#but these last few days have been insane.. i need all our clients to drop dead this second for the sake of the entire teams sanity

[dzozef]

i can not even begin to explain how stressful the last two days have been at work

[goshdangronpa]

When I'm not writing Danganronpa fan fiction, I moonlight as a professional content/copywriter. All the fresh discourse about plagiarism is reminding me of some formative experiences in my work life, and certain people I've met ...

My first job was with a fast-paced marketing company. The in-house writing team maintained weekly blogs for a bunch of clients, and each writer had to write two 1000-word blog posts a day. That's tough, especially for someone who was still pretty fresh in the field. We were salaried rather than hourly (!), so there was no incentive to staying late ... but that also meant the company didn't have to fret about overtime pay, so we could stay late if we needed it. I'd regularly be the last one in the office, still pumping out words in the struggle to meet deadlines.

Much of my time was spent on research. I knew little about the subjects at hand, which were sometimes highly technical, so I couldn't just BS my way through assignments. I even requested and received permission to take one client's worker education course, just so I could know what the heck I was writing about. It didn't seem at all remarkable to me. It was a job. My job. Although I could've been better, or at least faster, I simply did what needed to be done.

I learned that others took a ... different approach.

One supervisor was on sabbatical for the first couple of months I worked there. I respected them as my superior. Then I was assigned to peer-edit one of their articles, something we did with everything we wrote. One uncited claim led me to Google ... where I found a nearly identical article already published. Supervisor did the ol' switcheroo of amending sentence structures and swapping words for poorly chosen synonyms. I brought it up with them, saying I wouldn't report the incident but urged them to not do that. I can't recall what happened next, other than not trusting Supervisor anymore.

After three months passed, I was up for employee review. The bosses liked what they've read - yay! And then they said, "Here's why we're not giving you a raise." My stomach dropped. Apparently, they checked how many articles everyone wrote. I was behind on a quota I knew nothing about. If I wanted more money, I should take a page from the writer in the lead. Champ had somehow written 60 articles in the past month. Amazing! My employer set a goal much humbler than what my work friend had surpassed. If Champ could do that much, surely I could do this little.

Reader, I did my best. I stayed at the office later and later, especially as the date of my next employee review drew near. Due to my salaried status, I wasn't even paid for that overtime, but I put in the time anyway. It was all for nothing. Just a week before the next meeting, where they would've decided whether I deserved a raise or not, they laid off virtually the entire writing department. Apparently, underpaying freelancers who don't get benefits was easier.

Only one person from the crew stayed. If it was gonna be anybody, it was golden goose Champ, who maintained their insane pace. I wished them well.

Anyone wanna guess the secret behind Champ's prodigious output? It's the same reason they got fired just a few weeks later.

The reveal was a betrayal. We were friends, Champ and I, getting each other through the grind of the content mill with sarcastic humor and deep conversations. They encouraged and motivated me to keep up, all the while hiding some dirty tricks that eventually helped them stay in the race while I spun out. I was shocked to discover that I had zero empathy for them. But they deserved none, the filthy plagiarist. Haven't spoken to them since finding out.

This may not be as sordid as everything H. Bomberguy discusses in his brilliant new video. My coworkers and I were literally anonymous, with no clout to speak of, let alone abuse. Our clients were small businesses with little platform, which is why they contracted a marketing agency in the first place. Still, it hurt the hell out of me, and I wasn't even the one being copied! Plagiarism is a curse word in my household, lowest of the low (without getting into, like, actual atrocity).

And you know what? Years later, what I wrote for that company still holds up in my eyes. Those old blog posts aren't exactly the Great American Novel, or even on par with what I'd write as I gained more experience, but I put the effort into writing high-quality and original stuff. I worked hard. I still work hard. As self-deprecating and even self-loathing as I can be, I'll always pride myself on this. May you writers out there be able to pride yourselves on this, too.

[ebdanon]

ask pt 2 slight trigger warning for deaths (yes multiple): my husband was being treated like a little kid, in some instances my fil went into the doc appointment and started talking to the doc himself like parents do to small kids. it was insane. so we schedule an appointment with an infectious disease specialist at the most expensive hospital in the country, with a doctor my aunt knows and trusts, because she said she didnt want to drop us with unreliable care, and this way, we could get a recommendation to the right hospital wing. we saw that doctor, who parroted what my aunt and that one other doc said about seeing a specialist in the gastrointestinal wing, and made the recommendation. it was a few weeks away. now, what you need to know is this is private healthcare, which is super expensive, and all the best doctors that are left in the country work there (less stress higher pay after the pandemic shitstorm), unless they made like my aunt and moved abroad for an even better quality of life. she said if we continue being stuck in this situation, we should get on a plane and go to her, she would make sure he gets the right docs and exams in 48 hours as is the law there (she lives in a country 2h away by plane).

i dont want to go into all the symptoms because those were a whole different kind of scary to see him experience and not know why. and finally, we got an appointment with the right doc, who sees my husband and immediately orders the exams my aunt has been saying he should get for the last two months. they're scheduled a couple of weeks after that appointment (because prep time is mandatory) and are definitely pricey but it's not a big deal because having a freelance salary (me) in a low cost of living country means we can afford it. we also have plenty saved up. he had to do the exam under anesthesia bc they had to take a sample from his gut for further testing just in case, and when he woke up, he started speaking in english instead of our native language. it was the funniest thing that had happened in months, and like andrea after taylor's lasik, i filmed a part of it lmao he kept asking the nurse for some of the meds to take home because those 30min he was out were the best sleep he had in months (the symptoms kept him up) and she was like that's impossible you cant have this outside the hospital, it's what got michael jackson kileld, and my husband went "mj was a smart guy to ask for strong stuff like this" lmaoooo (its true btw its on mj's wiki) and then when his head cleared the doc came in, explained his diagnosis, prescribed meds to ease everything. he has to take them continuously until he starts doing at least a bit better, and he can get checkups with that doc any time. at that point, my client had missed one invoice but i didn't give it much thought with all the other chaos, and it sometimes slipped his mind but he always made sure there wasnt anything too overdue. and then he missed another invoice. and the meds were expensive. my husband also started a limited diet, another expense on top, to check what food triggers symptoms.

we went to our hometown for the easter holidays, armed with the new diagnosis and meds, and diet. stayed with the in laws where my mil did all the cooking. the shit talking continued, now, including my parents - all they care about is themselves, they never called my mil to ask how her son is doing (like i said, treated like a kid, they called me every day to ask for updates as they were worried), all they do is waste money on traveling. now some backstory on that last bit- when they were young, my parents wanted to leave this country, but they never got an opportunity to do so, and instead of mourning that, they figured the next best way to get away is travel. they take trips at least one weekend and each month. even if it's just out of town. both their kids are grown up with their own incomes, they have the ability to spend on that instead of their kids, even though we took at least one vacation abroad per year when i was young. they just love to travel and can finally do it more than ever. idk how my mil feels about traveling, she doesnt generally broach the subject unless its to talk shit about my parents or my fil's brother and his wife who also travel frequently. thats the woman my mil accuses of being a witch lmao. my mil took care of her aging and ill parents for the last decade or so so she hasn't even gone out of town for more than a few hours in that time. and take care in the sense of administer meds to her mom because "she's the medical expert" as we've covered. her dad had a complex issue that she looked after but that was two decades ago when it started, it stabilized in the last decade before he passed. and that meant taking him to appointments, giving food and meds according to schedule. i never met him because he was in hospice when my husband and i started dating. anyway, my mil kept going off about how she was the only one who cared and that's because my husband made her suffer through labor for hours. weird logic there but okay. she went on about how the doctors were all wrong and how she knows best and she's gonna make sure he gets better during the holidays while we're there. instead of boiling his food, she started baking it, but it didnt seem to be doing too much good. when we went back home, i asked her about the baked recipes and she told me all the ingredients. but she added a couple of things that were strictly forbidden according to the doc. and i told her. and she said "well ive been adding them the whole time and he seems to be handling them well". i hung up and immediately told my husband, and all the symptoms still being present suddenly made sense. she was practically poisoning him because shes the expert that knows best. i was pissed, but he told me he'd take care of it and i should let it go.

a few weeks later my fil's mother passed away. she had been suffering with health issues for the last couple of months, begging both her sons to take her to get them checked out, which they both ignored. she and her husband lived with the other son and his family. the sons took her to doctors when she couldn't stand on her feet anymore which was too late. thats when i got to hear my mil scream about how shitty that family treated her the entire time she's known them, when i learned her sister in law is a witch, their horrible treatment of everyone (my husbands family lived in that house too, its common here for brothers to live with their parents and bring their wives in the house, people stopped doing that only in the last few years, but my husband's family had to move out after family drama) and more. idk this woman was basically cursing out her husband for the family he came from and blaming him for it. we went back in town for the funeral so i got to hear all this in person.

a couple of weeks later, my sister in law with her family were coming in town (they live abroad, a town over from my aunt actually) for a week so we went to our home town to see them. on the drive there, we came across a traffic accident between a bike and a van, that ended tragically. ill spare you the details of what i saw. a few hours later i got a call from my best friend. turns out the person that passed away in it was her long term boyfriend, he was coming in town for a conference. they were making wedding plans. picking out home decor. what do you mean?! thats when i wrote 2023 off as the worst year and it wasnt even halfway done. forgot to mention, my other best friend was going through a divorce at the time. she lives halfway across the world but we make sure to give each other the big life events even if we dont talk regularly. it felt like everyone i cared about was suddenly suffering and the only thing i could do was offer support. i couldn't even be properly there for anyone else but my husband. summer came, my husband and i were barely functioning, between his symptoms, his family, and a terrible tragedy (my husband and my bff's boyfriend had been childhood friends). the summer turned worse as my client kept missing payments and ghosting me. family members kept asking to borrow money to make ends meet because they know we're fine and we can't really say no. with the bank account running on fumes, we spent august in our hometown to save up on daily expenses by staying with my in laws. my sister in law and her family were in town again and for a couple of weeks there before my niece started kindergarten, and things were a bit peaceful. except it was all a front, because my mil cant shit talk in front of her son in law.

we went back home at the end of the month, to an apartment infested with cockroaches. appliances started breaking down. i mentioned this bit of the story in another ask i think? it was 8 months of constant hell and without the option to look for another apartment because of missed payments and the plan to move abroad as soon as possible (we were already looking for jobs), we figured we could move with my in laws. that way, we could get everything we own in their huge house which definitely has space, and once we move abroad they can ship all the stuff to us. my parents cant do that because they live in an apartment, not a lot of room there. this is a three story house, with a yard and a big brick shed on top, housing two people. over 3000 sqft of space. my husband asked if it was possible, they said of course, this is your home, you're always welcome to live here.

im gonna break up this story in yet another ask

once again i am deeply terrified of where this is going

also im so sorry for your loss thats terrible :(

[oro-e-diamanti]

Quiet Music: Capriccio (Chapter 4)

In collaboration with @bethanysnow whose ask box is always open for questions, comments, and anything else about this story as well!

Catching the small flames of romance, starting to get turned on higher. They have a tour to do, right? Not spend all their time making goo-goo eyes at each other.....unless?

Content | Fluff

Pairing | fem!Reader x Damiano

Word Count | 8274

Taglist | @damianodavide @lizstans @unitermoonshine @its-afucking-mess @ethaneskin @dont-let-me-drown-in-you@vampirtet @lividisuigomiti @juststalking @tabi-toast @ethan-torchio-angelo @cheese-toastie-11 @thewitchinthemountain @ethanesimp @sofckinelectric @man3skin @daddydamiano @finelinejpm @superchrystaldrug @ginny-lily @nientedaridere @rainbowmarta @tiaamberxx @shaunthesheesh @enjcltaire @rocketqueen @aleksanderwh0r3 @dacey0eg @damianodavidhands @megann-duff @teatrodellavita @solasullabarca @fanfictionandfluff @makapaka11 @slave4yourlove @geklutst-ei @bookish0918 @mehrmonga @kanevill @butterfly-skinnylegend @lidiyabest @ccweasley @bluscryn @deluxeplanteater @ohtorchio @bidet-and-legolas @maybanksslut @katyldamusic @fedorable-killjoys

***

"Thomas," Y/n stared down as he entered the bus. "When I gave you my personal number it was meant for emergencies, not you texting me because you forgot what "sempiternal" means in the middle of the night. What were you reading anyway?!"

"Nothing." Thomas looked up at her from where he was sitting, wide eyes, feigning innocence.

Y/n shook her head, not believing the guitarist and his horrible poker face, but not being bothered enough to question him any further either. “Well, next time you have a question like that in the middle of the night, ask google instead.” She gave him a warm smile and a little pat on the head as she passed him by, moving down the hallway of the tour bus.

It had become a routine for her to stop at the stove first, starting the coffee for everyone, then having a look around as she was waiting for it to boil. Damiano was slumped over on a couch, his head in his hand and still half asleep. She wondered how little rest he had gotten last night, after meeting him out on the balcony at 2 am.

Had he stayed awake for hours, like she had? Had he been thinking about her, the way she had been thinking about him? He had flirted quite heavily last night and she wasn’t sure whether to attribute it to his sleepiness, or if he had meant it at all. She wasn’t quite sure what she was hoping for either. He was insanely attractive, and the attention he gave her made her heart beat in ways no other man had managed to do before. But this wasn’t the time or situation to turn into a bundle of nerves because of a boy.

Even if her brain had decided to play fantasies of him storming into her hotel room last night. Demanding to kiss her. Holding her face in his hands. Looking at her with those dark, hazel eyes, like she was the only person in the world. Probably smelling of sleep and cigarettes and all that made him inherently Damiano. She knew the smell well, it had been haunting her all throughout this whole fucking tour. But the fantasies kept coming, imagining him in love with her, even if she never truly believed in it. It was a nice idea, nothing more.

The sharp hiss of the coffee pot pulled her out of his thoughts and woke up Damiano from his half-slumber. Tired eyes trying to make out the source of the noise, smiling slightly when realising that caffeine was coming his way. Y/n quickly moved to get his cup ready, preparing it the way she had already learned he preferred. He readily held out his hand for the beverage, fingers briefly touching. She almost dropped it as sparks ran through her. She wasn’t sure if he had felt the same or simply hid it better. But as soon as the cup was safely in his hands, she turned back around. Back to the stove to take a deep breath and continue her morning routine.

I need to get over myself. This is a job. Getting fluttery over your boss is not gonna help get the job done. Ignore him. He didn’t feel anything. You need to work. Not imagine something that is never gonna happen. It's not gonna happen, Y/n.

She made quick work depositing the other mugs to Victoria and Thomas, before finding Ethan in the very back of the bus. Drum sticks in hands and absentmindedly tapping a beat on the table in front of him.

“Coffee?”

“Yeah, thank you,” he answered, absentmindedly. “Hey, Y/n, does this sound good to you?”

Ethan started to play out a beat, effectively ignoring the cup that had been placed on the table, as she sat down beside him to listen.

“I’m no musician, but it certainly sounds good to my ears!”

Ethan gave her a proud smile, putting his drumsticks to the side for a second to take a sip from his drink. Y/n, grabbed them immediately, beating randomly on the table.

“You know what? I may have to take you up on your offer of teaching me to play. Love how you guys always have stuff around, you’re just constantly thinking about music. I wish I knew how to play," she sighed.

“I can show you a bit of drumming right now, if you’d like?” He offered. “Just a bit of a rhythm on the table right here.”

He moved closer to her, taking her hands in his as she kept holding onto the sticks and tried to get her to play a little, easy beat, but the angle was awkward and her wrist was bent too much to properly tap along.

“Okay, this isn’t working,” he laughed. “Would you mind, um, moving between my legs?”

Y/n could feel another blush coming on. It may be just Ethan, but it IS Ethan and Ethan sure is pretty. She studied his face, unassuming, nothing but a welcoming smile. But she felt odd. She had only been working for this band for a few days, yet she’d already grown closer to them than any other client she had worked with before. Normally she’d do her job, get a quick thank you on the way out, and then just retire somewhere. Do uni work, wait for further instructions. This whole thing was new and as much as she was enjoying it, she wasn’t sure if she was crossing lines she shouldn’t as a personal assistant. Then again, what was the harm in a little lesson? It wasn’t like there was anything else to it. This wasn’t him trying to flirt with her, this was him trying to be a friend. She could do with a friend.

With a quick nod, she moved and sat down on the floor in front of Ethan. Nestling between his legs as he held her hand. Helping her get into position before backing up a little to give her more space. Grabbing her hands again with the sticks to demonstrate how she was supposed to hold and then hit the table. He leaned over her to watch what she was doing. She understood quickly, getting the hang of it and before she knew it Ethan had let go of her hands as she was successfully keeping the rhythm going.

“See? Natural talent,” he laughed behind her.

Neither of them had noticed Damiano walk down the corridor towards them until he stopped in the doorway.

“Ah, Dami! Look what Ethan taught me!” Y/n starts repeating the little rhythm with the biggest smile on her face, proud of herself and what she’d learned in such a short time. Ethan leant back, watching her with a smile.

“Good job, Y/n. Keep going and you might replace Edgar soon,” Damiano said, ducking into the bathroom with a laugh.

Y/n watched him disappear. Her heart fluttered as he left her sight. If he could just not be my boss, that’d be fucking great…

She stood back up to sit next to Ethan on the couch, shaking the thought off. “I see why you like drumming, it’s fun.”

“Thank you, I think so too. You enjoy being our assistant, by the way?” Ethan asked, looking at her inquisitively while finally continuing to drink his coffee.

“Actually, yes. Best job I have ever taken. I know your manager is an absolutely wonderful woman. Didn’t know she planned this position for me originally though, kinda scared me to be honest.”

“Are we scary?”

“No, no. You’re all lovely. You are the biggest group I’ve worked for so far, so there’s that. But…” Y/n moved to sit on her leg now, leaning closer to Ethan, starting to feel more comfortable around him. “You four are indescribably amazing people. My mum would probably call you ‘people after God’s heart’,” she imitated her mother’s Northern accent, making Ethan laugh.

“Shocking, I know, that we’re normal!”

Y/n smacked his chest.

“No! You are far better than anyone- no one on this bus is ‘normal’.”

“Even the driver?”

“Especially the driver.”

***

Damiano hadn’t meant to listen in, but standing behind the slightly closed door of the restroom, he couldn’t help himself, even if it was killing him. Ethan and Y/n would probably be really good for each other… The thought flashed through him. No. It wouldn’t happen. Not under his watch.

Last night had been a blessing and a curse. After finishing his smoke, he had stood out on the balcony for a little longer, imagining the conversations they would have been having if she had stayed out with him. Under the moonlight. Måneskin. Her hair down, she would probably go get another glass of wine. Coming back out to see him.

“What about you, amore mio? Working on more Shakespeare?”

“Yes. Always. I work hard for things I want, you know me. All work no play makes Y/n a happy girl,” she would snicker into her wine glass.

“What if I wanted you. What would I have to do? Never been shy about ... hard… work, either…”

“Why don’t you come and find out, the door is unlocked…”

With a heavy sigh, he moved to the sink to splash some water on his face, raking it through his hair. It was only early in the morning, he didn’t need to unscrew his head just yet. She was just a girl. Just some girl that worked for them. There were so many people on the team, she was simply one of them. But she was also a woman, with wants and needs and desires, and oh, how he would love to attend to every single one of them… Maybe I could be a need for her, for the beautiful woman just one room over. He screamed internally. He was done for.

***

By the time Y/n left Ethan to his coffee, Damiano was back on the couch with a pen and paper, gears visibly turning in his head. He didn’t even look up when she entered. See, just a guy, Y/n thought. Victoria was busy bickering with the driver about wanting to stop at a service station within the next hour. Thomas was scrolling through his phone absent-mindedly.

As soon as Vic had finished her conversation, she walked over to where Y/n was sitting, letting herself drop onto the seat next to her heavily, laying her head on her shoulder. “Y/n I want snacks.”

“I bought snacks, they’re in the cupboard.”

“But, fun snacks! Like you,” the bassist winked.

“As much as I love the compliment, Victoria, I am sure the driver will take us to the next petrol station after hearing your plea.” She kissed the top of the blonde’s head. “You can survive a little longer without sugary snacks.”

Victoria looked up at her with big blue eyes, wrapping her arms around the assistant. “But what if I can’t, Y/n,” she whined, pulling a dramatic pose. “What if I waste away without fun snacks.”

“Vic, love, nothing here will make you die because you haven’t had food. I provided all of you with breakfast - it was your decision to let Thomas eat yours.”

“And I don’t regret a thing!” Thomas shouted from his seat, all three of them breaking out into laughter. Y/n grinned, eyes falling back onto some of the papers in front of her, ready to get back into work. Victoria’s arm looped around Y/n’s as she snuggled into her shoulder with a pitiful sigh.

***

Goddamnit, not her, too.

Damiano had meant to start writing some more, lyrics and words and images flowing through his head in a chaos that needed to be tamed by pen and paper. But as soon as he had sat down Victoria had started moaning about snacks and her little interaction with Y/n had taken up all of the brain space the lyrics should have. His eyes kept focusing on the closeness between the two of them. The way Vic leant her head on Y/n’s shoulder, the way she in turn kissed the bassist’s head. So far he had only considered Ethan to be a concern. But now the thought of Victoria herself meddling was increasingly growing. So she might have had a boyfriend but that had been, what? Years ago? She had said? And the guy had been a dick. What if she’d just given up on men completely, deciding to exclusively date girls from now on? Fuck.

Staring at the way Victoria was now cuddling her, his thoughts ran wild. Was this still friendly? Was the smile she was giving Vic flirty? Maybe she hadn’t been returning his flirtations the way he’d been hoping because it was Vic she was interested in, not him?

Dwelling on these thoughts wasn’t going to help. Jealousy, envy, insecurity… as interesting as they would be as drag names, they weren’t going to solve the issue. Damiano felt stuck. Making heart eyes at a girl who was three feet away while she was none the wiser. Yet it was Victoria latching onto her arm. He wasn’t surprised. She was gorgeous, and funny, and cared about people. And Vic had a lot of good qualities he himself didn’t possess. Maybe it’s the boobs? His brain mused, but he shook it off. That wasn’t it, he was sure of it.

***

Victoria studies Damiano. His face would have been unreadable to anyone else, obviously lost in his thought. But she knew him well enough to understand that the look on his face was one of insecurity and upset. Not necessarily at anything in particular, just upset. Her eyes softened. Raising a brow at the singer. He simply shrugged, shaking his head, then taking the notebook he was carrying everywhere. Opening it up, staring at the words written there, but not adding anything. Yet his eyes never stopped flicking away to everyone else around him, obviously restless. What was up with him? If there was one thing Victoria hated it was one of her friends feeling off and her not being able to do anything about it. But she knew Damiano, and she knew it could be hard to get him to budge if he didn’t want to talk.

As their eyes met once more, she took the chance to mouth at him, “You alright?”

His eyes flashed at Y/n for a split second, he probably hadn’t even noticed it himself, before nodding with a tight-lipped smile, then looking back down at his pages. That was when it finally clicked in Victoria’s mind. It was about her. And from the looks he kept secretly giving her, the problem wasn’t dislike.

***

“SNACKS!” Victoria and Thomas all but yelled as the bus pulled into the parking lot of a little petrol station. The band ran out of the bus, stumbling over each other like a hoard of kindergartners, and Y/n couldn’t help but smirk at their behaviour. Following them in a much more composed manner.

By the time she entered the shop, all four members of the band had dispersed into different corners. Trying to figure out what to buy. Damiano was holding up two chocolate bars, obviously trying to decipher what the difference was with no knowledge of Swedish whatsoever, before shrugging his shoulders and taking both.

Y/n was still in the doorway, grabbing a basket and consulting a little list on her phone. As much as she loved to let them run wild, she would not completely have them overdose on sugar. No matter how much they wanted to. She still felt responsible for their wellbeing, even on their days off. Juice felt like a sensible choice.

Suddenly, she saw a hand appear from behind her, casually taking out some orange juice from her basket. She turned around in surprise, only to be faced with Thomas looking at her with wide eyes, obviously feeling caught.

“No healthy stuff from the petrol station!” He suddenly shouted, grabbing her whole basket now and running away with it.

“Thomas!” She flew after him before she knew what she was doing, almost running over Ethan as she chased the guitarist through the little store. With not much space available, they ended up going round and round one of the shelves, until Thomas unceremoniously crashed into a cooler when he didn’t manage to take a turn in time. Trying to bite back a smile, Y/n walked over, breathlessly asking him if he was alright, as laughter still bubbled out of her. Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed Victoria, giggling away, phone pointed towards them.

“Oh no, you’re not putting that on the internet!” Y/n pointed a finger at her in what she hoped was an authoritative gesture, but Victoria wasn’t impressed.

“Too late!” She squealed as she skipped away, out of reach, to pay for whatever she had picked out.

Thomas had gotten back up on his feet in the meantime, contents of the basket still spilled all around him, sporting a pout.

“Stop it with that face,” Y/n scolded, but she couldn’t keep the smile at bay. “Go pick out your favourite snack, you can add it to my basket.”

Thomas happily skipped away as Y/n quickly picked up the mess, then moved to another aisle finding Damiano there. He seemed to be debating over the crisps now, having moved on from the chocolate bars.

She stood to the side, her eyes flashing over him a couple more times than necessary. He was just too pretty. It was simply impossible to look away. Even now, no fancy clothes, no stage makeup, no grand performance, he was mesmerising.

Her brain couldn’t help itself, images and ideas flashing in front of her eyes. Going to a petrol station on road trips with their future kids. Them bouncing around, chasing each other over a candy bar. Her and Damiano trying to get them not to cause a mess, slightly annoyed, but always laughing along with them.

She looked at him again. In a blink, the daydream changed.

