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chilly-me-softly · 1 year

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Expect The Unexpected • Mason Mount pt.2

I just really hope you'll love this as much as the part one. Thank you for your likes and comments, it means a lot 💙

"My god I think I might throw up"

"Hey - Mason calls you back placing himself in front of you stroking your arms - have I told you how sexy you look in this dress yet?"

"Mason" a sort of moan comes out of your mouth as he laughs leading you towards him and leaving a kiss in your hair.

"Sixty seconds guys"

"It'll be fine okay? I'm right here with you"

You only have time to nod before a staff member approaches to take you even closer to where you are supposed to walk in. There's a small screen nearby where the host is announcing the next guests and all around you a small countdown starts before your names are announced and that curtain opens allowing you to enter the studio.

Mason takes your hand, holding it and silently reminding you of what he said a few seconds earlier, a smile on your faces as you walk those few metres to your seats.

You greet the host for the cameras even though you saw each other just before the show chatting and then go and sit on the small sofa placed almost opposite her seat.

It has been about three months since your lives were suddenly turned upside down with the birth of your daughter and although an announcement had been made at the time due to the obvious confusion in the stadium that day, neither of you had yet openly spoken about the incident. And how could you if even now there were moments when you could hardly believe how your life had taken a completely different turn in such a short time.

You had somehow managed to keep some privacy, you wanted to be the one to explain if and when you thought it was the right time. And it was certainly better in the grand scheme of things, so you had decided to accept the offer you had been made and tell your story in your own words.

"Mason, (y/n) thank you for being here with us today. Congratulations on your baby girl"

"Thank you" a round of applause starts as your gaze falls on the picture they put on the screen as background, you and Mason in one of the many pictures taken from his social. You're looking into each other's eyes, Mason has a hand on your hip and you remember him telling you how breath taking you were that night.

"You are here today to tell your story, an almost surreal story isn't it?"

"Yeah, that's probably one of the words you can describe it with" Mason steps in, surely more used to interviews, cameras and all those people around.

"You (y/n) gave birth to a baby girl, from an unexpected pregnancy. Can you explain to us how that went?"

"It all happened very quickly actually. I was at the stadium that day when I started to feel a sort of discomfort in my stomach that I didn't give much thought to, but the pain increased as time went on and eventually when we got to the hospital I was told I was ready to give birth and I was there thinking everyone had gone mad because my belly was flat"

"What did you think at that moment?"

"Honestly everything and nothing. Everything happened so fast, at that moment you can only go with the flow. Then she was placed in my arms and it was there that something began to dawn on me"

"There hadn't been any particular signs that might have raised a doubt?"

"No, not at all. Many women find out about such a pregnancy by pure chance. I went on with my everyday life, and never had any reason to worry that something was wrong"

"Now you are at home. How are you handling all this, becoming parents?"

"Mason" you sigh trying to go back to sleep, you don't know what time it is but it's certainly not the time to get up "Mason, your alarm"

"Mmh" he murmurs turning towards you, unconsciously brushing against your side as you almost groan because he's turned the wrong way.

And so you open your eyes, aware that even that day you'll have to be the one to make sure Mason leaves the house on time and you won't go back to sleep. But it's a moment and your brain seem to connect what that noise really is and you get out of bed sharply.

"What? What happened?" obviously all that movement has woken him up too, who with his eyes still half closed looks at your figure moving around the room.

"Just the baby crying. I'll go make her some milk" you cover a yawn badly with your hand taking her from her cot borrowed from his sister and moving quickly out of the room.

"Mase go back to sleep, you'll be a wreck tomorrow" you sigh when you see him lean against the kitchen doorframe, rubbing one eye and with his pillow face still evident.

"You know we can tell mum to stay a couple more nights"

"Your mum can't stay here forever" you use a slightly harsh tone and you don't even glance at him by accident, yet he comes closer wrapping his arms around your waist careful of the little girl in your arms.

"I know, but maybe a couple more nights won-"

"It's not the night the problem - you wriggle out of his grasp as if you've been burned - the problem is that we don't have anything ready, a room or clothes, my stuff is still at my house because we don't have time to set up properly and I'm so tired"

"Love we can't do everything at once, we just need some-"

"Don't finish that sentence" you interrupt him glaring at him, he hides his face in his hands for a moment.

"What do you want me to say?"

"Nothing. Just go to sleep, I'll finish up here and I'll be there" he looks at you unsure for a few moments before returning to the room.

Mason tries to stay awake but his eyes close as soon as he rests his head on the pillow, and when the baby cries again right a couple of hours later you're already up.

"The first couple of weeks were hard, I'm not ashamed to say that I lived them very badly. To the point of even refusing to stay in the same room as the baby at times"

"Why is that in your opinion?"

"Because... because I needed to stop and think. Instead, I found myself thrown into a situation bigger than myself in a world that doesn't wait for you and with this little creature needing you constantly" Mason reaches for your hand casually, intertwining your fingers and placing them on his leg.

"How did you get through this?"

"I talked to a few people and Mason, and we turned to a professional figure. Thinking we could do it alone was not the right way"

"What do we want to talk about today?" sitting opposite the doctor you blanked out, there were so many things you could have said to her and yet at that moment you didn't know what to say. Or how to begin the conversation.

"First of all thank you for making time for me even without Mason"

"One-on-one sessions are as important as if not more so than couples sessions"

"There's one thing, but I don't know how to explain it"

"Take all the time you want" she reassures you, turning the pen over in her hands.

"It's just... this week went well. It finally felt like everything was in place: we took the baby to the park and to meet some friends and had some good family time you know? But there was one time when-I had a hard time recognising her, I-I was looking at her but it was like she was a stranger to me"

"Why do you focus on that time, on that one negative episode?"

You think about the question the therapist just asked you before you look at her a little intimidated by what you are about to ask, "What if I didn't have that kind of connection? What if I don't have the maternal instinct?"

"I take it then that you haven't talked to Mason about it?" she asks, but you shake your head.

"Not yet. It's just that I don't want to scare him off and I needed to get this thing right first to explain it to someone else"

"That sounds about right. (y/n), most women have about nine months to come to terms with becoming a mother. You are experiencing this in a very compact time and already with a child to take care of"

"So it's normal" you double check.

"I would say yes. You don't have any kind of illness, you just need time to process"

"I'm beginning to hate that word. Time" you play down by rolling your eyes.

"It is necessary. If you speed up the healing process or worse ignore it, you may heal but you will be fragile and prone to relapse. And we don't want that, but to have a full recovery so you are at your best to face life"

"It's confusing because I push her away but at the same time I can't be without her. Like now, she's with Mason's mum but I can't wait to get her back. I know as soon as I see her though, something inside me shuts down"

"You often talk about Mason's family and how they are helping you from the beginning. What about your family instead?"

"Oh they live far away, they're not the kind of people who move around a lot so they wait for me to go to them"

"They haven't seen the baby yet?"

"On video call"

"Have you tried telling them that you would like them here with you? That you need them?"

"It's fine - you shrug - I know what they're like. When I moved here I was quite aware of all this"

"However, that doesn't mean you can't miss them. Especially at such a crucial time in your life"

"We will probably need a lot more time to talk about this topic"

"See, even this making jokes when you feel too exposed is part of the problem"

"I realise that. It's a sort of wall I put up over time so that I don't get hurt anymore and have no expectations. And I also realise that... it might be the reason why I can't really express how I feel about my daughter now"

"Being strong is allowing yourself to show weakness. Reflect on this until the next session"

"Mason, what are you like as a father instead?" the host asks as a picture appears on the screen in which he is leaning over your baby's feet, just so that only that of her is shown.

"I'm home" Mason is greeted in the house by noises in the kitchen and the crying of the little one, and sighs not quite a fan of another eventful evening. His ears are still ringing from the last two.

"Hey, look who's here... daddy. Daddy's here!" he hears you coo, and flashes a smile before stopping to put down his wallet and keys on the coffee table before entering the kitchen.

"Hi. Hi baby girl" he leaves a kiss on the top of her head before moving closer to you and brushing his lips with yours. "Still screaming?"

"She never stopped"

"Great" he rolls his eyes glancing up at the messy, dirty kitchen. "I need a shower"

"Do you want to go now? We can eat something later"

"Yeah, that's fine" Mason leaves the kitchen area behind and takes his time in the shower, letting the water hit his shoulders. But it's as if those screams are in the bathroom speaker, not at all muffled by the distance.

He lifts his head towards the jet, rubbing his face and running his hands through his hair. He would have liked a quiet evening, perhaps to be joined by you in the shower allowing him to unload the heaviness of the day. Instead his bad mood is always there, when he comes down and the dishes are put on the table, and it almost seems to increase when you try to make that high-pitched voice to try to make the baby stop crying. Unsuccessfully of course.

He just wants some slack, he doesn't seem to be asking for much.

"Do you want to try? Maybe with you she'll give in" you hand him the bottle after you've failed to get her to latch on for the last few minutes. And for a moment it seems to happen, silence doesn't seem that far away. But you can't even look into each other's eyes relieved that it all starts again, if not louder.

"What's wrong uh?"

"Mason-"

"What the fuck is wrong?" in a gesture of annoyance he throws the bottle spilling it all over the floor

"Mason!" you call back to him surprised, approaching and quickly taking the baby in your arms. "What's wrong with you!"

"I just want some peace of mind! Am I asking too much?"

"Go take a walk. Get out of my sight" you're bloody serious, the little episode obviously didn't have the desired effect with the crying still in full swing.

"I'm done with all this shit" he throws his hands up before disappearing from that room, leaving you to fix everything.

You knock on the room door gently, opening it and placing the baby monitor on the dresser beside it. The room is dimly lit but you can see where Mason is. You then approach him, climbing onto the bed and holding him tightly from behind.

"I can't do this. Maybe this isn't for me" he quickly lets go as soon as he feels your body attach to his and you leave an elusive kiss in the crack of his neck.

"You've had a rough day Mason, it happens. Doesn't mean you're to throw away"

"I can't even put all that aside for my daughter. I'm a horrible dad"

"I cried three times just today Mase - you start stroking his hair absentmindedly - and someone always tells me it takes time to settle in. Some days will be good, some days will be terrible but it will be worth it"

"I don't know this person" you chuckle at his grumbling, leaving a kiss on his temple.

"You don't always have to be strong for me, you know. You can let it out, be honest, whatever it may be. Because I don't want you to burst out so suddenly"

Mason turns on his back looking you in the eye as you continue to rhythmically run your hand through his hair. "It's just that when you come for comfort... I need to show confidence, you need it especially now"

"There's two of us in all this, and maybe I've been a bit selfish by taking you for granted" he shakes his head bringing a hand to stroke one of your cheeks gently.

"I wanted to be the one always there for you, you know"

"And you are, you are Mason okay? Just this thing that happened to us... happened to both of us okay? You have every right to feel down sometimes or not understand how you feel" Mason turns on his side facing you and burying his head in your chest, and you stop talk not feeling like it's the right time to push any further now.

"I would never hurt her" he whispers after a while when you think he's asleep by now and you just want to hold him close to you.

"I know Mase... I know"

"Daddy didn't mean to scream earlier" it's around two in the morning and Mason is on the couch with the baby in his arms, letting you rest while unconsciously still paying the price for what happened hours before. "It's just a new and very confusing time and I'm still trying to adjust"

"You might as well stop screaming like a little demon though" the little one stares at him with those big eyes so similar to his own, the shadow of a smile on her face. And Mason can't help but caress her gently as he seems to study her every little detail, as if it were the first time he had seen her. "A very cute demon"

"I was not quite ready for what it meant to have a child of my own. Many things have changed, there are different priorities and many questions on the plate. For my part there is so much desire to get to know her and to grow together with my daughter and my family now"

"Are you active in nappy changing and feeding or are you one of those fathers just in for the fun?"

"Well I admit that I am not a fan of the night shift but I strongly believe that both parents should help. Obviously she's around more and has more things under control but as soon as I'm home I make sure I give her a hand"

"The baby is completely hooked, hands down her favourite"

"That's not true" Mason lowers his gaze trying his best to hide the thin line of embarrassment on his cheeks as you squeeze his hand.

"You were away with the national team just a few weeks ago. Was it difficult?"

"A lot. It was the first time I'd left both of them alone for so long since she was born and... let's just say I'm discovering other sides of myself"

"And how are things between you two?"

"We are also working on our relationship. Obviously we weren't prepared for any of this and a kid changes the dynamics of a couple a bit, let's face it"

"We can't say that everything always runs smoothly, obviously it wouldn't be a healthy relationship. But we are both open to dialogue and making things work out as best we can"

"Had you ever talked about having children?"

"We had started testing the ground for a possible living together"

"Early stages yeah"

"Yeah, so we were pretty serious about us but not that serious yet" Mason chuckles beside you making a smile appear on your face too.

"So it's still too early even to ask anything about a possible wedding?"

"Definitely" one of Mason's thumbs lightly strokes the back of your hand.

"Is she asleep?"

"Yeah deeply" you settle into bed yawning, resting your head on the pillow on your side looking at Mason in the same position as you. "We should take the opportunity to sleep"

"I know" but neither of you hint at closing your eyes or changing position.

"Do you think like- we're getting boring?"

"What do you mean?"

"I mean we're in our mid-twenties and there was a time when I would have already jumped all over you, while now-" you laugh genuinely interrupting him, sliding closer to him sharing his pillow.

"We have a baby and less time to sleep"

"You know we use that a lot as an excuse lately"

"It's not an excuse, it's the truth - you feel one of his hands rest on your hip - and as long as we're on the same page we have nothing to worry about"

"But I miss you. I don't want to sound ungrateful or moody but sometimes I miss the us from before"

"Yeah me too" Mason slides his head back on the pillow until your noses practically touch.

"How about next week we take a couple of days just for us somewhere?"

"I'm totally up for it - your lips are about to meet when you pull back slightly causing him to moan softly - But nothing crazy"

"It's not like we're eloping, just trying to hang out again for sex" you smack him on the arm for his total honesty.

"Ways to be romantic"

"Will you marry me?"

"Not right now. And especially not because we had a baby"

"I know we've rushed a lot of things in the last period, but I really was already dreaming of marrying you one day before all this"

"Even before moving in together?" you ask surprised by his revelation, a sweet smile on your face.

"Since we ran in the rain that night and you worried that I wouldn't get sick" and you stay looking deeply at each other, both of you remembering that episode of one of your first dates briefly with a smile on your lips.

"You're right I would have gone crazy" he laughs, however he finally manages to kiss you.

"One day I will put that ring on your finger, and it will be the best day of my life"

"It's been three months-"

"One hundred days" Mason points out with a huge grin on his face.

"See, that's what I was talking about earlier"

"Just so smitten- the host teases him along with you- what do you wish for your little girl? Do you want to tell her something for the future?"

You and Mason share a quick glance before you speak, "Well first of all I wish her always to be happy and that she has the opportunity to do what she wants in her life"

"We will always support her, no matter what happens or how difficult it may be. We might make mistakes, it will almost certainly happen more than once, but we will always try to be on her side"

"Thank you guys, it was a pleasure to have you here today"

"Thank you so much"

And that evening, once home wrapped in the warmth of what has become more and more your home, Mason arrives from the kitchen humming. In his hand a small cupcake with a candle.

"Mason-" your eyes shining with excitement as you watch him sit down being careful that the little one doesn't lean towards the flame.

"These last few months have been hard, adjusting has been hard, but I mean it when I say I'm glad she's in our lives now. So lets celebrate. To the first hundred days of our princess, the first hundred as parents" together you blow the candle, and there's no need to add more.

#mason mount #mason mount imagine #mason mount imagines #football imagine #football imagines

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sercezgazety · 4 months

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For all the times he thought about fucking Herbert West, Dan never imagined there would be a press coverage.

The pictures they draw in the courtroom are kinda hilarious. Herbert looks like a feral child, even shorter than in real life, unnaturally pink lips curled in a permanent snarl, and eyes ridiculously large. “The artist must have really wanted to be a gothic novel illustrator,” Herbert snorted back when they were still talking to each other. The way he said artist didn’t suggest irony, just distaste. Dan wasn’t spared from this kind of creative exaggeration either, by the way, his cheeks so hollow and circles around his eyes so dark, he looked like a skeleton in the first pictures. That was before he started stress-eating, that is, though the dark circles never go away. By the end of the trial, Dan from courtroom sketches resembles a very sad panda bear.

The moment Cornell took care of the bail — huge, but also ridiculously small, considering Herbert’s capabilities of causing harm — he apparently decided Herbert needed a makeover. He wasn’t stupid, he never told Herbert to smile for the cameras; there’s no world in which that could end well. It’s impossible to make Herbert with his speech patterns and his stare appear likeable, but Cornell did have his client memorize some lines that made him sound almost reasonable. Nothing too grand: not a word about defying God, no personal opinions on the value of an individual life in the great scheme of things. A scientific breakthrough, yes, and the methods were perhaps a bit unorthodox, but if we were to wait for the bureaucrats to find the right stamps in their desk drawers, the society would never get anywhere. The system’s rigged. Huge pharmaceutical companies have the proper resources to deal with all that paperwork and red tape, they have the money to send entire ethics committees on “scientific conferences” (the quotation marks are not performed with fingers but with a disdained grimace). Those are luxury cruises, actually, did you know? Glorified bribes. In this day and age, the little guy can do next to nothing. There’s no way for an independent researcher to act by the book and get any results. Just imagine how many breakthroughs we’ve all been robbed of by this system. And why? Because of ethical standards, as the industry would have you believe? Oh no. You see, they don’t care about progress, they don’t care about helping people or curing diseases the way the little guys do. They don’t care about us, Herbert recites, smoothly asserting himself as one of human beings. They want money. He holds his head high, and there’s fire in his eyes, the kind Dan’s grown to be wary of. One newspaper calls him charismatic.

The scientific rigor was upheld at all times during his research, Herbert tells the press, and Dan just knows he’s physically refraining from following rigor with mortis. Cornell decides that looking like an undertaker is not doing his client any favors, and finds a well-cut checkered suit in a reasonable shade of gray. Concessions need to be made. It’s wrong, it’s wrong, it’s wrong, and with the azure tie, Herbert looks so ridiculous, he might as well be wearing a Hawaiian shirt with a tramp stamp peeking out from underneath it.

“Do you know this man?” the prosecution asks Dan, pointing to this all-new, normal and respectable doctor, and Dan wants to say, no. That’s not Herbert, that’s someone else entirely. But he just nods. There’s a lump in his throat whenever he looks in the other defendant’s direction. Herbert’s doing his best not to show his discomfort with the bright colors and alien textures, but Dan knows him well enough to be aware he’s this close to tearing the clothes off.

Dan, on the other hand, doesn’t get any specific instructions on what to wear, except for ditching shirts that Ms. Rhiannon — Miss, she insists — proclaimed Byronic. There are women on the jury, she explains, but there are also husbands who don’t like their wives swooning over defendants. But besides that, be yourself.

