotted by the other members in the parking lot, Hoseok is the first to hop over, basically jumping on your boyfriend.

You chuckle, being used to their way of greeting each other.

" Y/N! " Hobi smiles, looping an arm around your shoulder casually as he leads to the rest, just as Jimin literally hops onto Jin.

Jimin fetches your suitcases as Jin is quickly waved inside to do training.

As Jin goes inside, you turn to help Jimin, Hoseok's arm falling off as you do so.

" Wait, let me help with that. " You call, jogging over to help him.

The two of you get it done quickly, and soon enough you're being informed by staff of the facility about the campervan.

The water seems to be a bit of a problem.

" Look, how about we all shower together?" Jungkook suggests.

" Except for Y/N of course. " jungkook adds quickly as both you and Jin send him a look.

" Let's coordinate time. " Hoseok suggests.

" Yah, how do we do that? We can't control everything! " Jin complains.

Luckily, the staff comes with a solution.

" There's holiday parks, campervans can go there too. They have shower and toilet accommodations. " He quips helpfully.

" That sounds much better. " You laugh.

" Okay, let's only use the campervan's toilet for emergency. " Yoongi adds.

" If you're about to die. " Namjoon pops.

" Let's shower all at once too. " Jungkook keeps trying.

" We can't shower long. "

" Only 5 minutes, after that, cut the water. " Jin says, as does Hoseok.

A ton of questions later, everyone's once again getting their suitcases, and Yoongi loads it into the campervan. Soon after all of you are clapping along again.

" Jungkook did you bring your dumbbells again? " Jin jokes.

" That's not my suitcase. " Jungkook informs.

" That's mine actually, sorry. " You grin, not actually feeling sorry.

Once that's over with, there's a small discussion about who's driving what car. It settles with Jungkook driving the campervan and Jin driving the SUV.

" Where are we going? " You hear most around you asking.

" The guide book mentioned (a random restaurant). " You tell them.

" Alright, if you say so. " Jin says, already getting the navigation started without further questions.

The other car either can't hear you or doesn't listen, as they instead listen to the producer, who agrees with you.

[ A/N: Oh my god this is a 3.4 k chapter folks,, never done dat before. Anyway, how did you guys like it? Also, no, there will be no smut in this story, but keep in mind that Jin & reader are both of age and in a 9 year relationship. ]

#bts #jin x reader #bts bon voyage #bts x reader #bts fluff #bts ot7 #bts series #bts ff

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beskarhearts · 4 years ago

Text

The Passenger (Din Djarin x reader)

gif credits @bestintheparsec

Connection series Pt. 14

Pairing: Din Djarin x f!reader (no use of Y/N)

Warnings: cursing, canon typical violence/death, ~sexual tension~

Word count: over 11K

Summary: A new passenger joins the Razor Crest crew.

Notes: As always, I hope everyone enjoys this! Please tell me what you all think, your opinions/predictions, and let me know if you want to be added to the taglist! (also I didn’t edit this as thoroughly as I usually do but I promise I will later when I have time!!)

Previous Part ____ Next Part

_______________________________________

You looked over at Din and scoffed, placing your arms over your chest as you watch him stumble besides you. “You really should of let me carry something.”

“I am fine.”

“How about I grab a couple of bags to carry?”

“No.”

“You are being stubborn.”

“I’m pretty sure I’m being a gentlemen.”

“A gentlemen wouldn’t be covered in dried Krayt Dragon venom and saliva and goo.” you chirped back and Din sighed. “Although it is quite the look for you.”

Ever since the three of you had been stopped by those scavengers and the speeder bike was destroyed, Din had insisted on carrying everything. The man was so stubborn he tried to carry the child but you had demanded he stay in the pouch on your side. Otherwise, Din was precariously balancing everything you guys had on the bike, hanging bags off a rifle of his which he held on his shoulders. Din was strong but he had been walking like this for hours and it was simply getting ridiculous.

“You know, I am pretty strong. I think I can handle a couple bags.” you said, looking over at him but his head remained aimed straight ahead as he walked through the town. The three of you had just made it back to Mos Eisley and it was now night, the stars twinkling above and the heavy suns of the planet long gone.

“Well, we are here so you don’t need to worry.” Din said, stopping in his tracks as you made it to a cantina.

You looked over at Din and gave him a teasing smirk. “If you are trying to buy me a drink, you should have just said so.”

Din sighed and looked down at you. “Motto will be here.”

“How do you know?” you asked, peering into the doorway of the cantina and not finding her upon first glance.

“She loves to gamble.”

Din walked into the building after that and you followed. Sure enough, Peli was sat in a booth in the back. As you neared, you found an insectoid creature of some kind sat across from her and the pair were intensely focused on a game of Sabacc. You smiled when you saw the cards, remembering how your grandmother had loved playing the game so much and had taught you how to not only play it, but win.

Din made his way to the table, a hulking figure who stood above the two. The insectoid seemed to notice his presence but Peli on the other hand was staring at the board with so much focus that it made you chuckle quietly to yourself.

“I don’t know. Looks like someone’s gonna be goin’ home empty-handed.“ Peli said to the creature across from her. She finally looked up and seemed to notice you and the Mandalorian, raising an eyebrow as she looked over all the stuff he held. Her eyes landed on the helmet and she scoffed. “You finally found a Mandalorian and you killed him?”

“He wasn’t Mandalorian. I bought this armor off of him, though.” Din replied.

“What’d that set you back?” Peli asked inquisitively.

“Oh, just killing a Krayt Dragon. No biggie. He only got swallowed whole by it. Real piece of cake.” you sarcastically said.

Peli raised an eyebrow. “Oh. Is that all?”

“Yeah. Didn’t realize getting it would be so easy. It was practically a vacation.” you mumbled and Peli chuckled at that.

“He was my last lead on finding other Mandalorians.” Din justified.

Before Peli or you had the chance to make another sarcastic comment, the creature began speaking in his native tongue. Peli looked over at him and listened before turning back to the two of you. “Okay. Well, you might be in luck. Dr. Mandible here says he can connect you with someone who can help you, if you cover his call this round. It’s what he said.”

Din looked down at the board and sighed. “What’s the bet?”

“Five hundred.”

Din looked over at you, as if saying ‘you’ve got to be kidding me’. You looked back at the table and inspected the cards. It wasn’t obvious at a first glance but if you really studied where everything was, Peli had the upper hand. As long as the creature didn’t notice the play she was making, she would probably have it.

“That’s a high stakes game.” Din noted.

“Hey, he’s on a winning streak.” Peli said. You raised an eyebrow and looked at her. She gave you a lazy grin, knowing you could see what she was playing at.

Din let out a sigh as the creature began speaking again, the child on your side joining in on the conversation with a small coo. Din reached into his pockets and dropped the credits on the table. You couldn’t help but to silently giggle at the situation. You probably should of warned him so he wasn’t loosing out on credits, but you had to admire Peli.

“Is the pot right?” Peli asked and the creature responded. Peli smirked before putting her card on the table - an Idiot’s Array - and she gave a big, greedy grin. “Ha! Idiot’s Array! Pay up, thorax!”

Din grunted and you couldn’t help to laugh. “I thought you said he was on a winning streak?”

“Oh. Stop your cryin’. You’ll rust.” Peli scoulded.

You let out a big belly laugh at that and Din looked over at you. “You knew?”

You shyly chuckled. “I admire Peli’s initiative. What can I say? Also, we ruined that speeder she gave us so...”

“My speeder is ruined?” Peli asked, her nonexistent eyebrows shooting up to the top of her head.

“You mean the speeder I gave you?” Din asked, tilting her helmet at her. She rolled her eyes and gathered her winnings.

Dr. Mandible spoke again and Peli once again translated. “All right. He says the contact will rendezvous at the hangar.” He added more and Peli continued. “They’ll tell you where to find some Mandalorians. That’s what you wanted, right? All right, well, stop your mopin’. More importantly, did you bring back any of that dragon meat? Better not have any maggots on it. I don’t like maggots.”

You raised an eyebrow and made a disgusted face. “You are going to eat that?”

“Not to sound crude, but there isn’t much I wouldn’t eat. And roasted Krayt Dragon is delicious.” Peli said, looking satisfied at the mere thought of some food. “Also, your kid looks thrilled by the thought as well so don’t be too judgy.”

You looked down at the child, who was admiring the meat that hung off Din’s pack with a slightly awestruck expression, like he was looking at the most beautiful creature. You gave a small chuckle and pat his head, which he cooed to. “Let’s get you some food, kid.”

__________________

The child now looked like he was in love as he watched the dragon meat being roasted by a droid above a fire, which was dripping juices which the child eagerly looked at. You gave a small laugh as he cooed at it, his stubby hands reaching out.

Peli made her way through the door, looking at the droid that was cooking it. “Hey, don’t overcook it, Treadwell! I like it medium rare! I’m not some Rodian, for crying out loud.”

You chuckled as you looked up at Peli, who now faced you and Din. “All right, here’s the deal. A Mandalorian covert is close. It’s in this sector, one system trailing.”

“Are they the ones that left Nevarro?” Din asked.

Peli shrugged. “Don’t know. All I know is that the contact will lead you to them.”

“And what will this cost us? And don’t you dare say we have to kill something or I’ll lose it.” you said.

“Well, that’s the great news. It’s free. Aside from a finder’s fee, of course.” Peli said confidently but you couldn’t help but to notice a weariness from her which caused you to raise your eyebrow.

“What’s the not-great news?” Din asked, seeming just as hesitant as you were.

“Nothing. It’s all great.”

You let out a loud laugh, more like a bark. “Oh, please. The last time something went great for us was...well... Now that I think about it, never.”

“Well, there is one small skank in the scud pie.” Peli hesitantly said, giving you a look you couldn’t quite place.

“Bingo.” you muttered under your breath.

“Which is?” Din asked.

“The contact wants passage to the system.” Peli said.

You raised an eyebrow. “That doesn’t sound too bad.”

“Do you vouch for them?” Din asked.

“On my life.” Peli said plainly.

Din looked over at you and you let out a sigh. You wanted to be in the ship, just with him and the kid. Try to ignore the mad journey the three of you were on and be alone with Din. But, if this got you where you had to be, so be it. “Fine.” you mumbled.

Din sighed again and went to turn until Peli’s voice broke out again.

“And...no hyperdrive.“

Your head shot up and you looked at Peli with an expression of absolute bewilderment. “What?”

“You want me to travel sublight? Deal’s off.”

Peli huffed at his definitive answer. “It’s one sector over.” she justified but Din shook his head.

“Moving fast is the only thing keeping us safe.” Din explained and you nodded in agreement.

“We might as well just turn ourselves in.” you said but Peli looked exasperated, not seeming to care about your explanation. “Why do we need to travel sublight anyways?”

“These are mitigating circumstances.“

“What do you mean ‘mitigating’?” Din asks.

Motto simply turns around as a creature begins to walk through the door, letting out a croak as she saw you. It was a frog-like creature with two big eyes that stared at the four of you. Her skin was a blend of pinks and purples, and you couldn’t help but to feel your heart soften up as you saw what she had. On her back was a large tank that looked entirely too heavy, filled with what looked like orange eggs that bobbed in the glowing blue liquid within it. She walked over to where you were, seeming to almost smile as she looked between you and Din and Motto.

Din puts his hands on his hips, tilting his helmet to the side and down to look at Peli. “I’m not a taxi service.”

You couldn’t help but to gasp and swat a hand into his shoulder. He looked over at you and you shook your head at him. “What does she need?” you ask.

The lady begins to speak to Motto, who nods. “What is the cargo?” Din asked.

Peli turns to the frog woman, speaking in her language. The woman responds emphatically and you nod along even though you don’t understand a word she is saying. “It’s her spawn. She needs her eggs fertilized by the equinox or her line will end. If you jump into hyperspace, they’ll die. She said her husband has settled on the estuary moon of Trask in the system of the gas giant Kol Iben.”

“She said all of that?” Din said with speculation.

“I paraphrased.” Peli offered with a shrug.

“And she knows there are Mandalorians there?” you asked. You already knew deep down that you needed to help her. She had a tank full of offspring that held the key to her line’s survival. You weren’t technically a mother, but you could identify with her desperate need to protect her children and get them to where they needed to be, before it was too late.

The two women communicated before Peli turned to you. “She said her husband has seen them.”

You nodded, thinking that was enough of a reason to justify bringing her but Din continued. “Do you know the husband?”

“No. I just met her ten minutes before you walked in.” Peli said as if it was the most obvious thing. Meanwhile a droid moved up to her with a plate of meat which she grabbed with a grin.

“I thought you said you vouched for her on your life.” Din sarcastically responded.

She shrugged. “What can I say? I’m an excellent judge of character. That’s why I like this girlfriend on yours.” She grabbed the meat with her hands and placed it in her mouth, her teeth gnawing and tearing away at it. You smiled down at her, letting out a small giggle at her words.

“We can’t.”

Your head once against shot up to look at Din and you huffed. “Watch the kid, Peli.” You said before grabbing onto his arm and dragging him away from the creature and Peli, behind the ship so you two could be hidden away. “Din Djarin!” you whispered and he looked down at you, helmet tilted in confusion.

“What?” he asked and you shook your head in disbelief.

“We need to help that lady.” you said, completely exasperated by the fact that you had to even explain this concept.

“You want us to travel sublight?” Din asked incredulously, like you were saying the stupidest thing in the galaxy.

“The survival of her line is at stake. She has a container full of her potential offspring in there!” You threw your hands up.

“And I’ve got a child and riddur to protect!” He said.

You suddenly froze, your eyebrows shooting up and anger dissipating. “W-what did you just say?” you mumbled and you could feel Din’s whole body lock up with realization.

“I said I have a child and cyar’ika to protect.” He lied dumbly, his hand nervously going to his hips.

“No, you said-”

“We can’t take her.” He interrupted but your mind was still whirring from what you swore you heard him say. You took a moment to calm down your racing heart and focus back on what you were saying.

“We can, technically. And we should, morally.”

“It’s dangerous.”

“But not impossible.” you countered back.

“Are you trying to get us killed?”

“No offense sir, but you are the one who crawled into a Krayt dragons mouth so who here as a tendency to almost get killed?” You sarcastically responded.

Din grunted and you can practically feel him rolling his eyes. “I don’t think this is a good idea.”

“I have a good feeling about this. We can help her and find other Mandalorians. This sounds like a great compromise to me.” You explained and Din sighed. You tried to hold back a smile, not wanting him to know how pleased you were. You could feel him caving in and you knew deep down he would say yes. Din might be a tough Mandalorian, but he was a secret softie deep down and you knew he would always do the right thing.

“Sweet one...” He mumbled and you shot your hands up in victory, wrapping them around his neck to pull him into a tight hug.

“Yes! Thank you!” You whispered as his hands landed on your hips, pulling you away slightly so he could look down at you.

“I didn’t say yes.”

“Oh, please. You surrender. Let’s go let our new friend know!” You excitedly said, trying to turn away but Din’s grip on you remained strong. You looked over at him with confusion. “Din, we should go.”

“We won’t be alone for a while so just give me a minute.”

You shoulders sagged a little at the realization. You and Din hadn’t really had a moment of isolation together in days. You had either been in the middle of nowhere or with Tuskens or with Cobb. No opportunity to be completely comfortable with each other. Now that you thought about it, you had only kissed him once in the last few days. “Oh.”

“We were supposed to be alone after this. Just you, me, and the kid on the Crest.” Din said as he leaned his helmet against your forehead.

“And we will be soon. This will just take a couple days.” You whispered back at him, trying to find some optimism.

Din suddenly squeezed on your hip a little tighter and made you stumble back so you were pressed into the side of the Crest. He leaned into you, his chest plate rubbing against your front. You could feel the rise and fall of each breath he took and it filled you with peace. This wasn’t skin-to-skin contact but it was as close as you had gotten to it in days and it seemed to wake some uncontrollable urge in you. “You said all we had to do was kill the Krayt Dragon and then...” he trailed off purposely, allowing you to remember the moment outside your tents that night. The need you had felt for him and the desperation in his voice.

“You should have known nothing goes according to plan for us.” You muttered and Din pressed into you tighter, causing you to gasp. His helmet dipped down into your neck and you lifted your head up, letting out a small noise at the contact.

“I need you.” You wondered if he meant for you to hear it with how quiet he was but you did and the words sent a shiver down your spine. You brought your hands up to hold onto his shoulders, just clasping onto the beskar that covered them but it felt good to hold him in your hands.

“Din, we need-” your words got caught in your throat as his hands began to drift down, so slowly you barely detected it. “Damn it, Din.” you huffed, starting to get irritated with the effect he had on you.

“What’s wrong, sweet one?” you rolled your eyes at the way he was acting. Like he didn’t know what he did to you.

“Shut up and stop doing that.”

“Doing what?”

“Touching me.” you hissed but Din’s hand started to drift behind you and down.

“You don’t want me to touch you?”

“Yes, I do. But right now is not the time.” He hands rested on the lowest portion of your back and he began to lift the fabric of your shirt up, his gloved hands now planting onto your skin. You hissed at the contact and tried your best to look away from him but he just stared down at you.

“Maybe it is...”

“Din.” you whispered softly.

“Hey, what are you two doing back there?” You and Din jumped away quickly as Peli rounded the corner, looking at you two with a new hunk of meat held in her hands. She seemed to take no notice of the way your skin was flushed or how your shirt now rested a little higher than it had been before. Didn’t see the way your chest heaved and Din’s moved a little quicker than it had before with each breath. Instead she just took a big bite out of her food and looked between you two, mumbling her words through the food in her mouth. “Did you decide?”

Din sighed and looked over at you, as if hoping you could change your mind because of what just happened. Instead you looked away from him and nodded firmly. “Tell that friend of yours we leave soon.”

____________

“Now, I’m gonna ask you to stay strapped in whenever you’re seated. Traveling sublight is a bit dicey these days. Whether it’s pirates or warlords, someone either ends up with a nice chunk of change, or your ship.” Din told the woman who was now sat in the passenger seat where you normally were. You stood in the cockpit now, having offered the seat to her since she had been carrying the tank full of eggs, which now sat in the hull of the ship where the child rested. The frog lady began to speak in her language and you looked over at Din, hoping he was catching it.

“I don’t speak whatever language that is. You speak...Huttese?” He asked and followed it with something in another language that sounded similar to hers but by no means the same. She just stared at him blankly, not understanding a lick of what he spoke. Din looked over at you and you shrugged.

“Sorry. I don’t know frog. Skipped that class.” You responded and Din turned, flicking a switch on the dashboard and sighing.

“So, I’m gonna hit the rack. I’ve set the nav for our course. It’s gonna take a while. I recommend you get some rest.“ He explained to the new passenger and you couldn’t help but to smile. He knew she probably didn’t understand a word but he still explained everything to her, treated her like a person and not a hassle.

Din stood from his seat, heading down the ladder of the ship. You looked at the woman before following him down and gave her a warm smile. “I promise he is a big softie.”

“No, no, no, no, no!” You heard from the hull of the ship and you and the frog woman both looked in the direction of the sound. She started to rise from her seat but you held a hand up.

“It’s okay. Stay here. I’m sure he is just being grumpy or something.” You had no clue what was happening but if it was worrying Din, it wasn’t good. At all. You nervously chuckled before shimmying down the ladder and jumping down into the hull. You looked over at where Din stood hovering above the child.

Your eyes widened at the sight before you. The child was stood right next to the tank full of eggs and held one in his hand, staring at Din as he slurped one of the orange balls right up. “No!” you let out.

Din bended down quickly, closing the lid of the tank and grabbing the child who looked up at you two innocently, as if he wasn’t committing genocide. “That is not food.” Din sternly told him but the child seemed to take no care or notice.

“Oh my god, the kid ate a child.” You murmured quietly so the woman in the cockpit couldn’t hear.

“Technically it’s not fertilized so it’s just an egg.” Din reasoned and you looked up at him in bewilderment.

“You say that like that’s better.” You screeched in bewilderment and Din chuckled at the expression on your face.

“Sweet one, it’s okay.”

“I thought he kept looking at the eggs cause they were glowing and a fun color! Not because he wanted to end a whole line of creatures.” You whisper-yelled, feeling your voice rise. The child actually had the audacity to smile up at you and you swore your eyebrows shot all the way up your forehead.

“We will just make sure it doesn’t happen anymore. It was a one time thing.” Din explained and you nodded slowly, eyes still trained onto the child who seemed to be having a great time, a small yawn escaping his lips. Oh yeah, must be tired from eating a child. “Let’s go to bed.”

You paused as Din started to head towards his cot. He doesn’t realize you weren’t following after him until he placed the child down in his hammock and looked over at you. You smiled up at him almost guiltily. “Cyar’ika, what’s wrong?”

“Well, you see, I was going to sleep in the cockpit.”

Din tilted his helmet and planted a hand on hip. “What?”

“I want to keep her company. She is probably so lonely and scared.” You said with a little frown.

“She is an adult.”

“Yes, but I remember my first night on this ship. Back when we didn’t know each other and you were just some strange man. It was kind of... unnerving.”

“So, you are going to sleep up there?” Din questioned and you nodded.

“Yeah. Keep her some company. A friendly face, y’know?”

Din let out a sigh and shook his head. “You are a good person.”

You smiled at the compliment and walked over to him, resting a hand on one of his biceps and squeezing it reassuringly. You felt silly doing so but you planted a small kiss on his helmet, like you would kiss his cheek if you were allowed to see it. “Goodnight.”

“Good night, sweet one.”

You gently grabbed a blanket on your way up the ladder, pulling yourself up into the cockpit to still find the frog lady awake. She turned back to look at you and jumped as she heard you but you just help a hand up, trying to indicate everything was fine. “I thought I’d keep you company.” She just stared back at you blankly and you shrugged. “Even though you can’t understand anything I’m saying.”

She finally said something in her native language and you cocked your head, trying to see if you could understand even one little part of it but failing to do so. “I’m sorry. I don’t understand.” you said solemnly and she seemed to comprehend that you didn’t know a word she was saying as well. You slowly brought the blanket in your hand up and towards her. “Are you cold? I know this ship can be colder than Hoth sometimes.”

The woman seemed to understand that at least, bringing one of her webbed hands out to grab onto the blanket and pull it over her lap, giving you a gracious smile which you returned happily. You then made your way into the drivers seat and plopped down on it, sighing in relief. You and Din had been so busy the last few days and you hadn’t even realized how much it had beaten down your body, exhausting you in every way. It wasn’t until you sat down that you felt the deep ache in all your muscles and bones and the fatigue that washed over you. You looked over at the woman again whose eyes were finally closed and she seemed to be drifting into sleep very quickly. You smiled as you saw the blanket wrapped around her and nodded to yourself, glad you came up. You couldn’t do much but you figured this was a kindness you could show her that she could possibly understand.

You rested your head back completely, letting your eyes slip close and you began to drift off quickly.

____________

Wake up.

Your eyes shot open instantly and you jerked upwards in the seat, feeling your hands shake at the loud voice that rang through the cockpit. You looked over at the creature in the passenger seat, expecting her to be awake from how loud the voice was but she was still fast asleep, like she hadn’t heard a thing. You whipped your head around the cockpit but found nothing out of place. You felt crazy. You swore you had heard a female voice as clear as day, so loud it woke you up. It had sounded so familiar as well...

You tried to shrug it off, allowing your half asleep body to fall back into the seat. You closed your eyes, ready to slip back into the deep sleep you were in when it called out again.

Wake up.

What the kriff? You now stood up this time and looked around even more, trying to find the tiniest hint that something was up. But once again, you saw nothing out of the ordinary and certainly no woman standing in the room. You walked away from the chair, making sure to step lightly as to not wake up the passenger. You began to slip down the ladder, determined to find a source of the noise that didn’t just include you being crazy. You looked over at where Dins cot was, but the hatch to it was closed and he was probably dead asleep in there, more worn out then you even were from the last few days. You looked over at the refresher, but even that was empty, along with the hull. The only new thing was the glow of the tank of eggs on the floor. You shook your head, starting to turn around when you heard the voice again.

“Shit, this is harder than it seems.” The voice was coming from behind you, this you knew definitively. You also knew one thing for sure. The voice was one you completely recognized in every way, knew it like the back of your hand. It was warm and wise, but also a little crackly like it was aged. Your heart began to slam in your chest. That was your grandmothers voice. Clear as can be and it was coming behind you. You could also see a blue glow begin to illuminate the room but you couldn’t bare to turn around. You were imagining this, or at the very least dreaming. This wasn’t real and it would just hurt. “Gee, it’s been how many years and you can’t even give me a good look? I’m not naked or anything.”

You closed your eyes as you felt your emotions overwhelm you. It sounded so much like her; the inflection of her tone and the sarcastic nature that intertwined with everything she said. “I’m dreaming.” You muttered out loud, trying to break yourself away from the cruelty of it but you find yourself shocked when a laughter filled the hull. One that sounded easily like yours, just a little older.

“I come back to see you after all these years and you call me a dream. I ought to be offended. Or maybe it’s a compliment...”

You had to look. Maker forbid it was her and you didn’t look. You began to slowly turn around, your feet seeming to be made of lead and feeling so heavy with every step you took to turn completely. Once you finally did, you allowed your eyes to squint open and there she was. She looked like her, just like she had the last day you saw her, except it looked like she was projection or hologram, a blue haze surrounding her and seeming to wash over the any color. You opened your eyes completely as you watched her smile as you brightly, the kind of smile that had aways made you feel so worth it. “H-how is this... is this r-real or am I c-c-crazy?” You could barely speak as you stared at her, seeing the way she swayed slowly where she stood, like she had always done. She had driven your mother crazy because she always had to be moving, never could stay still. Everything she did screamed that it was her but you were still so hesitant.

“Oh, yeah. It’s me. This whole force ghost thing is a lot harder than it looks though.”

“Force ghost?”

“You know what happens when we all pass. We become part of the Force.” She said with a beautiful grin, the kind that could ease any worries.

“What are you doing?” You asked and she chuckled at the way you awkwardly mumbled it.

“I needed to talk to you.”

You paused to look at her as she continued to stand before you. You stepped forward to get closer, getting a proper look at her. You couldn’t help but to smile as you looked at every wrinkle, every strand of hair braided away, every breath she took. It was like she was right there before you. Like you could reach out and touch her. Part of you almost did but you didn’t want to do so and realize she wasn’t actually physically there.

“You thought we didn’t keep an eye on you, kid? Of course we did.” She said with a knowing nod and you felt a warmth bloom in your chest. You always liked to think they were watching, but bearding your ideas be confirmed brought you so much peace. “And may I just say, you have been having quite the time.”

You suddenly realized that she must know everything. About Din and the child. About how you were in love with Din and he knew what you were. She must have sensed the sudden change in your demeanor and she looked at you with a soft smile. “Don’t worry, my little one. I’m very happy for you.”

“You know-”

“Everything?” you look at her and nod dumbly to which she grins. “Oh, yeah. Everything. I mean I had to keep an eye on you. And trust me, I was none too pleased about a Mandalorian at first. But this one seems alright.”

She said the last part with a soft smile, the kind that expressed how he was more than just alright. You smiled up at her and decided to let the shock wash away. Even if this was just a dream or a extremely vivid hallucination, you wanted to enjoy this. “Yeah. I guess he is alright.” you said with a smirk to which she nodded. “Are... are you guys okay?”

She let her shoulders sag slightly, looking at you softly. “You need to stop blaming yourself.”

“I just-”

“You tried your best.”

“I’m sorry.” you blurted out.

“There is no need to be sorry.”

“You sacrificed yourself to save me.” You told her, now exasperated. You were working on accepting what happened but you couldn’t hear her say there was no need to be sorry. That is was okay.

“And you nearly died trying to protect me.” She retorted and you rolled your eyes.

“And I failed.”

“No. You did so well you nearly killed yourself.” She told you and you looked away from her stern gaze, the same one she gave you when she was teaching you an important lesson.

“You should of ran away. You would of lived.” You softly said, crossing your arms over your chest as you blinked your eyes quickly, not wanting to cry. She had already seen you so weak and damaged before. She didn’t need to see it again.

“I was an old woman who had lived long enough. I knew saving you with the Force would take everything out of me but it was worth it. I mean, look at your life. It has only just begun.” you heard the softness and kindness, but also the demanding, authoritative tone. The kind of voice that was going to tell you how it was and not accept any other answer. Her voice suddenly dropped. “Did you read it?”

You froze and stared at her with a bewildered expression, barely sputtering out “W-What?”

“The letter, kid. Did you read it?” she asked again.

You shook your head. “No. Maker, no.”

“Why not? I always told Mai to tell you if anything ever happened. You need to read it.”

“Tell me what?” you asked.

“K-kid-” Her holographic-like appearance started to fade away slowly.

“No, please. C’mon, stay.” you begged, feeling like a child as tears started to well up in your eyes.

“Read it.” was the last words spoken by her before she faded away completely, the hull of the ship going back to complete darkness.

You let out a shaky breath, looking down to find your hands trembling. You grabbed onto a crate, sitting down on it and letting your whole body sag. Your heart was racing a mile a minute, along with your mind. You still weren’t entirely convinced what had happened was real, and not a figment of your imagination or some complex dream. But she had seemed to real. Like she was there and close enough to touch. When she spoke to you, it was her. All the little quirks and the inflection of her tone had been identical to the woman you missed so much.

Your eyes slowly trailed from the spot on the floor you had been to looking at to the corner of the ship, where your bag laid. You could see the crumbled paper on top of it. What the hell was so important? If that was real, why had your grandmother done that just to tell you to read a letter? If it was so important, she should of tone you. If not back then, at least now she should have.

You should read it. You know that deep down. You started to rise slowly from your seat you took on the crate, you legs still trembling as you took one small step. You were about to take another when a small croak filled the space. You turned around to find the frog lady’s head peaking down from the cockpit, looking down at you. You made eye contact and she let out another small croak.

“You okay?” you quietly asked.

She let out another croak and her eyes followed the container of eggs that sat in the hull. You looked over at it and smiled softly. “They are okay.” you said, giving her a small thumbs up in hopes she understood that.

Another croak was let out and you sighed. “I’m coming up. Let’s go back to bed.”

You gave the letter one last glance before making your way to the ladder of the cockpit, climbing up it slowly.

____________

You had been wide awake when a small beeping sound began ringing out through the cockpit, emitting it’s way into the rest of the ship. You looked over at the frog woman to find her still asleep, seeming to be undisturbed by the noise as small snores that sounded like small croaks left her. Your head turned back to the dash of the ship, looking at all the buttons and controls. You eyes met the comm and you raised an eyebrow, looking out the window to see nothing out of the ordinary.