It’s past midnight. He’s in the same sweatshirt he’s wearing right now. Her arms wrapped around his torso. Looking up at that beautiful face of his. Him picking up condoms from the health section. Winking at her with that certain glint in his eyes. Smacking her arse on the way to the cashier. Filled with giggles and flirtatious glances and knowing what the night ahead would entail. The anticipation crackling around them.

Oh, to be that girl. The girl he looks at with lustful eyes. The one he wasn't to make a baby with. Not the one to be ashamed of.

***

Damiano had chosen what kind of crisps to buy long ago. He simply was too busy staring back at Y/n, who seemed to be lost in thought. Eyes focused on him, yet apparently not noticing him looking back. He could basically see the gears in her head turning, mouth slightly open, far away in her mind.

Whatever enraptured that beautiful mind of hers… He wanted to know - could he be that very thing someday? Be so involved in her thoughts that it caused her to finally slow down? Get her to relax. He kept daydreaming about the massage he had given her the other day. How she had melted into his touch. He wanted that again. But more. He wanted her sighs and her moans as he worked her body in any way she would let him. Hell, he’d be her personal roadie if she wanted.

Fuck, he was smitten. She was always so strong-willed, so passionate. That night on the balcony had done nothing to help his fantasies. Her teaching him how to dance? Bodies close to each other, breathing the same air… Whatever perfume she used, he wanted to drown in it.

***

Victoria had been on the way back out, snacks acquired, Instagram story uploaded, and ready to head back to the bus for the last two hours of the ride. However, she stopped dead in her tracks when Y/n and Damiano caught her eye. Both of them were staring at the other, yet neither seemed to realise it. Just lost in their own worlds. Vic frowned, not oblivious to the dreamy look on Y/n’s face or the way Damiano’s eyes kept flicking up and down their assistant’s body. Something was definitely going on here and she was determined to find out what exactly it was.

After Y/n had finally moved again, paying for the snacks, Victoria caught up with her outside the shop. Their driver was having a smoke, surely had more than enough time left for a little talk.

“Y/n, wait up,” Vic quickly jogged up to her, taking the shopping bag out of her hand and carrying it into the bus ahead of her.. “Let me help you.”

She was counting on the guys to be staying outside for a little longer, probably lighting up a cigarette each as soon as they were done snack-shopping.

“So…” She started, putting away the snacks alongside Y/n. “Saw you staring at Damiano in there.”

Great, this wasn’t subtle at all, she scowled at herself. Tact had never been her strong suit in these situations. She was far more likely to rush into a conversation, head first, too open, too honest, too soon.

“I- uh- I don’t know what you mean. I was probably just staring off into space.”

Okay, she was getting flustered. Victoria knew she was onto something here, but it wouldn’t be easy to get anything out of Y/n. She was way too professional and… uptight for that. And they didn’t exactly have any red wine on tap to get her to open up.

“You know, there’s no harm in it. He’s a very attractive man,” she said, playfully nudging Y/n’s side. “Pretty sure everyone’s had the hots for him at some point.”

“Well I haven’t, it's very unprofessional.” Y/n stubbornly replied and Victoria almost laughed out loud.

Sure, she hadn’t. That’s why she was staring at him like he was a drink of water in the middle of a desert. Or why she was getting all flustered every time he touched her. Or why she always seemed to gravitate towards him, whatever she was doing. But that wasn’t what Vic was going to say. It wouldn’t get them anywhere. She had learned that much about Y/n.

“All my friends used to have a crush on him in school,” Vic laughed, remembering their beginnings. “They’d just hang out whenever we were rehearsing, making heart eyes at him and complimenting his every move, but he never cared. He never even looked at them, just giving them a polite hello. Never paid them any attention because he was way too focused on the music we were making. He’s always been like that. Music has always come first. It’s why I think it’s so peculiar how interested he is in you.”

If Y/n had been flustered before, she was full-on blushing now, rapidly opening a random cabinet to hide her face, but Victoria had seen. Her eyes got wide, as if she had been struck by lightning.

“He’s not interested in me, don’t be silly. I work for him just as I work for you and we all get along. Nothing is going to happen if that is what you are worried about. I would never jeopardize the tour or our friendship. He doesn’t even see me like that, anyway, so it’s fine. It’s not like I’m his type, and like, I mean-”

“Hey,” Victoria turned more serious now. As much as she enjoyed teasing her new friend, she felt like she needed to let her know that she wasn’t kidding in this case. She put a tentative hand on her shoulder. Having the other turn around to have Y/n face her. “I’m serious though. I know it’s early days, but if you feel something for him? I’m not going to stop you. Neither is anyone else on this tour. He’s a great guy. And I’ll personally punch him if he isn’t. And I think you’re great Y/n. You deserve good things.”

For a second, Victoria could see a flicker of Y/n’s softer side, of her vulnerability. She felt compelled to pull her into a hug, but she feared making her uncomfortable, so instead, she simply pretended she hadn’t seen. Just like she pretended not to hear Y/n’s voice breaking just the tiniest bit when she said, “Thank you.”

***

The old town of Malmö was full of cobblestone, canals, and adorable old houses. When Y/n led them into the restaurant she had reserved for the evening, Damiano made sure to ask for a table by the window, enamoured by what looked to be the main square of the town and the people hurrying along. As he turned back towards the table, he noticed Y/n with a similar look on her face. Chin held up by her hand as she leaned on the table, watching the world pass by outside. A serene smile played on her face and he feared he was mirroring her expression when Victoria kicked his foot from under the table. Giving him a knowing smile and a raised brow. He shook his head, quickly grasping the menu to distract himself.

“Oooh happy hour!” Victoria squealed. “First round of cocktails is on me!”

Damiano almost let out a sigh - knowing fully well that when it came to an evening like this, they would not stop at a round or two. He was to be proven right.

About two hours later, the sun was on the verge of setting. There was a nice buzz going on, dinner eaten, while the drinks kept coming. Thomas was retelling a story Damiano had heard about a hundred times. Excitedly waving his hands around he only just managed to grasp one of the glasses before the guitarist knocked it over. Y/n was listening attentively - the only one out of the bunch to not have heard Thomas’ retelling before. Damiano couldn’t help but notice how her cheeks were slightly flushed, a sure sign that she’d had a drink. He thought she looked adorable. She’d look just as adorable under me. He quickly put the thought away, blaming it on the alcohol he had consumed. Apart from Y/n - who had been responsible enough to switch back and forth between cocktails and water - they were all on the edge of being drunk, laughing too loudly, talking too excitedly, being a little too affectionate.

It’s what he blamed his behaviour on, when he found his foot searching for hers under the table. Giving her just the slightest, playful kick to get her attention. She looked at him immediately, raised eyebrows, obviously wondering if he had touched her by mistake. So this time, he fully smirked, holding eye contact, as he nudged her again. A timid smile appeared on her face and he was convinced that she would be awkward. Pulling back, possibly scolding him any other time. But her slightly intoxicated state seemed to leave her more open to his teasing. He barely believed it when she nudged him back. Maybe we’re actually getting somewhere here.

“Um, excuse me?”

The whole table looked up at once at the timid voice. Only to find two young girls awkwardly and uncomfortable standing next to them, faces as red as tomatoes and eyes wide.

“Are you Måneskin?”

“We are, actually!” Victoria beamed, immediately getting up. “Do you guys want some pictures?”

The girls didn’t seem to manage anything but hectic nods, too excited and overwhelmed. Damiano smiled. It didn’t matter how big they were getting - having people coming up to them to ask for photos, so obviously in love with them. Still made his heart beat like crazy. He’d do anything for the fans.

Quickly, getting up from his chair as well, he pulled the other two along with him, taking a few photos with the two, exchanging some words and thanking them for their support. Looking back at Y/n, he noticed she was getting a bit nervous.

“Guys, we should probably move back to the hotel now,” she said and it was only then that he took a look around and saw the amount of people staring. Talking and pointing phones at them. It was obvious none of them were actual fans - just hoping to get a glimpse of something to put on their social media. Damiano nodded, rounding up the rest of his band and leading them out of the restaurant, ready to call for a taxi as Y/n went to settle the tab and then followed them outside mere seconds later.

“Right let’s get you back to the hotel,” Y/n decided as they finally managed to flag down a taxi. “But don’t worry, the night’s not over yet - bring your swimsuits, I’ve got a little surprise for you.”

***

Y/n was perched on a little tiled bench, laptop with work opened at her side. A bluetooth speaker ready nearby. She’d slipped the girl at the reception a little money and a signed picture of the band, which she had gratefully taken, to make sure they’d have the hotel pool to themselves that night. Y/n was aware that the band tended to really enjoy a nice dip in the water and she was determined she’d get them to let loose and relax a bit before more gigs were coming their way.

She didn’t notice that everyone had arrived until a flash of blond ran past her and jumped into a pool with a massive splash. It shouldn’t have been a surprise that Thomas would announce his presence like this. She still flinched for a second. Ethan followed not much later, with Victoria opting for the stairs ‘for hair-related reasons’ and Damiano pushing her in anyways. Following swiftly himself, as she grabbed his hand as she was falling. Y/n shook her head, amused at the four, and turned on some music as she watched them.

She couldn’t help but smile at the way they all acted like little kids on a pool day. But behaviour was one thing - the way they looked was quite another. Water was running down their bodies… okay, one body in particular. She would be lying if she said that Damiano swimming around in nothing but his little shorts wasn’t… well, breathtaking. Tattoos on full display, hair wet, glistening skin. He was smiling, laughing, trying to outswim Thomas. The way his physique moved through the water… He was in formidable shape. What she would give to be manhandled by this man.

Him pinning her to a wall, smirking, looking down at her like he was going to eat her. He rightfully just might. Telling her all the dirty thoughts he had when on stage. Making her look away in a blush, but grabbing her face. Tsk-ing, ‘no, no, no, good girls look at who is speaking to them’.

But no. Work called her name, just loudly enough to pull her out of her fantasy.

***

Opening the laptop, she immediately seemed to get immersed in her work. Damiano watched her with a frown on his face. This was so like her - making sure everyone else got taken care of and was having a good time, only to withdraw and bury her in her work again. He wished she’d take more breaks to just enjoy.

Every now and then she looked away from the screen, watching what everyone else was doing and contently smiling to herself. He couldn’t help imagining her watching over him the same way with their kids. His head was running away with the idea.

Him splashing around with the children. Her watching over them, staying on the sidelines, smiling the way she was now. Making sure everyone was safe and happy. Snacks in hand. Their daughter climbing out of the water, running over to her. The way her eyes would light up, arms open wide, not caring about getting wet as she hugged her. He knew she’d be the most perfect mum, just from looking at her. Nothing had ever been as obvious to him.

A splash of water over his head pulled him out of his thoughts. Apparently, Ethan had caught him staring. He shrugged it off.

“Y/n! Come swim with us!” Victoria called, moving to the edge of the pool. The assistant did nothing but raise a brow at the request, shaking her head.

“You kids go have fun,” she laughed. “I’m fine here, doing a bit of work. Just because you got a day off, doesn’t mean I do too!”

“Ah, you’re no fun, Y/n. One night won’t kill you,” Thomas groaned, diving back under the water.

“Well, I didn’t even bring my swimsuit, so it’s out of the question anyway. Now let me do some work.” She tried to sound strict but the giggle bubbled in her voice anyway, still tiny traces of intoxication in her speech. Damiano grinned at the thought of her still being tipsy, slightly wondering if it’d give him the chance to get her to let her guard down the way she had done the night before.

“Oh, rubbish, you party pooper!” Vic shouted back. “Your underwear will do just fine, it’s not like anyone is here to tell you off.”

Y/n shot a look at Victoria. A blush that definitely wasn’t caused by alcohol crept onto her face.

“I’m alright, you have fun.”

Damiano’s head spun, looking at Y/n sitting on the bench. The sheer idea of her joining them like that? Potentially seeing her undress? He was more than glad the water was hiding the lower half of his body.

“Get over here now or we’re dragging you in!” Thomas threatened, already halfway through heaving himself out of the water.

Oh, no way I’m getting out of the water right now, not like this.

“Oh fine! Fine, fine. If it will make you all stop worrying about me ‘not having fun’,” she laughed.” She rolled her trousers up as she moved to the edge of the pool, kicked off her shoes, and let her legs dangle in the water as she sat down. “Happy?”

“For now,” Vic laughed. “But don’t think you’ll always get out of things this easily!”

“Oh come on guys, leave her be.” Ethan decided to be the voice of reason once again. He swam up to her, hair all piled on top of his head in a bun. “Sorry about them - they don’t know when to quit.”

Y/n giggled at his comment.

“It’s cool, nice seeing everyone have a good time though.” Y/n tilted her head for a moment, looking at Ethan. Slowly she raised a hand to hold his face still, the other hand pulling something out of his hair. “There you go. Can’t have fuzz in those luscious locks of yours!”

A scowl appeared on Damiano’s face. He knew he shouldn’t be feeling like this, but the way she was looking at Ethan right now, that soft touch, made all the fantasies in his head shatter for a moment. Why wasn’t she fixing his hair instead. Fuck, he was being stupid. His attention was drawn away from the pair as a loud squeal escaped Victoria, who was currently being wrestled in the water by Thomas.

“Don’t you dare dunk me!”

Damiano didn’t even have to watch to know what happened next. A second later, a spluttering Vic emerged, a murderous look in her eye as she dunked Thomas in return. Their little fight turned chaotic, ending with the top of her bikini slowly floating away from her.

“Aw Vic, do you always have to be topless?!” Thomas laughed loudly.

“You dick! You untied it!”

Y/n instantly covered her eyes, avoiding Victoria’s half-naked body at all costs, looking down at her lap.

“Um - maybe someone should, uh, give her her top back?” She stammered.

Vic looked at the blushing girl, a smirk growing on her face as she whispered something at Thomas, pointing at Y/n, obviously hatching a plan. She swam up to their friend, gently grabbing her legs under the water.

“You are the only one that seems to mind, amore… Do you not like my tits?” Victoria teased, cocking her head to the side as she tried to catch Y/n’s eyes.

“No! No, I mean- That’s not what I mean. Um… I don’t know - is it just me or is it hot in here?” Y/n was a mess, tripping over her words.

“The only one that’s hot here is you, Y/n,” Thomas grinned, swimming off to retrieve Vic’s top, which he handed to her as he came back. The blonde held it up to her boobs in a fake-clumsy way, big eyes looking up at Y/n.

“Oh, I think I’m going to need your help with this, Y/n. Mind tying me up?”

Y/n looked like she was about to explode, her face once again covered in a deep red. With slightly shaking fingers, she moved forwards as Vic turned her back towards her, fumbling with the strings around her neck and her back to tie them up.

“Thanks, babe, you’re a doll!” Victoria grinned, taking the assistant’s hand and leaving a little kiss on her knuckles. It was the point at which Damiano decided he’d definitely need to protect her from his bandmates. If anything, it was his time to bother Y/n now.

As Damiano swam over, Y/n was still bright red. Her head was still lowered, picking at her nail polish, as she squeaked out a “hi”. You’ve got to put on the charm now, you can do it, he said in his head, hyping himself up as he looked back at her. He didn’t want to bring her into even more of an awkward situation, but his hands were on her legs before he even noticed, slightly stroking along the curve of her calves under the water.

“Don’t mind those fools,” he told her in a voice low enough that they wouldn’t hear. “They’re just trying to rile you up because they like seeing you blush. It is a nice sight, to be fair. Seeing you blush.”

“Well, it’s not like I have control over that. Um. Y-you look cool… I mean - good. You know? … fucking hell.” She buried her face in her hands, stifling a flustered chuckle. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me today. I apologise, I will just hide now, forever.”

Yet, the smile on her face hadn’t left since Damiano had arrived. She bit her lip nervously, looking at the singer. Staring at him, maybe trying to figure out what his intentions were. He wished he knew. “Your, uh… eyes… they’re pretty.”

“Don’t even think about ever hiding that face from me, yeah?” He pulled her hands back down as she once again attempted to cover herself. He briefly forgot his hands were wet, until she giggled and patted her own dry on her shirt as he let go. “Your eyes are really pretty too, Y/n, so don’t deprive me of them.”

She blinked a couple of times, taken aback by what he had said. “Alright, I can do that.” She barely noticed they were holding hands. Rubbing her thumb over his skin softly, keeping herself grounded in place by the heat his body gave off under the water. “You just gotta step in when they start taking the piss again, yeah?”

He moved in closer now, only letting go of her hands to grasp onto her thighs, trying to keep himself above water. He was desperate to move between her legs, but he wasn’t going to ruin the moment by taking it too far. Not yet. “Of course. But amore mio, what if I wanted to, uh, ‘take the piss’?”

She smirked. “Oh! Then that’s fine.”

Damiano was sure his heart wasn’t even beating anymore, it was fluttering. There was something about her… every time he watched her, talked to her, he felt like he was looking at her for the first time. Finding a new side to her. He wanted more, constantly craving to get closer, and in moments like these. When she let him in just a little bit, made him feel like he was just one small step above the others, he felt like it was all going to be worth it. The slow way he was working himself into her heart.

“Y/N HAS A TATTOO ON HER ANKLE!” Thomas suddenly shouted, popping out of the water and pointing at the assistant. Damiano was pushed out of the way by Victoria, who grabbed Y/n’s leg. Hoisting it up in the air, turning it to show her ankle. A black outlined hand giving the middle finger with long black nails stared back at the band.

“That is really pretty,” Ethan said softly, but Victoria scoffed

“Pretty? It’s fucking cool! See,” she turned back to Y/n, “you are rock ‘n’ roll!”

Damiano stared at the little drawing on her leg, fascinated to have found yet another side to her he hadn’t seen coming. He wondered if she would let him tattoo her one day, letting him grab her leg, smoothing over the skin, putting that kind of trust in him. He was determined to find out, sooner or later.

“I mean... you think you’re the only ones with tattoos?” Y/n smirked, almost in a cocky way. It was a good look on her. “That one hurt like a bitch-”

“That one?” Damiano threw in. “Does that mean there’s more?”

Looking over at him, she simply smiled, shaking her head. “Anyway, it’s late, we should be going to bed soon. I know - I’m not trying to parent you, but somebody’s gotta be responsible here!” She stood up, fixing her trousers, putting her shoes back on, and grabbing towels to pass around. “Come on, out of the pool. Comply and I will get you something special with your coffee tomorrow!”

***

After everyone had retired to their rooms, Victoria decided she needed another talk. Moving along the hotel corridor, she stopped in front of Damiano’s door, softly knocking. He opened hastily, his face dropping ever so slightly as he saw her.

“Not who you were expecting?” She asked with a smirk as she pushed past him into the room. She was glad they’d all gotten their own rooms for the night and didn’t have to share - no need to involve Ethan or Thomas in the little conversation she was aiming to have with Damiano. Victoria dropped down onto the bed, kicking her shoes off and getting comfortable, as the singer followed.

“What can I do for you?” Damiano asked, shutting the door behind her.

“How about explaining why you were all over Y/n in the pool?” A grin spread on her face. She knew she’d have to be much less careful with Damiano than she had been in the conversation with Y/n, but still needed him to know this was good-natured teasing. “Pretty touchy, if you ask me.”

“Well, we were talking. Don’t need to tell you everything I do.” He flopped onto the bed, grabbing a pillow to smother his face into. “Why?”

“Yes you do, I’m one of your best friends!” She didn’t hesitate in grabbing the second pillow to whack him over the head, before putting it back behind herself to lean against. “Just interested to know what you think of her. You know, because I’m your friend and I care. And I’m nosey, so spill.”

He started groaning into the pillow.

“If I told you I think I like her, would you shut up about it?” He turned his head to the side to look at the blonde. “I don’t know, Vic, she walked into our lives and…” His eyes grew distant as he thought about her.

“Wait, you actually like like her? I was thinking you were just attracted, you know the thrill of the chase and all that. Fuck, Damiano!” Her smile came back tenfold. “I love this!”

He shot up from his lying position. “No! No, you don’t love this! I don’t love this! I have no fucking clue what I’m doing! She is so sweet and kind and sensitive and I can’t stop thinking about her, it’s turning me into a brain-dead zombie. I could never actually win her over, I fuck up so much and- … I talk too much don’t I?”

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen you so flustered!” Victoria remarked in amazement. “You’re actually, properly, crushing on her! You should tell her.” She almost added if only for my amusement but decided against it. This was obviously tormenting him already, no need for her to rub it in.

“I’m not gonna tell her shit! She’s our assistant, for god’s sake. I already could be in so much trouble if she took something I said wrong. I could fall flat on my face and- … Vic, I know that you care and you want me to be happy. Which I love and appreciate. We are best friends, we really are. I would do the same thing if you had a crush on someone, but I just don’t know what to do,” he moans, falling back onto the bed. “I haven’t been like this since school.”

Victoria patted his head in sympathy as he buried his face back into the pillow. She wasn’t quite sure what to advise him in this situation. Sure, she would love to see her friend happy. And there was definitely something cooking under the surface of Y/n’s feelings. And, honestly, the thought of the two of them together? She was basically swooning at the thought. But she also knew it wasn’t her place to meddle. Right?

“I don’t want to make her uncomfortable. I don’t wanna scare her away.” He looked at Victoria with pleading eyes. “Has she talked to you at all? Have you picked up anything from her? Any hints?”

A sigh escaped her lips, but she knew she couldn’t help but give him at least a little push in what she hoped was the right direction. “Look, Damiano. I’m not gonna pretend like I didn’t notice she fancies you. Honestly, no surprise there. But I think we both know she’s not exactly the type to jump right into bed with someone. So take it slow. Show her you care. Woo her.”

“Woo her?! Like an old Italiano romance? I can do that… I think. Okay, what does she like… Y/n, what does she- She doesn’t really talk about herself that much, does she..” Victoria could see the gears turning in his head. “This was so much easier when I wasn’t invested… Why do I have to be invested, Vic?”

He looked at her with dopey eyes, before jumping up and pacing around the room. “Argh! She is making me go insane! I tried writing lyrics, but nothing is working. I just can’t focus when she’s around. She gets this look, especially when talking about her work and language.. At the pool, did you see how she looked at me?”

“You’ve written lyrics?! Now, you really got it bad, my friend,” Victoria shook her head in amusement. “But yes, I did. I told you, she’s interested. Can’t tell you how deep that runs, I’ve only known her for a few days myself and she is working for us, no way to ignore that. So maybe take a step back until you figure this out?”

“Yeah, you’re right. She works for us. That’s… that’s a giant, neon ‘no’.” He stopped walking, looking out of the window. “I need to cool it, don’t I? We’re on tour. What am I doing! We have fans and people who are looking forward to seeing us. We have gigs to play! Fuck.” He sighed, staring off into the distance. “We should probably sleep. No long drive tomorrow, but lots of interviews, right?”

“Don’t get in over your head about this,” she put a reassuring hand on his shoulder. She hadn’t expected this kind of outburst when she had knocked on his door earlier. “It’s the first week of tour. You got three more of seeing her literally every day. Concentrate on the job, then on her, yeah? Now let’s get some sleep. And I mean it - no pondering and smoking all through the night, you gotta rest!”

“You’re right, I don’t know what I was thinking. Thank you.” He pulled Victoria into a hug. “Thank god you’re here. Wouldn’t know what to do. Goodnight.”

She gave him a little wave as she left his room, only just hearing him mumble, “I have music to perform…”

***

As the night grew to a close, Y/n found herself in her own room, snuggling into a pillow. Glad that the next day would leave less free time. Drive to Copenhagen. Get everyone settled it. Maneuver them from interview to interview, although this time around Victoria would be a great help since she knew Danish. Then off to soundcheck, light dinner, the gig, sleep. No time to get lost in silly daydreams for once.

Yet, as sleep slowly crept up on her, she couldn’t help one last thought entering her mind.

I wonder if he is thinking of me.

[suituuup]

pieces - chapter one

Five years ago, Chloe dropped off the face of the Earth. Beca sees her again in the most unexpected place.

rating: M (drug abuse, mention of sexual abuse in later chapters) word count: 2,100

ao3 link

*

“Any messages, Gina?”

Beca Mitchell strode out of the elevator, high heels clicking on marble flooring on her way to her office.

Her assistant rushed to walk alongside her, notebook opened as she handed Beca her second coffee of the day, which Beca took with an appreciative smile.

“Mr. Mendes needs to push back his meeting to Thursday, and Mr. Hozier-Byrne is waiting for a call back, preferably before 2 as he’s five hours ahead.”

Beca rounded the corner to her office and dragged her leather desk chair back, shrugging off her woolen trench coat and draping it over the back. “Got it, remind me what I have planned today?”

“You’re having lunch with Mr. Zimmer at the Plaza to discuss Jesse’s project, and apart from the weekly team meeting at five, you’re expected at Edgy Reggie’s party from 10 pm at the Sapphire.”

A groan surfaced from Beca’s throat and her eyes slammed shut as she plopped down on her chair. “I forgot about that. Luke can’t go?”

Gina winced and shook her head. “Family dinner.”

“Family dinner, my ass. His whole family lives back in fucking England,” Beca muttered before she could help it, throwing her assistant an apologetic smile. “Sorry. Thanks, Gina. Hold my calls until ten, please?”

“Of course, Ms. Mitchell.”

As she did every morning while sipping her coffee, Beca listened to demos over the next hour, forwarding them to Luke if any of those yet-unknown artists spiked her interest enough to sign them into their label.

The rest of the day consisted of two meetings, a dozen calls, countless email exchanges, and not enough studio time. A thick blanket of darkness had veiled the city by the time she closed her laptop and called it a day. She stretched her neck and took a moment to gaze at the lit skyscrapers through her floor to ceiling windows, sighing softly.

It was sometimes weird to think about how this was her life. How the asocial, grumpy freshman from thirteen years ago had made it to the top of the music business and now co-owned one of the biggest labels throughout the country.

