𝙍𝙊𝘽𝙄𝙉 ༉‧₊˚

( 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘺 / 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘮 ) | 𝘮𝘶𝘭𝘵𝘪-𝘮𝘶𝘴𝘦 | 𝘮𝘪𝘯𝘰𝘳𝘴 𝘥𝘯𝘪 𝖺𝖽𝗎𝗅𝗍, 𝗋𝗈𝗅𝖾𝗉𝗅𝖺𝗒𝖾𝗋, 𝗐𝗋𝗂𝗍𝖾𝗋, 𝗁𝗎𝗆𝖺𝗇 𝖽𝗂𝗌𝖺𝗌𝗍𝖾𝗋

[https-daydreambeliever]

MASTERPOST

— ;; hi hi! this is Robin! just making a post where you can find stuff if you’re new to this blog or were interested in roleplaying. obviously this will be a work in progress, with me adding more as I make them (fics, oc bios, etc.) iiiii will make this look prettier later. lmao.

below you’ll find links to my:

roleplay regulations

general info / fandoms

- fics

RIVALS

Declan O’Hara x OC

chapter 1

chapter 2

chapter 3

chapter 4

chapter 5

MARVEL

Peter Parker x OC

chapter 1

chapter 2

Bucky Barnes x OC

chapter 1

TLOU

Joel Miller x Farmer!OC

chapter 1

chapter 2

chapter 3

- original characters’ bios / information

( wip )

[https-daydreambeliever]

dented armor.

— chapter 3;; din djarin’s favorite stressors meeting for the first time!! (AO3 Link)

-

Much to Estella’s surprise, she managed to doze off in that stiff chair. It had been a draining day, and her sleeping situation in the cantina had never been particularly comfortable either. When she came to, the first thing she noticed was the black blanket laid over her form. Perhaps not a blanket, it looked an awful lot like the cape that had been attached to the Mandalorian’s armor, but either way it was a welcome comfort, albeit a surprising one. But it wasn’t nearly as surprising as what she saw next.

Peering up at her from her lap were two of possibly the biggest, and certainly the cutest, eyes she had ever seen. They belonged to a tiny green child, who let out a soft cooing noise as she gaped at the sight of him. For a moment, she just had to process that there was an almost sickeningly adorable baby aboard the fearsome bounty hunter’s ship. And then he smiled, and her heart melted. “Well hello there, sweetness. And who are you?” She cooed back to him, seeing him fist the fabric of the cape as he replied with a few babbling noises.

For a moment, his tiny green hand paused by her middle, and he cocked his head to the side. Despite being spellbound by the movement of his massive green ears, for that moment, something in her stirred. Something quiet, a kind of stirring that had only happened to her very few times in her life. A roaring, like the waves of an ocean, that she tried to muffle whenever she heard it before. She could have sworn the baby was looking right through her, seeing that one messy secret she couldn’t quite bring herself to say when she was sharing her truth with the Mandalorian-

“Dank ferrik!” His voice grumbled as he climbed back into the cockpit to join the two of them. “He wasn’t supposed to come up to-”

“Good morning to you too, Shiny.” Estella said, doing her best to brush off whatever that feeling was. The baby seemed to do the same, seemingly distracted by crawling up to her shoulder to get a closer look at her hair. “When were you going to introduce me to this little cutie?” She beamed, bringing a hand up to the baby’s back while he played with her hair. “It’s long, isn’t it? Yeah, I like touching it too.” She cooed to the little one as the Mandalorian took the sight in. He watched them for a long moment, a silence going on a bit too long for her comfort. “What? Are you upset with me? More so than usual, I mean?”

“...No.” Was all he said in response at first, having to clear his throat. She watched him shake his head, like he was trying to wake himself up as well.

“Is he yours?” Estella asked softly, smoothing down the baby’s little robe while his ears inadvertently tickled her, making her giggle with him.

“Not by blood…” The man hesitated, like he did with many of her questions. It must have been tiring, she thought, to eternally have his guard up. “But we are a clan of two, yes.”

“What is his name?”

“...Grogu.” The baby immediately perked up and made a small noise in response.

“Nice to meet you, Grogu.” The baby’s hand reached out to touch her cheek as she gently ran a thumb over it. “You have your dad’s eyes.”

The Mandalorian let out an exhausted sigh, like he usually did with her jokes and sarcasm. She was beginning to enjoy the sound. “We should get moving, if you are ready. I will set him in his quarters.”

“He isn’t coming with us?” She asked, and he shook his head. “But he-what was that, Grogu?” She asked, tilting her head toward the baby. “You said you want to buy new little toys and little clothes and make wonderful new memories on this planet with your dad who you love more than anyone in the galaxy?”

“That is not-”

“These are vital moments in his development. He won’t be a baby forever, you know.”

“You would be surprised.” He sighed again, already tired of the argument. “You are both my responsibilities. There are too many factors I cannot predict to take the both of you at the same time.”

“Ohh, well, if it’s too hard, you can just say so.” Estella smirked. He met her taunt by rolling his head back, and she pictured him rolling his eyes under his helmet. “No no, I understand. It’s perfectly normal to be scared of a challenge.” Grogu cooed and peeked through where he was still exploring her hair.

“Let me make myself clear: he will stay on the ship, where it is safe. That is final.” The Mandalorian declared like it was law.

Not to anyone’s surprise, about an hour later, both Grogu and Estella were comfortably seated in a speeder that a disgruntled Mandalorian was driving from the docking bay to Theed’s walls. They slowed to a stop at the entrance, where a few guards spoke to them.

“The three of us are passing through. We intend to be in the city for less than a day.” The bounty hunter said as vaguely and flatly as possible.

The guards exchanged doubtful looks. “We are in the middle of our Festival of Light. We don’t want any of…whatever trouble you’re bringing with you.” One of them said, eyeing the weapons on the armored man.

The Mandalorian straightened up in his seat, and before he could grumble anything else, Estella spoke up from where she was seated. “Hi there, I’m sorry to interrupt. I know that you are only doing your job, and keeping your people safe. I have come a long way from home, and my husband is very tired. You’ll forgive his cold demeanor.”

The guards, both of whom already seemed to relax when Estella began to speak, nodded in unison when she mentioned forgiveness. Like they couldn’t help themselves. The beskar helmet tilted, his chest rising and falling, gloved hands squeezing the wheel of the speeder.

“It’s just that…I’ve heard so many stories about the beauties of Theed, and your wonderful festival. And it would mean everything to me if you honorable men considered letting me witness even an hour of it.” She tilted her head, brushing some of her hair behind her ear. She was wearing the cape, and it was oversized enough to cover most of her when she let it drape over her, but her charm was unaffected by the new wardrobe. “And, well…it is my birthday.”

At that, the helmet turned sharply, looking her over in thought. The guards blinked, looking to each other, as both of them tried to accept at once, murmuring their birthday wishes and waving the speeder through.

“Is it truly your birthday?” The Mandalorian asked after a moment, sounding taken aback. Like he should have known this somehow.

“It’s the day that they found my cradle, supposedly.” She admitted, with a scoff, like it was irrelevant. “I would have used that line either way, but this time it’s true.”

The Mandalorian seemed lost in thought as he parked the speeder, and their day in Theed began.

[https-daydreambeliever]

dented armor.

— chapter 2. // most fearsome bounty hunter meets the galaxy’s prettiest ragebaiter <3 tw for mentions of neglect.

— ✦ —

If she couldn’t force him to let her go, Estella was going to annoy the Mandalorian into setting her free. After her wrists had been tied down to the arms of a chair in the cockpit, she had spent the majority of takeoff snapping at him, demanding to be released. “What is he paying you?” No answer. “I bet he won’t pay the full thing. Probably scamming you.” No answer. “I can be very useful. I could probably find you someone who could give you just as good of a job.” No answer, probably because that lie was almost offensively bad.

He was irritatingly good at ignoring her, taking off into hyperspace without bothering to respond to a single demand that she barked out. He took his time inputting coordinates, making sure their destination was set, before he turned to face her and placed a hand on her thigh to stop her persistent kicking. “You’re going to get yourself hurt.” He growled. All her survival instincts told her to shut up, to sit still, to stop bothering him before she earned a blaster hole in her chest. And yet, she couldn’t help herself with him.

“Would that affect your pay? Might be worth it.” Estella said through clenched teeth, trying to shake his hand off, which made his grip tighten in response.

“Keep it up and I’ll tie your ankles down next.” The Mandalorian answered, his helmet’s gaze seemingly remaining on her as he felt her muscles relax slightly under his touch. Although she certainly felt anything but relaxed, and his touch seemed to set her nerves on fire. It was impossible to sit still around him, but she tried. He made a small, almost imperceptible hum of approval, before releasing her. “Don’t make me regret not carbon-freezing you.”

She let out a scoff, shaking her head to move a few wayward curls out of her face. “And why didn’t you?”

There it was again, that long pause. The expressionless helmet watching her as the man underneath was able to pause and gather his thoughts, weigh every possibility before giving anything away with his response. Meanwhile Estella wore everything on her sleeve, including her petulance. Now that their flight was stable, he sat back, chair still swiveled to face her. “My job is still to return you to your father. That remains unchanged, and I intend to collect my credits. However…I would like to know why his daughter is so desperate to keep her distance.”

Now it was Estella’s turn to pause, and to think. She didn’t know exactly what her father might have told the bounty hunter, but she had seen him work his silver tongue. No doubt the Mandalorian had been given the tale of a concerned father looking out for a spoiled, unstable daughter who had thrown herself into danger. She supposed her behavior wasn’t helping, but she blamed desperation. “It’s a long story.” A pause, where he just watched her, supposedly waiting for her to go on. “Why should I tell you, anyway?” Another pause where she wanted him to beg, and was met with silence. “Give me even one good reason.”

