#openly says that they think completing the module would be stupid and of course they haven’t done it

[chaserofstarsandtheabyss]

Oh? You’re worried about being accused of being a bigot? Did you complete the anti-discrimination training that was 30 minutes long? No? You thought it was stupid and too much work? Interesting, interesting…

[no-droids]

Rushed

Part Seven of the Rough Day Series

Rating: Explicit

Word count: 6.9K haha NICE

Warnings: SMUT, mildly jealous Mando, penetrative sex, slight degradation, slight edging, cumplay whoopsies

A/N:  Listen I was planning for there to be a soft moment at the end of this where they talk about some personal shit but then the smut went too fuckin hard and I couldn’t make it fit so it’ll happen next time no worries

***

The first thing you see when you blink your eyes open is… green.  Green, and sideways.  Three little fingers, grabby as usual, clutched onto a strand of your hair and tugging.

Gigantic, pitch black eyes blink slowly at you as you focus your vision, lifting your head just slightly from where it’s resting on a balled-up, makeshift pillow.  The baby coos at you, a musical and happy sound, tugging your hair once more as you take in your surroundings.

The cot you’re laying on is pulled out of the hull just partially, just enough to bathe your legs and the lower half of your torso in light while the upper half is still in the confined within the tight space inside the wall, but that still doesn’t explain how the kid got in here with you.  How did he climb—?

Something—a hand—comes down to thump over your ankle, not too hard but not really overly concerned about it either.  “We’re here,” grunts a modulated voice, interrupting your adorable little alarm clock.

Ah.  That’s how.

You immediately reach out and scoop the baby up into your arms just because you can, turning him around and holding his back to your chest as you cuddle him on the bed.  “Okay,” you sigh dreamily, kissing his wrinkly, hairy yet somehow also completely bald little head and gently smushing your cheek into it.

You settle back down with the kid for another few hours of rest, only a hand thumps down on your ankle again.  “Come on,” Mando’s voice drawls through multiple layers of metal.  “Let’s go.  Karga is waiting on us.”

Your eyebrows pull together, just as your little, little spoon starts to wiggle in your arms.  “What?  Who’s us?”

“Us,” he repeats shortly, pulling the bed the rest of the way out of the wall by your ankle but slowing it to a gentle halt right before it can reach the end of the tracks.  “Now hurry it up.  And stop smothering him.”

You groan and sit up in the brightly lit hull, blinking around at the… remarkably tidy ship.  

It wasn’t like this before.  Where’s all the clutter?  The first aid kits strewn about?  The excess pieces of gauze and tape on the floor?  The… the blood on the walls?

Your eyes fall to the corner near the hatch almost immediately, the sight of… The Incident.  Only you find it completely spotless, not a single thing out of place.  Come to think of it, you don’t think you’ve actually ever seen the hull cleaner than it is now, even when you’ve spent literal days working at it.

There should be blood there.  There was a pool of blood there.  Wasn’t there?  There was a pool of blood right there, right in that little space between the—

“Hey.”  Your jaw is caught in a gentle grip and pulled left just a little, and you suddenly come face to face with a metallic visor.  His helmet is nothing but sharp angles and your own warped reflection staring blankly back at you, but his hold is steady and his voice is soft through the modulator.  “Us.  You, me, and the kid.  Right?”

You blink at him, suddenly reminded of the child held in your arms.  And then you nod slowly at him, hearing the baby gurgle softly near your chest as he looks up at Mando.

“I’m not leaving you today,” he tells you, moving his hand up to cradle the side of your face.  “But I also have to meet up with Karga.  It won’t take long.”  He jerks his helmet to gesture over at the open hatch, before looking back at you and brushing a thumb across your cheekbone.  “So let’s go.  Okay?”

You nod once more.  “Okay.”  But then you remember the blood all over your hands and clothing.  “No, wait, Mando—I have to change clothes—”

“No, you don’t,” he interrupts.  “Come on.”

“Yes, I do,” you protest, gathering the child in one arm and bringing the other up to show him.  “Look, I still have blood all ov—”

A black, long sleeve tunic.  Baggy, clean, and worn.  Not what you passed out in.  Not actually your shirt, you don’t think.  There’s not even gauze covering your arm anymore.  The blood’s been wiped away and the wound marring the inside of your forearm completely healed overnight.

“Hey, look at me,” he says once more, bringing his other hand up to hold your face completely still in front of him.  The baby makes grabby hands up towards him, but Mando just stretches your neck and makes you lift your chin to keep your attention focused on him.  “I let you sleep for as long as I could.  But we have to get moving now.”

You nod, trying to figure out how you feel.  Grateful, you suppose?  That he did as much as he could to erase what happened yesterday?  If he asked, you probably wouldn’t want to talk about it, so… so what’s the problem?

Nothing.  Nothing is a problem.

***

Alright, so maybe you… get it.

You get it now, why E-Bacta is just as sought after as spice.  You can still feel traces of the partial dose lingering in your bloodstream even now, even while trailing behind Mando and his equally reflective spherical shield as you three make your way into the crowded cantina.

You feel… physically, you feel spectacular.  Glowing.  Radiant and awake.  Not so much high anymore, but almost like the Maker hit a reset button on your entire body.  You’re incredibly well-rested, no aches or pains, absolutely nothing to suggest something major happened last night.  You know you should at least have some trouble walking, but you don’t.  Fuck, even your skin feels clearer and healthier than ever before.

If you hadn’t killed someone yesterday, you might even have a spring in your step.

You’re… you just have to stop thinking about it, you tell yourself.  You’re being stupid and childish.  You killed one fucking person in self-defense.  Mando disintegrates people.  He’s taken out more people with fucking doors than that, of course he’s not going to openly acknowledge it unless you bring it up yourself.

You’re so lost in your thoughts, you almost don’t respond when a booming voice calls your name over the chatter and music.  It’s… it’s almost a bit startling to be recognized first when you’re standing next to someone like the Mandalorian, and you immediately whip around as a warm, equally as loud, “Mando!” soon follows it.

A hand is clapped down on top of your shoulder, Greef Karga beaming at you both as he mirrors his other hand on Mando’s pauldron.  “And baby!”  He adds brightly, catching sight of the little green monster hovering next to you.  “Hey, baby!”

“We don’t have much time,” your companion immediately informs him.

“Oh, of course not!”  He turns his head to look down at you with a wide, almost secret smile.  “Always down to business, isn’t he.  Never one to dally with small talk.  Come, join me!”

You casually trail a few steps behind everyone, feeling just slightly out of place in the dusty cantina even with the forward acknowledgement from Mando’s guild contact.  You’ve met him once or twice, never for very long.  It’s... unexpected, the sudden attention.

Mando unclips his rifle and leans it against the table before taking a seat, and then you slip into the booth next to him, huddling your arms inwards a bit and trying to take up as little space as possible.  Greef gestures for a round of drinks from one of the rusty droids prattling around the bar as the bounty hunter beside you eventually presents three pucks to him.

“I seem to remember you leaving with four of those, last time you were here,” he remarks, visibly surprised.  You don’t know why, but you immediately stiffen, even though Mando doesn’t move a muscle in response.

“The last one wasn’t worth the effort,” he eventually grunts.  You keep your head tilted down just slightly and Greef’s attention is subsequently captured by the droid as it approaches the head of the table, taking three shots of glowing blue liquid from its circular tray and then waving it away.  He places one of the glasses down in front of you.

“I like the days Mando decides to collect,” he says to you, holding up the other two shots of alcohol in both hands.  “The droids are stupid, they always bring over an extra drink.”  He winks at you, tipping one of them in your direction.  “My gain.”

He downs the drink, and you blink down at the one meant for you.  It would be impolite to refuse it, right?  But you don’t really... really feel like drinking right now, especially considering you woke up probably not an hour ago.

“Come on!”  Greef eventually gestures, before downing the other shot of glowing liquor.  “Don’t tell me you’re as much of a stick in the mud as this one is.”

Your hand comes out for the shot glass without thinking.  Mando is completely silent next to you as you tip your head back and drink the entire thing in one gulp, the liquid burning as it slides down your throat.  The man sitting across from you smiles, before digging his hands around in his pockets for payment.

A palm quietly settles on your knee under the table.

“As promised,” Greef exchanges a sizable portion of credits for the pucks.  “Someone is already collecting the carbonite plaques from your vessel as we speak.”

Mando nods his understanding, but doesn’t say anything in return.  Neither do you.

“So.”  Greef slowly settles back in the booth, looking between the two of you.  “This is new.”

“The next job, Karga,” the bounty hunter next to you reminds him shortly.

“Is he this pushy all the time?”  Greef turns and asks you, pointedly ignoring Mando.  “This rushed?  Or is it just because he doesn’t like me?”

“No,” you answer on instinct, and when neither one of them say anything, you eventually flush a brilliant shade of red and realize they’re waiting for you to elaborate.  “He’s not… al-always rushed.”

