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bb-8 · 3 years

Text

Tech Savvy

Pairing: Tech x female reader Summary: You’re an ex-imperial who has a crush on Tech. He’s awkward about it. Until he’s not. Rating: Explicit (18+, minors DNI) Warnings/tags: crack treated seriously, smut, unprotected PIV, awkward flirting, oral sex, first kisses, accidental exhibitionism, lots of bad jokes, slight angst Word count: 5.4K Notes: It’s smutty crack treated seriously, guys. Read on AO3.

The planet you land on isn’t anything special. It’s a humid swamp world in the Outer Rim that offers enough seclusion for even the Empire’s Most Wanted to pass by unnoticed.

You, being the kind and selfless individual you are, decide to help with repairs while Clone Force 99 are on a supply run. It’s the first time the ship has made planet fall in weeks and everyone is a bit stir-crazy, jumping at the chance to stretch their legs. Prolonged time spent in hyperspace has that effect.

Before he left, you told Hunter that your status as an ex-Imperial put an unnecessary target on their back. You’re still wearing your Imperial uniform, after all, and you know for a fact that the Empire is not exactly merciful to deserters. Especially deserters that committed high treason. Like aiding Clone Force 99’s escape from an Imperial prison.

You definitely didn’t just jump at the chance to stay behind because Tech opted to. That would be ridiculous.

You feel your face heat at the thought.

(What? His goggles are cute.)

The truth is, there’s been something – a tension, as it were – between the two of you since you arrived on board. You know it, he knows it. You’ve been orbiting around each other for some weeks now, and this is the first time you’ve been alone –

“Can you spare a minute?” Tech calls out, pulling you away from your thoughts. You swivel in your chair and shift your attention to him, a bit surprised.

“I was beginning to think you didn’t realise I was on board,” you reply as you make your way to the cockpit where Tech is currently fiddling with some wires.

“You’re...very hard to miss,” Tech replies and your heart skips a beat. “The ship is far too small to miss another sentient being’s presence.”

“Right,” you mutter while taking a seat, trying not to sound too deflated. So maybe he didn’t feel that tension. “What do you need help with?”

“I am taking this opportunity to rewrite the ship’s central comm unit to be more covert when passing through areas with increased Imperial traffic. If I can update the ship’s communication infrastructure to resemble that of a first generation Imperial craft, then we will considerably reduce our chances of being identified. Which is why I am particularly glad you stayed behind today. Considering your, er, history.” He fiddles with a mess of wires in front of him, not once looking up.

“And here I was thinking you wanted me around because you enjoyed my company,” you playfully jab.

“There’s that, too,” Tech replies. “Though it would be advantageous if you could list all of the Imperial access codes you can remember. The computer and I can do some pattern recognition to better–,” he cut himself off and anxiously rubbed the back of his neck. “Apologies, you don’t need a long-winded explanation. If you’re happy to share, you can do so whenever you’re ready.”

You consider protesting and telling him that you find his rambling cute, but you decide not to dwell on it for his sake. You list the codes you remember from the Academy. You keep talking, relaying any tangential intel relating to access codes. If it’s irrelevant, Tech doesn’t stop you.

He is silent for a few moments analysing the data you’ve given him. You watch him closely, admiring the way his brow furrows and his lips purse while he’s concentrating.

“You trust me then?” you venture to say. You play with your hands in your lap. “Even though I was with the Empire?”

“You’re helping us now,” Tech replies, as if it’s obvious. He is still inputting data into the datapad he is holding when he continues, “You trust us, it would seem. And we were soldiers programmed upon our creation to destroy the Republic.”

You fumble over your next words.

“That’s – it’s entirely different.”

“And from my perspective, all that matters is where you are now,” he states with finality.

“Well,” you say shyly, “I like where I am.”

Tech smirks despite himself, briefly glancing up at you from his datapad.

You hold his gaze for a moment, before settling into a comfortable silence. You sit in next to him for several minutes, revelling in his closeness like a brezak basking under the Zygerrian sun. It’s only when you notice yourself blushing like a teenager that you decide to make yourself useful and actually help with repairs like you promised.

++++++++++++++++++++

“Would you mind holding this wire out of the way for me while I solder the capacitors for the localised memory bank?” Tech calls, breaking your concentration. The illumination device you were repairing could wait.

You have no idea what Tech means, if his string of words means anything, and you survey his makeshift workbench for a hint. Several panels are detached, limply dangling from a few brightly coloured wires. Tech is focusing his attention on a large panel that is plugged into a cylindrical storage device.

“Maker, that’s a big data stick,” you can’t help but mutter.

Tech makes an incoherent choking sound.

You do as requested and lean over his shoulder to take hold of the wire he specified between your thumb and forefinger. The fabric of your sleeves brushes against his shoulder armour and it feels as though there is a static shift in the air, like the air around you is alive and humming.

And Tech gulps with the contact. He types a few sets of numbers into his datapad with excess force, seriously testing the build quality of the device. His posture is especially rigid as focuses on testing the wires currently in his lap.

Your pulse is racing. It’s as if each second that passes without a confession threatens to rip apart the very fabric of reality.

“Tech?” He has to feel this too, right? “Why...why did you stay behind today?” you ask, careful to keep your voice even. You need him to say it, admit that he feels it, too. You’re desperate for it.

“You can let go now,” he replied, pointedly ignoring your question.

You let go of the wire, but make no move to step away from him. You’re acutely aware of yourself right now and suddenly self-conscious: about the deep shade of crimson enveloping your face, the way you’re breathing, the clamminess you can feel on your palms. You hope you smell alright and silently pray that any traces of caf on your breath are long gone.

Several seconds pass before Tech looks up, over his shoulder at you. His face briefly flickers with concern.

“Your flushed features and increased heart rate indicates that you are nervous,” he remarks.

Maker, is it that obvious, you cringe.

Your mouth is dry and you contemplate making an excuse, but your brain does not want to cooperate.

“Sometimes I –,” you begin. Void, here I go. “Sometimes I get nervous around you,” you admit, attempting to make your confession sound as casual as possible. You bite your bottom lip in a way that you hope will be interpreted as sensual, or, at the very least, cute.

And Tech? Tech is flustered. Like visibly shaken, blushing furiously, two-steps-away-from-hyperventilating, kind of flustered.

“Please do not be nervous,” he responds tightly. Each word is taking considerable effort to be spoken. “I already told you: we trust you. I am not a threat to you.”

The poor guy. There’s no way he can really be misinterpreting that –.

“No, no, it’s a good kind of nervous,” you attempt to clarify.

“Nervousness is not conducive to high quality work,” Tech chokes out.

“No, I mean like giddy. I feel giddy around you.”

Come on, Tech.

“Would you like a chair–.”

“Stars, Tech, I like you!”

Tech...errors. He attempts to start several sentences with no success before mumbling an excuse that he has to go, “fix the reverse polarity capacitive inductor,” which, to your knowledge, is definitely not a real thing.

So maybe that could have gone better. All things considered, he did seem affected by your admission. On the other hand, he also left the room entirely.

Your face burns with embarrassment and, hey, maybe this backwater planet could make a decent home. Maybe the swamp water would be safe for consumption and you could spend the rest of your days foraging for swamp... berries. Sure, it might be a little uncomfortable, but no less uncomfortable than staying here for one more second.

And this is why you don’t admit your feelings to anyone. Ever.

Ugh. You were so confident, too. You squeeze your eyes shut, willing yourself to transport to another star system.

The door to the ‘fresher shuts, followed by a slight scuffle of feet, and a thunk that sounds decidedly like a head hitting the door.

You briefly consider leaving the ship to attempt to meet up with the rest of the Bad Batch. It’s been far too long since you’ve breathed fresh, clean, air and you feel a second wave of self-pity wash over you as you contemplate the thought of breathing in the smell of Wrecker’s feet for several more weeks in the Marauder’s circulated air. They hadn’t been gone longer than a standard hour and there was a clear path to get into town. You could still salvage the day, you could still stretch your legs–

‘Oh you want to know why I suddenly decided to join you, Hunter, after promising I’d help fix the ship? Funny story, I was trying to seduce your brother and he rejected me!’

You physically cringe at that. On second thought, maybe just pretending this didn’t happen would be the easier option. Lesser of two evils and all that.

Well, you’ve endured worse situations than this. Swamp berries, if they exist, probably won’t offer enough sustenance anyway, you conclude. You turn your attention to fixing several access panels that require little to no attention.

++++++++++++++++++++

It takes a long while for Tech to exit the ‘fresher. The door opens with a hiss and you stiffen, not looking up until he briskly walks past you and resumes his makeshift work station in the cockpit. Once he is seated and his back is facing you and you can hear the rhythmic tapping of his fingers on his datapad, you allow your entire body to relax.

You look back down to your newest project: fixing the swivel action on a chair. You’re not entirely sure if the chair needed to swivel, or whether it was supposed to, but it does now. At least Omega would have fun with that.

“Can you spare another minute?” Tech says after a considerable stretch of silence.

His comment catches you off-guard. It’s fine, it’s fine, you are just going to pretend like nothing happened. You can just carry on helping with actual repairs like you promised.

“I’m coming,” you say, while putting your entire weight into tightening a screw.

Tech coughs slightly.

“The, uh, I need your help with the cum system. The comm system!” he stutters.

Your eyes widen and decide it’s best not to comment, furiously thinking about the fact that Tech rarely makes mistakes. You wipe your hands on your trousers and stride over to the cockpit where Tech is fiddling with some wires on his lap.

“Take these,” he says while coiling a piece of wire to make a conductor. He pushes right through the awkwardness and places a handful of resistors in your outstretched hand.

You stand there in silence for several moments before you drum your fingers on the back of his chair. He makes no move to immediately utilise the resistors, so you resign yourself to stand there and watch him work. (You suppress a sigh – you wish you weren’t attracted to him at this moment, but here you are, drawn in by his confidence and fixated on watching his nimble fingers work their magic.)

Normally, you’d have already lost your patience. But not now, not when you are trying to decipher just what exactly Tech was trying to accomplish by calling you over and ignoring you. And that’s when you realise that Tech either forgot you were there or forgot to give you whichever menial task he originally intended.

But there’s absolutely no chance that Tech makes two mistakes within the same standard year, never mind two mistakes within the same afternoon.

You start to wonder if he even has any use for the resistors. Your knowledge of technology is limited, but you really don’t see how they’d be useful with his current task. Maybe this is Tech’s uncharacteristically inefficient way to try to initiate conversation. You really hope you’re not completely misreading the situation, but it’s not like you have any pride left to lose.

“Why did you stay behind today, Tech?” you ask quietly, voice tinged with apprehension and perhaps an unmistakable eagerness. You phrase it more like a statement than a question this time.

He continues to fidget, his leg bouncing anxiously as he works.

“I did some research,” he blurts. “Regarding intimacy between human males and human females.”

Huh.

“I read the specifics on how to kiss,” he continues, “but I fear that I am a bit out of my depth as to how I am supposed to initiate it.” He is still fussing with the wires in his lap, not quite able to look up at you.

“You...want to kiss?” you surmise, your heart thumping wildly in your chest. “Me?”

“Very much so.”

A grin breaks across your face and the sharp sting of Tech’s previous rejection immediately melts away. You deposit the handful of resistors in a tray containing various tools Tech had been using throughout the day before taking a tentative step forward from behind the chair. He cranes his neck to look at you, an unfamiliar expression that you’re not quite able to decipher written across his face.

You reach your hand out to caress his cheek, and sliding your hand down to his chin to guide it upwards as you bend down to bring your lips to his. The kiss is chaste, at first, but Tech proves himself a quick study as slightly parts his lips to deepen the kiss. His goggles nudge against your face and you’re pretty sure you’re leaving a greasy cheek print on one of them.

You pull away to gauge his reaction.

“Was that... satisfactory?” he asks, seemingly dazed. His eyes are hooded and still focused on your lips.

“It was perfect.” You offer a small smile.

He removes the goggles to clean one side of them with a nearby cloth. So you were leaving a cheek print. Once his goggles are back in place, he’s looking at you like he can’t quite believe you’re real, his golden brown eyes blinking owlishly at you.

“I apologise for leaving you earlier. I did not anticipate you returning my affections – it did not seem probable. And I was, regrettably, not prepared,” he mumbles.

“Probable?” It’s your turn to malfunction. You want to usher a thousand reassurances at once.

“Well, no.” Tech shifts his weight uncomfortably, not quite able to meet your eyes. “Hunter or Crosshair usually are the ones who capture the affections of –,”

“I like your goggles,” you interrupt in a rush before you surge forward to press your lips against his, hoping to convey just how much you return his affections. It’s a messy, urgent kiss that Tech returns with equal fervour. His fingers find their way into your hair, pulling you closer.

When you finally break the kiss, you straighten your back and take both of his hands in yours and take small, hesitant steps backwards, encouraging Tech to stand. As he does, the project he is working on slides off of his lap and clatters to the floor. He pays it no attention as he closes the distance between you, his eyes darkened with lust. He kisses you with renewed purpose as his hands wrap around your waist, roaming across your body, before they settle firmly on your ass.

Your hips grind into his codpiece and Tech lets out a low groan that goes straight to your core. He moves to kiss the curve of your neck, sucking at the delicate skin and making you squirm. The dampness between your legs becomes apparent and you press yourself closer to him, desperate for friction where you need it the most. As if he can read your mind, he trails a hand from your ass and places it between your legs, grazing over your clit before cupping your cunt. You involuntarily rock into his hand and moan into his mouth, hardly recognising the sounds you’re making.

Tech’s hand abruptly stills as he draws back to meet your eyes. His expression mirrors yours: searching wide eyes filled with longing, a silent acknowledgement passes between you as you reach the point of no return.

And in that moment you are struck with the urge to want nothing more than his cock in your mouth.

“Can I?” you blurt, glancing downward, hoping he is able to intuit exactly what you are suggesting in that moment.

“You may.” You allow the grammatical correction to slip by. “But I’ve never–,” he begins.

You don’t break eye contact and you begin to drop to your knees. He’s looking at you with his eyes wide, mouth slack. Tech’s bulged codpiece is mere inches from your face, and it’s in that moment that you realise that you have no idea how to undress this man.

And this, this is when you start to worry.

Does it have a latch? Does it even come off?

Your eyes dart from left to right looking for some sort of hint as to how it could be removed. You’re half tempted to just plant a smooch on the armour or the kiss inside of his thigh and pretend that all of this was intentional.

“I can get that,” Tech helpfully chimes in, blessedly oblivious to your internal struggle. He removes the pelvic plate with ease and, to your relief, you can see the shape of his erection straining under a layer of thick black fabric. Black fabric that conforms to his body shape exceedingly well. You reach out to feel his length, gently cupping his balls through the fabric before applying more pressure as you palm his shaft. He soft groan escapes his lips.

It catches you a little off guard, actually, to see him so hard. Knowing he’s been hard underneath his armour this entire time. Wondering when else he’s been hard and you had been none the wiser.

His cock has an attractive silhouette – it’s thicker than you expected and you can feel the patch of pre-cum that dampens the black fabric near his tip. You reach for his waistband and pull it down before slowly wrapping a hand around his shaft. He hisses with the contact and brings a white-knuckled fist to his lips.

You peer up at him through your lashes and you lick your lips, preparing to tease him a bit before taking him as deep as you can manage.

And that’s when something inside Tech snaps.

He looks down at you with wild eyes and places his hand on the back of your head to guide your mouth to his cock, apparently unable to continue the role of a passive observer for any longer. Clearly intent at putting his newfound research to good use. You lick a wet stripe from the base to the tip, before taking him in your mouth, the pre-cum tangy on your tongue. His grip tightens on your hair the same time he tilts his hips forward to push his cock further and you hollow your cheeks, sucking hard enough to make Tech groan and his knees buckle. He braces himself against the back of the pilot’s chair, captivated at the sight your mouth stretched around his length.

You begin to bob your head in a steady rhythm, taking him as deep as you’re able. You drag your tongue and press it flush on the underside of his cock, looking up at Tech with wide doe eyes, batting your eyelashes prettily as he struggles to maintain composure. You continue your pace until sweat starts to bead at his temple and his breathing becomes less controlled.

Patience isn’t your strong point and you’re too pent up not to touch yourself. You bring your free hand down your trousers, between your thighs, running your fingers through your wet folds and hum at the sensation. Tech’s hips stutter with the vibrations and his face contorts in what looks like a pained grimace. He takes a miniature step back and your lips leave his cock with a pop. He’s breathing heavily now and his weeping cock is painfully hard, his balls tight.

“I don’t want to finish in your mouth, mesh’la,” he pants, voice low.

You nod dumbly, currently unable to form a coherent thought or tear your eyes away from his erect length, only inches away from your face.

Tech takes hold of both of your forearms, helping you get to your feet, before wrapping his hands around your thighs, picking you up with surprising ease. You lock your thighs around his torso as he strides over to press you against one of the auxiliary control panels adjacent to the co-pilot’s chair in the cockpit. The incline on the panel is steep and the pressure of his hips against yours is the only thing keeping you from sliding down.

“Let me taste you,” Tech groans against your ear.

You let out a frustrated whine and desperately move to unclasp your trousers as Tech works to open your shirt. You shudder once the cool air hits your sweat-dampened skin and Tech messily palms your exposed breast while nipping at your neck. He helps you shimmy out of your clothing while holding you in firmly place before discarding them on the floor of he Marauder.

And this is how you find yourself spread eagle on the Marauder's control panel in possibly the most undignified position you’ve ever been in.

He goes to remove his goggles and you stop him.

“If they’re not uncomfortable for you, I’d like for you to leave them on.” He quirks a brow at you, quizzical. “What? I told you that they’re cute.”

His face evolves from sceptical to bashful in a few moments.

“Very well, then. I can leave them on.”

Tech moves his hands under your thighs as he lowers himself, draping your legs across each of his shoulders with surprising gentleness for a man who looks like he is ready to devour you. Once he’s on his knees and comfortably supporting your weight, keeping you pressed against the console, he places an open-mouthed kiss on the inside of your thigh.

“A-are you okay with this?” you manage to stutter out. It’s not like you haven’t pictured his head between your thighs before, but something about his head actually being between your thighs fills you with a nervousness you hadn’t anticipated.

He mumbles his assurances against your clit. He begins with slow, languid licks and you suck in a sharp breath as you feel yourself craving more and have to stop yourself from violently bucking your hips up.

Okay, so he’s actually really good at this. You know you really shouldn’t be that surprised, Tech is nothing if not thorough with his research and it’s, er, practical applications. Any thoughts of humour at Tech’s expense are, however, ripped from your mind when he sinks a single finger inside your cunt. His finger curls with a precision that only Tech could manage and you moan in encouragement as he pumps it in and out.

You squirm when he hits the spot that makes you want to beg for more and you feel your bare ass hit a button on the console. The next thing you hear is a soft swish swish sound of the Marauder's screen wipers that you inadvertently turned on. Mercifully, it doesn’t break Tech’s concentration and his hands continue to grip your hips, holding your cunt to his face.

“Don’t stop, don’t stop, please don’t stop,” you chant. You writhe again and another button sounds its activation. Nothing immediately makes itself known. You hope it’s not something like a proton torpedo firing into the swampy area the Marauder landed in. Not because there’s anything nearby, but because you’ll die if Tech stops here.

He moans into your core as he brings a hand down to grip his leaking cock, desperate for some friction.

“Kriff,” you grunt at the sight of him fucking his fist, only to hear Tech utter the same exclamation at the same time.

“Is there an echo in here or something?” You smile at him, offering a half-laugh before your face contorts with pleasure once again and you hiss through your teeth.

“Yes?” a new, tinny voice chimes in on the overhead speaker system. “This is Echo... You’ve, uh, turned on the short range comm system.”

You knew Tech was a good soldier, but the reflexes in which he slammed the short range comm transmitter with his free hand surprised you. He didn’t move himself from between your thighs and skilfully cut off the transmission while continuing to work your clit with his tongue and your cunt with his finger.

Before you could die from embarrassment and wonder just how much Echo and the rest of the Batch heard, Tech adds another finger and your entire body jerks and tenses.

“I’ve – ah, right there – Maker, that feels good. I’ve never been with anyone who is patient enough to let me come,” you manage to say through gritted teeth.

“My research indicated that it can take around 20 standard minutes for women to orgasm if properly relaxed, why would others stop prematurely?” Tech replies, only briefly removing his mouth from your cunt to reply.

“Selfishness?” you guess.

Tech seemed to take your admission (and ability to form sentences) personally, clearly intent on rendering you incapacitated. He returns to his attention to your clit and maintains his rhythm, teasing a third finger near your entrance. You whine at the sensation and move to hold Tech’s head in place, because if he stops now, there’s no way you’ll ever forgive him. The pressure that’s been mounting in your core finally, finally peaks and your entire body tenses as you surrender to your climax.

“Tech,” you whine, unable to formulate thoughts, let alone words.

He assures you with a soft groan and tightens his grip on your hip. He can feel your walls clenching around his fingers as he guides you through your climax.

As you come down from your orgasm, you feel like you’ve spent a year in bacta. You can’t move. Honestly, your bones are like Andorian jelly. The feeling is only temporary, however, as you’re overcome with the desire – no, need – to be filled.

“In me,” you urge. “Now.”

He adjusts his goggles and looks at you, spread out, completely ready for him.

“Lie back then.”

Tech settles between your thighs and nudges his cock head against your entrance. He takes a breath to steady himself, rubbing his length through your folds, covering it in your arousal.

“So wet and ready for me, mesh’la.”

Your hands wildly grasp at his chest plate, fingernails scratching along the plastoid, desperate to hold onto anything to anchor you. You meet his mouth with a graceless kiss, before he finally sinks into you.

“You’re tight,” he grits out.

He waits a few moments letting you adjust to his size before he begins to move. He restrains himself, slowly rolling his hips as your cunt stretches around his length.

“More,” you plead, breathlessly. “Please.”

Your encouragement is all he needs before he snaps his hips against yours, setting an unrelenting rhythm. He rocks into you harder with each thrust of his hips, his plastoid leg places slapping your skin.

“You feel so good, cyar'ika,” he pants. You surge upwards to greet his lips with a messy kiss, which only spurs him on to fuck you faster. “You’re, ah, taking me so well.”

“Fuck –,” you whine.

His grip tightens and his whole body starts to tense – he’s dangerously close to coming undone. And that’s when you notice his pace start to slow, his movements clearly distracted.

“Tech?” you mumble. You focus your eyes on his face and he looks dazed, you can practically hear him thinking. You’re about to ask him what’s wrong, but he doesn’t give you any time to panic.

“Elevate your hips by seven to ten degrees,” he states through heavy breaths.

“What?” Definitely not what you were expecting him to say.

Tech seems unfazed by your apparent annoyance. He wordlessly repositions himself, grabbing both of your hips and raising them slightly, holding your body up so it’s just the sharp incline of the console and Tech’s hands keeping you in place.

He began thrusting in earnest again, his eyes screwing shut in pleasure. And, Maker, he was right. The new angle hits a spot that makes your toes curl and you lose the ability to speak almost instantly and mewl helplessly as Tech fucks into you.

You made an undignified noise as you gripped his bicep, desperate to hold onto something, feeling the pressure mount in your core. With Tech’s hands busy holding you in place as he maintains a brutal pace, you bring a hand down to your clit, still wet with spit and your own essence. You barely have to touch yourself before you feel your body screaming for release.

“’M coming,” is all the warning you are able to give him before your cunt spasms around his twitching cock as your vision whites out. Tech grunts at the sensation, unable to hold his own climax off any longer.

“Where do you want me to –,” he grates out.

“Anywhere,” you cut him off, still feeling the aftershocks of your orgasm. “Just want to feel you.”

“Fuck, mesh’la, I’m going to come,” Tech groans, desperately chasing his release with harsh thrusts. His hips forcefully buck into you before his cock stiffens and he spills himself inside of you. He buries his face in your neck, slowly pumping you full of his cum, before he slumps against you. “Bid jate par me,” he mumbles into your neck, barely audible. “Gotal par me.”

You don’t know Mando’a, but whatever he is saying, the way he is saying it, sends a pleasant chill over your body.

You’re both still breathing heavily when Tech gingerly places you back down with a surprising gentleness for someone who had just been fucking you within an inch of your life. He’s in no rush to remove himself from you, but when his softened cock does slip out and his cum leaks out of you and onto the console, he helps you slide down. When your feet touch the floor, your legs wobble slightly and Tech has to grasp your forearms to steady you, softly chuckling at the state you’re in.

And when you look at him, he looks positively debauched. Sated, but debauched. You probably look worse.

In one swift motion he bends down, brings an arm down under your knees, and lifts you up. You wrap your arms around your neck while he carries you to his bunk. His cool armour against your overheated skin is a welcome sensation and you press yourself closer.

“Your research paid off,” you mumble into his chest as he sets you down on his bed.

“Please do not act so surprised by that.”

++++++++++++++++++++

You and Tech aren’t quite finished with the repairs by the time the Batch return hours later, long after the moons have risen and the bioluminescent plants surrounding the ship have begun to glow. If the squad notice you’re sitting a bit too close to Tech, your thigh pressing comfortably against his, they don’t say anything.

Neither of you were expecting to defile the Marauder all day and Tech was frantically fixing the lever on a storage hatch access panel, attempting to make up for lost time.

“Wrecker!” Echo shouts. “Clean up after yourself, for kriff’s sake.”

“Why?” Wrecker drawls, stomping towards the cockpit. “What did I do this time?”

“You’ve spilled your juice on the console again, all the keys are stuck in place.”

The access lever snaps clean off in Tech’s hands.

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no-droids · 4 years

Text

Promise Me (It’s Yours)

Part Eleven of the Rough Day Series

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 10K

Warnings: OMFG might be the first chapter of rough day to not need any warnings, can you believe it?? I mean of course there’s language, a splash of smut, and just the briefest reference to suicide, but pretty PG-13 this time my guys I apologize

A/N: I’m sorry I know people show up for the smut but I was feeling soft in this Taco Bell parking lot so here this is, I hope y’all like it. I guarantee none of the math is correct but please go with it

***

You jerk awake to the sound of whimpers.

It’s late. The bonfire is nothing more than glowing coals, and your back is resting against a scratchy log instead of a long, comfortable chest. You blink rapidly, trying to figure out where that noise is comi—

The kid. Fussy in his crib, his gasps starting to turn into quiet sobs.

“Hey,” you murmur, aiming for soft and comforting, but the sleep sits right in the middle of your vocal cords and splits your voice in half, making you sound like an exhausted demon. Weirdly enough, it seems to chill him out (did a demon actually teach him how to choke people without touching them?) and you sit up to blearily look around. Where’s Din? “Where’s—” you rub your eyes and squint around once more, “—where’d your dad go, bug?”

The clearing is bare. The field is, too—no path, excluding the one you three made on the hike here. Nothing in the distant forest, and the black duffel bag sits somewhere near your feet.

Alright, no worries, maybe he just… went to take a leak or something. Really… oddly far away. That’s fine. Sometimes humans have to do that—maybe he has a. A shy bladder. Or something. You’re totally fine. The kid blinks back at you through equally tired eyes, his head tilting as he seems to be taking cues from you right now in the absence of his father. You both should just try to go back to sleep…

Or you can wait up for him. That sounds like a better plan. Don’t panic, just trust him. Give him the benefit of the doubt, it’s the least you can do.

You take a second to look around again, still coming up empty. It’s dark out, but the moon is suspended high in the sky. The fire doesn’t even give off much light anymore, just dying embers. Your eyes scan the ground again, catching on the black bag at your feet.

Was that there when you went to sleep? No, the last person who had it was Din, and he was sitting over there, in front of the boulder behind the kid’s shield.

You blink down at the stationary bag for a few more seconds, studying it like it’ll spill all of its secrets if you glare hard enough, but then something sparks in your memory. Something odd, something you only noticed for a second last night. There was a red light that reflected off Din’s helmet when he reached into the bag for food earlier, wasn’t there?

You think back on it, try to isolate the hazy memory. If it was a laser sight, you would’ve recognized the bright beam and panicked, but you didn’t. It was unfocused, dim. Flashing.

Had… had Din brought a tracking fob with him from the Crest? But why?

Maker, it’s like your mind knows it should speed up but it’s still too stupid to actually do it. You should… you should check the bag, right? Just in case… you don’t know. You’re being ridiculous.

You reach out to catch the dark bag nonetheless and then unzip it, rifling through it for a particular item you figure should be in here somewhere. Food, food, more food…

Somewhere…

—It’s not here. No tracking fob here. No red light to be seen of.

Had you been imagining it?

No, you determine after a second. No, because you remember thinking it was odd—you specifically noticed it, clearly recognized it but didn’t contemplate too much into it at the time.

Alright, no worries, maybe he… maybe he went on a quick little hunt while you were both sleeping. He must’ve gone back to the ship to grab his armor and guns and then set off. That’s fine, there’s more food in the bag. He said he’d be here when you woke up, which most likely means morning. Right?

Cool. Cool cool cool, you can wait until morning. You can just settle back down against the log right here and find a comfortable position—there we go—and just wait for the sunrise, wait for the inevitable return of your missing party member. Party leader, arguably. He’ll come back, he always does.

Your body begins to relax, even though something still seems… strange about this. Like there’s something important you’re still missing.

… The field is bare.

You instantly sit up and turn back to study it in the moonlight, study the single path you left on your way here. You remember hiking at least… a grand total of two hours to get here from the Crest, maybe? Granted, you took quite the detour, but that just means he would’ve carved a distinct, new path on his way back—

Would he… would he really go on a hunt without going back to the ship first? Would Mando truly venture out—without telling you—to go collect a quarry without any weapon on him whatsoever? Any piece of armor besides a helmet?

Does that seem right to you?

Fuck, you suddenly feel wide awake, and the baby starts gasping out troubled cries again. You push yourself up to your feet and stumble around the dying flames to go comfort him, dropping to your knees next to the reflective sphere. Your head stays on a constant swivel as you quiet him, brushing the pad of your thumb along his wrinkled forehead and shushing him as you keep looking out at the breezy field of grass, trying to see if you missed anything.

Fuck, maybe you’re just overreacting. What direction is the ship? Which way did you…? You think back, trying to piece together limited information of what you can remember about today. Glancing back down at the log you slept on and then the path leading away from the clearing, rapidfire calculations start going off in your head. No, you realize after a second of frantic thought—no, the sun would’ve—if you walked…

Eventually, you’re able to pinpoint a general idea of where the ship should be, and if you’re right, then he definitely would’ve left a new path to get back to it. You don’t like this. It’s out of character for him. It sits too weird with you, and the kid rarely starts crying unless something is bothering him.

Alright, alright, don’t panic. Din is a professional. He must’ve left on purpose—you would’ve woken up if there was any sort of struggle, or even just an exchange. Odds are, he grabbed the tracking fob and just… went to go get the quarry.

Without waking you. Without telling you. Without bringing anything else with him. No armor. No guns. Just the fob.

Some strange sense of dread begins to fill you, one that feels all the worse when there’s no clear explanation for it. You won’t pretend like you’re an expert, but to a Mandalorian, that seems like it could be considered suicidal, wouldn’t it? What reason would he have to do this?

The field continues to wave, undisturbed, in all surrounding directions except one. You look over at the clearing leading to the dark forest, the treetops too thick to let anything but traces of crystal moonlight through. If he left… he’ll have gone that way. The only direction that wouldn’t leave a path.

Okay. So there's a decision that needs to be made. You can either stay here, in the middle of this wide open field until the sun comes up, and hopefully he comes back by then. Or… you could. Go check if something went wrong.

The forest is gorgeous from here, you can see that. Thick treetops, drifting gently in the breeze, steady and quiet and picturesque. Admittedly, you can also see a haunting, looming nightmare of darkness warning you to stay away from whatever it’s hiding. This is an unfamiliar planet. You know it’s safe, this is the most isolated sector and Din said practically no crime happens here, but. He also said he’d be here when you woke up.

Hang on, wait. Something catches in your peripheral. There—right on the other side of the kid’s crib, you see—

A glove.

… He left the glove. Whether on purpose or by accident, Din left his glove. The one connected to the vambrace, the one that houses all his controls.

The one that houses the comm link.

The piece of armor is already in your trembling fingers before you realize you even went to grab it. Anxiety, stress, dread—you don’t know which weighs on you heavier while you slowly rotate it in your hands, trying to understand what’s happening right now. He left his emergency communicator. The only chance you have at contacting him unless he decides to come back.

Panic suddenly constricts in your chest, and you make your decision blindly. The kid continues to squeak out little whimpers as your arm sinks down into the leather and you pull the gauntlet up almost to your elbow, flexing your fingers inside the fabric and feeling your heart beating in your throat. The controls are fairly basic, it doesn’t take much time to figure out which button he synced with the hovering sphere, which command he uses to lock the two locations together.

“Chill out, kiddo,” you whisper, doing your best to calm your own raging uncertainty. Conviction is key, you think. You made your decision. Not wanting to waste any more time in case something went awry, you sling the bag over your shoulder and set off in the direction of the trees, feeling… woefully underprepared for whatever may potentially face you.

The forest is quiet as you finally make your way past the first few trees marking its beginning, or end, and you need a second to blink and adjust your vision. It’s dark—if you thought it was dark when you awoke, it’s nothing compared to this. The treetops are thick and barely allow any moonlight to pass through their dense leaves whatsoever, just bits and pieces scattered here or there. There’s no path, no trail, just nature. Fallen logs, moss, rock and boulder formations you have to avoid.

You shush your agitated ward again, wanting to control yourself because you’re getting the kid worked up into baby battle mode with no visible threats to see. He reads energies—he’s capable when he wants to be, when he deems the situation fit. Right now he’s quieted somewhat but he’s still on high alert, recycling your inner panic outwards until you feel the air shifting around you, an… unexplainable phenomena you can’t even describe properly.

Well, you figure. If anything, he’s far more dangerous than any weapon Din typically carries with him. You tend to forget, most of the time. He’s never hurt you, no matter how boisterous the tantrums sometimes are, and you find yourself very rarely thinking of him as anything other than an innocent, helpless baby you’re tasked with protecting. Though it appears that most of the time, he’s been the one protecting you.

What are you saying? There’s no need for protection right now, you’re simply searching for your absent ally. You’re not being brave—no matter how quickly your heart is beating or how much your hands are sweating, you’re not being brave because bravery implies facing something you fear. You have nothing to fear, it’s nothing more than an abandoned forest. A backdrop for your endeavor.

Though… though now that you think about it, this setting looks eerily similar to one you’ll have seared into your memory forever. The forest on Corellia.

You will the thought away with a frantic shake of your head. Naboo is safe, Naboo is safe—it’s not like Corellia. It’s not crawling with people desperate for food and credits, desperate enough to resort to kidnapping and slave trade. Naboo will economically prosper no matter what threat befalls the galaxy, its industry comes from tourism and resorting.

You stop for a second, needing a breather. Just for a second. You haven’t been walking more than fifteen minutes but the terrain makes your feet hurt. Sure, there are clearings between trees and the ground isn’t complete overflowing with obstacles, but they’re still present. The scattered rocks dig in under your shoes and some of the bushes you pass by have sharp leaves or thorns—but it’s the sprawling root systems that prove to be the worst. They crawl across the ground like they can’t decide whether they want to be part of it or not, and more than once you stub your toe on a hidden tube arching a few inches out of the mossy soil.

A part of you almost has to remind yourself that you’re here because you’re looking for somebody, rather than being trapped here trying to evade something. The adrenaline and fear are starting to get the best of you, make you too antsy, warp your senses. You’re deep in the forest now, but not enough to feel the wind disappear yet—you can still hear it rattling around above you, leaves slapping against each other, branches creaking as they tower over you. You almost wish it were quiet. You don’t feel comforted by the breeze anymore, it doesn’t feel like an ever present reassurance as much as it does a burden that masks the noises you could otherwise be hearing. The snapping of twigs that could potentially be there. The crunching of leaves under feet that aren’t your own.

So. You should probably admit now that this was actually a horrendous idea. Because you’re fucking stupid for not realizing this earlier, but. Din ventured into this hellscape to find a quarry, did he not?

A… wanted criminal.

Shit. What the fuck. That’s a hell of a fucking thing to register this late, isn’t it?

You can turn around, you figure. You can turn around right now and head back to the campsite—actually, that sounds like a great idea. You should do that.

You spin around and begin retracing your steps… which, you figure out about five minutes later, is an impossible feat. None of your surroundings look familiar—or shit, maybe it all looks familiar. Like… trees. And fucking rocks. Trying to distinguish landmarks is almost impossible now, and there’s no way to tell which direction you’re going with no visibility overhead, no celestial body to guide you.

You don’t immediately panic, not until you (quite literally) stumble upon a small stream of water flowing through some stones under your feet.

Well, okay. That’s not good. Okay, well, no, you suppose that could be good. It’s water—it’s a landmark, sure, the tiniest little landmark you've ever seen, but that’s exactly the problem. You’ve never seen it before. Which means you’re most definitely not going in the right direction.

At this point, the only option you have is to turn around again. Maybe you can unintentionally make the same series of stupid mistakes once more to start you right at the beginning. The kid is still glancing around in his cradle, making sure no harm comes to your useless ass, but then you freeze when you begin to hear something in the distance.

It’s an unfamiliar sound—a deafening one, even from this far away. Long and echoing, a giant chorus of… something. Something you’ve never heard before, something you can’t place.

Your heart is thundering as you walk closer to the source of it, moving slowly and cautiously forwards and having no clue what it could possibly be. It doesn’t seem to amplify much as you travel closer, which means it must be a ways away still. It’s terrifying nonetheless—the anticipation, how sweaty your hands are, the way you’re very aware of the muscles in your stomach for some reason.

The baby coos softly at your side, but the suddenness of the gentle noise nearly makes you jump out of your skin. You gasp and look down at him for the first time in what feels like ages, clutching at your chest, but then—

—then footsteps rush you from behind and something grabs at your shirt.

You react completely on instinct, your body nearly throbbing with adrenaline as you whip around and launch a mean jab aimed at the dark silhouette behind you. It slams directly into his solar plexus hard enough to bend him in half and ripple through your whole arm with the blowback. Your other fist pulls back and instantly goes for him again, but he just barely manages to jerk his arm up and block it in time—

And thank the Maker he does. Because you were just an inch shy from colliding your knuckles against the side of his head in your wild stage of panic. The one currently covered in devastatingly strong, shiny metal, the helmet just barely visible in the dark forest.

It’s like it doesn’t even register with you—you’re already going to hit him again when Din’s hand hooks around your arm and he yanks you forwards. Your body slams into his and then he’s wrapping himself around you and holding suffocatingly tight. Everything inside you still wants to struggle against him, gasping into his shoulder as your heart continues to gallop with terror no matter what your logic tells you. But he holds harder than steel and the sound of his voice eventually returns to you after a moment, repeating harsh words at you through a familiar vocal filter.

“—me, it’s me, it’s me, I’m right here, stop it, stop it, stop—”

You blink desperately against black fabric, letting the familiar scent, touch, and embrace bring you back down again. He’s so solid—has such a strong hold on you, absolutely no give to be found, and the devastatingly tight embrace manages to quickly settle you.

But he doesn’t wait long. As soon as you stop fighting him, he releases you in favor of grabbing your shoulders and shoving you out at arm’s length, frantically jerking the helmet up and down your body and twisting you back and forth while he looks. Your arms dangle with the inspection and you readily let him move you around like a rag doll, not having enough sense to register anything beyond safe. You’re safe. Everything seems to exist in a box right now, far away and yet compact at the same time. The visor snaps back up to your face and you blink dazedly up at him.

“I’m sorry,” you immediately tell him, voice pitched high and awkward, “woah, hah—whew, ahah—I’m sorry, I-I’m just—“

His fingers hook at your chin and he pulls it up, tilting your head back and forth, allowing the small patch of moonlight beaming through the treetops to catch the water in your eyes. It glints in shameless betrayal, and you try unsuccessfully to blink it away despite the damage already being done. Din drops his arm and you lower your chin without the platform propping it up.

“You just—you just—” you gasp out, delayed relief suddenly filling you and making your voice wobble dangerously, “—y-you went on a hunt but you left your armor. You left your guns, you left everything. I didn’t know—what could’ve happened, I—why’d you do that? W-Why—why didn’t you t-tell m—”

He wraps his hand behind your head and pulls you into his chest once more, not saying a single word. This hug is just as tight as before, just in a different way. He still uses it as a way to calm you and it still squeezes the air from your body, but this one doesn’t feel like it’s entirely for your benefit anymore.

It takes you a few more seconds to realize his hands are trembling.

You go to pull back, but he tightens, anchoring you to him. “What’s—” you gasp against the fabric covering his shoulder, “—what’s wrong? Are you okay? Where’s the quarry? What’s—what’s making that sound? Are we safe?”

Din takes slow, shallow breaths, and you hear it almost too well with your ear shoved against his body. Little by little, he loosens his grip on you. Both of you are still panting by the time you’re able to wrench back and look up at him.

Bare, shaky hands push your hair back away from your face, eventually coming to rest framing both of your cheeks. They’re warm and strong where his fingers wrap around the bend of your jaw, securing you in place, and when he speaks, he sounds like he’s been through hell and back.

“Don’t ever,” Din whispers brokenly, tugging a little bit to make sure you’re listening. “Don’t ever—ever run away from me like that. Ever again. Understand?”

You stare up at him, wide-eyed and dumb, unmoving. Is that what he thinks? That you were trying to… to run away from him?

“I—I wasn’t running,” you immediately stutter out, blinking rapidly at him and trying not to let the confusion show on your face. “I’d never run—I-I told you I wouldn’t—”

“I came back and you were gone,” he breathes, his quivering thumbs brushing along the height of your cheekbones. “I—my kid, he was gone, everything was gone, I-I…” The helmet shakes back and forth the slightest bit, and then he drops his grip to clamp down on your shoulders, clearing the fragile turmoil from his throat and hardening his tone. “Listen, you can’t do that—you can’t take my kid and just… just disappear like that, please, promise me you won’t do that agai—”

“You disappeared,” you accuse with a whisper, but it’s like he doesn’t even hear you.

