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milune-vox · 3 months ago

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The Dawn of Redeeming Grace

previous chapter <=> next chapter Chapter 8:

(weeks after the last date)

Wisdom is often associated with old age.

Now, he is, in fact, old. Older than the vast majority of human beings around. One would assume that, in all his time on Earth, he would have accumulated a wealth of wisdom.

This assumption is incorrect.

The only bit of wisdom he’s ever retained is this: wisdom, as a state of mind, as this stoic, zen master type of attitude, is much like the art of balancing pebbles in neat little heaps at the water’s edge. No matter how much one masters the art, when a wave comes crashing down, the entire structure is ruined, finished, gone—you’ve got to rebuild it all. Start again. There’s no going against the power of nature through sheer fuckin' will, contrary to what some might believe.

When you’re struck down, you’re struck down.

When you’re drowning, you’re drowning.

You’re always where you’re at.

Right now, Hob’s in a rather miserable place. He’s so tired he wants to die.

But that’s not what he’ll do. It’s just how it feels. He knows that he will never ask for death, thank you very much.

This is another thing he’s learned in his long life. Most feelings are bullshit. Most thoughts are too. Meaning, anything he’s previously stated in the haze of his exhausted mind probably was bullshit as well. And perhaps believing it is bullshit is also bullshit in its own right.

They are but consequences of things that are far removed from his motivations and spirits.

Tired? Suddenly he curses the world and wants to bite the bullet.

Sick? Suddenly he dreams of curling up in a ball under the sheets to never come out again.

Hungry? His thoughts spiral into horrible recollections of what it felt like to starve, and despair claws at him, making him want to eat until his belly bursts.

Restless? He wants to break jaws and snap necks and bash skulls in. Those of others or his own. Not too picky in those moments, truthfully.

He has learned to recognize when his mind is bullshitting and discard its input, focusing on getting rest, treatment, or a nice, healthy, balanced meal. As for the restlessness, a bit of workout usually does the trick.

But sometimes, he is a little too tired, too sick, too hungry, too restless.

Too heartbroken.

Sometimes, he just wants to give in and stop fighting, because, what’s the point, his mind asks in a sultry, apathetic voice, what’s the point of life, of going on, of—

A neighbor knocks on a wall and shouts, “Oi!”

It’s not for him, who’s been staring in silence at the wall from his seat on the couch for the better part of an hour. It must be for the students next door, partying hard, walls pulsing with music and shouting.

Yeah, right. That’s why Hob still can’t sleep. Not just the heartbreak this time.

He rubs at his face and sighs. What a fucking day.

He wishes he was privy to more occult knowledge, if only to get ahold of some metaphysical line and ring Dream up.

“Hey there, friend,” he would say. “I know you kind of left in a hurry last time, and I feel like I must have done something wrong again, though, unfair, like, you could have told me if I’d done something to offend you, right? Anyway, not the point. If you are not too mad at me, would you please come on down from wherever your bloody realm is, and sully yourself with my o-so-beneath-you human presence, and just, I don’t know, put me to sleep for the next hundred years? Like, if you’re going to make me wait, might as well not be conscious this time around, alright? I’m tired. I’ll still wait, okay, but I’m tired. I’m tired, I’m tired, I’m tired, I’m tired—”

The more he thinks about it, the more his lips start shaping the words, silently first, then a murmur, then he speaks them out loud, and his voice breaks, and he does it again and again until he breaks down in tears.

It happens for a total of seven seconds, after which his face, contracted in sobs, goes blank, and he stares off into the distance with an unbothered look.

His rational mind catches up with him and very helpfully provides that self-pity isn’t a very productive course of action. What’s the point of moaning about his issues? It wouldn’t fix them; it would only make them worse, deepen the wound, twist the knife in.

No need to get worried over things out of one’s control.

And so he goes, putting down the first pebble on the shore.

He rises from the couch, feeling like Atlas carrying the world, his body an uncanny mix of numbness and ache, his joints feeling every bit their six hundred years of age. He does not notice the mysterious figure looming down the street below, nor the gun glinting discreetly in a gloved hand.

***

A small black dot grazes the heavy sky. The rain has let up, for now. The dot free-falls like a meteor, but before it reaches the ground, its trajectory pulls up, aiming toward the castle with the speed and precision of a guided missile.

It flies through the open doors, under the ever-watchful eyes of three terrible gargoyles, past countless rooms and corridors.

Finally, after a convoluted, impossible route, it perches at the top of an extinguished candelabrum, its claws clicking against the metal as it shifts anxiously from foot to foot.

“Matthew,” greets Lucienne, her eyes still set on the book she’s reading. She gestures with a swift, accustomed motion.

“Eh, hi boss lady. How you been?”

No matter how many times Dream scolds him, he never drops the nickname. Lucienne doesn’t comment, so he thinks he’s in the clear.

“I have been well, thank you,” she replies, then adds, looking at him over her glasses, “Busy, as you can see.” Matthew considers leaving, though he truly doesn’t want to. His questions have questions, and he can’t think of anyone else to ask in the Dreaming. “Sorry,” he mumbles half-heartedly under her stern glare.

She focuses back on her book, and after a while, comments nonchalantly, “I’ve heard the weather has been less than desirable. I believe I can see the clouds slowly lifting?” She looks pointedly at the high arched windows further down the alley.

“Yeah,” Matthew sighs, answering the unasked question. “He’s with his sister right now, I think. Cool lady.”

“He is?” She stops reading for a moment, surprised. Then her face softens, and she nods to herself. “… Good.”

They sit in silence a while longer until Matthew’s claws start clicking against the metal perch again. Eyes snapping back to him like a librarian catching a noisy visitor, she asks, “Did you want something else?”

Matthew puffs his little feathered chest, bracing himself for the question he’s been burning to ask. “Do you know why he’s been like that? I don’t mean to snoop or anything, but, err, I’m Dream’s raven. I got to, maybe, know about stuff so I can help out? Like, if he’s in danger or something, I’d like to know.”

She halts, breathes in, then sighs. “He is not in danger, and he hasn’t confided in me. If he had told me and not you, I wouldn't break his trust by sharing with you.”

“Ah, okay, well, no, that’s fair, I guess.”

He’s still shuffling on his feet, now in tune with disappointment. “I guess I’ll—” he starts, but is interrupted by Lucienne’s voice.

“However, I have an inkling as to what might have happened.”

“Oh yeah?”

She takes too long to answer, and getting restless, he flies to perch on her chair’s armrest, ready to give his best impression of a begging cat if that’s what it takes. “Come on, spill the beans. You can’t tease a big reveal and drop it like that. You sound like a Marvel post-credit scene, you’re killing me, Lush.”

She chuckles softly, shaking her head. “I believe it may have something to do with a friend of his.”

“He’s got a friend?” he croaks, perhaps too surprised, for Lucienne raises an eyebrow. He rushes to correct himself. “Not to be disrespectful or anything, but he’s not got a very, uh, friendly personality. I mean, he’s nice enough with us. Sometimes. But how did that happen? Do I know them? Are they here?”

“He is not in the Dreaming. Hob Gadling belongs to the Waking.”

“Oh, it’s the guy, isn’t it? The guy from the pub. And the flat. And, yeah, I guess it makes sense they’d be friends; they met quite a few times. I just assumed it was some kind of business, like, made sense, you know. Usually, it’s how—wait, what did you say his name was? Hob? Never heard that one.”

“An old nickname. Several hundred years old, to be more accurate.”

“Yeah, well, he must be an interesting fellow if he caught the boss’s attention—wait, when you say several hundred years, you don’t mean… it’s not just an old nickname, is it? Please don’t tell me the dude is actually that old.”

“He is. I don’t know his exact age, but considering the number of centennial meetings, I’d wager he is around 600 years old, yes.”

“Centennial what?”

“Our Lord meets with one Hob Gadling every century. Or so it was the case. We understand this schedule has recently changed.”

“Holy shit. Leave it to the boss to have the weirdest friendship in all of existence. Well, if they’ve been meeting more often, shouldn’t he be, like, in a good mood?”

“He has been. Wouldn’t you agree?”

“...Yes? I don’t know. He’s been okay, I guess. Well, before it all went to shite.”

She sighs.

“Flowers.”

“What about flowers?”

Lucienne takes out a book, revealing pressed roses inside.

“Pressing flowers, Lush? A new hobby?” Matthew asks.

“I’ve been finding them in the castle. In the library. Growing unbidden, in secret places. Barely noticeable for now, but it’s happened before. If the sun comes back, and it seems like the clouds might be dissipating, then they’ll start growing everywhere.”

“I, yeah, I mean, I guess it’s nice that we get spring here, although with all this rain they’re probably all—oh. The flowers are like the rain. They, like, mean something, don’t they? What is it?”

Lucienne raises an eyebrow at him, waiting patiently with a knowing look. Matthew suddenly caws in realization.

“The boss has a crush!”

She immediately returns to her reading, dismissing him with a swift, “I wouldn't dare comment.”

He knows that in Lucienne’s talk, it means nothing but a resounding yes.

“Damn,” he mutters, thinking. “Daaaamn.” He pauses before asking, “Do you think they had a lover’s spat?”

She seems to mull over her response, her eyes stuck on the page, her lips thinning in consideration. Then, she slowly closes her book without making a noise and places it in her lap. She turns to him, and he starts feeling nervous. Solemnly, in a soft, confidential tone, she tells him:

“Our Lord has had some… unfortunate, if not downright tragic, forays into love before. It’s not the first time we’ve had such wretched weather. He will need our support in these times—not our gossip.”

“Yeah, yeah, I get it. No more questions. Damn. That dude must be something special to get the attention of Dream of the Endless, though, right? I kinda want to meet him. And pluck his eyeballs out if he’s responsible for this rain.”

She chuckles softly, readjusting her glasses with practiced ease.

“I would advise against it. You know the fate of the last denizen of the Dreaming who felt inclined to prey on dreamers’ eyes.”

“Ouch, yes, true. But if he hurt the boss? I’ll give it a shot.”

She smiles a patient, knowing smile at him, and he ruffles his feathers, all bravado and no thought. She shakes her head softly and resumes her reading. Matthew remains, climbing atop the back of the chair to sneak a read from behind her shoulder. As rays of the sun break through the clouds, they traverse the arched windows to fall on them. It is peaceful for a while.

And it remains so until the Dream Lord himself arrives in the library and announces:

“Lucienne, I will be leaving shortly.”

She raises her eyes in consideration, taking in his solemn demeanor, and suggests innocently:

“To the Waking, my Lord?”

He looks wistful, and both she and Matthew wait with bated breath for his answer.

“To Hell.”

“Again?!” Matthew caws indignantly.

And so the events continue to unfurl, as they did, until, finally, the time comes to visit the Waking. Their Lord has accomplished much in these last months. The Dreaming is now bursting at the seams with flowers, set in eternal spring.

“Lucienne,” he starts, and she nods, reading his intention in the slight awkwardness of his posture, the tentative happiness that struggles to rise from his stony expression.

“You’re going to the Waking,” she says, not asking.

A small smile graces his lips at last.

“Indeed. I count on you to watch over things in my absence. I should return in a day.”

“Of course, my Lord.” As he takes hold of his sand and prepares to leave, she adds, “Please do greet Hob Gadling from me.”

He stops, then slowly nods in her direction. They exchange a commiserative gaze, and then Dream disappears in a swirl of sand.

Lucienne goes back to her duties. She starts planning out the day. Some nightmares have been unruly, quite unsettled by the charming weather and the beautiful flowers, which they claim are detrimental to their “whole vibe.” The most recent nightmares had such interesting expressions, anchored in the Waking’s changing times. If only for this, it was good to see her Lord more connected to the Waking. In the past, she had feared for him whenever he left the realm—and if she still did, to some extent, worry—she considered it part of her job, for few beings knew him quite like she did. Now, she knew perhaps this wasn’t true anymore, and she felt warmth and relief at the knowledge. She had, of course, investigated the man, and, though some parts of his long life inspired disdain, he had most definitely changed over the years. His dedication to her Lord was evident through his actions and his dreams. She tried to avoid reading too much into them—it felt quite inappropriate.

Lucienne is about to leave the library and go about her duties for the day when, unexpectedly, sand rises back to where Dream had disappeared not long before. She frowns. It is abnormal for her Lord to return so soon after leaving. She braces herself for a storm. Something must have gone wrong.

She is proven correct when faced with a wide-eyed, terrible-looking Lord Morpheus: his appearance is disrupted, the pretense of humanity but an empty shell from which dark power oozes. His eyes have regained their natural state, galaxies swirling wildly in them.

“My Lord?”

“Lucienne. I need to look at Hob Gadling’s books.”

She’s usually quick on her feet, but the surprise halts her step, and Dream's voice thunders imperiously:

“Ñ̶̩̲͉̠͓̰̹̞̥̽͂͋́̄̅̍̊̈́̂͆̑̊̑ͅͅo̵͍̼̠̖̪̦̤̟̪͇̠͂̃̽͜͜ͅͅẇ̷̺̫̻̥̦͛̑̀̑̅̂́̈̇́̍̕̚.̷̩̰̜͍̯̯͉̗̀͑̄́̕.”

#Dreamling #hob x dream #hob x morpheus #dream of the endless #the sandman #morpheus #the sandman fanart #dreamling fanart

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tgmsunmontue · 11 months ago

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It's all academic darlin' PART 9/10

PART 1 PART 2 PART 3 PART 4 PART 5 PART 6 PART 7 PART 8

Part 7 and 8 are Explicit. And nothing else makes sense without the first six parts but you do you!

PART NINE

Jake goes through the next few minutes in a haze as he finishes the washing up and watches Bradley hug Admiral Kazansky good bye, telling him they’ll see him tomorrow. He’s told it was very nice to meet him and Jake returns the sentiment, meaning it wholeheartedly. Still difficult to think of the COMPACFLT as someone who makes amazing waffles and likes Star Wars, but he imagines he’ll get there. Bradley leans into his space, hooks fingers into the loops on his jeans and grins at him.

“So. You survived.”

“Yeah, he’s actually pretty cool.”

“Well yeah, he’s… he was the steady presence for me. The one I felt like I could always call up and get advice. Proper advice. Not Mav’s just do it attitude, deal with the consequences later approach… It works for him but I’ve always been a little more careful.”

“Risk averse?”

“Not really, but definitely always wanted to weigh things up before committing properly.”

Jake hums, because he’s wondering if he’s reading too much into that statement, that Bradley is saying something about not wanting to risk committing being with him. He doesn’t think so. It goes against everything Bradley has said and done in the last twenty-four hours but he can’t help the little niggle of doubt.

“So… He gave you permission to tell your friends.”

“You were listening huh?”

“Of course I was. Ice knows I always listen in. More difficult to do when he’s only using ASL though. He’d have used pen and paper if he really didn’t want me to know.”

“I’ll add it to my pile of stuff to learn…

“You’re going to learn ASL?”

“Well, I want to be able to understand whatever you guys are saying to each other. I mean, I thought this sign was pretty obvious,” he makes the two-handed gesture he had thought meant blowjob and Bradley snorts, rests his forehead on Jake’s shoulder and his laugh is gentle and quiet and he never wants this feeling of rightness to end.

“Oh no, that’s totally the sign for what you think it is. Blow job.”

“What?!”

“It was a comment I made months ago, when Mav was telling me about you. About how you disobeyed orders and saved his life…”

Jake can’t believe that Mav just talks about fucking top-secret missions. Obviously he’s assuming Bradley isn’t sharing it with anyone who doesn’t already know, but how the fuck has Admiral Kazansky not murdered Maverick yet?

“How the fuck does Kazansky say anything at home?”

“Well, he doesn’t,” Bradley says and Jake groans at the bad joke.

“Shut up! You know what I mean!”

Bradley laughs, shakes his head and shifts his hands from the belt loops to hook his hands behind Jake, pulling him close. He shoves his hands into the back pockets of Bradley’s jeans, needs somewhere to put them to stop feeling awkward.

“Anyway, Mav told me about you saving his life and I jokingly asked him if he’d wanted me to give you a thank you blow job. You know he kept sending me things to do at the cabin, like he was trying to make me stick around until you got there. He likes to think he’s sneaky but he’s like a sheet of glass.”

“So what, you’re with me because you’re grateful?”

“Nope. Don’t get me wrong, I am grateful, Mav is pretty fucking important to me. But I’m not with you because of that. You’re funny and intelligent and you aren’t intimidated by me or my career. That’s a pretty fucking amazing trifecta right there,” Bradley says, and he’s completely serious now, his eyes intent on Jake’s face like he really wants to press home how much he believes what he’s saying and Jake shifts uncomfortably, not used to being the subject of such an intense gaze.

“And then… and then, on top of that, my dad, Mav, already likes you. Tomorrow night he was going to try and set me up with you a third time. And Ice? He thinks you’re hilarious. That you’ll, and I quote, fit in with our crazy family without even trying, end quote. I’ve adlibbed a bit. Anyway, those are five things which I find are pretty important. I usually don’t have the Mav and Ice approval so early on… Jesus Jake. Do you have any idea how amazing I think you are?”

Jake swallows, throat tight and he shakes his head a little, because no, he didn’t think Bradley thought anything like that about him. Not like that.

“And then there are the sprinkles and cherry, which are you getting on with my friends, maybe a little too well to be honest. And all of this? Wrapped up in something that looks like you do… it’s like hitting the jackpot.”

“Oh.”

“Too much?”

“Maybe a little?” Jake says, unsure as he sucks in a shaky breath.

“Okay… so what did you want to do today? We’ve got all afternoon and all night…”

“Whatever will we do to entertain ourselves.”

“I’ve got some ideas.”

… … …

Bradley doesn’t know exactly where Jake’s insecurities come from, but the lack of him talking about his parents makes him wonder. Jake hasn’t said they were dead, only mentioned his brother and sister when they’d emailed about family. Jake is confident, cocky and a touch arrogant like every naval aviator Bradley has ever met. It hasn’t seemed to bleed into his relationships though, not if he’s never really had one. And maybe that’s the telling part. It’s okay, he can work with that. Finds himself willing to work with it, when Jake is just… leaving himself so open like this.

They make out against the kitchen bench for a little while, there’s no sense of urgency for him. Not when he’s had more orgasms in the last twenty-four hours than he’s had the entire week prior. Still, there’s a low buzzing thrum of arousal in his body and he’s pretty sure that it will just become his natural state when Jake is nearby. Another thing he’s willing to work with.

“So, are you going to tell them?” Bradley asks, because he’s insanely curious and part of him wants all of Mav’s usual machinations to be ruined just so he can see the look on his face for once.

“Who? Oh, the other Daggers coming tomorrow? Yeah. Probably. Think I’d like to introduce you to Javy if that’s okay?”

“Yeah, of course. Why wouldn’t it be? You met most of my friends last night.”

“Javy is my best friend.”

“Okay…?”

“He’s definitely going to want to meet you…”

“You want to have him around, cook dinner?”

“No. I don’t want to spend time cooking for them when I’m still getting to know you.”

“You’re secretly the sweetest, you know that?”

Jake looks embarrassed, doesn’t meet his eye and Bradley kisses him again, slow and gentle, tries to reassure with every press of his lips. Then Jake is pulling back, eyes wide and he’d be worried except Jake looks delighted.

“Oh my god… I can fuck with him. I can fuck with him so bad.”

“What? Who?”

“Javy… this is like a triple blind.”

“What do you mean?”

“He knows I’ve been emailing this professor. He probably isn’t picturing someone like you, when you think professor.”

Bradley’s takes that for the compliment he assumes is there somewhere, grins and nods encouragement.

“So I let him meet you, and he’s not going to expect you at all… then… do you have a photo album or something?”

“No, Mav’s got most of them. I’ve got a couple of pictures somewhere. What do you want exactly?”

“Picture of you and Mav…”

“Oh… what, you going to bring him back and introduce me and then just hope he stumble across a photo album picture of me and Mav?”

“Well, when you put it like that…”

“Nah, I think I can think of something. Put some on the fridge maybe? I’ve got a graduation photo as well somewhere. I hide it because Kezia gives me shit about how young I look.”

“Yeah… do you mind?”

Bradley grins and shakes his head, is pretty sure Jake is now feeling the same glee he had when he realized he could maybe get Mav.

“I’ve got to ring him, stupid asshole, trying to hide the fact that he’s in North Island…”

Bradley pulls away slightly, clearly isn’t allowed to go to far as Jake refuses to remove a hand from his back pocket, tugs him close as he presses call on his phone and waits for his friend to answer.

“Hey man, how’s it going?”

“Hey. I’m good. And I have a bone to pick with you. You’re in North Island.”

“How the fuck did you find that out? It was meant to be a surprise!”

“A little bird told me…” Jake looks at Bradley then and he laughs silently, little bird indeed. Standing so close he can hear everything, especially with how Jake is angling the phone.

“Who?”

“Not important. Anyway, I wanted to talk about something. You know that guy I was emailing?”

“Who? The professor guy?”

“Yeah. Him.”

“Ooohhh… you hot for teacher?”

“Yeah. I am actually.”

“Holy shit! Really? He’s not like old as fuck and walking around with a zimmer frame?”

“No, no zimmer frame in sight.”

Bradley laughs silently again, is a little horrified that maybe Jake at any stage thought that maybe Bradley was that old, but listens as Jake arranges to meet Javy for an early dinner in a few hours at one of the burger bars downtown. He hangs up and then kisses Bradley firmly.

“Man this is going to be fun. I see why the Admiral is so excited about tricking Mav now… and why Mav must enjoy doing it to people.”

“Do not encourage him. He doesn’t need encouragement okay?”

“Yeah yeah… okay. Fuck. I’m sorry. I should have checked. Are you okay with me going out to dinner?”

“Of course… I’m not your keeper or anything.”

“But we’ve only just… met. I don’t want you to think that he’s more important –”

“Jake. He’s your best friend. Has been your best friend for years. Someone who you also haven’t seen in over seven months I’m betting. He’s more important. I don’t mind at all.”

He really doesn’t, the fact that Jake had immediately wanted to arrange to see his best friend, even if he’s using the excuse to fuck with him, tells him more than Jake probably realizes. That’s he’s loyal, and places importance on his relationships in equal measure. It’s a good sign. He can’t handle being the only person in anyone’s life, learnt that one early on.

“Well, I know you have work to do. Don’t pretend you don’t… you were complaining about it in your last email.”

“Yeah, but you’re here…”

“I am here right now. And I’ll be back later. Consider it an incentive to get as much work done while I’m gone as you can…”

“Yeah okay, I’ve always been pretty focused with the right motivation…”

“Good to hear. You know what I want to do right now?” Jake asks, and both his hands are back on Bradley’s ass, gripping him through his pockets.

“What?” Bradley asks, letting himself grind up against Jake with clear interest.

“I want to fuck you.”

“You going to ask nicely?”

“Bradley, please, let me fuck you. I want to get my mouth on you, my fingers inside, stretch you open for my cock, then I want to fuck you and leave those marks all over your chest you asked for and want to see if you’ll beg me to touch your cock, or if you can come without that…”

“Yeah… that’s pretty nice…”

… … …

Jake leans down, latches his mouth on the sensitive nipples he’d discovered last night and sucks. Bradley’s cock jerks between them, a spurt of precum dripping from the head.

“How are you so hot?”

“Good genes…” Jake snorts, licks his way across Bradley’s chest.

“You sure about these marks? You know I’m not a horny teenager unable to control myself…”

“Channel your inner teenager, go to town okay? I want to look absolutely wrecked.”

“This better not fucking backfire…” Jake mutters, because while he’s not generally a guy that gets off on leaving marks, it isn’t exactly a hardship to suck at Bradley’s body when he responds so beautifully, because him enjoying it is something that will get him off.

“Trust me…”

Jake can’t believe it, but he does, he really does. He thrusts forward, not quite getting the leverage he’d usually have considering he’s trying to mark Bradley up as much as humanely possible with his mouth.

“You can leave more later, please, just fuck me… come on.”

“Okay.”

He lets himself focus on drawing back before snapping his hips forward, watching Bradley’s face carefully to gauge whether that’s okay. The way his eyes fall shut the same time his mouth gasps open he’s going to take it as a winner and he does it again again again, feeling his own orgasm coiling up in his gut. He can see a half-dozen bite marks starting to darken across Bradley’s chest and collar bone, feels an unexpected thrill. Inner teenager indeed.

Bradley isn’t making any move to touch himself and he wonders if he needs or wants Jake’s hand on him, whether he’s holding back for some reason Jake’s not aware of. Bradley’s hands are all over Jake’s body instead, running over his chest, down his arms, digging into his shoulders and he’s getting close, wants to touch Bradley now but also wants to know what exactly might tip him over the edge. He has a hunch. He adjusts slightly, mostly maintaining his pace and then he scrapes a blunt nail across Bradley’s left nipple and bloody fucking hell. He almost jackknives up and headbutts Jake in the face, though the loud whine he makes has Jake doing in again; ready this time for the entire-body jerk and he presses down with more force, captures Bradley’s mouth in a hard kiss.

Then he shifts again, sucks the same nipple into his mouth and yeah, Bradley’s coming, his voice making broken sounds that have Jake’s name mixed in and he licks one more time, savors the full body spasm that Bradley gives and then he fucks into him a few more times, watching Bradley as he lies almost catatonic beneath him, and Jake has never felt so fucking smug before in his life. Yeah. This is fucking amazing.