A clanking of metal rang out and you looked back at Din who pulled himself into the Crest. You slowly brought a single finger up to your lip, indicating for him to be quiet as your head gestured to the frog lady. “She’s still asleep.”

Din nodded. “What happened?” he softly asked.

You shrugged, pulling yourself out of the drivers seat so he could slip into it. “Wasn’t us. I think it’s someone trying to comm you.”

Din grunted and a small smile made it’s way onto your face. You were sure he was pleased to not only be woken up, but woken up by somebody trying to talk to him. Din flicked on the comm as you rested a hand on his shoulder. Part of you had wanted to crawl into his cot after the bizarre happenings from earlier. Let his arms envelop you and spread a warmth through your body you had never felt before. But you decided against it, still feeling it was best to stay with the new passenger and let Din sleep.

“Razor Crest, M-One Eleven. Come in, Razor Crest. Do you copy?” a voice rang out into the pit.

You once again looked back at the lady, seeing her still asleep and funny enough, it slightly reminded you of the child. Sometimes he’d wake up at the slightest noise. You could make one step and he wouldn’t fall asleep for the rest of the night. But other times, he could sleep through anything. A TIE fighter could probably soar past and he’d still peacefully sleep through it, like nothing was happening.

“This is Razor Crest. Is there a problem?” Din asked. Your hand tightened onto his shoulder and he leaned into it slightly.

“We noticed your transponder is not emitting.” The man spoke again.

“Yes, I’m pre-Empire surplus. I’m not required to run a beacon.”

“That was before. This sector is under New Republic jurisdiction. All craft are required to run a beacon.” You raised an eyebrow, looking over at Din who just shrugged.

“Thank you for letting me know. I’ll get right on it.” he responded.

“Not a problem. Safe travels.”

“May the Force be with you.” You looked over at Din, both eyebrows raised high as you nearly laughed. You had never even heard the man say that once. If anything, you were convinced that he used to not believe if the Force, thinking it was a whole bunch of gibberish until the kid walked into his life.

“And also with you.” the man responded, cutting out.

“May the Force be with you?” you quietly asked, smiling down at where he sat.

“Isn’t that what they say?” Din said, his hands landing on your hips softly as he turned his seat towards you.

“Yeah but I’ve never heard you say that.” You nearly yelped when he pulled you down onto his lap with his hands still clutching onto you. You tossed your head over to look at the frog lady who was still asleep. “Mando, she is right there.”

“Say my name.”

You looked at him with a soft smile, placing a kiss on his helmet which made him let out a small hum that filled your heart with joy. “Din, she is right there.”

Din let out another small noise, pulling you closer onto him. “I don’t care. I miss sleeping in a bed with you.”

“Me too. But we will-”

The beeping resumed, interrupting you. You let out a small whine, slipping off of Din’s lap and warm embrace as he turned towards the comm. Before flipping it on, Din let out an aggravated grunt.

“Just one more thing.” The man’s voice from earlier rang out into the ship again.

“Yes?” Din curtly said, shaking his head.

“I’m gonna need you to send us a ping. We’re out here sweeping for Imperial holdouts.”

Your head whipped over to look at Din, his helmet still trained forwards. You couldn’t send out a ping.

“I’ll let you know if I see any.” Din responded but you knew it wouldn’t be good enough. They were going to insist.

“I’m still gonna need you to send us that ping.” the man countered.

“Well, I’m not sure I have that hardware online.” Din said but even you could see through that lie.

“We can wait.”

Din finally looked at you, seeming to be contemplating what his options were. You slowly mouthed ‘what do we do?’ but Din seemed to settle on a decision shortly. “Yeah...I...I...doesn’t seem to be, uh, working.”

“That’s too bad. If we can’t confirm you’re not Imperial, you’re gonna have to follow us to the outpost at Adelphi. They’ll run your tabs.”

Fuck, no. No. You couldn’t stop at Adelphi. You had this women’s eggs and the child and Din.

“Oh, wait. There it is. Transmitting now.” Din said but you just saw him flip the auto-pilot switch off. You stepped back, leaning against the wall in anticipation of what was next.

The frog lady then decided it was a good time to wake up, letting out a loud croak as she looked over at you two. “Be quiet!” you and Din both simultaneously whispered at her.

“What was that?”

“Uh, nothing. The hypervac is drawing off the exhaust manifold.” Din excused, but you rolled your eyes. Din knew his way around a ship well enough to know that was a shit excuse.

The frog lady continued croaking, not seeming to catch a hint. Din looked over at her and you could feel the annoyance radiating off him. You snapped your fingers, bringing her eyes to look at you and held your finger up to your lips, trying to gesture to her to be quiet. But she didn’t seem to catch a hint, croaking back at you and bringing her own finger up to her mouth in confusion.

“Carson, can you switch over to channel two?” Another man’s voice spoke out, causing the woman to finally quiet down as she looked at the comm where the source of the noise came from.

“Copy.” the other man spoke.

You looked at Din, seeing his hands ghost over the accelerator. “Oh, shit. Hold on.” you said, clutching onto the passengers seat.

Din hit it, beginning to soar through the galaxy at a terrifying speed that made the frog lady begin wailing in fear. You held on tightly, feeling your body plop down onto the ground from the abrupt change in speed. Din suddenly began dropping to a nearby planet, causing your butt to lift off the ground and the frog lady begin to croak with a very anxious tone. Din soared over the clouds as the cockpit to the ship began to shake.

“Mando, this isn’t good!” you yelped but Din paid no mind to your words.

“Razor Crest, stand down. We will fire. I repeat, we will fire.” A man warned and you cursed.

Din whipped around a corner, pulling the ship which caused it to tremble even more. “The Crest can’t handle this!” you called.

“It’s going to have to.” Din grunted, bringing his hands off the accelerator. You let out a deep breath until you saw him turn the engines off.

“Mando!”

The ship instantly began to plummet, dropping down into the clouds and revealing more of the icy planet Din had flown so close to. The frog lady began to full-on scream, her voice filling the cockpit and drowning out any thoughts you had. Glaciers began to finally fill the view of the pit and Din then engaged the engines again, flying down into a canyon.

“Oh, fuck. Are we going to die?” you yelled.

Din continued to fly through the canyon, narrowly avoiding jagged icicles that could easily shear into the metal of the ship. “Come on, Razor Crest, don’t make us do it.” a man spoke again.

The Crest whipped around a bend and straight towards a cavern which the back side of the ship slams into, causing all three of you to grunt. You looked up at Din, seeing his chest fall and rise quickly. You realized he was just as nervous as you, just more quiet about it. “Hold on.” he said.

“Oh, now we have to hold on...” you muttered sarcastically, grabbing onto the chair even more (which you didn’t think was possible). You tried to anchor your feet onto the ground, still sitting on the floor and thinking how the Crest needed a third seat. The frog lady responded with a grunt and croak and you thought how she was probably regretting getting on this ship.

The Crest began to slam into more glaciers, causing the ship to shake and all of your to jerk about. It then began to slide along a sheet of ice. Din tried to turn on the engines so it could shoot up but it it just slammed into more ice until coming to a stop under an overhang.

Din began panting, along with you, relieved that the ship was hidden away and had finally stopped moving. You couldn’t help but to notice the chill that had filled the ship, your body shivering and the hair on your arms begin to stand up. You hesitantly let go of the arm of the chair, wrapping yourself up with your own arms as you tried to not let yourself dwell too much on the cold.

“I’ve lost visual. He’s got to be around here somewhere. You head north. We’ll cover more ground.” The voice barely crackled through the comm, cutting out which was a good sign. Meant they were far enough.

“Fucking hell.” You muttered, looking at Din who was pushing and flicking an assortment of buttons.

“You okay, sweet one?” Din asked, finally looking over at you.

You smiled weakly. “Oh, just dandy.”

“And your friend?”

You looked over at the frog lady, who was gasping and groaning, beginning to rise from her seat. “I think she is just worried about her eggs.” you softly said.

Before you could ask how he was, loud cracks filled the space. It took you a second to realize it was the ice which meant...

You couldn’t warn Din of what was to come before it was too late and the ship broke through the ice, dropping down. You could hear everything in the ship tumbled about and your mind instantly went to the child. Oh, shit. He was probably in his bed with the door shut but you felt fear consume you entirely. The ship suddenly dropped down, causing everyone to slam forward. The last thing you felt was a sharp pain your in your head before everything turned back, your body falling back.

____________

Din let out a loud groan as he slowly blinked his eyes. His whole body was aching and his back was screaming in pain. His mind felt groggy and clouded as he slowly lifted his helmet from where it had landed. He blinked more quickly as he shook his head, letting out more grunts as he tried to become more aware. Last thing he remembered was falling and the frog lady’s screaming. And his cyar’ika...

“Fuck.” Din grunted, whipping his head around (not the best choice on his part) and looking down. He dropped from the chair, crawling down on the small space of the floor where she laid as flecks of snow fell off him. A large bruise was already forming on her head, probably from slamming into the back of his chair or something. She hadn’t been in a seat so she had taken the brunt of the force. Din felt his hands shake as he clutched her, pulling her closer to his chest and leaning her head against it, patting softly at her hair. “Sweet one, wake up. Please be okay.”

Din felt instant relief flood through him as she grunted, her eyes barely opening and seeming to not register what was in front of her. She let out a small cough and Din felt her whole body was shaking, whether from the crash or from the cold he didn’t know. Din held on tighter to her, bringing his cape over his body so some of it could drape over her. “Cyar’ika, are you okay?”

She groaned again, her eyes now blinking some more as she began to make out the shape of his helmet. Behind him he heard the frog lady begin to croak and groan in a painful manner, bringing herself up with the assistance of the chair. Din didn’t look over though, his eyes trained on the woman in his arms. “F-fuck.” she finally muttered, her eyes looking up at him as she slowly brought a hand up to rub at the bump on her head.

“I’m sorry, sweet one.” Din said, pulling her closer and feeling guilty as he saw the injury on her head. He slowly let a hand graze her cheek.

“I hate this ship.” She sputtered. Din let out a small chuckle, glad to see one of the corners of her lips quirk up into the lopsided smile he had come to love so much. “And you are good at crashing this thing.”

“Are you okay?” Din asked.

Her eyes looked up at his softly until her whole body jerks and her eyes widen, a terror stricken look coming over. She suddenly pulled away, flopping over to her hands and knees so she start to stand up, her legs shaking. “The...the kid!”

“Sweet one, sit down. You probably have a concussion and you-” Din couldn’t finish before she was flailing down the ladder of the cockpit, thumping on the ground with a groan. Din rose from his spot on the floor, looking over to see the frog lady looking at him, croaking in distress. Din sighed, realizing she was I’ll find your eggs, don’t worry. Gotta get you some blankets, keep you warm.”

Din dropped down the ladder, letting out a loud groan as he saw a huge hole through the side of the Crest, letting into a flurry of snowflakes. Sparks flew from various areas of the ship and everything was coated in a layer of snow and ice. It couldn’t have been more than a couple hours that they had been passed out, but the temperature of the ship had dropped considerably and the layer of ice proved how dangerous this terrain was. “Damn it.”

The frog croaked again from the cockpit and Din sighed. “Hang on, I’m looking for your eggs!”

“No! How?” He suddenly heard his cyar’ika speak. He looked over to see her standing up barely, her whole upper half hunched forward as a hand held back a piece of cloth. Din made his way over, making it to her side to find the child with the egg canister and... dammit, an egg in his hand.

“No. No... I told you not to do that.” Din scolded, bending down to close the canister and picks it up. He looks over to find his cyar’ika with a bewildered expression on her face, staring down at the child in disbelief who innocently looks up.

“We crash. Nearly die. And this kid is eating children like nothing happened! Look at him, he looks fine!”

Din also felt a little shocked as he looked down at the child, who appeared to have sustained no injuries nor shock from the events, just holding onto one single egg. He looked as happy as ever, perhaps a little disappointed his favorite snack had been taken, but no signs of distress otherwise

The frog lady croaked again and Din looked to find his cyar’ika whimper. “We found them!” Din called out.

“We have to tell her that our kid is a murderer.” Din tried to ignore the way his heart warmed at the way she said ‘our kid’, instead opting for a small smile she couldn’t see.

“He isn’t a murder-” Din was cut off with a slurping noise, looking down as the child swallowed the egg whole. “How many did you eat?”

The child let out a small burp as he swallowed down the egg.

“What were you saying?” she sarcastically said, looking over at Din with a critical expression.

“It’s fine.”

“She is going to notice her children are missing! Her poor little baby eggs! They had their whole lives ahead of them...” she trailed off with a small whimper.

Din sighed. “You grab the child. Let’s bring her the eggs.”

Din began to walk back to the cockpit, hearing her scold the child she now held in her arms. “You did a very bad thing. Very bad. I know they are a fun color but they aren’t a snack! They are little baby eggs and you are eating them like a monster. Oh Maker, you don’t even understand me, do you? Or you don’t care cause you are a tyrant...”

Din couldn’t help but to chuckle as he listened in.

____________

“Are you okay?”

“If you ask that one more time, I will fight you. And I promise you that it will be very embarrassing to be beaten by a concussed mechanic.” You said with a small smile, staring at the bunch of wires you were twiddling away with. The Crest was a disaster, no other way to put it. There was no way you would be able to put it back to normal by yourself or with the limited amount of tools at your disposable. This would be a job for a mechanic whose talents far exceeded your own. Your goal was just to make the ship flyable at the very least and make sure it didn’t explode into a million pieces even if the ship could make it off the ground.

“I’m being serious.” Din said softly, crouching down to bend next to you. You looked over, gazing lovingly into his visor and brought your hand up to pat at it. Din had been manically asking you if you were okay and how you were ever since the crash from earlier. You definitely sustained a concussion and one of your ankles had a sharp shooting pain that ran through it and was very possibly broken. Not having been in a seat when the accident happened was a big mistake on your part but what was done was done. You had wanted to focus your efforts immediately on fixing the ship and helping Din repair as much of the damage as possible, despite his desperate pleading for you to lay down and not move an inch. You had won that argument but Din kept sending long glances your way and rushing to your side if the slightest whimper left your lips. You wouldn’t admit it as to not embarrass him, but it was perhaps the most endearing thing you had ever seen.

“I am fine. My head hurts a little but it’s okay.”

“I mean, besides the head. You seem off.”

The crazed events of the day so far had combined with the events of the night before to create an almost nauseatingly overwhelming sensation through your whole body. You couldn’t even begin to think about what had happened without feeling so completely perplexed. Part of you was still convincing yourself it had been a dream. It wasn’t your grandmother, but a mere fragment of your mind playing cruel games with your emotions. But it had seemed so real and you couldn’t stop thinking about it, even with how busy you were trying to keep your mind preoccupied with the ship and making sure the child didn’t commit any more genocide.

“I had a weird dream or something... Guess it’s still on my mind.” you mumbled, shrugging.

“What was it?”

“It was... just my grandmother and the letter.” your voice drifted off as your eyes widened. “Shit! The letter!”

You hadn’t even thought to look for the letter once the ship was damaged. But there had been a gaping whole in the side of it with winds coursing through, winds that could of snatched the letter away before you had the chance to read past the first paragraph. You tried to jump up from the spot on the floor where you had been sat but your body fumbled on the way up, your face scrunching up in pain as you put pressure on your ankle.

“Sweet one, be careful.”

“I need to make sure the letter is still here. And my bag. Oh Maker, my bag!” you yelped. The frog lady sat in the ship looked up, croaking in confusion as to your newly frazzled state.

You waved your hand at her and began to limp towards where your bag had been, wincing every time your ankle even grazed the ground. “Your ankle is broken.”

“Meh, it’s not.” you grunted, trying to hide your pained expression but Din stayed by your side, keeping his hands close to your body in case you fell. Once you reached your bag, you let out a sigh of relief when you saw the crinkled paper, sitting there with a light coating of snow layered over it’s folds. You slowly dropped to your knees, grabbing the letter and lightly dusting away the cold flakes. “Okay. Good.”

“Are you going to read it?”

You shoved the letter back into your bag and shook your head. “Not right now. One day though.”

“You sure?” Din asked.

“Yeah. Now isn’t the time.” you began to rise from your spot, trying your best to apply as little pressure as possible to your ankle. But despite your best efforts, your head was spinning from some of the sudden movement and you tumbled forward, landing on your ankle. You let out a loud hiss. “Dank farrik!”

Din rushed to you, grabbing onto and pulling you up slowly. He let out a grunt and murmured, “What were you saying about it not being broken?”

“Shut up.” you muttered, allowing Din to lead you to the small cot you had once used as a bed so he could set you down. “No. I need to work!”

“You need to rest. We all do.” Din commanded, laying your blanket over you softly.

You shook your head, letting out a grunt. “Bah, rest is for the weak.”

“You have a concussion and broken ankle.”

“You say that one more time, tin can.” you warned, aiming a somewhat playful finger at him.

Before Din had the chance to speak, the child who had been sat on the floor let out a loud coo that captured your attention. You looked over at him to find him waddling towards your outstretched legs, big eyes looking up at you in concern. “I’m fine, little guy.” you cooed back, feeling your heart warm a little from his adorable expression.

The child let out another garbled noise, eventually reaching your feet and resting a hand on your injured ankle. You let out a small hiss at the contact, expecting the child to pull back but he looked back at you with a look you an inexplicable look. You had always felt a deep connection with the little one, one that sometimes confused you. Part of you hoped it was just that you two had a natural inclination towards each other but another knew deep down it had to do with the Force. Perhaps it was simply because you were the first person he had seen in who knows how many years who had the same thing he did. Or maybe it was the mysterious way of the Force that brought you two together. But as you looked at him and felt his little three-fingered hand settle onto the skin of your ankle, you felt a peace and understanding wash over you that felt deeply shared.

The next thing you felt was a deep warmth throughout your ankle. Not the sharp heat that accompanied the pain like you had been feeling but a beautiful warmth, like a hug from a person you loved or the sun on the first day of summer. You didn’t know how long the child had done it for. Whether it was a minute or multiple minutes or only mere seconds but once his little hand pulled away, you felt like you had been broken out of trance.

You blinked a few times dumbly as the kid wobbled slightly and landed on his butt, his eyes drooping as he let out a small yawn. “The kid just-just...”

“Yeah. He has done that before.”

You whipped your head around to look at Din. “He has?”

Din nodded. “I think it’s his magic powers or something.”

You looked back at the child. No pain longer radiated throughout your ankle. You rotated it with ease, no sharp throbbing accompanying the movement like it had been. It was as if nothing had even happened. You didn’t know exactly what is was called but you knew the child had used the Force to heal you. You couldn’t even begin to comprehend how but the sensation you had felt was one you had experienced before. One your Grandmother had used on you when you were on the brink of death. One that had taken everything from her.

But the child that sat before was fine. Tired but seemed perfectly healthy and even gave you a small smile as you continued to look at him. “He really is powerful.” you mumbled under your breath.

“I’m going to get the frog lady from the cockpit. We all need to rest and eat.” Din said.

You nodded dumbly, eyes still trained on the child as Din rose from his spot on the floor and made his way to the ladder.

____________

“If you hadn’t guessed, we’re in a tight spot.” Din stated as he tidied up a few small things. The frog lady that sat across from you in the hull stared plainly up at him, her tongue whipping out in a flash to catch food from the container that Din had given her.

You let out a small sigh as Din continued. “The main power drive is not responding, and the hull has lost its integrity. I suspect the temperature will drop significantly when night falls.”

“Pretty much this is a complete and utter shit show in every way.” you said, huddling further into the blankets Din had given you. Despite your ankle being healed by the child, he had insisted on you relaxing for the rest of the night, stating how he could handle the last few things on his own.

You looked over at the kid who sat next to you with a small box of food in his lap. But instead of eating it quickly like he normally did, he practically swooned as he stared at the container of eggs that sat next to the frog lady. You let out a scoff and tapped his little arm, but not even that could break him from the trance of his new-found favorite snack. “Stop being a demon.” you whispered at the child, giving the frog lady a guilty smile as she looked over at you.

“I’ll have a better idea of our prospects tomorrow.” Din continued. You wondered if he was speaking to the frog lady in hopes she could understand or just to fill the space, clear his thoughts. Either way, the sound of his voice made a soft smile dance across your lips as he finally brought himself down to the floor, sat closely next to you. The child waddled over to him as you felt his thigh brush against your leg and his shoulder press into you. He leaned his head back against the wall of the ship, letting out a small sigh.

“Mando.”

“Yes?”

“I lo-”

You were interrupted by the frog lady letting out a loud croak, gesturing to her eggs as she continued to speak. Your face softened as you saw her concerned expression and you couldn’t understand the words, but there was passion behind them.

“I’m sorry, lady. I don’t understand Frog. Whatever it is, it can wait until morning. I recommend you get some sleep.“ Din said. The child crawled onto his thigh, settling into the armor. The frog lady let out a defeated croak, bringing a blanket to her container of eggs to wrap it, protectively patting it.

You gave her a soft smile. “I’m sorry but I promise we are trying our best.”

She let out another small croak, settling back into her space and closing her eyes as a hand stayed on her container of eggs. You also leaned back, looking over at Din. You watched his chest rise and fall evenly, falling into a slow pattern that you admired. You brought a hand out from your blanket, sneaking into over to Din’s hand that rested against the floor. You gently grazed his gloved fingers and Din made the next move, his warm leather hands grabbing onto your own and intertwining the fingers. You smiled softly as you let him pull you just slightly closer to him, his hand squeezing yours in a way that made your heart burst. Your eyes drifted to the child, who was now tucked into the beskar plate on Din’s thigh and sleeping away peacefully.

“Sweet one?” Din whispered out and you looked up at him to see his helmet tilted down to look at you.

“Yes?”

“I love you.”

Tag List: @ilikethoseodds @dindaddy @poguesvixen @starspangledwidow @fangirlalexia @the-scandalorian @ka-x-in @keepcalmandblogstuff @the-lady-of-stars @orneryscandalousevil @spaghetti-666 @afootnoteinyourhappiness @the-darkempress @dream-alittlebiggerdarling @dee-vn @eury-dice3 @rb4writers @just-me-and-my-obsessions00 @lxdyred @queen-since-97 @honey-hi @periptill @seninjakitey @guiltyegg @the-bottom-of-the-abyss @altarsw @itsaviicf @greeneyedblondie44 @buffnatalieportman @tanzthompson @archaeoheart @wintrrrsoldier @welcometothepedroverse

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mandalorewhore · 4 years ago

Text

Hunter (formerly Hunter and Prey)

Cis-Female Reader Insert/ Din Djarin

Gif by @themandaloriandaily

Thank u to @cptnbvcks, @whenimaunicorn, and of course @no-droids for the inspiration and your superior writing skills, whenever i was stuck on a portion i would reread all of u guy’s works and feel inspired again

Rating: Explicit Content Warnings: Exhibitionism, Oral Sex, Rough Oral Sex, Breath Play, Deep Throating, Masturbation, Pining, Depictions Of Violence, Canon-Typical Violence Words: 11k AO3 LINK

Summary: AU where Din Djarin stays with the mercenary group owned by Ranzar Malk. Takes place a few years before Din is contracted for Grogu's bounty. You're a merc trying to make a name for yourself in the group when circumstances end up having you run away with Din. You become his hunting partner in order to support yourself but you cant help falling in love with him, even as trained killers chase you across the galaxy.

FULL FIC:

As a mercenary, you wouldn’t consider yourself an overly sensitive person.

Maker knows you wouldn’t have lasted a week in the job if you couldn’t handle your emotions. Although you don’t consider yourself entirely void of empathy, having a sense of detachment is useful when your waking hours are spent committing crimes throughout the galaxy.

So why the fuck are you so jealous right now?

The obscene moans and harsh slapping that echoes throughout the hangar shouldn’t inspire a larger reaction than disgust as you dutifully continue to repair the blaster marks on one of the rogue-class starfighters. Luckily, it seems that most of your immediate associates have ran off into the deeper areas of the bay to toll your last mission.

Excluding three members, you guess.

Thank the fucking Maker Migs isn’t here You think bitterly, willing the sparks to fly higher and machine rumble louder as you carefully manipulate your buffing laser on the metal surface. His snarky attitude certainly wouldn’t lessen your misery as you try to drown out the sounds of sex. Raunchy words hiss, bouncing off the metal walls, before finding your feet and slithering up your limbs with a foulness that chokes you. Controlling the hot spinning laser seems to stoke your inner seething more than it distracts you.

“Mando! Stars, keep-fuck- keep doing that,” you hear Xi’an echoing. Fucking Xi’an. She knows what she’s doing to you. The cruel Twi’lek is far too observant to not know that she is practically comm-station broadcasting her sexual exploits to the entire crew, and with that sheer volume, might as well the entire galaxy. You truly wouldn’t care about her sex life if it wasn’t blatantly obvious that Xi’an was doing this to mock you. You know this is meant for your ears only, a repeat of every other time you’ve found yourself stuck with this chore.

Even if she wasn’t directly rubbing the fact that she was fucking the Mandalorian in your face, you don’t doubt that she would find a way to taunt your nonexistent sex life just for the fun of it. Another salacious moan echoes in the bay causing you to cringe and slightly jerk the repair tool in frustration.

Fuck, why did it have to be Mando? Aren’t there enough people on this kriffing space station to warm her bed? And how is he being so quiet right now? After a second you remember that’s a stupid question, considering he is probably the quietest person you’ve ever met.

His reservation serves to intimidate your targets, all the while unintentionally stoking that warmth in your belly when you are near him. His all-encompassing presence when he enters a room strikes fear in the hearts of the opposition, meanwhile, you are secretly pressing your thighs together in desire, enjoying the spectacle?.

You’ve found yourself reveling in the few jobs where Ran’s strategy has you in a decoy-role, weaponizing your feminine charm to lull your target into a false sense of power. The muscle composing of Burg and Mando make quick work of those men once they're thoroughly wrapped up in your wiles. Despite being placed together for jobs on several occasions you’ve never actually had a real conversation with him.

You’re too scared to talk to him, a near-silent man covered head to toe in Beskar, but you make money killing people and robbing gangs every week. It would be funnier if that purple freak wasn’t so vile. You don’t even know how to casually approach him.. Nice job killing those guys while I manipulated them into trying to fuck me! I’m pretty good with a gun, too. Maker, it’s so ridiculous that you don’t even bother with trying to figure it out. Other fantasies are easier to picture, such as the thought of him strolling across the room to slot himself in-between your spread legs, directing that intensity into your willing, aching body.

This infuriating crush is why you suppose that your envy wouldn’t be as biting if you caught some sort of noise from the man during these displays of exhibitionism. It would give you something to repeat in your mind while you stow away in the late hours of the night seeking your own release. You guess the inability to hear him is proof of how far Xi’an is pushing her volume. It’s all just to piss you off.

“Uhg, how miserable..” You mutter to yourself, allowing a little moment of self-indulgent angst. Typically, you wouldn’t allow yourself to wallow like a petulant teen seeing as you’re a literal fucking criminal.

I’m supposed to be a hardass, dammit you think, spirits low as repairs wrap up far too swiftly. You swear you’ll buff right through every layer in the ship if you keep procrastinating on finishing your job and wandering into the tucked away fresher for a shower. Wandering past….them.

Wherever they are choosing to fuck can’t be that far considering the slap of skin on skin is already fucking loud enough. The sounds seem to be emanating from a vent not too high up the wall, you deduce it connects to one of the bunk rooms not too far from the landing pad you’re working next to. It really is fucking loud with all these metal surfaces to echo off of. Making your way to your small bunk might cause you to go deaf and if the last thing you ever hear is Xi’an wailing as she rubs in the fact that you aren’t fucking Mando, well, you might just take this spinning laser to your head. Unfortunately, at this point, the exterior of the gunship couldn’t possibly get more pristine.

Sighing in defeat, you push up from your crouching position on the metal floor and start to assemble your tools for clean-up while the sounds of Twi’lek pleasure predictably pick up in volume.

“Fuck, fuck-Ah I’m close, I-I’m going to-“ A literal howl pierces the air as your gut twists with discomfort. Fuck, this is so awkward... and like, weird? Does he consent to this? Does he like that we can hear it? Maker.. Pushing that thought out of your mind you start to jog to your goal of the darkened hall that leads to the station fresher, still so wrapped up in jealousy that you almost miss the rough modulated growl accompanying the scream.

O-oh.

Oh shit. Was that Mando….Moaning?

The swirling jealousy is suddenly overtaken by a- stars- painful heat, so debilitating that you stumble and almost double over with an intensity that shoots through your groin. Okay well, now you feel like an actual pervert. This display of eroticism was engineered by Xi’an to make you uncomfortable, not so painfully turned on that it’s dizzying. You vaguely register a growing slickness between your legs as you hurry along the cold hallway, desperate to drench yourself in icy water and pretend to forget the sound of Mando moaning.

Shit, Maker, was he cumming? Was that what he sounds like when-- no stopstopnope. Don’t think about that. Your inner monologue is running amuck as you desperately try to block it out. This feels kinda gross, as if you’re a greasy peeping tom spying on Mando’s private endeavors even though this whole situation was shoved in your face to make you ache in countless, longing ways.

That deep growl repeats in your mind as you hum nonsensically under your breath, tapping your skull as if you can knock the sound out of your consciousness despite being well aware that you will go to your fucking grave with every detail. The top of your inner thighs is so embarrassingly slick that you have to resist waddling along the corridor to the showers. Just as you are about to round the first corner, one of the side bunker doors slides halfway opens with a whoosh. The smirking Twi’lek saunters out like the loth-cat who got the cream.

I suppose she did get the cream... Your split-second of sour mirth is further spoiled as Xi’an slides the rest of the door open revealing the gleam of silver beskar and red steel as the ever still Mandalorian adjusting his…thigh armor. You spy a large vent at the junction between wall and ceiling, confirming your earlier suspicions that she chose this location on purpose. Quickly glancing between Mando and Xi’an, your face uncontrollably floods with fire when her giggles pierce the air. You register his helmet tilting toward you right as Xi’an’s tongue slowly extends to liiiick her fingers, any curiosity at his gesture burning away in revulsion.

What does she get out of making everyone uncomfortable? You think to yourself, wanting to squirm away from the obscenity but resolving to hold your ground.

“Xi’an,” You greet the two shortly, hands linked behind your back. “Mando.” He nods.