When he puts on a sweater vest and a corduroy jacket, his lawyer claps her hands in delight. Perfect, she decrees. The ideal boy next door, no longer a paperback romance hero, oh no. Calm, friendly, reliable, one you’d want to grab a beer or a coffee with. She bats her eyelashes at that last part, though maybe Dan’s just imagining things. By the time the trial’s over, there’s no batting eyelashes at him anyway, just thirty extra pounds, gray hairs that suddenly got there despite the weird bald patches, and the humiliation of crying in front of a camera and not having any tissue. It takes him over a year to get back in shape, but it seems the liver spots are there to stay.

for angst, doomed middle aged men yaoi, and courtroom bathrooms continue reading here

(each chapter can work as a standalone, I think)

#danbert #herbert west #dan cain #daniel cain #re-animator #reanimator #re animator

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selznick-writes-stuff · 4 months

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Unconditional Love

haikyuu fanfic

My interpretation of the song told through a ftm trans Yachi coming to terms with his gender.

Inspired by Unconditional Love by Against Me!

Everyone had their secrets. Small ones like not having brushed your teeth last night or not knowing how to tie shoes until you were 14. Small ones that don't really matter in the grand scheme of things but would be embrassing if people knew. Or bigger ones that only those you trust can know. Bigger ones like mental illnesses that make you feel vunerable or your sexuality people would hate you for. Some people have even bigger secrets that no one but themself knows. Yachi had one of those secrets.

Yachi hated how she looked, which wasn't the secret - it was a secret, sure. Just, well, that's common, not liking how you look. Sometimes Yachi cut herself on purpose but that also wasn't the secret. Again, it was a secret but lots of people self-harm (and it's not like she's suicidal so does it really count?) No, those weren't Yachi's biggest secret. Her biggest secret was that she's trans. Well, maybe.

They didn't really know. She didn't want her hair short like a boy's but she'd tried it. They had put gum in their hair by the top so it had to be cut short. It was a bowl-cut and looked kind of awkward but it made them happy. Even happier when someone mistook them for a boy (on account of her wearing trousers, having short hair and her tits not having grown that noticeably at the time). They felt so happy. But having short hair isn't that fun when you can't braid it and mess with it so they'd decided to grow it out again. She didn't want short hair like a boy but she equally didn't want long hair like a girl. A purgatory of cutting and growing out her hair because it never felt right didn't make her happy either.

She didn't want her tits either. She had always been unhappy with them though never really knowing why. She had once thought she wanted bigger tits, that she was upset because they were small but her tits grew from AA cups to A cups to B cups and they still were unhappy with them. No one had mistaken them for a boy in a while and it was definitely her tits that were the culprit. It wasn't like she hated tits in general because they had seen tits on other girls and didn't hate them (she loved them, she was gay, God blame her) so it wasn't tits that was the problem. It was tits on her own body that was the problem. So they didn't want tits.

Her hips and legs were wrong too. Wide and fluffy with fat while the rest of her body was skinny. It made them want to puke sometimes. How she looked and how she walked was because she was a girl. They didn't like it. Didn't like that skirts showed her legs or that trousers outlined her hips. She didn't know if her butt was big but sometimes it felt like it was and sometimes she hated it and sometimes she remembered girls tend to have larger legs and hips and bums. It's where the body stores extra fat that might be needed in pregnancy. They remembered that from biology class.

She hated her body hair as well. But that was for a different reason than the others. Not because she had it but because she couldn't have it. Women shave (or wax) their legs and armpits and pussy. Any hair on your face was a no and it made her feel so self-conscious. She had to shave - couldn't not shave! She was be wrong then. Not normal. Weird. So she would ignore how happy she felt with leg hair and shave. Maybe she shaved less than other girls, spaced it out more, but she shaved her legs. She didn't shave their cunt though, no one would see so they could have this. She couldn't have chest or face or back hair for a different reason entirely - they just didn't have any. It didn't grow. At least she didn't need to worry about shaving it. Just long to have any instead.

So maybe they'd imagined being a boy sometimes. Wondered what having a dick would be like. Longed for a flat chest and a beard. It didn't mean anything.

She didn't want short hair like a boy. So it couldn't mean anything.

That was before she became a manager for the Karasuno Volleyball Club. Asahi had terrified them - even with long hair. And it's not like she didn't know men can have long hair and still be masculine. It had just never struck that close to them before. And he had fuzz on his chin! Dachi had thicc thighs too. Muscular, not fat like Yachi's though. Tanaka also had no hair on his chest (she knew from how much he whipped his shirt off), although he did have muscles to make up for it that Yachi didn't.

The thing with sports clubs is that they get close. Form strong bonds. Karasuno Volleyball Club even more so than others. Everyone was friends with everyone else - even Asahi didn't scare them anymore! She didn't really realise how much they trusted each other until Kinoshita had to sit out at one practice. Narita asked her to get a hot waterbottle for him while Kinoshita swallowed some tablets.

"Usually I'd ask Kiyoko but she's talking to the coach about him sitting out, I hope it's not a bother," Narita scratched the back of his head. "Not a bother - it's what I'm here for!" Yachi squeaked before scurrying off to the office. She had a hot waterbottle in her bag that would be nicer than anything the school had but they wanted to use a kettle the heat the water rather than waiting for whatever came out of the sinks to turn warmish. After that was sorted, she scurried back and handed it to Kintoshita.

"Uggrh, thanks," he groaned, "Narita lied before though, Kiyoko had her period last week and had to leave that day. You remember when she wasn't at practice last Wednesday, right? Yeah, thought the school would be a bit more helpful if it was you that asked then."

It took Yachi maybe longer than it should to realise exactly why Kinoshita needed the hot waterbottle. He was having period cramps like they do sometimes. And, god, it made her stop and consider what they actually felt. Because maybe it wasn't just self-conscious self-hatred that inspired self-harm. Maybe they were... No. He could be though...

The reflection that stared back in their bedroom wasn't right. It never was. Never had been. How he hadn't noticed they didn't know. The scars on their arms and legs had never fully faded from the last time she had cut (even if it had been months ago) but he ignored them. The only thing they wanted to hurt were the tits. Those godforsaken tits. No one had mistaken him for a boy since those tits had grown. ...grown.

So blood drew.

It felt better than they had expected. Something felt right in the anger that cut into her. He just wanted the tits gone. ...gone.

But still it was his biggest secret.

They didn't know why. It wasn't logical to keep it secret - the club wouldn't care. They'd accept him, help him and still care about him. Their mother would be accepting - she'd accepted his cousin being non-binary and that Yachi was a lesbian. So why couldn't she tell them she wasn't a lesbian but a trans straight man. He didn't know. His mother could help him to start transitioning. Would probably push Yachi to talk for himself more but would help. He could get rid of those tits, grow long hair and a beard, have all the body hair in the world and no one would care because he was a man, not a girl. And everyone that he cared about would accept and help him. He knew that. So why couldn't he just. Say Something.

Even though their love is unconditional it's still his biggest secret.

#yachi hitoka #yachi madoka mentioned #kinoshita hisashi #narita kazuhito #trans ftm yachi hitoka #fanfic #haikyū!!#haikyuu #trans ftm kinoshita hisashi #cw self harm #fic inspired by song

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dreaminginthedeepsouth · 1 year

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If a political party does not have its foundation in the determination to advance a cause that is right and that is moral, then it is not a political party; it is merely a conspiracy to seize power. — Dwight D. Eisenhower

LETTERS FROM AN AMERICAN

March 22, 2023

Heather Cox Richardson

This week, news has been focused on the former president’s possible indictment for paying $130,000 in hush money to adult film performer Stormy Daniels to keep quiet about their 2006 affair before the 2016 election. The information currently being thrown about has been shaped by Trump himself and is obviously suspect (among other things, he has apparently raised $1.5 million since he claimed he would be arrested on Tuesday). Although Republican lawmakers have no more idea than any of the rest of us do what the Manhattan grand jury might have seen, or what charges might be brought against Trump, they have tried to gloss over the scandal by claiming it is about a non-disclosure agreement or that it happened seven years ago or that its investigation is “a political witch hunt perpetrated by one of the far left radical socialist district attorneys,” as Representative Elise Stefanik (R-NY) said. But as journalist Aaron Rupar and Noah Berlatsky explained today in Public Notice, the payment was a big deal in the larger scheme of American democracy. Trump bought Daniels’s silence because he was willing to break laws in order to get elected. Then–Trump fixer Michael Cohen paid Daniels for her story in exchange for a non-disclosure agreement. Cohen testified that he paid her through a shell company to keep Trump’s connection to the payment hidden. Then Trump reimbursed Cohen for “legal fees.” That’s a problem with regard to business filings and tax fraud. It is also a problem for the campaign finance laws intended to protect clean elections. Cohen’s payment was a contribution to the Trump campaign because it was made “in order to influence the 2016 presidential election.” The payment was intended to make sure voters didn’t hear another sex scandal in October 2016, just after the Access Hollywood tape came out in which Trump talked vulgarly about sexually assaulting women, when it might have hurt his chances at election. The $130,000 contribution was far above the individual limit of $2,700, and the Trump campaign did not disclose it. This is not small potatoes. When the issue came to light, Cohen pleaded guilty for his role in the payments, and he was sentenced to three years in prison. Cohen testified that he made the payments at Trump’s direction. This is also not an isolated incident. Trump has proved himself more than willing to cheat to win elections. In the 2020 presidential election season, before he tried to overthrow the election altogether, he tried to strong-arm Ukraine president Volodymyr Zelensky into announcing an investigation into the son of the Democratic candidate about whom he was most worried: Joe Biden. Trump knew that the media would run with an announcement of an investigation, wounding Biden’s candidacy by keeping the story in the news even without any real investigation behind it. The Trump campaign had done much the same thing in 2016. According to the Republican-led Senate Intelligence Committee, which investigated the ties between the Trump campaign and Russian operatives, Trump’s people were willing at the very least to work alongside Russian operatives to weaken Trump’s Democratic opponent, Secretary of State Hillary Clinton. The Trump campaign also boosted Trump’s standing in the 2016 election season with the recurring refrain of the investigation into Secretary Clinton’s emails, convincing voters—falsely—that she had committed crimes. The pending issue of the hush-money payment is not just about 2016, and it is not just about Trump. That today’s Republican leaders have not condemned any of his attempts to cheat speaks volumes about the party. As Representative Ted Lieu (D-CA) pointed out today, when “Cohen was arrested, indicted, convicted, and went to prison for participating in an illegal hush money payment scheme to Stormy Daniels, not a single Republican leader complaining now said a thing about what happened to Michael Cohen.” So why the rush to defend Trump in the same case? It appears Republicans have gotten to the point that they don’t believe they can win a free and fair election, and in their conviction that Democrats will destroy the country, they believe cheating to win is justified. They cannot condemn Trump because he delivered what they wanted: a victory. In a democracy, the way parties are supposed to win elections is by making a better case for being in power than their opponents do. Losing elections is supposed to make leaders think deeply about how better to appeal to voters. That system keeps all parties constantly honing their policies, thinking through problems, benefiting their constituents. Our election laws are designed to try to hold the playing field level, and a party should want to keep the system fair in order to keep itself healthy. But if a party is willing to cheat to win, it no longer has to work on policies that appeal to voters; it can simply game the system to dismantle the competition on which democracy depends and instead create a one-party state. There are many legal problems in Trump’s front yard these days. Some, like his theft of documents with markings bearing the highest level of classification and his attempt to overturn the Georgia results for the 2020 presidential election, are heating up fast, and their significance is clear. But for all that the case we are currently hearing so much about seems less serious on its face than the other things charged to Trump's account, a hush-money payment to silence someone whose story might have affected the 2016 election is no laughing matter.

—

LETTERS FROM AN AMERICAN

HEATHER COX RICHARDSON

#Heather Cox Richardson #Letters From an American #Corrupt GOP #Criminal GOP #history #American Democracy #democracy based in rule of law #The Rule of Law #a conspiracy to seize power

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dyrewrites · 10 months

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Snippet Sunday

From Pale Blood, as it is the one I am most working on right now.

