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joel-millerr · 3 years

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Facing The Past

Chapter Three of We Are One When Together (formerly A Mandalorian and a Smuggler)

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 11.6K

Summary: You and Mando head to Nevarro for him to collect the bounty on your head, but of course things don’t go as planned...

Warnings: violence, a little bit of smut, ANGST (as per usual), let me know if there's anything I missed

A/N: (its also my first time writing any smut so hopefully it’s *okay*)

Nevarro is…gloomy—definitely not the type of planet you’d willingly visit. All you could see up until the horizon are plains of rock, cracks filled with lava, and steam emitting from the slits in the ground. Not even the sun shining down on you can improve the landscape. It’s muggy, and dark. In hindsight, it’s the perfect place for a bounty hunter base; the occupation compliments the wasteland that is this planet.

You don’t mean to be overly critical of bounty hunters, but they are to blame for imprisoning so many of your crew that your anger clouds any rational and unbiased opinion about this planet.

Mando lands the Crest just outside the walls of the city. The town itself looks terribly small, but doesn’t seem like a totalshithole. Other than Nevarro being the central location for the Bounty Hunters Guild, you don’t know much about the planet. Most of the spice running deals are made far away from here—for obvious reasons. Even you’re not reckless enough to step foot on a planet where most of the population wants to hunt you down for a price.

The last couple of days have been…awkward to say the least. Ever since your ‘incident’ on Sorgan, Mando’s barely said two words to you. Maybe he’s angry at you, maybe he’s scared of you—you can’t be sure, but he’s been distant. He no longer stands close to you, or engages in small conversation like he did back on Sorgan, and when he does, he doesn’t even look at you. His helmet stays peeled to whatever it is he was doing before you addressed him. It’s incredibly frustrating. You want to explain, you want to reassure that you would never think of doing that to him or the Child, but you yourself can’t even be sure of that. It feels completely out of your control, so how could you even attempt to reassure him that it couldn’t happen? You’re basically a simmering pot, and every day the water gets closer to the brim, and could bubble over at any minute.

And if you’re being honest, deep down you’re a little relieved that soon you’ll be in custody. You won’t be able to cause any more harm, even if some of them deserve it.

You’ve been living in the cockpit since you left Sorgan, spending most of your time sitting in the chair going over and analyzing every single moment from that night. There was obvious anger inside of you, and rightfully so considering that man had tried to kill you twice, but there was also a…voice. It was a whisper, like something deep in your subconscious, forcing you to do its bidding. It told you to make him suffer, to make him bleed, and the voice was happy to see the hunter in pain. Clouding every rational thought in your mind, it was like being trapped inside your own body. Screaming to break through, you were a helpless passenger watching your body commit this atrocity. You’ve never been malicious, you thought yourself a caring person. Someone who wouldn’t inflict harm just for the sake of revenge, but now you’re not sure who you are anymore.

Who are you? Are you a mechanic? Are you a spice smuggler? Are you a monster? There are voices at odds inside of you. They fight for dominance, they beg you to choose who you wish to be, and for the first time in forever, you’re scared of who you are becoming. You’re not who you thought you were, you’re not who Tye believed you to be, or who your parents raised you as. Are you this dangerous criminal that the fucking Republic paints you as?

“We’re here.” Mando’s baritone comes out strained. He lingers in the doorway of the cockpit for a few seconds then descends the ladder, not bothering to wait for you to catch up.

“Okay.” Your leg bounces off the floor, and you’re biting down on your lip so hard, you’ll probably leave a permanent mark. Eyes looking dead ahead, the Nevarro horizon looking back at you, you wonder if you’d still be in this situation if your parents were still alive. Would you have still rebelled and turned to a life of constant running? Would you have stayed on Tatooine, leaving no mark for the galaxy to remember you by? Would you still have met Mando somehow?

Using your heels to push you to your feet, you take one last look at the cockpit and then head down the ladder. The ramp is open, and you catch Mando waiting for you at the top of it. The Child rests in his arm, tiny hand latched onto his gloved index finger.

As you both descend down the ramp, there’s a man standing ahead of you, just in front of the archway entrance to the city. From the kept white beard that rests on his cheeks and chin, you assume he’s middle aged. There’s a black cloak wrapped around his body, fastened around his clavicle are two golden clasps attached to a chain which are only worn by magistrates. Mando has some powerful friends, you think to yourself.

“Ah, Mando!” The man exclaims gleefully, throwing his arms up in the air.

“Karga.” Mando acknowledges, his voice keeping low.

“How are you, my friend?”

“Alive.” There’s a hint of jest in Mando’s tone.

The man laughs loudly. “When did you become such a comedian?” A big hand clasps down on his beskar pauldron. The Child in Mando’s hand coos and catches Karga’s attention.

“And how are you, little one?” He reaches out to hold the green gremlin and the bounty hunter allows it, gently handing him over to Karga.

“Alright Mando,” The man begins to say, “Let’s get this over with.” He turns on his heel, the baby still in his arms and takes two steps before shouting over his shoulder, “The quarry can stay here. They’ll be here soon enough to collect the bounties.”

Mando doesn’t exactly look at you, but the helmet does tilt in your direction. He’s just a foot ahead of you and you swear you see his shoulders slouch for a second, like he’s having second thoughts. It’s dumb, you shouldn’t be thinking of something so foolish. He had a job to do, and now he’s done it. You’ll both go your separate ways and never see each other again. That’s how this is supposed to go. That’s how this was going to end ever since he captured you.

Two collectors stand nearby, waiting for Karga to give them the order. As he and Mando pass through the arches, the collectors make their way to you. Swallowing the lump in your throat, refusing to show any weakness or sadness and with as much gusto as you can muster, you call out “Well, it was nice knowing ya, Mando.”

How stupid of you to think you could possibly mean anything more to him than a fucking quarry. He never gave you any indication that he even liked you. He merely tolerated your presence because you were useful. It was nothing more than a transaction between you both, and you could kick yourself for even letting these thoughts roam free in your mind. Forget Mando, forget the kid, forget every fucking person in this world who’s hurt you or left you. When this first started, you wanted Mando to get his credits because you liked him, but now with the ice-hot anger brewing inside of you, you don’t care anymore.

The two collectors—Rodians you infer as they get closer to you, approach the Crest, one of them heading up the ramp into Mando’s ship to collect the quarries in carbonite, the other staying by your side, probably anticipating that you’ll try to make a break for it although realistically, there isn’t a single place you could run to. You would either have to run into the city and try to hide or run for the hills. Neither option sounds tempting enough, given the fact that Mando would be on your ass in seconds.

Three carbonite chambers float down the ship, and the collector gives the one by your side a nod of acknowledgement. Your eyebrows pull together as you examine the subtle exchange between both men. The stranger next to you binds your wrists and shoots you a smile that’s anything but kind. The corner of his lip curls into a sinister grin, one that shoots panic up and down your spine. In the corner of your eye, you make out the silhouette of nearby ship. Was that always there?

Wait, shouldn’t there be more than just two members securing the quarries? This doesn’t make any sense. Why aren’t there more people here? Why is no one else here?

“Let’s go,” One of them orders. The first one makes a beeline for the ship, leaving behind the quarries from the Crest. Why would Guild members leave behind quarries?

Something’s not right. Your heart is hammering in your chest, adrenaline beginning to pump through your veins, and the urge to fight is starting to prick at every nerve ending in your body. These guys can’t Guild members. Somehow, they’ve fooled everyone.

They urge you forward to the ship in the distance and you plant your feet firmly into the ground. If they manage to get you on that ship, you’re done for. You need to struggle as much as you can and pray to the Maker that someone will realize this whole thing is a set up.

“Where are you taking me?” Trying to suppress the alarm in your voice, it comes out choked and feeble. A large hand grips your bicep and makes you whimper, their dexterous fingers digging into the thin material of your sleeve. You jerk back, trying to wriggle out of their hold, but it only causes them to tighten the grip around your bicep, pain now shooting up and down your arm.

“Fucking let me go!” You shout, hoping someone—Mando, will hear you, but no one can hear you.

“Oh, shut up!” The Rodian ahead of you shouts before swiftly turning on his heel and stalking towards you. His large fist winds up and slams into your stomach, knocking you completely off balance. If it wasn’t for the other one holding you upright, you would have fallen flat on your back. Nonetheless, you crouch over, wincing at the pain in your abdomen. The men laugh together ruefully, sheer enjoyment displayed on their faces.

“The boss is going to love playing with you,” One of them taunts, leaning down towards you and grabbing hold of your chin so that he can look you in the eyes.

“Fuck you,” You spit out through ragged breaths.

“Why, you little bitch.” A hand comes flying at your face and you brace yourself for the pain, sewing your eyes shut. His green backhand connects with the softness of your cheek with so much force that your head snaps to the side, following the movement of his hand. Your cheek throbs, ripples of pain so intense you feel tears threatening to fall down your cheeks.

The wrath inside you is screaming and clawing at your insides. The whisper in your head commands you to cause them pain. It craves the cries of their sufferings, to see the life drain from their eyes. You’re trying to fight it; you don’t want to let that fucking voice win, but the searing agony from their blows feed the darkness that roars deep within you. You can feel your control slipping, fingers twitching against your will as your attackers try to haul you into their ship.

A beam of red light narrowly misses you, and one of your assailants drops to the floor with a loud thud. Your eyes bounce around you, trying to locate the source of the blast, when you catch the silhouette of shiny beskar running straight for you. There’s no hiding the joy and relief that is so evident on your face. He came back. Somehow, he came back for you.

You can feel the man still holding you start to panic. His body tenses, and he begins frantically pulling you into the ship, but now that you know you’re one-on-one, you waste no time fighting back. Gathering as much force as you can and flailing your bound arms around, his body turns towards you, and straightaway your leg lifts off the ground, slamming your knee right in his crotch. The man yelps in pain, hunching over involuntarily. You use this opportunity to connect your knee with his stomach with so much vigor, his body flies backwards, hitting the ground hard. As you lean over his body, he starts begging and pleading for his life.

“Please, please I was just doing it for the money!” He finally chokes out, his voice filled with pure terror as his hands come up in surrender. That evilness in your mind urges you to make his final moments hurt, to show no mercy for the man who would have certainly not shown you mercy. Shaking your head violently in an effort to cast out the mysterious voice, you wrench your eyes shut.

No.

You hear distance footsteps getting louder and louder, and then stop altogether. Tilting your head ever so slightly to the right, you can see his boots in the corner of your eye. Mando’s testing you. He wants to know if you’ll pull the same stunt you did back on Sorgan. As the man at your feet continues to plead for his life, the vulnerability and desperation in his voice pulls you out of whatever trance you were in.

This man is no different than you. He was given orders, and did what he thought was necessary in order to complete the contract. You can sympathize with that. There are so many things you’ve done in your time as a smuggler—things that have made you question your morals, and how far you’re willing to go to get the job done. Things you’re not proud of, things you now regret. At the end of the day, you’re both just pawns in a much bigger fight, and although you’ve both decided a path with little room for ethics, an unnecessarily harsh death is one you won’t inflict upon him.

You take a deep breath, inhaling in as much air in your lungs as possible, it almost burns them. Squaring your shoulders, you take a step back away from your assailant. That’s all the permission Mando needs, and his pistol comes up and sends a red beam of light right into the man’s chest, silencing him.

“We need to go. There will be more soon.” Mando warns, as he leans down and grabs the key from the dead man’s corpse to unbind your wrists. Your head bobs in acknowledgement, and then you’re both heading for the Crest. Karga’s waiting by the ramp of the ship, holding the Child in his arms. As soon as the little green baby spots you, he tries desperately to wiggle out of Karga’s grip, tiny arms reaching out for you. Mando takes the Child from his friend’s arms and gives him to you. Giant eyes peer up to look at you and the baby coos. Your lips curl up into a smile, taking two fingers to gently rub his ear.

“I had no idea the Empire was after her,” Karga says to Mando sincerely. The man’s gaze then turns to you. “I’m sorry. I should have known something was off about the deal.”

Shaking your head, you offer him a smile. “It’s fine.”

“You two should leave. It’s only a matter of time before someone else comes for them.” Them? Are they after the kid, too?

“Yes.” Mando answers matter-of-factly.

Karga nods, and a big hand comes out to shake Mando’s. “Safe travels, Mando.”

His gaze flicks towards you for a second and you offer him another smile and tip of the head before turning around and heading up the ramp to the Crest. You head straight for the cockpit, placing the child in the seat adjacent to yours and strapping him in. Mando comes in right after you, planting himself down in the pilot’s chair. The ships thrusters roar to life and you take off, the Nevarro landscape disappearing the higher your climb into the air.

Now that you actually have time to process what the fuck just happened; the reality of your situation hits you. It’s not the Republic that’s after you, it’s the Empire. The Empire you thought was defeated five years ago. The Empire that that killed thousands, if not millions of people.

Why? Why you? What could possibly be so special about you that the Empire has a fucking bounty on you? Wait, Karga had said ‘them’. Does that mean you and the Child? What could you and the Child possibly have in common that the Empire wants the two of you? Your mind recollects the moment you two shared on Sorgan—where he seemed to communicate something to you but that’s hardly enough of a connection, right? There’s just no way. You’re nothing but a petty smuggler. You haven’t lived a life worthy of being wanted by the fucking Empire. You had a normal childhood, and then went on to smuggling spice. That’s it. There’s literally nothing fucking exceptional about you.

Mando punches in some coordinates and activates the hyperdrive. The gentle hum of hyperspace fills the tension in the cockpit. Neither you nor Mando know what to say. Chewing on the inside of your cheek, you start to question whether or not it’s a good idea that you’re even flying with them. If what Karga said is true, and the Empire is hunting you and the kid, surely having the two of you together is too risky. Realistically, you should split off. You should go your separate ways on whatever planet Mando’s set the coordinates for, in an effort to prolong the Imps’ search.

“Where are we going?” Your gentle voice cuts through the gentle purr of hyperspace.

“Tatooine. I have a friend there that owes me a favor.” His voice comes out slightly gruff through the modulator.

Your breath catches in your throat. You haven’t been back to Tatooine since your first smuggling run. After the job with Tye, you had made a decision to become a full-time runner, and vowed never come back to the shithole that was Tatooine, not while there was an infinite amount of galaxy out there that you hadn’t seen yet, leaving your old life and self to rot on that planet. There were too many hurtful memories, too much pain.

A small coo emits from the baby and you look over and see him slouching in his seat, big eyes blinking slowly. The poor thing must be exhausted. Unbuckling your seatbelt, you reach over and wrap him in your arms. He nestles in your lap, letting the sleepiness overcome his little body. At first you consider laying him in his pram and letting him sleep in there, but he’s already fast asleep in your arms before you can put him down, so you decide to let him rest where he is. The adrenaline and stress from the last couple of hours starts to take its toll on you. Exhaustion suddenly overwhelms you, the stiffness in your bones turns to fatigue, and you try to fight your eyelids from closing. You don’t want to fall asleep yet. You want to ask Mando why he came back for you, why he’s helping you, but your body succumbs to the exhaustion and you drift off to sleep, the last thing you hear is the stillness of hyperspace.

When you wake, the Child is no longer in your arms, and Mando isn’t in the pilot’s chair. Rising to your feet lazily, you drag them over to the control panel to check the status of your route, rubbing your eyes with your palm in order to steady your vision. You’ll be landing on Tatooine in less than an hour, which unfortunately only gives you a small finite amount of time to properly prepare yourself for the onslaught of memories that will smack you in the face once you land.

Maybe no one will remember you. Mos Eisley isn’t exactly the smallest city, meaning there’s chance that no one would even recognize you. All you need to do is avoid the cantinas and merchants you used to frequent back when you lived there and maybe, just maybe you could remain unseen.

Suddenly getting the feeling that someone’s watching you, you strain your neck while turning your head as much as it can, seeing the faintest hint of chrome in the corner of your eye. Turning your body towards the door, the sight of Mando takes you by surprise, and you can’t help but get startled by his sudden presence. You almost forgot how intimidating he actually looks. Even as he stands there doing nothing, there’s a certain level stoicism and command in the way he carries himself, the same way a man who’s a captain of a battalion would carry himself—robust, and proud, however also reserved. There’s no way to gauge what he’s thinking unless he deliberately tells you, and Mando doesn’t like to talk very much. It forces you to anticipate what he would think or how he would feel in every situation you’re both put in, wracking your brain and making it damn near impossible to keep up with him.

The shades of pale blue mixed with white reflect off his beskar armour. His visor is pointed at you, although you can’t be sure if he’s actually looking at you or through you. His stance is stiff which isn’t unusual but there’s a gentleness that radiates off of him. Your throat goes dry, and you’re sure you’re breaking skin from how hard you’re biting your lip. You haven’t had a proper moment alone together since that night on Sorgan, and neither of you spoke about what happened. There’s a lot of unanswered questions you need to discuss, but the thickness of the air around you is becoming overwhelming. You don’t say anything, and stay firmly planted where you stand. The Mandalorian mimics you, refusing to take a step forward. Your heart is thumping against your ribcage, heat coiling in your stomach and making it harder to ignore the wetness beginning to form in your panties. Refusing to show submission, your eyes stayed locked to the ‘T’ of his visor. His hands twitch at his sides, but shows no other kind of movement. He’s still as a fucking tree and somehow that only turns you on even more. He has to be feeling the same way you are right now. It can’t just be you this time.