“Sorry,” Xi’an offers in a voice devoid of guilt. “Were we being too loud? I would never want to distract you from your… projects.” Her taunting smile curls so widely that it is almost disturbing. “What would the team do without our junior mechanic!”

Her cackle rings through the suddenly freezing hall as you spin on your heel and try to not look like you’re fleeing. Red is tinting the edges of your vision from her insult while tears threaten to flood your eyes out of embarrassment.

You need to get to that shower quickly.

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

As the tepid shower rains down on your flushed body, you childishly wonder if you should run away. Or rather, if you could run away considering you technically don’t own any of the ships currently residing in the hangar bay. Although you technically have free reign to pilot most of the spaceships available, that freedom entirely applies to transportation between merc assignments . The thought of running away from your current acquaintances on a stolen ship is not appealing. In fact, the only crew member owning a personal vessel happens to be Mando, his Razer Crest gunship was often subject to your mechanic skills.

Mando, who always offered a genuine “Thank you.” after you’d spend hours touching up the vessel’s damage procured from the rare missions he lent its flight to. Mando, the person who you are presently trying to not think about while naked and still trembling with emotion.

Your sillier fantasies would sometimes involve stealing away in his gunship, hand pressed over his chest and leg thrown across his lower body like a romance novel while he skillfully pilots the ship away. Kriff, you felt like a soft girl whenever you run this scenario through your mind, so cliché and campy that you cringe at yourself. Thus, this particular dive into your consciousness was reserved for special moments such as lying in bed after a strenuous job, or after long days spent working through that junkyard of hangar bay trying to strong-arm your way into earning worth in the company. Private moments where you are finally comfortable letting your guard down to drift aimlessly throughout maladaptive daydreams.

Not so soft fantasies exist in your mind as well. Once again that modulated groan springs to the forefront of your mind causing your clit to throb softly. The conflicting feelings of embarrassment, rage, and painful arousal serves to create an energizing cocktail that goes straight to your pussy.

‘Fuck it,” You whisper breathily to yourself, “Nows as good a time as ever..” your fingers are trailing down your stomach as you say the words out loud. You adjust the water to be slightly warmer and sigh as the comfortable heat compliments your tickling fingers. If only you could replace your hands with the significantly larger leather-clad ones of a certain bounty hunter. The thought spikes your arousal as you lightly brush against your mound, choosing to tease yourself as images flash through your mind. The armor-clad Mandalorian gripping the back of your neck to you press facedown on the floor of his ship and take his cock. Or your legs spread wide across his hips, crushing your pussy on his groin while he’s seated in the pilot seat of his ship.

Your fingers dip slightly into your slick hole then drag up to your clit causing you to bite your free palm and hold back a moan. Eyelids heavy, you give in to the fantasies and begin to earnestly rub at your clit.

“Mmf Maker, f-fuck..”, you whine into your hand at the thought of him breaking your pussy open. You just know he fucks hard -- it’s a given that the crazy Twi’lek would be one for rougher sexual affairs. Someone who spends nearly every moment of life feeling nothing but the weight of fabric and beskar on their skin must be so fucking touch starved. You bet the opportunities he’s had to feel a tight cunt wrapped around his length would completely overwhelm his restraint. Muffled moans begin to fill the fresher as your fingers speed up between your legs, head hanging forward into the metal wall and water dripping off your brows.

Your eyes flutter shut as you pull your hand from your lips to tug at your hardened nipple, other hand still between your legs, imagining a dark visor being trained on your soaking wet, writhing body. The image sends a shooting pleasure up your spine as you spin around and press your back to the wall. Imagining his dark form watching you from the other side of the gathering steam, you open your thighs and spread your labia apart, sighing at the wet sound it makes. “Like what you see, hunter..?” you whisper into the empty room wishing he would find you in this shower.

Removing your fingers from your nipple you reach down to your crotch and greedily fill yourself with two fingers, pumping in and out as your other hand works at your swollen clit. The volume of your now unmuffled pleasure is likely overheard by anyone on this section of the station, but you can't find it in yourself to give a shit. If Xi’an can screech out her orgasms at any given opportunity to fuck with you then let them hear.

Let him hear.

Your imagination runs rampant at the notion that he could hunt down your gasps and take care of you himself, causing you to gasp louder. S-shit people can hear you, you just won't say his name out loud, it's fine, it's f-fine- The thought of him discovering you here is so hot that it's blinding, and suddenly your orgasm is rushing up to crush you entirely.

Your lower half is locked tight then suddenly your knees buckle and you’re cumming hard. Your choked gasps cutting through the steamy shower like blaster fire as you peak higher, uncontrollably calling out for the Mandalorian while white-hot pleasure wrings you dry. Let him hear you crying for him as you gush around your fingers, convulsing in bliss.

In the shuddering aftershocks, you don’t hear the uncharacteristically loud padding of leather boots retreating away from the fresher door.

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

You’re good at your job. You wouldn’t be doing it if you truly couldn’t handle the ordeal of being a mercenary. The whole point of the job is to take care of the dirty work, so those far disconnected wouldn’t have to dwell on their choices too hard. You’re used to not asking questions, motivated by credits and reputation alone. But in moments like these, a job going this awry… well, you just feel like pure shit. This hit was way too easy and far too filthy even for your career mostly consisting of professional filth. It was so glaringly obvious that even if your associate’s numbers were sliced in half, you would still sweep the ground with your winnings.

And what meager earnings they are.

The crew’s assignment this round was to hit a casino shipment just outside the outer rim planet of Cantonica. Due to the Razer Crest’s ability to fly under the radar of both Imperial and New republic records, Ran rudely allotted that Mando should allow his ship’s use for crew transport. You’re surprised he agreed at all, but perhaps the prospect of gain motivated him. His motivations are rarely clear to you. You’re guessing the price of a wealthy city’s supply sounded frankly too tempting for everyone involved; Ran was practically salivating over the drawing board for this particular errand. One would imagine a hull stacked to the top with credits and the finest luxuries for Canto Blight’s flashy tourists. It is Catonica’s main attraction after all.

But once the team’s resident crime droid, Zero, breached the cargo ship's record, the whole team is informed that the cargo-freighter ship only contains “organics”.

Slaves.

In the end, Migs remarked that there may still be something of worth to obtain from this job, and thus the plan morphed into an robbery on the surface once the cargo landed at its isolated dock. You reluctantly agreed to continue while Mando shortly nodded, both of you last to assent on this change in direction.

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

Some hours later you’re crouching in a derelict warehouse while the lessening blaster fire showers spark like fireworks across your corneas. The fighting between your crew and the dockyard guards has almost died down at this point and you take the moment to catch your breath behind a large stack of cargo boxes.

“Holy stars,” you gasp out, head falling between your knees as a wave of guilt consumes you momentarily. This job fucking blows. It’s so much easier robbing Imps and gangs because they are inherently bad fucking people. Robbing a group of slaves is the lowest point you think you have ever hit in your life. This is so wrong, this is so so wrong, they don’t even have ownership of their own lives and here your crew of fucking mercenaries swoops in with a vengeance over being cheated out of something that we didn’t own in the first place.

The last straw was when you witnessed a young bedraggled woman fearfully tossing the Twi’lek sibling, Qin, a small wooden necklace, the last possession from her life before slavery. You ended up turning tail and running deeper into the dock while Qin needlessly hissed at her just to enjoy her terror. You’re sure he’ll just toss the thing after the job is over.

“I never would’ve agreed to this…” You breathe out shakily to the empty air, hollowness swallowing your ability to compartmentalize your humanity from the nature of this work. You are still fighting the impulse to give in to that deep pit of sorrow when a large shadow makes you start and grip your blaster before relaxing in recognition at the chrome gleam.

“Oh, hey, Mando,” Smiling tightly in his presence as he approaches silently, his helmet tilted down at your crouched form. His gaze makes you straighten up quickly, realizing that you probably shouldn’t look so stricken in front of your crime associate. Gotta look tough, can’t let people think you’re too soft for this work. Man, didn’t he help start the company? That thought motivates you further to stand up and face him head-on.

“Not what we expected huh? Certainly no Canto luxury here..” you quietly murmur to his cheek groove.

If you looked directly where his eyes might be he would likely catch the sparkle of moisture threatening to pool at your bottom lashes.

“No,” he breathes shortly through the modulator. “Not this.” Something in his voice inspires the bravery to glance at his T-shaped visor. Compared to his usual tone of speech he almost sounds …stricken right now. Distraught by this display of debauchery your crewmates have shown the slaves and few people manning the dock. It's not noticeable unless you’ve been around him enough to read him on some level but deep down you know he feels the same way. You try to recall him taking part in the violent takeover and realize he was barely present for the ordeal. Aside from the initial violence that broke out during landing he hardly did anything and was noticeably absent once the slaves were targeted. In the back of your mind, you pray that he won't be reprimanded for the lack of effort. The thought is ridiculous but you’re scared anyway.

Stars, this is all too much, your head is swirling with grief and stress as your heart rate picks up and suddenly you are so desperate for humanity, for empathy that you lose your filter and-

“Couldn’t stomach it either?” You blurt out to him, desperately hoping he understands and will not judge your deep sorrow for the enslaved people affected by this brutal takedown. Your mind catches up in panic half a second later when Mando doesn’t immediately respond. Did you just seek sensitivity from the Mandalorian? Fuck. Wait. That sounded like an insult too. Fuck um-

“Ah, um I-I mean. I just mean I don’t remember you firing on anyone helpless and I um- I didn’t either, I didn’t fire my blaster at all to be honest I-Fuck- I hid. They’re just slaves not Imps, Mando. The guards were taken out in seconds and-” You hiccup and stutter as tears gather at the edges of your eyes and begin to fall. You feel so overwhelmed with anxiety and guilt that all of a sudden you forgot about his open show of emotion.

Pull it together, don't do this in front of the Mandalorian. He is the very picture of a stoic, hardened mercenary and now you’re kriffing crying in front of him? It briefly registers that this is the first time you’ve ever spoken one on one with him, the both of you were almost always alone or with members of Ran’s party during time off. You internally curse your existence for thinking you could tearfully word vomit in front of a fucking bounty hunter and get comforted by him. Your knowledge of Mandalorians is limited, despite knowing one, yet you think the point of his whole creed about giving up your identity and giving yourself to war. Why the fuck did you cry in front of a damn Manodlorian? You’re just starting to unfreeze from your panic-stricken muscles to dab at your cheeks when a gloved hand swiftly brushes just below your eye to catch a tear.

‘This wouldn’t have happened if that Droid could do his job,” You glance up at him in shock at his biting tone juxtaposed with the gentle gesture, but he’s already turning away, voice rotating with his visor. “The worst is over now that the shooting stopped. Let’s round up the others.”

He pauses with his back turned and you take that moment to compose yourself. You’ve only shed a few tears so your eyes can’t be that red.

“O-okay.. .” You reply, trying to inject your usual backbone into the tone of your response before moving to follow him around the piled boxes and regroup. Staring into your warped reflection in the back of his helmet you try to find the words to thank him but they get lost in the ghosts of today.

Your mind is still swirling but the clouds of despair have mostly cleared away. You know you don’t have time to dwell on your short interaction yet your mind is fully absorbed in his every move, both present and past. Coming from anyone else his reaction would seem shitty and dismissive but coming from Mando... well, you're honestly shocked. Those two sentences were fairly long for someone usually so silent. And what about his reaction to the way this job has gone? Him brushing away your tears?

You are gazing down at your feet deep in thought when you suddenly bonk into the back of Mandos broad back, wacking your forehead on the base of his helmet.

“Oww.” You groan lightly, rubbing your forehead and stepping to the right of his body, “Why’d you stop so sudde-'' It is then when you notice the muffled whimpering coming from the clearing in front of the both of you. A crimson pool of blood laps at the Mandalorian’s boots, its kiss staining the leather a deep black.

Now you are truly sickened, bile rising in your throat as a ragged gasp leaves your mouth.

“Why…? How can you..”

“Xi’an!”

Your choked whisper leaves your lips at the same moment the Mandalorian fucking barks the Twi’leks name.

A crumpled form adjacent to her body is the source of the whimpering and bloodshed, their contorted limbs looking less than human as muscles strain against metal binders. Xi’an’s triangular blades are dripping in her grip as she spins on her toes like a dancer and flounces childishly in the direction of your frozen form. Tearing your gaze away from the shell of a human you meet her eyes with open hostility. She stops several yards away from you.

‘Aha! So good to see you two. Isn’t this job sooo disappointing?” She calls out to the two of you casually. When no one responds her body deflates as she twists her knee inward and clutches one arm peevishly. Performative. “What? No hello? I could’ve died today!” She cackles at the notion.

Mando is a statue at your side. You can feel the rage radiate in waves off his body like a heater and you wonder what's going to happen if Xi’an pushes this further. Your heightened stress from moments before is vibrating throughout your nervous system, compelling you to step forward and speak up.

“Xi’an… this-this is completely unnecessary. The only thing required to complete our hit was taking out guards! What the fuc- and they were clearly incapacitated by you before you decided to take your blade to their skin!” Okay, that came out a little shakier than intended, but it feels like a disservice to hide your revulsion for her actions with the victim lying right there. “You could’ve just hit em’ in the skull with a blaster shot if you needed them out of your way!”

“Guards? Oh, I already took them out. This-” Xi’an punctuates the word a kick into the person’s stomach causing them to groan weakly, “Well, this is just an Organic as Zero would put it.” Organic? Fucking- You jump slightly and glance to your left when the Mandorlorian makes a shocked exclamation at her words. Maker, you’re so sickened you forgot he was with you.

“You mean a Slave? From the shipment?” He hisses the question through his teeth. You can’t see his face but you can hear the tension in his jaw, his body still a ridged form at your side. Xi’an pokes her tongue out and runs it lightly over the pointed edge of her teeth while she considers her response. She seems to be measuring her response to Mando with a little more care than she bothered with while speaking to you. You’re guessing that she cares far more about his perception of her than your personal attitude regarding the Twi’lek. Wouldn’t want to piss off her fuck buddy.

“Answer me!” He snaps when her response takes a millisecond too long. Your purple associate sighs, exasperated now.

“Yes a slave,” she hisses, drawing out the word in contempt, “Really I’m doing him a favor. From the looks of him, he was picked up on Tatooine. I doubt he even had a family to mourn him back on that shitty dustball of a planet-” Her eyes suddenly bulge as she clamps her mouth shut, gaze fixed on the armored man betraying a twinkle of... fear?

Slowly, you turn to him. The pit in your stomach is somehow weighing heavier than ever when you take in his body language. If you thought he was emanating white-hot rage before Xi’an’s response then you don’t even have words for how he holds himself now. You take a half step back in trepidation as the air around you seems to warp around the Mandalorian’s gravitational pull.

“A foundling?” His tone is unexpectedly quiet for someone who is manipulating the very atmosphere of this desert planet. Time seems to freeze. Shadows are ebbing at the edge of your vision and your head feels like it is going to pop in the pressure. You want to do something, anything, to relieve the pressing wall closing in on the three of you, to somehow end this interaction so that you can crawl in on yourself and bury the ghosts in the back of your mind. Fuck, your mouth is so dry, heart palpitating with a painful squeeze. Shit, fuck, what do you do? What did he mean by that question and why is Xi’an freaking out? You’re still fixated on the gleam of his helmet, rushing to find appropriate words when-

A flash of red explodes in your peripheral-vision, sparks seeming to fly 20 feet in the air. The words die in your throat in shock.

Did he? Did he shoot her? You barely saw him move yet as your mind races to catch up on this turn of events, you realize his blaster is drawn low on his hip, while the rest of him hasn't shifted an inch. The pressure cooker disappears in a sweeping wave of silence.

You swallow and turn awkwardly back to Xi’an. Oh.

He shot the slave.

Xi’an is just as stiff as you, her arms slightly raised as if she instinctively tried to ward off the blaster fire before realizing its trajectory. You are still processing his actions when a gloved hand wraps around your wrist and pulls you swiftly as he runs from the scene, tossing a flash bomb behind the both of you.

Without question, you run with him.

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

“Hey!” Within minutes your chest is burning from keeping up with Mando’s relentless pace. You’re fit from your job but he's twice as big as you and probably more than twice as fast. You get the feeling that he's moving slower than usual so you aren’t left behind. Struggling to control your breathing, you attempt to make sense of the jumbled thoughts by wheezing out, “M-Mando what are we doing?”

“Running.”

“Okay, fucking obviously!”

“To the Crest.” He clarifies just as shortly. Okay. Okay, once you reach his ship maybe you’ll get more answers. Right now, both of your priorities align with getting the fuck away from Xi’an before her vision returns and she comes after the both of you. But you can’t yet push some of the recent events to the side.

“You shot him.” You mean to phrase it like a question but it comes out more accusatory than intended with how breathless you are. “The slave you shot-“

“I ended his suffering.”

Oh. That makes sense, even if it makes your chest contract in duress you recognize his killing the slave came from a place of empathy. What exactly did he say right before drawing his blaster, something about… foundlings? You don’t know the term exactly but contextually you can guess it means orphan or alone. Fuck, this is so bad. Just what are you going to tell everyone? He may not have directed his shot at the Twi’lek but he temporarily blinded her. That still counts as an attack on a member of the team. Your chest is burning unbearably now so you slap at Mando’s vambrance to signal your need for a break. He drags you gasping around a corner into the shadowy edge of the warehouse.

“Listen, hey, look at me.” His large hand reaches out to gently grip the side of your face, warm against your skin and smelling sharply of blaster residue. Looking into his visor you realize your cheeks are damp again as hysterical hiccups threaten to make themselves known. “We are going to run. You don’t have to come with me of course but I unintentionally put you in the position of being complicit by attacking Xi’an. That-that wasn’t the plan… but I was leaving the company anyway”

His chest suddenly deflates as he rids it of air.

You realize you were holding your breath at the same time as him as you gasp out, before rubbing at your cheeks and asking dumbly, “Y-you were… leaving the company? Is Ran pissed?”

Stupid question. Of course, he’d be pissed at losing the one Mandalorian in the group. Mandos' presence gave him cred.

“Ran doesn’t know.”

“Ran doesn’t… what? When was this happening then?”

Mando’s visor turns away from your gaze and looks off into the middle distance. His gloved hand on your face is still gripping gently to lock you in place. “Today. That’s the only reason why I agreed to let him use the Crest for this job.”

He shakes his helmet slightly and turns back to your face, the metal covering his face becoming your main focal point while the room spins. You can't see his features, and never would, yet you feel as if you are looking directly into his eyes. Your body has impeccable timing when you feel your cheeks heat blushing.

However, your senses return in an instant when a familiar piercing howl echoes off the walls. The glove drops and he is gripping your shoulders,

“Can you run again?”

Adrenaline springs your limbs into action as you spin around, catching his wrist and pulling, roles reversed as you lead him in the direction of his ship.

Dust is billowing from below whenever your feet meet the ground. The steps sound like thunder in your ears as paranoia begins to worm its way into the forefront of your senses, every corner, every shadow, every blindspot could be hiding one of your former partners. Xi’an is an excellent assassin; time and time again her main skill has proven to be stealth, targets dropping dead expectedly. The Crest isn’t very far thankfully. It sits right on the back of the targeted freighter since Zero requires physical contact to hack the other ship systems for paths. Oooohh shit you forgot about the droid-

“Mando, Zero’s in there.” You puff out shortly in between breaths.

“Fuck that droid. I’ll take care of him, just back me up.” You both slide around a corner as he responds, bringing the two ships into your field of view. You are facing the rear end of the larger vessel, thankfully leaving the coast clear as far as you can tell. Mando’s helmet scans the area then nods, indicating the go-ahead with his fingers before running ahead of you. You follow him, casting fervent glances behind you for any signs of life. You reach the ship a millisecond after he does, his vambrance held high to lower the rear ramp. As the ramp begins to lower he grips your shoulders and spins you around dizzily.

“Stay right outside here. The second I enter the crest I’m dropping the Droid. I’ll call you once it’s safe.” You gulp quickly and nod in assent right before he leaps into the opening of the ship.

Seconds pass.

Your nerves are plucking way more than they normally would.. You never particularly liked Zero, but the sudden turn of taking out your ex-allies is making you high strung and nervous. Zero’s voice cuts through the silence, making you jump.

“Mandolarian, you are back early. Were the prospects plentiful despite being Organics?”

“No.” You twitch when a shot echoes in the hull followed by the clash of metal on metal.

The Mandalorian sharply calls your name springing you into action. You enter the ship immediately spying Zero’s body under the cockpit ladder, blaster wound still smoking with red-hot metal ringing the edges. Your eyes linger a little on the droid’s body, slightly leery at the death of someone who was your backup only hours ago, then you sigh and duck to get a handle on under his shoulders, dragging him to toss out the open entryway.

Grunting with effort you direct your voice at the cockpit, “Tossing the droid! Take off when read- Shit.”

One of the droid's hip joints gets stuck on a portion of the hull wall, preventing you from moving his corpse. Something wizzes above you at the exact moment you duck down to adjust the body, right where the back of your head was a second ago. One of Xi’an’s triangle blades ricochets off the wall and slides across the floor, stopping right under your nose. Oh f-

“Fuck! Fly, fly, she's here Mando!” You lurch to the floor as the thrusters kick in, twisting your head to try and get eyes on the clearing. Through the rapidly closing ramp, you see a flash of purple skin, but before you have time to react the Crest door snaps shut. Heart thudding at what feels like a million beats per second, you try to get your bearings on the floor. Twisting sideways you suddenly find yourself face to face with Zero’s corpse, revulsion whipping through you like lightning as you scramble backward on your hands and feet.

You can’t do this right now.

The last thing you want is to seem weak and needy in front of the man who just selflessly saved your life, for reasons still unknown, but you can’t do this right now. A creature of habit, you fold your neck between your legs, the same reaction you had to the violence on Cantonica. A minute, you just need a minute, a minute and then this horrible drone will go away, and you can deal with this, you’re a fucking mercenary… the blackness swarming at the edges of your sight overtakes you all at once and you slide limply to the floor.

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

You aren’t sure how much time has passed once you rouse. At your request, Mando tosses Zero's body before kicking into hyperdrive right about 120,000 feet in the air. You stare at its flight path until the speck disappears in the taupe shithole that is Cantonica. Feeling shaky as your adrenaline finally dips, you decide that the Crest could do with a once over before the long journey.

After performing a quick analysis on the Crests systems it’s determined that the two of you are lucky this hunk of metal can fly. Hyperdrive operating at 67% capacity, weak communication signal if it even works half the time, plus more damage than you can currently process. If there weren’t five million different stressors weighing on you, your mechanic brain would probably explode at the current state of Mando’s ship. He probably should’ve taken it to you, or anyone else handy with tools if he wanted it to be in proper form for departure, but it makes sense that he didn’t want to draw too much attention. Hopefully, his pilot skills will compensate for the Crest’s sorry state.

To be fair, the whole blow-up-your-coworker-and-run-for-your-life aspect didn’t seem to be in Mando’s original plan.

“So… where are we going?” You’re on the floor in the cockpit, back facing the passenger chair while the Mandalorian is seated pilot. After crawling under the console for a while you couldn’t bother to lift your aching muscles on the chair, resigning to scoot on your butt over to the closest object that could support you. As a result, you end up craning your neck to look up at him, his back straight in the chair.

“My original plan was to head to Nevarro to take on a few quarries. I’m still with the guild and Karga doesn’t give a shit whether I’m running with Ran or going in alone.” You bite your lip anxiously. Oh yeah, you kinda forgot your presence threw wrench in his plan. He notices and tilts the helmet sideways at you, “You’re not in the way. I’m not concerned about you joining me, someone of your skillset is helpful to have around. I’ll introduce you to Karga so you can get on your feet.”

The compliment lifts your spirits enough to make you playful, poking at his boot with your toe, “Gee, glad I’m useful enough to keep around. All I have is my blaster and the clothes on my back, so if you drop me, I’d be pretty fucked.”

You giggle quietly but you know it’s the truth. All of your possessions are back on the space station, but you didn’t own too many personal artifacts, aside from some clothes and weapons. The only thing of use would’ve been your credits. You worry again at the realization, dipping your head before continuing to speak,

“Shit Mando, I don’t have any money on me. It was all back in my bunk, I don’t know how I’ll help pay for things around here unless Karga decides I can take on a quarry right away. Even then I’ll have to bring it back before I ever have a lick to my name.”

“You can make it back. I’ll split the profit from jobs that you assist me on. Cut depends on how useful you are and once you prove yourself, Karga will give you the decent pucks.” He swivels the chair and faces you, knees slightly spread as he leans forward in the chair, “Deal?”

You swallow and nod your head, mind blanking at how your head is level with the bend in his hips. You don’t think he's trying to come across as suggestive but the effect, intentional or not, invites a flutter of desire in your tummy. The Mandalorian leans back on his leather backing and sighs, the sound gentle despite the modulator warping his natural tone,

“You aren’t in my way. I swear it. If I had more time before leaving I would’ve asked you to join me anyway, you're good with your hands and always had more… compassion? Than anyone else in the company. I admire that quality.” That makes you straighten back up to meet his visor. He sounds nearly shy.

“O-oh…” You never even thought he noticed you aside from when you touched up the Razor Crest. The compliment sends warmth throughout your body, as languid as sex pollen in the near feverish effect. You don’t know how to respond at all, you’re feeling disjointed, like you may reveal too much if you don't change the subject soon. You wish you could be snappier but you’re exhausted. Maybe try for a joke?

“I g-guess you value girls good with their hands, huh. H-haha?”

Silence. Hm.

That was the absolute worst thing you could’ve come up with.

It didn’t meet even a single one of your simple ass goals, which entail the following:

Thank him.

Change the subject.

Not reveal how much his words make you want him to rail you.

Wow, what the fuck- kill me. He hasn’t moved an inch, much less reacted to your shitty joke. The positioning of your bodies that you found so hot ten seconds prior is now a place you’d try anything to escape from. It’s almost comical how his height advantage serves to emphasize the disappointment in the small room. He hasn’t responded so you’re guessing he won’t bother to try. Heavy silence suffocates you to the point of desperation, you need to fill it with something right now or you swear you’ll die.

“I-I jus-t mean like- Well you had certain- ah- habits, you’d adhere to in your free time. Li-like um, I mean you didn’t hide much. Kinda obvious if you- listen, uh, I didn’t mean t-to say that I-I was joking around-”

“Get to the point.”

“I-” Your tummy fills with heat at his command. “Umm..” You wipe your hands on your thighs and glance down from his voice. The hours of on and off adrenaline must be majorly messing with your head. It’s kinda weird that you want him this badly after everything that went down today. Wasn’t your most recent concern something about avoiding death at the hands of a bitch you hate most in the galaxy? To be honest you can’t recall.

The proximity of his groin is suddenly at the forefront of your mind. Again.

He slowly tilts his helmet to look at you, arms bending to settle in a relaxed position on the armrests. You are extremely aware of how you’re blatantly staring at him but your mind is slow to come up with a valid response, blankness written in the reflection on his visor. His position on the chair is mountainous, looming over your body in a way that boxes you in between the passenger seat and the Crest console. You feel like a prey animal... In a sexy way? Maybe?

Although, when he leans back into his seat, helmet still trained on your face, you are unsure if you’re actually pissing him off or not.

“Say what you mean.”

Okay, the sexy is mixing a little with anxiety.

“Ah- Um well, I just mean like. It’s not like you hid it from me- everyone else too. In the company. Ran’s company? ‘Cause, I- We… always overheard you and Xi’a- Her…” Fuck, your mouth is so dry that last part came out like a squeak. “I’m sorry, I’m rambling again um, I kinda thought you were doing it on purpose. With Xi’an. Making me hear when you’d...fuck her.” Cheeks blazing, you duck your head back down, which doesn’t help at all since you’re just face to face with his crotch once more.

“You say ‘always’...” Mando’s inflection is lost somewhere between statement and question, his tone confusing enough that you end up lifting your head from its bowed position below him.

“Y-yes?”

“As in this was a common position you found yourself in? Did you overhear me multiple times?” Now he poses not one but two questions for you, neither of which you feel brave enough to answer steadily. You can’t deflect further at this point so you answer him with a sigh.

“No, I only heard you once. Xi’an always wanted me to hear her though. It was gross.” Mortified, you gather your legs under your body to stand up from the floor. You think the hyperdrive issue is fixed well enough to hold until Nevarro. When your hand reaches for the edge of the armrest to pull yourself up it is abruptly enveloped in warm leather. Half crouched, your arm jerks back a little in surprise at his touch.

“I wasn’t asking about myself specifically. And I wouldn’t force you to participate in her games, had I known.”

Maker strike my ass down. Can humans die from embarrassment? You wish it were possible if it got you out of this conversation. He’s correct, he didn’t specify whether you had heard his moaning. If you weren’t nursing these stupid feelings for Mando you never would’ve given away the fact that you memorized every tantalizing second of what you overheard. Not only is this embarrassing, but you don’t want him to think you’re a sicko who wanted to eavesdrop in the first place. The clarification about his awareness of Xi'an's timing is comforting but not enough to erase what you already admitted to him. You somehow feel sweaty and bone-dry at the same time, a flush spreading over your face.

“I’m so sorry.”

“I heard you too.”

You both speak at the same second, and a beat passes before either of you process what the other said. He- what? What is he talking about? Are we having two totally different conversations right now? When did you ever fuck someone on that space station anyway… unless he means… in the fresher…

This time he is the one who breaks the silence, “You’re sorry for… overhearing me?”

“Y-yes, I really, really, don’t want you to think I’m a creep or anything. Anything I heard was involuntary, I swear. Xi’an w-wanted to make me… Um…” You trail off shyly, sitting down again. His hand is still over yours.

“Get to the point.” His voice is filled with heat now, so low and compelling that you’d tell him anything just to keep it that way. You whisper your response, lifting your eyes to his dark visor wishing you could meet his gaze.

“She wanted to make me jealous. Over you.”

“Mm… You wanted me instead?”

“Maker, yes.”

The climate between you and the Mandalorian made a 180. Nerves dissolving like honey in tea, all at once being taken over by a hum of sexual tension while his fingers caress a warm pattern over your knuckles. Exhilaration builds within you, though in the back of your mind you are calculating the possible motives behind his advance.

You know sometimes, after a particularly rough day, people are compelled to relieve their pent-up stress through intimacy. There’s a reason why the market of sex work thrives under wartime, terror existing constantly in a fighter’s life must be paired with the softer, inner-most comforts of knowing another living being, or they’d go mad with sorrow. Brothels made a lot of money during the last stages of the Empire’s rule from both Imps, Rebels, and neutral parties alike.