It's a long snip.

~~~

Odea was heading to her job as a phlebotomist—a fact they would laugh about later—when she was delayed by two thugs looking for a quick buck. Or a bite—To be honest, it doesn’t matter in the grand scheme of things what they were looking for, only that they were looking in the wrong place—They slithered out of an alleyway like a couple of awkward ferrets, bared their oversized teeth and pulled her back into the alley.

It wasn't every halfnight she was jumped by a couple of bloodsuckers, but the last time it happened they were after more than her blood, so it was a marked improvement. They wanted her keys and they had assumed it would be an easy matter to get them off her. She was alone, after all, and they figured she was a frightened, defenseless woman they could drag into a dark alley and intimidate—unfortunately, for them, she was neither.

Must not be important enough to get delivery, she guessed. Sharp teeth, no matter how big or hairy the bodies attached to them were, did not worry Odea and the sad little knives they waved around didn’t help that.

“You got a death wish, meat? I said give us the keys,” the bigger fang said through teeth struggling to fit behind lips too thin for his face.

The smaller one gave what he thought a threatening nod and Odea had a genuine fright…that she would not be able to keep a straight face and it might get her bit. She dug around in her purse, to distract herself—but there were also useful things in there. “I’m certain there’s a seedy little hole in the wall somewhere that’s really missing you two,” she said through a muffled giggle before she brandished the small flask and shook it. “You guys drink? Booze, I mean.”

The two stood there, slack-jawed before the big one shook his surprise off and caught her by the neck. Odea mourned the loss of her giggle as she hit the wall but found it again in the sight of the flask held firm in her fingers.

“Fine,” The hairy wall of muscle spat, “you don’t wanna play nice, we can play rough.”

The smaller one sucked his teeth and chuckled, “Yeah, we like rough.”

Odea stretched her neck beneath the fat hand that held it and the fang it belonged to grinned, baring his fangs again…but he didn’t get to use them.

He was far too busy screaming.

Witch-blessed water may not have been the most economical choice of weapon, but it was easier to carry around than a bonewood stake—and Odea knew a good deal more witches than she did undead whittlers.

The fang dropped her to scratch at his melting face and the other hissed before he pounced. Which gave Odea time for a well-placed foot to his groin—much to the delight of all the underpaid women he planned to spend the remainder of the evening with—and an opening to rush out of the alley.

Into another fang.

#writblr #writeblr #urban fantasy #snippet #novel #writing community #pale blood #snippet sunday #narrators who butt in are fun to write but I am worried it will get annoying

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latibvles · 1 year

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SAD, BEAUTIFUL, TRAGIC.

beautiful, tragic. // earn your stripes

sometimes, doubt can be a poison.

masterlist | gallery | taglist

WARNINGS: none

SUMMARY: The fruits of Daisy’s labor taste bittersweet in the grand scheme of things. Is she really worthy of so much recognition?

TAGLIST: @liebgotts-lovergirl , @softguarnere , @monalisastwin , @brassknucklespeirs

For a second, all she can do is stare.

There’s a ‘return to sender’ stamp on the front, in slightly faded red ink. It’s unopened. She takes a measured breath as her mind goes through every possibility.

He could’ve sent it back — and honestly, he might’ve. Or he’s been moved. She checks the address line, and she knows she’s written it correctly, so it’s not that, at the very least. Regardless, she isn’t even sure how to feel. Frustration, dread, anxiety, sadness all battle at the forefront of her thoughts, duking it out to take priority over each other. She can’t deal with this right now is the first conclusion she comes to, shoving the letter in her pocket. The second being that she has to talk to Ginny before she implodes.

Luckily, she won’t have to wait, because the other slip of paper she receives is an order to head to Regiment immediately upon retrieving the notice, and that’s enough to make her head pound. But she doesn’t show it on her face, just smiles and gives the runner — a scrawny slip of a Private who salutes stiffly before he rushes off, leaving her to her own devices. She takes a couple breaths, trying to reign herself in before she spills out onto the gravel.

As Daisy takes off in the direction of the building acting as an office for Regimental staff. Mourmelon itself was a hodgepodge of buildings jumbled together, a place carved out for proper tents and cots, and a spider web of streets with historical significance going back farther than Napoleon. She might’ve appreciated it more, if everything around her wasn’t in a constant state of motion even when they’d been pulled off the front line.

Regiment itself is a larger, multi-level building, but it's no Tortworth or Littlecote. She imagines that it was still an office before this, but probably not for military personnel. Still, she skims the names plastered on windows of varying office doors, until she finds the one labeled CAPT. VIRGINIA BRANT. Daisy opens the door without hesitation.

“You wanted to see me Gin—”

The person sitting behind the desk is certainly not Ginny.

His hair is a dark, inky black with streaks of gray. His face is freshly shaven, jacket hanging over the side of the chair, leaving him in the khaki button down and suspenders, tie tucked neatly into the fold. She’s pretty sure his broad shoulders and imposing stature add to how small she feels. Daisy freezes, then snaps into a proper salute for him as his gaze moves up towards her. Colonel Peake cracks something of a smile, something she did not expect, as he rises to feet.

“At ease, Lieutenant.”

She’s only ever met the Colonel twice, one of several who served with the 128th. Colonel Ringer was her Commanding Officer, and hadn’t been transferred over to the Combat Nursing Company. They weren’t especially close, either. The first time she saw Peake, she didn’t recognize him. It’d been in passing, at the party in Littlecote. He’d been one of the many, many faces of the hour. The second time was upon her transfer, among the seventy women establishing Company One. Even then — she never spoke to him.

Daisy lets her hand drop, keeps her gaze fixed on the opposing wall. Her palms are sweaty and she thinks she might very well pass out if she doesn’t learn why the Colonel’s in Ginny’s office, but Ginny isn’t.

“I’ve heard a lot of good things about you, Lieutenant. Captain Brant speaks of you highly,” There are people in the world who have voices that just command attention. Ginny has it, Dick has it, and Peake definitely has it. “With the Captain in Paris on leave I figured it only appropriate to come and see for myself.”

‘See what, exactly?’ is what she wants to say, but Daisy has more sense than that.

“Sir?” is what comes out instead, her even tone a sharp contrast to the erratic pounding in her ears. Ginny’s in Paris. The Colonel knows I exist. The Colonel wanted to see me. It rattles around in her skull. She thinks her palms might be sweaty. Peake only chuckles as he looks her over. She wonders if he can tell how nervous she is.

“You’ve acquired quite the reputation these past six months,” he continues, leaning his full weight on the desk, looking down at a sheet of paper. “Your service with the 42nd in Normandy. Brant praised your performance alongside several others during the taking of Carentan. And then there are several accounts of yourself, alongside McCarney and a… Lieutenant Kegley guiding the other women in training exercises before deployment to Holland. I’m told you had them observing combat maneuvers?” He arches a brow. For a moment, Daisy says nothing, until she realizes that it’s a legitimate question, and her cheeks heat in embarrassment.

“...yes, sir. With, uh, Brant’s assistance we were able to observe the field practice of the infantry staying at Chiseldon Camp.”

“And the map-reading exercises?”

“I was asked to lead them in some refresher courses, sir. I figured a hands-on approach would be best.” Peake nods slowly. His expression is unreadable as he continues to look at the paper on the desk. From this distance, she can’t see anything written on it, but it’s safe to assume this is where he’s getting his information from. And from Ginny’s reports. And probably Stars and Stripes. And a few snippets from a disgruntled Royal Army Captain. He looks back up at her, and begins to sit back down.

“Step forward, Lieutenant,” Daisy obeys, taking a few steps closer so she’s a bit closer to the desk. He looks at her and squints. Closer now, she can see that his eyes are a stormy gray color that adds to her nerves. “I want to ask you a question,” Daisy stares expectantly at him, holding her breath for a moment. “Why did you become an Army Nurse?”

Of all the questions — that certainly wasn’t the one she expected to be asked. Daisy blinks a couple times, allowing his question to sink in as she furrows her brows, trying to come up with some sort of satisfactory response.

She remembers being ten-years-old, and fumbling on a leap during her dress rehearsal for her ballet recital. The pain in her ankle brought her to the point of tears. They’d called an ambulance, she went to the hospital, and it turned out she had a very bad sprain. The doctor had been… clinical, formal — she was terrified and he did very little to diffuse her fright. But there was also a nurse in the room with kind eyes and a soothing voice. She’d been the one to reassure her, to calm her down, talk to her and make Daisy feel as though it wasn’t the end of the world after all. The doctor had been impersonal, blunt in his explanations to her parents. The nurse had been benevolent and warm.

Daisy remembers wanting to be like that, too.

“I always wanted to be a nurse, sir,” Daisy starts out. “Back when I was a kid I sprained my ankle pretty bad and it… wasn’t the doctor who really stuck with me. It was the nurse in the room. She was…” Daisy presses her lips into a line for a moment. “Kind. Comforting. She did her job but also went the extra mile of making sure I was okay. I was in my last year of nursing school during Pearl Harbor,” she takes another deep breath. “I want to help people. The people who need help are here, so I came here.” There’s a slight twitch of the corner of his lip, Peake nods along to her story, rubbing his mouth.

“I’ll be frank with you, Lieutenant,” Peake begins. “When I first heard of your actions in Holland, I initially wanted to transfer you back to the 128th and put the whole thing to bed. Having women on the front line is still an idea many haven’t been able to back. I wanted you out of my hair,” he rises again, but remains behind the desk. Daisy thinks she might throw up on the polished wood. “But then we received the nonfatal casualty count — including those who’d been saved in Eindhoven. And then, after Diana McCarney was wounded, I was told how you immediately accepted the responsibility of taking care of the squad working with Easy Company. And then later, once again, without hesitation, slipped seamlessly into your role as a temporary replacement with Dog Company.”

It’s then that he unfurls his fist. She looks down, and tries to retain her composure at the contents of his hand.

“First Company needs a proper Lieutenant to lead the third squadron. Someone who doesn’t hesitate when it counts. Who keeps her oath down to the letter. Ideally Captain Brant would be the one to give these to you but…” It’s then that he breaks into a genuine smile. Daisy can’t pry her eyes away from the silver First Lieutenant’s bars in his palm. He walks around the desk, approaching her. “May I?”

She’s at a loss for words — all she can do is nod. She lets him fasten the silver bars to her collar, all the while she prays her knees don’t give out as he does it. Then he steps back and extends a hand for her to shake. She takes it. His grip is firm and, quite frankly, jostles the whole of her arm.

“Thank you, sir.” Daisy musters, finally. He looks her up and down, gives her a nod, and then a salute that she returns.

“I’m expecting great things out of you, Lieutenant Clarke. Brant will give you a list of names for your squad upon her return from Paris.”

“Yes, sir.”

“You’re dismissed.”

“Yes, sir.” Daisy tries not to bolt out of the room altogether, but the moment she’s a fair enough distance away, her fingers ghost over the bars on her collar.

She knows she should be happy — ecstatic even. Ginny told her that this could work out in her favor and it did. How many women vyed for her achievements to be recognized in this way? To have the Colonel himself put the bars on her collar? Most women don’t even get promoted past 2nd Lieutenant. She should be celebrating — and yet all she feels is a wave of anxiety and very, very undeserving of any of this. She’d always seen it as her just doing her job. Apparently not. She steps out into the open air, pausing to take a deep breath.

“Hey! Daisy!” The greeting is familiar. Daisy turns and sees Liebgott with his usual smirk. Beside him is Talbert, whose smile is sweeter than his counterpart. However as he approaches, the smile and smirk both immediately drop. “Holy shit, you look like you’re gonna hurl.” Daisy laughs at that, dryly, shaking her head.

“I uh… just got promoted,” she manages. Liebgott’s eyes widen as he leans down to take a peek at her collar. He whistles lowly as he peers at the silver bar.

“No kiddin’, huh? Guess you really can boss me around now.” All Daisy can do is nod along in agreement, her head pounding, and muster something of a smile to try and mask the queasy feeling overtaking her entire being.

“Yeah, better not piss me off now or I’ll have you running obstacle courses just like Toccoa.” Liebgott snorts at that, reaching to throw his arm over her shoulder lazily.

“Can’t be any worse than Foxhole Norman, that’s for damn sure.” She looks between the two men with a questioning look. Talbert is more than happy to describe the new Easy Company CO in all of his pencil-pushing, military-ladder-climbing. Liebgott’s face contorts into a scowl, like he smells something foul. And as she listens, she feels her fingers dig a little tighter into the man’s waist, body winding up like a spring.

She’s surrounded by leaders at all times. Ginny, who leads with a confident smile and inspiring words. Winters, who she’s never heard a singular bad thing about ever — easily summarized as a “good man.” Speirs, who the men called Killer and the Dog, whose very presence instilled a sense of respect and fear. Rita and Catherine, Peake, and now Norman Dike. Someone who the men already despised after just three weeks in his position. Now Daisy’s among them in a way, but she doesn’t know where she fits in all of it, if she’s a Brant or a Winters or a Dike.

She ducks under Liebgott’s arm, and gives the two men a wry smile.

“Right… well I have to go do something — I think I saw Jane at the uh… kitchens, Tab. Rita might be there too.” It isn’t a complete lie. They might be there, for all she knows. Daisy can feel Joe’s stare burning a hole through her, so she keeps her gaze fixed on Talbert, who’s none the wiser. Mustering a smile, she gives him a brief nod. “I’ll catch you two later.”

She quickly moves in the opposing direction, wrapping her arms around herself as she scurries.

Nothing about this feels like a reason for celebration. She needs to get better at her poker face. There’s a lot of things that she needs to get better at, now that she’s really thinking about it. Surely someone else, Daisy tries to reason, anyone but me. Someone more commanding, with more experience maybe. She got along well with her fellow nurses, with the men in her care, with the medics they worked with, but could that be enough?

When was the last time she actually felt like she’d done enough? Like she’d been useful and deserved rest?

If Daisy couldn’t satisfy her own standard now, how was she supposed to measure up to being some type of leader? For all she knows, she’ll end up as another “Foxhole Norman.” Maybe something even worse than that. She thinks of Cunningham’s hungry smile, and Peake’s piercing eyes, of Gray’s hesitance and Ginny’s proud smile. It feels like there are hawks perched in the trees of someone’s backyard, and she’s the little dog in the grass, none the wiser.

With bile rising in her throat, forcing herself to swallow the burn, she immediately begins conjuring up ways to prevent the women from suffering such an embarrassing fate in her care.

#ronald speirs #ron speirs #band of brothers fic #band of brothers #hbo war x oc #hbo war fic #ronald speirs x oc #ronald speirs x ofc

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bllsbailey · 19 days

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Joe Biden Suffers a Total Eclipse of His Shame As He Bumbles and Fibs in Wisconsin

As the nation was captivated by a total eclipse of the sun on Monday, Joe Biden suffered a total eclipse of his shame in Wisconsin. After spending an unfathomable amount of taxpayer money to fly to the battleground state on Air Force One, the president proceeded to bumble and lie his way through a mercifully short speech.

In it, he bragged about defying the Supreme Court on student loan forgiveness and introduced a new falsehood about his childhood, the latter being so easily debunkable that I can only assume he's not even trying anymore. Let's kick things off with the following admission, though.

Biden opens his speech in Wisconsin: "I get instructions from my wife" pic.twitter.com/JOAokoeJpW— RNC Research (@RNCResearch) April 8, 2024

That was probably the most honest thing he said at the event. Recently, Jill Biden demanded behind the scenes that her husband "stop it, stop it now" regarding Israel's war on Hamas. A day later, the president was on the phone with Benjamin Netanyahu telling him he must agree to a ceasefire. Biden getting "instructions from his wife" is probably the least surprising development of his presidency.

READ: John Kirby Trips All Over Himself Trying to Defend Biden's Phone Call With Netanyahu

Biden brags about ignoring the Supreme Court on his scheme to unilaterally cancel student loan debt: "That didn't stop us" pic.twitter.com/JfWolVGiC0— RNC Research (@RNCResearch) April 8, 2024

Come hell or high water, Biden is going to make sure you have to pay off someone's gender studies degree. He couldn't care less that only a small minority of Americans have student loans or that there's no constitutional mechanism to reappropriate funds to selectively forgive individual debt.

As my colleague Becky Noble opined in her broader piece on the topic, this is all about buying votes. Biden thinks that he can overcome his current electoral deficit by dangling tens of thousands of dollars in "free money" in front of voters. He might be right, but there's also a chance working-class Americans who didn't run up a hundred grand in debt without a plan to pay it back could revolt.

— RNC Research (@RNCResearch) April 8, 2024

There are two parts to the above clip to consider. One is that he's lying about the average salary, but more importantly, semiconductor companies are pausing and even canceling American projects because of the unworkable DEI regulations within the CHIPS Act.

This topic deserves a full-length analysis, but here are the highlights that I shared on social media some weeks before this writing.

Government-mandated DEI is now causing chip manufactures to cancel American projects and build overseas because we are ruled by idiots. pic.twitter.com/PSMuYQQdf7— Bonchie (@bonchieredstate) March 9, 2024

Because the law Biden championed included requirements that workers must consist of certain demographics, semiconductor companies can't hire the necessary labor. Another day, another industry ruined by "Bidenomics."

For instance, chipmakers have to make sure they hire plenty of female construction workers, even though less than 10 percent of U.S. construction workers are women. They also have to ensure childcare for the female construction workers and engineers who don’t exist yet. They have to remove degree requirements and set “diverse hiring slate policies,” which sounds like code for quotas. They must create plans to do all this with “close and ongoing coordination with on-the-ground stakeholders.”

Past that, it wouldn't be a Biden speech without some wild claim about his past that is provably false.

CHRONIC LIAR JOE BIDEN: "People say to me ... 'How about all those hardworking people who grew up and had no opportunity to go to college?' I get it! That's the neighborhood I come from!" pic.twitter.com/TGXiaCjfCQ— RNC Research (@RNCResearch) April 8, 2024

Let's do the math here. Biden supposedly came from a neighborhood where people didn't have the opportunity to go to college. Yet, as we've been assured many times by his tales of supposed athletic prowess, the president went to college. We've also been assured that he comes from a family of hard-working, blue-collar individuals. Wouldn't that make him proof that he didn't grow up in some desolate neighborhood where the working class had no opportunity to go to college?

Biden's father was a used car salesman. If that led to being able to send one's son to college, I'm pretty sure opportunities existed for others throughout the area. But hey, who am I to question the life story of a guy who committed plagiarism and has routinely misled about his past to place himself in the middle of every situation? The president wants you to think he is everything but what he actually is, which is a pampered, entitled career politician who wouldn't know hard work if it punched him in the face.

And with that, it was over. Biden shuffled off the stage after less than 15 minutes.

— RNC Research (@RNCResearch) April 8, 2024

I'm just glad we can be there to pay for him to campaign, promising the world to select demographics he needs to win re-election. Money well spent, I'd say.

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jujujournal · 1 year

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The H's

It’s Christmas eve day. I signed up to work a few hours tonight. That will be the first part of my ‘socializing’ for the holidays. The second part will be tomorrow night - when I signed up for another short shift. New Years day has a full shift available - but it’s in a facility and I don’t know that I really want to do that. I’ve learnt that I don’t particularly like working in a facility. I prefer the autonomy and one on one of hospice and home health. This is a weird time of year for me. I long to be with family and friends but if invited I would likely say no. I don’t want the stress of carrying on conversations and dealing with everyones’ drama. The weather here is out of the teens - I know we will get another cold snap before it’s all said and done but I am grateful for the reprieve. So glad I bought my electric fireplace, I can only imagine how cold it would have gotten in here without it. I want more but I have so much more than many others.

The morning before the arctic temps blew in I sat here absolutely horrified knowing there are people living on the streets that would have nowhere safe to get in out of the literally life threatening temperatures. My friends and coworkers offered all the platitudes and comforts of the city offering warming stations and how the salvation army is open 24/7. That’s right, they’ve never been touched by homelessness - they don’t understand that that isn’t enough.

People with pets won’t be allowed in shelters. People not in areas of warming stations don’t have the option to hop in their car and drive there. I can pass out blankets and hot drinks and try to make myself feel as though I’ve done a small part, but it won’t change what I know - that there are men, women, and children out there without access to any of these assistances that are being offered. So there is the contradiction of me, I want to do more to help but I don’t trust people so I can’t/won’t open my home to them. I don’t have fancy things to steal, but I have my peace and I have my pets and those are the things most precious to me. I have adult children whom I’d give anything for but they don’t live here so are not part of that decision making equation. So what do I do? Donate to shelters? Yea, I know someone who stayed at a homeless shelter one night. He left his bag of belongings in the courtyard and the facility threw them away. They didn’t take the clothes and wash them for those who might need them, they didn’t hold them so that someone who had nothing could reclaim them, they threw them away - all while begging for donations. I can’t wrap my head around that. Drive around and pass out supplies - I do, at least as much as I can afford, which is really less than a drop in a bucket when you look at the grand scheme of things. Not to mention time constraints, if you get there ‘too late’ they can’t help. They have curfews - I get it, but that doesn’t help people who miss the cutoff. Check in is 7pm - 10pm, and you have to be out by 7am. Even if you make the cutoff and they have room for you there are still 12 hours a day you have to keep yourself safe. Homeless aren’t welcomed in most places so that means on the streets, but not too close to a home or business because then they are loitering.