Scratch that, throughout the  world.  

Snapping out of her daze, Beca stood and slipped on her coat, plucking her phone off the desk to call herself a Lyft home. She had just about time to take a shower and eat dinner before heading to that stupid party.

*

Beca could think of a million things she’d rather be doing right now as she strode down the wet sidewalk towards the lit  GIRLS  red neon sign in the distance a couple of hours later.

She told herself one drink, an hour tops, then she could head home, put on her pajamas, and finish that true-crime TV show she started yesterday.

“Name?” A dude bulkier than the freaking Rock asked her as she made it to the club door.

“Um, Beca Mitchell. I’m Edgy Reggie’s producer.”

Her artist had privatized a strip-club for his celebration party over his album hitting Platinum, and Beca couldn’t  not  show up, as... well, he was an important client and brought her label the big bucks.

The guy checked his clipboard and nodded, hitching his thumb over his shoulder. “You’re good to go.”

Casting the bouncer a nod, Beca ducked inside the dimmed, crowded club, wincing at the crappy music heavily pumping through the speakers. Three girls in bikinis and heels stood on platforms, twisting their bodies around dancing poles as dozens of dudes reclined back in leather sofas, shamelessly ogling their forms.

Beca’s nose crinkled as she scanned the room for her artist.

“Yo, Beca!”

Her gaze snapped to the left corner, catching sight of Edgy Reggie (he didn’t want to change his stage name, no matter how much Beca insisted) waving her over.

“Hey,” she cast him a tight-lipped smile, tucking her straight hair behind her ears. She nodded at the other dudes sitting around the low table. “What’s up.”

“Guys, this is the girl behind the magic of my album,” Edgy Reggie explained, throwing an arm over her shoulders before Beca could squirm away. “She is  fire. ”

Beca chuckled awkwardly, then pointed over her shoulder. “I’m gonna go get myself a drink.”

Maybe two come to think of it, so she could get herself through this.

She headed to the bar and ordered an old-fashioned, fishing in the inside of her coat pocket for her credit card.

“Thanks,” she muttered when the barmaid (also clad in a bikini that left very little to the imagination) came back with her drink, handing her her card just as the club’s speaker made an announcement.

“Ladies and Gentleman, please welcome to the stage…  Ariel! ”

The crowd cheered and hooted, Beca glancing over her shoulder to see what all the fuss was about.

There was no amount of alcohol that could have prepared her for the scene unfolding before her.

There, on the main stage, strutted in a redhead, only wearing a silver g-string and high heels. Beca would have recognized that shade of hair anywhere, and while the lighting in the club was low, there wasn’t a doubt in her mind that this girl -- Ariel -- was her former best friend.

Her former best friend who had dropped from the face of the Earth almost five years ago, without so much as an explanation. She hadn’t just stopped talking to Beca, but to all of them, even Aubrey. She was nowhere to be found on social media and when Beca had tried calling her after six months without news, she found out Chloe’s phone number had been disconnected. It wasn’t like they talked on a daily basis before that. After three years spent living on opposite sides of the country, the texts started coming further in between, their communication coming down to a few check-ins a year and on birthdays, until they eventually stopped.

Fearing the worst, Aubrey had called Chloe’s parents, who assured her she was fine, working as a vet in NYC and in a committed relationship. While relieved, the news stung Beca, as it was clear Chloe had deliberately ceased contact.

It took some time, but Beca eventually stopped thinking about her so much, especially when she started getting successful as a music producer and pouring her time and energy into her projects. She soon won her first Grammys, Gold, and Platinum records featured in notorious magazines and talk shows. She could stop working tomorrow and money wouldn’t become an issue, but Beca didn’t like to boast about her fortune, or fame, for that matter.

Despite being insanely busy, she still kept in touch with the other Bellas in their group chat, but she hadn’t seen any of them in a couple of years, missing the last reunion because of her job.

Beca’s mind steered back to the present, where the once most important person in her life was currently dancing for money. Men were staring hungrily at her as she sensually moved around the pole or bent over with her ass in the air to collect dollar bills from the floor, and Beca suddenly felt sick.

This couldn’t be her dream job, right? Something  had  to have happened for her to settle for this.

Beca grabbed her drink and knocked it back, flagging the barmaid down for another as her mind reeled as to what to do.

She needed to talk to Chloe. In private. Tonight, as soon as she finished… parading in front of these disgusting fuckboys. Only… she wasn’t sure Chloe wanted to talk to her.

“Hey,” she said when the barmaid came back as an idea struck. “How do I get a private lap dance with one of the girls?”

The girl raised a surprised eyebrow. “Backroom, hun. Who do you want?”

“Ariel.”

The platinum blonde let out a curt laugh. “Ariel doesn’t do lap dances, babe.”

Beca’s eyebrows knitted together in a heavy frown. “Why not?”

“Because she’s the boss’ favorite.”

Beca didn’t know what that meant exactly, and she wasn’t sure she wanted to find out as another wave of nausea swept over her insides. “Is your boss here tonight?”

The barmaid scanned the room quickly, nodding. “He’s the guy over there in the suit.”

“Thanks.” She took her drink and headed over to where the fifty-something dude was talking to another guy. Stepping up to them, she ignored their glares over her interrupting their conversation. “Hey. Are you the manager?”

The dude who looked like he ran a mafia mob turned a bit more towards her. “What’s this about?”

“How much for a private dance with Ariel?”

His gaze flickered over Beca’s shoulder towards the stage, then sized Beca up, unimpressed. “She’s not available, kid.”

Beca gritted her teeth at the condescending tone of his voice. “Not even for ten grand for twenty minutes?”

He slow-blinked, then burst out laughing. “Yeah, right.”

“I’m being serious. Ten grand, twenty minutes. Alone in a room, just the two of us.”

The man’s expression hardened. “And I said she’s not  available .”

“Twenty grand.” Hell, she’d throw half a million on the table if that’s what was needed to talk to Chloe. After a beat, she added, “And no touching. That’s not what I’m here for.”

The manager seemed to consider her offer for a handful of seconds. “You got the money?”

Dammit.  She couldn’t withdraw that much right now, she needed to call her bank. “Tomorrow night.”

He smirked, snickering. “I’ll believe it when I see it.”

He turned back to his buddy, leaving Beca grumbling under her breath as she turned around and stalked out of the club. She couldn’t stay. She couldn’t stand the sight of Chloe objectifying her body for money.

As soon as she got home, Beca fired up her computer and typed in Chloe’s name in her browser. Apart from old stuff on the Bellas, she found nothing relevant. Chloe appeared to still be MIA from any social media.

Beca grabbed her phone and scrolled through her contacts, bringing the device to her ear.

“What’s wrong?”  

“How do you know something’s wrong?”

“We call each other twice a year on our respective birthdays and stick to the Bellas chat for the rest.”  

Beca nibbled on her bottom lip. “I found Chloe.”

A long stretch of silence on the other end of the line followed.  “What?”  

“I saw her tonight, Aubrey.”

“Where??”

“At a strip club. She’s… a stripper.”

“What? Did you talk to her?”  

“No. She was performing on stage. But I will. I’m… buying a lap dance from her tomorrow. I figured… she’ll have to listen to me since she’s being paid for it.” Her eyes slammed shut, scrunching up her nose. “I don’t know. It might be a bad idea, but-- I just wanna make sure she’s okay, you know?”

“Yes, of course. Keep me posted?”  

“I will. Talk to you soon.”

Beca shuffled to bed after that, but sleep never came. Her mind kept reeling about Chloe, about what she might say to her once they were face to face, and the possibility that Chloe might shoot her down and refuse to talk to her.

She spent her Saturday trying and failing to make some progress on an ongoing project, willing time to tick faster so she could head back to the club. Mid-afternoon, she headed to the bank to withdraw twenty grand, tucking the envelope in her purse.

“Why does it feel like you’re doing something illegal, Beca?” She muttered to herself on her way out of the bank, slightly paranoid about carrying so much cash on her.

The club was just as crowded when she got there around 10 pm. A different girl danced on the main stage and the manager was nowhere in sight, so Beca perched herself on a stool at the bar, ordering herself another old-fashioned.

“Is your boss around?” She asked the barmaid, a different girl from last night.

“Who’s asking?”

“Tell him the person who wants Ariel is here.”

The girl’s eyebrows shot up at that but she didn’t say anything, nodding before strutting away. Beca sipped at her drink for the next twenty minutes, keeping her back to the stage.

The manager eventually appeared in her peripheral, and he leaned an elbow over the counter, lacing his fingers. “So what’s so special about Ariel?”

Beca slowly set her drink down and fished for the envelope, pushing it towards him while keeping her gaze straight ahead. “I like redheads.”

He plucked the envelope off the counter and peered inside. Twenty stacks of ten hundred dollar bills in exchange for twenty minutes with Chloe.

He nodded. “Follow me.”

Beca finished the rest of her drink, the alcohol managing to muffle her nerves some as she followed the manager towards the back of the club, and down a set of stairs. Her heart pumped hard in her ears and her palms started to sweat as she was led inside a dimly lit room with a handful of sofa chairs and a small stage with a dancing pole, some kind of music that seemed straight out of a porno carrying through the speakers. A spiral staircase was tucked in the right corner, and she guessed that is where the strippers made their entrance from.

Beca wondered how far things usually went in these kinds of private rooms.

She wondered how far  Chloe  went.

She cast the guy a tight-lipped smile and a nod before he closed the door, and paced the room for a little while, eventually lowering herself on one of the leather chairs and wiping her palms on her designer slacks.

The clicking of heels over metal made Beca’s spine snap straighter. She resisted the urge to look over her shoulder as the steps grew nearer, digging her nails into her thighs as a new round of nerves gripped her insides.

“Good evening, sweetheart,” the huskiness of Chloe’s voice made Beca swallow, and she felt a hand run over her shoulders as Chloe approached from behind.

Glancing up, Beca met familiar, ocean blues.

[solarwonux]

In Another Life || Jeonghan

Jeonghan x !reader

w.c: 3.6k

warning: some cursing, angst, mentions of alcohol 

summary: soulmates come in different ways.

note: it’s laura again, i’m starting over for funsies so here you are enjoy and let me know your thoughts, hehe.xx

The morning you were taken off your first big case at the firm. You had walked in after another sleepless night, prominent bags underneath your eyes, your body slouching from exhaustion. You had willingly stayed up looking over pages and pages of notes, frustrated because you were close to solving it. Though you had missed an important piece of evidence and you couldn’t figure out what it was. But you weren’t going to give up not on yourself and not on the girls that had been kidnapped and sold. So you stayed up and read everything you had over and over until you finally found what was missing, your alarm clock blaring, scaring you, feeling like you were about to burst into tears knowing you were going to help bring justice to girls that had been wrong for years.

Though when you arrived at that firm that morning, running into Joshua’s office to let him know that you had finally solved the case. Your heart dropped when your eyes landed on Jeonghan casually leaning against the far wall of Joshua’s office.

“What’s going on?” You gripped the strap of your purse, bringing it in front of you and holding it close to your body. “I’m taking you off the case.” Joshua sighed leaning his body against the back of his chair.

“W-What no you can’t do that, I solved it…I found what was missing, there was a man in each of the sites where the girls were dropped off, I can only assume he was undercover cause he always had a camera with him. I just need his name…I’ll find his name and contact him; I can only imagine how much evidence he has that can help us with this.” You spoke, setting down your folders on his desk, opening them up and pointing to the pictures you had had on you for months and always overlooked the man in a black coat with a camera in the corner.

Joshua sighed, gripping the back of his chair. He closed his eyes, throwing his head back before pushing himself away from his chair. “It’s final, you're off the case, Jeonghan will be taking over, I expect you to give him all the evidence you have gathered by the end of the day.” He stated walking past you, his hands stuffed deep into the pocket of his slacks. 

“Joshua you can’t do this…I’ll work with him.” You exclaimed. “But please don’t take me off this case.” You pleaded grabbing onto his wrist making him stop dead in his tracks. “I can’t have you overworking yourself like this…I know this case is important to you but not important enough to kill yourself the way you are. I’ve made my decision, you’re off the case.” He stated firmly He pulled his arm from your grip opening his office door, giving you one saddened look before exiting his office, mumbling underneath his breath.

“You should go home and sleep, I promise I’ll do everything in my power and help put these men in jail.” Jeonghan whispered, placing a comforting hand on your shoulder. The anger rising in you as you heard his smooth voice fill your ears. You hated how caring he sounded, hated how comfortable he made you feel. Hated how unapologetic he was for taking this opportunity to finally prove yourself away from you.

“Fuck you Jeonghan.” You spat out shoving his arm away, sending him a glare before angrily exiting Joshua’s office.

“Boss man wants to see us in his office,” Jeonghan said slamming down a stack of papers and folders on his desk making you jump.

“For what?” You said rolling your eyes, putting your highlighter down and closing the folder that contained the current case you were reading up on.

“No idea…Hoshi just told me, when I walked past.” He shrugged off his coat jacket, draping it on the back of his chair. “I think he just finished giving Soonyoung an earful for almost losing the drug case last week.” He stated, bring a hand up to his hair. “So, I rather not keep him waiting.” He nodded hitting the back of your chair softly signaling for you to get moving. You sighed closing the highlighter and standing up, taking a few deep breaths before following Jeonghan to Joshua’s office.

The atmosphere thick the minute the two of you walked into his office. His back facing both you and Jeonghan as he stared out the window taking in the grey city skyline. His anger surrounding his toned body, engulfing both you and Jeonghan in the process. “The two of you…sit.” He ordered. Your hands starting to shake at your sides as you thought of all the things the two of you could’ve done to make your boss as upset as he was. Assuming Joshua had finally had enough of all the petty arguments that would happen between the two of you daily. 

Jeonghan and you shared a confused look, glaring at each other in the process and you knew he was thinking the same thing as you. “Whatever is happening it’s all her fault,” Jeonghan spoke up, a childish tone laced behind his smooth velvet voice. You rolled your eyes taking a seat in one of the chairs in front of Joshua’s wooden desk. “Grow up, it’s always your fault.” You fought back, crossing your legs and arms. 

“Really...should I remind you who spilled coffee on my computer last week, claiming it was an accident. I was pushed back a week’s worth of work as it got repaired.” He scoffed, taking a seat next to you, crossing his arms in front of his torso like a kid. 

“I wouldn’t have spilled coffee on your computer if you hadn’t come up behind me to scare me.” You retorted sending him a glare before turning to face Joshua’s tense back. You watched as he looked up at the ceiling mumbling underneath his breath shaking his head before turning to face the two of you. His harsh gaze falling between the two of you making you feel smaller than usual. 

“I wish the two of you would shut up for once in your lives, I don’t give a shit about what the issue between the two of you is today...I didn’t call you in here to listen to you guys bicker because frankly, I stopped caring years ago.” Joshua pushed his chair out from under his desk and sat down. He placed his hands on top of it folding them together, milking out the situation, keeping you and Jeonghan on edge as you wondered why the hell you were in his office if it wasn’t to be scolded.

“Then why are we her?.” 

“I’m taking you off the cases the two of you have been assigned to.” 

“You can’t be serious, I’m supposed to be meeting with my client today, I can’t just stop now.” Jeonghan sat up, resting his forearms on his knees, leaning forward. 

“Well then meet with your client and tell them you won’t be representing them anymore Jeonghan, I’m not up to argue with you about this. Not today.” Joshua leaned forward, widening his eyes as a warning.

“Fine, whatever, are you giving us new cases then?” You spoke, sitting up straight, smoothing out your blouse. 

“No, I’m sending the two of you to the New York office to work on the Pledis Inc. embezzlement case. Vernon suspects there’s more to the story than they’re being led on and asked for the two of you.” Joshua nodded, leaning back in his seat, finally letting out the breath he had been unknowingly holding in. 

“What, Joshua no, you can’t do that. I can’t work with him, he’s insufferable, always getting under my skin, or are you forgetting all the times I come to you begging to move my desk away from his so I can finally get some peace.” You stood up, frustration running through your veins at the thought of working with your mortal enemy raced through your head. 

“Please it’s an honor to work with me, I can’t say the same thing for you though.” Jeonghan scoffed standing up, fixing his pale pink slacks. “I’ll work with anyone except her, I can’t stand listening to the sound of her voice for more than eight hours a day.” Jeonghan pleaded, throwing his hands in the air pointing an accusing finger at you making you roll your eyes. 

“I can say the same thing for you, every time you talk, I feel like I’m losing brain cells and it drives me insane.” You exclaimed, digging your nails into the palm of your hands forming small crescent moons in the process. 

“Enough the two of you, my decision is final. You’ll leave on Friday, the plane ticket and hotel have already been paid.” Joshua finalized, opening the manila folder he had in front of him. “Maybe the two of you can finally work on your differences on this trip.” He grinned knowingly, grabbing a pen and turning his attention to the papers in the folder.

You let out a frustrated groan and exited his office as fast as you could. Your anger rising to depths you had never once witnessed in your life. You needed to get away, at least for a little while because you knew if you stayed you would’ve said something you weren’t supposed to. Something that would cost you your job and Jeonghan or Joshua weren’t worth losing the one thing that you knew you could confidently do without hesitation. The only thing that would be there for you in life, the only thing you could truly consider as yours. 

“Listen to me Jeonghan, stop talking, and listen to me for once.” You yelled out as you paced back and forth in the small office Vernon forced the two of you to share. Claiming it would help with teamwork or some shit like that. Jeonghan sighed, shutting his mouth, taking his glasses off, running a frustrated hand down his face. “We meet with the judge tomorrow afternoon and I still feel like we’re missing something.” He confessed standing up from his chair walking towards the small window. New York’s nightlife below the skyscrapers breathing with life making the two of you wish you could at least enjoy one night out in the city.

“We have everything, we’ve checked out the bases more than once, checked our alibis more than once everything is going to go as planned tomorrow. Trust me or at least trust yourself.” You said putting a reassuring hand on his shoulder, feeling his muscles tense underneath your touch. 

For a month and a half the two of you had closely been working together day and night. He was the last person you saw before bed and the first person you saw when you awoke the next day. The bickering between the two of you continued as usual, but you found yourself trusting him more and more as the days went by. He always knew what to say whenever you had started to doubt yourself and your abilities. He was always there to lend a comforting hand whenever you found yourself plagued with overwhelming waves of anxiety. And slowly he had started to grow on you, your personal vendetta against him fading into the background each time he gave you a tender smile. 

“How do you always know what to say to make me feel better?” He whispered, turning his attention to the floor. A tiny smile adorning his flawless face as he let out an airy laugh. “Maybe it’s my hidden talent.” You grinned removing your hand from his arm, itching to touch him again. 

“Let’s go back to the hotel, we deserve a good night's sleep.” You said gathering your things from the desk, making sure everything went into its rightful place. 

“You sure you’re not trying to get into my pants.” He joked as he walked to stand by your side, gathering the papers he had thrown on the desk out of frustration earlier that day. His body heat overwhelmed your senses, and you fought yourself to keep your emotions in check. Knowing that whatever was stirring inside of you was just due to the stress you had been put under for the last few months. You lightly shook your head trying to get your mind out of the gutter, telling yourself that Jeonghan was your enemy, a co-worker at most. And that once things were settled, once the case was over and the two of you were back home you’d go back to hating each other again. 

“In your dreams Hanie.” You said putting your purse over your shoulder. “I’ll wait for you downstairs.” You nodded, exiting the room with your heart in your throat.

To your surprise, the bar across the street from the court house was empty and the reason why you and Jeonghan had chosen it to go and celebrate after winning your case. You felt giddy, the kind of giddy you would feel whenever you made eye contact with the cute guy from math class back in high school. You also felt unstoppable, the kind of unstoppable you could only assume superheroes felt in movies. And you felt nervous, the kind of nervous you had started to feel whenever Jeonghan sent a sly smile in your direction. A feeling you had been ignoring since the day Jeonghan decided to make your life a living hell. And you felt stupid. 

“We make a pretty good team,” Jeonghan spoke, clinking his beer bottle with yours distracting you from your thoughts. You grinned wrapping your hand over your bottle and clinking yours with him. “Who would’ve thought?” You giggled bringing your bottle up to your lips, gulping down a large amount. Jeonghan watches you closely raising a brow before letting out a soft laugh. 

“I can’t wait to get home and just sleep, I’m planning on ignoring Joshua’s calls for at least a week.” He confessed looking around the room, taking in the musty aesthetic before making an unsatisfied face. “This place is awful no wonder no one comes in here.” He commented. 

“Ahh, you win one case and now you feel like a hotshot, can’t wait for Joshua to set you in your place once we’re home.” You playfully roll your eyes, running your index finger around the rim of your beer bottle. 

“False, I’ve won many cases, though this is the second one I’ve won with your help so...thank you.” He nodded giving you the smile you had grown so accustomed too, one you hoped he only reserved for you. “What other case?” You cocked your head to the side confusion written across your feature. 

“The sex trafficking one I took over years ago.” He reassured, his grip on his beer bottle getting tighter. “If I knew Joshua was going to take you off it when I went and told him how worried I was for you, I would’ve kept my mouth shut, especially knowing how much it meant to you.” He finished, your heart feeling like it was about to burst. You always suspected Jeonghan was the reason why you were taken off the case, but you always assumed it was out of mal intent. Never once taking a step back and thinking that he might’ve done it out of the goodness of his heart. 

“You were worried about me?” You said mentally slapping yourself for focusing on that piece of information instead of his gratitude. He let out a loud laugh, escaping your intense stare, deciding to focus his attention on the dusty bullhead on the wall behind you. 

“Mhm...to be frank I used to have feelings for you, it’s like the world stopped when I saw you walk in through the double doors of the building for the first time.” He assured, his body itching to look down at you again. Your mind running in circles as you tried to process every single word that came out of his lips. “And when you first talked to me it was as if I had known you for years, so, when I saw you neglecting yourself I got worried. I spoke with Joshua that morning and just thought he would let me work on the case with you, to lighten up the load. I never expected him to take you off it completely.” Jeonghan finished, finally getting the courage to look at you again, his smile reaching his eyes when he took in your blushing cheeks and wide eyes. “I’m sorry.”

“Do you still...um, do you still have feelings for me?” You choked out, his words resonating deep inside of you closing over your heart tightly. For years you had felt this strange gut feeling the minute your eyes first met his. It was one you could only describe as familiar. When he first came over to welcome you to the office your hands undoubtedly were shaking at your sides. He had greeted you with a large smile, one you were sure you had once seen before. He made you feel at home, comfortable to the point where you forgot about all your worries. And maybe you did harbor those same feelings he had harbored for you once, which is why it hurt like hell when Joshua announced he was the one to take over your case.

“I’m engaged.” He blurted out, his palms feeling sweaty and your knees felt like they were so weak to the point you could fall out of your chair. “I mean...no yeah...I’m engaged, but I think no matter what the feelings I had for you will never die down.” He visibly gulped, bringing his beer bottle up to his lips gulping down the rest of it before setting it down in front of him. 

“W-Why’s that?” You whispered the water droplets off your bottle coating your fingers. Something inside of your stirred subconsciously knowing his answer to your question. “The universe has its way of working, and I can’t shake off this feeling that maybe if things weren’t the way they were we’d be together now, but I love Mei so much, she makes me happy and I abandon her to chase after my own selfish fantasy...What I mean is what if this isn’t the life we’re supposed to end up together. What if I screw it up with the one person I know loves me more than anything in this world because there’s a voice in the back of my mind, pressuring me to follow it, instead of following my heart.” He breathed out, bringing his hand up to his forehead shaking his head lightly. “I care about you so much, but I know I’m not the one for you, and if we are meant to be with one another then we will find our way back to each other again.” 

“Jeonghan.” You smiled, placing a hand on top of his trying to use your warmth as a means to calm him down. His eyes meet yours once again, taking in every single one of your features before letting a small smile take over his face. An unspoken promise lingering in the air between the two of you. Your heart finally settling down as you felt yourself retreating away from him, letting him go. Realizing you had kept him close to you because you had once felt the same thing he had felt. You looked around blinking back tears, leaving your feelings for him etched into the walls of the musty dim-lit bar, and finally, you looked at him one last time. Looked at him with all the love you had for him one last time, knowing very well that if you had been brought together in this life, you would be brought together in another one. 

“It’s not our time, don’t beat yourself up over it, surprisingly I’m not heartbroken Jeonghan...and who knows--.” You shrugged, cutting yourself off. Feeling a laugh bubble up inside of you and escaping your lungs. ”maybe in another life, we’d finally get the chance to be unstoppable together.”

[marchtomydrums]

In the beginning Part 2

Casey Novak X Alex Cabot X Reader

I've been settling into my job for a few weeks now. Casey has been kind enough to show me around and help me out if I need it. It's been so easy to talk to her and get to know her if only it was that easy with Alex. The number of people that give me sad eyes when they realize I work under Alex Cabot is insane. Apparently, she's the talk of the office and even has gained the nickname of the Ice Queen. Alex is incredibly smart and she's good with the clients however she's not that nice to the people in the office except with Casey. The interaction between the two made me question the kind of relationship they had. So one day at lunch I came right out and asked Casey and she confirmed that the two of them are in a relationship. I figured as much but I didn't expect to be somewhat sad that they were both taken. After lunch, I head back to the office to finish up my work.

Five hours later I'm finishing up and ready to take the files to Alex. I knock on the door and wait for her to answer. When I hear a come in I open the door. Walking to the desk I stand there waiting for her to acknowledge me. While waiting I couldn't help but stare at her and admire her beauty.

“Are you just going to stare at me or tell me why you're here?” Alex asks looking up at you.

“Sorry,” you say shaking your head.

“I'm just bringing these flies to you with the notes. I'll just leave them here,” you tell her putting the flies at the edge of the desk.