It’s not out of the ordinary for you to seek each other out right now, yet can’t help but dream that this might mean more.

The Mandalorian’s hand currently encasing yours flips your wrist to trace the lines of your palm. Sighing you tilt your head to the side, a curtain of hair cascading across your features. His free hand reaches out to brush the strands away before he gently grips your jaw, hand large enough to press his thumb on the front of your chin while his fingers wrap lightly under your ear.

“I heard you too, pretty girl. You called out for me in the fresher… just what were you doing in there? Describe it- please.” He speaks with such allure that you break under his voice, pressing your cheek to his palm.

“I-I thought of you watching me while I touched my pussy. I was so wet thinking about how I want you to feel me after being under all your armor, Stars, even the wind can’t touch you Mando. I thought about how you must crave the feeling of something so soft… can I show you how soft I am?” Your free hand raises to rest gently on his knee, fingertips hesitating at the edge of his thigh piece. He is still fully suited for battle, explosives strapped to one boot and rifle across his shoulders.

You wish so badly to help him unwind, you would never disrespect him by trying to remove his armor, but you want to help him move past the experience that was Cantonica. Mando continues to stare at you for several tense seconds before melting into your touch.

“H-helmet stays on.” He breathes out shakily, a slight tremor running through his legs as your fingers lightly explore the fabric under the edge of the piece of metal. “But the rest… the rest can come off.”

He’s already moving to undo the magnetic connectors holding his cuirass in place so you scramble to follow his movements. The rust-colored armor on his body has complex enough attachments that you don’t really know where to begin. Your hands clamber around, mostly following his deft movements. Slowly a man of flesh and blood is revealed, and as his impenetrable exterior melts away you find the true shape of him.

The armor serves to add a few inches of bulk on his features, enhanced proportions making out a dramatic silhouette designed to be spotted from miles away. Without it his body is still so powerful, built hard as stone and broad, hard angles melding enticingly with a hidden softness. Not hidden- you realize -it compliments him completely. The pieces fall away and you’re left with the unexplored bareness of him. He is human and warm, evidence of this betrayed in rare moments where his hands travel lightly up your arms while you work at his pauldrons, brushing through your hair here and there before finally returning to your jaw to hover in front of your lips.

“Off.” He instructs shortly, brushing the seam of his thumb over your bottom lip. Your mouth falls open to explore him with your tongue, tasting salt, blaster residue, and a hint of the heat he holds in his body. Satisfied, you bite down gently on the glove ridge, watching as he pulls off the leather encasing his hand and drinking in the sight of golden skin as it is revealed to you inch by inch. All you’ve seen of him is one bare hand and somehow it is the sexiest thing you’ve ever laid your eyes on. Flames lick your body, spreading from your white-hot core, energy gathering with such impassioned motions that at any second now it will burst from your skin, a reaction so immense that you could birth another galaxy.

You want to taste his skin too.

“Fuck baby-” You take his middle finger down to the knuckle, emboldened by his slurred reaction, noises startling to babble out of the bounty hunter as his stoicism falls apart under your tongue. Humming around the digit, you start to bob your head gently, eyes locked on his impassive visor while filthy, filtered noises drift through the beskar. It’s like there is no barrier at all between you, the air thrumming with a longing so great that you feel one with the man crumbling before you. If you're not careful you will fall with him.

“Mando, Plea-se,” You stutter around him, voice shaking more than intended. “I want to f-feel more of you, let me touch you, please-” You squawk, mouth empty when he suddenly rips off the other glove, tossing it behind him before reaching down his torso to pull the hem of his trousers south. You gulp in trepidation, unable to tear your eyes away as enticing dark hair displays itself, leading to the base of his cock. He pauses, but you’re so caught up in discovering him that you don’t notice the tonal shift.

“Before I show you this-” dark words enunciated by palming his cock through the fabric, “I need to know where to put it.”

What kind of question is that? You’re honestly bewildered, mind blank before you realize that the options are overwhelming. In his own way, he is asking you to verbalize consent, which is very much appreciated. You want him in your pussy, to work his way deep in your body and in turn, discover just how human you are... yet… You feel oddly unprepared. It’s not that you don't think you can take him, in fact you can't recall ever being this wet in your life. It’s just… after today… you want to help him unwind but you’re still not fully there. You still want to please him, but you’re not ready to let him know you that way, not until you come back to yourself.

So in that case…

“I want you in my mouth, hunter.”

Mando growls then grabs your wrist, guiding it over the edge of fabric and onto his throbbing length. He shudders while you process the feeling of him. He is thick, the width of his cock so wide that your middle finger and thumb are straining to meet each other. You release him from his pants then try to pull at the hem to wiggle them down his thighs. He obliges and lifts his hips so that you can reveal more delicious olive skin, but he makes no move to assist you with his hands. You get the feeling that he is drinking in your efforts to touch him, the sensation of your jerky movements giving away how much you want him.

You kiss and nibble at every possible moment, one hand drifting lightly over the length of him, twirling at the base dusted with short, dark hairs, cupping his balls then moving back up, your mouth traveling to meet your fingers. Hissing, his hand flashes up to meet the back of your head, fingers tangling in strands to tug tightly on your scalp. With a light moan, you tongue along the side of him, teasing hot air more than actually licking him.

“Look at me- fuck - pretty thing, s-so fucking willing for me, I want to see you take my cock as far as you can, s-show me how much you can handle-” He pulls harder at your hair, dragging you roughly enough to control your neck, back up from where you were sucking at his hip to the head of his dick. “Are you going to show me yourself before or after I gag you on it?”

Fuck, you never realized how tantalizing submitting to another person could be, not until that came out of his mouth, rough enough to clip through the modulator. You elect to show him what you can handle. Leaning forward to meet the swollen tip, you part your plush lips and kiss at the drop of precum gathered there, before relaxing your jaw to take him halfway. He groans and nearly doubles over at the sudden sensation, holding you there for a second before you draw back up to spread your saliva more thoroughly. Lips rewet, you sink back down on him, gliding smoothly as you pull his cock deep within your mouth, drinking in his breathy groans.

“Maker, yes … that’s it, fuck-” You attempt to sink even further down on the Mandalorian’s impressive length, but stop short a few inches from his base, blunt head pressing in your throat. “-so good, s-so good for me baby, you look perfect like this.”

He’s so far back inside you that you can’t access your vocal cords to produce any noise at all, otherwise you’d be whining at his praise. Your hands are free to assist you at any time, you could circumvent his daunting length if you wanted help. But you want to impress him. Besides, your palms are warm on his torso, traveling under his shirt to feel the ropes of muscle there. You don’t want to remove them.

You surface to the tip, taking a deep breath in preparation before ducking to take him as deep as you can manage. He watches you, entranced at the sight of a face so lovingly strained to please him. Your gag reflex spasms but you will it away, determined to fully engulf his cock at least once even if you find you’re unable to handle more. The noises rising from your throat are brutal and raw as you choke around him, his helmet blurring when tears fill your eyes. You bob a little then almost give up when the urge to retreat floods your senses but then he starts talking again- so filthy that you can’t stop yet.

“You’re trying so fucking hard, fuck, I love seeing you wrapped around my cock, Maker, you feel so fucking good, I can’t imagine how your little pussy must feel, you’re so warm, so, fu-fuck, tight…” The stream of filth serves as your motivation to bob for as long as possible on his length, throat stretched obscenely around him. You realize hazily that there are tears streaming from your eyes, but the urge to pull off is lost in dizziness as the oxygen in your lungs depletes. You keep going and going, your high at its peak as you recognize that your body is starting to fade in black. You should pull off and breathe, one quick breath is all you need, but the way he’s filling you is more addicting than the purest Spice. He notices when you start to slump into his lap and pulls you up gasping for air.

Nearly fainting never felt so good.

“Shit, are you alright?” You nod and rest your cheek on his thigh, face turned on its side to meet his visor as he spins little circles in your vision. A soothing hand brushes against your cheekbone, tracing a gentle pattern on its height. “You were doing so good for me baby. No need to hurt yourself.” Mando’s voice is still breathless, offering you tenderness through a cloud of stimuli.

“I’m okay- I’m… I just need to catch m-my breath.” You’re still heaving unevenly but you want him so bad, you want him to finish for you, your wants translating into weak pawing at his dick trying to give him more sensation. He catches your wrist with an airy laugh and guides your uncoordinated movements to better stroke him. The sound fills you with light.

“Pretty thing, I know you want me. Try to not die on my dick before I’ve had the chance to feel your cunt.” His hand leaves yours on his length and reaches over your ass to cup the apex of your thighs through your pants. You jerk up and almost crack the crown of your head open on the chin of his beskar but his other palm is pressed between your shoulder blades, keeping you bent over in his lap. A garbled noise tears from you when his index and ring finger spread on either side of your outer lips, allowing his middle finger space to travel up and down your seam, so wet that you can feel the slickness gathering through two layers of fabric onto the tip of his finger.

“Ah, Fuck! Mando, I-I- wait please, please, wait-” He draws his hand up away from your wet center, reaching your asscheek before you yelp and snatch his forearm to stop him from retreating farther. “I s-still wanna, I wanna make you come. You first, before-before me.”

“Baby, you’re… fuck okay. Can I still touch you?” Mando caresses your hip at the fold where it meets your thigh.

“Later, let me d-do this, please.” He allows you to lift his arm from your spine and rest it on the crown of your head as you move forward and try to meet his cock again. Pulling his thighs to the edge of the chair, you settle back on your knees and stroking him one-handed while he hums low in his throat. You wrap your lips around the swollen head, sucking and swirling your tongue before taking him deeper, this time using a palm to stroke the last few inches instead of opening your throat. Starting up a rhythm of bopping and stroking his velvety length that pulls incredible noises out of the Mandalorian, each one going straight to your swollen clit.

Coming up for air you start to jerk him off faster with your slick hand, meeting the T of his visor with your heated gaze, hoping that you are finding his eyes. He must enjoy the sight of you jerking him off because his moans start to tighten, hips thrusting into your palm.

“K-keep fucking doing that, good girl, fuck I-I’m close, where-where do you want it, baby?” You respond by settling low near his thighs, putting his cock above you with your tongue sticking out, wetting the tip while your wrist moves faster. Somehow he’s harder than ever and-

Mando curses through his teeth as his cock convulses, warm spurts of cum painting your tongue, cheeks, and nose bridge, rivers of him flowing down your chin and dribbling on the swell of your chest. He grips the back of your head tight enough to hurt, then rips one hand down to stroke himself, smearing the mess across your features.

The fingers on your scalp loosen then graciously begin rubbing at the base of your neck to soothe the soreness on your head. One of your eyelids is sealed shut due to a rope of his cum crossing from nose to eyebrow, the other eye unfocused, hazy with pleasure as you listen to him come down from his peak. A low noise rises from your throat as he massages your scalp, feeling tingly all over as blood flows back to the area.

“T-Thank you… that was great, I-“ he breaks off when you start to gather his cum off your skin, licking it off your fingers while studying his visor through your lashes. “Hey, let me…”

He surprises you by wiping at your face with his cape, still hanging off the arm of the pilot chair from when you detached it. You giggle, “Is there a way to wash that on here? I can’t even tell if that hole in the wall includes a shower.”

“There’s enough to work with.”

You laugh louder at that, “That’s encouraging. I hope there’s ‘enough to work with’ so that I don’t meet Karga covered in cum.” Pausing to consider your current position, you add, “Actually, that might help my case.”

Face wiped mostly clean, you're able to open both eyes now, taking in his posture. A jolt shoots through you when you realize he’s holding himself differently for some reason, he looks almost predatory but maybe that’s just the effect of Beskar’s harsh angles... Nope, he’s leaning forward now, caging you in again.

“You want to look sexy for Karga?” Gulping, you try to figure out the best response but he continues before your slow-ass mind can catch up, “You’re right, that might help you get better pucks. But I don’t know if I want my hunting partner to be introduced that way. I still need to return the favor…”

He lifts your body with ease, pulling you sideways onto his lap. Mando’s warm hand slides along the bend in your knee, slow and sensual on your body. He caresses you aimlessly, relaxed in the afterglow of cumming so hard. You’re still tightly wound, energy balled in your body as his movements serve to wind you up even more. But he’s not moving any faster so you relax into his broad chest, enjoying the feeling of his bare skin.

Time blurs with your senses. His touch pulls you to a place right out of your daydreams, where everything is draped in velveteen and silk. You’ve honestly forgotten his original goal in the first place, and as his arm begins to drag on its path, it seems like he has too. The stroking on your arm has lowered your arousal to a simmer, leaving you content to stay laying across his lap, the glow of hyperspace streaking over your bodies. All at once, you realize he’s no longer moving over your body, his chest rising and falling deeply against your shoulder.

He’s asleep. Surprise registers sleepily somewhere in your exhausted mind, the realization behind layers of warm fuzz. Didn’t even think he slept.

There’s a full day of travel until you reach Nevarro. Snuggling closer into the warm crook of his neck to resolve to live in this dream for as long as possible. Who knows what tomorrow will bring.

#the mandalorian #din djarin #the mandalorian x reader #the mandalorian x reader insert #mando x reader #reader insert #fanfic #star wars #mandalorian fanfic #din djarin x reader #smut #smut fic #mandalorian smut fanfic #the mandalorian x you #mando x you

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charincharge · 4 years ago

Note

Angst prompt: “why can’t you just look at me for one god damned second?” For Rowaelin. Don’t completely wreck my heart please!

Skin melted into skin, and Aelin relished the feel of his mouth on her neck. Rowan had always been good with his mouth. He spoke seven different languages with perfect inflection, so his skilled lips and tongue were barely a surprise.

Aelin arched her back into the pillow, a soft moan escaping her lips as his stubble scraped against the soft skin behind her ear. Though they were both thoroughly sated and exhausted, it seemed that Rowan wasn’t quite done with her yet.

“Rowan…” Aelin warned, thinking of the marks he surely wished he could leave behind. His teeth nipped at the skin again, and she could feel him smile there.

His lips pressed a final kiss to her jaw as he rolled off her, eyes glowing and a warm smile on his lips. Aelin ran her hand down his cheek, cupping the jaw of his she loved so much in her palm. His bright eyes fluttered shut, his blonde lashes sweeping against the tops of his cheekbones, the ones that made him famous, and she couldn’t resist pressing a kiss against his pouted mouth.

“I can’t be late,” she whispered. “It’s my last day of filming.” And he nodded into her palm. But neither made any move to leave. Rowan grinned wider, sensing Aelin’s hesitation, but his eyes remained blissfully shut.

She pressed her mouth against his again, swiping her thumb across his bowed lip. “How do you always look so kissable?” she asked quietly.

“All part of my charm.” His voice rumbled low in his chest, and it made Aelin’s stomach flip. What had started out as a casual attraction with the writer of her latest film had become something she never could have predicted. Her heart felt as if it were about to explode every time she looked at him. They’d kept it a secret all through filming, four months of secret rendezvous in her trailer and hotel room, not wanting to risk the film’s delicate balance with Aelin, her romantic lead, and the film’s temperamental director. It was her first leading role, and she didn’t want to risk messing anything up. But today was the last day of filming, and tomorrow… she’d be free to tell Rowan and the whole world that she loved him. She couldn’t wait.

Her alarm blared loudly, and she pried Rowan’s fingers from her waist and pulled them up for a soft kiss. “I will see you on set?” she whispered against his fingers. And he nodded.

“I’ll be the one looking uncool with my nose stuck in a script,” he laughed, reaching for his glasses and perching them atop his nose. “Break a leg, Ae.”

Aelin resisted drooling as she took in his shirtless form, glasses on, perusing today’s shooting schedule on his phone.

“If you don’t stop looking at me like that you’re definitely going to be late,” Rowan smirked, barely looking up from his phone. Aelin threw a pillow at him and turned to get dressed as he chuckled softly.

Aelin arrived on set, floating on air, ready to crush her last day of filming. The morning went perfectly, going even faster than normal because of her preparedness.

Her happiness faltered however as Arobynn Hamel, the director, called her into his trailer during lunch. He sat on the edge of his table, arms crossed as his eyes slowly trailed down her robe-covered body, his red hair pulled into a tight bun, making his harsh features somehow even harsher.

Aelin stood silently, wondering what he had to say and hoping it was okay. Hoping she was okay. The only time she’d been pulled into his trailer before was on the first day, when she had been so nervous she’d forgotten a hefty amount of her lines. He swore at her and said if she couldn’t memorize lines then she could easily be replaced.

“Do you think I’m an idiot?” Hamel asked, his dark shoe tapping against the side of the table incessantly.

“I’m sorry?” Aelin replied, not knowing what he was getting at. Arobynn shook his head, a wry laugh coming from his snarled lips.

“Don’t play dumb with me, Galaythinius.” He frowned. “You knew what you were signing up for when you accepted this role. Fucking the writer was not a part of it.”

“Excuse me?” Aelin gaped, her cheeks flushing with embarrassment and horror.

Arobynn took a step forward and grabbed her chin, forcing her to look at him, grey eyes flashing with fury. He laughed, but his cold gaze held no humor. “You already signed the damn contract. You’re my muse, and you’ll remain unentangled.”

“That’s harassment,” Aelin whispered, her heart pounding against her chest.

He stuck out the thick wad of papers with Aelin’s signature at the bottom. Sure enough. In fine print, a sub-heading of the publicity and press obligations was a note that Aelin was to remain single. She couldn’t believe it. How could she have been so stupid?

“End it. Today,” Arobynn growled. “Unless you’d like to be sued for breach of contract.”

“He’ll fight this.”

Arobynn smirked. “Then you’d better put those acting skills to task and make him believe it.”

Aelin nodded, but couldn’t feel a thing. She was like a ghost through the rest of the day, and she barely remembered wrapping her scenes, the crew applauding her as she made her way back to her trailer. How was she going to end this? What could she possibly say?

Rowan was waiting for her in her trailer, a bouquet of jasmine in hand, her favorite. Her heart panged uncomfortably.

“Congrats,” he said with a wide smile, wrapping her into a hug, but Aelin kept her eyes trained on the carpet as she extricated herself from his grasp with a weak smile. She began to change into her clothes quickly, the only sound between them the rustling of fabric.

“Aelin, what’s wrong?” he asked, and Aelin shrugged, continuing to change quietly.

“Nothing, just tired.”

“Too tired for a celebratory dinner?” he asked, and Aelin frowned.

“Probably.”

He paused. “Aelin, what the hell is going on? Did something happen?”

Aelin breathed deeply as she let herself be swallowed by her giant sweater, wrapping herself n the cozy fabric. “I just… think we should probably end things.”

“What?” Rowan’s voice was strained and panicked, and she didn’t want to see his face, for fear of his matching expression breaking her resolve.

She cleared her throat as she laced up her shoes. “We knew this was just for production. Production is over now. Let’s just call it.”

“Aelin, what are you talking about?” he asked. And she shrugged again, smoothing out her hair and running her fingers through it. “Production’s over we can finally be together.”

She shook her head again, holding back tears. Determined not to let them fall. She needed to convince him, so she’d have to convince herself.

His arms clasped her by the shoulders roughly, and Aelin tucked her chin into her chest. She refused to cry. She would not break. “Why can’t you just look at me for one gods damned second?” he asked, his voice cracking slightly.

Aelin steeled herself and looked up. His green eyes swam with anxiety behind his black framed glasses, his chest rising and falling with his unsteady breaths.

“I never cared about you,” she said, staring straight at him, her heart cracking in two with each word. “I just wanted better scenes and knew that’s how to get them. It was all an act.”

See through these lies, she begged internally. But she’d done her job too well. Rowan let her go as if he’d been burned, the panic in his gaze morphing to disgust as he looked at her.

Rowan chuckled humorlessly. “I hope you win an Oscar. Because your talent astounds me.” Aelin cringed as he stepped away from her, turning his back on her. He looked over his shoulder once more and shook his head.

No, she wanted to scream. Come back.

As her trailer door swung shut, Aelin crumpled onto her couch and gave into her tears.

~*~

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#rowaelin #angst #prompt

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officialleehadan · 3 years ago

Text

Ostentatious Wealth

Today’s story was brought to you by Cjessie! Thank you so much for all your support!

Prompt: HGE – Blackbird with Tessarina’s party.

+++

It was, Maggie mused, somewhat strange to be back in High Society.

Or, well, what Tessarina Ichinkov thought was High Society, anyway. Mostly that meant ostentatious displays of wealth and frankly tasteless discussions of how much they spent on any given accessory.

Maggie herself was dressed to kill. Her blue dress fit like it was made for her, which it was, and she glittered with jewels that were worth half an Imperial Destroyer on any market in the Empire. They were hers too, but Silvie told the crew they were fakes, and left it at that. Bobbit had given her a side-eye, but then, he was a gnome, and most gnomes had some sort of rock-sense. He could probably sense that the gems were real, or at least not fakes, but he didn’t want to say anything about it.

He might ask later. That would be an interesting conversation.

A veil, pinned to a small hat that sat in Maggie’s heavily-styled curls completed the look. It seemed to be made of gauze, and it was, but there was a very subtle spell woven into the silk. Although it was almost totally transparent, the veil obscured her features completely, as if the looker was gazing through glass frosted with ice crystals.

It was handy, since there were people in this crowd who might very well recognize her if they got a clean look at her face. Fortunately, Tessarina’s ridiculous bragging was actually Maggie’s best defense against recognition. After all, if the Imperial Heir, Lucia Therese Magdalene made an appearance at one of Tessarina’s parties, the whole galaxy would have heard about it.

“You had better keep an eye out for our contact. I don’t know how to recognize anyone in this getup.”

Like Maggie, Zaaba was dressed to kill. She had opted for skin-tight leather pants, with thigh-high boots that were bright with swirling embroidery. Scales marched up her legs in line that ended in a broad silk scarf with more of the same embroidery. Her shirt, with an ankle-length vest over it, was a deep, glowing orange that shone against Zaaba’s dark skin. Her jewelry was more simple than Maggie’s, but to the discerning eye, it was just as valuable, since it was made almost entirely of Old Earth gold, and set with diamonds captured in the atmosphere of Earth’s neighbor, Neptune.

Those were Maggie’s too, but Silvie excused them as a loan, and refused to say more about their origin. Privately, Maggie thought it was probably good that Zaaba didn’t know how much wealth she was wearing. It would make her nervous, and nerves were not useful just now.

“We’re looking for Baroness Anne of Arcturus Prime,” Maggie said, scanning the faces. She didn’t know the Baroness personally, but that was just as well. The fewer people who knew her face, the fewer chances of being recognized. As it was, she had already seen a dozen people who might be able to pick her out of a crowd, although it helped that they weren’t expecting her. There was a reason she was wearing a spelled veil. “She’s a stately woman, a little older than you, with deep skin. She’s always had a fondness for vivid reds, and she has enough dragon in her blood to wear dragon-scale jewelry.”

“If she’s a dragon, why does she need us?” Zaaba wanted to know, and took a glass of sparkling wine, which glittered with a tiny spell that made the ice inside sparkle like diamonds. Zaaba gave it a disgusted side-eye. “Did they spell the ice?”

“It’s common at this sort of party,” Maggie said, and took a glass herself. Her veil would allow food and drink to pass through it, but she didn’t drink just yet. “Ostentatious displays of wealth are the way these people tell each other how much they matter.”

“Is this why you left?” Zaaba asked curiously, distracted by Maggie’s obvious distaste for the whole business. “Because you couldn’t stand it?”

“You don’t’ usually ask about my history,” Maggie said, which wasn’t an answer. Then again, maybe it would help Zaaba relax, which she did need to do. “Look round. Really look. The Baroness we’re here to meet is one of the highest-ranking people at this party, and she’s here because her mother and Tessarina’s parents do business together. The next highest is Duchess Hina Palisade over by the snacks table. She’s here because she has a taste for young men, and the last time she was in a room with the emperor, he told her that if she ever flirted with him again, he was going to ban her from any event he was expected to attend.”

Maggie personally thought it was hilarious, but then, she usually thought it was funny to inconvenience her brother. It was a little sister’s right. Duchess Hina was beautiful, and she knew it. Unfortunately, the only thoughts in her mind were the ones she stole from others. It was just as well that her older brother was actually the Duke-Lord of the sector they ruled. He was reasonably competent, although he did occasionally propose to Maggie, which annoyed Luka.

“Does it matter that they aren’t very powerful?” Zaaba wanted to know, now thoroughly interested and much less nervous. “Their ranks, and all?”

“It means that nobody with any class is actually here,” Maggie explained wryly with a thought towards the parties she had attended for most of her life. They were quieter, with the weight of the display being on the location, usually Carrier Atlantica’s grand ballroom or Luna Base, and not on the expense. After all, there was no competing with something that could not be bought for any amount of money. “There’s a lot of wealth in this room, which is very good for us since we want them to pay us, but there isn’t all that much power. It’s a good thing, since people with power are usually more trouble than they’re worth.”

Herself included, as it happened, but she worked hard not to be trouble for her captain or crew. Luka was always trouble, but he was Emperor, and he had the resources to make that sort of thing go away if it bothered him.

“I don’t like any of this,” Zaaba sighed, but then she stiffened slightly. “I see two people. One might be our contact. The other is trouble.”

“Contact first,” Maggie said, since that was the important part. Zaaba nodded to a woman gowned all in red so bright it looked like it was burning. She wore deep, polished-red dragon-scales around her neck, and carried herself like she mattered. “That’s her. Let’s head that way. Slowly. Where’s the trouble?”

“I think I just saw Ikaroa, and if he’s here, we have a real problem,” Zaaba said grimly. When Maggie turned to look, there was no one there, but in a crowd of hundreds, that didn’t mean anything. “We need to make our contact and get clear. I sure hope you’re right about this, or we’re gonna be into the frying pan faster than any of us are gonna like.”

+++ HGE - Blackbird:

Crown Princess Lucia Therese Magdalene has taken to the sky like her brother, Luka, before her. With her name and her crown set aside, Maggie Gol will take the Human Galactic Empire by storm.

Hot Pepper Blackbird

Fixing What’s Broke

Smuggler’s Den

Penny Zap (Subscriber Only!)

Down the Delve (Subscriber Only!)

Whisper Comment (Free on Patreon!)

Profanity Biscuits (Free on Patreon!)

Real Lady ( Subscriber Only!)

Customs Check

Wine and Whispers (Subscriber Only!)

Society Talk (Subscriber Only!)

+++

More Stories!

+++

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pedros-mustache-main · 4 years ago

Text

when your love reaches me (ii)

summary: 1978 is decidedly not 2020. nor is your life ever the same when you meet a guitarist, curly haired, soft spoken, and true.

word count: 8.5k+ (once again, i got carried away)

warnings: screwed up historical timeline, suggestive moments (not 18+ but be mindful), language, innuendo, slight angst; truly, this chapter is mostly fluff which is surprising coming from me and probably explains why it was so hard to write :)

a/n: thank! you! for such a lovely response to the first part of this mini-series! truly means a lot. :) also: mega shoutout to @deacyblues who really helped me with this one; she’s the mvp of this chapter! this one is formatted a little differently than the first and the last part (which for some reason i’m ~nervous~ about), so let me know what you think. xoxo!

part i

in this chapter: snapshots of what life is like on the road alongside the one you love.

october, 1978—new orleans

as much as it can be, life is bliss.

you’ve been on the road for days, slept on a bus more than in a proper bed, survived the flagrant display of hedonism in new orleans, argued with brian about how long he hogs the bathroom in the morning, and barely eaten anything of substance, but still you’re happy.

he makes you happy. you make him happy. that’s all that matters.

you’re on the bus, headed for the airport. the next leg of the tour is florida—two nights there—then two nights on the east coast—maryland and connecticut. it’s late, nearing midnight, and the bus hums down the highway at a consistent and comfortable speed. for the most part, it’s quiet. there’s a soft conversation somewhere at the front of the bus; you think it’s gerry, yet again going over the schedule, but you could be wrong. flashes of light stream through the windows as you pass under street lamps, and you curl a little closer into brian’s side. he shifts in his sleep, mumbling under his breath.

he’s tired. they all are. it’s only been a few days, but after the party in new orleans and with the waning energy after the initial concerts, the boys are settling—settling into tour life and the long nights and early mornings. life on the road isn’t easy, and you don’t blame them for catching whatever sleep they can when they can.

you’re settling too. it’s been nearly two months since you left home. you’d thought you’d be more desperate than you are. sometimes, you see a trinket in a shop window or hear anna say something that reminds you of your baby sister. other times, crystal will make a joke that reminds you of your brother. in those moments, you miss home more than anything in the world. but then brian will walk by, headed for the stage, and trail his fingers across your shoulders in a silent moment of affection, and you’re happy where you are.

so long as you’re with him, you’re happy.

brian’s eyelids flutter open when the driver skips over a pothole. he groans, rubbing at his temples. “fuck,” he breathes.

you push yourself off his chest, enough to meet his gaze. “feeling okay?”

he peeks through his fingers. “i think i got run over by a train.”

“well, that’s what freddie’s parties will do to you.” you poke his ribs, grinning. “you’re lucky you lot have a few days off to recover.”

“trust me,” he says plainly. “it was built into the schedule.” for a moment, his eyes scan your face. one long finger comes up to brush your cheek. “how’d you manage to get out unscathed?”

you shrug and resist the urge to lean into his touch. you can’t tell him the truth. he wouldn’t understand if you explain that your grandmother once read you an article about “saturday night in sodom” and the night freddie mercury almost broke louisiana. instead you twirl a lock of his hair around your index finger and say, “i’m good at moderation.”

leaning back against the headrest, his arm circles your waist, squeezing at the flesh below your hip. “remind me to get a few tips next time.” he closes his eyes, his lips parting as he falls back asleep. you smile, snuggle against him, and pinch yourself.

nope—still not dreaming. thank heaven.

november, 1978—detroit

by the time you reach michigan, the rhythm of the tour is set. everyone has their role to play, and each part is played to perfection. your part is slightly more fluid than most, but, alongside anna and john’s wife veronica, you manage to find your way most of the time.

it can be awkward, though. you have no musical talent, no ability to haul or set up lighting rigs. really, your role is very clear: you’re around to keep brian entertained and as relaxed as possible. whatever he needs, you do it—even if that means letting him muss your hair or mark your skin too much during a lengthy drum solo.

at first, you can’t stand knowing everyone else knows when you’ve had a quick shag in the stairwell or showed up late to sound check because brian got too handsy in the lift on the way out of the hotel. you’ve never been so open about a relationship before, least of all the physical aspect of it. you like to keep private things private, but that doesn’t work so well when you live hotel to hotel with the same thirty people. any bit of juicy gossip can fuel the band and the roadies for days on end. they’re worse than a group of church-going busy-bodies.

but that was a week ago, and you know better than most that much can change in the span of a week. brian’s lingering kisses or the quickes in a broom closet don’t make you nervous anymore. you don’t care if you get caught because lord knows roger and anna or veronica and deaky or any number of the crew are doing the same a hallway over. it’s all a part of the thrill of being with him, loving him (you refuse acknowledge it—the love—even to yourself; it’s too soon to love him, though you know you do).

on the first night of the two gigs in detroit, you catch brian in the hallway before he goes out on stage. you’d stepped out to grab a bottle of water and nearly missed him in the process, but when he sees you, he lights up with a smile. he pauses. roger quips for brian to make it quick as he rushes after john, drumsticks in hand.