Mando finally takes one step forward and your breathing hitches. Stars, if he comes any closer, you’re going to explode. You’ve never experienced this kind of tension before. Your body’s never felt so on fire and he hasn’t even touched you, but you desperately want him to. So you mimic his movements and take a step forward, testing him. It’s barely noticeable but somehow his back stiffens even more, chest pushing out faintly. The blood in your ears is deafening, your heart slamming so hard against your chest you feel like passing out.

“What are you doing?” The baritone pulling rough and breathy. Okay, so this is affecting him just as much as it is for you.

Your tongue glides against your bottom lip before biting down on it, hard. Curious to see how far you can push this, you don’t answer him and instead take another small step forward. By now you’re only a couple feet away from each other and the air of the cockpit is disgustingly thick with a need to fuck each other senseless right here and now. His hands ball up into fists and that lets you to know he’s fighting his primal desires. You think you hear short, distorted breaths emit from the helmet, but you’re too far away to be certain. Your panties are fucking soaked, your slick almost dripping down your thighs. It’s been too long since you’ve been fucked, and you need it, need Mando to bend you over the control panel and pound into you like a fucking animal.

It’s like he’s reading your mind, because he closes the gap between you two in a flash. He’s hovering over you, and despite the cool amour he wears, you can feel the heat radiating off him. Your nostrils fill with the smell of gunpowder, and his musk and it takes all your energy not to fucking whimper. Only Mando can get you this worked up when nothing’s even happened yet.

One of his brown leather-gloved hands comes up to touch your arm. If you thought your breathing was irregular before, well now you’re basically suffocating as his hand hovers your arm and you want to scream at him to touch you—beg him to do what you can’t bring yourself to do. Please, Mando.

Right as you feel a glove graze your arm, the ship jumps out of hyperspace, and in an instant your moment is over. His hand drops back to his side and you let out a deep breath of disappointment. Your shoulders slump, and your head drops, staring at the floor. Instinctively, you slither out of his way so he can slip into the pilot’s chair.

The radio comes to life, static filling the cockpit before a female voice emanates from the speaker. “Razor Crest, this is Mos Eisley Tower. We’ve picked up your signal. Head for bay three-five, over.”

“This is Razor Crest, locked in for three-five.” Mando answers coolly, as if two minutes ago there wasn’t an unbelievable amount of sexual tension between you two. You try to hide your annoyance at the fact that he can snap in and out of a moment so quickly. He’s seemed to have forgotten all about it unlike you who can’t seem to snap out of it. You reluctantly sit in your seat, shifting uncomfortably due to the stickiness of your underwear.

As you descend into Tatooine airspace, your nerves begin spiraling. Both your legs bounce off the ground, and your hands twiddle in your lap. If there’s one thing you fucking hate, it’s sand. Maker, you hate how the sand feels against your shoes, never giving you enough solid ground to walk properly. Constantly twisting your ankles because the sand concaved in certain areas. How it always fucking found its way into your shoes, your clothes, your hair. You could take four sonic showers and still feel fucking sand in places it should never be in. Then there was the absolutely incomprehensible fact that water was scarce here. A bare necessity for everyone to survive had to be farmed like vegetation. Curse the Maker for this planet. You’re not sure what planet you hated more, Kijimi or Tatooine.

Mando lands the Crest in the hangar the operator told him to, and your brows furrow looking at your surroundings. This hangar looks familiar. It’s not the one your parents owned, but you definitely recognize the random discarded parts scattered throughout the area. You hope you’re wrong, that Mando didn’t land in the only hangar that you’d know.

The Mandalorian rises from his seat and begins to make his way to the ladder. “Let’s go.” He calls out before climbing down the rungs. For a moment, you consider asking if you could stay in the ship the whole time you’re docked here, but it would be a ridiculous thing to ask. You’re an adult, and you have to confront your past, no matter how ugly it is. Reluctantly, you slide out of your seat and climb down the steps. The cubbyhole where Mando’s cot is located is shut, and you assume the Child was sleeping in there. He presses a button on his vambrace and the door slides open, the kid sits patiently at the door. Mando scoops up the Child, a tiny green hand immediately clutches onto one of Mando’s gloved fingers. The ramp opens slowly, and even from far away you instantly recognize the woman standing at the bottom of the ramp.

“Mando!” Peli exclaims, throwing her arms in the air and then resting them on her hips.

Peli fucking Motto. You’ve known her since you were a child. She was a difficult woman, to say the least. Not the most generous person—she only ever did someone a favor if there was something in it for her. You never personally worked for her, and there was a reason she only ever had droids as her workers. She was the type of woman who barked orders at everyone in her employment. What Peli lacked in size, she made up for in attitude.

Mando descends the ramp before you, your legs refusing to move. As soon as Peli catches sight of the baby, the tough exterior you’ve only ever seen disappears into a gentle, kinder demeanor. Mando hands her the baby and she wraps her arms around him, her hand gently caressing the little hairs on the Child’s head. The baby squeals in excitement. Her gaze leaves the baby to face Mando only for a moment, before locking her eyes with yours.

“Who’s your friend?” She asks him. Your face is covered by the shadows of the Crest, disguising your features. Holding your head up high and pushing your shoulders back, you walk down the ramp. Her face turns from curiosity to anger, fast. Eyebrows scrunching up and lips forming a tight line, she scoffs. “You have got to be kidding me.”

“Hi, Peli.” Your voice dripping in sarcasm.

“What the hell are you doing back here?”

“Believe me, I wouldn’t be here if I had the choice.”

Peli eyes stay locked on yours. You know that saying, ‘if looks could kill’? You’re pretty sure you’d be dead right now if that were true.

“It’s a bad idea to get involved with this one, Mando.” She turns to look at the visor. “She’s always been trouble.”

This time you let out a laugh, hand coming to sit on your hip. “That’s such bullshit, Peli and you know it,” Using your free hand to point a finger at her, punching out your next jab at her. “You’re the difficult one.”

“That’s rich coming from the spice smuggler.” Her last words dripping like venom.

You bite down hard on your jaw, wanting to argue, but in this very rare case, she’s actually right. It’s just one of the many truths you’ll have to face being back here.

“Anyway,” She says before turning away from you to face the Mandalorian to her right. “What can I help you with, Mando?”

“The hyperdrive needs to be fixed, and I need to refuel.”

“I’m surprised this one hasn’t offered her services.” Peli shoots you a glare.

“I did fix it but—” You begin to say but Mando cuts you off before you can finish.

“We were stranded, and it was only partially fixed. If I’m to make it to the next destination, I need to be at above 70%.”

“Sure thing, boss. We can get that fixed.” She shifts her weight to walk away from you both, but before she can call her droids, you call out to her. “There’s a problem.”

She turns her torso just enough to look in your direction, “With you? Why am I not surprised?” Rolling her eyes, she continues to stare you down.

“Look Peli, if you have something to say,” You taunt, taking a step towards her. “Then say it.”

Challenging you, she steps towards you as well. The Child in her arm fusses worriedly, and you almost back down from the confrontation when you realize this might be scaring the little guy. “Oh, I got a lot to say, kid.”

“That’s enough.” Mando orders. As reason comes back to you and somewhat clears your mind, it’s probably not a good idea to start a fight with the only person that can fix his ship and potentially get you off this planet, so you back off and step back.

“The Empire is after her,” Mando starts to explain. Peli shoots you another stare and rolls her eyes again. “We fought them off on Nevarro, but we don’t know how much time we’ll have until they come back.”

Despite her very obvious resentment towards you, she nods and forces a smile—not very comforting, but it’s enough to put you both at ease. “Don’t worry, Mando. I’ll have her ready as soon as possible.”

“Thank you.”

You continue to stare at Peli with daggers in your eyes. There’s a lot of undealt with animosity between you both, but you’re not sure you’ll have time to settle it. “We’re gonna go try and find a lead. Maybe someone here will know why she’s wanted. Can you watch the Child in the meantime?” He asks.

“Can I? Mando, this little guy is the only reason I let you in my hangar. This little womp rat has found a way into ol’ Peli’s heart.” She says affectionately, looking down at the baby and blabbing some nonsense. The kid responds by giggling and using his little arms to reach out and touch the finger that wiggles in front of him.

“Didn’t know you had a heart,” You whisper under your breath. Peli doesn’t seem to hear you, but Mando does because you hear a sigh comes from the vocoder. “That’s enough.” He orders, just loud enough for you to hear him.

Even though it’s been five, almost six years since you’ve been here, everything still looks the same. The whole city is devoid of color, just various shades of beige and whites as far as the eye could see. Every single home and every cantina stand like monuments made of fucking sand, showing no detail or artistry in their structure. It’s like every piece of culture from around the galaxy comes to Mos Eisley and dies, leaving only taupe boringness behind. It’s possible you’re being too harsh on the city, but you were born here so you have the right to be a bitch about it.

You never thought you’d be back here, breathing in the fucking dry, gritty filled air you grew up breathing in. It’s as stuffy and suffocating as you remember it, maybe even worse than you remember it. As the sun blazes down on you and Mando, you can admit there is one thing you actually do like about Tatooine. The sun was always out, always scorching hot and always beaming down on your skin, leaving a beautiful golden tint to your complexion. You could stay out all day and never develop a burn; your body was so used to the heat. Now, you wonder if that’s changed. Rolling up the sleeves of your tunic up to your elbow, the sun instantly pricks at your skin. The heat feels like a giant hug, caressing your untouched skin. Okay, maybe there was one thing you missed about Tatooine.

You both walk cautiously around the city looking for a cantina in the hopes of finding someone who might know what Empire wanted from you, but also keeping an eye out for possible threats. He treads a couple feet ahead of you, but you don’t mind. So far, you haven’t really recognized anyone, and no one’s seemed to recognize you. Just a couple more days and you can put this all behind you. There are plenty of vendors out, selling everything from fabric for clothing to food from other planets, to parts for ships. People from various walks of life mingle throughout the city. A few vendors away, you see a couple of Jawas trying to bargain for some old, outdated ship parts. The Jawas were always on the hunt for miscellaneous scrap metal parts, as well as other junk. To each their own, you guess. You’ve had a couple dealings with Jawas. They were sneaky, and smart despite their appearance. You had always tried to avoid making transactions with them if at all possible.

On your right, you see an older gentleman selling some garments, and the realization pops into your head that you do need new clothes. Since you weren’t planning on all of this happening, the only clothes you have are the ones on your back, and the ones you accidentally left behind on Sorgan. You’re in desperate need for new clothes.

“I’ll be right back,” You tell Mando before making a beeline for the old man’s stand. You don’t wait for Mando to acknowledge you.

“Hi there, traveler.” The man greets, using a cane to rise to his feet from the stool he was sitting on beforehand.

You offer him the same genuine smile he shows to you before letting your hands touch and feel the various assortment of garments placed before you on the table. “These are beautiful.” You remark.

“Thank you. My wife’s the one who sews them. She does all the work. I just sell them afterwards,” He humbly admits. Your eyes stay peeled to the numerous amount of attires on display in front of you, but still keeping that smile on your face. “Oh, hi sir. Can I interest you in anything?” He says, a mix of shock and kindness in his tone. You look up and notice Mando by your side.

“Nothing for me, thank you.” He says politely.

You decide on some charcoal-colored trousers that has some pockets sewn in on each side of the thighs, along with a white short-sleeved tunic. The merchant also sells backpacks, so you also buy one of those to store your new clothes in until you can get back to the Crest. It’s only once you start digging in your pockets that you’re embarrassingly aware that you have no credits on you. Mando picks up on the sudden realization and pulls out credits of his own and hands them over to the old man.

“I’ll find a way to pay you back,” You try to reassure him.

“It’s fine,” Mando replies.

The man bows and thanks you both for your business, and you nod in return before continuing your walk through the city.

After a few more minutes of walking, Mando spots a cantina just a couple buildings away and of course it’s the onecantina you hoped not to visit. It’s the one place you and Tye would frequent when you both lived here, and the owner of the establishment knew you both by name. The both of you had visited that cantina on pretty much a daily basis, playing sabacc with other locals, and getting way too drunk.

As you get closer to the door of the cantina, you stop in your tracks, your feet becoming cement blocks. It doesn’t take Mando long to notice that you’re no longer walking behind him, so when he does, he turns his body to see where you are and heads for you.

“What’s wrong?”

“Isn’t there another cantina we can check out?”

A sigh exists the helmet and big gloved hands come to rest on his hips. “Why?”

“I don’t know, I just feel like maybe there’s another cantina we can visit.”

“Why would we do that when there’s one right here?” His tone becomes faintly more irritated, probably because you’re wasting valuable time trying to run away from your past.

Your mouth opens to justify your apprehension, but there isn’t a single justifiable reason not to head into the cantina. Mouth forming a thin line, you shrug and start for the tavern.

The cantina is loud, all kinds of walks of life are gathered inside mingling. You stop just at the top of the stairs and begin scanning the area, looking for a quiet table you both can sit at. Mando clearly has other ideas because he doesn’t even bother to look around before heading straight for the bar. “Mando—” You call out, but he’s too far ahead to hear you, and the noise from the patrons inside drowns out your voice. The noise that escapes your lips is definitely full of annoyance, but there’s no telling Mando what to do. You follow suit, and stand a couple feet away from him, your back turned to his as you continue to look out for anyone you might know.

You can’t hear the exchange between the bartender and Mando, but by his posture, you guess he doesn’t receive any good news. Form what you can make out through the noise of the cantina, the droid behind the bar informs Mando that no one from the Empire has stepped foot in Mos Eisley in weeks, so the likelihood of anyone knowing anything is slim to none.

“Let’s go. There’s nothing here.” Mando’s voice cuts through the vocoder. You nod and head for the exit. One cantina down, only…too many more left.

Once back in the heat, you both continue to make your way through the city, taking random turns down streets less populated than the main path. You’re still being cautious over being seen by either someone from your past or someone looking to collect your bounty, but you’re much more relaxed now. Being back gives you a sense of familiarity and there’s a slight twinge of nostalgia that reminds you of your childhood. Every street you pass, every building you take notice of—it’s all things you’ve seen before. You can remember running down this exact street with Tye due to a game of tag. A couple streets away there was a food stand that sold the most amazing magenta colored fruit you had ever tasted in your life. It was a rare treat that only came in once every season, but it was so worth it. The fruit was sweet, and so full of juices that whenever you ate it, its nectars would trinkle down your chin and onto your tunic. Your mother always scolded you for eating without being careful, but it never stopped you from dirtying your shirt anyways. As you pass by where the stand used to be, all you see is an abandoned kiosk. Of course, it’s no longer there.

The sun’s beginning to set now, turning the sky into mixture of pastel pinks, blues, and purples that swirl around like an abstract painting. The streets are also starting to become less crowded; vendors are starting to pack up their stands for the day, and most of the locals are gathering in the cantinas for a night of gambling and drinking. You’re not sure when you began trailing behind Mando, but you follow him as he makes his way through the roads. Your arms are crossed against your body, the mental exhaustion of the day is starting to take its toll on your body.

He spots another cantina on the way back to the ship. There’s an unspoken conversation that occurs between you both. He tilts the helmet in the direction of the cantina, and your your shoulder lifts in the air in response. He walks in first then waits for you. When you’ve caught up to him, out of habit you take in your surroundings and take a scan of the room.

He crouches down and whispers in your ear. “Find us a booth. I’ll be there shortly.” The baritone of his voice cutting right through you and hitting a part of you inside that hasn’t been touched in ages. You can’t control the way your body reacts when he’s that close to you—the hairs on your arms standing up, the small shudder that went traveled from your spine down to between your thighs. You’re instantly reminded of the moment you two shared back in the cockpit of the Crest. You’re not sure if you’ll ever get to have another moment like that again, but you’ll live in that moment for as long as you possibly can if that’s all you’ll ever have.

There’s an empty booth at the back of the cantina so naturally that’s the booth you break for. Once you’re seated, you catch Mando talking to the droid behind the bar. A lot of the patrons inside are eyeing the Mandalorian, and you’d be lying if there wasn’t a dash of pride that hits you. Seeing a Mandalorian is rare enough as it is, so seeing a Mandalorian enter a cantina with someone else who’s not Mandalorian? You’re sure this is the first time anyone in here has seen either.

It’s hard not to stare at him. You have no idea what he looks like underneath that helmet, and there’s not even a part of you that cares. It’s all in his body language. You thought of him as a heartless hunter, a man made of beskar—inside and out, but that couldn’t be further from the truth. He has the kid and cares deeply for him. Mando portrays himself as a warrior, a strong, stoic man who abides by rules and discipline, but he went back for the Child. He came back for you. It’s true, he doesn’t talk much, doesn’t divulge in talking about his past or about his Creed, but there’s a softness to him, a gentleness that you know not many people have seen, and somehow you’ve been lucky enough to see it.

“Care for some company, baby?”

Your gaze shifts from Mando to the foul man standing to your right. His breath reeks of alcohol, and he can barely keep himself upright without swaying in every direction. He’s holding two empty glasses in one hand and a bottle of liquid in the other.

Your eyebrows pull together, and you can’t help the way your nose scrunches up at the smell of him. “No, thanks.” You reply politely. However, there is a stern tone to your voice.

“Oh, come on,” The man stumbles even though he hasn’t even moved. He loses balance and falls into the booth, now just a couple feet away from where you’re sitting. “What’s a gal like you sitting all by yourself on a fine night like tonight, hmmm?”