Later, post showers, music playing in the background, they sit on the sofa, Bradley reading through essays he’s marking, constantly muttering under his breath and Jake can’t help but smile to himself every time Bradley grumbles and taps away, clearly making comments. Jake’s replied to some emails and is now reading the manual for one of the aircraft he’s going to be asked to inspect as part of his interview for the test pilot position, and he feels quietly comfortable. He makes a few notes, wonders if he could ask Mav some questions and guesses he can likely ask Mav many things now.

He gets up and uses the bathroom, comes back through to the kitchen for a glass of water and sees there is already a new photo on the fridge and it’s Bradley as a toddler, with an incredibly young-looking Mav grinning at him. There’s a couple and he recognizes Nick Bradshaw from the Navy database photo. The woman must be Bradley’s mom. She has the same easy smile and a little part of him aches for the fact that he’ll never meet them but Bradley will never meet his own parents either so it doesn’t make him feel bad enough to dwell on it.

He’s a bit peckish so he raids the fridge and cupboards, prepares a plate of cheese and crackers along with some apple slices and grapes; things that can be eaten one handed. He brings it back to the sofa, kicks at Bradley’s feet and passes him a glass of water, leaning down to give him a kiss before going back to his reading.

“Thanks…”

“I’ve got a vested interest in making sure your energy levels stay up.”

“Yeah you do…”

They grin at each other but lapse back into doing their own thing.

… … …

He has no idea how he lost time so quickly, or how he quite got through so much marking. Definite motivation he guesses, glancing at Jake. At least that’s what he’s going to put it down to. Jake bringing him snacks has let him keep his momentum, rather than get distracted and it’s kind of nice to have someone else just showing that extra consideration. He hadn’t expected it and it makes him feel a little unprepared for just how easily Jake had just simply thought of him and what he might need.

“Hey, I’m going to go, I’ll see you in a bit okay? I’ll bring you back dessert…”

“Mmm… look forward to it.” Bradley says, deliberately misconstruing his meaning and running his eyes down Jake’s body meaningfully. Gets a playful shove in response and he laughs.

“I meant ice cream, but sure, you can have me too…”

“Wait, you want to take my car? And take the spare key.”

“Uh… what?”

“Take my spare keys. They’re on a hook behind the door. It’s not like I’m going anywhere. Then you don’t have to book a Lyft or be buzzed in, or knock on the door. That okay?”

“Yeah. Okay. Yeah.”

“Good.”

“That made my brain go offline…”

“More than the idea of me wanting to eat you for dessert? Clearly not doing a proper job of it.”

“Fuck Bradley…”

“Yeah, we’re pretty good at that…”

“Oh my god, stop already. I’ve got to get going,” Jake mutters, but he still looks pleased, and definitely less spooked than he did mere moments before. “I’ll stop in at the grocery store on my way back. I’m bringing Javy back to meet you remember? So don’t strip yourself naked and wait for me on the bed. Do more work and I’ll see you later. Don’t forget to eat something more than cheese and crackers. You need anything for these brownies we’re apparently taking tomorrow?”

“Oh. Dark chocolate. I like the idea of being naked and waiting for you in bed… we’ll have to explore that later.”

Jake grins, gives him another kiss, firmer this time and Bradley presses into it.

“I’ll pick up the chocolate.”

“Thanks. Enjoy dinner with Javy…”

“Will do.”

… … …

He walks into the bar and spots Javy easily. He hadn’t expected for them to be joined by Trace and Floyd but there they are, all chatting with each other and dressed in civvies, and he slides into the spare seat at the table, greets them all.

“You don’t seem surprised. Did the little bird tell you that they were here too?”

“Yep. Dinner tomorrow night.”

“Huh. I want to know who this birdy is… Mav?”

“He’s really shit at keeping secrets sometimes,” Jake provides, thinking about Mav’s whole secret relationship with the Admiral, but then not stopping to think about sharing mission critical information with Bradley. Or Jake’s own medical history. The fact that he hadn’t exactly told Jake that they were in town, and Bradley had just let him overhear is something he won’t ever be admitting to.

“How are you two?” Jake asks, because unlike Javy who he’s emailed a couple of times a week since they went on their first deployments in different directions, he doesn’t keep in regular contact with either of them, just the standard group chat that the Dagger Squad have which goes through peaks and troughs of communication. They talk about superficial things for a while, take in the ambience of the burger joint and place their order with the waitstaff.

“Any particular reason we’re eating so early?”

“I had a late breakfast so needed an early dinner.”

“A late breakfast huh? Were you busy in bed?” Javy asks, grinning and leaning back, knowing he’s just let the cat out amongst the pigeons and Jake doesn’t care, because he’s going to get them all and he’s going to enjoy every fucking minute. Phoenix and Bob both look between him and Javy, expressions only mildly interested.

“Yep. Sure was. Had someone special cook for me as well…”

“Jake’s been emailing this professor guy, getting all hot and bothered via email!”

“God, shut up…”

“I’m not saying anything untrue!”

“Well, we’re not emailing anymore, I met him yesterday. Properly,” he adds, thinking back to over ten months ago when he’d first met Bradley at the cabin.

“Yeah? What’s he like?”

“He’s great. He’s smart, and funny and understands being in the Navy pretty well for a civilian. We went rock climbing with his friends last night… I was going to ask if you wanted to meet him,” Jake says, looking at Javy, because he’ll know how significant that is. He’s never introduced anyone to Javy before.

“Oh holy shit. You’re serious?”

“Yeah. It’s pretty serious.”

“Wow…” Javy says and Jake’s pretty sure he’s at a loss for what to say.

“You got a picture or anything?”

“Uh, no…” He doesn’t want to say they’ve been a bit busy to take selfies, although he will definitely want some photos next time he’s away from Bradley. Fuck. Bradley’s going to need a better phone with a decent camera and Jake can’t trust him with that. They’re going to have to figure out something though.

“Look at that blush!”

“Too busy with other things huh?”

“Shut up. You want to meet him or not?”

“Hell yes! I’m picking if he’s into rock climbing he’s not in his eighties.”

“He’s a couple years older than me, and he can definitely keep up with me…” Jake says, and he realizes then that Bradley likely grew up training with Mav and being expected to go on runs with him and likes to exercise, rather than needing to do it as a requirement for his job like Jake needs to do.

“And I’m sure you’ve tested that out…”

“Yes, several times in fact,” Jake grins back, feeling pretty smug.

“That invitation to meet him open to all of us?” Phoenix asks and Jake shrugs, like he doesn’t care either way, knows if he plays it too keen they’ll get suspicious.

“Yeah, sure. Come and meet him. He already said he wants to meet Javy.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, he’s heard a lot about you…”

Javy’s eyebrow goes up at that, and Jake grins, because he’s referring to Bradley’s comment about Mav talking about all the Dagger Squad. Bradley’s likely to have an idea of each of them through whatever Maverick thinks of them, which is a little humbling because from what Bradley has implied Mav seems to think Jake is somehow someone worthy of his respect. And time. Someone he thinks is good enough for Bradley to be with, and he finds that to be a pretty huge commendation on what Mav thinks of him.

Their food arrives and he flicks a quick message to Bradley, no idea if he will even check it before Jake gets back to the apartment. Their conversation turns to work, talking about different aspects of training they’re each carrying out in different parts and he mentions he’s applied for the test pilot position at Fallon on Mav’s recommendation. Phoenix is taking an instructor role at Top Gun for the next two years, while Javy and Bob are slated to do training of new pilots at Pensacola for eighteen months. Jake doesn’t have any current orders, having only returned from a seven-month deployment at sea, but he’s hoping he’s at least going to be land-bound for the next little while even if he doesn’t get the test pilot position.

“Okay, I need to go to the grocery store on the way back. I’m just getting some ice cream and chocolate. I’ll meet you guys outside the apartment building,” Jake says, giving them the address and watching them all plug it into the map app on their phones.

“Can you get Moose Tracks?”

“Who said the ice cream was for you?”

“You mean you’re getting ice cream and chocolate and not going to share it with us?”

“The chocolate is for the brownies we’re making for dinner tomorrow, not for eating.”

“Just buy more chocolate.”

“Wait. Is he coming to dinner tomorrow night?”

Jake freezes, and shakes his head, thinks frantically.

“Uh no, of course not. I’m just bringing some brownies for tomorrow. Bradley’s a really good cook…”

“I was going to say, inviting the guy to Mav’s for dinner seems a little rude.”

Jake laughs, wonders if they can here how crazy he’s feeling. This subterfuge shit is harder than he thought. God he needs to get back to the apartment.

“I’ll see you guys there! Bye!”

… … …

They’re waiting for him outside and he’s glad he didn’t tell them the apartment number. Wouldn’t have put it past them to buzz Bradley and ambush him before Jake got back. Javy is looking at the keys in his hand with a raised eyebrow and Jake simply makes a what would you have me do face. He’s aware he’s falling hard and fast, but he also feels like Bradley’s a giant safety net ready to catch him. He opens the apartment door, trying to be a little noisy to give Bradley some warning, because his five phone messages have all gone unanswered and he wonders if it’s finally death-knell time for his current phone. For all he knows ten months might be a personal record.

“Hi…” Bradley says, appearing in the doorway to the hall and he’s clearly had a shower and changed, no longer wearing the tank and sweats he’d lounged around in most of the day. Instead he’s in jeans and a dark blue Henley, looking all sorts of delectable and Jake gives him an approving smirk and gets an eyeroll back in return, it’s accompanied with a grin though and yeah, he’s falling and falling, doesn’t want to stop.

“Hey. Uh. These two were there as well.”

“Okay,” Bradley says, walking over and holding out a hand to shake, starting with Javy and he bites back a comment about making Mav proud with his manners.

“Bradley, this is Javy Machado, Natasha Trace and Bob Floyd. Javy, Natasha and Bob, this is Bradley Bradshaw.”

“Hey man, nice to meet you,” Javy says, shaking Bradley’s hand, and he’s definitely scrutinizing Bradley for asshole vibes and Jake can’t help but feel a deep swell of appreciation for his best friend. Yeah. He’s got his back. Bradley is shaking Natasha and Bob’s hands and then reaching for the grocery bag.

“Let me take that and put it in the freezer… Wow. Did we really need four different flavors of ice cream?”

“Well, I don’t know your favorite, so I got vanilla and chocolate, and then she wanted the Moose Tracks,” Jake says, pointing at Phoenix who looks suitably annoyed at being thrown under the proverbial bus. “And when I’m already getting three tubs of ice cream I figured I might as well round it out with strawberry. And I got fudge sauce…”

“Fair argument. I prefer vanilla with fudge sauce, so top marks…” Bradley says, throwing him a wink and Jake flushes, because he knows Javy is going to take that as some sex role-play thing when it’s not, just a reference to their conversation yesterday. Fuck. Was it only yesterday?

“Make yourselves at home, does anyone want tea or coffee? Bowls of ice cream? Or are we all wanting to forgo bowls and just eat directly from the tubs and enter sugar highs side-by-side?”

He walks towards the kitchen and Phoenix and Bob follow him and he lets Javy tug him to the side a little.

“He is not what I imagined.”

“Nope. Pretty fucking hot right?”

“I mean… I guess? I’m more impressed with the way he looks at you like he’d give you the world if you asked for it. I was worried that you were gone on this guy, but he seems pretty gone on you too, so… that’s good. You deserve a guy that wants to do everything for you.”

Jake nods sharply, because he gets that. In theory. It’s nice to hear, even if hearing and feeling it so much in the last day has felt overwhelming, even if it has been positive. He glances up and Javy is looking at him like he understands, gives Jake a quick hug before heading to the kitchen to join the other two in getting ice cream. He glances around the living room and sees two new photo frames, Bradley’s graduation photo with Maverick set at about eye-level, and another frame set at about knee height, where the Admiral is in uniform with Bradley standing beside him, so there’s definitely no mistaking him and he grins.

“Are you sure we haven’t met, you just look really familiar,” Phoenix is saying, like she’s trying to place him and Jake hides his grin. Wonders if Bradley knows Mav has a photo of him on his desk. An old photo, but still a photo.

“Maybe I just have one of those faces?” Bradley suggests, catching Jake’s eye.

They’ve clearly decided to start in on the ice cream, digging in and serving themselves up and using bowls; the kitchen isn’t big enough for five people, so he reaches to give Bradley a kiss across the counter and Bradley obliges by meeting him halfway. It feels so easy and the rollercoaster ride does a loop-de-loop again.

“Jesus Bagman, did you become a vampire while you were deployed?”

Jake looks to see what she’s talking about and Bradley’s Henley has pulled slightly, caught between the counter and his body as he stretched across to kiss him; revealing the highest of the marks Jake left and another a little lower. Bradley pulls back, tugging the Henley back into place and shrugs, clearly not embarrassed at all so Jake decides to follow his lead and just smirks at her eyeroll. Bob has headed out to inspect the bookshelves and Jake can feel the anticipation growing.

“So, what do you do Bradley?”

“I’m an engineer. A problem solver.”

“Well, good thing you’re with the biggest problem we have then.”

“Hey!” Jake objects, but they’re all laughing at him and he rolls his eyes, flicks them the middle finger, but Bradley is wrapping his arms around Jake’s waist and kissing his shoulder.

“If you’re a problem then it’s the kind of problem I like to have…”

The look Javy gives him is flat, like he thinks Jake is maybe an idiot for thinking that Bradley is somehow not into him. Or maybe Javy is the idiot, because there is no way that Jake is letting this go.

“Hey Phoenix, do you mind putting the ice-cream back in the chiller?”

She lets out a put-upon sigh but does it with a mouthful of ice cream, spoon hanging out of her mouth and Jake waits, watches as she opens and then closes the door, her eyes catching the photo. She’s generally more observant than Javy so he’s hoping she’ll get the ball rolling, or Bob will see the photos on the bookshelves first.

“Is this… Who are these people in this photo?”

“My parents and godfather…” Bradley says. “And me as a kid obviously. My dad died not long after that photo was taken actually.”

“Oh… I’m sorry,” Phoenix says, looking uncomfortable and Jake wonders if that’s going to derail everything, but Javy is now looking as well, then glancing at Bradley.

“Thanks. It’s fine. Was a long time ago now obviously. My godfather really stepped up and helped my mom raise me. She passed over twenty years ago though, so that’s one of my few family photos.” Jake hadn’t really put all that together and he wonders where Bradey usually keeps it.

“I’m sorry, I just have to ask, what’s your godfathers name?”

“Pete.”

“Peter Mitchell. Maverick,” Javy states, looks to Bradley for confirmation and he gives a nod. Jake grins, pretty impressed Javy put I together the fastest. “Plus you have a moustache that belongs in a porno from the 80s…” Javy adds and Bradley’s eyebrows shoot up, he looks to Jake and Jake coughs, his ice cream catching in his throat with an aborted laugh. He’d forgotten he’d said that.

“Holy shit, you’re Mav’s son. He has your photo on his desk,” Phoenix says. “That’s why you looked familiar!”

“Guilty as charged. Don’t hold it against me. Jake wanted to have a little fun…”

“Hey! Don’t blame this on me!”

“It was you going on about a triple blind…”

“What are you guys talking about?” Bob asks, coming back to stand in the kitchen and he’s looking between them all and he wonders if he heard the conversation.

“Bradley here is Mav’s son.”

“Oh. Huh. That explains the photo of him on the bookcase. I was going to ask how you knew him.”

“You must know Mav’s partner. Oh my god! You almost slipped up and told us he was coming to dinner tomorrow, because of course he’s coming to dinner tomorrow. At least you don’t have to worry about introducing the boyfriend to Mav!” Phoenix says, laughing and Jake shrugs, because she has a point. Not that he’d ever really thought about seeking Mav’s approval for that part of his life.

“Wait, so you’ve already met Mav’s partner? It’s a guy right? That’s the big secret right? What with DADT and everything…”

“That was definitely part of it… but uh…” He stops, feels unsure suddenly, because even though Admiral Kazansky gave him explicit permission, and Jake clarified, that he’s expecting Jake to tell them, so Mav can’t ambush them with the same information tomorrow he realizes the amount of trust he’s been given.

“His partner’s also in the Navy. I met him this morning.”

“Is it Cyclone?”

“Idiot! He’s met Cyclone. Will we know them?”

“Yes. And its going to fuck you all up so much…”

“You’re enjoying this way too much,” Javy mutters.

“He told me to call him Tom and made me waffles this morning, and I’m still processing it okay? I just want to make you all freak out like I did…”

“Can’t you just tell us?” Phoenix asks, looks at Bradley and he shakes his head. Jake blinks. He just said his first name. What the fuck?

“Nope. Jake made me put clues out and everything. Pretty sure you can figure it out. And you’re right, it’s not Beau.”

“Did you just call Admiral Simpson by his first name?”

Jake snorts, lets out a little laugh and catches Bradley’s eye, clearly amused.

“I call most of them by their first names. Some of them I’ll call uncle… And I’m just a civilian remember.”

“Holy shit,” Bob says, voice quiet and Jake looks to see what he’s looking at.

Sure enough he’s finally noticed the picture of Bradley and Admiral Kazansky, sitting the perfect height to be noticed if you’re sitting down, but not if you’re standing.

“Admiral Tom Kasansky.”

“Bullshit,” Javy says, emphatic and Jake just smirks, knows he’s got a couple more bullshits to get through before he starts to accept it.

“Are you… you’re… holy shit. You’re serious.,” Bob says, looking between Jake and Bradley and then back to the photo.

“Yep,” Jake says, popping another spoon of ice cream in his mouth.

“Is he telling the truth? I mean, anyone can doctor photos now…” Phoenix says, and again she’s skipping over him to talk directly with Bradley.

“All true. I mean, I call him Ice because I grew up calling him that.”

Javy makes a high pitched sound that Jake will take as something equal to a second bullshit.

“Anyway, he wanted to meet Jake without the whole formal dinner thing. So he came around and made waffles.”

“Bullshit. No fucking way did the COMPACFLT make fucking waffles!”

“He did, and he is telling the truth,” Bradley says, starting to look a little worried that Javy seems to be freaking out. Jake moves an arm to wrap around his waist, gives him a quick wink to try and convey that everything is okay and it seems to relax him.

“Wait… you seriously met Admiral Kazansky this morning?”

“Tom,” Jake provides, ignoring the immediate sense of wrongness at the name, but he’s going for shock value.

“Bullshit…” Javy says again, but it’s quieter now, and Jake can tell he's processed the worst of it.

“Nope. He told me to call him Tom.”

“I need a fucking drink.”

“I can help with that,” Bradley says.

PART TEN

#Hangster #Top Gun Maverick fanfiction #Sereshaw #rooster x hangman #It's all academic darlin'

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imthejudge · 1 year ago

Text

make sense of me

Warren Graham x Nathan Prescott

Chapter Seven Word Count: 8,257

Chapter Six

Tags: fluff, hurt/comfort

Read on Archive

https://archiveofourown.org/works/41111322/chapters/120710245

Chapter Seven: improve

The following morning comes all too soon, the night having gone by in a blur. Such as it goes. Warren wakes up feeling… strange. Knowing it’s his last day stuck in the 80s before attempting to travel back home. This uneasiness knotted in his stomach doesn’t come from the anticipation or worry over the feat. Not entirely. It comes from the fact that he can’t convince Nathan to come back with him. And having run out of time to do so.

If only he’d known earlier. Or if there was some way of discovering this before they’d travelled. Before the storm, before the fight in the parking lot, before everything. What he would give to go back, all the way back. Before Jefferson ever got anywhere close to Nathan and the others.

Warren certainly considered it. The temptation to turn the dial to a date before anything happened. But he knows it’s too big of a risk, not being able to voice the idea to Nathan, who he’s sure probably thought of it himself. Both refusing to bring it up, like an unspoken agreement that it wasn’t a possibility, as much as it hurt to admit.

Messing with time, well. It's dangerous. Warren doesn’t even want to dive too deeply into their current circumstance. His mind likely to explode from trying to wrap his head around what being in 1983 might’ve contributed to the future already. To try to ‘fix’ what transpired before the events of he and Nathan’s present in 2013? Warren doesn’t need to go through loop after loop trying to change the future. It’s chaos theory, you know, the butterfly effect and all. Living through the attempt would likely cause them more pain than actual help. And as selfish as it sounds, Warren doesn’t want to put him or Nathan through that. The choices they might have to make… the consequences with them.

So it’s with a dreadful acceptance that Warren starts his day, wanting to push it all far from his mind. But, despite it all, there’s that little, tiny, bit of hope that still lingers. That perhaps it’s not too late yet. That Nathan can be swayed, and that’s what keeps him going. It’s enough motivation to plaster a somewhat acceptable–and at the very least neutral–expression on his face when he and Nathan meet up with Lou at the Two Whales for an early start on their last day.

But even Joyce’s prized smile and his favourite order of Belgium waffles can’t raise his spirits, only managing a couple mouthfuls before he begins aimlessly poking at it with his fork, gaze downcast.

“Uhh, I don’t think so. Warren’ll be the deciding factor.” Warren drifts back to the conversation at the mention of his name, focusing on Lou and Nathan as they eye each other competitively. “You don’t think he’ll agree with me?” Lou feigns a look of despair, shaking her head solemnly. “Sweet, unaware Nathan.” She takes a long sip of the chocolate milkshake she has in front of her.

“What’re we talking about?” Warren looks between the two of them, completely lost.

“Your friend over here thinks strawberry is the superior milkshake flavour,” Lou throws a thumb Nathan’s way with an expression like he’d just tried to convince her that the sun revolves around the earth.

“Yeah, cause it is.” Nathan crosses his arms and narrows his eyes, the expression so strikingly reminiscent of the version of Nathan Warren recalls before everything that it sends a chill along his spine.

The feeling only deepens when he clues into the fact that he’s going to have to agree with Lou, and therefore disagree with Nathan. “Err, chocolate all the way, man… sorry.”

Nathan tears his eyes away from Lou to squint them further, disgust curling his lip. Arms still crossed, he gives Warren a quick once over. “This explains so much.”

Warren has to stop himself from bursting out laughing and he can see Nathan’s expression has lessened somewhat, too, allowing himself the slightest quirk of his lips. Lou looks between them, shaking her head disapprovingly before she turns away from them and absentmindedly stirs her shake with her straw, “I don’t know what you guys think is so funny, this is a serious matter.” But amusement flashes in her eyes when she flickers them back to the boys’ direction. “But onto actual serious matters, we’ve yet to figure out a way to divert the energy from the lightning strike to Warren’s car. Which, if we don’t do, then all our work will practically be for nothing.”

Warren considers this. He had the idea of potentially finding a metal wire that they could lead from the source of impact–right on the bald head from the statue centering main campus–to where they’d situate his car.

When he shares his idea, Lou nods thoughtfully. “It’s risky, but probably the best option we have as the point of impact is so awkward. We’re lucky it’ll be late in the day, but I’m afraid that as much as that means there won't be any students around to witness us doing this, there is going to be campus security lingering about. And I have a feeling that messing around with the statue of Jeremiah Blackwell in the very middle of campus is going to be like lighting a beacon for them.”

“We’ll just have to be extra careful, then.” Warren states, not wanting to dwell on all the things that could potentially go wrong with their plan.

“I agree,” Lou blinks, fixing her gaze somewhere past Warren, no doubt already going over details in her head. A silence grows, the two of them determinedly lost in thought.

“I need to piss.” Nathan announces spontaneously and tonelessly, straightening up from his seat so fast Warren almost jumps.

As he walks off to the direction of the bathroom Lou shakes her head, an air of amusement still about her. “He’s a strange one.”

“Yeah,” Warren agrees lowly, though not being able to help the little bit of endearment that seeps into the response.

“Are you excited to go back?”

Warren looks up at her from his slumped position, having held his head in both his hands as his elbows rested against the booth table. She’s gazing at him expectedly, her smile replaced by genuine inquiry and a hint of something that Warren can’t quite pin. Though, it reminds him of how his mom would sometimes prod him back home when she was worried over him.

To the future, she means. He hesitates. “Yeah.” No. The instant contradiction of the voice in his head comes as a surprise, almost like he’d been avoiding actually asking that question internally so he’d never fully admit it to himself.

She’s unconvinced, Warren can tell by the way her brows knit together. But she doesn’t say anything more since Nathan’s walking back towards their booth and throwing himself across from Warren once more. They get the bill, which Lou pays without discussion, then they’re leaving the comfortable coziness of the diner to brace for the contrast of the brisk fall air outside.

“Shotgun.” Nathan bumps Warren’s shoulder as they head back to Lou’s car. Warren rolls his eyes, letting Nathan beeline it to the passengers seat while he bends down to tie his shoelace that’s come undone. But instead of witnessing Nathan launching himself in the front seat like he expects once he’s finished, Nathan’s still waiting beside the car door. “Hey nerd, you good?” Nathan asks once Warren catches up.

“Huh? Oh. Yeah.” Warren drops his gaze, hand reaching out for the backseat door handle. Pausing, he lets go of it to set his gaze back on Nathan. “Actually, no. Not really. I can’t stand the idea of going back to the future without you.”

Shock registers on Nathan’s face momentarily as he stares back. A beat passes between them, where that shock morphs into something else, something Warren can’t decipher and just as Nathan opens his mouth to speak Lou pops her head out of the driver's side window to peer over at them inquisitively, “everything okay? You guys coming?”

They don’t say anything. Then Nathan drops his eyes as he turns away, opening the passenger side door to duck inside. “Yeah…” Warren eventually answers once he’s inside the car, too. “Let’s go.”

They end up splitting off from Nathan, who goes back to the dormitories to shower, while Warren and Lou continue back to the school labs for what is likely their last time. Warren finds himself hung up over all these ‘last times’. The last time he’d see the Two Whales in its prime. The last time he’d sleep in Lou’s dorm room. The last time he’ll routinely work on the reactor with the best lab partner he could ever ask for.