Alex barely says one word to you as you drop the files down and head out.

“Umm, I'll see you tomorrow,” you mumble.

“Mmhm, see ya,” Alex says shortly.

Alex’s POV:

Soon after you leave Casey is knocking at the door.

“Hi, hon you ready to leave?”

“Yes, I was waiting for you,” I tell her as I get my things in order. Casey and I walk out of the building holding hands as we walk home.

“Alex,” Casey says softly.

“Hmm?”

“I like y/n. “

“I know you do. “

“What do you think?”

I stop to make eye contact with Casey. I can tell she really likes you. I sigh “I don’t know she's pretty young case.”

“She is. But if you actually got to know her you'd understand. She's smart Alex, and kind, and I really like her. However, I love you and we won't pursue it if you're not comfortable. “ Casey smiles at me and I know what she wants but she would drop if I told her to.

“Casey if you like her then we will pursue it. Trust me i can see the appeal but you know I just need time, especially after last time. Bit if you're ready we can go slow. “

Casey smiles wide and kisses me.

“Thank you, Alex. “

“Don't thank me yet we don't even know if she's gay. “ I chuckle as we start waking again.

“Oh trust me she is.”

“How do you know?”

“I've seen her look at you. Especially when you're in court she watches your ass.” Casey tells me giggling.

“Does she really?”

“Yes, she does.”

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

Over the past few weeks, you and Casey have been getting closer talking almost every day and meeting for lunch. You really liked Casey and almost felt bad since you knew she was with Alex. It was weird to you that someone like Casey could be with someone like Alex.

Alex hasn't been making your job very easy lately. She's constantly on your ass and taking out all her stuff out on you. Maybe it has something to do with you hanging around Casey. Sitting in the diner you decide to let Casey know.

“Casey I don't think we should do this anymore.”

“Do what? Lunch?” she asked you confused. You nod your head yes.

“Why?”

“I think it's upsetting Alex. She's been extra bitchy towards me lately and I don't want her to think that we have something going on.”

Casey looks at you for a moment before she lets out a loud laugh.

“Oh honey, Alex is just a serious person especially when it comes to work. I promise you she knows we hang out and she's fine with it. “Casey tells you reaching across the table to squeeze your hand.

“Are you sure? I don't want to cause any problems.”

“I'm sure besides Alex and I have an interesting relationship.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, we sometimes bring in a third-person into our relationship. Usually just for sex but here recently we've been looking for a partner more than a hookup.”

You almost choke on your drink trying not to spit it out. Casey giggles as you cough a little.

“Are you okay?” she giggles.

“Yeah, umm I just didn't think Alex would be into that. “

Casey laughs “well you be surprised.”

You laugh as well not really knowing how to take the new information. Maybe this whole crush on Alex and Casey could work out after all. Casey clears her throat drawing your attention back to her.

“Why don’t you come over tonight? I’m making dinner and I think you’ll see Alex in a different light. “

“Maybe, Umm are you sure that’s okay?”

“I wouldn’t have asked if it wasn’t.”

“Okay. I’ll be there. Just text me a time.”

“Well do. See ya later.”

Casey leaves first while you stagger behind your mind heavy with thoughts and your body filled with anxiety.

Casey’s POV:

After lunch I head to Alex’s office. Knocking on the door I walk in to greet her.

“Hey babe.”

Hi, sweetie. Did you have a good lunch with y/n?”

“Yes, that’s why I’m here actually.”

“Oh yeah?”

“I invited her to dinner tonight.”

“Ah huh. And how do you expect this evening to go?”

“Well I’m going to ask her to join us if that’s okay with you.”

Alex sits for a moment in silence. I can see the wheels in her head turning. I lean down to catch her eyes.

“Alex, If you really don’t want this please tell me. I won’t do this if you’re not 100% in it.”

Alex smiles as she makes her way around the desk to me. She pulls me in for a hug and a kiss.

“Im in Casey. I just think it’s going to take some time. But you already have a connection with her and I think it would great for you. Just give me some time okay? We can date her individually and together. I just need time.”

“I’ll give you whatever you need. You know that.”

“I know honey I’d do the same for you.” Alex tells me as she leans into to kiss me again.

[call-me-sammy]

About Walnuts... or something

Matt Murdock crackfic

Word count: 1444

This was great. Perfect. Awesome. Just what he needed right now.

With a sigh, Matt shed off his jacket, dropping it to the ground next to him. The crack of his neck echoed through the alleyway he’d been forced to back into, as he briefly warmed himself up for the upcoming fight.

Fucking kingpin and his stupid goons. They’ve always had a shit sense for timing. Fuck them and their habit of ruining his good mood.

He raised his fists. The scarf he was always carrying with himself since the last time he had to act quickly without his suit (he’d learned from his mistakes, mind you) was now dangling around his head, covering his eyes and nose. Time to beat up some bad guys.

Five minutes later, with a nosebleed and a few bruises that would surely be a dark shade of purple by the time he got home, he kicked the last goon hard in the side. Not because it was necessary (he was already very much unconscious), but because, frankly, the guy was a dick.

He looked down on himself. Or rather, he dropped his chin to his chest and concentrated on taking in all his surroundings.

Now, the stench of blood all around him became obvious. Fuck, he hated the smell of it. It wasn’t his own blood for once, thankfully, but it was still on his hands. And his face. And clothes. On his shirt. On his white, button up shirt.

Awesome, another one of his good shirts ruined. It just had to be one of the button ups he always wore to work, didn’t it? Those goons had no respect for fashion (or sense for it either, considering what they were wearing). Did they have any idea how expensive good clothes could be??

He let out a huff as he kicked him again, this time in the face (just for good measure), before turning away and making his way back towards his apartment, casually picking up his jacket on the way and slinging it over his shoulder.

He’d have to go buy some new shirts.

--

“Hey, sorry, excuse me, could you help me find some, uh... walnuts...?”

He spoke the last word hesitantly, suddenly not entirely sure if he remembered correctly. He’d heard someone, somewhere, mention them being a good, ecofriendly substitute for detergent. For some reason, he had remembered that conversation today of all days, shortly after his afternoon fight, and he’d thought hey, why not try if it actually works? Doing good for nature and all, you know.

Now, he wasn’t entirely sure about it anymore though. Walnuts. It had been walnuts, right?

“I just need help finding them because I, uh-“

He waved towards his eyes, trying to explain to the Aldi employee why he needed her help.

“Well. I’m blind.”

Yes, she knows Matthew. You’re wearing toned glasses and you have a white cane with you. It’s pretty obvious.

The employee just shrugged. “I kinda figured. So, walnuts, yeah?”

“Yes. Walnuts. I need them for, uh. For washing.” He added dumbly, regretting it immediately. Now she was gonna think him a weirdo, great job Matthew. Who even used walnuts for washing, anyways?

“....and to eat them. Of course. Cause walnuts, uh, they make smart... from what I’ve heard. Uhm...”

He trailed off, as soon as his brain, helpful as ever, informed him he was only making it worse. Yeah, he could really use some “smart” now. Damn it, Matthew, get your shit together.

The girl didn’t even bat an eye, she just shook her head slightly and gently took him by the elbow, guiding him down an aisle.

“This way.”

“Oh, and I also need some new shirts? I got bloo- ...blond. Uh. Blond hairdye, on my shirt, because I was... dying my hair—“

He could’ve slapped himself. You have dark hair, Matthew.

She just rolled her eyes (not that he would’ve known) and got him to the clothing aisle next. Customers.

Five minutes later he stood outside of the Aldi again, clutching a bag of walnuts and a maxi pack of plain, white shirts. He also bought a glass of stracciatella yoghurt, cause he was hungry, and impulse buying’s a thing. Sue him, it just smelled good.

Now he didn’t even really need to wash his old shirt anymore since he had new ones, but he was still gonna do it. He was curious now, if it was really gonna work.

Back at home he dumped all of the new shirts plus the old, stained one straight into his washing machine, then put a few of the walnuts in a sock and after a second of hesitation, just threw it in there too. He started the machine, turned away and then just forgot about it for the next couple hours.

---

“Damn, I’m gonna be late again, damn it damn— Foggy, hey!”

He almost crashed into his friend, while hurrying down the corridor as fast as he could while still trying to look like a normal blind guy.

“Christ, Matt, you gotta slow down or you’re gonna break your neck running into someone, man. Where were you? You’re almost late again, and— oh Jesus, what are you wearing?”

Even without seeing it, Matt could feel Foggy's horrified stare on him. Or, rather, on his shirt.

“What's wrong with what I’m wearing?”

“Fuck, Matt, is that blood?”

Foggy's voice was a harsh whisper. He pulled Matt into an empty room, pulling the door close behind them.

Matt sighed. With his luck, out of all the shirts he just had to pick the old one, didn’t he?

“No, it’s-“

“Matt. Stop bullshitting. Man, what did you think wearing an obviously bloodstained shirt to work? Are you insane?”

“Is it really that bad?”

“Yes, it is! Can’t you, like... smell it or some shit?”

Matt was growing increasingly annoyed. He crossed his arms over his chest. As if this was his fault. Stupid walnuts.

“No I can, normally, but I washed it. It just smells like soap now. No blood.”

“So what, you just threw a bloody shirt into the washing machine without doing anything else with it before?”

“Yeah, why, what should I have done with it? Isn't just washing enough?”

Foggy shook his head, incredulous.

“Geez, how are you so clueless about all of this? Wasn’t your dad a boxer? You need to wash the blood out first, with cold water, and then treat it with lemon juice or vinegar or something before actually washing it. It won't wash out completely if you don't, man. I feel like you should know that by now.”

“...wait, how do you know all of this?”

Foggy shrugged.

“Had to listen to one of Karen's rants about it.”

“And why would Karen know that much about washing out blood? I thought I was the one beating up people here.”

Foggy gave him a disappointed look, the words “you gotta be kidding me” basically radiating off of him.

“...she’s a girl, Matthew.”

“Yes, I know that, thank you, but why— ...oh. Right.”

“Jesus, Matt, I thought lawyers were supposed to be smart. But you’re just one hell of a dumbass, seriously..”

He shook his head and pulled Matt's jacket closer together over his chest to cover more of the stains.

“...c‘mon, let's just go to my place real quick. It’s closer, but we’ll still be late though. Well, better be late than have our new clients see you wearing that. Would give one hell of a first impression, that's for sure.”

Matt only hummed in response and was about to walk out again, when Foggy held him back.

“What did you wash it with, anyways? Smells a bit funny.”

Matt had noticed too, of course, but it just smelled a bit different from his usual detergent. There was nothing wrong with it. Not really.

“Oh, uh, with Walnuts.”

There was a short pause.

“....with walnuts? Why would you- what? ...Why?”

“I think I heard someone talk about it once? How it’s more ecofriendly and better for nature and all. Just thought I’d give it a try.”

He shrugged, and then grew more and more concerned and confused when Foggy didn’t respond. Then, after a good five second pause, he burst out laughing so hard that Matt actually flinched.

“Soapnuts, Matt, they’re called soapnuts! Not fucking walnuts, soapsnuts!”

Foggy was laughing so hard he was close to tears, wheezing breaths in and out.

Matt on the other hand was blushing hard in embarrassment. Oh god.

“Oh. I thought they said- I didn’t know-“

Foggy just hugged him briefly, a single tear running down his cheek.

“Fuck, Karen is gonna love this!”

---

About a week later, Matt received a package. No sender, just his adress and the word “walnuts” written on it in black ink.

When he opened it, he found a wooden corset inside. Made out of walnuts. (He looked damn good in it.)

@tallbisexualwantstobeloved @whumpdoyoumean @do-androids-dream-ao3acc

Note: alright folks, what you here see is a weird crack fic me and three other people wrote, just for fun. The idea came from a dumb joke and a, admittedly, pretty weird but hilarious conversation, and somehow we decided to make a challenge out of it? So all of us wrote a fic for it. You can find them here, here, and here. I really recommend reading them cause frankly they’re pretty hilarious XD

Thanks for reading!

[writefinch]

Family-Owned Small Business

(CN: incest, sex work, mentions of sexual assault & suicidal ideation)

The worst part of my job is administration. Last-minute rescheduling when a client flakes on us. Chasing up payments. Booking accommodation at short notice. Answering messages! Jesus, every time in the last year when I've slumped, sighed, and thought to myself "fuck working, I need a break from all this" it's been when I've opened my messages and seen thirty different texts that need a reply. Some people are fine with it I guess, but for me it's boring, time consuming, and stressful.

Big deal though, right, I mean nobody loves doing admin, why even bring it up? Well, if I tell someone that for work last night I ate a client's cum out of my mom's pussy, I'd expect that they'd get fixated on the sex work and the incest. I'd expect them to freak out and not pay attention to the specifics of what I'm saying. So, first, I'd like that person to know that the thing I hate about my job is probably the same thing that *they* hate about *their* job. I would rather lick my mom's asshole for five minutes than answer emails for five minutes, and I answer a lot of emails.

Do we have to worry about violence, danger, cops, and legal trouble? Yeah, we do. Am I scared of these things? Yeah, sometimes, but I had to worry about all of those things before I started doing sex work. At least now we've got the money to buy our way out of the worst of it.

I'm not saying that what I do with mom is an objectively healthy relationship, let alone a perfect one. If you took me back in time and told me I could pick a completely different life for me and my mom, I'm sure there's a bunch of choices I'd pick over this one. But I never had that choice. I got hurt a lot growing up. I feel like I've finally escaped the things that hurt me, but I know that I've barely started to recover from them.

That's why I'm writing this. We've saved enough money to afford some therapy and my first session is next week. I want help with the fear, the nightmares, the mood swings and insomnia, I want to stop the rush of rage and terror that flows through me every time I see the word 'dad,' I want help untangling the stuff that came out of being told I was a pansy when I was growing up, then figuring out I'm gay, then figuring out I'm a girl, then figuring out I'm all three of those things while I was living in a place that kept trying to kill me for it. What I don't want is for the psych to pin it all on the two least harmful and least fucked-up things about my life, and worse, I don't want them to make me believe it. This journal is a prophylactic, an assessment of my job, my relationships and my life that I can refer back to if and when someone sticks their fingers in my brain and swirls them around.

I'll start with a problem statement: my dad. The memories that hurt the most are the ones where he almost appeared human, the flickers of joy, curiosity and humor that stood out from the bland cruelty that made up the rest of his personality. I'll remember him buying me ice cream or talking about a book or a movie with me, I'll doubt myself and wonder if I just went crazy and cut him out of my life for no reason, and then my brain will hook onto a random act of sadism he inflicted on me.

The physical abuse was bad all on its own, real psycho shit like driving me out into the woods and making me pick through the brush for a switch he could hit me with and a whole lot more I won't go into, but the emotional abuse was worse. When I was eleven, I forgot to feed my cat one day. He gave her away to my uncle, but told me that she'd developed malnutrition and had to be put down. I didn't find out the truth for another two years, when he just let it slip at Easter. He bragged about it, even, like he'd invented a really smart child-rearing technique. I don't want to write too much down here because I don't need to, if anything I want therapy to *stop* everything he did from running through my head. He's a punishment-obsessed sadist, a Baptist, and he works as a judge. Did he ever sexually abuse me? No. Parent of the year, right? He kicked me out for being a fag the day I turned eighteen, so it's ironic that my biggest fear is that he comes looking for me. He doesn't even know I'm a girl.

On the other hand, my mom has had an interesting life. She's kind of a fuck up. When I was one year old, mom and dad split and dad got full custody--being a judge helped with that--while mom left the state. She spent a decade trying to kick a heroin habit and a year and a half in prison for related stuff, got banned from even entering the state I lived in on account of her parole--again, dad being a judge helped with that--illegally emigrated to Canada for a while, and went to Oregon by mistake, doing a mixture of bartending, delivery driving, MDMA dealing and whoring to stay afloat.

The only reason we met again is that I was in the same city staying with friends, also whoring. I don't remember the first time I saw her, but the first time we talked was in a mutual friend's tiny studio apartment with a few other hooker friends. We ended up comparing our Pest Lists, shared a few drinks, and swapped numbers. A week later we fucked, and a month after *that* we realized that we'd Oedipus'd ourselves. It seems funnier now than it did at the time.

That was an emotional time. We cried with joy that we'd found each other, we started tip-toeing around the ideas of rebuilding our lives together, and we agreed to pretend that the sex had never happened. Of course, we got drunk together a week later and fucked again. She's hot! I have a thing for older women, I have a thing for breaking taboos, and I have a thing for being mommied in bed. Blame dad for raising me like this, I dunno.

We started doing sex work as a team after she got a dental abscess. The bill for the hospital stay and the tooth removal was insane, and the dentist straight-up told her that she'd end up with another in a different tooth within a year if she didn't get two root canals. Even when she was recovering, we could only afford fish antibiotics off of Amazon. We crunched some numbers and made some inquiries, and figured out that we could pull in two week's worth of our combined income with one night of mother-daughter stuff.

Our first joint session was with a real estate pervert I'll call Stan, a chubby balding powerlifter in his fifties who we'd both had as a client before. Mom took me over her knees and switched between spanking me and fingering me while he watched. I sucked him off while mom made out with him, made out with my mom with his cock between our lips, licked his balls as mom licked my ass, then let him fuck my ass while mom sat on my face. That was the first half hour. He came six more times before we passed out in the early hours of the morning, and I drifted off nursing his finally-limp cock in my mouth. He paid us the price of a used Volkswagen for our trouble, and I blew him one last time before we left as a thank-you.

Six months later, mom's teeth were fixed, I was on spiro, and we had just under a dozen clients for our "doubles sessions." Only a few of our appointments are ones with me and mom together, three or four a month, we mostly work alone. That's not out of a deliberate choice, it's just that we've got a strict criteria for who we'll double up on.

Trust is one thing: depending on the lawyers we can afford, what we're doing is either kinda illegal or extremely illegal. Since my dad is presumably still a judge, I don't want him to ever find out about this. He'd put us in a prison or a mental institution. We won't do a double session with a client unless we've both had individual sessions with them.

Money is the other thing. Getting your dick sucked by a hot mom while her daughter sucks your balls costs a week's wages for the average person. Hiring us for the night is more like a month's wages. Even in a city like this, there's only a few thousand people that can drop that kind of money on hookers. Then, they've got to *want* to fuck a trans girl and her mom together. Don't get me wrong, more people are into mother-daughter incest than you'd expect, but it's not a universal thing.

Clients are, on average, annoying. It's a fact of life. The thing that all clients have in common is a ton of disposable income and a fondness for fucking hookers. They're not necessarily bad people, but there’s a heavy ‘What can a banana cost, ten dollars?’ vibe to them. It’s not that they’re adrenochrome-drinkers who don’t see regular people as human, it’s more that they don’t have an intuitive awareness that other people don’t have savings accounts, health insurance, an investment property, and four figures of walking-around money at any given time. I guess I'd feel differently if I was like, a concierge or a PA, but there's a lot more pillow talk in my job.

I've had bad and dangerous clients before, there's been at least two occasions where I was pretty sure I was going to die--one where the hospital afterwards stay wiped out four months of income, not counting the month where I couldn’t work--but they were all before I met mom, when I couldn't be so careful about screening prospective clients and dropping them if they threw up red flags. I'm sure we'll get bad clients in the future, but we're in a better place to deal with them safely.

I also wanna write down what a "normal day" is like. Friday was a good example. I woke up early at 9am and cooked breakfast for mom. She was up already doing the laundry. We entertain some clients in our apartment, so we go through a lot of clothes and a lot of sheets. You can't fuck a guy on top of another guy's cum stains, that's rude. Some of the job is Housework But More. We don't really use the main bedroom or the sitting room because we treat them like bed and breakfast guest rooms. It's annoying but every time we have a session without getting an actual hotel or motel room we save like $50 minimum.

After breakfast I epilated, showered, and went for a run. Personal grooming isn't that big a deal in terms of time, I'm not saying I don't spend a lot of time on it, I do, but I'd be spending that time even if I worked in a bar or an office or something. Look: I'm hot. I might have been a weird-looking spotty nerd when I thought I was a boy, but as a girl I'm a fucking dime. I could get like, 25% uglier before it had any impact on my earnings. The only part of personal grooming that's necessary for sex work and I wouldn't do all the time anyway is power-washing my guts an hour before every session.

After lunch, mom went to see some friends and I played Magic for a few hours. At two pm, the actual work started. I picked up the work phone for the first time that day and began answering texts. An hour later I'd cancelled the 6pm appointment, blocked out all of Sunday evening, checked in with a few regulars, and provisionally moved three guys to the 'Time Wasters' list.

I spent a while sexting with a good prospect. He was a good prospect because he paid up-front for the sexting instead of treating it like a free samples platter at Costco. We scheduled a tentative appointment for next Tuesday, when his wife would be out of town on a business trip. Most of the guys I fuck have kinks, and I swear that 'cheating on your wife with a sex worker' is the most common one there is. Do I feel bad about it? At my hourly rate, absolutely not.

Mom got back at half four, so I took a break. We made tacos for lunch together and ate while watching Billions. She nudged me and told me that I need to do my injection, and, well, we have a little ritual for that. I'm scatterbrained and I'm not great with needles, but mom has been incredibly supportive with my HRT, and when I told her I was having problems taking them on time, she came up with a way to make me as comfortable as possible. As soon as the needle is ready, I laid down in her lap and she cradled my head in her arms, pressing her bare chest against my face. I took a nipple into my mouth and nursed it softly while she stroked my hair. She called me a good girl, telling me how proud she is of her daughter, how much she loves me, and asked if I was going to take my medicine like a big girl. On good days I inject myself while she pets me and coos over me, and on bad days she takes the needle and does it for me. As soon as I dropped the needle in the sharps container, mom pressed a Hitachi against my cock and took one of my nipples into her mouth, called me her big brave girl, and asked if I was gonna cum for mommy.

As usual, the answer was yes.

Late afternoon and early evening is when the messages start flowing in, especially on Fridays, when the kinds of people with hooker money have either left work early and thinking about getting laid, or are still held up at work and are desperately thinking about getting laid. This kind of messaging gets trickier, because it comes down to what I'm providing. Like, setting up a session is the kind of normal administrative stuff that's baked into the price of a session. It's also partly a sales job, so I'm naturally flirty and solicitous, and because I do sex work I talk openly about sex.

However, *sexting* is not normal administrative stuff. If I'm sending you messages for jerking-off purposes, I can charge by the hour or by the text but I will insist on charging for it. Also, it's not just sex that me and mom provide. There's a reason that 'companionship' is an old euphemism for whoring, it's because whores are good company. I'm a good listener and I don't judge, which means I'm like the fun parts of a therapist but without all the homework and self-improvement. I'm (unsurprisingly) friendly with all of my clients, and I have more than a few clients and former clients who I'd consider good friends and vice versa. I talk to a bunch of them outside of a business context, especially the ones I met outside of my job, and that's a normal part of maintaining a pool of clients for any sales job, but on the other hand... it's a demand on my time and it's a part of my services. I can and have bluntly told guys that they're wasting my time when it comes to uncompensated sexting, but the platonic stuff requires a lighter touch.

One of my regulars, Fintech Pete, sent me a message. Two messages later, he sent me $100, and we're off. Describing in gratuitous detail exactly how I'm going to suck his cock, begging him to fuck me until my clit is drooling all over the sheets, sending him feet pics, things of that nature. Pete is great for sexting because he barely jerks off while he's doing it, he saves all the messages and pictures and jerks off to them later, because he's got some biohacking routine where he only cums once a week. He said once that part of the reason he hires sex workers is that he takes each nut a lot more seriously if he's paying three digits minimum for the privilege. He does this teleconferencing report with the board of directors at his company four times a year, and every time he hires me to kneel under the desk in his home office and suck him off while he makes his presentation.

Anyway, while we were going back and forth like that, he mentioned that I'd made a joke one time about doing a joint session with my mom. I told him it wasn't a joke, and to cut a long story short, half an hour later I was asking mom if she was up for an overnight session starting at 9pm. She agreed, Pete confirmed, so we both got ready--think getting dolled up for a night out but with a more thorough enema--and drove to his place. He lived outside of town in a two-bedroom suburban home, alone with his two dogs.

As soon as we were parked in his garage I did the safety call in front of him: I rang a friend of mine, told her we were visiting a friend, told her it was at the address I sent her earlier, and told her we'd call her again tomorrow morning. Was it really necessary to do that with someone like Fintech Pete? No, but practice makes permanent. If you let these things slip when there's no danger, eventually they'll slip when there is danger.

Now, I don't want to imply that I'm in a lot of danger! There's a reason that most of the faces you'll see on the Trans Day of Remembrance are of poor black and brown women, because real danger comes when you can't turn skeevy jobs, when you can't afford to take precautions, when you have to make the choice over and over between maybe starving and maybe getting murdered. I'm white, I've got a good support network, and I've been relatively lucky in that I can do all these things to minimize my risks. I've still got to do them, though! Things like safety calls are a good habit to get into and it helps all sex workers if there's an expectation that they've all got someone looking out for them.

...I get that there is some bravado creeping into this journal. I start off saying that admin is the worst part of the job and a page later I flippantly mention that the job has put me in the hospital. On a day to day basis yeah, the admin is the bit that sucks the most, but if you offered me a deal where the admin is twice as bad but I never took that session, I’d take it in a heartbeat. This job has left me with some scars. Any time something cold touches my wrist I get a vivid flash of the first time I had my hands zip-tied behind my back in a cop car. I've had nightmares all my life, and more than a few of my nightmares are about stuff that's happened since I got into sex work.

If it seems like I’m downplaying it, it’s because the harrowing stuff is where the job has gone wrong, it’s not baked into the everyday stuff, and most importantly it has nothing to do with my mom. The work I've done with her is some of the least stressful and dangerous I've had since I started this job, and whatever wounds I have, she's not the one who caused them.