“Promise me,” he urges, shaking you enough to make your head bobble just slightly, and the quiet plead of his voice through the modulator compels you to acquiesce without a second thought.

“I promise I won’t disappear,” you vow to him, unwavering and earnest. “Now promise you won’t, either.”

Din stares at you for a moment, his body tense and completely stationary. He’s still breathing heavy though, his chest rising and falling hard enough for you to count. One, two, three… Seven. Seven whole breaths, before he finally responds.

“I promise,” he eventually declares, before taking a step forward and crowding you, pulling your shoulders in and slowly tilting his helmet down until it rests against your forehead. The cool metal feels like ice on your burning skin—but you ignore it and allow him to get as close as he can possibly be, to hold you tight and keep you there. “I promise,” he goes on, “that if you ever—that if something ever happens to you two, and you just… just vanish on me like that again—then I’d—I’d…”

And then his next words steal the air from your lungs, wipe your head clear of any thoughts whatsoever—the hushed, vehement sincerity in his voice. Yet… calm. Certain, composed, and with purpose. Almost as if he could only get you to understand one thing, then he would want it to be this.

“Then I’d tear this whole galaxy apart to find you,” he tells you quietly, tightening his hands on your arms and swearing an oath to you. “Both. Both of you. I’d—I’d never stop. I’d rain hell. Tell me you understand.”

“I… I understand,” you finally murmur, and Din quickly pulls you to his chest and wraps himself around you once more without another word. His fingers tangle in your hair and encourage you to rest your face in the crook of his neck, so you do. Even though his helmet jabs uncomfortably at your cheek like this, you do your best to just settle down and breathe him in, bring your hands up to rub at his back and wait for his heart rate to slow.

Eventually it does. It seems like it takes ages, but eventually he's able to unwind his large stature from around you, letting you have a bit more of your own space. He doesn’t take his hands off you, though—his palm drags down your elbow and catches your bare hand in his, gently tugging.

“Let’s go,” he says quietly, beginning to lead you… somewhere. Probably out of the forest and back to the ship, but you don’t question it and completely forget about the low rumbling still echoing in the distance. You follow directly behind him and away from the mysterious sound, the fingers of your right hand still laced with his left, knowing there are far more important questions to be asked.

“Din,” you whisper, but he doesn’t need anymore prompting.

“I thought I’d be quick enough,” he admits, pulling you along by your hand. “It’s barely been a couple hours.”

You stay silent and focus on your feet, letting him go at his own pace. More than once he plays bodyguard, standing in front of wickedly sharp branches while you and the kid pass, and there’s never anything said beyond a quiet ‘thank you’ every time he does it.

“I’ve…” he says after a while. “I’ve been doing this job for awhile. And there are things… things you learn. Quick. Ways to predict people, ways to get in their heads. Last known locations tell you a lot about a quarry. Smart ones go to populated planets, planets like Coruscant, planets that make it nearly impossible to find people. Brave ones go to dangerous planets, suicidal ones try their luck in the Unknown Regions, idiots continue to go about their business on their homeworld without caring. But planets like this—like Naboo… those are the pacifists. The ones that don’t ever put up a fight. Watch your feet.”

You blink and stumble over a hidden root nonetheless, trying to keep up both physically and mentally. Din tightens his grip and catches you by your elbow.

“This one was like you,” he goes on, pulling you up and leading you forward once more. “Wasn’t trying to run. Just wanted to spend his last few months hiding out on the most beautiful place in the galaxy before he got caught.”

“Why didn’t you wake me up? Why’d you go in the middle of the night?” You whisper, not upset anymore. Just trying to understand. “You couldn’t have waited until morning?” But Din just shrugs.

“I didn’t want to remind you.” His sentence is short and stunted, yet serves to answer all three of your questions without providing any information beyond that, the unspoken sentiment barreling forth and smashing into you full force. He didn’t want to remind you. He wanted to leave while you were asleep and then return before you woke up, never letting you remember that responsibilities exist beyond this gorgeous planet for the time being.

You’re a bit shocked, to be honest. In hindsight, though, you suppose it makes sense. Din was the one who navigated to this sector, kept the bag out of your reach the whole day. If the kid had decided to wake up just an hour or two later, he would’ve been back by then, and you would’ve never known any different.

“Anyway,” he clears his throat, and a wave tiredness suddenly grips you. Fuck. Too much thinking. “The quarry went willingly, they always do when their last wish is to chase down a pretty landscape. Nice guy. Found him camped out by a giant—”

Din suddenly goes oddly quiet, and you’re too exhausted to push it. You’re starting to drag a little bit. You woke up in blind panic and have been on edge ever since, and now that you know things are okay, your body just wants more sleep. The trees blur as you keep moving forward, zoning out and knowing you likely have another few miles of walking before you’re back.

You almost trip over him. You don’t even notice he’s there until you nearly run into him. In your defense, the only visible part of him is his helmet; the clothing is too dark under the thick treetops to see anything else. Still, it takes you a second, and you blink down at Din’s crouched figure in front of you, blocking your intended path.

“Up,” he turns to mutter over his shoulder when you ultimately fail to comprehend.

…There’s no way.

Hesitantly, you lift one of your knees to his side and feel his arm firmly hook under it. Emboldened, you lean down until your forearm can wrap around the front of him, and then you do a stupid little bunny hop along the curve of his spine. Din easily catches your other leg before rising up.

He bounces you higher on his back once he’s upright, and you’re automatically resting your chin on his shoulder and clinging to him, your heart filling with butterflies as he begins trudging forward.

It’s… oddly comfortable. As long as you keep your arms wrapped tight around his chest, you can bury your face into him and drift in and out. He goes out of his way to keep you as level as you can possibly be, trying to soften his steps so your jaw doesn’t bounce on top of him while he steps over fallen logs and ducks to avoid low hanging leaves.

Later—you’re not sure how long it’s been, his voice comes through the modulator, ringing with your ear pressed against the helmet no matter how quiet he tries to be.

“How’d you know I went on a hunt?” He asks, and there’s a soft reservation in his tone, as if he doesn’t really want to speak but needs to ask you anyways.

“Mmm?” You slur into the fabric stretching over his shoulder, probably drooling on it a bit, too. “Hmm?”

His voice increases marginally in volume, but still maintains a gentle undertone that lulls you into relaxing deeper. “You knew I left to look for the quarry—how?”

“Fob,” you tell him tiredly, not having much energy to spare the words. “Wasn’t in the bag.”

You’re too out of it at this point, it takes a moment to realize Din has abruptly slowed down. “How’d you know there was a tracking—”

“You’re… reflective?” You ask, though you don’t really know why you’re asking. “S’to your detriment. Sometimes.”

That seems to stun him somewhat, halting him in place for the time being. The biggest response it gets from you is the tiniest little eyebrow twitch inwards, wondering why the steady movements of your transportation seems to have temporarily stalled. “How’d you know I left my armor?”

“Hmm?” You ask again, not really hearing him.

“Hey, stay awake for a second,” he bounces you and you groggily mutter something under your breath that even you can’t comprehend. Din glosses over it while you blink your eyes open. “Tell me how you knew. You didn’t go back to the Crest.”

You drag your head off his shoulder and squint around, looking around at the edge of the forest and the flowing grass beyond and trying to think with your stupid, tired brain, really needing to focus on the question. “…No?”

The curiosity in his voice can’t be masked, not by him nor the filter through which it’s processed. “So how did you know I left my armor on it?”

“You would’ve left a trail,” you shrug. “The grass is tall.”

“I could’ve just taken the path we made earlier,” he eventually proposes, still completely motionless in the middle of the relatively sparse number of trees leading to it. “Gone back to the ship exactly the way we came.”

“Y’could’ve,” you admit with a yawn. “But the ship is that way,” you lazily raise your arm and point a good fifty or so degrees to the left, and Din follows his own outstretched gauntlet you’re still sporting around your hand with the visor.

“I’m impressed,” he finally says, shifting you on his back but perfectly content to keep his feet rooted to the spot. “I didn’t think you had a good sense of direction. You know where the Crest is on this planet but not when we were on Canto Bight.”

You snort a laugh. No, no you have no such thing—you got lost as fuck in this forest. A good sense of direction counts as a solid survival skill, and you’d say you still very much lack most of those. Besides pulling water out of thin air, you can’t claim to know much of anything at all in that department.

“Mmm. No, that was just—“ you shake your head. “Y’know, jus’ some… panicked? Math? That’s all.”

“Panicked…” Din repeats slowly, “…math.”

You nod, frustrated that he’s still not moving, clearly waiting for you to explain your rapid, chaotic thought process from earlier. Still, you do your best for him, trying not to slur your words too much. “We… walked towards the sun this morning to get to the field. I remember, because your shiny ass was blinding me the entire time, what must’ve been like. A whole fucking hour? At least. And… and then we walked a little less to get here, forty-five minutes probably, then me ‘n the kid watched the sunset leaning up against that one log, which was at a solid angle—little more than fifty degrees to the right from the path. You could’ve retraced your steps from earlier if you really wanted to, but taking the shortcut would’ve shaved off about...” you snuggle your face into his shoulder deeper for a moment and think really hard about it. “Thirty minutes? Or an hour round trip. Give or take, since the kid slowed us down.”

He still doesn’t move, and you huff quietly, feeling like you’re on top of a stubborn blurg that just can’t be fucking bothered. Should you squeeze your legs around his middle? Will that work?

“You… went on a hunt, sweet girl,” Din finally says, bluntly, after way too long of a pause. He sounds vaguely impressed for reasons beyond that of your comprehension right now. “In your own little… panicked way. How does it feel?”

“Unsuccessful,” you breathe, burying your forehead into his shoulder once more and blinking your eyes shut. Too much thinking, too much thinking. You need to sleep.

“You were on the right track,” he hums, bouncing you up and setting off again, and you can’t help yourself. It’s completely involuntary, tumbles out of your mouth without thought.

“Craziest bounty hunter in the guild,” you slur, and Din doesn’t give you even a shred of the laughs that deserves.

“I should make you walk just for that,” he threatens instead, though he does no such thing. He just keeps leaning forward in a position that can’t be comfortable for him and lets you fall asleep on his back, holding you tight to his body as he finally breaks out of the last trees and continues hiking through the familiar field to go back home.

***

You rouse twice. Once, when hands allow your legs to slowly slide down a firm body and settle on solid metal. He spins around to catch you before you can collapse, and then slowly eases your exhausted body down to the floor.

A bare hand cradles the back of your head until that finally settles down, too.

The second time, you can’t quite be sure of. One of those moments where you’re barely conscious, drifting to the point where everything around you could be part of your dreamscape, where you can’t trust your own ears or mind to differentiate between what is real and what isn’t. All you’d need is a single person telling you this didn’t actually happen and you’d accept it without question.

Pacing. Quiet footsteps moving back and forth across the floor as you sleep, pausing every once in a while to stand in front of your slumbering figure. Something unintelligible is mumbled as he walks away, the hollow thunk of boots clambering up a ladder. Engines rumble to life under your ear, and gravity gently pushes you deeper against the flat metal supporting your body.

The footsteps soon return and start to pace around once more.

***

“Hey,” a quiet voice murmurs, your shoulder rocking back and forth slightly. “Wake up.”

You blink your eyes open to a familiar visor looking down at you, his hand quickly leaving your shoulder and brushing a gloved thumb across your cheekbone when he sees you’re awake. “Mm? Din? Wha’s—” you glance around you at the dark hull of the Razor Crest, before blinking your tired gaze back to him, “—s’going on? Wha’ time s’it?”

“Late,” he whispers. “We’re in the air. I had to wait until the kid was asleep, but I want… I want you to see something.”

“What is it?” Still blinking blearily, you sit up, but then Din grabs your hands and keeps your momentum going until you’re slowly dragged to your feet. What you do when you’re standing upright doesn’t really qualify as standing or upright—you just sag against him with exhaustion as he wraps his forearms around your lower back, keeping you pressed tight against him as your ankles drag uselessly against the ground.

“Use your feet,” he reminds you quietly, and you harumph in a grumpy response. Maker, you want to go back to sleep. You’re sure you tell him as much, but he just shushes you and encourages you to hold yourself up, letting go while you steady yourself but hovering his palms a few inches away from your arms just in case. “I want you to put my helmet on.”

“Excuse me?” You ask him, swaying slightly and rubbing one of your eyes, not feeling amused. “Is this some kind of… power trip? Or something? Because you’ve spent the last few days literally beating me up, I’d assume that would be enough for y—”

“I let you beat me up,” he grumbles under his breath. “How are you ever gonna take a punch if it hurts you that bad to just throw one, sweet girl?”

“I’ll punch first,” you respond groggily, trying to move forwards so you can lean on him again, but being stopped by a firm grip on your shoulders.

“I know you will,” he mutters, letting go after a second to brush your hair away from your squinty eyes. “Listen, I want you to put my helmet on, okay?”

You nuzzle your head into his leather palm and hum, giving it some thought. “Are you gonna… turn on the light thingie?” You clarify, not being able to remember what the setting is called, and he nods.

“Yes,” he tells you very seriously. “There’s a… stars, a ‘noise thingie’ that I’ll turn on, too. You won’t be able to see or hear for a little bit—you’ll have to trust me.”

“Is this for sex?” You blurt as soon as the thought occurs to you, and Din sighs heavily, letting his head drop to his chest in exasperation. “Like some sort of a… sensory deprivation thing? Because if so, I can like—I mean I can get into it.”

“If I say yes, will you put it on?” He tries, and. Well, that question shouldn’t wake you up nearly as much as it does. You blink at him, actually registering the sight of the mirrored visor this time. Your gaze drops to see he’s back in full beskar regalia, his body looking even larger and broader with it on.

“Oh,” you say quite suddenly, remembering the question. “Oh. Shit yeah, I will.”

He shakes his head. You’re getting better and better at reading him—becoming more fluent in helmet, one could say—and this head shake says he can’t believe he’s actually surprised that worked. “It’s not for sex,” he tells you immediately, deadpanning the delivery even more than he typically would. “Will you still put it on?”

You look at him blankly, wondering why this is even happening. He said you’re in the air right now, and there’s… something he wants you to see? Whatever this is, it’s spur of the moment. Something he felt the need to wake you up for, but likely won’t push if you decline.

“Yeah,” you nod, “'course I will.”

“Close your eyes,” he murmurs, tipping your chin up slightly in the dim hull so he can watch. Since they already want to do so regardless of the gentle command, your lids readily dip shut and you wait patiently as his touch leaves you for a moment.

You’re already sagging a bit by the time one of his hands returns to your cheek, and then plush lips press gently to yours. The sigh you give him is completely involuntary—aching and quiet and longing as you let it go right in his mouth, your expression narrowing with concentration.

But he’s quick. He leans back before either of you can get lost in it and reminds you with a gorgeous, rumbling baritone, “You’ll have to trust me.”

You nod in confirmation and soon his helmet is carefully being lowered over your head. This is the second time around he’s done this—and you suppose if you couple that with your still lazy demeanor, the silent darkness that comes along with it doesn’t bother you as much as it did a few months ago. The padding still grips your cheeks and you still feel disconnected from your surroundings—even more so now than the last time he put it on you—but it’s welcoming, in a way. Giving you a reason to cling to him and tilt your head with the unfamiliar weight, breathing slow and easy while isolated in your own little pitch black world.

Oh Maker, you could probably fall asleep again just like this, so long as he keeps holding you up. But Din has other plans, clearly. He eases you backwards, continues to walk you back and back and back some more, and you have no problem just going with it. He’s strong, taking almost all of your weight and somehow instinctively knowing how to hold you so that you’re fully supported no matter how you’re positioned. He shifts you to one arm at one point, does something with his free hand that you can’t really figure out but aren’t really bothered by either.

He guides you both a few more steps backwards, and you start to wonder how long the hull actually is. But then he suddenly grabs you tight—tight enough to make your eyes pop open to the black void in front of you and panic slightly, before he tilts you back even more and suddenly the ground is dropping out from under your feet, the air rushing silently around your entire body.

Okay, now you full-on panic.

He doesn’t let go, thank the stars, even when you scramble up to straddle and cling to him, heart clanging hard against your sternum at his fucking audacity. The jet pack? Are there just no fucking rules anymore?

Sure enough, the thrusters kick in and he’s good enough with the phoenix to counteract the gravity shift as much as possible, making it a gradual thing instead of a rapid change in motion. You’re almost confident you would’ve slipped out of his grip and gone slamming to the ground had he not done the preventative maneuver.

Regardless, you’re gonna fucking kill him. You’re going to murder Mando and get your own bounty puck, one with your name on it. It won’t end well; everyone after you will have a personal vendetta considering you offed one of their own. If you survive the confrontation then you’ll likely get taken to mine spice somewhere for the rest of your miserable life, probably Kessel—that is, assuming he doesn’t kill you first, within the next however many minutes.

And oh, he seems like he takes his sweet fucking time, hauling your fuming, decapitated ass along on a late night joyride. Every second he continues to allow you to fly in blind, deaf isolation is another butt whooping you’re vowing to give him, and it pisses you off even more that you can’t even express your righteous fury because you can’t let go of him. You’re a parasite in midair, clinging to his metal body while he slowly descends, navigating you both down until you feel his boots finally meet solid ground.

You carefully reach for the ground with one foot and try to feel it with your tippie toes just in case he’s somehow tricking you, until Din drops you down and your feet mercifully meet dirt. As soon as you find your balance, you shove an open palm against the metal of his chestplate in anger and Din quickly catches your wrist, the beskar shaking slightly under your hand like he found the whole thing rather humorous.

You don’t have much time to fuss. He spins you around and then his hands settle on your shoulders, and for some reason… you only notice it now. The fabric covering your torso and legs is gradually becoming damp for some reason. You can’t feel any real splashes of water—no raindrops or anything, but it gets worse and worse the longer he holds you steady in front of him.

His hands eventually drag down your arms and elbows, until they’re catching your wrists and slowly pulling both of them up. Din cradles the backs of your hands as he presses your palms against the cold metal helmet around your head, and then he gradually begins to pull it up, and—

—Loud.

You stop for a second.

… Tears spring up.

Din keeps pulling.

What starts out as a dull hiss continuously amplifies as the beskar slowly lifts, growing louder and louder in volume until it’s a deafening, violent, thunderous roar.

Yet still, you don’t open your eyes. You just… listen to it. Let the sound of it fill your heart, the same sound you caught earlier in the forest but now amplified exponentially, almost surrounding you with reverberating white noise. Your whole body is practically drenched in water by the time you finally open your eyes and blink through the heavy mist.

He said no oceans, and he was right. It isn’t an ocean—it’s… something so unbelievably beautiful that you don’t even have a name for it. You don’t want one, not really. There isn’t a name that would be good enough. It’s easily—by and far, in your measley handful of decades of existence—the most majestic thing you’ve ever seen. A gigantic, enormous cliff dwarfs you on three sides, with tens of thousands of tons of water arcing over their sharp edges and plunging into the rocky lake below.

The cloud of droplets ricocheting from the base of the jaw dropping cascade is massive in and of itself—easily taking up a good quarter of your field of view even from this distance away. The shore sits close enough but the spectacle is still somewhat distant, remaining an untouchable heaven, a gorgeous lake separating you from it and rippling with waves that settle to lap at the sand.

The rest of the setting comes later, after you’re able to process the main event. You’re in the middle of the forest from before—familiar colossal trees wrap around the shoreline and vibrant shrubbery blankets the edges of the falling water, evergreen and fed by a constant nourishing mist. The sun is also beginning to come up. You can’t see it yet, but you can see the way the sky is starting to gradient itself from a starry midnight blue to pale lavender, the first rays beginning to peak over the treetops.

You feel yourself take a few, slow steps forward, but leather catches your hand from behind and gives it a firm squeeze before you can move completely out of reach. You don’t even have to look back at him to know what it means. The sentiment transfers seamlessly—be careful, he says, before dropping it and letting you continue forth.

Reaching the shore brings even more beauty to a backdrop you didn’t think could get any better. You have to carefully step over—oh, heavens—small, transparent crystals tinted every color you can imagine to reach the water, sparkling under the gently lapping waves. They’re like thin, flat shards of glass, and you know that if the sound of the falling water wasn’t so deafening, you’d probably be able to hear the muted crunching noise they make shattering under your boots with every cautious step. Jagged edges and multicolored powder is all that’s left in your wake, no matter how careful you try to be.

You almost don’t want to move since they’re so delicate and everywhere, probably blanketing the entire floor of the lake, but you push forward with purpose until you’re just close enough to squat down and dip your fingers into the cool water. It’s crystal clear and reflects the lightening sky with every gentle ripple and disturbance. You study the pieces of glass as the repetitive waves distort their shape, the colorful shards turning to smooth, round pebbles the closer they are to the water. A large green one catches your eye—circular and comparatively tiny, but standing out amongst all the rest.

You pluck it from the shore and let the almost perfectly round emerald sphere roll around in your palm, scanning the shallow water once more. Then, ah—there, you reach out and grab a slightly larger, heavier, unassuming brown one that you have to hold up to the gradually rising sun to see its sparkle. It’s got harder edges and feels rougher in your hand but you like it that way. You like that there’s a bit of a warm amber at its center when the light hits it right.

Perfect. Taking another moment to study your choices, you eventually end up finding a gorgeous, slightly pearlescent piece that sits just between the size of the other two in your collection. It’s tinted a pale, off-white amongst a sea of color and there’s something gentle about it that speaks to you, something that feels right about the gradual sloping curves and how it sits in your palm.

Carefully pocketing the three pieces of fragile glass and rising up, you glance back to see Din standing there, helmet on once more and frozen right where you last left him.

He looks… awkward, almost. Holding his hands behind his back, all his weight shifted to one foot while the other twists back and forth against the ground just slightly. Nervous, for some reason. Feeling unsure of his place. The posture tugs at your heartstrings, as well as the spectacular gesture, and you soon make your way back to him.

“Where did you… where did you find this!?” You have to yell over the rushing water once you get close enough. “I didn’t see anything on the navcomp—”

“—wasn’t—navcomp—” he replies, barely just loud enough for you to hear. You miss most of it, but you’re able to piece together the gist based on what little you can catch. “—quarry—isolated sector—uncharted.”

Uncharted. It’s uncharted, the navcomp wouldn’t register it. Untouched by millennia of progress. Plenty of people have probably seen it before, but apparently none of them have ever told anybody about it. The universe is vast but it’s also old—it’s unbelievable that cartographers have plotted almost the entire galaxy but they still missed something like this.

The roar of the marvel is so deafening, it takes you a moment to realize he’s still speaking

“—nobody—yet—it—” he nods the helmet out at the spectacular landmark, “—it’s yours—you want—”

“My what!?” You bellow, but he doesn’t clarify or add anything new. He just spins you around again, extending his arm out over your shoulder to point at the breathtaking view and then dropping his helmet down next to your ear.

“Yours,” Din repeats firmly, resolutely. Nothing more to be said.

You’re not sure if you’re crying yet, there’s too much water in the air to tell. All you can do is just instinctively lean all your weight back into his chest and let his arms lace around your body, and you have to blink the droplets away as they start to trail down your forehead and into your eyes. He keeps you like that until the rising sun begins to reflect off the cloud of mist at the rocky base of the monument, scattering light in all directions and splitting it into a beautiful spectrum that reflects every color.

You wonder if Din can see it. You wonder if there’s a filter on his helmet that isn’t infrared or night vision, where a computer isn’t constantly alerting him to movement or sudden changes in atmospheric pressure. Just… pure, unobstructed, visible light. You know there’s probably all sorts of tracking measures programmed in, you know he can zoom and spot a sniper from a vast distance—you know he sees things you don’t. Things you won’t ever see. But you also hope the visor isn’t shaded too dark—you hope there’s a setting that works like a one way mirror, if only so that he can also see the beauty of this planet the same exact way you can.

You eventually turn in his arms and take one small step away from him just so you can look at him, and sure enough, the visor is tilted up towards the natural beauty. Your eyes study every inch of him as if you’ve never seen him before, as if he may as well have taken the helmet off right in front of you. This is thoughtful. It’s so fucking thoughtful of him. For being such a mystery, this right here… this is soul bearing. It’s not an ocean, it’s a million times better than one and the fact that he not only remembered you telling him something like that, but he actually flew you out here to see it. It makes your chest ache with an unknown feeling, one you still have trouble recognizing. It settles down right in the softest part of you, makes your mouth open and give it a four letter name.

You say it so softly, confess it knowing he’s not looking, knowing he’d never be able to hear above the sound of the cascading rapids crashing against the rocks below. You can’t hear it either, but you can feel it. The way the word lilts off your tongue, the simple truth in it that’s impossible to hide from any longer.

He glances back at you, before doing a double take. Gently, Din pushes at your shoulder and urges you to face forward again, to take all of it in while you still can, and yet.

All you can see is him.

His head slowly turns back down to face you, and your eyes keep shamelessly scanning every bit of him, watching the mist droplets chase each other down the reflective metallic curves and contours of his helmet. Din slowly leans in, carefully eases his arm under yours and wraps tight around your lower back to bring you closer to his side. You sigh and press up against him, your palm creeping up the damp fabric wrapped around his throat. The visor doesn’t leave you, even when your temple comes to rest against his pauldron. No, he just allows the smooth metal covering his forehead to gently touch yours for a moment and hold there. Both of you tucked away in the middle of a hidden paradise, standing in front of a gorgeous monument crafted by the hands of the Maker himself.

And, like the two starry eyed idiots you are, neither one of you can seem to look away from the other.

You mouth a silent thank you to him, hoping he can read the heartfelt candor from your lips. Something tells you your message was received, because his grip tightens. As if in slow motion, his whole body lazily drops down just enough to scoop you up with an arm hooked under your knees—before Din suddenly rockets upwards.

You squeal and cling tight to his shoulders as he lifts you up higher, and higher—he slowly rises across the considerable length of the lake and closer to the falling water. You’re already beyond drenched but as he gradually approaches the base of the falling water, it starts raining down and splashing you in buckets.

Once he’s near enough to the powerful, arcing column pouring over the long rocky edge, Din carefully spins around and hovers until his back faces it, which means you can hide your nose and mouth from the splashes against the armor shielding his shoulder. He slowly rises up the length of the natural landmark and lets you watch the rushing water up close behind the safety of his body, sacrificing his own view so that yours can be all the better.

Eventually the falling waves break and you look down at the broad, gorgeous rapids flowing out towards you, the sun casting its dawning light over their foaming peaks. Din spins around and you adjust yourself accordingly against his chest, knowing you’ll never have a view like this again. He flies low along the river and you can see the colorful glass sparkling through the strong, yet completely transparent current. Soon he levels out and you cling tight to him, burying your face in the soaking wet fabric of the cowl wrapped around his neck and sighing, unable to recall a time you’ve ever been happier. It swells in your heart and warms your entire body even as it’s drenched in cool water, and you wonder again how he could’ve ever thought you were running from him. How could he ever think you’d run from him when all he’s ever done is give you wings?

***

The Crest hurdles through hyperspace while Din silently removes his armor and then strips you both of your sopping wet clothes. You remember your glass souvenirs at the very last second and carefully remove them from your pockets despite your closed eyes, reaching out to hand them to Din without looking. His palm catches the pebbles with the quiet sound of them clinking together, and you feel him pause for a second, probably studying them as he cradles them in the dim, single fluorescent light he left on.

You feel him leave you momentarily, hear him gently set them down someplace safe without a word. When he comes back and his warm arms snake around you once more, he lowers you down to the blankets and then proceeds to make the softest love to you he knows how on the floor of his ship.

A small part of you wishes you were still on Naboo, but somehow. Somehow, despite the dead quiet hull, it’s better than anything you can remember.

His naked body presses tight to yours, his mouth always open and tasting wherever you’ll let him venture, never letting you forget for a single second that he’s just as bare and exposed as you are. Your hands take full advantage, feeling everything. The strong, rippling muscles of his back as he props himself over you, the soft hair curling at his nape, the length of his spine shielding you from the rest of the ship, allowing you the opportunity to pretend you’re somewhere else if you really tried. If you tried, you could convince yourself you’ve got a mattress beneath you instead of a blanket draped over hard steel. You could convince yourself your eyes are open while he kisses you, despite knowing it’ll never be allowed.

But… you don’t. You don’t need to. There’s nowhere else you’d rather be.

And then at one point, his mouth is between your legs and you see a flash of his forehead on complete accident.

To see it on any other person would be nothing, it would mean absolutely nothing. It’s not like it somehow makes him anymore recognizable to you—plenty of people share the same exact features, you still wouldn’t know him out of a trillion different faces. He could walk right by you and you’d never know. Technically, it’s not even his face—it’s just a small fragment of it. But to you, the quickest glimpse of dark, wavy locks curtaining over the smooth, golden skin just below his hairline… it means everything to you. You sear it into your memory, right alongside the sight of crystalline water roaring over an enormous cliff edge.

You never tell him you saw. He never finds out.

#the mandalorian #the mandalorian x you #the mandalorian x reader #din djarin x reader #din djarin x you #din djarin #fanfic #reader insert

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whythinktoomuch · 3 years

Text

Tentatively stepping through the doorway, Lena was greeted by the natural wintry gleam of the Fortress of Solitude. She had only been there that one time all those months ago, but the surroundings appeared familiar enough, seemingly burned into her memories as a particularly difficult flashbulb of an experience.

Cold. Dimmed lighting. Wide open spaces that gave off the illusion of emptiness despite holding some of the most important secrets to be kept in the world.

And in the middle of it all, stood Kara Danvers, still dressed in her Super regalia, staring off into the distance like little else mattered.

“Kara.” Lena rushed forward, the clack of her heels bouncing off the polished walls in an anxious rhythm that rivaled that of her heart.

Kara looked over, blank expression slipping slightly. “Lena?” she murmured, sounding surprised, though not at all startled. “How’d you get out?”

“… Out?” Lena echoed, but Kara didn’t elaborate. Maybe the disconnect was to be expected though, and there were more important things at stake for the moment, so, “Kara, you need to come back.”

“Back.” Kara chewed on the word, tasting the implications like they weren’t quite to her liking. Then she gave a single nod. “Oh. I see.” And with that, Kara turned her back on Lena and walked right off, right into the distance that gradually converged into a yawning doorway.

Lena had no choice but to chase after her. “I know why you’re doing this, Kara. And you have to know that it wasn’t your fault. None of it was.”

Kara didn’t answer. She didn’t have to. Her silence was already speaking volumes just by stretching on and on, running parallel to the seemingly never-ending hallway.

“Will you at least explain what you’re doing here?” Lena demanded, her patience eaten up by a sense of urgency that was somehow eluding Kara. Time was of the utmost importance—that much had been impressed upon her repeatedly and emphatically before she made this journey. “Look, I’m not going to leave until you talk to me.”

Mild amusement flitted over Kara’s features as she looked back at Lena. “How’d you even get here?”

“Does it matter?”

“No.”

Then when Kara made no move to continue their conversation, Lena sighed in exasperation, “I have my ways, okay?”

“Of course you do,” Kara said easily. “I’m just… surprised that they’d send you, of all people.”

“I volunteered to come. Well, I insisted anyway.”

Kara glanced back at her again, expression now unreadable. “We’re not even friends anymore,” she said, matter-of-fact, no malice intended or needed. “We haven’t talked for—what—six months? I guess what I’m trying to say is that, you wouldn’t have been my first pick.”

“And I’m sure the many people who were opposed to my coming here would agree,” Lena said, but Kara didn’t take the bait, falling silent once more. “Where are we going anyway? What’s down here that’s so important that you have to see it right now?”

Kara took an abrupt left turn, and the hallway opened up just as abruptly into an endless series of shut doors, all evenly spaced out along either wall. Each door was fashioned with its own nameplate, which was of little interest to Lena until she started recognizing the names. By then—trailing behind Kara, passing by doors that read James, Winn, Kal-El, and a few with lettering that could only be Kryptonian—it became all too clear why they were there.

Lena’s sense of purpose was renewed, however, when Kara walked right past a door labeled Alex without slowing. “Wait, that’s where we have to go,” she called out in realization. “We need to get to Alex, right? Right, Ka—Kara! Hey, where are you going?”

But Kara evidently wasn’t listening, her stride only cut short upon arriving at another door altogether. The door was plain and simple enough, except in that it was one of the very few without its own handle. The name Mon-El was etched into the dull gold, just barely catching in the light at eye level.

“They disappear sometimes,” Kara said. “The doorknobs, I mean. Well, the doors too, but there’s always another to replace them so… it’s hard to keep track.”

Lena tried her best to not acknowledge the predictable twinge of nausea that twisted in her stomach. “What’s in there?”

“When I could still open it, I’d just see his spaceship disappearing into the horizon.” Kara shrugged. “I’m sure there were other things too, but it’s been years.”

“… Kara, let’s get back to Alex’s door,” Lena said, clearing her throat, ridding herself of any lingering pangs of unjustified jealousy. “It still has a doorknob, so we can still get in there, right? That’s what that means?” But Kara was ignoring her. Again. “Are you even listening to me right now?”

“You say that to me a lot in here.”

And just as Lena was about to ask what the hell Kara possibly could mean by that, she noticed yet another door, just a bit farther down the hall, literally with her name on it.

“You can go in there, I think,” Kara continued, shrugging again. “There aren’t really any hard and fast rules here, but that might be the only door you can open without me.”

Lena, inevitably, took a pause.

Her door appeared more intricate the longer she studied it. The rich, glossy oak with accents of rose gold. The plumerias carved into the wood at every corner. A touch of cursive to her name, lovingly engraved across the polished nameplate. It had a delicate padlock that looked more decorative than practical, but Lena already knew that it would fall away for her, if she wanted.

Admittedly, it took a rather lengthy moment for Lena to successfully tear her eyes away from the door. “That’s not why I’m here.”

“Well, there isn’t much else I can give you besides that,” Kara said, promptly moving on, venturing deeper into the hallway that only opened up to more and more hallway with a seemingly inexhaustible supply of doors.

“Kara, stop…” Lena abandoned her door to chase after Kara again. “I’m serious,” she pleaded, seizing Kara by the elbow, tugging insistently. “Let’s go through the Alex door. We can go together.”

Kara shook her head, shaking her arm when Lena refused to loosen her grip. “Let go,” she snapped, eyes briefly flashing red, and Lena unfortunately flinched away from her. Huffing hard, Kara then pivoted away, slipping through the closest door and Lena slipped in right after her before it could swing shut.

The whole world was on fire.

Proud buildings coming down in flames. Air condensed into a thick black smoke. Everyone dying around her…

Coughing, Lena was immediately forced to press her sleeve to her mouth and nose. The door was nowhere to be seen. After a more thorough survey of her surroundings, she finally noticed a slumped figure in the relative distance. It was hard to make out anything in the light of the fading red that made up the sky, but who else could it be? Lena made her way over.

Thankfully, Kara wasn’t too far. She was just sitting atop a darkened precipice, arms around her knees as she watched the world die before her.

“This…. is Krypton,” Lena said as she realized. “Kara. You can’t stay here. This can’t be healthy…”

“And you, of course, would be the resident expert on keeping healthy habits,” Kara said, and her sarcasm didn’t even need a bitter tone to land.

And that about settled it.

Lena grabbed a piece of smoldering debris—still warm, somewhat spongey, surely not fatal—and lobbed it as hard as she could at the back of Kara’s head.

The projectile bounced off harmlessly enough, but Kara slowly turned around, eyes widened. “Ow…?” She pressed a hand gingerly to the back of her head, no doubt still tender from the blow. “What are you doing? The sun isn’t yellow here!”

“None of this is even real!” Lena snapped, and to prove it, she lifted a much larger piece of debris that normally would have buckled her with its mass. When she sent that hunk of rock sailing through the air, Kara finally demonstrated some life and dove out of the way.

“What the hell, Lena?” Kara said, some frustration and thus vigor breaking through the monotony. “What are you doing here? Why did you even come?”

“I want to see what’s behind Alex’s door!” Lena threw back, just as frustrated and then some. “What is this, Kara? Behind one door, you see your home planet imploding. Behind another, you see the man you loved leaving you forever. So, what the hell could possibly be happening in the one for your sister? Whose life, by the way, is still hanging in the balance, in case you forgot.”

Kara huffed, whirling away. “That’s none of your business.”

“You made it my business by fucking off to wherever this is,” Lena said, fighting to maintain eye contact as Kara tried repeatedly to turn her back on her. “You made it my business by making me come after you! So, just do me one fucking favor, and just tell me—”

“I kill her.”

Lena fell silent, blinking, the soundtrack to her sudden hesitation coming alive in the sounds of the world burning up around her.

“I kill her in there. Over and over and over again.” Kara’s words were falling out like she couldn’t stop them, an outpouring of shame and relief rolled into one. “She dies by my hand, only to die all over again, and again, and—”

“Okay, I get it,” Lena hastily cut in. “Well, no. I don’t get it, get it, but… what do you mean you kill her? How…?”

Kara covered her face with a sharp exhale. “Lots of ways! Heat vision. Super strength. Sometimes I’m just throwing her off a building. Other times, I’m choking the life out of her with my bare….” She broke off, voice drying up. “I don’t want to go in there, okay? Stop asking me.”

“Kara, this… this is ridiculous,” Lena eventually sputtered. “Alex isn’t dead. She’s hurt bad, yeah, but how could you possibly give up on her when—”

“Because it doesn’t matter,” Kara said flatly. “Because if not now, it’ll be some other time. She’ll die, and it’s going to be all my fault.”

“But what happened to her isn’t your fault.”

Kara sighed, heavily and exhausted, and suddenly she looked every bit the lonely woman who’d lost everything in a way only few people have. “Lena… Everything down here’s my fault.”

Her entire body sagged then, and she was back on the ground, curled up and watching the horizon again. So, Lena just walked over and sat next to her.

Everything was steadily plunging into darkness. There were more cracks ripping apart the earth than there were buildings, people, or even life in general. The fire climbed higher and everything was smothered in smoke, but all Lena had to do was consider taking a clean breath of air, and she could.

“What happens when it’s over?” Lena asked.

“Just starts up all over again.”

“Okay then.”

After a while, when the sky was too obscured to distinguish from the ground, Kara directed her gaze to her own feet. “… You ever think about what yours would look like?”

“My mind palace, you mean?” Lena asked, and Kara nodded. “Oh, I already know. Boxes.”

Kara exhaled a dry chuckle or two. “Boxes? That’s it?”

“Maybe some filing cabinets too. Just to keep everything organized,” Lena said, and she was mostly joking, but also not. “Boxes just always worked for me.”

“… Is there a box in there with my name on it?”

Lena blew out a breath, shakily laughing at the self-evidence of it all. “Of course there is, Kara.” Maybe even more than one, though they didn’t have to get into that now, or ever.

“Do you want to know what happens behind your door?” Kara asked haltingly, gaze still dropped.

“Not at all. I’m sure whatever it is, I’ve imagined much worse on my own terms,” Lena said, and Kara kinda laughed again, but wouldn't disagree. “… You know what happened to Alex wasn’t your fault, right?”

“Might as well have been. Should’ve been there.”

“You can’t be everywhere at once, Kara. That can’t be expected of anyone, even Supergirl.” And when Kara gave no indication that she was listening, Lena continued with a sigh, “If Alex could be here, she’d say the same exact thing. Though I’m sure she’d include some Midvale lingo and much more swearing.”

“What’s Midvale lingo?”

“If I knew, I wouldn’t be above using it right now.”

Kara didn’t laugh this time, just nodded solemnly before asking, “How long have I been in here?”

“You’d been out for almost six hours when I made my way over.”

“Did Alex improve at all while I’ve been gone?”

“That’s not really a thing you can tell just by looking,” Lena said vaguely. She didn’t want to lie, but she also didn’t want to give Kara any reason to stay behind.

But Kara looked at her like she knew exactly what Lena was trying not to say. She’d always been so good at reading Lena, or maybe Lena had always been so bad at hiding things from Kara. Either way, if only it had been vice versa, maybe they’d be on better terms now.

“I don’t want to come back just to watch her die. I’ve already done that too many times in here.”

“If she does die, you’re going to regret not being there.”

The ground underneath them started to crumble and come apart, falling in on itself, and Kara watched it happen with disinterest while Lena just watched Kara. But eventually, finally, Kara seemed to come to a real decision because she carefully took Lena’s hand in hers, and Lena let her.

“… Thank you for coming,” Kara said quietly, barely audible over the world falling apart.

“Thank you for coming back.”

They watched the last of the world collapse around them, swallowing them up in a pitch darkness.

Lena jerked awake with a gasp in her corner of the room, but everyone was by Kara, clamoring around her, greeting her with words of worry and such. And Lena just nodded to herself because everything was back to being how it should.

She disengaged the electrodes and pulled the wires off her head, and Brainy appeared by her bedside to help her remove the last of it.

“You were successful,” he said. “I knew you would be. You had the best chances of getting her out of that state, though 67% of the people in this room did think differently. But thank you for bringing her back.”

“I didn’t do a thing,” Lena said honestly. She glanced down at her watch out of habit, and the numbers blurred and made little sense to her weary brain, but it was time to leave. That much was obvious. “It’s late. I should get going.”

“You don’t want to talk to Kara?”

Lena looked over, and just past Nia’s shoulder, she saw Kara staring right at her. “I think she has better things to do tonight,” she said, stepping into her heels, neatly pulling her hair into a tidy bun. “Please give our hero my best, and… keep me apprised of Alex’s condition as well.”

Pausing on her way out, Lena threw back one last glance. Kara was still staring at her. Her mouth was moving and answering questions as they were offered up by the people around her, but her eyes would only meet Lena’s from across the room. Kara half-raised her hand in a subtle gesture, and Lena took the wave for what it was and turned on her heel to leave, refusing to entertain the persistent itch to look back the entire time.

#post-reveal/fallout but pre-make-up sc is where i Live #not sure what this is but it sure is a thing huh #ALSO THE NEW POST LIMIT WOULD HAVE TOTES KNEECAPPED THIS; had to turn off the beta version to post!! >:(#i hate!!! >:(((#my words.