The last time he’ll see Nathan.

The hardest one to accept of all.

Nathan. Who has, against all odds, become his friend in the end. There is a twinge of something in his chest. Somehow the term ‘friend’ just didn’t feel adequate enough. It’s a gut-wrenching feeling, really, since it’s accompanied by the realization that if he would try to define it further, it would only hurt more. Because whatever it is that developed between them will be staying right here. Stuck in 1983. Forever.

So Warren doesn’t want to dwell on the thought, no–he outright refuses to think about it further.

But as much as he tries to push it all away Warren has a difficult time concentrating when Lou and him tackle what’s left with fixing the reactor. He finds himself struggling to focus his full attention throughout that morning. Even going as far as zoning out while working on it, sometimes–much to his embarrassment–during crucial conversations with Lou.

The saint that she is, Lou didn’t lose her patience when he’d ask her to repeat something, or when he–not once, but twice–dropped the pair of pliers he brandished when aiding her in lining the interior walls with the last of the new material.

Continuing to fumble into the afternoon, Warren adds it all up to his concern. His mind wholly and inexplicably taken up by a single thing. Nathan . But it isn’t just about his consistent worry over the fact that Nathan said he wouldn’t go back with him, leaving him behind. No, it was just simply…Nathan.

His presence, his attention. That smirk he’d point at Warren when he’d try to provoke him. His eyes, his hands, his hair. The jacket he gave to Warren so that he can breathe him in at all times. Notes of all the different scents that could vaguely be described as who Nathan is, but aren’t close enough to commit to. So Warren doesn’t bother discerning them. He just knows he can’t live without it anymore.

How–as much as Warren has been avoiding thinking about last night–something shifted between them. Something that could be traced right back to the very moment that Warren entrusted letting Nathan carry the reactor in his hands. The trust Warren hadn’t realized he had put in him then, somehow further solidified after last night. Because that was the exact moment Nathan decided to return that trust.

And it’s cruel, really, to have shared such a vulnerable moment together only for the repercussions to become as fragile as paper that he will have to shred to pieces in order to go back home. Repercussions that are, simply put, how Warren has never become so enthralled with another human being before. Completely and utterly invested in Nathan.

And just when Warren starts to wonder when Nathan will show up, the door to the lab opens as the very person saunters in, immediately sweeping his half lidded and dark-circled eyes to meet with Warren’s. And for the third time that day Warren lets the pliers fall from his grasp, the disruptive sound of metal hitting the floor ringing around the space of the lab.

Warren instantly darts to pick them back up, embarrassed, his lab coat crinkling noisily as he does so and further cementing his humiliation.

“Hey,” Nathan nods his head to Warren.

“H-hi,” Warren stutters out in response. What the fuck was that?! A judgy voice that sounds way too similar to Nathan berates internally. Warren can sense himself turning red–from embarrassment, definitely from embarrassment–and swivels on the spot he’s standing to focus his attention back to the reactor Lou’s still busy with.

“Hey, Nate,” she calls to him with a small wave of her hand. And then he’s rounding the lab bench to walk into Warren’s direct line of sight again, precisely the opposite of Warren’s intentions when originally turning away.

But he’s there. And Warren has no choice but to witness in silent horror as he crosses his arms and begins pulling his sweater–Warren’s sweater–up and over his head, exposing the skin of his back as the shirt he wears underneath rides up with the motion. Warren’s drawn to the spot, until his shirt falls back in place, almost hanging off of him, really, and Warren tunes in that it’s the Grease shirt he himself had been using as a pyjama shirt.

Warren’s eyes widen. He doesn’t know why he’s so taken aback by the image. It’s not his shirt. It’s Lou’s. And yet he continues aiming his dumbfound reaction with increasing obviousness at Nathan as if this second layer of clothing that Warren has worn himself is somehow scandalous.

Quickly fixing his face, Warren sends what he hopes isn’t a super noticeable side-eye at Lou who’s stationed across from him on the other side of the bench. She’s still transfixed by her work, to which Warren wastes no time shifting his attention back to Nathan. His hair is still a little wet from his shower, reminding Warren of how it had looked the day they’d first travelled here. The natural texture of his dirty blonde hair starting to come through as it dries. Some droplets that cling to the ends threatening to let go, and when they do they prove to be just as distracting as how they’d been on that first day after stepping out of the storm.

Nathan looks really good.

Warren tears his gaze away, pretending to be busy with a couple of tools that are laid out on the lab bench in front of him.

Nathan’s always looked good, though. He’s always been attractive, objectively so. Warren’s always known that. He supposes that’s what makes a popular guy like Nathan so popular… right? Is Nathan even popular? Warren assumes. Because he’s part of the football team and knows sooo many people. Not to mention his involvement with the Vortex Club, and whatever exclusive club within that club he’s a part of. So it’s easy to conclude how that, along with his obvious looks, makes him desired.

Okay, cool. So why is Warren so hung up on it? Yup. That’s Nathan Prescott. He’s also kind’ve an asshole. But not as much of an asshole as originally presumed. They’ve moved past that, and with all the acquired context, Nathan has turned out to be a completely different person from what Warren initially assumed. Therefore all of this factors as a reasonable enough consequence to Warren being internally occupied over the subject matter that is Nathan Prescott.

But, like, he looks sooooo gooood.

Warren lifts his gaze again, settling on Nathan across from him, now loitering on the lab bench adjacent to the one Warren and Lou work at. He’s always had those pronounced cheekbones, sure, but since when did Warren start paying so much attention to his neck–

“...did you want to take a break?” Lou leans into Warren’s frame of view.

“Huh?” He blinks, focusing on Lou’s tilted head across from him.

She quirks an eyebrow, looking over her shoulder at Nathan, then back at Warren with a slightly amused expression. “We’ve been going nonstop, it’s okay if you want to take a break and hang out with your friend for a bit. I can take over.”

“Oh, n–no, it's fine. Today’s the last day, we should take advantage of every minute.”

“There won’t be any point if your brain is too fried, Warren.” Warren gawks at her, feeling the heat rise to his cheeks. Is it that obvious? “You’ve been working too hard, taking breaks is important, too. We’re basically done, anyways. All that’s left is reattaching the door,” Lou clarifies.

“Ah, right,” Warren only reddens further. “I mean–are you sure? Because I can focus, I swear.”

She rolls her eyes, motioning Nathan’s way with her head. “Go on.”

“So where are we going?”

Warren pushes open the door of the main school entrance, holding it for Nathan and craning his neck to look over his shoulder at him. After triple checking it was okay with Lou to take a break–who insisted–and quickly shedding his lab coat, the two of them were on their way out. “I told you, I just wanted to take a break. And I’m hungry. We’ve been at it since this morning.”

“We driving?”

“Yeah,” Warren steers them in the direction of the parking lot, hyper aware of the fact that this is the first time it’s only the two of them since last night, if he’s not counting the very brief morning they shared before meeting up with Lou. Which he isn’t.

Silently, they walk across campus until descending the few steps into the parking lot. “Can I drive?”

Warren comes to a halt in front of his car, his eyebrows raised in surprise when he looks at Nathan, “Uh, sure, yeah.” He lightly tosses the keys he already brandishes in his hands, Nathan catching them effortlessly.

“Where to?” Nathan looks at him expectantly once they’re sat inside.

“Well, I felt bad extorting Lou of any more money sooooo...” Warren twists himself in an awkward position so he can get to the wallet in his jeans pocket, fighting against the seat belt he’s already fastened. “I still have, like, twelve bucks left and was thinking we’d pick up some sandwiches from the gas station?” Nathan’s gaze drops to the few crinked bills in Warren’s hand. “Um, I mean, if that’s okay with you,” he adds.

“E-Z Gas it is,” Nathan confirms as he starts the car and begins shuffling around to rearrange it to his liking. Then he’s pressing random buttons that even Warren isn’t familiar with, the irrational fear that his Chevy might explode causing him to latch onto Nathan’s arm to stop him.

Nathan doesn’t react, but Warren jolts and releases his hold a second later, the motion having been instinctive. “What are you trying to do?”

“This thing have any music?”

Warren flips it over to the CD that he has in. It’s a mixtape he’d made himself featuring a bunch of his favourite artists–ironically from the 80s–that he had the intention of lending to Max. He never ended up mustering up enough courage to do so, with how intimidating her music taste is. Giving her a thumbdrive full of cult classic films seemed an easier bet, especially since she’d expressed an interest after that one time they’d nerded out over just about everything they’d ever watched for 4 hours straight.

Nathan rifles through the mixtape, one hand on the steering wheel as he maneuvers onto the street, the windows already down due to a brightly shining sun that’s had the afternoon to turn the interior of the car into a sauna. Warren welcomes the cool breeze that flows in, enjoying the sensation of the sun against his face that he knows is fleeting with the storm bound to roll in later that day.

The sporadic sound of the first few seconds of a variety of songs abruptly stops when Nathan backtracks to one he likes. The familiar upbeat synth tempo of Take on Me by a-ha blasts through the dinky speakers of Warren’s Chevy and flows out of the windows when Nathan dials up the volume.

Talking away I don’t know what I’m to say I’ll say it anyway Today’s another day to find you Shying away I’ll be coming for your love, okay

Warren almost thinks it’s a joke, trying to read Nathan for any indication that he’s mocking Warren’s choice in music. But he can’t find anything to suggest he is, instead all he sees is how he leans back, one arm draped over the steering wheel. His hair all over the place from the wind in a way that Warren could never replicate himself because it just looks so cool. Almost reminiscent of a frontman to a band of the current century they’re stuck in.

But most surprising of all is his expression. No ounce of fear nor furrow to mark his usual scrutiny. And even with the consistency having faded in the last couple of days, Warren doesn’t think he’s ever seen Nathan this at ease.

So, needless to say I’m odds and ends But I’ll be stumbling away Slowly learning that life is okay Say after me ‘It’s no better to be safe than sorry’

He doesn’t know what to make of it, doesn’t want to think too deeply that this is the manifestation of his acceptance to stay. And Warren doesn’t know if he’s hurt more by the fact that Nathan is likely experiencing this sense of freedom for the first time in a long time or that he’s already so readily accepted a life where he’ll never see Warren again.

Or, perhaps, Nathan is simply enjoying a single moment of uninterrupted bliss. Something that Warren is quick to want to join in on. The comfort of listening to a favourite song while driving with the windows down. The laziness of the sun hitting the skin of his arm as he props it up on the window. The current company they share. As if for a second they can hold onto a life that sounds so much more promising than the one offered. Like there is a better end to the story they’re getting.

“Oh, things that you say Is it a life or just to play my worries away You’re all the things I’ve got to remember You’re shying away I’ll be coming for you anyway”

Warren didn’t realize how he’d started to sing along, lowly, but he’s not alone. He sees Nathan’s lips move along with the words. And before they know it, Nathan’s turned it up even louder and the two of them are shouting alongside each other. Hitting the high notes as a duet, both out of tune but neither of them bothered enough to care because their chests hurt too much from belting it out.

“Takeeeeeee on meeeeeee,

Take. On. Me.

Takeeeeee meeee onnnnn!

TAKE ON ME.

I’LLLLL BEEEEE GONEEEEEE

IN A DAY OR,

TWOOOOOOOOOOOO!”

They’re both breathing heavily when the song finishes, the silence filled by the rapid intake of air for only a second before they exchange a look of understanding and Nathan presses the back button on the radio console to start the song over again.

Warren almost urges Nathan to forget the gas station and tell him to just keep driving. For another couple of replays of the song? For the rest of the evening? Forever? He doesn’t know, but he doesn’t want it to end. The hunger in his stomach protests to the idea, so when the same E-Z Gas station they’d visited to get the frozen peas comes into view, it’s with much reluctance that Warren brings up a hand to turn the volume dial down.

They park and go in to grab their sandwiches and some bottles of Coca-Cola, this time passing on the peas. When they return to the car with their stuff, they unsheath their sandwiches from the red and white checkered paper they’re wrapped in and scarf them down sitting on the hood of the car in silence. Leisurely, they sip on their drinks until there’s nothing left to preoccupy themselves with.

After a minute or so passes without breaking the silence, Nathan slips off the hood of the car. Warren has to suppress the panic that rises from within him when he does this, brought back to the last time he’d done the same maneuver. But Nathan’s not running off, no hint of frustration surrounding him like last time.

Warren watches as he, instead, makes his way to the backseat to pull his sweater back on then come back around to where Warren still sits on the hood. Nathan shoves his hands in his pockets, fixing Warren with his stare, “let's walk to the beach.”

Before Warren can respond, his body answers for him and he’s jumped off. “Okay.”

The steady sound of the waves crashing on the beach can be heard before the trees open up from where they walk to reveal the expanse of sand. There’s an ethereal look of sunlight behind dark clouds that threaten to rain, casting everything in a weird lighting that almost looks artificially improved. Warren’s acutely aware of the beginnings of the storm that is bound to hit Arcadia Bay soon enough and bring them the lightning bolt to take them home. Him home.

They take their time walking toward the water, their steps awkward from the uneven sand. Warren had been hoping for a chance when it would just be the two of them again, trying to gather the courage to say something that’s been on his mind ever since Nathan told him about everything that happened.

He suddenly stops, looking up from his feet and telling himself now is as good a time as any. “Hey, um. I’m gunna try and stop him, you know.”

Nathan stops, too, only a couple of feet from where the tide reaches. He wears a confused expression when he looks back at Warren.

“Jefferson, I mean. I know you’re going to tell me not to because it will be dangerous but I can’t let him get away with everything he’s done to those people–and to you–it’s not… it’s not right. I’m going to expose him, he’ll be caught for what he did.” It was true, it had been a consistent thought throughout Warren’s mind. Jefferson can’t get away with it. And Warren will do everything in his power to stop him. “My friend’s mom is a lawyer, so that will probably help. And I’ll obviously be super careful, I won’t get involved but I’ll talk to the right people who can investigate it. We’ll find that Darkroom you mentioned and–and he won’t be able to hurt anyone ever again.”

Warren’s wringing his hands together nervously. Nathan isn’t facing him anymore, not saying anything as the silence begins to stretch out. Warren’s worried he’s breached the already delicate subject. Almost wonders if Nathan might turn to him in anger or pretend he has no idea what Warren is talking about. To discredit everything from last night due to regret in his state of vulnerability, as if to say it were a mere fever dream Warren conjured up.

Without facing Warren, but instead with his body angled away to face the beach, his gaze distant, he says something in such a low voice that Warren almost misses it, so close to being lost to the waves that crash on the shore. “I never thought there would be anyone who believed me.”

It takes a second for the words to reach Warren, for him to fully understand the weight behind them. Said so quietly, so calmly as if it lessened their severity. But it’s devastating to hear, remembering how distressed Nathan had been when he found him the previous night. Wild eyed and frantic and so scared in his confession to Warren.

Nathan finally turns himself to Warren, his expression taut as though he’s calculating everything Warren just said. “I don’t even need to ask you if you mean it. ‘Cause I think I already know you do.”

“I do. I mean every word of it.” Warren has to try to keep his voice from wavering from the sudden sense of overwhelming emotion that overtakes him. Of course he’d meant every word. Nathan deserves that. And Warren tries not to think how it will sort of feel like avenging him. Because even if Jefferson goes down, he will have succeeded in bringing Nathan down with him, as far as he knows.

“I know.” Nathan repeats, offering a small smile that’s quick to slip away again.

They watch the waves for a little while, Warren finding a strange comfort in the way it steadily lulls and crashes onto the bank. The water darkening the sand as it soaks in, before fading away.

“I’ve… actually been thinking…” Nathan casually holds his hands deep in his sweater pockets, kicking some of the sand they stand on with the tip of his shoe.

His eyes dart to Warren, who can’t help but stare back widely with increasing anticipation and a failed attempt not to make himself sound too hopeful when he lets out a breathy, “yeah?”

Nathan’s eyes skirt away again, and Warren almost thinks he’ll drop whatever it is that he was going to say. Warren wants to curse himself for his inability to act–for lack of a better word–chill.

“I…um… fuck.” Nathan tries. And Warren frowns. It’s not unlike Nathan to act frustrated, but if Warren didn’t know any better he swears Nathan almost seems… apprehensive?

“I–” Nathan tries again, articulating with his hand out in front of him now. Trying, but met with more frustration at his attempt to get the words out. He sighs, dropping his hand and making a strangled, choking type of noise. “And I–”

Warren is having difficulty hiding an expression of increasing amusement, his mouth turning into a smothered frown. It’s definitely a sight to behold Nathan like this. He’s got both his hands in front of him–a development–like he’s invisibly force choking someone. It’s very reminiscent of Anakin Skywalker in Revenge of the Sith, the episode of which he’s at the height of his tormented attractiveness, in Warren’s opinion. The comparison makes Warren internally reel back, always having fixated on Episode III Anakin.

Huh. Warren is fully frowning now, not having anticipated the rabbit hole his thoughts are sent down as some things seem to click into place for him–and at such an inappropriate moment.

He pushes the mental Venn-diagram comparing Nathan Prescott and Anakin Skywalker–and what it might mean to him–far from his mind, very far–however difficult it may be–to focus back on Nathan and his continued struggle, apparently not having noticed Warren’s own mental freakout. Thankfully.

“Look. Okay.” Nathan runs a hand through his hair, seemingly collecting himself somewhat. “I was pretty dead-set on staying here, to not go back, but… but things… everything has changed. And honestly–I couldn’t give a fuck about going back, at all–but now, now… you won’t be here for much longer. And when you’re gone I–And for so long I’ve been alone and I’ve been fine with that cause–cause it’s all I’ve ever known! And I don’t know if that’s what I–I… fuck!”

He’s pushed his fingers in his hair again, this time the action is frantic, forcing his head back to look at the sky. Warren blinks, taking in Nathan’s freakout which seems so oddly familiar because–

Nathan’s eyes grow wide, his expression slightly lax as if something’s suddenly dawned on him, “This is your fault! You’ve rubbed off on me, oh my God. I’m fuckin’ doomed. I’ve turned into you–”

Something escapes Warren–he can’t help it–too late to catch it before he realizes it’s a laugh that he’s let out. And in that instant Nathan reels on him, latching onto the gesture. His eyes are dangerously narrowed as his face screws up again “are you–are you kidding me right now?”

The way Nathan looks at Warren, like he could ignite him just from how his gaze burns into him somehow makes Warren crack up even more, he’s clapping a hand over his own mouth and trying hard not to double over. “Nonono, I’m not I’m–” but any attempt of lying is squandered by Nathan getting right up into his personal space and taking hold of his arm to try and pry it away.

“Are you seriously laughing at me when I’m trying to admit I have feelings for you?”

“I’m sorry! I swear I’m–wait, you what?” Warren’s dumbstruck, eyes wide and mind completely and utterly blank. It’s Nathan’s turn to smirk now and before Warren can blink or react in any way or absorb anything that Nathan said, the space between them–that he didn’t realize had grown so close in proximity–is closing, until–

Nathan’s lips crush against Warren’s in a flurry. Chapped and warm, the sensation so foreign Warren doesn’t know how to react. It’s only for a moment, but Warren instantaneously feels everything. Tasting him, it’s bitter, the desperation, the hope, his breath against Warren’s skin. And just as fast as it happened it’s over, breaking apart from each other with a jolt.

They both stand and stare at the other, breathing heavily, before Warren’s reaching out to grab Nathan’s face and force their mouths back together. He has no idea what he’s doing, or if it even remotely qualifies as anything real, his mind briefly thinking of how Nathan is probably way more experienced in this department, but shoving the thought away just as fast because he doesn’t care in that moment, he just knows he wants more, needs more. He’s greedy for it and Nathan seems to be just as eager. Impatient, yet so engrossed that there is no need to be. No need to rush but not being able to help the desperation that so completely consumes them.

Warren has no idea how much time has passed when they separate from each other again, but it comes with a need for air and a sudden question that jumps from his tongue–

“Does this mean you’ll–?”

“Yeah, nerd, I’m with you. We’ll go back together.” Nathan says, sort of exasperatedly, his hair array and what Warren notices is a growing smile that braces his lips. Real and whole and directed at Warren. It reaches his eyes in a way that makes them squint. So foreign to Warren but so full of life, bringing colour to cheeks that aren’t as gaunt or sallow as they once were.

The already heightened elation interpreted from the warmth in Warren’s own cheeks and chest spreads further as a grin widens across his face to the point where it’s almost painful. He compares it to the dance and how he’d felt when he saw Nathan standing in the middle of the dancefloor after showing up. All dressed up, camera pointed, face full of trepidation, and showing up for Warren.

It makes his heart do a little flip, the realization of what this feeling he’s feeling is. And unspoken, he knows it’s exactly the same way that Nathan feels about him. All hesitation and doubt gone. That if there’s anyone in the entire universe that he’d wanted to see in that moment at the dance it would be him. That if there is anyone in the whole world he’d end up stuck with travelling through time it would be him. That if there is anyone to be trapped in an impossible situation, Warren’s glad it ended up being him.

Words can never describe how Warren feels about the circumstances that led them to this exact moment, however fragile and carefully constructed this moment may be. And he knows he wouldn’t change it for the world.

The feeling Warren’s experiencing must transfer physically–perhaps directly beaming off of him and directed straight at Nathan–because next thing, Nathan’s pushing a hand against Warren’s shoulder to knock him backwards, though with no real force. “Alright, ease up.”

But they’re both still smiling like idiots and Warren can’t tear his eyes away from Nathan, the wavy hair that dances across his forehead from a wind that’s picked up around them. How the strong sunlight that threatens to lower beneath the layer of storm clouds casts him in such perfect lighting Warren wonders if his mind might be playing tricks on him by dosing this particular moment through rose-coloured glasses, as if he’s growing nostalgic over it already.

Warren could bask in the happiness that emits from Nathan forever, rooted right to this spot. But he doesn’t have to. He won’t have to mourn this moment because Nathan is coming back with him and they’ll make many more moments like these.

“Come on, I’m ready to leave this fuckass place.” Nathan states eloquently and swivels where he stands, shoes digging into the sand further, before he begins trudging his way back up the beach.

“Yeah, me too.” And this time Warren means it.

Warren’s never been so aware of the way the sun slowly begins to set. Maybe not since he was still a young kid mourning the last few weeks of summer break before having to go back to school. The feeling wasn’t completely different from this, but at the same time it felt like nothing before.

It’s bittersweet, to say the least. The way the water in the bay pulls the sun down until swallowing it whole and dosing the small town into another star-filled night, putting an end to their last day.

“Hey nerd, you gunna help us or are you having a moment?”

Warren’s stood planted on the grass in the middle of the main campus, having zoned out from the view that cascades down to the horizon on the water. He spins around when Nathan calls him out, sending an apologetic and lopsided smile at him and Lou situated a couple feet behind Warren. “Sorry!” Just can’t believe we’re here already…”

Here meaning a mere hour away from when they’re supposed to travel back to the future. No big deal.

It’s started to rain, only sparsely, but enough to confirm the storm that is headed their way. Nathan has his hood on, pulled far over his hair so Warren can only make out the deep scowl he wears on his face. He holds up an umbrella to cover Lou, walking backwards together as she uncoils a thick copper wire from the spool in her hands leading from where they’d secured the end of it to the campus statue’s head.

“Here,” Nathan’s shoving the umbrella he wields into Warren’s hands after he lightly jogs to catch up to them. “Stay with Lou, I’m going to go grab the car and move it to the right spot on the main road.”

Their fingers brush, Warren hesitating with a response. He can’t explain the uneasiness that settles in his stomach at the idea of letting Nathan out of his sight, like something awful will happen in the few minutes they’re apart so close to going back.

“It’s okay,” Nathan says, low so only Warren can hear him. “I’ll be right back. I promise.”

Warren can only nod and watch as Nathan turns his back, “Wait!” Warren calls out, prompting Nathan to face him again. “I want to say a proper goodbye. To Lou. With the three of us.”

Nathan and Lou only stare at him for a second. Then Warren’s outstretching his arms, holding them wide, “Come on, bring it in.” Lou complies and so does Nathan, though not as willingly. But their enthusiasm is quick to change once they’re all in each other's embrace, the grip they hold tightening as the realization that this is it dawns on them.

I’m going to miss this. Warren doesn’t have to say it, and neither do Nathan or Lou. He can sense it the same way as if they did. They’d somehow managed to grow so close after such a short amount of time. The same could be said about Nathan and Warren, but it won’t be the same without Lou. And after everything, all of their work to get to this exact moment… a part of him doesn’t want to leave this behind.

They break apart and Warren clears his throat. “Well,” he focuses on Lou before sending a fist toward the sky. “Don’t you, dun dun dundundun, forget about me…” he sings off-key.

Lou, in return, looks between Warren and Nathan with vague concern and total lack of understanding of what she is witnessing. “Uh…”

“You know, Breakfast Club? Wait, is that not out yet?” He points the question at Nathan.

“Oh my God.” Nathan rubs a hand across his face, not even able to look at Warren as he angles himself away.

“Oh. Nevermind.” He cringes internally. And probably externally, his face scrunching up with embarrassment. “It’s a really good movie, though.”

“Okay, I’m going now,” Nathan begins to trek across campus in the direction of where they’d parked Warren’s car in the school lot. He may not have been able to handle the overbearing sentimentality, but Warren could swear he heard a sniffle escape him before he disappeared.

Lou, on the other hand, struggled to get back to unspooling the wire, her eyes glassy. “You can’t just make me cry and then leave…” she mumbled out, busying herself again.