On a more positive note, a cool thing about doing sessions with my mom is that we can dress pretty conservatively and still have it come off as insanely lewd. Mom wore a black cocktail dress with an imitation pearl necklace and her hair up in a bun, I was in a white blouse under a lambswool sweater, a pleated short skirt, cheap dark tights--Pete has a thing for tearing them--and patent leather shoes. When you're going to suck a guy's world entirely off alongside your mom, the more modestly you're dressed, the more perverted it looks. Out in the suburbs it also means you get to avoid the microskirts and fishnets look which screams to the neighbors 'I've just hired a pair of hookers' or the mid-range raincoat over microskirts and fishnets look which screams 'I've just hired a pair of pricey hookers."

Pete's living room looks like the back room of a Radio Shack, computer guts everywhere, every surface turned into a makeshift workbench. It's not a suitable place for lovemaking; I don't want to have to pull shards of a soundcard out of my perineum. His bedroom is a lot neater, with a king-sized bed to sit on, a ton of pillows to lounge up against, and a TV mounted on the wall. Mom poured out some wine, a mid-range red zinfandel that we'd picked up on the way, Pete brought out some imported dark chocolate that costs like $40/kg, and I swung my legs over his lap and turned on the Food Network. I took a bite of chocolate, mom took a sip of wine, and before either of us swallowed she pulled me into a deep kiss, mixing the wine and the chocolate. It's a good combination, and Pete enjoyed the show.

The night started off with chatting. None of us were in any rush, not with an overnight session, and since Pete has been a client for each of us for a while it was a pretty relaxed atmosphere. Pete's fingers danced over my thighs, absent-mindedly plucking ladders into the fabric as we talked baseball, business, sex work, the difference between the gentrified fag bar downtown and the really gentrified fag bar downtown, programming and other nerd shit, local politics, the contestants on Cutthroat Kitchen, just normal stuff. Mom and Pete started talking about fancy cooking stuff so I started annoying them both by claiming that sardines are just fully-grown anchovies, that DOP labels are all fake, and that instant grits are better than the regular ones until mom jabbed me with a finger and told me that my mouth should be put to better use elsewhere.

You know how some people say "Cilantro tastes like soap, that's why it's good?" Same thing for how weird it feels to go down on my mom. The first time I ever jerked off, watching a 144p clip of Rocco Sifreddi fucking a girl in the ass while flushing her head down a toilet bowl, knowing that this meant I was going to go to Hell unless I begged God for forgiveness and never did it again, I came so hard I passed out. It feels good, it feels wrong that it feels so good, and it feels even better because it feels so wrong.

She was already wet when I got between her legs. I kissed her clit and started licking, her bush tickling my nose and her thighs squeezing my ears. Fabric rasped over my head as she hiked her dress up to run her hand through my hair. Everything was muffled but I could hear kissing and clinking, and I knew that mom was undoing Pete's belt and jeans to give him a Catholic-quality handjob.

I got mom worked up, bucking her hips and getting all breathy, until she asked me to get up here and give her some help. I crawled up to his groin and winked up at him. He blushed and grinned back. Pete's not a bad-looking guy. I mean, I don't care about looks in general, I guess I can look at someone and say that objectively they're ugly, and if someone is beautiful it adds something to the experience, but like... it doesn't really figure into it. Obviously most johns don't look like supermodels but they're not uniformly ugly, as I said before the thing that johns have in common is being horny guys with a lot of disposable income. Still, Pete is towards the better-looking side of that scale.

...Okay there is one thing about him that's weirdly common for my clients, I call it 'John Balding:' where a guy is losing his hair but in a slow, uneven, and kinda weird pattern, so that even when they cross into being more bald than not, they never bite the bullet and shave it all off. Pete is only like 30% of the way through that process so it doesn't look terrible yet, but he's on that track.

Anyway, back to the sex. A fun thing about double blowjobs is that you can take them a whole lot slower than solo blowjobs. Me and mom have had a lot of practice so we go at about 1/4th speed and it feels twice as good. She started off by wrapping her hand around the shaft, slowly stroking it while she softly kissed the tip, and I licked his balls, gently lapping at one, then the other, cleaning away the day's sweat and musk, carefully taking both of them into my mouth at once. Mom swallowed half his length, and I started kissing my way up his shaft as she pulled back up, my lips touching the head as hers reached the very tip. She grabbed me by my hair and pulled me into a deep French kiss with his cock in the middle, precum mixing with spit, moaning as we felt him twitch and grunt, mom's hand on his balls and my hand on his shaft. We broke the kiss and repeated it in reverse, taking his cock in my throat as mom kissed her way down to his balls. He came after five minutes of gentle little schoolgirl kisses on each side of his cock from the pair of us. The first rope caught mom on her cheek, the second hit her hair, but I wrapped my lips tight around the head and sucked him dry before he could spill another drop.

You can't give a client a mother-daughter blowjob and not snowball the cum back and forth in front of him. We've done it enough times to get the timing down: wait until he sits up straight, because if you don't he'll be too dazed from nutting in your mouth to really appreciate it. Make sure he's looking at you, move your hair out of the way so it doesn't obstruct his view, open your lips so that a trickle of jizz almost sloshes out, move in close to your mom so that your noses are touching and it's clear that you're about to kiss, sink a palm into her tits as she grabs your ass, and then you gotta really go for it: wide-mouthed, feral, energetic, like you're trying to reach each other's sinuses. If a little bit of cum spills out because you're being so sloppy, that's a sign that you're doing it right. You're going to lick it up afterwards anyway.

We broke the kiss, I licked mom's face clean, and we took a break. We drank some more wine, he offered us cigarettes--the coolest clients are the ones that let you smoke indoors--and we cuddled and relaxed for a while with Guy's Grocery Games playing on the TV. Pete went to get some water, and returned with three bottles and a strip of Cialis. He downed two pills, we both stripped off--it was sweltering by that point--and got ready for the next round.

Mom played with his nipples and I got between his legs again, this time going lower than his balls to eat his ass out. Rimming is a trusted client privilege like the mom-daughter stuff is, except it's less about trusting them in the legal sense and more about trusting that it won't be grainy down there. I like it when a client is clean enough to rim, because I'm extremely good at it. Mom says she's better, she claims she once made a guy no-touch cum with a rimjob, but I don't fucking believe her.

He got hard after a minute of digging my tongue into his ass, but his cock was still super-sensitive so we figured we'd tease him for a while longer. We swapped places, mom ate his ass while he made out with me, squeezing my tits and playing with my cock. I like it when guys touch my tits, my cock is... fine, I guess? I don't viscerally dislike people touching it but it doesn't do much for me. After a minute of that he reaches around and works a finger into my asshole, which is much more my speed.

By the time he was two knuckles deep I looked down and saw his cock twitching, leaking precum onto his stomach. He seemed pretty worked up. I kissed his neck, nipped at his ear, and whispered, "Do you wanna breed me, Mister?"

He sure did.

I use condoms unless I've got an extremely compelling reason not to, and mom has a cool trick for getting them on. She grasped Pete's cock around the base, placed her lips around the tip, deepthroated the entire thing in a single stroke, and as she slowly lifted her head back up, his cock was neatly fitted with a condom.

As soon as I lubed up he put me on my back, pushed my ankles up to my ears,  pressed his cock against my hole and sunk into me inch by inch. He muffled my moans with a kiss and rutted me into the bed. I gotta give it to him, all that biohacking and cardio is doing something right because he railed me at a fast, steady pace until my dick was leaking all over my tummy and I couldn't form sentences in my head any more. Mom made out with him as he finished, and at that point I was just babbling nonsense. He was gentle and cautious as he pulled out of me, stroking my hair as I reached down to take off his condom. I poured the contents out over my tits, slumping back against the headboard as mom licked them clean.

It wasn't yet midnight by then, and we went on like that through the night. Licking his feet, mom-daughter 69, him sucking my cock while mom rode his dick like a Sorority cowgirl champion, more wine, more double-blowjobs, tacking an extra $200 onto the fee for the privilege of pissing in my mouth instead of having to get up to go to the bathroom, a whole buffet of fun whore stuff.

We woke up at around ten in the morning, stayed for breakfast, then said our goodbyes. Me and mom thanked him for his custom, and he thanked us for a good time. By midday we were at home, we both showered, checked our calendars, messaged our evening clients to confirm that they were still on, and then... well, the rest of the day kinda evaporated. I played Demons' Souls until I couldn't keep my eyes open any longer, passed out in bed, and woke up when my alarm went off in the evening.

That's one of the things I don't like about overnight sessions: you're technically only spending like, ten to twelve hours with a client, and for some of that time you're either not fucking or actively asleep, but it kinda feels like it destroys two days. By the time it's scheduled, everything in the rest of the day is either preparing for it or doing it, and when you get back it takes the rest of the day just to recover. I don't like that part of my job, and if I sit down I can probably go through a whole bunch of things I don't like about my job. I still know that my job isn't a *bad* job, because the last time I had a bad job it was at a chicken processing plant. Know how I know that the chicken job was bad? Because I excused myself for a bathroom break four hours into the shift, walked off site, and never came back.

You know what, there's another reason I know that this isn't a bad job and that mom isn't a bad mom, and I guess it's part of the reason I've written all this down in the first place. I was seven years old when I first wanted to die. By the time I got to high school, suicidal thoughts were just the radio static in my brain. I can't remember any point after like, grade school where I didn't daydream about suicide every single day.

Now? I sometimes go for weeks without thinking about killing myself. It hasn't gone away completely, it still pops up when I'm upset or stressed out or tired or really hungry, but what I do is I talk to mom about it, and she talks me out of it. I feel guilty sometimes about putting that pressure on her, and taking that pressure off is part of the reason I'm going to therapy I guess.

I hope it works out.

I really think it will.

[presidentrhodes]

44. Din + Omera 🥺

44. “You’ve always felt like home.” (Angst/Fluff prompt list) 

After Grogu left with the Jedi, Din hit the road — a quick trip to Nevarro and a discreet under-the-table handshake with Greef Karga earned Din, his first bounty puck in more than a year. Tucking it in his belt, next to the gear knob that felt heavier day by day, Din wandered around the spaceport outside the city.

He needed a ship.

After a bit of haggling and veiled threats, he landed a bargain on another pre-Empire gunship, in a considerably better shape than the Razor Crest — with four laser cannons instead of two but lacked a carbonite freezing chamber. Still, it didn't feel like home. The cold, unmoving durasteel interior lacked the warmth and familiarity Din had grown used to onboard the Razor Crest.

With the ship in hyperdrive, en route to Ryloth, Din spent time in the cargo hold arranging his newly acquired arsenal into the weapons locker. Home. He thought about that word lately, what it meant, what it should have meant if he had been born at a more peaceful time before the Galaxy imploded. The Razor Crest used to be home, the same way Grogu was once his home, the Tribe and his Creed, the little settlement on Aq Vetina, — all of them were gone, reduced to mere fragments of memory.

Din sighed.

***

The bounty required minimal effort — a Twi'lek spice runner who had fallen into debt. Din tracked the target through valleys and jungles, apprehending them on the third night. Tired of the Twi'lek's desperate struggles to get free and their insistent pleas for mercy, Din knocked them out cold and hoisted them over his shoulder to make the long, arduous trek back to the ship.

Back on Nevarro, Din tuned out the kicking and screaming as Karga's men dragged the target off his ship. It didn't matter, nothing did anymore — there was only the next job, the next bounty as Din went looking for his next puck.

***

He spent a year going from one bounty to the next, racking up enough credits to upgrade the ship's weapons system, its engines and even install a carbonite freezing chamber to make his job easier.

Nothing he did brought back the warmth and comfort he had gotten used to: The soft coos that used to wake him up, the nasal whines that drew his attention whenever the child was hungry, the chittering giggles that echoed through the cockpit everytime Grogu found the sweets Din kept hidden from sight.

Din studied his next puck and sighed. Tatooine. Karga had been cagey about the details — no chain code, only a fob with a location. He had been weary to take the job; the last time Karga had been that secretive over a bounty, Din had learned the true meaning of loss and heartbreak. He was still reeling from it. But Din needed the credits to pay off the latest upgrades he made to the ship.

***

On Tatooine, he parked at a different hanger on the Mos Eisley spaceport. He didn't have the heart to face Peli — though she had only met Grogu a handful of times, Din knew she had grown to care for him. Learning about the kid's departure would break her heart and the least Din could do to repay her kindness was to spare her from the truth.

He followed the tracking fob into the desert until the spires of a familiar fortress came into view. Din paused. "What the—"

"I was hoping you'd take the bounty," someone said as Din turned while his hand reached for the blaster on instinct.

Upon seeing his unexpected companion, Din let out the breath he had been holding in and sighed. "Fett." Realization dawned on him at Boba's words as Din's expression morphed into a frown. “You're the client? Who the hell is the bounty then?"

"Me." Fett had the audacity to chuckle. Din took a step closer and Boba raised his hands. He was unarmed and out of armour — surely Fennec had to be nearby with the rifle trained on Din. "Easy there. I just want to talk and you haven't been answering lately."

Din dropped his hand to his side. "I've been busy."

"Clearly. Let's go somewhere more comfortable."

***

Though Din had heard rumours on the HoloNet, he didn't believe Boba was crazy enough to take over Tatootine's crime syndicate. Walking though the Hutt Palace, Din said, his voice a little in awe, "I didn't think you had actually done it. I heard whispers but this—this is—" He gestured at the surrounding. "You're a crazy shabuir."

Boba chuckled. "Yeah well, this seemed more reasonable than your quest, burc'ya. Taking back Mandalore? Insanity."

Din waited for the other shoe to drop. He knew Boba was baiting him — wanting to dig out information from Din to piece together whatever else he had gathered in their time apart since they apprehended Moff Gideon. After a brief silence, Boba's patience got the better of him. "Bo-Katan contacted me. A few weeks ago. She must be getting desperate if she is reaching out to me."

"You are a crime lord. You have resources that could be of use in her efforts. She may be arrogant but she's no fool," Din replied. They resumed walking until they arrived at what looked like a private meeting chamber. Boba pointed towards the seats by the fireplace and Din obliged as he sank onto one of them.

"She's not interested in what I have to offer. She called about you."

Din frowned under his helmet. Of course she would — onboard Gideon's cruiser, Bo-Katan had shown a surprising level of tact in the end as she allowed Din to walk back on his promise, and to leave with the Darksaber. "We will see you soon, brother," she had said with the forced pleasantries of someone who knew they had, temporarily, been defeated. Her words were laced with a promise she was keen to make good on but with Din's constant moving around the Outer Rims made her task difficult.

"I'm not interested to rule Mandalore. Yet she refuses to take the Darksaber." Din did little to hide the irritation in his voice. He narrowed his eyes at the man opposite him — had Boba lured him to Tatooine with a bounty on his own head just to force a meeting with Bo-Katan? A meeting that Din had gone out of his way to delay because he had no interest in acquiring the legacy of a dead planet that would never feel like home. And—since when had Boba been doing Bo-Katan's biding?

As if understanding Din's line of thinking, Boba shook his head and offered a quick explanation. "I couldn't care less about what the Princess wants. She can wait. I'm—I'm worried about you. There's been a great deal of murmur about you in the past year. You're working yourself to exhaustion."

"Am not." The denial felt hollow. Din's voice sounded unconvincing and he slid down his seat, hating the sympathetic look in Boba's eyes. If he hadn't met Boba, if he had just gone by the myth surrounding the Empire's most famous bounty hunter, Din would've never believed the man's capacity for kindness, lost among the tides of his bottomless rage. "I don't need your pity, Fett. I'm doing just fine."

"Never said you weren't," came the sharp reply. "But you're a man without purpose. You're lost, you need closure."

Din sighed. In silence, he plotted a way to make a quick exit and return to Mos Eisley. If he hurried back to the ship, he could still make it back to Nevarro, pick up a bounty in a nearby system and settle his debt over the ship. Anything to get out of listening to Boba drone about Din's emotional state of being. As if Boba had any ground to stand on and lecture him about closure.

"Are you done? I have to go. Not all of us have the luxury of running a crime syndicate. Some of us have to work to pay off our debts." Din stood up, prepared to make his exit. Without an armour, he doubted Boba could physically stop him and the palace seemed to lack a heavy security presence.

"I'll pay your bounty," Boba said and his words stopped Din on his tracks. "50,000 credits as agreed. More if you want but in return, I need you to do something for me."

Din was a practical man. He wouldn't let his ego get in the way of his income. Boba continued: "I want you to stop. Take some time off, find some backwater planet to lay low and heal. Because Bo-Katan is assembling Mandalorians in the outer worlds and there will come a time when there will be a challenge for the throne. And not all of them will be as generous with you as you were with that Imp."

"Why do you care so much?" Din couldn't resist asking. "Mandalore is a dead planet, you said so yourself."

"I don't care—" Boba hesitated, a flicker of doubt on his scarred face. "But if Mandalore is to be restored, it is in the Galaxy's best interest that it isn't ruled by another blood-thirsty dinii. Or else the fighting will never stop. It needs to be you who sits on the throne, not Bo-Katan or worse, a Viszla."

***

Din took the credits and left Tatooine by sundown. As his ship flew over Hangar 3-5, Din felt a pang of guilt in his chest. As much as Din wanted to spare Peli the painful truth about Grogu, a selfish part wanted her to know, if only to share the misery of the kid's absence with someone.

He considered returning to Nevarro but it no longer felt like home. The Tribe was gone — dead or scattered throughout the Outer Rim with no foreseeable ways for Din to contact them. Even if he did, he wasn't sure he'd be allowed to return. Din didn't know if he wanted to return after breaking the Creed. Arvala-7 came up on his radar until he remembered Kuiil had sacrificed everything to protect Grogu and it made his stomach churn.

After drifting around for days, Din charted a course for Sorgan. He didn't know what to expect there but he hoped there would still be a touch of familiarity that he hadn't felt since Grogu left.

As his ship cruised in hyperdrive towards Sorgan, Din wondered about Grogu — it had been more than a year since the kid left with the Jedi. Din had belatedly found out the it was the same Jedi who blew up the Death Star that hammered the final nail in the Empire's coffin, sending them scuttling back into the dark, lurking in the shadowy Outer Rim like the unseen monsters in children's tales.

Both Cara and Boba had offered to track down the location of the Jedi temple but Din dissuaded them from their efforts. "No, Gro—the kid needs to concentrate on his training. My presence will be a distraction," he had said. Din hadn't trusted himself to not show up at the temple as soon as he had the coordinates in his hands. Being ignorant of its whereabouts was necessary for Grogu's safety, or so he told himself — Din knew he wouldn't survive making the kid choose between him and the Jedi and if he chose the Jedi.

As he drifted off, Din dreamt of Grogu and their time on Sorgan, where for a short few weeks he could pretend he wasn't a bounty hunter who ran off with the bounty — "You and your boy could have a good life. He could be a child for a while. Wouldn't that be nice?" It would.

***

The lack of a spaceport on Sorgan meant Din had to land his ship in a forest clearing and trek his way to the nearest settlement, about an hour by foot. He considered his options as he walked through the cantina, drawing curious stares and excited whispers among the patrons. It wasn't everyday that a Mandalorian walked through the front doors, especially one whose presence had been spotted on the backwater planet several times.

Sitting down at a corner table with a bottle of spotcka, Din hesitated only for a moment before taking off his helmet. That earned him another round of hushed murmurs. Showing his face in public was still a nauseating experience that left Din feeling exposed. But the helmet felt suffocating at that moment, worsened by the blue liquid's allure.

He drank fast and straight from the bottle, reducing its content by half within a few minutes. The bitter, smoky liquid burned at the back of his throat but it did nothing to ease the perpetual constriction in his chest, like something or someone had gotten a good grip on his heart and refused to let go. Din knew who and that battle had been lost more than a year ago on board an Imperial light cruiser. Din learned to get used to that feeling.

"Excuse me," someone said as they approached his table. Their nervous gait made Din look up and the creases between his brows eased. It was Stoke. "Mando? Is that—is that really you?" Good old Stoke and his buddy, Caben, had lured Din with the promise of accommodation and safe passage (for Grogu) to fight off raiders in their fishing village. Stoke appeared to be alone in the cantina.

"What do you want?" Din crossed his arms and frowned, not the least bit interested in carrying on the conversation. Stoke misunderstood as he sat down across him.

"What are you doing here?" He asked.

"Vacation."

Din's deadpan tone failed to deter him as Stoke broke into a wide grin. Leaning on the table, he said, "You should come by the village. It's harvest season and they'd be really happy to see you again. You're our hero, Mando—" Din felt like he was anything but that. He wasn't a hero; he was a lesson in abject failure. His actions had exposed the Tribe, it had gotten a good Ugnaught killed, he had created needless obstacles in his people's quest to reclaim Mandalore. Worst of all, he had broken his Creed, both by necessity and choice, and still he had lost the kid. A fitting punishment for his many crimes — to spend his remaining days yearning for the kid, for his Tribe, for a home but all he deserved was the cold, emptiness of his ship. It wasn't a haven, it was a prison, a fitting choice for a wicked man like him.

Stoke's voice cut through Din's thoughts. "Oh come on, Mando, come stay with us for a while," he said, pleading, before showing his hand. "Omera would be thrilled to see you again."

Din's head snapped up. "No," he said and stood up. Tucking the half-finished bottle under his arm, he tossed a few credits on the bar counter and left. He walked fast, determined to put as much distance between him and the cantina — in case Stoke followed him — until the ship came into view.

***

Din finished the bottle by sundown and tossed it inside the cargo hold, hearing the glass shatter. He didn't move from his seat on the edge of the ramp — there was no kid on board so glass fragments were not an immediate concern. He'd clean up later.

A pleasant breeze blew through the forest that made the leaves rustle while the stagnant air was punctured by calls of wild animals prowling in the distance. The planet's humidity left him flushed and sweating under the armour. Before the constant suffocation in his chest worsened, Din stood on shaky legs and went inside to strip out of the beskar and the flight suit. Instead, he put on a pair of brown pants, a beige shirt and a black waistcoat with holsters for his blaster.

The second he left the ship, Din knew it would be a bad idea but his legs carried him on their own accord, the destination imprinted into every cell in his body. He didn't have the right to impose on a quiet, unassuming fishing village any more than he already had — while Stoke had earlier assured him his presence would be welcomed, Din's own conscience was conflicted. Already, the Tribe was gone because of him, Kuiil was gone because of him, how many more people would pay the price for acquainting with him? Like the planet of his people, Din knew he was cursed.

By the time he came out of the forest, the villagers had retreated to their homes for the night. Cartons full of krill lined up along the edge of the lake as Din stumbled his way down the uneven path, twice avoiding tumbling into the water. The booze at least numbed the tightness in his chest and—

"Hold it right there," someone said from the periphery. Din squinted in the darkness, trying to get a look at the unexpected companion. "I mean it. Step away from the harvest and turn around. Slowly. Otherwise I will shoot." Even drunk, Din had no doubt the threat wasn't made in jest. Raising his hands, he turned and found himself looking down the barrel of a familiar blaster — one that he had owned for years, one that he had left behind on Sorgan both as a souvenir and as a source of reassurance. "Take it. Please. You can use it to protect yourself and your daughter," Din had said once.

"Omera," Din slurred.

Omera lowered the blaster and in proximity, Din saw the confusion unfurling across her face. "How do you know my name?" she said, her voice low with suspicion. She raised the blaster back in Din's face and placed a finger on the trigger. "Answer me!"

"It's me," Din said, swallowing back bile. His stomach churned, tying itself into knots and he managed to blurt, "Mando," before emptying the contents of a rationed lunch and spotchka on the dirt path.

The blaster was gone. In its place, a pair of gentle hands held Din's shoulders until he stopped hurling and broke into a coughing fit. The hands guided Din down the uneven path towards one of the houses — inside, everything happened in a blur: Omera sat him down by the fireplace and held a glass of water at his lips. After he drank, she wiped his face with a damp cloth and helped him out of the black waistcoat, setting it and his blaster on a nearby table, within his reach.

"What happened to you?" she said when Din became cognizant of his surroundings, after the booze-addled nausea had passed and he could think straight again. Omera stood in front of Din and as he looked up, he noticed her eyes were as beautiful as the first day he had seen her. She ran her fingers through his hair and took his face between her hands, her forlorn expression gave away her question. "Where's your boy?"

That proved to be the final straw. For more than year, Din had reassured himself that letting Grogu go was the right thing to do. It had been for the kid's safety. The Jedi could protect him better than Din could and every other sacrifice was made to save Grogu. Losing the Tribe had been worth it. Losing Kuiil had been a necessary sacrifice. Losing the Razor Crest was another necessity, breaking his Creed served a higher purpose — at the end of the day, Grogu was still gone. "He's—he's gone," he said in a soft, trembling voice, choking back a sob. "He was all I had left and—and he's gone."

Without a word, Omera pulled him close, allowed Din to bury his face into her tunic and let out sobs that shook his frame. He clung to her, his skin clammy with desperation and her solid presence became an anchor in the swirling tides of emotions that threatened to overwhelm his mind. Din lost track of time. Pulling back, he took sharp breaths that forced air back into his lungs and wiped his eyes. Looking up at her, he blushed and stammered, searching for words to excuse his behaviour. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't have—"

Omera pressed a finger to his lips. She cupped his cheeks and smiled. "You don't ever have to apologise for anything, Mando—"

He interrupted. "Please. Call me Din."

Sitting by the fireplace, Din told her everything: His quest to find Grogu a Jedi master, his search for other Mandalorians, the run-ins with remnants of the Empire. When Din paused, Omera leaned forward to brush back his fringes. "So you're the king of Mandalore now?" She studied him and her smile broaded. "It suits you. You have really kind, brown eyes, and after everything you say your people have been through, they could use a leader like you."