“Your apparent aversion to silence.” He retorted under his breath, and Estella had to gawk at the audacity. He let her do so, meeting it with nothing but another silence. But this one felt different. Like he was saying everything by giving her utter silence, listening to her every huff and tracking her every nervous shift. She had a feeling he already knew her father was lying, he just needed confirmation of how much. As in, whether it was worth forfeiting an absurd amount of credits.

“My father is a vindictive, fraudulent, snake of a man.” Estella started, as if testing the waters.

“He is a politician.” The Mandalorian agreed.

“He is a master of dressing his regrets and mistakes up to paint his image in a better light. I am one of those mistakes, his bastard daughter.” Her wrists shifted nervously against the cords binding them to the chair. “Left in a cradle at his doorstep like a blessing or a curse. He told the public that I was an orphan from the lower levels, abandoned, and declared that he would be gracious enough to raise me as his own. I was a useful asset to have for his soirées, his speeches, anything where he could use a cute face to gain favor. The public had something to latch onto: a doting father. But when nobody was watching, he had no interest in a child.” Still, the bounty hunter let her speak. He could be asleep in that chair, for all she knew, but then his voice came through the modulator.

“He insisted on your safe return.”

Estella scoffed. “I’m sure he did. When I was little, I thought if I could present and perform well enough at all his public appearances, he might be happy enough to like me. Coruscant was more and more endeared with me. Nothing was ever enough for him, but my image became attached to his. I was something he had to keep a tight hold on. From the time I was old enough to form my own opinions, he stored me in one of Coruscant’s highest towers whenever he didn’t need me. I had food, water, clothes. One window. Everything I needed, if I behaved well. The kind of loneliness that you can somehow live with while it silently suffocates you, day by day.”

She stopped herself by biting down on her lip, turning her gaze from his helmet to his armor. She hated the way her own story sounded, hated how spoiled her explanation might make her seem. She half-considered trying to walk back on her words, when she saw the armor moving. Riding to his feet, taking a few slow steps forward. Her fists clenched against the armrests of the chair as he stopped in front of her, and took a moment to watch her, head tilting down at the sight of her, like a curious animal. Then slowly, very slowly, in a way that made her want to ask his age, knelt before her. They were close enough that she could hear his knees crack. She didn’t have time to wonder what he was doing when his gloves moved over her wrists, tracing her veins until he found the cords, carefully untying them.

There were no empty words, only a simple gesture: she had shown him a bit of trust, and he would do the same. The two of them watched each other from this position, now, their breathing being the only sound. Not so much predator and prey as much as two skittish strangers, waiting for the wrong move to send the both of them scrambling back. It wasn’t like she could go anywhere, being stuck in his ship, but the gesture made all the difference.

The armored warrior was the first to break the moment, walking back to his seat, and beginning to adjust his ship’s controls. Redoing the coordinates to lead them to Naboo instead of Coruscant.

“Does this mean that you believe me?” She asked, hope daring to show in her voice.

“I must collect my pay.” This time, this was undoubtedly a pause where he had to rethink his answer only a hundred times or more. “It would be dishonorable to bring you home, or anywhere else, for that matter, in dancer’s clothing. We will find you something to wear, before resuming our journey.” He decided, pacing away from the controls. Back toward his ladder.

Even despite his denial that she’d changed his mind, she’d at least bought more time. And she hadn’t even told him the full truth. “You’re taking me shopping?” She goaded with a smirk, which he pretended not to hear.

“You will sit and rest until we arrive, and you will not leave the cockpit.” He said as he stood, walking past her. “To be clear: I am trusting that you will not follow me or try to watch where I go. That you will stay put.”

“I heard you, I heard you! Relax, tin can.” Estella grumbled, looking back over her shoulder. Listening as the sound of him climbing grew fainter, before she began to tiptoe after him—

“Don’t make me tie you up again.” His modulator called from the bottom of the ladder before she could even peek. Estella’s eyes rolled, and she sat back in her seat. For now, anyway.

[broadwaybaggins]

Humiliation/Display or Embarrassment/Tears/Blush for Toby/Andy

She's going to be sick. She's absolutely going to be sick at this cocktail party full of colleagues and friends and fuck, the press, the press is here and she's sure that's part of the reason Ann Stark cornered her when she'd gone to the bathroom to fix her lipstick and make sure her pad wasn't leaking. Andy's ears are ringing and her face feels like it's a thousand degrees and she has no idea when she picked up the flute of champagne that's sweating in her hand, but she tips it back and downs it in one, two, three burning swallows that does nothing to quell the nausea churning in her stomach.

She can still hear Ann Stark's voice in her head.

It echoes in her ears, tinny and hollow and sickly-sweet, as if she's doing Andy a favor, as if she actually cares. "We'd both had way too much to drink, but that's not an excuse, Congresswoman--may I call you Andrea? I know it's not an excuse, and I just wanted to tell you, because I'd want to be told, if it was me. If my husband had done something like that, I'd want to know."

If my husband had done something like that.

If my husband.

Well, Andy's husband had.

"I thought you deserved to know," Ann Stark had all but chirped, her voice already sounding tinny and hollow through the roar of blood in Andy's ears. She had said something else that Andy didn't catch as she turned to grip the fancy porcelain sink in shaking hands. She had caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror, all wild eyes and red, blotchy cheeks, and swore she saw something that looked like remorse flicker across Ann Stark's smug face.

When she'd looked up again, the bathroom had been empty. She'd forced herself out of that room when it felt like the room was going to close in on her and now she turns slow, dazed circles around the party. Her legs get tangled in the plum-colored silk dress she bought special for the occasion, but somehow she manages to stay upright. Another champagne flute appears in her hand and is just as quickly drained as the first. Her stomach still churns and she knows the champagne is a bad idea. She could not give any less of a fuck.

She catches CJ's eye, near the buffet table talking to some of the press corps. Immediately she sees the realization in CJ's eyes that something is wrong, and she starts to make her way to Andy without even making an excuse to exit her current conversation. She makes a beeline for her.

Toby gets there first.

"Andy?" he asks, reaching for her empty glass of champagne. Andy has the sudden, childish impulse to snatch it back out of his hand, because that's hers, what right does he have to take her glass, who does he think he is? Then the absurdity of the situation hits her, and she lets out a little hysterical peal of laughter. Toby's brows furrow even more and he shoots her a worried frown. "Andy? Andy, are you okay? You look--

Like my husband fucked someone else?

"--like you're gonna be sick. Come on, sit down, I'll get you water--"

"Take me home," Andy gasps, reaching out for him when her knees finally do threaten to buckle. Suddenly she can feel the eyes of a hundred people on her all at once, and it's like they all know her secret. Like they all know what Toby has done, like Ann Stark stood up on a ladder with a megaphone and told all of Washington her business. "Toby, take me home. Take me home now."

[https-daydreambeliever]

dented armor.

—✧ Hi!! Pretty new to writing Star Wars fics. I don’t know a lot of the extensive lore, and though I tried to wiki-dive, this fic will not be entirely specific/accurate. Just something fun I wanted to write after seeing the movie, and with an OC I’ve had for years and years now. Expect more chapters in the future, as I have a wholeeee journey planned out for these two.

Also this general setup may or may not be similar to one I used for a different Star Wars roleplay starter I wrote recently…sue me!

When the senator of Coruscant hires a bounty hunter to bring his runaway daughter home, the job should be entirely simple. But the more he learns about his bounty, and the secrets that stew under the surface, the more complicated it becomes to complete this simple job. (AO3 Link) (Chapter 2)

— ✦ —

A wall of Beskar entered the smokey, humid cantina, and all sounds fell silent. All eyes followed him as he walked in: clearly a Mandalorian. His gleaming armor moved with purpose, ignoring all the stares as he stalked up to the bar, settling himself in as if he’d done this a thousand times. Perhaps he had.

But not here. The dancer was certain she would have remembered having seen him before. He looked out of place, his pristine armor making him seem priceless compared to his dingy surroundings.

Because he seemed so far out of bounds, the dancer knew she had to have his attention for the night. If he was here, he was searching for entertainment. And with a suit like that, he would pay handsomely. So as the tavern’s typical music and conversations resumed, she made her way over. She, herself, was vision in scantily clad clothing: a golden bra and sheer red fabric that vaguely resembled a skirt. Covering her just enough, but leaving little to the imagination. And just as the armored man began to reach for what she presumed was credits from his waistband, she planted herself by his side. “Can I tempt you with some company, Shiny?” She purred, reaching a hand out to set it on his arm. Probably a dangerous move, but when working for her tips, she felt it helpful to be bold.

Slowly, the helmet turned, taking a very long moment to observe her. Very long. It moved, emotionless to her eye, but she couldn’t help feeling like she was being sized up. She began to second guess her approach, when his gruff voice spoke: “Who’s asking?”

All the while, he didn’t return the contact. He didn’t push her off either. Although he didn’t sound as enthused as her usual clientele, she got the sense that he wasn’t the most expressive, even vocally. She waved the bartender, motioning for a few drinks on instinct. “My name’s Stella. What’s yours?” The dancer cooed, her dark curls spilling over one exposed shoulder as she tilted her head at him.

The Mandalorian stood, very suddenly, and his movement caught the attention of one of the nearby guards. He towered over her, and spoke to the guards without looking away. Not quite touching as his arm moved around her waist, hovering just above her skin with his gloved hand. His modulator cracked out his voice once more: “I would like a private room. To witness this one’s dance. Only her.” A valid request, though it didn’t come out naturally. He was stiff, rigid. She accounted it to nerves: he likely hadn’t allowed himself such leisure as their dingy cantina in so long. And if there was anything the dancer could do, it was entertain.

“How flattering.” She took the hand hovering, much too politely, over her waist and began to walk him toward one of the curtained-off sections. A more isolated, intimate feel, but the guards were never far. He moved behind her, never letting himself fall behind. His helmet tilted, seeming to follow each of her movements, like she was somehow magnetizing his armor with every sway of her hips. He settled down into the couch of their private, dim room as she dropped the curtain, the fabric slightly muffling their surroundings.