Greef blinks at you a few times, and then he quite suddenly barks out a laugh, loud and abrupt enough to make you jump.  While chuckling, he pushes four new tracking fobs across the table.

“I was only going to give you three of these, since that’s all you came back with,” Karga says, gesturing for another round of drinks with a lazy twirl of his finger.  “But I like her.  More than you, Mando.  So I’ll forgive you this once, but try not to make it a habit.”

“And you’ll get two extra drinks this time as a token of appreciation.”  Mando slides his hand down to cup your knee and give it a gentle squeeze.  “We’re leaving.”

“Of course you are,” Greef huffs, watching you both scoot out of the booth and gather your things.  “It’s already been five whole minutes since you first sat down.  Far too much socializing for one day.”

“Thank you for the drink,” you tell him politely.  “It was very nice seeing you again.”

“Likewise!”  He projects, widening his arms and beaming up at you.  “If you ever get tired of him, you are always more than welcome here on Nevarro.  You’re far nicer to look at than anyone else in this sector.”

Mando’s palm rests low on your back, his voice quiet through the modulator and partially lost in the chatter of the crowd.  “Let’s go, sweet girl.”

Greef waves three fingers at the kid in his metal sphere.  “Bye, baby!”

Mando doesn’t let go of you.  Not when you turn around and start walking away, not when you leave the cantina, not when you’re making your way through the busy Nevarro marketplace afterwards.

“That was rude,” you eventually turn your head and tell him under your breath, not at all used to him walking side by side with you like this.  You usually always trail slightly behind the both of them, but his arm on your lower back keeps your strides aligned with his.

“I know,” he agrees lowly, guiding you through the crowded public square, the kid hovering in his shield next to you and blinking up at all the excitement going on around him.  “He was being too bold.”

“I mean us, Mando,” you correct.  “We were rude.  He was being friendly.”

“Karga doesn’t have friends,” he responds lowly.  “He has business associates that tolerate him because of his connections and position in the guild.  You were already nicer to him than most of his contacts ever are.”

You don’t say anything back to him.  How long ago was it that you were likewise nothing more than a business associate Mando tolerated?  Less than a few weeks, maybe?

And yet, it’s only when you reach the ship that he finally lets go of you.

***

You love the kid.  Honestly.  You’d die for him.

But sometimes.  Sometimes you just want to… step on him.

Okay, no—you shouldn’t say that.  He might choke you in your sleep with his insane fucking demon powers if he hears that.  No, it’s just… it’s like he feeds off the energy around him sometimes.  Which is great, especially when you’re exhausted and his naps tend to align with yours.  Canto Bight was a different situation considering you were in such an incredibly crowded area, but in hyperspace?  The kid only has you and Mando around to take his cues from.

Which means, if you’re buzzing with energy and just waiting for him to fall asleep, guess what?  Guess who suddenly gets a second, or third, or fourth wind?

It’s never ending.  The moment you think he’s about to pass out, he bounces back with even more energy than before.  Sure, he’s cute and all, but that shit only lasts so long.  It’s a facade meant to deceive everyone and it’s all just a clever, systematic fucking ploy.  After all, if you needed someone else to feed you and protect you and take care of you for the first fifty plus years of your life, evolution would make you adorable as fuck, too.

Hours.  Maybe even a full day or so before the little shithead finally decides to close his eyes for longer than a few seconds.  Mando so graciously left you alone to babysit him while he shut himself away in the cockpit and navigated to the nearest quarry destination, and the baby was such a handful from the second you stepped back on the ship, you didn’t even catch where you’re headed to.

Not to mention all the cleaning Mando did earlier today leaves you with little to nothing else to do to occupy your time besides supervise the little terror.  And of course, the entire time, all you can think about is Mando’s hand on your thigh under the table.  The way his voice sounded calling you an endearment in public.  

How he felt railing into you last night.  How you wish you could still feel it now.

You close the kid’s shield and stow him safely in the pitiful little cot you slept on almost the exact second he falls asleep.  You don’t waste any time.  You’re immediately climbing up into the cockpit to seek out your armored companion.

Mando is sitting with his back to you in the pilot’s seat when you open the door and quickly shut it behind you.  You lower yourself into the copilot’s chair on his flank, completely silent.

He doesn’t move.  Neither do you.

Time passes differently in hyperspace.  It’s almost like everything somehow drags and blurs simultaneously.  Over the handful of months you’ve been partnered together, you’ve probably spent a little less than half that time in hyperspace with Mando, and excluding these past few weeks dedicated to locating this last set of quarry, it’s hard to recall any one singular instance from the hundreds of hours you must’ve spent with him in this exact setting.  Hyperspace, silence, and this damn cockpit.

Except—except this time, everything is different.  This time, you’re hyper aware of every second that passes as you sit behind him, not moving a muscle.  Your eyes are glued to the headrest behind his helmet, your jaw clenched and your nerves buzzing at the proximity between the two of you.  Though the ship is deafeningly silent, the energy burning inside you almost makes it feel like it’s too loud in here.

Mando can feel the tension.  You can tell, because it’s steadily continuing to rise.  If you were just left to simmer by yourself, you probably would’ve just plateaued at some point.  As it is, he almost acts like an amplifier, reflecting the anticipation in the air as much as he is the starlight overhead.

You’re feeding off each other like always.  But unlike all the times before, this time, you’re the initiator.  

This time, you want to fuck.  

His chair slowly turns around to face you.

And then you both just look at each other for awhile in perfect silence, like Mando absolutely fucking knows it.  Like he knows exactly how much you fucking want him again, and he’s dragging it out.  Savoring the way you’re perched on the edge of the seat, staring at him and waiting for him to make the first move.

“If there’s something you want from me,” he eventually tells you, shattering the quiet with his modulated voice.  “All you have to do is say so.”

Fuck, he has no idea.  You want more than something, you want everything from him.  Anything he’s willing to give.

Instead of answering him, though, you quietly stand up and take a few steps closer to him.  Mando doesn’t move a single muscle as you slowly hook your thumbs around the waistband of your pants and begin pushing them down your thighs.  He just watches you silently as he sits back in the pilot’s chair, likely taking note of the way you consider taking your shirt off for a second as well but then ultimately decide against it.

You probably would’ve taken it off if it was actually your shirt, but something tells you he likes you in his clothes.  After all, he could’ve dressed you in your own clothes last night, but he didn’t.  He knows where you keep your go-bag, he knows how easy it would’ve been to dig through it for a clean shirt.  But he didn’t.

So, with nothing but your undies and his dark tunic draped over you, you carefully brace a hand on his pauldron and lift your leg to settle yourself down on his lap, situating yourself between him and the flight console and straddling the hard beskar on his thighs.

“There is something,” you eventually admit, dragging your palms along the unarmored curves of his sides.  “Something I want from you.”

“It’s yours,” he says immediately, both of his hands coming down to settle on your thighs.  “Tell me.”

Fuck, the unhesitating conviction almost throws you for a second.  The way he’s looking at you through the helmet, so fucking sincere.  You bite your lip and consider him for a moment, his body physically barricaded from you as much as he always is but never looking or sounding so open before.

“Will you take this off?”  You eventually whisper, pressing a gentle kiss to the beskar shielding his face.  “I want to kiss you.”

“It’s—it’s too bright in here,” he tells you, sounding a little out of breath underneath it.  “You’ll be able to s—”

“I won’t open my eyes,” you promise, kissing the front of his visor once more.  “You can put it back on right after if you want, I just—I need to kiss you.  Please.”

His fingers tighten on your thighs, and your own reflection is the last thing you see before you’re slowly and purposefully squeezing your eyes shut in front of him.  You carefully let your fingers drift up on his chest plate, over the rigid lines of his collar bones, before finally bumping into the hard metal at the base of his helmet.

His hands immediately lift to cradle yours, quick enough to imply it’s entirely instinctual.  While his hold isn’t painful, it’s strong enough to keep you still.

So, you wait.  Patiently, with your eyes closed, hoping he trusts you enough to give this to you.  When he doesn’t pull your hands down, you press a soft kiss the beskar again, and then slowly begin pulling the helmet up.

“Wait,” he murmurs.  Wait.  Not a stop, not a get away from me, not a don’t even think about it.  Just a… wait.

You pause and don’t move.  With the way you’re wrapped around him like this, the tips of your toes barely rest on the ground, but you can still feel the floor of the cockpit start to circle underneath you.  Mando’s thighs shift underneath you as he slowly rotates the pilot seat all the way backwards, keeping his hands anchored to yours as you continue to hold onto the bottom of his helmet.

It takes you a second to realize what he’s doing.  Most of the light source in here comes from the stars streaking across the observation transparisteel, but it’s concentrated at the front of the ship where all the glowing buttons also happen to be.  He’s silhouetting his face as much as he can by facing the ladder to the dark hull.

It’s pointless, you immediately recognize, so you readily let him have it.  You know well and good that if you slip and open your eyes for even a split-second once he lets you take his helmet off, the cockpit is too bright to keep Mando hidden regardless of what direction he faces.