Din tucked his head, blushing. It wasn't the first time he heard someone say he was meant to be the Mand'alor, but her voice carried an air of sincerity that chased away the constriction in his chest. His heart thrummed against his ribs but this time, it felt different. Her words freed him in a way Boba's words had caged him into a title he hadn't wanted.

"You really think I could do it? Be honest. Please." He needed to know.

"Do you want to do it? Do you want to be a king?"

Her words gave Din pause. Did he want to rule a society where he had always felt like he was one mistake away from being an outcast? As a foundling, Din had always doubled down in everything he did to prove his worth but his devotion to the Creed was still questioned. Paz had done little to hide his disdain when Din joined the Bounty Hunters Guild. Yet, the more he had heard about Mandalore, its violent but glorious past, Din had come to see the complexity of wielding the Darksaber. Boba had been right — if Mandalore was to thrive again, it needed to be rebuilt on an understanding of unity and loyalty. Not just to the Mand'alor but to each other. Unity between the clans could make their society untouchable once more and if Mandalorians rallied behind Din, then Grogu would be protected no matter where the Jedi had taken him. No Imp would dare touch the kid.

"If you had asked me this a year ago, I'd have said no but now—if it can keep Grogu safe, then I owe it to him to try," Din said, leaning into her touch.

"Then you must do it. Children are the future. But for now, I insist you stay here. At least for the night."

Din looked down at his palms. "I don't want to impose—"

"You're not imposing." Omera leaned closer. Din saw a sliver of doubt cross her face before she pressed her lips against his, a quick peck that ended almost as soon as it began. Din’s chest fluttered as he watched Omera duck her head, biting back a smile that threatened to pour from her lips. "You'll always have a home here," she said and if Din hadn't been sitting so close to her, he wouldn't have heard it.

Din spent more than a year searching for a place to belong again, where he could rebuild his life until Grogu came back — he had to. Not once did it cross his mind that he could one day belong, even for a short while, in a krill farming village tucked behind the forest in a backwater planet in the Outer Rim. Still, a part of him felt as if this was where he was always meant to be. "You've always felt like home, Omera, and I'm sorry it took me so long to find my way back," he said, pulling her onto his lap as she pressed their lips together again.

Din was finally home.

[writtenbyblair]

#28: What we want

Summary: Catching up with an old friend, you end up finding out that the people who matters never really leave you. 

“Believe me you’ll love it!” Said your friend, grabbing your arm. 

After being roommates for 5 years at MIT, you were used to her crazy last-minute plans. It had been a while since you last got to see each other. Indeed, after college, you left as you had found a job on the West coast and one thing leading to another, plus busy lives, made you lose touch. 

“Should have deleted my Instagram before you found me.” You joked. 

“Come on, it’s going to be fun. They call it an immersive restaurant. You participate in the making of your meal, a true experience.” 

That’s definitely something you would only find in L.A. 

You kept walking for a while and reached the street where the place was located. At first sight, the frontage didn’t look like much, hiding the gem inside. 

Once the door pushed, you stepped into a modern room in shades of teal, gold and black. Magnificent lighting glass balls were hanging over a unique massively long wood table. As soft lounge music was playing in the background, you gave your names to the head waiter who led you to your seats. 

“Hello Ladies, I’ll be your waiter tonight.” The short man handed you a single page menu. “The exclusive meals will be unveiled as the evening goes on. We’ll start at 8.30 as all the clients will be eating at this table. Meanwhile, what would you like to drink?” 

“I’ll take a Metropolitan.” Picked your friend. 

If there was one thing that made you uncomfortable it was making a decision when the staff member was waiting. 

“Uh, I’ll take that too please.” 

“You like that cocktail now?” Asked your friend surprised. 

You shook your head: “I panicked.” Causing both of you to laugh, you added: “I’m going to go change it.” 

“I come with you, I have to go to the bathroom.” 

The place had become way more busy in just a few minutes. Making your way to the bar, you felt a sudden pain in your arm.

“What was this for?” 

“Coming to your left.” 

Recognising the old ‘boy alert’ nudge from uni time, you elevated your chin, but nothing. Looking at your old time bestie, you asked for more precision: “Who? Where?” 

She got weirdly silent. 

You turned your head and your heart made a backflip. 

Too late. 

“Y/N.”

Time had had no effect on him. Apart from his hair being shorter, he looked the same as when you last saw him. A nostalgic feeling tightened your throat at this thought.

“Mac?”

You couldn’t tell how many seconds went on before one of you moved. 

“Sorry” He blinked a few times before giving you a quick hug. “It’s been a while.” The feeling of his hands pressed against your back suspended time for a short moment. 

“Remember me?” Asked your friend. 

“Of course, you two were always together back then.”

A gong echoed in the room marking the dinner’s start. 

Without another word, you all joined your respective chair. Sitting between two women in their fifties, you couldn’t help glancing at the edge of the table. 

When it comes to the meal, you had little idea of what you were eating. Something about sprouted mushrooms and rare fifth talon in sample portions. 

As you tried to counterbalance the void in your stomach by lots of sparkling water, you excused yourself and headed towards the restrooms. 

You ended up in a narrow lobby where two doors were located at the end. Before going out, you washed your hands and found yourself readjusting a piece of hair. You opened the door and came face to face with Mac. 

As you walked past him, his hand brushed yours. Although this was due to the relatively small space, you could feel the redness colouring your cheeks. 

You must admit that once back at the table, you regretted just walking away, not engaging the conversation. It’s just that there were so many things to say, to ask. And after all, he could have done it too, but he didn’t. 

“Hey Y/N, do you have a plaster? These heels are killing me.”

“Some things never change.” You chuckle, remembering how you used to carry everything in your bag whenever the two of you would go on a night out. 

Rummaging in the mess that your leather item was supporting the weight of, your hands landed on a napkin that wasn’t supposed to be there. 

“Don’t trust her” 

The sharp shape of the letters was the same that was annotated all over your physics note back then. 

You looked towards Mac who was speaking with a man older than him. 

“You have it?��� 

“Uh,” you scratched your forehead. Burying the paper at the bottom of your bag, you found what she asked for. 

“Here.” You handed her the band-aid with a weak smile. 

At the 5th course served, your attention was definitely not on the food anymore. Why would he resurface after 9 years? And why would he tell you that? 

It was enough. Even the tiny portions didn’t sit well with your stomach right now.

“Are you all right? You’ve been so quiet.” 

“Yes, probably one of these ingredients isn’t much appreciated by my stomach.” You faked a laugh. “I’m sorry, could we reschedule?” 

“Something happened?”

You picked up your bag. “I prefer—“ She grabbed your hand and her face had changed like day and night. 

“Why don’t you sit back and tell me what has gotten into you?”

He was right. You looked for Mac, but his seat was empty. 

One thing was sure though, you would not listen to her. You visualised the table, considering what your free hand could grasp. You felt the stares of your chair neighbours. 

As you were about to get hold of the nearby candlestick, a gunshot exploded. 

The loud and unexpected sound causing people to run everywhere was enough to made her disappear. 

Suddenly, you felt fingers wrapping yours, sweeping you along. Still stunned by the buzzing sound in your ears, you realised whose hand was holding yours.  

“By the window.” 

You looked at him with wide eyes.

“By the window?!” You repeated, hoping you had misheard what he said. 

“Have I ever made you do something crazy?” Honestly, you could have named dozens of these, but judging by the chaos in the restaurant and the close police sirens, it was definitely not a good moment. 

You stepped on the small balcony and replied sarcastically: “No, never.”

He chuckled. Bringing back his focus to the platform he was aiming for, you saw a fraction of hesitation on his face. 

Still, he landed right on it. 

You removed your heels and considered the void below. 

 “LAPD.”

You took a deep breath and jumped. 

The cold metal caused your left foot to slip, but a stronger strength had already secured your waist. 

“You okay?”

“Yeah. I do this every day.” 

“I saw that.” Being aware of the closeness in which you were standing, Mac dropped his hands. “We should probably go.”

—————————

You squeezed the back of your neck, full of knots. Now that your body was at rest, your mind had time to process what had happened under only two hours.

“Well, that was insane. How do you feel?” Asked Mac, hands on the steering wheel of his pickup. 

“Question marks are spinning around my head, but I’m still in one piece, so I would say fine.” 

He turned around briefly to look at you before bringing his focus back on the road. “She had been under our radar for a few months now for stealing blood samples. As you must know, they are reopening closed cases and it doesn’t please some people.”

“Does this have something to do with my thesis project from years ago?”

“DNA Reconstruction via RNA-Guided CRISPR-Cas9 and pattern-matching algorithms.” 

You looked at him completely stupefied. 

He smiled: “You made me proof 948 pages six times. So, it rang a bell immediately.” 

Mac pursued: “That’s why I was there. Our analyst, Riley, found hidden encrypted traffic like text messages, too short to be traced. But two days ago, a sustained transmission enabled her to do so.”

The call you had asking her when you two should meet. That was the sustained transmission. You stayed silent, waiting for further explanations like the cloudy sky waits for the sun. 

“We didn’t need voice analyses.” He paused: “I recognised yours immediately.” 

Mac and you were both lab nerds and study buddies in college, always challenging the other to launch something higher or create a bigger explosion. However, he left unexpectedly without a word, but it wasn’t the moment to talk about that. 

“You said ‘our radar’?” 

“Um yeah, basically the organisation who deals with the stuff the government can’t.”

Not sure you were supposed to know more about it, you asked: “Where are we going?”

“As Jack caught her, you don’t have to worry anymore. I’ll bring you back to your place.”

“How do you— Never mind.” 

A few minutes later, as your heart felt heavier than you care to admit, he gave you a hug goodbye on the threshold of your small house. 

Not feeling like closing your eyes for the most obvious reasons, and having located the nearest solid object you could use 'just in case’, you settled on the couch with a big blanket and a cheesy romcom. 

The growling sound of your stomach reminded you that you had almost eaten nothing tonight. As you moved towards the fridge, you went to close the curtains of the kitchen’s window. 

“What—“

A blanket over your shoulders, you stepped outside in thick socks. 

You knocked on the truck’s hood and surprised a sleepy Mac.

“What are you doing here?!” 

He blinked a couple of times: “I was sleeping… or trying to.”

“Sleeping here, why?” 

Keep reading

This one is probably one of my favourites. I hope you’ll enjoy reading it as much as I did writing these words💛

@emmaberrysworld @elliho @gnboling @floh673 @bthtallmadge2 @urmysilverlining​ @secretlibraryoj @alexaparkerlove @mvpdalton @milea @thethistlegirl @jenscorpion @likeit-or-leaveit @amcsummersgoddess @malindacath​ @pattiprinzivalli @avalonsilver @dreambelievergeek @macfangirl15​ @anguishmacgyver​

[shellyseashell]

ALL THAT MATTERS

Read on ao3

SCARLET LOVED HER husband, she really did, but sometimes his obsession with tomatoes was a bit annoying. Sweet, sure, it was a testimony of his love. They had first met over tomatoes, and he wanted to honor that. Still, when she came downstairs one morning after she realized Wolf (it was still hard to call him Ze’ev, though she tried her best, her mind sometimes defaulted to his street fighter name) was no longer in bed — as he usually woke up last — and came downstairs to find the kitchen counters covered in tomatoes, she seriously started reconsidering a few things.

Namely, why she had agreed to grow tomatoes in their garden.

Scarlet rubbed her eyes and blinked, as if the fruits would disappear and this was just some hallucination. “Er — Ze’ev, what are you doing?”

Ze’ev looked up from behind the counter, flashing a smile that shouldn’t have been as cute as it was with his sharp teeth. He was still in his sleep clothes, and his hair was messy. He clearly hadn’t been up much longer than she had. “I got us tomatoes!”

Scarlet entered the kitchen fully and leaned against the counter, resting her chin on her hands so she was staring right into those bright green eyes she loved so much. “I can see that. There’s a lot of them. Why?”

“Why what?”

“Why so many? I know you like them, but this —“ she motioned to the many, many tomatoes invading their kitchen “— feels a little extreme.”

Ze’ev’s smile grew. “It’s the anniversary of when we first met! You told me what a tomato was and got in a fight, remember?”

Scarlet did remember. Usually, she tried to forget about that time of her life, as there were just as many bad memories as there were good — such as her grand-meré’s death, which she hadn’t been able to properly grieve until the war ended.

She should have known Wolf would remember it. He had an insanely good memory that she always blamed on his genetic mutations, and would take something as small as their first meeting and turn it into something so . . . cute? Annoying? Endearing?

That time, though, had more good memories for him — at least, during those few days. His first taste of freedom in stars-knew-how-long, meeting Scarlet, joining a rebellion against the Queen that had taken so much away from him.

“What exactly were you planning to do with them? We leave tomorrow for Kai and Cinder’s wedding. As much as I appreciate your dedication to our relationship, I don’t think buying so many tomatoes was such a good use of our money.”

Ze’ev frowned a bit. “I got them from our garden.”

Right. They lived on a farm (Benoit-Kesley Farms, Scarlet had so smugly renamed when her and Wolf had gotten married a year prior). Hadn’t she just mentioned that?

“Well, that sure gives me an excuse to not go into town today.”

Ze’ev’s shoulders sank. “Were those for your delivery?”

Scarlet’s expression softened, and she rounded the counter. “They were. But who needs those tomatoes? Not whoever that new cook is. Doesn’t appreciate the hard work we put in here.” She dropped her voice in a mocking tone of the new cook at the Tavern and waved her hand for dramatics. “‘You are a war hero, there shouldn’t be a SPECK of dirt on those tomatoes.’ ‘I expect more from my clients’. How stupid is that?”

“Very.”

“Exactly. What were you planning on doing with them anyway?”

Ze’ev’s shoulders sank even further, and the look was almost comical. Looking down at his feet, he muttered, “I was hoping you would have ideas.”

Scarlet laughed, and wrapped her husband in a hug that was quickly returned. She nestled her head in his chest with a sigh. “What am I going to do with you?”

Ze’ev squeezed her tighter, and she almost made a remark about needing to breathe before she heard him mutter “Don’t leave me ever again” and the protest died in her throat.

Even after three years, nightmares still plagued him — plagued her, plagued all of them — about the war. There were times when he woke up in the middle of the night to make sure she was still there. Sometimes she woke up in the middle of the night in a panic, thinking there was a mutant wolf attack.

But they had each other, and that was all that mattered.

“I won’t leave you again. I promise.”

She could practically hear him smile.

“I bet I can eat more tomatoes than you.”

—

SCARLET REGRETTED MANY things in life. The list was never ending, but still, eating nearly half of the tomatoes Ze’ev had gotten topped the list.

Wolf, with his seemingly never ending appetite, laughed as she groaned, sprawled out on his chest as he laid on the couch. “Finally learned your lesson about trying to win bets you me?”

“Never.” She nestled her head against his chest. “I’m still a better shot than you.”

His chest rumbled with laughter, a sound and feeling that made Scarlet smile. “You probably are. You’re also prettier, more confident, and smarter than me.”

“You’re plenty pretty. And it takes a lot of confidence to stand up against Levana and your Thaumaturge when they could’ve easily ended you. Smarter than you? Yeah, I probably am, considering you didn’t know what a tomato was until a few years ago.” Her tone was teasing on the last part, and Ze’ev snorted.

She readjusted her position so her arm was draped over Ze’ev’s stomach, her other curled against her chest. Wolf’s arm held her against him and kept her from falling off the couch. “We don’t have any last minute plans for the wedding, do we?”

Ze’ev shook his head. “No. Kai and Cinder said how important it would be to them to have their official wedding be televised, with Cinder being cyborg and Lunar and the Eastern Commonwealth’s soon-to-be Empress, so we don’t need to bring anything for that like they did for us. We’re mostly packed, and we have wedding gifts and transportation figured out.”

“Thorne isn’t reliable with the Rampion. He still isn’t that great of a pilot. Even after retraining himself.”

“You could always fly.”

Scarlet hummed. “I could.”

They sat in silence for a few minutes before Scarlet said, “Tell me a story.”

They did this a lot. Scarlet loved hearing Ze’ev’s stories of growing up on Luna and as a Special Op. He didn’t seem to get the appeal, but she loved learning more about his home and past — even if they had been cruel at the time, things were steadily improving on that rock. Scarlet, too, would tell stories about growing up on a farm, anything from learning to fly to that time she got in a fight with a few delivery boys. (“They called her crazy, which I wouldn’t stand, so obviously I had to break his nose.”)

“What about?”

“Anything.”

And so Scarlet fell asleep in her husband's arms, listening to his soothing voice recount a story she had heard many times before, and yet, it never got old.

Because it was him, and that was what mattered most.

[ill-skillsgard]

Nothing But Her - Henry Deaver x Mistress

Warning: 18+ cheating/mature themes/strong language/spousal conflict

Note: It’s been about 2 months since the last installment of HxM, and I apologize for that. As you all well know, this year has been the topper on the world’s largest pile of shit, and I’ve tried to limit my time on the internet to not lose touch with my present reality. Aside from that, some writing burnout and adapting to the new norm posed some delays. But this is the angsty part I warned y’all about! It’s also a pivotal moment for Henry, so I hope you enjoy it and let me know what you think! 

Read past Henry x Mistress imagines here > Masterpost

Quarantine pushed back Henry’s court hearing. While business ground to a halt, you and Henry spent the weeks alone in his penthouse. He had his work meetings via Zoom calls and enjoyed his nights next to you on the couch watching your favourite shows. Over the weeks, you got to know Henry even better, learning and appreciating his quirks and figuring out what made him tick. It was a surreal experience living under the same roof as your lover. After years of being on your own, having another presence to fill the days with conversation and entertainment was a new, exciting notion. Even though you grew bored several times a day, Henry kept you occupied that didn’t involve rolling around in the sheets. It brought you even closer—the opposite effect it seemed to have on some of your friends and their partners.

Three months of domestic bliss oozed by, and soon, the business had to resume. Meetings had to be held in person, and you started arranging his schedule to accommodate his clients and the process of his divorce.

The rescheduled court date took place in two weeks. It was the first time Henry would go in front of a judge and explain the reasoning behind his failed marriage and why he should be granted an even split of the assets. Mary’s lawyers had already outlined her demands, but all Henry wanted was to sign the paper that freed him from her, no matter what she wished to gain from the proceeding. If she wanted the house and the more expensive car, and to sell their Summer cottage and take half the money, he was more than happy to oblige. He had all he needed when he was at home with you.

Henry was on a smooth road toward his goals until a letter arrived in the mail from his soon-to-be ex-wife’s lawyer. Henry opened the envelope and scanned the first few lines, skipping vital information before shaking his head and refocusing his attention. As Henry read, his stomach dropped. The hand holding the page shook before he balled up the paper and threw it on the floor. Anger gurgled in his chest as he took useless deep breaths.

“Fuck!” He shouted, alerting you from across the condo.

You found him in the kitchen, pacing and tugging at fistfuls of his hair. 

“Henry, what’s the matter?” You asked.

“What’s the matter? The matter is: Mary just scrapped our settlement! She wants it all. Everything! She wants the condo, my car... The summer house.”

“What are you talking about?” You asked, scoffing. “I thought she agreed to an even split?”

“Says right here, the settlement is up for renegotiation because there are new allegations of infidelity.”

“Infidelity? You mean?—Oh, no. Henry. What does that mean?”

He picked up the paper and smoothed out the creases, slapping it down on the kitchen island for you to read. “It means she’s coming after me because I’m with you. This will maim us. If she has proof... Oh, God. I don’t even want to think of the sneaky shit she’s probably done.”

“There’s no proof! We started seeing each other after you separated.”

“But, we hooked up before then.”

You shook your head. “She can’t prove that.”

Henry went white as the paper glaring up at you from the countertop. “And what if she can? What then?”

“You have job security, Henry.”

“I have a bad feeling,” he mumbled to himself. “A very, very bad feeling something’s up.”

“What do you mean?”

“I have to talk to her... Figure out why she’s doing this after we agreed to be civil.”

Your throat constricted as a grave veil fell over Henry’s face. 

“Can you call her?” You asked.

“I could, but I think this would be better suited to a face-to-face conversation. Mary can’t hide anything if I’m looking her straight in the eye.”

“Well, if that’s what you think. But what if she refuses to talk to you?”

Henry threw his hands wide, shrugging. “Honestly, babe, I don’t know what’s going on in her head. She’s... She’s fucked!”

You rose your eyebrows, his cursing a testament to genuine anger. Henry rubbed his jaw, shifting it to one side until it cracked. He couldn’t keep still, and you knew he wouldn’t be able to calm down until he got the newest issue out of the way.

“You should go talk to her. Today. Don’t put it off. I don’t like it when you get in these moods.”

“Neither do I, sweetie. But I can’t just drive over there and demand she explain herself.”

“Why not? It’s still your house. You can do whatever you want.”

He weighed his options, considering your input and gave another long, strained sigh. “You really think I should?”

“Yes! Go to her now before this goes too far to fix. She can’t pull this shit and expect you to roll over and get screwed. You worked hard for what you have, and you deserve half. She’s the one who initiated the separation by treating you like dirt. Now she wants to drain you all of a sudden? After months of negotiations, she just scraps it all? If I were you, I’d go in there guns blazing.”

Henry thought it over, dreading the thought of facing Mary again.

“You’re right,” he bit his lip. “God! You’re right, babe. I have to go over there.”

“I’ll be right here when you get home, handsome. You just let me know if you need a drink ready and waiting for you.”

“Thank you, baby. I love you so much. Gosh, I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

“I love you too, Henry. Now go on.”  

~*~

The street, although familiar to Henry, reminded him of how much life had changed. He drove by the houses he used to see on his morning jogs—structures that all fit a similar style around the block and lent the neighbourhood a comforting intimacy. He remembered the first time he and Mary turned down the avenue; newlywed and eager to get their life started in a quiet alcove of town, on a suburban strip. The houses had all seemed so large and intimidating at the time, but he had struck gold in his career, and nothing was too fancy for them.

The Lexus was in the driveway. That meant Mary was home, and the impending confrontation became more real. A knot formed in his stomach at the thought of seeing her again. He knew their exchange would not be a pleasant one and prepared himself with a few calming yoga breaths—the kind his girlfriend had taught him when they worked out together during the quarantine.

“You can do this, Deaver. Just stay calm. No matter how loud she yells. No matter what she says to insult you,” he murmured after turning the engine off, sitting in the driveway until he mustered the courage to get out.

Henry didn’t try the keypad on the door. Instead, he rang the bell to not catch Mary off guard by walking in unannounced, despite no warning of the change of heart on her end that brought him to his former home in the first place. Henry respected her privacy, though he knew she wouldn’t consider the same for him. Flashbacks of Mary storming into his bedroom at the condo while his secret lover hid in the bathroom dried out his throat, and he swallowed as the deadbolt drew back.

Mary gasped when she looked up at him, closing the door slightly in her surprise, then squaring her stance and tossing her hair off her shoulders.

“What do you want, pig?”

“I want to talk.”

“That’s what the lawyers are for,” she began to shut the door again, but Henry splayed his hand over the wood, stopping it from closing another inch.

“Mary. I’m serious. We need to talk. Inside.”

“You’re insane if you think I’m letting you in my house.”

“My name is still on the house, and you have no orders against me coming here. Please don’t make this more difficult.”

Mary studied her husband’s face for a flicker of insecurity, but there was none. The months he spent in the company of a loving woman had revitalized his confidence, and her frigid glare no longer held him hostage. Henry came to Mary prepared for anything she might have left in her repertoire of vilification. She had already accused him of hiring prostitutes, embarrassed him in front of his employees and colleagues, belittled him in the presence of their lawyers and accosted him at the condo. Mary had nothing left with which to shock him.

“Fine,” Mary conceded, stepping out of his way. “Let’s talk, Henry.”

They sat down in the kitchen, old smells embedded in the plaster reminding Henry of different times, unhappier times. His eyes coasted over the stove they had purchased at Sears, the matching refrigerator, the countertop they selected out of catalogue as they sipped sweet tea in the living room and the dark floor laminate that had caused a minor argument. Though the memories were still so vivid, Henry knew not the man who’d fallen in love with Mary all those years ago. Looking at her now, it seemed impossible that he’d had any attraction to her at all. Not enough to justify the lavish proposal he’d given her, the hundred-thousand-dollar wedding and his commitment. Yet the house still possessed the comforting warmth Henry had fallen in love with when the realtor walked them through for the first time. 

“Would you like something to drink?” She offered.

“No, thanks,” Henry lied, throat still parched from secret nerves.

“Very well. What would you like to talk about? And if you can keep it speedy, I’d appreciate it. I have an appointment in forty-five minutes.”

Henry sighed and rolled his knuckles on the kitchen table as she took the adjacent seat. “Why did you change your mind? I thought we had this all sorted out. You get the house, the Lexus, the boat and half the money from the cottage sale. It’s enough for you to retire on, Mary. Why are you coming after the condo now? And the Beamer? You don’t even like the thing.”

Mary pursed her lips. She had thought about this conversation many times in the last few days, and how it might play out, as she expected to hear from either Henry or his lawyer at any moment. What she didn’t expect was her husband to show up at the door, appearing composed and ready to have a mature discussion. But he didn’t know the truth yet, and she suspected, once she revealed it, Henry’s calm demeanour might shift.

“Did you not read the letter? I thought it was quite clear.”

A tendon in Henry’s neck pulled as he snorted and shook his head. “Infidelity. You think I cheated on you.”

“I know you cheated, Henry.”

“I’d like you to explain how you came to that conclusion.”

Mary pushed her chair out to cross one leg over the other, hands clasping around her knee as she gave a sarcastic smile. Henry rolled his eyes at the smug display, waiting for her to get comfortable.

“Witnesses. Timelines. Footage.”

“Footage?”