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tippedbykreider · 3 years

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your love is my turning page | c. kreider

Word count: 17,700 Warnings: Mentions of death, grief, sex, mention of breakdown of previous relationship, mentions of infidelity. Author’s note: This was the first long-fic I ever wrote and to say that I was proud of it is an understatement. I’ve made some minor additions to this and hope you all enjoy it second time around as much as you did the first time. Fic title is from ‘Turning Page’ by Sleeping at Last Summary: Chris Kreider doesn’t believe in fate but a chance meeting in a Manhattan bookstore opens his mind, and his heart, to things he has only ever read about in the books he loves so much.

‘We are asleep until we fall in love’ – Leo Tolstoy, War and Peace.

Sometimes in life there are moments where everything changes, suddenly and unexpectedly and in ways that make it impossible to be the same person that you were before. It’s a bit like a storm, sweeping in and rearranging your life completely to a point beyond recognition, where everything changes and you’re left with a choice: mourn what was lost or use it as an opportunity to rebuild and come back stronger than before.

That was the dilemma Roseanna Williams faced after the man she thought she’d grow old with turned out to be nothing more than a huge disappointment. She should have seen it coming if she was to be completely honest with herself, years of waiting for him to outgrow what she presumed to be a teenage phase yielded nothing but frustration and a growing sense of impatience. If you asked any of her close friends and family they would tell you that she should have done it years ago but it never was as easy as just walking away, not when it came to the man whom she had been with since the tender age of fifteen. After she’d graduated university and completed her teaching degree, she was itching and ready for them both to take the next step in their relationship, to make more of a commitment, hell, even get married, but every attempt at an adult discussion about their future was met with resistance and a string of excuses. The realisation suddenly began to dawn on her that maybe he was a lost cause and that she was wasting the best years of her life by waiting on him to get his shit together. The final straw came when she’d come home early from a teaching conference and found him in bed with someone she had considered to be a friend. That was when the flood defences failed and all the water she’d been ignoring for so long came rushing in, destroying everything she thought she knew and leaving her shaken to the core and gasping for breath.

It started as a spark of an idea, moving away and getting a fresh start, London perhaps, or maybe somewhere further North. Exeter held too many memories now, the hurt and betrayal burying all of the wonderful times she’d had in the city that had always been her home. She’d discussed it at length with her parents who, while saddened at the prospect of their youngest daughter moving away, encouraged her to pursue whatever would make her the happiest. The spark caught, much like it always did whenever Rosie set her mind to something and before she knew it she was applying for a United States work visa and looking for places to live in New York City. All that was left to do was to pack up her life and trust in the magic of new beginnings.

That was how she ended up in Brooklyn, New York, teaching English Literature at a local high school. It was a different kind of life, one that took her a couple of years to get used to and while Rosie wasn’t quite confident enough yet to call herself a New Yorker, she definitely felt like she had found somewhere that she could call home. That feeling started as a seed, growing roots and leaves every time she would get off the subway at the right stop or find a new coffee shop to try until eventually she could rattle off her favourite places to get an Americano or the best places to get pizza. Her family and friends loved it, naturally, having the perfect reason to come and visit the Big Apple and Rosie loving nothing more than having the opportunity to show off the city she’d grown to adore.

Of course, there were parts of her old life that she missed. How could she not? She missed her family and her university friends. She missed afternoon teas with Devonshire clotted cream and summer days spent at the beach in Torquay. ‘You can always come home, love,’ her mother would say and that was completely true and while a part of her would always yearn for the smell of the sea or the cry of a gull on a soft summer breeze and while her roots were very much planted in Devonshire soil, her heart belonged to New York City.

She’d developed somewhat of a routine during the first couple of years that she’d lived in Brooklyn and it was one that hadn’t changed much, loving nothing more than taking the subway to Manhattan on weekends to spend the day checking out all the small independently run bookstores (when she wasn’t drowning in unmarked papers, of course). This particular late-October Saturday had started much like the others; she allowed herself a well-deserved lie-in after a hectic week of teaching and a bottle of Sangiovese the previous night, savouring her first cup of coffee like it was the first she’d had in months while she set about watering her house plants. A shower that lasted entirely too long, which doubled as a Fleetwood Mac tribute concert that she was sure her neighbours appreciated, was next on the agenda before she finally bundled herself up to face a chilly Autumn day in the city.

She’d stopped off at her favourite coffee shop on the way to the station and chatted with the young barista, Laura, behind the counter, whom she’d grown to know over the months since Laura had started working there. She’d learned that Laura was planning a trip to Europe next Summer and offered some suggestions of places in England to visit, making sure to get her to promise to not just visit London. With her take-out coffee cradled in her hands, the cup serving her well as a much needed hand-warmer, the late-morning had Rosie heading towards Westsider Books, a favourite haunt of hers that she couldn’t help but keep coming back to. She had no reason at all to think that going to that store was going to prove to be another one of those moments that she could look back on as being a defining moment in her story, but with a push of the door, every star and planet aligned that set her on a course that would change her life forever.

Christopher James Kreider was a self-confessed simple man, despite his career choice and the lifestyle that came with it seeming to be anything but. He was incredibly thankful for the certain level of anonymity that came with living in a place like New York; certainly, there were times where he would be recognised and would be stopped for a picture or autograph, but in the sea of a-list celebrities that called the city home, he was just a small fish and was happiest when he was flying under the radar. The kind of life afforded by being a professional athlete playing in the National Hockey League was one that he wasn’t sure he would ever get used to. Sure, he had a sweeping Tribeca apartment that he called home, he had a nice car, he went to work wearing expensive suits and could afford to eat out in the city anywhere he wanted, but the reality of it all was that he was most at ease sprawled out on his couch with a good book and a bottle of wine.

His teammates affectionately called him the hockey Renaissance man, a nod to his impressive pursuits off the ice, but it was never a name that sat comfortably with him. As far as he was concerned, he was just Chris, there was nothing special about him and his ability to deflect praise or compliments was nothing short of reflexive. His days off during the season were few and far between and he was always keen to make the most of the time afforded to him. An early start and cup of coffee usually preceded a quick workout, followed by a shower, a second coffee and a crossword puzzle while he decided how he was going to spend his day. Sometimes he wanted nothing more than to stay within the sanctuary of his apartment and read Hemingway until the sun began to dip below the skyline, other times he would venture out into the city and check out the new exhibit down at the art gallery in Soho before finding somewhere quiet to enjoy a good cup of coffee.

The season had gotten off to a decent enough start, the chemistry between the team seeming to grow with each game and Chris hitting his stride early on. He’d just returned from a three game trip in Canada and despite the slight fatigue he was feeling, he was eager to get out into the city. He wasn’t in the market for anything in particular but there was a lot of joy to be found in rummaging through old record shops or second hand book stores, at least in Chris’s opinion anyway. There was something so special about a pre-loved record or book, he thought, each had their own tale to tell and each held a special place in someone’s heart at one point or another. There were barely any new editions of books on his bookshelves, some so tatty and worn that their bindings were stringy and the pages threatened to abscond if held the wrong way.

Chris was a creature of habit and it was something that he would freely admit. He often visited the stores closest to home, not often venturing further than Midtown, but with nothing but time he found himself on the 1 train and headed towards Upper West Side, Westsider Books his destination of choice. The first thing he noticed upon entering wasn’t the towering shelves that stacked books upon books but the unmistakable scent of vellichor, that grassy, almost vanilla aroma that felt a lot like coming home. The owner offered a friendly smile before nodding towards the vast collection of books.

“There’s fiction all down here, poetry’s at the back and non-fiction’s upstairs. Let me know if there’s something in particular you’re lookin’ for, I know there’s a lotta books in here.”

“Thank you,” Chris replied. “Do you have any Russian literature in at all?”

“We sure do, whatever we’ve got is on the third shelf from the back there, on your left.”

“Perfect, thanks a lot for your help.”

Chris offered the man behind the counter a smile and headed deeper into the shop, stopping in front of an impressive looking collection of Russian classics. It was easy to get lost in the volumes on the shelves, flicking through pages of different editions, some of them older than he’d ever seen before. There was one book in particular though that caught his eye, unassuming and inconspicuous enough, nestled between War and Peace and the Death of Ivan Ilyich. He reached out to touch the navy blue leather but was suddenly caught off-guard by the sensation of cold fingers knocking against his own.

“God, I’m so sorry, I was completely in my own world there.”

His eyes flicked to his right towards the source of the voice, soft and feminine with an accent that he knew not to be local. Rosie hadn’t even noticed him, which now that she was taking in his appearance properly didn’t exactly understand how she’d missed him standing beside her. He was well over six foot, she noted, and impossibly broad, but the thing that stood out to her the most about him was the unmistakable kindness in his hazel eyes, a tranquil grove of moss covered trees with their different shades of bark.

“No, no, you’re good. It’s me, big clumsy oaf over here,” he trailed off with a soft laugh, a slight heat rising in his cheeks now that he was really seeing her, with her eyes that were as blue as a summer sky and hair that reflected the colour of the autumn leaves outside.

“Did you want Anna Karenina?” Rosie asked, nodding towards the shelves.

“Oh, um, it’s okay, you go for it,” he smiled at her, the corners of his eyes crinkling in a way that gave him a kind of softness, a familiarity almost.

“Please, I insist,” Rosie reached for the book and took it from its resting place amongst the other Tolstoy works, handing it to Chris. “I already have three different editions of this, if I took home a fourth I think an intervention would need to be staged.”

Rosie grinned as Chris laughed, the sound full and rich to her ears, while he took the book from her hands and tucked it under his arm.

“Well, we wouldn’t want that now, would we?” He started, his eyes flitting across her features before they settled to meet her gaze. Her grin had faded into a warm smile that reached all the way up to her eyes and she was surveying him with an almost curiosity, one that he found himself matching. “I’m sorry, I know you probably get asked this all the time,” he continued, with an endearing kind of sheepishness that kept the corners of Rosie’s mouth lifted upwards, “but I gotta ask about the accent. I wanna say British but I don’t want to come across like a stereotypically ignorant American if I’m wrong.”

“Oh it’s okay,” Rosie chuckled, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear, “you’re only the third person to ask me today.”

Chris could tell from the sparkle in her eye and the smirk on her lips that she meant no malice in her reply and made an exaggerated cringing grimace in return.

“God, I know. I’m sorry. You must get sick of it.”

“I mean, if I had a dollar for every time someone asked I’d be a very rich lady, but yeah, your ears don’t deceive you, I’m British. Actually from Exeter in Devon specifically, which is like South West England and now I realise that that probably means nothing to you,” she laughed as she caught the slightly vacant expression that had graced his features while she had been explaining her place of birth.

“I know, I’m sorry. I guess I really am a stereotypical ignorant American.”

Rosie responded with a gentle shake of her head as she spoke, “Nah, I wouldn’t say so. I couldn’t tell you the first thing about the rest of the States, it took me longer than I care to admit to just not get lost going two or three blocks down.”

Chris smiled, both at her kindness and the gentle lilt of her accent. “So are you here visiting, or?”

Rosie shook her head again, the auburn waves shaking and falling about her face in a way that had Chris’s smile doubling.

“Well, I’m visiting Manhattan, but I live in the city, been here coming up five years now.”

“Yeah? And you like it?”

Rosie’s smile sparked at the corner of her mouth until it spread like wildfire and lit up the whole of her face. Chris couldn’t help but notice how beautiful it made her look, that kind of smile that was so undeniably authentic and genuine and yet so incredibly rare in a city as big as New York; but there it was, right in front of him and warm like sunshine.

“I love it here,” the affection in her voice clear as day. “It’s so different from anything back home and in the best possible way.”

Chris got the impression from her seemingly deliberate choice of words that there was a story there, but the classic literature aisle didn’t really seem like the time and place to get into it with someone he’d just met, nor did he want to assume that she would even offer that tale to him freely. Instead, he took the book out from under his arm and held it out to her.

“Are you sure you don’t want to take this home with you?”

“I’m positive. ‘Live in the needs of the day’ as Tolstoy would say and I don’t really need that book. I’m sure you’ll give it a wonderful home.”

She met his eyes briefly, her stomach flip-flopping at the softness she found there, and gave him a warm smile that matched the one he was wearing. Chris wasn’t sure what had made him feel so bold. Perhaps it was the feeling of being so completely at ease with her, despite not even knowing her name and despite having known her for a mere five minutes, or perhaps it was the gentleness in her eyes. He didn’t spend too much of his time thinking about it as the words were out of his mouth before he could second guess them.

“At least let me buy you a coffee as a thank you.”

“Do you buy all the women you meet in bookshops coffee?” Rosie quipped without missing a beat.

“Damn, you caught me.”

Rosie laughed, easy and free with her head tipped back and Chris knew in that moment that he needed this woman in his life in some way, the sound bright and rich like the first sip of coffee in the morning or the first rays of summer sunshine filtering through curtains. He was still surveying her with an easy grin as she shuffled on her feet slightly, deciding whether she was going to let her head or her heart reign supreme today.

“I don’t usually make a habit of getting coffee with strangers,” the small smile still playing on her lips despite the tentative nature of her words.

Chris instinctively offered his hand out for her to shake.

“Well, I’m Christopher and you are?”

Rosie placed her hand in his, the smile on her face doubling in size at his kindness as she shook his hand, and tried to ignore the way her heart started to race at how warm and easy his touch felt.

“Rosie, or Roseanna if we’re using our Sunday names.”

“Nice to meet you, Rosie,” Chris said, his tone gentler than was probably necessary in the moment but it had Rosie feeling more relaxed in his presence by the second. “See, we’re not strangers anymore.”

“No, I don’t suppose we are. Alright then, Christopher, I accept your proposal of coffee and if you turn out to be an axe murderer then I hope you enjoy the book.”

It wasn’t very often that Rosie let curiosity get the better of her but there was something telling her to surrender to this moment in front of her, to let her heart win for once and throw caution to the wind. There was something about Chris and his aura that made it incredibly easy to ignore that prudent and wary voice in the back of her head that would usually call for rational and cautious thinking in situations such as this one, the voice that is often nurtured during childhood by parents and adults alike to help keep you safe from harm, the voice that would warn you about the dangers of strangers. Chris was a stranger, this was, of course, an undisputed fact, but Rosie didn’t feel like she was in any danger with this man. She guessed that it had an awful lot to do with the genuine warmth that seemed to radiate from him that made her feel less like she was with a someone she’d just met in a book shop and more like she was catching up with an old friend. It was incredibly rare that she felt so at ease with someone, let alone a man she knew nothing about except for his name, but she’d grow to learn that that was just the magic of Chris, his sincerity and kindness always radiating from him like the glow of an open fire on a cold winter’s night.

“I can say with absolute certainty that I’m not an axe murderer,” he grinned. “But if it would make you feel better I was planning on taking you to Irving Farm, y’know, so you can check in with someone if you wanted.”

That simple gesture alone told Rosie all she needed to know about Chris, the fact he was so cognizant of how a woman might be feeling going to get coffee with a man she’d just met. It was that thoughtfulness and that tingle of curiosity and wonder that had her following him to the counter and waiting as he paid for his book before they both ventured back out into the chilly air and towards the café. Making small talk on the short walk there was incredibly easy, the effortless nature of their conversation not lost on either of them and as they sat down opposite each other in a quiet corner of the shop, shedding their coats and scarves, Chris took the opportunity to really appreciate the beauty of the woman in front of him.

She was classically pretty, he thought, with her auburn locks freed from the confines of the scarf she had been wearing and the slight ruddiness to her cheeks from the way the cold air had kissed them during their short walk. But more than that, it was the way her presence seemed to uplift him in a way he hadn’t ever experienced before. Chris was an incredibly practical and logical man and the idea of kindred spirits wasn’t something that he subscribed to, but there was just something about Rosie. It was a sense of familiarity and a feeling often only felt between two people who had known each other for years. It was a feeling that, unbeknownst to him, Rosie shared too, not quite being able to remember a time where she was able to enthusiastically discuss literature at such great lengths with someone.

“So come on,” Chris said over his cup of coffee after they’d settled at a table in a quiet corner of the café. “You were able to quote Anna Karenina from memory, is there a particular reason for that or have I managed to find an even bigger book nerd than I am?”

Rosie smirked as she took a sip from her cup, eyes sparkling as she surveyed Chris. “I am a pretty big book nerd, but no, I actually teach literature.”

Chris’s eyebrows raised as an impressed little smirk pulled the corner of his lips upwards. He set his cup down and clasped his hands in front of him on the table.

“Forgive me for being bold here and by all means tell me to mind my own damn business, but what exactly makes a British literature teacher cross an ocean and put roots down in New York City?”

Rosie paused for a moment, chewing over her words in her mind.

“A vague sense of wanderlust, I guess,” she began carefully. “I don’t know, there was just… a lot of stuff that happened in my life and it felt like a good time for a fresh start while I was still young enough and brave enough to do it.”

“I’m sorry if that was too personal,” Chris looked at her apologetically, the slight flicker of sadness that had appeared in her eyes too prominent to ignore. “I didn’t mean to bring any painful memories back for you by prying.”

“It’s absolutely fine. All the diversity, all the charm and all the beauty of life are made up of light and shade, right?”

“You really love that book, don’t you?” Chris asked her softly, recognising the quote from the book currently sitting in the brown paper bag by his feet immediately, and with a gleam in his eye.

“It’s one of my favourites,” Rosie replied. “It’s probably up there with Captain Corelli’s Mandolin, Pride and Prejudice and For Whom the Bell Tolls.”

“You like Hemingway?” Chris’s eyes crinkled with his grin and shone with excitement as she nodded in agreement. “I love Hemingway,” he added. “He’s easily my favourite author.”

Rosie leaned forward in her seat and rested her arms on the table with her cup still cradled in her hands, Chris mirroring her action, like two school children about to share a secret.

“I love the beautiful simplicity of his writing. It’s direct but without losing any of the emotion or feeling. Like, don’t get me wrong, Russian literature and authors like Tolkien are wonderful and they certainly have their part to play, but sometimes there’s just no need for pages and pages just to get a point across. That’s the beauty of Hemingway, the straightforwardness of it.”

“Yes!” Chris exclaimed, his face lighting up. “That’s exactly it. Take The Old Man and the Sea as an example, that book is what? Twenty-seven thousand words? But the feeling and the message that he’s able to get across, it’s amazing. God, I’ve lost count of the amount of times I’ve read that book.”

“A favourite of yours, then?”

Chris nodded as he picked up his mug. “Without a doubt, followed closely by For Whom the Bell Tolls and An Immovable Feast.”

He punctuated his statement with a wink and a smile, savouring the way Rosie’s face would ignite with pure joy as she laughed.

“Perhaps we should compare notes,” she mused behind her coffee.

“Is that you saying you wanna meet up again?” Chris asked, a cocky grin on his face.

“What if it is?” She countered quickly, a twinkle in her eye that had Chris’s heart thundering in his chest.

“Then I think you’d better take my number.”

The weeks passed and autumn collapsed into winter, the first frosts clinging to everything and covering the city in opaline glitter. Rosie’s schedule had begun to slow following the initial insanity of the beginning of the academic year as things started to wind down for the holidays. She’d spent a lot of her free time preparing for her annual trip home to England to spend Christmas with her family, something that she looked forward to all year. Whatever time was left was spent reading or catching up with Chris, who had been equally busy with his work as a professional hockey player. He’d mentioned this to her briefly and in passing during their phone calls, which certainly explained why his schedule was often so all over the place, but the concept was so alien to Rosie that she didn’t feel the need to pry further. Growing up in Devon meant that her exposure to a sport like ice hockey was next to nothing, her knowledge extending as far as movies such as The Mighty Ducks would afford. In fact, when she thought about it, she didn’t know anybody who played sports professionally in any capacity and so while she was intrigued by Chris and the story behind how he came to be in such a career in a city like New York (knowing him to be from Massachusetts originally), she also knew that he was so much more than all of the stereotypes she’d heard associated with professional athletes.

He wasn’t a big, dumb jock, far from it actually. Chris was incredibly intelligent, philosophical in ways she admired so much but with an endearing and quick sense of humour. His thirst for knowledge and appreciation for the world around him was unlike any she’d ever seen and it somehow made him more handsome than any of his classically good-looking physical features. There was an intrigue, of course, surrounding him and his job, but Rosie also knew that he would offer that part of himself to her in time and when he felt most comfortable doing so. She imagined that he didn’t always get to have the luxury of authentic meetings with people who didn’t already know about him and his job, and for all the lovely moments he’d already given her in their growing friendship, she wanted to pay him back in kind by not forcing anything on him that he wasn’t yet ready to talk about.

It was incredible really, how easy it was for her to fall into friendship with Chris, made only easier with each discovery of a new shared interest. Their texts would often consist of them sending things the other might find interesting such as a new book or a new song to listen to. Hearing from him was something that she found herself looking forward to, especially appreciating when he would take time out of his day while he was away from home to check in with her and catch up.

As the end of the semester creeped closer, Rosie found herself surrounded by gifts she had already wrapped ahead of her trip home and a small pile of clothes, the open suitcase on the bed still empty despite her best intentions. She always found packing incredibly dull (although admittedly not as bad as unpacking once she returned to New York) and would often preoccupy herself with anything and everything to avoid doing it, which always resulted in a stressful last-minute packing situation that she was keen to avoid this year. She stood with her hands on her hips as she surveyed the situation in front of her, deciding the best way in which to go about organising her suitcase, when her phone vibrated against her dressing table. Unable to contain the flicker of a smile that tugged at her mouth as she saw the Caller ID flash with Chris’s name, she answered.

“Hey, you.”

She could hear what sounded like a group of very rowdy men in the background in what she could only assume was a bar.

“I need you to help settle a debate.”

Rosie smiled as she cradled her phone between her cheek and her shoulder, using her free hands to pick up a pair of jeans and place them into the suitcase.

“Sounds serious.”

“Oh it is and we’re at a deadlock over here so your opinion decides it, I hope you can handle that kind of pressure,” Chris teased.

“Oh, Christopher, I was born ready.”

“Alright, but this is like legit serious stuff.”

“Out with it, Chris,” Rosie laughed.

“Crunchy or smooth?”

“Excuse me?” Rosie asked with an incredulous look on her face that she knew Chris would’ve laughed at had he been able to see her.

“Peanut butter,” he clarified. “Crunchy or smooth?”

“Wow,” Rosie deadpanned. “And here I was thinking you were about to ask me something incredibly philosophical.”

“Oh come on, Ro, don’t leave me hanging here.”

“I suppose if I had to choose, I’d probably go with smooth.”

“Ha!” Chris exclaimed, causing Rosie to jump. “She said smooth, looks like you’re the one with the weird peanut butter preferences, Foxy.”

Rosie furrowed her brow at the incoherent shouting and cheering in the background as she put more clothes into her suitcase.

“I’m so confused right now.”

She listened as the sound of raucous chatter faded into a faint buzz and Chris’s voice came back through the speaker clearer yet softer than it had been before.

“Sorry about that, the guys can get a little excitable sometimes.”

“Rookies had too many beers?”

“Yeah,” Chris breathed. “Something like that. How’re you doin’ anyway? Things settled for you at work?”

“Yeah,” she replied softly, perching herself on the edge of her bed, careful not to knock any of the small wrapped packages onto the floor. “I got all of those papers turned round and the results were actually kind of encouraging, which was nice.”

“That’s probably because they’ve got a good teacher.”

“Oh my god, stop,” Rosie blushed, thankful that he couldn’t see the interesting shade of pink her face had turned.

Chris’s reply was unexpected, somehow managing to knock her back a bit with the sincerity and softness in his tone that seemed more intimate than perhaps their current level of friendship afforded.

“I mean it, Ro. I know you know your stuff. They’re lucky to have someone like you teaching them.”

His words hung in the air around Rosie for a few seconds while she processed them, or rather, while she started to analyse the tenderness in his tone that she was sure she hadn’t imagined. He didn’t give her too long to get lost in it though as he was speaking again before she had a chance to truly unpack her thoughts.

“So things have settled down for you, yeah?”

“Um, yeah.. Yeah. I’ve just been packing for my trip back home,” Rosie replied, picking up one of the small gift-wrapped boxes and examining it for no particular reason.

“Right, of course. When is it you fly?”

“December twenty-first, fly back into JFK on the fourth of January.”

“I’ll be in California when you get back,” he said, a hint of disappointment in his voice. “But it’d be great to see you before you go to England. Maybe dinner or coffee?”

“That would be really nice, Chris,” the smile evident in her voice to Chris even through the phone.

“Great, we’ll arrange something once I’m back in the city at the end of the week.”

“Sounds perfect.”

Chris hesitated, not quite ready to say goodbye but knowing that he should probably get back to the others and leave Rosie to the rest of her evening. He knew he had to though, even if it did make his chest ache for reasons he didn’t quite understand.

“I’ll let you get on with your packing,” he half-sighed.

“Please don’t feel like you need to,” Rosie replied with the faintest hint of a plea.

“I do because if I don’t you’ll never finish packing your suitcase.”

There it was, that easy teasing that had become a defining feature of their friendship in just the few weeks they’d known each other and had managed to shift the atmosphere between them from something that neither could quite put their finger on to one that was much more playful and familiar.

Rosie groaned exaggeratedly, earning her a hearty chuckle from Chris.

“But I hate packing,” she whined.

“Welcome to being an adult, suck it up, Buttercup.”

“You’re mean.”

Despite her words, Chris knew that there was no truth in them and he also knew that she herself didn’t believe them, which made the playful back-and-forth banter between the two of them come easily.

“No, I’m Chris.”

“Oh my god!” Rosie laughed, exasperated. “I’m hanging up now, goodbye!”

Chris’s rich chuckle was the last thing she heard before she ended the call and tossed her phone onto her pillows, shaking her head at the ridiculousness of his humour before turning her attention back to the pile of clothes by her suitcase.

Christmas went as quickly as it came, passing in such a blur that it had Rosie questioning if she’d had any time off at all. It didn’t take her long to settle back into the groove of things though, it never did, and by the time the frosts of winter began to thaw, the warm glow of the festive season was nothing more than a cheerful memory. Much like the first beautiful petals of spring, Chris and Rosie’s friendship continued to blossom.

Rosie would have been lying if she said that she didn’t wish their schedules would match up more. A particularly busy January for Chris meant that they hadn’t had chance to meet since just before Christmas and it had Rosie wondering just what exactly Chris’s job entailed. It wasn’t really something that had come up during their phone calls and it was something that she felt deserved to be done face-to-face rather than over a text message, because truth be told, she didn’t have the first idea when it came to ice hockey. Keen to know more about the man that was fast becoming somebody she considered to be a close friend, she resolved to ask him the next time they met for coffee.

“So are you ever going to tell me about this big, shiny career of yours or am I supposed to just keep thinking you’re some James Bond of professional hockey,” she mused as she broke off a piece of blueberry muffin and popped it into her mouth.

Chris blushed slightly as he took a drawn out sip of coffee.

“I mean, yeah, sure. What do you wanna know?”

He set his cup down and clasped his hands on the table in front of him, the flicker of nervousness extinguished quickly by the kindness that rested within her eyes.

“Well,” she started. “I believe I’ve mentioned before that the only hockey I knew of before meeting you was the field hockey they made us play at secondary school. So, everything I guess? Oh, and I’m going to need you to explain like I’m five.”

Chris couldn’t help but chuckle at the good-natured smirk on her face and ran a hand along the stubble at his jaw.

“Alright, well. I guess it wouldn’t hurt to start from the top. I played hockey in high school, then went to Boston College, they have a really good collegiate hockey programme there and it’s a good school to boot. I got drafted in 2009 by the New York Rangers then I signed my first contract with them in 2012, been here ever since.”

“So you must be bloody good at hockey then,” Rosie said after swallowing her coffee which made the pink tinge to Chris’s cheeks even more prominent.

“I mean, I’m not terrible.”

Rosie grinned at him and at his humility which she had come to know as being one of Chris’s prominent traits. “And your schedule? I know it’s a bit mental but what does an average day look like for you?”

“That depends,” Chris replied. “Are we talking an off-day? Game day? Away trip?”

“All of the above?” Rosie laughed.

“My days off I still like to get a work-out in, even if it’s just a small one. But other than that? I don’t know, maybe meet incredible women from Devon in bookshops?”

It was Rosie’s turn to have her cheeks flush, especially with the way Chris was looking at her with an unreadable look in his eyes. Chris continued though, despite the thundering in his chest at how beautiful she looked in that moment.

“Game days I’ll usually get up, go to practice. I try and take a nap in the afternoon before I have to go down to the Garden to get ready for the game and it’s much the same if I’m away on the road. We usually practice before we travel to wherever it is we’re headed.”

“That sounds incredibly full-on.”

“It is,” Chris agreed. “But it really makes you appreciate the time at home and the moments of stillness. Why’d you think I love getting lost in a good book so much?”

“Because, in the words of Dr Seuss, ‘the more you read, the more things you’ll know. The more you learn, the more places you’ll go.’”

Chris looked at her softly, a warm smile on his face. “Spoken like a true teacher.”

“So come on then,” she blushed, steering the conversation away from herself and back to him. “You went to Boston College, right? What did you end up studying?”

“Communications,” Chris said as he finished taking a sip of coffee. “I uh, it was really important to my mom for me to finish my degree so I kept plugging away at it even after I went pro.”

“Wow,” Rosie looked at him, clearly impressed. “That’s incredible, Chris. I mean, getting a degree is a hard enough slog when you’re doing it full time, but to do it while you’re travelling here there and everywhere? That’s no easy feat.”

It was Chris’s turn to blush now, too humble and too modest to be able to accept the praise Rosie was giving him.

“I knew how much it meant to my mom and I just wanted to make her happy, that and I was too stubborn to not finish something I’d started.”

“Your birthday is the end of April, right?” She said rather suddenly but as if something had clicked in the back of her mind.

“Yeah, April 30th. Why? You been googling me?”

“Oh it’s nothing really,” she said quickly, face flushing and suddenly aware of how stupid it would sound to him if she actually said it out loud. “And for the record, I haven’t googled you, I just remembered you mentioning your birthday last time we met up.”

“Nah, you can’t just do that,” he chuckled softly. “Come on, what were you gonna say?”

“Well,” she started, her fingers and eyes finding the coffee cup in front of her, anything to avoid the part where he looked at her like she was mad. “I was just gonna say that you really are a typical Taurus.”

Chris leaned forward in his seat, hands settling just shy of hers but the almost contact enough to make her skin spark.

“That so?” he mused. “You big into your astrology?”

“No, well yes, sort of,” she rushed and Chris could tell that she was almost ashamed of the admission. “I don’t read magazine horoscopes or anything like that because they really are a load of bollocks. But natal charts and stuff like that? I find them totally fascinating. I um, I’m kind of into crystal healing, I sage my apartment, I know it’s nuts.”

“No it’s not,” Chris took her hand then, the need to reassure her and ground her in a moment where she felt vulnerable and exposed. “Is it something that I believe in personally? No, not really. But truthfully I don’t know anything about it either. If it makes you happy then it really doesn’t matter what anyone else thinks. Maybe you could tell me more about it over dinner or something?”

Rosie looked at him thoughtfully, so appreciative of him in that moment and that ineffable gift of his to make her feel valued and listened to. It was that and all the other wonderful little facets of himself that he was showing her that had her agreeing to his proposal of dinner. She thought about the level of bravery that it must have taken for him to talk about that other side of his life, the side that she knew nothing about, no matter how small or trifling it might have seemed to anyone else. While she might not have had the first clue when it came to the sport or could even truly comprehend what Chris’s life was like, she understood that it must be incredibly difficult for somebody in his situation to forge true and meaningful relationships with people, friendly or otherwise, because when it feels like someone you have just met thinks they already know everything about you, it’s incredibly hard to let the guard come down and let people get close. That is what Chris appreciated the most about Rosie, though, the fact that she hadn’t the faintest idea who number 20 of the New York Rangers was. Every conversation they’d ever shared and every question she’d ever asked came from a genuine and altruistic desire to get to know him better. Even now, as she encouraged him to share that other part of him, that so many others defined him by, it came only from a place of pure and innocent curiosity. She asked about his job much in the same way she would ask an accountant or doctor about theirs.

Being able to have that conversation with her about his life and his job only served to strengthen the bond that they shared and he was incredibly thankful for Rosie’s understanding and willingness to fit her schedule and life around his. As the months passed and summer fast approached, Chris found himself for the first time reluctant to escape the stifling heat of the city after the season had ended. He was enjoying being able to spend more time with Rosie now that the school year had come to a close and he was shocked to learn that even after living in the city for close to six years at that point, she still hadn’t explored all of Manhattan. Their days were filled with walks around the West Village, Midtown or Tribeca and having lunches at tiny hole-in-the wall cafés where they would show each other the books they had picked up in whatever shop they’d found themselves in that morning.

It was that time shared together that made it incredibly easy for Rosie to become a stable fixture in Chris’s life with evenings spent at each other’s apartments having dinner and sharing wine. Rosie had learned quickly that Chris was a capable cook and Chris loved nothing more than when Rosie would cook pasta for him, even if it wasn’t exactly his nutritionist’s dream. It was easy to relax in that kind of way around her, forgetting the strict food regime every once in a while to really savour the beef ragu she made that he loved so much, always washed down with a couple of bottles of Sangiovese shared between them and finished with a homemade tiramisu. It was wholesome, much like she was with the softness of her curves and her insouciant attitude when it came to her looks. That was not to say that she didn’t make an effort, that wasn’t the case at all, for she would always look so put together and incredibly beautiful whenever Chris would see her, but she was the kind of woman who wouldn’t think twice about letting herself indulge in a slice of cake with her coffee or get too hung up on the calorie content of a pasta carbonara, which was a quality that Chris found to be both incredibly refreshing and endearing.

The natural quality of their relationship should have made it incredibly easy for Rosie to give in to those feelings she found beginning to settle in her chest. Chris was a wonderful man, that much was undeniably true and it should have been simple to confront the ache she felt whenever he went away. But if there was one thing Rosie had learned in her life, it was that if you expect too much, if you put people on pedestals that were too high, you would find yourself being disappointed. That was a simple fact of life. People were just that, people, capable of making mistakes. They were not divine beings, no matter how much we saw them as such through our own eyes. It was that idea alone that startled her; that a man such as Chris could be capable of disappointing her by the pure reasoning of the human condition and that was a thought that she couldn’t bear. So she pushed it down, down and down until it was quieter than a whisper. But even whispers can’t be ignored forever, and so with each comment from Chris’s friends about how happy he was since meeting her or each time her skin would spark at the feeling of his hand on the small of her back, the whisper grew, growing and growing with every team event she attended on his arm or every party he asked her along to, until it was a shout.

Relationships had never been something to come easy to Chris, he was too careful and too private; the gnawing feeling in his stomach that told him there was always some ulterior motive was often too arresting to ignore. It should have frightened him, the way Rosie came into his life and smashed through every wall he’d ever built without even doing much at all, but it didn’t. Rather than look at all the bricks and the rubble and be unnerved by the ease in which she was able to coax his vulnerability out of him, he found himself inspired, determined even, to build something truly beautiful with her. Chris knew that he would have to find a way to navigate these feelings with her, cognizant of the need to not throw her into the deep end and shock her system. Rosie deserved better than that because this wasn’t just about him and his feelings, it was about them and their relationship, what it was now and what it could be.

She was brilliant, in every way a person could be, beautiful and with a passion that glowed like the fiery tresses of her hair under a New York sunset. She was bold and sharp as a tack, keeping him on his toes in a way that no one else had ever been able to and he was sure that no one else would ever again. It was late night conversations where they were three bottles of wine deep talking about philosophy and ethics or her reading silently while he played guitar, it was listening to Pearl Jam with her whenever she cooked or Billy Joel when they were curled up together on the sofa, debating whether Radiohead or Nirvana was more influential in the grunge music scene. Hell, it was even looking up his birth chart, even though he didn’t believe in astrology, because there was just something about the way she said ‘You’re such a typical Sagittarius moon.’ Her warmth and her kindness always managed to ground him in moments where he would feel himself slipping, as sure as the moon rises and sets each night, especially once the season had restarted and those niggling insecurities would rear up and settle heavily in his chest, and yet he could tell that she never really knew the exact power that she held. She had his heart completely, whether she was aware of it or not and that was something that Chris hoped would never change. She’d slotted into his life like she had always belonged there, like she had always been there and that feeling only seemed to grow inside of Chris with every dinner they shared with his friends and every time he would see her face in the stands of MSG.

The week before Christmas brought an uncharacteristically early winter storm to New York unlike any Chris had ever seen throughout his whole time living there, forcing the city to a standstill and grounding flights, which meant that for the first time since moving to the States, Rosie wasn’t going to be home for Christmas. The idea of her spending the holiday alone in her apartment made Chris’s heart ache and so that was how Rosie ended up in his Tribeca apartment on Christmas Eve, bundled up with him on the sofa under a blanket, each with a mug of homemade mulled wine. The Muppet’s A Christmas Carol played quietly through the tv, one of Rosie’s Christmas Eve traditions that he would never dream of denying her, although, no matter what he would later admit to, he spent more time observing the gentle expression on her face as she got lost in the nostalgia of it all than he did actually paying attention to the screen. She felt him though, not even needing to take her eyes off the movie to know that he was watching her.

“You’re missing all the good bits,” she smirked.

“It’s okay, I’ve read the book. I know what happens.”

There was a slight grit to his tone that Rosie couldn’t quite place but crawled under her skin and kindled a small flame in her stomach all the same.

“But there were no Muppets in the book.” She turned to face him then and took in the expression within his eyes, darker than she’d ever seen them before. “Kermit really brings Dickens’ story to life.”

“I mean, Beaker steals it for me but we’ll agree to disagree.”

The air thickened around them and Rosie took a long sip of her wine, longer than perhaps she should have, but she needed to swallow away the tightness in her throat from the way Chris was looking at her. Like planets to a sun, Rosie found herself drawn to him, suddenly feeling him everywhere despite the fact they were at opposite ends of his couch. It was that gravity that had her shuffling towards him, crawling into his space in the same way she had crawled into his heart. He was warm, she thought, comfortingly so and the worn hoody on his body felt soft and had the familiar, soothing scent that was so uniquely Chris. Perhaps that is what had her curling into his side and resting her head on his shoulder and perhaps that new-found closeness was what had him pressing his lips into her hair.

There was no way either of them could deny what this was between them, the spark too bright to ignore. Rosie knew that they weren’t just friends, she knew that and she knew that Chris felt it too, that was why his face was turned towards hers, his lips impossibly close so that all she needed to do was tilt her head and give in to what her heart was crying out for. But her head was a cruel mistress indeed and it was that irrational but crippling fear of eventual disappointment that made her clear her throat and scoot back a shade, giving herself some much needed breathing room.

Chris exhaled quietly, the deflation leaving him on the breath. It was almost frustrating how close they were, the finish line within touching distance and yet they always seemed to stop short of it. Chris was there, he was there waiting and willing her to take those last few steps and cross it with him but he knew that he couldn’t force this, nor did he want to either. She had to want it for herself and Chris knew, as he looked at her sitting there chewing on her bottom lip with her brows knitted together in pensive thought, that she was worth the wait, even if it took a lifetime.

The post-holiday back to work rush was one that was felt universally. Those first few weeks always seemed to feel as though there was never enough hours in the day to get everything done and it was no different for Chris and Rosie, both caught up in their jobs to really sit and digest the moment between them at Christmas. Christmas Day had been incredibly busy with Chris hosting a couple of the younger players for dinner and no sooner had the festivities ended he was packing a bag ready to depart for Washington the following morning. They both knew that they had a lot of things to discuss, because that’s what adults did, they talked about their feelings in a healthy and open way, but as the busy-ness of their schedules ramped up, the hours slipped away and turned into days. Days spanned into weeks and weeks turned into months and before either of them knew it, the moment seemed so distant in the rear-view mirror, that it almost felt weird to bring it back up.

The hockey season ended for Chris some time during May, the Rangers making it as far as the second round of the playoffs but unable to close it out after seven hard fought games. The disappointment sat heavy in his chest, much like it always did after losses like these, but he would have been a fool not to notice the way that it didn’t hang all about him in the way it had previous years. Of course, the wound still cut deep but without the festering ache of poison and he knew the antidote was the woman who had swept into his life nearly two years prior.

It was remarkable really, how she came into his world like that. It was an event that Chris had always described as being purely serendipitous but the longer he spent with Rosie, the more he began to wonder if there was something else at play, hell, even fate perhaps. He had prided himself on being a shrewd man, his practicality something that had always defined him and guided his thoughts and actions, but whenever he thought about them and their relationship, he had to believe that it was more than just some happy accident. Rosie was pure magic, in every sense of the word, always having an uncanny ability to know what he needed before he even did and making him relax in ways he had never previously allowed himself to. It was cliché to say, but Chris genuinely believed that he had never lived until he met her and slowly, over the course of the last year, maybe even longer, the love songs on the radio made a little bit more sense and every love story he’d ever read sat a little bit differently in his heart. He knew that he was going to have to find a way to truly make her his, because despite all of the times where he felt like he could’ve just grabbed her face and kissed her, despite all of the unspoken feelings that had surfaced at Christmas, and despite the fact that they hadn’t yet managed to talk about them, the dynamic between them both after their almost kiss hadn’t changed at all except in the small way that he found himself having to stop himself from holding her in the way that he wanted to more often than not.

He thought about the one night she’d almost burst with excitement over their dinner at her apartment when he told her he had finally sat down and read Captain Corelli’s Mandolin, remembering the wind-scattered waves in her eyes and so sure that if anyone was brave enough to enter their depths, all else would blur and they would fall so deeply in love that they’d choose to stay there, no matter what, because he knew for certain that he had befallen that very fate. He recalled thinking that if that was the last thing he was to ever see, he would surely die a happy man. She had recited her favourite quote to him that he thought to be beautiful at the time but now hitting him like a freight train and knocking all of the wind out of his sails. It crawled through his skin and into his veins until he felt it coursing through his body until it had made a home within his very soul:

‘Love is not breathlessness, it is not excitement, it is not lying awake at night imagining that he is kissing every part of your body… for that is just being in love, which any of us can convince ourselves that we are. Love itself is what is left over, when being in love has burned away.’