These are high stakes.  But the prize is far too appealing to pass up.

So you kiss the cold beskar again and slowly begin pulling the helmet up once more.  And this time, he lets you.  This time, he holds the backs of your hands and lets you keep kissing the metal as you gradually lift it up, your crotch still pressed tightly to his even though there’s now much more open space behind you to utilize now.  Your lips touch the hard edge of the helmet and you dip your chin to follow it downwards, and then suddenly you’re touching something soft and giving, something that instantly parts and licks into your mouth before you’ve even removed its shield halfway.

Heat burns through you and you moan in relief at finally getting what you wanted.  You completely forget your task as soon as his tongue is in your mouth, but Mando’s hands around yours help you guide the helmet off completely, before carelessly tossing it to the side as he kisses you.  He’s grabbing hold of your jaw and fitting his mouth perfectly to yours before you even hear the beskar clang against the metal floor.

You keep your eyes shut tight as you immediately relax into his body, making a soft noise and melting into him.

Fuck, this is worth it.  This.  This, right fucking here, this is worth everything.  Sitting on this forsaken ship and waiting on him for days or even weeks to come back, never seeing his face, always having this damn beskar separating him from you—it’s all fucking worth it when he kisses you like this.  When he makes a low sound in his throat and moves his mouth against yours like he was just fucking made for it, wraps one of his arms around your lower back and presses you tight against him while the other holds your jaw open.

You can feel yourself get wetter the longer he drags it out, every second he spends slowly biting your bottom lip and tasting you is another dark spark of arousal between your legs.  It’s lazy and hot and so, so good, you nearly whimper into his mouth and push your hips down on top of him.

The navcomp beeps a few times, the autopilot function signaling an upcoming drop from hyperspace.  Apparently your destination was much closer than you expected.

“Shit,” he huffs, breaking away from you.  “Shit—we were supposed to get bacta on Nevarro, I—shit.  I forgot.  You… y-you distracted me.”

“Tell you what,” you bury your face into his neck and reach your hand down between you two, wiggling it into his pants.  “We’ll just promise each other real hard not to get stabbed until we can get more.”

“That’s not—” his breathing stutters when you grab onto his cock and downright purr into the crook of his neck when you find him rock hard and throbbing, “that’s—n-not funny.  You’re lucky I even had that shot to give you.  Wouldn’t—wouldn’t have woken up nearly as happy as you did this morning if I didn’t.”

“How much of that would’ve been from the vibroblade though?”  You pull him out of his pants and moan hot air into the fabric covering his throat.  “Bacta on my arm wouldn’t have helped me walk any straighter, would it?”

Mando gets a single syllable out in response before you’re hooking your panties to the side and moving your hips forward, engulfing the hard underside of him between your slick, swollen lips.

His entire body jerks at the blazing heat of you, and he grits a curse when you gradually begin to move back and forth along the thick length of him.

“I don’t want you to do that next time,” you whisper, wrapping your arms around his shoulders.  Your hips drag against his as you slide his cock through your drenched slit, pressing a gentle kiss to his neck.  “Don’t do that.”

“You’re—you’re right, I’m—” Mando gasps, tilting his head to give you more room and hands coming down to clamp tight over your hips, “fuck, I’m—I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have been so rough w-with y—”

“No,” you breathe into the crook of his neck, grinding your pussy against his throbbing cock.  “The shot.  Don’t do that.  Bacta kits only,” you gasp, tightening your hold around him as your clit drags over his thick erection.  “From now on, that’s all I get.”

“Fuck, come on,” he contests, slowly tipping his head back.  “It wasn’t that bad.  You barely felt it.”

“I know,” you whine, rolling your hips along his body.  “That was the worst part.”

“You—” Mando cuts himself off abruptly with a growl, his grip turning to steel on your hips.  “You… you wanted…?”

“I wanted to hurt today,” you moan, trying not to bite down on his neck with how fucking good it feels to rub your cunt along his cock like this.  “I wanted to feel you when I walked.  When I sat down in that cantina booth next to you.”

His fingers dig into your hips so hard, you’re forced to immediately stop gliding your slick pussy over him.  The navcomp beeps once more, this time rapidly.  Ten seconds until hyperspace drop.

One of your hands moves to clamp down over his shoulder while the other threads through the thick locks at the back of his head.  You pull your hips up and tilt them just a bit, just enough to position the tip of his cock at your entrance.  And then you bite his neck and slowly start to sink down on him.

Mando grits out your name, just as the navcomp beeps reach a crescendo.

The Razorcrest is thrown out of hyperspace with a giant lurch in g-force that practically shoves your cunt the rest of the way down his thick cock and then further, pressing him up so far up inside you with such a chaotic shift in gravity that Mando actually chokes next to your ear.  You’re surprised you can hear him at all, considering the blast of white noise at the rapid intrusion and the way you sob through your teeth as they dig into the thick muscles wrapped around his neck.

Fuck, he hits so fucking different from this angle.  He stretches you and fills you spectacularly, forces you to yield to him while you breathe heavy through your nose, wondering how dark of a bruise he’ll have on his neck from your bite.

Mando fucking likes it, though.  You can tell.  From the way his hand immediately comes up to tangle in your hair and hold your face in the crook of his neck while you gradually begin to pull your hips up, clamp down around him as hard as you can and slowly drag his thick cock out of your pussy, you can tell he fucking likes this.  He likes feeling your teeth in his neck while you start to fuck yourself onto him, riding his cock so steady and unhurried in the pilot’s seat of his ship.

“Fuck,” he nearly spits, his hand squeezes your thigh hard enough to leave a mark.  “Is this—is this what you n-needed, sweet girl?  Hm?  Just a little—little attention?”

You whimper, wondering how it feels so fucking amazing like this.  How the head of his cock is pushed up tight against your g-spot, spreading wildfire in your lower belly and seeping through your pelvis and into your upper thighs.  Fuck, you grind the head of his cock slow and hard against it and try not to dig your nails into his arms where your fingers are clutching tight to the dark fabric.

“Needed—Needed you to touch me in that cantina,” you whisper, already half out of your mind with the aching bliss, saying whatever the fuck comes into your head first and not thinking anything past it.  “Needed you to… to put your hand down my pants while you talked to Karga—”

“Shit,” he snarls, his hips jerking up into yours almost unintentionally with the sentiment.  “Shit—I—”

“I would’ve let you,” you moan, starting to move as best you can with his thrusts.  The positioning doesn’t allow for him to do much besides roll his hips in short, stunted movements, but it’s just enough to let you slowly build your pleasure until it’s simmering and burning through you.  “Do you think he would’ve still flirted with me if he knew you had two of your fingers inside me under that table?”

“Shut up,” he snaps, but it’s way too breathless and worked up to be anything close to threatening.  “Maker, you have to—have to sh-shut up or I won’t last—”

You can hear how fucking wet you are.  Your pussy is nearly drowning him now, slick and hot and drenched as you roll your hips up and down on top of him.  “Does that turn you on?”  You murmur, breathing hot air onto his neck and riding his cock slow and steady.

“Fuck—you’re—” Mando growls, tugging a fistful of your hair and fucking up into you as best he can in this position.  “You’re asking if it… if it t-turns me on to hear you s-say—say you wanna cum all over my fucking hand while I talk b-business with someone?  You f-fucking kidding… kidding me?”

Your cunt starts to tighten around him.  Fuck, the power trip you’re experiencing from being on top of him is starting to go to your head.  You feel brash.  Reckless and bold.  It translates to a quicker, harder pace, your hips starting to shove down onto him at the apex of his thrust upwards and hitting a spot inside you that flashes lightning down your spine.

“Fuck, I used to—used to th-think about it,” you gasp, your eyes squeezed shut and just trying to breathe through it.  “Some—sometimes.  Used to get off thinking about it.  Used to think about you and touch myself and make myself cum on the floor of your fucking ship, Din.”

Fuck, the sound he makes is one you’ve only heard once.  The time he had a jagged knife wound on his back.  An agonizingly tight, ragged gasp of a sound, the one he only makes when he’s in incredible pain and trying to hide it.  The blast of heat from it nearly sears through you and suddenly everything is pulling up hot and tight, settling low and locking your hips in position as you start to grind down hard on him—

Fuck, you’re almost there—you’re almost there, you’re almost there, you’re almost—

But then suddenly you’re being lifted up, and you nearly sob into his neck and desperately claw at him when his cock falls out of you with the jostle.  But then you’re being carried backwards and your back is slamming down into the floor, and he’s shoving his arms under your legs and positioning your hips up over his thighs.  For a split second, your eyes nearly come open with the chaotic shift in position.  But as if he knew exactly what would happen, Mando claps his hand over your eyes and braces himself on the floor by your head with the other hand, and then—

And then he starts fucking you.

Actually, no, because that word isn’t nearly good enough right now.  One of the very few occasions where a word as universal as “fuck” just doesn’t quite seem to cover it.  It would be better to say he shoves back into you and starts shattering your entire galaxy to pieces on the floor of the cockpit, making you scream his name—his real name—as he starts jackhammering his hips against yours, hand held tight over your eyes and legs braced over his broad shoulders.