He sat back, one hand idly at his belt, where she could see his many weapons. He didn’t seem the slightest bit threatened, but somehow still entirely ready for any sign of danger. She had a feeling it was second nature for him. “This is much better. My friends out there seemed nervous around you.” She explained, passing him one of the drinks that she’d swiped from the bar.

He took it and set it on the side table, but his visor never moved. Never taking his eyes off of her, it seemed. “And you aren’t afraid of me?” He asked, monotone as ever, but the words bordered on challenging.

So she returned it with a challenge of her own. “Oh, I’m terrified. My pulse is racing.” She reached down, taking the hand that wasn’t occupied by a drink, and guiding his hand just over her heart. Gloves made contact with her soft skin, and although she couldn’t read his reactions underneath his helmet, she could have sworn she saw his free hand flex and then squeeze. And just as she began her dance, he moved his hand to his belt once more…and set something small on the table. A puck.

A puck that projected a small image into the air: her own face, but from months ago. Back when she had yet to escape her home. “Estella Polis. Daughter of Coruscant’s esteemed Senator: Leopold Polis. Your father has sent me to take you home.” The Mandalorian explained, calmly, ignoring the way she gawked at him, now, and straightened herself up.

“That’s…not me. That’s not even my name.” Estella’s attempt to lie was sad, but the attempt at using “Stella” as an alias for “Estella” was just as sad. She took a step back, and the armored man rose to his feet. And as he towered over her, watching her through his emotionless helmet that followed her every move, she could suddenly understand why the others wouldn’t approach him. “How did you find me?”

“Easily. Your father warned me that you may be reluctant to return. Nevertheless, I have agreed to deliver you to him. Quietly. Safely.” He spoke softly. Not cruelly, but not with mercy either, even as her expression dropped. One thing was certain in Estella’s mind: by no means could she go back to Coruscant. No doubt her father made the mission sound honorable, and left out just what kind of a life she had been living in Coruscant.

“And they say chivalry is dead.” She stepped back again, and he matched it. Meeting her with every inch she tried to gain, refusing to yield their proximity.

“I would suggest that you do not try to run from me. You would not get far.”

“Listen, Shiny. You will not take me back there. Even if I wanted to leave with you, I couldn’t. There are…several guards out there. You’re outnumbered.” Her sultry performance was long gone, replaced by a desperation. This wasn’t rebellion, in fact, it looked much closer to survival. She still didn’t bolt, but her brown eyes were fierce, determined. The kind of boldness that made one remember that she was one of Coruscant’s elite.

“Six guards. I like those odds.” He corrected, no doubt in his voice. Though upon hearing her resistance, he did seem to hesitate to act. “Whatever awaits you at your home cannot be worse than your fate in this place. Never mind what might happen to you if the wrong person finds out about your parentage.” He made a vague gesture to their surroundings, the club just outside the curtain. He didn’t elaborate, and he didn’t need to. Estella knew as well as anyone how dangerous seedy cantinas could be, especially once a desperate dancer inevitably lost her beauty.

Her silence, and the way she seemed to shrink at the thought of returning, suggested otherwise.

She thought back on it: her life at home. Entirely confined to her room, at the top of Coruscant’s highest tower. Loneliness. Boredom. Every meal, every piece of clothes, every piece of every day determined by her father’s choices. Watching the planet’s weather from her only window, every storm as artificial and planned as everything else on the upper levels. Twenty-six years of being her father’s political prop. No, she would not go back.

“Sorry, Shiny,” She breathed, already making a bolt through the curtains. She called for the guards, but her pursuer was faster. Blaster sounds passed her head, dropping the two closest guards before she’d finished crying out for them. The remaining four advanced on him as the rest of the cantina burst into chaos. Guests and dancers alike flocked for the exit. She moved to follow them, and suddenly felt something tossed around her waist. A cord, one that pulled tight enough to send her stumbling backward, until she was pulled into a metal-clad embrace. The Mandalorian had shot down another guard while wrangling her in, and used his body to shield her from the responding blasts from the guards. She had been foolish enough to think they might hesitate to fire when she was in the way, but the bounty hunter knew better.

They were on him now, and he used his arm to deflect the blow of a blade from the closest. His other arm reached around her to pierce the neck of the next guard with a blade that appeared to jut out of his armor. He fired over his shoulder to take out the last guard, leaving the two of them alone. His arm unwrapped from around her, helmet tilted down to watch her as she caught her breath. “Stars above…” She breathed out, feeling his hands move over her arms. Initiating contact, for the first time, stroking over her skin carefully…but only to place a pair of binders over her wrists. “What—is this really necessary?”

“There will be more security, we need to get off planet. Now.” He reasoned, like this was business as usual, beginning to walk to the exit.

The dancer planted her feet on the floor of the club, her fists clenched as she tried to stand her ground. “It must be hollow beneath that helmet of yours if you think I will be dragged anywhere by the cord like some kind of mutt—HEY!” Before she had finished speaking, The Mandalorian had turned around and scooped her over his shoulder, carrying her as he made his way out. “This is entirely undignified! You will put me down at this instant!” She cried out as she kicked her legs against the armor. She felt a gloved hand fix the fabric of her skirt to make sure it wasn’t, well, entirely undignified, before resting his hand over the back of her legs to steady her, as he carried her out of the club.

As he ignored her protests and carried her toward his ships, Estella could accept that he was taking her away from her life in the cantina. But whatever waited for her on that ship, she still intended to do whatever it took to keep her from returning to Coruscant.

[https-daydreambeliever]

Rivals and Mando content…urge to write new fanfic is too strong…

[https-daydreambeliever]

Estella settled into the seat, the decision having been made for her. If she didn’t run now, she was certain she’d be stuck as a dancer for…the foreseeable future, really. The same could be said about returning to her tower, but for the time being, she was just going to focus on getting off that planet. Away from that club. And, if she played her cards right, maybe convincing this stranger not to take her back to her father’s.

“Yes.” She responded to his question a bit too quickly, but had to reconsider as the stars rushed past them. As she remembered what it felt like to be on the run. “No. I don’t know. The senator is…a difficult person to live under.” She tore her gaze from the stars to look over Cassian’s expression, doing her best to read it.

He had mentioned a reluctance to being bribed, and he didn’t seem like the type who would work for the likes of her father. But she’d been wrong before. “This is safe enough. I want to know who you are, what you want.” She declared, although a part of her wanted to marvel at the stars for longer. Sights like that made all the waiting almost worthwhile.

[of-wine-and-blood]

even  though  cassian  was  mostly  focusing  on  taking  off  with  their  ship,  he  couldn't  help  the  occasional  glance  in  estella's  direction — especially  as  she  blurted  out  her  answer  and  then  went  back  on  it.  he  understood  her  feeling  conflicted;  luthen  had  given  him  enough  information  that  he  knew  that  estella's  relationship  with  leopold  polis  was . . . well,  complicated.  so  much  that  she  didn't  even  call  him  by  his  name  or  adress  him  as  her  father.  ❝if  it  helps,  we're  not  working  for  senator  polis.❞  on  the  contrary,  it  could  be  said. . .

the  blue  and  white  hues  glimmered  around  them  as  cassian  switched  the  ship  to  autopilot,  turning  around  in  his  seat.  ❝the  name's  cassian,  i  wasn't  lying  about  that.❞  he  wasn't  keen  on  sharing  any  more  personal  information — not  yet,  at  least.  ❝you  recognized  luthen's  name,  has  he  tried  recruiting  you  before?❞  the  possibility  was  there;  not  just  on  tatooine  but  on  coruscant  as  well.  ❝and  what  i — what  we  want  from  you?  what  do  you  think  you  can  offer  us?❞  luthen  had  told  him  about  estella's  knowlegde  of  the  imperial  databases . . . and  whispers  of  another,  more  unique  skill.

[https-daydreambeliever]

There was a brief pause between Cassian’s statements, in which Estella waited for him to continue his thoughts, before realizing he was done with his own portion of sharing for the time being. “Well…that is certainly a start.” She carefully replied, doing her best not to prompt him to go on. They’d only just met in a bar, and he was clearly on some kind of a mission for Luthen, which involved retrieving her. If not for her father’s sake, she couldn’t imagine why Luthen would want her badly enough to send a man to find her. “Luthen was no stranger to the senator’s frequent gatherings. But he was one of the…more sincere people there. He was decent to me, even when rumors of my parentage spread.” The bar was notably low, but it clearly left its mark on her memory of the man, anyway.

Her fingers reached down to a thin chain wrapped around her neck, dipping down to a small, almost ancient-looking pendant. An old gift from Luthen, probably the only one given just for her sake and not to impress her father. But in this moment, she was beginning to suspect that there were other motivations. “You’re here because you know what I have to offer. But sure, I’ll play your game, pretty boy.” She shifted again in her seat, watching him pilot the ship as she spoke. “For many years, I had nothing to do but dig through complex imperial systems; all the data I had access to, and then beyond that. I can work through different types of technological barriers. And since Luthen has last seen me, I’ve flourished in control and capability with my less…traditional skills.” A very vague bluff, considering she was far from a master in terms of her magick. But she’d used it to steal her previous ship, at the very least. “But in order for me to help, you’ll have to tell me exactly what you’re wrapped up in.”

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Estella’s mouth opened to counter Luthen’s man with some kind of witty comment, but much to her irritation, she found he looked like many things to her. When she had her arm wrapped around his middle, she’d felt the hardness of a weapon, one that he still hadn’t drawn on her, nor had he used any force. Most men who had worked for her father would have happily knocked her out the moment they were alone, and she would have been well on the way to Coruscant by now. But this pilot was actually reasoning with her. If she didn’t know better, she’d say he was polite. Perhaps he truly believed in her ability to crash his ship, but she didn’t think that was it. “A charming smile won’t be enough to sway me. Give me one good reason that I should go anywhere with you.”

“Stella!”