It was those words that had his feet carrying him to his car and those words that had him driving from his apartment to her home in Brooklyn and it was those words that had him standing outside of her front door ready to offer his heart to her. He knocked, more out of habit than anything, the key she had given him a few months ago being turned over between his fingers as he waited and the anxiety beginning to rise with each second that passed without her appearing at the door. He exhaled before finally putting the key into the lock, certain that she was home despite the fact that his visit was unplanned and unannounced.

“Rosie?” he called out into the hallway. “Are you there?”

The silence was unsettling and completely uncharacteristic, made worse by the fact that her car was parked outside in its usual spot and the fact that he could’ve sworn she’d mentioned during their phone call the night before that she was planning on having a day at home to do laundry and catch up on all of those less-important chores she didn’t have the time to do during the school year.

‘Maybe she’s not home after all’, he thought after a couple of minutes without a reply, more to soothe his own anxiety more than anything else. ‘She’s obviously decided to go out for a walk somewhere. That must be it.’ He was just about to turn away and leave, suddenly aware of how intrusive his presence in her home was when she clearly wasn’t there, when he was certain he heard her voice call his name.

“Rosie?”

A sob drifted down the hallway, muted but no less full of raw pain and anguish that had his legs carrying him towards the sound in big, long strides until it brought him to her bedroom where the door stood slightly ajar. He slowly pushed it open with an exhale of a breath he hadn’t felt being held within his lungs and his heart lurched at the sight of her curled up on her bed sobbing into her pillow. To go to her was instinctive, his soul called out to hers in a desperate attempt to soothe whatever pain she was in and he found himself kneeling at the side of her bed with his long fingers smoothing back the titian strands that had fallen into her face and clung to her tears.

“Ro, what happened?”

She didn’t answer him, couldn’t answer him, in fact, and so he moved onto the bed, gathering her up into his arms and held her close to his chest while he rubbed circles on her back, murmuring softly into her hair to try and still her sobs. He felt the way she clung on to him like she was drowning and he was the life-preserver and pressed gentle kisses against her forehead until her crying was no more than quiet sniffles.

“Rosie, sweetheart, talk to me. What happened? Are you okay?”

“My grandma,” she choked out against the fabric of his t-shirt. “My grandma died.”

Chris closed his eyes and exhaled as the second wave of tears took her, holding her steadfast against him and saying nothing other than reassuring her that he was there for her. He wasn’t sure how long they stayed like that for, with her still impossibly close to him long after she’d finished crying herself hollow, until after the tears had dried and all that was left was the crippling deadweight of grief. It was Chris that spoke out into the new but deafening silence, his voice barely audible and a little rough from his own emotion that sat threateningly high in his throat.

“I’m so sorry, Rosie…”

The tiny exhale that passed Rosie’s lips had Chris’s heart breaking in two for her. Her reply small and full of defeat. “She’d had dementia for a while… Didn’t really know who any of us were,” she sniffled, dangerously close to losing it again. “Every time I went back home it was like she had to learn who I was all over again. I know that this was the kindest thing to happen but-”

Chris kissed her forehead as she choked back a sob, a wordless assurance that she didn’t need to say another word and a quiet understanding of the pain and emptiness that she was drowning in.

“When are you flying home?” He murmured softly.

“I’m going to try and get a flight home for tomorrow, Thursday at the latest.”

“It’s gonna be expensive to try and get something that short notice, Ro.”

“That’s why I have savings,” Rosie gave a small, almost robotic shrug as she wiped her face, the emotion quickly being forced back down into her stomach as she turned her focus towards the things that she could control to keep herself from spiralling into hysterics again. “In case of an emergency.”

“Let me pay for your flight home,” Chris offered. “Please, it’s the least I can do.”

“You know I can’t accept that, honey.”

Chris had been friends with Rosie long enough to be familiar with the fact she often used terms of endearment whenever she was talking to him, but even now, especially now, with all those feelings of complete clarity about her and about them and their relationship that sat in his chest, it still managed to knock him back a bit and make his heart swell even in a moment as awful as this one.

“Why not?”

He knew that this was a situation where he shouldn’t push too hard, that she would either pull away from him or direct all of that grief and emotion his way, like a cornered animal seconds away from deciding whether to fight or bolt. He knew he shouldn’t push this but he needed to do something, the overwhelming demand coming from his heart to make this right and fix this for her too much to ignore.

“Because I’m not your problem, Chris,” Rosie said, completely deflated. “Because this doesn’t need to be your problem.”

“I want to help, Ro, please. Please let me help. Please let me help fix this.” He was pleading with her and while a part of Rosie understood his desire to make this better for her, the swirling hurricane of emotions inside of her was reaching a fever pitch and, unable to make sense of it all, she found herself directing her howling gales towards the one thing she should have been holding on to.

“This isn’t something you can fix, Chris! You can’t fix this, you can’t make this right and you can’t bring her back!”

She stood with her fists balled tightly, the pain on her face as she sobbed and the realisation that she was right cutting through Chris like a knife. He had never been one to lose his nerve in a crisis, always the dependable one, always the stoic one. He was the guy people could rely on when things were shitty and it was something he prided himself on, but seeing her in front of him, shattered and in agony, knowing that he would have to sit this one out until she’d had a chance to process everything, left him feeling weak and powerless.

He watched her in stunned silence, unable to articulate feelings that he couldn’t make sense of. She was standing no more than three meters away from him but the distance between them felt like it stretched light-years. He couldn’t let her go to England with that hanging between the two of them, that ocean that would separate them felt like she would slip into another universe entirely and leave him with too much uncertainty about how things would be once she got back to New York. She didn’t give him a choice, though, her voice sounding abstract and unlike her own as she spoke into the void between them.

“I’m sorry, I just… I think I need to be alone right now. I need to wrap my head around this and it,” she paused for a moment, a shaky sigh filling the space. “It’s not fair on you for me to throw my emotions at you like this.”

“Rosie,” he spoke her name like a prayer, an oblique supplication that she heard but couldn’t accept.

“Please, Christopher. I know that you just want to help and, Christ, I appreciate you so much but I can’t accept your money, that’s just not my way, and I need to process this in my own way. I promise you though, I’ll let you know when I’m leaving for the UK and I swear that I’ll keep in touch.”

He hated it, all of it, but he loved her and he knew that she needed this, no matter how much it killed him to have to let her do things her own way. So that’s how he found himself nodding and respecting her request before folding her into his arms and pressing a kiss to her temple that he hoped would convey all of the affection and love that he held for her. For the first time in a long time, he allowed himself to cry as he drove back to his apartment and prayed to whoever was listening that she would be okay and that they would be okay, because if he lost that magic, if he lost her, he would have nothing.

It was two days later when Rosie reached out to say that she was at the airport waiting for her flight back to England, those forty-eight hours without talking to her the longest he’d ever endured. She assured him that while she was still not in a great place herself, that they were okay and that she appreciated everything he had offered to do for her. The messages were shorter than Chris was used to but it did help to make that feeling of distance between them feel a little less insurmountable than before.

June would usually have him heading to his coastal home in Connecticut or making the trip back to Massachusetts to be with his family, but he instead found himself lingering in New York, although with Rosie in England indefinitely he wasn’t entirely sure why he hadn’t committed to definite summer plans. If he really thought about it, though, really gave it more than a second’s thought and was completely honest with himself, he knew that he was waiting for her. He didn’t want to go home to Boxford and for her to come back to a city without him there. He wanted to be the one to welcome her back, pick her up from the airport and wrap her up in a hug that would have her never doubting how he truly felt about her. But really, when he spent time dissecting that desire to be there for her when she got back to New York, it actually stemmed from a desire to be with her, period. That was what had him picking up the phone and scrolling through his contacts, not even giving it a second thought when he hit that ‘call’ button but the guilt instantaneous when a sleepy voice answered.

“Hello?”

“Shit, I’m sorry. I completely forgot about the time difference,” Chris exhaled and rubbed the back of his neck.

“You never call without texting first. What’s on your mind?”

Chris sighed into the receiver, using the pause to gather his thoughts into some kind of semblance of coherence rather than dumping them all out in one go.

“I don’t even fucking know anymore, Mika.”

Mika’s tone shifted as the last remnants of sleep fell away, taking on the familiar quality that seemed to be reserved only for Chris. “Did something happen between you and Rosie?”

“Not really?” Chris offered, unsure of the answer to Mika’s question himself. “It’s just… It feels wrong, all of this.”

“Whoa, whoa, slow down. What feels wrong? I thought you loved her.”

“That’s just it, Mika,” Chris exhaled. “I do, fuck, I love her so much and the fact that she’s there and I’m here-”

Chris’s deep sigh through the receiver had Mika sitting up in bed, his next words spoken with such a surety as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.

“So go to her.”

“What?”

Mika laughed so softly that it was barely audible, shaking his head despite Chris not being able to see him.

“Y’know, for someone so smart you really are dumb sometimes.”

“Okay, first of all, ouch,” Chris grumbled. “Second of all, rude. Thirdly, what’re you getting at exactly?”

“What I’m getting at,” groused Mika, too tired from being woken up in the wee hours of the morning to have any great level of patience. “Is that you should book a flight and get your ass to the UK.”

“Just like that? Just go?”

“Yes, Jesus, Chris. I don’t know what else you want me to say, man, it’s three in the morning here and Irma will kick my ass if I wake her up.”

“Right, yeah,” Chris mumbled, the guilt at waking up his friend rearing its head again. “Sorry, I know I shoulda thought about the time difference.”

“The only reason you have to be sorry is if you don’t pack a bag as soon as we’re done talking and go get on the next fucking plane to England.”

Chris paused, long enough to gather his thoughts but not long enough for Mika to be concerned.

“I guess I’ll let you know when I land then.”

“Give her a hug from me, Chris,” Mika said with complete sincerity.

“‘Course I will, and Mika?”

“Yeah?”

“Thanks, man.”

Mika smiled into the darkness of his bedroom before answering softly, “anytime.”

Chris had never been to England before and he wasn’t afraid to admit that his geography knowledge of the country was somewhat lacking, so to say that this trip was going to be a baptism of fire would have been entirely accurate. He was a confident enough driver, if he were to say so himself, but he’d have been a big fat liar (to put it in Rosie’s words) if he didn’t admit that the prospect of driving the 160 miles from London Heathrow to Exeter, on the wrong side of the road he might add, filled him with a little bit of dread. But if there was a woman worth braving the complete absurdity of a roundabout for, it was Rosie.

He couldn’t help but feel like he was going behind her back a little bit, using the excuse of wanting to send flowers to her as a means to get her parents’ address when he’d spoken to her on the phone the previous morning. He hoped that she would be able to forgive his little deception and see the purity of his intentions behind it, although he did pick up some flowers on the way to her parents’ house from the small hotel he was staying at, wanting to fulfil that part of the bargain at least. His heart thundered in his chest as he turned into a quiet residential street that the GPS was signalling as being his destination. He pulled up outside the house, checking, double checking and triple checking that he had the right address before he shut off the car engine and got out, grabbing the large bouquet of flowers off the back seat. He can’t ever remember a time that his palms were this clammy or where his legs felt like they were about to give way from under him quite like they did at that moment as he walked up the short driveway to the front door.

He rubbed his free hand on the front of his jeans, taking a settling breath before he knocked on the door, unsure of what to expect when it opened. His eyebrows raised in surprise when an older looking gentleman answered, who looked equally surprised to see a slightly dishevelled looking, six foot three stranger on his doorstep.

“Good afternoon, sir,” Chris spoke, thankful that he was at least able to find his strong voice despite the distraction of his heart hammering in his chest.

“Alright there, mate?” the man greeted, with an accent that Chris noted to be far stronger than Rosie’s. “You lost or summat?”

“I hope not,” Chris laughed more out of nerves than anything else. “I’m actually here to see Roseanna.”

He hadn’t meant to sound so unsure of himself, his statement coming out as more of a question and nothing at all like his normal confident self. The older man didn’t seem to pay too much notice to it though, instead breaking into a smile that Chris recognised as being near enough identical to Rosie’s and gestured for him to come inside the house.

“She’s just got back from walkin’ the dog, I’ll get ‘er for you.”

Chris watched as the man disappeared the short way down the hallway and called Rosie’s name into the kitchen, unable to stop the grin from forming on his face as he heard her voice reply to the man he had assumed to be her father.

“Someone’s ‘ere to see you, love, what? No, I don’t know who he is… maybe one of your university mates,” he turned back to give Chris a friendly nod before adding, “she’ll be right with you.”

Sure enough, no sooner were the words out of his mouth did Rosie appear in the doorway at the end of the hall, all red cheeks and light freckles from the sunshine. She stopped dead in her tracks, her face switching from total surprise at the sight in front of her to overwhelming joy before finally settling on complete disbelief at the realisation that Chris was standing right in front of her in the home she grew up in. Her legs instinctively carried her into his waiting arms, tears starting to fall before she could even register what was happening. Chris was certain that he would never forget the way she held onto him in that moment, with her face buried into his chest and her arms tight around his back.

“What are you doing here?” She finally managed, bringing her teary eyes up to meet Chris’s. “How? When?”

His only response was to kiss her forehead sweetly, holding her against his body like she was about to float away.

“I wanted to be here for you. I know you have your family but, God, it just didn’t feel right to be back in New York.” He stepped back from her a fraction so that he could offer the blooms he was still holding to her. “And I believe I promised you some flowers.”

“I thought you were sorting them with a local florist not travelling across the Atlantic to hand deliver them,” she laughed through her tears, a hand coming up to whack his chest lightly. “You are completely ridiculous, Christopher James Kreider.”

“Anything to see you smile, Ro.”

He kissed her hair before taking her outstretched hand and followed her as she led him into the kitchen to meet her family for the first time.

The next few days had Chris feeling a little bit like a spare part. Rosie and her family were busy with the last minute preparations for the funeral and Chris wished that he could do more to help out but, just like always, Rosie managed to allay his worries and settle his heart by assuring him that his presence alone was enough. They’d spent their free time taking in the sights of South Devon, Rosie relishing the opportunity to show him around the place she grew up and all of her favourite spots. He particularly enjoyed the day they spent down in a place called Torquay, the beauty of the ocean and the way the sun kissed her hair had him feeling bold enough to reach for her hand as they walked along the sea-front while enjoying an ice cream each.

On the day of the funeral, Chris made himself completely indispensable to Rosie and her family, nothing being too much trouble. He held Rosie tightly throughout the ceremony, never once letting her go and whispered words of comfort to her as she said her final goodbyes to the grandmother she loved so much before they exited the church. He stayed by her side throughout the wake at her request. The emotional rawness of the day had her feeling more vulnerable than she would have liked but there was something about the way Chris’s hand rested above her knee as they sat around the table that had her feeling more grounded and centred than she knew she would’ve been had he not been there. It was easy for her to go back to Chris’s hotel with him, the emotions of the day still weighed heavy on her and she couldn’t bear the thought of sleeping alone.

The gravity of those feelings wasn’t lost on Rosie and she knew that sooner or later she’d have to really take a step back and take a good look at her relationship with Chris and what it all meant. It was easier to be dishonest with herself and keep up the pretence that they were just friends because if she let herself think about them being anything else for too long she would feel her chest tighten and hear her heart start to whoosh in her ears. Was it childish? Absolutely, but she’d be damned if she let herself get hurt by a man again. Her self-preservation mechanism had been working like a charm so far and if it wasn’t broken then why fix it? It wasn’t completely infallible though and after two bottles of Chianti and the way the lamplight accentuated the softness in his eyes, Rosie found herself slipping.

“What’s on your mind?” He whispered, fingers finding her chin to bring her thousand yard stare away from the wall and back to his searching gaze.

“Everything,” she sighed softly. “It’s loud in my head tonight.”

“Is there one thing in particular that you can pick out?”

He took the wine glass that she was cradling and set it down on the table, taking her hands in his and rubbing his thumbs gently across her knuckles.

“Not really, today has just been a lot.”

Chris nodded in understanding, not wanting to pry further and cognizant of the emotional strenuity of the day. Instead he pulled her closer, nestling her into his side and pressing a gentle kiss to her hair.

“I still can’t believe you came all this way for me,” she murmured.

“Why darling,” Chris started, Rosie immediately recognising the quote as being Hemingway. “I don’t live at all when I’m not with you.”

She tilted her head up towards him, her lips impossibly close to his as her fingers danced along the stubble at his jaw and swallowed down the nerves that had lodged in her throat. She closed her eyes, so close to giving in to her heart and letting it win, for better or worse. Chris had been dreaming of this moment though, longing for it with every close call and missed opportunity. This is how it should’ve been at Christmas and all of the team events he’d the delight of having her on his arm, but instead he let himself chicken out, the fear of spooking her and losing her too much to allow himself to take the risk. But now, he had Rosie right there. She was impossibly close and all around him and he knew that if he didn’t take that leap and place his lips on hers, he might never get that chance again and that is what had him brushing his lips lightly across hers, his fingers finding a home amongst the loose copper curls that were glowing like hot coals in the low light of the room.

Instinct took over and had Rosie arching her body into him, her hands reaching up into his hair to muss the short curls. Even with her body pressed against his, Chris needed her closer, his big arms looping around her and pulling her into his lap. He kissed her desperately, a kiss to make up for all the kisses they should have already shared and all the words that should have been spoken. It should have terrified him, how easy it was to be with her like this and how easy the push and pull of it was, neither taking more than they were giving in the moment. This was what Boris Pasternak meant when he said ‘you and I, it’s as though we have been taught to kiss in heaven and sent to Earth together to see if we know what we were taught., Chris was sure of it because nothing could compare to how Rosie’s lips felt against his and the feeling of her hands on his skin. Her kiss was heaven and her eyes felt like home and Chris knew in that moment that he needed all of her.

As he carried her to bed, Rosie thought about how right being in his arms felt. It was a strong sense of belonging that she couldn’t ever remember having with anyone else - ‘whatever our souls are made of, his and mine are the same’, she thought. He spoke her name against her ear like a prayer, all the love and want for her conveyed in one simple word while he removed her dress with tender hands. Her body was laid on display for him like a canvas, his mouth was the paintbrush and Chris knew that he wanted to spend the rest of his life painting a masterpiece onto her skin with his lips.

They moved together between the sheets as sure as the gentle waves that lap against the shore, her hands never feeling more at home than they did running up his back and over his shoulders before settling against the broad plains of his chest. Her every breath and every moan sounded like an aria to his ears and his name tumbling from her lips with every thrust of his hips was met with a moan of hers. He thought she could never look as good as she did underneath him, blooming like a rose, until he found himself on his back with her above him, her hair falling around them both like a curtain and her mouth panting against his as she rolled her hips. His hands made a home at the dip of her waist, guiding her in her movements but never taking the reins from her, giving her the control they both knew she needed in the moment.

It was intuitive, really, the way she was rocking her hips into his and the steady build of pressure in her stomach had her chanting Chris’s name like an incantation. He saw on her face the exact moment that the coil snapped, moaning as she fluttered and tightened around him and brought his hips up to meet hers as she rode the wave of her orgasm.

“I’m with you,” he murmured against her neck.

“Please, Chris. I need you.”

“I’ve got you, Ro. I’ve got you.”

She turned her face to meet his lips in a deep kiss, Chris moaning into her mouth as he spilled inside of her with stuttering hips. Rosie let out a contented sigh as she kissed him through his release, her chest pressed against his and her fingers playing with whatever ends of his hair she could reach. They stayed that way long after he’d gone soft inside of her, content to just bask in the afterglow of the moment as Chris’s fingers traced up and down her back. Rosie knew that she needed to have a frank discussion with Chris about her feelings but now didn’t seem like the right time for that. The sudden realisation that things would never be the same and that there was no going back to the way things were after this embedded itself like a seed, but Rosie let herself surrender to the feeling of safety and security Chris’s arms offered her before it could take root. She nestled herself against his side, her head resting on his chest with her eyes closed, and let his heartbeat be the gentle lullaby to lead her into the beautiful twilight.

Chris awoke to the feeling of Rosie snug and secure within his arms, a peaceful look resting on her features that gave her an angelic quality. He let his mind wander to the night before and allowed the love he felt for her run wild through his veins and fill every corner of his mind, body and soul. For so long it had just been him and hockey, never subscribing to the idea that a person needed a relationship to be complete. But as he looked down and saw his entire world resting within his arms, he realised that he had been right all along. It wasn’t a relationship that made a person complete. It was love. That all-consuming wildfire that burns everything else away until there is nothing left but a new-beginning. He remembered the quote from Corelli that Rosie loved so much and felt everything fall into place. He felt like he’d waited a million years for this feeling and now that he felt it consume him like wildfire, he knew that he would have waited a million more, just as long as he had the privilege of being hers. It was surrendering all that he had ever been for everything that she was, for every kiss and every touch. Her love was his turning page and loving her was the greatest and best thing that he would ever do in his life, he was sure of it.

He pressed a tender kiss to her forehead, eyes crinkling with his smile as she stirred.

“Mornin’, sweetheart,” he whispered against her hair. “You sleep okay?”

“Yeah,” she croaked, voice still thick with sleep. “What time is it?”

Chris looked over her shoulder at the clock on the nightstand. “Just gone eight-thirty.”

“Oh, okay.”

She furrowed her brows again, suddenly feeling Chris everywhere as pieces of the night before flooded her consciousness as she fully emerged from sleep and into the waking world. She was naked, she registered, and so was he and she was blindsided by an abrupt awareness that a definite line had been crossed that they could never go back from. It was that recognition of their friendship never being the same again that had her rolling away from Chris without warning. She was out of bed before he could even register what was happening, gathering up her clothes and dressing quickly without as much as a word.

“Rosie?” Chris was sitting up now, a slight waver to his voice as he spoke her name. “What are you doing?”

“I have to go,” she mumbled, an almost robotic edge to her tone that had Chris jumping out of bed and throwing on a pair of sweatpants, already catching up to her racing thoughts without her needing to say another word. He rushed to the door that she was making a beeline for, stepping in front of it and reaching desperately for her hands.

“Don’t do this, Ro… Please, don’t run from this.”

“Chris,” she warned, the emotion sitting dangerously high in her throat and her eyes glossing over with tears.

“What’re you so afraid of? I know you feel it too, Rosie. I know you do.”

“Chris, please,” she tried to brush past him but Chris wouldn’t let this moment slip through his fingers, not this time.

“No, we’re not doin’ this anymore. We’re not gonna spend the rest of our lives pretending that we’re just friends because we’re not, Rosie. I don’t think we have been for a long time- look at me, Ro, please.”

Chris saw the flicker of hesitation cross her face but the desperation in his voice was too much for her to ignore. She brought her eyes up to meet his and saw a fire burning within them that she had never seen before.

“I love you, Rosie. You have to know that by now.”

She shook her head vehemently, the tears she had managed so far to keep at bay finally slipping out and onto her cheeks.

“Don’t,” she whimpered. “Don’t say shit you don’t mean.”

“Who says I don’t mean it?” He brought his hands to cup her face to keep her eyes on him. “You? Do you think I’d travel across an ocean to be here with you now if I didn’t love you?”

Rosie answered only with a sniffle, the feeling of his touch along her skin anchoring her in a moment where she felt like she was drowning in a sea of every repressed emotion and feeling from the last eighteen months.

“But what if this doesn’t work? What if we’re better as friends?”

“I know you don’t believe that,” he wiped away the tears on her cheeks with the pads of his thumbs. “I know that you’ve been hurt before and I know that you’re scared. But you can’t keep holding on to the past, Ro, because if you do you’ll miss out on what’s right in front of you.”

“It’s not the loving you part that’s hard Chris,” she whispered. “It’s admitting to myself that it happened at all that is. I’ve had all these defences that have worked to keep me from getting hurt for so long but it was like you didn’t even see them at all, like they were meant for others while you had your very own door. I’ve spent so long asking myself why that is and come up with nothing. Do you know how terrifying that is?”

He kissed her forehead softly in response before pulling back to look into her eyes, making sure that she saw him, felt him, heard him. “In vain I have struggled. It will not do. My feelings will not be repressed. You must allow me to tell you how ardently I admire and love you.”

The corners of Rosie’s mouth quirked up into a smile despite her tears and her doubts, her favourite passage from Pride and Prejudice never sounding as good as it did coming from Chris’s mouth and extinguishing every fear she was holding within her heart. She closed her eyes and nodded, her lips connecting with his in a kiss that could’ve stopped the world from turning. She gave herself to him completely and surrendered to the overwhelming love that burned within her for him. There were no words that could convey to Chris just how much he meant to her but she hoped that ones from Rupi Kaur would do it justice:

“You might not have been my first love, but you were the love that made all the other loves irrelevant.”

Chris smiled against her mouth and kissed away every fear and worry until there was nothing left but him and her and the love they had for each other.

Life continued much as it had before, a testament really to the relationship that Chris and Rosie already shared and the official label did nothing more than earn them a chorus of “it’s about time” from their friends and had Mika looking incredibly smug for the next few months. The passage of time only served to make their relationship stronger, both able to give themselves completely without the uncertainty of their feelings looming over them or holding them back. Rosie often found herself being struck by the easiness of their relationship and she never once found herself questioning Chris’s commitment to her and what they had. When he asked her how she would feel about ending the lease on her Brooklyn apartment and moving into his place in Manhattan she didn’t have to give it a second thought. Everything about it felt natural and they were both ready to take that next defining step in their relationship. Once Rosie’s belongings and houseplants were moved in, Chris couldn’t help but feel as if they had always been there, like his apartment was finally complete and that it was the home he had always imagined it would eventually be.

Of course, there were bumps in the road, both of them had been on their own for so long that they were set in their ways at first, but their disagreements never lasted long, their shared knack for communication often diffusing the situation before it had chance to grow arms and legs. The adjustment was harder for Chris in some ways, especially when things on the ice weren’t going so well and he would retreat into himself or misdirect his frustrations towards Rosie with a sharper tone than was necessary, but she stood firm, never one to suffer fools and for that Chris was eternally grateful. They complimented each other in ways they couldn’t even have imagined, Chris able to pull Rosie out of her own head when the world weighed heavy on her shoulders and Rosie never afraid to put Chris in his place when he needed it. As the months rolled into years and their love went from strength to strength, Chris knew for certain that she was it for him and there was nothing he wanted more than to start and end the day with Rosie for all of the days to come.

Rosie looked at Chris with confusion as their Uber pulled up outside Westsider Books one early September evening. There was a faint glow of lights inside but it didn’t look as if the shop was open and Rosie couldn’t understand why Chris had brought her here when she was sure they closed at five.

“I didn’t realise this place opened late,” she said as Chris opened her car door and offered his hand to help her out of the car.

“I think it’s just a one-time thing,” he replied as he thanked the driver and closed the door. He placed a hand on the small of Rosie’s back and guided her towards the shop entrance, pushing the door open and gesturing for Rosie to go in ahead of him. Rosie wasn’t exactly sure what she was expecting to find inside, but hundreds of glittering fairy lights, candles and more flowers than she could count wasn��t even on the list.

“Chris?” she breathed, turning to look at him.

“If you were to list your top three favourite books of all time off the top of your head,” he started, wrapping his arms around her waist. “What would they be?”

“Christopher…”

“Come on, Ro,” he grinned, the corners of his eyes crinkling in the way she loved so much. “Just... play along… Please, for me?”

“Alright, well…” she conceded with a gentle sigh. “Off the top of my head I would probably say Captain Corelli’s Mandolin, For Whom the Bell Tolls and Pride and Prejudice.”

Chris’s smile somehow managed to double in size, the soft glow of the string lights and candles had his eyes sparkling like smoky quartz, the lush green flecks that usually lived among the dark bark of his irises hidden by the low light. He knew she would say that, of course, knowing her with an intimacy that even after all their years of friendship and the years of loving her still managed to knock him back a bit. He took her hand then, leading her along the aisle before stopping in front of a shelf with a dozen hand-tied sunflowers. He reached out and took a book from the shelf.

“Captain Corelli’s Mandolin by Louis de Bernières,” he murmured, passing the book to Rosie with an easy grin. “Go on, open it.”

He watched as she opened the cover of the book, her face softening at the sight of a delicate pendant necklace nestled between the pages. A small silver fern leaf hung at the end of the thin chain, a nod to the many houseplants she had brought into his home when she moved in that he had playfully grumbled about but in all actuality loved.

“Chris, it’s beautiful.”

He gently took the necklace from her hands and spun Rosie around, draping the chain across her chest and fastening it behind her neck with sure fingers before turning her back to face him, his eyes falling to the pendant that glimmered in the low light of the room.

“It looks gorgeous on you,” he smiled, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear. “Right, what was the next book? For Whom the Bell Tolls, right?”

“Chris, what is all this?” Rosie asked softly, taking Chris’s outstretched hand and following him down the next aisle to another shelf. He ignored her question, simply picking up the book and handing it to her.

“I love that you love Hemingway almost as much as I do,” he whispered softly. “Almost. You have no idea how much it means to me that I get to share that enjoyment with you and I want us to keep making memories together and sharing enjoyment of the things we love.” He watched her expectantly, waiting for her to open the book to reveal the piece of paper he’d folded in there. He took the book from her hands so that she could open it.

Rosie’s eyes widened as she read what she realised to be an itinerary for a trip to Europe next summer.

“I’ve only been to a couple of places in Europe,” Chris started. “And I figured who better to show me around than the girl who’s visited near enough every country on that continent?”

Rosie was unable to contain her sniffles by this point, overwhelmed at the thought and preparation that Chris had put in, not only in the trip to Europe, but this whole evening as well. She shook her head gently as she wrapped her arms around him and buried her face into his chest.

“This is too much, Chris, you shouldn’t have.”

He pulled back from her just far enough to get her eyes on his, his face set with an expression that held all the love in the world.

“Ah, ah, there’s still one more book, which if I’m not mistaken is your all-time favourite and you, Roseanna Williams, are worth all the good things in this world.”

Her slung his arm over her shoulders and pulled her into his side as they walked back towards the front of the shop, Rosie gently wiping the tears away from her eyes. Pride and Prejudice sat pride of place in the middle of a small table, the book surrounded by petals. Chris gave her an encouraging look and stepped back as she picked it up, taking a small envelope from out of the book before setting it back down again. Her eyes found her name on the front of the envelope in Chris’s unmistakable handwriting before turning it over in her hands and opening it, pulling out what appeared to be a letter. She took a steadying breath as she began to read.

My dearest Rosie,

There will never be the words to adequately express just how much you mean to me or how grateful I am to have found you. You are everything that I didn’t even know I was searching for, that I didn’t even know I needed.

I never believed in fate, every happy accident is just that. A happy accident. Coincidence. Right place, right time. But you, you have opened my eyes to the idea of pure magic because how can a love like ours be founded on pure coincidence alone? How can a soul yearn for someone they had never met? I know now that the reason I found myself in this very book store on that day you came into my life was because your soul was calling me here.

In you I have everything I’ll ever need. No matter where my career takes me, no matter what lies ahead, as long as I have you I have everything. I love you more than anything else in this world, you have given me a higher purpose and I will spend the rest of my life making you happy if you’ll let me.

All my love, Always

Chris

We would be together and have our books and at night be warm in bed together with the windows open and the stars bright - E. Hemingway.

Rosie closed her eyes and let her tears fall onto her cheeks as she clutched the letter to her chest.

“Chris…”

“I’m gonna need you to open your eyes, babe,” Chris chuckled softly.

Rosie smiled as she allowed her eyes to drift open, her hand immediately coming up to her mouth as she stifled an unexpected sob at the sight of Chris down on one knee in front of her, a ring box open in his hand that looked as if it contained an entire galaxy of glittering stars.

“Ro, I can’t even remember what my life was like without you in it, I didn’t even know that I was in the dark. Until I saw your smile. It was only then that I realised and now I never want to live a single day without the warmth and light of your love. It’s us, babe. It’s always been us and it’s always been you, since the day we met. I didn’t even realise I was waiting for you and now that I have you, everything is as it should be. I love you, Rosie. I’ve always loved you and I would be the happiest and luckiest man on Earth with you as my wife. Marry me, babe?”

Rosie sank slowly to her knees in front of Chris, her hands reaching up and cupping his face as her tears fell. In front of her was a man who had given her everything, who had helped her to let go of the past and right now, he was offering her a future brighter and more wonderful than anything she could’ve ever imagined and never dared to dream she would have.

“Oh god, please tell me those are happy tears.”

She cut him off with a kiss, a kiss that gave Chris his answer without her even needing to say it. She kissed him with everything she had, kissed him with all of the love that coursed through her veins, kissed him until her lungs were gasping for air and she finally had to pull away, resting her forehead against his with her hands stroking along his jaw.

“Yes,” Rosie whispered. “A million times, yes.”

As Chris slid the ring onto Rosie’s finger, he took the opportunity to look into those eyes of hers that he’d grown to love so much. It was there that he saw their future, all of their hopes and dreams and the promise of all the joy in their lives that was to come and as her arms wrapped tightly around him, Chris felt their souls sigh as they folded into one another. Chris couldn’t tell what the future had in store for them both, but no matter where their path together would lead them, it was in her embrace that he found solace and it was in her heart that he found a home.

#chris kreider #chris kreider fic #nhl fic #nhl fiction #nhl fanfiction #chris kreider x ofc #nhl writing #hockey fic #hockey fanfiction #hockey fiction #chris & rosie #turning page universe #my writing

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hearts-hunger · 3 years

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ciryc ca'tra (cold night sky): chapter three || din djarin x reader

Read on AO3 | Masterlist

chapter one | chapter two

Series Summary: When you crash-land on a frozen planet on your way to Trask, you and Din work together to keep the Crest afloat and keep your little family safe under the cold night sky. || Part One of Jate’kara (Lucky Stars)

Chapter Summary: You panic when the baby goes missing, only to find him trying to help his daddy fix the ship. You panic when the frog lady goes missing, only to find her trying to warm her eggs. You panic when there’s suddenly spiders all over the place. You’re really not having a good time on this frozen planet.

Pairings: Din Djarin x Wife!Reader��

Genre: Hurt/comfort, fluff, angst | Word Count: 3.3k

Warnings: Maybe old fashioned ideas about marriage? Idk, I’m an old-fashioned kind of girl. Let me know if there’s anything you need me to tag!

A/N: I’ve been writing this fic nonstop for the past few days and it’s the most fun I’ve had in a long time. I’m thoroughly enjoying it, and I hope you are too! Also, I think it’s actually very sexy of me to post each chapter less than 24 hours apart. Enjoy! ♡

You couldn’t get back to sleep.

You tried - your whole body ached with exhaustion, and you knew you should rest - but you were too rattled by the scare with the droid and too worried about Din out in the cold. You tried to find something more productive to do than fret, but the baby had slept through everything, and there was very little to do when you weren’t chasing him around the ship. You’d already organized and cleaned everything you could; there really was nothing to do but wait.

For the sake of your sanity - and Din’s, as you knew an anxious wife was absolutely the last thing he needed right now - you decided on a shower. The refresher was outfitted with a regular shower as well as a sonic; you’d be using the latter, considering the fact that there was no heat on the Crest at the moment. Neatly folding Din’s spare cloak and putting the rest of your clothes in the laundry basket in the refresher, you stepped into the sonic and let the thing work its magic.

The state of the refresher when you’d first come aboard the Crest was... abysmal, to put it honestly. It told you all you needed to know about the Mandalorian bounty hunter you’d met when he arrived in your small town deep in the hills of Naboo: he was used to being alone, and very unfamiliar with a woman’s company. When you started working for him and living on the ship - he’d needed your help finding a man who used to live in your town - you’d asked if there was any way to at least have a door on the blasted thing. He readily complied, and with the help of a few of the handyman types in your community, the Crest’s refresher was sorted out in no time, and more elaborately than you’d hoped for.

The sonic was made to be used with or without water, and warm lights adorned the new mirror above the sink. Best of all, there was a sliding door - much like the one on the bunk, which had been expanded slightly in all the renovation. Until you were married - only a short while after you came to work for him, as you’d both fallen head over heels in a matter of weeks - Din had slept on the reclining passenger seat in the cockpit. You’d always considered that likely miserable sleeping arrangement and the new refresher his very first love-gifts to you, and you knew you would always cherish his selflessness and generosity.

Clean and a little less wired after the sonic, you quickly put on new clothes and wrapped yourself back in Din’s cloak. You went to check on the baby, sure he was still sleeping; to your dismay and instant panic, your little foundling was nowhere to be found among the blankets you’d nestled him in earlier.

“Ad’ika!” you called, searching through the ship like Din had earlier. Your little one was an escape artist, that much you’d known from the very beginning. Usually it was of little consequence - there were only so many places he could go on the ship, and you or Din found him contentedly playing with his silver ball or some other toy he’d fashioned. But here, with the temperature dropping and the wreckage everywhere and only the tarp between the ship and the icy world outside - you had to find him.

Your panic grew to a fever pitch as you searched the ship high and low, calling for him with an increasingly desperate tone. Finally, positive he wasn’t anywhere on the Crest, you ventured outside; snowdrifts piled across the rocky ground, and the air was bitterly cold. Heedless of your own safety, you searched around the wreckage of the ship, calling for him as you felt the sting of tears.

“Cyar’ika!”

You heard Din’s voice calling you from the other side of the ship, and you made your way to him as quickly as you could. Surely Din would know where your baby was, and if he didn’t, he would know where to look. As you rounded the corner, you almost couldn’t make him out as tears blurred your vision. You tried to collect yourself before you told him - what, that you’d lost your son? That you’d had one job and couldn’t even keep your toddler safe?

Your distress must have shown on your face, because Din reached a consoling hand out to you and met you halfway as you walked through the snow towards him. You prepared to tell him, to beg for his forgiveness and help -

Then, wrapped in the corner of Din’s cloak and nestled snugly in the crook of his arm, your baby peeked out at you and gave a babble of greeting.

“Oh, Maker,” you gasped, the words coming out like a sob. You reached out for him and Din gave him to you; you held him tight as tears streamed down your face.

“Don’t ever do that to me again,” you said, shoulders shaking as you tried to get a hold of yourself. You felt Din’s hand on your back, drawing you close against him; you let him hold you, the baby pressed safely between you.

“It’s ok, cyare,” Din soothed, running his hand up and down your back.

You gave a hitching breath. “It’s not ok, Din,” you insisted. “I thought he was - ”

You couldn’t make yourself say it, and felt a flash of anger at your husband that you knew was misdirected, but you didn’t know what to do with the guilt and fear that still ran through you.

“You knew where he was this whole time?” you snapped, looking up at his visor. Your tears were cold on your cheeks, and you angrily brushed them away. “How long was he out here with you, while I was worried sick looking for him?”

Din held up a hand in a conciliatory gesture. “No, I didn’t know he was out here,” he said, determinedly calm and patient. “I only just found him, and I’d just finished getting onto him when I heard you calling for him. I was coming to take him to you, cyare.”

You knew he was telling you the truth - he’d never do something like that to you. You didn’t know what to say, ashamed that you’d accused him of letting you worry needlessly when he’d actually been doing all he could to prevent that.

“S-sorry,” you managed brokenly. You could see your vague reflection in the planes of his helmet, tearful and small and overrun with emotion.

He sighed and drew you close to him again. “I know,” he said gently. “You don’t have to apologize. I know that scared you.”

You shook your head as you leaned against his chest. “He was asleep,” you tried to explain. “I closed the door on the bunk and I just went to take a shower - I didn’t mean to - ”

“It’s not your fault,” he said, giving your shoulder a comforting squeeze. “He knew better than to wander off like that, especially outside.”

Din looked down at the small bundle in your arms, wrapped now in the cloak you wore.

“It was very naughty to make your mama worry like that,” Din said firmly, raising a finger for emphasis. “Don’t do that again.”

The baby gave a babble that sounded somewhat affirmative and apologetic, looking up at you with those big eyes for good measure. You were so relieved that he was alright that you couldn’t stay upset with him; you covered his ears with your cloak and held him close.

“You ought to get back inside, cyar’ika,” Din said. “Try and get warmed up.”

You looked up at him, intending to say that he should come in as well, and felt a wave of guilt that you’d only just realized how his beskar was completely frosted over. The usually shiny metal was dull and white, and you knew he had to be freezing.

“Oh, Din,” you said, reached a hand up to touch the icy side of his helmet. He took your hand in a gentle grip before you could, saving you from touching the cold metal and warming your fingers with his touch.

“Please come inside,” you said, already trying to think of ways to warm him up without any heat on the ship. “You must be freezing.”

“I’m alright,” he soothed, though you knew he was probably more uncomfortable than he let on. “I need to keep working on the repairs. You and the baby shouldn’t be out in this.”

“Neither should you,” you said. “You’re - I mean, you’re covered in frost.”

He nodded. “Beskar clouds pretty quickly in the cold. It’s nothing to worry about.”

You sighed, realizing you weren’t going to get anywhere with him, but you weren’t annoyed. Since the frog lady had urged him to begin repairs sooner, he’d been single-mindedly working on the major parts of the ship that were damaged; he was going to work until he couldn’t feel his fingers any more, and then probably a little bit longer before he came inside. You admired his determination and hard work as much as you worried for him, and you wouldn't have had him any other way.

You were hesitant to leave him, but knew you should get the baby inside.

“At least kiss me before I go,” you said, knowing it was a lot to ask. “That way I can see for myself if you’re turning into an ice block under that helmet.”

He chuckled and lifted the bottom of his helmet just enough to oblige you, giving you a gentle, chaste kiss.

“There,” he said, once his helmet had been replaced. “Warm enough for you?”

You hummed in agreement. “For now.” You lightly tapped your boot against his. “Don’t stay out too long, my love.”

He shook his head. “Ne baatir, cyare.” He’d said that to you enough times over the years that you didn’t have to ask what it meant: don’t worry, beloved.

You gave him one last smile before heading back around the ship, bundling the baby close against the temperature that had started to drop steadily as the sun went down. Minding your steps lest you stumble over a snow-covered rock or bit of debris, you noticed something odd; it looked like there were another set of footprints in the snow, bigger than either yours or Din’s. You stopped and followed them with your gaze, trying not to let fear get the better of you; they led away from the ship towards the jagged side of the cavern, around a corner that seemed to lead into a different cave.