It’s fucking debilitating.  It’s absolute madness, snatching your body up and wringing it dry of any last traces of your sanity.  The adjustment to his angle and speed is like a nuclear detonation inside you, and it launches you higher than you thought you could go.  You just dig your nails into his arms and sob brokenly for him at the ceiling, letting his hips collide roughly with yours as he fucks you down hard into the floor.

His mouth is at your neck as he grits the words darkly against your throat.  “Fuck, you need to learn how to be quiet when I fucking tell you to, understand?”

“I’m—” you gasp, eyes screwed up so tight behind his fingers that you don’t even notice the tear slipping out.  “I’m s-sorry—”

“Fuck—shut up,” he growls once more.  Stars, he’s hard and throbbing and he’s shredding up against raw heaven inside you, and you can barely hear him over the sound of your crying, so fucking close to the edge and begging for him.  “Maker,” he snarls, bringing his elbow down next to your head and shifting his weight so he can reach down in between your legs, “if you want it that fucking bad, I’ll f-fucking do it.  I’ll rub your pr-pretty little clit in the middle of that fucking cantina next time just like this.  Make you cum right in front of him, show him that you’re fucking mine—”

You feel like you can’t even breathe anymore.  “He—he didn’t w-want to fuck me—”

“Everyone in that d-dirty piece of shit bar wanted to fuck you, you s-sweet little thing,” he grits, rubbing tight circles over your clit and pounding directly into your g-spot with such precision and force, your eyes roll back under his hand and your spine suddenly goes rigid.

“Fuck, I’m gonna cum, Din,” you whisper, your voice frantic and rushed and breathless as you claw aimlessly down his chest plate.  Everything pulls up sharp and burning and you’re already starting to bear down on him, starting to slowly squeeze his cock and tighten down hard in preparation for it.  “I’m gonna fucking cum—”

“Fuck, yes—” he gasps, “—fuck, let me f-feel you cum—let me feel this fucking cunt g-get wet, little girl, let m—”

He keeps talking, but you don’t hear him.  Everything is suddenly drowned out by the roaring of blood rushing through your ears, your body locking down so fucking tight around him that you wouldn’t be able to see anymore, even if his hand wasn’t clamped down hard over your eyes.

Din keeps fucking you as your orgasm slams through you with such force that your voice cracks, the blaze of white hot bliss ripping you apart.  He rubs your clit and holds you down and makes you take his cock the entire time, forcing you even higher through the explosive pleasure and muttering filth about how fucking gorgeous you are when you cum on him, how he wants to make you cum again but he can’t hold it back—

You’re saying something.  Repeating it, over and over again breathlessly in time with his ruthless thrusts, pleading and gasping it through shuddering tears.

Din—Din—Din—Din—Din—

“Shit, I’m gonna cum,” he groans, stuttering to a halt inside you.  You can feel him swollen and throbbing hard inside you now that he’s still.  “Can I—can I c-cum—o-on your—”

“Yes,” you gasp, not needing anything else.  “Please.”  He can cum wherever the fuck he wants to and you’ll beg for it all the same.

So he abruptly pulls out of you and drops your legs down from his shoulders, letting them sprawl out on the floor and shake as he clambers over your body.  His breathing is ragged and you can hear him jerking himself off already as he continues to climb over you.

“Fuck,” he nearly wheezes, “fuck, don’t open your eyes, sweet girl, don’t open your pretty f-fucking eyes, I’m gonna—” and then his hand is coming off your face and tangling in your hair to hold you still, “—fuck, you’re—you’re so f-fucking p-pretty, baby, m’gonna c-cum all over your pretty fucking f-f-face, I—”  His breath catches, and the only sound that can be heard besides his hand jerking himself off over you is a hoarse, tight, “open your m-mouth—o-open your fuck—ing—”

His body jolts with pleasure above you and a moan tears from his throat as you immediately do as you’re told.  And then he’s cumming, spurting thick ropes of his warmth all over your face and parted lips and gasping out curses and his satisfaction with you.  Fuck, you feel him paint your cheeks and mouth with it, feel him shudder and hear him growl your name as he lets go.

When Din’s body finally stops shaking and he slows down his hand around his cock to squeeze the last bit of it out of him, you wait a few seconds before asking.

“Do you want me to eat it or do you want me to keep it on my face like this?”  You whisper, eyes still obediently shut.

“Fuck,” he pants from above you, trying to catch his breath.  Metal clangs next to your head as he braces himself against the floor.  “F-Fuck—eat it.”

You immediately bring your hand up to gather the sticky warmth from your cheeks on your fingers and dip them in your mouth.  He watches you the entire time, even though you can’t see him.  He watches you eat his cum off your own face, your eyes closed and content to just lay here and clean yourself off as he catches his breath.

Suddenly his tongue is hot and wet as it slides under your jaw, gathering a bit that you missed and then attaching his lips to yours and pushing it into your mouth.  You hum under him and tangle your fingers into his hair, feeling him move back a bit to stretch his legs and settle himself down on top of you.

You break away from him and turn your face just in time to feel all the oxygen rush out of your lungs the second he plops down on you.

“Maker, you are so fucking heavy,” you say, trying to conserve as much air as possible while speaking because he’s making it so fucking hard to breathe like this.

“Tell me about it,” he sighs, nibbling at your collarbone and sounding completely undisturbed by your predicament.  “It wasn’t so bad when I was younger, but now my back is always just fucking killing me.”

“Fuck, get off,” you grab his pauldrons and try and shove him off you, your eyes clenching tight with the effort.  He eventually rolls off you, but it’s very obviously because he eventually decides to take pity on you and do it himself.  “I don’t even know what fucking sector we’re in but I’m pretty sure we’re gonna be dropping into an atmosphere real quick now.”

“Fuck,” Mando grunts, just as the navcomp starts beeping rapidly.  “Fuck, I can’t—can’t get up.”

“You can’t get up?”  You bite out, draping an elbow over your eyes so you won’t have to worry about accidentally opening them.  “Put your fucking helmet on and fly the ship before it crashes.”

He grumbles under his breath and eventually drags himself off of the floor, and the only thing you’re able to catch as he stumbles into the pilot seat and swivels around to face the console is “Karga” and “I was pushy.”

“Can I open my eyes now?”  You ask after a moment, feeling the thrusters kick in and hearing the beeping abruptly cut off.  The sound of metal scrapes across the floor before he answers you.

“No,” he eventually says, but the voice is modulated and run through a familiar filter.  “Keep laying there with your legs open like that.”

You would’ve snarked back at him if the last part of his response was nearly as sarcastic as the first part.  He almost sounds… vaguely serious.  “What are y—”

“Don’t move,” he tells you, and you still can’t fucking gauge the tone of his voice, especially now that it’s coming through fucking beskar.  “It’s the first quarry and the kid is still passed out.  I’ll land somewhere and… we can keep going.  Just for… just for a little bit before I leave.”

He… is he serious?  He wants to… keep going?  What does that even fucking mean?  He just made himself cum all over your face, what the fuck does he mean by “keep going”??

All you can do is lay there on the floor, waiting to find out.  After all, you stand by what you said earlier.

Mando isn’t always rushed.

[iwriteforthetincanman]

Mandoctober Day 4: Nevarro

A/N: Just to be perfectly clear, for the sake of the plot, this doesn’t follow a certain part of canon. I’m not gonna say which just for spoilers sake. I did start writing something else for this prompt but then I came up with this instead one morning and decided it was better cause I hashed out the entire plot (whereas for the other one I hadn’t and I was kind of just writing on the spot). Anyway, so I hope this is some sort of drabble and enjoy! 

This is for @leo-moon​ ‘s Mandoctober!

Din didn’t think it would get to a point where it was safe enough to go back to the place where he found the child. But with all the leftover credits he had gotten, he knew he had to give them to the foundlings of the covert. The foundlings are the future. This thought echoed around in his mind whilst flying through hyperspace. You were fast asleep with the child in your lap, sunken into the co-pilot seat beside him. 

He had come across you shortly after the child, it had been a long time since then and as time passed, a lot had changed. Din’s gaze fluttered over to your form, so small and yet your presence filled the room with an unknown warmth. A warmth the Mandalorian hadn’t felt for a long time. At least...from what little he remembered, not in this way. 

It was strange, and yet not entirely unwelcome. 

Abruptly, the Razor Crest left hyperspace, a small jolt rippling through its metal body as it approached the rocky planet. A pang of regret shot through the bounty hunter that it woke both you and the child out of your peaceful slumber, although he was secretly glad he didn’t have to rouse you himself. Just the thought of your eyes, still filled with hazy bliss, meeting his as you woke only to give him a smile in response. It filled his head with a foolish idea of what heaven felt like. You gave him what many others hadn’t. 

Peace.