The voice, though muffled from distance and the walls of his ship, she recognized as the guard who had stopped them by the door. It had likely been more than five minutes, the dancer now realized, and suddenly running off with a stranger was, once again, an appealing idea. “I suppose that will suffice.” She murmured, as if he really needed her permission, before taking her seat and fumbling the buckle into place. “If you can get us off this planet in one piece, we shall discuss where to go next. No finger-breaking. For now.” Estella wiggled in her seat, glancing back at the door to the ship, and then at Cassian once more. For now, she had to hope he was trustworthy enough to get them off the ground. “They have the least security directed to the southwest of the club.”

[of-wine-and-blood]

brown eyes watched estella's face. she was determined, but so was cassian. and it wasn't like they were enemies — no, there was room for negotiations, a common ground on which they were standing even if estella didn't see it yet. the shout echoed through the ship's durasteel walls, making cassian raise an eyebrow. ❝there goes your reason.❞

he watched her expression change, the acceptance seeping in. cassian pointed her to her seat with his chin while he sat down into the pilot seat. ❝i'll get us to safety. once we're in hyperspace, we can discuss more.❞

the ship rumbled, its engines turning on. cassian focused on lifting off, though every now and then, his gaze flicked back to estella before returning again to the ship's console. as he pushed the handle, he asked, ❝would you really rather stay in there?❞

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Estella settled into the seat, the decision having been made for her. If she didn’t run now, she was certain she’d be stuck as a dancer for…the foreseeable future, really. The same could be said about returning to her tower, but for the time being, she was just going to focus on getting off that planet. Away from that club. And, if she played her cards right, maybe convincing this stranger not to take her back to her father’s.

“Yes.” She responded to his question a bit too quickly, but had to reconsider as the stars rushed past them. As she remembered what it felt like to be on the run. “No. I don’t know. The senator is…a difficult person to live under.” She tore her gaze from the stars to look over Cassian’s expression, doing her best to read it.

He had mentioned a reluctance to being bribed, and he didn’t seem like the type who would work for the likes of her father. But she’d been wrong before. “This is safe enough. I want to know who you are, what you want.” She declared with all the stubbornness of her bloodline, although a part of her wanted to marvel at the stars for longer. Sights like that made all the waiting almost worthwhile, and if she ended up back in her tower, she might never see the stars this close again.

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A twinge of excitement ran through Estella’s veins when her pilot took the lead on where they were headed. She could feel in her gut, this was it: this was how she got off of Tattooine, and how she found freedom on her own terms. And in the middle of all this excitement, she stepped onto the ship with him, her eyes lighting up as she took it all in. She’d almost forgot how good it was to have hope…and then Cassian explained his connection. Luthen, a name that she remembered with more fondness than some others from Coruscant, but still a name tied to the planet she longed to leave in the past.

Although a dozen alarm bells went off in her mind, she simply paused, forcing the calmest smile possible. “I suppose I could’ve chosen a better undercover name.” She mused, before turning to face him fully, once more. Despite the smile, there was a twinge of disappointment and irritation behind her gaze. She was supposed to be the one doing the double-crossing here. Although, for someone she believed was sent to extract her, he didn’t seem very malicious to Estella. Then again, the galaxy had disappointed her before.

“Luthen must have told you that I have no credits to bribe you with. But know this: if you try to take me back to Coruscant, I will not go down without pressing every button on this ship, and hopefully doing some significant damage in the process.” Her lips pursed after she said it, eyes wide, attempting to sound as dangerous as possible in that moment. The threat didn’t sound as good as it had in her head, but she kept her voice low, as if she was in control of this situation. “I’ll…break anything I can, too. Your equipment, your fingers. And it wouldn’t be the first time I’ve crashed a ship, so I wouldn’t test me if I were you, Cassian.”

[of-wine-and-blood]

cassian didn't want to hurt her. she had no weapons on her, and he would overpower her if it came to a physical fight but . . . he really didn't want for the situation to escalate that far. so he was actually glad when estella's eyes shone with steely determination and she only threatened him; with words that could be turned to action any moment, yes, but there was still room for negotiation.

as he spoke, cassian raised his hands — to show estella that she really didn't have to fear any attack coming from him, that although he had a glock under his vest (that she surely knew about), he wasn't going to use it. ❝there's no need for crashing ships or breaking fingers, trust me.❞ a half-smile followed to put her on ease. ❝do i really look like someone that takes bribes?❞

her no corruscant rule would be trickier to evade since it was their agreed meeting point with luthen. but plans could change. what mattered was getting out of here and covering up their tracks. ❝if i promise not to drop you off at corruscant, will you let me lift this ship off?❞ he supposed that any other planet would do; if nothing else they could still communicate over encrypted comlinks or message chips.

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Estella’s mouth opened to counter Luthen’s man with some kind of witty comment, but much to her irritation, she found he looked like many things to her. When she had her arm wrapped around his middle, she’d felt the hardness of a weapon, one that he still hadn’t drawn on her, nor had he used any force. Most men who had worked for her father would have happily knocked her out the moment they were alone, and she would have been well on the way to Coruscant by now. But this pilot was actually reasoning with her. If she didn’t know better, she’d say he was polite. Perhaps he truly believed in her ability to crash his ship, but she didn’t think that was it. “A charming smile won’t be enough to sway me. Give me one good reason that I should go anywhere with you.”

“Stella!”

The voice, though muffled from distance and the walls of his ship, she recognized as the guard who had stopped them by the door. It had likely been more than five minutes, the dancer now realized, and suddenly running off with a stranger was, once again, an appealing idea. “I suppose that will suffice.” She murmured, as if he really needed her permission, before taking her seat and fumbling the buckle into place. “If you can get us off this planet in one piece, we shall discuss where to go next. No finger-breaking. For now.” Estella wiggled in her seat, glancing back at the door to the ship, and then at Cassian once more. For now, she had to hope he was trustworthy enough to get them off the ground. “They have the least security directed to the southwest of the club.”

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Here, There and Everywhere •˖*

Chapter 3/?

In which needs are met.

CW: Mentions of abandonment, neglect, plenty of angst and smut and dominant Jud. Might’ve gone overboard on this but oh well!

-

Birdie’s POV

 

It made no sense that Jud could both have Birdie’s coffee order memorized while being unable to make eye contact with her. Actually, it made perfect sense, but it irritated her nonetheless: She had nearly led him to break his vow. Well, she didn’t want to assume as much, but just the other day, his mouth had been about ready to go places that would confirm that theory. In the damn church. She could understand how her presence in the church might be disturbing for him. Even in death, Wicks was right: her presence led to nothing but sin. So she sipped her coffee that he wordlessly passed to her as they got to work looking through Martha’s office.

 

Over the last several days, they had made…small revelations in the case. Nothing as big as she wanted, but Benoit assured her that he would find what was needed to bring the killer to light. There was the devil head, the flask that Jud had hidden(which had since disappeared, quite concerningly). Then, following the funeral of Jefferson Wicks, there had been the video that Cy showed, which gave just about everyone a motive. Lastly, the clue that the fortune had been found, somehow, after all this time. Their best guess? A Swiss account. Which meant they needed nineteen numbers to access it. Or at the very least, to figure out how someone else might have accessed it.

 

And all the while, through all this investigating, Jud avoided her like the plague. He was polite about it, he still held open doors, said his pleasantries, and stepped in front of her when Cy insinuated that she might have come back to the church just to somehow steal the fortune. The kind of delusion she would only expect from Cy, of course. But what bothered her much more was the fact that she and Jud hadn’t been able to really talk, not since that moment shared in the alcove. So she didn’t push him, and made it easier by not trying to start any conversations with him, either.

 

Fortunately, through all this awkwardness, there was always a southern detective between them, to diffuse the tension. Until a few minutes into searching, when his phone buzzed with a message from Officer Scott, asking him if he could meet to discuss the investigation. “You two keep lookin’ for those numbers, won’t you? I’ll be back in a couple of hours for you.” And with little to no warning, he was gone, shutting the office door behind him. Leaving the two of them alone in a deafening silence.

 

The two of them shifted on their feet, waiting to see who would break and talk first. After a minute that felt like hours, Birdie cleared her throat. “Look through his desk. Check for like, secret compartments and stuff. I’ll check the files behind it.” Her demand was answered with a terse nod, and the sounds of rustling paper as Jud knelt by the desk. She stepped around him to look through the bins kept on shelves, all neatly kept, just as Martha intended.

 

Several minutes went on like that, and it nearly killed her. Just silence, papers, and the occasional huff of frustration from either of them. They had smashed a snowglobe, and practically toured Martha’s office, just to find…nothing.

 

Suddenly, Jud broke the silence with a quiet hum of thought. “What?” She spun around, to see Jud’s eyes scanning over a wrinkled, aged piece of paper with eerily familiar handwriting on it. Jud looked up to her, meeting her gaze for the first time in days, but with the look of a dog who had been caught going through the trash. “Is it the account?”

 

“No, it’s…uh, well. I didn’t read it, I swear. It’s not relevant.” Jud stammered out, standing up straight and folding the paper carefully.

 

“Okay, well, bullshit, or you wouldn’t look like I just caught you with your hand in the damn cookie jar.” Deciding not to play his games, she leaned forward to grab it from him. Nervously, Jud backed himself against the desk, holding the paper out of the way. “Give it! Stop being weird!” She grunted out, ignoring the way her hips pressed to his as she swiped at her target.

 

“I’m n--Birdie, listen, maybe you should--” Jud could have easily pushed her back or blocked her off, but he was never forceful like that with her. He had mentioned being a boxer to her once, and most of the town knew about the man that he had killed, but Birdie would have thought it was a joke if she hadn’t felt the rigid muscles of his abdomen in their current position. But the reporter was stubborn, and she managed to pluck the paper out of his hands.