The baby started to babble excitedly, his little clawed hand pointing in the direction of the cave. Goodness, had he followed something out here? Come to think of it, where was your passenger?

You looked back over your shoulder and saw your husband diligently working on a smoking part near the back of the ship.

“Din!” you called. You tried to make your voice carry without any indication of panic, but he looked up and zeroed in on you all the same.

He cocked his head in question, as you weren’t in any obvious danger, and you waved him over. He set his tools aside and started towards you, and you hoped you hadn’t annoyed him by interrupting his work.

“What is it?” he asked, not unkindly, and you knew he hadn’t minded coming over. You gestured to the footprints.

“Do you think it’s the frog lady?” you asked.

He studied the path of the footprints, most likely through his HUD, and sighed.

“She’s not in the ship?” he asked.

“No,” you answered. Recalling your frantic search for the baby, you realized that you hadn’t seen her anywhere. “Why would she leave?”

He shook his head. “I don’t know, but I need to go find her. There’s no telling what’s in those caves.”

You suppressed a shudder at the thought. “Should we go with you?”

He considered that, looking over you and the baby for a moment. “I guess. I don’t feel comfortable leaving you here alone, but - do you think you’ll be warm enough?”

You drew his cloak closer around you and your baby. “I think so. I’d feel better going with you.”

He put a hand on your back as you followed the path of the footprints, his touch steadying and safe. “Just stick close to me, cyare. Don’t wander.”

“Din,” you said, affectionate and a little exasperated. You’d been married to a bounty hunter long enough to know that right by his side was the safest place to be. “When have you ever known me to wander?”

He chuckled. “I know, I know. You’re very good about it.” He looked around as you walked through the mouth of the cave, and you knew he was making himself aware of every possible danger.

“I don’t have any idea what to look out for,” he said honestly. You could tell how much he hated not knowing what you were up against, not being as prepared to protect you as he would have liked.

You had never made a habit of questioning his authority - he knew much better than you how to keep you safe, and if he gave you an order in a dangerous situation, you complied. It was the least you could do, considering how often he was called on to protect his wife and child. With your marriage vows, Din had sworn to kar'taylir bal cabuor, to hold you in his heart and to protect you; you had vowed your love and trust in return.

You reached out to put a hand on his arm. “I trust you, Din,” you said simply.

He nodded. “I know, cyare. Thank you.”

You stayed close to your husband's side as the cave darkened and threaded through the columns of ice that loomed on every side; it was eerily quiet except for the sound of your footsteps through the snow. Din scanned the area constantly through his HUD; you trusted him to lead you, as you couldn’t make out the footprints in the dim light. He paused for a moment at a fork in the path.

“There’s a heat signature through there,” he said, nodding to the leftmost path. You held onto the edge of his cloak, hoping to settle both of you a little, and followed as he cautiously made his way down the path.

After a bit of a tricky slope that Din offered his hand to help you over, the path opened up into a cavern that was noticeably warmer than the rest of the cave had been. Steam rose from a wide, shallow pool in the middle of the space that you guessed came from a hot spring. The frog lady was swimming in the pool, her eggs spread out around her like little jewels on the water’s surface.

“There you are,” Din said, his voice echoing around the cavern as he walked over to her. He sounded understandably frustrated; you watched as he got a sense of his surroundings and assessed any threats, undoubtedly coming to the conclusion more quickly than you had that it was too big of a space with too many shadowed corners for him to be at any sort of defensive advantage if the need arose.

“You can’t leave the ship,” he told her, rounding the pool to the side where the egg chamber sat full of liquid but without any of the eggs. “It’s not safe out here.”

You followed and knelt with him beside the pool, putting the baby between you.

“Let’s gather these up,” Din said, gesturing to the eggs bobbing in the warm water. The frog lady croaked in dismay as she cradled a few.

“I know it’s warm,” Din said, a gentle sympathy coloring his voice. He scooped up a handful of the eggs, paying no mind to wetting his gloves, and put them back in the chamber. “But night’s coming fast, and I can’t protect you out here.”

You helped take the eggs out of the water, careful of their seemingly thin protective skin; the water was delightfully warm, and you couldn’t help a fleeting wish to be swimming in it too. You handed the eggs to Din to put back into the chamber.

In your periphery, you saw your baby’s little hand inching towards an egg floating close to the edge of the pool; you and Din both noticed it at the same time, and both of you held an admonishing finger between your son and the tempting egg.

“No,” you said at the same time, in the tone you reserved for scolding. The baby looked from you to Din with a pleading expression, but Din wasn’t fazed.

“No,” he repeated firmly. He went back to gathering the eggs as the baby gave a squeak of protest, and you made a mental note to find your son something to eat when you got back to the ship.

The eggs were more slippery than you’d expected, and rounding them up took all three of you working together. You knew Din was trying to be careful and quick at the same time; being away from the ship made him wary, and there were a lot of you to protect in such a large space. You helped as best you could, holding out handfuls of eggs for him to put back into the chamber and quickly going back to gather more.

From behind you, you heard the distinctive, fearful cry of your baby; you whirled around, looking everywhere for him, and found him running over from between rows of little white eggs that seemed to be twisting in a sickly, grotesque sort of way.

You felt an icy wash of uncanny terror and needlessly called your husband’s name, abandoning the pool to rush over to your son and pick him up. You saw with a sudden wave of nauseated horror that things were coming from the eggs, chittering things with long, spindly legs. You stumbled backwards and would have lost your footing if Din hadn’t caught you, immediately pulling you back towards the pool.

You couldn't have spurred yourself to move, so horrifically entranced were you by the loathsome creatures as they swarmed over the far side of the cavern floor, but you wondered why your husband didn’t seem any more inclined to action. You felt a little faint.

“Din,” you said uncertainly. You vaguely wondered how often you called your husband’s name like a plea for help, and if it ever wore on him.

“Right here,” he said, and it sounded so unlike him, so dreamy and faint, that it snapped you back to awareness like a slap in the face.

“Din,” you said again, more firmly. You turned and looked at him; he was watching the spider-like creatures start to climb the walls, his posture slack. That alone scared you badly enough to smack a hand against his chestplate in panic.

“Din!” you said again, sharp and loud. The spiders were inching closer, their chittering growing louder with each passing second -

Your hand on his chest and the sound of your voice seemed to snap him out of it, and his whole body tensed up immediately.

“Kriff,” he bit out, anger and panic tightening his voice even through the vocoder. He shut the canister of eggs and slung it onto his shoulder, taking your upper arm in a firm grip with his free hand.

“Go,” he ordered, and you couldn’t have disobeyed him if you wanted to. He released you and you started to run towards the cave entrance you’d come through earlier, your baby pressed close to your chest -

You only made it a few feet from the pool when a terrible roar shook the cavern, stopping you dead in your tracks. A giant, eldritch spider was crawling from behind the outcropping at the far side of the cavern, and it was all you could do to hold onto consciousness as you saw it take another step towards you.

Read chapter four!

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#reader is so stressed in this one...... and girl she is only gonna get more stressed #nice #din djarin x reader #din djarin fanfiction #the mandalorian chapter 10 #the mandalorian x reader #the mandalorian fanfiction #chapter 10: the passenger #ciryc ca'tra #flashing gif tw

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clanoffetts · 3 years

Text

Tales From Bespin, Vol. III: Someone Different

Lando Calrissian x Reader x Boba Fett

Warnings: porn with a smidge of plot (18+); anal play, butt plugs, lando is an extravagant bisexual who loves fashion; boba is a reserved bisexual who only cares for the color of butt plugs; threesome!!; name calling?

word count: 5.6k

“Good afternoon, love,” a smooth voice says from the doorway. “Your room is still suiting you well, yes?”

“Yes, Lando, they are” you reply, turning to look at the man. Clad in extravagant burgundy robes today, he was a brilliant contrast to the constant bright white of everything in Cloud City.

He smiles, allowing himself to venture further into your room. “I’m glad, darling,” he says, taking your hand and pressing a kiss to your knuckles. Always with the nicknames and the flattery, Lando was. Today he seemed to lay it on heavy, though.

“Something is wrong,” you say. It is not a question, and Lando knows that.

And yet he answers with, “No, my dove, nothing is wrong.”

Your eyebrow arches at him. You’d learned enough from him over the past few months to know better than that.

“Yes, it is,” you insist. “You’ve been wanting to gain my trust, and yet you lie.”

His voice is a whisper now, and he leans close. “It is not without good reason. Lord Vader is coming.”

You suddenly wished you had let him lie. “What?”

“Lord Vader is coming to Cloud City. He requests I negotiate with him,” Lando says. There is worry in his eyes, he can’t out-talk Vader, much less out-smart him.

You pull him into a hug, clinging onto him tightly. You’d never held him this tight. Not even those days and nights on the ship when you’d woken up in his arms in the shared bunk. Nor when you’d kissed him. Nor when you’ve fucked him.

Lando wanted so badly to relish the feeling of your arms so tight around him, your forehead in the crook of his neck. But he couldn’t, not with the fear of Vader’s impending arrival, not with the feeling of your tears on his neck.

“It’ll be alright,” Lando says. “We must cooperate.”

“We?”

He nods. “Yes, darling, we. I must cooperate with the Empire, you must cooperate with me.”

“I’m a grown woman, Lando. I can handle myself.”

“No one can handle themself when it comes to the Empire,” he says. “We will move your things into my rooms. They’re bigger, they’ll be more comfortable for you to stay in while Vader is here.”

You pull out of the hug enough to look at him. “Am I to be held hostage by you, Calrissian? Is this not the same as the situation you got me out of?”

Your words are a dagger. When Lando’s heart began to swell with attraction on the ship after he’d rescued you, he’d promised you a place in Cloud City. And that he’d never harm you.

“My dove,” he sighs. “You don’t have to. But it will be safer, I think. Besides, I can’t take you with me to negotiations, stormtroopers will be everywhere, and this room will get boring.”

You’re uncertain still, more out of stubbornness than anything else. “Lando, I don’t know. And it’s not like you’ll always be with Vader, right? We can still dine like normal. Stormtroopers won’t harm me if I keep to myself.”

His hands find your forearms, holding them in desperation. “Darling, if you dine with me like normal, if you follow me around the city, Vader will know you are important. They’ll know how much you mean to me.”

A smile spreads across your features despite your worry. It’s been a long week of waking up early, letting Lando press one of the many plugs into your ass, going about your business meetings and fashion fittings, and then having Lando fuck the soul out of you every night. Sometimes you’d wander back to your room if you’re done quite early and Lando leaves to play a game of sabacc, which you’ve learned can accomplish more than business meetings often could. There wasn’t a title on what the two of you were, but you were certain he’d gladly call himself your boyfriend. And you’d gladly be his girlfriend.

“You’re important, too,” you say. “But I guess you can’t hide away in your room.”

The smile he gives you is dripping in pity. “Darling, I’m sorry. But they shouldn’t be here long. At least, Vader shouldn’t.”

You sigh. He just wants you to be kept safe, how can you be mad? After all, he’s seen much more of the galaxy than you. There have been a lot of dangerous criminals come through Cloud City, and this is the first time he’s been properly worried. “Alright.”

His eyes light up. “What should we bring? Your sewing stuff? Fabrics?”

“Well,” you start. “Do you think the Empire will be here long? If not I could use a break but if they’re here for a while I’ll need to keep working…”

“Better safe than sorry darling,” he replies with a smile. “I have a threepio unit get on that. For now, though, let’s have one last lunch outside.” He offers his arm for you to take, and you do.

Out on the little balcony there was a table set with sandwiches and other snacky things, along with different juices. Ever the gentleman, Lando pulls out a seat for you. When you sit, a small whimper escapes your lips.

“Are you alright, beautiful?” Lando asks with a smirk.

You roll your eyes at him. “Of course I am.” You feel heat rise to your cheeks at your shared secret. The secret? The dark red jeweled butt plug that Lando had worked into you earlier that day. You’d gotten used to it for the most part, but somethings still send shivers up your body and sounds out of your mouth.

“Wanted to ask you something,” Lando says.

“And what’s that?”

“You mentioned something the other night,” he starts. “About all three holes…”

“Lando!” you gasp, looking around for anyone who might’ve heard him. “Someone could hear you!”

He laughs a little. “Darling, there’s no one else out here. I promise.” You sigh, and motion your hand for him to continue. “I was thinking I could start looking for someone. You know to help fuc-”

“Lando!” You whisper-yell. “At least be quieter!”

He lowers his voice this time, “Someone to help fuck you. Unless you already had someone in mind?”

“I’m not sure,” you reply. “Not a friend or anything. Or someone who’s here too often, I wouldn’t want things to get weird.”

“Well, I’ll keep my eye out,” he says with a wink.

The lunch was nice, though somewhat bittersweet because of the Empire’s dark shadow that looms over the planet. But it also filled you with excitement. The mix of the plug pressing in your ass and the talk of a threesome had you on edge for the rest of the day. Well, most of the day. The first Imperial ships arrived at dusk, casting shadows over the usually bright planet. All of your essentials were moved into Lando’s room and so you spent your evening designing new clothes, working on orders, and scrolling through the news feeds to see what people were saying about the Empire’s presence. Of course, most of it was positive, but a few negative things slipped through the filtering.

You were already exhausted from being in Lando’s room, but you knew he was under enough stress having to entertain the Empire without having to worry about you.

Lando’s mouth hurt from fake smiles. His voice ached from fake laughter. Finally, he slipped away from the Moffs and Admirals and other people who find themselves to be extremely important. Lando maintained Cloud City’s reputation, though. There was lots of drinking and gambling and fucking, and usually Lando would indulge, but he really did wish to be back in his room, with you, easing out the small plug for a larger one...what he wouldn’t give.

Instead, he slipped away into a darker corner that he thought was unoccupied. “If it isn’t Lando Calrissian,” a deep, modulated voice said from behind him.

Lando whipped around, cloak swishing violently. “What is a Mandalorian doing in Cloud City?”

“Bounty,” the Mandalorian replied. A lightbulb went off in Lando’s head. Maybe this bounty hunter could be the third in your threesome. Especially if he’s only here on work.

Lando held out his hand. “I’m Lando, though you already knew that.”

The Mandalorian shifted his blaster so he could take Lando’s hand. “Boba Fett.”

“Do you like Alderaanian toniray, Boba?” Boba nodded curtly. “Let me buy you a glass then. Gotta get some before it’s all gone.” With Alderaan destroyed not that long ago, toniray had become a hot commodity. And not one that Lando offered freely. However, he’d wine and dine anyone if it made you happy.

“As you wish,” Boba said and Lando led the way to a private booth. Well, it would’ve been private if it weren’t for the stormtroopers stationed outside any secluded place that could be used to conspire.

Lando tried to spark conversation with the Mandalorian over the glasses of the light blue liquor, but it did not work. Boba did not even remove his helmet. He’d brought a straw. “You know, it tastes better if you don’t have to suck it like that, it messes up the taste,” Lando had said but Boba obviously didn’t care.

Eventually, they just sat and listened to the stormtroopers talk. Boba had said one thing, though, and it was, “They’re so dumb, it’s entertainment.” And, Maker, he was right.

After some quite dumb debates over little things, one of the troopers said, “You know the female orgasm is a myth?”

“Huh?”

“Yeah. Read it on the ‘Net. In every species, too, not just humanoids.”

Lando turned to look at Boba, who also turned to look at Lando. Lando couldn’t see Boba, but he knew that Boba was, at the very least, grinning at these two idiots.

“You sure? I’m pretty sure I’ve made a girl come,” a trooper said.

The other trooper replied, “No, man, it’s, like science or something. I read it on the ‘Net.”

Lando turned to Boba and said, “I really didn’t think any men thought that.”

Boba nodded. “It’s a shame really, so many women don’t come,” he said matter-of-factly.

“My girlfriend told me about that the first time we slept together,” Lando hoped you wouldn’t mind the oversharing if he brought back this hunk of a Mandalorian. “Fixed that, though.”

Boba chuckled. “Good,” he said. “Women deserve more than idiots like that can give them.”

Lando started testing the waters now. “She’s gorgeous, my girl. Beautiful when she comes. Beautiful when she squirms, too.”

“Yeah?”

Lando nodded, tipping the rest of the toniray down his throat. “In fact, she’d be willing to show you. If you wanted to see, of course.”

“You’re offering me a threesome?”

Lando nodded. “We’ve been talking about it. You seem like her type.” It was a lie, Lando didn’t know what your type was. The Mandalorian believed him.

“Well, where is she?”

“I’ll take you to her.”

You sat on the huge bed, watching some holovids when the door creaked open. You still wore the gold dress that hugged your chest and then flowed like a river down the rest of your body. “Lando!”

“I have something to tell you, darling,” he says as you rush to hug him. You cocked your head. “I think I found our third person.”

“Oh?”

“He’s a Mandalorian named Boba,” Lando says. “He’s not necessarily nice but I’m pretty sure we can trust him. And I’m definitely sure he’ll make you feel good.”

You smile. “If you trust him, I trust him. Where is he?”

Lando motions to the door, and you open it. Standing there was a man clad in green Mandalorian armor, it’s seen better days, but it seems to have held up pretty good. He’s not super tall, but kriff he is imposing. The weapons on him alone are enough to intimidate but his entire aura is commanding. His presence is so similar to Lando’s yet so different.

“Hello, Princess,” Boba says. “Or should I say Baroness?”

He’s said all of seven words to you and you’re already at a loss for words. You knew Lando was a Baron or whatever, but you’d never thought much of it until now.

“I’m not really a baron,” he says. “But she does like being called names.” Lando is beside you, an arm around your waist. “Alright, gorgeous, what are your limits for tonight?”

You bite your lip. “I’m not really sure. I mean, nothing too hardcore, but maybe just ask me before you do something?”

“I figured Calrissian would’ve shown you enough to know your limits,” Boba teases.

You suddenly feel defensive. “He has- He has shown me a lot,” you babble, your face heating up. “Just haven’t arrived at my limits.”

Boba just nods and moves on. “Surely we aren’t going to fuck on a sofa?”

Lando chuckles and shakes his head. “Bed’s through here.” Lando leads the party through the door and whispers to you, “Remember, we can stop any time.” You nod and squeeze his hand.

Lando leaves your side for a moment to draw back the tapestry that covers the large mirror at the end of the bed. Meanwhile, Boba has made himself comfortable in a char near the foot of the bed. “Why don’t you hop up on the bed, little one,” Boba suggests, motioning his hand towards the bed.

You feel awkward hoisting yourself up on the large bed with Boba’s eyes boring into you. The visor of his helmet gives nothing away, and while the mystery turns you on, it also scares you. But if Lando trusts him…

“Gorgeous, darling,” Lando says with a warm smile. He climbs onto the bed behind you, pulling you to rest against his chest. “Let’s present you for our new friend, hmm?” He lifts your legs up over his, spreading your legs and hiking your dress up so much so that you’re sure Boba can see your bare pussy.

“She is very pretty,” Boba remarks. And that’s all. He has sat the blaster on the floor next to him, and you count that as him getting comfortable.

Lando hands are running over the smoothness of the dress, and he finally stops at your tits. “You want to show Boba your tits, darling?”

“Yes,” you whimper, glancing over at the dark visor. Kriff, you wish you could see his eyes. “Boba,” you say, and he perks up a little. “Could...Could you take your helmet off?”

Lando tuts. “You’re forgetting your manners, darling,” he says.

“Boba could you please take your helmet off? Please?”

He nods. His fingers mess with clasps and then there is a hiss and then there is his face. He’s gorgeous, tanned, scarred skin, strong brows, and poorly trimmed curly hair. You smile at him, but all he does is nod.

“Now I think we can show him your tits,” Lando murmurs. And you nod and whimper a please. Lando’s hands come to the straps of the dress and gently ease them down before easing the tight bodice over the well of your breasts down to your stomach.

As each breast pops free from the tight restrictions of the gown, you faintly hear Boba suck in a breath. “Gorgeous tits, mesh’la,” Boba murmurs. You don’t know what the foreign word means, but it makes you feel warm inside.

Lando presses a kiss to your temple as he squeezes your tits and teases your nipples. “He’s right, pretty girl,” Lando says. “Gorgeous.”

Lando’s hand runs from your breast down to your stomach, pushing the dress even further down. He’s looking at you like one of the many art pieces he’s acquired over the years. “Bounty hunters like Fett don’t know how to appreciate works of art like I do, sweetheart.” His hand runs up to your breast again, tweaking a nipple and smiling when you gasp.

“And little rich boy love-makers like Calrissian,” Boba says, standing from the chair. “Don’t know how to give them a good fuck.”

You can’t help but giggle at the two men bickering over who could treat you the best. You’re not sure your body can handle it.

“Then why don’t you show me,” Lando says. “Show me how to give her a good fuck then.”

“Gladly,” Boba smirks, approaching the bed. “Move out of our way, Calrissian.” Lando moves from his place behind you to sit beside you, watching with awe at how Boba approached.

“Let’s get you out of this flimsy little thing,” Boba says, and you lift your hips so he can pull the dress all the way off. He tosses the gold fabric over his shoulder without a care in the galaxy. “So kriffing pretty,” Boba says, running a hand over your stomach to your hip and giving you a squeeze. “Your boyfriend was telling me some filthy things about you, princess.”

Your breath grows ragged as you think about Lando and Boba discussing your sex. “Oh?”

“Mhm. Told me you’re pretty when you squirm,” Boba’s gloved hands were starting to warm up on your skin, as he continued to rub the skin of your hip. “I’d like to see you squirm.”

You arch your back up, trying to push your tits up so that he’d touch them. “Mesh’la, you’re already so desperate,” he tuts. “She always this fucking needy?” He asks Lando.

Lando’s hand comes to pet your hair. “Always. I have a little trick, though.” Boba raises an eyebrow. “Turn her over and find out, Fett. You’re supposed to be the teacher, not me.”

With curious hands, Boba helps you turn onto your belly. “What’s your boyfriend’s little trick, mesh’la?” He asks, gently rubbing the globes of your ass. “Can I spank you, little one?”

“Please,” you whisper.

And he does. He lands a fairly soft smack to your ass, but you felt it deep inside, thanks to the plug. “Hmm,” Boba pretends to think. “I think he’s plugged you up, am I right?” You whine, and Boba’s hands are spreading your ass. Nestled between your cheeks is a gorgeous dark red jewel, and Boba groans at the sight. “Very pretty jewel,” Boba says, applying some pressure to the plug and gently moving it around. “However, I think you’re matching your boyfriend.” Of course Boba had noticed your coordination with Lando’s capes.

“Coincidence,” Lando laughs.

Boba shakes his head. “I wasn’t born yesterday. We’re going to have to change that, little one. Got any dark green plugs?”

“She’s got every color,” Lando smiles as he goes to retrieve the box of plugs. And when he returns and presents them to Boba, he chuckles.

“You’re both dirty things, aren’t you,” he says, selecting the medium sized emerald green plug from the box. “Grab her some lube, Calrissian,” he commands.

You clench your thighs in anticipation. It’s really starting, now. “Gonna take this out of you, mesh’la,” Boba murmurs against your back. “That ok?” He presses a few opened mouth kisses as you whimper a yes, and then his hands fly to the plug. He grasps the rounded jewel and gently eases it out of you, twisting and teasing a little along the way.

Lando returns with the lube as Boba spreads your ass cheeks again, “Look at that tight hole,” Boba says. “Stretching it little by little.”

“She’s doing so good training her asshole,” Lando praises. “Gonna take my cock one day, isn’t that right, sweetheart?”

“Maker, yes,” you respond, voice breathy and needy.

Lando is back beside you as you hear the bottle of lube open. “Ready for a bigger plug?”

“Yes,” you whimper.

Lando pets your hair again and whispers, “Manners, darling. That’s no way to treat a guest.”

“Yes, please,” you correct and as soon as the last syllable leaves your mouth, you feel the cool lube on your hole. “Please,” you whine a little louder this time.

“Patience is a virtue, mesh’la,” Boba teases, but you don't have to wait long before the tip of the plug nudges against the tight muscle. “Gonna split you open, mesh’la,” he says as he pushes the plug deeper, and finally your hole closes around it and the rest of the way is easy. “Much better,” he says, tossing the dark red plug to Lando.

Boba’s leather gloves are back on your hips, manhandling you back onto your back. “Open your mouth, princess,” he commands, and you obey. He slips a finger in your mouth, and you swirl your tongue around it. You can only describe the taste as leather with a hint of Boba, some kind of musk from the underbelly of the galaxy that you’ve never visited. “Bite down.” You do, and he pulls his hand from the glove, leaving just the leather in your mouth. He takes the glove and tosses it to join your dress, and then has you repeat it with the other.

“Now, go give your lover a blowjob, princess,” he says. “Put that pretty mouth to use.” You obey, crawling up towards Lando who was already freeing himself from his pants. He was hard, precum already leaking and you ached to have him inside you. “Go on, mesh’la,” Boba encourages. “Suck Calrissian’s cock like a good girl.”

You pump Lando’s cock with your hand a few times before taking his head in your mouth, sucking softly. Your knees are folded under you, and you go to move, but Boba holds you in place. You gasp around Lando’s cock as something wet touches your clit. It’s Boba’s tongue.

“Boba,” you moan, popping off of Lando’s cock.

“No, no,” Boba reprimands. “Don’t let me distract you. I told you to be a good girl and suck Calrissian’s cock.”

You nod and return to Lando, taking his cock as far down your throat it would go without gagging. Boba also returns to his ministrations, and as you moan around Lando’s cock, his hand tightens in your hair. “So pretty with a cock in your mouth,” Lando praises. “Making me feel so good. Such a good girl.”

You continue sucking Lando’s cock, swirling your tongue around the tip while your hand strokes his shaft. Boba’s slow licks to your cunt bring you closer and closer to the edge, the pace impossibly measured. You try to grind down on Boba’s face but his hands quickly move to hold you in place, his tongue never missing a beat. You slip Lando’s cock out of your mouth to whimper, “I’m going to come!”

Boba’s tongue is gone just as quickly as it came. “Not yet, mesh’la,” he says. “We want to see you squirm.”

Lando strokes your cheek. “You gonna be good and not come until Boba lets you?” You nod. “Alright, good girl, ask Boba what he wants you to do next.”

“What do you want me to do next, Boba?” You ask quietly, growing shy again.

Boba grabs your chin, tilting your head up to look at him. “I want you to suck my cock now, pretty girl.” He relaxes back against the pillows now, shedding the codpiece of his armor to reveal his bulge. “What do you want Calrissian to do, mesh’la?” You tear your eyes away from the outline of Boba’s cock to look at Lando.

“Will you finger me, please?”

“Since you asked so nicely,” Lando says with a smirk.

You turn back to Boba, who has finally freed his cock from his pants. And kriff he is huge. He’s average length, but he’s so fucking thick. Lando is longer, though not as thick. “I don’t think staring constitutes good manners,” Boba taunts.

You swallow as you bend down to take him in your mouth. You work your lips around him, already feeling so stretched. You almost forgot that you’d asked Lando to finger you, but as he spreads your thighs apart you remember. “Your pussy is swollen, pretty girl,” he says. “Barely gotten any attention and she’s already swollen, Fett.”

“She’s a needy little slut, aren’t you, mesh’la?” You hum around his cock and then truly moan as Lando works two fingers inside your dripping hole.

“I think I prefer the red plug,” Lando says as he pumps his fingers in and out of you.

Boba’s hand is buried in your hair now, pulling harder than Lando would. “Funny, Calrissian,” he says, and then groans as you whine around his cock. “But green is obviously her color.” Boba starts guiding you on his cock, never making you take him too deep. It’s almost as if he can read your mind. Especially as you started to think you couldn’t do it anymore, your jaw was getting sore, and Boba pulled you off him. “Good girl,” he praises. “Are you close to coming?”

“Almost,” you whine, pushing back on Lando’s fingers. He curls them in just the right spot and you moan, “Lando, please, please, please,” as he keeps pushing his fingers right into that spot, over and over.

“You want to come, pretty girl?” He asks, and you frantically nod. “Then you’d better beg Boba.”

You turn your attention back to Boba. You study his face, the slight curl of his lips, the wide bridge of his nose, the crinkles by his eyes. You stare so intently into his dark eyes and beg, “Please Boba, please can I come? I’ll be so good, I promise, please,” your babbling gets more and more incoherent as you continue but you don’t care. You want to come so bad.

He tilts his head, offers you a smile of pity, and says. “No. You cannot.” Lando’s fingers slip out of you and you collapse onto the bed. “But you can take my cock in that pretty little cunt.”

You whine at the thought, the idea of the stretch of his cock, of the release it would bring. But you know he will deny you again. “If it’s too much, tell us,” Lando says, and Boba hums in agreement.

“Not too much,” you say. “Wanna take Boba’s cock like a good girl.”

Lando helps you onto your hands and knees, and Boba makes his way to your ass. Lando caresses your face with a smooth hand. “There’s my good girl.”

“Alright, mesh’la, here we go,” Boba says. Your mouth hangs open as he pushes in, the stretch bigger than anything you’d felt, and while he couldn’t reach the same spots as Lando, he’d found his own. “So fucking tight, wow,” he groans as he bottoms out. “You want to know how to fuck, Calrissian? This is how you fuck,” Boba drags his cock out slowly before slamming back into you.

“Boba!” You cry, and you can already feel him pulling out again. You brace yourself on Lando as Boba slams into you again, mouth hanging open and drool pooling on your tongue.

Lando coos, “So good, baby, so good.” Lando is on his knees in front of you, holding his cock in hand, and says, “I’m going to put my cock in your mouth, gorgeous, since it’s hanging open so pretty.”

The only response you can muster is a nod as Boba relentlessly fucks into you. It’s so different from Lando, and you liked it, but you ached to have Lando’s fast yet gentle strokes. Not that you were opposed to coming on Boba’s cock, of course.

Lando being back in your mouth gave you a thrill. All three holes. You felt full, to say the least. The feeling intensified when you moaned, barely able to hear it because of Lando’s cock and the slapping of Boba’s skin against yours. You felt your release coming, again, as Boba slapped your ass. “Take cock so well,” he grunts. “So -nngh- fucking good!”

Boba’s hand is in your hair, and he pulls your mouth off Lando’s length. “Don’t you fucking come, pretty thing. Not yet.”

You let out your loudest, most pathetic moan of the night as Boba gives one final thrust and then pulls out quickly. You thought the next thing you’d feel was his cum on your ass, but you don’t. “Get back here and make your girl come, Calrissian,” Boba demands. Lando and Boba switch spots, Boba’s thick cock back in front of you. “Lando’s gonna stuff your pussy with cum, and I’m going to fill your mouth, mesh’la.”

You feel Lando’s head against your hole. “Going to be such a good cumslut, aren’t you sweetheart?”

“Yes,” you whine. “Yes!” And then you’re full. Again. Boba gives a shallow thrust into your mouth and Lando sinks himself into your cunt. Your moans are muffled again, but this time there are more, they’re needier.

“Listen to her, Fett,” Lando says. “Adorable little whines.”

“Pathetic moans,” Boba corrects. “For a needy little girl.”

The filthy words are too much, Lando’s consistent, deep, and yet somehow gentle thrusts are too much, the stretch of Boba’s cock in your mouth is too much. You try to warn them that you’re going to come, and miraculously, Boba understands. “Go on,” he coos. “Come around our cocks. Make us fill you with cum.”

And you do. You come in a mess of whines and muffled begging, squirming towards Lando but not wanting to move from Boba. Your body shakes with the orgasm, toes curling, fingers gripping the nice duvet. You finally regain some of your senses to hear the two men moaning. All because of you.

“Ready to take my cum?” Lando grunts, and before you know it you can feel him spill inside you, coating your walls so deliciously. You don’t know what it is about Boba that brought out the rougher, meaner side of Lando, but it was amazing.

And then it’s Boba’s turn, “Going to come, mesh’la,” he moans, and then your mouth is full. You’re so full. Boba slips out of your mouth. Both men are sitting back on their haunches, regaining their breath as you flop onto your side. Fucked out and full of cum. “Show me,” Boba murmurs, and you do, opening your mouth and showing him his load on your tongue before you swallow it. Once it’s gone from your mouth you open again. “So good,” he praises.

Both men get off the bed, Lando helps you down off the bed for a moment. “Let me turn the sheets down, darling,” he says. You give him a blissed out smile, and his heart feels like it’s going to explode. Kriff, he’d employ Boba and do this every night if he could keep that fucked-out smile on your face.

Just as Lando helps you up under the covers, Boba returns with a towel, damp on one side. “Here you go, mesh’la, let’s clean you up.” He wipes some of the cum from your thighs, then the cum from your chin. “There you go, princess,” he says, getting back up to take the towel to a basket.

“Let’s take that plug out, pretty girl,” Lando coos, and you turn onto your side, allowing him access to your ass. As he eases the plug out of you, he apologizes everytime you wince. Finally, the plug is out and on the nightstand and you feel empty. You whine.

“Hey, shh,” Lando comforts. “Give us a moment, we’ll come cuddle you.”

“We?” Boba asks.

“You gonna pump and run?”

Boba shakes his head. “Most people prefer that.”

“Not us,” Lando says as he starts to strip down to his boxers.

Boba tries to conceal his smile. No one’s ever wanted him to stay the night before. And sometimes he didn’t have enough credits for that long. “Alright then,” Boba replies, starting to unclasp his armor. He’s not sure if it’s the warmth in Lando’s smile or the warmth of your pussy that makes him feel like he can trust the two of you, but he relishes the feeling, because tomorrow when finally secures Han Solo, he probably won’t be seen as a friend anymore.

Eventually, after lots of armor clanking on the ground, you’re nestled between the two men. Your head is on Lando’s chest, Boba’s head is on your belly, his arms wrapped around you, holding you close. You can tell the Mandalorian hasn’t felt too many soft touches, and your heart aches for him. Under his scars and his muscles, he’s a softy, you can feel it.

“I love you, sweetheart,” Lando murmurs against your head. “I’m glad we got to do this.”

“I love you, too, Lando,” you reply. “And thank you, Boba. I think it’s safe to say you’re always welcome in Cloud City, if you want to stay. Or, at least, pay us another visit.”

Boba wishes he could. But the knowledge that you wouldn't say that if you knew he was here by a tip from Lord Vader himself or that he’d be capturing and probably killing one of Lando’s oldest friends. “As you wish, princess,” is all he can muster before he lets himself succumb to the warmth and comfort that he gets to have tonight.

@delusionsxfgrandeur @hansonveggieclub @fuckyeahbeskar @tibbietibbs !!

#lando calrissian #lando calrissian smut #lando calrissian x reader #boba fett x reader #boba fett smut

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swimfuel · 3 years

Text

okay humanstuck thoughts under the cut

i owe a lot of this to @/rhythmic-idealist's kankri/vantasposting bc holy shit theyve got such a big brain (ill link to their individual posts when im on desktop since im using this to keep all my thoughts straight and i agree with most of what they say wholeheartedly)

general status quo stuff:

signless works in an extremely demanding career involving helping others (i'm leaning towards an attorney who works with organizations and does pro bono work), and is also extensively involved in social justice work outside of his job... he is very rarely home

he loves and cares for his children deeply and tries to express it whenever they're face to face, but the couch in his cramped and messy office has seen far too much use over the years for him to have been able to say it enough

his habits of working himself to the point of exhaustion are handily passed down to his kids btw

the kids had to grow up quickly because signless was out of the house so often and so consistently—kankri, who was already pretty high-strung, has to learn to take care of himself and karkat

they grow up near ms firuzeh maryam, who's their pseudoaunt/grandma (she took in a nine year old kavana vantas when she was about twenty), but they just call her ms rosa

they spent a lot of time in the maryam house growing up, with miss rosa's two nieces. porrim is a year older than kankri, while kanaya and karkat are the same age

kankri grows kinda sensitive to people trying to mother him since it rubs against the notion that he's the "adult of the house" and that he can take care of himself and karkat just fine

(and it also kinda underlines the fact that kankri has no idea what he's doing at the best of times)

and ironically enough, kankri becomes overbearing and naggy towards karkat in his own right, which forestalls them becoming close in any brotherly sort of way

they grow up really just... unable to communicate with one another clearly

karkat develops his ornery exterior in response to kankri's constant stream of opinions and frantic attempts at making up for the presence of a guardian in the house

i think there would actually be some really interesting parallels with rose in this au.. maybe i'm drawing from my own experiences as well but i think he'd begin to assume that every time his brother opens his mouth, he's going to criticize karkat

but instead of reacting like rose with the "making yourself more of a puzzle"/passive aggressive stuff, he gets a more defensive/hackles raised/"argue with you before you can argue with me" approach

and the thing is that they do love each other and would take a bullet for the other etc etc etc.. but they don't know how to express it because they've fallen into these shitty patterns

and it really doesn't help that kankri has grown somewhat resentful of signless over the years... that mix of resentment and fear and love gets more extreme and more polar every time signless gets injured during a political demonstration

i think kankri and signless would also be slightly closer than karkat and signless, as signless' job really only started to ramp up when karkat was less than years old and kankri was in his early double digits

kankri autistic btw its word of god (i am god)

karkat has a pet crab. its name is also karkat. he vents his frustrations to it.

i feel like the vantases exemplify both the best and worst parts of their aspects with one another as well... the strength of their bonds keeps them together and grounded, but TOO grounded. [insert Blood rant here]

the Blood rant:

i define Blood as bonds, responsibility, and the "core". if Life is the fertile soil and everything living on a planet's surface, then Blood is the gravitational core of the planet keeping everything together

i also think Blood, Heart, & Mind work in tandem to define a person just as blood serves to connect the pieces of the human body... Heart is the soul and the self, Mind is the application of one's self through active choices (agency), while Blood defines both the self and the choices one makes in greater detail [and, as an aside, Life provides the physical spark of life needed to keep the heart pumping blood]

OKAY wow that got tangential anyways

SO BASICALLY! too much Blood makes you stagnate, so for example:

kankri is split between staying home with karkat or going to college across the country and being truly unbound for the first time in years

another crisis of Blood: signless is caught between his empathy and responsibility to the whole world and his responsibility to his own children

okay so here's more status quo stuff:

the maryam and vantas kids grow up together and its hilarious because you'll see them all together and its just like (girlboss) (girlboss) (physical manlet) (emotional manlet)

the maryam girls are actually miss rosa's nieces but she took them in when they were both pretty young

the pyropes know the vantases well enough considering pyrope senior and sign have known one another from their respective legal practices for years, but they live on the other side of town

the leijons lived in town when kankri and meulin were very young, but they moved and travelled for a long time before coming back and reestablishing their roots

the captors (psii being one of sign's oldest and closest friends) move into town with the peixes family pretty early on though

the condesce is.. a horrible spouse and guardian, to put it plainly. she's very emotionally manipulative and isn't averse to smacking people around, including her own family. she moves herself and her perfect little family into town so she can properly oversee a new business venture close by

feferi is one of the best young swimmers in the country and has a pretty good shot of getting onto the olympic team.. a lot of this drive to be perfect and to be better results from the condesce's unrelenting pressure and thinly veiled resentment throughout her whole life

so yeah psii, )(ic, feferi, and sollux all live together and it's really not great for anyone involved. (meenah ran away years ago, and crashed on aranea's couch for a pretty long while—mituna moved out with latula for college before psii and the condesce got married)

it gets bad to the point of sollux staying with the maryams for two months while the adults try to sort out that absolute clusterfuck and get the divorce proceedings going (meenah finally convinces feferi to get out and come stay with her and aranea for the duration as well)

in terms of relationships i think latula and porrim were really really close in high school, and probably had some kind of unacknowledged thing going on for a while that never actually turned into anything because latula and mituna were going steady

kankri has had a crush on latula for years but never acted on it for similar reasons

meenah still carries a lot of that give no fucks attitude (it's developed moreso as a defense mechanism here) and can't understand why feferi refuses to leave the condesce with her

okay back to VANTAS MANPAIN i also think that karkat feels the weight of a lot of expectations on his shoulders as well

he feels responsible to live up to the example his dad and his brother set, even if it's to his own detriment—and kankri's oblivious rambling about his grades and his teachers and all his clubs certainly aren't helping the matter

kankri is one of those overinvolved kids taking a million AP's while simultaneously shitting on the collegeboard at every single step

hes this super overachiever anal retentive perfectionist type dude and (just as karkat preemptively criticizes others to forestall their criticisms of him only to harshly criticize himself) kankri subconsciously holds the people around him to the same expectations he holds for himself

so karkat also develops this sense of lacking which, in combination with everything else, culminates in self loathing and thinking he has to solve everyone else's problems and getting horribly mad at himself for every little mistake

GOD i have a lot more but lemme post this before i accidentally close out of the app and lose it all

more little details:

vriska's mom and terezi's mom HATE each other like HATE HATE HATE one another it's so bad

karkat wrote a ten page review of my immortal in middle school

jade is one of nepeta's best online friends

sollux can't raise one eyebrow at a time.. karkat gives him so much grief about it

the vantases eat a lot of shitty renditions of persian dishes until karkat learns to cook because literally the only person in the world with a CHANCE of getting KANKRI VANTAS to make an EDIBLE DISH is miss rosa

kanaya is really good at persian dance too but is VERY VERY embarassed to perform in front of people.. however porrim definitely is not

karkat has insomnia while kankri just stays up stupidly late for assignments that really shouldnt be taken that seriously.. but they both have the same rumination/sleep anxiety thing where your brain goes insane with horrible and depressing scenarios as you try to sleep

and more ideas that i thought were interesting but idk how to fit in the context of this au:

signless and disciple getting married pretty late in life after having been in love for years, the vantases move in with the leijons and karkat suddenly has two sisters

nepeta and karkat are both juniors at this point, meulin is probably in her third year at a local college nearby while kankri is about to start his second year at a university pretty far away

the kids in general honestly but ill figure it out

more random hcs this time with kids:

kanaya and rose get into a flame war online that gradually settles into elaborate courtship rituals

also nepeta + jade online besties

also bec can inexplicably still teleport

the first sbahj movie comes out and the next six months of dave strider junior's high school career are absolute hell

actually hc that dave senior goes by d strider professionally. the d stands for a lot of things

aradia and dave frequent a lot of the same forums but never end up really interacting

meanwhile karkat and john frequent a lot of the same forums and DEFINITELY end up interacting. this turns into grudging (at least on karkat's part) friendship after they find themselves fighting for their lives defending an objectively shitty movie together on the same thread

#humanstuck #vantas family #.