Although he knew that had to end sooner or later, the craggy plains were growing nearer. Even though this caused Din to grow more cautious he couldn’t help sneaking a glance towards you as you stretched, the soft curve of your spine lifting away from the seat as you yawned. Sleep left you, with this you grew more aware of the green bundle in your lap. Smiling down at his big eyes as he cooed up at you, achieving some form of reassurance. 

The Mandalorian couldn’t help feeling jealous at the sight. Whether it was the attention you gave the child or vice versa, he couldn’t tell. All he knew was that he wanted to be a part of it. Distraction snapped into his very being as the Crest hit the atmosphere, a reprimand. A gasp left you as you wrapped your arms tight around the child, pulling him into you. The warmth returned briefly at the sight but when Din saw you glaring at him, it dwindled down to embers. 

“Is everything okay?” It was the first words spoken in hours, but the sound of your voice calms his nerves. 

“Yeah, just- wasn’t paying attention.” Din couldn’t help telling you the truth, he knew you somehow pulled the truth out of him, peeling away at lies and deception as if it were fruit. 

“I know that. I’m just wondering if you got any sleep whilst we were in hyperspace?” there you go again, always caring for him when he least expects it. Suddenly the embers had sprung back to life. 

“Not now, we’re almost there.” Briefly changing the subject had become Din’s only form of escape when it came to these moments. Moments shared in the quiet of the ship where you would mumble, something you did to avoid waking the child he thought, and he would whisper loud enough to be heard. You wouldn’t be close to each other in a physical sense but the closeness in the words you exchanged started to fill the gaps between the two of you. Everytime, at the last minute, he would pull away with an excuse, something about fixing anything on the ship whilst he had the time. 

It hurt to shy away from you, made him feel like a coward, but he knew this was the only way to protect you. Protect you from getting close in a whole other kind of way. Something that neither of you could walk away from unscathed. 

This time he made sure to pay attention as he landed the ship, he didn’t want to make a fool of himself twice in one day. He especially didn’t want to see your harsh gaze directed at him once again. 

---

Walking into town was the easy part since it was mostly desolate now. The odd bounty hunter would travel through every now and then, knowing it was abandoned. Little did they know. Underneath all the rock hid the covert, where most of the Mandalorians hid although the place above was empty, they couldn’t risk it. 

Venturing deep into the cave, he noticed how you grew tense as the darkness overtook your sight. He couldn’t help reaching out for you, giving you the comfort of touch, carrying a simple message along with it. I’m here.

A shiver raced down his spine when you responded, leaning into his grasp. The leather of his glove wrapping further around your arm as more footsteps were left in the dust. Light began to creep around the edges of the cave, Din felt your muscles relax but you didn’t escape his hold. With the helmet’s help he could see, but having some sort of contact with you gave him comfort. 

Sound filtered through the mouth of the tunnel, no longer a cave as it gave way to a room. Every odd word of a conversation, laughter, hushed tones, they all shared the same kind of noise. A modulator. 

That’s what made you feel like you stuck out like a sore thumb, the obvious absence of a helmet and armor. Sure, the kid was the same but he is a foundling. It was like the complete opposite of when Mando enters a room, all eyes were on you. Or at least visors. Even the other foundlings were staring. It was unnerving to say the least.

Din’s touch prompted you forwards.

He led you into another room, one filled with tools, weapons and pools of scalding hot things. An armory. This must be the place where Din got his armor, part of his arsenal and of course, the whistling birds. A shadow of a figure entered through another exit, causing you to shy behind Din, the child burrowing into your arms. 

“Armorer.” The Mandalorian acknowledged with a nod. 

“It’s good to see you and the child doing well.” You tried not to flinch at how she deliberately ignored you. Grateful that they even let you in here, sure that you would keep their secret, a secret. “What do you need?” gaze flickering over her golden helm, you stifled some form of jealousy. 

“Nothing. We came here to give to the foundlings.” the sincerity in his voice couldn’t help making you blush, he may not openly show it sometimes but he had a soft spot for children. Din took out a large pouch filled with credits, holding it out to her. Taking it from him gently, she assessed how much was in it. 

“You’ve done well. This will benefit the foundlings greatly.” Her voice rang through her modulator, you could tell why she was seen as a leader of sorts. 

“The foundlings are the future.” 

“This is the way.”

“This is the way.”

You bite your tongue, the words dancing there. They weren’t your words to say. No matter how much you believed in them. Before anything other words could be shared, a new voice spoke.

“Haven’t seen you in a while, Mando.” Other than the uninvited Mandalorian approaching from behind you both, you found it quite strange for him to address another Mandalorian with that nickname. Did they call each other Mando? Or was it just a joke? 

The dark blue of his armor had a soft shine under the lights, but the way he held himself in front of Din showed anything but a soft temperament. 

“Been busy.” is all he says in return. 

“So busy, you had to hire a babysitter?” he jabbed back, causing tension to skyrocket between the two. Din suddenly whips around, somehow offended by the term. Although it was kind of true, you were an over glorified babysitter if anything, even if payment hadn’t been part of the deal for a while now. You stayed with the both of them because you wanted to. It was an unspoken agreement. 

“Don’t you dare call her that.” He seethed through the modulator, a threat held in the palm of his hand as he pointed into the blue Mando’s chest plate. “She’s not a babysitter.” he relaxed as the statement filled the air, causing more questions to fly through your mind before the child himself tugged on your shirt. Looking down at him, you saw the concern riddled through his wrinkly forehead. Shushing him gently, you smiled. 

“Apologies, Mando. I didn’t know you had taken a Riduur whilst you were gone.” Not knowing the meaning behind the word, you had no idea what kind of insult it was but Din stilled beside you. Either it was infinitely worse or he had never even thought of it. 

“We were only here to give to the foundlings...so unless there was anything else you needed from me. We’ll be going now.” Wrapping an arm around you, Din guided you forwards, glancing behind, watching as the blue guy and the armorer stared after you. 

---

“I don’t understand what just happened.” 

You hadn’t said anything the whole time it took to get back into hyperspace, already on the way to the next place, when the dam finally burst. Din knew he couldn’t keep the secrets of his language away from you forever. This was bound to happen. 

“What don’t you understand?” It was stupid to even attempt playing dumb. 

“The word that Mandalorian called me, if it was so bad in comparison to ‘babysitter’, I don’t understand why you didn’t say anything.” 

Oh

“...It wasn’t an insult. That’s why I didn’t say anything. Didn’t want the situation to escalate. Not in front of you...not in front of the kid.” Although it was the truth, Din hoped you would leave it at that, that you wouldn’t-

“So what does it mean?”

Kriff

“He thought...since you weren’t a babysitter that perhaps...you were my wife.”

It went deadly quiet for just a moment

“Oh.” You let out a breath, he hadn’t even realised you had been holding it. 

“Wait so why was he being such a dick about it then?” 

Din wanted to chuckle at your choice of words. The child had been put down for a nap, leaving you free to curse as much as you wanted. He couldn’t help holding back, of all the questions you could’ve asked about whatever relationship the two of you had, you chose to wonder why Paz Vizsla was the way he was around Din Djarin. 

“Because he’s a dick, that’s why.” Flicking a few switches, almost absent mindedly, something to focus on before his next words. “He probably thought that since you aren’t one of us it was fair game for him to pick on me through you.” once again, it went quiet. Although for a completely different reason that he was unaware of, something that had been milling about in your mind all day. 

“I know I’m not one of you...but it still hurts.” At even the mention of you being hurt, his helmet whipped around, watching as you shrinked into yourself. Yet the words continued to flood out, it was like being quiet for so long had bottled up all of these emotions. 

“I know I travel with you and the kid, that he’s a foundling so it’s not the same, he’s your son. That you treat me equally and I’m so kriffing grateful for that Mando but it will never be the same. I’ll never be a part of your life like that, so openly and wholly, I don’t know much of your culture but I can’t help wanting to be involved...I wish I was.” 

Eyelids scrunched together, refusing to meet his gaze, all you could focus on was the pain in your palms as your nails dug into them. 

That was until you felt leather wrap under them. Opening them in shock, you watched as he kneeled before you, delicately taking your fingers in his. Skimming his thumbs over them, you had never witnessed him be so gentle with you. Sure, he was gentle with the kid but this was so different. 

“Please don’t put yourself down like that cyar’ika.” So quiet yet the meaning behind his words rang through your heart. “You mean so much to me and to the kid, it doesn’t matter what the others say. You are a part of this clan, my clan...my family. I just hope- that for you, that’s enough.” 

Tears fill your eyes, a bright smile overtaking your features as you launch yourself into his arms. A giggle bubbling up in you as his arms hang in the air, shocked. “It’s more than enough, Din.” you sigh into his neck. At this, he wraps his arms around you, returning the hug, the warmth from before returning in full force. 

“Thank you.” Nuzzling into him, resting your palms on his chest plate, bitter cold of the beskar being replaced rapidly by the warmth you shared. You wanted to say the words right then and there. But you knew it wasn’t the time. For now, this was enough. 