“go get ‘em, tiger,” you say, slugging his shoulder with your fist lightly.

he catches your arm and lifts your hand to kiss the bone of your wrist. god, he makes you melt. “you gonna come watch from the side?” he mumbles against your skin. he’s looking at you through his dark lashes, thoroughly enjoying the way you squirm from side to side.

you nod and untangle your hand from his grasp. “eventually, yeah. crystal said he wants to show me the view from up top.”

brian rolls his eyes with a good-natured huff. “watch out for that crystal. he’s trouble.”

“sorry—what was that, mate?” crystal, rushing down the ramp toward one of the dressing rooms, pauses behind brian. “did you say i’m trouble?”

brian glances over his shoulder. “would you deny it?”

crystal hesitates, runs a hand over his beard. “no, but i don’t think my contract includes taking slag from my boss.”

shaking his head, brian laughs and heads up the ramp toward the stage. you call after him, and he turns as he continues walking, red special over his back, eyes wide and expectant. lifting the camera that’s perpetually around your neck with one hand, you blow him a kiss with the other. the camera captures his reaction: a wide grin, flushed cheeks, legs mid-stride. he disappears around the corner, and the hallway fills with the sound of cheers and applause when queen finally takes the stage.

you meet crystal’s eyes and wait for him to say something. you don’t have to wait long.

“you two are disgusting.”

“you know, if you had actually brought me my drink at the disco, we might not be here.”

“to think i could have been saved the horror of having to go to bed each night scrubbing my brain of all your disgusting happiness.”

reaching out, you touch crystal’s elbow and pout your lower lip. “oh, crystal, are you lonely? do i need to find you a friend?”

he scoffs and twists to shake the hand on his elbow. “please,” he drawls. “i’ve got no issue there.”

you stick out your tongue, and he moves down the hallway, but you follow close at his heels. “so, will you really show me the view from the scaffolding?”

“aren’t you afraid of heights?”

“absolutely, but i want to see it anyway. ratty said it was the best seat in the house.”

it takes a modicum of more effort to convince him—you have to promise to buy him a bowl of ice-cream next time the group goes out—but eventually he gives in. after leading you through a maze of wires and boxes, he climbs the lighting rig suspended over roger’s drumset. you hesitate at the ladder. you are afraid of heights, but you based on the way ratty went on and on about how “fuckin’ amazing” the show is from above, you’d like to think you can put your fears aside for the experience. palms sweaty, you wipe them across your jeans then scramble up the ladder. crystal sits on the narrow walkway, laughing, legs dangling over roger’s head. he pats the spot beside him, and you shuffle closer.

“what do you think?” he asks, spreading his arms toward the view.

once you’re settled and able to calm your racing heart, you look out over the stage. your breath catches in your throat. “ratty was right—for once,” you whisper.

you can see everything from here. most of the time, when you’re confined to the wings, you can barely see brian or barely see deaky. you never see roger, and you can rarely see the audience. from the scaffolding, you can see it all: freddie strutting across the stage, roger pounding the drums, deaky bopping in a tight circle, brian tearing into the guitar. from this angle you catch the way they work as a well-oiled machine, perfectly in-tune with one another. you can see the audience, too, and the way their faces shine with joy. the crowd looks like the sea, the way it moves up and down and side to side with the time of the music. it gives you a whole new appreciation for the roadies, too, and the way they work tirelessly to make this happen, often without proper thanks.

crystal nudges you with his shoulder. “take a picture,” he says. “to remember.”

you don’t have to be told twice. you raise the camera, peer through the viewfinder, careful to get your feet and crystal’s in the frame, and snap a shot. when you pull back, you see brian looking up at you from below, and you hope you got him in the frame, too.

november, 1978—philadelphia

“[y/n]! get over here!”

at the sound of ratty’s frantic voice, you pause in the stairwell and look over your shoulder. he’s hunched over a smoking amp, waving toward crystal and another roadie—phil, you think. when he catches your eye, he points to the spot beside him. you’ve never seen him so alarmed and, as much as you want to get away from backstage and find a couch to nap on, you hurry to his side.

“what is it?”

“the fucking amp broke! deaky’s muted and so’s brian.”

you cringe. “his amp’s gone bad, too?”

“no! something else. i don’t fucking know. he just needs this wire.” ratty shoves a wire in your hand. it hangs loosely in your palm, and you get the feeling you know what he’s going to ask next. “you gotta go give it to him.”

you shake your head, mouth gone suddenly dry. “ratty, you have to be joking.”

he straightens. “do i look like i’m joking, [y/n]?”

he looks, truthfully, like he’s on the verge of tears. but you don’t say that. you just grimace and mutter, “please don’t make me do it.”

“sorry, gotta be done. just make it quick!” he takes a hold of your shoulders and pushes you out of the safety of the wings before wheeling around on his heel at the sound of crystal calling his name.

legs frozen, you stand just to the right of deaky, still partially obscured by the walls of the wings. deaky continues to play, despite the fact that no one can hear him. you can almost see the steam coming out of his ears. he looks to the left and the right, searching for someone—anyone—to come and solve the issue. when he looks to his right, he sees you and his face relaxes for the briefest of seconds. he shuffles closer.

“is that for me?” he asks, nodding to the wire in your hand.

“no, sorry! it’s for brian. he’s got issues, too.”

“fuck! this is a fucking shitshow!” he cocks his head toward the other side of the stage. “go give it to him then!”

you realize belatedly as you run across the stage that you’re not wearing shoes. your socks slide against the slick floor, but you manage to stay upright, your vision tunneled on brian. you try not to think of the hundreds of thousands of eyes watching your every move, wondering who on earth you are and why you’ve taken to the stage like an invader.

roger and freddie are still going, riffing off one another to keep the energy high. they’ve started some sort of call-and-response game with the audience, so when you make it to brian’s side, you have to shout to be heard.

“ratty told me to give you this!”

brian’s angry, in rare form. his jaw is clenched tight, his temples throbbing. he looks ready to burst, and you wince when he grabs the wire from your hand. “for fuck’s sake, [y/n]! what is going on tonight?” he rips a wire from his guitar and replaces it with the new one.

you can only offer him a paltry shrug. “couldn’t tell you.”

fiddling with an amp behind his back, he gives his guitar a few experimental strums. sound blasts through the amps, and you resist the urge to lift your hands and cover your ears. relief surges through your veins; you give him a thumbs up. at the same moment, deaky plucks at his bass, which fills the stadium with its deep tones.

oh thank heaven. you did not want to be in the greenroom after the show if everything hadn’t gotten fixed.

before you can turn to leave, brian grabs the back of your neck and kisses you hard. your cheeks feel like they’re on fire, well-aware of the way the audience cheers as the touch lingers. you pull away first.

“thank you,” he whispers. he gives your rump a solid tap as you turn to make a beeline for the wings.

you think you’ll curl up and die when you rush past freddie and he says into the microphone, “ay, that’s brian’s girl!” he grabs your wrist and crushes you against his side, and you have the wherewithal to laugh even though you really want to stamp on his foot and run away. “she’s our little savior tonight, huh? a good luck charm!”

you finesse your way back to the wings, your skin hot with embarrassment, and flip ratty the bird as you make your way to the greenroom.

november, 1978—st. louis

there’s a show on thanksgiving day—sold out, much to everyone’s surprise—but after the concert, you gather around a long table in the hotel conference room. the carpet beneath your shoes is a pale purple, the table flimsy, the chairs uncomfortable plastic. someone’s laid a brilliant white tablecloth with a traditional thanksgiving meal, and the smell of roasted turkey and sweet potatoes and stuffing warms any of the cold still lingering on your body. you sit, squeezed between brian and crystal, across from anna, who winks at you as she lifts her cup to receive a helping of red wine.

“i’m fuckin’ famished.” crystal doesn’t wait for everyone to be seated or gerry to say a few words of toast. he grabs the basket of rolls and hands you one.

rolling your eyes, you take it and place it on the side of your plate. it’s the hotel’s china, a cream with mint trim. “you could wait and try to pretend like you have good table manners.”

beside you, brian snickers into his cup—a mug, really—of wine. his arm is slung over the back of your chair, his fingers circling lazily on your shoulder. you shift in your seat to lean into his touch.

crystal pulls a face. for a moment, you think you’re staring into the face of your elder brother. that’s exactly something marcus would have done. your gut clenches, and you have to look away, reach for brian’s knee, before you begin to cry. how long’s it been? three months? you miss the sound of your mother’s voice, the way your father worries after you in your flat. you miss it all; you always will.

“excuse me, excuse me. i’d like to say a few words.” gerry stands at the head of the table, tapping his fork against his cup. lingering conversations fade as everyone turns to face gerry. “not one for speeches,” he starts.

“then sit down!” it’s john, from the end of the table, who interrupts. veronica elbows him hard, and he doubles over in a combination of a laugh and a wheeze.

gerry smiles through tight lips. “thank you, veronica. as i was saying, i’m not one for speeches, but i think tonight’s as good as any to tell you how happy i am to be a part of this. we’ve got a hell of a lot more to do, but i’m thankful for what we’ve accomplished so far. anyway, that was shite, but it’s how i feel. eat up. happy thanksgiving.”

there’s a chorus of happy thanksgiving and glass clinking against class. you sip at your wine and smile to yourself. you’d thought of what it would be like to celebrate thanksgiving before, but never imagined it would be like this. you wouldn’t have it any other way. not with roger slingshotting a green bean across the table or freddie grilling dennis about what type of butter he used for the mashed potatoes.

you fill your plate, thankful, among other things, for the chance to eat a full meal alongside your new family. there’s a deep satisfaction in your chest. though there’s some part of you that still feels ridiculous wearing checkered trousers and dark turtlenecks, you think you feel more at home here than anywhere else.

“[y/n]?”

lifting a bite of cranberry sauce to your mouth, you turn your head to meet brian’s eyes. he’s leaned forward, his chin dipped. beneath the table, his fingers settle on your thigh, and he squeezes gently. you quirk an eyebrow as you chew, waiting for him to speak.

“i’m glad you’re here.”

you swallow, put your fork down, press the hand that’s on your thigh, smile. “i’m glad i’m here too.”

something stiff and slimy hits your forehead. you jostle in your seat with a gasp. a green bean lands in your lap, and you look up, eyes wide. across the table, anna’s laughing behind her hand, roger grinning widely.

“roger!”

he shrugs. “sorry, love, couldn’t help it. perfect target!”

“if i didn’t respect all the hard work poor dennis put into this meal, i’d shove your face in that bowl of potatoes,” you warn, pointing to the bowl of starch in question.

roger frowns, though his eyes sparkle with mischief. “brian, control your woman! she just threatened me!”

brian, wisely, lifts his hands in surrender, leaning back in his chair. “oy, she can handle herself, mate. don’t drag me into this.”

from his place beside roger, freddie slaps a hand on the table. “no fighting at my thanksgiving or i’ll kick you all out and eat by myself!”

“would you all please shut up and pass me the turkey?” crystal leans into your arm space, reaching in vain for the plate of meat just out of his grasp.

rising, you hand him the plate and cross to the front of the table. you clap your hands together to grab everyone’s attention then place your hands on gerry’s shoulders.

“i think you all know what time it is,” you say, grinning as a few of the roadies groan and duck their heads. you lift your camera. “squeeze in and look pretty.”

heart clenching as you look through the viewfinder at the collection of people you hold so dear, you snap your picture and sit down. without hesitation, brian takes your hand in his, and you sit together, hand in hand, for the rest of the meal.

december, 1978—london

you would be lying if you say you aren’t surprised when brian invites you to his parent’s home for the holidays. the tour has a month long break now that the american leg is over. once it starts up again in january, they’ll be off, gallivanting over continental europe. truthfully, you’d assumed you wouldn’t go back on the tour. you’d assumed you’d continue to crash on anna’s couch, make a few extra dollars at the diner, maybe look into enrolling in a few classes come spring.

you’d assumed the fairytale would be over.

there’s nothing official between you and brian. sure, you love him to bits. when you wake up in the morning, roll over, and see his sleepy eyes already looking at you, you know that for the rest of your life you will never feel for someone the way you feel for him. if he asked you to stay with him forever, you would. if he asked you to marry him, you would. you’ve known him for only a handful of months, but, fuck, he owns you. time doesn’t seem to matter when love’s involved. still, he’s never really put a label on what you are. not that he needs to; you’re just as fine without one. but with the break and then the touring starting up again, you’d just thought that would be it. he’d find another tagalong because lord know he’s could have his pick of the litter.

but he seems genuinely offended when he asks you to come home for christmas and you confess, “oh! i thought that you wouldn’t want me now.” the words sort of fall out of your mouth in a tumble, before you can really consider what you’re saying, and your hastiness shows because his forehead creases in a deep frown.

“why would you ever think that?” he asks it in the middle of the airport baggage claim, with the crew and band milling about, waiting for their luggage. it’s quiet, some ungodly hour in the morning, so you wince when he speaks a tad too loud for your liking.

“i just thought that...” you shrug and look away when his frown deepens. “don’t look at me like that, brian.”

“like what? pissed?” he scoffs. “i’m pissed ‘cause you know how i feel about you, [y/n]. at least i thought you did.”

you’re saved having to make a response by freddie dropping the last of your bags at your feet. he kisses your cheek, wishes you a happy christmas, and asks you take a dramatic photo of him leaving the airport, headed out for a night on the town all by his lonesome because his friends won’t join him in the fun. you oblige, though your heart isn’t in it because brian radiates frustration at your side and you’re jetlagged. you just want to go to sleep, really. it’ll be better in the morning.

after wishing well to the rest of the group, you follow brian out into the cold. it’s frigid, and a gentle snow has begun to fall, glittering in the harsh lamplight. you stamp your feet to try and generate some warmth in your legs as you wait on the curb for the cab. the tension between you grows thicker with each passing moment, but you can’t find the words to say.

in all honesty, you figured he looks at you as nothing more than a good time. and that’s okay with you because it makes things less complicated. you aren’t sure what you will do if he actually wants you, wants you for good. because it’s always in the back of your mind—how you don’t belong here, how you don’t belong with him—and if he feels something more than a general liking for your kisses or your ass or your tits, you don’t know what that will mean for your future. it scares you. so you say nothing, and he says nothing.

the cab pulls up the side of the road, and the trunk pops open with a soft whoosh. the driver hops out, rambles something about how big of a fan he is and how brian is such an inspiration, and you can’t help but roll your eyes as you lug your bag to the trunk and dump it in unceremoniously. you slide into the backseat of the car, cross your arms over your chest, and sulk. brian follows suit, sulk and all, seconds behind you.

the driver either ignores the tension in the backseat or is oblivious because when he takes the driver’s seat and turns to ask you both where you’re headed, he’s all smiles and flushed cheeks.

brian doesn’t answer. neither do you.

the driver’s smile begins to fade as the moments pass by.

“you really didn’t realize that i love you?”

you suck in a sharp breath at brian’s confession, eyes darting to his, which bore so deep into your soul you wonder if he can see into the very depths of your heart. you wonder if he can see the way you’re at war with yourself. there’s part of you that wants to jump his skinny bones and forget everything you left behind; that part is dangerously close to breaking through the surface. but you care for him enough to shake your head in an honest answer. he sighs.

“well, i do.”

“oh,” you whisper, turning your face to your lap. “sorry.”

there’s an edge to his voice when he speaks again, and it makes you squirm. “that’s it? just sorry?”

you force yourself to meet his eyes. it’s hard to make out exactly what he looks like in the dim lighting of the cab, but you know he’s not happy. “i didn’t want to assume anything,” you admit. “this is all terribly out of character for me.”

“what is?”

you know he won’t give the driver an address until you speak the truth, so you close your eyes and grit your teeth. “all of it—you, queen, the tour. i have absolutely no idea what i’m doing or how i’m supposed to act.”

“you’re supposed to act like yourself, [y/n]. that’s what i love: you, not what you think you’re supposed to be.”

swallowing hard, your eyes slide back to him. his shoulders have dropped from their tense hunch, and the lines in his forehead have smoothed. he looks more tired now than anything else.

“if i’m being honest,” he continues. “i think i’ve loved you since you called crystal out on the tour bus that first night.”

you smirk, remembering the way you thought he’d turned to glance back at your after your outburst. lip caught between your teeth, you shift in your place to face him better.

“if i’m being honest,” you say. “i think i’ve loved you since i stepped on your stupid clog in that disco.”

he doesn’t laugh like you thought he would. his eyes just dart back and forth between yours for a moment before his hand slides across the bench to skim your splayed fingers.

“so, christmas at mine?”

you nod, chest soaring when he scoots closer, his warmth invading your cold bubble. “christmas at yours.”

december, 1978—london

freddie throws a new year’s eve party, and you all but have to drag brian to it. all he wants to do is stay home and fiddle with the telescope his father got him for christmas, but all you want to do is go to freddie’s party with the man you love and kiss him as the clock strikes midnight. you end up cutting a deal: you’ll both go to the party but leave right after midnight so he can catch what’s left of the night sky.

as you dress in a decidedly not-winter-appropriate outfit, you tease and tell him he’s such a grandpa. he just pushes his hips against your backside, pushing you into the bathroom counter, and you gasp at the feeling of his desire pressed against your leg. you have to brace your hands on the countertop when he leans over your shoulder and nips at your ear, muttering, “don’t think grandpas get riled up like this, love.”

now at the party, leaning against the wall with a flute of champagne in your hand, half-listening to veronica’s story about john attempting to cut his own hair, you can’t stop ogling brian from across the room.

he stands beside roger and some business executive from the record label. he’s wearing the suit jacket you like: it’s black with white pinstripes. it’s buttoned halfway up his chest, but, as is customary, the crisp white dress shirt beneath his jacket is barely buttoned at all. you can make out the outline of his sternum, a silver necklace dangling against his skin. his trousers are dark and tapered along his narrow waist and legs. he looks good enough to eat, and you still hum with the electricity he’d shot through you back in the cramped bathroom at his parent’s home.

mumbling an half-hearted apology to veronica, you set your empty champagne flute on the marble mantlepiece and cross the floor with purposeful steps. it’s rare you get like this—so worked up you might explode—but with the recent revelation of his feelings for you and the way he stands there, so nonchalantly beautiful, you think you might burst if you don’t do something.

sidling up beside brian, you curl your arm around his elbow and smile at the men with whom he’s in conversation. roger grins right back, like he can read your mind and knows what you’re up to; the business executive’s eyes falter a moment too long on your chest, but that’s fine because at least it means you look good. you can work that to your advantage.

“mind if i steal him for a moment?” you ask, already tugging at brian’s wrist, question dripping with sugar and honey.

the business man’s eyes flick up from your cleavage to your face. “well, we weren’t exactly—”

“go ahead, love.” roger waves you off with a wink. “i can finish up with mack.”

mouthing a thank you to roger, you curl your hand around brian’s and pull him down the crowded hallway to a small coat closet. there’s heavy jackets and fur-lined coats strewn about the room, bags and purses and briefcases too. it smells slightly musty despite it being the largest coat closet you’ve ever occupied. you don’t waste a moment. with one hand, you shove the door closed and with the other you grab the lapel of his jacket and pull his mouth down for a bruising kiss.

brian laughs against your teeth, his hands skimming around your waist to settle in the small of your back. “what on earth’s gotten into you?”

you shake your head. the strap of your dress, thin as it is, falls down your shoulder as you trip over your own feet in an effort to perch yourself on the single bench in the room. “nothing,” you huff. “just want you ‘s all.”

he helps you with the stubborn zipper that runs along your spine, his mouth working on your throat, still chuckling. “i can work with that.”

january, 1979—berlin

anna studies you from across the room, one leg dangling over the other. she picks at her nails while she stares, her eyes narrowed in thought. you let her inspect you for a few moments, but her stare soon becomes too much to handle. her eyes are heavy and intense, so you slam your book shut.

“what?” there’s an edge on your voice, but she doesn’t take notice, just shrugs.

“do you think you’ll get married? you and brian?”

with a sigh, you toss your book to the coffee table and swing your legs to the carpet. “that’s a ridiculous question.”

“no it’s not!” anna’s eyes follow you as you pad across the floor to grab an apple from the buffet along the wall. “it’s obvious you love each other.”

leaning against the table, you bite into your apple. music from the stage filters through the air vents, attempting to drown out the thoughts swirling through your head. you might let it, too, but anna’s question pricks at the girlish ideas of marriage you’d buried so long ago.

“me and roger,” she continues. “i know we won’t get married. he’s an epic shag and almost too much fun, but i don’t love him. i mean, i do, but not the way you love brian. and he definitely doesn’t love me the way brian loves you.”

you arch a brow. “i didn’t realize everyone had so many opinions about my relationship.”

“sure we do. crystal’s started a pool on when brian will actually pop the question. my money’s in the spring. i think i picked april fifteenth. we’ll be in tokyo then and they’ve got gorgeous cherry blossoms. can you imagine how romantic that’d be?”

you do imagine it for a moment—him bending down to one knee, cherry blossom trees swaying with a gentle breeze, your hand clasped in his, finger weighed down by an engagement ring. you fiddle with your ring finger, feel the emptiness there, and wonder what it would be like to actually, truly marry him. you’d say yes, if he asked, but that would also mean giving up any lingering hope of returning to your natural life, wouldn’t it? you still aren’t sure if you can do that.

besides, you know he isn’t going to ask. there’s no reason for him to. he loves you; you love him. that’s it; that’s all it needs to be.

february, 1979—zurich

you’re walking hand in hand along a quaint street in zurich’s city center. the air is cold, but brian’s hand is warm, and you feel impossibly safe by his side. not for the first time, you have to pinch yourself. before leaving home you’d rarely traveled and never extensively, but in the six months you’ve been away, you’ve seen more of the world than you ever dared dream you would—and it’s all because of him.

you slide your hand from his palm to the crease of his elbow and lean against his side. he glances down at you and moves his arm around your shoulders. he smells like laundry detergent and roger’s cigarette smoke. the scent makes your head dizzy with affection, so you have to ask him to repeat himself when he speaks.

“how much film have you used up? for your camera?” he asks again, drawing you out of the path of a jogger.

you tally the sacred tubes tucked neatly in your suitcase. “four canisters so far.”

he smiles, clearly proud of himself. “i guess i did pretty well with that gift, then.”

rolling your eyes, you poke his side, but the grin on your face is secure. “don’t flatter yourself. i don’t want your ego getting too big.” looking away from his pretty face, flushed with chill and sparkling with amusement, your steps falter. “oh, that’s nice!”

you say it before you can stop yourself, but the jewelry displayed in the window of a small accessories shop truly is nice. there’s a wide array of necklaces, bracelets, and rings sparkling in the overhead light. just the sight of a diamond ring makes your heart flutter, and you think back to your conversation with anna in berlin. you pull your eyes away from the wedding bands and focus on the necklaces.

brian steps behind you, circles his arms around your stomach, and settles his head on your chin. “do you want something?” his breath tickles your ear, and you immediately shake your head.

“no, just looking.”

he squeezes you against his body in protest. “come on. let me get you something.”

“brian, it’s too much.”

“it is not! you haven’t let me get you anything this whole time!”

you turn around in his arms and plant your hands on his lean chest. “i don’t need anything. you’re present enough as it is.”

he huffs. “that’s shite. we’re going in there and we’re not leaving till you pick out something you want.”

in the end, you choose a necklace with a pearl set against a fanned-out silver flower. it’s dainty, light against your collarbones, but it reminds you of brian. pearls are formed out of grit and determination, just like he is. it’s a silly metaphor, but when you see the necklace for the first time, that’s what springs to mind. you don’t tell him as much. you just let him pay the shop woman and hook the necklace around your neck.

later, when you’re lounged around the hotel lobby, waiting for the boys to finish changing from the show so you can go to dinner, crystal points to the necklace.

“new bling?”

you touch the pearl with your fingers and nod. “he insisted.” you level him a pointed stare. “i heard you’ve got a bet going on as to when brian will ask me to marry him.”

crystal has the decency to blush, and he swings his legs over the arm of his chair so he can sit straight. “yeah, well, we gotta do something to keep entertained.”

“i want in.”

he laughs, loud and echoey in the sparse lobby. “what?”

“you heard me: i want in.”

“you think he’s gonna ask?”

you shrug. “maybe. a girl can dream.”

shifting, crystal unearths a square notebook from his back pocket. he reaches for a discarded pen on the glass coffee table at his feet and puts the cap in his mouth while he flips through the pages of his notebook. “what day you want?”

“what day’s not taken?”

“uh... march first. we’re in paris then.”

“fine. put me down for march first.”

crystal pencils your name in and opens his palm. “it’s forty pounds to enter.”

you startle forward, sputtering, “forty pounds?!”

“you’re getting in pretty late, sweetheart! take it while you can.”

“how much do i stand to win?”

he calculates slowly, mumbling, “forty times twenty-eight... about five thousand.”

you scoff, shaking your head. “i don’t know whether i should be offended or impressed.” withdrawing your pocketbook, you slap the forty pounds in his palm.

he curls his fist around the money and shoves it in his pocket. “thank you and good luck.” he winks as the boys round the corner from the elevators, talking quietly amongst themselves.

brian comes to stand behind your chair, his hands on your shoulders. he glances between you and crystal. “what’s going on? you look like you’re up to no good.”

rising from your seat, you grasp his wrist and kiss the back of his hand. “oh nothing. crystal was just brushing me up on my maths skills.”

buzzing with giddiness, shocked at yourself but not unpleased, you grin wider when you hear crystal whisper to freddie, “she took march first” on your way to the car and freddie says, “dammit it! i got february twenty-eighth. he likes the first of the month.”

february, 1979—madrid

you stare at the calendar tacked to the dressing room wall. it’s your birthday.

you didn’t expect to feel so sad. freddie’s planned a party for this evening, something outrageous and ostentatious, and you’ve been anticipating it all week, but now that the day is here, you don’t feel excited or thankful or even the slightest bit happy. you just feel empty.

if you were home, where nature intended you to be, you’d likely have woken up to a flurry of happy birthday text messages. your roommate rachel might’ve made you breakfast in bed, and you’d have gone to dinner with your family before returning home to open presents. it would have been simple, easy and uninspired, but just the way you like it.

this morning you’d woken to brian pressing a kiss to your temple as he rushed out of the room, already late for a day set aside for brainstorming the new album. he couldn’t help the schedule; that’s just the way it fell. so you’d gotten ready by yourself, eaten by yourself at the hotel’s cafe, read by yourself on your room’s terrace. crystal had shouted his well-wishes on his way out of the hotel by the time soundcheck rolled around; anna had brought you a muffin as you slid into the car beside her. you knew you would celebrate later as freddie had promised, but that didn’t stop the ache, the yearning, in your chest for something more familiar. now standing in brian’s dressing room, alone and in silence, it takes everything you have in you to not break down and sob.

you miss home. you miss your parents. you miss your brother and sister. you miss your phone and your keurig that takes too long to pour and your subscription to netflix. as much as you love brian, you miss where you belong, the time in which you belong.

you don’t realize you’re crying until the door opens with a click, and brian steps in. he’s halfway through a sentence about wanting to find something to eat before the show starts when he sees your tears and stops talking. rushing to your side, he takes your shoulders in his large hands and bends to catch your eyes.

“[y/n]? what is it? what’s wrong?” he sounds worried, painfully so. this must be the first time he’s seen you cry in such earnest. sure, he’s seen you shed a few tears on occasion—when you’re irritable and he’s being stubborn; when roger and crystal’s antics make you double-over in laughter; when he does something particularly endearing—but he’s never seen you like this.

you wrap your arms around your stomach and shake your head, tears flowing all the more. you wish you could unburden yourself and tell him the truth. he deserves that. but you can’t answer his questions. you don’t know what’s brought you here or why, and he’ll probably only think you’re crazy. you think you’re crazy.

he stops asking you what’s wrong and leads you to the couch. the faux-leather squeaks as he sits, drawing you to his lap, your head cradled beneath his chin. he rubs soothing circles up and down your back, humming, until you’ve settled enough to blow your nose and wipe what little makeup remains from your eyes.

you exhale, sitting upright in his lap. he has one arm draped over your hips, the other still working along your spine. you can feel his eyes searching your profile, as if he’s trying to discern the cause of your turmoil from the patterns on your skin.

you don’t say anything. you just twist and press your mouth to his.

god, you love him. it’s not the fact that he’s brian may and that’s he opened up a world previously unknown to you. it’s him: his height which makes you feel safe, his hands which love you so well, his intelligence which dazzles you day after day, his kindness, his vulnerability with others, his wit. you love everything about him and more.

but you don’t belong here. the thought has been plaguing you since you arrived, and you suspect it will haunt you until nature returns you home—if nature returns you home. you are meant for the days of roaming wifi and overpriced coffees on every street corner. you are meant for skinny jeans and simple eye makeup, youtube and internet shopping.

you miss it all, but you love him so dearly—would marry him, and have his children, and die by his side if he asked—but you don’t belong here.

your mouth moves rough across his as you straddle his hips, hands clawing at the hair around his shoulders. you’re crying again. you can taste your tears, salty and warm, and you wonder if he tastes them too. he kisses you despite the tears or maybe because of them. whatever; it doesn’t matter. you just want to forget, to feel good, to feel him.

pulling back, you breathe heavy, chest brushing against his. his eyelids are heavy with lust, his throat flushed. he lifts a hands, brushes his palm down the side of your face, his thumb swiping out to wipe away a tear.

“what do you want?” he asks.

you take the moment to memorize his face, every line, freckle, and marking. you run a finger long his lower lip and whisper, “you.”

he frowns. “you have me.”

a lump rises in your throat, and you push it back before meeting his gaze. “always?” you aren’t sure what you mean by always. your head is so muddled, so torn, it likely doesn’t matter what you really mean. just as long as he answers the way you want him to.

he does.