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ellipsesarefun · 3 years

Note

Request for DamiRae prompt #1

Prompt #1: Come to bed with me?

Now on AO3

Help!"

The pleading cry jars him awake. Robin jolts up with tensed muscles and a fierce grip on the unsheathed sword beside him. A deep, revolting, menacing laugh rumbles in his mind like a prelude to an unforeseen terror. It is a frequent occurrence in the middle of the night that still terrifies him but his assassin-trained muscle memory is already built for danger's spontaneity.

His five senses still hones into the nightmare he escaped but he grounds himself to the present moment. He needs to be sure that nothing escapes his awareness.

A beat of silence passes before he concludes that there is nothing amiss. Damian allows his hands to release their grip from his sword as his head gently relaxes on the pillow. His mind reels back to the stream of thoughts he only indulges in the late night.

There are visions that he cannot fully comprehend sometimes. They haunt him at night, more than the usual nightmares he gets from his time with the League of Assassins.

The visions spoke of a future, desolate of any human life. The streets crawling with creatures from another planet, eating human flesh and leaving trails of dismembered corpses and spattered blood and guts. The Titans tower was in ruins and the rest of his team was nowhere to be found with no knowledge of their death or survival. His own father in the hands of an unforeseen conqueror of worlds and his brother revived from the dead yet barely living himself.

And then there's Raven.

The visions of her are somewhat incomprehensible. They were of confessions of a love they both pined for, of a passing moment of bliss before being enveloped in a blinding light of the unknown, of an oath they were bound to keep no matter the life they will lead to next..

"I will find you. I promise." He would hear himself say. For all his sixteen years of living, he's never promised anything to anyone. So it must have come from another time.. another place..

Another life. And the only thing that remained is a magic connection that somehow transcended the laws of time, space, and reality.

It’s that moment when he woke up one random morning after a random day and the only thing on his mind were those violet eyes.

Damian's always been enamored by her vibrant violet eyes. He's seen them before, at the brink of death in the snowy mountains. That was the first time she healed him but he felt otherwise. His body welcomed her magic like a memorized passage, as though he sang this song a long time ago.

The comforting familiarity is a bliss but the horrible foreboding nightmares that follow it provide him a plethora of adjectives he cannot transcribe in a sentence.

Damian thinks that maybe it started with her screams. He hears them sometimes. The pain in her voice echoes throughout the gruesome horrors of Hell. He'd find himself in a demon-swarmed stadium under blood-ridden skies where a little girl draped in a white cloak escapes a swarm of cackling chimeric beasts. At the side of the stadium, Trigon is at ease on his throne with a nasty smile on his face.

In those moments, not once does Damian's eyes stray away from her expression. Because the longer the battle ensues, the more her tear-stricken face masks into empty blank eyes and a dead frown of a shell. Damian feels the numbness of it all. The magic that which she possesses gradually strengthens but the trauma lingers.

Being trapped in a crystal and encased in a box sealed in a complex spell work, most of Trigon's power is inhibited and contained. Being the daughter of a demon and conqueror of worlds, Raven carries the burden of his occasional psychic torture.

And Damian… he's helpless to it all. He can't rush over to her with a sword in hand like they would in every Titan mission. He can't wrap his arms around her like he would in their previous life.

Because it's someone else's nightmare to relive and he's merely an audience in a movie theater.

Damian doesn't know how far their connection can bridge their minds but he can still hear her father's demonic laughter reverberate throughout their combined consciousness. He cannot quantify the strength of the magic within their bond and he hesitates to learn the truth.

Neither of them broached the topic and he isn't sure how. As Robin, he sees her as a competent partner, her magic strangely complementing his every movement in any mission. As Damian, he lists her as one of the most important people in his life. For the three years they've cohabited the same Titan tower, they ventured through the most dreadful nights and the peaceful days without a single shred of a thought of running away from each other. Their conversations during sleepless nights involved a lot of their trauma, with thick blankets around their shoulders and tea to last the endless dark skies.

But they don’t instigate a heavy discussion over the bond and they skip past the nightmares, and most of her more burdensome memories that come with it. Simply because he has little to no understanding of their connection and is waiting for her to break the silence. A part of him senses that she has an inkling but still has yet to comprehend its entirety.

(If that’s what he picked up from the bond or from his own deduction, he cannot say.)

Damian slides his feet to the ground and moves to the couch by the window. He watches the clouds pass by, parting space for the moon to grace a smile. He gazes back as its shimmering reflects against his green irises. He feels a heartbeat that isn't his own, loud and clear outside the hall. Taking deep breaths, he closes his eyes and focuses on his own heartbeat, as though soothing his own would soothe theirs.

The door suddenly opens and his ears twitch at the light footsteps coming towards his way. His eyes stay closed, trusting her presence. The footsteps stop by his feet but not a word escapes her lips, not even a sound. Damian opens his eyes and looks up, entranced by her weary violet irises glowing in his dark, moonlit room. Neither of them breaks the silence. Damian allows himself to peruse through all that is her. The purple hair flows down to her waist, with a shadow cascading against the dark circles around her eyes and the deep frown formed on her lips.

“I had a nightmare.”

“It was him again.”

“And I felt you with me while I was with him.”

“I’m tired.”

She doesn’t say but her whole body screams it so.

He stands up and takes one step, barely bridging the gap between them. Damian takes Raven’s hands in his, raises them to his face, and plants a tiny kiss. The gesture seems to break her mask when he finds a single tear stream down her face and her lips quivering. He feels her hands shake and his heart aches that she might collapse to the floor then and there.

So he kisses her hands again and again, making sure he doesn’t leave a corner untouched. Her body doesn’t stop trembling quietly as more tears start to fall. She pinches her eyes shut and lets her head fall, hiding away her vulnerable state. Raven has done that for years, hiding her tears in the darkest corners, keeping herself within the shell she’s made. She doesn’t have to do that with just him.

He closes the gap between them and tucks her head on his neck. Damian rubs one hand on her back, soothing the tension away from her muscles. He kisses the shell of her ear and asks, “Come to bed with me?”

Without waiting for her affirmation, Damian scoops Raven into his arms and saunters over to his bed. He lays her down first, her purple tresses pooling his pillow. He gently combs them away and follows after as he snakes an arm around her waist. His beloved turns to face his chest and closes her eyes. Exhaustion now prominent in her features. Her shell is now broken and she’s laying herself bare to him. So Damian cradles her, feeling her breaths gradually evening out.

And for a moment, everything is still and steady that the past is already just a page from an old book, no longer terrifying and the future is somewhere written among the stars as a prophecy of hope. The present is all that matters as they sleep a dreamless sleep in each other's arms.

Everything else can wait till morning.

#damirae #Damian Wayne #Raven #writing practice #ellipsesarefun writes #am sorry i took so long #i wasnt sure if i did it right

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pepsi-beat · 3 years

Text

chapter 1. the prey

pairing: Din Djarin x fem!Reader

series title: The Way

word count: 2,8K

warnings: angst maybe?, The Mandalorian s2 finale spoilers, canon typical violence, blood and injuries, 3rd person pov, Din Djarin pov, lack of “Y/N”, reader is called “Girl”, amnesia, reader's species is unknown, a little ooc Din Djarin

summary: Greef Karga assured him it was an easy job. Find a woman. Get her to the husband she ran away from. And that's it. But... not exactly.

a/n: Hello there! I’m pretty new when it comes to writing and publishing here. I hope you like what I have for you. I write it so I could get away from my uni responsibilities. I don’t know if I can finish this, but I really liked idea. So we will see.

Chapter 1

THE PREY

Naboo. A sparsely populated planet located in the Mid Rim in the Chommell sector of the Naboo system. Occupied the third position in the system, provides a standard gravity and breathable atmosphere. It had three moons.

Naboo was known for its natural and cultural values. The inhabitants were famous for their beautiful, perfectly refined products that made an impression throughout the galaxy. People did well here, the place has always seemed completely cut off from the rest of the Galaxy. Slow, free, peaceful.

Din wasn’t used to chasing his victims in places like Naboo. Usually he had to wade through the Outer Rim Territories. Through inhospitable and harsh planets, where survival required quite a bit of cunning or a deep pocket stuffed with credits.

He landed a Dragonfly on a meadow covered with lush green grass and colorful flowers. He turned off the engines, put the computer to it hibernate mode, then he turned with a soft sigh to the co-pilot's seat. His heart tightened with fear as he found it empty. But before he could jump up from his seat and start searching, he painfully remembered that it didn't make sense. His throat tightened with regret, and he walked briskly through the cockpit and then through the hull to the stern, where he made his way out.

Two months have passed since the events on the Imperial cruiser. Two extremely long and surprisingly lonely months.

As the Jedi departed, taking Grogu with him, Din had to deal with the issue of the Darksaber. Bo-Katan refused to take it and Din refused to keep it. Finally, they decided to duel. Bo-Katan chose a time and place – some deserted rocky planet. Din knew that if he had given up the fight, the Mandalorian woman would have been offended and wouldn’t have taken that damned saber. On the other hand, he was reluctant to fight the woman, but he quickly realized that all his fears were baseless.

Bo-Katan was highly trained warrior, so the fight was levelised. It took a long time, but in the end the woman fairly won, becoming the new ruler of Mandalore. Before they finally departed, she asked him one more time to join her.

Din refused, but promised that if she needed his help, he would come back. Then Boba Fett left him and Cara on Nevarro, where the marshal kept her word. She called for New Republic, who took Moff Gideon and Din received his prize. Credits. Lots of credits. Suddenly, he became so rich that he could easilly to buy a ship, weapons, and substitute the equipment he had lost with the Razor Crest. And he still has some left.

The Dragonfly was a good ship. Pre-Empire, but was still newer than Razor Crest. After many modifications and modernizations, it could easily compete with newer models. Unlike the Crest, it was much more slender and more agile. The Dragonfly was oblong with a tiny but comfortable kitchenette, refresher, workshop, small armory, several bunks, couches, and a lot of space. The Dragonfly had so much space that Din was uncomfortable. However, he bought this ship, because of all the trouble Cara had gone to find it.

Then, he went back to work as a bounty hunter. He felt that he had to fill the void in his heart with something and returning to hunting seemed to be the best solution in his situation.

Of course, Din visited his tribe's old hideout, but found only useless equipment. The Armorer had left Nevarro some time ago and Din had no idea where she might have gone. So he promised to himself, he would find another Mandalorian’s hideout, but it was easier said than done. Especially after the long time he spent on the run with Grogu.

Din put the beskar spear in its place and returned to the hull. He reached for the control panel, the durasteel door swung open and the platform touched the ground.

Naboo was… different. Brighter, happier, more vivid than any other planet he had ever seen. The colors were more intense, the sun was warmer, the wind was kinder and gentler and the animals were fearless as if they never met a human before and never been hurt by their hands. Naboo was so different that he wanted to take off his helmet and take a deep breath. Get some fresh air, not the air he was breathing through the filters.

Din checked the tracker, the last coordinates of his target and compared it with his current position.

It didn't take long. An hour, maybe two. During this time, he managed to find the X-Wing with which his target had undoubtedly arrived. It was good news. The bad news was that there was another ship in the meadow besides the X-Wing. Din didn't recognize it, but he knew who it belongs anyway. To another bounty hunter. And that was bad news.

He analyzed the footprints. Those belonging to the target were a bit older, unlike those belonging to the bounty hunter.

Blaster shots. Female screams. Din's body reacted instinctively. In one quick move he pulled the blaster from his belt, then ran where the sounds were coming from. The direction coincided with the footprints.

He ran between the trees. The shots stopped, but the closer he got, the better he could hear the conversation. He distinguished between the frightened woman speaking in the basic and the squawk of a Rodian. Finally Din ran into a small clearing. He froze with a blaster aimed at the Rodian when the bounty hunter spotted him and shouted in Rodese.

"Calm down" said Din. ”I'm in the Guild.”

Suca Chodasso, the target by which Din had ventured as far as Naboo, knelt weeping among flowers. She was holding another woman's body in her arms, pressing her face against the hollow of her own neck. The target threaded herfingers into the deceased's disheveled hair. After each sentence she spoke, her mouth touched the top of the girl’s head.

The Rodian said something in Rodese again, but this time he was addressing Suca Chodasso. But he was so nervous that Din found it hard to understand him.

"I have nothing! I didn't steal anything! " Suca called back. Her voice was trembling and her hands were shaking.

It was uncomfortable situation. He tracked down his target, used a lot of fuel to reach Naboo and yet he wasn't the first. There were such situations, but he was still upset that someone else had received the puck.

As the Rodian addressed him urgently, Din sighed so softly that the vocoder couldn’t register it. He nodded, but his eyes went to the crying Suca. She must have felt his gaze as she tore her eyes away from her companion's face and turned her head toward him. Her eyes seemed to be begging him to do something, but Din's hands were tied.

He turned on his heel as there was a soft moan. Din stopped and looked over his shoulder. The girl he had considered to be dead before, moved slightly. She slowly raised one of her limp hands and touched her temples with her fingers. Suca Chodasso looked at her in horror. She leaned in slightly, possibly saying something in her companion's ear, but Din's attention was absorbed by the Radian's next words.

"Leave her! She has nothing to do with it! " Suca sobbed. She bent over the girl, covering her with her body as the Rodian was about to shoot.

Din's blaster smoked slightly as the Rodian's body fell onto the grass. The Mandalorian turned to the huddled women, but he already knew he was late.

Due to Suca's position, when she shielded her companion, the laser pierced the top of her head, passed through her neck and spine. Her body lay pitifully with a smoky, nasty wound that made even Din grimace.

Quick, shallow breaths, which the Mandalorian recognized as signs of an impending panic attack, brought him back. He walked over to Suca Chodasso's body and pushed her unceremoniously aside.

"Easy now," he said. "Take it easy, girl."

The girl didn't even look at him. Her wide eyes stared at the sky. She was gasping for air through her mouth in gusts like someone who was choking. Her face and chest were stained with red blood stains.

Din frowned at the large gash on the girl's temple and the bullet hole on her arm. Right above the heart. The blood that flowed from the wounds was very thick, silver and pearly.

"You’re safe now."

The girl stopped breathing. She froze in an unnatural stillness that worried Din, but as soon as his hand touched her shoulder, she moved again. The girl closed her mouth and eyes and began to breathe calmly. Very calmly. Way too slow.

"Girl?"

"Who are you?"

She looked at him… weirdly. Din couldn't tell what it was, but something was clearly wrong with her. She had pretty eyes, but at the same time they were cold, as if they belonged to a dead man.

The Mandalorian stepped back a bit. He helped the girl get to a sitting position, but he didn't say a word as she looked around. Din flexed all his muscles in preparation for what was to come. He expected screams, crying, and accusations. He had expected the girl to panic, attack him, but she… was calm.

She looked at the dead Suca Chodasso for a long time. She touched her face, then ran her fingers over her own temple as if looking for something there. But she found nothing. Even her wound was on the other side of her face.

"Girl?"

She looked reluctantly at Din. The bounty hunter held out three fingers.

"How many fingers do you see?"

"Three."

He repeated the test two more times and the girl answered well each time.

"What's your name?"

Girl opened her mouth, but said nothing. Only then did panic spread across her face.

She looked at something over Din's shoulder, but before the Mandalorian could say anything, he was thrown to the ground. He heard the sound of a blaster laser hitting a durasteel, so he rolled over, picked up his gun and aimed it. He aimed blindly at first, but as another shot bounced off his chestplate, he knew where to shoot. After a moment, he heard a heavy body fall to the ground, so he rose to his feet.

The girl groaned in pain or surprise. Din looked at her and saw her hand tighten on her arm, more of this weird thick silver blood leaking from between her fingers.

"Wait here," he said. Before the girl could reply, Din was already on his way to the shooting direction.

It was another bounty hunter. Din found the tracker in his pocket. Useless because the target was already dead. But still. The tracker.

The Mandalorian frowned. It was also suspicious. Greef Karga assured him it was an easy job. Find a woman. Get her to the husband she ran away from. And that's it. Even the prize offered for her screamed an easy going.

Din wasn’t interested in why Suca Chodasso was escaping at all, and he never thought about it. Only looking at his target holding this girl in her arms made begin to wonder if it was some kind of scandalous romance. He was willing to believe it.

If it werent for the Rodian's allegations or for the third bounty hunter. Another puck. Another tracker.

He had seen it once before. When he had pledged to track down Grog some time ago and then had bounty hunters on his tail. When he got involved in the affairs of the Jedi and the Empire. He was done. He didn't want to play it again, so a part of him was even glad that the target was no longer alive.

He trow the tracker away, then returned to the girl. She sat curled up where he had left her. Her face in her hands. She sobbed, shook. Hearing his footsteps, she sobbed a little softer, as if she was holding back. Then she wiped the tears with her hands, but that only smeared her silver blood over her skin. She watched as Din knelt beside her and reached a hand to her injured arm.

She must have been hit when she threw Din to the ground. She saved him even though she didn't have to.

"You're hurt…”

"I don't know who I am," she whispered at the same moment. There were even more tears in her eyes. Wide with fear. "I-I don't know. I don’t know. Who am I? My mind is blank.”

She gasped like a wounded animal and hid her face in her hands again. Din could only watch her silently and wonder.

Was she lying to protect herself? Did she know something about the Rodian's allegations, even though Suca Chodasso had clearly stated in her last words that it had nothing to do with her? So why was she protecting him from the shot, then? Wouldn't it have been better for her if Din had died?

Or maybe she really didn't remember? She had been hurt in the head, but it was just a scratch. Not life threatening and certainly not the cause of memory loss. On the other hand, Din knew that people fell ill. He was aware that some of the weak psyche displace more painful events from their memories. But…

He could only watch, bewildered, until he painfully realized the gravity of the situation he was in.

If there were three trackers, there could be more. More bounty hunters might be on the way.

He sighed heavily. He reached for the cape and touched with it the wound on the girl’s head. She jumped back and Din held his hands out in front of him as a sign of peace.

"You're hurt. I want to wipe your blood and see if it's serious.”

But the girl wouldn't let him. She grabbed his hands and squeezed tight. Din wouldn't expect such strength from her.

"Tell me ... W-Who am I? Who is she? Why is she d-dead? Who are you? A-Are you okay? Does anything hurt you? You were shot! Stars! Why were you being shot at?”

Din blinked quickly. He knew his face showed shock and disbelief, which was why he was so grateful for the helmet he had to wear.

"They didn't shoot at me," he said finally, when the girl's insistent gaze became unbearable. "You were.”

"M-Me?” She whispered, her voice breaking.

She released Din's hands and began to back away until she found Suca Chodasso's body. She started to breathe spasmodically, but Din didn't have time for that. He got up. He glanced at Suca Chodasso, thought for a moment what he should do and then walked toward his ship.

"Wait!" The panicked girl exclaimed. "Don’t leave me! Please!”

"I'm done with babysitting.”

"Please!”

Something in her voice made Din suddenly believe her. He stopped. Turned slowly until he came face her. She seemed lost, scared… As if she really didn't know what was going on.

Maybe she was just a victim? Maybe she was an ordinary inhabitant of Naboo and Suca Chodasso met her by chance? Maybe she asked for help and this poor girl agreed to help, not knowing what she write on? Maybe she really didn't know who she was? She was shocked. Suddenly she found herself in the middle of a shootout between three bounty hunters. Din could believe it was too much for her.

He made a decision.

He walked over to the girl and held out his hand. She stared at him with terrified eyes, but didn't hesitate. Din helped her up from the grass, then walked over to Suca Chodasso's body, which he slung over his shoulder. Then he began to head towards the ship again.

"Why… Why are you taking her?” The girl asked with panic in her voice.

Din suppressed a sigh.

"She's wanted. Alive or dead, you will receive a reward for her head.”

"Me?”

This time Din sighed loudly. He wasn't happy with the fact that he had to explain himself.

"I don't know what you remember about what happened. But I didn't get her. The bounty hunter who tracked her down is dead. You probably know her, so you will get money as compensation.”

It was cruel. Din knew this, but he had no idea what else to do. So far, this seemed to be the best solution.

He really couldn't take the money for Suca Chodasso. It wouldn't be fair, so he might as well give it to the girl who was definitely the first to deal with the target. And if she ever remembers that she knew her… well. Din hoped to be very far away from the girl then.

The girl fell silent. She really didn't make any sounds. She moved noiselessly, causing Din to keep checking to see if she was following him. But she was there. She walked, wrapping her arms around herself, staring at the toes of her shoes. She was dirty, beaten, wounded. She looked pathetic.

And to think that he should have learned long time ago to not take seemingly easy jobs. They are the most problematic ones.

#din djarin x female reader #din djarin x reader #din djarin x you #din djarin imagine #mando x reader #mando x you #mando x fem!reader #din djarin x fem!reader #reader insert #star wars x reader #the mandalorian x reader #star wars imagine #the mandalorian imagine #female reader #x reader

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rosarenn · 3 years

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All things are ephemeral

I've been thinking a lot about the illusion of certainty and the way it holds us back from achieving great things.

There's this idea that if something is temporary, transient, that it isn't worth putting any effort into. That something is only worth your time if it endures, if it's permanent. That the investment must be followed by a payoff or why bother.

I am very much talking out of my own experience here, as a white settler/colonizer raised in a more or less middle class family. I know my experience is not universal, and I am still going to talk about "we" and "us" because I want to include myself in this group, and I'm noticing a pattern that I want to talk about. If you have never experienced certainty, or are in a stable position for the first time in your life, this is probably not about you, for example. Take what you need and compost the rest.

I'm reading Nine-Tenths of the Law: Property and Resistance in the United States by Hannah Dobbz, which discusses squatting in the US. One of the themes that comes up over an over again is the idea that because a squat is temporary, because the police could kick you out at any moment, because you don't have ownership or equity or any kind of title on your side and you could lose everything in a moment's notice, that it doesn't make any sense to improve the home you're living in. That the work would be wasted, and who wants to work their ass off and not reap the benefits? Why would you bother?

And this, to me, is so incredibly short-sighted, and represents an internalization of the logic of capitalism. Why would you bother? Because you are fucking living there. You're living there, you're passing your limited time on this planet in this space, and why would you live in a dump if you don't have to, if you don't like living in a dump, if you would feel better, be happier, enjoy your time there just a little bit more than if you didn't clean it up. It's the same reason I've painted countless rental apartments - even though I don't know how long I'll be there, while I'm there I eventually get sick at looking at plain white walls. It's why I'm planning to paint a mural in my rental apartment - it will bring me daily joy for as long as I am here. It's why I decorated my office when I still had an office. Because if this is where I am passing my time, I want it to be a little more pleasant.

We've so internalized the logic of the state and the market that we have this illusion that home-owning provides certainty, that it makes sense to invest in a home you own because it can't be taken away at a moment's notice. But it's a lie. The bank could repossess your home. The sewer could back up. A flood or a wildfire could make your home vanish in a moment. With climate change these events are only going to increase in frequency, as will the unrest and failed states and all the other forms of violent dispossession that that entails. The entire stock market could blow itself to pieces tomorrow, the currency we've all agreed to use could become worthless pieces of paper, anything can happen. I could die tomorrow. I could die today. There is no certainty, any where, ever. Anything I work for could be for nothing - nothing except for what I make of it here and now. I want to live before I die.

I think about the way I've been indoctrinated to delay gratification to the extreme. That's what the promise of capitalism to the middle class is, after all. Work tirelessly for all of your productive years, save your coins prudently, invest them in the stock market for the future and never take out your principle because compound interest is magic and you'd be a fool to forego that sweet, sweet "free" interest income. And then, and only then, you can retire for a few years and live a tiny sliver of your life free from the constant grind of daily waged labour. If someone is not able to make ends meet, I was taught, it's because they are too loose with their spending, they aren't able to delay gratification long enough for the real payout, the poor dears. Scrupulously saving, denying ourselves the momentary joys of right now in order to chase a possible future prosperity, is positioned as a moral good.

Of course this is a lie, and a terrible way to live (even as it is incredibly privileged). I lived this way for years and I'm only now beginning to come to terms with it. There's so much grief there. How much did I miss out on? Think of all the joy, vitality, and the things that make life worth living that I denied myself - and for what? To chase certainty in the future, because I couldn't accept the ephemerality of today.

There's a delicate balance needed here, of course. There's an argument to be made that what we need is more delayed gratification, not less. The constant churning consumption, the endless extraction from the earth and our bodies, putting today's profits ahead of tomorrow's, or even above the survival of our own children - these are features of capitalism and they are destroying us.

But they need to sell us this lie, that if we work hard today we can be happy tomorrow, to keep us working. Because if we truly looked at horrors of this reality, if we truly knew in our bones that everything we have today could be gone tomorrow, that everything in life is fleeting - would you still go to work, day after day after day? I know I sure wouldn't. Even though I don't know what I would do to survive instead. Even though stepping into that unknown is terrifying. Even though I have no answers, I would have to take that leap.

I think, too, about the way I sometimes see people talk about revolution - and I include myself in this group. That until we are ready to make a global revolution, until we are all but guaranteed success, until the moment we reach critical mass, all we can do is wait. Maybe we agitate, maybe we form unions and organizations and try to spread the word, but until success is certain we can't act, not truly. I see this more in communist circles than in anarchist ones, and it was especially present in the critiques of the temporary autonomous zones that popped up in the midst of last summer's uprisings - they would never succeed, they would be quickly dismantled, and thus were doomed to failure and shouldn't even be attempted. As if there was no value in the experiences, however fleeting. As if the way we live our lives is irrelevant. As if a thing bringing you joy is not enough justification in itself.

Even though I skew more towards anarchism, I can still feel this attitude infecting my own thinking. I don't want to try to unionize my workplace because it will fail and I'll get fired and it won't matter, really, anyways. I don't want to talk openly about my politics when I know people don't agree with me, because what's the point when I already know I can't change their minds. What's the point of guerrilla gardening when the city can just come by with a weed whacker and destroy our labour. So on and so on ad nauseum, every endeavour doomed to be temporary and thus, automatically, a failure.

I think of my friend who spent the past two summers building up an incredible garden, who now has to move, suddenly, before the end of the growing season. My first reaction was that it was such a waste, that she had put in so much effort and time and money and now wouldn't even be there to collect the final harvest, that it would be better if she hadn't done the planting, somehow. As if she hasn't taken immense pleasure and pride in her garden for the past two years. As if she hasn't harvested throughout the whole summer. As if the harvest she planted suddenly winks out of existence if the benefits go to someone other than her. As if this somehow invalidates everything that came before. But this line of thinking is horseshit. Someone will still eat those vegetables. If nothing else, the birds and the beasties will love eating what she has grown. She learned so much and will be able to carry that knowledge forward with her. On and on, there was great value in this venture even if she will not be there to reap every last piece of the harvest. And if it wasn't a sudden move, it could have been a drought, or a violent storm, or an infestation, or theft. Or or or. The possibilities are endless, results are never guaranteed, and if we are only working to achieve an ends, we might need to take a good long look at what we're up to.

I wonder if the roots of this ideology stretch all the way back to the agricultural revolution. Ephemerality would have been the day to day lived experience of hunter-gatherers. Here today, gone tomorrow, pick the berries now, while they're ripe and before the birds get them. But agriculture? Prepare the field, plant the seeds, water, tend, wait. wait. wait. then finally harvest. Finally finally your labour has paid off and you can eat. Careful though because there won't be another harvest until next year, so be careful, ration, wait. Would you plant the field if you didn't know if you'd be around to harvest it? That's a tough sell, for sure.

I think of flatwormposting, on instagram, who announced suddenly that they would delete their account today. That they felt like they had accomplished what they wanted to accomplish, that they were complete, and ready to move on. The immediate response, of course, was no, don't go, or if you must go, please don't delete the account. Leave it up, to sit in perpetuity, an archive of your work and legacy. Please, you did good work, please let us keep it. As if deleting their account deletes their work. As if they won't carry it forward with them. As if people who interacted with the account while it was up weren't changed in some small way. As if a thing that is temporary - which is all things - is somehow less important than a permanent thing.

And their response was simply, all things are ephemeral. All things are ephemeral, everything could be gone tomorrow. If they didn't delete this account, instagram could. A hacker could take it. Nothing is certain, everything is a constant renegotiation. Given that, what now?

What now? How do we want to live before we die? What choices might we make if nothing was certain? What risks would we take? How would we live our lives if we knew, deeply, truly, in an embodied way, that another world is possible, as the Nap Bishop constantly reminds us? That the continuation of this one as it is, that the status quo is not and has never been certain? That each day we wake up we make this world again, and we could simply chose to make it differently, to paraphrase David Graeber. If we no longer privileged that which is over that which could be. If we no longer held onto the illusion of certainty and control and permanence.

All things are ephemeral. What now?

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buck-nialled · 3 years

Text

Undertow - S. Mendes (VII)

Chapter 1 // Chapter 2 // Chapter 3 // Chapter 4 // Chapter 5 // Chapter 6 // Undertow Character Quiz

CH VII: Not So Casual Confessions

Wesley’s voice was barely heard as Shawn finally bellowed a plea.

“B-because I love her, okay? I love Y/N!” Every person stood in the cove stilled for an uncertain amount of time. “The day I met her was the same day I was basically banned from the sea for who knows how long and she saved my life. Maybe that was the universe’s way of bringing the ocean to me so I wouldn’t go insane, I don’t know.” Shawn lets an unamused laugh escape, as does Y/N. Hers goes unnoticed by Merlin and Ripley--especially Ripley--as they become captivated by his response.

“But...she made me realize I couldn’t care less if my life was on land or in water, just as long as she is in it. So, you can leave me dead here for all I care. Do whatever you’re gonna do to try and get answers, but don’t expect me to give you anything.” His eyes flicker down to Sandy, still in the viscous grip of his owner. Slowly, Ripley loosens his tight fist around the slimy tube of its body before the eel is flopping to the ground and slithering back into the waters.

“You...love her? A human loves an Atlantean?”

“Yes,” Shawn groans as a painful tremor sweeps through his abdomen. “Why is that so hard to believe?”

Ripley’s body resembled a beached animal from how eagerly he surged onto the sandy beaches of Hawaii. After reviewing Atlantean history today at Abyssington High and discovering the original plans to venture to the surface and make relationships with Homo sapiens, the urge he had attempted to fight for eighteen months finally motivated Ripley’s legs to carry himself onto land. Of course, he grew up knowing this type of action was forbidden amongst all sea folk and considered treason. If caught venturing to shore by anybody under the surface, he could be charged and sentenced to a life behind bars in the most shameful location and under the highest security--the King’s dungeon.

How Ripley discovered interest in land walker culture? Well, the story isn’t quite a nail-biter. One day while swimming towards the shallower ends of the sea, a sinking brick caught his eye. After swimming towards it and examining the material, he concluded it was not those plastic rings most turtles get tied around their fins, nor the transparent shrapnel he had been warned to keep away from in fear of being sliced to bits. It was a tough piece of plank with thinly sliced papers in between, each holding various names and places. After skimming through each page with lit eyes and enamor for his new discovery, Ripley flipped back to the plank at the front to read the large word staring back at him.

“Encyclopedia.”

It was the only treasure of his that he decided to sneak up to the surface with. The book was far too heavy for him to add anything else to the load. After surging himself to the surface, he finds the famous, red landmark staring back at him. It was one which he had meticulously mapped and been swimming to for weeks. A sight which he could never grow tired of. Even it’s picture, filed under the letter ’G’ made his heart lurch for a change of scenery whenever he perused it. Staring before the real thing in front of him and knowing at one point he could be standing on it looking down at the home he had left made his heart start matching the beat of an erratic kick drum.

When he marched onto land for the first time, feeling his feet sink into dirt which was dry, Ripley was appalled at the fact that this was still the same planet. He continued in one direction, not exactly sure what to do now or where his unmarked destination would be. Finally, he shoved his way through trees and stumbled onto a square of cement. Seconds later, his entire body was vulnerable lying atop it.

“Oh my god! I’m so sorry!” Ripley’s eyes fluttered open and he brought a hand to his forming concussion. A young woman, no older than him and adorning a vibrant tracksuit halter her jogging on the pavement and leaned down to inspect him for any superficial injuries. Her eyes were shaped like almonds and held the most gorgeous jade color. It’s hue was incomparable to the coral reefs he had been witness to for the last eighteen years. And he thinks it’s his new favorite sight above the Golden Gate Bridge.

“Are you alright?” With the guidance of her soft hand, Ripley shimmied himself into a sitting position and brought up his arm, which was suffering a light stinging sensation. “I’m leaking ...red.”

The girl before him snorts out a laugh, “you’re bleeding. And you’re soaking wet. Where did you come from?” Blinking at her a couple of times, Ripley fully stands up and turns to study the progress he has made on his journey so far. Lazily, he points to the red, steel ladders native to those in San Francisco and she inhales a sharp breath through the nose.

“You jumped?”

“No.” He looks at her. “I swam.”

Furrowing her brows, she nearly scoffs in disbelief at the story of this man slowly unraveling before her. Nevertheless, she remained intrigued and asks, “what’s your name?”

“Ripley.”

“Well, Ripley, I happen to live a few blocks down and own a dryer and some bandages if you’d like to come with.”

“Okay.” He nods, cueing the two to begin their walk back to her home. “What’s a dryer?” He asks, turning to her. And though she should have been concerned for how hard of a fall the man had taken, she elicits a string of giggles without further thought.

“You have a lot of explaining to do when we get back.”

And when they did get back, Ripley did not know what to say. Though it was nice leaving his home to discover a new one named San Francisco, a part of him still remained allegiant to his loved one’s below the surface.

“I can’t really remember much.” Is the excuse he gave. He hoped the questions would end there, but to his dismay, Stephanie continued her interrogation.

“What’s with the book.” She arched an eyebrow, pointing a finger down at the encyclopedia still in his grip. He opened it up, being careful when flipping each wilted page before coming across the landmark he was basking in the sight of not too long ago.

“I wanted to come here. And see it.” Humming, Stephanie nods and reaches a hand toward the book.

“May I?” Ripley nods, relinquishing the book over to her hold and letting her flip through the pages as she pleased.

“One day, when I become a marine biologist and get rich...this is where I’m going.” She turned the book towards Ripley, allowing his eyes to scan the picture in all of its beauty. The setting sun highlighting the sand and bouncing off of people’s glowing skin. The palm trees casting the perfect shade and shaking in the breeze made Ripley want to take Stephanie and swim with her straight there.

“Where is this?” His finger darted out to trace over the photo, as Stephanie read the title of the section.

“Hawaii.” The word sounded like a symphony when it bounced off of her tongue. It felt like Ripley’s insides were rolling down a hill of lush green grass and never wanted to stop.

“Let’s go.”

“Ripley, you can’t just up and leave like that. I mean, you probably have a life and family here…” she begins objecting.

“I wanna go wherever you go.” She turns from the hypnotizing photo of Hawaii’s sunset to his aqua blue eyes, just as mesmerizing. A smile creeps onto her lips, and suddenly, the word “no” seems displeasing to say. So instead she answers with an optimistic,

“Okay.”

“It’s not,” Ripley says, but is startled as another voice joins him in sync. This cues the man to turn, along with Merlin and come face to face with the wanted runaway.

“You were right, Rip.” Merlin elicits a string of menacing chuckles and administers a clap of his hand against his friend’s back. “She swam right after him.” But Ripley’s eyes were already transfixed elsewhere. Specifically, on his stunned child.

“Wesley...I--”

“Dad, what the hell are you doing?” The young man bustled past both of the knights to find his past competitor twitching and curling into himself against the stone floor.

“I...I don’t know, son. It was never meant to go this far--”

“You nearly killed him, dad! God, and for what? What were you going to get out of this?” Wesley ripped mercilessly at the seaweed keeping Shawn’s hands captive.

Ripley repeated his son’s question over and over to himself. No logical answer came up other than saving himself and his family.

“I was trying to protect you--”

“Protect me?” he scoffs. “By kidnapping and beating one of my friends? If you really cared about protecting me, you would actually tell me why you’re always leaving and where you’re going to. You would stay behind and actually ask me how me and mom have been since you’ve left us for some job we don’t even know anything about! More importantly, you would have told me about this!” Wesley retrieves his phone from his pocket, turning the screen towards his father.

Silence passed among the group for a few seconds, before Merlin took the initiative to lean towards Ripley and whisper to him, “You see a black screen too, right?”

“Uh . . . Wesley . . .” Y/N says, glowering her eyes at the boy. Humming, he turns the phone around for himself and gasps. Droplets of water were the only evidence as to what caused the unresponsive device.

“Huh? Oh no, no…” He pats the electronic against his hand, persistently pressing the power button in hopes of some illumination on the screen. His endeavor was fruitless, however, and left the boy sighing in despair. “I knew I should have gotten the warranty.”

“It was a map of the kingdom,” Y/N grumbles beside Ripley. “Not that it really matters anymore.”

“So what are you gonna do now? Take me in?” she asks, turning her stare from Ripley to Merlin. She tries to ignore Shawn’s eyes burning into her profile with dread for what was to come. She just hopes to have one last moment of staring into the hazel rings of his and maybe having her choke her--or kiss her, she is still confused on which was supposed to occur--before she is sentenced to life beneath the water forever.

“Yep.” Merlin smiles proudly to himself.

“No,” says Ripley, earning a hawk from everybody in the room.

“What?” His fellow knight stands beside him, baffled.

“What? I mean—“ Y/N clears her throat. “That’s right you’re not. Now, let Shawn free and we’ll all return back to land,” she commands in an authoritative voice, setting her hands against her hips Shawn’s hands could not wait to squeeze when he finally got the chance to hug her.

“Rip…” Merlin stops him with a hand against his forearm. “What are you doing?”

But Ripley ignores it, absorbing the sight before him. His son finished unraveling all of the seaweed that restrained Shawn’s hands earlier. Y/N approached him cautiously, and bent down to her knees to study the inflictions left on the boy’s skin from Sandy. Shawn tries not to concentrate on his new wounds, and rather, begins rattling compliments toward the woman in front of him.

“That-that dress looks nice on you,” he gulps.

A grin climbs onto her face upon the sight of Shawn’s red cheeks. “I think you already told me that earlier.”

“Well, I’m still right,” he claims through shaky chuckles.

“Eh,” She shrugs, staring down at the floral-patterned fabric. “I think I prefer your hoodie.” A snort comes from Shawn.

He retorts, “I think I’d prefer that thing in the garbage. It probably smelled awful when I gave it to you. And it’s covered in stains and...blegh.” He stiffens when Y/N’s warm hand is pressed against one of his cheeks, which now feels as though it is burning.

“I think I’d prefer you...and your brown eyes...and more of those…”

“Moments?” Shawn offers with a quirk of his eyebrow.

“Yeah, definitely more of those.” She grins, before the unfortunate moment the two shared earlier came to mind. “I’m sorry about what I said...you were right. Getting anywhere close to the water was a mistake.”

“No, I’m sorry. I mean, this is your home for crying out loud. I couldn’t ask you to just abandon it overnight...especially when you make a damn good lifeguard.” His hand reaches to guide a wet tendril behind Y/N’s ear.

“This isn’t my home, Shawn. My home is here, in Hawaii, with cheeseballs and shopping trips with Aaliyah and seafood nights...and you.”

“And Connor.” Shawn adds, earning a chuckle from the girl before him.

“And Connor.” She repeats.

“And Wesley.” The boy straggling behind them coughs, before turning to admire the stone surrounding them.

“And Wesley...but mostly you.” Watching the two lovesick strangers from afar was like staring into a portal from his past. The sight brought proud tears to Ripley’s eyes, despite his attempts to keep his emotions at bay.

“You know that it’s our lives on the line if you let her go,” Merlin states bitterly through his teeth. Ripley’s eyes shine with pride at the scene of Wesley now surveying the cove for the first time, with the two love struck young adults exploring one another’s eyes only a few feet away.

“I know.”

“I’m gonna make sure no one else is coming,” Merlin says. Ripley merely hums, too lost in the moment to be bothered by the knight’s complaints. Merlin glances at Shawn and Y/N, remembering his mission. He slowly walks to the edge of the cove, keeping his eyes on Wesley, who crouched down on a rock and staring at the distant shoreline. With one last breath he slipped into the water, swimming back to Atlantis a fast as he could.

Wesley ran his hand across the top of the water, paying attention to nothing but the ripples he was creating. He felt oddly calm considering how chaotic the past hour had been.

“You know,” Y/N said as she came up behind him. “this is where Shawn and I first met.”

“Really?” Wesley asked. “Was it a ‘meet cute?’”

“I don’t know what that means, but sure,” Y/N chuckled.

“Either way, he definitely likes you.”

“Gee, I wonder where you got that idea from.”

“Just in case you weren’t 100 percent sure.” He turned his head to look at her, offering a small smile.

“Okay, well the fate of humanity depends on us getting to work so I need to explain the plan and get going so you guys can get back to shore.” She nudged his hip and nodded back to Ripley and Shawn, who seemed to take no shame in maintaining their distance.

Wesley grunted as he stood up. “What do you mean ‘you go down and we go back to shore?’”

“We saved Shawn but we didn’t stop the tsunami,” Y/N stated matter of factly. “I have to go down there to finish this.”

“You can’t go down there alone.”

“Why not? That’s the plan.” She turned back towards Shawn and Ripley, feeling like the area was emptier than it was when she first showed up.

“No, the plan was for us to all go down there and finish this off together,” Wesley snapped, drawing Y/N’s attention back to him.

“It’s way too dangerous for you and Shawn to go. You don’t have a map and you didn’t memorize it earlier so there’s no chance I’m letting you come with me.”

“I don’t want you going down there alone.”

“You’re not my father. You don’t get to make that choice for me!” The raise of her voice caught Shawn’s attention. He furrowed his eyebrows at what he was witnessing, still not sure as to what was going on and why he was in the cove again.

“But I’m your friend, Y/N! And as your friend, I care about you and I don’t want you shoving yourself into dagner just ‘cause!”

“I don’t think you understand the gravity of this situation, Wesley.”