 

“I’m trying to help you with this damn case, Jud, maybe you should let me--” She turned away to get a better look at the contents of the paper: a letter, signed by a “Ramona Birde.” One that had clearly been written a long time ago. Laced with romantic notions, a woman unafraid to put her heart on the line, the way her mother had always been, even when it was broke again and again. She fell silent, suddenly, a heat in her face as she stared at the handwriting, an aching opening in her chest.

 

After a long, heavy moment, Jud spoke again. “Ramona was your mother, wasn’t she?” Birdie had never explicitly mentioned her mother’s passing, but it wasn’t hard to imagine he could have figured it out. She was buried behind Jud’s church, after all. She didn’t answer, which was an answer of its own. “Birdie, I’m so sorry. Do you need a minute?” His voice was just behind her, but not pressing closer, just giving her space.

 

“To do what? It doesn’t have the numbers.” She answered much too shortly, keeping her face turned away from his as she folded up the paper again. It didn’t uncover anything she didn’t already have a sneaking suspicion about, nor did it confirm anything. There had been a reason her mother was so devoted to the church. Maybe because she thought one day, the unrequited devotion she had might lead to something real, something permanent between her and the monsignor. Birdie had never understood it. That is, not until very recently.

 

Birdie willed herself not to get upset. This was a man she was trying to regain her calm around, someone she was trying not to scare off. She presumed that unloading her daddy issues would not be a great way of keeping people around. So she told herself that she would keep it pushed down within her.

 

“I know I shouldn’t pry. I know it’s not my place. But Wicks…was he--”

 

“We never took any tests or anything. I think it would have crushed her if she knew for sure.” She took a trembling breath, rubbing her fingers against her lips as if to stop herself. So much for not losing her calm, she thought, as she crinkled the paper in her hand. “I was not the prodigal son. I’m just me. And while I eventually realized that it would never be enough, my mom kept her hopes up. She went on believing, going back to that church like something might change, right until the day she died.”

 

Jud’s hand reached out, but he stopped himself, like he had learned that it would only bring more pain. He considered his words for a long moment, still hovering behind her, though she was certain at any minute he would find a reason to. “My parents kind of gave up on me…actually, for as long as I can remember. I was an only child, and I used to get into trouble, into fights to try and get their attention. It never worked, but I learned I was good at punching things.” He chuckled mirthlessly, and she turned her head in his direction, watching him out of the corner of her eye as he ran his fingers over his knuckles. “For a while, I thought that was all I was good for. It wasn’t that I liked fighting, it was just…how I survived, I supposed. Made money off of seedy underground tournaments to pay my rent when I was old enough to move out. And then there was the…the man I--you know.” He cleared his throat, and they both knew. The man he had killed. What led him to his current path. “So I found this. I found something that gave me purpose, a reason to get up in the morning. Everyone has one. You have one. Journalism. Your vow is to give the world the truth.” He reached forward to fix the pen tucked behind her ear. “You’ve never been too much, or not enough. You’re risking your reputation, spending who knows how much to get an investigator, just to clear my name. I see who you are, and it’s just right.”

 

She considered his words for a long moment, the sincerity in his voice. How he knew not to tell her that religion could save her. How she had never heard him speak about his life before his vow. She was the first one to break his gaze, shaking her head. “Not right for you, though, am I?”

 

His face fel in an instant, and he was stepping closer. “Birdie, no.”

 

Her back hit the shelf as she squeezed her eyes shut. “I’m sorry. I know that’s wrong of me to say. But I feel it. I miss you, even if I know it’s selfish of me. I just-- just felt hurt that you-you couldn’t even look at me, after I screwed up so bad--”

 

“Birdie, I’m not avoiding you because I’m upset with you. I’m avoiding you because every time I see you I start to see glimpses of a path outside of my vow. And I’m frightened by how direly I want to go down that path.” Jud’s touch made contact with the collar of her blouse, dragging a thick knuckle down her buttons. “And I was stupid to think avoiding you would do anything. Birdie, I hear you in the silence between prayers. I feel you with every turn of a page. I see you in all the beauty of every statue, stained window, even in nature. I don’t think I could escape you if they locked me up.”

 

Birdie’s eyes fluttered open as his knuckle dragged the fabric of her shirt against her bra, and continued racing its path down her stomach. Slowly, savoring every centimeter. He whispered now, the space closing between their faces. He looked almost pained with hunger, as he watched her expression with the kind of care and attention that felt foreign to her. “I’m weak, I know, and not worthy. If you don’t want this, all you need to do is say as much. But if you do, I need you to tell me.” His hand that trailed southward paused just by her waistband, struggling to control itself as it tugged at the fabric of her shirt.

 

She nodded, and he clicked his tongue, his hand coming to cradle the side of her face. “Come on, use that pretty voice of yours.”

 

“I want it. You, Father, I want you.” She shifted to move her legs together in hopes of hiding just how badly she wanted him, and he drove a thigh between her own, putting an end to that and eliciting a small intake of breath on her part.

 

Maybe it was that small noise, or the consent, or the title being used on him, but Birdie watched as he seemed to break, then and there. His right hand took ahold of her jaw as the other one clenched a fistful of shirt, and he kissed her, then and there. He was never forceful with her before, but when he noticed that she liked his commanding nature in this context, he had no problems getting demanding. If anything, he reveled in it. They both tried to be gentle with the other, at first, but it took mere seconds to intensify into a battle of tongues. His body was on hers, covering her like a blanket and pushing her back against the shelf until she was on her toes, his leg now pressed against her crotch, and every push against it sent her mind reeling for more. Her skirt did nothing to stop it. Maybe this was a horrible idea, maybe this would have repercussions, but Birdie was much too preoccupied with the calloused fingers slipping under her shirt to think about it. “I missed you too, Mary. Can I call you Mary, sometimes?” He spoke partially against her skin as the sloppy kisses moved over her jaw.

 

Birdie nodded, before remembering his command from earlier. “Mhm.” It was different when he did it. He hadn’t been around to see her past. ‘Mary’ had a new meaning when it came from his lips.

 

“I missed you so fucking much. I tried to pray it off, and I just kept thinking about all the parts of you I wanted to praise. Like right here.” He growled the words out, his kisses punctuating every few words, before sucking against her neck. She whimpered out needily, her hands scrambling to try and figure out what she was supposed to do with herself. Jud shushed her gently, taking both of her hands into the one that had been holding her jaw, pressing them against the shelf above her head. Papers fluttered around them like snow. He paused, just making sure she enjoyed that, before continuing. “Here, too.” He grinned before he licked his way over her collarbone, sending her head rolling back. His free hand moved from where it was beneath her shirt to slither under her bra, covering her breast in those tough fingers, before catching her nipple in between them. “Definitely here. Glory fucking be.” His voice was raspier now, and she could feel his need growing underneath his pants, from where his thigh was still teasing her. Or she was riding it. At this point she wasn’t sure.

 

“Jud, you…you don’t have-have to. You know that, right?” Her voice sounded pathetically breathless, and it only became more so as he freed her nipple, just to unbutton her shirt. He gave a questioning grunt, and she went on. “I-I know this is what I want, but if you don’t want this, we can do anything else. Or nothing at all.”

 

“I’ve been wanting this for what feels like ages now. It’s almost consumed me, how much I want this. With you.” By now, her shirt was unbuttoned, and he had no trouble at all in undoing her bra. He still hadn’t let her hands go, so the clothes stayed loose on her, but that didn’t stop him from planting wet kisses down her front. His mouth paid special attention to her right nipple, using his teeth when he noticed how she liked that. His thumb rolled against the second one, making her squirm against his thigh. “I already marked up your neck. But I think I’ll have to leave some evidence of my worship on other parts of you too. Seems only fair.” He pressed a kiss to her breast, before his mouth moved over her stomach, and her body rolled against it as liquid fire filled her belly.

 

“Oh my god, Jud,”

 

“Not God. Just me.” He gave a shit-eating grin, letting go of Birdie’s hands so that he could properly lower himself to his knees, relieving the pressure on her crotch. But not for long, as he gently undid the buttons of her long skirt, revealing her legs. There, knelt in front of her, he looked up to her in pure adoration. “Beautiful. Just beautiful, all of you.”

 

Birdie swallowed a lump in her throat that she couldn’t explain, though that emotion was overpowered by arousal as he traced his knuckle against her already-damp panties. “I’m sorry--” She started, embarrassed by the evidence of how needy she was. His head shook at her apology, his eyes glazed with something, like he was enchanted by the sight. Possessed, as he put it.

 

He ran his knuckle over it again, if only to make her squirm again, before tugging them downward. Once they were down enough, his brown curls tickled her thighs as he ducked his head through, and promptly pulled her thighs to rest on his shoulders. He didn’t even falter with all of her weight on him, still somewhat in a haze as he looked at her glistening lips. He swallowed as her hand stroked in his hair, before sucking a few needy kisses along her thighs. “Should’ve done this days ago.” He murmured, breath fanning against her wetness, as his gaze rose to hers. “Forgive me, Mary?”

 

She just hardly managed a whimpering “Mhm,” before his kisses moved over her lips. Her eyelids fluttered shut as he moved over her labia, whimpering again when he stopped. Her eyes opened, seeing him still watching her expression from between her legs.

 

“Watch me. For as long as you can. I want you to see how much I savor you.” He spoke partially against her, which was just unfair. She grunted out another shaky reply, and he rewarded her by running his tongue over her slit. Her hand squeezed his hair, but she tried to keep her eyes on him, though she could admit she lost focus when he flicked his tongue against her clit. As if noticing that she liked it, she teased him by stroking the length of her slit again, groaning in what Birdie hoped was satisfaction. “Oh, Mary.” He grumbled against her, before lapping up as much as he could. He was the first to eventually break eye contact, squeezing his eyes shut like he wanted to focus on getting every last taste. Her body began to shake with want, her breath coming out in loud, needy whimpers with each stroke.