“always,” he says, and you sigh in relief before kissing him again.

march, 1979—paris

march first, the day you picked in crystal’s proposal bet.

it’s drizzling, but you insist brian accompany you to the louvre on your last afternoon in france. together, you race to the museum, hair damp and frizzy, laughing as you check your coats and grab maps of the exhibits. you wind your way from room to room, commenting on the masterpieces hanging along the walls. brian listens as you spout the wealth of useless knowledge you’ve stored in your head for a later date. he asks questions; he nods and hums in approval; his hand rests in the curve of your back.

by the time you reach liberty leading the people, you’re sure he’s as bored of hearing your voice you are. you pause, study the painting, and sigh in contentment. the room is quiet, only an older couple in the far corner, standing side by side. the man is much taller than his wife, like brian’s taller than you. the woman leans into her husband’s touch when he presses her shoulder, and you wonder absentmindedly if you will experience old age alongside brian.

“i want to give you something.” brian breaks the silence with a voice that is on the edge of trembling.

you look up at him, brow furrowed. “you know i don’t like when you give me things.”

“i think you’ll like this.” he gasps his right hand and twists at the ring on his pinky. as you watch his movements, shaky and unpracticed, your heart stops in your chest.

oh my god.

the words thrum through your veins like a mantra. the air in your throat goes cold, your eyes glued to his hands. you think you might faint when he grasps your left wrist and places the ring in your palm. mouth open, you stare at it: it’s silver with a flat face, small and plain. there’s something engraved on the smooth circle and, after you blink your tears away, you see it’s a flower with three drooping bell-shaped buds.

he notices your inspection and nods to the ring. “it’s lily of the valley, supposedly may’s flower of the month, or so my mother has always believed. you saw our house. she’s obsessed.”

you swallow past the moisture gathering in your throat and look up, unable to form a sentence. he shoves his hands deep in his pockets and shrugs.

“it’s not so much of a proposal as it is a promise.”

“a promise?” is all you can manage to squeak.

“i want to marry you one day,” he says matter-of-factly, like it’s the simplest thing in the world, like it’s what he was born to do. “but you know how things are right now. we’re busy and money’s tight and—”

“okay,” you breathe.

his brow puckers. “what?”

“i said okay. i’ll marry you—one day.”

his lips spread in the most heartbreakingly beautiful smile, and you know for a fact that you are doomed: doomed to love him forever and always, until you’re both dead and buried and the world continues to turn even though you’re gone.

“well, mr. may, are you gonna make me put it on myself?” you wiggle your hand and pass him the ring which he dutifully slides on your middle finger.

still holding your hand in his, he leans down to kiss your forehead. “i’ll put a proper ring on your finger one day,” he mumbles against your skin, clasping the back of your head to his lips. “promise.”

as you stand in the middle of the louvre, held in the arms of the man you love, you remember: you’re five thousand pounds richer now. you won the bet. the thought makes you laugh and hug him all the tighter.

april, 1979—toyko

if you had known nature would choose that day make her mistake right, you likely wouldn’t have gone back to your hotel room for your sunglasses.

but you didn’t know, and it was painfully sunny outside.

freddie suggests the group takes a walk around toyko to enjoy the sights and the last of the cherry blossoms before the evening’s soundcheck. though you’re tired from a late flight, you aren’t going to turn down an afternoon of simplicity, not when the tour is so close to finishing and you might never experience this feeling of family again. you’re walking with crystal out of the hotel, bag slung over your shoulder, camera around your neck, arguing with him about whether or not the clouds in the distance mean rain. he says yes; you say no.

“it’ll just pass over us,” you say, shielding your eyes from the sun. “it’s too bright to storm.”

“clearly you’ve never been to japan before.” he pauses when you stop walking, turning to look over his shoulder while you backtrack toward the entrance.

“i’m gonna pop back inside for my sunglasses anyway. i’d rather have them.” you wave your hand. “don’t wait for me. i’ll catch up. tell brian i’ll be there in a minute.”

he shrugs and pops a toothpick in his mouth. “you know freddie’s a fast walker so be quick.”

nodding, you turn fully on your heel and rush back into the building. the lift is too slow, so you take the stairs two at a time. by the time you reach the door to your room and finesse the key into the stubborn lock, it’s raining. you groan, thumbing your nose at the rain-stained window, but grab the sunglasses anyway before racing down the stairs.

your camera bangs against your chest, your bag slapping against your hip. the stairwell is cool concrete, and the sound of your shoes echoes on the stairs as you wind down the floors.

thunder booms overheard, and you gasp, stalling on the steps. it sounds close. maybe you should have grabbed your umbrella...

reaching the bottom of the stairs, you pull the door to the lobby open and stumble into an empty concert hall, all too familiar and entirely unwelcome.

your heart plummets to your stomach.

“oh fuck.”

~*~*~*

taglist: @bhmay @grigorlee @teenagepeterpan @just-my-sickly-pride @perriwiinkle @ubernoxa @anunknownnebula @coincidence-ithinknots-blog @captvinswaan @ineloqueent

#brian may #brian may fic #queen #queen fic #j writes #brian may x reader

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touchmycoat · 3 years ago

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OP!Anon for Leverage!HX/LQG: *SCREAM* oh I adore how you wrote this - HX is so good at reading everyone and understanding how to motivate/manipulate them, except for lqg. I love how angry he got at the idea of lqg seeing him in the same light as swd, and also how lqg's just like, yep, swd's gotta die when he heard the full story. I love the idea of HC coming in like the king he is and laying down the law about XL. ahhhhhhh!!!! just imagining hx and lqg getting close after lots of shenanigans!

teamwork baby

"Xue Yang must die" is literally one of my favorite WWX quotes of all time LMFAO time to pay homage

so you know how in book 3, during the Black Water arc, HX is there trying to push his whole scheme forward? It's well-timed, well-thought-out, but the only fucking spanner that keeps jumping back into his work is XL-and-therefore-HC? Yeah I imagine working with grifter!HC is pretty much like that. He's always late or never shows up at all to briefings, or he shows up to the very end to hear the conclusion and goes "Nope, that's fucking stupid, change it." SQQ's like "Why??" and HC's like "oh, lil boy can't figure it out?"

and whenever they have an actual plan going, HC sometimes just shows up and starts doing his own thing in the middle and forces HX to keep up. This is often motivated by one of XL's jobs, and XL would ask if HC knows a little piece of intel, and HC would be like "oh you know what, I actually have a hostage right here to ask about that, one moment please :)" and utterly prioritize XL's thing. HX has to change the job on the fly so many times, and it's so fucking annoying, but it's not like HC leaves him at a dead end, so he always does find a way out.

(this got fucking long, but HX/LQG under the cut)

Bingliushen are also annoyed as fuck, but while they're godtier at their own things, none of them are mastermind-level (yet—Binghe's gonna get there, isn't he), so they just have to put their faith in HX and keep chugging forward. This is how the foundation builds, y'know? HX insists to both others and himself that he's being honest and faithful to his team because that's just the best way to handle them, not 'cause he's actually a team player and not 'cause he cares for anybody at all. And LQG's a simple guy—you save my life, I'll save yours. You act in good faith, I'll be loyal in turn.

It starts with something small. HX's suffered tremendous loss, and has been on his own for a very, very long time. He's used to taking care of himself, but we all know LQG's love language is "here, you dropped this. I've been quietly paying attention to everything you like and do, no big deal." So maybe it happens on a mission. HC has three marks to dupe in succession, and they're playing a nasty Big Pharma group, so it's hitting close to home for HX. At the last minute though, HC says over the comm, "the CEO & CFO made me. Must've recognized me from speaking to the secretary earlier. He Xuan."

"Can you still do the COO?"

"I'm not about to waste this outfit, am I."

and HX has to hop in and do 2/3rds of the grifting himself, which is fine, he's completely capable of this, he's a goddamn prodigy at hiding his murderous tendencies. but out of nowhere LQG is on the line, "Shen Qingqiu, you said you can hack the finances, right?"

"Yes, but nothing else."

"Then He Xuan doesn't have to talk to the CFO. Give me 2 minutes, I'll knock him out."

and HX doesn't stop him because sure, why not? It was more efficient for HC to do three of them at once, but now that it was HX doing it (and HX still has his own part to play), it would save them more effort if LQG goes for the blunt force solution. But it rubs HX the wrong way—what the fuck? Yeah, HX may not like grifting as much as HC, the stupid drama queen, but hasn't he proven himself every bit as capable of it? Why did LQG think it necessary to, what, bail him out?

So that night, after debrief, HX pulls LQG aside to give him a piece of his mind. "Don't ever try to override my judgment again." "What are you talking about?" "I made a call, I did not need your 'help' on the grift." "That wasn't help." "Then what was it." "You hate talking to guys like that!" "???" "You didn't need to talk to him, and I was right there. It was the obvious thing to do."

and HX still doesn't get it, not until the next day, when SQQ and HX are quietly setting up for the morning, and SQQ says out of the blue, "that's just how he cares. Liu Qingge, I mean. It's never an ego thing once he's your friend."

"I don't need friends," is HX's automatic response.

"No," SQQ snorts in agreement. "You need revenge. That's fine. Then I'm sure he'll get over it."

Which—okay—no? Bastard. That's just a passive aggressive attempt at a guilt trip, and it's not going to work. HX has already made it abundantly clear from the get-go that this was simply a job, he was the pointman, once they were done everybody will go on their way. It's not his fault SQQ dragged in a hitman with the loyalty instincts of a german shepherd, and it's certainly none of his business whether LQG treats him as friend or a colleague.

LQG will just have to be disappointed.

BUT OF COURSE WHAT GOES ON TO HAPPEN IS THAT HX sees more and more of the things LQG does, the ways LQG manages to be thoughtful. The way LQG handles visitors during HX’s mealtimes despite how much LQG hates talking to randos, bc HX has bad food days and can’t really stand eating with others. The time they had some time to kill undercover in a consultant’s office, and HX passed the time by pointing out all the things wrong with the office’s mini-aquarium set-up, so when SQQ brought up something inane about decorating their headquarters, LQG made HX draw up specs for a saltwater tank of their own. HX and everybody else kept insisting it was a waste of time, but LQG still went ahead and got it made anyways, and now it’s HX’s favorite thing in the entire HQ.

But HX wasn’t about to owe anybody anything. If LQG insists on this game, then fine, HX was going to play to win. He requisitions new toys (read: weapons) for LQG, he builds heists around the sole purpose of giving LQG a room of satisfying bad guys to beat up, he goes to the gym and spars with LQG, he even tries to give LQG’s weirdly famous younger sister’s novel a read—which was a lot. Ahem. But LQG loves his younger sister, so surely this would be the ultimate “hah! I’ve given you more than you’ve given me! I win! move.

...turns out LQG’s never read the damn thing, and just takes everything HX gives him in total stride. “We still on for tomorrow?” “...Yes.” “Cool. See you.” And HX’s over here totally overthinking EVERYTHING while LQG’s just chilling, super matter-of-fact.

Fuck, were they friends???

HX rage-panics, because he does. not. need. friends. And it has nothing to do with how everyone he’s ever loved dies, it has nothing to do with the careful balance of vengeful fury and self-hatred inside him that’s about to tip over any day now, once they take down SWD. It has nothing to do with HX being too traumatized and grief-stricken to imagine moving on from revenge, to ever imagine being simply content again.

His eating habits get worse. One day he snaps at LQG for pining so much after SQQ. “You already know he’s never going to return your feelings. It’s embarrassing to watch you insist on giving so much when he’s not going to give anything back.”

“Shut up,” LQG snaps, “it’s not about getting anything back.”

But that makes it worse. Of course HX wasn’t actually talking about SQQ, though sure, that’s annoying too. LBh obviously knows, so why can’t they take their infernal flirting somewhere private, instead of flaunting it in front of LQG all the time?? But the fault’s with LQG too, what with all the giving. He should find someone more worthy of his affections and stop wasting his time here.

HX cuts everything he and LQG has built up in one fell swoop—completely gives him the cold shoulder. Only ever talks about work, no more dry quips, no more infodumps on niche hobbies. HX wishes he could destroy the tank at HQ, but that would be way too confrontational at this stage.

Until one mission, when LQG knows HX is not in a good place, and keeps trying to argue HX out of doing something excessively risky. HX rounds on him and says, “you’re just a hired gun, so shut up and shoot where I'm pointing, or you can pack your things and get out.”

LQG goes red, then white, and storms away.

“Nice sucker punch,” HC comments idly where he’s lounging on the side. Who knows when the fuck he showed up. “Right where it hurts.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Don’t tell me you don’t know. His five-year stint with the Sha City Demons?”

Of course HX knows about that. He’s looked thoroughly into everybody’s backgrounds. But what does that have to do with this?

“Gege is the best at this, after all. See you and I, we stopped asking questions once we knew the name, because we don’t think people are ever as pure and good as they pretend to be. But you know what Dianxia said, after I mentioned Liu Qingge’s old gig to him? ‘Five years, hm? I wonder what they had on him. In my experience, men like Liu Qingge don’t work for crews like the Sha Demons. And in order to sink their claws deeper into men like him, the Demons always make them do the worst jobs.’ Just a hired gun indeed.”

That’s right. LQG gets a Moreau backstory of his own. HX feels his heart sink to the pit of his stomach.

“Fuck.”

“I don’t know why you’re so stressed out about it. He is just a hired gun—”

“You know why. Fuck.”

“So get out of my face and do something about it already. You know where he’s gone, I know you’ve put trackers on your entire team.”

“...”

“You didn’t? No, you didn’t put one on him? My god, you do care.”

While HC’s busy sounding disgusted, HX is reeling. He just sent the best hitman in the field packing, and was an absolute dick about it. He was not a kind man, but he also wasn’t a cruel one. He believes in fairness, and everything he said simply had not been fair. It had all been his own guilt and issues talking; if he really didn’t give a damn, then he wouldn’t have...done all this.

“How much are you willing to pay?” HC says, swiping at his phone.

“What?”

“Because I don’t trust any of you, and did put a tracking device on Liu Qingge.” He sure has—HC is waving the loading tracking app in HX’s face. “So I’m asking, how much are you willing to pay?”

...And that’s the reason why HX owes HC so much damn money.

#leverage AU #he xuan #lqg #anon this is so much fun TTTTTT #i'm about to rewatch leverage 'cause of you

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imaginepirates · 5 years ago

Text

Wanted

For @myleghasfallenasleep, who requested that I write about a non-binary pirate! reader. The reader ends up taking James into their crew after Jack leaves him with them. Because this is my first time writing a nb character, please tell me if I’ve provided accurate representation. If not, please bring it to my attention.

~3500 words

@emdrabbles @tesserphantom @paljonkaikenlaista @viper-official @wordsinwinters

~~~~~~~

Ah Jack, you mused. Always dumping your problems on me. You’d been a friend to Jack Sparrow for years, and though you were fond of him, he never failed to dump things on you. Currently, he was leaving you with a drunken addition to your crew. You wouldn’t have minded, but as it sat, you had your suspicions about this man.

“If I recall correctly, you’re in desperate need of men right now.” You stood with your arms crossed, staring at Jack from across your desk.

“Not as desperate as this, lass.”

“Why? He’s a drunk, sure, but so are you.”

“He vomits everywhere he walks.”

“I seem to recall you doing that on several occasions.”

Jack grimaced. “I hoped you’d forgotten that.

“Don’t change the subject.”

“Fine. Bad blood. Used to be in the navy.” Jack made a face, sticking his tongue out.

“Don’t see what difference that makes. Loads of pirates come from the navy. Do you know how bad their wages are? If they were looking for money, though, I don’t know why they’d go to you.”

Jack pretended to take offence, but you ignored him. You’d only seen the man Jack wanted to dump on you once, when the pair had first boarded your ship. He was tall, with dark hair and piercing eyes, but he stumbled as he walked, and he looked green with sickness.

“What’s so bad about this man that you need to get rid of him, Jack?” You were deadly serious. Jack got into all sorts of trouble with the wrong type, and you weren’t going to take on some merman, noble’s son, or warlock without knowing about it first. “I’m not getting into trouble on your account Jack. Not this time.”

“You won’t. I promise.” He flashed you a smile, and you laughed.

“Words are wind, Jack.”

Jack sighed. “The problem I have with him is personal. It won’t hurt you to take him for me.”

“Why not hand him over to Jones?” By now, you knew all about the problems Jack was having with Davy Jones. Serves you right, you thought.

“I don’t think he’d last that long.” Seeing your unimpressed expression, he continued. “It’s not just me, love. It’s the crew.”

“And by ‘the crew’, you mean those two you met in Port Royal?”

“No.”

“Lately, they’ve been involved in all your issues.” You moved around to the front of the desk, sitting on the edge. “If you won’t tell me, fine. But at least assure me that you’re not leaving me with a curse looming over my head.”

“None.”

“Good. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have a crew to attend to and a new member to meet.” You swept right past Jack, pushing the double doors to your cabin open wide. The fresh air was welcome in comparison to the stuffy air indoors, and the smell of salt filled the air.

You were still at port, but you planned to leave before the day was done. Fishers on the docks called the day’s catch, and merchants sold their wares near the wharves. There was the ringing of church bells and the enticing smell of cooked meats, all reminders of the city around you. Some of your crew were carrying out tasks onboard the ship while others were out in the streets. Those in the city would be back soon enough.

It was easy to spot the newest addition to your crew. He stood out in the crowd. His clothes were shabby, even by pirate’s standards, and he had a way of standing that indicated he was too relaxed for a naval man. Men from the navy didn’t lean casually against railings, they didn’t have beards, and they didn’t smirk. All around, you considered this man a rake.

You approached him, leaning against the railing beside him. “Do you have a name, sailor?”

“James,” he said, looking down at you.

“James what?”

“Just James.”

“Well then, just James, welcome to the crew. I expect that as a sailor, you know what you’re doing, and I don’t want any trouble on my ship. If you have a bone to pick, wait ‘till shore leave.”

“Yes sir.” His voice was mocking, and upon further inspection and some confusion he added, “Ma’am.”

“Captain, will suffice. I want to see my reflection in this deck by tomorrow morning. I suggest you get to work helping.” You gestured to the crew scrubbing the deck.

He shoved himself off the rail after taking a last look at you, grabbing a mop and soap from further down the deck. He was the type to start problems, you could tell. You could only hope he wouldn’t.

In the coming days, you were shocked to find that he was a capable worker. Though he had a tendency to make snarky comments, he did everything that was asked of him. You were glad for it. You didn’t enjoy dealing out punishments, and you didn’t want a reason to do so. James was good at what he did; it seemed he had more years of practice than many of the other men.

An influencing factor in his behavior was lack of alcohol. You’d taken the rum away from him within the first day and told the crew not to give him any more. James had been surprisingly willing to let the drink go. He’d looked disgusted, but you had a feeling he wasn’t disgusted with you. Disgusted with himself, more like. I would be, too, if I were vomiting everywhere and stumbling around. There was more to it, you could tell. There was a whole story in every man, but this man seemed to contain a story-and-a-half. You’d learn, someday. For now, you had to be content with what Jack had already told you.

You surveyed the deck one day to find James helping the younger boys tie their knots. James wasn’t quick in the rigging like the children, but he was surefooted, and he was willing to teach the boys from the ropes. He was doing it then, leaned against a railing with a length of rope in hand. He was showing them how to tie it to a rail with a clove hitch. The rope was passed around, and each boy tried it for himself.

“I see you’re teaching the boys well.” You walked up to him, watching the kids tying their knots. “I’m happy to see it.”

“Somebody has to do it.”

“If I wasn’t mistaken, I’d say you’ve done this sort of thing before.”

“You’re not.”

Ah. An officer, then? Though his coat was a good indicator of his previous station, it didn’t fit him well, and you figured it might have been stolen. Perhaps not. It would have fit someone who weighed a little more, and you figured that James had lost weight in the time he spent drinking instead of eating. “Would you like to enlighten me? I have a feeling you’re a bit more than ‘just James’.”

He pushed off the rail. “I wouldn’t, actually.”

“Forgive my curiosity,” you called after him. “Here, you don’t have to be anyone you don’t want to be.”

Something sad flashed behind his eyes, and he swallowed. I don’t want to be anybody, he seemed to say.

You’d heard that often enough. “We’ve all left someone behind us,” you assured him. “Even me.”

He nodded and walked off, and you couldn’t help but feel a little sorry for him. He was lost and unsure of what to do with himself. Stuck between who he had been and who he would become.

Not two weeks later, you found him in the surgeon’s cabin, applying salve to a boy’s back. The green paste stuck to the boy’s skin with an eerie hue, but you knew it treated burns better than anything else.

“What did I tell you about keeping a shirt on?”

“I know, it’s hot out, is all.” The boy shifted in his seat, squirming whenever James touched his back.

“I don’t care how hot it is. A loose shirt is better than nothing. I won’t do this for you again, so don’t rub this off,” James warned.

The boy took little heed. “I won’t,” he said, slipping off the table and putting on a shirt.

You were left alone in the room with James. “You really are good with kids.”

James shrugged.

“Maybe there’s nothing so bad about you after all. I wondered why Jack dumped you with me; he usually gives me cursed men and witches. The undead, even.” You got no reaction. “You’re not any of those things, so why would he leave you with me?”

“I’m not wanted.”

“You are here.” You gestured at a space outside the cabin. “The crew likes you well enough. Especially the boys. You look after them.”

“Would that I had my own.”

“Your own?” You briefly wondered if he had children.

“In the navy. My last voyage, we sailed right into a hurricane. I was… one of the few survivors.”

“I’m sorry. There’s nothing you can do about a hurricane.”

“You can avoid sailing into it.” He sounded miserable, voice thick with emotion.

Could it be? You had a sinking suspicion you knew who the man was. That doesn’t matter now, you reminded yourself. He’s part of my crew, and he hasn’t shown any signs of treachery or ill-will. “Every man has moments they’re not proud of,” you said. He nodded tensely, and you took it as a sign to change the subject.

“I’ve been meaning to ask,” he began, a few minutes later. “You dress like a man, but you seem more like a woman, if you don’t mind my saying.” He looked thoroughly embarrassed, but he continued. “I tried to discern, earlier, but…. What did you mean by ‘Captain will suffice’?”

“I meant that I don’t identify with either of those things. I’m not a man, nor am I a woman.” You looked him in the eye, gauging his reaction.

He looked surprised, but didn’t remark, only nodding. You left it at that, and your conversation went in other directions.

~~~~~~~

The thundering of canons roared across the deck. Pieces of the ship flew off where you were hit, wooden splinters the length of your arm flying in all directions. You were glad to have led your crew in gunnery drills; they might have died without them. You survaid the deck, watching each gunning team load and fire. Smoke clogged the air between ships, but you still had a good view of your opponent.

A Spanish brig had appeared on the horizon not hours before, a pirate vessel from the Cuban area. You didn’t like fighting other pirates; firstly, it was a better cause to fight the navy; and secondly, pirates were ruthless in a way others were not. You never knew what tricks pirates might use on you, even as a pirate yourself. There was always some curse or new technology that you found yourself facing, putting you at a disadvantage. You didn’t have the luxury of magic aboard your vessel.

The sails of the ship were a dramatic red, and a dark squid adorned their pirate flag. The ship was beautifully painted, but that was all you could say for it. There was an air of wealth about it that had probably served it well in Spain, though perhaps less well in the Caribbean. Though it might look intimidating and well-styled to a merchantman, it was only a brig, and was thus lightly armed. Brigs were common pirating vessels, but not in the Caribbean. The New World demanded tougher stock.

You had the advantage of guns, but no fight was to be downplayed. You could have had all the guns in the world, but you’d still be careful about every move you made. There was always room for something to go wrong.

A cannonball hit the railing next to you, destroying it in a shower of wood. Stop blowing holes in my ship! You hated having to make repairs, but you’d have to, in this case. When you looked out at the deck again, you were glad to see that none of your crew seemed seriously injured. A few had shrapnel stuck in various places, but nobody looked to have stomach or head wounds.

You boarded the Spanish ship not long after. They’d been ambitious to fight you, and by the look of their rich clothes and shimmering jewelry, they had money. You smiled to yourself through the fighting. You still had to win the deck fight, but you were confident that you would. Then, it would be smooth sailing with a ship loaded down with gold.

The glint of light on metal shook you from your thoughts, and you raised your sword to block a blow from your side. After dispatching your attacker, you took a look around. It was hard to tell your men from theirs, but you caught a glimpse of James fending off two adversaries. You might have gone to help him, but you were soon caught up in a fight of your own.

The deck fight didn’t take long; twenty minutes at most. With the fight won, you ordered that the other crew be split between the brigs of both ships for the time being. You wouldn’t keep them as prisoners forever, but you needed to subjugate them for the moment. You met the opposing captain on the deck of his ship.

The captain looked up at you from his knees, his eyes screaming malice. Lace spilled from the sleeves and collar of his coat, which were the same wine red as his sails. A gold earring hung from one ear, and colored powders adorned his face. You found him almost comical- the stereotype of a wealthy pirate. It was so unrealistic, you couldn’t believe your eyes. Obviously, the man hadn’t known the true lifestyle going in.

Someone had to remove his sword belt and give it to you; he wouldn’t do it himself. You were half tempted to pitch him overboard for his arrogance. It wasn’t like he had much to be proud of. Sure, he had a beautiful ship, but it’d hardly lasted a half hour against your assault. Your boarding party had made short work of his crew. Those that were left were easily subdued, and you ordered that they be taken to the brigs of both ships.

You put your first mate in charge of the other ship. You were proud to have a little fleet, no matter how small. The thought made you smile. Eventually, you had the captain sent away too, though you’d have to speak with him later. Just the notion of having to talk with the man dampened your mood. He probably wasn’t the most respectful type.

Exhaustion took over, not letting you dwell on it. The fight had been fast, but hard, and you were ready for a moment of rest. You climbed the stairs to the helm and sat down by it, barely registering the person sitting next to you. You were asleep within minutes.

When you woke, you found your head resting on someone’s shoulder. You sat up to find James next to you, an amused smile on his face.

“I was wondering when you’d wake up,” he teased. “You slept for a while.”

You blushed, not quite sure how to respond. “Did I wake you up?” “No, don’t worry. I’ve only been awake a few minutes.”

You couldn’t tell if he was speaking the truth, but you didn’t press, instead changing the subject. “Are you alright? I hardly saw you during the fight.”

“I’m fine. And you?”

“Right as rain.”

“Your men are enjoying the victory.”

“Are you?” You asked. “You’re one of them.”

James stared a moment before answering, turning his away from you and towards the sea. “It’s been a long time since I’ve had a victory over a ship. Months. Fighting pirates is an odd thing, when you’re one of them. Still, it reminds me of… simpler times.” His lips turned down in a tight frown.

You laid a hand on his arm. “Don’t dwell on it too much. Come with me, will you? I have a captain to talk to, and I don’t think he’s going to make for amiable conversation.”

You made your way down to the brig. The captain and his mates were being held in one cell together, the rest of their crew being split between cells. You treated them with every hospitality you could give them, helping treat their wounded and providing them with food and water. This, however, was too little to keep their captain satisfied. Your men had informed you that the captain mocked you for not talking to him. He called it cowardice, apparently. It mattered little and less to you, but you had to speak with him at one point or another. It was only courteous.

You gave a nod to one of your guards, and the cell door swung open. The captain was ushered out, unshackled. He posed no threat as a single man; even if he tried to attack you, you could easily overpower him. After all, he didn’t have a sword.

“So, you finally deem me worthy of your attention,” he drawled. His accent was exaggerated enough to make you roll your eyes. He spat, though he had enough sense not to spit towards you. Still, the insult was clear.

“I attend to my own men before I see to anyone else’s. With my crew taken care of, you have all my attention.” You could already tell the conversation would be riddled with insults, though none of them would be clever.

“Seeing to your men is admirable,” said the captain, “though I can’t tell with you: you dress like a man, but there’s a little woman to you, too.” He smirked.

“They are a captain and you will call them such.” James stopped dead in his tracks, reaching out to grab the man’s arm. Though the captain tried to pull away, James’ grip was iron. “Remember your place.”

Fear flashed across the captain’s face, but only for a moment. “I’m shocked to hear you say that, Commodore. After all, your place has changed so much.”

Your hand flashed out, striking the man hard across the face.

“How dare you?” he screeched. “I am a captain!”

“Not anymore,” you said dryly. “You’re nothing more than I make of you, and now I’m considering turning you into mincemeat. You might consider being more careful with your words. I would have asked for your name, but I don’t think you’re worth knowing. Perhaps more time in the brig will see to your behavior.”

The Spaniard protested the entire way, but he was quickly shut in with his officers again, and you set a brisk pace back to your cabin. James followed you, and you let him. Once you got to your cabin, you slumped into a chair. You were thoroughly disgusted by your encounter, but you knew it meant nothing. The man was arrogant, that was all. And James was the infamous Commodore that hunted pirates for years.

That didn’t matter now, either. James was kind to you, and he was good with the crew. His past was just that- his past.

“You didn’t have to defend me.” You filled a cup with brandy. “I could’ve done it myself.”

“You shouldn’t have to. And I owe you. You were right, in the surgeon’s cabin; I’m wanted here. I owe you for that, at least. You kept me when nobody else would.”

“Don’t feel like you owe me anything.”

He sucked in a breath. “And I’m sorry for not telling you who I was.”

“I understand,” you said. “It doesn’t make me trust you any less, and it doesn’t make you any less wanted. I can look beyond a man’s past.” You rose from your seat, putting a firm hand on his shoulder.

“I think I’ll stay with you, if you’ll have me.”

You were surprised, at first, that he didn’t want to return to his old life. That he didn’t have any ambitions to be the man he used to be. He doesn’t want power, you reminded yourself. He wants company. “Of course.“

“Thank you.” Hesitantly, he grabbed your hand, lifting it to place a soft kiss to your knuckles.

For a moment, neither of you moved. Then, cupping his cheeks, you kissed him softly, embarrassed that you would even think of kissing him, let alone do it. He returned the favor sweetly. He kissed you a bit harder, making you squeak.

“Perhaps you’re just as much of a rascal as I initially thought,” you told him, smiling.

“Maybe I am.” He wore an infuriating smirk.

You pushed him away playfully, only to pull him right back. “If you were still wondering, James, you’re wanted here. Thoroughly.”