“After you kicked me out of the condo, I hired a private investigator.”

“We were already separated by then. You can’t hold that over me. It will never play out in court,” Henry explained.

Mary sniffed, flashing delight in her eyes at the chance to prove Henry wrong. “See, I thought so too, but then I started digging a little deeper, asking around, and lo-and-behold, I made the connection. It’s your assistant.”

Henry went pale. Mary’s smirk spread into a full-blown smile.

“Ah, there it is. You were always a terrible liar, Henry. That’s right. I know it’s her. I have irrefutable proof now.”

“No, that’s impossible. I started seeing her after we separated. And there’s no rule against me having a relationship with her. Yes, it may be frowned upon at work, but it’s not against policy.”

“You sure you don’t want that drink, Henry?” Mary asked, getting up to get herself a bottle from the fridge.

“I want you to tell me exactly how you think you have me cornered.”

Mary sat down at the table, looked at her watch, and then sighed. “Well, after I went to the condo to get some things and I saw the state of the place, that’s when I knew you had at least had a woman over. And yes, we were separated, but nobody knew at the time. You were still keeping it hush-hush. So, as I said, I hired a PI to find out if you were seeing somebody. At first, I heard nothing from the investigator. You two were diligent. But then, you slipped up in the parking lot on your way into work one morning.”

Henry knuckled the table, scoffing at what Mary had to say, though his heart hammered a dent in his chest. “That still won’t hold up. We. Were. Separated.”

Mary’s pointed smile disappeared in an instant. Her eyebrows came together, and the delight on her face melted into cold disdain. Henry saw that expression many times, suffered under the weight of it, and it always sent a shiver down his back. 

“Oh, it will hold up,” Mary assured. “Because you made one colossal mistake.”

“Is that right? What, kissing my girlfriend because I was finally happy and in love?”

“No, you nitwit. We went to the benefit. Hundreds of our friends and colleagues saw us together. Theo and his wife sat with us all night and can confirm we were very much together. Couple that with the photos of you grabbing her ass and shoving your tongue down her throat in the lot at work, and you’re screwed. Looks like cheating to anyone but you.”

“Why the hell are you doing this to me? Did I not treat you right for our entire marriage—give you everything you ever wanted and more? I made sure you got the upper-class life and all the expensive little trinkets to go along with it. I did anything you asked of me. But still, any time I have even the smallest flame of happiness, you have to snuff it out! Why are you such a... Such a fucking bitch?”

The insult echoed through the kitchen and rattled in Mary’s head. Her eyes flared. “So you admit it then? You cheated.”

“I’d been miserable for a year and a half, Mary! After trying so hard to get you to come back to me, I was bound to give up. You despised me—you still do! And even after all this bullshit, you still won’t tell me why you treated me like a doormat for all those years.”

“I don’t need to explain myself to you.”

Henry threw up his hands. “Of course, you don’t! You’re not accountable for any of this, are you? You’re just a poor little victim! You’re so opposed to me finding happiness that you had to resort to hiring some idiot to follow me around!”

“Even if I didn’t hire somebody, I already knew. I knew it was her, too.”

“Oh, yeah? And how’s that? Did you hire someone to follow her around as well?”

“Your grandfather’s pen.”

Henry tweaked his mouth to the side, fluttering his eyes and shaking his head. “What about it?”

“You never let anyone touch it. You kept it on you at all times. Even during our happiest years, you wouldn’t have parted with the damn thing. Not even if I asked to use it. The day I came into your office—after my suspicions were already high—I saw her using it. And then I remembered her face. I’d seen her before. She used to work at the hotel we always stayed at across the city. That’s where you met her.”

Henry dropped his face into his hands, sighing through his fingers. He stayed that way for a long moment; the jumbling thoughts in his head creating fuzzy chaos. Mary had succeeded. He could deny it, but Henry was sick of the lies. Sucking a breath through his nose, he finally looked back up at Mary, his eyes bleary from pushing his palms into them.

“I fucked her in that hotel. In my room. I picked her up from the bar after we drank a tonne, and I fucked her. I ate her pussy all night, and, God... She fucked me like I’ve never been fucked before. And when I went to that big conference in Paris after I asked for a divorce, I flew her out to see me there. I’ve never had my cock sucked that well before. And you know what else? I think... Once we sign the divorce papers and you take everything I’ve earned, I’ll ask her to marry me. We won’t have shit, but I know I’ll be a thousand times happier with nothing but her than I ever was having everything with you.” 

“You’re disgusting.”

“No, you’re the disgusting one! You had every chance in the world to make it right with me, but you drew out my pain like it got you off.”

A gaping silence pervaded the room. Henry felt beads of sweat emerge on his back, and he swallowed, regretting his refusal of the water Mary offered. Stunned by his brash admissions, she stared at the table as though what she would say next was written in the spalted wood. The pulse in his neck choked off any more confessions, though he longed to watch her blanch from across the table a little more. Only the humming of the refrigerator filled the silence.

Mary drew in a shaky breath. “Leave her.”

The two words bounced around Henry’s head for a second before he chuckled. “Never. I love her.”

“Leave her, and I’ll drop this. We can go back to fifty-fifty.”

Henry pushed his chair out swiftly, and rose to his feet, leaning over the table so far he came a foot away from Mary’s face.

“Fuck. You. I’ll see you in court.” 

[obxhoe]

Leather and Lace || Rudy Pankow {1}

Lovers forever face to face My city your mountains Stay with me stay I need you to love me I need you today Give to me your leather Take from me my lace

(eek i’m nervous about this. hope y’all enjoy. message me if you wanna be on my taglist!)

CHAPTER ONE

ZOE’S POV:

Sophie’s alarm clock is blaring yet again after the third time she had snoozed it this morning. I can hear it in my bedroom… across the freaking hallway. I pad into her room,

“Soph.” No response. “Soph!” I whisper-yell. “Sophie!!!” She jolts up, ripping her eye mask off.

“I’m up. I’m up.” 

“I’m leaving in 20 minutes for class, I won’t be home until at least 11 tonight, I told Liv I would have dinner and a wine night at her place.”

“I’m probably sleeping at Aaron’s tonight so…” I raise an eyebrow at her. Aaron is this new guy she met over Bumble and the two of them have been seeing each other every day since their first date 3 weeks ago.

“Alright well have fun and try not to do anything dumb”

“You know I always do” I laugh and shut her door, walking to my vanity to quickly put on some makeup and grab my stuff. 

I’m about a quarter way through my senior year at NYU, and about a quarter away from an existential crisis. I’m not sure what I want to do with my life yet. Basically every single one of my friends have boyfriends and they talk about marriage and babies and all that shit. And it’s cute. But I’m fine on my own. My last boyfriend Peter always had me feeling suffocated. The constant “Babe” and “Baby”. The obligation of having to FaceTime someone all the time. Having to be around someone every minute of every day. I was exhausted all the time. Currently, I’m an international business major with a minor in accounting. Taking a full course load, and working a part time job in an accounting firm on top of that. I don’t exactly have time for anything else. 

I check the time and see that I’m running 5 minutes late. I slip on mom jeans, a giant t-shirt I stole from my dad years ago and run out the door. The walk to school is always my favorite part of the day. The West Village was my dream neighborhood to live in and once I saved up enough money from working throughout school, I finally was able to rent a tiny two bedroom apartment. I mindlessly scroll through social media as I speed walk to “campus”, it’s really just a few buildings in the city, there’s no open space or anything. Unless you count Washington Square Park. I pass the West 4th street subway station and my phone fumbles out of my hand as a result of someone walking straight into me.

“Fuck. fuck fuck fuck.” I say grabbing my phone and seeing the screen cracked. This is not exactly what I need at this moment.

“I am so sorry” I hear a voice above me, “I’m not from here, which I guess you can tell. Uh, I’m a little lost. I think? I’m not sure where I’m going or what uptown and downtown mean on the subways. Sorry, I’m rambling. Oh my god!” He sees my phone. “I’m so sorry. Shit. I can get you a new one.”

“Ok chill for a sec dude” I stand up brushing my hair out of my eyes. “At least buy a girl coffee before you offer up a phone.”

“Oh you’re not mad. I thought most people who live here have a stick up their ass all the time” He says, and I finally look up at his face. Those eyes, those fucking eyes. My breath catches in my throat as I realize I’m staring at him. Something about him looks or feels familiar but I can’t place my finger on it.

“Uh yeah most people are like that.”

“So are you not from here?” He asks “Cause ya know, you’re nice and stuff.” 

“Oh no I live here. I go to NYU, I’m actually on my way there now.” I look at my phone to check the time but I can barely see due to the cracked screen. 

“Uh it’s 9:0-”

“Oh you’ve got to be kidding me” I groan loudly, class started at 9.

“Late for class…?” he asks cautiously, not sure if he’s going to make it worse or not.

“Yes. I have to go, like right now.” I say starting to turn to walk away.

“Wait. Let me buy you that coffee so we can discuss the phone thing. Today isn’t great for me, how does tomorrow sound?” I nod and he hands me his phone. “Put in your number.” I quickly type in my information and hand him back the phone. “Well Zoe,” He says looking down at my contact, “I hope to see you later.”

“You too, I didn’t catch your name though.”

“Rudy. Rudy Pankow.”

“Well Rudy,” I look at him, flashing a small smirk “I’ll be looking forward to your text.” I turn and walk away as fast as I can. Of all the things that make me anxious, being late to class is pretty high up on the list. But I think the idea of meeting Rudy for coffee is consuming my mind more than the fact that I’m late is. I slip into the back of the lecture hall about 15 minutes late, luckily not drawing any attention to myself. I take out my notebook and try to take notes, but my mind is elsewhere.

RUDY’S POV:

I don’t know where the hell I am right now. Chase was completely wrong when he said the New York subway system would be easy to figure out. I have to go film a few interviews for Buzzfeed about season two and I’m lost. Totally lost. 

“West 4th street-Washington Square” The crackle comes over the speaker. 

“Fuck it” I mumble and get off. I can just take an Uber, so much for trying to get the whole experience. I walk up the stairs trying to order an Uber, getting more and more frustrated by the minute. All of a sudden I slam into what I can only hope is another tourist, the last thing I need is someone yelling at me for looking at my phone. 

“Fuck. fuck fuck fuck.” I hear a voice from next to me mutter.

“I am so sorry” Fuck. She’s beautiful, and I’m just straight up dumb. “I’m not from here, which I guess you can tell. Uh, I’m a little lost. I think? I’m not sure where I’m going or what uptown and downtown mean on the subways. Sorry, I’m rambling.” For fucks sake Rudy shut the fuck up. I look to her hand and see that I shattered her entire phone and my stomach drops. “Oh my god! I’m so sorry. Shit. I can get you a new one.” Yes good job. Just offer up an entirely new phone, that’ll help. I mentally smack my forehead. 

“Ok chill for a sec dude” She stands up, locking her eyes with mine. My eyes can’t decide where to look. Her eyes? her lips? She’s stunning. “At least buy a girl coffee before you offer up a phone.” My face turns bright red. I’m a fucking idiot. She’s running late and I decide to just shoot my shot. I shove my phone at her offering up coffee. A smile breaks onto my face when she takes it and types in her contact info. Zoe. 

“Well Rudy, I’ll be looking forward to your text” She smirks at me. God dammit I have never seen anything like her before. She spins on her heel and rushes away. I slide into the nearest taxi, not getting the chance to order an Uber. What the hell just happened?

ZOE’S POV:

I can’t get him off my mind. This isn’t like me at all. Usually I turn random men on the street down, I mean who doesn’t? What if this guy is a serial killer. God Zoe what did you do. Ok but he seems nice enough right? Ugh. I stare at my glass of wine, mind wandering.

“Earth to Zoe” Liv waves her hand in front of my face. I blink and look up.

“Sorry I’m exhausted. Too many unhappy clients today.”

“Uh huh sure.” She rolls her eyes and my friend Katie laughs next to her.

“What?!” I say, a little too defensively.

“Who’s the guy? You only ever act like this, all out of it and daydreamy when there’s a guy”

“There’s no gu-” I get cut off.

“Oh don’t even try. Who is he.” Katie slides next to me and pours more wine in my glass.

“It’s really no one. I met him on the street, he sort of smashed my phone. Well I guess I did. When he ran into me. And then he offered to buy me a new phone just like that. I was like well at least buy me a coffee first, you know, jokingly. But then he actually made a date for tomorrow to get coffee. He said he’d text me, but it’s been hours so I doubt it’ll actually happen. Probably is just being nice.” I mumble the last sentence. 

“A guy on the street?” Liv raises her voice.

“Are you crazy?” Katie says, setting her wine glass down a little too hard.

“I know I know. But something about him just felt familiar. Like I had seen him before or something. He seems our age, he had these insane blue eyes. I couldn’t stop staring.” I look down at the table. “I probably won’t even go, it’s a dumb idea.” 

“Dude, you’ll find someone. I promise. It just takes time” I look over to Liv.

“That’s the thing though. I don’t even want someone, I’m fine on my own right now. If I started seeing a guy, I wouldn’t have time for him, the two of you, work and school. I would literally have a mental breakdown.” I laugh. Part of me knows I’m lying. I don’t want a boyfriend, that part is true. But if that boyfriend was Rudy, I would have to reconsider. That’s crazy right? I’m definitely going crazy. I don’t even know this guy.

“Ok well let’s get drunk and watch hot boys on TV. There’s a show Liv and I wanted to watch on Netflix called Outer Banks. Have you seen it yet?” Katie asks me as she goes to the couch.

“I don’t have the time for that.” I plop down next to her.

“So that’s a no” She grabs the remote.

“I’m so fucking excited. I keep seeing stuff about the show everywhere, season two is coming out next week.” Liv squeals. Katie starts the show and I start chugging my wine so I can get a new glass. I choke on my wine and spit it out all over the ivory rug.

“Zoe! What the Fuck?!” Liv yells, obviously pissed I just ruined her rug. But I can’t stop coughing. I look back to the TV to make sure I’m not seeing things. It’s him, I could never forget those eyes.

“That’s him” I choke out, “That’s the guy who I ran into today.”

“Rudy Pankow? The guy on the TV right now? Are you sure?” Katie looks at me.

“There’s no way.” Liv shakes her head.

“I’m dead serious. That’s the guy.” My phone vibrates from across the room and we all look at each other. I run over to look at it.

Meet me at Think Coffee in SoHo tomorrow at 3pm. Apple Store right next door ;) -Rudy

“No. Fucking. Way”

Taglist: @pink-meringues​ @x-lulu​ @perkeusjackson​

[uswnt-owns-this-homo]

What A Time To Be Alive (Lindsey Horan x Reader)

a/n: so I was planning on having this out like a lot sooner, alas, schoolwork wrecked that idea... I got the title idea from a TikTok (Yes I’m very ashamed)... thank you for the prompt!

prompt: hi! could you do either emily sonnet or lindsey horan (doesn't matter which one u pick!) x fem where they're just doing cute stuff together in quarantine? i love your work! :)

It’s only my first week of quarantine and I’m going crazy. Between my insane work schedule, and Lindsey’s tournament, on top of NWSL training, we’ve barely seen each other.  We’ve been focusing on ourselves, staying at our own apartments, which is where I so happen to be. I’ve been staying here, not wanting to disrupt Lindsey’s routine, or to throw her off her game. Which I now greatly regret. As soon as the virus hit, I wanted to bring some things over to Linds’s house, and hang out there, just in case, but avoided asking for fear that it would distract her. She’s been under a lot of stress, with Em’s upcoming move, and the recent SheBelieves Cup. But now I wish I would have sucked it up and asked her. 

I’m getting ready for another day working at home, calling in for some takeout and coffee for breakfast, putting on a sweatshirt of Lindsey’s and pulling my hair into a simple ponytail. I set up my laptop in the living room and grab my phone, planning on calling Lindsey later. I’ve just sat down and opened up my laptop when I hear someone knocking at my door. Damn, this delivery boy deserves a big tip, that was fast. I grab my wallet and start to pull out the money, opening my door, only to be greeted with Lindsey, instead of my takeout.

“Look, I know they’re saying to stay by yourself, isolate, but I’ve missed you these past few weeks and wanted to come see you,”

I drop the money before I launch myself at her, going up on my tiptoes and cupping her face.

“Linds, thank you, so much. We can hang out here, or at yours? I just got takeout and coffee, so we can eat?”

She laughs and nods.

“Yeah, we can chill here, I’ll stay the night maybe?”

I pretend to think for a moment and she slaps my shoulder. I laugh.

“Well, we could do that, or we could go over to yours later, and maybe then we can see Emily during quarantine, that is if you’re cool with me hanging for it?”

She beams and picks me up. She swings me a bit and sets me down, She  clutches at my Thorns sweatshirt and kisses me. Not like a gentle, “I haven’t kissed you in forever” type kiss. No, this is a full on “How can you get what I need so easily” type gig. I grin and wrap my arms over her shoulders, feeling the muscle underneath near perfect skin. 

“Now I see why the firm wanted you, Y/N, you’re a freakin’ genius!”

“God, I missed you,”

I scoff and blush, taking her hand and pulling her to the couch.

“Okay, you sit here, I’ll make you a latte, or whatever it is, and you can just sit here and look good,”

She nods and grabs the remote while I go to make her a coffee. The doorbell rings right as I’m finishing it up, and I quickly walk to see Lindsey thanking the delivery boy, and paying him, my money still on the floor.

“Linds, I know I did not just see you pay that delivery boy,”

She grins and bends down to grab the money off the floor, handing to me and taking her coffee.

“Okay, then you definitely didn’t just see that, right?”

We make our way to the couch and divvy up the food, slowly drinking our coffee and talking about what has been going on. We finish and I grab her arm, pulling her down to where we’re laying on the couch, her big spooning me while I grab my laptop.

“Okay, so I technically have work today, but I only have one conference, so I’ll just work here until I have to get ready for that?”

She nods and gets a Netflix movie up and running, turning the volume down low enough to avoid distracting me. I slowly but surely make my way through the mountains of emails and work, letting out a sigh when I see that I need to start getting dressed for a client conference. Linds sits up and I smile, kissing her gently on the cheek.

“Okay, this should take half an hour, maybe an hour at max, and then I can get a bag together for you and Emily’s?”

She grins and gives me a kiss, nodding her head and going back to her movie.

“Yeah, babe, no problem, I’ll just hang,”

I smile and go to start doing my makeup and to put on my dress shirt, not bothering in nice pants, leaving me in just my boxers. I walk through the living room, making sure Linds sees me before I quickly make an iced coffee.  I go to my set up in the kitchen, making sure I have all my files and everything that I need.

A call should only last up to an hour. So, why did this one run close to 2? I groan as the stubborn client finally hangs up the call. Linds comes up behind me and gently rubs my shoulders, laughing when I sigh.

“I swear, you’d think they’d treat me better if they want me to take their case,”

She gently pulls me around, placing her hands at my waist and gently swaying, my head tucked under her chin and my arms up around her shoulders.

“Well, they obviously don’t know how awesome you are, or how cool, or pretty, or caring, or a whole lot of other mush that is definitely going to be used as blackmail later,”

I chuckle and detach myself, shaking out my stiff muscles and heading towards my room. I make quick work of packing, putting in a week's worth of shirts, pants, and some slip on shoes, as well as a couple dress shirts, and one pair of god forsaken dress slacks. I get some necessities and also grab the switch, looking at Lindsey, who’s taken perch on my bed, scrolling through her phone.

“Right, this quarantine, I’m getting you back on the switch, no if’s, and’s, or but’s. It’s happening, and I don’t care about the vow you have to the team. We’re playing the new Animal Crossing or else,”

She just looks up and shrugs. I finish gathering everything and throw it into my duffle, grabbing my keys and pulling Lindsey with me into the kitchen.

“You and Em have bad coffee, so I’m taking that, and then I thought I could stop at the store and grab some baking stuff, maybe some paints, or something?”

“Yeah, sounds good b. Em is going to the store later though, so we can either ask her or have her get that stuff,”

I nod and we walk down to the car, hauling my laptop and work bag. I put my stuff in my car and Lindsey gets in her car. I wave and get in the driver’s seat.

The quarantine with Emily and Lindsey is going great. We’ve painted… everything. We got a hold of Emily’s shoes, and painted them Orlando colors, kind of as a final send off for her move. We painted some clothes, and the best one yet. Emily’s face. She fell asleep first one night, and we couldn’t resist. We (Lindsey) painted her up as a clown… She was not a happy camper when it wouldn’t come off, leaving her with huge red splotches on her face. 

Today is Bake Day. Emily and I have been trying to get Linds to play smash bros with us, to no avail. So, we’ve compromised. Today Lindsey and I are going to bake, while Emily stays away from the kitchen (to this day we still don’t talk about the Thorns Cook Off Fiasco), and then tomorrow we will have the mario bros switch tournament of the ages.  I double check the cookie recipe before getting out the flour, sugar, and other things that we need.

“Ah, shoot, Linds, the butter is supposed to be softened,”

Emily bursts into the kitchen, laughing maniacally. 

“I read somewhere that if you put butter under your armpits, It will heat it up to room temperature!”

She swipes the butter before we can stop her, thankfully doesn’t take it out of the wrapper, and shoves both sticks under her arms. I groan, go to the fridge, grab a beer, and push her gently.

“Okay, you’re definitely going to leave, get tipsy, and for the love of preath, put the butter down,”

She continues to laugh, but does as I say. She slowly unearths the butter, squeezing it and whooping.

“Ha! It did soften! So I was right. I think I deserve a ‘oh thanks Sonny, how kind’ don’tcha think?”

I roll my eyes, shove the beer into her hands, and take the butter. She walks off into the living room and I turn to Lindsey, who has a look on her face, her nose scrunched up, eyes watery.

“Hey, you know she’ll be back to terrorize us at every chance she gets.. This isn’t going to change much, except maybe there will be less pit butter around,”

She laughs, coming and giving me a hug.

“God, how do you always know what I need to hear?”

I smile.

“Well… you have kind of a really expressive face, and I’ve known you for years,” 

We quickly set about mixing all the ingredients, everything going well until I go to put the eggs in, only to be hit with a huge handful of flour. I slowly turn to look at Linds, who’s grin drops.

“Wait, lemme get this straight, I mean, not straight, cause I’m not, you know what I mean, you just threw flour at me?”

I hear her whisper a “oh fuck” before she sprints for the living room.

“Sonnett, you grab her or so help me!”

I hear rustling and struggling and grin widely as I carry the bag of flour into the living room where Emily has Lindsey pinned to the floor, dodging her flailing limbs.

“Son, you don’t understand! She’s gonna get me, oh god,”

I cackle, upending the whole bag of flour over them as Emily’s eyes widen.

“Y/N, DO NOT.. THIS IS CARPET!”

I just shrug.

“Looks like payback’s a bitch, isn’t that right Linds?”

She coughs and nods. I grin.

“Okay, I’m going to go finish the cookies, you two can sweep, right?”

Sonnett looks ready to argue, but Lindsey just nods.

“Yes, babe. Of course, babe,”

I laugh.

“Come on, I’ll help, then we can finish them,”

   We make quick work of cleaning up the flour before I stop dead.

“Linds, I forgot to add the flour to the cookies before I dumped it,”

Emily bellows with laughter.

“Looks like we’ve got two options… floor flour, or weird flourless cookies, nice Y/N,”

So it turns out that floor flour cookies aren’t that bad. The three of us (Lindsey and I, plus Emily playing her switch in the kitchen) ended up scraping together enough of the flour to complete the cookies. I grab one as I tug Lindsey down onto the couch, handing her a cookie and kissing her cheek.

“Okay, next step is Animal Crossing, Mama needs crazy shells Linds,”

We sit there for a few hours, losing track of time as Lindsey drapes her arm over my shoulders, our legs entangled.

“This bastard! I cast that pole perfectly, the dumb fish,”

Lindsey took over for me a couple hours in. We’re fueled by coffee and cookies.

“Hey, Linds, when’s the last time we heard from Sonny?”

She just shrugs and keeps playing. I look at the clock and see that it’s 4:45.

“Hey babe, it’s like almost 5, we should probably go to bed,”

She sighs but shuts down the game, handing me the switch and giving me a peck on the cheek.

“I don’t even know where I am babe, this is why the switch is bad… we lost like 4 hours,”

I laugh.

“I’m sure you’ll be saying that when the little animals sing to you… I’m not tired yet, you wanna paint Sonnett’s face again?”

I’m pretty sure the whole apartment complex can hear her screaming to the mirror the next morning, trying to scrub the clown makeup off for the second time… The rest of the quarantine is going to be good, I can just feel it.

[moonlitdesertdreams]

Judgement Call (Din Djarin x OC)- Chapter XIX

Previous | Next

CHAPTER XIX: AS ABOVE, SO BELOW

Zakia was not expecting both of Greef Karga's remaining men to fall dead when blasters were drawn.

If she was being honest, she expected to be the dead one. Kuiil was safe on the last Bluurg several yards behind her, while Din and Cara both had some armor to protect their chests.

They had just made it to a ridge overlooking the town when Greef paused and sighed aloud. The trio on their feet had all tensed, and Zakia could see the hunters moving in her peripherals. Everyone had blasters drawn by the time Karga had fired and, in hindsight, it was a comical sight. Her, Din, and Cara all stood at the ready, muzzles pointed to Karga.

The Guild boss instantly relented, lifting his hands in surrender. Din straightened from his defensive position, and Zakia slowly lowered her dual blasters. Her sniper rifle hung at her shoulders, its presence a comforting weight.

"There's something you should know." Greed said, walking between Cara and Mando. Zakia took a step forward to be at Din's side, slipping both guns back into their holsters. Karga continued wordlessly, kicking blasters away from their fallen owners. "The plan was to kill you and take the kid."

Zakia lifted her shoulders. "Shocker."