His hand reaches out to touch your hand, but your reflexes are much faster than his. You grab onto his wrist before it can get too close to you, and you apply pressure on the grip. His face scrunches up, and you know he’s feeling the firmness of your control. “I said no. Now, back off.”

Your hold slacks and you let go, pushing his arm and hearing it land on the table. Sliding out of the booth, you head straight for Mando who’s still standing at the bar. Before you can call out for him, you feel a large hand come down on your bicep and whip you around.

“We just want to show you a good time, bitch.” Another man bellows. You figure he’s with the creep that’s still sitting in your booth. Your body reacts before your mind can process what’s happening. Your hand balls into a fist, reaching far back to gain as much momentum as possible, then comes slamming into the man’s nose. Bone cracks and you can’t believe you just broke that fucker’s nose. He wails in pain, his hands flying to cover his face. Blood is pooling down his hands and onto the floor. Stars, you didn’t know you could hit that hard.

“I’ll kill you, you fucking bitch!” Someone else shouts and they’re running for you, pushing down others in their path. You prepare to fight but a gloved hand grabs your wrist before you can do any more damage. Mando blocks your entire body with his, and the attacker running stops dead in his tracks, almost tripping on his own feet with pure terror in his eyes. Mando doesn’t even have to do anything before all three men are apologizing profusely and retreating as fast as they came down on you. Everyone knows it’s a fool’s errand to pick a fight with a Mandalorian. They’re not called the greatest warriors in the galaxy for no reason.

“We should head back to the ship before we cause any more trouble,” Your voice is lighthearted, but Mando doesn’t respond. Taking his silence as a ‘yes’, you turn on your heel and make your way out of the cantina and onto the street. Walking out of there and feeling the warm breeze against your hot skin feels amazing. The adrenaline is still pumping through your veins and all the tiredness from your body is momentarily wiped away.

Mando finally appears behind you, and you take the lead on the way back to the ship while he continues to stroll behind you. Nightfall had arrived on Mos Eisley, and the only light that’s given are the dimly lit lanterns posted every few metres along the streets. Unless you’re a frequent visitor or a local, one could easily get lost at night. You on the other hand could make your way through the city with your eyes closed.

You don’t have time to process it, but you’re being pulled into an alley. Mando’s grip on your arm is firm, but he makes sure not to hurt you. There’s only one lantern in the backstreet, and you can barely see anything in front of you. He continues to pull you further and further into the alley until you’re sure no one would see either of you even if you were just three feet in front of you.

When he finally lets go of your arm, he’s standing in front of you at arm’s length. You can make out his silhouette only because the moon’s glow reflects off the beskar he’s wearing. Your eyes flicker up and down his body, trying to gauge why he’s doing this, but he gives you absolutely no indication.

“Uh, what are we doing here, Mando?”

“Take the bag off,” He orders, his voice scratching at a dangerously low register. Sliding your arms out of the straps, the bag drops to the floor.

You’re not scared of him, you know he wouldn’t hurt you, but you’re definitely cautious, and you can’t help the fight or flight instinct that’s overcoming you. Ever so slowly, he stalks towards you. Out of impulse, you take a step back and another and another and another until your back hits the wall behind you. Heart thumping in your chest, and your mouth drier than the fucking Tatooine sand dunes, desire pooling in your stomach. His broad chest encircles you. The cuirass grazes against your chest and you can feel the cool beskar against your burning skin. You want to reach out and touch him, but you don’t know where so instead you keep your hands by your thighs, your pussy throbbing so much it hurts. You don’t know what the fuck is happening, but you want more. You need more. The moment in the cockpit doesn’t hold a candle to this. This is something else—needy, desperate.

Mando’s breathing is uneven, that’s about the only thing you can make out. The vocoder distorts his breaths, making them scratchy and rough. Your chest is heaving with how unsteady your own breathing is. You’ve never been this turned on by someone who hasn’t even touched you.

“Fuck,” Mando murmurs, the baritone of his voice dangerously low. Both arms come up and he rests his palms on the wall behind you, fully boxing you in. Your throat is so dry, it feels like its suffocating you. Quick, shaky breaths escape your lips, and Mando is so fucking close to you, you can see the condensation emerging on his helmet from your pants.

“Tell me stop,” He’s basically growing now, the heat between you two becoming too much. It’s desperate, like he’s unable to control himself so he’s asking you to. It might be nightfall, but you’re still out in public, and despite the fact that you both could be caught any second now, it somehow spurs you both on. The thrill and risk of being this intimate frightens and fucking excites you.

Maker, you want it. You’ve wanted him since the moment you laid eyes on him back on Kijimi. Ever since then you’ve been fighting your attraction to him. Mando didn’t seem like the type to fuck quarries then turn them in, so you had made the conclusion that nothing could ever happen between you two. That quickly changed when you were alone in the cockpit. You had felt the shift in your relationship. No longer were you the only one struggling to bottle up the sexual tension that clearly presented itself whenever you were together. He was just as needy as you were.

“I—” You try to speak, but with the blood pounding in your ears, your mind is going blank. You can’t even force a coherent sentence, the heat is so fucking intense, you’re drowning in it.

A leather glove brushes the loose strands of hair out of your face and tucks them behind your ear. You lean into the touch, closing your eyes and letting a moan escape your lips. It’s such a simple gesture, but because Mando—a man who can kill with his bare hands is the one doing it, makes it so comforting.

Since words aren’t coming to your mind, you resort to using your body to communicate. Your hands are still trembling at your sides but you muster as much strength as you can and grab Mando’s hips, pulling them towards you until his body clashes with yours. His cock is rock hard in his pants, and instinctively, you spread your legs so he can slide one of his own between yours, moaning gently at the feeling of his bulge against your pussy.

“Stars…” He mutters, one arm still planted next to your head and the other coming down to your hip and digging his glove into the material of your pants. The helmet comes right up to your ear now, “Do you want me to fuck you in this alley?” It’s dirty, his voice hitting that sweet spot inside of you that nearly has you combusting on the spot. “Someone might see us.” He’s fucking taunting you and whether or not he actually does want you to push him away, there’s a mutual understanding that that won’t be happening.

The corners of your lips curl into a sly smile. You’re not scared to make a scene, to give some passerby a filthy show. Your next words come out slow, savoring every single moment you can right now. “Then let’s give them a good show.”

The noise that comes through the helmet is animalistic, somewhere between a mewl and a fucking growl. Grabbing both your hips, he flips you around so you’re facing the wall, you palms come flying up to stop yourself from smacking face first into it. With one hand still on your hip, he uses his other hand to hold your stomach and pull you closer to him, your back arching and bending over slightly, his cock lining up perfectly along your backside. A moan slips from your lips and that just spurs him off. The hand on your stomach trails down, cupping your sex over your pants. Maker, you can feel your slick dripping down your thigh from how much this is turning you on. Distant voices pass you by, but you don’t care. Nothing else matters right now, not when Mando is holding you like this, touching you the way you thought was only possible in your daydreams.

The grip on your hip slackens, lifting your tunic just enough to expose soft skin underneath then wrapping his arm around your torso to keep you glued to him. A thumb plays with the waistband of your pants, a delicious taunt that only makes you whine with anticipation.

“Do you want me to touch you?” Mando snarls in your ear. He’s resting his head on your shoulder, the metal digging into your neck and cheek. It’s a little uncomfortable but you’re too entranced to care about anything else other than him touching you wherever he wants. You moan helplessly against him but his hand doesn’t move, just continues to graze the exposed skin near your waistband. He’s relentless, continuing his slow assault, waiting for you to find the words to speak.

“Please…” You choke out.

“Please, what?” He sneers gingerly. “You need to use your words.”

It comes as a shock just how submissive you are. You’ve always considered yourself a dominant when it came to others, but somehow Mando’s completely flipped the script on you. You aren’t in control, you can barely throw two words together without needing to catch your breath, but you’d be lying if this wasn’t the most turned on you’ve ever been in your life.

“Yes…please touch me,” You cry out, shifting your hips so you can feel his cock against your behind.

“Good girl,” He praises before dipping his hand down inside your trousers and cupping your sex. He gathers your slick around his gloved fingers and begins rubbing circles over your clit. “Fuck, you’re so wet,” Letting out a satisfied moan, the baritone of his voice pierces through you, your pussy gushing at the sound. You moan so loudly you’re positive anyone nearby could hear you.

“Shhh,” Mando whispers into your ear as the pressure on your clit become more intense. Your body is on fire, the heat in your belly driving you to climax as his fingers continue their assault on your pussy.

There’s a faint sound of static, but you try to push it out of your memory. You don’t want him to stop, not when you’re on the verge of orgasm.

“…Mando? Mando, are you there?” A female voice pokes through the commlink on Mando’s vambrace. His movements still and an irritated sigh scratches through his helmet before he pulls his hand from your trousers, then taking a couple steps back so you can turn around to face him, leaning back into the wall awkwardly. Lifting an arm to the helmet, he presses one of the buttons on his forearm.

“Yes, Peli?” His voice is surprisingly steady, considering two seconds ago he was fucking your pussy with his hand.

“Uh… The kid is having some kind of breakdown,” The radio causes her voice to come out rough, and you can hear a little bit of a disturbance in the background. “I think he misses you and his way of telling me that to tear my hangar apart!”

“We’re on our way,” He says into his wrist, not bothering to wait for her response and heading back for the main road.

You continue to lean against the wall for a couple of seconds, trying to process how this all happened so quickly. One minute you were walking back to the Crest with Mando, then he was pulling you into an alley for what you thought was going to be the best sex of your life, and now he’s already heading back to the ship like nothing even happened.

When Mando looks over his shoulder and realizes you’re not walking behind him, he stops and waits for you. “Are you coming?” He asks, a hint of annoyance in his tone.

“I wish,” You mumble to yourself before kicking off the wall behind you to stand up straight. Bending over to grab the straps of your bag and throwing it over your shoulders, your feet drag as you walk, letting disappointment engulf you. This was not how you wanted the night to end.

And the walk back is…a little awkward. Neither of you speak, but you continue to walk side by side. Your arms are crossed against your chest, and you keep your eyes peeled to the ground. Every now and then, you peak upwards to get a glimpse of Mando who’s walking on your left, but his visor stays glued to what’s in front of him—his head never once turning to look down at you. It’s infuriating, really. You’re sulking, maybe even acting a little childish, but it had been weeks since you’ve been touched by another person and the one night Mando finally decides to make a move, you get rudely interrupted. Not to mention your panties are fucking soaked and the walk back is only making you more uncomfortable. Your eyes shift to Mando’s right hand and a shrewd smile smears onto your face. Your slick is on Mando gloves. That realization is enough to turn you on. Hopefully whatever the kid is up to won’t take too much time to sort out, and then maybe you two can finish your little encounter in the alley.

When you reach the hangar, you don’t see anything out of place. To be fair, Peli’s hangar is always a mess so to you, it all seems normal. Peli stands at the foot of the ramp, looking a little rougher than usual. There are specks of grease on her skin, and her curly hair sticks out in all kinds of directions.

“What the hell have you been feeding this kid since the last time I saw you?” She challenges, storming towards you both.

“I don’t…” Mando begins to say, but Peli interrupts, a hand shooting up before he can finish his sentence. “The kid was full of energy, and I mean full. He messed with my droids, did this weird little hand thing and my bolts started floating in the air!” Her arms waving around as she tells the story. “Floating! Did you know he could do that?”

Mando shifts his weight to one leg, both his hands resting on his utility belt. “Yes.”

Peli scoffs. “Well, a heads up would have been nice.”

“Where is he now?” Your tone comes out more aggressive than you intended, but given the circumstances of your relationship, you don’t believe niceties are essential.

Peli scowls at you, before turning her attention to Mando and answering the question. “I was somehow able to put him to bed while we waited for you. He’s in the ship.” Her hand coming up to point behind her towards the hull of the Crest. Mando places a hand on her shoulder—not the same one he used on you thank the maker, and thanks her sincerely. He explains to her that you were both unable to find any leads but will try again tomorrow.

He climbs the ramp to check on the kid, and you follow suit, but not before shooting giving Peli one last look, your eyes piercing into hers with invisible vibroblades. She returns the favor and turns on her heel, heading to her office.

Once inside the ship, your eyes feel unbearably heavy and the fatigue hits you all at once. In the last few days, you’ve probably only gotten eight hours of sleep—more like a series of power naps that could be considered eight hours when you bundle them all up, and now your bones ache, craving the sweet release that is rest—but first? You need a shower. To clean off all the dirt from the sand that’s passed through the air and onto your skin, and to clean up the mess that’s between your thighs.

Mando checks on the kid who is right where Peli said he was—in the cubbyhole they both sleep in. “Hey kid,” he says softly while lightly caressing the hammock he threw together for the kid to sleep in.

“I’m gonna freshen up,” You announce as you head for the fresher. Mando only tilts in your direction and tips the helmet down, giving you only the slightest indication that he understood you.

It’s a bit of a struggle to get undressed in the fresher. The space is just so kriffing small, it’s a wonder how Mando is able to do it. When all your clothes are off, you toss them behind you and angle your body underneath the hose. Cool water hits your tired skin and you recoil from the sudden freezing temperature. After a few seconds though, the water warms up into a delightfully warm hug, and your tense shoulders finally relax. The water pressure is a little harsher than what you’ve gotten used to, but it feels nice on your back. It feels like a massage, pushing down on your muscles, releasing the tautness that had built up throughout the day. Looking down at the drain, you notice a red hue to the water, and your brows pull together tightly, eyes scanning your body to see where the blood could be coming from. As you begin to inspect your hands, you notice three small gashes on your left hand where your knuckles are. Your memory flashes back to the cantina where you struck that man square in the nose. A chuckle echoes in the walls of the fresher as you remember the fear smeared on his face right before you connected your fist with his nose.

Water continues to cascade on your sun-kissed skin as you grab the bar of soap resting on the ledge and begin to scrub every inch of Mos Eisley grime off your frame. Naturally, your mind wanders—as one’s mind usually does while taking a shower. Closing your eyes, you imagine the fingers tracing your skin are big, leather gloved hands instead. Dancing across your chest, goosebumps forming under your skin as the touch shifts down between your breasts, to your stomach and rests in the middle of your thighs.

You shouldn’t—you really shouldn’t do this. Not when Mando is right outside the fresher, not when he would definitelyhear you if you got yourself to come, but then again maybe you should let him hear you. The image of him hearing you moan as you bring yourself to orgasm in his fresher, his ship is enough of an incentive for you to bring your hand up to your pussy and slowly dragging your fingers between your wet folds. It doesn’t take long before your fucking soaking, slick mixed with water. Fighting the whimpers that are caught in your throat, you bite down on your bottom lip, and lean against the metal wall to steady yourself as you fuck yourself to orgasm.

Even as the sound of water masks some of obscene noises you’re making, if Mando’s still somewhere nearby, he’ll hear you. Two fingers rub against your swollen clit, and you convince yourself they’re fingers covered in brown leather. The heat in your stomach coils, your orgasm bubbling to the surface. It feels so fucking wrong and it feels so fucking right. Thank the Maker for the wall keeping you upright because your knees are quaking, the flashes of pure ecstasy making it damn near impossible to keep yourself from crying out. You’re seeing stars, the sensation starting to become too intense, you’re on the verge of coming, speeding up your rhythm so you can finally feel its sweet release. Your orgasm rips through you, white-hot pleasure punches the moan lodged in your throat, unable to catch it in time before it echoes through the walls of the fresher. There’s no way he didn’t hear that, but you really don’t give a shit.

Your hand drops to your side as your body rides out the aftershocks of your orgasm, chest heaving and knees buckling. The steam from the water mixed with your labored breathing post-orgasm makes it way too difficult to breathe. You feel like you’re suffocating, and now that you’re fully relaxed, the exhaustion really taking its toll on you.

Grabbing the new garments you bought from one of the kind gentleman, you slip them on and push the button to open the fresher door. The cool air from the Crest is a breath of fresh air, and you let as much air fill your lungs as humanly possible, taking notice that the ship is dimly lit. You don’t immediately see any sign of Mando, so you poke your head to left, wondering if he might be with the Child. The entrance is shut, and assume that means he’s gone to sleep. You take to the ladder, and use whatever strength you have left—and it’s not much, to climb the rungs to the cockpit. Sleeping in the chair isn’t the most comfortable for your neck or back or any part of your body for that matter, but it’s the only place you think to sleep in, therefore until Mando tells you otherwise, you’ll continue to sleep in this kriffing chair.

It’s when you reach the top of the ladder that you notice the tip of chrome poking through the headrest of the pilot’s chair.

Mando.

Keeping your movements as quietly as you can in the off chance he’s sleeping, you manage to slither in your seat and really try to get comfortable, but it’s truly impossible to do that so you give up quickly and lean a little in the chair, your butt touching the edge of the seat, and your back at an angle. It’s probably worse for your back to be in this position but you refuse to sit up straight in the seat, you definitely won’t be able to sleep that way. Your arms stretch across your chest and let out a deep breath through your lips before closing your eyes.

“By the way,” A deep, rough voice cuts through the silence in the cockpit. Your eyes shoot open and your breath catches in your throat, hanging onto every word Mando says. “The fresher isn’t soundproof.”