#potc #pirates #pirate #pirates of the caribbean #James Norrington #norrington #norrington x reader #commodore norrington #requests #request #fic #drabble #drabbles #writing #x reader

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takerfoxx · 4 years ago

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Blood Island, Chapter 5

A gift given freely is not free. Only pay the price you know in advance.

Nuriel left the basket where it lay on the steps. Morning had brought both hunger and thirst in great quantities, but she was not so desperate as to trust the red-eyed monster’s benevolence.

She wasn’t exactly sure what she was expecting from the deck of the ship, but she was surprised by how little she found. At a cursory glance one might be forgiven for not realizing that a war had taken place at all. Here and there she found a dark feather stuck in the timbers or a dark stain of blood, but there were no mangled corpses, no shattered bones or shredded organs. Nuriel made her way to the rail and peeked over. Even the sand looked like it had been cleaned and swept.

Interesting.

Holding her aching stomach with one hand, Nuriel then turned her attention to the place that had started the whole mess. The captain’s quarters were no longer shut tight like she had left them. Rather, one door was lying ajar.

Nuriel considered leaving it like that. The last time she had poked around that place had proven to be a very bad idea. For all she knew a straggler of that flesh-hungry flock had taken up shelter in there.

But then, just leaving it there could be just as dangerous. Besides, given what a thorough job those snarling creatures had done chasing them off, she truly doubted any were left.

With a sigh, she limped her way over.

The musky scent of the bird’s nest hit her before she even reached the door. Nuriel wrinkled her nose and frowned. Yes, the stench was still there, but not nearly as bad as it had been the other day. In fact, it smelled much weaker. Huh.

Nuriel edged the loose door open with her foot and peeked inside. A moment later she opened it all the way.

The nest was gone. She hadn’t really gotten much of a good look at it the day before due to having all of her attention taken up by a face full of awful, but she did remember a disgusting mess of twigs, bones, and broken furniture, all of it streaked with droppings.

But now it was all gone. The mess had been cleared out, the destroyed furniture removed, and even the droppings had been cleared away, leaving a wide open space. It wasn’t exactly homey, but it wasn’t a nightmare either.

So, during what fitful moments of sleep she had managed to capture, her supposed “friend” had not only snuck a breakfast into the hold for her to find, but also thoroughly cleaned the place up, removing all trace that the birds had ever been there at all.

That scared her even more than the thought of sharing the island with a host of monsters.

All of the other monsters she had encountered were just monsters of the normal kind. They were dangerous and pitiless and hungry and spiteful, but in the end they were just animals, and if she managed to learn their habits then she could probably coexist quite peacefully with them, assuming that she didn’t upset anything like those birds again. But the red-eyed monster was completely different. It was intelligent. It had thoughts and feelings like a person. It had somehow wiped out an entire flock of flesh-eaters in a matter of minutes and cleaned up the evidence. It was leaving her notes. It was leaving her gifts. There was someone else on the island, and they knew that she was there. They had fixated on her.

There was nothing in the world more dangerous than the attention of another person.

Indifference was safe. To be ignored was to be given a chance. But to have a being of power pay attention to her was the worst possible scenario, especially when it was someone that she didn’t know anything about. Were they even a person at all? It was clear that they were probably something more than human.

Nuriel had never had much to do with the unseen world beyond her own. Oh, she was certain that it existed in one form or another, but so long as it was content to ignore her then she was going to extend the same courtesy. And if God was how the priests and reverends described him, then she was quite certain that he was more occupied with the comings and goings of kings, popes, and heroes to pay much attention to a lonesome girl scraping a living at the bottom of the barrel.

But that strategy was predicated on mutual disinterest. If there were gods, devils, ghosts, angels, fairies, and the rest of their otherworldly kin out there, then she was going to respect their privacy and stay out of their way.

But now she had attracted the attention of this one.

This wasn’t good.

…

Nuriel threw the whole basket of fruit over the side of the ship.

It was a rash decision, but she wasn’t going to accept the gift of some unknown devil. After all, wasn’t that what all the stories warned of, about not taking gifts of food from fairies, spirits, and other principalities? Just taking a single bite could cost Nuriel her soul!

However, as she stood panting at the port staring down at where all the fruit lay in the sand below, Nuriel came to realize two unfortunate drawbacks from her hastiness.

First, the monster would likely return, and it would see how its gift had been rejected.

Second, she was still famished. She had eaten nothing other than a few coconuts and those fruits taken from the monkeys, and in that time she had done a great deal of walking, running, and being terrified for her life. If she didn’t get something to eat soon, then it wouldn’t matter if she angered the red-eyed monster or not.

Nuriel closed her eyes and mentally counted down from ten. Then she did it again. She couldn’t afford to panic. Now was her most dangerous hour, and what she did next could save or damn her. She needed a plan.

Nuriel looked over to the captain’s quarters again. She hadn’t taken more than a cursory glance before, just enough to confirm that it had been cleaned out. Maybe something had been left behind, something she could use.

Keeping the doors wide open, Nuriel went back inside. The furniture was all gone, though given the sort of condition it had been in, that was probably for the best. The bunk was still set in the wall, sans mattress. And the windows were all smashed in, no doubt by the birds themselves to allow for access, which pretty much eliminated the room as a viable place for her to live unless she managed to find a way to board them up.

Regardless, there didn’t seem to be anything of value left. Seeing how she had yet to see any corpses, the surviving members of the crew had probably already taken everything that would be of use and abandoned the ship, probably only to meet some other fate deeper inland.

Or maybe they were still out there. Maybe she wasn’t alone on the island after all.

Nuriel wasn’t sure how she felt about that. After all, having actual grown men about would increase her chances of survival, sure, but that was presuming that they took her in no questions asked. Plus, a bunch of sailors marooned on a deadly island would no doubt be quick to find use for a young girl that had suddenly shown up in their midst, use that wasn’t all that preferable to what the monsters would do to her.

As the thought sent shivers down her spine, Nuriel found herself hoping that they were dead.

Of course, it was still possible that this was the red-eyed monster’s ship. Maybe after it had been run aground, it had found no further use for the crew and ate them. Now that was a cheery thought.

Sighing, Nuriel turned toward the door.

Then she paused. There was something there, something she had missed during her cursory scan.

It was a small wayfarer’s chest, only a foot in length and a third of that in height. It was old, its edges cracked and faded and metal bolts black with corrosion. But it was on one piece.

Nuriel swallowed. Another “gift,” one that required her to manually open it to see what was inside. Anything could pop out at her, like a serpent or some kind of explosive. She carefully cracked the lid open and looked inside.

Then the breath caught in her throat.

It was a sailor’s chest, filled with any number of useful tools. There was a small bronze spyglass, a compass, a large hunting knife, a small mallet, several spools of flax thread, a ticking pocket watch, and a small glass flask filled with something orange.

This was a far greater gift than the fruit had been. In here was just about everything she needed to survive.

But should she take it? She wasn’t sure. The fruit was one thing. Everyone agreed that food offered by otherworldly beings was not to be touched. This, however, was clearly of all human make, and had probably been left in the ship by the crew. More than likely her red-eyed friend had simply left it for her to find when it had cleared out the captain’s quarters. That ought to be all right, wouldn’t it?

Nuriel bit her lip. Her hands were shaking. Yes. Yes, this at least she should make use of. She would be foolish not to. After all, they were merely tools. And her soul would do her no good if she were dead.

That decided, Nuriel pillaged the chest.

…

The lagoon was unoccupied, save for the local herons wading around in the shallows. They stared at Nuriel as she stumbled over but didn’t retreat. That was fine. So long as they didn’t follow their nastier cousins’ example and start stabbing at her with those big, long beaks of theirs, then they were going to get along just fine.

As Nuriel stepped into the water, she noticed several quick movements beneath the surface. Fish. There was fish in the lagoon. That was what drew the herons. Now, there was a useful bit of information. Man did not live on fruit alone, or however the phrase went.

But that was something to be left for later. Nuriel headed for the falls, cupped her hands, thrust them beneath the curtain, and drank.

She was so thirsty that she expected to just drink and drink until her stomach burst at the seams, but the moment her throat was wetted, nausea twisted up from within her, doubling her over as she heaved.

There was little in her stomach to hurl back out, but by God it was going to try anyway, so Nuriel could do little more than remain bent over, her head partially in the waterfall’s spray, heaving nothing into the lagoon. She kept going and going until something spicy and disgusting came up. She spat it out and finally managed to straighten up.

The waterfall was splashing over her shoulder, splattering her face and soaking her hair. That was good. It hid the mess her face was. She sniffled, stepped out from the falls, and wiped away her blotchy eyes and stuffy nose.

Then she noticed the herons standing around, staring at her. Nuriel scowled at them. The hell were they looking at?

At least the sick feeling had left her. Sighing, Nuriel held her hands out and tried again.

Once her thirst had been quenched, she waded out from the lagoon and sat down on a rock in the shade of the willow trees.

Well, she had fresh water at least, and she had cleaned up a little. But she still needed food, oh she needed food. Hunger gnawed at her stomach, an ever-growing hole that demanded to be filled.

She…she could still go back and gather the fruits she had thrown out. They probably were safe, and it would do her no good to let them go to waste just to make a point.

No! That was how they got you! She had to remain strong! Besides, the island was probably full of food. She just needed to go find it.

As Nuriel sat there musing, she heard something chirp.

It sounded like a bird…and yet it didn’t. There was a bit of a growl to it, like the squeak of a rat. And it was near.

Nuriel leapt to her feet, only to instantly regret it when the cuts in her stomach flared up. Wincing, she pushed the pain away and looked.

There was a…thing nearby. It was about the size of a turkey but it looked more like a lizard, standing on two long, skinny legs in the sand, with a stiff tail that stuck of its back and two tiny arms clutched tight to its chest. Its neck was long and curving, and its head small and elongated, with tiny sharp teeth protruding from its grey snout. That being said, its body wasn’t scaly like most of the monsters she had seen, but was covered with a thin coat of fuzzy down of grey striped with black, with a red crest around the head.

The chirper seemed to be part lizard and part bird, combining aspects of both the lizardlike animals she had seen and the vicious birds that had attacked her. And Nuriel, who now deeply mistrusted anything with feathers, didn’t care for it at all.

The chirper gazed up at her, its large, yellow eyes wide and curious. It chirped again and hopped forward, its tiny claws kicking up sand.

Nuriel picked up a rock and threw it.

The chirper immediately scampered away, but stopped once it was out of throwing range. It turned to stare at her again.

What’s it thinking? Nuriel wondered. Was it simply curious about this strange, fleshy new animal? Or was it wondering if she was good to eat?

Nuriel didn’t feel like waiting to find out.

She charged, yelling and waving her hands about like a madwoman.

This finally seemed to convince the bird/lizard that the odd pink stranger wasn’t worth investigating, and it ran off.

Nuriel warily eyed it as it fled across the beach. She wouldn’t feel comfortable until it had left completely, and even then she didn’t trust it to not start shadowing her steps, waiting for the opportunity to dart it and see how she tasted.

Then, to her horror, she heard another chirp, one that hadn’t come from the chirper. This was followed by another, and then another, and then another.

A whole flock of the things came running across the beach to greet their comrade. Nuriel hastily bolted behind a large tree, silently praying that the one she had driven off wouldn’t inform the others that something soft and potentially tasty was mucking about.

Trembling, she peeked out. There had to be at least twenty of the little squeaking things. Maybe even thirty. Forty? It was hard to tell, more kept running out of the shadows. They were all gathered in a loose circle, chittering and squeaking at one another, some of them bouncing up and down while others frantically bobbed their heads. They were clearly communicating…something.

And that something was probably news of an easy meal, a strange, hairless monkey with soft pink skin.

Nuriel slid St. George from his sheath.

However, the chirpers didn’t look toward her. Rather, they were moving away from Nuriel’s hiding spot, back toward the Carmilla’s Fancy. Well, good! Let them! If they wanted the boat, they were more than welcome to it! Let them deal with the red-eyed monster!

Run. Now. While they’re distracted.

It would be the smart thing. Nothing was ever gained by following potential danger, only from moving away from it. She had gotten a lucky break. She would be a fool to waste it.

Forget it, girl, Father’s husky voice growled. Let it be.

Nodding, Nuriel stood up and started to move away from the boat. She could find some other means of shelter.

Then she stopped. She stopped and looked back over her shoulder, to where the chirpers were excitedly rushing after…something.

Something that she kind of wanted to know about.

Damn your curiosity, girl! It’ll get you killed!

True, true. But still…

Don’t do it, Nuriel. Just go.

Nuriel did not go. In fact she found herself turning back around. From she started moving the opposite direction that she ought to be going, back towards the boat, back to see what the chirpers were up to.

Suit yourself, girl. But don’t come crying to me when you show up here in Hell.

Nuriel followed the tiny, birdlike tracks in the sand and the sound of the chirps. It didn’t take long to catch up to the flock. The chirpers had all gathered beneath the Carmilla’s Fancy and were fast at work.

However, as she drew near Nuriel came to realize that they had no interest in the ship itself. Rather, the reason for their excitement was what lay below, in the sand.

The basket of fruit Nuriel had hurled over the side was still there, and the chirpers were busy dislodging all the fruit from the depressions they had made in the sand. Once they had gotten all the pieces loose, they pushed against them with their long hands, rolling them across the beach. Each piece of fruit had anywhere from three to six chirpers working together to move them along.

Well now. That was…strange.

Nuriel started to relax a little. Maybe the chirpers were fruit eaters? If so, then she had nothing to worry about.

Maybe.

Still, why were they pushing the fruit along instead of cutting them open and eating them where they found them? Maybe they had a nest nearby, with little baby chirpers to feed?

Now even more curious, Nuriel continued to follow the flock, maintaining a healthy distance while keeping them in sight. They led on a winding path of sand, one that wound between several hills that looked to be a high tide away from becoming islands, until they were moving around the cliffs.

As they rounded a corner, Nuriel came into another bit of good luck. The cliffs opened into a large grassy alcove, one that contained several gnarled trees that bore the same lumpy red fruit that the red-eyed monster had included in her fruit basket.

Nuriel almost wept with joy. A reliable food source, one that wasn’t guarded by territorial monkeys! All right, maybe she wasn’t doomed after all.

Unfortunately, there were other creatures about. She saw several other chirpers emerge from the grass, all of them pushing more of the red fruits along.

Hmmm, that could be a problem. If they fed on fruit, then they might object to her taking a few pieces for herself. Still, seeing how they weren’t sticking around to feast, it could be that they just visited the grove to grab a few choice pieces and bring them back to their nest. Maybe she could snatch a few bits when they were done.

The new fruit-pushing chirpers joined the ones she had been following, and they continue on, a bizarre procession of bird/lizard creatures, just rolling large pieces of fruit across a beach. If her life wasn’t still in mortal danger Nuriel might have found the sight hilarious.

The fruit grove was a lucky find, but Nuriel continued to shadow the flock. Maybe if she found out where the nest was, she could make sure to avoid it.

The flock rounded another corner of the cliff, and suddenly Nuriel found herself looking at a slope, one that led all the way back to the top.

And the chirpers continued on, now pushing the fruit up the slope.

Well. Damn. The cliff wasn’t nearly as high around here, and the slope wasn’t exactly all that steep, but the chirpers were still very small, and some of the fruits were larger than they were. Still they endeavored on, taking it slow and working together to get all the pieces up the slope. It was the damnedest thing Nuriel had ever seen, and there were now a lot of competition for that title.

As the chirpers finally neared the top, Nuriel caught sight of a tree with many low-hanging branches at the top of the cliffs, near the edge that overlooked the sea. She hurried over to the rough wall on the side of the slope and climbed up.

Here, the top of the cliff was covered with what looked like a divided field, one made up of two kinds of grass. One was shorter and greener, while the other was tall, dry, and yellow. The shorter green grass took up about two thirds of the field, while the tall yellow grass held the rest, pressing up against the jungle about half a mile off.

Nuriel hurried over to the tree and climbed up about a third of the length. Pulling out her new spyglass, she took a gander at her surroundings.

There was a herd of animals in the green part of the field, great, humped beasts with greenish-yellow skin and long faces with humped noses. They were big, easily over three times the size of a fully grown horse. Yet they didn’t seem to be aggressive. They were lowing about, lazily grazing. A pair of calves bounded around the adults, hoarsely crying out and chasing each other around. Each one was large enough to Nuriel to ride on.

As for the chirpers, they were almost swallowed up even by the shorter grass, though Nuriel could still track their movements by where the fruit rustled as they were pushed forward. Nuriel watched as the chirpers continued to move their bounty forward, heading toward the tall grass.

And then, right at the edge where the two grasses met, they just…stopped.

The fruit was all pushed together into a pile, one that rose up over the top of the grass. It looked almost like an offering.

The chirpers swarmed over the fruit, and for a moment Nuriel thought that they were finally going to feast. But no, none of them actually bit into the fruit. Instead they scratched at them with the tiny claws on their hands and feet, making them bleed. Red, yellow, green, and clear juice dribbled down the sides of the pile.

And then the chirpers simply vanished, darting away from the pile of wounded fruit to disappear into the grass.

Nuriel still had no idea what was going on, but now she was fascinated. Something was definitely up, and she had to know what it was.

Keeping absolutely still, Nuriel remained sitting in the crux of the tree’s branches, keeping an eye on the pile of fruit. It was then that she noticed that the herd of grazing animals were keeping a healthy distance between themselves and the tall yellow grass.

Except two.

The two calves were heading over to the pile of fruit, no doubt following the smell of the juice. The adults hadn’t noticed that their young had wandered off, and continued their contented grazing.

Nuriel felt a chill sweep down her spine. She was starting to put things together in her head. The pile of fruit wasn’t intended to feed the chirpers’ young, nor was it an offering.

It was bait.

The calves had reached the pile. They nudged the fruit with their snouts, their fat, red tongues coming out to lick the juice. One of them took an investigative bite. Finding it good, they began to eat.

Nuriel climbed a little higher to get a better look. Something was happening. She couldn’t see anything in the tall yellow grass, but she was certain that there was something in it.

Then she saw it. Movement. The tall yellow grass was swaying back and forth. Could it be the wind? No. There was only a gentle breeze, and it was blowing in from the coast, and the tall yellow grass wasn’t bending with it.

Heedless of their peril, the two calves continued to feast.

Suddenly one of the adult beasts lowed loudly in alarm. One of the calves raised its head to blink stupidly at its herd.

Another one of the beasts bellowed, and three of them broke off from the rest of the herd, rushing over to the calves, who continued to just stare at them. But Nuriel wasn’t focused on them. She was watching the tall yellow grass.

Despite this, when the attack came, it came so suddenly that Nuriel almost dropped out of the tree in surprise.

A high-pitched shriek filled the air. The calves leapt in response, but it was too late. Something hit them, something that was the same dry yellow as the tall grass.

Nuriel watched in morbid fascination as the predators swarmed over the two poor calves. It was hard to figure out how many of them there were, or what they even looked like, but they weren’t chirpers, that much was for certain. They darted in and out, striking again and again, until the calves’ greenish-yellow skin became streaked with red, their hides bleeding as readily as the fruit had.

The charging adults came to a stop. The calves screamed for help, but their parents didn’t answer. They could already tell that it was too late.

One of the calves tried to push itself out of the attack only to succumb to its wounds. With one final scream it collapsed. As it did, one of the predators climbed onto its back, and Nuriel was finally able to get a good look.

It was yet another bird monster, though this one had more in common with the chirpers than it did with the actual birds that had attacked her the previous night: same bullet-shaped body, same stiff tail, same S-curved neck, same nimble claws instead of wings, and same long head ending in a toothy alligator snout rather than a beak. However, it was much, much bigger, standing nearly the same height as a fully grown man, and longer than two horses from snout to the tip of its tail. And proportion-wise, it was much thicker than the chirpers: more heavily muscled legs, longer claws, bigger neck, and bigger head. Its body was covered in a short coat of pale yellow feathers with black stripes, and though she couldn’t really make out its eyes even with the spyglass, they seemed to have a distinctly golden hue.

But there was something else special about it, something she could just barely make out. Nuriel focused the spyglass on the creature’s feet, which were digging into the fallen calf’s back. They also bent forward like a chicken’s, though obvious were much more densely muscled. But while the tips of the toes ended in sharp, dragonlike claws as expected, each foot had a special claw on the middle toe, one that was much larger than the others, curving up like a scythe.

As Nuriel watched, the creature leaned forward to grip with its hands, and it began scraping its feet across the calf’s back, its scythe-claws slicing through the hide like a butcher’s knife.

Nuriel swallowed. Butchers. Yes, that was a good name for it.

Both of the calves had mercifully expired, and the butchers set to work, methodically slicing off chunks of meat and gulping them down. Now that the killing had ended and the feeding began, Nuriel was able to get a better count of the things. There seemed to be around six…no, eight. There was eight. Five of them were about the same size as the one she had seen perched on the calf’s back, but three others were much smaller, probably young juveniles.

Despite the savagery of the kill, there did seem to be an odd orderliness about how they fed. The adults went first, slicing off great bloody chunks and gulping them down. But before the carcasses were even done, they moved back, allowing the juveniles to move in. They weren’t as precise as the adults with their slicing, but they made up for it with enthusiasm. Somehow two of them ended up with their jaws clamped down on either side of the same strip of meat, and rather than let go, they began to fight over it, tugging back fiercely while trying to jerk it free. Irritated, one of the adults walked over and swatted one of the fighting juveniles, making it release its end.

Further down the field, the adult grass-eaters looked on as their young were devoured. Then they slowly turned to walk back to the herd, writing the two calves off for their foolishness.

The butchers fed well but fed quickly, filling their bellies. When it seemed as if they had all eaten their fill, three of the adults moved forward. It was then that Nuriel noted that these three were different from the others, in that each of their snouts had a bright red dot on the end, and the pattern of black stripes was more wavy. They each cut off several slices of meat and lifted them with their mouths, but they didn’t eat them. Their prizes now carefully held, the whole pack left, disappearing quickly into the tall yellow grass, leaving the bloody carcasses behind.

When they were gone, the chirpers reappeared.

They seemed to come out of nowhere, swarming over the bloody bones, feasting on what bits of flesh that the butchers had left behind. As they did, Nuriel came to understand the full significance of what she had just seen.

Even with their numbers, the chirpers were obviously too small and weak to take down one of the larger animals. But somewhere and somehow, they had learned to get around that, to use the fruit to lure dumber animals away from the herd and nearer to the butchers’ hunting grounds, and in return the butchers would leave them the scraps. How such a relationship had formed, and how the chirpers had even learned to do such a thing, Nuriel couldn’t begin to guess, but she applauded the tiny creatures for their ingenuity.

As for herself, Nuriel’s own curiosity had taught her two very important things. First, the location of a fruit grove, one where she could harvest food on her own.

The second was even more important: stay well away from long grass.

At any rate, Nuriel had seen enough, and with the chirpers busy with their own feast, the grove was unattended. She quietly slipped down from the branches of the tree and headed back down the slope. As she ran, an idea was starting to form in her head, an idea given to her by the chirpers. They were tiny, defenseless creatures in a world of monsters several times their height, and yet they had learned to use what they had available to gain an advantage with no risk to themselves.

Maybe she could do the same.

…

The sun was finally setting. Nuriel had survived another day.

And not only had she survived, she now had a mission. She was going to catch her “friend” in the act.

She was positioned on top of a small, sheer-sided hill that sat upon one of the many tiny islands that dotted the main island’s outskirts. The top of the hill was covered with thick grass, and she was lying on her side, watching the Carmilla’s Fancy through her new spyglass.

It wasn’t exactly comfortable. Her belly was still healing, and lying flat upon it hurt too much, hence why she was on her side instead, which still ached whenever she shifted her weight. Thankfully the night was warm and the sky clear. If it were to start raining again then she might as well just throw herself into the possession of the red-eyed monster.

The Carmilla’s Fancy sat empty and abandoned. Nuriel had no idea how long it would take for the red-eyed monster to return, but she knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that it would be back. She just had to remain alert and be ready when it arrived.

Nuriel checked the clifftops. She caught sight of a couple of those dome-headed assholes knocking their heads together like territorial mountain goats, but not much else. Presumably most of the monsters lived further in.

The night insects had already started to sing. Good. If they stopped, it was a sure indicator that her visitor had arrived.

Then, somewhere far off but not far off enough for her comfort, the Dragon roared.

Nuriel winced. Of all of the island’s mysteries, that was one that she hoped to never uncover. Let it reign over its realm however it saw fit. She was content to stay on the outskirts, well away from its jaws.

It was getting darker, but the sun had not fully set. Nuriel shifted her weight, carefully scratched her stomach in between the cuts, and settled herself down.

Time passed. The sun dipped lower.

Nuriel yawned. Damn it. Her sleep the previous night had been anything but complete, and now that she was lying still on soft grass, it was really catching up to her.

She shook her head. No, she couldn’t afford to doze off. She needed to stay awake and aware.

But the night was so warm, and the grass so soft…

Blinking, she reached up and gave her ravaged ear a squeeze.

The sharp pain surged through her, chasing away any thought of sleep. She winced, but hey, it had done the trick.

Then the insects stopped singing.

Nuriel held her breath. She looked this way and that, and then hurriedly snapped her spyglass back into focus.

The deck of the Carmilla’s Fancy was still empty.

Nuriel licked her dry lips. Come on, where was it? It was near. She could practically feel it. Every hair on her body was on edge, her skin prickled with goosebumps despite the warmth of the night.

She checked the cliffs in hopes of seeing it climb down. No, nothing. The only thing moving were the leaves of whatever plants were tough enough to take root in the crevices along the stone wall.

The beaches were also empty. There was…wait! Something was moving, something big was striding across the sands near the lagoon and…no, wait, damn it. It was just a heron.

Nuriel’s face twisted up with frustration. Where the hell was it? It had to be close. It was the right place, the right time of night, the right everything! Wasn’t it at least curious to see if she had left a note in return?

Then, as she swept her gaze over the brig’s deck for what felt like the hundredth time, she heard a feminine sigh of exasperation, coming from directly behind her.

Nuriel gasped and spun around. This proved to be a poor decision, as the sudden movement sent lances of pain across her stomach, causing her to double over. She pushed it from her mind and forced herself to look.

There was nothing there.

The sound of Nuriel’s heartbeat pounded away loudly in her ears. She had heard it, hadn’t she? She was sure of it! It had been right behind her?

But now there was nothing there at all.

As Nuriel surveyed the beach, she then heard what sounded very much like a young girl’s giggle, coming from somewhere close by.

Nuriel came very close to pissing her own trousers.

Where was it? It was near, It had to be! It was near, and…

…it knew where she was.

Nuriel suddenly felt very exposed. Not that the Santa Camarilla would have provided much in the way of shelter should the red-eyed monster decide to come for her, but it had to be better than where she was!

Nuriel slowly sat up straight and listened. The insects still weren’t singing, nor were there any animals calling out. It was still there.

Somewhere.

Lifting her spyglass back to her eye, she frantically searched the shadows, looking for any glint of red.

Then her spyglass slipped through her fingers as she clapped both hands over her mouth to keep from crying out.

There was someone standing on the deck of the ship.

It was again too dark for her to make out any features, but there was undoubtedly a woman there, over by the remains of the mast. Nuriel snatched up her spyglass, but her fingers were shaking so badly that it fumbled in her grasp and fell back into the grass. Mentally cursing, she grabbed it with both hands and brought it up to her eye.

The deck was empty again. There was no one there.

Nuriel let out a moan of despair. No, no, no, no! It had been right there! She had been looking right at it! Where did it go?

It knew you were there. You only saw it because it let you.

As Nuriel frantically searched every square foot of her surroundings, she felt her gut twist and sour. Despite all of her careful preparations, she had been found out, and easily at that.

She ought to run. She ought to run…where? She was exposed, out in the open, and if it wanted to run her down it could do so effortlessly. Hell, it probably had been standing right behind her! That was that sigh and laugh were all about. It had found her quite easily and thought that her attempts to expose it were amusing! And it somehow then crossed the distance between the hill and the ship in mere seconds just so she could see it!

Even if she did run, where would she go? If she went too far, she risked running into the various night predators that roamed the island. The birds could find her again. Maybe even ghosts. After everything that had happened, she would not be surprised to find that the island truly was haunted! Hell, the red-eyed monster probably was some kind of dead, maybe the soul of one of the long-dead natives, or perhaps someone from the Santa Camarilla. That would explain why it was hanging around the ship!

Tears welled up in her eyes. Sniffing, she wiped them away with the back of her wrist. She hated feeling trapped. Being all alone on an island of monsters was one thing, but being trapped was so much worse. She would have rather that she had drowned.

You’re alive, reprimanded the memory of Papa’s voice.

Yes, but-

So stop your whimpering. You’re in trouble, but you’re alive. Every problem has a solution. Figure this one out.

Nodding, she let out a long, shaky breath. Papa was right. Nothing good would come from sitting around crying. Even if she couldn’t flee, she still had to act. She had to do something!

Unfortunately, the only real something was to return to the ship.

But she couldn’t! The red-eyed monster might still be there! It could be waiting for her!

Then, as Nuriel sat torn between possibly walking right into the devil’s lair and complete inaction, the night came back to life.

The insects began to sing again, filling the silence with their song. One of the domeheads showed up on the top of the cliff and started chuffing and grunting as it clawed at the ground for some reason. Night birds called to each other from across the jungle.

Nuriel slowly breathed out. That was as good an indication as any that the red-eyed monster was gone. Not a perfect one, true, but it was as good as she was going to get.

One hand holding onto her spyglass and the other clutching Saint George, Nuriel stood up.

…

If sitting alone on the top of that grassy hill had left Nuriel feeling exposed, then climbing back onto the deck of the Carmilla’s Fancy left her feeling outright naked. Already she had been attacked by that fucking bird, besieged by its friends, and had been visited by ghostly apparition that could apparently cross great distances within the blink of an eye and silence the night with its mere presence.

She pulled herself up from the branch onto the ship, only to wince in regret when it sent a flash of pain across the cuts in her stomach. She shook her head to clear it and tried again, this time more carefully.

The deck just seemed so much unsettling at night. The sky was clear, so there was plenty of moonlight shining down, but that just made the shadows from the masts reach longer. It reminded her of monoliths in a cemetery, monuments to the dead.

Nuriel glanced around. Well, nothing was jumping out at her, which was a welcome change. Still, she kept her steps light as she crossed the deck to inspect the place.

She didn’t have to look long.

Another basket of fruit was waiting for her; the same basket in fact, recovered from where she had thrown it. And from the look of things it had been filled with the same kind of fruit as before, and in the same quantities.