I’m not saying that some people haven’t landed themselves in these situation but making poor life choices - but a lot of them haven’t. SO many people out there are just one paycheck away from being at risk for homelessness.They aren’t bad people, they aren’t drug addicts, they aren’t wasting money on electronics, gambling, etc. They’re working full time jobs struggling to make ends meet. Cast all the accusation you want and make all the excuses you need to for your lack of compassion: there are programs to help, they should have gone to college to get a higher paying job, etc. As far as I am concerned you are only giving yourself justification and an excuse to not care. I see people on street corners begging, and I sometimes roll down my window and offer what I have - be in a little cash, food, jackets, blankets, bottled water, whatever - but then I’ve seen those people throw away anything that isn’t cash and drive off in their cars and head for their homes. Now that isn’t on me, that’s on them. That’s their karma. I don’t understand though how you can have a roof over your head, food for your belly, and stand on a corner stealing from those who truly need help - making people second guess helping at all because they don’t know whether the person asking for help truly needs it or is just another scam artist. I disassociate, I turn off my emotions to a large degree, I am guilty of those things, but I can’t turn off my compassion. I cannot see someone with less and think how easy it would be to take from them so I would have more. I was reading through a page in my local area that helps homeless folks, specifically a post on social media. A comment caught my eye “Look at all that debris”. This person didn’t see the struggle, didn’t see the people camping under old carpets trying to stay safe and warm, they only saw the debris. Is it horrible that their is filth and trash, of course it is. But how is it not worse that there are people that this is their best option?!?!

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no-droids · 3 years

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Ask Me Again Tomorrow

gif credit @pedros-pascal

Part Sixteen of the Rough Day Series

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 16.3K

Warnings: SMUTTTTT, following/stalking, some fluffy moments but mostly just a lil action and interaction, I don’t think there’s any other warning besides language and the smut (comm sex WITH A TWIST YALLLLL) but if you happen to find something else that warrants a tag, please let me know and I will do so accordingly!

A/N: The response to this story has grown beyond anything I could’ve ever imagined and I genuinely thank you all from the bottom of my heart for the privilege of writing for you. Hope this one ends up being okay and I’ll get to work on the next chapter soon!

***

Headstart—12:17pm:

The sky is so pretty. There isn’t much to look at on the surface—rolling hills and plains, grassy but with dry bare spots breaking up the green stretches, but the sky. It’s an oil painting above you, pastel swishes of yellows and pinks and purples with an enormous ringed planet taking up half the horizon and another sizable moon hanging high.

You should probably be running. Like, for real sprinting, but you can’t push yourself to go faster than a brisk walk. It’s so… free out here, more hills springing up every time you get to the top of the next, warm air filling your lungs. Even though you know realistically that the beginning will likely be the hardest—where you need to focus most on running and putting distance between you instead of hiding—truth be told, you’re not foreseeing making it more than a full day. You’re going to try, obviously, but in the grand scheme, you wouldn’t be surprised in the least if he finds you tomorrow. So, instead of wasting all your energy going as fast as you physically can right out of the gate, you just decide to stroll and think for a little bit.

You know what your goal is. Obviously, to last as long as you can, but more specifically… well, if Din is going to chase after you, then he’s going to try to think like you. Anticipate your movements, if he can’t already see the tracks you leave plain as day. Very soon, he’ll be walking this same exact pathing, following the footprints you’re leaving behind, but if you’re ever able to shake him or throw him off course, he doesn’t have a tracking fob. He doesn’t have any mechanical device that points him in your direction—if you can lose him with the footprints, then he’ll have to rely solely on predicting you. Which means you need to think… exactly the opposite of yourself if you want to outsmart him.

That’s harder than it sounds though, because… is he going to predict you predicting him? At what point does it stop? You somehow have trouble seeing this as an advantage the way he said it would be—you almost wish you had someone else chasing you, someone you didn’t know and someone who didn’t know you if only so this paradox could end before it begins.

You’re walking for about ten minutes before spotting a dirt road in the distance. There’s a person following it in the direction of the sun—you don’t know this planet’s magnetic field but you do know it’s after noon and the sun would set on Arvala-7 in the west, so that’s what you’ll call it for now. You call out to them as soon as you’re in range, and the stranger turns to you.

“Excuse me!” It’s a woman, you see it as you get closer. “I’m so sorry to bother you, but can you tell me where this road leads?”

She removes a sheer yellow shawl covering her dark hair and gives you a friendly smile. “Hello,” the lady greets, before spinning around and pointing back the way she came. “Osiruu is a few hours that way. There’s not much there, but it will take you to G’ila, a transport hub with many opportunities for drifters, or Nariss, the capital. I’m on my way to Shabeth,” she points in the other direction. “It’s far—a day’s walk, but it’s a holy place and offers quite the view. I would be glad for the company, but I understand its lack of practical appeal.”

So this place is safe enough to be inviting strangers along on your travels, noted. You’re going to have to make the decision right now, then. Which path should you take?

Something deep inside you tells you that you want to see this holy place, and just from a few sentences, you already like this woman and feel safe with her. But then all of a sudden, you remember something.

Last known locations tell you a lot about a quarry, Din’s voice drifts back to you, sounding soft and distant from the dark forests of Naboo. 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.

You suppose you should decide what kind of quarry you want to be. Friendly company and a view is something you normally crave—it’s something your soul speaks to after going without it for so long during your previous life. You never pictured yourself as the fighting type. When Din first asked you, you told him you wouldn’t run from him if he was chasing you, and choosing to accompany this kind stranger to her destination is essentially just that. Sacrificing a chase for a pretty view.

“Does Shabeth have a sizable population?” You ask her, and she shakes her head.

“It’s the sight of an annual pilgrimage that happens in a few months, but it’s beautiful there and I like to go whenever I can,” she tells you with a soft smile. “But there’s nothing for miles outside it, I’m afraid.”

Your footprints will lead directly there. He’ll find you easily.

“It sounds very nice, but I need to find somewhere with a lot of people,” you give her an apologetic smile. Truly, you think she would’ve made for a nice friend. “Thank you for your help, though, and good luck with your journey! I hope we meet again.”

“Do you need any food or supplies?” She asks you, and you stop short of passing her by. “I don’t have much with me, but know what it’s like to be a newcomer to Sanctuary II. I’d be glad to help.”

Good Maker, is this how everybody is here or did you just hit the jackpot with this lady? She seems like… you, almost. Her voice is gentle, she looks like she’d give nice hugs. You’re about to politely turn her down, but then you realize the brilliant opportunity that’s presented itself in her image.

“Actually, this might sound like a really strange question, but…” you tell her, before looking down at her feet. “Wanna trade shoes with me?”

***

Headstart—6:12pm:

You don’t think it’ll work, but as you walk into a small settlement a few hours later in a unfamiliar and worn pair of sandals, you decide that you’ll need to do this as often as possible. You can’t come up with anything else that’ll throw him off your physical trail besides constantly switching shoes—is that bad? Are you just an idiot with no hope? You’ve had—you check your watch—like, five hours to think of a game plan, and all you’ve come up with is shoes? You’re screwed.

At least there’s food here. Plenty. There��s vendors stationed along the street, multiple people passing by and going about their business. Osiruu, that nice woman said—not much here, but you think she was wrong. There’s children giggling and jumping rope on the corner, a shopkeeper sweeping her storefront, a graying man with an empty cup plucking an unfamiliar melody on an unfamiliar instrument—and while your tummy growls and you know you should quickly buy supplies and be on your way, you still stop for just a few minutes to listen.

It’s a lovely tune. You drop a few credits in his cup after he finishes and find yourself humming it as you look at the plethora of goods being offered by the vendors. Water, food—you buy enough of everything to sustain you for at least a couple days, not wanting to go hungry but also feeling realistic over optimistic. The cuisine is foreign and you just point to things that look appetizing since you’re not sure about the name or pronunciation, but after paying and taking a bite into a rather large piece of purple fruit, your eyes nearly cross at how sweet and tasty it is. Holy Maker, that might just be the best thing you’ve ever tasted. You ask for two more after you finish the first, tucking one in your backpack next to your blaster and munching on the other as you keep browsing.

Suddenly you see shoes—yes. Fucking shoes, your salvation. You take a good look at all your options, of which, there aren’t many. Generic men's, women's, and children's, all in the same color and design. It’s good in a way—you see most people walking around in the same type of clothing here and you pray there’s not a way for him to track your gait or the whole thing is a bust, but truthfully, what you’re most worried about is the fact that you’ll create a brand new set of footprints wherever your old ones disappear. Unless you trade with someone else, you won’t ever have a back pathing, you know that Din will probably be able to easily spot it.

“Three pairs of these, please,” you point to the correct shoes and tell him your size, but then—“Oh wait, actually, can I actually have one of them that’s the next size up? And another that’s the same but in men's?”

The man behind the counter gives you an odd look but acquiesces, measuring the size of your preferred pair to multiple men’s shoes to find one that looks roughly the same—you doubt he’s ever had a request like this, but you’re also a generous tipper. His smile is grateful when you tell him to keep the change and then you’re stuffing the new shoes into your backpack and moving onward.

Would there be some kind of map here, you wonder? One that shows distance so you won’t waste time trying to reach a place you won’t be able to walk to? That lady said a transport hub and the capital are through this settlement, but she didn’t provide much information beyond that. You don’t want to be in the middle of nowhere when he finally catches up to you, you’ll need some place to hide.

When you stop to ask an elderly gentleman as he passes by, he freely provides you a basic gist. There’s a large forest beyond Osiruu—after it will be a road that passes through a few notable places, with a town called Sijua to the west that leads north to G’ila, and Devain to the east that leads northeast to Nariss. Both are within walking distance, though it may take a couple days to reach your destination.

Alright then. Through the forest, you suppose. You probably should’ve asked which way is east, but he’s already leaving and you don’t have the nerve to ask him to stop again. You have a finger point, that’s all you need. Making sure to use one of the small restrooms near the square before heading out, you eventually decide to make your way towards the direction he said this forest would be.

***

Headstart—6:58pm:

A bus.

You’re not going to take it, of course, but it’s the perfect solution to the problem you’ve been mulling over. It’s at the very edge of the small settlement, and you quickly speed up into a half-jog as soon as you hear its engine running.

“Last call for the seven o’clock!” A large man stationed near the doors yells as you approach. “Last bus to G’ila until tomorrow!”

The sun is setting and you have to extend your hand out in front of you to not be blinded by it. “Hello,” you give him a smile, before grabbing one of the handles on the side and stepping up onto the metal platform.

“Ah!” The man quickly stops you, moving to stand in front of the open doors. He’s as wide as he is tall, big enough that he blocks the entire exit. “That’ll be ten credits, miss.”

“Oh,” you say, patting your empty pockets and pulling your eyebrows inwards, trying not to move too much in case the sizable amount of credits you have stashed in your backpack happen to rattle. “Oh, no. I think I lost my wallet.”

He sighs. “Off the bus then please, miss. Come back tomorrow if you find it.”

You nod, leaning your forearm against the paneling and beginning to take your shoes off. “Will it be parked in the same place exactly?”

The driver looks curiously at you, clearly confused at both the strange question and your strange actions. “I’m sorry? Please—off the bus.”

“One second,” you tell him, now barefoot on the platform and digging into your backpack for the slightly larger sized shoes you bought earlier. The sound of credits clink against your blaster, but you hope he takes your lead in purposefully ignoring them. “Does the bus to G’ila park in this spot every single day?”

“Yes,” the man tells you impatiently, eyeing the way you’re stepping into the new pair with a subtle look of distaste. Everyone is polite here, it seems. “It will arrive back at seven am sharp with passengers from G’ila, in the same exact place. Please get off the bus.”

“Thank you, sir,” you tell him with a smile, watching him step to the side to allow you to drop down into the dirt again and continue on your way.

Brilliant, if you do say so your fucking self. Eliminate the need for a back pathing. All footprints facing this direction are going to be the first footprints, and all of them facing the opposite way are going to be the last; if Din manages to figure out you didn’t take the bus, then he won’t be able to tell which new set are yours and which belong to the other passengers. You pray the helmet can’t track gaits, but while you’re still paying enough attention, you make sure to keep your steps just slightly longer and even try placing more weight on the edges of your feet to make it look like you have a slightly higher arch than you actually do. You’d put a pebble inside of them or something, but you know you’re going to be walking through the night and you don’t want to commit to having your feet hurt more than you already know they’re going to.

Eventually the quaint shops and small houses disappear behind you, and the sun setting over the horizon turns the clouds above turn more dusty green and brown than yellow and pink. You hope Din opened up the ramp after you left. You want him to see the sky.

***

Headstart—9:34pm

The forest here is different from Naboo, too.

Maybe it was because you only saw it while you were in crisis-mode, but that forest seemed much scarier and darker than this one. The vegetation there was thick and overgrowing, but these trees look like they’ve never had leaves on them at all. No twigs or small branches that sprout from the trunks—the branches are all thick and gnarly, criss-crossing with each other with how close they’ve grown together. You bet their roots are practically one at this point, stretching for miles and miles but all sharing the same system.

Because there aren’t any leaves, there's nothing to block the moonlight shining clear and crystalline through the twisting maze of branches. Sanctuary II appears to have a sister moon—Sanctuary I, perhaps?—that’s likely a similar size, because it’s the same one you've seen all day and it’s barely moved a few degrees that you can tell. It must orbit incredibly close and be tidal-locked with this one then. Two massive satellites swinging around each other as they circle a ringed gas giant, but it makes a stunning view and reflects more than enough light to see.

The sky is deep blue and maroon and you’ve been walking in a straight line for hours, using the stationary moon overhead as your guide. The only issue with this plan that you’ve been able to come up with is that there’s no widely traveled path through the trees—even you can see your footprints and the clear trail you’re leaving behind. You’ve been trying for a while to figure out another clever evasion tactic, but it’s harder than it sounds. Can’t just change shoes again, that’ll be a dead giveaway. How do you lose him?

You stop for a second, reaching into your bag to grab some water and stay hydrated. Looking up once more at the beauty of the swirling colors peeking through the branches above you, you find yourself pausing after returning the bottle to your pack. There are… an atrocious number of branches up there, and all of them are long and tangled and thick. Sturdy.

You’ve… never climbed a tree before.

Without thinking much beyond that, you decide to bend your knees and jump, grabbing hold of one of the strong wooden tubes over your head and then swinging your legs up. Ouch—the bark scrapes against your palms and you have to hold on tight with your thighs while you shimmy yourself upwards, but at least the wood is solid as fuck. It takes you a minute or two, but you’re eventually able to shuffle yourself around so you’re straddling the thick branch, and then you look out to see the large collection of them criss-crossing in every direction around you.

Oof, this is dangerous. You know it even before you start. The gaps leading to the ground are bigger and more numerous than your potential pathing forward, but the only thing that gives you reassurance is how thick the wood is—you’re almost certain the branches aren’t going to break as long as you’re careful.

Okay. Shoes, these are too big for the kind of dexterity you’re going to need. You take them off slowly, being extra careful not to drop them, and then exchange them with the better-fitting pair you bought earlier, making a mental note that the sandals and the larger shoes are the two you’ve already worn. If your pursuer manages to catch on to the multiple footprint changes, your most recent ones should ideally just… disappear right there, shouldn’t they?

You grin, before struggling into a low crouch and looking around your wooden cage for a safe way forwards.

***

Headstart—11:37pm:

Water.

A blessing, and not because you’re thirsty. You have clean water in your bag and decades of habits formed in the desert to ensure you’re taking breaks and drinking enough—what you need is a way to disguise your footprints once you get back on the ground again. This was good; scuttling your way along thick and twisting branches for as long as you have was time-consuming and exhausting, but it allowed you to avoid touching the ground for at least a mile or so, which means he’ll have to comb that entire radius to look for your drop.

And it was fun.

You even found yourself giggling as you ducked and scooted, ignoring the bark scraping your skin and your panting breaths, the way your face got sweaty and hot. You had to do some brave maneuvers at tricky spots—jumping, balancing, hugging—but it almost just felt like an exciting little obstacle course for you and you’re honestly having a fucking blast right now.

Water, though. Water is an unexpected beauty, even more than you’ve always considered it to be. Water is an eroder. Not only powerful enough to smooth down the rough edges of strong elements over time, but it will hide your footprints as soon as you create them and leave no indication that you were ever there.

Eventually you see it—a babbling stream cutting a considerably wide line through the trees. You creep forward and hang tight to a branch above you to make sure you won’t fall, wiping the sweat on your brow with your other hand as you study the terrain. The water is… a considerable distance below you, maybe about ten or so feet, and there’s quite a few branches on either side that extend and hang out over it. You could probably find your way to the other side somehow, but something tells you to avoid the road beyond the forest if you can. It leads to multiple places, it would be better to follow the stream until you can eventually merge with it later.

That means you’re… fuck. You’re going to have to jump, aren’t you?

It’s the only way—you can’t leave footprints which means you’re going to need to land in the water. The trees clear too far from the shoreline, so you can’t shimmy down the trunk of one for a shorter fall. You’re going to have to climb out on one of those long branches until you’re suspended over the stream, and then you’re going to have to lower yourself as far as you can and then let go. With your height already accounting for at least half the distance plus the length of your arms as you hang, you should only have to drop two or three feet before reaching water, and then maybe another two feet to the floor under it. It looks forgiving enough—the moonlight shines and the stream is clear and you can mainly just see sand at the bottom, no sharp rocks or other potential dangers to be found. This… this is doable.

Okay. If you pull this off, you’re a badass. If you don’t break any bones or seriously injure yourself in any way, you deserve some kind of commendation. This is probably kiddie shit to Din, who keeps literal rockets strapped to his back and jumps out of ships flying thousands of feet above the ground, but this is a challenge for you and you’re feeling just excited enough to be up to it.

You’re eventually able to climb onto the thickest, sturdiest branch you can see that happens to hang over the water, straddling it and beginning to scoot. Your thighs are killing you at this point but you’re holding deathly tight to the wood, your movements becoming more and more cautious the further away from the trunk you get.

You’re directly above the water now, but you need to go out a little further. Aim for right in the middle so you don’t accidentally leave any tracks or prints on the shoreline if you need to catch yourself. The unfamiliar wood in this forest is admittedly sturdy, but the branch begins to subtly sag with your weight as you keep slowly scooting forward, and you’re just about to the correct spot when—

Day 1–12:00am:

“Sweet girl.”

—You nearly fucking fall.

“Maker,” you gasp, suddenly scrambling to catch yourself on the branch before you can plummet. It creaks and groans under your weight but supports you nonetheless, and when you’re one hundred percent certain it isn’t going to break, you jerk your head down to the communicator and see that it’s midnight, on the dot.

Shit.

Your heart slams against your ribs and your arms shake with adrenaline while you study it for just a moment longer, trying to calm the fuck down.

“Hey,” Din’s voice comes sharply from your wrist, crackling and tinny through the comm, nearly scaring you again. “Answer me.”

You don’t want to sacrifice your grip right now, but you have no doubt he’ll fly the Crest out to you if you don’t respond. So you quickly let go to press a button on the front face and then latch onto the branch tight once more, raising your voice because you can’t risk bringing your wrist up to your mouth to speak. You hope he’ll be able to hear without the microphone picking up the sound of the stream below. “Uh. Ahem. Hello. Yes?”

“You’re too quiet,” Din’s disembodied voice immediately informs you. “Or something on your side is too loud. There’s an earpiece built into the side of the communicator, take it out and use it instead.”