By the time they spooled all the way to the campus’ edge and down to where the sidewalk meets the road, Nathan pulled up alongside them. The rain had picked up significantly, causing Lou to almost slip down some of the grass that’s grown muddy, Warren shooting out a hand to help stabilize her.

“We gotta get going!” Nathan calls over to them above the steady shower as he exits the car and slams the door, “a security guy was eyeing me when I left the parking lot and I think he’s headed this way!”

“Shit,” Lou curses, squinting from how the rain beats against the umbrella. “This isn’t as inconspicuous as I’d hoped and It’s going to be hard to explain exactly what we’re doing. I have a feeling ‘a science project for Mr. Wells’ class ’ isn't going to fly. I have an idea, but I’ll have to make a move right away–”

“–Wait, Wells as in Principal Wells?”

Lou falters, “Mr. Wells becomes principal?”

“Guys–”

“Right, not the point.” Warren rushes the words out. “What do you have in mind?”

“I’m going to cause a distraction in the dormitories, it should buy you two enough time!” She pushes aside the sleeve covering up her watch, “you have less than 15 minutes, it’ll be fine.” As reassuring as her tone is, she can’t hide the worry that flashes across her eyes when she meets them with Warrens.

And Warren recognizes that this is it. “But you won’t make it back again.”

Lou shakes her head solemnly. “No.”

“So this is goodbye, then.”

“For now,” her voice is soft, as is the smile she gives him. “I’m sure you’ll be seeing me very soon.”

Warren mirrors the expression. She’s right of course, it will be as if no time has passed. The same can not be said for her, though. Lou will have to wait 30 years before they’ll meet like this again.

“Thanks for–for everything,” Warren stutters out. “I don’t think we could have done this without you. You’re, uh, the coolest mom in the world. But you’re also a great friend. The best, really.”

Lou’s mouth, which is now pressed into a thin line, is set into a frown like she’s suppressing the urge to cry. She wrings her hands around the umbrella handle, fingers turning white with strain. “I’m… I’m really proud of the kind of person my future son has turned out to be.”

They hug again, this time properly and not as awkward as before. When they’re finished she hugs Nathan, too. “I’m glad you two have each other,” she says to him, causing him to look away. “Now I’m really going to go, before this somehow gets weirder.”

She waves over her shoulder at them as she darts away in the direction of the dormitories, angling the umbrella against the harsh wind and rain. The boys waste no time turning their attention to the car where Warren begins wrapping the wire around the antenna at the back while Nathan holds his varsity jacket above them to help shelter against the aggressively growing downfall of rain.

When Warren’s finished he wipes aside the hair that sticks to his brow, checking the watch that Lou lent him. “Okay we have 9 more minutes until impact, let’s get in the car!”

But as Warren straightens back up, the wire that had been pulled taut suddenly goes lax. The copper material seems to flicker, the reflection of the streetlight above catching the droplets that fall from it. Their attention snaps to one another as an understanding passes between them that the wire has come loose on the other end.

Before Warren can say anything, Nathan beats him to it, “I’ll go, you stay!” He yells as he’s already whipping the jacket around himself to pull his arms through.

“But–”

“There’s no time! Get in the car and start it,” Nathan flings the car keys Warren’s way, who instinctively encloses a fist around them in the air.

“I–I caught them!” Warren stares at the palm of his hand in disbelief.

“Proud of you, bud,” and then Nathan’s gone, swallowed by the sheet of rain as he sprints headfirst into it.

Warren has no choice but to dart around to the front of his Chevy and fling himself into the driver's side, forcing the keys into the ignition and starting the engine.

The precious few minutes they have left that creep by in Nathan’s absence are torturous. Warren waits apprehensively, fingers wrapped around the steering wheel in a vice and his free foot tapping with impatience. Come on, Nathan, come on. His eyes are glued to the passenger’s side window, barely able to make out anything from the rain that distorts the glass.

Warren chances a glance at his watch. 9:58. 6 minutes.

With nothing else to occupy him, he tries to look through the sheets of torrential rain that aggressively roll over the car and make it almost impossible to hear anything else. He squints, his heart giving a jolt when he sees a flash of red before it’s gone again. A quick glance at the car's digital clock tells him 3 more minutes. The anticipation is killing Warren, making him instinctively reach across the passenger seat to yank open the side door. He doesn’t care when the inside of the car is instantly drenched, all he cares about is if Nathan will be back in time.

The downpour is deafening now, and visibility has barely improved after opening the door. “Nathan?” he tentatively calls out. There’s no response, until he hears a muffled sort of grunt somewhere in the distance. Before he can call out again, there’s a flash of lightning far off–not the one they’d been waiting for, but close enough to momentarily light up the setting Warren looks out to. And to Warren’s utter horror, the still image of Nathan grappling with someone on the ground instills itself into his vision. It’s as if he caught a momentary glimpse of a picture taken with flash to paint the scene in front of him.

Someone’s yelling, and though it’s hard to make out, Warren knows it’s not Nathan. “Did you really think I’d let you get away after what you fucking freaks did to me?! You’re dead! And your friend is next!”

The tips of Warren’s fingers go numb as he feels the blood drain from his face and hands, realizing who it is that has stopped Nathan from getting back, tackling him to the ground mere steps away. “Nathan!” Warren cries out, automatically beginning to crawl across the passenger seat.

“No!” He hears Nathan shout, “don’t! Don’t leave the car!”

Warren freezes, looking back out to where he can see the blurred mass that is Nathan and his father rolling across the soppy grass. A quick glance at the car's interface reads 10:03. One minute. “But I–I’m not leaving you–!”

“It’s fixed! It’s fixed, Warren–you can–ugh–” Nathan lets out another grunt and Warren knows he’s been hit again. There’s a scrambling that can be heard mixed with the downpour and for a brief moment Warren can make out Nathan’s form back on his feet again, booking it toward the car. Warren stares wide eyed, holding his breath when Nathan gets closer and–

He’s back on the ground, his father’s arms wrapped around his legs to take him down again, landing face first. But he’s so close that when he whips back his head Warren can see his face. His pupils are blown out and he looks terrified.

“Give me your hand!” Warren calls out, thrusting his own toward Nathan. Nathan doesn’t hesitate when he complies and reaches up. They’re so close, and Warren stretches as far as he can, until it hurts, until his ribs feel like they might expand and break from the pressure, until the strain is almost unbearable. Their fingertips brush and Warren begins to wrap his hand around what he knows is Nathan’s own.

Please please please please…

But all sensation is lost when a blinding flash and boom takes up all of him. Squeezing his eyes shut, Warren clenches his jaw hard as he braces himself, the air on fire around him. And just as fast as it happens, it’s all over.

#another late update lol #grahamscott #warren graham x nathan prescott #nathan x warren #nathan prescott #warren graham #lis #life is strange #life is strange fanfiction #thought i should update on tumblr since there's officially one chap left #woooooooo!

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gerec · 1 year ago

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AU-gust 2023

7. Boarding School Pairing(s): Cherik, Charles/Shaw Warnings: Explicit, Blackmail, Dubious Consent, Age Difference

Sebastian can hear them through the wooden door, an occasional whine and the rhythmic thump thump as Lehnsherr fucks the pretty Xavier boy over his office desk. It’s the third time this week that Xavier has gone to see the man after hours, offering his mouth or his ass to his professor, too young and stupid to let caution temper his libido. Then again, the boy is brilliant and his family filthy rich; he’s probably never had to worry about consequences, used to living a charmed life.

Well, Sebastian’s determined to teach him what it’s like in the real world, as befitting his role as Headmaster.

He steps around the corner and waits, imagining Lehnsherr grunting as he finishes inside Xavier’s ass, then tucking himself in as the boy lays panting and fucked out, come smeared between the desk and his belly. He wonders if Lehnsherr kisses him after, as though there’s more to their trysts than just sex, or if he merely sends him on his way, knowing his indifference will draw Xavier again and again like a moth to a flame?

More than that, he wants to know what the boy looks like when he’s getting fucked, spread wide around a thick cock spreading him open.

He licks his lips, and watches as Xavier opens the door, stepping out with his bag slung over his shoulder and his tie sticking out of his pocket. Sebastian lets him walk past before he calls out to him, supressing the urge to grin when Xavier stops dead in the middle of the hallway and turns, eyes wide and face pale.

“Mr. Xavier. Come with me please.”

To his credit, the boy follows him into his office without a word, not bothering to feign ignorance over the Headmaster’s request. Sebastian lets him squirm in silence for a few long moments, ass sore and maybe clenching tight to hold in Lehnsherr’s spunk.

“Do you know why you’re here, Charles?”

Xavier doesn’t answer, only looking up at him with those big, soulful blue eyes. He’s too smart to incriminate himself before anything’s been said about Lehnsherr, and also too smart not to know he’s been caught in the act. Sebastian decides to let his rudeness go just this one time, knowing that Xavier will become the very model of obedience in the near future.

“This isn’t the first time you’ve broken the Academy’s rules, is it? And I think I’ve been very lenient with you in the past, on account of your good grades and model behaviour.”

The boys swallows, and ducks his head. “Yes, Mr. Shaw.”

“I’ve turned my head at your…fraternizing with the other students, Charles, because I understand that boys will be boys. But I simply can’t ignore a situation like this between a student and a teacher; it’s my job as Headmaster to ensure the wellbeing of every young man under my care.”

As expected, Xavier’s face goes white as a sheet, and he sucks in a deep breath before he asks, dejectedly, “What’s going to happen to me?”

“To you? Nothing.” He sits on the desk right in front of Xavier, so the boy has to crane his neck up to meet Sebastian’s gaze. “You and I both know that your family donates too much money to this school. Anything I do, your stepfather will throw money at to make it go away.”

Xavier sighs, only to realize that his relief has come a little too soon. “What about Mr. Lehnsherr?”

Sebastian pinches his lips together in disapproval and shakes his head. “I’m afraid I’ll have to let him go with an official reprimand. I doubt he’ll be able to teach again, since it’ll go on his permanent record.”

“No, no, no please, Headmaster, you can’t fire him! It’s not his fault! It’s my fault; I seduced him!”

“He’s an adult, and in a position of authority at the school, Charles. Sadly, your confession, true or not, doesn’t excuse his behaviour.”

“No.” Tears start welling in those pretty, pretty eyes, and Sebastian almost feels bad for what must seems to be his genuine concern over Lehnsherr’s future. “Please there has to be something I can do.”

He makes a show of sympathy over the boy’s distress, handing him a tissue and giving him a reassuring pat on the shoulder. “Are you really so determined to help him?”

Xavier jumps to his feet. “Yes! I’ll do anything! Please don’t fire Mr. Lehnsherr, please!”

It’s nearly impossible to hold back his grin, given how easily things are falling into place, though Sebastian does manage to make his expression come across as fond and sympathetic. “Hmm….” He pretends to think about it for long moments, before he tips the boy’s head up with this fingertips. “Tell me again, how you were the one to seduce him.”

“I did. I made it impossible for him to resist me.”

He moves his fingers from Xavier’s chin to the back of his neck, feeling the boy’s whole body stiffen as he cards his hand through his unruly hair. “I find that very hard to believe, Charles, though, perhaps if you showed me what you did, I might be inclined to give Mr. Lehnsherr the benefit of the doubt.”

Understanding dawns almost instantly on Xavier, followed closely by resignation. He goes down on his knees without a word, and reaches for Sebastian’s belt with trembling fingers.

“No, no,” he says, delighting in the relief on the boy’s face, only to have his hopes crushed by his next words. “Bend over for me please, Mr. Xavier. If you’re determined to convince me, you’ll have to show me exactly what you did with Professor Lehnsherr.”

The boy shivers but does as he’s told, pulling his pants down and bending over Sebastian’s desk.

------

The knock comes a few minutes after the boy leaves, shuffling down the hall with slow and stilted steps.

He pours a second glass of Scotch from the bottle he keeps in his office, and hands it to Lehnsherr as he enters and closes the door.

“How’d it go? Did you get what you wanted?”

He thinks about the noises Xavier made on his cock and smiles.

“He was delightful. I can see why you like fucking him so much.”

Lehnsherr takes a sip of his drink and scoffs. “He’s got a pretty mouth and a tight ass. Would be a pity not to use him when he’s so very willing to put out.”

Sebastian laughs. “Well, he’s quite protective of you. I think he’s convinced himself that he has real feelings for you.”

“He’ll get over it.”

“You don’t feel even a little bad that he’s prostituting himself to keep your reputation intact?”

“Should I?” He smirks and adds, “He’s going to graduate in a few months and then head off to Oxford, after which he’ll inherit his father’s company and a massive fortune. We’ll be nothing more to him than a youthful indiscretion, Sebastian. Or at least a lesson in not trusting people so blindly…a lesson you taught me very well.”

“Touché,” he says, smiling as his protégé and former student downs his drink and walks out the door.

#gerec writes #cherik #charles/shaw #day 7 #au-gust 2023 #boarding school #blackmail #dubious consent #age difference

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stervrucht · 5 months ago

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Proximity - Part 7

● Part 1 ● Previous ● Next ● AO3 ●

cw: Brief depiction of child abuse, homophobic language, explicit sexual content

Eddie is seven when he learns to keep his feelings to himself.

He’s playing with Nico, the kid from the trailer across and they’re fucking around with sticks and rocks at the forest’s edge just outside the trailer park. Eddie remembers it being a hot day, but only because his dad was working on his car with his exposed back burnt red from the sun.

It was on the porch he thinks — although he can’t be sure — the memories have gotten hazy over the years. He and Nico were sitting there, and Eddie thinks that maybe they were sitting too close, or maybe Nico grabbed for his hand. The next thing he remembers his dad’s furious face as he’s dragged to his feet by the neck of his shirt. It was tight and cut off his breathing for a second. Dad was yelling, but Eddie was too confused to make out the words.

He doesn’t know what he did wrong.

He remembers how it hurt when Dad threw him inside the humid trailer. Eddie lost his balance and he fell hard, skin dragging over carpet like sandpaper. He can still see the scars, but only because he knows where to look.

Dad kept yelling and Eddie turned to him, kept his eyes down as much as possible. He winced at the sound. He fucking hates the yelling, the loudness of it, the way it rings in his ears.

“You say away from that fucking queer,“ Dad yelled. It's one of the few things he remembers word for word.

It seared itself into his brain.

The next time he sees Nico, he won’t look at him. He avoids his gaze like Eddie is poison. And maybe he is because Nico’s pale arm is covered in blue and purple patches. Surely that’s Eddie’s fault, because why else would Dad have been so mad?

At least he doesn’t hit him.

He doesn’t hit him, but from then on Eddie can’t look too long at other boys without it having consequences, and whenever Eddie speaks, his dad dissects his words, letter for letter in search of weakness.

Thoughts are best unspoken.

Eddie has repeated that mantra so many times it feels like it has become part of his DNA.

He lost his sincerity that day.

“I didn’t raise no fucking faggot.”

Eddie remembers those words too. And maybe Dad was right because that man didn’t raise him at all.

Monday comes and goes, but Eddie’s bed remains empty.

The whole day at work his mind wouldn’t stop from drifting off to that moment in the car when Steve kissed him and it nearly cost Eddie his fingers while using the bench saw. His superior, Frank, a tall man with a deceivingly friendly face yelled at him after that — cursed and called him an idiot.

The shrillness of Frank’s voice hurt more than his words.

Dad had dulled the power of words long before Eddie entered middle school and then, when the bullies took over, Eddie was desensitized to the point he almost took pride in the words they threw at him.

When they called him a freak, he gave them a freak. When they called him a faggot, well, he could give them that too. It scared the kids. Made them exchange their words for fists, until Eddie took that from them too. He’d tell them: Hit me again, you know I like it. And then he’d bear a bloody smile.

Those kids never touched him again.

Eddie wishes it worked like that with Frank too. Yes, I’m an idiot, just give me the easiest job and hand me my paycheck.

He needs to remind himself why he’s working this stupid fucking job. He needs to think of Steve and that he’ll be there every night right beside him once they live together. It would be good for Steve to leave. Maybe not just away from his parents, but away from Hawkins too. Get out of this backward little town and move to the city where Eddie will earn his money playing the guitar.

That helps. It gets Eddie through the day without further incident, but it doesn’t dull the sting when Steve calls him later that night.

“Dad’s a real jerk. Wants to keep an eye on me all of the sudden.” Steve sounds frustrated. “I mean, it’s ridiculous right? They leave me alone for weeks at a time to attend their stupid conferences and when they’re back, suddenly it’s time to get Steve back on the rails. God forbid I have my own life.”

Eddie can only agree, yes it sucks, fuck them.

Wish you were here.

He doesn’t say that last part.

Dad may have dulled the power of words, but for the first time in a long time, Eddie is scared of them. He is scared of what words may do to Steve because Steve is flightly when overwhelmed — he learned that the hard way — and his boundaries are like a maze that he can’t backtrack.

The first time Steve kisses him is Tuesday night.

Eddie is sweaty from work; from lifting timber and laying bricks in the punishing heat of late summer. His shoulders are burned and painted with small freckles. His coworkers warned him to wear a t-shirt, but Eddie is a stubborn little shit and he wore a tank top instead. It hurts where the strap of his bag digs into his flesh. It will hurt like a bitch once he showers too.

The trailer is hot when he gets home. It always is in summer and Eddie wishes they had AC. He slips the bag from his shoulder and drops it near the door. It isn't until he closes the door behind him that he realizes he's not alone.

Steve is here.

He’s cooking dinner and making conversation with Wayne who is getting ready for work. The domesticity of the scene catches him off guard.

When did things get like this?

It feels like Steve has become part of their little patchwork family and Eddie never noticed the switch. Wayne doesn’t seem to mind — seems completely at ease with Steve just showing up while Eddie is away.

It leaves Eddie speechless.

It has been two days since their camping trip. Two days since Steve kissed him, and Eddie feels something catch in his throat, because — despite Steve’s insistence — a part of him was scared Steve changed his mind. That time made him realize it was all a mistake. When Steve turns around and his eyes find Eddie he looks like sunshine after rain. Radiant and shy and it makes Eddie’s worries melt away.

Wayne leaves for work after dinner.

Heat hangs trapped in the trailer and the smell of food lingers. Eddie and Steve are doing the dishes and Eddie is on drying duty — the arrangement he prefers because he hates the feeling of wet food on his fingers. Eddie is in the middle of drying a glass when Steve traps him against the kitchen counter.

“I’ve missed you,” Steve breathes as he holds him with hands drenched in soapy water. Eddie gawkes a little, hands trapped between their bodies as Steve closes the distance. It surprises him, the directness of Steve's words, the ease with which he says them.

And then Steve kisses him and Eddie’s train of thought slips away from him.

It’s not the the hurried heat of their kiss in the tent, nor the careful tentative one they shared in the car. It feels intentional, the way Steve slots them together. How he moves the towel and glass from Eddie’s hands, placing them on the counter behind him without breaking contact. It’s the way Steve’s hand finds Eddie’s jaw and slips to the back of his head, tilting it back just a little to allow him better access as he runs his tongue across Eddie’s bottom lip. It leaves him breathless, makes his body tingle all over and he can’t get enough of it. It makes him greedy for it.

Only this time he can actually have it.

When Steve breaks the kiss, he cradles Eddie’s jaw, moving a wet thumb over the bone of it. “I’ve been thinking about this ever since.” and then he laughs, a little sheepishly as he picks at Eddie’s hair. “I got suds all over you.”

Eddie pats at his own hair and he can’t help but smile at Steve, can’t help it when he leans in again, captures Steve’s lips for the second time, and feels Steve melt into it.

“I should hit the shower,” Eddie says as he pulls away.

The heat of the water hurts the skin of his burnt shoulders and Eddie winces. He lets it run down over his head and soak his hair as he touches his lips. This is real. Steve kissed him and that makes it three. Surely the burning pain of his shoulders must mean this is real.

And maybe he worries too much. Worrying about Steve must have cost him some years of his life by now. But that’s all in the past because Steve missed him. Thinks of him when he’s away.

That must mean something.

When he returns from his shower with hair dripping wet Steve lays sprawled on his bed. He’s flipping through Dracula again, looking at the pages that Eddie carelessly dogeared and scanning them with mild interest. When he notices Eddie he folds the book closed and turns on his back. He looks at Eddie upside down, eyes fixed on his dripping hair.

“I kinda miss the pool. Wish we could have the kids over again,” Steve says wistfully, putting his hands beneath his head.

Eddie lays down beside him, and his hair is making the covers damp. Steve hates it but he doesn’t say it, moves a little closer to Eddie instead until their bodies are touching in several spots.

“We could,” Eddie offers, “Invite the kids now they still have summer break. Fuck, invite Robin before she’s off to college — it’s nearly September. Just plan it while your parents are off to do their own shit.”

“I just wish they would leave. Which is kinda fucked up right? It’s their house and I’m just lucky mom won’t allow dad to kick me out.”

They lie in silence for a moment and Eddie stares at the ceiling in all its familiarity. It has a few spots, some old leaks that Wayne fixed, and Eddie kinda wishes Wayne would be here. It’s a little funny, in a sad way, how their lives contrast. It’s like Eddie was put on this earth just to show the world how perfect Steve is. Except it’s all surface because Steve would rather lay under a patchy leaky roof and threadbare linen than live the life his parents want him to.

Eddie wonders what they would say if they knew their son is kissing the resident retired drug dealer.

It would probably be glorious. And maybe they should do it. Fuck Steve’s parents and screw the apartment. Get out of Hawkins and live their own life. Go out with a bang.

He doesn’t say that either.

“When will they?” Eddie asks. “Leave I mean.”

“Next trip is like a month away.”

Fuck,” Eddie breathes and then he turns to his side facing Steve.

Steve is frustrated — Eddie can tell by the way he sets his jaw. He wants to kiss it better. And he can do that, right? Maybe. He doesn’t dare to. Up until now, Steve has initiated everything. The one time Eddie took any control Steve freaked out. The thought makes his heart pound nervously and he licks his lips as he tries to come to a decision — to gather his nerves. Maybe he will do it this time.

Maybe, maybe—

Steve turns to his side and Eddie’s heart won’t let up. He thinks it may actually be worse now. Yes, he wants to kiss Steve, but he has always been a coward. A self-saboteur. So instead he does what he always does when he's nervous.

He talks.

“We have our final rehearsal this Thursday. If you still want to hear me sing—” Eddie trails off.

Suddenly, Steve’s earlier frustration seems forgotten and a smile creeps on his face. It’s an honest to god smile and Eddie thinks he needs to correct himself because this Steve is like a summer sun on a cloudless day and it seems there isn’t a place his light can’t reach.

“I’d like that.” He says before getting up out of bed. “C’mon let’s brush our teeth. I’m getting sleepy.”

Eddie watches Steve stand up. The way muscles move underneath his skin. Steve is pretty fit and it must be the swimming that created shoulders like that. His eyes drift downwards to the small of Steve’s back, and he has a few moles there. Down, down, until his eyes reach Steve’s boxer-clad ass. Eddie stares — allows himself to and it awakens a heat inside him.

“You coming?” Steve turns around, probably stirred by Eddie’s lack of movement and Eddie feels a little caught. He isn’t sure if Steve noticed though. Eddie jumps to his feet and readjusts himself in his boxers when Steve is turned away again.

The crickets are loud and the room is dark. As dark as it gets with Eddie’s shitty curtains and the eternally bright streetlight right outside his window. Eddie lays an arm over Steve’s waist and pulls him into his chest. The bed dips under their combined weight and Eddie can feel the springs dig into his side. Steve is warm and Eddie can sense his heartbeat where their torso’s align. Sleep comes easy to Steve. It comes easier to Eddie too, now that Steve is here. He buries his nose into Steve’s nape and feels his hair tickle his nose.

Steve smells like hairspray and warmth and home.

Two days later Eddie makes good on his promise.

When they walk up to Gareth’s garage the door is already open. Jeff is tuning his guitar and Freak is picking at his bass guitar, playing a familiar riff. Gareth sits at the back of one of the amplifiers, fiddling with the cords.

When Eddie comes into view, Gareth stands up and smiles. “Sup, loser. Took you long enough.” His eyes move up, over Eddie’s shoulder and his smile falters. “What the fuck are you doing here,” he says motioning to Steve.

The commotion causes Freak and Jeff to stop what they’re doing and suddenly everything is quiet. Eddie looks over his shoulder to Steve. He looks uncomfortable and a little guilty.

“It’s cool. He’s with me.” Eddie stares Gareth in the face, stern and insistent.

“Fucking Harrington?” Freak blurts out. Eddie has to fight a smile and stop himself from blurting out ‘not yet’. Yeah, that wouldn’t make it better.

“Yes, fucking Harrington.” He motions for Steve to enter the garage and Steve does so reluctantly.

“Get him on the groupie couch.” Gareth carelessly gestures to a leather couch that lines the wall before making his way over to Eddie. With one hand on the back of his neck, Gareth guides Eddie away from the garage, just far enough to talk somewhat privately.

“What the fuck is this, Eddie?”

Eddie shrugs and looks away from Gareth’s piercing eyes. He stares into the garage where Steve sits on the couch, making tentative conversation with Jeff.

“We’re friends now. Deal with it.”

“Deal with it? What’s next, the entire basketball team? Swapping jock straps while we play kumbaya?”

Eddie snorts and Gareth glares at him.

“Well?”

“Steve’s cool, okay. He was interested in the band. Give him a chance.”

Gareth groans, pinching his nosebridge. He looks back at the garage, observing Steve for a moment before turning back to Eddie.