Your body sinks back into the chair, cheeks burning hot with equal parts embarrassment and satisfaction. There’s no point in trying to come up with a witty response, because you shamelessly wanted him to hear you. Shutting your eyes again, it’s damn near impossible to hide the devilish grin that’s smeared all over your smug face.

@1800-fight-me @tillytheslytherin @ayamenimthiriel 💛💛💛💛

#the Mandalorian #Din Djarin x reader #the mandalorian x reader #the mandalorian x you #Din Djarin x you #mando x reader #mando x you #angst #tw: violence #reader insert #the mandalorian fanfiction #din djarin #slow burn #we are one when together #fics

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duckymcdoorknob · 4 years

Text

Words Really Do Hurt

Warnings: TW!!!!!: harm (not self but still ouchies) A n g s t

You bitches are going to cry. I’ll make sure I drag this out and not leave out a single detail.

Ships: Jamilton

Prompt: Thomas Jefferson always assumed he would have the upper hand in arguments, from his quick wit and snapbacks. He always made Hamilton cry. But when Hamilton rolls up his sleeves, he realized what he was truly crying about.

He never knew where it came from. It was always just there...

“Bastard!”

Pain

“Whoreson!”

Pain

“Dirty thief!”

Pain.

Young Alexander ran away from the insults of his “neighbors.” Tears blurred his eyes as he ignored the searing feeling in his arm.

He opened the door of his home, seeing his sickly mother setting down “dinner” for them.

A bowl of bland oatmeal and a small apple.

“Mama... the..they di..d it again.” Alexander said wincing.

His mother rushed to his aid, putting their food aside. She drew a bath for him and helped him inside.

“What happened this time my darling?” His mother spoke softly, petting his hair.

“They called me a th..thief and a bastard whoreson.” Alexander mumbled, letting his arm down under the water.

The bathtub tinged red, a sight Alexander’s mother loathes seeing. Her boy had three fresh cuts on his arm.

She never knew how he got it.

The doctor told her that whenever something truly hurts him inside, it somehow hurts him outside too. Something to do with the signals in his brain, eating away a line on his skin. Nameless, yet so distressing to the Hamilton family. No matter how deep or long the cut is, it won’t affect his life. Something that would kill any normal human would only hurt him.

She let him rest in the bathtub as long as he wished, then dressed him in his favorite jammies.

They went downstairs and his mother put the oatmeal back on the fire.

——

Alexander went on through his life covered in scars. A large scar on his chest appeared when his mother died. No one has ever seen it, except him.

“I’m sorry but I don’t think a whoreson deserves any money. His mother should’ve thought about it before she got knocked up.”

Scar

——

“She doesn’t have much time left, Mr. Hamilton. She’s too weak and sick.”

“I love you, Alexander...”

A large scar across his chest formed again.

——

“My son was shot and killed in a gunfight.”

Alexander now has three straight lines across his chest. Signifying the loss of the three most important people in his lives.

Rubesis. That’s what the medics called it. Ovelate Rubesis, (oh-vel-eht Roo-bay-sis) the anatomical consumption of skin caused by emotional distress.

——

The wind howled outside as a chilling rain fell from the sky.

“The things you say might be completely delusional, Hamilton. But this takes the cake. The North and the South are completely different. Why should we have to pay for your debts?” Thomas began in a ramble.

Alexander felt a tiny prick on his arm, “not again.” He thought to himself. He stood tall and angry, ready to take whatever Thomas yelled at him.

“If you make the South pay your debts, It’ll be Yorktown ALL OVER again. And don’t expect to win with your current state. Your son stressing you out that much? I mean God, we could turn you into a candle with all that extra fat.”

A sudden swipe of pain shot up Alexander’s arm. He felt A thin cut develop by his wrist. These were schoolboy level insults. Why did he let it get to him?

“That’s enough, Thomas.” Washington stood between him and Jefferson, “that was below the belt and you know it.”

Thomas rolled his eyes. He wasn’t done yet. “Hamilton I can’t believe they even let your naive, foolish self into the government. I mean honest to God a brain dead toddler could run treasury better.”

A large, deep, gash began to form on his forearm.

“S..stop...” Alexander managed through his searing pain.

“Oh boohoo! What are you going to do? Cry?” Thomas teased. He scoffs and crosses his arms “So weak and pathetic.”

Tears pricked the corners of Alexander’s eyes. “P..please... i-it hurts. S..so bad.” The gash got longer.

“Christ what’s wrong with you? Can’t you just be normal?” Thomas asked, taken aback by Alexander’s behavior.

Alexander winced as blood stained his white undershirt. “J..Je..Jefferson s-stop. Please.” Alexander was breathing hard, tears falling down his face. The gash traveled from his forearm to his elbow by now.

“Jefferson, enough” Washington spoke through gritted teeth. He glared daggers at Thomas, who simply rolled his eyes.

“All I’m saying is this plan is outrageous.”

At that point in time, Washington’s assistant entered carrying a heavy crate of writing supplies. They walked over to where Washington was hovering over Thomas. The wind blew with gusto. Then shortly after, the electricity in their building was out.

The sudden flash caused Washington’s assistant to jump and drop the crate on Thomas’ leg.

“Ah! Son of a bitch!” Thomas exclaimed.

Alexander gasped and rushed to help Thomas. He may hate the man, but his paternal instincts kicked in. He rolled up his sleeves and lifted the heavy crate off of Thomas’ leg.

“Thank you, Washington. Now can we work on those lights please?” Thomas inquired.

Almost on cue, the lights flashed back on.

Thomas saw Alexander carrying the heavy crate, multiple cuts and scars on his arm, and a deep gash bleeding profusely.

“I must’ve been incorrect. Thank you for the help, Hamilton.” Thomas said softly, avoiding to talk about what he’s seen. He figured the last thing Alexander needed was to be upset more.

Alexander put the crate down, realized what he’d done and quickly rolled his sleeves back down.

“Can we get back to non verbally abusing politics please?” Washington spoke up.

“I agree. Let’s continue.” Alexander said, crossing his arms.

“Now Secretary Jefferson. You’ve given a fair view on your opinion. But why do you feel this way?” Washington began

“Lovely” Alexander thought to himself

“Mister President I believe that Hamilton’s plan to assume the debts is unfair to the South.”

“The only reason I asked is because Virginia’s debts are already paid. I just wanted to see if-“

“Shut. your. fucking mouth, Hamilton.” Thomas groaned. So much for not further upsetting him. “I know you can’t keep yourself quiet for more than a minute at a time, but for the sake of all of us in here, shut the hell up.”

“Mr. Jefferson I don’t think you’re being fair to-“ Washington was cut off by a hasty Thomas.

“You’re right. Hamilton, you’re not completely useless.”

A gash on Alexander’s left arm formed, just as his right arm.

“Thomas! That’s enough!” Washington finally raised his voice

“Ugh. Sorry dad didn’t realize we were all offended by everything here.”

“Please just leave me alone...” Alexander thought with sorrow.

“I’ve stated my case. I don’t support this buffoon’s plan. I’ve nothing else to say to his sorry ass.”

The cut deepened and grew longer. Traveling from his wrist to his mid forearm.

“E..end it.” Alexander stuttered as he grabbed his arm. “E...end the.. m..meeting.”

“You don’t get to speak to me, scum. You best run back to your island.”

The gash grew until his elbow, in an agonizingly slow manner, causing Alexander to cry out in agony. “PLEASE!” He cried, falling to the floor. Blood oozed out of the large gashes, the right one having reopened. Alexander sobbed as Washington sprinted towards him. It hasn’t been this bad since John’s death.

“It’s alright. I’ve got you. Don’t let go of me.” Washington said softly, trying to keep Alexander from hyperventilating. He sat down next to Alexander and gently held the hurting man.

“Oh what now?” Thomas’ angry, annoyed face, dropped when he saw the blood seeping from Alexander’s shirt. “Oh Christ- CAN WE GET SOME HELP IN HERE?”

Thomas attempted to rush to Alexander’s aid, but stopped when he noticed Alexander cowering away.

“Get him away from me. Don’t let him say anything to me. Please!” Alexander tried to cover his ears as tears streamed down his cheeks.

Washington moved his arms down, “you know better.”

Thomas searched fantically for anything to pack the wounds with. He was freaking out. When did Hamilton have time to pull a blade on himself?

“How did you-“ Alexander pondered on Washington’s previous remark.

Thomas’ frantic pacing was stopped by Washington.

“Thomas Stop. You’re going to do more damage if you wrap them.” He said softly

“Are you INSANE?” Thomas yelled.

“Go to the shelf, Medical book, Index, Under “O”, near the end. Starts with “ov”

Thomas races to the bookshelf and did as he was instructed. There he discovered... “Ovelate Rubesis?”

Washington nodded. Alexander was too determined to stop his suffering; he couldn’t hear what was unfolding.

“Wounds will widen if bloodflow is stopped by outside force. Expose to air to end bleeding.”

Two and two didn’t click for Thomas. He knew that he needed to leave the wounds alone, but he didn’t realize that Alexander had the condition.

“Don’t cover it. They need air.” Washington replied to Thomas’ out-loud reading.

“How did you know about?-“ Alexander pondered softly.

Washington said nothing and lifted his sleeve to show multiple scars and one healing cut.

——

“Ugh. Sorry dad didn’t realize we were all offended by everything here.”

Washington barely flinched as he felt the cut on his arm develop.

“First in a few years” he thought to himself

——

The two men sat on the dusty wooden floor of the cabinet meeting room. The other members had recessed to help reduce panic.

Alexander looked down to see his wounds closed, but still red and puffy. “Thank you sir.” He said as he reached out a hand to help Washington to his feet.

“Mr. Hamilton.” Thomas said calmly, “will you please meet me outside in the hallway for a moment?”

“I...” Alexander didn’t want Thomas to be suspicious, “I suppose.”

Alexander followed Thomas into his office and closed the door behind him.

The velvet clad man sat on his desk, crossed armed, and glared at Alexander. “I’ve two questions for you, Hamilton.”

Alexander gulped. He didn’t know how much more jolts of searing pain he could take. He mentally prepared himself for the unbearable feeling.

“Why did you help me? After all I’ve done and said to you?” Thomas asked quietly.

“I-it just happened. I guess s..since I have Phillip to care for, it’s j..just instinct.” Alexander managed to stutter out.

“Ah I understand.” Thomas said with a small chuckle.

“I..is that all, Mr. Secretary?” Alexander inquired quietly.

“Don’t get too formal on me now.” Thomas said with a half smile.

“Sorry.” Alexander said rubbing the back of his neck.

“Second.” Thomas began, walking to Alexander’s tense figure.

Alexander met his gaze. It was... sympathetic?

“Would you like to explain these for me?” Thomas said in a low voice.

He grabbed Alexander’s wrist swiftly and rolled up his sleeves.

Alexander’s arms looked ugly. The large gashes were stained bright red, swollen to the high heavens, and tinging the surrounding skin a warm pink. The small cuts puffed up in irritation. It was a sight of horror for both men.

“I-I...” Alexander didn’t know what to say. Did he tell his enemy the truth? Or lie? “It was from the... the c-crate! Yeah the crate.”

“Don’t bullshit me, Hamilton.” Thomas said with a sigh. “I just didn’t expect this from someone like you.”

“I..I’m not cutting myself. I swear.” Alexander whimpered.

“Well clearly it’s from something!” Thomas said defensively, causing Alexander to flinch and put his hands up in defense.

“I..is someone. Is someone hurting you, Hamilton?” Thomas asked as tears pricked his eyes.

“Why... why would y-you want to know?” Alexander said with his own tears falling.

“God damnit, Alexander! I don’t know? Maybe that I care about you, you braindead sheep!” Thomas yelled.

Alexander’s heart panged. Then he winced as a sharp pain slowly sliced across his bare arm.

“Oh- oh my god.” Thomas said as he put a hand to his mouth.

“Just leave me alone.” Alexander mumbled, turning his back to holding his sore arm.

“Alexander...” Thomas said quietly. “I’m so sorry. I don’t know how I didn’t-“

“You don’t even know.“ Alexander responded, not attempting to meet Thomas’ anguished face.

“I read about it, remember?” Thomas said.

Alexander shook his head, “I was more focused on not passing out in front of anyone.”

“Ovelate Rubesis.” Thomas stated matter-of-factly, “Your skin cuts itself when something... hurts your heart.” Thomas slowed his speech in realization. “I feel like such a dick! How could I have not known this?!” Thomas’ eyes widened. “This... this is why you-“

“Begged you to end the cabinet meeting?... yeah.” Alexander said coolly.

“Oh my god that’s why you always cry during... oh my god that’s what happened. And the blood, and Washington saying it’ll heal itself, and you covering your ears and-“

Alexander’s eyes grew large from a sudden shock. Thomas had engulfed Alexander in a hug from above.

“Im so sorry.” Thomas repeated as tears streamed down his face.

Alexander buried his face into Thomas’ neck, letting sobs rack his body.

“I’m so sorry, Alexander.” Thomas whispered, resting his chin on top of Alex’s head.

The two sat in a silent embrace for a good while.

“Alexander...” Thomas whispered.

“Mm?”

“Wha...what happened when...” Thomas sighed, “when Eliza passed?”

Alexander sighed and slowly took off his green vest. “Are you sure you want to see?”

“Only if you’re comfortable.”

Alexander lifted his white undershirt up to reveal his chest.

Thomas covered his mouth as a tear fell from his eye.

Alexander’s chest had puffy lines across.

3 scars, 3 deaths.

Thomas brought Alexander close to him again and rubbed the man’s back.

“I hate to do this but.” Alexander began, lifting his head from its resting position. “Washington probably thinks that you killed me.”

Thomas chuckled “Im so sorry. For everything” he whispered, planting a soft, chaste kiss on Alexander’s forehead.

Alexander laughed through his tears.

“Im sorry I... I don’t know where that came from.” Thomas said sheepishly.

Alexander let out a soft giggle and gazed into Thomas’ soft brown eyes. “It’s okay, Thomas.”

Alexander sucked in a breath, and stood on his tippy toes to connect his lips to Thomas’.

George Washington silently opened the door to the office, careful to not alert anyone of his presence. His shoulders were in a tense position, his teeth gritted. When he saw the two men, he smiled and relaxed his shoulders. He shut the door and walked away from the room.

Thomas and Alexander broke apart, smiling at each other.

“I promise you. I’ll try to see things from your point of view from now on. And I’ll be careful with how I react, going forward.” Thomas spoke softly.

Alexander smiled and a tear rolled down his cheek.

A swift noise caught their attention.

“Meet me back in the room when you’re done. Wink wink.- GWash.”

Alexander couldn’t help but break into a fit of giggles.

Thomas put a hand on his shoulder and led him back out the door.

They both walked into the room, acting as if none of it ever happened.

#daveed diggs #hamilton #hamilsquad #hamiltrash #thomas jefferson #jamilton #lin manuel miranda #angst #au #washington #george washington #medical

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anninhiliation · 5 years

Text

Lush 2

A/N: LISTEN, I was having a conversation with @you-kinda-smell-like-christmas while I was having lunch with my family, and the baby was this thought that I can write out now. This is also how I like to welcome myself back

Masterlist

Warnings: This is bratty stuff, Choking, Dom!Chris as the title states and I'm nasty.

A black Dolce & Gabbana gown adorned my body, paired with a velvet choker and a little Chanel clutch. What no one knew, besides Chris and I was that under my black lace thong I had a lush 2 wedged inside my soaked cunt. This was my punishment for disobeying my daddy this morning. So the punishment was he would have full control over me during his award show. He set the vibrator on a low setting while we were on the bus lightly teasing my inner sweet spot and pearl. The set rule was every moan, whimper or any signal I had a Bluetooth vibrator inside me and Chris would adjust the setting. As the vibrations penetrated my body, I squirmed around trying my best to conceal all my whimpers. Yet, the more I moved the more the vibrator massaged my bundle of nerves and pressed around my inner sweet spot. Chris’s hand rested on my clothed thigh as he joked around with the guys.

“Sit still nena. You're moving to much.” Chris growled in my ear

“Bu-” I began as Chris pulled out his phone and raised the setting

My eyes grew wide as the double massages were sending me insane with pleasure. I tried to sit as still as a statue, as my core was screamed out begging for me to voice her. It reached a point where I felt my edge closing in on me. I squeezed my eyes shut, and leaned my head against the headrest biting my bottom lip as I fought my bodily urges.

“Qué te pasa nena? You need to cum?” Chris whispered in my ear as his hand trailed further up my thigh

I simply nodded my head, knowing if I did try to speak a moan was bound to escape.

“Cum for me nena and make it quiet” He ordered as he unlocked his phone and waited

I shoved my wrist in my mouth and bit down muffling my moans, and thanking the gods the bus was already filled with chaos so no one would notice or hear the few escaped whimpers. I tried to keep my legs as still as possible, as my eyes rolled to the back of my head making me see the galaxy. I felt the vibrations stop after my high, as the lush 2 was now just pressed against my sore sensitive areas.

“Te gusto? You like cumming in front of a crowd of people? Especially when those people are my bandmates? Such a filthy slut.” Chris growled in my ear

As his filth spilled out of his mouth, a new pool began to form between my thighs. I crossed my legs trying to relieve some much-needed friction.

“Ah y te gusta todo eso? Nena you better not cum on the carpet.” He smirked as we all piled out of the bus.