---

You had been sorting through supplies before falling asleep in the hull, the words shared before granting you a peace you had never known. Din found you there, rearranging the items around you carefully before lifting you. With your head resting against his chest, he didn’t miss the way you embraced the way he held you, even in your sleep. 

Placing you in your cot, he made sure you weren’t in any way uncomfortable, securing a blanket around your form. After that, he couldn’t help admiring your features, how relaxed you were as you slept. This time there was nothing to be distracted from. Nothing to keep the words at bay. 

“Ni kar’tayli gar darasuum, cyar’ika.”

[limited-practice]

Sunder and Hubcap are a couple of my favourite characters that have a lot of potential and are fun to write, so I wrote a quick thing today just to give them some attention and to practice writing them.

1688 words of Sunder and Hubcap talking on board the Lost Light are below the cut.

[Just imagine that Various Things happened and everyone’s together in one place and no-one’s dead]

>I was born in the deep dank shadows you know. I breathe and bleed them, and if my doctors hadn’t corrupted me so thoroughly I would breed them too.

Hubcap’s wide eyes roll slowly towards the door of the room that he and Sunder are in. 

A huge reinforced metal bar holds it closed, which means he can’t use his Outlier abilities to re-route an electronic signal to unlock it, open it, and make a quick dash through it before it’s too late. The door is mechanically locked with a formidably heavy bar to prevent Sunder controlling someone and forcing them to raise it. No-one except the strongest bots can even hope to lift it, and the strongest bots are banned from this room.

Everything about this plan of containment is stupid, but Hubcap’s used to the people in charge making short-sighted decisions that will hurt people so he’s not surprised. Unsettled, certainly, but not surprised. Very few things surprise him now. 

“That’s, uh, nice?”

Hubcap debates calling for help on his internal communicator. He can do so silently so that Sunder never has to hear him, but the problem with this plan is that other people will hear him. They’ll know that he couldn’t last more than two seconds with Big Bad Scary Sunder locked up in his Impenetrable Containment Cell before he wet himself and cried for help.

Hubcap takes the Cybertronian equivalent of a deep steadying breath, his gears and levers whirring softly as they strain and turn, and looks back at Sunder. 

The mnemosurgeon is standing in his custom made cell as if he’s not at all surprised he ended up there. He’s gripping a bar with one hand and looks like Ruined Death. 

Hubcap takes the Cybertronian equivalent of a dry swallow. He once again reassures himself that Sunder can’t physically escape the invisible containment field surrounding his cell. The Lost Light’s top engineers created it, and their work is solid. He also reassures himself that Sunder can’t remotely access anyone’s memories and control them or turn them inside out. Hubcap wrote the containment field’s code that blocks Sunder’s remote abilities and embedded a neural block into Sunder’s brain module himself, and his work is even better. 

But it’s difficult to feel safe and secure when Sunder is looking at him like that. Sunder’s eyes have been removed and being subjected to Primus knows what, but he’s still looking at him. 

“So, uh, the cell is working well,” Hubcap rattles. “It’s good. I mean it’s not that good for you since you’re behind it, in it, but it’s, err, good for me because I’m not. And you are. It’s working. Um.” 

If Hubcap could sweat his frame would be soaked. This is ridiculous. He’s got nothing to fear and nothing to feel nervous about. He’s the good guy here. He’s the expert that was brought aboard the ship to examine Sunder’s innate remote abilities and devise ways to block them. 

>Your work is good. 

“I know,” Hubcap says without thinking. “I’m excellent at what I do.”

 Hubcap’s eyes widen further, this time in horror at openly bragging about his unique abilities. “I, uh, only meant that-” 

>I know what you meant. You don’t have to hide yourself with me. We are similar, you and I. 

A range of emotions stutter and skip across Hubcap’s face. Relief that he hasn’t been mocked or subjected to a bitterly jealous backhanded insult. Gratitude that Sunder acknowledges and appreciates his work. Irritation that Sunder is daring to compare himself to him. 

“I don’t think so.” 

>We are both blessed with unique abilities. We have both been praised and betrayed and ignored and used. We are both helpers. We are both murderers.

“We are not alike.” 

>Perhaps if you looked inside yourself you would see that I speak the truth. 

“Perhaps if you didn’t look inside so many people yourself then you wouldn’t be where you are now.” 

Hubcap really hopes that Sunder’s cell is impenetrable in every sense of the word, he really really does. 

>That is also true.

Sunder’s dark and booming voice has now swallowed a layer of humour. 

>But we did what we did and we do what we do because we are who we are.

Hubcap’s familiar enough with self-centered aggrandizements from people who think they’re unique and special that he can let Sunder’s pompous words wash over him easily.

“That, uh, yeah. I guess. But I’m not like you. Not in any way that counts.” 

Sunder steps closer to the bars and grips the one held in his hand tighter. His shadow streaks across the floor. 

>Is that so? 

Hubcap taps a finger against his thigh. He should be scared. He should be worried. He should be halfway out the door by now after throwing all shame away and calling for help. He should not be looking at Sunder with narrowing eyes and an itching desire to argue with him. 

“It is. And you can stop putting on your Mortilus act with me. It doesn’t scare or impress me.” 

>I don’t have to read your memories to know that you’re scared of him. 

Hubcap doesn’t respond for a few seconds. His mind skips back many years ago to when he was a Cadet being drilled by Roadbuster. 

“I’m not scared of Mortilus,” he says simply. “But I am scared of what people who believe in him can do.” 

Sunder’s facial pipes vent cursed steam. 

>I believe in him. 

“If Mortilus comes for me he’ll kill me in a painless instant,” Hubcap continues, his mind still in the past. “He won’t take me to the brink and leave me there broken. He’ll be quick and sure and do the job right.” 

>I can do the job right. 

Hubcap’s attention fast forwards to the present. “Can you? Can you transform me inside out slowly? Gear by gear and plate by plate and rivet by rivet? Can you draw it out for months and months and months and months? Because if you can’t, then you won’t be doing it right.” 

Sunder doesn’t respond. Hubcap doesn’t have to be a mind reader to know that Sunder is wondering what happened to him to give him such bleak fatalistic confidence and such a hollow smile. Hubcap’s physical recovery from his ordeal was perfect, but there are some things in him that can never be healed. 

The steam venting from Sunder changes. It reduces down from a thick belching grey to a lighter wispy white. 

Hubcap blinks. “Besides,” he says, addressing Sunder’s earlier comment, “You can believe in Mortilus all you want and dedicate your life to him, but your abilities to hurt anyone have been amputated. I helped see to that.”

Hubcap knows that his stuttering vanishes when he’s on a righteous roll. He should find some way of recording his speeches and insights so that he can preserve them. And share them. Pipes would get such a kick out of hearing him like this. The speech he gave to Prowl in front of Tarantulas and the Wreckers was a classic, as was the one he gave to Prowl when they were on that walkway together. He thought that there was someone else lurking in the shadows behind them, but there wasn’t. He and Prowl had escaped and no-one else had appeared which was obviously good but also disappointing, because no-one else had heard him put Prowl in his well-deserved place yet again. 

Sunder’s venting steam vanishes in a hiss. 

>Is that so? 

“You’ve already said that.” 

Sunder tilts his terrible head and his lips approach something like a smile.  

>Apologies. Let me choose another phrase: Are you sure that all of my abilities have been removed?

Hubcap opens his mouth to say yes of course I am, but the words die on his tongue. 

>Would you bet your life on it? Would you bet others’? You may not like sharing commonalities with me, but you have experience in living with things you’d prefer not to. I see it written all over your patched up frame. You are cracks and darkness patched up with transparent tape. You are hurting, and people choose not to see through into it. 

Hubcap crosses his arms over his chest. “Yes. Your, err, abilities have been…removed. Curtailed. They- they cannot work anymore. You’re broken. You’re the one that’s broken.” 

Sunder sits down on his recharge slab.  

>You have my condolences. You may not be able to repair yourself, but you could help me. 

Hubcap feels his eyes widen again. “…what? What do you..?” 

>Fix me. Remove the neural block you put in my brain and fix me. Make me whole again. Allow me to be myself. 

“That’s, uh, what?” Hubcap’s voice cranks up several octaves in panic. “I mean- what? You really-…? Really think I’m going to- to do that? For you?!” 

>It’s a possibility. I’m an optimist believe it or not. But if you don’t do it for me, then you should do it for yourself. You are eaten up with guilt and regrets. Put one of them to rest and help me. Help yourself by helping me. You don’t have to be such a selfish little bot all the time.   

“That is not who I am.”

>That’s exactly who you are. 

“I’m an Autobot!” 

>So am I. 

Hubcap closes his eyes and puts his hands on his head. Everything is throbbing. 

It’s time to go. 

Hubcap calls in to control to report that his inspection is complete and Sunder is safely secured. The door’s great bar rises up and the door is unlocked. 

Hubcap looks through the open door to the brightly lit corridor beyond, but stays where he is. 

>Same time next week? 