 

She opened her mouth to tell him how close she was, but he seemed to sense it in her. He sighed again, blowing air against her clit before moving one of his index fingers right up to her, easing his way into her with a gentleness that still managed to knock the air right from her lungs. Even his fingers felt thick and she knew she was probably humiliatingly tight around him. If not for how wet Jud had left her, she was sure he would never make it past even the first knuckle. But he did, inch by inch, moment by moment. He released her nerves from his mouth for long enough to murmur a soft, “There you go. You can take it. I know you can.” He soothed her as she writhed, only to push another finger into where she was sure it wouldn’t fit. And yet, he was right, never doubting her, even as she gave a cry of surprise as he pumped within her. He moved with each noise, each slight reaction prompting him on with more sweet assurances.

 

Her hips rolled into his every push, taking it further and further when the heat within her threatened to burst. “I-I’m sorry…I’m…I think I’m gonna…” She whined out, meeting his lidded gaze with one of her own. He soothed her with his free hand moving from her rear, up her side, cradling the side of her face. He nodded once, nose brushing against her, before flattening his tongue, kissing his mouth around her clit, and curling his fingers within her. With that, with all the desires for Jud welling up within her, she leaned her weight into Jud and squeezed around him as she came undone, crying out his name like a prayer.

 

Jud supported her through all of it, licking her every last twitch and all her wetness until she’d ridden out the last of her pleasure. She wasn’t even sure if this was still real, or a dream, as his hands supported her to lay her down by his side. “That was…” She murmured, interrupted by sweet kisses against her neck, up her cheek.

 

“It really was.”

 

Birdie was still gasping in air as she reached toward his belt, with intentions of making this fair. He caught her wrist, his thumb stroking over her pulse playfully. Birdie tilted her head at him questioningly. “You don’t want me to-?”

 

“I do.” He grumbled, as if disappointed in himself. His lips trailed lazy kisses over her wrist, down her forearm. “But if you get too close to my dick, I’m not gonna be able to stop myself from clearing this desk and taking us all the way on it.” He sighed, like he hadn’t said something that made Birdie’s stomach do somersaults. “Which wouldn’t exactly help me not look guilty.” He sighed against her arm, sending goosebumps over her body. “And besides…so long as you’re happy, I’m happy with this.” Jud smiled against her skin. “Very happy.”

 

For a while there, they just laid. Not thinking of their vows, their jobs, what might come next. But before long, while Birdie was picking up the fallen papers, her brow furrowed. “Jud…why would someone order the opening of the tomb the week before Wicks died?”

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ao3’s about to shut down (temporarily) just as I’m finishing up writing the first actually smutty chapter for this fic smh my head 😔

[https-daydreambeliever]

Here, There and Everywhere •˖*

Chapter 2/?

In which “mistakes” happen.😛

*

On the bright side, Jud thought as he sat in the bleak lighting of Chief Scott’s office, Birdie had come to mass for what seemed to be the first time in a long time. On the less-bright side, somebody had dropped dead of mysterious causes about a half-hour into the service. Even if that person was Monsignor Wicks, Jud had the feeling it wasn’t the best reintroduction to the faith that he could have offered her.

 

Surprisingly, she had remained relatively steady while the group’s heads reeled. She was the first to call the cops, offering Jud her red scarf to help clean the blood off of his hands. And hours later, in the station, he was squeezing that scarf as the cop explained how bad the optics were, on Jud’s part. What with the recent video of Jud threatening the monsignor, and the fact that there had been just a few seconds where Jud had been alone with the body before the others caught up to him…it was impossible, and yet, he was the only suspect they had at the moment. After what felt like the longest night of his life, he was told to get home, to rest, to keep his head down.

 

He passed by several offices where Wicks’ followers shot him distrustful looks through the window, but saw no signs of the reporter, much to his disappointment. And yet, it made sense, didn’t it? Why would she want anything to do with him when he had “murderer” written on his brow? Still clutching her scarf in his hand, the priest made his way back to the church.

 

It was much too quiet now. He could feel spirits, holy and unholy alike, watching him. Maybe in disappointment, or in anticipation. What would he do next? How could he protect the church when the church now seemed to need protection from him? He clasped his hands together on his knees, drawing in a trembling breath as he prayed for a way out of this. “Please, God, please show me a way out. Just tell me what to…” And amidst his last prayer, he caught sight of something odd, poking out of the alcove where Wicks’ had passed: a pale leg, with an unnervingly familiar black boot on it. “...do.”

 

It took him no time to understand where he had seen that boot before. The grins and the laughter that had come along with it, the one person he wanted to see…now lying, motionless on the floor of the church. Birdie. Birdie in her church dress, her curls falling out of the bun she’d worn just the day before. Birdie was lying in the alcove, eyes closed, like a peaceful slumber. He stumbled over the side of the altar trying to get to her, dropping to his knees and lifting her head carefully, pulling her into his lap. “No, no, God, please no…Birdie, Birdie answer me. Birdie, please-” One of his hands moved to wrap around the back of her neck, his thumb searching for a pulse.

 

And before his heart could entirely break, the body let out a fussy noise, groaning as she turned her head away slightly. “What the-Jud?” She said through a yawn, like she had just been interrupted on her couch. “Y’alright?”

 

“Am I-” Jud paused, his heartbeat still speeding, as he tried to calm the wave of panic that had washed over him. “Are you-what the hell are you doing here?” His voice was a panicked whine that he would have been embarrassed about if he hadn’t been busy trying to calm himself. She was fine, she was fine, he repeated in his head.

 

“Ohh, now you have to put a quarter in the priest-swear-jar.” She flashed a sleepy grin that Jud met with an unamused glare. “Tough crowd. I was sleeping, until you came along.” 

 

“You-this is a crime scene.” Jud was suddenly very aware that her upper half was still propped up against him and partially in his lap, but not wanting to come off as impolite by shoving her off. The space was so small that he would likely hit her head against the wall if he tried to move her.

 

“That’s kind of the point, Father. I’m here to investigate. To get to the bottom of this, and hopefully write a decent article on it.” She blinked a couple of times, patting his shoulder in reassurance. “Must’ve dozed off while I was looking for clues on the floors and walls. Glad it’s you who found me, not the invisible devil, or whatever did this.”

 

And now Jud felt confusion, among the myriad of feelings that this woman prompted from him by just existing. “You…don’t think it’s me.” He didn’t understand. “Birdie, you haven’t even asked if I did it.”

 

The journalist rolled her eyes, straightening up until their faces were level. “Did you do it?”

 

“No.”

 

“Shocking. Now that we’ve settled that, I believe it’s in your best interest that me and my associate find the real killer, and keep you out of the cesspool of asbestos and mold that is Chimney Rock’s jail.”

 

Birdie, yet again, was thawing something warm out of his chest. Stripping down his defenses without trying. Lowering his raised fists, telling him the coast was clear. “You want to help me? You hardly know me.” Jud questioned with a shake of his head.

 

“My goal is to bring the truth to light. At this time, I believe that the truth is that you are good, and someone is trying to set you up to take the fall for this. And I won’t let them get away with that.” She murmured like these were obvious facts, and not a leap of faith she was taking.

 

“Huh.”

 

“What?”

 

“Nothing, nothing.” It was his turn to smirk now, a warmth to his voice. The alcove was small, but quiet. Every breath they took filled the space, and yet, neither of them had peeled away from their current position. Maybe it reassured her as much as it did him. “It’s just…nice that you believe me. Even if nobody else does.”

 

“You care about what you do here. You care about the people. It’s not hard to see that you’re a good man.” Birdie’s voice came out in a hushed whisper. “I like you. Besides, people didn’t believe Jesus, either.”

 

“I’m not going to compare myself to Jesus, though I appreciate the sentiment.” And truly, he did. The moment was quiet, painfully vulnerable. Talking to her felt like freedom, like being able to breathe properly for the first time. He wasn’t sure what prompted his hand to wander down her spine ever so slowly, feeling each and every vertebrae with his fingers, watching the way her chest rose and fell a bit heavier as he inched along, but the same thing prompted him to ask: “Why…why did you stop coming to the church?” He had a hunch that Wicks was involved, but it seemed wrong to assume without hearing her version of the story.

 

“I…” She sucked in a deep breath, something flashing in her gaze as his hand reached the small of her back. It was like a game of chicken, waiting to see who would stop it. “I moved out to the city a few years back, and I pretty much wrecked everything good I had going for me.” Jud had a feeling there was much more to it than that, but he let her go on, his thumb rubbing circles over her back. “So I moved back. But by then, I was too far gone for the church to fix me.” She murmured, flashing a smile that didn’t reach her eyes.

 

“Do you truly believe that, or is it just something that Wicks told you?” Jud asked, and the way Birdie lowered her gaze and dropped her smile was enough of an answer. Jud’s hand grasped some of the excess fabric of her shirt in a fist behind her. He didn’t kill Wicks, but after picturing him saying that to Birdie in her time of need, he almost wished he had. Yet another un-priestly thought. “You should know, Birdie, that the problem has never been you. You do not need to be fixed.” His other hand gently cupped her chin to make her gaze lift to his own. His thumb stroked up her jaw, tracing over her cheekbone like he could somehow soak his words into her skin with touch alone. When he looked at her eyes again, he saw that hunger from the bar.

 

It was wrong. Jud knew what he was doing was wrong. As was the way he gently pushed her closer with the hand pressing into the small of her back. And even more wrong was how he let her hands plant on his shoulders, her mouth hanging open like she needed to remember how to breathe. Even more wrong was the way he wet his lips as he watched her breathe, and wondered how anything so beautiful could possibly be something God wouldn’t want for him. She smelled like fresh paper and a hint of something floral, probably her perfume.

 

There was a decent chance that he might not be a priest for much longer anyway. Maybe this was a sign. “I’m sorry.” He grunted the words out as his lips grazed over her jaw, brushing against her neck, delighting in the way her pulse pounded when he felt it. Not a kiss, yet, a tease. He had to hold himself back from teething marks of devotion into her flesh when she shivered. “I should really stop.”