“What is going on over here?” Shawn asked as he approached the two, a cautious arm slung over the front of his abdomen while he attempted steady footsteps. RIpley, still feeling a weight of guilt sunken like an anchor in the pit of his stomach from his earlier actions, maintains distance but is still in earshot.

“Y/N’s throwing herself into the face of danger like it’s nothing and we’re not allowed to come with her.” Wesley threw his arm out in frustration, letting it fall to his side with a smack.

“Y/N?” Shawn said her name with hesitance. “Is that true?”

“This tsunami isn’t going to stop itself and you guys won’t make it out alive if you come with me.”

“What do you mean ‘go down there’? What in the world is going on right now?”

“Oh my gosh, how many times do I have to explain this?” Y/N groaned with a roll of her eyes.

“It’s only been one time so far,” Wesley muttered, earning a shove and glare from Shawn.

“There’s a tsunami. It was a distraction so they could kidnap you. I have to go to Atlantis to stop it. You guys are gonna go back to shore. End of story.”

“That is definitely not the end of the story.”

“Wesley, I swear I am going to feed you to the dolphins if you don’t shut up.” Before Wesley could even protest, a few disapproving cries came from Douglas and his pod.

“Oh, you’ve eaten worse.” Y/N turns her head, sharpening her glare at the bottle noses.

“No, wait...say that again,” Ripley directs, now with wide eyes. He walks closer to the group of dolphins, still bobbing in the waters leading onto the rocky platform of the cove. As instructed, Douglas and the others repeat the same series of chirps. Simultaneously, Y/N and Ripley bothe elicit petrified gasps.

Wesley and Shawn stood beside another, watching the scene unfold before them with a feeling of trepidation blossoming inside of both of them. “Do you understand what’s happening?” Wesley whispers into Shawn’s ear.

“Not a clue,” Shawn replies in a similar, hushed tone.

“Merlin went to the king to share our location, that’s what’s happening. We need to leave, now,” she says to Ripley, who confirms her order with a nod. “Douglas, get Shawn and Wesley back to shore.”

“What? No. Did you not just hear me say ‘this is not the end of the story’?” Wesley cries, before a loud clap of a crashing wave makes the group collectively flinch. Slowly, the tide began rising higher and higher, ultimately beginning to fill the cove to the top of its coarse walls.

“I think somebody heard you,” Shawn remarks--but his voice is nearly drowned by another harsh wave against the cove’s exterior. He is now fretful as his feet, once planted to the platform, are now hovering over it as he tried to keep his head above water. The dolphins began overlapping in their clicks and squeals.

“It’s the king,” Ripley begins. “He’s gonna fill this cave up to the brim.” He and Y/N, too began bobbing up and down as the water began a drastic rise.

“Well, you two can breathe underwater so what’s the big...ohhh…” Wesley shares a sheepish look with the three.

“Maybe if we swim out he’ll stop,” Y/N suggests.

“What? No, you two are not going out there. Do you know what he’ll do to you?” Shawn asks.

“Do you not realize what he’s doing to you two right now? You’re both forty seconds away from holding your breath for who knows how long—“

“Seven minutes,” Wesley interjects.

“It doesn’t matter,” Ripley and Y/N reply in sync.

“Seven minutes? Dude that’s impressive,” says Shawn, slightly envious. He looks back to Y/N and Ripley, both giving him a look of disdain.

Shawn clears his throat, “Sorry.”

“You’ll still both be dead in minutes. This current is too strong for you two to push through, remember? There’s no other option…” Once again, she turns back to Douglas, who is already awaiting for further instruction.

“Douglas, take them back to shore, please.” Douglas alerts the others of his clan,. Swiftly, the rubbery grey bodies are seen swooping Shawn and Wesley out of the cove as fast as their fins could carry them, not even leaving time for the two boys to protest.

“Are you ready?” She shares what may be a final look with her ex-nemesis, and is somewhat grateful for him now being an ally.

“You kidding? I’ve been waiting for twenty-three years.” The rising water finally fulfills its duty in submerging the two Atlanteans in the deep blue. Their eyes bore deep into one another’s, illuminating a near identical aqua.

“Let’s do this.”

The two surge out into the deep, barely feeling the coral and other bottom-dwellers graze their feet as they journey a reasonable distance from the cove. Precocious, the two scan their surroundings for any threat which could be headed their way. Alas, they were met with relatively clear waters, other than a few finned friends swimming past them without care.

“I don’t understand, where’s the--” before she could finish her question, Y/N’s temple was met with a brutal force that knocked her to the sea floor. Groaning, her eyelids fluttered open and she endured a throbbing feeling on the side of her skull while witnessing the sight of Ripley, already put under beside her. A looming shadow draws her stare up, and she elicits another groan at the sight of its gaping mouth and filtering gils, swimming in circles above her.

“Hammerheads.” She murmurs in distaste, before her new head trauma lulls her into unconsciousness.

LOOK OUT FOR THE NEXT PART OF UNDERTOW COMING 4/2/21!

Join the taglist to see what happens next!

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shewhorises-tjyj · 3 years

Text

Day 3: Teashop

I am going to be using “Bridgette” and Marinette. I know they’re the same person (Bridgette being a made-up name from the 2012 fandom) but this is the first thing that came to mind. Also, Bridgette and Marinette have don’t even know the other is alive (well, except when she sees Bridgette running after Felix. But she just chalked it up to a crush) same goes for Felix. She just sees his face from time to time because he’s a model {and actor. But he isn’t in a lot of films so he’s more famous for modelling} Oh yeah! Adrien does not exist or at least he isn’t mentioned.

It’s kind of switching from third to second to first person………So, it’s kind of messy.

“Felix!~” NOPENOPENOPENOPE.

He continued running (or well fast walking in other people opinion he was a Culpa there was no way he was going to be caught running!) her voice drew closer and closer as they ventured into a place he had never seen before but if this place could help him get away from ‘it’ he would take his chances of possibly getting lost and booked into the first store he saw. Coincidentally, it was a teashop. He quickly hid behind one of the walls and opened his eyes while panting before promptly freezing and tried to book it out the store when he heard a VERY familiar voice, “Feeliiixx!” before hiding behind the wall again. He noticed the girl looking at him like he was a madman (and okay, he probably looked like one) but he was overall surprised that she didn’t know him.

As the voice drew further away, he released a breath he didn’t know he was holding and dropped to the floor. The girl then proceeded to help him up and brought him to a table and left the room to make tea while he went and examined the place and the girl. The place had a mix of Japanese and Chinese furnishture that made him feel like he wasn’t in France anymore and instead at a traditional Chinese/Japanese house and the girl looked similar to… his stalker fangirl… but with a few differences that differed her from the other. For one, she had shorter hair that was let loose, her clothes were a red turtleneck long-sleeve crop top with the shoulder area being cut off, the back having a hoodie, the black skirt starting at the bottom of the crop top and reached right above the knees, black leggings and white tall sneaker boots that looked designer.

She could probably be a model or actor if, for the fact that he memorised every model and actor there is on the planet so that if he were to ever cross one he would not be as cold as he is.

When the girl came back she poured him a cup of tea before introducing herself.

“I’m Marinette. What’d your name?”

She didn’t recognise him?

“Felix.”

“Are you okay? You seem like you ran a good distance to get here.”

“…just trying to run away from a…………… fangirl.”

“Do you even know your way around here? I don’t think I’ve ever seen you here before.”

“………uh….”

“I’m guessing you don’t” if anything, she seemed amused by this.

“I just ran. I’ve never been in this part of Paris before.”

“Do you want help to get back to... wherever you live then?”

“while that would be most convenient I can just call my driver to pick me up. Could you tell me where ‘here’ is?”

“the 1st Arrondissement, street cours la reine.”

“thank you.”

He took out his phone and texted his driver of his location and to come pick him up and placed it back down haven’t yet received a reply and took a sip of the tea and perked up. It didn’t go unnoticed by the girl.

“It’s a mix of mint and chamomile tea. It helps sooths the mind and muscles.” (or so I found on google)

“it tastes devine” (oh my god it’s so unusual for me to write so formally.)

“Do you own this place?”

“Oh no, I’m just helping my grandfather open the shop today. He fell ill and was unable to come today so I volunteered to help keep the shop open for the day, he’ll be coming tomorrow” (THAT’S RIGHT! I’M MAKING MASTER FU RELATED TO HER)

“I see.”

*ding!*

Picking up his phone again he saw he had received a reply from his driver who replied positively saying he would be able to come in half an hour and in that half hour he had made small talk with the girl.

Thirty minutes later, a car honk was heard outside.

“it seems that my driver has arrived, thank you for your hospitality.”

Then, she smiled and it seemed like it lighted up the whole room and possibly outside as it was getting dark out

“Your welcome! Let me show you out.”

Once outside,

“It’s late out, do you want a ride back home?”

“Ah! No thank you, my house is near here and it would be a bother for you.”

“I insist.”

“Really! I can get home in a matter of seconds!”

*sigh* “Alright, I hope you have a safe walk home.”

“Bye!” she replied waving.

When he got in the car, he thought back to the day. She was the most interesting he had ever met. she didn’t know who he was even though his face was all over the internet and Paris. And anything she said was not particularily boring and she talked about her dreams with such passion he had never seen before. Plus, she knew more than most people in the span of 40 minutes than people who’ve known him their whole lives except maybe Bridgette who knew what she knew she certainly was an interesting girl.

Wait- oh god that sounds so affectionate- shit- no- He DID NOT gain a crush in just 40 minutes of knowing her- wait- I didn’t get her number- NO!- oh god no he’ll never meet such an amazing girl again. She said her grandfather own the shop maybe I can ask him- NOPE that would just be weird. He was just a stranger and he was sure she wouldn’t talk about him. If he asks her grandfather, her grandfather will think he’s a creep and even if he got a chance with her, her grandfather will probably make her break up with him-

He was suddenly pulled out of his stuptor when his butler/driver announced their arrival at the family estate.

“We’ve arrived sir.”

“Huh, oh thank you Oliver.”

“Anytime sir.”

After that day, he started to regularly come to the tea shop in hopes of meeting the girl but to no avail (well he did end up getting on good terms with her grandfather which was good if he ever saw her again…) but on one fateful day, that all changed.

“Class, please welcome our new student. Marinette Dupain Cheng.”

1246 words.

(I searched up ‘most expensive neighbourhood in Paris’ and I got four different places so… I did what any one would do. I searched up ‘Wheel Decide’ and placed the four different locations in the wheel and spun it and got ‘7th Arrondissement’ (it’s near the Eiffel tower) and went to one of the Arrondissement next to it which was the ‘1st Arrondissement’ and picked a street which was just across the seine ‘cours la reine’)

@felinettenovember

#Felinette November #Felinette #felinette month 2020 #Day 3: Teashop

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cutieodonoghue · 3 years

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the edge of hope (4/9)

summary: canon divergent au; when Din left Sorgan to protect the Child, he left the woman he’d fallen in love with, not knowing he’d also left behind something else. Or, Omera and Winta join Mando and Grogu on their season 2 adventures. Mandomera!

Catch up here: 1, 2, 3

Fourth chapter below the cut or on AO3!

The Heiress

Very slowly and held together by sheer luck, the Razor Crest approached the estuary moon of Trask. The passengers of the ship had slept for a short while at the beginning, but were now all awake, sitting in a silence that felt tepid. Omera kept her eyes on the windows while she held tight to her yawning daughter.

This journey had started off so hopeful only a handful of days ago, and now, they were flying in a ship so broken that they all had to squeeze into the cockpit and pray that the door wouldn’t fly off.

Was it worth it? Omera pondered this question often over the course of the past day or so especially, trapped on an icy planet with no clear path of escape.

Her gaze shifted to Din, whose slouched posture indicated that he may have still been resting. She had to smile just slightly. He’d worked hard to keep them safe, and she knew this wasn’t the journey he’d wanted for them.

Yes, she decided, even with all of their struggles and scares thus far, joining Din and his son on their path to find the Jedi had been worth it. Winta had been given a gift many of the children in their village would never have the chance to receive: adventure. Omera had been given the gift of spending time with the man she loved.

In the smallest moments with Din was where she’d found the most joy. His fingers on her knee on Tatooine. The way he’d gone speechless at the sight of her wearing his clothes. Working in tandem to fix the ship. Even if they were unable to spend any time together in the future, being here now would have been worth it.

The nav system beeped, alerting them of their proximity to Trask, and Din jolted forward, his hands already at their positions.

“Looks like we made it.” He turned, checking to see if everyone was awake. “Get ready for landing.”

The Crest began its descent, but it wasn’t easy. The ship jolted and jerked. Din seemed overwhelmed as he checked the levers and knobs on the console.

“Dank farrik! The landing array isn’t responding.” Bad. “Without the guidance system, it’ll be a manual re-entry. It might get choppy.” Worse. “Once we’re through the atmosphere, there should be enough fuel to slow down. If we don’t burn to a crisp.”

His words were less than reassuring, but Omera chose to believe that it would be alright. After a moment, Din called out over his shoulder, “Omera, come up here. I need your hands!”

She was on her feet in an instant, allowing Winta the entire seat for herself. She came alongside Din and he touched her hand to the lever he wanted help with.

“This lever needs to stay back. Keep it steady.”

They began to plummet and the entire ship felt like fragile glass beneath them. Fire damaged the lower belly of the Crest, sending alerts up to the console in bright flashing red lights and alarms.

But now, she could see the port. They were getting close. Probably too fast.

“Razor Crest, this is Trask flight control. Please reduce your speed to port protocol.”

“I’m trying my best here,” Din replied, pained. “Engage reverse thrusters. Brace!”

Omera reached out with a free hand to grab the side of the ship, bracing as the ship dropped in altitude.

“Razor Crest, do you copy? You have to reduce speed.”

“Almost there, almost there.” Din’s words came as the ship began its final descent, finally just above a landing spot in the waters of Trask’s port.

Omera prayed with everything within her that the cockpit was waterproof.

Din focused intently on the landing, finally setting them down on what felt like the landing pad. It was seamless. “Here we go. Nice and easy.”

The ship almost instantly jolted downward, lopsided, sending them down into the water. Blessedly, the cockpit held, even if Omera had fallen to the floor in the collapse.

“Nice and easy,” Omera teased. Din looked at her and she could tell he was glaring through his helmet. She shook her head. “Next time, maybe.”

Din scoffed. “I definitely want to do that again.”

The ship was raised from the water then by the careful help of a crane and settled on the landing pad they’d struggled to find balance on. The Mandalorian helped her off of the floor, his hand gentle and strong in hers.

On a sigh, he turned to the Frog Lady and Winta. “Well, we made it.”

Winta grinned. “That was fun!”

“Fun?” Din asked. “We’ll put you in the pilot’s chair next time, then.”

Her daughter giggled. “Can you teach me how to fly?”

Din stood and guided the little girl out of the cockpit. “I thought we already had your first lesson.”

“Oh yeah!”

Omera steadied herself when she felt a wave of nausea, a hand falling absentmindedly to her middle.

In all of the excitement, she’d very narrowly forgotten that she was pregnant. The Frog Lady seemed to notice, tilting her head at her while she settled her egg backpack over her shoulders.

She croaked, sympathetic in tone.

Omera offered her a soft smile in response. She gave her belly a slight rub. “We’re a lot alike.”

The Frog Lady nodded with compassion in her eyes. She approached Omera and set her hand over hers. It was startling how understood she felt.

“I haven’t told the Mandalorian,” Omera admitted in a quiet voice. She shook her head. “I don’t know how.”

Her companion croaked again. She removed her hand and held it outwards for her, as if to offer her the chance to leave first.

Omera smiled politely. “You go on ahead. I’m sure you’re anxious to see your husband.”

The Frog Lady paused, hesitant, before she gave in and walked away.

It took a minute, but the nausea passed, and Omera breathed in deep, the scent of the ocean filling her nostrils. It reminded her of Sorgan, the water, and offered a sense of calm.

Stepping down the ladder from the cockpit, she found the rest of the Razor Crest’s passengers already venturing off the ship, the Frog Lady the last on the ramp.

Ahead of her, she spotted Winta with her hand in the Mandalorian’s, and the Child in his floating pram. Already, Winta had become so attached to Din.

Omera gathered her bag and swiftly disembarked the ship.

The Razor Crest dripped with water, spouts of it raining from drainage all around her, and as she walked away, she looked at the damage.

It was a lot worse than it had been before. Parts had actually fallen off in their landing. The door to the cargo hold seemed to be stuck permanently open. It looked like it had been through absolute hell and back.

She could only imagine how much this would cost to get fixed properly.

Omera caught up to Din and the children at the dock. She spotted the Frog Lady ahead of them, looking around with haste to find her husband. For a moment, it almost seemed as if she might have to keep up her search.

But suddenly, a call from a voice similar to the Frog Lady echoed from across the dock. The Frog Lady took off in a run, bustling through the crowd with her eggs in tow. As Omera watched the couple embrace, she came alongside Din.

“You did it. They’re reunited.”

Din looked down at her. “We did it.”

Omera smiled softly. They were a team. Together, they’d fixed up the Razor Crest and brought the Frog Lady and her eggs home in one piece.

Careful not to crowd the Frog Couple, they hung back a little as the pair chattered excitedly over their eggs. The Frog Man turned to Din and took his hand, shaking it brusquely.

“You’re welcome. I was told you could lead me to others of my kind.”

The Frog Man nodded eagerly. He gestured out, pointing to a nearby inn.

“The inn? Over there?”

Again, the Frog Man nodded. He and his wife held hands as they led them toward it, as if they were eager to give as much as they could as a way of thanking the Mandalorian for his kindness.

“Do you think we could get a room?” Omera asked Din.

“Let’s see what we can learn. Then we’ll see about a room.”

Once seated at a table in the inn’s restaurant, Omera felt as if she could relax a little bit. The crowd of fishermen in the restaurant were a mixture of Mon Calamari and Quarren in species, all of them preoccupied with their bowls of chowder and conversation to care about their group.

“What can I get you?” the waiter asked.

“Nothing for me.” Din held tight to his creed even if he was probably just as hungry as the rest of them. “A bowl of chowder for everyone else.”

“These seats are scarce, buddy. Everyone seated needs to eat.”

Din settled a generous physical payment on the table, one that the waiter took easily. “I can buy something else. Information. Have you seen others that look like me?”

He poured chowder into each of their bowls from the device hanging on the ceiling. The chowder was white and smelled a bit odd, but Omera was just hungry enough that she was willing to give it a try.

“Others with beskar have been through here.”

“Who can take me to them?”

“I know someone who might help.”

Omera watched as the man went to another of his kind a few tables away, sharing a discussion that brought focus onto the Mandalorian sitting at the table beside her. She shifted her gaze when she realized Winta was giggling at the Child.

A small sea creature jumped out of his bowl and onto his face. Din slashed it with his knife.

“Don’t play with your food.”

The Child made a little noise and leaned over his bowl again, this time having a sip of the food. Seeing that both of the children were eating, Omera felt comfortable feeding herself. She lifted the bowl to her lips just as the man from a few tables away approached.

“You seek others of your kind?”

“Have you seen them?”

“Aye. I can bring you to them.”

There was something about the man that made Omera nervous. He had an easygoing tone, but the way he eyed Din left her wondering if his motivations were pure.

“Where?”

“Only a few hours’ sail. It’ll cost you, though.”

“Always does.” Din sighed. “Can you take me to them tomorrow?”

The man shrugged. “Anything you’d like. Just bring the credits.”

After they finished eating, Din got them a room to stay in for the next few nights while they explored Trask in search of others of his kind. It was small, with a double bed in the center and a bathroom they could use to freshen up in, but it was enough.

Winta collapsed almost instantly on the bed with a relieved sigh. “I wish the Razor Crest had one of these, Din.”

“I don’t think something like that would fit on my ship.”

Omera padded across the room to check in the bathroom if there was a tub for bathing. A smile found her lips when she discovered that there was.

“Looks like it’ll be bath night, Winta.”

Her daughter pushed herself up so she sat on the edge of the bed. “That’s good. My hair is smelly.”

“I imagine,” Omera teased. “Mine must be too.”

She watched Din survey the room as if he were searching for traps. It seemed to her that he was anxious for the day that lay ahead of him meeting those of his kind.

“Does the Child need a bath?” Omera asked. “If we’re all going to clean up, I think getting his bath done first would probably be best. He can try to go to sleep after.”

“He’ll get the water all over,” Winta giggled. She jumped off of the bed and approached the Child’s floating pram, reaching inside to grab him. “Do you want a bath?”

“I haven’t ever really given him one,” Din admitted in a soft, awkward voice.

Winta put her fingers over the Child’s head, gently stroking. She had always been a caring girl, looking after the younger children in the village as if it were her responsibility. One day, maybe, Winta would make a natural mother.

“I think he would like it.”

“Go ahead.” Din nodded. “I should go see if I can find something to eat. Want to check in on our passenger to make sure she’s okay too.”

Winta beamed happily at the prospect of giving the Child a well deserved bath and carried him with her toward the refresher.

Omera folded her arms to her chest and studied the Mandalorian. He crossed the room toward her on his way out like he was eager to do something - anything at all.

“You okay?”

He stopped at her side and nodded. “Just… been a rough couple of days. We need a win here.”

She hummed. “I have faith. When you find the Mandalorians, they will have an answer.” Omera settled her hand over his heart and offered him a tiny smile. “In the meantime, our victories should come from knowing we’re doing our best to care for one another. The children are happy and healthy. We still have plenty of time to find your boy’s kind.”

Din reached for the hand at her side and put his opposite palm over her wrist, bent slightly to hold hers.

“I know I’ve said it before, but I’m glad you’re here.”

Her heart fluttered at his admission. “I’m glad, too.”

He lowered his forehead to hers, one hand moving up toward her cheek to hold her steady. Omera smiled at the closeness of the embrace and allowed herself to get comfortable in it.

“This is called a Keldabe kiss,” Din explained in a quiet voice. “My people use it to show affection.”

Her smile only spread wider knowing that it was the equivalent of a kiss. “I wondered if it was something like that.”

For a moment, they were able to stay as they were, holding onto one another by touching the crowns of their heads with their hands held tenderly over Din’s heart.

“Mama, can you help?” Winta called from beyond, a jarring reminder of reality.

With some reluctance, Omera released Din from her grasp. “Go get something to eat. I’ll get the children clean and try putting them to bed.”

Taking a few steps backward, she watched the Mandalorian, her heart still beating fast from their gentle intimacy. He waved goodbye to her and she echoed the sentiment.

Turning toward the refresher, Omera’s teeth dug into her lower lip to keep from smiling too big.

When night covered Trask like a dark blanket, Din returned to the room at the inn. He’d found something to eat and thought to grab a few extras for them to share come the morning, already anticipating the Child’s ravenous appetite.

When the door closed behind him, he found himself staring at Winta and Omera, curled up together on one half of the bed, while the Child snoozed in his pram nearby.

Gently, he settled the supplies he’d picked up on a table that lined the wall next to the door.

With everyone sound asleep, Din had only one thing in mind: getting into the refresher to get clean himself.

The door locked behind him and he worked with practiced ease to remove his armor, helmet coming off first so he could finally breathe fresh air through his nose and see without his visor.

The small space of the bathroom smelled already of flowery fragrances and there appeared to have been somewhat of a mess, water sprayed on the floor. He could only imagine how things had gone with the Child in a bath.

The Child probably did enjoy it, as Winta had suggested, probably too much.

The water in the shower was gratefully warm, a pleasant departure from the ice from that rock they’d nearly been stranded on permanently. His armor offered him more warmth than what plain clothes granted, but not much more.

Quickly, Din cleaned the past couple of days off of his skin. Sweat, blood, and grime washed down the drain and he scrubbed some of the flowery smelling liquid into his hair, briefly wondering if Omera would smell just like it, too.

It was incredible how quickly his thoughts shifted to her. Before he’d gone back to Sorgan to see her again, he’d find himself in situations similar to this, allowing his mind to wander to her as if he had nowhere better to set his thoughts.

Bringing her along on the journey to find the Jedi hadn’t exactly been in his plans when he went to Sorgan. In fact, he’d gone to Sorgan to repent of what he’d thought had been a mistake on his part, hoping to just clear his conscience of what he’d done when he knew Omera was alright.

Having them along with him made things difficult in some ways, but in the overwhelming sense, he felt as if being in this together made it easier. Easier in a way he couldn’t quite put his finger on.

He dried himself off as soon as he was finished with the warm water. Clothes and armor back in place, he felt better, new, and went to see if he could fit on the bed next to the girls.

The last time he’d laid beside Omera had been the first time he’d laid next to her. The night they’d spent together, giving to one another the most intimate of a stolen moment in time.

She’d come to him, warm and unassuming. His heart had acted faster than his brain could catch up. It seemed she was one of the only people in the galaxy who could do that to him.

The bed was much more comfortable than his chair in the cockpit of the Crest, where he’d last allowed his eyes to close. He laid on top of the blankets, facing the ceiling with his hands clasped together over his chest.

Beside him, the bed shifted and he turned his head to see Omera facing him, her eyes open.

“Did you get something to eat?”

Din smiled softly beneath his helmet. “Yes. Picked up some extra for the morning too.”

Omera’s lips curled at the ends and she reached out with one hand to touch the side of his helmet. “Try to sleep. Don’t worry about tomorrow.”

He lifted both of his hands, tugging the glove from one to remove it. When his bare hand was free, he brought it to Omera’s, giving her one of the only things he could when his whole being ached for something more.

She thoughtfully turned her hand and gently touched their fingertips together before pressing her palm to his. Slowly, her small fingers filled the spaces between, curling as she lowered her fingertips to his knuckles.

Ever so gently, she brushed her thumb against the side of his and offered him a kind, almost loving, smile. As he stared at her, he saw that secret again, hiding and private, dancing behind her pretty brown eyes.

It wouldn’t be right to ask about it now, while the children were sleeping so close by, but he resolved he’d ask soon. All he wanted was to know that she felt whole, and seeing the shade of fear in her eyes imposed by this secret made him think she didn’t feel that way at all.

“Rest, Din,” Omera whispered.

“You too.”

As Din allowed himself to fall asleep, he thought back to their conversation earlier. She was right. The children were happy and healthy. He didn't need to worry about how quickly he could find the Jedi when he could see victories here, with them.

For the first time in a long time, when Omera woke, she felt rested. Lately, she’d found it difficult to sleep even back home on Sorgan in her own bed.

As she opened her eyes, she decided it had to have been because of the pregnancy. Her body needed more energy, and she hadn’t exactly been allowing herself to charge up on the unborn’s behalf.

Very quickly, she realized that she was the last one to wake. She heard Winta’s giggles and the Child’s cooing babbles. Even warmer was Din’s low, even voice as he dealt with both of them on his own.

Omera sat up in the bed, wincing ever so slightly at the light that came from the overhead lamp.

The Child was tucked under one of the Mandalorian’s arms, both of them sitting directly beside her in the bed while Din offered his son food to eat. Winta sat on the foot of the bed, nibbling on whatever Din had brought them to share.

Perking up at the sight of her freshly awake, Winta grinned, crawling over top of the bed towards her. “Morning, Mama.”

“Good morning, Winta.”

“You slept for a long time. Din was worried about you.”

Din sighed. “I wasn’t worried.”

Winta hummed. “Yes you were.” She gave Din a very matter-of-fact look. “You asked me if she usually sleeps this long. Twice.”

Omera laughed to herself and looked over at the Mandalorian, whose open palm held the food meant for the Child to eat. It was touching that he’d been worried about her.

“I needed to sleep. Thank you for not waking me any sooner.”

After they shared their food, Din settled the Child into his floating pram and said, “I’ll take the kid with me to the harbor, but I think you and Winta should stay here. I don’t know if I can trust him. Heard them saying something about my beskar.”

Omera nodded in agreement. “There was something about him I didn’t like either.” She looked at the Child. “You’re sure you want to bring him?”

“We are a clan of two. Where I go, he goes.”

Omera nodded in understanding. She reached into the pram and stroked her thumb over the top of the Child’s head. “Be good for Din, little one.”

The Child cooed adorably, his ears twitching at the feeling of her hand on top of his head.

Omera looked up at the Mandalorian, whose gaze always seemed to be on her. He was closer to her than he had been before, but then again, he always seemed to be close to her too.

He lowered the crown of his head to hers ever so briefly and she set her hands on either side of his helmet.

“Be safe.”

When he pulled away, he said, “We’ll be back tonight. Let’s plan to meet at the chowder place downstairs at sunset.”

Omera liked his optimism, but worried he might not be able to fulfill the plan. She didn’t know what laid ahead. “We’ll be there.”

Winta wrapped her arms around Din’s side in a tight hug, a surprise to the Mandalorian. He lowered his hand to the back of her head with the slightest hesitance.

“We’ll be back in a few hours, Winta.”

“I know,” she said. She smiled up at him. “Just for good luck that you’ll find your Mandalorians.”

Din nodded once. “Thank you.”

When Winta pulled away, Din took an audible breath and stepped toward the door. As it opened, he looked back toward them as if he had something to say, but said nothing, instead leaving them on their own.

Almost instantly, Omera’s fingers fell to her middle, where she swore her belly had swollen up even more over the course of a night, and sighed softly through her nose. She really needed to tell him.

It had been four months since that night, which meant very soon, it would be quite unmistakable that she was with child. Even now, she felt as if the child had begun to show enough that Din might be able to tell on his own. Maybe he already had noticed and was just being polite while he waited for her to say something.

“Mama, can we go see the Frog Lady? I wonder if her eggs are going to hatch.”

She laughed a little. “Okay.”

Winta noticed her hand over her belly and looked up at her curiously. “Have you told Din yet?”

Omera shook her head. “Not yet. He has a lot on his mind. I don’t want to overwhelm him.”

“But your belly is growing,” Winta noted, her hands settling on either side of Omera’s small bump. “And it will get even bigger.”

“I know,” Omera sighed. “I’ll tell him soon. Just not yet.”

“Tonight?” Winta suggested. “Once he finds his kind, he might have less on his mind.”

Omera chuckled. She ran her fingers through her daughter’s hair and shook her head. “Why do you want him to know so badly?”

“Because I’m excited to be a big sister,” Winta admitted, bouncing on her feet. “Will Din be the baby’s father?”

Her eyes widened a little in surprise. “Um… I don’t know. I don’t think he thinks of us in a family sort of way. Not yet, anyway.”

Winta’s nose and brow both wrinkled as she pondered Omera’s explanation. “But he does all the things you do for me, Mama. He feeds us, gives us a place to sleep, and keeps us warm and safe.”

Omera smiled softly at her daughter’s innocence. She continued to run her fingers through her hair as she considered what to say.

“Being a family is more than those things. It means you give your heart away. That you love regardless of how you feel. That you stick together through all things.”

Her daughter frowned. She clung to Omera, burying her face into her side. “How do you feel that way for someone? If they aren’t like you and me and Baby…” Winta’s fingers trailed over Omera’s belly as she paused, thoughtful. “It must be hard to give your heart away.”

“It is.” Omera nodded. “But often, your heart decides on its own who to choose.”

“Has your heart chosen Din?”

She bit down on her lip, her heart feeling heavy. “It has.”

Winta pulled herself away from Omera and stared up at her, still thoughtful. “Is Din the one who gave Baby to you? Is that why your heart has chosen him?”

A blush very quickly found her cheeks. She shook her head. “That’s enough questions about the baby for now. Let’s go find our friend. Maybe we can bring her a gift to celebrate her arrival here.”

Winta sighed. Clearly, she wanted all of the answers that Omera felt the most unsure about, and she wanted them right away.

“Okay…”

“You ever been on a boat, kid?” Din asked the Child.

From within his hovering pram, the boy stared up at him, tilting his head to the side. He made a little noise, patu, and Din nodded his head once.

“Try not to get seasick. Don’t wanna get your clothes dirty and have to get you another bath.”

This time, the Child made a different noise, like he wouldn’t mind it. Blep.

“You liked the bath, didn’t you?” Din asked. He smirked to himself, giving a small shake of his head. “Omera spoils you.”

The Child hummed.

Din knew that the kid liked Omera. He knew that Omera liked the kid, too. She was a good mother. Even if she hadn’t intended to take on that role for the boy, he was glad that she had.

He did his best where it came to being his father. The word felt funny even to think, but the Armorer had bestowed the title upon him. All he could do was honor him and the path they had been set upon. He could care for him and guide him. Teach him his manners.

He was trying. That’s what mattered. He hoped the kid could see it.

Ahead of them, he saw the captain of the ship that could take them to meet up with his kind. This was the moment he’d been waiting for. This would define their next steps.

Din guided them to the ship at the dock. He kept an eye out for danger, cautious in case the stranger fisherman wanted to try anything from the docks.

“Excuse me. We spoke yesterday about a ride to find more of my kind. Mandalorians.”

The fisherman nodded. “Yeah. I remember. You got credits?”

“Yes.”

The fisherman eyed him briefly, then looked at the Child. He nodded his head. “Settle up and we’ll be on our way. There’s a mamacore out there, right in our path. Impressive beasts. You ever seen a mamacore?”

“Can’t say I have.”

He hummed. “We’ll get up close. Get you a good look.”

The fishing boat was modest in size, crewed by a modest crew of five Quarren.

After a couple of hours on the water with no end in sight, the bad feeling Din had about the captain of the vessel only intensified. There didn’t appear to be any land masses anywhere nearby, and the fog that settled over the waters was eerie.

“You ever see a mamacore eat? Quite a sight.”

Din looked blankly at the captain of the ship. The Quarren gestured to the Child beside Din, still safely stowed in his floating pram.

“Child might take an interest. You should take a look. Come on over here.”

Din cautiously allowed the Child to follow after him toward the center of the fishing boat. There was a large grate in the floor that opened up to the choppy waves.

“Get a good view. Let the kid see.”

He and the Child stayed back a safe distance, just close enough that they could see into the water, and Din held out a hand to stop the kid from going any closer. “All right, close enough.”

The captain of the fishing vessel rigged up a net of dead fish just above the freshly exposed hole in the middle of the ship. With a swift releasing mechanism operated by a lever, the net broke open and the fish dropped down for the mamacore to feed on.

“She must be hungry.”

The waters began to bubble, signifying the arrival of the mamacore, and the captain continued to ramble, but before the creature of the sea could emerge, the Quarren used his fishing spear to push the floating pram and the Child into the water.

Din’s stomach lurched. “No!”

In an instant, the mamacore surged upwards, its sharp teeth and claws descending upon the Child’s pram in the most horrifying instant. He didn’t have to think twice- he jumped in after him.

The water was murky, and he didn’t have a plan for fighting the mamacore. As he tried to find the creature beneath the surface, he very quickly ran out of air. Surging to the surface, where the boat was, he was met with resistance in the form of a grate.

It was a trap.

It seemed the Quarren operating the fishing vessel were, in fact, hunting him down for his beskar. They jabbed at him with their spears through the holes in the grate as he tried to push back on it.

How the hell was he supposed to save the kid and get himself out of this situation all on his own?

One jab of the spear in the right spot made him lose his grip on the bars, sending him back down into the water. He was as unprepared as the first time, but this time, water flooded his lungs.

With a renewed anger, he surged back up to the surface, just in time to catch his breath and get attacked all over again.

But before the fishermen could push him down below the water’s surface again, they were met with force by a Mandalorian from just beyond his sights.

He could hardly make out what went on, too focused on his breathing as he coughed and struggled to keep his head above the water.

He heard the sounds of a couple of other Mandalorians arriving via jetpack as the fighting continued. With his eyes fallen shut, Din coughed and set his focus on one thing: hope.

He would get out of this. The kid would too. He’d be safe within the pram. They just needed to get into the jaws of the creature and pry him out. Hopefully it wasn’t too late.

The grate that had locked Din away from safety aboard the boat finally pulled back. In front of him, a Mandalorian held out their hand to help tug him out of the water he’d very nearly drowned in.

“Take my hand.”

Din did as the Mandalorian asked of him, and as she helped him up out of the water, he choked out, “There’s a creature. It has the Child.”

“On it!” The words came from one of the other Mandalorians.

Focused on the Mandalorian who had pulled him from the water, Din added weakly, “The Child. Help the Child.”

“Don’t worry, brother. We’ve got this.”

He struggled to catch his breath. His body trembled and tears sat unshed in his eyes. The shock of this attack hit him differently than most did. He wasn’t a skilled swimmer, and although he probably could’ve compensated for it with his weapons, he hadn’t been prepared for the fight.

The sounds of gunfire came from beneath the ship and Din set his focus on the opening. Dread flooded him from top to bottom.

What if he’d failed? What if the pram wasn’t strong enough to protect the Child from harm? How would he explain this to Omera and Winta?

As much as he doubted himself in the past, this was a harsh reminder of how inadequate he was. Did all fathers struggle with these feelings?

The Mandalorian who had plunged down into the water to battle the mamacore emerged with a gush of water that broke the surface. She landed on the boat, pram in between her hands, and set it down on the ground next to him.

After tearing it open, she grabbed for the baby inside. “Here you go, little one.”

She handed the Child to Din. He instantly cradled him in one arm and placed his palm against the baby’s chest as he examined him. He was completely unharmed, and hadn’t even gotten wet.

A calming wave covered him. It was alright. They were both alright. A breath he hadn’t realized he was holding slid past his lips and he felt the hot tears escape his eyes out of sheer relief.

Finally, he looked up at their saviors. His voice still trembled a bit when he spoke, “Thank you.”

Briefly, he checked on the Child again. Safe. He was safe.

The fear he held in his heart gave way to something different in this instance. Was it love? Did he love this child?

Afraid of what the answer might be, Din set his focus on the next realization: this was the moment he’d been searching for. He’d found his kind. Now, he needed to do right by the kid.

He needed to find a Jedi. That was his path.

“I’ve been searching for more of our kind.”

Of the three Mandalorians who stood in front of him, the one who had rescued him from the water replied, “Well, lucky we found you first.”

“I’ve been quested to deliver this child. I was hoping that…”

He stopped dead in his tracks when all three of the Mandalorians standing on the deck of the ship removed their helmets from their heads. As he stood to be on their level, a certain degree of rage simmered just beneath the surface of his skin.

On Tatooine, it had only been Cobb Vanth who wore Mandalorian armor. He’d worn it as a means to protect his town, as a symbol of strength. He hadn’t understood the Mandalorian creed because he wasn’t Mandalorian.

Now, three much more powerful strangers stood before him in Mandalorian armor, skilled with their weapons, and treated him as their equal.

Never removing one's helmet was one of the first things they’d taught him as a Foundling. It was a key to being a Mandalorian. To remove your helmet meant turning your back on the creed.

“Where did you get that armor?”

The woman in the middle seemed confused by his tone, keeping her voice light as she replied, “This armor has been in my family for three generations.”

“You do not cover your face.” Din felt himself growing angrier with the passing moments. “You are not Mandalorian.”

This time, the man on the right spoke, “He’s one of them.”

“One of what?” Din asked the woman in the middle, the one he deemed to be the leader.

“I am Bo-Katan of Clan Kryze.” She took a tempered pause. “I was born on Mandalore and fought in the Purge. I am the last of my line. And you are a Child of the Watch.”

“The Watch?”

“Children of the Watch are a cult of religious zealots that broke away from Mandalorian society.” Bo-Katan’s gaze fell upon the Child in his arm. “Their goal was to re-establish the ancient way.”

Din gritted his teeth. “There is only one way. The Way of the Mandalore.”

After a few hours sitting with the sweet Frog Couple and their new tadpole in their humble home, Omera walked Winta through the shops along the dock, holding onto her hand tight enough that she wouldn’t get lost or wander.

Her daughter seemed nervous by all of the excess stimuli that a new planet like this crafted on its own, so it didn’t matter all that much how tightly she held on.

Omera herself kept an eye on passers by, cautious not to linger for too long in one place. She had a pistol clipped to her side, but it would never help her feel as safe as she did with the Mandalorian at her side.

She wanted to get some more food for the morning, hoping it would be the last meal they’d have to share on Trask. It would be good to have the Crest fully repaired somewhere else before they found the Jedi. If, in fact, Din had found his kind, that would likely be the course of action.

With a small container of fresh food in arm, Omera walked Winta back toward the inn, set on staying there until sunset, just under an hour away. But, as soon as they drew close, she noticed a ship a short ways out and the surprising sight of a figure with a jetpack soaring up toward the sky.

Recalling their plan to meet Din and the Child, Omera took Winta back to the inn in order to deposit the food.

“Mama, do you think Din found his kind?” Winta asked. She sat on the bed just behind her, kicking her legs out and swinging them back inward until they hit the base of the bed.

“We’ll have to ask when we meet him.”

Winta hummed. “What if he didn’t find anyone?”

Omera turned to her daughter and shrugged her shoulders. “I guess we’ll just have to keep looking.”

Together, they walked to the chowder place and settled in at a table in the back corner. She kept her eyes on the patrons, careful of onlookers. The last thing she wanted was for something to happen to them before the Mandalorian could return.

The door to the building slid open and she watched as Din entered. He cradled the Child in his arm and approached the table with a dominance that attracted the gaze of many of the patrons.

Finally, Omera felt as if she could breathe.

From behind him, she noticed the door open once more. This time, three others wearing blue Mandalorian armor entered. They had their helmets in their arms. Were they Mandalorian? Or were they as Cobb Vanth was - just a man in Mandalorian armor?

Din stood at the head of the table and the three others followed. One, a woman with a commanding presence, studied Omera and Winta for a thoughtful second.

“These are your people?” she asked Din.

He nodded once. “They’re traveling with me.”

Again, Omera met the woman’s eyes. Finally, a smile found her lips. “I am Bo-Katan. A Mandalorian, just as he is. We are from different clans, but we serve the same creed.”

Her head swarmed with thoughts. They were Mandalorians. Mandalorians who took their helmets off, and still professed the same creed that Din held.

She wasn’t sure what to believe, but she couldn’t help but feel a little excited by the idea that not all Mandalorians had to keep their helmets on. Maybe one day she’d get to see Din’s face after all.

Omera smiled back at Bo-Katan, trying to be polite. “I’m Omera. This is my daughter, Winta. You’re free to join us.”