You study the wrist brace without moving, until you finally see what he’s talking about. It’s a small, wireless piece of machinery hidden on the left side of the electronic display, and you quickly pop it out and stuff it into your ear just in time to hear the sound of hydraulics clanging through the speaker as you clutch the branch again. You’d know that sound anywhere, it’s the ramp of the hull closing.

“Are you already on the move?” You ask him incredulously, your thighs starting to go numb with how deathly tight you’ve been squeezing this tree.

“Can’t sleep,” Din murmurs, sounding so much closer and deeper than before. Does he have his earpiece on under the helmet or something? Stars, is that why his voice sounds that good? It’s like it’s coming from inside your own head, bassy and rough. “Ready or not.”

You huff, your tummy going warm. Of course he can’t sleep, of course he’s going to look for you as soon as he’s allowed to. If he waited until morning, you’d probably be slightly offended. You try to slow your heart rate into something acceptable, but being this far above water and hearing his baritone murmur directly in your ear make it difficult. “But I’m… sleepy.”

“You’re always sleepy,” he tells you, and though you can’t actually hear him walking, the sound of his footsteps shake through his voice just slightly as he speaks.

“Hang on,” you huff, ducking your head to drag it against your shoulder, keeping the sweat from your eyes without using your hands, “you’re gonna make me stay up all night just because you do? This isn’t fair—”

“Fair wasn’t part of the rules.”

Well. Fair.

Stars, you can’t stay here. You don’t know how long he wants to check-in for, but you’re also not confident with this branch’s ability to hold you for an extended time when you’re this far out from the trunk. You need to get in that stream one way or another, but now that he’s here, you have an extra problem. Din is going to hear you no matter what.

“Um. Can you give me a second?” You ask him, glancing around to make sure there’s no better way of doing this. Nope, you realize very quickly—this is the best idea you’ve got, and you don’t really know what that says about the quality of all your other ideas.

“What?” Din grunts shortly, but you just clear your throat.

“I need to… mute myself. Give me like… five minutes.”

“What are you talking abou—”

“You of all people cannot be upset about asking for five minutes of quiet,” you return testily, looking down at the distance to the stream once more. That’s a long way. You… you can’t swim obviously, but again, the water doesn’t look too deep. Just a couple feet likely, shouldn’t go past your knees.

It’s fitting that he doesn’t say anything, which you eventually take as disgruntled acceptance, so you quickly press the proper button on your wrist to silence the mic and then take a few deep breaths. You have a time limit now, you have to do this.

With incredible patience and precision, you eventually slide until you’re clutching the branch upside down like an only slightly quicker and less coordinated sloth, before slowly dropping your legs and hanging over the water.

It’s… admittedly a bit further down than you anticipated, or maybe that’s just you making things worse than they actually are, but you’re committed at this point and there’s no going back.

You close your eyes, count to three, and then you let go.

The sandy floor meets your feet with considerable force and you make a hell of a splash doing it, nearly falling but just barely managing to keep yourself balanced and upright at the last second. The water is cool and comes up just over your knees, your backpack miraculously didn’t get wet and all your limbs remain shaky but unbroken.

Okay. Okay, fucking success. It feels… thrilling, accomplishing a dangerous feat, and you quickly let out a loud whoop before clearing your throat, trying to sound normal as you press a button on the communicator’s face once more.

“Mando?” You ask, slightly out of breath. “Sorry about that, I’m back.”

Okay, now which way do you go? Downstream seems like the easier path after getting in so much unexpected exercise, so that’s the one you go with. As soon as you lift your foot from the sand bed, you watch your footprint almost immediately disappear through the moonlit water, and you bite your lip at just how well everything turned out for you.

After a moment though, you realize he hasn’t answered you. You look down at the communicator again to make sure you pressed the right thing. “Hello? Shiny?”

“Did you trade shoes with someone?” Din’s voice suddenly comes through the earpiece, sounding absolutely incredulous.

“Shit,” you tell him, trying not to smile. “Hoped that was gonna buy me more time.”

“It… might’ve, if you kept walking in the same direction as they were,” he informs you after a moment. “Your shoes went south, but this other pair got all the way out here just to turn back around again? Good idea, but the execution needs work.”

Maker, he’s smart. It was the first attempt at a footprint change so you weren’t thinking much beyond tricking the tracking mechanism in his helmet, you ignored his logic completely. Essentially, the exact opposite of what he told you to do. You like to think you’re getting better at it by this point, thinking beyond just the original exchange, and you’re hoping you’ll be able to trick him with at least one of the other fifty times you changed shoes today. You’ll have to see tomorrow night, if you can make it that long.

Also, the road you were on apparently goes north-south, that’s important information you make sure to take note of. The man in Osiruu said Devain and Nariss are to the east, and that Sijua and G’ila are westward, right? Remembering that you thought south was west earlier, you do some quick calculating and immediately come to a stop in the moving water as soon as you figure out your positioning, turning around and walking upstream instead.

You want to go to Nariss. The capital, and the biggest city in walking distance. Smart quarry go to populated places, places that make it nearly impossible to find people.

“Alright. Mando: one, Me: zero,” you finally acknowledge, swinging your backpack around and unzipping it to dig inside for another piece of fruit. You’ve been hungry for hours but had to use both hands to stay safe and far above the ground, it’s the perfect time to eat. “How’s the baby? Behaving himself?”

“He kept trying to follow you after you left,” comes Din’s response, and you stop with just your teeth piercing the flesh, wondering if you heard him right. You actually open your jaw and pull the fruit away with just a bite mark in it.

“You’re joking.” No fucking way, not that little demon.

“Wish I was,” he tells you solemnly. “Made a fuss, tried to open the ramp a few times. Didn’t cause any trouble after, just… pouted.”

That’s… that’s exactly how he responded the very first time Din left the kid on the ship with you instead of bringing him along. He threw a fit, tried to ditch you for his dad multiple times, and then ultimately just looked cute and mopey with his limp ears until Din came back. Do you think it’s just him rebelling against change? That has to be it, right?

“He better not be giving you any hints about where I am,” you warn his father. “I’d tell you to put him on but I don’t want the earpiece getting lost forever.”

You hear it. The softest laugh—barely a breath, coming after years of learning to make it just quiet enough not to be registered by the helmet. It gets picked up by the communicator in all its understated beauty when normally it’d be silent, and it’s just jarring enough to make you careless.

On your next step, you accidentally lift your foot too high and make a splash, and you already know you fucked up before he can say a single word.

“What’s that sound?”

You immediately stop moving, allowing the cool water to move as silently as possible past your stationary knees. Shit. “Uh. What sound?”

You think he purposefully doesn’t say anything. Probably because it feels a little like cheating, doesn’t it? It’s to your disadvantage, having him be able to catch hints from your environment when he’s the one who made check-ins mandatory, but then again… how smart do you think he is? Something tells you that he might not need to track you at all—what are the chances he stumbles upon this little stream and just naturally assumes you were clever enough to use it to hide your trail? Did you waste time trying to engineer a vanishing act when it’s not going to matter regardless?

Oh well, too late now. You quickly decide to change the subject.

“You should try the big purple fruit that one vendor sells when you get into Osiruu, by the way,” you tell him pleasantly, taking a big chomp out of it and then letting out an extended hum of delight that only really fucking good food or sex causes a person to make. “I’m eating one right now, it’s so good. Be the best thing you’ve ever tasted.”

“Mm. Doubt it,” immediately comes his low response. Fucking immediately.

“Mando,” you gasp, scandalized and giddy enough that juice dribbles down your chin a bit.

“Are you having fun?” Din asks, instead of pushing the conversation any further in that direction. You don’t know if you’re thankful or disappointed with how quickly he decided to abort, but you take a moment to consider his question while swallowing and wiping your mouth. Not the answer, you know the answer—but why he bothered to ask. Did he know you were going to enjoy yourself as much as you have? Your only possible lament is how you’re talking to him through a communicator instead of having him next to you.

“I am,” you say warmly. “Be… be better if you were here, though.”

“Give me your coordinates,” Din proposes, and his voice is just low and rumbly enough to make you pause.

You’re really, really proud of yourself for only considering it for a few seconds before scoffing. “Psh. Nice try.”

“Was worth a shot,” he sighs through the earpiece, and you smile, taking another bite of fruit.

“Ask me again tomorrow,” you offer, grinning at the implication.

“We’ll see,” you hear him return, and though his tone doesn’t really change, you know he’s probably rolling his eyes. He won’t have to ask for your coordinates because he’ll already be there, but it’s nice to pretend for a while longer.

And then you both walk all through the night, sharing casual banter with each other for hours. He never once implies he wants to disconnect, even when you hit him with more nonsensical questions—

“What’s your favorite food?” (“I don’t have one.”)

“Okay, well what about just a food that you like?” (“I don’t like food that much.”)

“What do you mean? Everyone loves food.” (“Not me.”)

“Alright, well um. What’s your favorite color, then?” (“I don’t have one, either.”)

“Come on, you must have some kind of color you like.” (“What’s your favorite color?”)

“…Brown.” (“Then that’s my favorite, too.”)

—until the sun rises and you both say your goodbyes.

***

Day 1–6:15am:

You resolve to waiting until you see another person to allow your feet to touch dry land, figuring the longer you stay untraceable, the better off you’ll be. Your toes are wrinkly and your pantlegs and shoes have been drenched for hours, but then you finally spot a few fishermen standing upstream with their backs to you, speaking to each other in the dawning light. Two look to be full-grown, but there’s a smaller one in the middle, maybe a teenage boy, and you pause for a second, looking at the riverbank next to them. All their valuables—water, food, bait, extra rods, but also… their shoes.

Quietly, you reach into your backpack and remove the pair of men’s shoes you bought earlier. The ones closest to you on the shore seem to be the smallest, so you sneak over as silent as possible and rapidly make an exchange, fitting the new ones on your wet feet before allowing yourself to touch dry land and then speed walking away.

The ones you left him are newer and roughly the same size anyways—yikes, maybe slightly smaller now that you’re thinking about it—but at least you have a back pathing. If that kid decides to take your offering and the shoes fit, Din will follow him, and if he decides to go barefoot instead, he should still follow him, right? You’re not really aiming to trick him outright, mostly you just want him to waste more and more time. This likely wouldn’t work if there wasn’t a time limit attached to this hunt, but you’re going to do everything you can to disappear while he’s still far enough behind you.

***

Day 1–7:06am:

You get to Devain remarkably quickly after finding the correct road. The pit stop is much bigger than Osiruu, big enough to call an actual town instead of just a settlement, but still not large enough to feel concealed. You want a city. This place at least has cars and ships moving about and overhead respectively, but you’re looking for somewhere with lines. Somewhere that feels as cramped and busy as possible.

Still, you find a restroom to use and then decide to grab some more food for your trip, happily spotting your new favorite purple fruit in one of the shop windows. As you’re reaching out to hand the storekeeper the appropriate amount of credits, Din’s gruff voice comes through the earpiece so suddenly that you jump, nearly dropping them all on the counter. “Hey.”

“Holy shit, what?” You gasp, earning a confused look from the lady in front of you. You quickly shake your head at her and mouth an apology while Din grumbles in vexation.

“You were supposed to stay on foot.”

Ah. So he got to the bus, then. Okay.

“Oh,” you answer ambiguously, exchanging the money for your bag of food and giving her a polite smile. Din stays completely mute while you grab your snack, stuffing the rest of the goods in your backpack and then turning to leave—mute for so long that you have to double check you didn’t accidentally do it yourself.

“…Smart girl,” you finally hear him say. Quietly muttered under his breath, half proud of you and half frustrated for making his job more difficult. “Which one of these is yours then?”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” you announce, before taking a large bite as you leave the establishment and talking with your mouth full. “You really gotta try the purple fruit, it’s great.”

The communicator abruptly clicks to silence on his end without anything else and you laugh so unexpectedly that a few pieces of it fly out of your mouth.

***

Day 1–1:32pm:

Somewhere miles away from you, Din jerks to a halt in the middle of a forest.

He looks around the dirt floor, walks a few paces and hears the kid coo gently from his cradle. Behind the visor, the red footprints he’s circling are the last ones around for hundreds of meters, as far as his display can read.

His helmet slowly tilts upwards, and follows the endless maze of thick branches overhead.

With the beskar hiding his face, no one can see the way he slowly breaks into a beautiful grin.

***

Day 1–9:51pm:

Oh. Oh stars, you’re tired.

You’ve been walking all day without really seeing anything, not having any place to disguise your tracks in the wide open plains. You could’ve stuck to the road, but you started to feel the exhaustion creep in during the early afternoon and you wanted to be far away from other travelers and potential danger if you needed to rest. You knew this would be a long journey when you left Devain earlier—over a day’s walk, a group of children told you—you even tried skipping or jogging a bit to see if that would inspire more energy in you, but it didn’t help much.

The large cup of caf you bought while in town was drained hours ago and it didn’t help much either, probably because your exhaustion is more physical and not necessarily mental. It just felt like a sweet warm drink to sip before you go to sleep, that’s how much the caf helped. Still, you kept walking, kept moving forward even as you squinted in the setting sun, your feet aching from traveling for this long wearing unfamiliar shoes. The last time you changed them was hours ago, pulling another bus maneuver but with an air shuttle instead. Still, you don’t think it’ll be enough. You don’t even know where Din is but you already feel like you’re losing ground just knowing that he’s the one in pursuit.

You feel it—the hair standing up on your neck, the tingles in your hands, the stirring of your tummy—whatever the incessant gogogo that your instincts happen to scream when you’re in first place but you know the person behind you is quickly closing in. It’s day fucking one, it’s day one and you feel him in the wind as it brushes through your hair, you can’t even pause to rest because nobody knows better than you that he’s an absolute fucking machine when he wants to be. The kid may have powers beyond that which can be explained by the laws of nature, but Din is a force all his own. He drives you forward when everything inside you is telling you to stop. He keeps you awake and determined when you just desperately need to rest.

But that only goes so far. You’re bordering on two full days without sleep, and though you’d normally be able to suffer through, the constant movement is just brutal after being confined to a stationary ship for so long.

There’s a lone tree in the distance, you think. It’s hard to see. Not because it’s dark—well it is, just a bit darker tonight compared to last, but mostly because your eyelids have grown heavier and more burdensome than the bag around your shoulders. That looks like a good place to just sit for a second, right? Maybe eat some more food, try and wake yourself up? Yeah, that’s a good idea, you’ll head towards the tree and just… sit…

***

Day 2–12:00am:

Completely dead to the galaxy and sitting on your ass with your back against rough bark, the comm clicks and Din’s voice comes through the earpiece.

“Wake up.”

It startles you enough to make you lurch forward and jerk your head around in a panic, looking for any flash of beskar so you can instantly break opposite to it. You scramble on all fours to look around but you don’t see anything, not even behind the trunk when you crawl, and then you take a deep breath and use the bone of your wrists to rub your eyes vigorously after a moment, knowing your hands are filthy. “Fuck, how’d you—”

“You’re always sleepy,” Din repeats, and you collapse back into the tree with an exhausted groan, not entertained but not even having the energy to get mad about it.

“I… I gotta sleep,” you tell him, already feeling your body let go of its tension and search for the darkness of unconsciousness once more. “Shit. How d’you… mm. Stay awake all the time…”

“Sleep,” Din encourages, you can still hear him walking. “You need rest. I’ll see you soon.”

No—

“No,” you whine like a child, moaning and shoving yourself upright. Maker, you’re trying to focus, but asking that of yourself is almost impossible right now. Everything swims—you were dreaming, you think, but you can’t remember and it’s not important other than to emphasize how woozy you are. Things still feel like a dream, somehow.

You think he can hear your struggling through the comm, because the sound of his footsteps pause. “Go to sleep.”

“You go to sleep,” you tell him bluntly, giving your head a violent shake to try and wake you up. You want to slap your own cheek but you don’t want him to hear it. “I can’t sleep if you don’t.”

“I’ve have at least a couple more days in me before that happens,” Din murmurs, and you bet he knows exactly what the fuck he’s doing to you. You start to slouch, hearing the voice he uses when he’s curled around your body in the darkness of the hull. So warm, so gentle. If you use your imagination, you can feel his fingers drawing slow circles on your back, the vibration of his low voice rumbling against your ear as you lay your head on his chest. “If I hunt you the way I’d hunt a quarry, I’m going to find you before you wake up.”

“Then I’ll jus’ have to… not let tha’ happen,” you slur. Even this close to unconsciousness, you try your best to throw in a misdirect. “Already… paid for the bed an’ everything.”

“Sure you did. You in another tree?”

You immediately frown even as your eyes drop closed, too tired to fight but still managing to sound upset. “You makin’ fun of me?” You ask him with a harumph. Genuinely, you’re not smart enough to figure it out right now.

“Not hardly,” Din sighs, sounding… you don’t know. Is that displeasure or not? It’s not immediately clear. Does it sound that way because you’re just dumb stupid right now? Or because Din can’t actually decide how he feels about it? “Lucky I heard water over the comm last night, I would’ve wasted hours in that forest.”

“Noooo,” you whine in response, trying to push yourself off the tree but tipping sideways in the process, “that’s not fair—”

“Fair wasn’t part of the rules,” he repeats himself again and… nope, you don’t even have the energy to snark something back. You just grumble your best imitation of him while you do everything you can to heave yourself upright. It’s pitiful, you lose your balance not even halfway through and just plop on the grass for a second and groan.

“Stop,” Din eventually orders through the earpiece, tired of it. “What’s sixteen times itself?”

You’re loopy to the point where you don’t even question why he decided to ask you that. You just furrow your brows for a second and try to think about it, before suddenly realizing you… don’t know, you can’t remember. Multiplication tables and squares up to twenty are elementary to you, you know them by heart. Sixteen times sixteen. One forty-four. No… no that doesn’t sound right, is that twelv—

You take way too long answering what would’ve been an immediate response two days ago.

“I’ll stop here for tonight,” Din tells you with a resolved sigh. “I won’t move until you wake up. Go to sleep. You’re putting yourself in danger, you can’t even do the basics.”

Later, this moment will come back to you. That problem isn’t basic, not many adults would be able to tell you very quickly that the answer is two fifty-six. You don’t even think Din would. You would, though. On Naboo, you used rapidly applied trigonometry in your head to find his location, and that was barely two minutes after waking up. You should know this. And he knows you.

But for right now, you don’t pay it a single lick of attention.

“You promise?” You ask quietly, voice incredibly small as your head tilts back towards the sky, already feeling yourself beginning to fall back into the darkness again.

“I promise,” he vows in return, gentle but a promise nonetheless. He doesn’t have to do this. You wouldn’t be able to keep going even if he didn’t offer up this temporary truce, but knowing he isn’t currently gaining ground on you makes the idea of sleep so much more welcoming, something you want to seek out instead of fight.

“Will you, um…” your expression furrows. How do you say this? You sigh, giving up before even trying to figure it out. “I’m… not in a bed. I’m outside.”

Din doesn’t say anything when you pause, and even through the haze wanting to take over, you know it’s going to sound needy. You want him to stay. Even in the midst of an adventure, you want him to stay, you want to hear him breathe as you rest, but there’s not really an integrous way to ask.

You don’t need to ask.

“I’ll keep the comm open and wake you when the sun rises,” comes his lulling baritone before you can elaborate anymore, enveloping you in comfort in this dreadfully uncomfortable bed of grass and dirt. “Sleep, sweet girl. I’m right here.”

***

Day 2–5:34am:

The sun shines over the hills and you lift your head up to squint your eyes at it, confused as fuck. Looking down at your wrist to check the time in the warm rays, hands and clothes dirty from laying on the ground that long—you stay groggy and clueless for just a moment longer, before your heart lurches when you remember Din’s promise to you.

You open your mouth to address him but then catch yourself just in time. Wait. Don’t panic. Listen.

Breathing. Slow and relaxed through the earpiece, a rhythm now branded into your memory from months of nights spent in pitch black. He’s… asleep.

Din is asleep? Seriously?

You can count like… twice that this has happened, and one of those was because he got you to touch him just right after closing up a wound on his back, and his body couldn’t handle the strain and passed out. You’re never awake when he’s asleep—you’re just not, it doesn’t happen. Din… sleeps like it’s just a choice for him, he doesn’t ever really need it. Almost like how he used to eat before he started sharing meals with you, he said he doesn’t even like food that much. You think he just severed all of those things long ago, things that are basic fundamentals of survival and operated like a bounty droid that lost its voice box. It’s… nice, feeling like you’re somehow giving back some of the things he lost. Unintentionally encouraging him to find sleep again. Making sure he eats more, listening to him speak.

You struggle to your feet as quietly as possible, hearing him continue to breathe slow and relaxed through the communicator. This isn’t purposeful, you don’t think he actually allowed it. He promised you, and Din doesn’t take shit back. If he tells you he’ll do something and he doesn’t follow through, it’s either out of his control or a mistake, it’s never been purposeful. He didn’t mean to fall asleep.