Hubcap fiddles with his fingers. “…yes. That’s the next time I’m scheduled to check in on you, so…yes.” 

>You did not say no to my request for help. 

Hubcap looks away and takes a step through the door. “Goodbye Sunder.” 

Hubcap takes another slow step forward and then another and another and leaves the room and steps into the light. 

“Goodbye Hubcap. Until the next time.”

[etudier-avec-bella]

My First Term at University

Hello! If you’ve been following me for a while, you may have noticed that this blog has been pretty dead for the past few months. Like, literally no new posts have gone up from me since results day. Yikes. Where have I been, and what’s been going on? That’s what I’m here to clear up. Because I have a lot to talk about.

I am going to be touching on three main topics: Life at York, my course and how I’ve been studying, and- finally- my mental wellbeing.

So, grab a hot drink, get cosy, and prepare for what is possibly the longest piece of writing I’ve ever produced in my life. Seriously. It’s huge.

**Disclaimer: In no way is this post supposed to reflect the ‘real’ life of the average student at York, nor am I making any comment on the quality of education or student life at York. I am aware that I’m extremely lucky to be a student on one of the best Chemistry courses in the country, and this post is simply detailing how I found the transition from living at home to living independently as a university student. York- I love you. Even if you weren’t my first choice, I am so glad I ended up here. I’ve met some wonderful people and learned so many incredible things just in this first term alone. Please don’t take this post as me hating on York or something, because I really, really don’t lmao**

Life in York

Let’s kick things off by talking about what it’s like to live in York!

Contrary to what I initially assumed about moving to a university in the middle of the countryside (i.e. that there would be nothing to do), York is a beautiful city, and I’m so excited to get better acquainted with it over the next three years.

The high streets here are jam-packed full of hidden gems- I seriously think that you could go to a different coffee shop every day for a year, there are so many of them dotted around. I’ve loved being able to wander around and see where my feet take me, and there’s always somewhere new to discover; bookshops, cafés, museums, the castle walls, art exhibits, concerts… Oh, my!

Some of my favourite places that I’ve discovered so far are:

●      Drift-In- my favourite little coffee shop! It’s never too busy if you go before midday, making it the ideal place to crack out some work in a more relaxed studying environment. They also offer a 10% student discount, and have a wall of polaroids of the dogs who have visited the café. Incredible.

●      Lucky Days- the perfect place to take your friends for lunch! They also do really good cakes if you ever feel like treating yourself after submitting an assignment.

●      The Little Apple Bookshop- There are lots of cute little indie bookshops on the road leading to the art gallery, but I think that this one is my personal favourite. Stock changes frequently, so it’s worth popping in every once in a while, and they have classic novels at much lower prices than the likes of Waterstones (for all of you English Lit students out there!)

As for the University Campus, it’s similarly wonderful. The River runs right through Campus West, making itself home to lots of ducks, geese, and other waterfowl. We also have wild bunnies outside the Biology greenhouses, and I always see them hopping around in the dark when I walk home from my French classes. Campus West isn’t too big- you can walk from one side to the other in about 15 minutes- so the student community is super tight-knit. I have friends from loads of different colleges who I’ve met through mixers, societies, and my classes, and it’s really easy for us to link up and do stuff together because we’re all so near to each other.

There are also some pretty cool places on campus, if you don’t feel like leaving to go to the city centre- the Sir Jack Lyons Concert Hall are always putting on lunchtime concerts with cheap tickets for students, which is a nice way to wind down after working all day AND show support for the music students, and there’s also a student-ran supermarket in Wentworth College called Scoop, where you can bring your own containers and buy spices/grains/pasta in bulk for much cheaper than you can in other similar supermarkets. Scoop also sell boxes of locally-sourced produce, making it easy to support small businesses on a budget!

Honestly, there are still lots of places on campus that I’m yet to visit. Whenever I get fed up of working, I like to go for a little 30-minute walk to the other side of the university grounds and see what I can find (there’s a really lovely garden behind Derwent College, it has a big stately manor house and lots of fancy greenery). It’s a nice way to get some fresh air and change up the scenery when I get stir-crazy from being in my room for so long.

My Course/Studying

As many, many people have told me in the past- university-level Chemistry is hard. And you know what? They were right. However, I like a challenge as much as the next overachiever, and as a self-confessed science nerd I’ve got to say… My course is a dream.

I know I’m only one term into my first year, but the way I look at basically everything around me has already changed so much. The fundamental knowledge you gain just from first module covers all of the main bases, and I’ve found that the way I think about and approach scientific problems is already very different to the way I would have looked at them during my A-Levels. You’re encouraged to think a lot more openly, and apply relatively basic concepts to solve really tricky problems instead of just learning the answers to a syllabus- it’s a great chance to utilise your all of your skills.

In terms of how I’ve been studying, not a lot has changed. My exams don’t carry any real credit this year, but I’m still aiming to achieve high grades. Over the Christmas break, I’ve been focusing a lot more on resting rather than working- so I whilst I haven’t done a LOT, the revision I’ve done has been productive. I still use flashcards and Quizlet, but I’ve recently introduced summary posters onto the scene as well, which has been working well for me. I’ll make a post on how I make these in the near future!

Overall, the first term has been pretty good academically. I feel stretched and challenged, and things are at a manageable level of difficulty. Which brings me onto something that has not been at a manageable level of difficulty this term…

My Wellbeing

Mental health. Something of a taboo topic within the study community. It’s something we all will deal with, and something most of us will struggle with to some degree at times. So, why don’t we talk about it more?

I won’t go into super deep, personal detail in this next section. Mostly because there are some things I’m not comfortable with sharing on the internet. However, I do think it’s important for me to use my small platform of followers to talk about my own experiences and attempt to tackle the stigma about being a student and struggling with mental health, so I am going to be as honest as I can about what’s been going on.

Before coming to university, I was already having a difficult time with my mental health, and had been for a few years. This summer was a particularly bad one for me. A-Levels left me completely exhausted, results day was a bit of a sticky one, and thinking about life as I knew it coming to an end was terrifying. I knew that, once I moved to uni, I was going to feel even sadder, lonelier, and more out-of-place than I already did. And I had no idea how to deal with it.

I believe that one of the biggest contributing factors to my sudden and sharp decline in mental wellness after arriving in York was the fact that, even two months later, I still hadn’t gotten over my Durham rejection. Ignoring my initial disappointment was a bad idea, though I didn’t know it at the time.

As someone who has been a high achiever their entire life, rejection and failure aren’t things I’m used to dealing with at all. Not on this scale, at least. Academics was the one thing I could always rely on, the one thing underpinning all of my successes. The one thing within which I had manifested almost my entire personality. Before, I was always Bella, the smart one. Bella, top of the class. Bella, the straight-A student; set to do great things; capable of going anywhere… But, now, here I was. Bella, just got rejected by her dream university.

Trying to settle into student life with a completely secure sense of self is hard enough- trying to settle in whilst struggling to cope with all of these new, conflicting feelings? It was so, so difficult. WAY more than I would ever admit to in real life. Stupid me was too proud to admit that I was upset to ‘only be going to my second choice’ so I told friends, family, and everyone else that I was perfectly happy to be going to York instead of Durham, and that I wasn’t sad about it at all.

(I want to clarify that I am in NO way trying to diminish the hard work and achievements of anybody who got into their second choice university, or anybody else who got into York. Only now have I realised that it’s nothing to be ashamed of, and if anything you should be proud that your efforts got you into whichever school you ended up in. I’m just sharing with you all how much I struggled to accept this rejection, and how it affected my mental health).

I knew people who had gotten in, and I saw them posting on Instagram about matriculation and other social events at the university. This completely broke my heart. I was happy for my friends who were studying there- they worked hard and more than deserved to be there… but I couldn’t help but feel jealous. I wanted to be there with them. The place that I had worked so incredibly hard to receive an offer for.

Although it’s embarrassing to admit, I did actually cry a bit after seeing these posts. I didn’t know how to process my feelings, because for those first few weeks after rejection I absolutely refused to let myself mope (looking back, I’ve got no idea why I did that. Wtf Bella?). I was determined to be strong about it and try to force myself to be happy with the situation I found myself in- despite the fact that, deep down, I knew it wasn’t where I wanted to be. Not at first, anyway. Pair the bittersweet pain of first-time rejection with my consistent struggle with self-esteem and low moods… Things got ugly fast.

If I had to put a finger on when I started to feel things getting really bad, I’d trace back to somewhere near the first month mark. Freshers week, whilst it felt awkward and drawn-out, wasn’t too bad in terms of my mental wellbeing. I think I was so caught up in trying to adjust to this crazy, new life I had that I didn’t have a lot of time to stop and wonder how I was feeling. Those of you who also struggle with mental health issues will know that they never really go away. They always at least linger in the background, if they aren’t in the forefront of your mind. So I suppose you could say that I felt my strange, healthy-but-unhealthy version of ‘normal’.