“Fine— Fine! But he stays on the couch. No touching my shit.” Gareth pokes his finger in Eddie’s chest as if to reiterate his point and turns around, marching back to the garage.

Steve is looking at him from the fucking groupie couch and Eddie laughs to himself, but only because the guys don’t know it's kinda true. It’s a little ironic too, because this is the first time someone other than they have sat on it. Calling it a groupie couch was a little wistful, but fine. May Steve be the one to break it in, Eddie thinks to himself as he makes his way over the the guys.

Once the music starts it doesn’t take him long to get in the zone. His guitar lies in his hands like it's part of him and the instruments blend into a perfectly aggressive harmony.

Steve stares.

Eddie catches him looking at his hands as they move over the snares. Sees the interest in Steve’s face as his eyes move with it.

More than that, it’s the singing.

The moment he starts singing he sees Steve’s interest peak. Eyes latched on one another Eddie knows he’s got him hooked.

Eddie has to consciously look away at times if he doesn’t want the guys to figure it out in just one day — that Steve and him aren’t just friends. Gareth may actually kill him if he finds out. And that’s of course ignoring the fact that Steve’s a dude. He actually has no idea how his bandmates feel about that as it never really came up before. It never needed to.

After the fifth song, Eddie drops himself on the couch next to Steve. Gareth and Freak are fussing in front of the mini fridge, gathering some sodas.

“I think it went well. Think we’re ready for the show?” Jeff asks as he sets his guitar down.

“Show?” Steve joins in.

“Fuck, that’s right. I never told you. We’re playing at the Hideout this Saturday. Wanna come?”

“He’ll hate it,” Gareth says as he shoves cold cokes into Steve and Eddie’s chests. Eddie was half convinced Gareth might let Steve dehydrate, but the drink feels like a peace offering, reluctant as it is.

“What’ya think of it?” Gareth follows up, his attention now fully on Steve.

Steve pulls at the lip of his can. “It was good— great, I mean! You guys looked cool.”

Gareth scratches at his head, a little embarrassed but still defiant. Eddie can see the ghost of a smile. Pleased, he thinks, and that’s something. Of all the guys, Gareth has always been the most vocally opposed to outsiders. Jeff and Freak just kinda went along with whatever dumb ideas he and Gareth came up with.

Gareth raises his can and takes a big gulp. “Let’s do this boys!”

Freak and Jeff join him in his cheer, downing the rest of their drinks in one go and Eddie looks at Steve once he has gulped down the better part of his coke.

Steve’s eyes are glued to him and Eddie feels a pleasant swirl in his stomach.

It doesn’t matter how often he does it.

Eddie’s heart is pounding and his throat feels too tight. He plays with the pick in his hand and looks back at the guys. Gareth flips his drumsticks, twirls them around between his fingers while Jeff kicks his feet at the floor in front of him. Only Freak stands still as he looks ahead with vacant eyes.

The soundcheck is done. A few eager people are already crowding towards the stage although most are still lingering near the bar. The band is bathed in blue and pink light that draws lines across the smokey air.

Eddie is always a little nervous before a show, but Steve Harrington, who is standing in the crowd, standing out like a sore thumb, is by far the biggest cause today. Robin and Vickie are there too, looking far less out of place and Eddie thinks it’s sweet of them to attend, even if it’s far from their scene.

The band worked hard on the new setlist and it’s great. Honestly, their best so far. But Eddie is a little mortified — no, scrap that, absolutely terrified by to what degree the whole Steve-situation has crept its way into his songwriting. And of course, he packaged it up nicely in references and fantasy, but it’s there, and now the world will hear it.

Once the sound guy says they’re good to go, Eddie reaches for the microphone. He takes a deep breath, switches off all visual signs of nervousness, and yells into the crowd.

The people at the bar turn their heads and in the front some howl in return. That’s the cue. Drums explode, the bass picks up its rhythm and Jeff’s guitar slices through the crowd. It takes a few songs to really pick up, but it's a far cry from the near-empty rooms they’ve played for before.

People are enjoying themselves. They trash about wildly in the crowd while Eddie sings of shared cigarettes. Robin and Vickie are one with the crowd, and Vickie is truly wild, absolutely without shame. She pulls at Robin, swings her around, and wraps her arms around her. She bangs her head, whips her hair and, actually gets Steve to do it a few times too before he gives up with his hair a mess. And fuck it, he looks gorgeous all sweaty and messed up. Eddie has to focus — redirect himself to the microphone and clutches it like a lifeline as he sings of snakes and lovers.

After the last song, the crowd cheers like it never has before and Eddie feels high as he saunters off the stage. Behind him people are moving instruments, preparing for the next act, but Eddie hardly notices. Gareth presses a cold beer against his neck and Eddie jumps a little before gratefully taking it in his hand. His bangs cling to his forehead, slick with sweat, and his leather vest sticks to him like a second skin. He unzips it, letting the hot air hit his bare chest.

“Fuck,” Jeff sighs, and they are all looking at one another when Eddie echoes it.

“Fuck.”

And then they’re grinning like they are all in on some hidden joke until they’re jumping and beer is sloshing around them and on them. Eddie is pretty sure it soaked into his boots and is wetting his sock, but he doesn't care. He doesn’t fucking care.

They pulled a fucking crowd.

“Guess hell truly froze over, huh? Get Harrington in the crowd and suddenly we’re fucking stars.” Gareth slaps Eddie on his back and the sound of skin hitting leather is loud, even with the next soundcheck in the back.

“Or maybe we’re just fucking good,” Freak joins in.

Eddie takes a big gulp of his beer before shoving the bottle back in Gareth’s hand. “Speaking of, I’m gonna find the little Luckstone.”

Behind him, the guys burst out in laughter and cheers and Eddie smiles to himself as he makes his way through the crowd. It’s not as easy as it used to be. From all sides, people stop him, touch him, tell him they were great, and offer to buy him a beer. At last, Eddie sees Steve’s head peak above the crowd.

Eddie feels like he’s in a tunnel. Like he’s Moses and people are parting for him like the Red Sea. Steve is staring. Eddie can see his eyes move over his body, resting on his chest somewhere near his tattoo, and then his eyes find Eddie’s.

Steve is moving. Walking towards him with an urgency in his step. And then Steve’s arms are around his neck, squeezing him tight, chest to chest, before pulling away again and holding him at arm's length.

“You,” Steve starts, his eyes scanning Eddie’s face and he licks his lips, pushing his sweaty hair back before finding the words again, “you guys were great.”

“Holy shit! I didn’t know you were a rockstar!” Vickie jumps in after having caught up with Steve. Steve pulls away a little more, moving one hand to Eddie’s back, fingers tracing over the skin where his vest ends. It leaves him with a pleasant tingle.

“It usually isn’t like this.” Eddie looks around the room. Some people are staring. It definitely isn’t what it used to be and it’s fucking crazy.

The music starts again. Some small-time band and Eddie figures the time for conversation has passed — at least within the crowd.

“Let’s get another drink and I’ll introduce you guys to the rest of the band,” he yells over the music.

It takes some time to find his bandmates again. They are not where he left them near the stage. Instead, they moved near the back exit, where they stand near the open door as they smoke. It’s a good idea because it’s hot inside and Eddie is still sweaty from his performance. Once he nears the door, Steve, Robin, and Vickie in tow, he can feel the cold air seep in and it clings pleasantly to his skin. He takes another sip from his beer.

“Eddie!” Gareth makes his way over to him, putting an arm around his shoulders as he guides him to the rest of the group. There are a few people there he doesn’t recognize, most notably a tall older man with blonde hair in a style not unlike Steve's, only pushed back more, and he wears a colorful button-down shirt. He’s in the process of lighting a cigarette when Gareth drags him over.

“Eddie, this is Tom — Tom, Eddie.” Gareth gestures and the man holds out his hand, urging Eddie to shake it. He does so, reluctantly, because shaking hands at a place like the Hideout is fucking weird. The man’s blue eyes look at him curiously and his smile reveals two rows of perfectly white teeth. Eddie isn’t sure what to make of him. He tries to shoot Gareth some subtle looks for help, for some clue what the fuck all of this is, but Gareth has his eyes glued to Tom.

“Nice to meet you Eddie.” — Tom’s speech is a little muffled by the cigarette and he removes it from his mouth —”I was just telling your friends that I’m organizing this festival near Indianapolis. We’re looking for some fresh faces and you guys caught my attention.” He takes a slow drag from his cigarette and taps the ashes in the open doorway. Gareth is practically shaking with excitement and Jeff and Freak are talking in hushed voices a little further away. Eddie doesn’t know what to say, left a little speechless by the information.

“I say we do it,” Gareth jumps in next to Eddie, “we have enough time to prepare—”

“No need to decide now.” Tom interrupts him, then digs through the pocket of his pants and digs out a little metal case. He flips it open effortlessly and with a small push reveals a dark business card. “Call me once you have given it some thought.”

Eddie takes the business card and Gareth leans in close to read it with him.

‘Thomas Davis, Talent Scout at Hellbound Records’

“You’re a talent scout?” Eddie asks while Gareth peels the card from his hands to show it to Jeff and Freak.

“I am,” Tom says and blows some smoke from the corner of his mouth, “We organize this festival yearly. Give some newer bands a chance, see how well they do on stage. It’s all good fun. Of course, it doesn’t pay, but it’s the exposure that counts, right? And if you’re lucky, you may even get a record deal out of it.”

“Right,” Eddie echoes.

Tom stubs his cigarette on the brick wall. “Well, it was nice meeting you. I’m afraid duty calls.” And by duty, Tom probably means the other band that is currently playing. Eddie gives him a curt nod and Tom disappears into the crowd.

“What was that all about?” Steve asks from behind him. Eddie had all but forgotten they were looking for the guys in the first place.

“Eh, I guess we just got invited to a festival?” Eddie can’t keep the disbelief out of his voice. Maybe it hasn’t really sunk in yet, because this is incredible. It’s objectively fucking amazing and it overwhelms him.

“Eddie, that’s amazing!” Robin yells over the music and then she throws her arms around him in a tight hug. “You’re all gross and sweaty though.” she pulls a face as she releases him again. Eddie smiles apologetically at her before Vickie makes her way into his field of view.

“Congrats!” she yells.

Steve says nothing, but he’s smiling all nice and gentle, staring at Eddie in awe for a moment. Just as he opens his mouth, Gareth walks up again, followed by the guys.

“This is like, the best day ever,” he says and he grins at the business card once more, “let’s discuss this next rehearsal. I’m gonna get some drinks. You want something?”

Eddie shakes his head. He’s had quite enough to drink and he still needs to drive because his van is the only car that fits their instruments. Gareth shrugs and walks off towards the direction of the bar.

“We’re gonna head back to the stage,” Robin tells him, motioning towards Vickie. Eddie realizes he forgot to introduce them to the band and now Gareth is lost somewhere in the crowd. Robin seems to catch on to Eddie’s hesitation. “No worries, you can introduce us some other time. Go have fun, you crazy kids.” She gives them both a look before she’s dragged away by Vickie.

“Those girls,” Steve laughs shaking his head. “When do you think they’ll figure it out?”

Eddie looks towards the crowd until he loses sight of their heads. “Eh, knowing Robin, probably never. I have put all my faith in Vickie,” Eddie replies. He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a pack of cigarettes. There’s still some left when he puts one between his lips and shields it from the wind as he lights it. Steve settles against the wall next to the door and Eddie follows his lead.

“What a night, huh?” his voice is a little hoarse from singing and he feels the smoke burn his throat as he takes a deep breath. Once the end turns dark again, Steve reaches for the cigarette, pulling it from his mouth and putting it between his own lips. He takes a pull, not quite as deep as Eddie did, holds it for a second before blowing out again.

“What’s it like?” Steve takes another drag before placing the cigarette back between Eddie’s lips, “Being on stage, I mean?”

“A fucking thrill,” Eddie says after a moment.

“I bet.” Steve stares at the ceiling and he taps his foot, not quite along with the beat of the band. “I always got so nervous before we had a game. I think I puked a few times.” Steve laughs to himself and Eddie smiles. He moves a little closer to Steve, not quite touching, but close.

Steve leans over again, pulls the cigarette from Eddie’s mouth for another drag. Something about the gesture feels so intimate. Especially the way Steve gently places it back between Eddie’s lips after he’s done and fingers lightly grace over his lips in a way that doesn’t feel accidental. Excitement swirls in his belly and he wishes he could kiss Steve right here but not even the Hideout is that accepting — regardless of how weird its visitors are.

Once the cigarette is reduced to its filter, Eddie pushes himself from the wall. “Guess it’s about time we load the van,” he tells Steve.

Eddie drives it up near the exit and when he walks back inside his bandmates have returned. Steve has a new beer in his hand and he’s in conversation with Freak who’s bent over laughing while Steve grins at him.

With the five of them, it doesn’t take long to have everything packed again and Eddie feels like he might be done for the day. He doesn’t have to tell Steve though. Sometimes it feels like he can read his mind, and maybe that’s good because otherwise, they may have stayed another couple of hours.

“Vickie was driving them right?” Eddie asks as he fastens his seatbelt.

Steve nods. “Hard to believe she found a new taxi driver, even after finally getting her license.”

“The way I heard it, she only got it because they felt sorry for her,” Eddie says as he turns on the ignition.

“Don’t be mean, ” Steve says, but when Eddie shoots him a look, he relents, defensively throwing his hands up, “Okay, fine, mercy license. You’re right. Still, good thing she has Vickie.”

Eddie hums in response. His eyes feel heavy and he can’t wait to dive into bed with Steve. Luckily it isn’t a long drive.

Once they arrive at the trailer, Eddie gets his guitar from the back and they head inside.

He hangs his guitar back in its rightful place on his bedroom wall and runs his fingers along its surface lovingly. He wonders what they did to get so lucky tonight. Maybe it was his guitar, or maybe it was Steve. The unlikelihood of Steve Harrington attending a Corroded Coffin concert at the Hideout may have given the universe a good shake. That, or the fact that Eddie is maybe-kinda- dating him. Surely that must have broken some natural laws as well.

“I’m hitting the showers,” he yells without looking back. Steve is somewhere in the trailer, but he has no idea where he wandered while was in his bedroom. Eddie shoots his guitar one last look before moving to the bathroom and switching the water on to warm up. He strips his leather vest away and it sticks to his skin. His hair looks a mess too — much like the eyeliner that has left dark smudges under his eyes. The mirror is fogging over as he rubs at it.

“Need some help there, Munson?”

“Back to last names?” Eddie quips as he turns to face Steve at the door opening. “Harrington.” He draws Steve’s name, just for the heck of it.

“Only for Rockstars.” Steve smiles and leans closer, running a thumb underneath Eddie’s eye and rubbing gently. It’s probably not helping, but Eddie doesn’t care. He likes the way Steve’s hands feel on his face and the way his thumb slips lower and lower until Steve runs it over his bottom lip and to his jaw.

Eddie feels his heart rabbit in his chest.

Maybe. Maybe.

He will do it. He’s nearly vibrating with nerves, but he’ll do it. He bites his lips where Steve just touched them

Brain to zero and go.

Eddie leans in, capturing Steve’s lips before he can change his mind. For one breathless moment, Eddie thinks Steve will pull away — run away. But then he moves, Steve’s thumb dragging down to his neck and Eddie feels like he can breathe again. He steadies himself, one hand on the sink, another on Steve’s shoulder.

Lips move over lips lazily, and there is no hurry because they’re alone and they have the rest of their lives for kissing. Steve kisses him deep, urging his lips to part and licking inside. It stirs something in Eddie; awakings a pleasant heat in his gut.

Steam is filling the bathroom, moisture clinging to their hair and the sound of water hitting the shower floor echoes through the small room. If Eddie doesn’t get under soon the water will run cold before he’s finished.

Maybe he’ll need a cold shower. He has little to hide his arousal and Steve is fully dressed and that just doesn’t seem fair.

Maybe. Maybe.

Eddie is done thinking. Overthinking. His brain isn’t getting much blood anyway, so he acts — just does something impulsively stupid — and drags Steve, clothes and all, under the shower with him.

Steve yelps against his lips, blinking rapidly to get the water out of his eyes. Eddie leaves him no room to retreat. He recaptures Steve’s lips, pushes him back against the tiled wall. Water is soaking his hair and boxers. It’s soaking Steve’s shirt, the shoulders already darkening into a burgundy instead of bright red. Steve’s hair is dripping, droplets running down the locks that cling to their former glory. He looks beautiful, Eddie thinks, with kiss-plumped lips and red-stained cheeks.

Eddie tugs at the shirt. Peels it off Steve’s chest and only loses his lips when they awkwardly pull the sticking fabric over Steve’s head.

“If you’d asked,” Steve pants slightly, “I’d have lost the clothes first.”

“Where’s the fun in that?” Eddie purses his lips challengingly and runs his hands down Steve’s torso appreciatively. Moving from his pectorals towards the hair that dips beneath his waistband and runs a finger along the fabric experimentally.

When Eddie looks up and his eyes meet Steve’s again, he sees how blown they are, brown nearing black, and it makes him stop for a moment.

Steve sees an opportunity, seizes it like the jock he is, and spins them around. Eddie winces at the coolness of the tiles against his back, but that’s quickly forgotten when Steve shoves his leg between his thighs and pulls them flush. Eddie can’t help it, the sound that escapes him when Steve rolls his hips. He can feel the hardness there, the outline of Steve’s cock.

It’s so different now that he can actually see Steve. The bright TL bulb hardly makes for a romantic mood, but Eddie doesn’t need warm light to feel this good.

He feels desperate for Steve’s touch.

Steve rolls his hips again, establishing a rhythm while he mouths at Eddie’s neck. And fuck, Steve is good at this and it nearly overwhelms him as he tries to move with Steve, tries to silence the whimpers that escape his lips with every thrust.

Eddie’s hands move lower, finding the belt hoops of Steve’s jean shorts, and guides his movements with one hand while his other searches for the buttons — to get Steve out of his pants.

Unforgiving fabric. Fucking denim.

Eddie pulls at it as Steve recaptures his lips, moves his tongue over Eddie’s, and Eddie can’t help it. He lets out a whimper and Steve swallows it, only to break apart and help Eddie get him out of his shorts.

It lands with a wet slosh on the shower floor and now that Steve is just wet socks and boxers. Eddie can see the evidence of Steve’s arousal. The wet fabric clings to his dick, leaving absolutely nothing to the imagination.

He wants to touch Steve; taste him. To watch him while he works him, and see his face as he falls apart. Steve has him trapped against the wall, leaning back in, and Eddie licks his lips.

Maybe. Maybe.

He gasps when he feels Steve’s fingers slip underneath the elastic waistband of his boxers. Steve’s fingers are a little hesitant, a little jittery, but when they find his cock Eddie lets out a strangled moan all the same.

“Holy shit.” He buries his face into Steve’s neck, mouth gaping uselessly and fingers digging into Steve’s hips as his hand starts to move.

It’s slow. Painfully slow the way Steve moves his hand and it leaves Eddie shuddering with arousal.

“Steve,” he breathes helplessly, sinking his teeth in the soft flesh of his shoulder as he tries to steady himself. Eddie wills his hand to move, to trace the band of Steve's boxers as well and he feels Steve’s muscles jump once he finally slips a finger underneath the fabric. He pulls it down, releasing Steve’s cock, and Eddie kinda wants to see it but can’t because Steve has him trapped.

When he wraps his hand around Steve, he is rewarded with a shuddery breath near his ear. Eddie strokes him, matching his tempo to Steve’s and its wave after wave of pleasure and pressure. They’re moving as one. Something akin to what Eddie imagines the ocean to be; drifting with the current. And that’s something they could do too, Eddie thinks, visit the ocean. He’s never seen it.

He wants every first with Steve.

Pressure is building within him. A heat bubbling and he knows he’s close, he feels Steve might be as well as he ups his rhythm, slides halfway down before moving up again, a thumb over the head which earns him another sound from Steve. And Eddie loves it, all the sounds and gasps Steve produces, the way Eddie pulls them out of him.

Steve’s movements are getting sloppier, and he pulls his head back a little, just to crash their mouth together again. It’s the slide of Steve’s tongue that tips him over, all messy and wet. It ripples through him and he moans into Steve’s mouth and twitches against his chest.

He’s pretty sure he just came all over Steve’s leg.

He gives Steve a few slow pumps and then he feels Steve gasp against his lips as well as he works him through it. He swallows every sound, every whimper — eat it up like a starved man until Steve goes slack.

They stand slumped against the shower wall and Steve leans heavily against him, chin resting on each other's shoulder as they catch their breath. The water has long since gone cold, but Eddie didn’t even notice. He doesn’t think Steve did either.

Steve pushes himself away a little so he can look at Eddie. And fuck, will this be the moment it all comes crashing down? That Steve runs off again? It’s only a split second he allows the thoughts to take hold.

Steve’s face comes into view and he smiles. It's a little shy, but a far cry from panic.

“Guess we kinda missed our shot when it comes to hot showers, huh?” Steve laughs and Eddie wants to slap him because, in a world of lame post-coitus talk, this was definitely up there.

He also wants to kiss him again, and this time there is no doubt when he pulls Steve close and places a gentle kiss on his lips.

There is no doubt at all.

“You definitely didn’t miss my leg though. Great accuracy,” Eddie jokes. He bears Steve a toothy smile as he playfully slaps his cheek. Steve goes a little red, but only briefly.

“Let’s get washed up, superstar.” Steve rolls his eyes and pulls his boxers all the way off, throwing them on the wet heap of clothes on the floor.

Eddie stalls for a moment but then does the same. Guess they’re showering together, huh?

The shower cabin is a lot more cramped when you aren’t trying to crawl into each other’s skin it seems, and it’s an awkward tangle of limbs as they wash their hair and Eddie tries to mohawk Steve’s soapy locks while the latter objects. In the end, they keep it brief because the water is cold and Eddie's teeth are clattering.

It’s late anyway, way past midnight.

Once they lie in bed, Eddie feels exhaustion befall him. This may have been the most eventful day of his life.

He looks at Steve in curtain-filtered streetlight and Steve smiles back, his hand finding Eddie’s as he plays with his fingers. Eddie’s heart feels so full it’s ready to burst — to combust in heart-shaped confetti probably because that’s what Steve does to him. It makes him all sappy and gooey and starry-eyed.

He wants to tell Steve just that, but his mouth runs dry. His brain blanks just as he finds the words and it’s like he just can’t — not with words. He intertwines their fingers instead, and gives Steve’s hand a little squeeze as he closes his eyes.

He dreams of music that night.

Of touring with the band and playing at shows with audiences the size of basketball games. And Steve is there, always at the front, looking on from the crowd. It’s a pulse of tour and show, tour and show, but Steve is there every time.

Eddie thinks it could happen for real. That maybe—

Maybe Steve will always be there.