And, in other circumstances, you most definitely would not find some way to take advantage of this. You’d let him sleep and do other things in the meantime—make some food for you and the kid, find something on the Crest that isn’t spotless and clean until it is, or just… lay there next to him until he woke up. But… these circumstances are their own. You have to capitalize now, this is your chance. You passed out last night around… ten pm, you think it was, and then he promised to stop at midnight. That means you have to walk at least two hours before he wakes up if you want to prevent any loss of ground—you don’t know where he stopped, he could be a few miles back even.

You have to find Nariss—you have to. It’s your only option, if you keep trying to run, it’s just going to make it so much easier for him. Now is the time to hide. You know it hasn’t been long, it’s barely been two days since you first left the Crest but it feels like you’re already in endgame, already making moves in self-defense instead of actually planning your maneuvers ahead of time.

The capital should be half a day’s walk from here, then. As long as you get there, you think you’ll be okay.

***

Day 2–8:28am:

Din’s groan suddenly comes through your ear.

You immediately stop, seeing a busy road in the distance and glad you haven’t quite made it there yet, before trying to disguise your voice as drowsy. “Mm?”

“Shit,” he breathes, and you hear him get up, the sound of beskar moving as he grunts.

“Mpph,” you groan back, squinting your eyes to see if that’ll help sell the act. “I thought you… Mando, fuck, y’said you’d wake me when the sun came up.”

“I… fell asleep,” he admits, voice rough with it, sounding just as confused as you felt earlier.

“You said you had days in you before that happened,” you murmur, taking a deep breath and stretching your arms up above your head. Stars, your back hurts, how does he possibly manage to carry a fucking jet pack around all the time?

“Yeah, I…” He pauses for a moment and you bite your lip, not liking the quiet as soon as you hear it. “How long have you been up?”

Op. Not good. “Wha?”

He’s not falling for it. “How long?”

How in Maker’s name? This is impossible. How can you hope to hide from him when you can’t even manage to hide the smallest fucking truth from him? Can you salvage this somehow? “…Like ten minutes.”

“Least a few hours, then,” he sighs, and you get ready to hit him with the same line he used when you complained about his leg-up, opening your mouth as soon as you hear him speak. “That was smar—”

“Fair wasn’t part of—”

Oh. Well. Apparently you didn’t have a reason to feel shitty about deciding to haul ass while he was passed out even though you kind of ended up doing so anyways. There was no agreement besides that he wouldn’t move until you woke up. Reason is on your side, but it still feels a bit like you fucked him over. Is that valid or are you just so used to being nice that putting yourself first feels like a wrong you’ve committed?

“Don’t feel bad,” Din tells you, and you hear a soft coo in the background. It makes you smile the smallest bit, your shoulders relaxing even as they ache from carrying your pack around. “You should feel bad about stealing that poor kid’s shoes, though. He walked home barefoot.”

You smack your forehead. “It was just….”

“Yeah,” he scoffs when you don’t finish your sentence, and you can’t keep back a giggle. “Alright, I’m up now. See you when you get here.”

And then the communicator clicks, and you’re…

Uh. What the fuck was that?

No. Nope, you’re not going to get played. That was a brilliant attempt at fucking with you, but you’re not falling for it this time. You’ve grown since that night on Canto Bight, you know him, he can’t just say shit to fuck with your head and then smile at your flailing response from under the helmet anymore. You normally would stew in that last comment until it got to you, made you make a mistake most likely, but the more you think about it, the more certain you are that he has nothing. He was just trying to see if you’ll abandon your entire plan just by implying he already knows it. That’s beginner shit, you’re not falling for it. Din wanted to leave the conversation with the upper-hand since you gained at least an hour of extra ground while he slept. You’re certain of it.

***

Day 2–12:35pm:

Nariss is big. Nowhere near the size of Coruscanti sectors of course, where billions of people are packed from surface to exosphere and require oxygen recirculation towers to breathe at the very top, but just slightly bigger than you expected. It’s bustling and you haven’t even made it through the city gates yet—you’re approaching them and the large number of people waiting in line, seeing buildings stretch out for miles in front of you and grinning. Yes, this will work nicely.

As you peek over shoulders in the sizable crowd, you see only two or three people allowing people to enter one at a time… is that a biometric scanner?

Oh. That looks good and it also doesn’t look good at the same time. If Din’s safety meant nothing to you, you’d have no trouble whatsoever getting in line and waiting to do a retinal scan, but you immediately pause and consider the potential consequences.

Your dumb ass almost weighs the option of clicking the communicator on and asking his opinion. You’d give away your location in a heartbeat (if he doesn’t know it already) just because you’re worried he’d… what, exactly? Stand in line for an hour, take his helmet off in front of a crowd of people, have the system ping his scan, and then hang out and wait for New Republic reinforcements to show? You have to stop worrying about him. He’s not a baby, he can handle himself and you need to stop considering the possibility of taking a loss just so he doesn’t have to, even if the self-destructive sentiment feels ingrained in your nature to do so.

So you wait in line, moving at a slow pace but at least moving. While you’re standing there quietly, a man in front of you decides to strike up a conversation. You don’t come from a place with an excess of people, but the ones in your sector were friendly and did this kind of thing often, so perhaps for that reason, you decide to chat.

“Do you have some place to stay?” He asks at one point. So far the conversation has revolved around him—every time he asks about you, you deflect. He doesn’t need to know. “Nariss isn’t kind to drifters.”

This catches your attention, though. This is relevant. “What does that mean?”

“It’s expensive?” He scratches his blonde hair, giving you a soft smile. “Food, housing, all of it is way out of my price-range. I stay with my uncle and work overnights at the eastern docks. It’s not much, but it’s enough to keep a roof over our heads. We used to live in Gibrath, but then we moved to the city because he’s a good architect and they’re always expanding. It’s nice, of course, but really expensive.”

He’s handsome, you think… in kind of a boyish, charming way. Blonde hair, sparkly blue eyes. He doesn’t look much older than you, and maybe in another lifetime you would’ve found him appealing, but… you like darker features, you think. Someone a little less expressive. This guy… talks a lot.

“I thought this moon was a safe world for people displaced by the Empire,” you offer, taking a step forward as the entire crowd shifts.

“Sanctuary II is,” he comments. “The capital is safe, too—what, with all the orangies walking around,” he tilts his head to two jumpsuited guards trying to organize the glob of people so the line can move faster, rolling his eyes as if they’re some kind of joke. “But not… welcoming, not if you’re looking for a place to settle. You would’ve been better off in G’ila.”

“Is there anywhere you know that would take me for free?” You ask. You have quite a few credits left, but you don’t think it’s a good idea to stay in an inn. It’ll be the first place Din checks.

“Are you a virgin?” He returns, and you immediately pull back at the unexpected question, your heart thudding at the possibility of danger. The man’s sandy eyebrows shoot up at your response and he quickly apologizes—“Heavens, I’m so sorry to ask like that! It’s just… the only place I know is the Holy Keja Orphanage on the northern outskirts. Their signs say they only house children and teenagers, but I’ve heard from other girls your age that they’ll accept any woman as long as they’ve stayed pure in the eyes of the Maker.”

“Oh,” you say after a moment, leaning sideways to see just a few people standing in front of him. Good, this is almost over. “Um. Yep. That’s me.”

He smiles at you once more, giving you a nod. “When you get to the city, just go straight through. It’s about a mile outside of the gates, no more than a day’s walk from this side of town.”

Okay, that’s… interesting. You think about it while you thank him and begin to exchange polite goodbyes, moving up another step until he’s next in line. That might actually be a good move. Din could spend a long time in the city without ever finding you. Smart quarry go to populated places, but… smarter quarry defy the expectations placed upon them, right? He knows you’re smart, and even though you’re confident his “See you when you get here” was purely psychological fuckery, that also implies… at the very least, that he’s assuming there is a here to get to. Meaning, he knows you’re not going into the wilderness to evade him. He’s not going to comb the outskirts when there are so many places to hide within the city gates, with an entire perimeter of New Republic guards stationed around it. Even if he does, the signs will say only children and teenagers—categories you do not fall into.

The unnamed man is soon ushered forward but you stop him quickly. “Oh, by the way. I doubt this will happen, but if a man in a big metal suit with a tiny green baby happen to ask you the same thing, please don’t tell him what you just told me.”

He furrows his eyebrows at you and cocks his head, but smiles and agrees nonetheless.

***

Day 2–5:43pm:

You have an idea.

You’ve been working on it all afternoon, but you were hit with it the second you were looking for another pair of shoes to buy and find a clever way of putting on.

The cheapest ones were ridiculously overpriced, blonde dude was right. You blinked down at the tag and asked the salesman where the cheapest shoes in this part of town were, and then he just wrinkled his nose at you and shooed you out of the store. Granted, you slept in dirt and spent two days walking—you bet you reek, but he didn’t have to be like that.

Though, the man’s displeasure with you had an upside. You were holding a possible pair of pants and a shirt to buy when he threw you out, not yet having checked the atrocious pricetag on them, but it appeared as if he’d rather let you have them for free than rip them from your… admittedly, pretty filthy arms. Oh well, you weren’t complaining. Fancy clothes for free, score.

But now you’re here, and you have the best idea. You don’t need to change shoes, not yet. Why? Because you’ve figured out how to turn your incessant detriment into an advantage.

You’re in the middle of downtown, you think, maybe just some random crowded square, and there’s an inn in front of you. It’s fucking enormous, and you already know it’s gotta be incredibly expensive just looking at the sheer number of stories. It’s an eyesore, it sticks out. But that’s okay, because you’re only planning on staying for a night.

It’s also… right next to New Republic headquarters. Or fuck, at least a station of some sort, because they’re swarming in and out of the constant crowd, passing by the valet doors.

At first you naturally wanted to steer away from the jumpsuits, since you know they’re bad news for Din, but then you remember what he said before you left. I’m only telling you so that you’ll know your advantage and find a way to exploit it. I can’t be seen by any officers, or they might arrest me.

It’s to your advantage, he said so himself. Everything lines up perfectly—the street is bustling, the inn is well protected, it’s nice—it’s everything you’re looking for.

And there’s another upside, see. An omnipresent, omniscient ghost in the form of a communicator clipped to your wrist right now. If Din is always going to be able to predict you, he’s always going to know when you’re lying, always be able to read you… then you’ll just have to let him.

Let him know. Let him know exactly where you are. Right in the middle of the most populated street you’ve seen thus far, a constant barrage of people walking by and New Republic officers patrolling. If you were planning on staying in the city, this would probably be your best option to hide. He could waste days here if you’re smart about it.

The concierge doesn’t appear too pleased with your lack of cleanliness and neither do you, honestly, but at least he allows you to book a suite for the night. It’s… not as bad as you were originally assuming, credits-wise, but it’s worth more than half your stash and you’re going to have to conserve from this point on. It shouldn’t be too bad—your destination is a holy orphanage, you’re sure they’ll have some extra food and a bed for you even if it won’t be ideal. Still, you think you’re going to enjoy some lavish experiences for once in your life before you go.

***

Day 2–11:54pm:

Alright, so this was the best idea ever. This is the shit.

You’re leaning back against a fluffy stack of pillows, squeaky clean from an absolutely glorious bath and watching the flickering drama on the large holonet display in front of you. You don’t have any idea what’s going on, as it’s being broadcast in Rodian, but you haven’t been able to change the frequency because it’s so fucking intense—somebody’s sister is their mother, you think? No, that must be a mistranslation, right?

You’re also in a robe. Yes, there is a motherfucking robe in here. And… and slippers, it’s like a dream. Do people normally wear slippers in bed? You do. Hell, maybe you should stay here, screw the credits and the chase. This mattress is even better than the one on Naboo and you’re basking in the luxury after being outdoors for so long.

The lights are off other than that and you’ve opened the drapes wide, knowing you’re on something like the fifteenth floor and nobody would be able to see you anyways. You just like being able to turn your head and look out at the sky. Violent and periwinkle tonight. You wonder if he’s looking, too.

Luckily, you snap yourself back out of it and glance down at the time on your communicator, quickly pressing a button on the remote to mute the Rodian show and then opening the line the moment the hour changes.

Day 3–12:00am:

“Hiya, Shiny,” you say before anything else, laying back and running a few fingers through your damp hair. Your eyes close against the flickering light, taking a slow, relaxed breath. Maker, this feels nice.

“You sound happy,” Din comments. Astute, you feel happy. Well… you’d obviously feel happier if he was here. Your eyes flick over to the open bathroom door, still steamy from your bubble bath earlier, imagining him walking through it completely naked and then climbing over you on the covers. You can only really picture it from the neck down—no, hang on… you can see his shaggy brown curls, that one spot on his forehead you know, how his facial hair would be dark and frame his mouth. No face, though. Missing just one fraction of him from your imagination, feeling incomplete but also somehow… complete in a way.

“I feel better after sleeping last night,” you tell him, purposefully leaving out the softness of the sheets underneath you, the sheer comfort of all this extravagance. You don’t need it, you’ll never need it, but it feels nice to have for once.

“I do, too,” he replies quietly, and your eyes flutter closed. You… miss him. This mattress would feel softer with him next to you. He’d probably be able to translate this show for you, even though you already know he’d fucking hate it. You can imagine it—you with your eyes closed, him propped up on an elbow next to you and grumbling vague descriptions of the nonsense happening on screen just to hear your chuckles. Adventures are great, but maybe they aren’t as great by yourself, you think.

“You should sleep tonight, too,” you encourage, but he scoffs.

“Not a chance,” Din mutters. “Oh, before I forget, we need to charge the communicators today.”

“How am I supposed to do that?” You ask him, glancing at all the multiple wireless charging outlets stationed around you. “I’m in the middle of nowhere.”

He doesn’t even take a fucking second before responding. “Good one.”

You grin up at the ceiling, warmth flooding you. You love him. Literally every single time, he just knows. Your curiosity is too overwhelming after this happening so often. Your plan to distract him relies on him being able to read you, but that doesn’t prevent you from wondering how he does it so accurately, time and time again. “How do you know?”

“You slept outside last night,” he immediately tells you, like that should mean anything to you.

Does he… does he truly know you well enough to know how much your back and shoulders hurt today? How much you were aching for a shower and clean clothes? A bed to sleep on that isn’t dirt or metal? You give into the accurate prediction with shameless honesty, not caring if he knows it’s the truth.

“This bed is soft,” you murmur gently, dragging your hand across the mattress next to you. “You should be here. I’d make you feel good.”

Admittedly, your comfort is making you a bit drowsy and you said it in the easiest way possible, but you didn’t necessarily mean it sexually. Well… you sort of did—you’d make him feel so good in this bed—but what you meant was more… comforting. He could take a bath, or a shower, and get all the grime off him. He could feel clean and unburdened, take a break instead of constantly moving around. The baby could have a whole bed to himself if he wanted, though you know he’d probably want to be on this one instead. You could all look at the sky together.

Din is quiet for a little bit, before his voice comes back through the earpiece. “Are you in an inn?”

“No,” you say, a little too quickly. Perfect, that sounded just right for a lie. You are lying, you absolutely are in an inn, the only difference is that you want him to catch on that it’s a lie, so… why does he take way too long before responding?

“Hm.”

What the fuck—why… how is it even physically possible? He read you that deeply from one single word? You’re not sure if he’s somehow psychic and figured the whole fucking thing out or if he just knows there’s something off, but it’s still enough to blow you away.

“Are you doing this on purpose?” You blurt without thinking.

“Doing what?” He grunts, sounding like he’s stepping over something, his breath changing intensity as he walks.

“If I look out this window right now, am I gonna see you standing out there just messing with me?” You don’t even know what to believe anymore. How do you beat this? If you don’t want him to know the truth, he’ll figure it out, and if you do want him to know the truth, he’ll still figure it out. His perception is unbelievable.

After a moment of silence, he murmurs gently through the comm. “I thought you said you were in the middle of nowhere.” It sounds like he’s smiling.

“I…” your eyes shift around awkwardly, “am…”

Din lets out a deep sigh. He’s right, that was bad, even for you. “I found your bed a few hours ago,” he admits. You close your eyes as you listen to him make his way closer to you, step by step. “I’m nowhere near the city yet. You have time to sleep.”

Your expression furrows and you frown. “Why are you helping me?”

“Why do you want me to think you’re in an inn?” He tosses back, and you huff.

“Because I’m trying to outsmart you but you make it really fucking difficult,” you grumble, not happy about him catching on so quick.

“You’ve also gained about four hours on me since we started.” His voice is gruff. You don’t know if he thinks it’s a good thing or a bad thing. “You should give yourself more credit. I thought I would’ve found you by now, never expected you to get all the way to Nariss. It’s… not good for me.”

The honesty creeping in makes you go soft. It makes you want to reciprocate, even if it’s dumb and you haven’t thought it all the way through. “Wanna know a secret?”

“Tell me.” His voice is a bed all its own, deep and gentle and safe.

You say it before you lose the nerve. “I might just turn around and walk back.”

His footsteps stop and you hear a small sound in the background, a quiet little baby noise that suddenly makes your heart ache. You’re comfortable but incredibly aware of how alone you are. People pass by on the streets below, cars and hoverbikes honk in the distance and you’re by yourself. For the first time in over a year, like you have been for years, you’re by yourself.

“Sweet girl,” Din sighs, and all of a sudden… you can feel his arms around you with it. You feel so… known, somehow. Every sentiment you could’ve possibly given in your last sentence, he relays his understanding back with his. He makes you feel loved with it. “Never wants to run.”

You don’t say anything, because you suddenly realize you’re totally fucking whipped, up down and sideways for his metal ass and the little floating grimlin that follows him around, and you would throw away the fifth quarry, adventure, the sky—literally everything if you could be with the both of them right now.

But again. You don’t have to say anything, he already knows. “Give me your coordinates.”

Your eyes pop open and you bite your lip. Oh, stars. You hate that you do genuinely consider it. He could be here, and very soon. With the jet pack, both of them could be here in less than an hour, probably. He could take a shower. Watch these stupid shows with you all night without needing to be on the move, help you build a bed of pillows for the kid on top of this one. You could be with both of them again, even if it’s only for a little while.

“Ask me again tomorrow,” you finally whisper, looking down at the soft white fabric of your robe, the way one of your slippers is falling off your foot as the holonet program continues to play on mute.

Din’s footsteps eventually start up again, and you both relax in silence together. You, squinting at the screen because your eyes are getting heavy; him, continuing to travel step by step and gain ground on you. Let him come. You’ll be long gone by the time he even makes it to the gates.

It’s been about ten minutes of shared, quiet existence before you hear him bite into something and chew, and your face suddenly lights up.

“Are you eating the purple fruit?” You ask, your slipper falling off with excitement. You don’t know why, but it’s like… you’re stoked for him. Just as proud of him for doing normal things as he does when you step out of your own comfort zone. You like to think you’re both better that way. Balanced.

“Mm,” Din replies with his mouth full, and you grin down at your bare legs peeking through the robe while he swallows.

“Is it not the best thing you’ve ever tasted?” Your voice goes a little breathless with it, and you hear his footsteps stop once more.

“Close,” Din murmurs lowly, sending a small shudder through you. It suddenly feels a bit warm in here, doesn’t it? This morning was one of the rare times you were awake while he was asleep… it’s almost always the other way around, and just from the implication in his tone, you’re reminded of the thing he likes doing most when you’re resting. Maybe he’ll let you do it to him, next time around. The thought gets you hot enough to warrant the other slipper falling to the floor.

“You’re alone, right?” You whisper, knowing he must’ve pulled the helmet up to take a bite of the fruit. He must still be following your path through the hillside, then, not yet reaching the road.

“The kid is awake,” Din tells you, sounding like he’s trying to stop everything before anything starts. His words are short and clear in their meaning, but…

This has a very small chance of success, you already know. “…Do you want to—”

“No,” he responds quickly, already way ahead of you. “We can’t.”

Something in his voice… you don’t know, there’s just something there that makes you feel just a little reckless. Should you push it? You’re by yourself in this suite, what can go wrong?

“You can’t,” you correct him quietly, shifting around on the bed just a bit and biting your lip. It’s a thrill—being able to tease him without having him in front of you, drive him crazy knowing you’re just out of his reach. “But I can do whatever I want, can’t I?”

There’s a pause, a tense and knowing silence suspended between you before he eventually speaks.

“I’d be real careful,” Din mutters low in warning, but what is he gonna do?

“What are you gonna do?” You whisper to him devilishly. Quiet and breathy, beginning to snake your hand down. Stars, your heart is already pounding. You’d only likely mouth off like this in person just to see how hard he’d fuck you, but this feels extra dangerous for some reason. He’s stuck, he can’t do anything about it right now, and you know it’s playing with fire. “You could hang up if you don’t want to hear me. Or you could find me before I’m finished. Come make me stop.”