“Papi you wouldn't.” I gasped as he set the lush 2 on a medium setting

My sensitive nub came back to life as the vibrations to my g-spot was heavenly massaged. Chris took my hand and guided me with him towards the starting point of the red carpet. I felt my sensitive walls begin to hug around the little pink vibrator as my knuckles turned white around Chris’s hand.

“Nena, don't you dare cum.” Chris warned

“How am I supposed to act right then Papi?” I hissed through a smile as the cameras began to flash on us

“Nena that's going to cost you.” Chris smiled as he kissed my cheek for the paparazzi “You don't speak to your daddy disrespectfully”

I felt another knot form in my stomach making me hold onto Chris for dear life as I tried to look as inconspicuous as possible. The orgasm began to break down my walls and restraints, as I couldn't hold on any longer. Chris noticed me on the verge of losing control and kissed me, muffling my moans and whimpers as the paparazzi went wild. They awed and cooed at Christopher's romantic gesture as he held me up feeling my full weight ready to sink to the floor. That is when I fully let go, closing my eyes as I felt the sweet ecstasy take over my body.

“Nena I didn't give you permission to cum” He growled through his smile as he pulled away from the kiss. "And you did that in front of all these people. Such a dirty girl."

“I'm sorry papi I couldn't help it. I was still so sensitive from the bus.” I innocently pouted

“Well you just made the punishment worse,” Chris smirked as he turned off the lush 2

My cunt throbbed at the thought of what Chris had in mind on top of what he was already doing. We finally made it inside the venue, and I felt a small vibration between my legs. My eyes shot to Chris who was pretending to make boomerangs. He looked up from his phone and smirked at me as he turned away to talk to Richard and Erick. My swollen nub throbbed against vibrations, as Zabdiel and Clara pulled me into their conversation.

“And what do you think Y/N?” Clara asked

My attention shot over to her, as the vibrations between my legs grew stronger. I quickly looked over at Chris with wide eyes as he had an enormous smile plastered on his face.

“Y/N” Zabdiel called out, shooting my attention back to them

“Uhhh...I'm sorry what?” I questioned as my attention was being dragged back down between my legs

“Are you feeling okay? You've been acting weird since we got on the bus.” Clara asked worrisomely

“I-I'm fine its just one of those days.” I stammered as I felt a knot reshape itself inside me.

I leaned on a table as my legs grew weak from the overstimulation.

“¿Enserio estás bein? Siéntate y voy a llamar a Chris” Zabdiel insisted

“No!” I cried out as the vibrations stopped abruptly.

I felt a mixed wave of relief and annoyance as my throbbing walls began to relax. I was on the verge of cumming and Chris knew it, he knew how sore I was, how easily I could unravel again and again and he was using that to his advantage.

“Are you sure Y/N?” Clara questioned, “It's not a big deal I mean he's just across the room.” She insisted

“Ya voy” Zabdiel mumbled as he turned walking away

“I'm fine, I'm fine really!” I pleaded running after Zabdiel

Chris must have caught on because he set the lush 2 on the highest setting. I bit my bottom lip and shot a glance at Chris. He was looking directly at me with his big brown eyes drowned in lust as Richard and Erick were completely ignorant at their bandmate's body language.

“I just need a drink.” I weakly smiled as I dragged Zabdiel away taking him with me to the bar

I squeezed between the crowd of people who blockaded the bar and ordered a white wine. As the bartender handed me my drink, I felt my sore walls close in around the lush 2. My legs finally gave in as I sunk down on the barstool and gulped down my wine.

"¿Y/N enserio estás bien? ¿No quieres acostarte?" Zabdiel persisted

"Really, I'm fine." I gave Zabdiel a weak smile "Why don't you go back to Clara, though I'm just going to relax here for a bit"

"Okay pero es te desmayas that's on you." He sighed before heading back towards Clara

I took deep breaths as I tried to fight my exhausted body, as the vibrations were once again cut off. I let out an annoyed groan as I called for the bartender and ordered the same drink. A warm hand touched my exposed back, making me look up from my empty wine glass and see a familiar set of brown eyes.

“Take this time now to relax and recompose yourself por que you're going to vibrate to my performance,” Chris warned

“Papi you go live in half an hour that's not enough time.” I pleaded

“Y eso es un castigó princesa.” Chris explained as he kissed my lips and regrouped with the boys.

I watched him walk away in pure shock until the bartender called for my attention. I mouthed a thank you taking the glass of wine and collecting my strength to stand up. I walked backstage to be with Ali and watch the boys perform. As the boys were warming up and changing I felt a soft vibration tingle in my swollen pussy. I took a big sip of my drink to silence a whimper and shifted my stance. Chris with yet another huge smirk ran up to me and pecked my lips.

“You cum or bring any more attention to yourself nena and you won't like the consequences,” He warned before going on stage.

The beat blasted through the speakers and the lush 2 went at full force making vibrations to the beat. My legs trembled at the overstimulation, as I looked around for the closest private area. I spotted a woman’s bathroom just backstage as I locked eyes with Chris. He was at the front of the stage doing his dance as he thrusted his hips, sending me closer to the edge and the song was only half over. I leaned against the wall for support as I repeatedly eyed the bathroom. Only a few people were going in and out, so it was private enough for me to finally rip out the lush 2, allow myself to reach my edge one last time and give my throbbing pussy a break.

“I'm going to the bathroom” I whispered to Ali as I beelined to the safe haven.

There were only two other women in the bathroom, just washing their hands as I shut the bathroom stall. I lifted my dress high enough to expose my soaked lace thong and pushed that fabric to the side. I pulled out the still vibrating lush 2, turned it off and shoved it into my Chanel clutch. I let out a heavy sigh as I gently massaged my entrance, finalizing the last high of the night. I felt my knot tighten and I was about to release until I heard the door storm open.

“This is the women's room!” I heard someone call out

“I know I’m sorry I just need to get my girlfriend.” A familiar voice spoke as I heard thumps from the next stall over.

I stopped dead in my tracks as Chris’s face popped above the stall divider. He angrily hopped into my stall and pinned my arms above my head.

“Y nena where is it?” He fumed

“Chris this is the women's bathroom someones going to call security.” I hissed

“Por que? This is my pussy right here” Chris growled as he moved his hand to my wet folds.

“I asked you a question” He continued as he applied pressure to my throbbing bottom lips

“Gone,” I stated looking directly into his lust-filled eyes

“Te olvidaste que esto is your punishment?” He huffed as he slowly rubbed my sore clit

“I got tired of being edged” I explained with a smirk feeling my inner brat come out

“Ah, you didn't like the punishment your daddy set for you so you thought it would be okay to do whatever you wanted.” He pieced together as he applied more pressure to my nerve endings.

“Just let me cum Papi please I'll be good” I begged as he removed his digits from me

“Nena I gave you a punishment after disobeying me y a hora you want me to reward you after you disobeyed me again?” he snickered

I nodded my head as I batted my lashes and pouted, knowing the effect my facial expressions had on him.

“Tsk tsk tsk you can't manipulate me nena” Chris cooed as he pushed me to my knees

The cold tile hit my weakened knees as Chris unzipped his pants revealing his hardened member. My mouth watered as I went to wrap my hand around his shaft and begin sucking.

“No” Chris snapped as he smacked my hand away

“I control your mouth now” He growled as I opened my mouth ready for his hard cock

He swatted his tip against my tongue letting my saliva soak around him. He groaned out as his pre-cum spilled onto my tongue dancing around my taste buds. I moaned as he moved more of himself inside me. I instinctively went to touch him and he swatted me away again.

“You can touch me when I say so” Chris instructed as he grabbed my hair and forced more of himself in my mouth

He roughly thrusted himself into my face, causing tears to roll down my cheeks and it only made the throbbing between my legs worse. He hit the back of my throat making me gag and he stayed there enjoying the warm wetness of my mouth. He finally pulled out letting me inhale the cold air and catch some of my breath before he went back. He repeated this three times until his thrusting became sloppy. He released his warm salty load in my mouth, and I swallowed everything with content.

“Mmm tasty” I purred as I wiped a droplet that fell from my lips with my finger and sucked.

“Nena take off your dress.” He commanded as he pulled me up

“Right here?” I asked thinking he was joking

His hand encircled my throat and hissed;

“You do not ask questions.”

I nodded my head, as I felt my throbbing core ready to burst. I slowly turned around and moved my head slightly back.

“Can you unzip it?” I asked batting my lashes

“No questions” He barked as he firmly slapped my ass

Chris did pull the zipper down and hungrily pulled the straps down my shoulders. He spun me around, making a small yelp fall from my lips and he pulled the dress down himself and kicked it out of the stall. I looked at the dress in shock about to say something, but the look he gave me, made me know damn well to keep quiet. He tugged my hair, exposing my neck to his hungry lips as he attacked my sweet spot. I instinctively ran my hands through his hair and he pulled away.

“What did I say?” He growled as he firmly pinched my nipple

“No questions” I huffed out between the moans

“No antes” He hissed

“No touching” I whimpered

“So why did you touch me?” He snapped

“Por q- Im sorry papi” I pouted

He let go of my nipple and continued to attack my neck. I knew there were going to be a million marks left when he was done. His hard member hit my lower abdomen as he sucked on my harden buds and lifted me up against the wall divider. Chris without warning rammed into me, and I screamed out his name.

“You dirty slut” Chris huffed as his balls smacked against my sensitive flesh “screaming like no one can hear.”

The filth that left Chris’s lips tied another knot in my stomach. My walls hugged around Chris’s girth as my orgasm was nearing in on me.

“Chris” I whimpered

“You better hold it better than you did on the carpet” He hissed as he fastened the pace

“Please Papi!” I whined “You drove my pussy crazy today”

“Well that's what you get for disobeying” He groaned as my tight walls constricted him

“I’ll be good” I begged “please papi”

“Wait” He ordered as his thrusts began to lose its rhythm

My inner walls spazzed against him, as I fought my bodily instincts with all of my power.

“Ahora” He ordered as he shot his load inside me.

My eyes rolled to the back of my head, losing my breath as my thighs shook around Chris’s grip. I flew to the stars, as Chris rode me out.

“Wait till we get back to the hotel Nena cause I'm not done.” He huffed as he pulled out of me and let me sink to the floor.

Chris zipped his pants back up and unlocked the bathroom stall kicked my dress back to me and left.

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metridiumfields · 5 years

Text

When I first saw No Country For Old Men I certainly liked it as much as anyone else. Even if its conclusion was as baffling as anything, the road to get there was enveloping enough to be worth it. I cannot say I was particularly bothered by the ending anyhow as my favorite movie has been and will always be Martin Scorsese's The Departed, which has an epilogue every bit as abrupt. I always knew there was a point to it all, though. Or I thought there was. The genius of it all is that even though on a surface level the last twenty minutes of this movie are arguably disparate even on first watch you kind of know, on some level, that something meaningful had happened. You had no idea what but it had you thinking.

I don't do much writing, if at all, but it's something I enjoy. Even if I'm just rambling or whining on Tumblr. I'm also not a film critic. I enjoy the work of film critics but as a moviegoer myself I'm pretty much as tourist as the next guy. So I don't come into this thinking I had anything particularly new or interesting to say; I've written this because I wanted to. Because it was fun for me and because this is the first time I've ever gone this deep on a movie. No joke: I've had an epiphany. I spent and entire twelve hour work shift thinking about No Country For Old Men and once I was home and rewatching it with my conclusions in mind it was a completely new experience.

No Country begins with a narration, by Sherriff Ed Tom Bell. The Sherriff describes his promotion at a relatively young age, his grandfather and father being sherrifs, being a Sherriff at the same time as his father, and sherrifs choosing not to carry a firearm. Bell is clearly nostalgic for this time and directly compares it to a recent happening: him being instrumental in the execution of a murderer. This man had killed a fourteen-year-old girl and evidently felt no remorse for it. This is the first look into who Bell is as a character and the story arc he follows.

The next character introduced is Llewelyn Moss, a retired welder and Vietnam veteran. Moss is hunting when he comes across a drug deal gone wrong. It's here that Moss finds the ostensibly "MacGuffin" of the film: a satchel holding two million US dollars. He takes it from a deceased man that had almost escaped from the fracas that had occured. We can only assume what had happened that caused negotiations to go so wrong. Moss takes the money and as he walks away dark storm clouds have gathered above him (it having been bright and sunny moments before) and thunder and lightning crash in the distance.

There's a fascinatingly mythological feel to this opening scene. I had this feeling as though Moss had disturbed some ancient temple of some sort. Stealing from it a precious, powerful artifact that now heralds the release of an equally powerful, equally ancient evil: a man named Anton Chigurh. Indeed, the way in which Chigurh is introduced and the rampage he goes on throughout the beginning of the movie is almost like that of a demon. As if to imply that Moss had opened Pandora's Box itself and let loose something indescriminate and uncontrollable. Chigurh murders everyone around him without any reason given from himself. We first see the assassin being arrested, murdering the officer at the police station, then murdering a second man to change cars so as not to be easily tracked. But the reasoning for his arrest is never given.

We'll see an almost insane level of pragmatism from Chigurh later on (more than once) so we can assume that he must have been arrested as part of his own plan. But why? Who can say really. Granted, there is a reasoning given in the novel, but there is so little cut from the novel my personal belief is that everything removed is removed for a very good reason. There being no reason given immediately gives Chigurh an air of danger and mystery. We don't know why he was arrested but we do know that arresting him doesn't stop him and won't help Moss later (at least, not with only one officer). There is arguably a more meaningful explanation of the scene but it serves best as establishing Chigurh as being almost completely unstoppable.

The "cat-and-mouse" plot between Chigurh and Moss is more man vs nature than anything. Chirgurh and Moss aren't really seen on screen together. The viewer sees Chigurh from Moss's point of view as a spectre or demon. A shadowy figure that strikes from afar and has no interested in a direct confrontration. Indeed, when Moss strikes back and injures Chirgurh, Chigurh backs off immediately. Shrinking back into the mire he slithered out of to lick his wounds until he can lash out again. The entire first act treats Chigurh as cloud of death that has to be put back into its jar. Another assassin, Carson Wells, compares Chigurh to the plague. Your first thought might be the Black (Bubonic) Plague, but my personal interpretation is the Biblical plague. Not so much biological as a force of nature.

Much of the beginning half of the film is spent trying to mitigate Chigurh's rampage or even head him off at the path. Carson Wells is introduced to try and find some sort of solution, even going so far as to try and reason with Moss. Surely these men would rather just murder Moss and get their money but with Chigurh in the mix their money isn't the issue anymore. Carson goes as far as to offer Moss a deal (even offering to let him keep some of it!) just to reconcile the entire mess. Wells struck me as something of a Devil-like character. In the scene he's introduced he points out the building he's in is missing a floor, alluding to the practice of skipping the thirteenth floor because of the number's ties to the occult and "bad luck".

Also, come on: the man wears a white suit and tries to bargain with everyone.

I might be reading too much into that but I like it because Wells' later death is made more interesting by the implication that Chigurh is a force of death greater than the Devil himself. It's more interesting to me, as well, if you expand that line of thinking to interpret Sherriff Bell as God- or Christ-like. Which plays back into the idea that there's a nihilistic subtext to the film which is derived from Chigurh's use of a coin toss to remove himself from responsibility from his actions. Although Chigurh would like you to believe that the result of the coin toss was in some way meaningful, it isn't. This is pointed out by Carla Jean later on when she refuses to call heads or tails. The only meaning in the coin toss is put there by Anton Chigurh himself. To the universe, it's just random chance.

This could only arise with an apathetic God, which is exactly what Bell is. A common interpretation of the epilogue of the film is that Bell lost his innocence then and there but if we take a look back at the beginning narration and follow his actions afterward we see that Bell was jaded and apathetic from the start. Since long before the events of the film. Throughout the film Bell makes little to no real effort, he treats his deputy's gusto with amusement more than anything, and treats his job as just that: a job. I put more effort into being a deli cashier than this man does to being a Sherriff. Don't get me wrong here, Sherriff Bell is well-meaning. But it takes him far too long to get over his pessimism and defeatism to be instrumental in the survival of Llewelyn Moss.

Moss, by the way, dies off-screen to kick off the third act. I think. I'm no expert but I'm pretty sure because this is where Bell's apathy is finally confronted. Bell's character arc really sets into gear as he has to look long and hard at himself, his expectations, and where he went wrong as a law enforcement officer.

Sherriff Bell had a lot of expectations when he was promoted. He was Sherriff alongside his father as well as now sharing a title once held by his grandfather. Bell's father was proud of him, we're to understand. This much have been quite the time for him. Bell had the entire world at his feet and a bright future ahead of him. Or so he thought. But instead of that he ended up putting a man to death by electric chair. A man that, by his own admission, had the Devil inside of him and would kill again if allowed to. Sherriff wanted to be the kind of authoritarian that didn't even have to carry a firearm but contrary to that he had to come to terms with the fact that this wasn't the world he actually lived in. Andy Griffith he decidly would not be.

Sherriff Bell blames the world around him but his Uncle Ellis makes it abundantly clear that this idea Bell had was only ever just that: an idea. A fantasy, really. Ellis has to remind Bell that the world has always been a hard place and that never stopped anyone else from trying to what good they could have. Ellis directly confronts Bell's selfishness and inaction with the line, "You can't stop what's comin'. It ain't all waitin' on you. That's vanity." In any other movie this would be what jumpstarts the hero's desire to act but here it's too late: Moss is already dead. In the very next scene, Moss's wife puts her mother to rest and then is herself murdered by Chigurh.