---

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#steddie #steve x eddie #eddie munson #steve harrington #my fics #proximity_fic #ster writes steddie

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angstandhappiness · 1 year ago

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@bi-scottsummers: #op this is such a wonderful little essay thank you#also. this could be completely out of left field. but it seems to me that SWK is still grieving & that a lot of his reactions to certain Uhh#situations which arise in the show can be directly traced back to the events of his past#the whole ordeal with LBD is kinda Yikes. bc it reads to me as him impulsively reacting to this untreated …. I don’t wanna say trauma but.#yeah. trauma kind of (the LBD chapter in the og series featured a VERY dramatic breakup between SWK & tang sanzang bc LBD manipulated her#way into the group and Buddha’s Specialest Boy refused to listen to SWK when he was like ‘that’s a demon man. maybe stop engaging with it’#to be fair he did also kill her on sight the first time they met her which as you can imagine would be a big No No for a monk but I digress)#idk how much of the og series theyre keeping as canon in the show BUT if we assume almost all then I think SWK’s flaws make a lot of sense#LBD pops up again; he remembers That Time he tried to protect his buddies from her & they all ignored him & almost died;#he goes Not This Fucking Time!! and leaves his current buddies behind & tries to take her on all by himself#quite stupid! some might even say astronomically stupid. but MMMM I love it when characters are stupid for reasons#not to say part of it isn’t just his reckless personality but SWK has lived a long life & I feel it’s possible that some of the shitty#habits he’s picked up along the way carry over. ALSO this is purely just me but he feels like such a lonely character in the show#I mentioned grief earlier bc of all the murals of the og JTTW gang you see on flower fruit mountain#and the fireworks scene. when he brings out a feast fit for like 6 people#the fact that at the beginning of the show nobody has rlly heard or seen from him in like. centuries ??? like he just isolated himself#completely after his friends died??? it’s like he’s haunted by them bro not one episode goes by where they let u forgot that he used to be#part of something bigger than himself#I forgot where I was going with this. ok wait yes I remember. I’m SO curious to see whether or not his past will ever be DIRECTLY addressed#because while I think he is just an inherently flawed being (as everyone is) I also think a lot of his communication issues and#self-sacrificial issues could be hmmm mitigated I guess if he ever decides to work through (what I perceive to be) one of the factors#contributing to them. just to be clear I don’t want him to be suddenly perfect I just think he’s got some shit to work through#he was canonically kind of an asshole to macaque before the show’s canonical start to JTTW & im sure he’ll continue to be an asshole after#all of this. but hopefully he will be an asshole who is a little bit better at processing & dealing with his emotions accordingly#I’m probably reading too much into this bc a lot of his shit can also just be attributed to arrogance#in which case YUM. love it when characters have to face the consequences of their actions😚love watching silly monke get his ass beat#like to be xtra clear: macaque & SWK both are letting trauma from their pasts ruin their chance at a future. but MK sees them as#villain/hero respectively. I just like this perspective bc then we have to consider where the line’s drawn or if theres even a line at all

@imminent-danger-came; #prev woag#''this is kinda outta left field'' *proceeds to give a lovely little analysis of SWK and his flaws/past*#But YEAH. Wukong? SUCH a lonely character.#I think pretty much everything he does in the show is motivated by whatever happened to the og JTTW crew#Like lol. All of his friends died. After DBK is sealed he's pretty much effectively cut his last tie to anyone.#And so I can imagine after watching everyone he cares about leave him (in one way or another) it's like next time#Next time he won't let that happen. He'll put himself on the line first#He'll protect MK (at this point the only person he has in the world)! He'll do it this time!#He's immortal 7 times over! He can't die! He's going to do this!#And then. Oh no. Oh geez he does NOT do that at all#Tragedy at it's finest fr fr#Prev I don't think you're reading too much into anything I think that's just his character#LMK expects you to draw a line between a lot of dots and by GOD have you drawn them#That scene in 2x00 when MK's like ''I gotta go watch the fireworks with my friends...'' and the way like#Wukong just turns and stares into the sunset#LIKE BRO???#I also always think too hard about Wukong calling the gang his friends in 4x07#''I'm not going to let some curse bully me or my friends a second longer!'' Your friends???#You consider them your friends?? You were confused that Tang was hugging you in 3x05.#And this is after showing how the og JTTW crew presents themselves in the gang like. SIR??? WHAT HAPPENED TO YOUR FRIENDS.#Would love for Wukong to work through his problems. Would love for ANYONE in this show to work through their problems actually#I'm really hoping for a SWK V MK fight at some point.#For both SWK's and MK's arcs respectively MK needs to be the one to chew SWK out. LIKE I'M WAITING.#Anyways whatever a hero and a villain was at the start of the series that has really degraded by this point#it's just soup#I don't even know whats happening here anymore#I will say the first episode of the special is titled ''A Lifetime of Mistakes'' and they HAVE to go into Wukong's scroll piece. So.#These writers are fucking baller they're not going to pass up an opportunity to see SWK's past directly like this#Or pass on opportunity for MK specifically to see SWK's past#Like oh god it's all coming together

@bi-scottsummers: #PREV too true let MK lose his shit at SWK. as a treat<3#poor boy has taken after his mentor with regards to how well he processes + deals with unpleasant emotions#monkie kid#ok I’m done with the reblogs now I promise. no more essays in the tag god bles 🙏

@sterling-starlight: #I know I've joked about how I keep on making the sad old men in my shows my favorites#But for real?#My adoration and love for this stupid monkey is almost overwhelming#He's so so flawed but and he's shouldering several lifetimes worth of pain and guilt and lonliness#but he chooses to do his best when some weirdo kid stumbles into his life#he chooses to be KIND#It would be so easy to write him as embittered and jaded and a complete asshole#but they don't#I just-#he's going to ruin my life if he dies

@cloud-somersault: #ah what great analysis#we love it when people point out and understand that flawed characters are what make a story#expecting wukong to be perfect and not make mistakes even POST journey is not realistic#he was makign mistakes up till the end friends#he is by no means perfect#and that's perfectly fine#he's doing his best#he cares too much#and we love him for it#he goes the extra mile in trying to protect people#by lying and hidng information#making them think everything's fine while he's putting out fires behind the scenes#he wants to handle things and he puts that burden perpetually on himself#wukong still has development to go through and isn't that beautiful#aren't you excited??#characters without flaws...aren't really characters at all y'know?

@chipper-smol : #good good good analysis

@ec-arts: #this is a really good analysis

@mariposiel : #screaming crying throwing up

@rorylow : #WOAWW I LOVE THIS#IN-DEPTH SWK ANALYSIS FOR THE WIN !!

@chaotic-bumblebee-agenda : #THIS. ALL OF THIS

@confused-dreamer-wolf: #all of this#he is such a complicated character

@niyana-the-ambiguous-mobian : #OP this is a really good essay right here#but yeah what was he doing all that time after sealing DBK??? chilling in a eternal hot spring? #oh i am FUCKING LOSING IT#AHHHHHH

@cosmoshard : #Augh yesss#rly good points here

SWK being so flawed is like one of LMK's strongest bits. I feel like a different show would just have him be infallible or have him be like a twist villain or irredeemable or something. But he's neither of those, he's just incredibly flawed. It's also interesting that even though Mei and Pigsy are critical of him, they're still shown to care about him.

All in all, hes a more complicated character than people give him credit for :/

I 100% agree!

Honestly, if Sun Wukong wasn't flawed I'd find him a bit boring. You remove his flaws and you remove the meat of his character. Even all the way back in season 1 you get the feeling he's withholding information and concealing his past ("Show me the real Sun Wukong! The old you would have leveled this whole mountain range to stop me!"), and that only becomes more and more prevalent as the show goes on.

Wukong is first introduced as a hero, as the King who defended the world from DBK. Next he's introduced as a mentor, planning to make MK his successor (which I think is pretty debatable at this point, as I've said I personally think he just needed an excuse to train MK).

Slowly we learn SWK is pretty terrible at both of those things. He's not the hero or mentor anyone thought he would be—he's not even the mentor he thought he would be:

Macaque: “Haha, you saw a story about a hero who got handed everything, who didn’t have to work for anything, and you thought you were the other guy? The second the hero got real power, he couldn’t care less about his friends.” [ - ] "You know, I meant what I said—you really are a good kid. A good kid, with a really terrible teacher." (2x07 Shadow Play)

Pigsy: "Back from what? Your vacation? No- what could have been SO important you'd leave MK alone to face that- that thing! You're supposed to be his mentor!" (2x10 This is the End!)

Sun Wukong: "I know I can never make it up to you. Honestly I- I never thought I'd live as long as I have let alone be someone's mentor—turns out I'm not very good at it. I guess what I'm trying to say is, I'm sorry MK, for all of it." (3x14 Destiny Fulfilled)

(he's staring sadly at a bowl of soup, never a good sign.)

s1 of Monkie Kid, as well as the Revenge of the Spider Queen special, establish a baseline. We meet Wukong as we're meant to know him—the legendary yet cheeky hero. Now that he's retired, Monkey King is training the next generation to protect the world and be the heroes in his place.

Right?

Well, just like our perception of Wukong, our perception of the role of the hero slowly degrades as well:

Lady Bone Demon: “Heroes? Please, you’re mere agents of chaos, the very thing I aspire to eradicate in this new world. No more destruction, no more disorder, I WILL HAVE PERFECTION.” (3x12 The Corrupted King)

Curse MK: "We’re just like Wukong. A fraud! A trickster! Destructive! Why would our legacy be any different? Actually, no no- the chaos and destruction we’ll bring upon the world will make Wukong’s past look like nothing." (4x07 Pitiful Creatures)

MK: "That can't be true! Monkey King's a hero he wouldn't just—" Azure Lion: "You saw it with your own eyes! His betrayal, his brutality—he took the only friends I had from me." (4x08 The Brotherhood)

Heroes aren't people fighting for the side of good, or even for what they think is right—they're agents of chaos. Destructive. "All doomed to play a role in tearing this world apart." Heroes are introduced as one thing, and then slowly revealed to be another.

Heroes, just like Wukong and anyone else, are flawed. They still make wrong choices. They still hurt people. Of course Wukong isn't a twist villain or irredeemable, because ultimately he IS a hero with plenty of the positive traits that come with that. But heroes are also flawed, and this is something I think is at the core of Lego Monkie Kid.

You can love someone, and that someone can do plenty of good, but that doesn't mean they're not broken, or that they aren't capable of causing suffering. This isn't something that only applies to Wukong either—pick any character and I'm sure you could apply this to them.

Now, all this to say that Wukong's two fatal flaws are his lack of communication and his self-sacrificial tendencies. Like Azure Lion says—he has a habit of keeping people at arms length, and more often than not doing that to protect them. These tendencies more often than not lead to his downfall.

So! Let's make some lists of where we see these flaws in the show.

Wukong's lack of Communication:

"Look, I'm going to come clean—um, I've been kind of watching you."

Leaving MK and lying to him during s2 (this includes lying about both going on vacation AND that LBD had returned)

Keeping his plan to stop LBD a secret during s3

"Where I got my staff!" "Got or took, right? You took it?"

Not telling the gang about the 4th ring

Other lies I'm sure have yet to be revealed (such as MK the truth about MK's origins, if that's the direction the plot's going)

Wukong's Self-sacrificial tendencies:

Leaving during s2 to find a way to stop LBD on his own

"What!? You're not going I'm going!" "Yeah so, here's the problem, you guys have this thing called mortality, so-"

Gravely injuring himself to get the samadhi fire Map

Blocking the brunt of the samadhi fire to protect MK in 3x10

Going off to fight the Lady Bone Demon alone

Protecting MK from the curse in 4x01

(and this post here that travels into theory territory)

Now, most if not all of these decisions lead to something bad happening. It's very in line with MK's words in 4x08:

MK: It doesn’t matter if I want to help people or not! Everything I do just- it just makes things worse!”

Wukong, even if he has a very questionable way of going about it, is truly motivated by protecting the people he cares about. However, these choices also hurt those same people. Not to reference samadhi fire Mei another time, but this is EXACTLY what she points out:

Mei: "We trusted you! All of us! How could you lead us into the fight without a real plan? Time and time again I've watched you put MK in danger leaving him to figure out EVERYTHING on his own. Don't you realize you're hurting the people who care about you the most?" (3x10 The Samadhi Fire)

But that's the point, isn't it? Even with all these flaws and after all these mistakes, Wukong still tries (he's very much like Mei in that regard):

Sun Wukong: “Point is, mistakes happen, but so long as you leave the world in better shape than you found it, then it’s all good. Right?” (4x01 Familiar Tales)

Sun Wukong: “We can’t change who we were yesterday or in a past life, or a hundred life times ago! We live with the choices we’ve made, for what matter is the choices we make RIGHT NOW! Only we decide who we are and what we do with the power we have.” (4x07 Pitiful Creatures)

This is who Wukong is. He's not a hero or a mentor, but he's someone who cares. That's the tragedy of his character, really. That's the tragedy of both him and MK. They're people doing the best with what they have, but still failing anyways.

"Nice hero speech bud, but I know better—deep in your hearts, you don't believe a word of that."

And people still love you anyways.

#not enough room previously in tumblr new version #lmk analysis #imminent-danger-came #readmore

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prettyboykatsuki · 3 years ago

Note

please PLEASE write more abt bully bkg!!! what happened next?? what did kiri do omg

tw ;; mild toxicity, bully!bkg, kirishima being a shit, fem!reader 18+, spanking, oral (f!recieving), bkg accidentally worships your pussy instead of punishing you :/, unprotected sex, praise kink

PT. 1

a/n ;; have i mentioned he makes me absolutely out of my mind yet? have i said that?!??#?$#

i think we’ve established about the two of them enough by now so here’s how i picture it.

like i said before - bkg is a campus athlete, popular and well-rounded and all around has that like image to him and so when he essentially confesses to you after fucking you stupid in the library, that’s basically him making you his girlfriend. you don’t know that for a long time but we’ll get there later.

anwyays.. right after he fucks you nice n full of his cum, he slides your panties and shorts right back on and snickers as he watches you struggle to get to your feet before eventually helping you. he keeps your bra as a punishment and makes you keep his hoodie, almost biting you when you try and take kirishimas to return it to him. he’ll do it himself, don’t test him.

when you’re all dressed - he makes you pack up and ends up walking you to your dorm room in the middle of the night (which you beg him to not do) but he’ll be fucking damned if anything bad happens to you. it’s his version of affectionate but you don’t know that yet so you’re mostly awkwardly trying to dodge him on the way back BUT he’s still bkg so when he notices that he yanks you.

he makes you hold his arm and licks your cheek cause he’s such a fucking dick. hits you with a “get used to it, princess” with the most condescending tone. but he’s being so serious. you just think he’s teasing you but he’s not.. he means it. get used to him, basically because now he’s a constant presence in your life.

he drops you off in front of your dorm and you’re about to wave him off but before you can go he grabs your waist and basically dips you for a kiss. and it’s so good - fuck, you wish you could say you hated it. but bakugou is experienced as much as he’s mean so he kisses you like his life depends on it, his fingers digging into your sides and his tongue in your mouth. you almost forget your in public until he pulls you back up

he gives you a little breathless grin, patting your cheek with his hand and telling you “get cleaned up, dumbass” which is his way of telling you to get home safe.

and you do get to your empty dorm. you take a shower and just kinda reflect on the actualy fuck transpired cause you were pretty positive he wanted you in a casket but?!?!?! you fucked him and he kissed you? so ????

youre in the middle of your exams and you’re honestly tired since you got fucked within in an inch of your life so you shower and just.. go to sleep. in his hoodie cause it smells good and it’s big and comfy and you’re like... thinking about it really hard but it just makes your headache.

you conclude after a lot of tossing and turning that he’s probably still just trying to fuck around with you and maybe thinks you’re an easy lay. you can’t say you aren’t since you were willing and ready for him (the thought of how easily you gave in has you flustered)

you sleep, eventually. and you wake up the next morning not really expecting much. you don’t have bkgs number or anything so you just.. continue with your day as is. unlucky for you - you have classes with bakugou and kirishima

but you don’t think it’ll be all that different. still so non-chalant. and you go to class that day dressed normally - with bakugous hoodie in hand.

you sit in your regular seat that day and this is your first mistake.

kirishima is in class before bakugou is. and he is.. as always, a little shit. so he pulls up right beside you because even though bkg is pissed at kiri - they are besties so he tells him everything. kirishima wont tease you abt it and u still think kirishima is quite nice and handsome so you’re pleased to greet him.

ah.. another mistake on your behalf. this action WILL have consequences.

kirishima gets so cozy with you btw. he loves that you’re so comfy w him - strokes his ego so good. and he chats you up for a better part of the hour before your morning class.

he makes jokes and smiles and laughs and thinks about how easy it would be snatch you from bakugou and keep you to himself. he’s not good enough of a person to leave you alone.

aaah kirishima is a sweetheart and he treats you well. so when you feel his hand on your thigh underneath the table - rubbing little circles into your knee, you don’t even notice. and when he gets super close to you to hear you talk - telling you your voice is too soft even tho a class is empty, you let him.

and when you point out that ppl keep staring and whispering you, he tells you to ignore them and you do. you ignore the whispers and even the click of camera.

it’s only when you hear bakugou that you get a strange feeling in your gut. he stomps into the classroom - vicious. his schedule is so busy he normally doesn’t get to lounge around before class making sure to keep everything tight

but he got.. many messages about how you and kirishima were seating today. mostly from kami who likes to cause problems - he decided he should get there a lil early

well.. lo and behold he does - and he finds you and kirishima looking incredibly cozy with each other. and kirishima being.. kirishima - is the first to see him and he shoots his beloved friend the most smug fuckin smile.

bkg is pissed, naturally and stomps his way over to the two of you. he’s doing the thing again where he’s icy mad. he doesn’t even bother w kirishima and there’s a whole crowd around the three of you.

“get your shit,” he demands, clearly seething. you give him a wild look, noticing the now obvious tension before being completely confused. you’re about to protest w him but he sends you a spine-chillingly glare.

your whole class watches as he yanks you by the wrist out of the classroom as kirishima sits back and gives u a little wave. ur lost. obviously. and once you leave the classroom ur like “where are we going?”

the answer is to bakugous very nice car - a custom c3 corvette. he opens the door and stares you, grabbing your bags and taking them to the trunk. but u stand ur ground, cross your arms over your chest like

“what are we doing out here?”

bkg doesn’t hesitate in pushing you up against his car, his hands on your waist and his teeth nipping at your neck - sore from old bruises. and you gasp when you feel his fingers dig into your hips, all tongue and teeth.

“the fuck did i say about you cozyin’ up t’ that shitty haired bastard yesterday,”

this makes you swallow because bakugous mouth is travelling further and further and his hands are getting more bold. and you shiver, something hot and heavy in your core cause fuck he’s so possesive over you. it makes you dizzy, something sticky and warm in you.

“i.. i d-didn’t think you were being s..serious yesteryday”

he growls a little against your throat.

“guess i’ll have to teach you another lesson. im gonna get in the car and then you are. easy enough, nerd?”

you can’t do anything but nod and watch him open the car doors. when he gets in you follow and within the blink of an he manuevers you till your over his lap. you let out a loud yelp as his strong hands come down on your ass. still clothed.

you let out a soft yelp - a noise of surprise at the sudden sensation and you feel bkg bend down to speak in your ear.

“wanna act like a fuckin’ brat and flirt with your boyfriends friends? fine. i’ll fuck that shitty ass attitude right out of you,”

the firs thing you think is “boyfriend?!” but your voice gets muffled when you feel bakugou pull down your bottoms along with your panties. his hands are so strong and so big - long thick fingers covered in callouses from playing so many games. you can’t help but squirm under his touch, a growing wetness making your stomach clench.

he’s so so mean about it yk? a big strong hand smacking against your ass hard enough to leave a handprint. he chuckles when you whine, when your body shivers - bare cunt expose to him and nothing else. a wave of humilation floods through you.

“‘s not my fault you’re like this y’know? all you gotta do is follow instructions - i know you now how to fucking do that, right? always bein’ so prissy,” ― bakugou tsks, smacking your ass hard before spreading your cheeks out. he admires the way your cunt trembles with mean laugh ― “but you wanna go flirt with shitty hair that much, huh?”

you’re gonna protest and tell him it’s not even like that.. which makes you question why’re so eager to go with his demands. but the words get lost as the sound of spanks slowly drift and it’s just bakugou admiring your ass. he didn’t really get a good chance too when he was fucking you yesterday but now he’s got eagles on you n your pretty little cunt.

“never gonna let anyone touch your pretty little pussy but fuckin’ me,” ― and he groans, sliding his fingers through your folds ― “fuck.. fuck”

you’re not expecting much but within another few seconds you’ve got your cheek pressed to the glass window, ass up and body folded with your cunt directly in bkgs face. you’re not rlly sure why this was happening because you were sure you were getting punished. and maybe the humilation of having your face pressed to glass is enough

but it doesn’t negate the fact bkg is tongue deep in your cunt. both hands massaging your ass - spreading your lips apart so he can get into fucking deeper. sliding his tongue against your folds and slurping on your clit until you’re jolting with pleasure like you’ve never known before in your life. you’re moaning so loud the whole campus could probably fucking hear but bkg doesn’t care and doesn’t stop

and your thighs give out, he goes from eat it from the back to getting underneath you and has you sitting on his face. you just keep cumming and bakugou is rock fucking hard - but he doesn’t even bother jerking himself off. he spends all of his time n effort worshipping your sweet cunt

you cum on his face so many times you’re completely limp by the time he sticks his dick in you. but it feels so good when he does that too - oversenstive walls stretched out his big cock, a hand on your sides as he shifts you into missionary.

he doesn’t even intend to make you cum again but the position has him so deep in your cervix that you do and he’s so close. and when bkgs close, he’s fucking obscene.

but it’s not all that vulgar like you’re expecting and that makes you fucking whine. hearing bakugou praise you and your pussy does something terrible to your brain and in your fucked out haze - arms around his shoulders, you’re fucking whimpering.

and bkgs just in your ear like

“such a sweet fuckin’ girl for me, taking my dick so damn good, haah fuck. all mind. know how to behave when i fuck you like this don’t you? be a good girl and take it all.. there you go, just like that,”

when he cums inside of you he stays there for a while and stares at your completely gone expression. it’s unusually soft and you wont see it often but he grabs your face and kisses you hard

“you’re my girlfriend now you fuckin’ dweeb so start fuckin’ acting like it yeah?”

you whine and nod, unable to refuse even if u want too

“yeah..yeah”

#bully!bkg #prettyboy.thirsts #bnha x reader #bakugou x reader #return to sender #this is not proof read at all im losing my mind.#dubcon cw #toxic cw

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no-droids · 4 years ago

Text

Out of a Trillion

gif credit: @bestintheparsec

Part Fifteen of the Rough Day Series

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 12.6K

Warnings: uhhhh so there is a bit of SMUT in this one, not too much and I imagine if you’ve made it this far then that won’t be too big of a deal LMFAOOO uh some ANGST and my attempt at HURT/COMFORT and also violence/blood/injury description, so look out for that!

A/N: I started writing this before the season finale aired and I know we all want a bit of goodness and softness after it, but hopefully this will be okay! I’ll start working on the next part tonight

***

Everything changes and yet somehow nothing does.

From that point on, it’s like… like you’re both just suspended in this perpetual state of wondering, waiting for the other shoe to drop. You know he said it’s up to you, but what the fuck? Look whenever you want? That’s way too much fucking pressure, he’s out of his mind. You’re not equipped to handle that, who does he think you are? Someone that can just… decide things?

And it’s not like you’re afraid of the commitment, or that you don’t want to look. You do, but every single time a moment comes, it just never… feels right. You don’t know what you’re waiting for, what feeling or meaning you’re expecting to magically present itself to you, but you can’t shake the idea that there should be more to it than just randomly deciding to open your eyes at some point, shouldn’t there? Din said there was no ceremony, nothing fancy, and he gave you permission to look because he said he’s not allowed to ask outright, whatever that means. It’s a standing offer because you guess he isn’t allowed to prompt it for some reason, but unfortunately, that leaves you in just about the shittiest position possible. Now everything falls to you—initiation, execution, and consequence—and Maker knows you’ve never been that great making decisions under pressure.

But you do want to look. Sort of.

Sort of. Because… well, this probably won’t make that much sense, but you’re afraid. Mostly for him. What if he’s making a mistake? It sounds stupid, but you’re afraid of what this means for him, the sheer perpetuity of this decision he’s now expecting you to make for the both of you. This isn’t your creed, not yet, and you feel like there’s still so much to learn. Not only about the Mandalorians and his culture, but about him. To know is to love, and so you’ve taken to asking any nonsensical question you can think of whenever he’s around. Though you weren’t expecting it at first, you’ve learned that he’ll always give you some sort of an answer. Some of the highlights include:

“How old are you?” (“I don’t know. Probably mid-forties, but there’s no way to tell anymore.”)

“You don’t know your birthday?” (No, I… think it was in the winter.”)

“What’s your last name?” (“Djarin.”)

“Do you have any freckles? Or moles, or birthmarks?” (“No, none that I’ve ever noticed.”)

“Do you cut your own hair?” (“Yes, but it’s been awhile.”)

“Do you have dimples?” (“I don’t smile in mirrors.”)

“Are your earlobes attached or detached?” (“What kind of question is that?”)

And so forth.

He also gives you so many fucking opportunities to look. One right after the other. You used to think Din was incredibly trusting with how often and voluntarily he decided to take his helmet off around you—he didn’t wait a single day once he first felt your hands on his skin to take it off in your presence. You remember being blown away by his unexpected willingness to part with it after hearing so many tales of the Mandalorians from Kuill; stunned by the ever-present ability to just open your eyes at any moment and that’s all it would ever take. One simple movement—life-altering, and so easy.

Now you find it nearly impossible, muscle memory just won’t allow it to happen naturally. And yet somehow, avoiding it is like stepping around land mines. He doesn’t trick you—he doesn’t set it up, he doesn’t surprise you or anything, but he’s… less careful. When the kid is awake, Din acts normal—he walks around fully armored, he goes on hunts and returns a few days later with a quarry, teaches you more self-defense techniques in the cleared out hull while the kid watches and giggles at your pain from the safety of his floating crib. But when the baby goes to sleep, he’s taken to lounging with the helmet off. He only used to remove it to eat, sleep, or… do other things with you, but he never used to take it off just… because. Now he does. Now he’s less careful about darkness, less strict about how much light he allows to touch him.

Now he shares every single meal he can with you, sitting just off to the side so you’ll never see him on accident but providing the free exercise thereof should you ever decide to seek it out purposefully. Now he interrupts you in the middle of your complaining about the bruises on your knuckles just to lift the rim of his helmet the slightest bit, lean down and give you a quick kiss, and then lower it back into position again before you can even catch a glimpse of the lips you only recognize by touch. Now he keeps the light on when he goes to take a shower, he leaves the door cracked.

It’s starting to give you heart palpitations, you swear. At one point, he lets you to see the entire back of his head and it nearly launches you into a fucking crisis.

It’s the middle of the night and he just got up from bed to use the restroom. He’s quiet enough not to wake you on the way over, but then across the hull and with his back to you, Din flicks the light on in the small bathroom without closing the door. Immediately rousing you after being so accustomed to the pitch blackness, you lift your head from the warmth of your shared pillow just enough to blearily make out the sight of him leaning a hand up against the wall and dropping his head down, and it takes you a second to realize that it’s actually him.

Soft, dark brown locks ending at his collar but somehow looking longer than you ever imagined when you’ve run your fingers through them. Cascading in shaggy, natural curls—tall, broad shouldered and trim waisted, naked as the day he was born. Your heart starts to squeeze in your chest and it just never stops, and for the second time in your life, you feel like he woke you up in the middle of the night just to show you one of the most beautiful things the universe ever decided to hide. There are trillions of people in this galaxy and how many of them have ever seen a sight that would compare? He’s just a man, you don’t think a single person would bat an eye. But to you, he’s… his own monument. Constructed in honor of everything dazzling that happens to lie just underneath something else. A breathtaking view, even from this angle, that could only ever mean something to you.