Din doesn’t say anything but he very much does not hang up, nor does he come busting into your room like you imagine he’d like to. The sheer fact that your door is still closed and locked tells you for sure that he isn’t just hanging out in the hallway, just letting you have your fun.

You start pressing your fingers against your robe at the apex of your thighs, humming at how nice the pressure feels. You don’t even spread your legs or push the fabric away, you just sigh into it and wiggle your hips a bit, pressing hard against your clit and listening to him breathe.

“Do you want to listen?” You ask quietly after a moment, and Din still doesn’t respond. Likely because there’s not a real answer, both yes and no would imply the wrong thing. “I’ll talk.”

Still, nothing from him. Dead silence through the comm. You’re starting to understand. For two days, you’ve felt like he could read your every thought just by the cadence of your voice. He’s staying quiet so you can’t even attempt to do the same to him—if he doesn’t talk, you can’t find a weakness and pounce on it, you can’t feel any more confident or reassured about your own ability to read him.

You’ll just have to push a little harder, then.

“Hm. If only this fancy communicator could…” you pause to look down at your wrist for a second, studying the menu. You don’t think you’ve ever really looked at it, you never had the time.

Din’s growl is sudden and sharp through the earpiece. “No, don’t even think—”

“Ah,” you smile, tapping the face and immediately finding the correct screen. “Take pictures.”

He’s deadly quiet for a moment, and you bite your lip with excitement. When he does speak, his voice is a pure threat, chilling you to the bone as much as it burns deep in your tummy. “…You wouldn’t.”

Ignoring him, you suddenly locate a menu option that sounds phenomenal right now. “Oh shit, does this holocall? Or is it a video option?”

“Holo,” he says very seriously while you study the lack of complexity of the built-in camera in skepticism, “and the kid is awake, so you can’t—”

“Oh, it’s definitely a video,” you unclip it from your wrist and he curses as you sit up, and then you press a button and wait impatiently for him. “Pick up.”

Din takes forever before responding, and you hear the continuous beeps as it attempts to connect, before his quiet baritone rumbles in your ear. “What if I don’t?”

You feel your mouth pull down at the corners, not so much frowning as you are dubious. He’s going to turn down the opportunity to see you and your surroundings when his whole goal is locating you? Really?

“You sure?” You ask softly, raising an eyebrow. “You’d get to see me, where I am. What I’m…” your eyes dip down to the loose robe riding your curves, your skin glowing against the white fabric, “…wearing.”

The beeps continue on for a few more seconds, until they finally stop. You frown down at the black screen of the communicator, not seeing anything at all. Did he decline the transmission request? No… there’s a little red light next to the small lens that wasn’t there before. Why can’t you see him?

“Why can’t I see you?” You ask. You want to look at him looking at you, you don’t want to always be stuck on the other side of a one-way mirror.

“I… have it linked to my helmet, but it only has a front-facing camera,” Din tells you after a moment, and he sounds… slightly out of breath. “Easier to see, the watch is useless now besides the controls.”

Wait, does that mean you’re… being shown on the inner-display of his helmet instead of his wrist? Right in front of his eyes, as if he were actually here with you?

“Nobody can see me but you?” You clarify, and when he doesn’t respond, you bite your lip and lean back into the pillows. You lift the watch up slightly, extending your arm out until you can get the angle as wide as possible. “Can you see… this?” You ask softly, before hooking your fingers in the collar of your white robe and slowly pulling it open for him.

“Where are you?” Din asks instead, and you hear his footsteps through the earpiece, as if he’s walking away from something very quickly.

You don’t answer him, parting the soft fabric until your breasts are completely exposed and you sigh, closing your eyes and snuggling back into the pillows once more. “I’ll tell you where I am if you keep watching me.”

“Why?” Din grits in frustration, coming back around to the same dangerous question he had earlier. “Why would you do that?”

“I don’t know.” You slowly tilt the camera down until you can spread your legs and the robe falls open with the movement, letting him see your pussy peeking through in the flickering light of the muted screen in front of your bed. “Can you see that?”

“Yeah,” he says shakily on the end of a breath, and you feel yourself get wet. Fuck, he sounds so fucking tempted, the sight making his voice come without any of the self-assuredness as it usually has, but… he could also just be saying that. How do you know he’s telling you the truth?

“What am I doing?” You test him, lifting your knee just the slightest bit so you really give him something to look at.

“Spreading your legs for a camera,” Din responds without hesitation, voice scraping against your ear, making you shiver and your nipples harden. Fuck, the way he says it, like it’s wrong and bad even though he’s the only one who can see or hear you do it… it makes you feel even more naughty and emboldened.

You bite your lip and reach your hand down to spread your lips for him, too, hearing his breath immediately catch on the other end. Already your pussy makes your fingers slick against your soft skin, the sash of your robe still holding the fabric together on your body but also loose enough to allow it to part in the right places and reveal everything you want him to see.

“I am in an inn,” you whisper teasingly, letting your finger drop to brush against your clit and then sighing in soft delight. Oh stars, that feels nice, it feels so good to treat yourself after being completely nomadic for two days, getting to be clean and soft and comfortable while you feel this pleasure, and Din’s voice growls through your communicator like you’re doing something painful to him.

“Fuck,” his breathing picks up while you begin circling your clit. “Where?”

“Nariss,” comes your quiet moan, turning your head on the pillow to blink slowly at the camera. Wanting him to see your eyes as well as your finger slowly dip into where you’re the hottest, caressing the sensitive skin there knowing he’s watching.

“Where in Nariss?” Din’s voice is as pleading as it is sharp, desperately trying to keep either you or himself on track.

“I don’t know,” you say again. Truthfully, you don’t—you don’t know the cross streets, you don’t know the part of town, you don’t know much of anything at all besides physical descriptors. You quickly move the camera to the side as far as you can hold it and let him see you from a different angle with the window as a backdrop. “But the window is open. And there are lots of people outside.”

“Can they see you?” Din immediately challenges. Of course they can’t, you’re fifteen stories up and the room is darker than it is outside with all the city lights and swirling colors of the sky, but you suppose he doesn’t know that. You think he just needs to relax—if this is what he’s always like during hunts, you now know exactly why he comes back to you all riled up and tense.

“I don’t know,” you murmur back, starting to rub your clit a little faster, trying to make it feel like him. It doesn’t—your fingers aren’t large or strong enough to give you those perfect circles; you just feel like you’re meandering yourself towards ecstasy instead of picking you up and hauling your ass there like he does, but it’s okay. Hearing Din’s rough breathing come through the earpiece, knowing his hands are probably clenched tight into fists, wondering if he’s hard yet… all of it culminates into a power trip unlike any you’ve experienced recently. It makes you bold, tells you to open your mouth. “Does it matter? I’d still let you fuck me against it if you were here.”

“Stop it,” comes his growl, but what is he gonna do?

Your leg lifts a little wider so you can slowly slide your fingers down and push two of them inside yourself, and Din swears as you moan, “Come find me.”

“Give me your coordinates—”

“Are you giving up?” You offer breathlessly, lifting your eyebrows and your hips up slightly at the question, but you’re… not expecting the extended silence following. You assumed a growled no would immediately come next, or just another empty threat said with enough force to make you tremble with excitement, but not… nothing.

The response makes you pause just for a second, easing your fingers out and dragging them across your thigh to clean some of the wetness off before extending your arm out towards the communicator. Din stays quiet while you navigate through the menu with trembling fingers, eventually finding your coordinates and hovering over the unchecked share location box.

You wait with your lip bit, confident he knows what you’re doing and you don’t have to narrate or repeat yourself. Fuck, you knew you were considering abandoning this entire adventure just to be next to him again, but you had no idea. No fucking idea that it could ever be a thought in his own mind as well. You… assumed he likes this, hunting is what he does for a living and he’s the one who conceived of the idea in the first place. Is he just that aroused by you? Or is there something more?

“No,” Din eventually murmurs, and you immediately navigate out of the menu so you don’t accidentally press anything catastrophic, before pulling your hand away from the communicator with a resolved hum and settling back into the pillows again. Making sure to look directly into the lens even if your eyelids are heavy with heat and desire, you slowly lick your fingers and then reach down once more.

His deep, shaky breath is so telling. Exhausted after all this, but still not hanging up, still doing his hardest to tough it out when he’s only miles away from you and has jets attached to his back. You don’t want to drag it out but you also do, you want to be kind but something about Din makes you also want to be as formidable as possible. You’ll never be able to threaten like he does, you’ll never have anyone cower just because you walked into the room, you’ll never be as powerful or strong as he is, but you can still put up a fucking fight against him in your own way.

You whimper softly, your breathing beginning to find a quicker pace as surely as your fingers do. It begins to spark and build, a red hot flame being kindled by the knowledge that he’s as close as possible without actually being close, right here with you when he always seems so far away.

“Mando,” you whisper, though your expression pulls inwards just slightly because it… in a scenario as sensual and intimate as this, it almost doesn’t sound righ—

“Din,” he whispers back, so quiet you almost don’t hear it, like he almost doesn’t want to but has to anyways, and then you just start to fucking burn.

“D-Din,” you whisper instead, trying to keep your voice as quiet as possible through the rising swell. He’ll be able to see it, you think. The way your tummy and chest start to heave, how your body begins to brace for it—and yeah, Maker, he sees it, because his voice suddenly changes.

“Stop,” Din growls roughly, knowing exactly how you cum—knowing exactly what it looks like, the way it sounds in your breathing, what it tastes like, how it feels on the inside. It’s been so long since you’ve touched bliss without him, months and months since you brought yourself to completion on the floor of the Crest by yourself, and though he’s rarely ever denied you, your own high on newfound control causes it to slip. He barks your name and tells you to stop once more, but it’s too late.

“I’m gonna cum, Din,” you breathe out—

“Don’t—”

It tears through you, rapid and surging, and he snarls a curse, something loud snapping and thudding and… did he just punch something? You can’t think, it’s delicious and hard as fuck and everything you needed after two days of near constant movement and thought with little rest, and you bite your lip to keep quiet but a pained whimper still shoves its way out of your tense vocal cords regardless. It sounds like it hurts because it does hurt; the orgasm shatters your body into pieces and you’re left trembling by yourself on this soft bed, wishing he was with you on a metal one.

You sink into the mattress in the moments following, sluggish and exhausted and just conscious enough to keep the watch facing you. You bet the camerawork was terrible, shaky at best, but you can’t find it in yourself to care right now. You just lay there and listen to his harsh breathing while you work to slow your heart rate, reveling in the filthy little show you just gave him and wanting to finish it out properly.

“Come find me,” you breathe out once more, lazing soft and naked for him, blinking dazedly at the watch as you pan it over you. Your thighs are still twitching and there’s a thin sheen of sweat clinging to you, but you drag a finger through your swollen lips and carefully wipe the wetness across one of your nipples. “Clean me up.”

“Fuck,” Din suddenly spits through the earpiece, furious. “You think—y-you think—”

“What?” You hum, basking in the afterglow and so, so curious. Truly, you’re dumb as fuck, you have no clue what you’re thinking, but if anybody would be able to tell you, it’s him.

There’s a moment where his breathing stops. It’s completely silent on the line, before you hear another few heavy footsteps on his end pick up and then halt just as quickly.

“You think you can taunt me?” He murmurs, dangerous and deadly quiet. “Show me exactly where you are, disappear and then make me waste forever trying to get there? You think that’s gonna work?”

Your eyebrow lifts, considering. He… may or may not have predicted your strategy perfectly, but his insight has stopped surprising you by now. “Maybe…”

“Maybe you shouldn’t fall asleep tonight.”

Ooh. That one sends goosebumps down your arms, but you’ve gained four hours on top of a twelve hour headstart. He can’t scare you with that tone, not when you’re still woozy with pleasure and he isn’t right in front of you. Instead of wilting beneath the hard threat, you just blink gently at the communicator, finding strength in being the only one to get him this mad when he’s always so composed, this talkative when he barely says a word. “Maybe I’ll just stay here then?”

“Maybe you wanted me to know you’re in an inn because you already found someplace to hide that isn’t one,” Din reasons very, very adeptly. Stars, your heart subtly begins to pick up, your legs continuing to tremble as the small red light next to the lens stares you down. “Can’t be planning to stay with someone you just met because you’d already be there, can’t be going to a hostel because you found the one city on this moon built for commerce and not aid. Not staying in another inn, you can’t afford it—the view looks high up, that robe is expensive, and you already bought food and at least five pairs of shoes in two days. I don’t think the place you found is even in Nariss. You think you can outsmart me, sweet girl?”

The chill down your spine doesn’t reach your eyes, you won’t let it. You just feel yourself smile, tilting your head at him and licking your lips while your finger brushes one of your nipples, but Din doesn’t accept your silence the way you’ve always accepted his. He wants an answer from you, right now, and it’s clear in the dark rumble of his voice, the danger slowly brewing beyond what you originally planned for.

“Tell me,” he orders, unamused and leaving no room to disobey. “How long do you think you can keep running?”

Your eyelashes flutter, suddenly deciding… why not? What have you got to lose? Nothing that you didn’t already go into this situation completely expecting to lose anyways. What’s the worst he can do? Find you?

You close your eyes, pinching one of your nipples and wondering if you might just go for another one since he’s still here. “Ask me again tomorrow.”

But then, instead of immediately responding, you just hear Din’s footsteps suddenly pick up, faster than any pace you’ve been able to keep over the past few days. You don’t think it sounds like a run necessarily, but you know that his legs and strides are far longer than yours and it’s probably pretty much equivalent to a run for you. You hear the rhythm of your demise speeding up, coming closer and closer, and everything in you both fears it and welcomes it.

“We’ll see,” he tells you, and then the red light vanishes and your earpiece clicks to silence.

***

Day 3—2:23am:

Even though it takes you much longer to do so than it normally would on a bed so large and comfortable, after such an exciting interaction and not being used to flickering light when you try to sleep but wanting to experience the rarity anyways, you’re eventually able to pass out.

But, not even a few minutes into a restless dream, you turn over and accidentally knock your communicator off the wireless charging station on the side table. It blinks with four percent battery life.

***

To be continued!!

#the mandalorian x you #the mandalorian x reader #din djarin x reader #din djarin x you #mando x reader #mando x you #the mandalorian #smut #reader insert #fanfic #rough day #no-droids #tw: stalking

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utilitycaster · 3 years

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Wizard Breakdown Tracker, Episode 140

Welcome to the penultimate Wizard Breakdown Tracker: Four Resurrections and an Ass-Kicking.

When I first started this, I declared my intent was to do this until the comeuppance of Trent Ikithon. That may not happen, so, while I may revive it for hypothetical future one-shots centered specifically around the comeuppance of Trent Ikithon, this tracker will otherwise unsurprisingly end with the campaign next week, with the final statuses of all or at least most of these wizards. Also, for some advance notice, it will almost certainly be delayed until Sunday night.

But this week we are still primarily focusing on the wizard NPC of the Nein. Is he, technically speaking, counted among the Mighty Nein such that any breakdowns induced in him by the Mighty Nein have a self-inflicted component? Yes. Is this unique to Essek's situation, by any means? No.

As a reminder Caleb Widogast is a PC and therefore not included.

Currently sidelined: Ludinus Da'leth, Trent Ikithon, Astrid Beck, the Wulf of Wall Street, Pumat Sol, Oremid Hass, Allura Vyesoren, Yussa Errenis.

Lady Vess Derogna: there is a very high likelihood this may be my primary sendoff for her. So: to Vess. We hardly knew you, which is a little disappointing in that I love watching evil women who are committed in their indifference to anything but their goals, and I would personally watch a campaign that was literally just slowly dismantling the Cerberus Assembly provided there was also some combat and romance on the side, but Lucien is, indeed, the worst.

As the red eyes on her body have disappeared, it's gonna be a little awkward for the Nein to explain that no, she actually was a doomsday cultist to an entity they have since killed. [sidebar: my guess is the Magic Eye Book got swallowed by the city as well, which in unfortunate because I would have like to have watched the Dynasty see THAT particular sailboat. It's no "dunamancy existed and still worked fine, even better, for those who wanted to kill the gods", but it's still in Undercommon and I still expect it will put them in a very uncomfortable place.]

I do wonder what her afterlife has been like. The neutral evil outer planes do not seem like a great time, but honestly if I were her I'd probably be lying on the ground in Gehenna right now, looking up into the ash-strewn sky like "you know...I could have done better than Lucien, that fucking hack." Or perhaps "well, at least for me it was quick, and, blood from the eyes aside, at least I did not die a horrifying monstrosity."

Conclusion: 0/10. I haven't been tracking her breakdown otherwise, because, well, she's dead, but I have to imagine she's feeling some sense of vindication that Lucien is also dead and actually, her highly unethical modifications to him were still an upgrade by most standards. She's had three weeks to come to terms with her fate. Also I imagine any magical afterlife for the evil as completely lacking in such amenities as the catharsis of a breakdown.

Essek Thelyss: speaking of the catharsis of a breakdown!

If I may get serious, and I may because I have never actually cared for getting the readers' permission in my entire life and sure won't start now, what struck me about Essek is that there are many things that were implied he did not get much of - friendship, peace, an escape from the rigid confines of his society, people asking him about soup - but in many ways he has lived an immensely privileged life. Talented, powerful, free from want. Except he wanted more, because that's how people are.

I'm sure next week, and in the few following, amid whatever breaks and one-offs occur, (with some premature examinators writing them right now, even), there will be plenty of meta explaining what the Mighty Nein were really about, man. I will even probably definitely make some of them. And even as I make fun of those who are performing vivisections and calling them post mortems, it's not terribly hard to guess what we'll find. Redemption. Found Family Wait No But It's Different This Time. The complicated subtleties of morality across disparate cultures. Who You Are In The Dark. An extended metaphor of the underappreciated nature of utility casters.

But while all of those have truth to them, the story of the Mighty Nein, to me, is seven people-eight, now- being forced to answer one question: What if you actually got what you wanted, for once? What then?

More than anything, what Essek wanted was answers. He still wants them, though his priorities are shifting. He's gotten some answers already. He does not see himself as deserving. He might not, for many years. Perhaps ever.

And so when the people he does see as deserving want something - a relatively small thing, in the grand scheme, to want - and they are unable to get it, that is what breaks him.

Conclusion: let the poor man have a good cry in peace. fucking voyeurs.

Halas Lutagran: Oh? oh is it a long time to be trapped? Is it? Did the Mighty Nein free some souls from the time of the Calamity that had been trapped? for over a millennium? huh. interesting. I just think it's funny how they just did that? freed the souls of the mages? who had been trapped? for a long time?

#in case you were wondering the way to be funny on the internet is to say 2-4 things that are serious in a list and then 1 silly one #as demonstrated here.#the other one is to just be really mean #the third is to make references that mostly entertain yourself #critical role #critical role spoilers #wizard breakdown tracker #essek thelyss #vess derogna #known gem wizard hotsauce lutefisk #*kryn dynasty voice* like the back of a volkswagen?

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imagining-in-the-margins · 3 years

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Petty Pair (Raymond/F!Reader)

Summary: Reader wants to fuck Raymond to spite his father. Raymond thinks that’s really hot, actually.

A/N: This idea came into my head and literally never left. It lives rent free in my head, and I hope you feel it now, too. Couple: Raymond/Fem!Reader Category: Smut (NSFW) Content Warning: Fingering, penetrative sex, protected sex, mild exhibitionism, getting caught Word Count: 5k

MASTERLIST

——————

There was a grand total of one functioning bar in this town at this hour of night. This drastic and unforgivable shortage of places for me to buy alcohol was also the only reason I found myself frequenting said bar.

After about an hour of swatting off a group of men that were objectively disgusting, I resigned myself to fate and the realization that the night would turn out no better than it would have if I hadn’t tried to get drunk on cheap liquor. I was ready to pack up, close out, and fuck off back home when it happened.

A familiar face walked through the door. Familiar, I suppose, was a stretch. I’d only seen his face in one picture – a picture I’m pretty sure was meant to be thrown away. It stuck out to me because it was the first indication that I got that Donald Wadsworth had a son. And a cute son, much less.

My brain scanned through buried memories to try and find the one where his recently divorced mother had told me his name. I knew the memory existed somewhere, surrounded under a mountain of bullshit, but it was so hard to focus when I was watching the poor kid shuffle over to the bar and plop himself down against the counter.

It had taken me that long to realize that he was wearing pajamas. Cute.

His fashion choices and bedhead paired nicely with the pout he wore when he shyly scanned the room. Altogether, everything about him assured me that he literally couldn’t have been less intimidating if he tried. That theory was further solidified by the way he shrunk against the counter when he saw me approach. By the time I sat down next to him, he’d all but disappeared under his jacket.