What was more, there was a note lying on top of it.

Nuriel was shaking as she picked it up and held it to the moonlight.

Nice try! it read in the same elegant hand as before. Next to it was a drawing of a girl’s face, one with long dark hair. One eye was winking and her tongue was playfully sticking out of one side of her mouth.

Below it in one corner of the paper was a rough sketch of a boat sitting in a bunch of tree limbs. Across from it in the other corner was a hump, on which a figure was lying on its side, pointing a spyglass at the boat.

The sketches were rough and obviously done quickly, but the fact remained that they had been done, while she had been watching the ship and entirely without her knowledge! The red-eyed monster had taken note of her spying, written out an amusing response complete with illustrations, retrieved the basket where it lay, filled it with fruit, and put both the basket and the note in place, all with her only catching the quickest of glances of it, and that had probably been intentional!

She had no chance of winning against such a foe. This wasn’t like the monkeys or the monsters that inhabited the island, which when all was said and done they were still only animals. This was a demon. Monsters she could handle, but what could one do against a demon?

Sweet Christ, what was she going to do?

#blood island #my writing #original writing #pirates #vampires #dinosaurs

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mamawolfblood · 4 years ago

Text

Though he didn't know it yet Chris Mclean was in for a shocking revelation. One of the campers is not exactly just some rando kid. This camper is his kid and she is out to expose it.

Name : Iris Escalona

Age 16

Eye color green

Caramel skin

Black hair that she keeps in a high ponytail. A Cherokee rose on the left side of the hair tie.

Iris is 5ft 8",135lb

Out fit-White tanktop with the alchemists symbol blue acid washed jean shorts black converses

Iris has a dark sense of humor. She loves horror,pranks,is resourceful. Iris is not above smashing some skulls together. She is not quick to anger but Heather pushes a lot of her buttons.

All her life she just wanted Chris to know she was alive. Her mother never gave the reason why she left. She is the oldest of seven children.

________chapter 3_________

• Chris: Last time on Total Drama Island, twenty-three campers arrived and learned that they'll be spending the next eight weeks at the crusty old summer camp. The campers we're faced with their first challenge, jumping off a cliff into the shark-infested waters. While most campers took the plunge, a few were forced to wear the dreaded chicken hat. At the campfire ceremony, it all came down to two campers, Courtney has experience as a CIT in summer camp, but refused to jump, and Ezekiel managed to tick off every female at the camp with his sexist comments about women, in the end, the first camper voted off Total Drama Island was Ezekiel, proving that homeschooling and reality TV don't mix, who will be voted off this week in this dramatic campfire ceremony yet? Find out tonight on Total... Drama...Island.

Iris woke up early and snuck into the kitchen.

It looked a mess it was four in the morning so she needed something to do.

(Confessionals)

Iris looked into the camra

"Ok so ever since I was ten I wake up at four in the morning. Some nights I don't even sleep. Doctors can't figure out why but hey at least I can do something before the challenge starts."

*Static*

(End of Confessionals)

Iris was almost done cleaning when Chef walked in. "And what are you doing up?" Chef said crossing his arms. "Sorry Chef woke up at four and couldn't go back to sleep. I decided to clean the kitchen to help you out. If you need help cooking I can do that too." She said still scrubbing. "Awe thats real nice of you sweetpea. But I can take it from here go get washed up. The mess hall looks great. " Iris stood up saluting him. He did the same to her and she went to the showers.

(Confessionals)

Chef

That girl is a sweetheart. I haven't met a kid who would just clean without being asked. Her parents raised her right she will make a man happy one day.

*static *

(End of Confessionals)

Iris walked into the mess hall. Chef had a cup of coffe ready for her. "Here you go sweetie thanks again for cleaning the place up." He said making her bluch. "No problem if you need any help you can always ask." She said sitting down. "Why did you clean this dump?! You never do anything nice." Courtney came over before Iris could take on sip of her ainti murder juice. Holding up one finger Iris took a drink. "Ok child now that I had a caffeine shot I can speak. I wake up a four am every day. Why I do not know I just do. Some nights I don't even sleep. As for doing something nice goes. Unlike you I was raised to help someone when I physically can. You were shelter from the world thats why your a spoild brat. Do you want me to spill what it was you did to my brother, or are you going to sit back down like a good girl?" Iris was now glaring at the pampered princess. Courtney like any other teenage girl that doesn't get her way, stomped away with a "Ahh!" I waved her finger at the child.

Chris walked in "alright campers time for your challenge. Both teams will complete one lap around the Island. The team that completes the race first wins. " Trent asked about breakfast. "Oh you will eat after the race. Ready set go!" He laughed as everyone ran.

Iris pov

It was a nice warm up but ,I doubt that this is the actual challenge. When we made it back to the mess hall a buffet was waiting for us. It was so beautiful I wanted to cry. Though something sinister is happening here. This is a set up so I'm not going to eat to much. I saw cranberries the kind you get on Thanksgiving and chowd down. It was refreshing everyone else asked why I wasn't eating anything but Cranberries. "Think about it why would they give us this food. It's a plot for the challenge. Trust me I want to chow down with all of you." I said making them shrug and go back to eating. Courtney was glaring at me. I think about it the guy that asked me the question was Duncan.

(Confessionals)

Iris started laughing.

"Oh she is a treat I will thoroughly enjoy this."

*Static*

(End of Confessionals)

"Hey Duncan can you step outside with me? This won't take long." I said standing up. He shrugged and followed me outside. Once we were out of ear shot I turned to him.

Meanwhile in the mess hall.

Courtney pov

"They have been gone for awhile. I'll go check on them." I said having campers telimg me to leave them be. Iris is a conveying snake you can't ever trust her.

"Hey guys what are yo-Ah!" I walked out to find them making out. I march up to them and pull him away getting in her face. She smirks at me. "Hello Courtney how can I help you?" She chuckles "You can help me by not macking on my teammate you snake." I growled

(Confessionals Duncan, Iris)

Duncan

"If she is a snake and thats her bite. Please bite me some more."

*static*

Iris

"*laughs* oh wow I was right she likes him. This is going to be a fun day for Duncan and me. He is on board with the plan. Obviously he is enjoying this too. *smirks* bey bey second place Courtney"

*Static*

Iris pov

Duncan stood between myself and Courtney crossing his arms. "I think you should run inside. You don't own me there four have no say in my actions." He said wrapping one arm around me. I place my hand on his chest the top of my head under his chin. I was side glancing at her. She growled stomping away. Once she was gone we bust out laughing. He picked me up bridal style carrying me inside. "This is mine no one else can have her." He said sitting me down at my seat we started to feed each other. "Can you two get a room?" Heather complained. "Can you get a new attitude." I said making her gasp.

Once the buffet was cleared Chris came back in. "Everyone ready for the awake athon!" I knew it and they say I'm a snake. "Wait so you had us eat all this food so you can see who will fall asleep first?" Gwen asked "Yes Gwen Yes I did" I laughed "oh that so evil its good." I said "Glad your finding this amusing lose lips" Courtney said "Hey they are open for you too." I wink at her. "Your disgusting " she said following Chris to the pit fire. I sat in Duncan's lap during the challenge to get on princess sunshine's nerves. Its almost night fall I'm about to fall asleep. Duncan puts his hand on my cheek "got to stay awake gorgeous. How can I look into those beautiful eyes if they are closed?" I giggle at the sickeningly sweetness. "Let her fall asleep at least I won't be second place. " Courtney said laughing "oh your second place in everything so shut up. " I said before glares at her.

Its now been twent-four hour mark. Come on stupid bass fall asleep. I thought to myself. It was now Myself, Trent,and Gwen for the Gophers and the Bass only had Courtney and Duncan. Once Chris started to read the history of Canada Courtney, and Trent fell asleep. Leaving Gwen, Duncan and me. "I have to hit the can" Duncan said as the camra crew followed him. Gwen fell asleep I was about to when Chris announced that the Gophers won. I smile before falling flat on my face.

• [The Killer Bass are standing outside of the cabins, stuff are outside due to Eva throwing them because she can't find her MP3 because Heather stole it.]

•

• Eva: [screaming angrily] Where is my MP3 player?! One of you must stolen it, I need my music! No one is going anywhere until I get my MP3 player back! [She angrily throws a book, which almost hits Harold]

•

• Courtney: Okay, whoever took it better give it up now before she destroys the whole camp.

•

• Heather: Hey, guys, wow, this place is a real mess.

•

• Courtney: Someone stole Eva's MP3 player.

•

• Heather: [holds Eva's MP3 player] Who don't mean this to you? [Eva is surprised that Heather found her MP3 player, which Heather actually stole it] I was wondering who it belonged to, I found it by the campfire pit. You must have dropped it.

•

• Eva: Oh, thank you, thank you, thank you!

• Heather: Sure thing. [Leaves. Static buzzing, in the confessional] Turn a team against their own members, easiest trick in the book. (Static buzzing)

• Eva: [smiles sheepishly] So, sorry about the that little misunderstanding. [The Killer Bass glare at Eva] Guess no one stole it after all. Okay, maybe I overreacted a little. [Laughs sheepishly]

Iris and the Gophers watch the marshmallow ceremony of the Killer Bass. It was down to Alpha geek Harold and wack Job Eva. Both looked nervous until Chris gave it to Harold. Wow did not see that one coming. They threw away their strongest team mate. Welp looks like the Gophers have it even easier now.

Chris "you All can get some sleep tonight you all are safe for now. Find out what happens next time on Total Drama Island."

(Have I mention how much I don't like Courtney yet. Well I don't have a great day/evening)

#total drama leshawna #total drama island #romance #duncan #td courtney #oc #chris mclean #total drama #pain

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harryandmolly · 5 years ago

Text

desperado

A/N: a continuation of “she got the moon in her eyes” -- recommend you read that first!

summary: Shawn and Catalina deal with the aftermath of their night together

warnings: Language, NSFW in a big way holy cow (unprotected sex, wrap it before you tap it), dom!Shawn comes out to play

WC: 4.4k

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

The morning is dark and cold when he leaves her bed, her tangled navy hair, her chapped rosy lips. It’s like the day itself is telling him to turn around and get back under her sheets, nicotine stained and perfume scented. The idea of it sets something off in his gut, a sharp tugging leading in the opposite direction of his heavy stride toward his bike.

He slings a leg across and settles in, pulling his helmet on, careful to avoid his still tender black eye. When he checked in her mirror in the early blue light of dawn, it was starting to go a sickly green-ish around the edges. He’s lucky, he guesses, that Catalina took him home last night before this started. He looks a little gross.

He revs the engine, takes one mournful look back at the little craftsman house and sighs, taking off down Greenfield toward his place.

You can’t hear the tinkling bell over the door at Plucky’s Pub, the one meant to signal the arrival of more customers. Catalina doesn’t know why it’s there. But as she’s learned, Plucky’s regulars don’t like change. If the bell was gone, they’d surely notice somehow, the way they notice when Bonnie changes anything -- the price of two fingers of whiskey, the ratty-ass curtains over the south window, even the fucking bar polish they use to clean the damn place.

Catalina doesn’t need the bell, anyway. She can feel it when people walk in, even when the line for the bar is five deep and she can’t see the door. She’s been doing this a long time. Plus, when certain people walk in, you can feel it.

Shawn is the last of his crew through the door. He’s the one they turn to look at. Not even just the straight women -- everyone. He’s just eye-catching. Catalina knows. She understands. He caught her eye, too.

She turns on the block heel of her slingbacks. She doesn’t even want to be tempted to look up at him. It’s been three weeks since she took him home and he left without a word. Things like that just… don’t happen to her.

This one stung. For one thing, she’s not usually the one hosting. She prefers it that way. She can control her exit without the fuss of having to kick someone out. It also means she’s never in the position of having someone leave her to wake up alone.

She didn’t have, like, plans or anything. She wasn’t going to wake up and put on his t-shirt and make him pancakes, for fuck’s sake. That’s so not her style.

It’s the principle of it. He left. He left her. Nobody does that.

Why the fuck did he do that?

She knows it was good. Fuck, she knows it was great. It’s never been like that the first time, not with anyone. She thinks of the way his body stuttered, the groan that sounded like it was coming out of his gut when he came inside her. Her toes tingle thinking about it. She grits her teeth and rocks the cocktail shaker harder in her warm hands.

She does finally turn around because she has to to hand off the drink. It’s admittedly not the best martini she’s ever made. She abused the ice in the shaker for too long, which chips it, which makes it melt faster, which makes it watery, which makes her tip smaller. She grits her teeth, accepting the small bills, tucking them into her bra.

The loud glassy clinking of beer bottles being delivered to a table has her looking up before she can remember to stop. Shawn and his friends are starting with Molsons tonight. Shawn isn’t looking at his bottle as he positions the edge of the cap over the end of the table, slapping the heel of his palm down without flinching.

He’s looking straight at her.

It takes all her self control not to sneer before she turns her gaze down to the next customer. She has to blink a few times not to see his face. She also has to have the poor girl repeat her order three times before her fingers know where to reach to make a gin and tonic.

She used to be good at ignoring his eyes on her all night.

Well, that’s not strictly true. She just used to enjoy them a lot more.

She’s not sure why they’re on her now. The curiosity has been well and thoroughly satisfied. He had her, he left. Yes, that makes him a fucking moron of catastrophic proportions, Catalina knows. But why is he still looking?

Every time she glances up, he’s already watching her expectantly. What exactly is he anticipating? Does he expect to see her bursting into tears at the sight of him, or panting over the idea of fucking him again until he comes over and takes her?

If that’s what he’s waiting for, it’ll be a while.

She’s busy, anyway. She has a cling-on tonight.

A cling-on is a term Bonnie uses for guys that latch onto a hot female bartender and attempt to woo her. Catalina’s very familiar with them. She got a lot more when she started at Plucky’s, when her take-no-prisoners reputation wasn’t yet known. But every so often, some poor sap will stumble in and think if he’s persistent enough, he’ll get in her pants. She has half a mind to let him if it’ll run Shawn out of her rattled brain.

But this particular guy is aggressive. She stopped serving him fifteen minutes ago after he knocked over the drink of a biker chick Catalina once took home, but he’s still here, trying to talk to her every time she delivers a drink down to his end of the bar.

She drops a rum and coke onto a coaster for the woman next to him, who looks sweetly concerned. Catalina winks at her assuringly and turns to head for a group of college guys that have just made their way to the bar after a wait.

Before she can move, she feels a tug on the thin strap of her dress. She whirls around, eyes skimming past the horrified look on the woman’s face before she settles on the bleary-eyed fuckwit who just laid a hand on her without her permission.

Then something weird happens.

Catalina’s history of chucking assholes out of Plucky’s for different varieties of bad behavior is long and storied. She’s hardly ever needed help to do it. When she has, it’s been because the losers have had back up, so Shawn and his friends, the de facto security team, stepped in to even the count.

Catalina knows the situation calls for her angriest face, for her to bark “OUT!” loud enough to embarrass the fucker and get him stumbling out the door. She can do it. She doesn’t need help.

But she looks up. Shawn is watching her carefully, beer bottle halfway to his perfect, pillowy lips. She swallows and blinks at him, and it’s enough for him to come running.

In a few strides, he’s there, hustling around the crowd to get behind the bar. His eyes are dark and solid, his jaw is tight. He’s squaring up, looking ready to scream in this guy’s face, but it’s not what Catalina wants.

Instead, she grabs him by the wrist, pins herself to the wall and drags him in.

Shawn doesn’t take long to respond. He sinks one hand into the soft, sweaty hair clinging to the back of her neck and wraps the other around her hip, nipping hard at her lower lip to get a moan vibrating his whole body.

Some patrons cheer. Bonnie casts them a confused sidelong glance from the other end of the bar as she dumps bourbon into a lowball glass. Shawn’s friends exchange amused looks.

Shawn and Catalina don’t see any of it.

Shawn tips his head, pressing his tongue between her lips with a deep sigh that makes his shoulders drop for the first time in weeks. The hand on her hip works his thumb into her hipbone, pulling the loose skirt of her little dress up with every purposeful stroke. Catalina holds him close, massaging her long fingers against his scalp to make his eyes flutter.

She’s the one that breaks away to breathe first. Her lips are wet, parted with the heaving effort of her breath. She looks up at Shawn, eyes wide, expression unreadable. While he stares down at her, she angles her head to look over his shoulder. Her cling-on looks vaguely disgusted, pitching himself off the counter to amble heavily toward the door.

He watches her mask slide back on when she looks back up at him, clearing her throat.

“Thanks.”

The muscle in Shawn’s jaw pulses. He eases off to let her slide out from around his hulking form. She doesn’t bother looking back at him again.

Catalina’s not the least bit surprised to see him refuse his friends’ invitation to leave with them after closing time while Catalina is refilling bottles and twirling on her toes to “I Wanna Be Your Lover” by Prince -- one of Bonnie’s favorite post closing time clean up jams.

Catalina is dawdling. Bonnie and Shawn have both clocked it. She’s singing along under her breath, rinsing the funnel leisurely as Bonnie locks doors and gathers cash into a bag for the bank.

Wizened Bonnie with her spiky red pixie cut and her toned, tattooed arms shoots Shawn a look before announcing she’s out for the night. Shawn answers it with a nod. Bonnie hits the stereo on the way out.

It’s quiet. The only sounds left in the dark, empty bar are the splashing of booze as Catalina refills handles and the squeaking of her heels on the sticky floor.

Shawn takes a deep, shaky breath. He runs a hand through his hair and drops the last gulp of Johnnie Walker down his throat before standing, shucking off the Dolly Parton leather jacket. He takes his glass and heads for the bar to return it to Catalina.

She looks up briefly from her careful pour of Jim Beam.

“What’re you still doing here?” she murmurs. It’s gentle, not accusatory. It makes Shawn’s lips curl into a smirk.

“Figured I’d stick around in case that creepy fucker comes back.”

Catalina wets her lips and stands, shaking her hair out over her shoulders. She doesn’t look up from her bottle.

“You know I don’t have a problem handling those losers,” she says breezily. Shawn sees right through it.

“Oh, I know. That’s why it was so cute that you used it as a way to get your tongue in my mouth earlier.”

That gets her attention. Her gaze snaps to his. She tilts her chin up defiantly.

“Some guys don’t respond to my pushback unless they think I “belong” to somebody,” she explains unnecessarily, quirking her fingers in air quotes around “belong.”

Shawn nods thoughtfully, twirling his glass in his fingers before he sets it down on the bar and steps around it to hunch beside her.

“But you don’t belong to anybody, baby,” he purrs in her ear, watching with a rush of heat in his veins as goosebumps pour over her sweet, fragrant neck.

“That’s right,” she snarks back, twisting the cap of a bottle. She turns to put the bottle back. On her way to grab another, Shawn hooks an arm around her waist and lifts her to perch on the edge of the bar counter.

He takes his time looking her over as he makes his way between her thighs. With heavy lids, he watches her breathing quicken. He strokes his broad, rough palms down the outsides of her legs. He pauses. Catalina holds her breath, sure she’s getting another bruising kiss. Instead, he steps back and skillfully hooks his fingers under the ankle strap of her slingbacks, slipping them off and dropping them with a clatter.

“Dunno why you wear those to work,” he comments, gently lowering one leg to focus on the other. He plants her foot at the center of his chest and draws his fingertips teasingly up and down the length and breadth of her moonpale leg.

Catalina grips the edge of the bar and stares at him unblinking. He admires the dips and curves and swells and valleys of her well-used leg, slipping his fingers under the sole of her foot to pluck it off his chest and press his thumbs into the sore tendons.

Catalina’s eyes slam shut. The moan that leaves her throat is beyond obscene. It makes Shawn chuckle. He takes his time, working his fingers with varying pressure around the ball of her foot to the arch to her heel and back again. When he’s satisfied, he lifts her other foot and repeats the massage, intricate and detailed and so tender it makes Catalina’s mind swirl.

“I… they make my ass look amazing,” she answers finally, his question almost forgotten.

Shawn looks up from her eggplant-lacquered toes. “Your ass already looks amazing, Leens. You might as well be comfortable while you look so damn good.”

He lowers her foot and stares up at her. Without removing his gaze, he lifts her claw-like hand off the bar and brings it to his lips, pressing a soft kiss over her knuckles.

“You know, you’re allowed to want to be a damsel in distress sometimes. I won’t think any less of you.”

Catalina balks, her insides twisting. “I don’t need you to save me, Shawn.”

Shawn steps closer, dropping her little hand onto his shoulder.

“I know. But it’s ok if you want me to.”

His lips are soft, plump and whiskey-wet. She gasps into them, her knees falling automatically open to welcome him closer. He takes the invitation happily, pulling her hips tight against his torso as he loses himself in the taste of her sweet mouth. She’s immediately needy, dropping her pretense to take as much of him in her hands as she can. She squeezes the bulk of his shoulders, the swell of his biceps, the soft skin of his neck, the curls behind his ears that have him growling into her lips.

She pulls back. He grunts and chases her down, lunging in for another searing kiss. She lets him take it, the wrinkle between her eyes softening as she rocks her hips against his abdomen and gathers him ever closer. Soon, before she can entirely lose her train of thought, she pulls away again, this time to suck on his jaw to pacify him.

Through wet, biting kisses, she pants, “Want to show you… want to thank you…”

Shawn’s intrigued. His stomach flips. He pulls back and holds her face in his hands.

“How are you going to do that?” he coos, cocky and curious.

Catalina inhales and nudges him back enough to slip down to her feet. She turns him, props him up against the bar and lowers to her knees. His head tosses back. He breathes harder in anticipation.

“Remember how hot and tight my throat was for you?” she breathes, her voice already fucked as she unbuckles his belt and skillfully works his jeans open to free his hard cock, “Remember how good and wet I felt when I was sucking you?”

“Jesus, baby,” Shawn hisses. His cock gives a twitch at her words. She smiles and takes it in her soft hand, stroking it firmly. His eyes flutter.

“Want you to fuck my mouth, Shawn,” she tells him, planting a sweet kiss on his tip. His hips shift forward, searching for her.

“Open up then, princess,” he sighs, shooting her a crooked grin that has her squirming.

Catalina, for once in her life, obeys. She lifts her hair over one shoulder and parts her flushed lips, staring up at him. Shawn groans, easing his cock into her willing mouth slowly. He wants her to enjoy this as much as he knows he will, so he doesn’t go shoving in all at once. He rolls his hips gently, letting her adjust, slick him down with her soft tongue. When she gives a short nod, he rocks harder, a little deeper, until he feels her throat restrict around his shaft.

She’s looking up at him like she doesn’t want to miss a second. Her small hands cling to his hips like she’s afraid he’ll bolt if she doesn’t hold on. Fat fucking chance.

Her mouth really is almost as good as her pussy. Or maybe his stupid horny brain just thinks that right now because he hasn’t had her pussy in weeks, even though it’s all he’s been thinking about when he’s alone, his tight fist failing to bring him the same ecstatic feeling. She’s not afraid of what he’s giving her, even when he reaches down to curl his hand around her thick sheet of hair to control the angle of her wet mouth. She seems hungry for him. It makes his toes curl in his boots.

“Your fucking mouth, Jesus fucking Christ,” Shawn pants, shaking his head with a short, overwhelmed burst of laughter. Catalina groans, scooting closer on her knees. The whine that whistles from Shawn’s nose would embarrass him if he weren’t half gone.

“You like this, don’t you, baby? Like the way I fuck your pretty mouth,” he whispers, awed.

She manages to nod, still looking up at him reverently.

Shawn’s fingers curl into his free fist. The hand in her hair eases her back gently until his cock bobs against her bottom lip.

“Don’t wanna come in your mouth,” he grunts, “Need to feel you come on my face first.”

He watches in delight as her thighs tighten under her pretty skirt. He takes her hands, helping her back to her feet.

“How do you want me?” she asks, glancing around like she’s looking for ideas.

Shawn thinks fast on his feet. He grabs a step stool out from under the bar and positions it beside the counter, helping her to stand on top, facing away from him. She looks back over her shoulder when Shawn’s hands lift the skirt of her dress, his thumbs pressing greedily into the smooth skin of her ass.

Catalina’s eyes drift shut. She’s soaked straight through her lacy baby blue thong. Shawn tugs at it teasingly, letting it snap against her lower back.

“C’mon, Shawn,” she hisses impatiently.

Shawn hums from the back of his throat, amused. “Think you’re gonna get what you need by being a brat?”

He pulls at her panties for real now, watching as they hug her close, clinging to her wetness until they drop around her ankles. He steadies her as she steps out of them, kicking them off the stool.

“Maybe if you ask me nicely,” he suggests, lifting one of her legs so her knee rests on the edge of the bar, spreading her open for him, “I’ll give you what you need.”

Catalina’s vision is blurry. Now that he’s got her where he wants her, ready to give it up if she says the words, even her swollen pride can’t stop her.

She keens loud and looks over her shoulder, watching him drop to his knees so he’s level with her slick wetness.

“Please, Shawn. Fuck. Please. Need your tongue.”

Shawn grins wolfishly and lurches forward, using his gigantic hands to anchor her against the bar and press the flat of his tongue to her dripping pussy.

“Fuck, so wet already,” he laughs after his first taste, “Soaked from sucking on my cock.”

She mewls in agreement, wriggling her hips. He lifts a hand to bring it down against the white flesh of her ass, watching her arch, hearing her squeal.

“So pretty,” he groans before nuzzling his lips back where they belong. His tongue plucks at her clit, wanting her as wet as he can get her. She rocks her hips gently against the bar, stretching her arms out to hold tight to the other side of the counter as he starts fucking her in earnest.

Shawn’s tongue is unforgiving. He flicks it hot and fast against her swollen button, his thumbs sweeping in toward her center, flirting with the idea of filling her with his fingers. He concentrates on suckling at her until she’s bucking so hard against the bar that he can’t hold her still.

“Didn’t take long,” he pants, licking his lips, “Gonna come for me already, princess?”

“Please, please, please,” she chants, “Need to fucking come for you.”

Shawn is smug, landing another harsh smack on her ass, a second red handprint to match the first. “Yeah, baby. Come on my tongue.”

He thrusts his stiff tongue in between her pulsing walls, adjusting his hand so his finger can rock tightly against her clit. She can tell by the pressure mounting against his mouth that she’s almost there. He moans in anticipation and it’s the thing that drives her home.

Shawn holds his mouth fast against her, pressing his tongue in and out as she shakes and screams. He lifts his hands up around her hips, letting his palms be the cushion between her hipbones and the bar counter. He revels in it, in just how long it takes for her to even out and bring her crying whimpers down to ragged gasps.

Shawn hesitates, but pulls back when he feels her shivering at his touch. He straightens up behind her, helps her ease her leg down off the bar and climb off the stool to slump in his arms.

Her cheeks are flushed, her eyes are unfocused, and Shawn has never felt so accomplished. He cradles her against his chest, smiling as she presses open-mouthed kisses through his t-shirt.

“Want more, honey?” he rasps, nosing at her fragrant hair. She nods eagerly.

Shawn reaches down to scoop her up, her legs lifting to twist around his waist. Her body is weak and soft against his as he carries her around the corner, pressing her back into the walk-in fridge door. She hisses at the cool steel before the sound disappears between his lips.

Catalina lifts her limp hands into his hair, squeezing when she feels his hips pin hers into the door and cant, driving his still hard cock against her pussy. She tastes herself, warm and heady on his lips. She writhes, desperately trying to angle herself in a way that will get him nestled up against her entrance for when the next rock of his hips comes.

“Shhh, I know,” he chuckles brusquely, holding her up with one arm so he can maneuver them together, spanking her clit with the head of his cock while he’s at it. She squirms, whimpering and tossing her head.

“Tell me,” he pants, telling himself he’s not begging, “Tell me you want to feel me.”

“Oh god, Shawn,” she moans, “Yes. Please. You make me feel so good.”

The tips of his ears go hot. With a grunt, he thrusts up into her, feeling a ghost of the memory of last time shrug around him. He’s never felt anything like her before. He thought it would’ve worn off after the first time, after he came so hard inside her he truly saw stars. But it’s here again and it has him by the throat.

His breathing is ragged as his chest presses against hers. She’s not mocking him this time, though. She’s brushing her nose over his, wetting her lips to speak, quiet and sweet.

“Nobody fills me like you do.”

Shawn’s instincts return and any remaining sense goes out the window. He growls again, vibrating her around his dick as he starts to set a rhythm that has her bouncing between his hips and the door. She gasps, eyes flying open as her head slams back into the steel. In the quiet bar, the sounds their bodies make together are viscerally filthy. Shawn squeezes his eyes shut to try to ignore it for fear of ending it all too soon. She feels too good. He’s had her once and now, as he has her again, he knows he’s addicted.

Her hips roll with his in perfect time, giving and receiving. Her hot breath on his face makes him feel like he’s buried in a cloud with her. Maybe they won’t have to come out this time. He doesn’t want to.

He shifts his hips to pulse the head of his cock against her g-spot. As badly as he wants to hold her here against him forever, he’s desperate to feel her come again. He knows how good she can do it.

“Lina,” he hears himself murmur, his lips so close to hers that they brush when he speaks, “I know you’re close. I can feel you.”

She’s sure he can. Her whole body is throbbing for him. She’s been holding on by her fingertips, unwilling to end it. She knows when she comes, he’ll follow. And then what?

She groans and shakes her head. “I… I--”

“I know,” he pants, “It’s ok. Just come for me. Want you to come so hard.”

He plunges his face into the crook of her neck, licking and sucking at the spot that got her so crazy for him last time. She cries his name, thrusting her hips harder just before the dam breaks. She soaks him, her body sputtering and stumbling through a fierce orgasm. She chokes on breath and grips his hair so hard she pulls some strands free in her fingers. The pleasure-pain she gives him sends him off the cliff behind her, pulsing hot and fast into her welcoming cunt until he’s spent and barely able to hold them both up.

Shawn eases back, tucking himself into his jeans. Catalina adjusts her skirt and clears her throat, sore from crying out for him.

She drops her head, unable to look at him. Her chest feels tight. The shame of it is seeping in through every pore.

She was so willing to spread her legs for him again after he left her naked and alone in her own bed. She put her desire for a good fuck over her pride. She let him know she needs him.

She can’t think of anything worse.

With a jolt, she heaves off the door and grabs at her panties and the purse she left on the counter, leaving the shoes behind -- they’d only slow her down. Without another look back, she hurries out the door, taking off at a run, barefoot and crying.

-----------

Part 3 coming very soon! Please support my smutty ass and buy me a Ko-fi (link on main page)!

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