There's a distinct possibility that Bell could have prevented these deaths. If he loop back around to the Biblical allusions earlier and apply them to a scene shortly before wherein Chigurh is evidently hiding in the room where Moss died, we can see Chigurh apparently choosing not to do kill Bell. If we interpret Bell as a "divine" figure relative to Llewelyn Moss it's almost as though Bell was the only thing that could have kept him safe. He was evidently the only force strong and world-weary enough to match Anton Chigurh. But as we established, in this story, Llewelyn Moss's God is apathetic. His Death is active and his Salvation is, sadly, passive. It's arguable whether or not there is indeed a country for old men, but Ed Tom Bell is the only one letting that question stop him.

As if to twist the knife further, following his confrontation with Carla Jean, Anton Chigurh flees the scene only be T-boned by a stationwagon running a red light. Chance, for once, frowns upon Chigurh and he's put in a compromising position. If Bell had been more active in his pursuit this would have been where he really could have caught on. Bell knows that Chigurh was at the scene of Moss' murder because of the lock, Moss's wife then turns up dead. Near where she is killed a man is injured in a car accident, is seen by two eyewitnesses, pays one of them a lot of money for his shirt, instructs them that he wasn't seen, and then flees. That could have been the beginning of the end for Anton Chigurh. Indeed it was in the novel, as police are hot on his trail at this point. But we've established already that what little was cut out must have been for a reason and it is my belief that this was to emphasize Bell's apathy creating a missed opportunity.

The film ultimately concluds with Bell describing two dreams he had about his father. One, he states he is given some money, but he thinks he lost it. In the second dream he's riding in the wilderness with his father. It's cold, dark, and his father is carrying fire in a horn. Bell states that it he felt that, no matter what, his father would be out there with that fire. But then Bell punctuates the story with, "And then I woke up."

As if to say, "But then I realized it was all bullshit."

So No Country For Old Men ends with Sherriff Bell attempting to absolve himself of responsibility for the lives of Llewelyn and Carla Jean Moss by explaining to the viewer why he acted in the film the way he did. He's describing in no uncertain terms how he at once had hope for the world he lived in, but then lost it. His hope is represented by his father carrying on before him with a horn of fire. But in the dream before that Bell had been given some sort of responsibility involving money. Money that he lost, presumably disappointing his father, and therefore destroying what hope he had.

#no country for old men #long post #text post #film criticism #essay #film #movies

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meetmeatthecoda · 7 years

Note

Lizzington, 3!

50 Dialogue Prompts

3. “It’s three in the morning.”

Hey there girl! :D Thank you so much for the prompt! I’m sorry it took literally 800 years for me to do it… School is kicking my butt. LOL. But I hope you still enjoy it! This was a fun one to write. Lots of Red and all his angst ;) Thank you again! :) Enjoy!

Bang, bang, bang.

Red looks up from his book, startled, and stares atthe door.

It’s just him alone in the living room of the hotelpenthouse. Dembe is asleep in one of the back bedrooms. Red had tried to followhis lead earlier and get some rest but insomnia had decided to kick in at fullforce, making him toss, turn, and eventually swear off sleep altogether. So here he is inthe late hours of the night (or early hours of the morning, he thinks wryly)reading Proust.

And someone is banging on his door

With a sigh, he snaps his book shut and tosses it ontothe table, getting up and taking a moment to stretch before the pounding at thedoor starts up again. Red grabs the nearest weapon, a steak knife from thekitchen area, and proceeds cautiously to the door. Looking through thepeephole, he sees a dark-haired woman, her up-do a little tousled, clad in ashort red dress, barefoot, her black heels clutched in one hand.

Lizzie.

Red quickly replaces the knife in the block in thekitchen and hurries back to the door, wrenching it open.

“Lizzie – “

“You!”

The word has a distinctly slurred quality and Lizziesays it with such gusto, jabbing a declamatory finger at him, that she stumblesand has to catch herself against the door jam.

Ah.

Lizzie is drunk.

She looks around for a moment, bleary-eyed, and then seemsto notice that she is leaning heavily against something. She frowns at the doorjam as if it has said something rude to her and pushes herself off with alittle too much strength that sends her tumbling in the opposite direction. Whichis right into Red’s arms.

He catches her instinctively, obviously, and holds hersafely against him until she rights herself. However, her sense of balanceseems to have abandoned her completely as she sways dangerously close to thedoor jam again. So, Red decides it’s best to just keeping holding her.

For her safety, of course.

Seeing as Lizzie will probably be here for a while, (hetries not to get too excited at the thought) Red decides that there’s no sensein standing here with the door open so he kicks it shut with his foot. At theloud noise, Lizzie startles a little and then turns to gaze into his face,looking a little surprised to find herself so close to him all of a sudden. Helooks down at her.

She seems very small without shoes on.

“What about me, Lizzie?” he prompts gently, halfcurious as to where she was going with her earlier exclamation and half desperateto distract himself from the warmth of her in his arms.

“You,” she repeats, calmer now, nodding to herself,seeming to appreciate the reminder of her outburst. Red has to smother a smileat how cute she is. “It’s your fault.” She states matter-of-factly.

Any urge to smile wilts up and dies inside of him.He’s not sure exactly what she’s blaming him for tonight but he has no doubtthat she’s right.

His fault? Yes, most things are.

But he’s curious.

“What is, Lizzie?”

“Hmm?” she’s become distracted by the pattern on histie, her finger tracing the purple swirls woven into the fabric there.

Drunk Lizzie is very tactile.

“What is my fault?” he repeats patiently.

“Oh,” she murmurs, once again back on track.“Everything.” She says simply, blinking at him, blatant as only alcohol canmake someone. Her blue eyes are rimmed in slightly smudged eye-liner. The smokyeffect makes her eyes even more piercing.

“Oh.” He mutters. “Yes, that’s probably true.”

She nods solemnly, eyes drifting back to his tie.“Everything,” she repeats. “Even this.”

Red frowns at her, about to ask her what she means,when she leans in quickly, too quickly for him to stop her. Before he knows it,her warm lips are touching his and his heart has stopped, surely he’s dead. Butno, he can feel her hand tugging on his tie to bring him closer and her lipsare moving sloppily against his and oh she tastes like whiskey.

(Oh, his naughty Lizzie likes whiskey.)

And any other time this would be a dream come true butLizzie is drunk, Lizzie doesn’t know what she’s doing, Lizzie doesn’t want him.And he would never take advantage of her like this. Never.

So, reluctant and regretful but determined, he gently pushesher away by the shoulders. She makes an adorable whining noise and pushesagainst him, trying to chase his lips, which is almost enough to have himtugging her back to him but he manages to hold her firmly at arm’s length.

It’slucky really.

He has a lot of practice doing what is best forLizzie.

“Lizzie…” he murmurs, his voice significantly deeperthan it was before.

“What?” she mumbles, finally seeming to accept thatshe won’t get any more kisses from him tonight and resigns herself to tuckingher head under his chin, snuggling against him.

Drunk Lizzie is cuddly.

“Lizzie, it’s three in the morning.” He won’t kiss heragain but for the life of him he can’t find anything wrong with wrapping hisarms around her, holding her tightly to his chest. “And you’ve been drinking.”

She smothers a drunken giggle in his vest. “Is it thatobvious?”

Red can’t help but grin at her sudden silliness. “Justa little. How about we get you settled on the couch and you can sleep it offhere?”

“Kay.” She mumbles, the mention of sleep making heryawn into his shoulder, her moods shifting quickly with the alcohol coursingthrough her system.

“Okay.” Red keeps his arms around her but begins towalk forward slowly, steering her sleepy form to the couch, where he depositsher with more than a little difficulty. Her hands have somehow snuck under hisvest and latched onto his dress shirt. She doesn’t seem to want to let him go.

She is testing him tonight.

“All right, I’m going to get you a blanket and pillow.Stay here.”

“Mhm…” she’s already having trouble keeping her eyesopen.

Red hurries off and grabs a spare pillow and blanket offhis bed, ruthlessly squashing all the fluttery feelings that try to rise to thesurface of him. There’s no use for those.

By the time he gets back to the front room, Lizzie hastipped over and curled up on her side, once again looking very small in themiddle of the big couch, her strappy heels carelessly discarded under thecoffee table, his book on top.

He can’t help but like the sight.

“Here…” he manages to coax her head up just enough totuck the fluffy pillow beneath it and then he carefully covers her up with theblanket, making sure it’s pulled up to her neck and over her toes.

He doesn’t want her to get cold.

“Thank you, Red…” she whispers sleepily. Red smiles ather even though her eyes are closed.

“You’re welcome, Lizzie.” He’s about to turn away andleave her to rest when he hears another whisper from her blanket-covered form.

“And s’okay, I forgive you…”

Red freezes.

“For what, Lizzie?” he asks urgently. For some reason,despite the fact that he knows it’s all drunken rambling, he desperately needsto know.

He has a feeling that drunk Lizzie is honest.

But she’s already asleep, breathing deeply through hermouth, carefree and peaceful.

Red sighs. He’s supposes that it’s right. Her, asleepand at peace, and him, awake and not. But he also supposes that it doesn’tmatter because she won’t remember any of this in the morning. Not the accusation,not the kiss, not the forgiveness.

But him? He won’t forget.

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jarpadandjensenaremyheroes · 7 years

Text

The Hunt

A/n- this is for @waywardmoeyy’s 1k fluff fest challenge. This was supposed to be a drabble, but then one idea led to another and next thing I know, I’m at 3k words. It’s my first time writing Sam, so please go easy on me. If you have any feedback, I would love to hear it! I hope you guys enjoy!

Word count: 3,062

Warnings: so much fluff it’ll rot your insides. Very brief mentions of panic attack, brief mentions of typical SPN violence, swearing.

Characters/Pairings: Sam Winchester x reader, Dean Winchester

It had been weeks since you had last gotten Sam alone. Every time you had the chance, he always found some excuse to go do something else. Of course, it always came with promises of Next time baby, and You know I love you. Something felt off, and you couldn’t figure it out.

It all started after their last hunt; one which you sat out due to a dislocated shoulder, thanks to a lovely vengeful spirit. Sam had doted on you and tended to your every need. But when this hunt popped up, he was so gung ho to go, you were worried you had done something wrong. And then when he came back and started acting so strangely, you thought for sure you messed it all up.

You went to Dean after the first week to see if he knew anything about Sam’s behavior. He of course said no, but he was shifting from foot to foot and couldn’t keep his hand off the back of his neck.

“I’m sure it’s nothing Y/N. You know how he gets after a hunt without you. Just wait. He’ll be back to normal in a few days.”

You sighed and walked away, knowing the older brother knew something. But you also knew you weren’t gonna get it out of him. So you let things go on for the next few weeks, silently sulking when Sam wasn’t around.

Then one day, you woke up and realized Sam had never even come to bed. You went searching the bunker, but couldn’t find him anywhere.

“Dean!” you bellowed from the middle of the war room. “DEAN!”

Dean came charging in waving his gun, wearing only his boxers. “What? What the fuck is all the yelling about!”

“I can’t find Sam! He never came to bed last night and he’s not here this morning! Dean, what if he went out and something got him?” You could feel your panic rising with every word that tumbled out of your mouth. “We gotta find him De! He could be half dead in a ditch somewhere! Oh my god… What if he’s already dead?! What if--oomph!”

Dean grabbed you by the shoulders and crushed you to his chest. He’s your best friend and knows exactly how to shut down your panic attacks.

“Breathe honey. I need you to breathe. I know where Sam is, and I’ll explain what I can after you calm down, alright?”

You nodded your head and listened to his lungs fill with air and push it back out, trying your best to mimic the action. In a few minutes, you felt your body relax and the black spots in your vision disappeared.

“Okay, I’m good now. Can you tell me where he is please so I can go shoot him in the foot for being an ass and scaring me?”

“Whoa Y/N. It’s not what you think. I promise. Just trust me, okay? You’re my best friend, and I would never let my little brother do anything to hurt you, right?”

You nodded again.

“Right. So just go with me on this okay? Sam is waiting for you somewhere. I’m not allowed to tell you, because this is all part of the plan. I am supposed to tell you to go look in your dresser drawer for a light pink envelope. Your first clue is in there.”

You looked at him quizzically. “What the hell is this?”

“I don’t get paid to ask those kinds of questions dear. Just go find the envelope!” he called over his shoulder as he went back to his room.

You quickly went to your own room to search your dresser. You found the envelope with ease and opened it to begin reading its contents. As you realized what was going on, your smile grew.

Y/N,

I know these last few weeks have been hard on you, and I’m so sorry. You must think I’m an ass. But I promise you, it’s all been leading up to today. You may not know it yet, but today is a special day. Scattered around in different places are more of these envelopes. Each one contains a clue as to where the next one is. Follow the clues, and it will lead you directly to me. But don’t take too long! Dean will take you out where you need to go, and I’ll be waiting to see you.

I love you, Forever and Always.

Sam

Attached to the back of the little note was a slip of paper. You peeled it off to read it.

The first place I kissed you.

“The kitchen!” you exclaimed! You dashed into the kitchen, looking on the counter where you had been sitting when Sam finally pressed his lips to yours in a drunken flurry. Seeing nothing, you checked the cabinet you had banged your head on during the whole ordeal. Sure enough, taped right inside was another pink envelope with a winking smiley face drawn on the front. You opened it up to find another little note.

Good job! The first few are super easy, but they do get more challenging. I know how much you love a challenge. So go get dressed in something comfy and go find the next one!

On the back you looked at the next clue.

The first place we made love.

You squealed in excitement and went to go throw some shorts and a tshirt on. As you went flying out of your room, you ran smack into Dean.

“Whoa where’s the fire!” he chuckled. “I take it you’re ready to go?”

“Yes yes yes and I know exactly where we’re going!” You grabbed his hand and dragged him to the garage while he laughed at your sudden change in mood. You gave Dean directions to the field that was no more than a few miles from the bunker. No sooner than he had put Baby in park, you jumped out and took off running towards the tree you and Sam had parked the Impala under to watch the stars that night.

In the small hollow at the base of the tree you saw the envelope peeking out, but it was covered in spider webs. The thought of sticking your hand in there made you shiver.

“Dean! Can you come grab this for me please?” He strode over to you with an exaggerated eye roll and reached down to pick up the letter, making sure to brush off all the webs before placing it in your eager hands. You ripped it open and read the note.

I know we technically were on Baby, but I couldn’t let Dean know that so I had to use the tree instead. I hope there weren’t any spiders! It gets a little harder from here, my love. Keep going!

Order your usual to get the clue!

It took you a minute to understand what he meant. The theme seemed to be all your firsts together, so you tried to think of a place that you always ordered the same thing at.

The first date Sam ever took you on was to your favorite coffee shop. You always ordered a hazelnut cappuccino every time you went! It wasn’t too far of a drive into town, and before you knew it you were walking in the front door. The gentle chime alerted the barista, Amanda, to your presence, and she waved hello to you both. She poured a black coffee for Dean and got started on your cappuccino, handing it to you with the envelope. Dean pulled his wallet out, but she stopped him.

“Sam already paid for it all. And Y/N, I think it’s adorable what he’s doing. He made me promise not to tell you, but he was so excited he told me everything! You’ll have to come visit me soon and let me know how the rest of the day goes!”

She was nearly bouncing up and down with glee, and it made your heart race. “You know, it’s so not fair that everyone but me knows what’s going on here!” you whined.

“That’s the whole point of a ‘surprise,’ Y/N,” Dean chuckled.

You and Dean decided to sit for a minute and enjoy your coffees while you talked. Soon enough though, your coffees were gone and you were itching to open the newest envelope.

Dean just laughed at you. “Go ahead and open it. I know it’s killing you to just sit here.”

You tore into the envelope with gusto and read the next clue. This time, it was just a simple note.

I love you.

The first time you told Sam you loved him, you were on a hunt in Colorado. A werewolf got you good, tearing you to ribbons and you were dying. Had Cas not shown up when Sam and Dean screamed for him, you would have bled out right there in Sam’s arms. You had only been dating for a couple months so you felt that it was too soon to say it, and he agreed. But laying there choking on your own blood, you had to tell him. You couldn’t die and leave him wondering.

“Surely he doesn’t mean for us to drive to Colorado, right?” you asked Dean, puzzled.

He laughed heartily. “No you goofball. Let me see the clue.” He read the short note. “So we all know you told him I love you for the first time after that wolf hunt. But when did he first say it to you?”

Then it clicked. “We had just gotten home from that hunt. We were standing in the bedroom and he was helping me peel my clothes off since they were stuck to me and I was still sore. I thought he was mad at me for being careless when he didn’t talk the whole ride there, so when I broke down crying in the bath, he told me then… But why would he send me back to the bunker? I thought we were meeting him someplace else?”

“I guess you’ll just have to follow the clues and find out!”

You got back in the car and Dean drove you home. You tore ass through the bunker and into your shared room with Sam, slightly dismayed when you didn’t see him. On the bed though was another pink envelope with your name scrawled across it. You opened it up and read the note.

You’ve done so great sweetheart. Only two more after this! I love you so much and I hope you don’t hate me for making you run all over town. I’ll see you soon.