Would you ever be able to know him? No, that’s not phrased right. What you mean is that… over the course of all your time together, you remember thinking that if he ever took his helmet off, he could walk right by you and you’d never be able to tell the difference. He could be anybody. There are trillions of people in this galaxy and how many of them have the same features? Brown hair, brown eyes, sunkissed skin that only one person is allowed to kiss, not even the sun. Would you ever be able to know him?

Staring at his back in the blissful silence of hyperspace and feeling like the Maker himself is letting you in on one of his proudest secrets, some wild thought suddenly occurs to you that… you think you would. Somehow.

You can’t explain it and you’d never be able to prove it, but you feel like if you lined up every single person in this galaxy shoulder to shoulder, all however many trillions of them there are, then you could walk the entire length of it and somehow come to a stop right where he’s standing. Every single time. You feel like you could do it in the pitch black. You could do it with your eyes closed.

And, he must just be so gorgeous. Maybe not in a traditional sense (or maybe in one, you’d have no way of knowing), but mostly in just… the rawest sense imaginable. Not like how symmetry and straight lines are gorgeous, but how a mountain is gorgeous. Rocky, dangerous, steep, the product of constant conflict between two immovable sides. He’s got scars littering his body, one of which you remember giving him yourself with a cauterizer on his lower back. He holds himself like his shoulders could tell their own story if anyone ever asked them; built to endure, weighed down and made strong with a collection of burdens he chooses to strap to them, steel or otherwise.

You don’t want to close your eyes once Din slowly turns around to look at you, but it happens anyways and you’ve never been so disappointed in your own cowardice.

But then, in a way, it could just be your own self-preservation instincts taking over. No matter how stunning and life changing the spectacle would be, why would anyone ever stare directly at a supernova? For so long, you’ve told yourself that his face is something you shouldn’t ever see on principle, but in a way, you suppose it’s fair he put this decision on you because he always has, even from the very beginning. He trusted you to keep your eyes closed for months on end and you never had a problem with it, so why is it so hard to open them now that he’s given you permission?

A couple weeks of that, and you start to worry that you’re unintentionally rejecting him.

It’s the last fucking thing you want, but how can you avoid it? Din is… different, he notices. He’s made a living off of finding things that inherently don’t want to be found—he knows all too well what secrecy looks and sounds like, he’s quick and observant and you don’t stand a single fucking chance against him in all the years of his practice.

But strangely, for as often as you feel like you can figure out what he’s thinking without ever seeing his face—realizing what his intentions are ahead of time and not feeling slighted when he phrases things a certain way or just chooses not to speak at all—you never truly realized how much that extended back to you.

He knows you, too. He told you so.

For some reason, you didn’t even consider the possibility of it working just as well the other way around. That you could choose to stay silent, and he’d know why. You feel like the mystery of him just eclipses you in every single way that you don’t consider even yourself much of anything, much less something else to be contemplated and understood. While you wouldn’t necessarily qualify the conflict as not being ready to commit, he seems more than willing to respect it regardless and nothing about the way he treats you or interacts with you changes. Normally you’d say it’s like he forgot the whole thing ever happened, but it’s almost the exact opposite. Like he was just naturally expecting it from you.

Are you truly so predictable, you wonder? He said you’d say no. Was he right? You’re not saying no, you just… can’t remember the word for yes right now. It’s right there on the tip of your tongue and the harder you work for it, the more frustrated you become with your own inability to find it.

But, instead of waiting, you think Din just decides to continue the conversation with the promise to come back to you when you finally figure it out.

Sometimes, especially when he’s gone, you find yourself thinking about what moment you’d choose, if you could. Since you can never seem to find the right one naturally, how would it all go if you could construct everything yourself? Where would it be? Naboo? No, that’s too cheesy. One thing you and Din both have in common is your practicality, your respective propensities for wanting to tackle one thing at a time and not needing frills attached to something in order to find a deep connection to it, a personal value to it. You weren’t even bothered when he didn’t claim you as a girlfriend to Peli, that’s how reasonable you used to be about labels. Now you’re your own antithesis, trying to conjure meaning where there isn’t any just so you don’t feel like you’re the one who’s ripping it away. You want this decision to feel as permanent as it is. You want it to be a happy thing, something that happens when you’re both so in love that you can’t bear to have metal separating you any longer.

You think… you’ll just know it when the time comes.

***

“I have to leave,” comes Din’s hushed voice through the darkness, and even though it’s the first thing either of you have said in hours, it sounds frustrated. Like it’s been bothering him for awhile and he’s just now finally telling you. “I… fuck, I can’t stay here, I should’ve left a long time ago.”

You whine softly into the pitch black, turning your head into the pillow and curling your fingers into his hair. “But it’s still so early…”

“It’s mid-afternoon,” he groans back, dropping his forehead down against your skin and breathing hot air along it. “We’ve been parked here for hours, I don’t know how you can sleep so long.”

“I’m not sleeping,” you pout, before gently dragging your nails down his scalp and feeling his whole body shudder with it. “Earlier I was.”

“Mhm,” he murmurs, leaning down to give you one last long, slow kiss. You sigh when his tongue comes out and glides soft and hot against your lips, tightening your grip on his hair.

But soon he pulls away, lifting the covers from over his head and pushing up from between your spread legs. “This one shouldn’t take long,” he gruffs, planting both palms next to your head and kissing you once more in the darkness, dipping his tongue into your mouth this time. You moan softly and taste yourself on him, moving to wrap your arms around his broad shoulders, but he breaks the kiss and leans back before you can, preemptively avoiding the possibility of getting lost in it. “I’ll be back around dawn.”

You’ve known it was coming for hours now, so you’re able to play it off way better this time around. “Okay,” you breathe softly, dragging your palms up his bare chest as he lifts himself tall over your body. The slight disappointment underneath is so masterfully hidden, you’re almost positive you’re going to get away with it. “Be safe. Please.”

But then… well. Bounty hunter.

Din pauses for a moment like that in between your open legs, letting you slowly slide your hands down his ribs and over the lines of his stomach. You wait for him to move, find his clothes so you can get around and make some food, wake the kid up from his nap in an hour or so. Can’t stay in bed all day, no matter how much you wish you could.

Only, he still hasn’t moved and you start to become concerned. “Din?”

But then he suddenly groans like he just can’t help it, grabbing both of your spread legs and easily lifting them up. You make a sound of confusion as he maneuvers them until they’re pressed together and draped over one of his shoulders, and then his hips drop and push forward to slide himself thick and perfect into your blazing hot cunt.

Still drenched and swollen from cumming in his mouth so many times earlier, you gasp and he just groans louder, a ragged thing scraping out of his throat while you struggle through blind and unexpected euphoria to reach him. But you can’t—Din hugs your legs tight to his chest and settles in just like this, turning his head to drag soft lips and a hot tongue over your ankle before he starts fucking you. Right up against your g-spot, with your whole lower body in the way and preventing you from slowing him down.

You just have to clap both hands over your mouth just to keep quiet since you can’t reach him. You feel his teeth sink into the meat of your calf, hips pistoning far beyond your reach and it feels so fucking good that you almost don’t hear his gritted words against your skin.

“I have to go,” he groans, repeating it over and over until his voice begins to pull tight and it just sounds like a plea. “I have to go, I have to go, I h—have to… h-have to go, I have to, I have to, I have…”

***

When Din finally steps foot out of the ship, fumbling with his rifle and cursing quietly through the modulator, it’s the middle of the night some twelve hours later.

***

Steady…

Steady………

Fire.

—and… you blink as bark splinters.

Did you…? You look down at the blaster in your hand and then back to the ginormous charred tree trunk for a few seconds, wondering if you’re just seeing shit.

No, it’s real. You actually fucking did it. You…

… hit the target.

All of a sudden, your ecstatic giggle echoes loudly throughout the foresty autumn wonderland around you, reds and oranges and yellows crunching under your feet while you start to dance.

“Hey! See that, bug!?” You call out, shoving the blaster into your waistband and shimmying up to your enthralled audience of one, who just so happens to be smiling as wide as you are as he’s scooped up into your arms. “I hit the target, I hit the target,” you sing, beginning to sway the baby back and forth as he squeals, laughing while you bounce him. “No demon powers necessary, little man! I figured it out, I just have to use one hand instead of two. You can retire now, you’re the right age for—”

A twig snaps in the distance somewhere to your left, and you quickly spin around while reaching for the blaster behind your back.

Except all you see is a blue Twi’lek standing out amongst all the fall foliage, his hands cuffed behind his back and stumbling a few steps at a time while a considerably taller suit of beskar shoves him forward. You relax and immediately turn to look down at the ground, trying to bite your lip so you don’t smile too hard while they both approach. You did it—finally, you did it, you’re on top of the fucking universe right now.

You wait for them to pass by and move up the open metal ramp to the carbonite chamber, but then Din apparently decides to pause when he’s directly behind you, yanking the quarry to a sudden halt.

You know you should probably turn around to address them, but you can’t hide the happiness from your expression, it’s way too obvious. Though, after a moment, you decide to shyly turn to face the two men while continuing to bounce the baby in your arms, hoping that his and your matching expressions of excitement aren’t too terribly inappropriate right now.

Din looks from you to the splintered bark on the tree, and then back to you again, before slowly tilting the helmet up in a way that feels… proud of you.

“Congratulations,” he finally says, and you can hear the genuine smile hidden in the modulated drawl.

“Thank you,” you beam up at him, feeling the blood rush to your cheeks. “Was pretty awesome.”

“I’m sorry I missed it,” he tells you, and you don’t know why, but the tone of his voice makes you go so warm. It’s not like he’s openly flirting with you, but coupled with your giddiness and sounding like that in front of a bounty he caught in record time, it just makes your heart fucking throb for him.

“It’s alright,” you murmur, shuffling your feet through the crunchy leaves below and trying to play it as cool as possible. You have company. “I’ll be able to do it again.”

“Let’s see it, then.” He tips the helmet over at the tree, and you look between him and the unfamiliar quarry for a second, not used to Din just… ignoring their existence entirely for you. It’s not like the Twi’lek has said anything or inserted himself into the situation at all, but still. Din has one hand latched onto the cuffs behind his back to prevent him from booking it, but other than that, it’s like he’s pretending he’s not even there.

“Uh…” You immediately feel yourself get nervous. “I can… try.”

He nods one single time in silent encouragement, and you slowly turn to face the tree once more. The kid stays cradled in your arm while you reach for the blaster in your waistband, removing it and using your longest finger to flick the safety off with a practiced fluidity. Then, extending it out in front of you and taking advantage of your newfound strategy of only firing with one hand, you line up the sight and pull the trigger.

You wish you could say it hits. It would be so fucking cool and impressive if you hit the target like that, wouldn’t it? But it doesn’t hit. It misses, like usual. Miserably. And then an amused snort comes from behind you.

“Right stormtrooper, you are—” you hear an unfamiliar accent begin to snark, but the rest of it turns into a garbled howl the second Din jerks his elbow back to slam it in his face.

You whip around just in time to see a cascade of blood pouring down blue lips and sharp teeth—holy fuck. You gasp and take a step backwards with the kid, not horrified by the sudden display of violence (not after Din spent an hour teaching you how to do that, too) but not quite expecting it at that moment, either. But then, well… that’s the second time he broke a quarry’s nose for addressing you with disrespect. There was that other one he choked, you’re pretty sure—though you can’t remember exactly what initiated that.

Din yanks the bounty up the ramp without another word, leaving both you and the kid there to process while he shoves him through the hull and towards the carbonite chamber none too kindly. However, by the time he seals the quarry to his fate and eventually makes his way back to you, you just…

Fuck, you feel so stupid.

You shouldn’t even bother, what’s the point? All that practice and nothing to show for it. If you can’t even hit a stationary target with the pressure of others watching, what makes you think you’ll have any hope at all in a situation where you actually need to shoot? Are they gonna stand still for you? Are they gonna be as wide as a fucking treetrunk? You’re horribly embarrassed, so downtrodden in the face of a cruel taunt that you don’t even want to look at Din when he steps in front of you.

“Hey, just try it again,” he says without delay, but the damage has already been done. It’s not his fault, you’re just… not the kind of person who is meant to shoot a blaster, maybe.

“Ah… it’s alright,” you look out and smile sadly at the line of trees surrounding you, wondering how it’s possible that you only managed to hit one of them this whole time. You don’t see it, but Din quickly touches the tips of his fingers to the side of his helmet twice before you look back at him. “I hit it earlier. I did, I promise. You can see the mark if you look.”

His glove reaches out to brush your hair back, so unbelievably gentle after using the same arm to shatter bone just a few minutes ago. “I know you did. It was a perfect shot, you hit dead center. I see it.”

“I did it with one hand, that’s why I tried the thing,” you mumble stupidly, looking down at your feet. Dumb. Dumb.

A strand of your hair is tucked behind your ear. “Wish I was here.”

You glance over at him, feeling your expression suddenly go soft with a wave of affection. It stops all the harsh criticisms, halting your negativity in its tracks and replacing it with just… soft, abstract things. Mostly just warm, nonsensical fluff, but one clear and resounding thought breaking through. You wish he was here, too.

“Maybe I’ll get good at it eventually,” you sigh, slowly handing him the blaster with the barrel pointed down and away from both of you. Din carefully takes it from you, tucking it away somewhere on his utility belt while you gaze out at the designated target and victorious char mark decorating it. “Or hopefully just okay at it at some point. I guess I just need to practice more, right?”

“That’s right,” he tells you warmly, catching your free wrist. “Try using this one when you do.” And then a lightweight piece of metal is gently pushed into your empty hand.

Your expression furrows while you quickly look down at it, and—

You go utterly still at the gift, not even knowing what to think.

The first thing that you notice is the craftsmanship. Brilliant, structurally flawless, the perfect size to fit your hand. You don’t recognize the specific kind of metal that was used—definitely not beskar—but you think it might be constructed from the same material as Din’s old armor. Dull silver, but with reflective chrome filigree accents around the handle, trigger, and safety. It’s uniquely constructed and unlike any weapon you’ve ever seen before—no hard lines or edges, just a soft fluidity to the design that’s so aesthetically pleasing, it doesn’t really even resemble a blaster at all.

You can feel the visor silently studying your reaction while you continue marveling, noticing something new every time you look. The safety is towards the back of the chamber, just like he said it’d be. The sight is electronic, and you examine the way it’s built directly into the barrel.

Are those extra magnets on the inside? Is this able to micro-adjust the plasma release for the best shot? Holy stars, it must have cost a fortune.

“Din, this is…” you can’t decide where you want to look—the gorgeous crafting, the custom design, or him. Standing so close to you, not saying a word while you search for the right ones. “It’s so beautiful, I…”

“Was made for you,” he murmurs. “Had to be.”

You look back down at the blaster to stop your eyes from tearing up. He didn’t have to do this. This is so… sweet, such a lovely thing to do. Don’t cry, don’t cry—

“What is this?” You ask breathlessly instead, rotating the gun until he can see the symbol branded on the handle. You recognize that it’s his signet, but you never bothered to ask him what it’s called, you never saw it as your place. It’s an animal of some sort, one with a giant spike attached to its skull, and you’re glad you’ve never come face to face with one.

“It’s a mudhorn,” he answers quietly. “They’re… dangerous animals. Fiercely protective, preferring solitude. The kid saved me from one a few days after I met him. It’s… the mark of my clan.”

How fitting, you think, and an honor. Perfect for him, and a bone-deep reminder of your two favorite people in the galaxy on your hip wherever you go.

“Thank you,” you tell him, hoping the sincerity in your voice sounds anywhere close to how you feel. You haven’t even had it in your hand for longer than a minute and it’s already your prized position, the most important thing you’ve ever called yours.

Din nods and takes a small step back. “Now hit the target.”

Feeling invigorated and renewed in every single way, you keep the kid tucked firmly in one arm while raising your blaster with the other. The safety clicks off and your back straightens, chin lifting until something about the angle feels… right. The trigger moves easily under your fingertip, and there’s almost no kickback considering how light the weapon is. What you’re not expecting is the pure white beam of plasma shooting out of the barrel—unlike any blaster you’ve ever seen before—but then the immediate sight of it hitting the tree dead center sends a roar of triumph through your ears. Fuck yes.

“Look at that!” Din calls out over the kid’s happy squeal, and there’s nothing you can do to stop your loud whoop of victory. Even though you know it only hit with the addition of those extra magnets to correct your terrible aim, that still feels so good—you feel so fucking powerful and dangerous. You glance over to Din with a wide smile, but then his arm extends out towards the trunk directly next to the one with charred bark. “Hit that one.”

You automatically swing the blaster in that direction and shoot. A few pieces of wood split on impact and send sharp bits flying as soon as the bright white beam collides with it.

“That one,” Din tells you, and then bark splinters a half second later. “That one.” Bark splinters. “That one, that one, that one—” hit, hit, hit, white plasma flying through the air and bark splintering in rapid succession.

He stops and spins around, pointing to a tree at the very edge of the clearing. “That one?”

It’s furthest away but the trunk’s diameter is enormous. As you lift the blaster, you know you’re likely to get it easily with this sophisticated weapon, even across the considerable distance. So instead, feeling like nothing at all can touch you right now and wanting to see how smart the aim mechanism is, you raise up a few degrees higher before pulling the trigger. Pale plasma launches from the barrel, and then one of the tree’s most prominent branches comes creaking and crashing to the ground right where you split it.

You’re beaming by the time Din turns back to you, the most excited you’ve ever been with your own progress. He holds there for a moment while you lower your blaster and wait for him to speak, both of you looking at each other and not moving, until suddenly you hear his voice coming back to you.

Hit the target and I’ll marry you.

One of Din’s hands slowly comes up to the edge of his helmet, but before you can even process the implication behind the gesture, you’re immediately looking down at the crunchy leaves under your feet and clearing your throat.

There’s a beat of silence where you stare down at the dead foliage and wonder why the fuck you just did that. Right in front of him, right to his face, too startled at how quickly you were being confronted with the possibility that you responded in an equally startled way. It was instinctual, automatic and entirely out of your control, but that doesn’t mean you don’t want to take it back.

But… you can’t take it back. That’s the way things are, and after a few moments, you hear his boots begin to cross the distance to you.

“Come on,” Din murmurs gently through the modulator, carefully taking the blaster from your hand and clicking the safety back on again. “We have to get going. The fifth quarry is far. Three day trip through hyperspace.”

He doesn’t sound upset or disappointed by your unintentional rejection, thank the Maker. You want to explain yourself somehow, but it appears it isn’t necessary in the slightest. His arm wraps around your lower back and he leads both you and the baby back up the open ramp of the Crest, squeezing you close enough to his side that you have to learn how to walk in a different way to stop yourself from tripping over his boots.

The helmet turns and presses to the top of your head while you focus on moving straight. “Proud of you,” Din murmurs quietly, and your chest fills with enough air that you’d be worried about floating away if he wasn’t latched onto you so tightly.

He eventually releases you and walks over to the armory, pressing a button to unlock the doors while you hold the kid and watch him start to remove the multitude of weapons strapped to his body.

Maybe… maybe this isn’t the right time, but something brave surges up inside you. After receiving the most precious gift imaginable from him, hitting all those targets and hearing him say that he’s proud of you, you’re buzzing with just enough energy that for better or worse, it makes you open your mouth and ask.

“Could I… come with you this time?”

Din nearly jerks upright and looks over at you immediately, but he takes a while in responding. You hope he sees it in your eyes. You hope he sees just how much you don’t want to be stuck here again when this is possibly the one time you’d be able to tag along. It’s a bullshit quarry, one he could do in his sleep, and you’ve been getting increasingly restless while stuck on this ship.

When Din eventually does respond… well, judging from his shift in tone, you’re assuming he was just shocked at the question and didn’t take any of that time to actually consider his answer.

“No.” Short. Unfeeling, and not sorry about it in the slightest, before turning back to return the blasters you were using previously to the armory as if you said nothing at all.

Okay… Um. Not great, not what you wanted to hear, but maybe if you explain yourself better, he’ll listen.

“I just… I’m the only reason you have to get this quarry in the first place.” Your voice is quiet, trying to let go of some of the concerns you’ve kept to yourself over the past two weeks. Your fingers fiddle idly with the kid’s little woolen sack as he hangs out in your arms, wanting to plead your case but feeling slightly nervous now. “You were out having a crazy expensive blaster made for me while I shook hands with Karga and agreed that you’d take more work for less pay. I hate that I did that.”

“You had no choice,” Din mutters, turning around and striding past you while pressing a button on his vambrace to close the Crest’s ramp. “My fault for being late.” And… for as warm and comforting as his voice sounded earlier, it now just sounds… dismissive. Aloof. Half-listening, not really wanting to talk but forcing himself to.

“Well this time, I thought maybe… I might be able to help? Maybe?” Maker, you feel yourself going quieter the more he walks around the hull and ignores you. “Karga said it was just a missing person, not even a criminal…”

“Karga says a lot of things,” he grunts with his back to you, voice completely monotone through the modulator.

Come on, speak up. You’ve lacked a backbone for so long, you’ll never get what you want unless you say it out loud and let it be known. You take a deep breath and straighten your shoulders, trying to put a little bit of spine into it. “I can be useful. I can fight now, I’ve been working on my—”

“You think I’m telling you no because I don’t think you’re capable?” He suddenly whips around, voice ringing sharp and challenging throughout the hull while you freeze. You don’t move but everything about you suddenly feels like it shrinks.

“I-I didn’t—” But he cuts you off, taking a step forward.

“I know you can fight, a Mandalorian taught you how. I know you’re useful, I know it’s just a missing person, and I know you hate it when I leave.” He pins you with his eyes through the visor, his tone harder than you think you’ve ever heard it before. “No. Your job is to stay here, on this ship, with my son, where it is safe, and my job is to go get the quarry. Quit asking. I’m not telling you again.”

The baby makes a tiny little distressed sound in your arms and you blink a few times up at the cold metal, feeling all the good feelings from before just… drain out of you.

Okay, that’s fine. Uh. You… the cockpit is behind you, you’ll go up there and fly then. No reason, just… he should get going.

“Okay, yeah,” you nod and tell the wall over his shoulder brace in immediate agreement, before abruptly spinning around and grabbing the ladder. Din doesn’t move a single fucking muscle while you try to find your way up to the cockpit with the baby held to your chest and a dead stone sitting heavy inside of it, hoping your face doesn’t show the vulnerability you feel wanting to take over as you retreat. Get to the cockpit first, get to the cockpit first, get to the—

“Sweet girl, I…” you barely hear murmured through the helmet from the floor, soft enough to sound slightly shocked, but you scramble into the cockpit and shut the door behind you before he can say anything else.

***

Silence didn't used to feel like this.

At first it was eerie, unnatural and stifling when you spent years in a wide open desert, wind swirling and dust pelting. It suffocated you the first few times you jumped into hyperspace, a phenomena you read all about and considered mathematically fascinating before ever experiencing for yourself. It was… foreign and strange, but you began to value it more and more as time passed.

Then, you started to get to know him and silence just became comforting. Something you could bask in, knowing it was a comfort to him. A choice he made because it just fit him best. You felt safe in it, you felt like you didn’t have to be anything else but you. You never had to break it just to avoid awkwardness, you became… closer to it, until you learned to fall in love with it.

But only when he was with you and it was his silence. Not… everything else’s. Now it’s haunting again. Now the sheer lack of sound through hyperspace is a stranger to you, and the distortion of light surrounding the cockpit feels less about the sheer magnificence of manipulating space time and more about the fundamental disconnect it causes. Gorgeous, but at its core, a severance. Ripping the fabric of the universe apart, tearing a wound in it.

It’s been a few hours and nothing exceptional has happened since your conversation in the hull.

You’ll admit that you’re a sensitive person, and because of that, you’ve always had a problem knowing if you were right or wrong when someone comes at you with a hard enough will. You second-guess yourself, it’s one of your worst traits, and you feel like trying to squash that tendency without knowing the limit is partially to blame for why you’re holed up in this cockpit with the kid. You’re quiet but in a different way from Din. When he doesn’t speak, it’s because most of the time, he’s sure of himself and doesn’t need to. When you don’t speak, it’s because most of the time, you’re insecure and don’t want to.

After being left alone with your thoughts for this long, you’re starting to realize that… he was right. What were you thinking, wanting to tag along? Wanting to hang out while he risks his life for this occupation, you probably sounded so fucking ignorant. Maybe… maybe he didn’t have to say it like that, but his point is still very valid and you’re not sure if you’re really justified in hiding like this anymore.

The way he said… your job, though. That still stings a bit. This hasn’t felt like an actual job in a very long time. Was that just an expression, or did he mean it literally? You’re stuck on it, you’ve just been going over this for hours in your head, trying to figure out if you should be the one to apologize or not—or if this is just you overreacting from the start and no apologies will be necessary at all.

“Sorry you got stuck with me, kid,” you mutter sadly to the baby, watching him fiddle with his favorite metal ball in your lap. He makes a little gurgle, purring in that weirdly adorable little way of his and it somehow feels like a reassurance directed to you that he’s just fine the way he is.

Maker, you haven’t heard anything from the hull in a fucking eternity; it’s like Din turned into a ghost, hasn’t even made a single footstep that you could hear since you last left him standing there. You remember performing a quick flight check as soon as you got up here, lifting off as fast as you could and hoping the thrusters would rumble loud enough to cover your series of pitifully shallow sniffles at being yelled at unexpectedly by a very large and intimidating man, not really crying but not really able to breathe normal either. The little monster was able to wiggle himself around in your lap as you were trying to punch in the correct coordinates for the fifth quarry with rapidly blinking, watery eyes, and then proceeded to give your belly the smallest hug you think you’ve ever been given and pretty much break your heart with it.