 

“You really shouldn’t.” Birdie shakily whispered back as his mouth lowered, grazing over her collarbone, and with her permission, lower still-

 

“Helloooo!” A voice with a deep, southern drawl called out from the house of the church, and the both of them pulled back so quickly, they both whacked their heads against the walls of the alcove around them. An instant punishment for what he had done.

 

Apologies lingered on the tip of his tongue, as did horror with himself. How could he do this? To his vow, to Birdie? What was he thinking, with her in such a vulnerable position? Her expression was unreadable, but just as he started to whisper an apology, Birdie was on her feet, stepping out of their little hiding spot.

 

“Detective Blanc! Thank you for making the trip. Father Jud and I were just getting started on the investigation in here. Please, come take a look.” She beamed, as Jud did his best to compose himself, and adjusted the evidence of his temptation to be a little less obvious. Whatever had just happened, it had been strong enough to make Jud almost forget his vow, and the fact that he was the prime suspect in a murder case.

 

It had been a one-time fluke, surely. Both of their minds had wandered, they were sleep-deprived. More importantly, he was much too dangerous of a figure at the moment to drag her into his own troubles.

 

Surely it wouldn’t happen again, he thought, as he stepped out and introduced himself, his hands flexing at his sides where they buzzed from the feeling of her body.

[https-daydreambeliever]

Here, There and Everywhere •˖*

Just another person with lingering Catholic guilt who wanted to take a crack at writing a Jud x OC ship. Definitely drawing inspiration from Fleabag for their dynamic. This is going to be a plot involving a lot of religious trauma and people questioning their faith and lack thereof. If that is something you are not looking to read, feel free to scroll. If you're still reading, hope you enjoy! I'll update this as I write it. Expect lots of angst and hurt comfort with these two. Chapter 1/?

*

Red wine wasn’t going to be strong enough for the buzz that Jud needed that night. In fact, from the way Jud was ordering shots at Il Diavolo, it seemed like even straight liquor might not be able to get him drunk enough. In the back of his mind, he knew it was frowned upon for him to imbibe to quite this level, but dammit, he was pretty sure nobody who had to deal with Wicks’ antics for as long as he had would need more than a couple of drinks. He hoped God would forgive him, and he could only imagine what his next confession would look like. The wrath he felt for the man who was so steadily misleading his flock burned within him, almost as red-hot as the decorations surrounding him, slowly becoming blurrier throughout the night.

For the most part, not many people really paid him any mind, other than the attentive bartender, not even as Jud slurred insults to the devil-wolf-head on the unlucky lamp in front of him, just before he snapped the decorative piece off. Immediately, that drunken rage within him was replaced with a cold sense of guilt for what damage he had caused. He seemed too good at that, lately. “Oh, Nikolai, I’m so sorry…I broke the-” He began, only to hear a bright giggle from behind him. A giggle that was much too close to be directed to anyone else.

Slowly, he turned around, finding himself face-to-face with a crooked grin and blue eyes. No, gray eyes, he thought. He tried much too long to figure out what color they were, before he heard her clear her throat. “Gonna tear my head off too?” The brunette in front of him asked as she settled herself into the open barstool next to him.

It took him a moment to understand her jest, the priest’s concerned gaze lowering to the wolf head still in his tightly-grasped palm. “No, no. I would never, I’m not…” He cleared his throat, suddenly wishing he hadn’t gone for the last couple of shots. “I’m a priest. I don’t hurt people.”

“Those two statements aren’t synonymous.” The newcomer reminded him, her tone suggesting playfulness, but there was a look in her blue eyes (they were definitely blue, right?) suggested something else. Something deeper, something wounded. Something that made him want to ask more. But before he could do so, she added on, “Not for devil-wolves, right?” Which prompted him to tuck the figure into his pocket, almost sheepishly.

“They should be syn…synomin…that word you said. Priests should be harmless.” Jud grumbled, or more accurately, slurred. The stranger took the chance to order them both glasses of water. “I’m Jud, Father Jud with Our-”

“So would you agree? You would say that Wicks is a danger to the people of his church?” Something hungry flashed in those eyes, the look of a hunter in her expression. It made him nervous, and prompted other feelings that he did his best to ignore. “Sorry. I shouldn’t be doing this while you’re drunk, and you’re new to town…I’m just very interested in the truth, is all. Probably obsessed” She mumbled, and that fighting spirit deflated so quickly. He almost wished she had pushed further.

“How do you know I’m new to town?” He regretted the silly question as soon as it was asked, sipping at his water to try and control his mouth. But it made her laugh, and he decided the dumb question must have been worthwhile.

“This is Chimney Rock, Father Jud.” She said, causing more feelings, more ignoring, on Jud’s part. “Nothing new happens around here without making noise. One time they built a Dunkin miles away, and made me drive a half-hour out to cover the opening. It made the front page.” She scoffed at herself, though all Jud could think about was how good her writing must have been to make a fast-food opening hit the front page. It wasn’t her point, but that didn’t stop him from thinking of it.

“You’re a reporter.”

“And a capricorn.” That same grin. She tried to undermine herself, but it only drew him in more. “Birdie’s my byline. I write for The Chimney Sweep.”

Birdie. “Birdie! I know you!” He exclaimed, before managing to control himself. “You wrote a review on one of Lee’s books, is all I mean. I was researching his work.” It had been one of the less flattering ones, but it was certainly honest.

“Ahh, yes. I’m sure it just screamed Pulitzer-worthy.” But even through her jokes, he could see the way she smiled into her glass at the thought of someone remembering her work. She loved what she did.

“What are you writing about next, Birdie?” Jud asked, his gaze sweeping over her when he wasn’t being too careful.

“Well…I was actually trying to write a bit of an exposé.” A long pause. “On Wicks and his role in the local church.”

And there it was. Jud had almost forgotten about that man, and the way he seemed to have the town under control. And then it registered-an exposé? “Like…a hit piece?” He asked, almost hopefully. God help him.

“No! No, just a super-unbiased but truthful article that lays out what he’s done and continues to do to the people of that church. Something I believe you’ve noticed too, judging by the flammability of your breath at the moment.” She murmured, and noticed the way his face reddened. “It must be hard. Seeing the way he treats them when you aren’t used to it. The way he probably treats you too.”

It had been so many weeks, months of being treated like he was unreasonable, that he almost didn’t remember what sympathy felt like. “It…it’s not easy, no. But it would be one thing if it was just me. It’s another that he does it to the people who look to him for guidance. And he can keep doing it, trampling over whoever he’d like, and they’ll just let him. He’s got them in this cage disguised as safety, and they won’t let me unlock the door.” Jud nearly lost himself in his wrath, burying his face in his hands. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t be unloading this on you.”

“Actually, I was hoping you would. It’s kind of why I came over to talk to you. To understand more about Wicks.” When Birdie spoke, Jud felt a pang of disappointment. Was that the only reason she had come to talk to him? “But you’re clearly really drunk, and having a shitty day. If I’m gonna get answers out of you, it won’t be like this.”

Jud wasn’t sure why it touched him. It was probably just that she was one of the first people to treat him decently in this town. Probably that. “You should come by the church sometime. We can talk there. Find a corner where Wicks isn’t lurking.” He pushed himself to stand, balancing his wobbly self against the bar. “How did you know what he’s really like? Did you ever go to his mass?”

“When I was younger. Want a ride home?” Birdie smiled, getting to her feet. Clearly, she had no interest in delving into her connection with the church, but the priest in him wanted to know. “Don’t worry, I only had one beer, and it was hours ago.”

“Then why were you hanging out here?”

“Just waiting for a priest to come along and talk my ear off, of course.” She chuckled, holding up her bag, which had her laptop sticking out of it. So Birdie spent her nights working in a bar. Jud only had more questions the more he learned.

Evidently, he wasn’t in the state to dig too deep, and the ride back to the church didn’t leave nearly enough time to ask everything he wanted to ask. She walked him to the door of the clergy house, smoothing her black skirt down with nimble fingers. “You know, I’d regret it if I didn’t ask:” Birdie began, and Jud braced himself for having to defend his religion. He wouldn’t have minded with her, though. He got the sense that she just liked understanding people better, and she asked questions to do so, not to gain power over them. “What’s that thingy on your neck?”

“It’s, uh, an apple. You probably remember, the Garden of Eden, Adam and Eve.” He tugged his collar lower, to show the full tattoo to her. She leaned closer, her breath fanning over his neck, and for a moment he forgot what he was talking about. All he could think about was the way she had looked so hungry when questioning him in the bar. How, just for a few hours, she made this town tolerable. “It represents sin, essentially. I did something…not good, before I joined priesthood. For a while, I didn’t think there was any coming back from it. But God…God, he loved me when I didn’t deserve it, and gave me a reason to want to be worthy. And if I can guide even one soul to his love, it will have been worth it. All of this.”

Birdie’s gaze watched him with a strange wistfulness, an admiration. “I get that. The guilt. Wanting to…make that mistake worthwhile.” They were too close. Jud felt a muscle in his jaw tighten and relax. He felt his very soul tense up and relax. Their breathing seemed to sync up, and it was probably too dangerous of a moment before they were interrupted.

Although, the interruption was just that much more dangerous. “Mary Birde, as I live and breathe. I haven’t seen you since the funeral. How well you look.” Wicks spoke from the doorway, watching the two with a hawklike smile. From the look on Birdie’s face, Jud quickly realized several things:

Birdie’s real name was Mary. Mary Birde.

Judging by the way she stiffened, she didn’t like that name anymore.

She had lost someone.

And in her vulnerability, somehow, Wicks had made sure that the church was not a safe place for her.

Unforgivable. Jud curled his fist, suddenly tempted for a rematch against the monsignor.

“I was just dropping off Father Jud here. That’s all.” Birdie sounded cold, quiet, bitter, disconnecting herself as quickly as possible.