I hadn’t yet adapted to life as a York student, but that wasn’t much of a concern at this point. It takes a long time to adjust to change, and I had only been there for a few days. I thought I just needed to wait it out. But, after the first few weeks passed by, I started to notice something weird.

I still didn’t feel settled in. In fact, I didn’t feel like I was there at all. Nothing felt ‘real’. After years of dreaming and wondering what life would be like at university, I suddenly found that the situation I was in wasn’t what I expected it to be at all. I didn’t ‘feel’ like a university student here, even months into this first term. Or, rather, I didn’t feel what I had decided that being a university student ought to feel like.

For my whole life, I’ve attached so much of my identity to my intelligence and educational aspirations. To reach the highest stage of my academic career thus far- the place I’ve been working to get to my whole life- and find out that it was possible that this wasn’t where I wanted to be caused me to completely lose my sense of identity.

The conflict between feeling ‘too good’ for here, but simultaneously viewing my rejection as me ‘not being good enough’ for Durham left me drifting somewhere in the middle with all aspects of my life. University was a big deal for me, and had been for as long as I could remember. I attached so much of who I was to my work, and ergo the university I was going to go to. Having failed to prove to myself that I was who people had been telling me I was for years, I didn’t have scraps of personality left to hold onto.

I felt as though I didn’t belong here, but also that if that were true I didn’t really know where I did belong. I knew that I was smart, and that I was capable of achieving the A-Level grades that I needed to meet my offer requirements for my first choice. Things just didn’t go to plan in my Maths exams. But, at the same time, whenever I struggled with the work here in York, I would say to myself: ‘Oh, look. You can’t even manage the work they give you here. How did you ever think you were good enough for Durham?’

As you can imagine, this made my mental health quite difficult to manage properly. My inability to cope with rejection, trying to live independently for the first time, facing a whole new series of academic challenges, and missing my friends/family ALL took its toll on me in more ways than I care to say. But, stubborn old me tried to make the best of an unexpected, difficult situation. I decided that I wasn’t going to be ungrateful.

I had been accepted into one of the best schools for my subject in the country. I was going to try and make the most of life here, even if it wasn’t what I had wanted in the beginning, and even if it was proving to be a lot harder than I thought it would be. I wish I could say I was able to move past the sadness I felt because of my rejection and because of all of the other things going on in my life (my already poor mental health, trying to live independently…), but that just wasn’t the case.

To keep it short and sweet, student life was kicking my arse.

The dip in my mental health began to affect my ability to work and take care of myself. I was struggling with this sudden and total lack of motivation to keep up with just about everything.

Independent study was completely forgotten about. I skipped countless music rehearsals, and rarely spent time with my flatmates and friends. I didn’t cook properly- I relied on foods that took less than five minutes to cook or didn’t eat at all. I didn’t put as much effort into looking after myself and looking presentable as usual; I usually love dressing nicely, carrying out elaborate skincare and makeup routines- but all of that immediately went out of the window. I rarely left my room, and I would stay essentially completely by myself for days at a time.

There was no part of my life that didn’t take a blow as a result of my poor wellbeing. It was like I’d given up and decided I would just settle for the bare minimum and float aimlessly until the winter break arrived. I didn’t care anymore. Not about appearance, not about my work, and not about me.

Now is probably the time to mention that I didn’t actually tell anyone that this was going on, spare one of my closest friends who I knew for sure wouldn’t judge me. To this day, most people still have no idea that I was having such a bad time, and that I’m still feeling the residual negative emotions from the last few weeks of term. There are a lot of reasons why I didn’t talk to anyone about it, but the main two were that I’m a very private person, and that my family isn't always the most understanding when it comes to helping each other deal with mental health issues. I desperately wanted other people to know what I was going through, but the thought of coming out and telling them straight-up petrified me. I knew I couldn’t do it. So, I chose to hide all of it under the façade of being exhausted from my busy timetable. Or whatever excuse was most convenient at the time for whoever asked me what was wrong.

Another reason I didn’t tell anybody about what was going on kind of plays into the problems I’d been wrestling with before coming to uni (they’ve been an issue for much longer than just this summer, just to point out). I won’t talk about them in detail, because I’m not ready to discuss a lot of what I went through and what I’m still going through, but I’ll say that part of it is that I have a pretty crippling fear of being judged by other people. For my physical appearance, for my academic achievements, for my personal opinions and preferences- for everything. Everything. I don’t really talk about myself to anybody, so even just writing this post feels a bit odd. As you can imagine, admitting I’d been having a terrible time with my mental health to my close friends and family was out of the question.

I had basically reached my lowest point ever. I felt lonely, isolated, and completely lost. I wasn’t living the life people were expecting me to, and I wasn’t

Maybe this seems silly to some of you out there reading this who are dealing with a much bigger and more painful situations than my own. I recognise that there are much worse things I could be going through. And no, of course not every day of the past term was awful. I’m not trying to say that being rejected from my dream university caused this- rather that it fed into what was already a significantly complex problem. But, for someone like myself who pinned all of their self-worth on their educational goals and achievements- for someone who had never really ‘failed’ at something like this before- I was pretty fucking crushed. Enough to make me lose track of basic things I’d never usually had a problem managing before.

My problems had engulfed my life. I was miserable and couldn’t stand it. I was fed up of sticking it out alone. Desperate to let someone else take the burden for a little while, I finally, finally decided it might be worth considering getting some help.

I made an appointment to go and visit the University mental health services, and they signposted me to the local NHS mental health services. The waiting list for an assessment was surprisingly short- it only took me 2-3 weeks to get an appointment where I could receive an initial diagnosis and learn what treatments were available.

It was at this point I found out that I had an anxiety disorder.

This wasn’t particularly shocking news- I struggled with social anxiety as a young teenager- but it made me quite emotional to finally hear someone tell me that what I was feeling WAS part of a bigger problem. It wasn’t just me blowing things out of proportion.

So, that brings us to where I am now. Currently on the waiting list for group therapy. I haven’t really decided if its something I want to talk about on this blog yet, but I feel like even just sharing with other students that I took the step to go and seek help from my uni will hopefully encourage more people who are struggling to do so as well. Most universities have decent mental health services, or at least someone who can point you in the direction of the appropriate resources to help you, so it’s definitely worth looking into in my opinion.

But, right now, I’m feeling okay. This term has been challenging for me and my emotional wellbeing, but the knowledge that I ploughed through and (for the first time in my life) asked for help when I knew I needed it makes me feel proud of myself. A month away from halls has definitely helped me, and I’m actually looking forward to going back with a new, rejuvenated perspective on student life- which leads me onto the final section of this long, waffly post...

What have I learned? How am I trying to make changes? What are my plans for the future?

Well, aside from developing my Chemical knowledge through some pretty fantastic lecture courses and practical sessions, I’ve discovered a lot about myself this term. For example- I’ve realised that I place too much of my personal value on academic achievement and the prestige of the institutions I’m a member of. I should learn to accept that I am so much more than my grades, and that it doesn’t matter where I go to school. Sure, it would have been nice to enjoy all of the things life in Durham has to offer, but does it really matter when I’m living in a beautiful city, studying the subject I love with people who are just as excited about it as I am, and watching myself change and blossom into a completely new person? Not at all.

The most important thing, and the most difficult, was to admit and accept that I wasn’t having a good time here. And that it was okay to feel like this. I could lie to everyone around me about it and say that I was happy, but I couldn’t lie to myself anymore. In fact, it took being honest with myself for me to actually start to feel a little bit happier about where I was- literally AND mentally.

I suppose this begs the following question: would I consider transferring? Surely, after all of the emotional chaos I went through trying to get over what felt like the biggest setback of my life so far, I would take the ‘easy way out’ and re-sit my Maths papers so that I could re-apply to Durham and live the life I was convinced I needed to be living?

Honestly… No. Partially because the heartbreak of being rejected was kind of enough to put me off potentially going through it again by re-applying, but also because I feel like this is an important life experience for me to have.

I need to learn healthy coping mechanisms for dealing with rejection and being in situations I didn’t initially want to be in. Obviously, there are lines and limits with this kind of thing, and it differs from person to person and situation to situation, but I’m in a good place for me, I think. It isn’t perfect, but it isn’t meant to be. And I know that if I work hard to make the most of everything my life has to offer me, I’ll reach a point where the struggles I’m dealing with now will be but a distant memory.

...

So, that’s all I want to mention for now! I hope this explains why I’ve been so absent from this blog. Being productive was something I really struggled to do this term, so I didn’t have much going on that I could really post about. However, I’m looking forward to showing more of what my life as a Chemistry student at York looks like when I move back up for term two.

 Talking about this has really helped me to reflect on my experiences and gain a little bit of closure from what was a pretty wild and confusing 11 weeks. I might post more content like this in the future, because I think it’s important to show other students that they aren’t alone and more people are dealing with things like this than they realise, but I won’t make any promises just yet.

I hope you are all having a lovely winter break, wherever you are, and I hope you are all looking forward to the next term of school, college, university, or even just the New Year by itself!

See you soon.

Bella <3