Water. Roses. Relax.

“Water, roses, relax?” you asked yourself. “Oh!”

You went into the bathroom to find the bathtub full of steaming hot water with a rose scented bath bomb that had already dissolved, and various flower petals littering the top of the surface. On the countertop was another envelope.

Y/N,

I know by this point you are probably anxious to see me and get to the bottom of all this, but I need you to just relax for a little while. At least 30 minutes. In our closet is a garment bag hanging just inside to the left of the door. Put on what’s inside after your bath and then you can come meet me. I love you.

The one restaurant I’ve always wanted to take you to

You gasped. Surely he didn’t mean the high class steakhouse? That place is impossible to get in to with their snooty little wait list! You tried not to think about it too much and just relaxed into your hot bath. You don’t take them very often, mostly because you get too hot and just feel like you’re sweating. But tonight was special. Sam made the water just right so that you wouldn’t get too hot too quickly. He really wanted you to soak.

Taking advantage of the time you had in the tub, you shaved your legs and pampered yourself a little bit. You used your sugar scrub on your legs and arms to help make them feel a little softer, and when you got out you used your nicest lotion. You wrapped yourself in the big, fluffy towel that Sam knew you loved so much and went to the closet to look for this garment bag. You almost cried when you pulled it out.

In your hands was the most beautiful evening gown you had ever seen. It was a deep red with a cinched waistline adorned by a decorative beadwork piece, and a neckline covered in beads and crystals.

You threw on your robe and brushed your hair out until it was smooth and shiny and then pinned it up in graceful curls that fell down your neck. You finally slipped into the dress and the poked your head out the door to call for Dean.

“Yes m’lady?” he said teasingly.

“Can you zip me up? I’m afraid if I try to do it myself I’ll rip the dress…”

He motioned for you to come out and turn around, but his jaw dropped when he fully saw you.

“Holy shit you’re gorgeous! If you weren’t my best friend and my brother’s girl, I’d totally try to steal you away.” He winked at you as he gently turned your back to face him and pulled the zipper up.

You rolled your eyes at his antics. “Such a gentleman, Dean.”

He swatted at you playfully. “Hurry up and finish! I got instructions to get you there by a certain time!”

You gave him a mock salute and moved back into the room to find some shoes to wear and a pair of earrings as well. Once you completed you outfit, you met Dean back in the hallway. He had somehow channeled superman. In the 2 minutes it took you to get your heels and earrings on, he had changed into one of his nicest fed suits. He offered you his arm and led you back to the garage. He helped you into Baby; carefully making sure the ends of your dress wouldn’t get caught in the door.

“Well, you are quite the gentleman tonight. Thank you De,” you said as you blushed.

He grinned at you as he got into the driver’s seat. “So, do you know where you’re going?” he inquired.

“I think so, but I’m not certain. I think I’m meeting him at that fancy steakhouse. But it’s damn near impossible to get a reservation there, so that’s why I’m unsure.”

“I always knew you were a smart one. Sometimes I think you’re smarter than Sammy! He did get a reservation there, and it’s at 8 sharp. We should get there with a couple minutes to spare.”

True to his word, Dean got you there 3 minutes to 8:00. He jumped out of the car and ran over to open your door and help you out. When he was positive your delicate dress wasn’t snagged anywhere, he offered you his arm and walked you up the steps and into the lobby area.

“Do you have a reservation?” the hostess asked.

“She does. Under the name Winchester.” The woman looked at her list, giving Dean a funny look. “The other half of her party should already be here,” he said flatly.

She nodded curtly. “Ah, yes. Mr. Winchester. Right this way ma’am.”

Dean gave you a peck on the cheek as he released your arm. “Have fun. I’ll see you two lovebirds later.”

You nervously followed the hostess into the dining room and immediately spotted Sam. He stood and pulled your chair out for you, pushing it in as you sat down. A waiter came over almost instantly with a bottle of wine. When Sam grabbed your hand across the small candlelit table, all your nerves disappeared. He smiled that stunning smile at you and you just melted. Everything was perfect in that moment, and you didn’t see how it could get any better.

The two of you enjoyed your food while you talked and laughed for what seemed like hours. When the plates were cleared away, Sam suddenly became jumpy and nervous.

“Sam, what’s wrong? Why have you been acting so strange lately? And not that today wasn’t a blast, but what was with the scavenger hunt?”

Sam took a deep breath. “I know I’ve been acting like an ass, and I’m so sorry baby. I’ve been keeping a secret from you and being around you made me want to tell you.”

You felt your eyes go wide in shock.

“But if I told you, then it would ruin the surprise I had all planned out for today. Y/N, I love you so much. We’ve been through so much together, and I can’t imagine having anyone else by my side through all that. For anything, really. You’re the piece of me that I never knew I was missing, and I don’t ever want to be without you. You make me a better man, and I want your lips to be the last ones mine ever touch. I may not be able to give you the whole white picket fence and barbeques on the weekends, but I can give you some of the things I know we both want. You and me baby, Forever and Always. So, Y/F/N Y/M/N,” Sam got down on one knee in front of your chair as you gasped and tried unsuccessfully to hold back your tears. “Will you marry me?”

He opened the black velvet box, and the ring inside made you cry even harder.

You practically fell out of your chair trying to wrap your arms around him. “Yes! Yes of course I will! Sam I love you so much.”

He placed the ring on your finger as the whole dining room started clapping for you both. The waiter came back to the table with a bottle of champagne. “Compliments of the staff,” he said quietly. But the whole time you couldn’t take your eyes off the gorgeous ring now decorating your hand. It made your heart swell at the thought of all the promises that came with that one simple piece of jewelry.

“You know, I like the sound of Y/F/N Winchester.” You had the biggest grin on your face when you looked up at him, and you had a feeling it would be a long while before it went away.

@queen-of-deans-booty

@gone-to-fight-the-fairies

#moeyy's 1k fluff fest challenge #Sam Winchester x Reader #Sam Winchester fanfic #spn fanfic #spn fandom #Sam Winchester fluff

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ramblinganthropologist · 7 years

Note

I wish you would write a fic where.... Alistair tries he very very hardest to make the perfect dinner for Cahel - like, the boy spends days planning and forging - only for the central ingredient to be something Cahel is allergic to, and he has to either suffer through the meal or crush Alistair's pure little heart.

This one got away from me a bit, but I had fun.

Summary: Alistair’s making dinner! However, maybe he should’ve checked the ingredients first.Pairing: Calister, pre relationship.Words: 2540

---

How long was it supposed to go on foragain?

Alistair frowned as he stirred theconcoction sitting in front of him. He had been chopping and mixingfor about twenty minutes now, and it definitely wasn't looking likewhat he remembered. Sure, it was brown and had chunks of carrots init, but it had definitely smelled a lot better the last time he hadseen it. Of course, he had been 16 then, and not in the middle of aforest, but the ingredients had been the same.

Ok, so maybe he'd had to switch beeffor a rather gamy looking chicken and not all of the spices werethere, but there were carrots and potatoes. He had even managed toget a bit of milk from a rather dour looking farmer off the side ofthe road. No doubt he'd had to pay a little more, but it was worth itto watch it swirl through the strew as he poured it in.

“Says I should cook it over thefire for ten more minutes and it'll be ready.” The instructionswere written down on a rather faded piece of paper, stained with abit of the blood from the chicken he had cut up. Alistair had gottenit off a Chantry sister in the last town they had visited afternearly ten minutes of describing it. Part of that had been his fault– a bard he was not – but also because he hadn't accounted forregional differences. At any rate, it had been close enough that hehad been sure it would have the same effect.

Mabari Stew hadn't been named for thefact there was dog in it. Rather, it looked like the color of awell-bred mabari and summoned the dogs for miles around. It hadcertainly called him back for thirds when he had had it as a boy inthe abbey. It still warmed his insides, even in his memory as he satthere in front of the fire, stirring away.

The more he looked at it, the betterit appeared. In fact, Alistair was rather proud of his efforts as hewatched it bubble up. He had never been the greatest at kitchen duty,but he was better than Cherche by miles. Honestly, whoever had taughther what food was needed to pack it up. Even Dog had turned his noseup at that one.

His heart beat a little faster as heheard someone coming through the clearing. Cahel had gone off toscout ahead, both for food and enemies. The blood that dripped fromhis dagger wasn't accompanied by a rabbit, so it was clear what hehad found as he settled in front of the fire, wiping sweat from hisbrow.

“Found one of Loghain's lackeysnear the river bend. Wasn't going to go for it, but he pulled a knifeon me.” He started cleaning his own weapon in front of the fire.“Crows should get a good meal out of him, so at least there'sthat.”

He sniffed at the fire, glowing eyesturning to Alistair. “What's that? Smells good.”

“Oh, uh, it was my turn to makedinner. Nobody's back yet.” He glanced towards the pot over thefire. It should have been ready by now. “Do you want to give it atry? It be a waste if nobody ate it while it was hot.”

Cahel grinned as he put down hisknife. “Hot food I didn't have to kill something for? Count me in.”

The smile made his stomach flutter,but Alistair managed to ladle out a portion of the stew with plentyof chicken into a wooden bowl. The milk made the broth creamy andthick, and his stomach growled at the sight. However, he passed itover to the elf and sat back to watch his reaction.

True to his nature, Cahel sniffed atit first. His ears twitched, but the meaning was lost on the warrior.It must have passed some test – maybe if it was poisoned? - becausesoon he was digging into it was a gusto normally reserved forstarving dogs.

“Shit, is this chicken? I didn'tthink there was any left in all of Ferelden!”

Alistair chuckled as he started toladle a portion for himself. “It's supposed to be made with beef,but that's even rarer these days. Still good?”

The elf didn't answer, mostly becausehe was too busy eating. When he paused to breathe, there was a grinon his face that made something in his friend's stomach flop. Maybebeing so close to the flames made his face hot, so he bent down toeat his dinner.

Cahel had been right – it was good.Maybe not exactly like he remembered, but probably the best thing hehad eaten in days. Best of all, he didn't have to worry aboutspitting out arrow heads due to where he had gotten the meat. Thatalmost made eating a pleasure, apart from worrying about suddenattacks by darkspawn.

“Did you see the others while youwere heading back?” Alistair figured it was best to ask since thestew was still bubbling away. “Cherche and Sten were looking forfirewood, right?”

“Nah, that was Leliana and Miris.Mamae went to go find food since I was handling our fri-”

Suddenly, Cahel was holding hisstomach with his hand, eyes shut so tight it almost looked painful.Like a bolt, he was headed towards the nearest bush, leaving the restof his dinner behind. Alarmed, Alistair hopped up to check on him.

“Are you alright?!”

“Elgar'nan's balls... my stomachfeels like it's being ripped apart.” The elf groaned. “The hellyou put in there?”

Alistair didn't get to answer becausesomeone was aiming an arrow to his face. In the midst of theconfusion, Cherche had returned from her hunt. He had seen thosearrows countless times before, but having one pointed straight at himwas a new experience entirely. Suddenly, he could see why theirenemies tended to run from her.

As fast as he could, he put up hishands. “I-I...”

“Didn't figure you'd be the one toturn on us, shem.” Cherche kept her arrow knocked as she headedtowards the stew and sniffed it. “Out with it, what did you put inthere? I need to know so we can get a cure!”

Well, the night had certainly turned.Here his good deed was being turned into attempted murder. Somethingabout the best laid plans went right over his head as he felt hisface flush red. Now she was just taking it too far.

He still didn't want to face thatarrow. “Nothing! It's just chicken, milk, and some vegetables! Iate it too and I'm fine.”

Alistair even pointed to where theremainder of his ingredients lay so she could inspect them. Asexpected, Cherche never let him out of her sight as she headed overto them, eye critical. One wrong move, and he wouldn't need to worryabout the Blight killing him.

It was the milk she picked up first,cocking an eyebrow as she sniffed the bottle. She took a cautioussip, and much to his surprise she spat it out on the ground. Her eyeswere burning as she turned to face him, looking ready to kill.

“What the fuck is this?”

She shook the bottle at him. Alistairscowled as he took it back. “I told you, it's milk! It tasted fineto me when I got it!”

Cherche snorted as she worked toinspect the rest of the ingredients. “That's not milk. That's foultasting white water. No wonder he's sick. Probably has something init.”

Cahel was still alive from the soundof his quiet groaning, so it wasn't like he was going to die anytimesoon. Still, Alistair was beyond confused as he looked down at thebottle. He was beyond sure it was milk – the farmer had gotten itstraight from the cow after all.

“Unless cows have something otherthan milk in their udders, I know what this is.”

Those eyes were back on him again.“You milk WHAT?”

She was scowling now, though itlooked to be from confusion instead of anger. It was low, butAlistair caught her muttering under her breath, “Unbelievable, theshems milk cows. What'll they think of next?”

…

Well, things had just gotten morethan a touch weird.

By now, a few more members of theparty had returned. Wynne was among them, thankfully. She caughtsight of the tense situation and like always, came to play thecalming party. It was good for him, because he might've wound up deadafter all.

“Might I ask what's going on?”

It was Cherche who answered first,pointing at the bottle. “Alistair made Cahel sick with his damnedcow's milk!”

“Don't make it sound perverse,everyone knows milk comes from cows!” He paused, frowning. “Why,what do the Dalish milk?”

“Halla, obviously.” Her tone wasflat as she turned to the healer. “Can you fix him, grandma?”

With the attention off him, Alistairhad the chance to reflect. Since they had been near a Dalish camp nottoo long ago, he definitely knew what a halla was now. He went morethan a little pale at the thought of anyone trying to get milk out ofthe large white deer that helped the elves pull their aravels,especially given their disposition. Whoever managed that had to beeither crazy, lucky, or both.

“You milk deer and I'm the weirdone?” He shook his head. “Never mind, she's right. Can you helphim?”

“I'm not dying, you know.” It wasthe first time Cahel had spoken at all. In fact, in the confusion hehad returned to the fire, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.His other hand was still holding his stomach, and his pale skinshowed he wasn't quite out of the woods yet. Understandably, he gavethe stew on the fire a wide berth as he edged closer to Wynne forinspection.

The mage didn't seem extremelyconcerned as she stirred the spoon through the remaining stew. Infact, she even tasted a bit of it. When she didn't go running for thebushes, it was clear that nothing Alistair had done had caused theillness. That made him feel a little bit better, but it was still amystery.

“So... what caused it, Wynne?”

“I've read about this conditionbefore. Usually it affect those from Rivain or Nevarra.” Clearly,neither of those were the case when it came to the elf. “It'ssomething in milk that causes them to become ill. Maybe the Dalishhave a similar problem with cow's milk.”

Cherche nodded as she poked at thebottle in Alistair's hand. “Well, yeah. It's fucking gross. Tastesmore like foul water.”

“It's not so bad in the stew.”Cahel shook his head. “Wouldn't recommend it though unless you wantto feel like your innards are coming out.”

He gave Alistair a sheepish smile,maybe to signify there was no bad feelings between them. It didn'thelp, though. The warrior felt as though his stomach had turned intoa lead-filled balloon that was resting somewhere in his shoes.

So much for trying to do somethingnice.

“I would advise the both of you toavoid anything with cow's milk, then.” Wynne took another spoonfulof stew. “Unfortunate as it may be.”

Well, at least the rest of the partycould eat it. Still, Alistair slumped as he watched the rest of theircompanions file in for dinner. He had lost his appetite after thefirst round of accusations. The stew didn't go to waste, though. Bythe time dinner was gone, nothing was left of it besides a thin filmat the bottom of the stew pot.

It was a pain to get out, he noted ashe scrubbed it out by the river later. His knuckles were going whiteas he attacked it, wishing it would just wash out. He would've beenwell on his way to breaking the pot had another pair of hands pulledhim away.

“These ones you gotta let soak fora bit.”

Alistair looked over to see Cahelsitting next to him, resting his bare feet in the pond. He waslooking much better than earlier, even taken to biting into an applehe had found on the road. Much to the warrior's surprise, he offeredout a second one.

“Want it? It's still pretty good.”

He didn't get the choice – theapple was pressed into his hand. At least it was a green one –something about the red ones never tastes right. Alistair didn't biteit though; instead he rolled it between his hands, frowning.

“I'm sorry about earlier. How areyou feeling?”

Cahel swished his feet through thewater as he spoke. “Better; once my stomach settled it didn't feelso bad. Sorry about almost getting you killed, though. Had I knowthat your weird shem milk was going to make me sick I would've warnedyou.”

Alistair chuckled as he finally tooka bite out of the apple. It was tart, probably the kind that would'vebeen better in a pie, but still good. “That might be a good idea tolet me know about any other strange things you elves don't eat so Idon't wind up poisoning you again. Are apples still good? Do you eatbread?”

Now the elf was laughing, leaning onhis knees for air. “As long as you don't put any cow milk ineither, we're good. Now I'm wondering if halla milk would make youdrop dead or something. Talk about a secret weapon.”

Great, he was giving Cahel ideasabout how to end the human race. Still, it was nice to know thatthere were no hard feelings between them. If only his plans fordinner had worked out better. Oh well. At least the apples were good.

Neither said anything for a while asthey stared out at the bank, eating and splashing through the clearwater. It was a nice break after the last few days. As long as thedarkpsawn didn't try to attack them or Loghain thundered down aroundtheir heads, it might have even been a pleasant place to camp.