And so it was that the table was filled with Mandalorians, and a child whose pram had been lost in the jaws of a mamacore.

Beside Omera sat Din, whose attentiveness to his boy seemed amplified after the attack at sea. The boy was perched up on his own chair beside him, with a bowl full of food that he sipped slowly.

“They came in time to save me and the Child,” Din explained. He gestured out toward Bo-Katan and her clan. “I should’ve been more careful. I was right. They wanted the beskar.”

Omera’s heart almost broke at his retelling. She wished she’d been there to help, but knew that if she had, something far worse might have happened.

“Thank you,” Omera said to the three new faces around the table.

Bo-Katan nodded. “He would do the same for any of us.” Pausing, she took a second to gather her thoughts. Then, she turned to Din specifically, saying, “Trask is a black market port. They’re staging weapons that have been bought and sold with the plunders of our planet.”

Bo-Katan glanced at her fellow blue-armored Mandalorians. “We’re seizing those weapons and using them to retake our homeworld. Once we’ve done that, we’ll seat a new Mand’alor on the throne.”

“That planet is cursed.” Din was clearly not all that pleased with Bo-Katan and her plans. “Anyone who goes there dies. Once the Empire knew they couldn’t control it, they made sure no one else could either.”

“Don’t believe everything you hear. Our enemies wanna separate us. But Mandalorians are stronger together.”

Din focused on the Child beside him. “That’s not part of my plan. I’ve been quested with returning this child to the Jedi.”

Bo-Katan’s brow knitted. “What do you know of the Jedi?”

“Nothing,” Din admitted. “I was hoping you would help me by creed.”

Bo-Katan was silent. She looked at the Child thoughtfully. “I can lead you to one of their kind. But first, we need your help on our mission.” Briefly, Bo-Katan glanced at Omera and Winta. “If you can spare the time.”

“What is your mission?” Omera asked, almost daring her to continue to treat her as if she wasn’t there.

The leader of the group pursed her lips. She lifted her bowl to her mouth to sip. Then, she spoke again, “We can share our plans with the Mandalorian you travel with, but it isn’t a place for you or your child.”

She felt Din stiffen beside her. “She travels with me. Treat her as my equal or I won’t help you.”

Bo-Katan’s jaw clenched, as if she didn’t want to do what he wanted her to. Like she was annoyed that she’d encountered a Mandalorian like Din. Even if she were trying to be courteous and not involve Omera due to the dangers of the mission, it felt like she had judged Omera quickly.

She nodded at each of them, looking between them as she spoke with intention, “Tomorrow morning, there is another Imperial freighter leaving Trask with the weapons I’d mentioned earlier. We get in, take the weapons that belong to us, and get out.”

Din considered Bo-Katan’s mission thoughtfully. “And if I help, you’ll give me what I need.”

Bo-Katan nodded her head once. “Should you earn it, yes.”

“We shouldn’t discuss the details here,” the other female Mandalorian said. “Let’s get eyes on it after we finish.”

Beneath the table, Din settled his hand over her leg as a gentle reminder that they were here, together. He nodded his head to the Mandalorians. “Fine. I’m in.”

Bo-Katan smiled into her bowl slightly. “This is the Way.”

“This is the Way.”

With Winta curled up in bed sound asleep, Omera sat at the foot with the Child in her arms, waiting patiently for Din to return. The boy wasn’t sleeping, but seemed content reaching for her hair and babbling incoherently to her all about the hardships of his day.

Omera couldn’t help but smile, looking down at him. She hoped he knew that he was very much part of their family, as unique as it may have been. She lowered her lips to the top of the Child’s head and gave him a gentle kiss.

“Shh,” she whispered, “I think it’s time you went to sleep, little one.”

Din had gone with the other Mandalorians to scout out their mission, a mission she hoped would finally bring Din the answer he searched for. Yet, in the same heartbeat, she almost wished he wouldn’t be able to find a Jedi at all. In such a short period of time, she had grown deeply attached to the boy in her arms.

The door before her slid open and Din entered, quiet and cautious. He paused at the sight of her and his boy, almost like he hadn’t anticipated to see them still awake.

Omera rose to her feet. “How did it go?”

“I’ll meet them in a few hours to prepare,” Din replied. He looked at the Child in her arms when they were close enough. “Today… I couldn’t protect him. I owe Bo-Katan my help after what they did.”

Omera nodded, somber. She offered the Child to him. “Here, maybe you can get him to sleep.”

The Mandalorian reached for the small boy and took him into his arms. With utmost care, he rested a hand over his belly.

“When we were on Tatooine, you sang to him.”

She smiled. “It was a song my mother taught me as a little girl. I sang it to Winta when she was a baby.”

Omera couldn’t help but think about telling him her secret then, especially with their conversation leaving the perfect opening to just say it without needing the right circumstances.

But it still wasn’t right. Telling him then would only distract him during a mission with high stakes.

Maybe, she decided, once they were back onboard the Crest, she could get him alone and say the words she so desperately needed to.

Winta was right. She would only be able to conceal her bump with strategic articles of clothing for a little while longer. And, as much as she wished things were simpler, having a child with a Mandalorian would likely never be easy.

Din sighed deeply. He shook his head. “When I almost lost him today in the water…” He stopped, choking on the last of his words. “If the Jedi take him from me to raise him, they will be right to do so. I can offer him nothing.”

Omera closed her eyes briefly. She knew the inadequacy he felt. She’d experienced it herself plenty of times as a young single mother.

She lifted her hand to touch the Mandalorian’s arm ever so gently.

“You’re his father,” Omera said. “That will never change.”

She watched the Child finally fall asleep, clinging to Din as he did so. The little boy was so small in Din’s arms and he found so much peace there. Would their child feel the same peace? Would they ever have the chance to?

Din had nearly died a few times over the course of their adventures so far. Maybe she was right to want to keep the unborn within her a secret. Why would the Mandalorian want to settle down and raise a child with her, even if it was his own?

“I’m sorry for the way Bo-Katan treated you and Winta.”

Omera shook her head. “I wasn’t offended.”

He sighed heavily. “She thinks I’m part of a cult. On Mandalore, I guess they did things differently. They… take their helmets off.”

She could tell that Bo-Katan and her clan had hit a nerve. Whatever had been said in their meeting on the boat had been enough to spark a conflict within him.

“Do you want to help them?”

“It is the Way to help other Mandalorians.”

Din stepped away from her and approached the bed. He tucked the Child in beside Winta, gently bringing the blankets up toward his chin.

When he came to Omera’s side again, he said in a soft voice, “I… didn’t realize there were Mandalorians who don’t abide by the same rules.”

Omera hummed. She didn’t expect Din to change his understanding of his creed overnight, but part of her felt hopeful that maybe one day, he might be comfortable enough to remove his helmet in front of her.

She could only imagine what he looked like beneath, but she knew it wouldn’t matter. To her, Din Djarin was the man she’d fallen in love with without needing to know what he looked like.

“Maybe being Mandalorian means more than what you wear. It’s your code that makes you Mandalorian,” Omera thought aloud. “Maybe… if you all fight for the same cause, for each other, it doesn’t matter how you appear.”

He stared at her in silence. She wasn’t sure how he felt, but knew that she hadn’t upset him. If she had, his posture would surely indicate as much.

“Do you want to try to sleep tonight? Before you meet with the others?”

He nodded silently. When they laid down side-by-side, Omera turned to face him. He stared after her, even in the darkness.

As he had the night before, he removed his glove from just one hand. With it free, he very hesitantly reached out to touch the side of her face, almost as if he wanted to ask if it was okay. Omera gave him an affirming smile.

Gently, the tips of his bare fingers brushed against her cheek, a tender caress that brought back memories of the night they’d spent together on Sorgan. So rarely had she felt so adored in her entire life.

He brushed her hair behind her ear and then soothed his knuckles with the lightest touch against her cheek.

“Goodnight.” Din spoke in a voice so quiet that she almost couldn’t hear him speak.

Her hand found his and she took it in the space between them, flat against the mattress.

“Goodnight, Din.”

He shifted until he could touch his forehead to hers. Omera closed her eyes at the feeling. It was such a simple action, but she felt a tangible wave of warmth fill her from the very top of her head to the bottoms of her feet.

She wondered if the Mandalorian felt the same.

She hoped he did.

Din didn’t sleep as much as he should have. He spent a long time watching Omera rest, her fingers having fallen away from his but her figure still turned toward him.

Beside her, the Child and Winta were curled up together. He could hear the Child’s sleep sounds, little squeaks and grunts that he always made when he dreamed, and a soft smile settled on Din’s face.

They were all safe and comfortable here: together.

Being together had been the reason for asking Omera to join him.

Now that they were together, walking this path toward a Jedi, he had to consider what was next for them.

He knew that Omera would likely wish to stay together, even if she never admitted it aloud to him. If he stayed with Omera and Winta on Sorgan, would he still be able to be Mandalorian? How would he fulfill his role as a Mandalorian there? Would he remove his armor?

Their conversation before they went to bed echoed in his mind. Was what Omera suggested true? Could he remove his armor in front of others and still be Mandalorian?

The Mandalorians who raised him would have argued that every element of their code together made a Mandalorian. The creed dictated adhering to the code as strictly as possible so that they could develop future generations to be strong.

As Din stared at Omera, sound asleep, only one thing ran through his mind over and over again: he wanted to stay by her side.

Could they be together in the future? Was that even a possibility?

Maybe it was naive, but he wanted to believe it could be.

When it was time for him to get up and meet the clan of Mandalorians, he reluctantly looked away from Omera and sat up. Quietly, he stepped around the bed, moving with determination to the door, but stopped when he caught something moving out of the corner of his vision.

Winta. She sat upright in bed, her head tilted to the side as she rubbed her right eye.

“Din?”

He glanced over at Omera. She hadn’t stirred. Neither had the Child.

Din nodded. “Go back to sleep. I’m going to meet with the other Mandalorians now.”

The young girl had a tight knit in her brow before she suddenly hopped off of the bed and with light feet, came to stand in front of him. Curious, Din studied her. Maybe she was sleepwalking.

“Will you come back?” Winta whispered. She seemed genuinely concerned about him. Probably not sleepwalking.

He sighed to himself and dropped down to one knee so that he could meet her eyes at her level.

“I’ll be back before you even realize I’m gone.”

She nodded, but something still seemed to bother her. She reached out with one hand to touch the side of his helmet, gentle and timid.

“What’s wrong?”

Winta shook her head minutely. He noticed tears in her eyes, something he absolutely hated, and she whispered, “I’m just thinking about Mama.”

He tilted his head to the side, confused. “Is she okay?”

Winta smiled softly at him, a pure reflection of Omera, and lowered her hand from his helmet. She sighed. “She told me that she loved someone and wanted to be a family with them, but… she doesn’t know if they want that too.”

His heart leapt. Immediately, his mind began to whirl in thought. Was Omera in love with him? He’d thought that she could be, but was there someone else? Maybe Winta misunderstood altogether.

Was Omera in love with him?

The thought felt loud in his mind, so loud that he could barely force himself to focus on Winta.

“Why wouldn’t someone want that with you?”

Winta shrugged one shoulder. “She said their heart has to choose. I don’t know if it will happen.”

He frowned, reaching for her hand to squeeze it when her lower lip trembled with oncoming tears.

“Hey, no. Please don’t cry.”

She sniffled and wiped at her eyes.

“I’m sorry. I just…” She sighed heavily. The weight of all of the feelings she carried within overwhelmed her so that her shoulders fell low. “I love Mama and I want her to be happy.”

He smiled. Winta had the same giving heart as her mother.

“She is. She has you.”

Winta wrapped her arms around his neck in one swift movement. He held her with one arm around her middle. Winta’s eagerness to hug him all the time reminded him of the Foundlings from the covert on Nevarro.

“Please come back.”

As if she didn’t want to overextend her welcome, she took a step away from him, her fingers still wiping at her wet cheeks. She managed to smile at him through it and squared her shoulders, putting on a brave face even if she continued to sniffle.

“Don’t worry about me, Winta,” he said. “I’ll be back by midday. You can tell your mom that we should meet at the Razor Crest then.”

Having a plan in mind seemed to calm the girl. She nodded her head. “Okay.”

Din was hesitant to leave, but he knew Bo-Katan and her clan would be waiting for him. He was running late as it was. He stood to his feet and gestured to the bed.

“Go back to sleep.”

Winta scrambled back to the bed, careful as she climbed back in beside the Child and Omera. He waited for the blankets to be up to her chin before he left the room.

When Omera awoke, Din was nowhere to be found. The sun had come up, so she decided that she would prepare the children to return to the Razor Crest.

Winta nudged Omera’s arm when she sat upright. The girl sat beside her in the bed, bright-eyed and rested.

“Din left a few hours ago.”

Her daughter cradled the Child in her arms. The boy babbled while he played with Winta’s favorite stuffed toy. Omera had given it to her as a newborn. She’d made it herself.

“He told me to tell you that we should meet him at the Razor Crest by midday.”

Omera smiled at Winta and ran her fingers through the young girl’s hair. “Then I suppose we should get something to eat and get ready to be back on our way.”

It was bittersweet having to leave the inn on Trask. While it had been a comfortable, safe place to lay their heads, Trask itself left much to be desired. It was certainly not a place she would have felt confident letting Winta off on her own.

“What do you think I can bring home from this place?” Winta asked. “I have my rock from Tatooine. What can fit in my bag from Trask?”

Omera looked over at her daughter, who now sat on the edge of the bed with the Child doing the same at her side. Meanwhile, she busied herself with making sure their bags were packed.

“We could…” Omera paused, thoughtful. “Maybe we could get you a shell from the beach.”

Winta’s eyes lit up at the idea. “Yes!”

The Child giggled when Winta bounced eagerly on the bed, careful with her hand held over his belly to keep him from falling over.

“It’s almost time to leave,” Omera told Winta, “and when we do, we’ll see what we can find.”

With both of the children and their bags ready to go, Omera held the Child on her hip while hanging on to Winta’s hand. They walked the docks cautiously and Omera kept an eye out for the Mandalorian.

Once they found a beach, Omera allowed Winta to wander, but only just a little. She pressed a palm against the Child's belly and kept her focus on her daughter as she searched for the perfect shell.

Very soon, this would be a reality in her life: Winta wandering off while she held a baby on her hip. It felt oddly natural, being a mother over two at once.

Breaking her from her thoughts was the sound of a jetpack. A familiar Mandalorian flew just overhead and landed on the beach beside them.

“You’re back!” Winta exclaimed.

She rushed toward Din with a hug already locked and loaded. She tackled him with her arms around his waist and he stumbled at the impact, laughing breathlessly.

“I said I would be.”

Winta smiled warmly up at him. “I’m just really glad you are.”

Din sighed, still catching his breath from all of the activity. He looked up at Omera. “She told me the name of the Jedi and where to find them.”

Her heart jumped and her eyes widened slightly. “That’s good. You were able to finish the mission.” Omera smiled down at the baby in her arms and stroked her thumb against his fingers that gripped hers. “You’ll be with your kind soon, little one.”

As the words fell from her lips, Omera’s heart ached. She knew it was right to bring the Child to his kind, and it was what Din’s quest required of him, but she didn’t have to like the idea.

“We should get back to the ship,” Din said, pulling her attention away from the Child. “I have a feeling the credits I spent trying to get it fixed were wasted.”

They certainly were. The ship was now covered in netting and fishing gear, all of it trying a little too hard to keep the fragile ship together.

Din sighed deeply as he sat in the pilot’s seat. “Mon Calamari.”

Omera settled in beside him, still hanging onto the Child, and Winta giddily jumped into the third chair.

“Well, based on the looks of things, we aren’t getting all the way to Corvus in this shape.” Din turned to look at her. “How would you feel if we took a trip to Nevarro? Got some friends there who might cut me a deal on the repairs.”

Omera shrugged her shoulders. She gazed down at the Child in her lap. The boy peered up at her with his big eyes and her heart clenched. They’d get the opportunity to spend just a few more days together.

“What do you think, little one? Do you want to visit Nevarro?”

The Child offered her a lopsided grin, but otherwise made no efforts at communication. She soothed her thumb against one of his fingers.

When Omera returned her focus to the Mandalorian, she nodded her head. “Extending our trip just a little wouldn’t hurt.”

Wordlessly, the Mandalorian nodded back at her. He spun around and began to prepare the ship for takeoff.

In her lap, the Child squirmed and she allowed him to move freely. He turned just enough to face her and one of his hands extended over her belly. Omera felt herself freeze in surprise. Did he know?

From within her, she felt the unborn stir. Just a soft little flutter, one barely noticeable. Taking the Child’s hand away from where he’d extended it, she fought the tears in her eyes.

The Child stared up at her, almost as if he was trying to tell her something. He did know.

Without another moment passing them by, as the Razor Crest began its climb back up into space, the Child snuggled against Omera again. She held onto him and accepted the gentle feeling of his hand settled against hers with a soft smile.

She casted a longing gaze after the Mandalorian.

She'd felt so conflicted since he came for her on Sorgan. While she wanted them to be together, and wanted to tell him about their child, she felt fear every time she considered it. She didn't want him to lose focus on what mattered the most. She wanted him to feel confident walking his path with the Child, knowing that she had his back through it all. If a future together would come of this time, she wouldn't decline it, but she worried, especially after meeting Bo-Katan, that perhaps there were even more important paths yet to come for Din.

Should she protect him from learning about the truth so that he could face those challenges freely?

When Din turned around again, he gave the Child his attention. “Well, what do you think, kid? You want to try fixing some wiring for me?”

The Child quirked his head to the side, cooing curiously.

“There’s a panel…” Din tilted his head toward where it was in the cockpit. “Pretty sure we can hot-wire a fix. You know your colors, right?”

Again, the Child made a curious noise.

Omera offered the young boy to his father, who took him into his arms and held him there. He stared at the boy with an affection that filled the very air of the cockpit.

The Child reached out for Din’s helmet and touched the armor covering his cheek. The Mandalorian chuckled softly in response. “Hey, pal.”

The ache inside of her chest tightened. Doubting his capacity for the truth was a mistake. Din deserved to know her secret. Now if only she could find the right words.

#mandomera #the mandalorian #din x omera #my writing #the edge of hope #so many scenes in this one i ADORE #GAH

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punkrock-writer · 3 years

Text

Space Cowboy- part 4

Roasting the Shit Out of Toro Because He Deserves It

Pairing- Din Djarin x F!OC

Warnings- Mentions blood, fighting, swearing, Canon Typical Violence. Spoilers for The Mandalorian

A/N- WOAH It is here. 5.3k words. The longest chapter so far. Let me know what you guys think, is it still too short or too long, lemme know. And yeah, the end IS cheesy. I am the Mayor of Cheeseville it should be expected.

And a reminder Din is de-aged a bit, he's around mid to late 20′s here, just for a little more ~spice~

Let me know what you think! I love hearing from ya’ll it helps me a lot :D

Masterlist AO3

She honestly didn't know how he was so quiet. That collection of Ironman armor should make much more noise than it does. Or he could have at least woken her up before screaming.

"HEY" Sedona jumped violently. Her eyes springing open in panic, he wasn't in the ship, but his voice echoed throughout it. She heard the panicked voice of Peli yelling outside. She scooted further into the middle of the hull to peer out of the open door. Din looked as intimidating as he could, shoulders raised and feet wide. Peli marched from her office up to him, cradling a wailing Grogu.

"Give him to me" she wanted to laugh. The paternal instincts kicked in so fast, albeit a bit misplaced and underdeveloped. But he tried his best.

"Not so fast! You can't just leave a child all alone like that." Peli cried out, though not entirely alone, she was right. "You know, you have an awful lot to learn about raisin' a young one."

And then much to Sedona's discomfort, Peli's eyes met hers.

"AND leaving an injured lady! No water or bandages, that isn't very kind. Prisoner or not." She scowled up at the towering Mandalorian, whose head slowly turned to meet hers. She quickly scooted herself back against the crate. She wasn't ready for that kind of attention, she needed to get her thoughts in order.

"Anyway-" she racked her brain as she heard Peli continue to talk about the ship. She had gotten this far in the episode, and Din had obviously made the deal with... that motherfucker whom she cannot remember the name of. She was so focused on trying to remember she didn't even notice Din had walked back onto the ship.

"I thought I told you not to talk to anyone." His voice made her jump once again, it was rough, a warning. Her wide eyes met his visor, and suddenly the right words met her tongue.

"Don't leave him alone with the bounty" they were rushed, she probably looked crazier than Peli's wild curls. "Y-you can't trust him, something bad is going to happen."

She watched as he turned with a bag in his hand. He looked like he was going to speak, or step closer to her, his body seizing up. Instead, his gloved hand curled into a fist at his side, and he spun quickly on his heel and exited her line of sight. She heard the pair talk a bit more, mostly Peli talking at Din's retreating back. Then she was alone again. And her ass hurts.

Standing up was much easier now that the magic space goo had somehow healed her knees. Though she had extreme doubts, she sincerely hoped Din might heed her warning. She really did not wan't to be caught in the crossfire of their shoot out that was soon to come. Maybe that was the worst part about being plunked into this universe. The constant dread of knowing what's going to happen, and having no power to change it, was going to destroy her. She could already feel the way her body sagged with exhaustion. The ever-present headache was taking a toll on her mind, and her fight or flight response was kicked into high gear. She hadn't felt like this in years.

Trying to keep her mind from straying too far into the darkness. She decided to do some light exploration of the Razor Crest. She wouldn't touch anything, as Din so kindly instructed. But she was definitely going to touch all over with her eyes. First, she was going to figure out if that man had a shower. She turned opposite the open door and headed in the direction of what looked like an airplane toilet. She was pleased to find a small door stationed adjacent to the weird space toilet. Obviously hidden from view on the show, it was a rickety metal sheet. Actually, everything on the ship was a metal sheet, but she wasn't going to roast it too harshly. Opening it, the oval-shaped door created an edge that she had to step over to enter the small room. The floor and walls were tiled, and there was a small drain in the middle. A large ledge jutted out from the wall at about knee height, above it was what looked like a sink, and a small foggy mirror. Avoiding its reflection, she ventured back further. There was a curtain, pulling it back revealed a showerhead and a series of ledges cut into the wall. She tried to keep her heart from fluttering at the sight of soap bars, and a razor. Then heat began to creep up her spine, embarrassment making its way to her cheeks.

How fucking old are you 13? Get a hold of yourself.

She spun quickly not wanting to be caught snooping. She felt like a high school girl who had just seen her crush's room for the first time. She was 26 for fucks sake, and it was a bathroom.

On a space ship.

On an unknown planet.

In a universe that had once only existed in media form.

She wasn't able to wallow in her embarrassment much longer, through the open door she saw Peli return from wherever she had followed Din. She walked with determination, coming up to some kind of machine that was attached to the ship. Sedona didn't really know what to do, she stood awkwardly in the hull of the ship. Listening to Peli mutter to herself, she hated feeling like this. She liked to be moving or at least distracting her brain in some way. Now there was only the unfamiliar ship, her bags were already organized neatly- and then it hit her.

She still had her phone in her purse.

Springing into action she darted for her bag, rummaging through it until she finally found it. It was an iPhone and she still had her headphones attached to it. Her heart soared in her body, unable to contain her smile at the sight, relieved to find at least this thing hadn't magically transformed into a space object. But clicking it on she was met with slight disappointment. Only 32% charged, and the fact that her phone was wicked old and functioned at about 60% of its normal battery life, it would be dying soon. There are no outlets in space. She thought angrily. So she sighed and set it back into her purse, deciding to save it for when she truly needed a mental escape. For now, she could maybe go and see what Peli was up to.

And that's how she spent her first evening in space. She sat at the table, watching Peli fix the Crest. Or making sure the child didn't eat sand or some shit. Peli didn't talk much while she worked, which she was secretly grateful for. Only asking occasional questions, or pausing to complain about the old ship. Sedona didn't offer much, vague answers, allowing the older woman to speak more than herself. She really didn't feel like having to convince someone else she's from an alternate universe. Especially someone who was very much capable of throwing her into the endless Tatooine desert.

In time it grew darker in the hangar. Peli wiped her hands off on her jumpsuit, leaving grease marks in her wake. Sedona held a sleeping Grogu in her arms, he had been quite a hassle for her to wrangle with her hands still cuffed together. He was quick, and incredibly sneaky when he wanted to be. He currently held some kind of bolt in his little clawed hands, one of the braver droids had given it to him when he was fussing in her lap.

"How about another round of some bone broth, and then we get some rest." She snapped her fingers at a droid, who scurried off to the back of the hangar quickly. "It looks like that little stinker has the right idea." Peli sat, the smell of oil and metal rolling off her. She grabbed the cup of water she had sipping out of periodically and drank. Then she turned to Sedona, who up until this moment had been zoned out, staring at the shadows cast on the ground.

"You look like you've seen some shit." Sedona's heart nearly stopped at that, but when she met Peli's eyes they glittered with amusement in the dim light of the hangar.

"Yeah, I guess you could say that," she said with a laugh and a shrug. Then a droid appeared next to her, carrying more bowls of broth. She accepted it, thanking the droid once again. The liquid warmed her, she didn't consider how cold a desert got a night, and her shorts and men's t-shirt didn't exactly hold much warmth. But the broth helped, and she tried not to let Peli notice her shivers.

"Listen, I wanted to ask you something" Sedona almost choked on her broth. "I heard what you said to the Mandalorian, why do you think he can't trust that other bounty hunter?" Peli's gaze was quizzical, genuine curiosity, not suspicion. It gave Sedona confidence, but not enough to tell her the full truth.

"I guess I just have a really bad feeling, I think there's something off about the deal." She said after swallowing, and Peli was silent for a moment. Searching her gaze before suddenly leaning forward.

"You know I was thinking the exact same thing." She said it like it was the juiciest secret in school. "There was just something off in his eyes." She finished with a nod. Sedona couldn't stop her smile. She felt the beginnings of a friendship blossoming there in the cool evening. She hoped it wouldn't be ripped away from her too soon.

They finished their broth in comfortable silence. Then Peli rose, a mischievous smile on her face.

"Well, I'm going to take this little womprat to the back with me, if you need anything just holler," she said, reaching down to scoop the sleeping bundle from her lap. "You sure you'll be all right in that ship by yourself?"

"I'll be okay," she said with a smile, trying to look convincing "but Peli, if you see anything happening, take the child and run."

Her face turned serious, and she gave a curt nod.

"I'll make sure the droids stay awake, they'll give us a good warning" and with another nod, and a pointed look at the group of droids, she turned to the back of the hangar.

Sedona was alone again, and fear was beginning to crawl up her spine. She had to prepare herself. Somehow, she wasn't going to let that fucker touch baby Grogu.

~o~o~o~

Night came and went, Sedona spent it pacing. Somehow, that sneaky tin can had taken her taser, and her Swiss army knife. Leaving her with only pepper spray from her keychain to defend herself. She held it tightly in 2 hands, having finally sat down when she saw the hangar becoming light again. She heard Peli out in the open area, talking to the droids and the child.

"Here's a ration bar, I'm going to try to finish these repairs before the Mandalorian gets back." Peli had walked into the ship quietly, giving her the foil-wrapped bar, the child gurgling on her hip. The tension was thick between them, both women could sense something wrong. But if Peli wanted to say anything more she didn't, instead turning her attention to the ship, the child held tightly to her. Sedona honestly didn't feel like eating, her head was pounding again. The effort of trying to figure out the plot was scrambling her brain.

She didn't know how exactly to define it, but it felt like the memories of the show were drifting away from her. Scenes she had remembered and re-watched multiple times now were faint memories. It felt like she was losing her mind, literally the only information she needed right now was dissolving like snow in her fingers. So she settled for clutching her pepper spray and hoping the droids gave her a good warning like Peli said.

The droids held up their end well.

It was maybe 3 or 4 hours later, Peli had miraculously just taken Grogu to the back for some food and a nap. When suddenly the droids went absolutely batshit crazy.

Sedona sprung from her spot on the floor, her headache was instantly forgotten as she squeezed herself against an indent in the wall of the ship. Hoping to spring on the hunter. She heard his blaster fire, then it was eerily quiet.

God, I hope they can get out of here.

Sedona tried to keep her mind from straying from the task at hand. She tried to keep her breathing quiet, straining her ears for any sounds.

Those shitty self-defense classes are going to have to work today.

There were footsteps on the ramp. Slow, but heavy, he really was a pretty shitty bounty hunter. She switched the safety off on her pepper spray, trying to judge where he was on the ship by the sound of his footsteps. Then the barrel of a gun crept into her line of sight, and she didn't hesitate.

Springing from her hiding spot she sprayed upwards, toward what she hoped were his eyes. Based on the shouting she was successful. She did her best to ignore the burn in her own eyes as the fumes carried toward her. Taking his surprise as an advantage she attempted to kick him in the balls.

Keyword- attempted.

Sedona did not consider the fact, that he might be wearing goggles. And that he might catch her leg. With a shove, she was sent sprawling onto the floor, with no way to catch herself. Her butt hit the ground hard, knocking the breath out of her. She looked up to meet a gut-churning smile.

What a fucking dick.

"That tasted awful, but I don't think it did what you wanted it to." He said with a smug smirk, he was so incredibly proud of himself. "Look at this! A third bounty, I'm going to be the king of the Guild!"

Well, if Sedona couldn't beat him physically. She was going to try to demolish his ego.

"Fuck you, Toro, this is why your mom doesn't FUCKING love you" the words were filled with rage as they flew out of her mouth, she lunged toward him. Her mind suddenly supplying the correct name when she needed it most. His face immediately fell, twisting into shock and confusion.

"What do you know about my mother?" he sneered, taking a few steps forward to tower over her on the ground. But his intimidating stance did nothing to stop the pure hatred Sedona felt in her heart.

"You look like you watch Big Bang Theory on purpose." It was one of her more creative insults, her new goal was distraction. Try and confuse him as much as she could, so that hopefully Peli could escape with the child. It seemed to work so far.

"I don't know what that means, but I would shut the hell up if I were you" he leaned down and sneered at her. She grit her teeth, the insults flowing fast.

"Your earring looks like shit"

"I said shut up!" He raised his blaster to her head, a position she had just recently became familiar with. She met his eyes, and with as much bitterness as she could muster, she put the nail in her coffin.

"I know how you die, and you die like a bitch."

That was the last thing she could say. Toro reacted very poorly, to say the least.

And for the first time in her life, Sedona was pistol-whipped across the head. Toro stalked away from her body that laid slumped on the ship floor. Continuing on his original journey, much more confused and irritated.

~o~o~o~

The Mandalorian could not shake the sick feeling in his gut as he tied the dewback to the hitch outside of Hangar 3-5. One look at the speeder outside had the mysterious woman's words repeating in his head.

You can't trust him, something bad is going to happen.

It really didn't help that she was right. In fact, he hated that she was right. It was making his decision on what to do with her much harder. He unclipped his blaster, drawing it ahead of him as he made his way down the stairs. The hangar was quiet, aside from the annoying droid that startled him. He slowly made his way through the sand toward his ship.

"Took you long enough Mando" there he was. He stalked forward raising his blaster up into the dark ship. Calican emerged; somehow he got angrier at the sight of the child in his arm, and the scared woman who had been kind to him caught in this mess. "Looks like I'm calling the shots now. Huh, partner?"

Din wanted to roll his eyes and shoot him right then.

"Drop your blaster and raise 'em." This time he couldn't stop the eye roll, instead having to suppress an annoyed sigh as he carelessly flung his blaster to the ground. Twisting his body in a way that let him quickly grab a flash charge. He truly was a pretty shitty bounty hunter, this would be his final mistake. Din was irritated, just waiting for the right moment to strike. Calican handed it to him on a silver platter.

"Cuff him." After that, Din really didn't give a shit about what this guy said. Instead watching as the woman approached him with the bindings. He rolled the flash charge in-between his fingers. Waiting.

"You're smarter than you look" the woman whispered in his ear. Obviously not, if only he had listened to the woman she left in his ship. He wouldn't be in this mess.

The right moment came as Calican raised his blaster higher. The flash brightening the entire hangar for just long enough, Din slipped behind some of the junk lying around. Coming around the side before Calican even knew he had disappeared. It was over quickly, his body tumbled off the ramp, taking the child with it.

"Stay back." He tried to tell the woman, who scrambled quickly over to him as he went to inspect the body. He didn't like the way she fumbled around him, grabbing his cape as he tried to make sure the man was actually dead. Then he heard the babbles of the child. He didn't really register what she was saying to him, just thankful she was calming him down. Inspecting the body he found what he was looking for, the bag of credits was heavy in his hand.

Turning to the woman holding the child, he prepared to pay and leave.

"Be careful with him." She said, the child simply snorting as he was placed back in his arms. She then tried to break some of the tension, bringing up the question that Din knew she would ask. "So I take it you didn't get paid."

Din didn't really feel the need to say anything. Instead pouring the contents of the pouch into her outstretched hands. But he decided to make sure.

"That cover me?" The woman sputtered in response, giving a shocked form of Yes. Din then turned, making his way back to his ship, babbling baby in tow. Until he was stopped.

"Listen, I don't know what you plan on doing with that girl, but she fought to distract him. She tried to make sure I could get away with the baby." Din turned back to the woman, his curiosity peaking. "She told him she knew how he died, and something tells me she did. Sh-she was very nice and helpful. I think you should give her a chance."

Din thought about it for a moment. It seems she was truthful about yet another thing she said to him.

"I would protect the child with my life."

Internally he was glad it hadn't come to that, or so the woman who stared up at him made it seem. He nodded at her, hoping he conveyed his understanding and turned back to enter his darkened ship. He heard her yelling at her droids, but he was more concerned with finding out what state his ship was in. As the ramp closed, he flipped back on the lights. With a heavy sigh, he observed the way her body was crumpled on the floor once again.

There was a large, bloodied scrape on her temple, the area already beginning to bruise. The child was struggling in his arms again, letting out indignant cries as he reached for the girl on the floor. He set him down next to her and reached to grab her under the shoulders and knees. Deciding to move her much gentler than he had the first time. He didn't really know where to put her though; he spun in his ship, her body limp in his arms, the child followed him in circles crying out in frustration.

His eyes landed on his sleeping compartment, figuring that was better than nothing. He quickly set her into it. Taking a moment to remove the cuffs still on her wrists, he internally cringed at the redness. Another thing he should apologize for. He didn't feel comfortable sitting in the hangar for much longer. He scooped up the child, who was trying in vain to climb into the compartment with her.

"Come on we have to get outta here" he grumbled to the child, who was squirming in his arm. He paused to look up at him, angrily babbling at him before resorting to pouting as he was hauled into the cockpit. Din started the ship quickly, not entirely certain where he was going. He only knew he needed to sit down with the woman in the hull, and really figure out what the hell she was talking about.

~o~o~o~

Sedona really didn't want to wake up. In her dream, she was warm and comfortable, and definitely not about to get crazy-murdered by a space villain. Whatever she was laying on was slightly squishier than the floor, but only slightly. It felt like if you were to lay a thin yoga mat onto a wood floor and then tried to take a nap on it. But she kept her eyes closed, trying to stay in her comfortable bubble just a few moments longer. Whoever was shaking her leg did not get the message.

"Please, just let me pretend this isn't happening for a little while longer" she grumbled, not yet opening her eyes. She tried to imagine her bed again, her soft blankets, and a cup of her favorite tea. She could pretend her head didn't hurt, and her body didn't hurt, and her brain didn't hurt. She could pretend she didn't have to open her eyes and face more confusion and struggle.

"Please, I'd like to talk." A soft modulated voice was not what she expected. She slowly opened her eyes, taking in the metal ceiling above her. With a deep breath, she slowly sat up, taking in the sight before her. At some point, after she had been knocked out, she had been placed in Din's sleeping compartment. At the end of the 'bed' (she didn't really want to call it a bed this was awful) stood the Mandalorian himself, and Grogu was vigorously shaking her leg with 2 hands. He babbled excitedly when she sat up, looking up at her and giving a wide smile. "How is your head?"

The new gentle tone was mind-boggling. She could only stare at him, mouth open like a fish. Her head was bad actually, feeling very bad. She just got smacked across the head with a gun, she couldn't imagine how she looked. But the sudden shift in mood was what confused her most; there was a stumbling, awkward, sort of kindness in the way he stood and spoke to her. She searched the visor a bit more, not really sure what she was looking for. A particularly loud coo broke her from her distraction.

"It... could be better I suppose." She licked her lips, mind suddenly wandering in fear. "Where are we? Are we stopped?" The Mandalorian couldn't afford to just stop, so they had to be in hyperspace or he wouldn't be down here. Why was he down here exactly? When did the cuffs come off?

"Yes, we're still on Tatooine, I— I wanted to talk to you," he cleared his throat. "I had some things to say, and to ask." He turned and walked further into the ship, she just now noticed the door was open. Showing the dark Tatooine desert.

Oh!

She was going to be dropped off here. Left to wander the space desert. It was a short run of things, but at least it was horrible while it lasted. She slowly got up, moving around the child to set her feet on the cold ground. The child babbled up at her, raising his arms, and for a brief moment, she considered picking him up. Her mind flirted with the idea of carrying him over to the metal man who leaned against the hatch door. Looking out to the rolling sands together, in peace. But instead, she grabbed her purse and prepared for the worst.

"So I guess this is it?" She paused next to Din, nervously looking up at him as she twirled her purse strap in her hands. His helmet snapped to her, quickly his body followed, straightening out to face her completely. He looked down at her for a long time, his body tense. Her body heated up under his gaze, feeling even more nervous under the scrutiny.

"Do you think I'm leaving you out here?" He tilted his head at her, it was almost condescending. If she was able to re-wind it and analyze the tone of his voice, she would've caught the amusement.

"Well I mean you did leave me handcuffed on the ship for like 3 days, and then brought the Crest out to the desert. Which you would never do if you weren't going to...leave me here" she rambled. Her eyes searched the area around them, not meeting his visor. He was silent once again, just watching her squirm under his gaze. She didn't know how to read him in real life, he was so much taller, and without the fan analysis she could skim through, a lot of his body language was lost.

"I was going to apologize..." he paused, his voice soft but gravely. Her mouth dropped open, slowly looking up to his helmet. "I'm sorry for leaving you cuffed in the ship, but you have to admit, you sounded pretty crazy."

The humor was detectable now, and after a long moment Sedona smiled, and as the words penetrated her brain a little deeper. A chuckle bubbled into her throat, and before she knew it she was laughing. It wasn't that funny honestly, but this was the first display of emotional release her body had experienced in a while, so it kind of went overboard. When she finally calmed down she was breathless, tears gathered in her eyes. Mando just looked at her, head tilted in confusion, and when he folded his arms over his chest, she knew he was irritated.

"I'm sorry... that wasn't that funny, but I think I need to cry and that's as close as I'm going to get." She wiped a tear from her eye, looking back at the still Mandalorian. She quickly dropped her face when she saw the way he was standing, straightened her shoulders. "W-what else did you want from me?" She should know better to think she was off the hook, he could still freeze her in carbonite. He would probably be able to get some sort of profit from her. The thought had her shrinking, she suddenly felt small again.

With a hefty sigh, he readjusted, facing back toward the endless desert. His trend of silence was much for daunting when it wasn't happening on a tv screen. Suddenly something grabbed her ankle. Of course, how could she forget the 3rd passenger? With an incredibly grumpy face and some mighty grump squeals, he reached his arms up to her as hard as he could. She smiled in pity at him, it didn't feel right to pick him up in front of Din. It wasn't her place, and she really didn't want to upset him when he was deciding his fate.

"You can pick him up." His voice was soft again, though he hadn't turned to look at them. "He seems to like you a lot" Her eyes glowed, and with free hands, she bent down and picked up the little one. Finally being able to hold him properly was wonderful, he was a comfortable weight in the crook of her arm. His little dish towel onesie soft on her skin, she smiled at him, and he cooed happily. Looking up she found Din had turned around, looking on with a tilted gaze.

"I want to know... do things work out well for him." It was almost a whisper, true concern laced in his modulated voice. She had to think about it for longer than she wanted. Yes, as far as she knew things went relatively well for the child, as for the man protecting him that was different.

"You have lots of adventures, but he makes it out okay." She gave him a small closed-mouth smile. Thinking further filled her with hope. "D-does... this mean you trust me?" She searched his visor, hoping she met his eyes.

"I..." He cut off, his head shaking. "I don't know for sure what to think, I know you're not a threat, but I can't...comprehend the things you've told me." He inhaled deeply, letting out a long sigh. A gloved hand reached out to stroke the ear of the child. "But I can't shake the feeling that I need you with me, so I suppose you should stick around for a while."

As if he understood Grogu chirped happily up at you. His head turning back and forth between the two of you. Sedona's heart soared. She couldn't stop the smile that crept its way onto her cheeks. She felt like jumping, but she resorted to squeezing the little guy tighter to her chest.

"Thank you." It came out in a whisper, she hoped he could register her gratefulness through his helmet. Grogu gave a little cheer, reaching up one clawed hand to tap her cheek.

"Well...don't get too comfortable, I'll need your help." There was the familiar grumble. She dropped her smile quickly.

"You got it. I used to be a babysitter, I'll earn my keep." She gave a sharp nod, determination overtaking her face. But another tap to her cheek had her cracking a smile once again.

"Can you fight?" That question was a bit trickier to answer. While she had a knife and a taser, there was no formal training to back them.

"I... had to take a few self-defense classes, but I didn't have many options in my city." She answered with a shrug. "But I'm willing to learn." She said, determined. No, she wasn't a gifted fighter yet, but if that's how she would be able to survive here, then she was going to become the best damn fighter this galaxy had seen.

"Good." He said, seemingly satisfied, and gave her a nod before abruptly turning back to the ship. "Then I'll train you when we're able to stop, but for now, we keep going." With that he brushed past her, the hatch closing behind him. She watched as he made his way up the ladder, she heard the hiss of the cockpit doors opening. She looked down at the gremlin in her arms, and his big eyes looked back at her. A smile showing off his nubby teeth on his little face. With a shrug, she walked back over to the sleeping compartment.

Now as she looked over her belongings, 2 bags, and a fucking hotel towel. It didn't seem so bad.

She should really put on a bra now.

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