"But, after what happened last night, I couldn't go through with it." Greef's gaze bounced back and forth between Din and Cara, trying to gauge their reactions. "Go on. You can gun me down right here and now and it wouldn't be a violation of the Guild code. But if you do, this child will never be safe."

As much as she wanted to speak up and say that was her desire, Zakia couldn't bring her mind around to it. Karga had indeed violated their trust- not that there was any to begin with- but he had killed his own men. She knew first-hand the effect their tiny charge had on others, and it seemed his innocence had won their old boss over as well. Zakia noticed Kuiil seemed to share her sentiment, as the Ugnaught watched the tense exchange with stony eyes.

"We'll take our chances." Cara spat, and Zakia opened her mouth briefly before snapping it shut again. She didn't want to make such a staunch declaration like Cara, but knew somewhere that the Mandalorian would trust her.

"The Imperial client is obsessed with obtaining this asset. You tried to run, but where did it get you?" Greef held his hands out, motioning to their surroundings.

"This is ridiculous." Cara hissed at Din and Zakia. The latter grit her teeth, forcing herself to gather the words she needed.

"He might be right." Zakia blurted.

Din's helmet swung towards her at the same time Cara did. An grimace was stretched across the shock-trooper's face, almost accusatory as it was directed at Zakia.

"Perhaps you should let him speak." Kuiil saved Zakia from having to form an explanation, but she kept her eyes on Din's visor nonetheless.

The Child was going to be in danger until the client was dead, and they all knew it. They could run, but for how long? It was only a matter of time before a run in went wrong, or there wasn't a second person in the trees to kill their pursuers.

"Listen. We both need the client to be eliminated. Let me take the Child to him. And then you three-"

"No." Din cut into Karga's new plan, silencing him before he had a chance to finish.

"Let's just kill him and get out of here." Cara urged.

Zakia's head snapped in her direction. As much as she had respected the shock-trooper's instinct on Nevarro, this situation was being tugged in the opposite direction. She knew Cara was worried about her chain code and the implications of it being ran. But she knew the risk when she boarded the Razor Crest, and it irked Zakia she wanted to run. They were all wanted, and would most likely end up dead if they were caught in an ambush attempt.

But if they were caught running with the Child one day, they would all be dead.

"No offence, because you're a great friend, but I think you worrying about your chain code is clouding the current state of the mission, Cara. You know, it's not that hard. If you want to leave- go. If Kuiil and I are the only ones that can see there is actually a point being made here, fine." Zakia stepped forwards, and Din dropped his blaster once she was in its path. "We can run now, but it will only be a matter of time before it happens again, and again, and again."

Cara looked to be preparing a rebuttal, but Din straightened suddenly and holstered his blaster. "Karga is right."

"What are you doing?" The shock-trooper looked at Mando, still pointing her blaster towards Greef.

"As long as the Imp lives, he'll send hunters after the Child." Din explained. Zakia nodded, hoping her eyes were conveying thanks to his.

"It's a trap." Cara reiterated, blinking from Zakia to Mando.

"Bring me." Din offered.

"Bring you?" Zakia squeaked the words at the same time Karga spoke them.

"Tell them you captured me. Get me close to him and I'll kill him." The Mandalorian's voice was steady, and Zakia could find no indications of mistrust in his body language. "You said he's stationed where your tavern used to be. There's a high chimney that climbs one of the buildings about three hundred meters away from the bar window. Zakia can set up with the rifle there as backup."

Zakia swallowed at the thought of Mando diving headfirst into the Imperial hideout. Her only reassurance was their last out facing the Imperials, where the troopers prooved more incompetent than any she had seen. However, this time he had betrayed the client. He was wanted, and there was a bounty hanging high over his head. Her own conflicts with the Imps were of little consequence- if they couldn't find out her name, how was she going to be indicted of any crime?

"That's a good idea. Give me your blaster."

Mando did so wordlessly, and turned to Zakia. "Can you get in?"

Zakia swung the rifle over her shoulder and used the scope to check for unguarded sections of the wall that surrounded the bazaar. There was a crumbling slat to the right of the entrance and around a corner, and she was sure it would make an easy entrypoint.

"Yeah."

"This is insane." Cara protested yet again.

"It's the only way." Din argued.

"Well- I'm coming with you." The shock-trooper relented, but she sounded far from happy.

"No, no no." Karga held up a hand. "That would make them suspicious."

"I don't care. I'm coming." And now the attitude had flipped.

"Tell them she caught him." Zakia said, lowering the rifle. "More likely than you. No offense."

"Fine. Then she can bring the Child." Karga tried to reason, but the entirety of their team opposed it.

"No. The kid goes back in the ship." Din asserted, looking to Kuiil. He ignored Karga's protests. "I have a plan. Kuiil, ride back to the Razor Crest with the Child, and seal yourself in. When you're inside, engage ground security protocols. Nothing on this planet will breach those doors."

The Ugnaught was already walking forward. "Here is a comlink. I will keep the Child safe." He paused, looking up at Cara. "Don't forget to cover your stripes."

With his words hanging in the air, Cara did just that. The Mandalorian stepped towards Greef, fingers brushing by Zakia's hip. "I trust you." His words were barely a whisper, slipping out beneath the modulator and rushing over Zakia like a warm wash of water.

"I know."

"Let's go."

Making her way around the bazaar's wall was simple. Zakia had done it plenty of times, sneaking around when her and Mando were younger, to mess around in the dark nights after too much to drink. The memories were her only comfort then, her legs screaming as she crept along the ground.

At the small break in the wall, she stopped to survey it. She switched her scope to thermal and directed it towards the bazaar, checking for any signatures that could belong to troopers. There was movement all about the town, but nothing indicating a hostile presence near her.

"Hey!"

Zakia whirled around, coming face to face with the exact type she had been trying to avoid. Her eyes widened as he reached for a blaster, white armor gleaming in the sun. To her relief, he failed to signal for help.

"What are you doing outside the wall?" He demanded.

Sliding an innocent look onto her face, the blonde forced her limbs to relax. "I was just-" She motioned at the flats. "Hunting.

She imagined the man beneath the obnoxious-looking helmet would be rolling his eyes. "Chain code?"

Now that, she didn't have with her. "Sure thing. Give me just a minute to find it, would you?"

The trooper sighed. "Make it quick."

He hitched his hands onto his hips, head swiveling back in the direction of the entrance to town. Zakia did her best impression of a scared woman, shuffling through her pockets one by one until the Stormtrooper looked in the right direction.

With his head turned far enough behind him, Zakia slipped a hand to her boot and forced herself to move as fast as she could. She drew the knife that was always sheather in her leg, jerking straight up and plunging the blade through the trooper's throat. She jumped out of the way of the blood splatter, yanking the vibroblade back with her.

"Damn."

Zakia shook out her hands, and wiped the blade clean before turning back to the wall. She braced her hands on the rock surface before hesitating and turning back towards the man on the ground. She considered him for a moment before biting her lip and stepping back, nearing his fallen body.

It took only a few moments to figure out how the armor went together, and Zakia quickly stripped him of it. She snatched the boots- big enough to go over her own petite ones, and dragged all the items on clumsily. It fit loosely over her own clothing, but the armor was easily tied tighter.

The entire process only took a few minutes, and Zakia ignored whatever the man's face looked like when she took the helmet from his head. She wrapped her head scarf around her face and placed the helmet over her head, feeling every ounce like she was defiling something sacred within herself.

"Awesome." She surveyed her own appearance best she could, and proceeded to haul her body over the V-shaped crack in the wall.

Zakia's rifle clattered uncomfortably against the white armor, but she pressed on until the chimney Mando mentioned came into view. While she wasn't exactly hiding, she didn't want to have a confrontation either. Her costume change served as camouflage, but not as a promise of escape.

"How the hell- oh hello." Zakia muttered to herself as she sought out a way to get herself onto the roof. There was a narrow alley between two buildings, and Zakia crept into it from the darkened alley. The normally bustling town was oddly silent, and she found herself at odds with the lack of noise.

Thankful for her vertically-challenged status, Zakia's limbs were the ideal length to fit in the crevice. They provided her with a quiet and easy solution to scale the wall. She used both hands outstretched and legs to crawl up like a spider, snorting at the image of a Stormtrooper doing so. She hauled herself onto the correct rooftop and then up its water tower, which was placed just to the left of the chimney- far enough that she could easily roll to the side and be hidden. Zakia was unaware of Din's source on that particular bit of knowledge, but she was thankful he had it nonetheless.

From her vantage point, the main drag was clear. Zakia rushed to set up her rifle, turning the thermal on to check the tavern. Sure enough, there was a trio just inside the door that looked to be Din, Cara, and Karga. Zakia sighed, watching carefully through the scope as they were apparently ushered further in. There were several other heat signatures present, and Zakia switched off her thermal when they all became visible in the long window behind the bar. It was translucent, but in a way that made individual figures apparent in the daylight.

"I don't like this." She muttered to no one in particular.

Minutes ticked by, throughout which Zakia flicked the scope from thermal to normal, to infrared with no winners between the three. Four figures now sat at the table inside the bar; the fourth she assumed to be the client. She noticed the enumerated Stormtroopers, and was annoyed at Karga's mention of four the previous night. This was closer to a whole platoon outside the hideout alone.

Zakia pulled the helmet from her head and made sure to cover her hair before looking back through the scope. When she did so, one of the figures that had been at the table previously stood, wandering to the bar. The frame and posture was unfamiliar- too broad to be Karga, and too hunched to be the Mandalorian. No curves to indicate it was Cara. She placed the crosshairs on the figures head, breathing in deeply. She waited a moment before placing her finger on the trigger, and another moment before applying any pressure.

The rifle was primed and seconds away from firing a shot when the sounds of footsteps drew Zakia's attention away. It was a large number of people moving, and she was horrified when she lowered the rifle.

Outside the tavern window was a squad of Death Troopers.

Their black armor reflected the sun in a sickly green fashion, and they all had wide-barrel blasters raised and aimed at the window. Zakia no time to think when they began shooting round after round through the window. She gasped audibly, and forced herself to refrain from sound. As long as people were still fighting to get to Mando and the group, the Child must be safe.

The sniper lowered her eyes back to the scope, searching for the three signatures that would come from Din and their crew. She was thankful to find just that, spotting the blue spot of cold that was Din's cuirass. Zakia was considering her options- spoiler, there weren't many- as a hovering, armored vehicle offloaded a full platoon of troopers onto the street.

Zakia didn't dare to try and contact Mando's com unit- the Imperials had a reputation for intercepting signals, and she would not be party to it. She just bit her lip and watched, unsure of the next possible move.

'WHOOSH'.

Zakia ducked her head down, mind flashing back to the winged beast from the previous night. A thunderous noise bore down on the town, and Zakia prayed whatever it hadn't spotted her on the way down. As it sped into view, her stomach twisted all over again.

A TIE-fighter was landing behind the armored vehicle, setting up a display of violent opposition to whatever little opportunity was left for escape. The circular top hissed open, but its position with respect to Zakia blocked her from being able to get a mark on the target. The craft blocked most of her view, and the blonde cursed. She had to get to the tavern.

Zakia scrambled down from her position as quietly as she could, slipping the Stormtrooper helmet back on when she made it to the ground. She searched around the ground, trying to figure out a way to the tavern. Zakia knew there was no back door, and getting across the main street would be impossible regardless.

"Damn." Zakia paced the alleyway, trying to think of any possible solution. There was no way for her to get back with her team, and there was no way she would be able to wipe out an entire platoon without being captured.

Searching the ground for any sign of hope, Zakia slung the rifle to her front. The Mandalorians had a covert in the bazaar, and she had never seen one before. They had to transverse the town somehow, and she doubted it was by jetpack.

"How…" Zakia leaned near the door of a small building, and paused as her eyes drilled holes into the dirt. "The sewers."

Nevarro was, underneath, a lava-formed planet. It was always hot, and the heat from the planet had to be channeled out. The only sensible way to keep it from building below the town was to channel it out. Zakia understood that homes were heated during the cold night, and the realization struck her then.

She turned to the door, knocking briefly. No answer came, and she edged it open slowly, effectively avoiding any creaking. It was a dimly lit dwelling, with an empty dinner table and kitchen area. The blonde wasted no time hustling in, and followed the seam of the wall. The grate for their heating had to be somewhere near, and Zakia needed to move.

The tinny sound of an amplified voice reached her ears, but it was too far to discern anything other than harsh syllables. "Come on, come on…."

Zakia found herself in a small bedroom before she located her target. It was tucked beneath the bed, and would be just barely wide enough to squeeze herself through. The bolts holding it in place looked old, and her vibroknife was put to use as she sliced through the brittle metal.

"Oh, thank the Makers for code violations." Zakia pulled the rifle from her shoulder and pointed its flashlight into the hole. It was dark for a few feet, but the concrete beneath was visible.

Zakia shed her armor and lowered the rifle down first, extending her arm to the full length so her gun only dropped a foot. Inhaling deeply, she dangled her legs in and allowed her body to slip down. It was incredibly claustrophobic, and her ass almost got stuck on a lip of concrete, but Zakia managed to tumble not-so-gracefully to the ground.

"Shit." She breathed upon impact.

Fortunately, she managed to keep her bearings directionally. Zakis shouldered the gun and took off in the direction she assumed the tavern was, keeping her ears open. As she neared a junction that could only be of the main pathway, she paused.

There was a sound echoing through the chambers, and Zakia was forced to cover her ears. It was shrill and familiar, and she forced herself to look up. She knew that sound...

"A speeder…"

Zakia recalled seeing a few outside the wall, and two through the scope. She doubted any civilians were authorized to leave, and the thought brought her to a conclusion.

A speeder meant one of two things:

1) Someone was coming to help them

Or

2) The Imperials had captured the Child.

And Zakia had a sinking feeling it was the latter.

_________________________________________________

Din wasn't sure when he came back to consciousness.

His limbs were heavy, and he was on the ground. Cloudy eyes blinked lazily beneath his helmet, and the resounding vibration from its impact seemed to reverberate constantly.

'CONCUSSION'

Din's brain screamed at him, but it acted as if no signals could leave it. He felt someone grab him-drag him to safety. Away from the Imps, and away from Moff Gideon. The tavern door rushed closed, and Din was propped against an overturned table. Blood trickled into his mouth and down his neck, through the stubble he hadn't had time to shave.

He wished he could feel his legs, or his arms. Something to solidify the fact he was actually awake. Everything was submerged to him, swimming in a sea of red and brown.

The sea.

It was something he hadn't seen in years. Since before the Child, and before he had ever taken the bounty from Karga. Someone else had been on the beach with him, and his brain clung to the memory as it scrambled to stay afloat in the waves of his mind.

"Oh, Mando. It's beautiful."

Zakia was standing beside him, bare feet dug deep into the sand. The Mandalorian sighed, shaking out his boots.

"It's going to look really beautiful on the floor of my ship." He returned, nudging the blonde.

Her hair was gorgeous, as it always appeared to him. It was beauty in its most natural form- curls bouncing around her shoulders and coiled more tightly than normal because of the humidity rolling off the ocean. Zakia turned to him with a smile, though only the left side of her face lifted. The right was still wounded, pink flesh just beginning to regain its function. Dark tissue lined the outside of her newest battle scar, and he could tell it pained her to smile.

In a newfound gesture of affection- they were doing that now- she leaned into his side. They had been traveling together for a few months after her injury, and had grown closer than Din thought he was capable of. Zakia was almost completely dependent upon him at first, and had grown distant once she was independent again. But nightmares plagued her, and they couldn't stay far apart on a ship that was barely made for two people. So they relied on each other. Din had someone to talk to about missions, and Zakia had someone to help her with basic tasks that she was unable to complete alone anymore.

He enjoyed the company. More than he ever thought possible. The closeness was something he had not felt since being a boy, and he reveled in Zakia's occasional contact.

"Is this okay?" She murmured.

Unbeknownst to her, Din was content. Putting on a face about the sand, but that was his job.

"It's great." Din allowed Zakia freedom as she turned further into him. She tucked her arms to her chest and pressed her face to his side. His arm lifted to hold her gently by the waist.

"Thank you for bringing me here, Mando." Zakia spoke, her voice muffled by his shirt.

"Uh... " He trailed off, unsure how to continue. "Din."

"Sorry?" Zakia looked up at him, all blue eyes and sunshine.

"My name. It's Din." He kept his gaze on the ocean, though his cheeks felt hot beneath his helm.

"Thank you." Zakia didn't push the topic or inquire on his reasoning. She just let him be, and they took in the sights together.

"Don't wear it out."

Zakia snorted, lifting her head from his cuirass. "You got it, Mando."

"Mando!"

"Mando!"

"Is he-"

"It's our only path-"

"Clear it!"

The voices came in bursts, and Din's brain protested the change of subject. The oceanside memory had been warm, and his body was cold. But the voice from his dream was there, and it dragged Din back to the surface.

"...Zak?"

"Oh, Thank Maker." The voice was far away. 

Din's hand flopped uselessly on the ground. 

"Where..?"

"I'm here, don't worry. I'm fine." Zakia's voice was close, but he could hear the concern.

"Good." He choked on what was probably his own blood, and did his best to push it down. Another face came into his view, this one with dark-hair.

Cara.

He could remember the Imps and the E-Web. The fight. But not how it ended. Din could recall the worry he'd felt about his partner, which was partially soothed as he heard her voice.

But he could barely breathe.

As his brain came back into contact with his body, the pain in his chest and stomach became more apparent. It hurt to pull in each breath. Cara was still hovering over him, and he weakly tilted his helmet towards her when she spoke.

"Zakia found the tunnels in the sewer you mentioned. She's stuck on the other side of the grate- Karga's trying-"

"I'm not gonna make it." He breathed. "Go- make Zak go with you. She d-doesn't need to be here."

"Shut up. You just got your bell rung, you'll be fine." Cara was leaning over him, eyes darting behind her every so often. He could hear a faint hissing sound, but what exactly it was escaped him.

"Cara? How is he?"

"Leave me." Din kept his voice low to avoid Zakia's detection. Wherever she was stuck waiting to be freed, she didn't need to hear. Cara noticed the blood on his cowl and he was thankful she managed to keep a straight face.

"You have too much to lose, buddy. I'm gonna need to take this thing off." Cara reached for his helmet, and Din batted her hands away.

"No. You leave me. Zakia will understand, she-she has to. You two make sure the Child gets out safely. Here."

Through a wheeze he ripped the Mythosaur pendant from its resident place on his neck. Normally it remained hidden beneath his cowl, but it was important for their escape.

"Cara!" Zakia called once again over the hissing sound, but Karga was hushing her. They couldn't be heard.

"When you get to the Mandalorian covert, you show them that. Zak doesn't know where it is… but you show them that and tell them its from Din Djarin. Tell them the foundling was in my protection, and they'll help you." Din's thoughts were far from coherent, but the connotations of their current situation hung on his shoulders.

"We can make it." Cara urged him.

Din noticed an encroaching heat, but his brain was far from acknowledging the danger.

"Protect the Child. I can hold them back long enough for you to escape. Let me have a warrior's death." He knew Cara could respect the last bit. She was a warrior too.

"I won't leave you. And if you think Zakia will, you're out of your mind."

"This is the Way."

Deafening rumbles came from both their front and backs at the same time. A Stormtrooper- this one emblazoned with red stripes down the middle of his armor, breached the door with a smoldering flamethrower. It spewed fire, and Cara covered Din with her own body. Another scraping sound to his left drew his attention, and Din exhaled heavily when he felt familiar hands on his arms.

Zakia didn't have a chance to speak before the Stormtrooper lifted his flamethrower and pointed it at their faces. Her and Cara exchanged a glance over his helmet- as if he couldn't make logical decisions anymore- and ducked down. Din flinched out of pure instinct, and braced himself for what was sure to be a painful death, made even more so by the presence of his loved ones.

To his surprise, death hadn't reached them after a few seconds. Din blinked wearily, tipping his head forward to take in the tiny Child standing before them. Its tiny arms were outstretched, and a ball of fire spun in the air. It was motionless , only turning on itself as it remained in one place. It only moved when the baby thrust his arms forwards. The resounding explosion sent the Stormtrooper flying, and all three near the overturned table winced.

The Child then fell to his rear, exhausted from the ordeal.

"Come on! It's open, let's go!"

Karga was standing behind Din somewhere, but he couldn't turn his head to see. Cara looked at Zakia, who nodded curtly. The warrior stood, hissing something at the IG-11 droid positioned behind all of them. She placed a brief hand on Zakia's shoulder and moved away, leaving them alone as she scooped up the Child as well.

Zakia then focused her attention on him. "Din…"

"Zakia, I-I can't beat this one." He managed. "It's bad."

She sniffed, and Din knew she was trying to hold it together for his sake. "And I can't leave you. You need to let the IG bring you. We can get you to safety. Treat you."

Din swallowed, shaking his head. It sent stars flying across his vision, and he took it as a sign of his deteriorating condition. The fire was growing closer, illuminating his partner's face in orange and red. There was an exchange between group members taking place behind them, but Din was too far into the darkness to make out their words.

"Din! Dammit, Djarin, you're not allowed to leave me!" Zakia lifted a hand to his neck, pulling it away to examine the blood. "I need to take this off."

The mechanical steps of the IG droid came closer, and its metallic persona appeared in Din's vision.

"No." Din shook his head. "Go. Zakia, I need you to do this. For me."

Stubborn as ever, she shook her head. "No. I won't let you die alone. Remember last time we were on this planet? I won't let you die at all."

The IG turned to her. "I will stay with the Mandalorian."

"When will you two idiots realize I'm not leaving?" Zakia managed. Her hands were ineffectual, lying hopelessly on Din's thigh.

"I need to remove your helmet if I am to save you." IG-11 interrupted their pre-death staring match, and Din remained stock-still.

"IG's are hunters." Zakia deadpanned. She was straightforward, even to the point where she was staring death in the eye.

"Not this one. I was reprogrammed. I am a nurse droid. As previously stated- I am to remove the helmet if I am to save you."

Din managed to pull his blaster when the IG's clawed extremity reached out. The Creed was everything sacred to him. Mandalorians would rather die than break it, and he was no exception. Zakia knew the implications from the beginning, and always respected them. He would not allow a droid to break the oath he had sworn so many years ago.

"Try it and I'll kill you." Din pointed his gun at the droid, and Zakia shook with frustration. The noise that escaped her was half-sob, half- yell.

"It is… forbidden. No living thing has seen me without my helmet since I s-swore the Creed." Din choked. Zakia reached up, placing a hand on his blaster. She swung her body around, straddling his thighs with her knees. Her hair was a halo around her head, and Din reveled in the sight. If he had to die, it would be like this.

"I won't be living without you, Din." Zakia wiped tears away from her face, whimpering as she shielded him from the flames. "You know I've respected the Creed as long as we've been together, but this is where I draw the line. This is your life. This is us."

Din dropped his head against the table behind him, hands coming to rest on Zakia's hips. He squeezed gently, and his brain caught up with his mouth. Why was it this woman tore him to pieces? Built him up and then knocked him down like a blast charge on an old wall. Shattered to pieces in a matter of seconds

"I trust you. With everything. With this." Din didn't have to elaborate on his words for Zakia to understand them.

Their time was limited, and it was running out quickly. Zakia reached her hands up, fingers locking around the bottom of his helmet. Din didn't fight this time, despite the fact that his brain fought him at every step. Zakia was gentle, but more confident than she had been on Sorgan. Her hands pulled the metal away, deft fingers pressing the pneumatic release.

And it had been so long since he had felt the atmosphere of another planet on his face. Sorgan had been the exception, thought it was only a few moments worth of peace. This was a hot blast of heat in his face, and his eyes flickered open with more clarity than he had in a long time. It took a moment to adjust to the light, and the droid was already surveying him.

"This is a bacta spray. It will heal you in a matter of hours."

Din couldn't hear the droid or recognize his actions, as he was too busy staring at Zakia.

She still sat over his thighs, frozen with the helmet in her hands. Her glacial eyes were fixed on his, and he forced a smile. "S-sorry to… disappoint."

Zakia moved then, sobbing freely as she embraced him as gently and as tightly as possible while the droid tended to his wounds. Din was too concussed to process this development properly, but he imagined it would all rush over him later if they managed a miraculous escape.

"Disappoint?" Zakia released a wet laugh into his shoulder, eventually lifting her head to kiss his cheeks and face. Everywhere she could reach was peppered with kisses, and Din began to gain some feeling back.

"You're perfect. Beat to hell and dragged through the dirt, but you're perfect."

'The eyes are the windows to the soul.'

Zakia had the saying recited to her over and over as a child. It was true, as far as she was concerned. But that day, inches from death and beaten by flames on the floor of their old hangout, Zakia was given evidence to support her claims.

Seeing Din's eyes had both broken her and saved her at the same time.

She was left to consider the idea as they carefully climbed into the sewer grate, supported by IG-11. The Mandalorian's helmet was replaced once they were on the ground, and Zakia reached up to switch on his helmet light.

After the droid had urged their exit, neither party had a chance to consider the complication of the previous minutes' action. Zakia knew the code was broken, but it was necessary. Din and her were partners- together as long as they could be, and bonded by a broken life. They had been through countless tragedies together, and even more fortunes. Letting his die was not an option, and removing the helmet fell hand-in-hand in their predicament. If she was being honest, she expected a much bigger rebuke on his part. A harsher opposition- anything to indicate he was worried.

But he hadn't fought her.

Then when the beskar was gone and it was his dark, worried eyes staring back at her in place of a visor, she broke. Zakia cried, only pulling herself together to get all of them out of imminent mortal danger. IG-11 had been instrumental in their escape from the building, and Zakia was sure they never would have got away without the droid. As they limped deeper into the sewer, she had no words.

They had a long way to go, but it felt like a huge obstacle had been taken from their path.