“You’ll be gentle with the new priest, won’t you? Mary here has a tendency of breaking all her favorite toys. You don’t want to be fooled by those ocean eyes, because behind them is nothing but sin, sin-”

“That is enough.” Jud bit out in a tone that he didn’t recognize. He was halfway to grabbing Wicks and throwing him against the wall, making him take back what he said, but a hand reached out that stopped him in his tracks.

“It’s alright.” The brunette whispered, her eyes shining, and not with joy this time.

Jud started to protest, but Birdie was already rushing back to her car, her gaze set on the ground until she had disappeared back into the cover. And then she was gone.

He rounded on the monsignor again, fists tighter than ever. “You had no right.”

“One day, very soon, Father Jud, you will learn that I have every right. If you truly want what’s best for this church, you’ll keep that woman far away from it. Hell, if you know what’s good for yourself, you’ll stay away from her too.” Wicks seemed especially dickish that night, like something had flipped within him. Jud had a feeling this was about more than Birdie. But before he could ask, the man had disappeared back into the building.

His hand hovered over his abdomen, where Birdie’s hand had touched him. Burned straight through his shirt, and then walked away like it was nothing. Birdie was not what Wicks said, but she wasn’t someone he could forget very easily either. With a shaky breath, he headed back to his room to pray the feeling away.

[https-daydreambeliever]

that moment when you’re a journalist who’s been stuck in a small town with nothing good to write about until there’s a murder at the local church and your investigation leads to you repeatedly crossing paths with the new stressed priest who gives you the inspiration to write about what the church should serve as for the community and makes you feel like your writing could make the positive change that you always hoped it would….

wake up dead man roleplay community wya?? possible fic to come?

++ Happy New Year’s Eve!!

[https-daydreambeliever]

Estella had a Cheshire grin on her features as he approved of her plan, a rush of excitement affecting her much more than the buzz of liquor. As was the look in Cassian’s brown eyes as he seemed to take in her every word, seemingly fully committed to this little game of theirs. Maybe her initial goal was to use a pilot to get away, but he seemed almost willing enough to help her of his own volition. But then again, Estella knew that most men appeared initially kind when speaking to a pretty girl in such attire. So with that, she stood up, her arm reaching out around his waist as soon as she felt him swaying in her direction.

Their gazes met like gravity pulled it there, startlingly natural. When she could see the unspoken question there, she answered it with a gentle brush of her fingers along his side, and a soothing smile. “Easy does it.” She cooed, half-sincere and half-playing the part, as she supported him for their walk to the closest door. She could see the light outside, just within her reach…

“I don’t recall any dancers having permission to leave.” A deep voice spoke from behind them, and Estella halted, like they had an invisible string tied to her back. A guard approached, all height and muscle and no sign of amusement or trust.

“He had a few too many, but seeing as he was such a lovely tipper, I thought I would show our customer to his ship.” Her smile was still pleasant, but her hand squeezed Cassian’s side gently, as if he might need a reminder of his act. “If you need proof, I’m sure we only need to wait a few moments more before his drinks are retched up all over your shoes. And in front of the other customers. And you don’t want that.” She gave a performative wince, her voice absent of doubt as she shook her head at him.

The guard had been eyeing Cassian suspiciously, squinting in thought, before Estella’s suggestion made him turn his large, scruffy head. “No…I don’t.” He agreed, slowly. “But…if you’re not back in five minutes, I’m coming after the both of you.”

[of-wine-and-blood]

with estella's arm wrapped around his side, he could feel her fingers brushing at his torso even through the layer of clothes. her touches were gentle with a hint of calculation. she played that part so well that it made cassian wonder how many times did she have to take care of customers that drank a glass too many.

he let his head dip down, easing into her and his drunken role. the path before them was clear. all they had to do was to get out of the bar and then to his ship parked nearby. then the mask would slip off and the talk of resistence would come up.

cassian couldn't see much of the man that stopped them, only his boots and thick calves but from his posture and the way he talked it was clear that he was a guard. he could feel estella freeze in spot but then she squeezed his side reassuringly and started talking. not with the charming voice she used on him but undoubtful still.

five minutes . . . that was more than enough for them, cassian thought as estella side-stepped and lead them to the exit again. once out, he straightened his back a bit but didn't let go of her yet. ❝this way.❞ now he was the one who lead her through the sandy streets to the open place where his ship was parked among the others. he grabbed the door handle, opening it. ❝ladies first.❞ he gestured for estella to enter as he looked around to check whether the guard or any other followed them. and while at it cassian also checked whether his glock was still in its usual place.

now was the time for truth. ❝luthen told me where to find you, stella. or should i say . . . estella polis?❞ his tone was soft, not accusing, not warning. simply telling.

[https-daydreambeliever]

A twinge of excitement ran through Estella’s veins when her pilot took the lead on where they were headed. She could feel in her gut, this was it: this was how she got off of Tattooine, and how she found freedom on her own terms. And in the middle of all this excitement, she stepped onto the ship with him, her eyes lighting up as she took it all in. She’d almost forgot how good it was to have hope…and then Cassian explained his connection. Luthen, a name that she remembered with more fondness than some others from Coruscant, but still a name tied to the planet she longed to leave in the past.

Although a dozen alarm bells went off in her mind, she simply paused, forcing the calmest smile possible. “I suppose I could’ve chosen a better undercover name.” She mused, before turning to face him fully, once more. Despite the smile, there was a twinge of disappointment and irritation behind her gaze. She was supposed to be the one doing the double-crossing here. Although, for someone she believed was sent to extract her, he didn’t seem very malicious to Estella. Then again, the galaxy had disappointed her before.

“Luthen must have told you that I have no credits to bribe you with. But know this: if you try to take me back to Coruscant, I will not go down without pressing every button on this ship, and hopefully doing some significant damage in the process.” Her lips pursed after she said it, eyes wide, attempting to sound as dangerous as possible in that moment. The threat didn’t sound as good as it had in her head, but she kept her voice low, as if she was in control of this situation. “I’ll…break anything I can, too. Your equipment, your fingers. And it wouldn’t be the first time I’ve crashed a ship, so I wouldn’t test me if I were you, Cassian.”

[https-daydreambeliever]

Estella would have liked to say she took no pleasure in seeing the effect she could have upon strangers, but that simply wouldn’t be true. Meeting a stranger, as it was, offered a thrill of its own. A chance to glimpse the galaxy through their stories and experiences, the galaxy that she swore she would see for herself one day. But for the time being, she could settle for connections. She maintained eye contact with the newest connection, and lifted her thumb to her lips, before wiping the droplet she’d just cleaned off of his mouth onto her lower lip. “Cassian.” She retorted in a tone that mimicked his.

An alarm bell went off in her head at the revelation of his profession: a pilot. Just the kind of person she needed to get herself off of this forsaken planet. He really did seem charming, and well-intentioned, so she didn’t have to put on much more of a show when she nodded. “Technically, I could get us both in trouble by sneaking out of here. But fortunately for you, I’m quite fond of trouble.” Estella leaned closer, brown eyes scanning over him once more.

She had no intention of returning to the club if she could help it, but she also didn’t want to get this pilot in any hot water with the bouncers. “You’ve had too much to drink, and now I’m walking you back to your ship. If anyone asks, we tell them that.” Her voice was lower, conspiratorial now.

[of-wine-and-blood]

cassian watched her — made himself look at her eyes rather than her lips, although they were glinting with mischief and sultry promises too. she was good at this, it wasn't hard to admit. he wondered how well she would do in a senate or at a rally, given the chance. how far her charisma extended. whether her smile could easily lower the empire supporters' defense ( just as it happened to him ).

he leaned towards estella as she lowered her voice into a conspiratorial whisper, cassian's eyes flicking to her face before he nodded. a clever idea, one that technically could draw attention to them but nobody would think twice about their situation. everyone's eyes were just going to skim over them.

❝deal.❞ cassian nodded once again sliding down the chair but not before knocking back the remnants of his drink. he didn't think that he would be able to get this beverage anywhere else in the galaxy, and he wanted to remember this taste as well as the memory. he pretended to wobble, letting his body take the kind of movements one would expect of a drunken man. he flailed one of his arms, landing it on estella's shoulder before putting more weight on her shoulder and leaning against her frame. for a moment his gaze shot towards her face, silently asking if that was okay with her.

[https-daydreambeliever]

Estella had a Cheshire grin on her features as he approved of her plan, a rush of excitement affecting her much more than the buzz of liquor. As was the look in Cassian’s brown eyes as he seemed to take in her every word, seemingly fully committed to this little game of theirs. Maybe her initial goal was to use a pilot to get away, but he seemed almost willing enough to help her of his own volition. But then again, Estella knew that most men appeared initially kind when speaking to a pretty girl in such attire. So with that, she stood up, her arm reaching out around his waist as soon as she felt him swaying in her direction.

Their gazes met like gravity pulled it there, startlingly natural. When she could see the unspoken question there, she answered it with a gentle brush of her fingers along his side, and a soothing smile. “Easy does it.” She cooed, half-sincere and half-playing the part, as she supported him for their walk to the closest door. She could see the light outside, just within her reach…

“I don’t recall any dancers having permission to leave.” A deep voice spoke from behind them, and Estella halted, like they had an invisible string tied to her back. A guard approached, all height and muscle and no sign of amusement or trust.

“He had a few too many, but seeing as he was such a lovely tipper, I thought I would show our customer to his ship.” Her smile was still pleasant, but her hand squeezed Cassian’s side gently, as if he might need a reminder of his act. “If you need proof, I’m sure we only need to wait a few moments more before his drinks are retched up all over your shoes. And in front of the other customers. And you don’t want that.” She gave a performative wince, her voice absent of doubt as she shook her head at him.

The guard had been eyeing Cassian suspiciously, squinting in thought, before Estella’s suggestion made him turn his large, scruffy head. “No…I don’t.” He agreed, slowly. “But…if you’re not back in five minutes, I’m coming after the both of you.”

[https-daydreambeliever]

me when I NEED to lock in and make a fic of these two…

(vc: layyla_j on tiktok)