“Thanks for trying to make dinner,by the way. Don't think I got the chance to say it.”

A blush colored Cahel's cheeks as helooked away, towards the setting sun. “Next time I'll try makingsomething for you, ok?”

Alistair almost dropped the apple hewas holding. His face heated up, but he managed to stutter out astrangled, “alright then” before he couldn't speak at all. Thecold water was good for something, at least, as he felt as though hewas being boiled alive.

Maker, he was not good at this atall. Why couldn't everything be as easy at killing darkspawn andeating cheese?

#ramblinganthropologist's writing #Cahel Mahariel #Alistair Theirin #Cherche Mahariel #Warden x Alistair #Anonymous

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illyriantremors · 7 years

Text

Beneath the Stars Chapter 3

Chapter: I II

AO3 Linkage

Summary: Feyre finally makes it to her first art class of the week with Amren, but details over the class's end of year exams are hardly the relaxing getaway Feyre was hoping for. Luckily, a certain someone she met at the start of summer turns up with a surprising offer that could help take her mind off things.

Chapter 3

The smell of Room 701 was thick with paint. I could have died in that smell - the heavy acrylic that burned the insides of a person’s nose when it grew too pungent, like gasoline straight from the pump.

I found it soothing. I’d known it my entire life.

Mrs. Weaver could be a total Trelawney at times, but even when she was throwing pencils and banging her yardstick on the whiteboard to get our attention, I never felt better.

Goodness, how I missed this classroom.

Mrs. Weaver wasn’t in the room when I stopped in early on lunch to get ready for class, but Amren was. The sharply pointed ankle booties peaking out beneath one of the easels told me as much.

“Oh my gosh, Am - how the heck was Spain?!” I exclaimed, cringing to hear a little of the valley accent native to my region creep out of me in my enthusiasm. But who cares - Spain!

Amren didn’t move an inch. I sat down at the easel adjacent hers and started getting my brushes out regardless of the fact that I didn’t know what our first assignment would be. Amren hadn’t cared. She’d already painted a handful of dragons with mustaches in the corners of her canvas.

“Thrilling,” she said as though bored, but with Amren everything always sounded dull coming from her. To say Spain was thrilling meant it truly was. “Everything there is culture - the art, the museums, the-”

“The food??”

Amren finally set her brush down and deigned to look at me a touch indignant. I flicked my eyes up at her urging her to be honest. She sighed and said as though admitting a great shame, “I had tapas no less than three times a day in Granada.”

“That’s my girl!” Amren rolled her eyes, but I could see her lips flickering towards a smile.

“You sound like Morrigan.”

Ignoring the fact that I didn’t know who Morrigan was or why I sounded like her, I barreled on, “You look good. You’re nice and tan and your hair isn’t as pointy as it used to be.” I took the tip of one of my brushes - a clean one - and flicked the underside of Amren’s intensely blunt bob. The jet-black hue only made it that much more menacing on her already angular face. “I’d say a summer in Spain did you good.”

“Indeed,” she drawled, adding a handlebar mustache to one particularly orange and scaley dragon. “And how did you piddle away your summer? Please do not tell me you spent it all with that horrible boyfriend of yours?”

“Tamlin is not horrible!” She merely grunted. “Well he’s not. Compared to the rest of my family, he’s a saint.”

“The fact that you have to compare is indication enough, no?”

I didn’t reply and just as Amren turned to consider me in my silence - she was the one person I was generally chatty around - Mrs. Weaver buzzed into the room dripping in her crocheted shawls and vibrant costume jewelry.

“Feyre! Amren!” She clapped her hands together and they trembled tightly in front of her. “I am so glad to have you girls back again this season! Amren, I told you AP Studio Art would be a good idea.”

Mrs. Weaver always referred to school years as seasons. It felt like a more apt expression of the shifting times in our lives - like art come alive, she told us. Under her breath, Amren muttered, “Season hasn’t started yet, but anyway…”

I shook my head amused and prepared my station as the rest of our class filtered into the room at the sound of the bell - all five of them. Mrs. Weaver stood in front of us clutching her yard stick, a sort of security blanket for her, trembling with excitement. In my head, I waited with baited breath every time she did this for her to shout, “Look into the beyond! Use your inner eye to see the future!” Sadly, she never did.

“This season is going to be a vastly critical time in your lives,” she began after welcoming us all together. “The AP board, as you well know, has kept the same standard for examination in May, but the subject matter they’ve chosen for your projects is going to be challenging - self portraiture.”

Collectively, the entire room groaned.

“Can’t we just paint the canvases black and be done with it?” Amren asked. “That’s all they really expect from us anyway.”

Mrs. Weaver’s yardstick came flying down beside her with a snap on the air. “You most certainly will not! Unless of course, Amren dear, that is how you feel it best to express yourself.” She gave Amren a rather sharp look, but quickly regained her poppiness. “Between now and the exam deadline in May, you will have to complete no less than ten individual pieces under the theme of self-portrait for the commission board to review. Normally the exams are sat at the end of May, but given that you’ll be sending your art off for review, the work will be due at the start of the month, so I expect you all to be on task with this.”

She went around our little circle of easels and handed us the pages detailing the rules and limitations of our submissions. Another packet. At least this one was only two pages long and Mrs. Weaver had changed the font to a curling, friendly script.

In her opinion, all fonts that one did not have to guess about at least a few letters were offensive.

Ten pieces in slightly less than eight months was actually pretty tight. And self-portraiture? I was going to need a lesson from Van Gogh himself to figure out where to start on that one.

But the parameters weren’t horrible upon closer inspection - students may choose any medium with which to produce their pieces and submissions may be contained within any size or shape necessary as deemed by the student to represent their work.

I could work with that.

Amren apparently could too because her exam syllabus was already lying at her feet, a dusty pointed shoe print covering the top corner.

Mrs. Weaver set us to work on our easels for the remainder of the period with the simple task of putting down whatever first came to mind when we considered the word self as a way of getting us started preparing for our senior AP project. I knew Amren was bored when she started adding top hats to her dragons.

My canvas remained blank for a long time. Whenever I thought of the word self I thought of me, which I supposed made sense since the self was me in a weird meta sense my English teacher probably would have loved to hear more about. But who I was and what I saw in myself was a mystery.

I was an artist - yes, but artistry didn’t define me even if it fueled me. I was a daughter and a sister, but all of those bonds felt broken just then. I guessed I could have connected myself to Tamlin, but I was never one of those girls who defined herself off of whoever she was attached at the hip to.

All of this led me to avoid the idea that I was entirely blank inside, just as blank as the canvas staring at me. It was stark white - pure and untouched like the walls of my bedroom since I’d decluttered for the move.

The move that was happening tomorrow.

I swallowed. I wouldn’t do this here. Freak out. Art class was a safe space - a happy space.

The bell ringing snapped me awake.

“Feyre, you didn’t create anything,” Mrs. Weaver said a touch more than disappointed when she came round to my easel. I would have to come up with something eccentric to put her off.

“Sometimes nothing speaks more to a person than too much of something, Mrs. Weaver.”

Your inner eye has seen into the beyond!

Again, I was denied my vision.

“Well done, dear,” she said with a pat on my head before stopping at Amren’s easel. Amren sat back in her seat with a snarky look on her face, waiting to see what Mrs. Weaver would make of her dragons. Not much, it would turn out. “Well, you do enjoy your jewelry, Amren, but I expect an actual effort next time.”

Amren ran her hand along the many multi-colored bangles adorning her left arm, trinkets I supposed from her recent summer vacation.

I pulled my backpack together and stood to leave. “I don’t know how you do it, Am, but I envy your gusto.”

Amren snorted. “What happened over summer, Feyre?” she asked dead cold.

I tried not to break our walk out, shrugging casually. “Nothing really.”

“I don’t know how you do it, Feyre,” she mimed, “but I don’t envy your ability to lie. It sucks.”

I almost chuckled. “My mom left and that’s about it. Nothing interesting, like I said.”

Now, Amren did stop walking even as I pushed the door open. I paused when she didn’t catch up and felt a heavy weight I’d tried to ignore press in on my chest at the serious look she threw me. “What do you mean your mom left and that’s it? Aren’t you upset?”

Upset didn’t even begin to cover it - but again, I wasn’t going there.

“Not really. Oh and we’re moving. Guess I lied again. Can we go now? I’m starving!”

Amren caught up with me and swooped in so she was standing right in front of me, seeming a tall and fearsome pillar for one so short. “That’s why you didn’t write to me all summer. You usually email me constantly-”

“It’s not like you ever reply.”

“Besides the point! What happened?”

I shook my head looking up towards the ceiling - anywhere but the truth - and threw my hands up. “My parents had a fight, first night straight after school let out. Mom left. Dad drank. I went to a party. It was a merry summer and now my dad is moving us all tomorrow and I don’t have any choice in the matter.” My arms fluttered once more at my sides. “The end.”

“You always have a choice, Feyre.”

I whipped around and found - Rhysand? - Rhysand, that was his name, leaning coolly against the lockers outside our class and jumped back startled to see him there.

I’d almost forgotten about that night I’d met him at Lucien’s party. Our school was so large, it was hard to remember a one-night chance encounter, but the reality when I was being honest with myself was that I had secretly tried to forget the night. I had woken up the next morning feeling guilty for leaving Tamlin behind and then flirting with someone else, even if Rhysand was the one who had done 99% of the flirting.

Because really, he had. Flirting - and irritating. Mostly, he irritated.

“You learned my name,” was the first thing I could think to say to him and he gave me an infuriating smirk for noticing.

“Who says you can’t teach an old dog new tricks?”

“Well you certainly are old.”

Rhys pushed off the lockers to stand next to Amren. “That’s why I’m senior class president. Only someone very old would have enough wisdom for the job. Thank goodness I’ve aged gracefully or it wouldn’t have mattered.”

“How very shallow of you, Mr. President,” I said, budging to inch past him so I could get to the parking lot faster.

“Ooh, bedroom names already. I like it.” He mimed straightening a tie on his shirt, which was crisp and buttoned enough that he could have been wearing one. This time, it was a deep magenta. “Would you prefer First Lady or Madame Secretary?”

I rolled my eyes and forced myself past him into the rush of leaving students with a muttered, “Please.”

“How about Senior Chair of Arts & Drama?”

“I take it you two know each other,” Amren said, sidling up next to me in step.

“No,” I said at the same time Rhysand sung out, “Yes.” I glowered at him and found him smirking like a cat at me. I also noticed he chose to walk next to me rather than on the side of Amren who I assumed he was here for since she was on SBC herself.

“The Senior Chair of Arts and I met at a party this summer,” Rhysand explained sounding as though he enjoyed this far too much.

“What are you prattling on about?” Amren snapped. “There is no Senior Chair of Arts & Drama.”

“There is now. You should have told me you were artistic,” Rhys said, turning his attention back to me. “I would have offered over the beer I stole from you at Lucien’s had I known.”

Amren stopped walking completely and pinched at his shoulder across me. “You were at Lucien’s this summer? What in the hell were you doing there?”

“Not important, Amren, love,” he replied though, picking an imaginary piece of lint off his shoulder. I noticed his tone was much less jovial. Amren glared at him. “We’ve been sorely lacking a figure for that department on Student Body Council for far too long. The job’s yours if you want it.”

It took me a few moments of silence to realize he was being completely serious. No flirtation. No weird humor. He was actually inviting me to join him on his cabinet.

“You’re crazy,” I said before those violet eyes had a chance to get me again. “What in the world am I going to do on Student Body Council?”

He took my lack of an outright no as encouragement. “Oh I can think of plenty of things you can do. I assume you’re handy with a paintbrush?”

“Ha-ha.”

“No really. My dear cousin will be ecstatic not to have posters for special events that suck anymore. We could use a good eye on activities programming. Does she have a good eye, tiny one?”

“Yes…” Amren dragged the word out dangerously, but Rhysand hardly noticed. I’d never seen Amren take this kind of mocking before with so little reaction - by her standards, anyway. There was a story there - one I didn’t know about and I thought I knew Amren pretty well.

“Well then you’re perfect,” Rhysand said pure and simple. “So what do you think, Madame Chair?”

We stepped outside and I spotted Tamlin across the quad waiting for me. I waved when he spotted me, but even at a distance, I could tell he didn’t look thrilled. His phone was out, the telltale sign of Newspaper meetings to come. My stomach churned.

“Thanks, but no thanks,” I said swiveling to a halt so I could cut off the conversation. “I have no desire to make my life any more busy than it already is. My senior art project alone is going to kill me.” And then as if Rhysand were no more important than a fly, I swapped my attention to Amren without another look in Rhysand’s direction. “Am, I’ll see you Monday.”

“But-” Rhysand cut himself off when he saw who I was walking towards. His face went stone cold and his hands were suddenly deep inside his pockets. He sounded okay, at least, when he called after me, “Alright, Madame Chair. But if you change your mind, the offer stands. It’s a long way til Winter Formal yet.”

I looked over my shoulder at him, my mind catching on the mention of our school’s annual mid-year dance. “Don’t hold your breathe. And don’t call me that!”

“What, Madame Chair? Even as I kept walking further and further away, Rhysand couldn’t seem to let the conversation wither and I had an even harder time not obliging him. “What am I supposed to call you then? Something tells me you won’t accept goddess divine.”

“Feyre works just fine, thanks!”

“Feyre,” he said, musing on my name like a sweet piece of candy he’d waited all day to press onto his tongue. “I can work with that.”

I’ll bet you can, I thought resisting the urge to wipe the sweat off my forward in relief, though there was a definite laugh ghosting in my throat.

“Were you just talking to Rhys…?”

“Hello to you too,” I said kissing Tamlin on the cheek and I sounded happier than I thought I would.

Rhys.

I chewed on the shorthand of his name, finding it interesting that Tamlin had used it.

“Not really. Come on, let’s get going already. I’m starving and a double-double sounds amazing right about now.”

Lucien stood a few feet behind Tamlin, his entire expression sour. “Actually…” Tamlin said and my chest fell mid-breath.

“Newspaper?”

“Newspaper.”

I nodded. “Well okay then, more fries for me, I guess.”

Lucien drew a rather sharp breath even for him and looked away so I could see his face, but he was definitely pissed off about something.

Tamlin looked pained as he wrapped his arms around me. “One more week, I swear and then it’s done.” Lucien made a derisive snort.

“I know, I know, I just miss you sometimes is all.” I leaned my chin against his chest and looked up at him enjoying how the dark green of his eyes played in the sunlight. “You’ll be there tomorrow, right?”

“As long as everything goes smoothly at the meeting tonight-”

“No,” I said hotly pulling back a space. “You promised you’d help me move. Please don’t ditch me for this. You’re at Newspaper all the time and this move,” I lowered my voice so I wouldn’t have to suffer Lucien overhearing, “Tamlin, I can’t do this alone.”

He kissed my forehead and I found myself leaning into him a little more. “I’ll be there. Promise.”

“Thank you,” I said in a deep exhale onto his chest. “It means a lot to me that you’d give up a day of something I know is really important to you.”

Lucien snorted - again, and I felt Tamlin’s body stiffen around me. He let go of our embrace and readjusted the straps of his backpack. “I’ll see you in the morning,” he said with a bright smile, wide like a cloudless sky in the spring.

“You’re an idiot,” Lucien said after Tamlin had walked away. “I hope you know that.”

Not this again.

I moved closer to my little terror of a friend and crossed my arms with a deep sigh. “What in the hell is the matter between you two?”

“You should ask him that.”

“Or I could just ask you since you’re the one making snippy comments and scrunching your face up like someone just spit on you every time Tamlin so much as breaths.”

Lucien stared pointedly at the ground, his own arms crossed over his chest.

“Come on, Lucien,” I relented. “I’m not just his girlfriend. I’d like to think that after a year of hanging out with you by association that we can talk every now and then.”

The look Lucien gave me was pained - incredibly so. There was tension in the way the delicate muscles of his face held themselves, so tightly stitched together that the elegance was gone in favor of a secret, silent war I wasn’t privy to.

“There’s nothing the matter with me,” he said finally. “I’m perfectly amiable as always. Tam’s the one trotting around with his nose in the wrong book while the teacher watches.”

I had no idea what he meant.

“Give him time, Feyre.” His body broke hold on the strain keeping it in place. He sounded, well, defeated. “He’ll come around.”

By the time Lucien left me in the quad to go home, apparently deciding the solitude was worth avoiding the sufferings of an early dinner with me, the school had emptied and my car was one of the last ones in the student parking lot.

No Tamlin. No Lucien.

No one.

I vaguely wondered where Amren and Rhysand had gone off to and had a strange desire to find out.

Me - on Student Body Council. What a joke.

Flipping the engine on, I gripped the steering wheel focusing on the way my finger tips went numb the harder I squeezed. When I could barely feel them anymore, I peeled out of the lot and drove home alone.

AN: AP stands for Advanced Placement. AP classes are essentially college prep level classes that require a huge exam at the end of the year graded on a scale 1-5 and if you pass with a high enough score, some colleges will give you college credit for them. I never took AP Studio Art, so my knowledge of this exam was changed to fit this fic. Also, In n Out is a California fast food chain that most of us on the west coast hail as THE burger place to eat. The double double Feyre references is two patties and two slices of cheese on the burger as opposed to one like normal.

#beneath the stars #bts: a feysand fic #bts #myfic #feysand #feyre #rhysand #moriel #nessian

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