Lovely little boy, so sweet when he wants to be. He’s sat with you this whole time, he even tried giving you his metal ball to play with but ultimately decided to keep it to himself when he realized you aren’t nearly as fascinated by it as he is. You know it’s probably getting late for him, and you’ve been weighing the idea of handing him over to his father so he can at least get a good night’s sleep somewhere that isn’t your arms. There’s no blankets in here, just your lap.

“I think I gotta go take you to your dad soon, tiny. He’s probably missing you,” you tell him, trying to keep quiet enough that you won’t disturb Din in the hull. There’s a good chance he’s already asleep. “I think… he might still be mad at me. Maybe you can give him the big eyes, soften him up a little?”

Right on cue, his enormous eyes start to droop closed, and you let out a tired sigh of exasperation. That’s not gonna work, come on. They gotta be open, booger.

You watch him slowly drift to sleep, his ears relaxing until they too start to droop, but when you try to take the ball from him and set it down on the console, his eyes immediately pop back open and the toy slips from your fingertips. It levitates right back into his tiny hands as you watch, and then he closes his eyes once more while tightly cuddling the thing he loves most to his body.

Unbelievable.

He’s a child, and yet he’s…

“How are you so strong?” You ask him, unable to even fathom. “You’re the smallest, most helpless little thing I’ve ever seen and you’ve got such… strength. You defy the universe for a piece of metal.”

He doesn’t hear you, you think he’s asleep again. It’s just as well, you figure. He needs to go sleep in his crib, it’s time. You scoop him up and make sure the little ball stays tucked snugly in his arms, before finally standing up and stumbling over to the door on numb legs.

Only, when it slides open, you quickly stop short.

Because there, sitting on the floor and resting his helmet against the corner of this small little platform leading to the ladder, is the Mandalorian.

So much closer than you expected him to be. So big, crammed into such a tiny place. You didn’t hear his footsteps climbing the ladder, and you would’ve noticed it during the hours you’ve spent in the suffocatingly muted quiet of hyperspace. He can be silent but not when absolutely nothing else exists and he’s got a thousand fucking pounds of steel weighing him down at any moment in time. You took off almost immediately once you barricaded yourself inside the cockpit, so has he… did he follow you up in those last few seconds, right after you shut the door? The ones when you were sniffling like a child and trying desperately to turn the thrusters on before you let the tears come?

His head lifts and his back straightens as you’re looking down at him with his sleeping son cradled in your arms, your eyes slightly redder than they should be. You’re a mess and… he’s been here this whole time?

“Could you hear me in there?” You whisper in sudden mortification, but Din just keeps gazing up at you through the impenetrable metal visor. A complete mystery again. Unreadable—he could be anyone.

When he doesn’t answer you, your heart twists with the possibility that he’s still upset with you, and you quickly turn to the ladder to figure out the best way to get down without jostling the baby.

“I’m sorry.” His voice stops you dead in your tracks. It’s so soft, nearly flipping in and out of the modulator from the lack of volume, the most cautious sounding thing you’ve ever heard coming through the filter. “I… hurt your feelings. I’m sorry.”

And… Maker, if anybody else had said it. If literally anybody else had said it, you know it would’ve sounded like the most sarcastic, dickish remark in such a delicate moment. But, you also remember him telling you once that you were tenderhearted. That the galaxy would never be as kind to you as you are to it. This… comes out sounding like he’s trying to change that.

It comes out sounding like he’s trying to use his voice to hold you because he doesn’t think you want to be touched right now. Like… like he’s doing everything he can to be as careful as possible here because you think he might be attempting to do something he’s never done before. Apologize for saying something he didn’t mean.

“You don’t have to,” you quickly tell him. He’s not good with words and apologies are difficult enough to phrase for normal people, you don’t want him to fret over it if that’s what this is. “It’s okay, I know you’re not… you don’t have to. It was stupid of me to ask.”

“It wasn’t,” he instantly counters, his voice finally seeming to find the floor when it was just hovering before. Not loud—still gentle, still making sure the kid doesn’t wake up and you’re not frightened away, but a bit more grounded this time. “It wasn’t… what I wanted to hear, and I didn’t take it well. Not stupid.”

“It was stupid,” you return amicably, looking down at your feet. “That’s not my… job, like you said.”

Din suddenly hangs his helmet down to his chest, pressing his gloves to the part that curves over his forehead and rubbing it. “Shit. I didn’t mean—”

“You were right,” you acknowledge, having spent the past few hours coming to the understanding that it’s the hard truth and he just phrased it poorly. “I’m not… built for it, I’d only get in your way. I barely just managed to shoot stationary targets with a blaster today, and that’s only with that aim corrector built into the barrel. I’m here to be helpful, not—”

“What are you saying?” He suddenly lifts the beskar to study you, sounding genuinely confused. “What aim corrector?”

That… makes you pause.

“The, uh…” Now you’re confused. “The one that adjusts the plasma release on the gun you gave me.”

He doesn’t move an inch or say a single thing to you in response and you awkwardly shuffle your feet for a second, everything so quiet that you can hear every little snore that goes in and out of the kid’s tiny button nose.

You blink at him after way too long of that, not knowing why he still hasn’t said anything. “There’s an electronic sight and like a bazillion extra magnets packed into the barrel, Din, what else could—”

“Sweet girl, that’s… that’s for the Philithiorium,” Din breathes out, like he’s absolutely blown away by you right now. “That gas is less stable than normal canisters, it takes more magnets to focus the white beam without overheating the metal.”

You stare at him, not truly processing. He’s saying that… you made all those shots today without any help at all? By yourself?

Your eyebrows furrow and you blink a few times, but then his slow, heavy sigh echoes throughout the metal walls with disappointment… and you don’t think it’s directed towards you.

“You’re just… always so unsure of yourself.” He sounds genuinely distraught as his helmet tips down to look at the ground. “I made that worse today.”

“It doesn’t matter,” you quickly shake your head, your chest already beginning to loosen slightly by just being around him, hearing his voice, seeing the metal glint under the fluorescent light overhead when he’s in such a vulnerable position on the floor. “It’s okay, let’s just… pretend neither of us said anything at all, okay?”

“Is that what you really want?” He asks you after a moment of quiet, and for some reason, you hear something in your mind tell you that his arms look so nice right now, don’t they? You could fit right there, perfect and safe again.

“Yeah, it’s fine,” you smile at him, feeling a bit of the ache trapped inside you continue to work itself out little by little. You’ll be back to normal soon, it’s fine.

“No, I mean… do you really want to come with me?” Din asks you, the words sounding cautious. Confused, like he truly never expected the proposition from you at all. “Or… do you just not want me to go?”

Oof, what a fucking question.

Why would he ask this? It’s not pointed; it’s the softest, gentlest inquiry you’ve ever been posed. Maybe in other circumstances, you’d say that him leaving doesn’t have anything to do with it, but… you’re certain that internally, it absolutely does have at least something to do with it and he was just able to know it before you did. Which is probably why his sharp words seemed all the more cutting earlier. It hurt because he said the truth first, verbalized a very deep insecurity you’ve been trying to hide from him and threw it right in your face when shutting you down.

Though, if it worked differently and you were the one who had to be away while he stayed here, you’d like to think you’d handle it way better than how it is now. At least you’d have a real mission to focus on, new things to see and experiences to have. You just feel… confined sometimes.

You take a deep breath and figure you’ll use sitting down as an excuse to think for a second. There’s practically no room but you find it in the back of the cockpit near the doorframe anyways, doing your best to keep the kid level while you slowly lower yourself to the ground near him. Not touching him, but close.

“I just… I lived my whole life stuck in one spot, wanting to see the galaxy,” you finally admit to him, staring at his chestplate but seeing the helmet tilt slightly in your peripheral. “Sometimes it’s just… hard to see the galaxy and still be stuck in one spot, I guess.”

“…You want an adventure,” Din proposes quietly, and though there’s not a single hint of mockery in his voice, you suddenly feel like it’s really fucking dumb when he phrases it like that. What are you, an eight year old? Wanting to go on an adventure, see things you’ve never seen without any concept for real life? Credits? Time? Resources?

You shrug a shoulder to make it seem like it’s no big deal. Why is he even entertaining this right now? “It’s stupid, I kn—”

“Like on Naboo,” he goes on, ignoring your harsh self-criticism, not allowing you the ability to even get it out once he heard the first couple words. “Going through the forest, seeing that waterfall. Someplace to find for yourself. Explore. Experience.”

You… you want it so badly that you think your eyes might tear up just hearing the words coming out of his mouth when he says them like that. Like he… just inherently understands. He knows.

He knows you. He’s not good with words and yet he found the single most succinct way to put what you thought was a complex yearning without even trying. You can’t even answer him, he hit the target dead on and you’re left with nothing to say that wouldn’t just be a miserable lie.

“Okay,” Din says after a moment, giving you a small nod.

You’re lost now. “…Okay?”

“You’re never going on a hunt with me,” he tells you very seriously, no room for arguing. “Ever. And not because you can’t handle it, understand?” He inhales, quickly adding on to his response before you’re able to analyze it the way you want to. “But if you want an adventure, then… I can try and find a way to give you one.”

Stars. He’s… too kind. You somehow feel like it’s more than you deserve. You were honestly hoping to just shadow him on a hunt, watch him work and stay well out of the way when he needs you to. Helping if you think you’d be of any help; an extra set of eyes and hands. You would’ve been fine even if he didn’t apologize for raising his voice at you, he doesn’t have to do this for you.

“Thank you,” you say for the third time today, feeling like each one has somehow multiplied in sincerity.

“It can’t be right now,” he quickly tells you, apologetic but earnest about it. “I have to find the quarry, and I’m supposed to meet with Karga again in a week.”

You never did let him know about the other part of the deal you made with Karga, you admit. Four pucks, no hassling, no hard time constraints. That’s what you shook on, but you just never found a way to bring it up to Din. Especially since you’ve been so preoccupied with hiding your growing disappointment from him whenever he has to go.

“If…” you pause, wondering the best way to phrase this. Yikes, this is a toughie. “Um. If Karga… I don’t know, hypothetically, if Karga decided to loosen the time constraints back to the way they were before the Corellian bounty, would you… still need to meet with him again in a week?”

You don’t think he even bothers shuffling through all those words. “Say what you mean. Please.”

“That was part of the deal I struck with him,” you quickly explain. “You can hunt on your own timetable again and he’ll keep giving you four pucks like before, no more or less after this one extra quarry. It’s like a… replacement of sorts, for the one I kept you from getting the time before. If credits aren’t an issue, you can take more than a week. But only if you want to, you don’t have to. It’s just there and you should know, that’s all.”

He takes his time responding, lifting his helmet just the slightest bit in… surprise? Maybe?

“You never told me you did that,” Din finally murmurs.

“Ah. Well.” You look down at the sleeping kid in your arms. “I didn’t want you to think I was trying to… keep you here.”

It genuinely is a struggle for you, and you think he’s just now realizing that. As much as you know he gets frustrated with you for always wanting him to be here when he physically can’t be, you think it’s only now that he’s truly realizing the lengths you go to in order to stomp that part of you down whenever you feel it threatening to come up. You allowed him to leave every single time without telling him he could stay, knowing that all that was left for you was babysitting and target practice for days on end.

“Will you come over here?” Din finally asks, and the tone of his voice just punches you in the chest. So soft, so distressed from having you so close yet so far from him and just… full of a quiet hope, like he’s fully expecting you to say no.

“Will we fit?” You whisper after a moment, even quieter.

He doesn’t answer, he just reaches for you. You do your best to scoot over to him without waking the kid, and then Din pulls you the rest of the way once he has a grip. You go right into his arms, laying sideways across his lap and supported by his steel embrace.

Oh, it’s not comfortable but you’ve also never been more fucking comfortable. One of his knees lifts and allows you to rest your back against it without worrying about falling over sideways and down the ladder to the hull, thank the Maker. The beskar pauldron over his shoulder digs into your cheek, but Din immediately pushes an arm up to nudge his helmet off and make it better for both of you. Your face automatically fits into the crook of his neck while he sets the beskar on the bend of his knee, and then he silently cradles you while you do the same to his little boy… who does the same to his favorite metal ball.

“Ni tar’tayl su,” he murmurs into your hair, the one phrase in Mando’a you do recognize, especially with how beautiful and elegant it sounds rolling off his tongue. “Forgive me. Ni ceta.”

You sigh your contentment and melt into him, well aware that you’d still be more comfortable in bed. But when you’re pressed hard against his chest like this and the baby is fast asleep in your arms, you get to feel both of them breathing. Din’s right lung is probably bigger than the kid’s whole entire body, but you like the radically different cycles they go through. You think you count six full breaths coming from the brown sack in your palms for every one of Din’s and two of yours. It creates the most beautiful little symphony that sometimes gets a little off track, but always finds its way back around again.

“How do you say…” You ask, feeling his hand slowly move down the curve of your spine, mindless and hypnotic. It catches the edge of your shirt and goes underneath, and even though it’s not his bare hand and there’s no skin to skin, it still feels so good. Not sexual or sensual even, just… a comfort to you. “In Mando’a, how do you say… out of a trillion?”

Din’s breaths pause for just a second, his portion of the synchronized rhythm faltering. Soon it starts back up, and his head turns to press his lips against your hair.

“I don’t think there’s a word for it,” he admits, gently brushing a thumb across the baby’s forehead while he snoozes. “There could be, but I don’t know it. I’d use… out of a million million millions. Dayn alanyc bal alanyc bal alanyci.”

Your eyes begin to drift closed, exhausted from keeping them open after shedding a few tears earlier. Your first fight and you’re already completely in love with him again after a handful of hours of sulking and one conversation. How is that possible? You’re normally a very forgiving person and it wouldn’t have taken much to make you feel better, you just never expected him to… actually want it from you that badly, care enough about it to get on the floor and ask.

Din doesn’t move the entire night through. You assumed he’d make everyone get up at some point and move to the hull, but he doesn’t. You fall asleep against his chest, comforted by the silence once again.

***

The next morning, Din quietly climbs into the cockpit while you’re humming in the shower. You’re too busy basking in the indoor rainfall to feel the ship pull out of hyperspace, and then jump back into it a few moments after.

***

“How long do you think you’ll be this time?” You ask two days later, sitting on the extended flattop of Din’s old cot and swinging your legs back and forth. The baby is currently sitting on your lap and trying to roll the metal ball down your knee so you’ll kick it in the air, you think, because he keeps dropping it at different moments and forcing you to stop moving your legs to prevent accidentally denting a wall. Every time the ball clatters to the floor, he makes a sad sound and it immediately lifts back up into his tiny hands for another try.

Heavy boots clang against the metal floor as Din drops down from the ladder, having just landed the Crest on the surface of whatever planet you’re on. “I’m not leaving yet.”

“Oh…” You blink, surprised. “Okay.”

“I wanted to do some more training with you first, if that’s okay. You can say no if you want, but maybe not,” Din drawls, striding over to the armory and opening it. He carefully removes your blaster from the front shelf, speaking with his back to you. “You’re going to run.”

“Um.” You take a moment to glance around the enclosed hull, before turning to look back at him with your eyebrows raised. “What, like… in place?”

Din sighs and closes the armory before leaning back against the doors, rubbing the face of the helmet in exasperation. “From me, sweet girl.”

Your legs stop swinging, and the baby grumbles and slaps three fingers against your knee. “What?”

“We’re on Sanctuary II,” he explains, turning to grab his black bag from one of the storage shelves. He unzips it and reaches back into one of the larger pockets on his utility belt, before grabbing a handful of credits and stuffing them inside. “It’s a moon, the New Republic occupied it years ago and made it a safe world for refugees and orphans of the Empire. You’ll have your blaster, some credits, a communicator, and a day head start. You’re going to run from me. Show me how much you’ve learned.”

Is… he for real?

Right now? You don’t even know how to respond, you’re too surprised. Even when Din approaches and carefully trades the kid for your blaster, setting the bag down next to you on the metal bed, you still haven’t answered him.

“If you want?” He asks after a moment, and you quickly jerk your head into a nod and jump off the raised platform, almost knocking into him with your sudden excitement.

“Okay! Fuck yeah,” you grin, but Din shakes his head.

“Rules,” he says seriously, and you quickly do your best to frown, trying to compose your thrilled expression to match his tone. “One. This is a safe world, but things can always happen. You have a blaster now, but it’s for emergencies only. Do not shoot me with it. Do you understand?” You nod, but Din reaches forward to grab your elbow. “Out loud, please. For me.”

“I will not shoot you with this blaster,” you vow obediently, carefully cradling the precious firearm in your hands.

“Do not shoot me,” he repeats while pointing a leather finger at you. “Do not… shoot at me. Near me. Around me. No, just—don’t shoot. Unless I am… very far away. Okay?”

Well, he didn’t have to phrase it like that. You frown, but acquiesce regardless. “I will only resort to blastering if it’s an emergency and you are not around.”

He nods a thank you for putting it into better words. “Second rule. Since you don’t have a ship, I won’t either. We’re on foot. I don’t doubt you can hotwire a piece of junk to do what you need it to do, but I’d prefer it if you didn’t. Good?”

Entirely accurate and entirely fair. “Good.”

“Three,” he says. “I’ll have the kid with me, which is both good and bad news for you. Good news is he’ll slow me down, bad news is I can’t promise he won’t also try to intervene at some point if you’re serious about putting up a decent fight. What I can promise is that I won’t encourage it.”

“Reassuring,” you nod. “Also not really a rule. Please continue.”

“Four.” He pauses for a second. “I think I’m wanted by the New Republic.”

You nearly jerk back. “What?”

“I can’t confirm it and I’m not proud of it,” Din quickly tells you, probably the vaguest possible explanation he could provide. “I’m only telling you so that you’ll know your advantage and find a way to exploit it. I can’t be seen by any officers, or they might arrest me.”

Is he fucking serious? “I don’t want you to be arrested, Din, I—”

“I won’t be,” he assures you. “They owe me one, I just don’t want to cash in yet. Trust me.”

You… do. Insanely, and against every logical thought flittering through your head, you do. If you were ever going to bet money that someone would be able to navigate a safe world on foot without being caught by the numerous officers scattered across the surface, then you’d put all your credits on Din Djarin. It… also shouldn’t really surprise you at all that the people seeking his incarceration also owe him a favor, should it? It actually sounds right on par for him. “Okay.”

“Fifth, and this one is important, so listen up,” he continues gruffly. “You check in with me tonight over the e-comm, alright? I don’t care where you are or how safe this planet is, if you don’t check in, I’ll come find you before the sun rises. Say you understand me.”

“I understand you,” you tell him, your heart beginning to pound in your chest at the reality of this actually happening. “I’ll check in tonight.”

“And if,” he goes on, “by some miracle, you manage to make it more than a full day, you check in with me tomorrow night, too. Say it.”

“I will check in with you every single night for the full five days it’ll take you to find me,” you assert, the adrenaline starting to make you brash and giddy.

Din tilts his helmet at you sternly. It is a very, very stern tilt. “Okay. New plan, forget everything I just said.”

Your expression furrows. “What’s the new plan?”

“That is the new plan,” he says, dead serious. “Us. Not doing this.”

“Oh, come on,” you grin cheekily up at him, poking his chestplate. “I’m just giving you some motivation to find me quicker, that’s all.”

Din stares down at you, and… yeesh. Tough crowd.

“Tell you what,” he finally grunts, sounding incredibly unamused with your jesting. “If you can last that long with only a day head start, I’ll let you come with me to collect the fifth quarry. You can even cuff the bastard yourself.”

You know it’s just because he’s rightly confident in his own deadly skill, but hearing him propose the possibility still shoots a thrill down your spine. “Oh ho, you are gonna regret saying that, shiny,” you beam up at him, starting to hop back and forth on each foot with excitement.

“But if I’m able to find you, you can’t ask me ever again,” he finishes shortly, and you immediately go still in front of him.

“What?”

“If I’m able to find you in five days, I don’t want to hear about you coming with me on a hunt and you can’t ever ask me not to go on one,” Din tells you, his voice rough and gravelly through the modulator. Not mean or harsh, but firm. “From now on, it’ll be off-limits.”

You… take a moment, not knowing if you should feel scolded or not. When you don’t immediately say anything in response, he sighs and turns the helmet away from you.

“Leaving is hard enough as it is,” he mutters, looking at the ground. “Hearing you ask… makes it impossible.”

You slowly lower your gaze to the floor as well, feeling your heart constrict tight in your chest. There’s a real pull under his voice, telling you that information even though it sounds like he doesn’t really want to admit it out loud. It… really is a struggle for him too, then. You understand.

“Okay,” you nod. There’s not a single part of you that actually thinks you’ll be able to stay hidden from him for five days while stuck on foot, so this is essentially a given. You’re not thrilled about the idea, but you’re going to do your best to respect it nonetheless, especially if he cares enough to put off hunting and allow you this experience for yourself. It’s a better compromise than you ever imagined, and you’ll do everything you can to hold up your side of the bargain.

Din clears his throat and straightens his spine, turning the visor until it faces you head on once more. “Final rule. I reserve the right to break any rule we just agreed to, or any fucking rule in this galaxy to keep you safe. Good?”

Your cheeks flush with heat, your stomach suddenly filling with butterflies. He doesn’t do that. Din says what he says or he doesn’t say anything at all, there’s no… taking things back, he’s already breaking his own code.

“What happened to The Way says no take-backs?” You ask quietly.

“This is my way,” he answers you. Quick, not even taking a moment to think about it, before pulling out a fancy looking wristwatch thing and clipping it on you himself. “This is your communicator. It takes more power than the one you have now but it’ll reach a further distance. I have one just like it, they’re locked into the same frequency and timesynced together, and the batteries need to be charged every three days. If you make it that long, I’ll remind you.” Din grabs the bag while you slide your arm into it, helping you hook it around your shoulder with one hand while he cradles the kid in his other. Your heart is pounding now, pumping with adrenaline as he pulls you towards the middle of the hull and then wraps an arm around you.

“Hey,” he murmurs, pulling you tight to him and pressing the helmet to the crown of your head. His voice is barely a whisper through the modulator. “Gar darasuum.” For an eternity.

You find some way to wrap your arms around him, even with your blaster in your hand and the kid hanging out in his dad’s other arm.

“Dayn alanyc, bal alanyc, bal alanyci,” you murmur dutifully against the beskar chestplate, knowing your accent is probably butchering the words but hoping they still carry the same sentiment.

And then you’re squeeeeeezed hard enough to get a little air out of you, before you’re let go and he turns around, pressing a button on his vambrace so the ramp begins to lower.

It’s bright outside but not too bright, and everything is warm and gentle and breezy, right in the middle of a lush plain. You inhale the fresh air into your lungs, looking out across the wide open field, having no fucking clue this is where your day would be leading when you woke up this morning. Oh Maker, it’s gorgeous here. Not like Naboo, where every single thing is picturesque and fit for an e-card, but in a soft, understated kind of way. The sky is a canvas of swirling pastel clouds, pale pinks and yellows and blues, and the communicator on your wrist lets you know that it’s just after noon here.

You take one single step down the ramp, before immediately stopping and turning around to bite your lip at him.

“How am I… how am I supposed to outrun you?” You ask, already clueless. “You’re too good, better than me at everything.”

“That’s not true,” Din reminds you sternly, grabbing your hand at your side. “You already know who’s after you, that’s an advantage nobody else has ever had against me. You know how I think. I don’t know how, but sometimes it’s like you can…” He slowly shakes his head. “See me. Through the metal.”

“But… but that works both ways,” you point out, breathless at hearing him say that but needing to focus right now. “You know me, too—you’ll know exactly where I—”

He shakes his head again, but quickly this time. “Remember what I told you a long time ago? What your best weapon is?”

You… do not. He told you so many things, and you’re assuming every single one of them is going to come into play during this endeavor if you want to outlast. You’re going to have to think back and remember all of them individually, find the time to figure out your best plan of action based on the remarkably little you know about how he hunts.

“You’re smart, remember?” Din murmurs, squeezing your fingers. “Your mind works differently, it sees things in ways I’ll never be able to, not even with this helmet. So…” He shrugs a shoulder like it’s the simplest thing in the galaxy. “Don’t try to outrun, okay? Just try to outsmart.”

You give him a nod after a moment, still not really sure about it, before giving his hand one last squeeze in return and eventually letting go.

Outsmart. Outsmart him, use what you know about him to be the most elusive quarry he’s ever hunted down.

As you make your way down the ramp, you’re already thinking. His helmet tracks footprints, that’s a thing you know. You’ll have to find someone to trade shoes with, then—yours aren’t too beat up, maybe you can find a local who’d appreciate a better pair. Are you going to a city? Would there be one in walking distance? The wilderness won’t work, you’ll be too exposed and it would make you an easy target for either him or wild animals. The weather seems clear here though, and you don’t think you’ll need to worry about rain or snow, but if—

“Oh—but when you do see me,” Din decides to add when your feet finally touch the grass, and you pause once more to turn around and look at him. He stays quiet for a second, studying you through the helmet for too long. Like the anticipation is getting to him already.

You bite your lip back at him and adjust the bag on your shoulder, tummy swirling with nerves and excitement. He tilts the visor up, gazing down at you from the hull with the kid tucked in his arms.

“Try to outrun,” he says gruffly, before turning back into the ship and letting the ramp slowly close behind him.

#the mandalorian x you #the mandalorian x reader #din djarin x reader #din djarin x you #mando x reader #mando x you #smut #angst #hurt/comfort #reader insert #the mandalorian #rough day #no-droids

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