“Hey, you’re... Raymond, right?” The name came to me at the same time his eyes locked with mine. The dark hazel color shone almost gold in the orange hue of the bar.

“You’re Donald’s son?” I asked as warmly as possible while using his father’s name. Which is to say, not warm at all.

“Unfortunately,” Raymond droned with a similar disdain.

“I’ll say,” I chuckled as I leaned forward to match his slouch over the bar. “I work with your dad.”

“Oh. I’m sorry.”

“Yeah, me too.”

That alone seemed to cause a shift in his entire demeanor. It didn’t surprise me. Most of the women in this town were brainwashed into thinking that if a guy didn’t outright assault you at first glance, he was probably a solid dude.

And Donald Wadsworth was not a solid dude.

“He’s like, a giant fucking asshole,” I said.

Raymond’s eyes lit up.

“Right?!” he shouted back, practically falling from his seat in his enthusiasm as he continued to yell, “I know!”

There was no keeping it together with this caricature of a man, but I didn’t really want to, either. In the few seconds I’d interacted with him, everything about him changed from defensive to relaxed. Like all he needed was someone to tell him that it wasn’t all in his head.

Unfortunately, I was going to need to ask something of him. But I figured he wouldn’t mind what I was going to request.

“But hey, that’s actually why I wanted to talk to you. I have a favor to ask you.” I kept my tone even and nonchalant, trying to avoid coming off as parental.

He eyed me as warily as I expected, tugging his drink a little bit closer as he started to shrink in on himself again.

“I’m gonna be honest,” he mumbled, “there’s not really anything I can do to hurt him that I haven’t already tried.”

There was no need for self-degradation. Raymond might have thought he tried everything, but from his body language around a woman, it was safe to assume he’d never tried my plan.

“Wanna bet?”

Raymond sighed in surrender before he shrugged, “Sure. What’s the favor?”

“I want you to fuck me.”

It wasn’t my intention to wait until the drink was in his mouth before I spoke, but it was how it ended up happening. And almost instantaneously, he spat the drink out over the bar before calmly squeaking, “I’m sorry, what?”

“I want to have sex with you,” I repeated like it was the most normal thing in the world. Then I sought confirmation that was only a little important in the grand scheme of things. “You’re staying at his place, right?”

“Just for tonight, yeah—" he started, but all I heard was the ding of a checkmark on my mental list that meant we were cleared for the next step.

“Great. We should do it there, then. Tonight.”

Raymond’s tongue stuck out from between his teeth, the visual of restraint matching his narrowed, shifty eyes and fidgety legs.

“I feel like I’m missing something...” he muttered.

I heard him, but I didn’t really care. The clock was running, and I was ready to get something good out of this night. Possibly even two good things, if he ended up being as helpful as his cute, submissive demeanor implied.

“I’ll drive. You want to go now?”

“I— I mean, sure, yeah,” he stumbled over the words and his own feet as he left the bar. “We can… go have sex.”

I laughed at how cool he tried to sound because he definitely failed. I reached past him to drop cash on the bar and grabbed his hand on the way back. The amount of warmth stormed it in was shocking, considering all the blood seemed to be in his face, ears, and the tent in his pants. But the comfort of his fingers interlocking with mine on instinct did more for me than he knew.

“Great. Let’s go.”

Raymond was silent on the way out and into the car, which was about what I expected from him. Every glance his way would show the gears slowly turning in his head, like he was still trying to grasp whether my proposition was serious. Like I was trying to murder him or something.

When the car started, so did some sliver of confidence in him, although he still cleared his throat before he asked, “Do you need directions, or…?”

“No, I’ve been to his place before.”

That caution and suspicion returned and multiplied, and before I even pulled out of the parking lot he had shrugged down in the seat and buried his face in his hands.

“Please tell me you didn’t fuck my dad,” he whined in the most dramatic manner possible.

I couldn’t blame him for the theatrics, although the implication was not at all appreciated.

“Absolutely the fuck not,” I spat, my face curling into a pure expression of disgust. At least we both felt similarly on that note.

“Thank god.” The relief flowed through him, allowing him to sit back up to his previously half-straight position. I decided that it was probably best to cut him some slack for assuming I would ever fuck that devil of a man, because I got the sinking suspicion that he might have known a couple girls his age that had done exactly that.

That thought led me back to the very reason I was there at all, and a chill ran down my spine as I muttered without thinking, “Wasn’t for a lack of his trying, though.”

The whole tone in the car shifted in seconds. One glance over at Raymond confirmed the repressed rage and sadness rolling off of him in waves that were more accurately described as a tsunami.

It was just unsettling enough that I snapped my eyes back to the road, giving a nervous chuckle to tell him that it wasn’t that serious. I didn’t need him to defend my honor, or anything. It did enough to quell most of the rage, but that self-pitying sadness was still there when he let out a shy, quiet plea.

“I don’t want to pry but… Will you tell me what this is about?”

“You really want to know?”

It was one thing to know the vague generalities of how much his father sucked, but another thing entirely to paint him a vivid depiction of what he was willing to do.

“Yeah,” he said with fiddling hands, “I think.”

I think he was trying to do me a favor. I think listening to my story was meant to be a sign to me that there were people who would care — people who would believe me. He clearly didn’t actually want to hear the story, but I appreciated his willingness to experience some discomfort to make up just a small part of his father’s misdeeds.

“So, I’m new at the school, right? It’s awkward. It’s a small town and everyone knows everyone,” I started, trying to look over at Raymond whenever I could to show him that I was doing alright. The poor thing looked like he needed the reassurance more than I did.

“Your dad very quickly tried to take me under his wing, despite my very obvious discomfort.”

“Sounds like him,” he interrupted with a pissed-off murmur.

“Yeah. I just kind of accepted his help because I was too scared to say no, but then one day he…” My voice trailed off, the words getting clogged in my throat and muddled on my tongue. It wasn’t that bad of a story; it should have been easier to explain. But something about Raymond being there, him listening to me so intently and with such a strong desire to make it better, that made it hard to speak. Eventually, I managed to start again. “He cornered me in the damn teacher’s lounge and—“

“Please don’t give me a reason to kill him. I’ve been toeing that line my whole life, and I will definitely do it.”

That time when Raymond cut me off, it was very clear to me that he was not kidding. He enunciated the words so clearly, venom dripping from his tongue and his chest heaving with a determination coming through clear, despite his best efforts to hide it.

He was a sweet kid.

“He didn’t try to touch me or anything. It wasn’t like that,” I said with an awkward smile, reaching over to pat his thigh. The action alone seemed to calm him, almost like a dog that was being told to stand down.

He was a really cute kid.

But I had to finish this stupid story. I had to give him all the information so that he would know exactly why I’d invited myself into his bed. Sex is sort of a big deal, you know? I mean, not always, but the other party in spite sex should probably know who exactly the target is.

“He just made it very clear that he felt I owed him something, and I kindly told him to fuck off,” I concluded just as we pulled up the dirt drive. The bumps in the road seemed to shake some other memories in Raymond, and he just shook his head to rid himself of those, along with the story he’d just heard.

He looked over at me with a new understanding and something else.

“So that’s what this is about?”

“Yep,” I said with a pop of my lips to match the sound of my car door opening. He clambered out of the car much less gracefully, which was funny considering he’d had significantly less to drink.

But I figured I would have the decency not to laugh, instead just joining him on the passenger side of the car to finish our conversation before we went inside. I wanted to give him the chance to change his mind. I wouldn’t have blamed him. Although I was the one who would have to deal with the brunt of the downfall, Donald wasn’t my family. Like, I wouldn’t be at his holiday dinners. Then again, I’m not sure Raymond would be, either.

When I looked up from the thought, Raymond was staring at me. It wasn’t like before, though. There was nothing suspicious or any sign of concern in his eyes. No, they were filled with a very different feeling.

“You want to fuck me just to spite my dad?” he asked with a deadly seriousness.

I thought about it for exactly one second before I shrugged at the extremely accurate summary.

“Yeah, pretty much.”

“God,” Raymond practically groaned, throwing himself on me and pinning me against the car with his hips before he growled, “that’s so fucking hot.”

Those same lips that produced the words quickly covered mine with the same force he’d used to pin me against the metal. I didn’t fight him at first because, well, I didn’t want to. It was the first clear sign he’d given that he really wanted to do this, and who was I to argue with how he expressed his consent?

Also, he was like, a really, really good kisser. The desperation he felt came through in his tongue as it tangled with mine, drawing a quiet, muffled moan from me that alerted me to how quickly this would escalate if I didn’t shove the boy off me.

Which, I did.

“Raymond— inside,” I ordered with the little breath I had left.

He was confused for a second, almost like he’d blacked out in the meantime. But then his tongue swept over his lips, his hands digging through his pockets for his keys before he hastily answered, “Right. Let’s go.”

It made sense to be quiet then, as the two of us tip-toed through the much too large house. Our occasional giggles were louder than our feet, and the whole experience was seriously reminiscent of sneaking into your boyfriend’s house as a teenager. And when we walked through his bedroom door, the sight stirred up even older memories. From the UFO poster and alien sheets to the boxes filled with dinosaur toys and action figures, I felt like I’d walked straight through a time machine into Raymond’s childhood.

“Sorry about… all of this,” he said with an overly apologetic tone, like this scene didn’t perfectly suit what I was planning. Like it wouldn’t be salt in the wound for Donald to see me fucking his son in the most juvenile room I’ve ever seen in my life.

“Ugh, it’s perfect. You are literally a man-child.”

I didn’t mean it as an insult, but his nervous shifting told me he took it that way. But when I kicked off my shoes and started to disrobe my outer layers, it was becoming obvious to him again just how serious I was about this whole thing.

“Sorry, but—“

“Stop saying sorry, Raymond.”

“Sorry,” he squeaked back, doing the exact thing I’d just told him not to do. I shot him a warning glance and watched the way his Adam’s apple bobbed in return. Then, still worrying the hem of his pajama shirt between his fingers, he looked away as he asked, “Are you sure you actually want to have sex with me?”

I was a little too busy at first to answer him. I was already rustling through the bedside table to find a condom that I was absolutely positive would be there. When I finally found it, I turned my attention back to the blushing boy.

“Why are you asking? Do you want to have sex with me?”

“Yes!” he answered with a clear excitement, only to lose it immediately. “But I would have wanted to have sex with you even if my dad wasn’t a pervert.”

“Awww, thanks,” I cooed with feigned sincerity. Raymond was still just pouting, though. I was learning more each second just how starved of affirmation this boy had been. But it wasn’t like I could just start praising him; the poor thing would have whiplash if I wasn’t careful. There was no worse mood-killer than crying, either, so I settled for a joke.

“I’d probably have sex with you, too.”

“Probably?” he responded with a smile and a seat next to me.

“It’s pretty likely, depending on how much we talked first,” I explained as I helped him out of his coat. I even managed to start undoing his pajama top buttons before he realized it was happening.

He didn’t stop me when he did.

“I don’t know if that’s an insult or not,” he said, instead.

With a coquettish grin, I leaned in to whisper against his lips, “And you never will.”

There was absolutely no resistance from Raymond when I grabbed hold of his collar, tugging him on top of me as I laid down on the tiny twin bed. Despite all of his insecurity, he didn’t hesitate to kiss me again, either. This time it was somehow even more heated, like he was trying to pour all of his heart into it.

I almost warned him that he had better cool it if he didn’t want to risk getting me hooked, but I was too late. He was already busy undoing the buttons on my own top and gently kneading my chest through the fabric of my bra, and I was quickly losing track of which of us was more into what was happening.

It didn’t really matter, but just in case he was still worried that I might not want to be there, I snuck my hand down and under the waistband of his pajamas.

“Fuck!” he cursed in a hushed whisper, his body buckling forward far enough that he almost dropped all his weight on me. It was so damn cute that I couldn’t help but laugh.

“Don’t be too loud or we’ll never get to the fun part,” I warned, my voice barely a whisper in his ear.

His very eloquent response was a breathless, “Shit.” I couldn’t blame him, though. It was honestly more than I expected him to be able to enunciate when I grabbed hold of his dick and began making soft strokes.

It was obvious that he was trying very hard to stay quiet, but the whimpers and whines were falling from his mouth so quickly that I was forced to kiss him just to muffle the noise. Thankfully, Raymond took the hint that he needed to be quiet and decided to redirect the attention from himself back to me. He accomplished that task by pulling away from me just far enough that he could grab hold of my pants and underwear and roughly pull them down my thighs. The speed and force lit a fire deep in my gut, my whole body breaking out in goosebumps as I allowed myself to enjoy just how badly he wanted me. I’m sure the spite thing had a lot to do with it, too, but it had been a long time since a man was so clearly into me. It was an unavoidable conclusion in every touch from him.

A much-too-loud moan caught in my throat when he returned, slipping his fingers into my heat as he laid another feverish kiss against my lips. But it broke almost immediately with his own choked moan, followed by a low, breathy observation.

“You weren’t kidding about wanting this.”

“Nope,” I replied quickly, trying to control the noises coming out of my mouth by replacing them with words. It only sort of worked when I keened, “Fuck, you’re better at this than I thought.”

Raymond didn’t even stop, continuing to curl his fingers inside of me with each thrust. He did smile, though. A cheeky, borderline annoying smile that told me he knew what a bastard he was being.

“Again, I can’t tell if that is a compliment,” he said with an overwhelming amount of sarcasm as he watched me squirm under him.

I chose to ignore the taunt, opting to grab the condom from the bedside table and throw it directly at his face instead. “Put the fucking condom on, Raymond.”

There was less commentary from the peanut gallery from that point on. I did enjoy the show, though. As I removed my bra, I watched with rapt fascination as he stripped himself of his clothes. My desire grew at an exponential rate at the sight of him slipping the condom on. I’d gotten some idea of the size of him with my hand, but to see something so lewd in such an innocent room and on his shy little figure was something else.

Raymond shrunk a little under my gaze, only regaining his confidence when he saw the way my teeth dragged over my bottom lip. I ran my hands over my body that was still on display for him, thoroughly enjoying the way I could make his eyes go wherever I wanted with such a simple motion.

“Fuck me, Raymond.”

I heard his breath catch and watched the shiver flow through him at the order. Sure enough, he started to follow my instructions and lined himself up at my entrance with adorably shaky hands. But then, right before I got what I came for, he paused.

“Are you su—“

I was tired of waiting. Hooking my leg around his waist, I forced Raymond to thrust forward. My assistance didn’t take any of the pleasure out of it when he was finally, fully inside of me. I couldn’t stop the way my back arched, pressing my chest against his with a wanton cry.

“Jesus fucking Christ,” he mumbled into my hair, burying his face in the crook of my neck as he adjusted to the new set of sensations.

I only gave him a few seconds to get used to it, fully ready to get the release that already felt so close.

“Fuck me,” I whined, already starting to roll my hips against the boy blubbering curses into my skin.

“O-Okay,” he muttered in the most adorable fashion.

That shyness was contrasted strongly by what followed. For all his whimpers and trembling, Raymond didn’t seem to mind the way the bed would creak under us. In fact, it seemed that he was playing his own game, trying to elicit as many noises from me as he could get from the bed.

On instinct, my hands rose to try to still the headboard. But to my surprise, they never made it. The man above me had grabbed hold of one wrist, pinning it against the pillow to stop me. That simple, thoughtful act was enough to almost send me over the edge right then, but I held on for what I knew would come.

My moans were another story. They seemed so inevitable, with Raymond slamming into me with a progressively rougher force until I rode that line between pain and pleasure. I could see it on his face, too, that we were barreling full speed to the inevitable.

So, it was as good a time as any for me to set the next step in motion. With full volume and a pitch nearly an octave higher than usual, I screamed, “Yes, Raymond!”

That cheeky little bastard laughed. That noise was such music to my ears, that I couldn’t just stop there.

“God, yes! Fuck me harder!” I cried dramatically while drawing out the words. In a way, I was over exaggerating for effect, but I was also actually having a great time. In fact, it was the best sex I’d had in a long time.

Raymond, catching on to the plan that I’d never explicitly explained, joined in with his own chant of my name, mixed with deep moans rumbling in his chest. I ran my nails down his back, seeking to elicit the higher pitched sounds I knew he was capable of when I realized just how much fun I was having with him.

It was also, of course, super fucking hot. But how often do you get to have this much fun with a random one night stand you found at the bar? Not often enough, I decided.

“Please, Raymond! Harder!” I begged, both in accordance with my previous moans and also because it was what I needed.

I couldn’t decide on a word to describe that wild look on his face, but Raymond had no problem following through with my request. Releasing my wrist, he sat up on his knees, grabbing hold of my hips and lifting them so that he could come down between them at a new angle.

That angle, it seemed, left him bottoming out inside of me with each brutal thrust. My legs were actually shaking around him, my back barely touching the bed as I threw my head back on that damn alien pillowcase.

The clacking of the headboard against the plaster shook the hung UFO picture, which ended up clattering behind it with about as much grace and subtlety as Raymond and I shared in that moment.

But that crashing also masked the sound of the door slamming open, just as I’d been waiting for. And for a long moment, neither of us even looked over to the light filtering in from the hallway. Instead, we locked eyes with each other as the two of us simultaneously reached our peak.

I was so, so glad that I didn’t look away. I kept my eyes firmly on Raymond as he threw his head back, forcing himself as deep in me as he could and holding me against him as I nursed him through his orgasm with my own. His mouth, though dropped open, was curved in a satisfied smile, one last moan tearing through the two of us before he promptly collapsed on top of me.

Then, it finally came. Donald’s voice bellowing, “What the fuck is going on in here?!”

—

As Raymond and I sat in my car that night, there was a much more relaxed atmosphere. Whether the catharsis was from the sex or the big fuck you to his father, the two of us were just basking in the afterglow of the overall experience.

Of course, he was also laughing at the fact I was currently wrapped up in his alien bedsheet.

“We could’ve gotten your clothes, you know.”

“There was no way in hell I was going to drop this sheet in front of that man,” I said through my laughter, my mind replaying the chaos of the last few minutes over again in my head.

“Probably a good call,” Raymond answered.

But then another thought occurred to me, which caused my face to contort into a disgusted grimace.

“You’d better go get my underwear and bra later, though. He cannot keep those.”

“Will do. Promise,” he said with a little nod that ended with him staring at me with an absolutely smitten look plastered on his face.

“You can keep them, though,” I offered, reaching over and pretending like I could actually fix the birds nest on his head.

“Thanks. I’m flattered,” he said while chasing after my hand that eventually settled on his cheek. His face was still flushed, his eyes still only half opened as he nearly fell asleep against my palm. I wondered if it was from the orgasm, or if it was just the first time in a while he’d felt safe enough to do it. He must’ve seen the worry in my eyes, because he interrupted the thought with another question.

“Did you accomplish your goal?”

I thought about it for a second, dragging my fingers down his face before I pulled back with a sigh. “I feel satisfied,” I decided. “What about you?”

Raymond also took the chance to think about it before he nodded with more enthusiasm than before.

“I feel pretty good,” he said proudly.

“That’s all? Just pretty good?” I replied with an annoyed click of my tongue. I mean, I was wrapped in his bedsheets after just helping him achieve one of the most satisfying catharses of his life, and all he had to say was ‘pretty good?’

But then I saw it, that little sparkle in his eyes that showed me he just wanted to rile me up before he gave his real answer.

“It was fucking glorious.”

It wasn’t even the words that filled my heart with pride, but the way his whole expression softened as he said it. He obviously meant it with every fiber of his being, and I couldn’t help but fall in love a little bit at the sight.

“Sorry I got you kicked out,” I said to distract myself from that dangerous line of thought.

“Not the first time. Hopefully the last,” he nonchalantly shrugged as I turned the key in the ignition. We hadn’t actually planned on what to do from this point, but I certainly had some ideas.

“You can stay at my place,” I slurred through my exhaustion, “I have a guest bedroom if you feel weird staying in mine.”

But Raymond didn’t answer. He just laughed, shaking his head and rubbing a heavy hand over his tired eyes.

“What?” I asked, a little worried I’d made a mistake.

“Nothing,” he reassured with that stupid fucking grin that was soon aimed straight at me, “it’s just… You’re asking me if I want to sleep with you. Again.”

“Yeah, what about it?” I laughed, turning to pull out of the driveway. The bumps didn’t bother Raymond that time.

“I’d love to,” he said as we turned onto the main road, his hand finding mine on the gear shift.

“Great.” Allowing the relief to flow through his hand and into me, I realized that the reason I’d had so much fun with this random one night stand was because a large part of me knew it was never going to be just that.

“You know, my bed’s not a twin, and it doesn’t creak, so…” I trailed off, hoping that he would be clever enough to put it together.

“So what?”

He was not. But that was okay, because I realized that was exactly what I loved about him.

“Never mind,” I sighed, “I’ll show you in the morning.”

——————————————————

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